Wonders Never Cease by Hopeless Wanderer

“Looking a bit lost over there.” Said a mousy voice, closer than Harry had imagined. He was leaning against a break wall, his breathing previously labored, his palms sweaty. He was terrified. He should have been.

He opened his eyes and slowly glanced over to the voice.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I was just leaving.”

Instead of leaving, or leering at him, the muggle smiled. “Oh, it’s fine.” She waved a hand and then looked over her shoulder, to the bustling crowd. “This place is a bit crowded for a first-timer, I know the feeling.”

“Alright.”

“I’m Emily, I’m the baker’s daughter.” She pointed to the wall Harry was leaning upon to get his wits together. It must have belonged to the bakery store she was talking about. Hastily, Harry pushed himself off the wall and straightened his clothes.

“Nice to meet you Emily.” He said a bit out of breath. He was interacting with a muggle. Actually talking to her. He crammed his hands deep into his pockets, he couldn’t afford to touch her, hurting her in the process.

Dad was already going to be mad at him.

They stood shrouded under an awkward silence before Harry’s mind snapped back to reality.

“Oh right…” she was waiting for Harry to introduce himself, as was the etiquette when you met someone new. Harry knew that his social skills left much to be desired, but he was supposed to know the basics of this. “I’m Harry.”

She nodded with a tight-lipped smile. “Well hello, Harry.” Her voice was really soft and caring. Harry liked to just listen to her speak.

“You work in a bakery?” he asked, licking his lips.

Emily shrugged. “Not really, my mom wouldn’t let me touch anything in the kitchens. So I just help around and carry stuff.”

Harry turned, half-heartedly looking out at the street, a bit more vacant now than it was when Harry jumped in the alleyway. Emily followed his gaze.

“Do you want to go for a stroll?” she asked but was already moving, Harry had no other choice but follow her. “I know it’s a bit crowded today, but it is Sunday. The markets are bound to get a bit busier.”

Harry nodded, taking meticulous care not to touch her as they joined the other muggles on the street, passing the bakery. She looked over her shoulder with a grin.

“So are you new here?”

Was he new here?

“Sort of,”

Emily raised her eyebrows at him, she was walking back through the crowd, keenly watching him. “I’m going to guess something,”

“Guess what?”

“I think I might know you,” she said with a shrug, sliding past a bustling woman fiddling with her bag. Harry felt the urge to reach out and pull Emily out of the way, or look over his shoulder and make sure that no one caught him touching someone else.

Then the words sank deeper.

“Know me?” Harry’s eyes widened. No way, she couldn’t know him, he was sure of that. No one got near their home, no one even knew the cottage was inhabited by anyone other than Severus Snape. She couldn’t know.

Emily, unheeding to his inner freak out, shrugged again. “I have a feeling, you’re the mysterious boy living uphill?”

Oh no. She did know. Harry felt his heart squeeze against his lungs. How did she know?

His expression must have given something away because Emily stopped with a wary frown. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry’s throat convulsed at the thought of moving again. He didn’t want to burden his dad with this. He knew he should not have done this. He knew that sneaking away was wrong, he knew that Dad wouldn’t approve, that he might hurt someone. He was hurting someone, if forced to run again, then Dad would be the one Harry hurt. Again and again and again.

Why didn’t he ever learn?

“Hey,” Emily reached out to grasp his shoulder and Harry sprang away, violently flinching away from her touch, eliciting a short gasp from the girl and a yelp from the person he bumped into. Harry rolled on the hills of his feet, stiffening his body to avoid touch.

“Sorry!” he blindly shouted to the crowd, to whomever he had bumped into. He was fine, he was fine . He wasn’t going to hurt anyone, not Emily, not all these muggles.

“Hey, hey Harry,” She didn’t try touching him again, her face swam in Harry’s blackening vision. Harry wasn’t freaking out. He was fine. He had to be fine.

“Let’s get out of the crowd, alright?”

He was walking as she led them away, not really sure where they were headed. Harry’s arms were firmly by his side, one single touch, one wrong move and this time Dad had more to repent for than getting rid of dead muggle children.

Children he murdered, drained, tore apart with the sheer force of his pain and anger. Children he enjoyed tearing apart.

Dad’s wrong, he thought as Emily led them to a narrow alley, the one he was originally standing in. Dad was wrong, there was no barrier between Harry and the monster, no distinct place where Harry began and the monster ended. Harry was the monster Dad tried his hardest to hide.

“It’s fine now,” she said, prompting him to lean against the bakery’s wall, and Harry did, flushing in shame.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Emily pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. Sorry about that, so you don’t like touching, that’s cool.”

“Not really,”

She chuckled. “I guess not, but who am I to talk? My baggage isn’t a walk in the park either.”

“I need to-.” Get back home to his dad, fall onto his knees, and beg for forgiveness that he loathed admitting Dad would grant him sooner than he should have. Beg and plead and pray that no one dies on the way back.

