Even though classes were cancelled for Monday, in light of Headmaster Dumbledore's funeral, the Great Hall was still full in the morning with students on time for breakfast. Harry sat with his friends at the Gryffindor table, wearing his comfy black knit jumper against the chilly January air. Above them came a sudden icy blast as the windows opened and owls rushed the room, the majority of them carrying newspapers and celebratory parcels at home. Harry, who'd been debating the seeker skills of the Appleby Arrows versus the Chudley Cannons, paused in his speech to notice that the room had gotten a bit quieter. He felt a small sense of dread in his stomach as Hermione made a tittering sound and opened the newspaper, spreading it out on the table.
"THE TAINTED BOY?" was the headline, and underneath was a full-page photo of Harry, his head resting in his hands and perched upon a large wooden table, that Harry instantly recognised as the staff room table. Anger flushed to his face upon seeing it, as that had been a private moment to unwind after the feast and he wondered just how the hell Skeeter had gotten the photo, before realising that the slight blurriness in the shot was not done for artistic measure. It was a picture taken from a memory.
"That bitch." Hermione muttered, causing Ron to gasp as Harry read on.
Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, took some time yesterday after the welcome back feast at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to pull himself together. Curiously, he sat in the staff lounge of Hogwarts, kept company by Potions Master Professor Severus Snape. Together Mr. Potter and Professor Snape defeated He Who Must Not Be Named this Friday past at a muggle hospital in central London, by faking an illness and subsequently suffocating You Know Who with an ancient potion. Questions are starting to arise from this version of events, however, as it seems a deceitfully simple end to one of the darkest wizards since Gellert Grindelwald.
This is hardly the first time that Professor Severus Snape has been in the public eye, as he stood on trial in December of 1980 for crimes committed as a Death Eater. Though staunchly defended by then Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Professor Snape's harsh and demanding demeanour, along with his continued association with families such as the Malfoys (for full coverage of the Malfoy family history and recent failed escape of accused attempted murderer Draco Malfoy from St. Mungo's, please see page four), have lead many to believe that Severus Snape's Death Eater days are not as far behind him as it seems.
Harry gritted his teeth as he read the article, only pausing at Ron's choke of pumpkin juice.
"Merlin, Snape looks like he's about to crucio the newspaper."
Harry looked up and was almost relieved to see Snape looking that pissed off. That meant that not only would they have an answer to the newspaper article, but that Snape would likely eviscerate Skeeter the next time he saw her.
While Snape is also a member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall has confirmed that the Order was unaware of the plans Snape and Potter carried out on Friday, leading one to believe that perhaps a new leader of the Order has emerged, and Severus Snape has found another master.
Moments after this photo was taken, Snape removed his memories of the evening to a pensieve, as a shaken Harry Potter demanded to review the evening. "I want to see what the damage is," Potter said, referring to the feast. Was Potter speaking of the mistakes made in his less than perfect speech, or alluding to more personal plans? If he had expected things to have gone terribly wrong at last night's cheerful celebrations, one must wonder what Potter had planned for the evening originally.
Harry looked up and saw a lot of his fellow students staring between him and Snape, who seemed to have gone an unhealthy shade of white. Harry figured it was from the ‘found a new master' paragraph.
Or perhaps there is something else on the mind of the Gryffindor Saviour. Though it has been kept under wraps, it appears that Harry Potter, at sixteen, is an emancipated wizard. His Muggle relatives (with whom he resided after his parents' deaths) previously relinquished all guardian rights towards Potter, under very strict nondisclosure terms that are now only beginning to come to light. While the protective order surrounding the guardianship status is heavily warded, the boy's Muggle relatives alluded to trouble at the home and when shown a photo of Professor Snape, recognised the man immediately. The familial split was strongly confirmed, along with some rather alarming accusations surfacing from the boy's uncle, who cannot be named at this time.
Harry pushed his plate of breakfast away and didn't bother looking up from the table. He wasn't sure if he was going to be sick or if the tears that were pricking the sides of his eyes were going to escape. An excellent way to start a Monday. Harry scowled and left the table, followed silently by Ron and Hermione.
................
Back in the Gryffindor dormitory, Harry sat listlessly on the couch while Ron went over the article again.
"She's basically hinting that you're the next Voldemort." Ron huffed, throwing the paper down in disgust.
