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He was Lily’s friend before he was James’ enemy, Severus reminded himself for the umpteenth time, as he sat across the road from Number Four, Privet Drive, the bushes he was hiding in digging into his spine uncomfortably and the dampness from the grass beneath him slowly soaking through his robes.

He hadn’t wanted to use any magic unless absolutely necessary, unsure if it would interact badly with the wards that Dumbledore had erected around the house. The last thing he needed right now was to be discovered. 

He’d been there for hours, waiting for the shrew that he remembered from his childhood to leave the house, but to no avail. It was dark now, and he doubted that she would be leaving anytime before the following morning, but he was loath to wait another night. 

Merlin only knew what she was doing to the child. 

He silently cursed Dumbledore yet again for thinking that this was a good idea. Why hadn’t the man even bothered to ask Severus, who’d known Petunia as a child, if he thought that this would be a suitable place for Harry to grow up? He could have told Dumbledore exactly how much of a terrible idea it was! 

Severus had only found out where the child had been placed at all because of Minerva’s weakness for a good scotch that happened to loosen her tongue. She’d been ranting about the time that she’d spent watching the family ‘poor little Harry’ had been placed with, and it had sparked Severus’ interest. Now, he was partially wishing that he’d never been told in the first place. 

He really didn’t like children—an ironic trait for a professor, he knew—but he couldn’t just leave Lily’s son to grow up with the harpy that had ruined many a day when they were all younger.

He glared at the door again, and then sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He should go home and return in the morning, preferably to find a different hiding place than in the bushes. 

Severus checked the windows close by carefully before he stood up; Muggle suburbia was prone to housing the nosiest of people, and the last thing he needed was a mob of Muggles chasing him because they thought he was a peeping Tom. 

Finding no obvious light, or curtains twitching, Severus pushed himself up to his full height and dusted himself off. Hopefully, he would have more luck in the morning, and Petunia would deign to leave the house for a while. 

Severus walked away from the cul-de-sac and out onto the main road, until he found an alley that he could slip down to Apparate away, back to Spinner’s End. 

The two areas couldn’t be more different, he mused to himself, feeling his wards tingle over him as he walked inside them and into his house, the door pushing open without a key at the touch of his hand. 

The inside of the house was vastly different from what it had been when he’d been growing up. In a fit of pique, he’d gutted the place after Lily’s death, his rage at the situation flowing out of him as he shattered glass and broke wood until the entire inside of the house had been destroyed. 

After cleaning up the destruction, he’d set himself to making himself a home. It wasn’t full of gold and elegance, like Malfoy Manor, or ornate statues, like Lestrange castle, but it was his, and he grew to love it. 

Gone were the miserable drapes he’d hidden behind when his father was in a temper, and gone was the lumpy mattress that he'd had to shift around to find that singular position he could lie in without something sharp digging into his hip, or his shoulder. 

Gone was the dismal wallpaper, and the lighting that flickered when it was lit, the rotted furniture and the dusty ornaments that Severus believed reminded his mother of happier times. 

If she’d ever had them. 

Severus truly didn’t know. By the time he was old enough to have memories, his father was fully entrenched in his alcoholism, and his hatred of magic, and his mother had long given up any strength of will that she might have possessed in his younger years. 

Instead of memories of his childhood, Severus was greeted by clean walls in neutral colours that brightened the rooms without effort. He walked on slatted hardwood floors, polished to perfection, covered in places by warm rugs. 

The kitchen was his favourite room in the house, the simple marble counters and gleaming white cupboards reminding him that he was allowed to have pride in his home, in the life that he was building for himself. 

Nobody looking at the outside of the house would expect to see such a clean, warm home, that was for sure, and Severus enjoyed that. It reminded him of himself, in a strange way. 

Discarding his outer robe to the hanger, and leaving his boots by the door, Severus climbed the stairs of the two story building and entered the spare room. 

Given that there was little else he could do for tonight, he thought that it might be a good idea to prepare a room for the boy. 

For Harry. 

He’d have to get used to that name, because he was committed to his path now. He already had a crib, but that was all he had. He glanced at the cream walls thoughtfully. 

He didn’t want to paint a mural, or anything so intricate. Not only did he lack the artistic talent for such a thing, but it would be time consuming and Severus didn’t have the time, even if he did possess a talent for art. 

Cream wasn’t really the most child friendly colour, though. 

With a thoughtful hum, he waved his wand at the walls and changed the lower half to a deep, forest green. A second wave covered the upper walls in a lighter green, a touch darker than mint. With a steady hand, he conjured a border along the joining line with a serpentine pattern on it. 

Well, he had to negate Harry’s parents’ Gryffindor-ness one way or another, didn’t he?

Pleased with his work, Severus left the room for his own bedroom and undressed quickly, sending his clothes to the laundry basket with a wave of his wand. He showered and changed into comfortable clothes before returning downstairs to find something to eat, and enjoy a glass of scotch by the fire before he retired for the night. 

Settled into his favourite armchair, Severus jotted down a list of things that he would need to buy for Harry, both the necessities that he would have to get, and the things he wished he’d had as a child, but didn’t. 