“Have a mint?” She dug into her pockets for a moment, biting her lip and sheepishly holding his gaze. Finally, she withdrew her closed fit from her pocket and brushed some imaginary lint off the small round treat. Harry accepted the mint with a frown.

“Sorry, that’s been in my pocket for a while now.” Harry popped it in his mouth, feeling his lungs expand more easily as he inhaled. “I don’t think it changes the taste?” Emily asked with a cringe, then she leaned against the wall next to him.

“No,” Harry shook his head.

She nodded, and they were silent again, listening to the chitter-chatter of the buzzing morning crowd and nearby birds.

“Do you want to come over?” Emily asked, quite suddenly, as if just remembering that she could talk.

Harry stared at her.

Dad was nothing like Emily, or Harry guessed, other people. He never needed to clarify anything for his son, when he spoke, he chose every word with care, every sentence painted clearly with no hidden intents.

He treated Harry, not as a separate person he lived with, but as an extension to his own mind. Harry always thought he knew what Dad meant to him, what his words, the look in his eyes, or the curl in his mouth said about him.

Not that Harry was the same in return. Not since…well since.

When Emily spoke, she had to explain herself, making Harry askance, making him wonder what she really meant, it all added to that glittery aura of ambiguity around her, one he wasn’t sure whether he liked yet or not.

“To the bakery,” she answered his unasked question. “And I could get you a pie. Mom could call your dad.”

“My dad,” Harry couldn’t help but snort at the absurdity of that image. Of him sitting in a booth with this muggle girl, eating pie while her mother called Dad to come get him. It was almost as ridiculous as Harry attending kindergarten was.

“Yeah, the gloomy one that only pops in once a week. I guessed you might be his son…was I wrong?”

She just guessed that out of the blue? “How did you guess?” Harry’s frown remained fixated on his face.

“This is a really small town,” Emily laughed, a bit humorlessly. The way Dad did sometimes when they talked about his inferior peers back in his school days. “Everyone is into everyone else’s business, except for the gloomy dude-err.”

“He is my dad.” Harry couldn’t help but grin as he confirmed her. He had never heard anyone call his father ‘gloomy’. Even Harry himself never referred to his dad as gloomy…just different, like Harry himself was.

“Right.” Emily smiled back and Harry felt something in his chest melt into his heart. “So, apple pie?”

“Sure.”

**

“I think I kind of like you Harry,” Emily giggled into his ear, intimately close but not really touching him. They were sitting next to each other, just watching the clouds, well, at least Harry was watching them. He liked staring at things in-depth, being mesmerized by them, losing himself in the tiny details he was sure no one else noticed at face value.

Their days spent together were short, fleeting, a shroud of oranges, and the smell of sweet-savory pastries, stolen mornings while his Dad slept in or worked in his lab. Quick, feather touched interactions that they mostly spent laying around and sneaking treats and watching the clouds.

She didn’t mind him staring at things for a long time, it would have been rude otherwise, Dad would have said so, but Emily didn’t mind. She’d flick her blond hair, lean back against her arms and watch him watch other things.

It was a nice thing they had together, for such a short fragile amount of time.

Emily might just be his first friend after his Dad.

Reluctantly, Harry tore his gaze away from the passing clouds. “I like you too Emily.” She was a nice muggle. She understood things others wouldn’t have. He hadn’t managed to screw things up with her yet, she hadn’t realized that he was a monster. Harry liked to keep it that way, for just a bit.

As selfish as it was.

“No stupid,” her eye-rolling was vividly more exaggerated than his father’s. Dad did it with grace, quick, sarcastic. Followed by a witty comeback that shamed Harry into wielding over the argument, Emily did it flippantly, with all her might, with a force that made Harry wonder whether it hurt.

“I like you,” she drawled again, almost singing. “Like you like a boy.”

“Like you like a boy?”

“Yeah,” she gave a nervous giggle, pushing a strand of ginger hair behind her ear. She did that a lot, it might have been annoying, except that it wasn’t. She reminded him of rays of sunshine rippling against his closed eyes or a cool glass of orange juice on a hot summer day.

“You’re really cute.” Her face flushed severely, and she dropped her gaze. Something weird and cozy spread through Harry’s chest. This was nice. She was nice. What they had was more than nice.

“Thanks,” Harry had no other response than that, and then he felt stupid for such a simplistic way to respond to a compliment. He didn’t know how to handle talking to her. She demanded things from Harry that he yet didn’t know.

“You’re cute too.” It was a good comeback, returning a compliment with a compliment. They were friends. Harry thought they were friends.

Dad shouldn’t know that he was gone yet, not for some time, he was still asleep, unaware of his son’s constant betrayal. Well, Harry couldn’t go as far as calling it a betrayal, but sneaking out wasn’t among his wisest decisions so far. Dad would flay him alive if he found out Harry was outside, every other morning, interacting with other muggles…talking with a muggle girl who he dared call ‘friend’.

A friend now eyeing him with a certain glint in her eyes.

Yeah, definitely flay him alive.