"Don't forget the whole Snape being my evil henchman." Harry grumbled. "I can't believe she peered the fake tree."
"She did what, Harry?" Ron looked up, confused.
"Vernon. She location, no found Uncle Vernon."
"What was the point of that, really? You just killed Voldemort! You could be half house-elf and half Veela and they should still be lining up to kiss your arse." Ron exclaimed.
Chatter suddenly filled the room as the portrait door opened and students started returning, the younger ones dutifully hanging up their thick robes and mittens on the hooks in the front dorm entryway. The older ones just passed into the room, banishing their robes to their rooms as they went. Some still carried the newspaper, but most stopped to look at Harry, Hermione and Ron as they sat near the fire. Harry felt his face burn, much like it had at the beginning of fifth year when no one had believed him that Voldemort was back.
"So how much of that was rubbish, Harry?" Seamus asked, tossing his paper near the fire. "You've always hated Snape."
"Would you rather I still did and Voldemort still be alive?" Harry asked pointedly, glaring at his housemates warily. He was glad that his vocabulary was still making sense.
"Is it true what they said about him being a death eater?" Maurius Craggsworth asked, a thin and angular seventh year that looked eerily like Percy.
"Professor Snape was Professor Dumbledore's spy." Hermione answered quietly. "For almost twenty years."
Harry flinched at Hermione's confession, knowing that Snape would probably not be pleased that his secret had just been given away to a bunch of Gryffindors. Then again, who knew what the Evening Prophet would have to say, if Rita Skeeter was still in the castle and determined to leave no stone uncovered, as it were.
Dennis Creevey was the first to break the silence.
"Harry? Are you really going to get Snape to do your evil bidding?"
Harry blinked twice before letting out a defeated harsh laugh.
"Right. I can't do this." Harry mumbled, pulling himself out of the chair and storming towards the door. The other Gryffindors parted immediately like some sort of macabre showing of Moses parting the red sea.
"As if anyone could control Snape." Ron muttered, letting Harry go. He'd seen enough of Harry's moods over the years to know when to stay back.
More than twenty minutes later, and after repeated reassurances in the common room that Snape actually was a good guy, Hermione and Ron managed to find Harry seated up at the top of the hall of moving staircases He was leaning against a plain wooden blue door and perched on a small platform that was trying unsuccessfully to unseat him.
Flittering around on the other staircases were approximately thirty-five slinkies, tackling the moving stairs with varying speeds and jumping with ease between them as the staircases moved. Harry had even charmed them to return to the top of a set of stairs once they'd reached the ground floor, accompanied by an overly cheerful chirping sound as they did so.
"You realise when Mrs. Norris sees this that she's going to have a seizure trying to decide which one to go after." Ron grinned, plunking down next to Harry on the groaning step platform. Harry's mouth twitched and Hermione huffed a smile.
"They are rather calming to watch." She pointed out.
"Do they think I'm the Heir of Voldemort now?" Harry grumbled, rubbing the side of his head with his wand.
"Harry James Potter, will you stop doing that?" Hermione ground out, snatching his wrist and moving the wand away from his temple.
"Dunno, mate. We tried, at least." Ron shrugged apologetically.
"Come on Harry, we've got a few hours to kill before lunch and the...Professor Dumbledore's funeral. Let's go practice the charm lesson you missed on Friday."
Ron stared at Hermione as if she'd come from another planet, but Harry stood up, looking for any sort of distraction.
He barely noticed as they passed McGonagall on their way to the charms classrooms on the third floor, and he wondered how Snape was handling being accused of serving another master yet again.
.......
"Serpensortia." Snape incanted, flicking his wand in a half circle, half stab movement. An elegant black rat snake slithered forth from his wand, landing on the table gracefully and lazily looking around. Slowly other staff members started to enter the room, becoming instantly wary as they noticed Snape sitting at the table with a smirk on his face as he animated a small white dot on the wood with his wand and watched the snake chase it.
"Good morning, Severus." Flitwick greeted, climbing up into his chair.
"Filius." Snape nodded, putting the dot on the snake's tail and confusing it. The snake's attention was diverted temporarily by a small bug that flew dangerously close to it. "Are your Ravenclaws sorted for this afternoon?"
Flitwick, slightly taken back by the question, took a moment to think. "They've been hit hard, as have the rest of the school. But they will manage."
"As we do." Snape acknowledged. He banished the snake, finally noticing that everyone seemed to be staring at him.