If asked why he was putting so much effort into a child he could, by all rights, despise, Severus wouldn’t be able to answer beyond the fact that the boy was Lily’s son. 

And being Potter’s son didn’t trump that. 

… 

Severus cast a disillusioning charm on himself before he left the following morning, silently cursing himself for not thinking of it earlier. It was certainly a preferable option to hiding in the bushes. 

Thankfully, Petunia left the house around ten in the morning, two boys in tow. One was kicking and screaming, and Severus watched on in disgust as she pandered to her ‘ickle Duddykins’, promising him ice cream and presents if only he’d walk like a good boy. 

Severus shook his head, but his attention didn’t stay on the larger boy for very long. He was more interested in the smaller of the two children. His clothes hung off of him, clearly having previously belonged to ‘Duddykins’, and his head was down, like he was doing his absolute best not to draw any attention to himself. 

There were fingerprint shaped bruises just visible on his arm where the sleeve of the t-shirt stopped, and Severus had never in his life wanted to hex a Muggle more than he did in that moment. 

Not even his own father. 

How could she do that to her own nephew? Or, rather, let her husband, which seemed more likely. The man looked like a walrus and likely had a temper to match, if what Minerva had said was true. 

Severus followed along behind them at a good distance, just close enough that he wouldn’t lose sight of them. He thanked Merlin when Petunia turned towards the largest park in the area. 

It would be far easier to sneak away with the boy from somewhere so open, and this far away from the house, he’d be free to modify her mind so that the only memory of her nephew was a stranger arriving to take him back to the wizarding world. 

It was perfect. 

Keeping an eye on the people around him, Severus cast off the disillusioning charm and approached the park, watching carefully as Petunia found an empty bench to perch herself on, before she waved the boys off to play. 

Her eyes never left her son, even as the two children split up, each stumbling to opposite sides of the play area. It would be even easier than Severus had thought it would be, if she cared so little for her nephew. 

Slipping his wand down his sleeve into his hand, Severus allowed himself to slip into her mind with just a whispered spell, searching her memories quickly. 

What he found made him feel physically ill, but he forced himself to continue, modifying her memory enough to slide in a false memory of Harry being taken away by an unknown. 

As an expert in mind magic, Severus knew that not even Dumbledore himself would be able to tell the difference between the fake memory and her real ones. 

Once he was done—and had suppressed the strong urge to curse her where she sat—he approached Harry, crouching down beside the little boy at the edge of the sand pit. 

“Hi, Harry,” he murmured, almost flinching when the bright green eyes flicked his way, resting on his face in the most familiar way. “My name is Severus.” 

Despite being barely three years old, his curiosity was clear as he stared at Severus, his head tilting slightly as his little brow furrowed in the most adorable way. 

“I’m Boy,” he replied, softly, carefully enunciating the words in a way that only small children ever did. 

Severus felt rage re-stir inside of himself, but he kept it from his face, not wanting to scare the child. 

“You are Harry,” he corrected, his tone gentler than it had ever been in his classes. “That’s your name.” 

“I’m Harry?” 

“You’re Harry, that’s right,” Severus confirmed. “You’re going to come with me, okay, Harry?” 

Harry glanced Petunia’s way, though she paid them no mind at all, instead cooing over her lump of a son. 

“An’ Tuney be mad?” 

“No, she won’t be mad,” Severus replied. “She knows that you’re going to come with me, and she said it’s okay.” 

Harry glanced down at the sand he’d been playing with, and then nodded his head. Severus helped him up to his feet, and gave his clothes a cursory wipe, before he swept the little boy up into his arms, letting him rest comfortably against his hip, his legs bracketing it. 

He looked around to make sure that nobody was watching him walk away with a boy he hadn’t arrived with, then walked confidently away from the play area and onto the path that snaked through the rest of the park. 

“Where goin’?” Harry asked, his little fingers playing absently with a loose thread on the shoulder of Severus’ jumper. 

“You’re going to come home with me,” Severus told him, glancing down at him to offer the boy a small smile. “But first, we’re going to go to the shops, because I think that you need some clothes that fit you.” 

“An’ Tuney said I’s wear Dud’s clothes, when h’s done,” Harry told him, his tone way more serious than any child should ever be, and if Severus believed that he had any of his heart left, he knew that it would be breaking. 

“Well, I think it’s about time you had some of your own,” he said, eventually. “And I’ll even let you pick out your own pyjamas, how about that?” 

“Me pick?” 

Severus nodded. “Yes, Harry, you can pick. Good?” 

Harry nodded exuberantly, and Severus smiled at him again. “Okay, good.” 

… 

Severus Apparated home with Harry held tightly in his arms. When he landed in his garden, safely behind his wards, he held the poor kid safely while he vomited violently. 

It wasn’t the most pleasant way to travel for children, and he knew that he’d have to get used to using the floo, or the Knight Bus on occasion, now that he had to take Harry’s needs into consideration. 

Unfortunately, it had been the safest way to get him home this first time. 

They’d done a little shopping in the high street of Little Whinging before coming back. Severus had picked up enough clothes to last Harry about a week, along with a few toys and books that would hopefully help to keep him occupied until Severus could get some real shopping done, and they got themselves settled into some sort of routine. 