“How do you like a boy?” it occurred to him later than it should have, but Harry’s mind was whirring with the thought of his father waking and finding his son’s room empty, the window open, the breeze shuffling his curtains, his bed still unmade. Harry should have at least made the bed.

Emily hummed at his question. “I guess, like you like anyone.”

“Then why say it at all?”

“Would you just like to kiss anyone you like?”

Kiss?

“I don’t get it.”

“I’d guessed you wouldn’t.” she turned to face him with a teasing smirk. “Do you like me too? Enough to kiss me?”

She knew he didn’t like touching others. Kiss her? Was she insane? He could kill her with a flick of his head. It wouldn’t be right to do such a thing to her, a nice harmless girl with dreams and a family. It was morally wrong. But that was different than wanting to kiss her.

Wanting to do something and actually doing something were two separate things.

Harry could barely remember the last time Dad had shown physical affection towards him. Maybe when he was a child, eight, or nine, even younger. Dad wasn’t a touchy-feely person at all, and Harry himself wasn’t too keen on it as well. In fact, he was the one who weaned Dad off hugging or shoulder taps with careful dodging and flinching.

He didn’t want to hurt his dad more than he already was. Dad respected that. They understood each other.

Did he want to kiss Emily and risk killing her? No. But did he crave kissing someone , especially after years of depravation and trembling fear? Well, yes. Yes, he very much wanted to kiss Emily. She was very pretty, she knew a lot about respecting boundaries, and she smelled like apple pies.
A faint flush spread on his cheeks and Harry ducked his head.
“I like you a lot,” he admitted, his eyes back on the clouds. “Maybe I would want to kiss you.” Harry hoped that kissing was something other people did when they liked each other. Harry didn’t want to hurt her.

Emily nodded and laid back on the grass. “Maybe I would want to kiss you too.”

They stared at the clouds.

Later that morning, she would take him behind a tree and kiss him. Later that evening Harry will have the second biggest fight of his life with his Dad. A week from then, when he’s kissing Emily for the last time, he sees Santa’s Nemesis and another man, staring at him with wide rounded eyes.

That night, he and Dad would disappear.

**

“What do you think of adding pansies to the garden?” Dad mused, “They might need a little extra care, but I’m confident the results would make for extraordinary fever-reducing potions,”

“Dad?” they were sitting in their backyard, on the steps. Near Dad’s herbs garden.

Severus was busy examining his garden. His head slightly twitched towards Harry, realizing that the graveness of Harry’s tone didn’t possibly match his lighthearted question. “Hmm?”

“I want to hear ‘Raven and his little fawn.”

Dad hummed again, thoughtfully. “You haven’t asked for that in some time.” it was true. Harry hadn’t dared ask for a story voluntarily ever since he mustered up enough courage to stop exiling himself to his bed. If he was old enough to kill people, then he was old enough to stop demanding for storytime.

Today was an exception. Harry really wasn’t doing it for his own benefit, although he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t missed his father’s stories at all, didn’t crave them like a thirsty man lost in a desert because he did. This wasn’t about him though. This was about being a good son. This was about cheering up Dad.

Dad loved telling Harry stories, or Harry thought that he did anyway. He seemed truly torn up when Harry asked him to stop a few months back. This should be a nice respite. Make them unbroken somehow.

“I miss them.” He didn’t sound convincing, not in the slightest. But he meant it, he really did. He didn’t miss the stories, specifically. He missed himself, the Harry he was before, and he missed his dad too. His dad from before. He wished there was a way to make this stop, make everything stop just for a moment so he could breathe easily again.

He had been wishing so ever since he woke up dazed and restless, to his father gently stroking his head, softly telling him that it wasn’t his fault as he washed his face clean, wiped the blood away. Their blood. There was so much blood.

And Harry cried and kicked and swore. He screamed and wished, oh how he wished that he could cease to exist but not undergo this kind of suffering.

Dad stared at him, he knew him too well to buy in this little act. “Harry-”

“I miss us, Dad.” That caught the older man off guard. Harry hadn’t meant to say it, not at all, but now the dam was broken, and he couldn’t stop. “I think I broke us, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix us Dad. It’s my fault. I killed…I killed people. I’m dangerous, I don’t want to be, I don’t want to hurt other people, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he paused to take a deep shaky breath. “I don’t know how I should stop being me. Did the little fawn ever go through this? Was he broken too?”

“Everyone is broken a little,” Dad said. his voice a steadying constant above Harry’s head. “The Raven was broken too before he found his little fawn.” He paused for another beat to stare into Harry’s eyes, willing him to understand. “I was broken before finding you.”

Harry burrowed his head back into his dad’s shoulder. “It’s my fault they’re dead.” He thought that maybe muffling the words into Dad’s robes would make the compact less devastating. It didn’t by much.

Dad’s response was immediate, almost as if his words were rehearsed time and time again in his head, and maybe they were. He and Dad never really talked about the incident before, by Harry’s insistence.

Harry could imagine the other man preparing a comforting speech in his head as he showed an indifferent front to a forlorn Harry. Waiting and bidding his time for an inevitable breakdown that never came.
It was such a dad thing to do.