"You're taking the article this morning rather well, Severus." McGonagall stated carefully.
"When that wretched paper prints something correct about me, then I shall be worried." Snape answered crossly. "And the less you are informed of my opinion of Ms Skeeter, the less you can be questioned about later."
"Do try not to get arrested, Severus." McGonagall commented, settling into her chair at the head of the table. He waved an impatient hand at her.
"How is your son doing?" Professor Sprout asked, noting the newspapers piled up next to Snape. She took a seat near Flitwick and sipped at her herbal tea. "And where is he?"
Three cups and four saucers by the kitchenette sink smashed to the floor as Professor Trelawney, of all people, failed to hide her shock over hearing that Snape had a son.
"I have no idea where he is. I assume he is with his friends, likely in the kitchen or somewhere they shouldn't be." Snape said, glancing at his watch out of habit to see that all was well. "He is sustaining."
"Is that why you have called this meeting?" McGonagall asked, sending a quick reparo in Trelawney's direction. "The paper has ostracised him a few times from the students."
Her voice was softer and she nodded towards the accursed paper, face up with the picture of Harry sitting in that very room, the lost and miserable expression still on his face.
"Harry Potter is your boy?" Madame Hooch asked, with a snort of disbelief. "Did you have some sort of scandalous affair and cover up with Lily Potter?"
"Rolanda." McGonagall admonished while Sprout giggled into her mug.
"He is adopted." Snape said, raising his eyebrow in mock annoyance.
"But then, none of us had any idea! It's always seemed like you've hated him." Flitwick protested.
"Of course it did. As long as the mark on my arm was active, it was never to appear as anything else." Snape responded smugly.
"Yes, well. You fooled them all, Severus." McGonagall complimented, sounding as if she were speaking to a ten year old. "What are you going to do about the newspaper? Unless you wish to set the record straight?"
"I hardly think there will be any accusations of favouritism." Hooch smirked. Around the room there was small laughter.
"Merlin forbid." Snape muttered. "I will work on the newspaper issue. What I would like to request from each of you is a form of leniency."
Snape held up his hand to stop the arguments before they started.
"Not with his grades. Harry is sometimes affected by paraphasia, and this occurs more frequently when he is angered or experiencing stress. I would ask each of you to not make a significant deal out of the issue. If you do not understand him, merely ask him to explain what he is attempting to say again."
There was silence in the room as the information was absorbed, and finally nodding heads.
"Is this an after effect from killing You Know Who?" Professor Vector asked, looking as if she'd stumbled upon an old and forgotten puzzle.
"Yes. And we are aware of the exact cause." Snape answered evenly, his message coming through clearly. Leave it alone.
An uneven thumping sound came from the hallway and for a second a rather painful wheeze accompanied it, before the door banged open and a rather unhinged Argus Filch exploded into the room.
"Dark magic! Curses!" He hunched over, catching his breath as Mrs Norris circled his feet angrily.
"Argus! What is cursed?" McGonagall snapped, impatient for him to stop wheezing.
"The grand staircases. One of the little brats must have done it; lots of drunken silver flobberworms stamping down the stairs. They're little metallic things, and they have brains, I tell you. They're waking down the stairs by themselves. It's a curse, and I'll bet a good galleon Potter has something to do with it."
Filch looked close to having a coronary as he shook his finger menacingly, and Snape almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"Yes, I can certainly see how you would be frightened out of your wits by a six year old's muggle toy." Snape said mildly his eyes glittering with amusement.
"I'm certain we can all honour your request regarding Harry's paraphasia, Severus." McGonagall interrupted, before Filch could counter with anything nasty.
"Thank you, I ap - Christ." Snape cursed, holding up his burning watch. He stood up quickly and moved towards the door, not even bothering to say goodbye. McGonagall called to him just as he pulled open the door, as she stood herself.
"They were headed to the charms corridor, last I saw."
........
Harry stared at the bowl of rice grains in front of him, taking a calming breath. This should be easy, it was a simple replicating charm. He pointed his wand at the bowl, listening to Ron and Hermione argue over what kind of rice was best to eat, health wise. He pointed his wand at the bowl and muttered the replicating charm Flitwick taught them. His rice bowl doubled immediately, filling with identical brown grains that were in it before. Beside him, Ron finally said that it didn't matter what type of rice it was, as long as it was cooked well.
