Tangling his fingers in Severus’ long, fine hair, Harry laid his head on his father’s shoulder, listening to the rapid heartbeat thrumming through Severus’ body, whilst staring, unseeing, into the distance with blank, green eyes. All he knew was that his father would make this right. He always made everything right.

“When I was a little boy, my father stayed at home to look after me whilst my mother worked.” Severus heard himself saying “My father was a very kind, gentle man, he loved me dearly and, during my early childhood I was very happy; my father treated me as more of a friend than a son and I shared in all his pleasures: fishing, swimming, cookery, reading. Every moment of the day, we spent together and, at night, he tucked me into bed and told me stories until I fell asleep. One day, however, my mother was involved in a terrible accident; the potion which she was brewing exploded, killing her assistant and badly scalding her. The company fired her and, without a decent reference, she was unable to find employment elsewhere.”

“My mother was not like my father, she was… mentally unstable and very violent. She beat me and, when my father discovered my injuries, he challenged her and she killed him.”

“As I explained earlier, when Lucius left Hogwarts, the Marauders’… it became something worse than mere playground bullying and, therefore, I… tried to make myself agreeable amongst the Slytherins in my year.” Severus sighed “Most unfortunately, many of my contemporaries were… well, their behaviour was almost as bad as that of the Marauders but, unlike the Marauders, the Slytherins wished me no harm.”

“It was a cowardly choice, to ally myself with people whose views… Who believed that Muggleborns had no place in wizarding society” Severus explained, his mouth tense “In previous years, I had firmly opposed these fanatics, arguing against their views by using Lily’s obvious magical superiority and my father’s super-excellent character to endorse my convictions. However, having realised that my arguments were being met with cloth ears, I gradually ceased to verbally oppose these prejudices; I told myself, at the time, that I was merely feigning deafness when my year-mates expressed their views, that I remained firm in my beliefs, but, in hindsight, I realise that my mind was being poisoned.”

“I understand, Dad” Harry whispered.

Severus hugged Harry gently “Over the weeks, my Slytherin contemporaries gradually accepted me into their circle, protecting me from the Marauders and showing me a level of kindness to which I was unaccustomed. They praised my skills in potions, showed interest in my research and shared my pleasure when my inventions worked. However, what was most delightful was that their prejudice against muggles and muggleborns had reduced, or so it seemed at the time. One or two people confided to me that they had been enlightened by the arguments of a very clever, moral man, though they refused to disclose his name.”

“In the Serpents Nest, I soon found myself in the midst of conversations of quite a different tone than the ignorant prejudice which had so infuriated me before.” Severus said wistfully “The more intelligent amongst my set were pondering whether it was wrong of Wizardkind to simply ignore the hardship endured by muggles, whose lack of magical talent left them weak and vulnerable. One often touted example was muggle medicine: a wizard can mend a broken leg in half an hour, whereas muggles must wait for a couple of months for the bone to heal naturally, involving much pain and inconvenience to the patient. Another such example was famine; as many countries could not grow enough food for their populations, millions of muggles starved to death.”

“These arguments were very convincing to Pureblood wizards who, having spent no time amongst muggles, believed that it would be a kindness to inflict wizarding rule upon them, reducing muggles to little better than slaves. I however, knew that, in England, muggles were quite capable of taking care of themselves.”

Harry looked up at his father’s sad, pale face, listening intently.

“However, my so-called ‘friends’ had an alternate plan; they began to discuss muggle and mage marriages, contemplating the danger towards the muggle partner if the witch or wizard they married happened to be of a violent disposition.”

“Like your parents?” Harry murmured.

“Yes” Severus replied quietly “They suggested that this danger was so acute that, if a witch or wizard married a muggle, that their magic must be bound. Given my past, this idea had particular resonance for me. I became drawn into their discussions and, the more I heard, the more I became convinced of the good sense of their views. It was explained to me that the embargo upon marrying muggleborns was not irrational; while Purebloods lived into their Two-hundreds, half-bloods rarely made their one-hundred-and-fiftieth birthday, quarter-bloods seldom lived past a hundred and muggleborns usually died in their eighties. Allowing ones children to marry muggleborns, they said, could lead to one outliving one’s heirs.”

“Is that true?” asked Harry, sounding surprised.

“Yes, however it is better to spend fifty years with someone one loves than a hundred and fifty with someone who excites nothing warmer than indifference.” Severus said firmly. “However, when I was young, the idea of death frightened me and, therefore, I allowed myself to be convinced. To my shame, I even accepted their use of the term ‘mudblood’; my so-called friends informed me the original word was ‘mort-blood’- deadly blood- and, appeased, made no further murmur against it and, once, used the word myself…” Severus said, his voice anguished.

“They’re good arguments, though, Dad. I… I’d have probably believed them too.” Harry said gently.