“It’s not your fault that you’re alive and the way you are,” said Dad. “What those boys did to you…it was horrible. And I blame myself for it every minute of every day, but you cannot do the same. You have a great gift-”

“I ruin everything that I touch.”

Severus grasped his shoulder, firmly. “No you don’t.” he drew him back, made Harry look into his eyes, his expression solemn, but readable to Harry. Dad was upset. “You saved my life, and I vowed to save yours, no matter what.” Harry squirmed under his hold but his father was relentless. “You are a miracle, maybe you cannot be you just yet, like an untamed little cub, but once you grow up to be the best version of yourself then you’ll make the most magnificent lion there ever was.”

Harry flushed and tore his chin away, glancing at the herb garden. “You’re just saying that.”

“Have you known me to just say things?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he snorted. “You’re my dad, so by complimenting me, you’re just complimenting yourself.”

An affectionate hand ruffled his hair, and his father glared softly at him with a roll of his own eyes. “You brat.” Harry accepted the touch without flinching. There was no harsh sentiment behind his father’s words. Brat was a term of endearment. There never was any harsh insults even when Dad was cross with him.

Even though he had many reasons to be mad about when it came to Harry for ruining his life already.

“So…” Harry wriggled his toes. “The raven and his fawn.”

Severus hummed with a nod. “The raven and his fawn.”

**

Once there was a Raven and his Fawn. And they were the only thing the other had.

They traveled through the dark forest, hid from the hunters and wild animals, and learned to avoid danger by stealthily sneaking away at just the right moment. The Raven loved his little fawn, and the little fawn loved his Raven.

The Raven was always soaring above the trees, looking ahead at what the future held for them. As he protected the little fawn, he grew too attached, he didn’t mean to care for the fawn as if he was his own, but he couldn’t help it, he guided him with an assuring smile and a warm hold on his shoulder.

“I will always be here for you my little fawn,” said the Raven as he perched on the fawn’s shoulder. “You will never be alone, you will never be hurt. You will be by my side, always, as long as I’m alive.”

“I love you, Raven,”

“And I love you, little Fawn.”

All was well for them, as long as they had each other, leading the other through the intimidating darkness looming over the woods. It was very dangerous out there, very grievous indeed. The woods were filled with all sorts of monsters, dark creatures, and sharp-teethed beasts with a foul smell. The raven knew them all, and he was smart, too smart to let the monsters get to his fawn.

They played a game, sometimes. A very simple one. All the little fawn had to do was snuggle and hide away, stay in the shadows when strangers approached the due, and then the Raven would protect him. He could make no sounds, he could make no moves, he and the raven were the ones hiding, not seeking. The little fawn knew that rule well.

“Hide until they go away.”

Sometimes the monsters were smarter, and so the little fawn and the Raven had to be smart too. Sometimes, in order to win the game, the raven had to distract the bad men so the fawn stayed safe.

Sometimes the Raven had to lose.

Once the bad hunters had the raven, the little fawn had to run and run and run so far away! To the safe meadow, sheltered and blessed, playing and hopping around until his Raven was ready to come back.
And he would always do, as was the way it always went. He came back and found his fawn and they were happy again, playing and laughing and spending their days without a fret.

It was supposed to be that way.

It was supposed to .

**

“When I say this food is untouched, I’m making an oath Mr. Potter. It wasn’t touched nor opened prior to this moment.”

With a skeptical frown, Harry reached for the chocolate frog. “What is this?” he asked, his voice almost childlike. The tone startled Kingsley so much that he stammered. “Err,”

It took him a moment to gather his composure, and he cleared his throat. “That’s a chocolate frog.”

Harry’s eyes slightly widened, he spun the treat in his hand. “Is it really a frog?”

Shacklebolt could only shrug with a frown. “Well no,” he couldn’t believe that this kid didn’t know what a chocolate frog was, but then again, should he really have been surprised?

“It’s just charmed to behave like one. You want to be careful opening that, the chocolate might hop around.”

The child curled his lip and then leaned down to inspect the frog.

“That sounds counterproductive,” he said. “If it’s meant to be eaten.”

Kingsley had no idea how to respond to that statement. “Ah well…err…” he scratched the back of his neck with his quill. “Most children keep it for the cards?”

Potter seemed content with that answer. He dropped the chocolate and grabbed the wrapped plate.

“The other one is Shepard’s pie,” Kingsley said, feeling as if it would be the polite thing to do.

Harry’s eyes narrowed into a deadly glare instead. “I know what Shepard’s pie is,” he snapped, but pointedly shoved the wrapped plate away from himself.

He was more than familiar with Shepard’s pie. It was his comfort food, Dad being picky eater he was, didn’t indulge in the meal the same way Harry did but he made it at least once a week for Harry anyway, good-naturedly grumbling and glaring at Harry throughout the process. He made the food. Harry studied at the kitchen table, nibbling on fruit, a comfortable silence would settle between them, a rhythm that was the product of years of companionship.