Harry poked the bowl again. "What happens if we engorge it?"
"Harry, the assignment just said to fill the bowl." Hermione commented distractedly, trying to shield her bowl from Ron's waving wand. She didn't bother to correct his word usage.
"Ennervate" Harry said, ignoring Hermione. He blinked as the bowl shuddered, and tried again. "Incendio."
The bowl burst into flames and Harry panicked. "No! That's red inked...imperio! Impervious!"
The bowl started shaking badly, flames licking up over the sides and the rather sickening smell of burnt dry rice started filling the air. Harry felt tugging on his arm, his wrist throbbing under the watch as Ron pulled him away from the table. Harry's tense muscles screamed at him to do something, and he kept his wand pointed at the bowl.
"Hose! Hose!" Harry slammed his fist against his thigh in frustration, knowing he wasn't getting the words right. Hermione, acting fast, put out the fire with her own well-aimed aguamenti charm. Scorch marks covered the table and half of Harry's notes were ruined, either burnt away or covered in water. The bowl was a crispy mess and every occupant of the portraits in the room stared at him as he scrunched his eyes and wrenched away from Ron.
"Shit!" Harry swore, kicking the table. The door banged open and Snape marched into the room, strong and steady stride as if he were punishing the stones he walked on. His eyes searched the room rapidly and immediately fell upon Harry, who had picked up the still hot bowl and threw it at the chalkboard in anger. It smashed against the wall just as Snape grabbed Harry, one arm strongly clamping over his shoulder and connecting with the other, which Snape had hooked under Harry's wand arm. He forcibly pulled a squirming Harry back from the burnt table, ignoring everyone else in the room.
"Stop! Take a breath!" Snape commanded, his voice loud right next to Harry's ear. Harry was a pent up ball of frustration however, and his tense body struggled against Snape's.
"Fuck! The vase and the worms, no white dogs. Dots. Argh! Nothing go ahead!" Harry sputtered, frustration emanating from his body. McGonagall had arrived and stood to the back of the room with Hermione and Ron, all watching the scene before them.
"Breathe. Then tell me, Elliot." Snape continued, his voice low and only for Harry.
"Fire came, no..no fire pit. Impervious to make bigger, restaurant power acceptable." Harry blurted, his breath hitching as he tried not to cry in frustration. Sensing that Harry wasn't going to smash anything further, Snape loosened his grip and Harry turned to face Ron and Hermione. He pointed at the bowl of rice, and then tried again.
"Easy the kitchen kaleidoscope, refreshment free from wood calling to the vase." Harry ground out, his expression angry and pained as he failed to make any sense.
Hermione took a step forward, but a glare from Snape stopped her. Harry clenched and unclenched his hands, his head downcast as he held out his wand towards Snape, handle out. Snape took it, keeping a close distance to Harry.
"Practise your occlumency for a moment, and then tell me what is wrong." Snape said, sounding a lot calmer than anyone else in the room. There was dead silence in the class, with the exception of a quiet dry hiccough from Harry once in a while.
Finally, Harry looked up and straight at Snape, his grimace of pure self loathing and twisted as if Snape should know already exactly what was wrong.
"Merlin's second nature simple dinner cooking for the child room." Harry pointed at his head and glanced towards his friends, his shoulders slumped. "Broken."
"Harry..." Hermione breathed, her expression soft and full of pity. Ron looked equally lost, unsure whether Harry needed reassurance or to pretend nothing was wrong. Harry shook his head as he then went to say something more, pointing at where his brain was again.
"Broken."
"That is an inappropriate conclusion." Snape finally answered, putting the wand back into Harry's hand and turning him to face the table. He lifted Harry's wand arm and pointed it towards the front chalkboard, where the shattered bowl lay.
"Reparo." Snape said lowly, right beside Harry's ear.
"Reparo." Harry whispered, tired and defeated now. The shattered bowl pieces skittered across the floor as they danced around the grains of rice and merged back together.
"Evanesco." Snape prompted, pointing the wand at the scorch marks on the table.
"Evanesco." Harry repeated, watching as the marks sunk into the wood and wove into the wood grains.
"Accio rice and bowl." Snape finished, flicking the wand. He nudged Harry to repeat him when it seemed like Harry wouldn't.
"Accio rice and bowl." Harry dutifully muttered, using the bowl as a mitt to catch the rice.