“One day, my friends told me that someone they knew, a very wealthy and powerful wizard, was interested in meeting me. He needed a skilled potioneer, they explained and, as I was so creative, they had suggested me. They informed me that this man, on hearing that my beliefs were akin to his, had expressed an interest in interviewing me.”

“Thus” Severus sighed “I met Voldemort. He did not introduce himself as such, however, preferring to be known as Marvolo Peverell. Voldemort was a charming man, intelligent, erudite and gracious. He flattered me and praised my abilities, promising to pay for my Potions Mastery if I would agree to work for him. Foolishly, I did not see beyond the mask.”

Harry swallowed, blinking back tears. His Dad had been tricked. It wasn’t his fault after all.

“Thus,” Severus said heavily “Whilst I completed a Potions Mastery in Alexandria, Voldemort employed me as his potioneer: every weekend, I made up an order of potions for him. Some were benign and others… were less so. However, to my shame, I did not think on their purpose. I had a comfortable home, a well equipped lab and infinite funding for my research. Little did I know, then, that the galleons I spent on rare ingredients were procured by blackmail and theft.”

“However, Voldemort was not the most stable of individuals and, as I reached my nineteenth year, his mask finally fell.” Severus continued “The vicious propensities, Voldemort’s sadism and prejudice, which had previously been concealed to all but the wickedest of his supporters, were rapidly revealed to all: we discovered that kindly Marvolo Peverell was, in fact, the terrorist known to the wizarding press as Voldemort. However, by this stage, I was involved too deeply to withdraw and Voldemort… soon after Voldemort had revealed his identity we were called to a meeting. When I arrived, I was bound and forced to witness two of my former colleagues, who had attempted to defect, being tortured and murdered.”

Severus paused “Then, I discovered that Lily, my childhood friend, was in danger: Voldemort was hunting her family, with the intent to kill them. I could not, I would not let that happen.”

“What did you do?” Harry gasped.

“I did the only thing that I could do, Harry” Severus replied quietly “I informed Professor Dumbledore of Voldemort’s plans and begged him to protect Lily. The Headmaster… he was very angry with me for following Voldemort and by no means ready to accept my pleas for forgiveness. At this time, Voldemort had informed me that I was to apply for the post of Potions Master at Hogwarts, in order to spy on Professor Dumbledore. However, the Headmaster also required a spy…”

“Why didn’t he just let you leave Voldemort?” Harry whispered in an anguished voice “He must have known that it was dead dangerous.”

“Professor Dumbledore needed a spy, Harry. The information I obtained enabled the Headmaster to save many people’s lives.” Severus explained gently.

“He should have listened!” cried Harry “How come wizards never, ever listen!” he looked at Severus with bright, impassioned eyes “It wasn’t your fault Dad, none of it!”

“What I did was very wrong, Harry.” Severus replied sadly “I allowed myself to be persuaded into beliefs which I knew to be incorrect and...”

Harry hugged his father around the neck. “It doesn’t matter, Dad. You made it right again.”

oOoOo

When Harry had pulled out of the hug, he asked his father if he could teach him some more duelling spells, knowing that, after revelations like this, the best thing to do was to behave normally. At Uroborus, Severus’ approach to dispelling awkwardness after a heart-to-heart had helped Harry greatly: by ending the more serious of their conversations by suggesting a fun activity, Severus had kept the child’s hands busy, making it’s easier for Harry to pretend that he wasn’t feeling rather awkward, and his mind occupied, an effective distraction from those little zigzags of embarrassment.

Harry and Severus passed the rest of the weekend with quiet industry. It felt kind of strange, to Harry, realising that his strong, clever, good father was actually fallible, that he had once been a naive teenage boy who needed protection and comfort. It was a good sort of strange, however. Harry felt a bit dumb about it, but the situation remembered the story of the fairy doll in the book his Mum had given his Dad when they were both kids; in that chapter, the narrator had described a beautiful doll, which was too pretty and frail for the narrator to play with and had to be kept wrapped in tissue paper in a cupboard. However, one day the narrator’s little sister had thrown this doll outside and broken it and, when the doll came back from the repair shop, it was a nice but ordinary doll, which the narrator could play with every day.

In his heart of hearts, Harry had always wondered whether he deserved Severus as a father and always tried to be a good son, so as to live up to the honour. Now, however, Harry had a different, albeit equally compelling reason; whereas, before, Harry had only seen an elegant, articulate wizard, he now realised that his father was reserved because he feared rejection and carefully regulated his speech due to feelings of inadequacy. Despite his dad's power and intelligence, he was only a man; a very good sort of man, undoubtedly, but one who was capable of making mistakes and who needed comfort and reassurance, just like Harry.

If a greater love was possible, knowing what his dad had suffered made Harry love and respect Severus all the more.