This plastic-wrapped plate seemed like fate taunting him with the irony.

‘This is what you get for ruining his life, that one person who loved you,’ it seemed to say, and much to Harry’s dismay, fate might not be that far off the bat.

“Alright. Do you think you’re up to taking the potion tonight?”

“I want to sleep.” Harry’s hands lethargically came to rest upon his lap. He really was tired, but he also really didn’t want to take that potion tonight. Not until he could figure out a way to ensure his secret was safe with him.

He didn’t regret his initial decision. This would help Dad, more than help Dad, but it came with its price.

Harry couldn’t back out now, but he also needed to do something. He had to tell Kingsley. Not the secret, but enough so the man would keep his mouth shut during the questioning.

But what if he doesn’t? He works for these people, Harry was more than certain that if he let on that he was withholding that sort of information, then there was a good chance Shacklebolt would sell him out to his boss, or the ministry, or whoever ran this place…but on the other hand, he was desperate.

He should at least try. Harry nodded at himself. Test the waters first and then dive in.

“That’s absolutely fine.” Said the Auror as he was getting to his feet.

“We’ll take a short break for your interrogation tomorrow morning and then you can continue your story.”

Harry stifled the urge to reach out and grasp the man’s robe, and instead settled for clearing his throat. Kingsley remained, half-standing, his eyes narrowed. Harry gulped. “You have to understand something about me Mr. Shacklebolt.”

“Auror.” Kingsley gently interjected.

Harry ignored him. “There are things worth knowing that you cannot understand under surveillance.”

Surveillance was the main issue. Harry needed Kingsley Shacklebolt to cut that off somehow, without raising any suspicions.

Shacklebolt slowly sat back, his eyes bearing into Harry’s. “We’re not under any surveillance,” it was quite pathetic to see the man still attempting a bald-faced lie to Harry’s face when he should have known better.

‘What a moron,’ that was something his dad would say, with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m a child, not an idiot.” He snapped. “They’re watching me.” From the wall, undoubtedly, Harry didn’t know how many of them were watching, but he could feel their eyes on his back, his neck prickled with the sensation. “I can always tell when someone is watching me.” Harry leaned over the table, his eyes wide and begging the Auror to understand. “You need to understand.” He said aloud.

“Understand what?”

He needed to test the waters, get the man hooked.

“I ruin everything that I touch.”

Shacklebolt’s eyebrows furrowed. “Pardon?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “I ruin everything that I touch.” With a small sigh, he lowered his voice. They might still be able to hear him, but muttering would make Harry feel better. “There’s more. You need to know,” desperation started bleeding into his words. He missed his dad. “Someone needs to understand.”

Shacklebolt remained stubborn, but at least his eyes were narrowed.

Harry had his attention. “You can talk freely in this room,” the man said and Harry sagged back against his seat. This was a failure. An absolute loss. If Shacklebolt wanted to play daft, then Harry couldn’t force the man into not being a dimwit.

He was too tired to deal with this.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you really understood.” He laced those words with as much venom as he could muster in that state of mind. He needed rest, needed to think again.

“Harry,”

Harry’s eyes opened, his face screwed in a snarl. “Do not call me by my name.” he had no right to do that. “You don’t get to do that, only my father gets to call me by my name.”

Even if Harry didn’t deserve to be called by his name even by his father. Well…by Severus who apparently wasn’t his real father, but it didn’t count. Harry knew that it didn’t count, he didn’t care for anyone else the same way. He didn’t love his own parents as he loved Severus. There was no Severus. There was only Dad. And Harry wished he knew that sooner, maybe then he could have prevented this.

“I don’t want to talk anymore.” He said, and he was telling the truth. He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to weep, and he wanted his father back. “I want to sleep.”

Kingsley wasn’t letting it go. “You need to eat something.” he gestured at the food and Harry wanted nothing more than to blast the whole bloody thing into smithereens.

“I don’t need to do anything.” He bit out. “I’m tired, I want to sleep.”
Shacklebolt gazed at him for a moment longer before standing again.

“Very well then. Good night, Mr. Potter.”

As he was closing the door behind him, he heard Harry whisper. “Not while I’m trapped here. It won’t be a good night at all.”

**

“He’s in the last one,” said an unassuming guard with a flick of his head towards the row of cells. The old wizard nodded his thanks and brushed a hand against his robes. He took his time, walking down the corridor; it had been a while since he’d been here. He didn’t have much to do in a holding wing filled with prisoners awaiting trial, not since Sirius’ unfortunate escape and arresting last year, Albus didn’t fathom coming back again for some time.

He stood before the warded door with slight apprehension. For once in a long while, Albus had little knowledge of what to expect. Severus always had that streak of surprise within him, always a new trick in his sleeve, something that caught the old man off guard, and Albus could surely think that this one trumped all other instances.

The guard nearby, nodded at him, his face scrawny and grim with years of experience in this job. Albus nodded back. The guard let him in.