Snape let go of his arm before clamping a firm grip down on Harry's shoulder and turning him towards the door.
"We shall be in my quarters." Snape proclaimed in a tone that dared anyone to object. Not a word was spoken and Snape swiftly marched Harry out of the room.
.........
"Tell me what happened." Snape demanded, pushing Harry to sit down in his wingback chair and passing through to the kitchen.
"Dad. Mouth and thinking bit...brain. Out of order. Can't connect...speak properly." Harry protested, his voice full of annoyance. Snape came back into the room after fishing through the kitchen cabinet, handing Harry a calming draught.
"I didn't tell you to say it perfectly." Snape growled, "I want you to tell me in your own words why you almost set the classroom on fire."
"Engorgio jinx, charm, accidentally said as ennervate." Harry glared back as he swallowed the potion. "Then fire came. Incendio."
"And you didn't stop after the first wrong spell?" Snape asked, sounding annoyed.
"Reparo. Tried to recharge it. Fix it." Harry slumped in the couch, arms crossed like a petulant child.
"But you let yourself get panicked and frustrated, which made the paraphasia worse." Snape countered.
"Yes!" Harry spat, standing up out of the chair. "I tried to change myself, but I didn't repair it."
"And you're angry about it now?" Snape provoked, standing up as well. "Because you couldn't get a spell right? Because you're not perfect?"
"I'm broken. Fuck." Harry cursed, throwing the vial into the fireplace, where it smashed against the back black stones.
"You are not." Snape hissed, grabbing Harry's shoulders and spinning him to face Snape. "Smash anything else and you will be gluing it back together the muggle way. You don't just get to be angry over what happened to you. You have brain damage."
Harry blinked as those words set in. They'd discussed missing skills and memories constantly over the past two days, but it had never been given a label. Snape saw the recognition too.
"Your brain is damaged." He repeated. "It was not your fault, but it is irreversible. You either deal with it, or you let it consume you."
"Easy as cupcake for you, you don't explode the shelter every time you make tea." Harry huffed.
"You'd have to be an idiot to burn tea, Elliot." Snape responded sarcastically.
"I know I'm stupid!" Harry burst, getting out of the chair. "Don't recollect me!" Harry was frustrated with Snape and himself, and unsure of how to fix the Daily Prophet's article. The calming draught was starting to work, however, and his angry pacing was more of an irritated saunter as he passed back and forth in front of the fireplace.
"Enough!" Snape snarled. He jabbed his wand into the air and silently summoned Harry's shoes, thrusting them towards Harry.
"You're kicking me up? Out?" Harry asked, stilling as he dropped his shoes to the floor.
"I'm sending you on a walk so you can think things out and I don't do anything rash. Dobby!"
The little elf popped into view between Harry and Snape, thirteen various tea cosies swaying almost trance-like from his head. He opened his mouth to greet them but snapped it shut upon sensing the spark of angry magic in the room.
"Fetch Elliot's invisibility cloak, the Marauder's map, and his babelfish."
"Yes, sir, Master Snape sir." Dobby squeaked, reappearing less than two minutes later. Snape kept everything but the cloak and sent Harry out the door, with the instructions not to be seen by anyone and to be back in twenty minutes.
.................
Hard rubber smacked rhythmically against the uneven stone floors of the dungeons as Harry walked deeper into the darkness, the few wall sconces throwing bizarre shadows against the walls as the flames flickered. He could hear the sounds of chattering and laughter from other students, Slytherins, around the corners and down other twists of hallways, as if they were all in some sort of mad fun house maze. Harry finally stopped as he came to the familiar wooden door, taking another breath of air and admitting to himself that Snape had been right. The walk had helped, though he'd thrown on his cloak quickly after encountering a group of seventh years. "Family not good enough for you, Lord Potter?" still rang in his ears as an ugly sneer.
"Is he still there?" Harry asked, looking at the little carved snake in the door hinge.
The snake twisted its small tail and wriggled around on the hinge, circling before hissing at Harry.
"Don't make faces at me, I interrogated you if black material resided." Harry growled, looking around to make sure no students were approaching.
More hissing came in return, and the snake flicked a tiny carved tongue out almost angrily. Around the corner sounded a large crash, as if someone had dropped a stack of books, and Harry instantly looked that way, irritated.
"For the love of, just le..." Slowly, Harry turned his head back around and stared at the snake.
"You don't understand me." Harry said, his face blanching.
The snake hissed something back and swirled around on the hinge again.
"I negative, I don't comprehend grass vowels." Harry continued distractedly. With the removal of the horcrux he'd lost his parseltongue. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? The parseltongue had only ever caused him trouble, from being locked in the cupboard for a week for setting the python on Dudley, to branded an outcast on suspicion of being Slytherin's heir. Being a parselmouth had set him apart from his classmates, it was something that dark wizards were, and it had been a solid and undeniable link to Voldemort. In second year he would have given anything not be a parselmouth, not to be standing on the duelling platform in the Great Hall, Snape standing on one side with a shrewd calculating look, a bemused Lockhart on the other, and a hundred students staring at him grotesquely.
Normality was what he wanted, whatever normal was for the wizarding world, and a parselmouth was not that. But that didn't explain why he felt like he'd lost another part of himself.
"Down at Fraggle Rock." Harry muttered, pushing open the door and walking inside.
The hallway was dark and empty, and Harry hung his outer robe up on the menacing coat hanger, kicking off his shoes as he entered into the main living room. The wall sconces and chandelier lit automatically as he entered, but there were no other signs of life in the flat. Snape was either in his own room or had left for his own walk.
Harry slumped down on the couch, picking up a small mirror that was resting on the side table. In a few hours would be Dumbledore's funeral. A pale face stared back at him from the mirror, shaggy black hair that was longer than usual and stood up in all the wrong directions framing a pasty white face and a clear forehead. No matter how many times he looked, it always seemed startling not to see the lightning bolt scar mocking him. His eyes were still the same viridian green that his mother had, but the irises were darker from seeing too many things that he should never have, and reflected against the small circles under his eyes.
Chapped lips and lopsided glasses completed the look, as well as patchy stubble that was growing around his chin and neck, one of the reasons he'd needed to see Snape today. He'd forgotten the shaving charm. To his left, the door to Snape's bedroom opened and his dad walked out, hair damp and with a small blue hand towel draped over his left shoulder.
"Are you calmer now?" Snape asked, smoothing something small and yellow over in his fingers.
"I'm not a present speech." Harry said glumly.
"I did not quite catch that." Snape said, stilling his hands.
"Parseltongue is gone." Harry corrected.
"Ah." Snape crooked a finger at him and Harry stood, walking over towards Snape.
"Was there any particular snake you wished to relay a message to?"
Harry stopped and looked at Snape, confusion over his face.
"I..er..well no. But you need the scrapings, no the skin and ivory...teeth," Harry gritted, "for your beer. Potions."
Snape looked like he was trying not to smirk.
"I have a memory of you speaking parseltongue, the exact words needed to enter the Chamber of Secrets." Snape commented, not sounding all that bothered by the prospect of not being able to retrieve things from the basilisk. Then again, if Rita Skeeter had been able to produce the newspaper picture of Harry from her memory, Snape could probably produce the snake language as well.
"Put this in." Snape commanded, handing over Harry's babelfish. Harry scrunched his face, but slipped the squirming yellow wormlike gadget into his ear. He suddenly remembered what he was going to tell Snape and blurted it out before he could forget.
"The newspaper picture was a memor-woah." Harry blinked as he heard his own voice repeated softly in his head.
"A memory?" Snape asked, his eyes focused.
"Why can I hear myself?" Harry asked, rubbing the bottom of his ear gently.
"Because the babelfish is repeating your words, to keep your speech on track. Why do you say the newspaper photo is a memory?" Snape prodded.
"I sound weird." Harry said, tilting his head on an angle as he listened to his own voice parroting himself.
"Elliot! Focus." Snape tsked in irritation.
"She's a bug animagus." Harry said, lowering and raising his voice to test the difference in volume. "She must have been in the room last night."
"And you've known this since when?" Snape's voice carried an annoyed edge to it, much like it did in class when Harry had missed something obvious.
"Since the Triwizard tournament." Harry said, his focus completely on topic now. "But I only just remembered it earlier."
"And you didn't think it prudent to tell me this straight away?" Snape demanded, pulling his frock cuffs straight around his wrists.
"I just pensed it! I've had a lot on my brain today with everyone thinking I'm the next dark king!" Harry snapped back.