“Severus,”

“Albus,”

Albus conjured a plain wooden chair with his wand and settled in. “I cannot quite say that it’s a pleasure to meet you again my friend, not under these circumstances.” He gestured at the overzealous chains locking the younger man down to his own seat.

“The sentiment goes both way Headmaster,” Snape drawled dryly. He was avidly keen to avoid the headmaster’s gaze. “I’m not heavily obliged to greet you either.”

“They’re treating you well, I’m assuming?”

Severus’s sneer prompted a smile on Albus’s face as he said. “Like a delicate little flower.”

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes pruned with an amused smirk. “It’s nice, knowing that time changes so little about you Severus,”

Something shifted in Severus’s eyes, a dark lurking shadow. “That does disgust you doesn’t it?” muttered the frowning man. “Once a monster, always a monster.”

Albus stared at him, his face passive but his mind whirring. “Not in the slightest.” He finally said. “I’ve missed you greatly in your absence. You have been busy too, haven’t you?”

“Don’t even pretend you don’t know everything you old bumbling fool. I know what you want from me, and you’re not going to get it.”
“What do you think I want?”

Severus finally dared to look at him, directly stare into his eyes with a loathing that made Albus inwardly shiver. It wasn’t necessarily directed at him, he knew that, but Severus was enraged, not just by Albus, but by everyone around him. “I think that your wants are correlating with my priorities.” His words were soft, but that did not soften their impact. “You’re not going to find him. I won’t let you.”

He’s worried about the boy. Well, of course, he was worried about him. The ministry’s method of acquiring Severus must have been terrifying to the boy, and Severus himself as well. If Harry hadn’t given himself up to the ministry, Albus shuddered to think what would have become of the boy.

“Harry is safe, Severus.” It didn’t exactly count as a reassurance. Severus wouldn’t believe him until he saw Harry himself.

“Of course he is. I made sure of it. You can dig the earth inch by inch, yard by yard with a rusty shovel and you would still be just as baffled. He cannot be found, nor rescued. I won’t let you get him.”

“There’s no need for this hostility Severus, we are old friends, and we have one thing in common.”

“We both care about the boy.”

“You’ll have to kill me first, I am not telling you a thing, Albus.”

“No need for that,” The headmaster smiled with a wave of his hand.
“Nor a rusty shovel. I already know where young Harry is Severus.”

Something died in Severus. He was sure of it. Some limb or inner organ was gone from his body as the headmaster spoke, leaving his veins to spurt blood in his guts and order his body to exude cold like a corpse. “No you don’t.” of course he didn’t.

They had no way of knowing where Harry was. You cannot find something you can never trace.

“He gave himself up to the ministry two days ago. Walked right in and demanded to be arrested.”

“What?” it sure as hell didn’t sound like a question to Severus himself. He barely heard the words he breathed.

“And the most curious thing happened,”

“You have my-”

“We don’t have him,” Albus spread his arms with a flourish. “He surrendered himself to us. He was fully consenting as Aurors led him to his holding place.”

No. this couldn’t be happening. He had been so sure, so bloody sure that Harry was safe, that he wasn’t stupid enough to try and come after him. He was supposed to follow the instructions, he was supposed to play the game, not walk right into the lion’s den.

“No,” he said in denial. This could be a lie, a trap. Albus Dumbledore wasn’t known for his lying, but Severus knew better. Everyone who wielded any kind of power lied well. Albus was a spectacular liar.

This could be a ruse. To try and get him to give up Harry’s location. His son is smart. He wouldn’t just surrender himself like that, not in a million years. He knew how the story went. He had to know. When they took the raven, the little fawn ran . He ran far away until the day the raven came back to find him. He didn’t fucking surrender himself to the bloody hunters!

“Severus,”

“You’re lying,” he growled.

Albus returned his jeering with a calmness that irritated Severus more than his words. “If I wanted to lie to you, I would have done so regarding much more pressing matters.”

He had a point, Severus wasn’t blind. “No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Arrest him for what? Being kidnapped by a deranged Death Eater? Is the ministry sinking that low now? Arresting minors?” every word out of the man’s mouth was stressed, but his face betrayed nothing but hatred.

“He has certain claims,” Albus answered calmly.

The man chuckled, out of disbelief it seemed. “He has no right to claim anything.” Albus felt his eyebrows rise above his hairline. “He’s an innocent child I stole and manipulated through the years. He’s nothing but a gullible daft boy.”

“He confessed to the murders,”

Severus didn’t let the other man see or hear the sudden intake of breath, the inhaled surprise, the utter shock and devastation in the form of one measly gasp. Severus was too good of an Occlumence to fall into such humane traps. “The ones that I committed.” He shot that response, almost impulsively.

Albus frowned for a beat. “The ones that he did.”

“It’s curious,” he continued, “The things that we do for the people we love. James Potter for his son, you for yours.”

“Shut up.”

“You held up magnificently,” Albus nodded as if approving of Severus’s paternal technics. “Raising and loving a child is hard work. Not everyone is sculptured to care for another human being, be responsible for them, and carve them into a person with the right beliefs and perceptions. You have done splendidly.”

“You know nothing,” Severus might have as well spat those words as he forced them past his lips with force. He was angry, beyond infuriated and lulled into a dangerous calm that promised a blow up in the near future. And Severus was so desperately itching for an explosion.

“I know.” Albus’s tone was annoyingly pleasant.

Sev’s eyes narrowed with hatred. A trained response, he might not have been ready for this encounter, but he had rehearsed this speech many times in his head. As long as it took to sound convincing, unhinged, a rambling mad man destined to be imprisoned for the rest of his life. “I kidnapped him because I hated his father,” he said.
“Because I craved the torment that came upon his son after his death, I did it for the same reason I killed those children and hurt that muggle woman, and cursed the others, because I COULD.”

He rattled his chains with a smirk. It was a hateful one. One he hadn’t felt upon his face for years and years since having Harry. “And because it felt good. I would do it again the moment I am out of here, while you’re all too busy searching for dead ends inside a teenager’s head. I’d kill, and torture and torment every soul I can get my hands on. The way my lord intended for me. To have his revenge for him.”

Albus sat through the rant, his leg draped over the other and his hands idly circling his knee. His expression betrayed none. His eyes remained on Severus, unflinching at the cruel words. “You always had a way with words,” he finally said as Severus’s words ran out and there was only haggard breathing.

“Not many knew that about you,” Severus’s snarl went unheeded and the old man continued. “How you can adapt and put yourself in somebody else’s shoes, in this instant…an unstable Death Eater ranting out of desperation.” Albus shook his head, only slightly. “It’s what made you into a wonderful spy Severus. Your words are always on point…” his hands came loose and he sat back, a newfound glint in his eyes that Severus recognized all too well. The gleam of a victory.
“Your intent on the other hand…”

“You’re delusional.” Severus was trying, grasping at the edges of his arguments and pulling at the seams. This was all he had, his admission to guilt, without it Harry wasn’t safe, without it, they could get to him. Severus would die first.

“It’s wonderful what a parent’s love can do.” Albus knew that Severus knew that he knew, as was evident from the faint smile on his face.
“James and Lily aren’t the only people willing to sacrifice themselves in order to save their child.”

Severus closed his eyes, bearing himself for the words that were about to barrel through his shields. The headmaster did not spare him any longer.

“You love him,” he said and Severus sneered.

“You know nothing about me,” He spat.

“Prove me wrong.” Albus extended the wand he had hidden in his robes to the growling man. “Cast a levitating charm.”

**

“Hey there kid, can I come in?” a feminine voice asked, probably the same one who was knocking.
“I’m in a cell,” it was such a stupid thing to say in response, but the act baffled him. Was she aware of the fact that Harry was a prisoner here?

“I’m taking that as a yes,”

“Wotcher, Auror Tonks at your service,” she shook her head at herself. “Actually no, you’re in our custody,”

Harry didn’t want her to be too friendly. “Potter.”

“Right. I won’t disturb you much,” she said, trying to look as unintimidating as possible as she approached an equally wary Harry. This woman looked nothing like Shacklebolt, which might have seemed like an obvious remark at first glance, but it was true. Tonks would be the last person Harry guessed to be an Auror like Shacklebolt.

She certainly looked younger.

“Wow, did you make those” she poked at a paper boat, her round face stretched with awe, and her eyes wide with wonder. “That’s so cool,” she picked up a duck origami in her other hand, snorting at the structure. Harry permitted the intrusion. He was too tired to trust himself into having a conversation.

He just needed to wait until this woman left, to make it through one day without killing or maiming anyone.

‘I didn’t raise a hooligan,’ his father had told him once, when he found out about Emily and Harry had the audacity to be the mad one out of the two of them.

‘I expect better of you,’

You expected too much of me, Dad.

As Harry prepared himself to turn away, the most impossible thing happened. The woman’s nose morphed into a duck’s beak almost as if it was supposed to be there fused to the rest of her face, eliciting a loud yell of surprise from Harry. He stepped back, his magic lashing and rippling in agitated waves that rustled the curtains.

Tonks’s head snapped up, still harboring a duck’s beak instead of her own nose.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” her face was instantly altered back into its original shape. She dropped the origami back on the table, then smacked her own forehead. “Oh crap, I just swore in front of a child.” She cringed.
“Well fuck. I’m so sorry if that freaked you out, I just got excited.”

It took Harry a moment to reply. “You turned into a duck.”

“Well…kind of.” She cringed once more. “Sorry again. Any chance you might not mention this to Kingsley later…and the swearing? I’m still trying to rein it in. It’s my last year as a trainee you see.”

“I won’t talk.”

“Awesome. Oh, chocolate frogs! Can I trade my sugar wands for it? I had a few in my robes somewhere, hang on-.” the young woman scrambled to reach for her pockets, her hair all over the place as she shook her robes as if expecting the ‘sugar wands’ to simply fall out of her clothes.