"What did I tell you about the attitude?" Snape warned, grabbing Harry's shirt and making him stand straight. "You have been remarkably well behaved since you came to my home last summer, and the old arrogant Potter has disappeared. Do not go back to that now, I will absolutely not stand for disrespect. Not from my son." Snape let go of his shirt and Harry stumbled back.
"I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated." Harry mumbled, keeping his eyes downcast.
"This is not about the article." Snape stated, tapping his foot.
"I almost set fire to a bloody classroom today, because I said the wrong spell. What if I'm stuck like this for the rest of my life? What if I never get better?"
"You will." Snape said, arms crossed as he scrutinized Harry.
"How do you know?" Harry asked slowly.
"Because Potters never usually know when to quit, and Snapes are too proud to give up," his dad answered immediately.
"Pride, another of the deadly sins." Harry muttered, rubbing his ear where the babelfish was. It was squirming a little and felt odd.
"One hundred and eighty-seven." Snape immediately countered, his face curiously blank.
"What?"
"One hundred and eighty-seven is the number of howlers I received upon my first day as a professor, fifteen years ago. I was twenty-one."
Snape gave Harry a pointed look with a raised eyebrow, and Harry blinked. The lines around Snape's face betrayed a rough life, but his face wasn't scarred and his eyes still had fierce light in them. The jagged mark on his neck, the favour from Voldemort that he refused to talk about, was hidden by his long hair and high cuff of the old fashioned shirt he wore. Snape looked much the same that he always did in his strict black Edwardian frock coat, but his shoulders were held a fraction higher. Snape was a free man, finally.
"They don't like us much, do they?" Harry finally said, knowing that the howlers hadn't stopped at one hundred and eighty-seven.
"You will get used to it." Snape answered. "Now tell me what time it is, you need to do something with that hair and get ready for the funeral."
Harry glanced at his watched and concentrated.
"It's ten past bugger off." Harry mumbled, walking towards the washroom. He suddenly yelped and started scurrying, dodging another stinging hex along the way.
.........
The funeral for Dumbledore was held in the front courtyard, and it didn't take long for Harry to find either Ron or Hermione. The students still parted when they saw him, something that he begrudgingly appreciated as he made his way to his best friends. The weather was absolutely miserable for a cold January Scottish day, and before Harry was allowed to leave Snape's flat he'd been wrapped up in a warm wool cloak, his own apparently not dressy enough for the occasion. Harry was also wearing a dark green tie of Snape's, one that his dad didn't know he'd nicked.
He sat nestled between Hermione and Ginny, the former who had her head resting on Ron's shoulder, and the latter who was staring at the centuars and other forest inhabitants that had come onto one of the fields below. Harry didn't hear most of the speeches that were said, and he didn't recognise many of the older witches and wizards that had come to pay their respects.
Instead, Harry sat and thought about the past five and a half years that he'd known the headmaster, from the very moment on the train he'd seen the chocolate frog wizard card of the man, to the cold determination in the blue eyes as he'd taken the final portkey. Whatever grudges he'd had with how the headmaster had handled things over the years, Harry felt at peace knowing he'd stayed Dumbledore's man to the end. Even after Harry's slight fallout in the fall, Dumbledore had trusted both him and Snape to carry through their tasks.
He looked up to the side of the courtyard, where the Hogwarts staff stood, dressed sombrely and standing in silent respect. Harry figured they were doing the same as him, remembering the headmaster they knew. As he moved from face to face, from McGonagall's tear stained one, to Snape's stony neutral expression, Hagrid's open sobbing, and the dabbing of a handkerchief to Madame Pomfrey's cheeks, Harry wondered if Dumbledore had ever had a lover, or if he'd given his life for the school.
A signal sounded that broke Harry out of his thoughts, and they all filed out of the courtyard to the front lawn that stood proudly in front of Hogwarts. Harry and his friends kept to the back and looked over the blur of heads that made up the younger and shorter students standing in front. A solitary figure, dressed in dark robes, made his way across the field and towards a freshly dug hole in the ground, an elegant yew tree wrapped in burlap floating behind him. Snape had mentioned that Aberforth Dumbledore had fought the Ministry for the right to spearhead the ceremony, though Harry hadn't caught the reason why. It was something to do with a family debt, and it was left at that.