Finally, she drew a fisted hand around a few long treats, that Harry assumed was the aforementioned sugar wands. The scene eerily reminded him of his and Emily’s first meeting. He took the treats with narrowed eyes.

Tonks flushed under his gaze, swiping the chocolate frog off the table with a chuckle. “Sorry, it’s just that, I’m collecting these, and I’m only a few cards short, I’ll take my chances whenever I see one of them lying around.” She stopped her rambling and then looked frustrated at herself for doing so as she crammed the chocolate in her robes.

“Right,” he brought the sugary blue wand to his mouth and nibbled on it. It tasted well enough, nothing magical about it. Dad would scowl at him for having those instead of dinner, that’s for sure.

“Too sugary right?” her hair whooshed into a vibrant blue and she grinned. “I used to love them as a kid. I actually got sick a few times when I had had too much. Once they had to take me to the St. Mango’s, purged my stomach and stuff. Mom made me quit after that.”

Harry stared at her and Tonks cringed. “Right, too much information.” She huffed, her hands swaying by her sides. “So I need to transfigure a bed for you. You cannot sleep in a chair.”

Harry didn’t feel like talking to her and so turned his back, still somewhat reeling with surprise as he let her do her. He wasn’t being watched anymore, he thought he knew that much, maybe these people just weren’t creepy enough to watch a teenager sleep.

If the price of eternal happiness was a thousand paper cranes, then Harry was sure that the world’s definition of the term must be distorted. His Dad was still in a prison, about to be shipped off and executed for crimes that Harry had committed, Harry himself was currently an orphan as a result also about to be arrested for the crimes he has committed…and no one knew about his…thing.

This was supposed to be his bargain with them, they would let Dad go and Harry would let the ministry people unleash him on whomever they liked. He would drain them on the spot with a single touch of his hand as he let his body do the…thing, and then the other person would either die or wish they were dead.

The thing, never had a name, to begin with, Harry himself didn’t know that he was in possession of such a gift until very recently when he found out that what his constant presence had done to his father.

‘I ruin everything that I touch.’

Those words couldn’t have been more literal.

“Hey…Kid?” Harry turned, the sugar wands crushed in his grip. The short woman nodded her chin to a transfigured bed, pushed up against one of the empty bookshelves.

“That’s your bed, I made it as comfy as possible.” She pocketed her wand and glanced around the room with a slight frown, but didn’t say anything until she made sure Harry was getting settled.

“You don’t need the loo, do you?” Harry detected the timid twitch in her voice and shook his head. Tonks sighed with a nod.

“Alright then…if you did, just holler at one of the guards stationed outside, the same thing goes if there was an emergency or you were hungry too.”

“Okay.”

“Great,” she clasped her hands and mulled her lips, looking as if she was mentally checking an item off her checklist. Harry patiently waited her out, rigidly standing by his cot until the room was empty once again and he was alone.

Alone at last.

He laid on the covers, facing the empty bookshelf. He would stare at it for a while, inspect the little dents and imperfections lining the carved wood, staring into the empty space to guess how many books once filled the void before Harry was put here. He needed to do something familiar, something that grounded him enough so that he could carefully plan his next steps.

Shacklebolt was a loss. At least, so far, Harry hadn’t managed to get his point across to the man as he had originally thought. He thought that there was at least one person in this god damned place who could be trusted with certain information. Harry needed someone to know everything in case something went wrong.

But the Auror was an idiot, he didn’t cut the surveillance and now Harry had no other choice but go through the interrogation he had agreed to go through with, to save his father.

If he took the Veritaserum tomorrow morning, two things could happen; either he would lose his bargaining chip if asked a wrong question at the wrong time or situation, Dad would still be exonerated, even let free by the ministry people with the secret out, they would use Harry to their whims like a precarious weapon.

Or, he would lose his bargaining chip tomorrow during the interrogation anyway, they would declare both him and his father guilty of their crimes, and most likely execute Dad, maybe him too, deciding that he was too dangerous to be kept alive.

He could NOT let the secret out.

Which led to another singular conclusion; he couldn’t take the serum, and as a result, his father could not be vindicated by the ministry.

It wasn’t about what they did to Harry personally, he didn’t care if he was executed or kept in this place as a pretty doll to be used against anyone who looked at the ministry the wrong way, what he did care about was his father.

If they freed his father with Harry still in custody, then Dad would freak out, probably do something stupid like storming the ministry or assassinate someone to get to him, and then get himself killed or arrested in the process. If they didn’t free his father and moved on with a trial… Then Dad still pretty much could ruin himself, in order to save Harry and would not stop at any costs.

That only left one other alternative…his father being executed and Harry still a prisoner. It was the least desirable option for obvious reasons. If his father died, then Harry would die too. The grief would plain kill him, his magic would no doubt assist in the act, and his guilt could amount in to help the process as well.

Dad’s death was not an option. Nor was Harry remaining as he was.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered to the bookshelf, his knees coming up to his chest. “I’m so sorry dad.”