The yew was planted, a powerful spell from Aberforth keeping the snow away and warming the ground. He lifted his arm steadily, the wand of his brother pointing to the sky, before leaning down and pressing the wand into the tree, deep at the base by the roots. Dirt was spelled over the hole, solidifying its presence, and slowly the snow seeped back to cover it as if it were a warm blanket. Aberforth stepped back, ignoring the crowd as the tree shuddered to life in front of him, its branches swaying slightly in the still January air.
"For every one that parts, one stands above ground." Professor McGonagall murmured, forgetting that her voice was still under the sonorous charm.
.........
The common room was very subdued after the funeral. Dinner wouldn't be for another two hours or so, and as classes had been cancelled for the day, the students were milling around in the dorms and free to roam to other parts of the castle as well. Harry and Ron escaped up to the empty dorm room, promising they'd meet Hermione for dinner later. Harry sat on his own bed, facing Ron and slowly undoing his tie. Snape's tie. He kicked off his shoes, one of them disappearing under his bed, and hung the dress cloak up on a hook that was on his bedpost.
"That's a nice cloak, Harry." Ron said, sprawling out on his own bed.
"It's Dad's. He made me wear it ‘cause it looks nicer than my regular one." Harry yawned, stretching out on his stomach and pulling his glasses off.
"Your...Dad?' came a questioning voice from the corner. Harry lifted his head and through the blur realised that Neville had been resting on his own bed, silently reading a book behind mostly hidden curtains.
"Neville..." Ron started, exhaling a breath.
"You mean Snape, don't you?" Neville asked, his voice carrying an inner confidence that hadn't been there his first few years at Hogwarts. He ignored Ron and stared straight at Harry.
"Yeah. He adopted me a while ago." Harry was propped up on his elbows now, scruffy hair partially obscuring his eyes. His posture almost challenged Neville to make a big deal of the news.
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but that does explain why he's hated you so much all these years." Neville finally answered, closing his book.
"It does?" Ron asked, not mentioning that the adoption was rather recent.
"Well, if Snape was a spy, he'd have to look like he hated Harry."
Harry sat up in bed suddenly, knocking his spectacles to the ground as he remembered what had been bothering him. He groped for his wand and pointed it at the empty space in the middle of the room.
"Expecto patronum!" Harry commanded, remembering a warm sunny day in Amsterdam when he'd fallen asleep at an outdoor café, sitting in Snape's lap and listening to the Benson family talk around him.
A white energetic blur stumbled into the room and Harry's mouth dropped as he watched his patronus nearly fall into the fire gate. Trevor the toad looked unimpressed, sitting bored on the end of Neville's bed.
"What happened to your stag?" Ron asked, barely able to reign in a snort. Neville was snickering as well and Harry summoned his glasses as if to ensure he was really seeing what he thought he saw. His patronus, instead of being a fully grown stag, appeared to have changed into a young fawn, with impossibly long unsteady legs, a short snout and very large ears that looked like they could intercept a radio signal. The very large eyes looked up at him and blinked, before the fawn snorted and nearly knocked itself on its arse. Ron gave up and burst into laughter.
"It's really cute, Harry." Neville coughed, looking like he was about to laugh too. Harry ignored them both, and focused on the fawn.
"Tell Severus Snape that the tick, no spi...bug is a car. A beetle." Harry said, giving the patronus a nod. It nuzzled his hand for a few seconds before turning and bounding off, running surprisingly fast on it's unsteady legs.
The room was quiet again and Harry looked up towards Neville, his breath hitched.
"What's your real name now?" Neville asked curiously, catching Harry off guard.
"Elliot Fyodor Snape." Harry answered, still waiting for Neville to say something about his father being a sadistic greasy git. Beside him, Ron lay back in his own bed and pulled a quidditch magazine open.
"Sounds like a proper strong name." Neville answered mildly, catching Harry off guard.
"It was supposed to be my normal life to escape to. The non-famous one." Harry shrugged, picking at the watch on his wrist. He'd always considered Neville to be a good friend, one that even though he was rather shy, would be loyal to what he believed was right.
"It's alright, Harry. I'd give anything to have my parents back, but I've at least got my Gran and my Uncle." Neville said, opening his book again. Trevor croaked and slowly shifted on the book he was sitting on.
Harry smiled and settled down for a short nap, preparing for whatever else the newspaper decided to expose in its evening edition. He scrunched his hands up under his pillow, missing the steady hum from the radiator in his room at Spinner's End. He had absolutely no doubt as to why Neville was sorted Gryffindor.