Vanishing the vomit, Severus took Harry into the house and straight into the kitchen. He set him down carefully on the counter top, and poured him a cold glass of water from the tap. From behind the sink, he unstoppered the stomach settler he’d anticipated needing, and let a few drops of the potion fall into the water before he helped Harry to drink it. 

He couldn’t help but smile at the face Harry pulled at the taste of the potion, but he held the glass steady until Harry had had his fill and gained a little colour back in his cheeks. 

He hadn’t thought to buy any plastic, lidded cups for the child while shopping, and he suddenly realised that he didn’t have cutlery or plates suitable for him either. 

Despite teaching at Hogwarts, Severus wasn’t used to children this small. The only one that he’d spent any amount of time around was Lucius’ boy, Draco, and even then it was the house elves that took care of his daily needs. 

He was woefully unprepared for this. 

Unfortunately, while Severus didn’t like the idea of leaving Harry to be brought up by an elf the way Draco was in many ways, he wasn’t going to have much of a choice. He was going to need a similar set up, once term started up again. 

It wasn’t like he could tell Albus that he’d suddenly decided to adopt a child. He was sure the old man was monitoring the house in Surrey, and he would undoubtedly realise that Harry had gone missing from his relatives house before long. 

While Severus thought many unsavory things about the headmaster, he would never deny his intelligence. He’d make the connection in less than a second. 

It was just one more item on the long list of things that Severus would have to arrange during the summer. He really hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of planning that looking after a child—and kidnapping and hiding said child, of course—would take. 

Though, even if he had anticipated it, it wouldn’t have changed his decision to do it. 

Once he was certain that Harry wasn’t going to vomit again, he lifted the boy carefully and walked into the living room, placing him on the sofa. He gave him a book, and a soft teddy bear. 

“Stay right there, Harry,” he murmured. “I’ll just be two minutes.” 

He cast a light barrier charm around the sofa just to be sure, even as Harry nodded his head. The child watched with curious eyes as Severus threw Floo powder into the fireplace and called out for Lucius’ Office at Malfoy Manor. 

Lucius was waiting for him, and when he saw the expression on Severus’ face, he seemed to relax in his seat. 

“You have the child?” 

“I do,” Severus agreed. “Would you like to come and meet him? I have a few things that I’m going to need your help with.” 

“Of course,” Lucius replied. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

Severus pulled back and smiled at Harry, who was watching him with wide eyes. When Lucius had come and gone, he was going to have to remember to shield the fireplace, so that Harry didn’t get burnt trying to replicate a Floo call. 

He sat down on the sofa beside Harry, and was only a little bit surprised when Harry immediately shifted to his knees and crawled into Severus’ lap, the teddy held securely under one of his arms. He settled himself against Severus’ chest quietly, the teddy cuddled close. 

Severus thought it was probably the most adorable thing he’d ever seen—not that he’d ever admit that out loud, of course, but he could allow it in the privacy of his own mind. 

He wrapped one arm loosely around Harry to—hopefully—help him feel a little more secure, and tapped out an absent pattern with his fingertips on the child’s thigh. 

The fire flared, and Lucius stepped through. He smiled at the sight that greeted him, his eyes moving over Harry curiously. 

Instead of sitting down in the armchair like Severus had expected him to, he approached the sofa slowly. Harry’s little fingers gripped at Severus’ shirt, but he didn’t seem to be overly upset, so Severus didn’t say anything. 

Lucius crouched down when he reached them, so that he was just slightly below eye level for Harry. 

“Hello, Harry,” he greeted, his voice soft in the way that Severus had only ever heard it with Draco. “I’m Lucius.” 

“Hi,” Harry murmured, shyly. 

Lucius held out his hand, and Harry looked at it for a moment, before he shifted his bear so he could put his own hand on top. Lucius smiled and squeezed the smaller hand gently. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Harry grinned, and then looked up at Severus. “Pwetty.” 

Severus choked on a laugh. “You think Lucius is pretty, Harry?” 

“Hair, pwetty,” Harry replied, nodding his head. 

Lucius chuckled as he released Harry’s hand and stepped back, now taking a seat in the armchair. 

“Thank you very much, Harry.” 

Harry amused himself with the bear, Lucius and his ‘pwetty hair’ already forgotten, and Severus turned his mind to the more serious aspects of his new situation. 

“He didn’t know his name,” he said, keeping his voice soft. He hoped that Harry wouldn’t pay any attention to their conversation, so long as he kept his emotions under control. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the child. “He thought that his name was ‘Boy’.” 

Lucius was aghast, and Severus could see the disgust in his eyes as Severus continued talking. 

“His clothes—and I use that term loosely—were hand me downs from his whale of a cousin, and Petunia was… uncaring when Harry wandered off at the park. She only had eyes for her own boy. I knew that it wouldn’t be good, but for him to not even know his own name…” Severus shook his head. “I took a quick look in her mind before I modified it, and… Lucius, they kept him in the cupboard under the stairs. That was his bedroom.” 

The look on Lucius’ face wasn’t a surprise, because it echoed the horror that Severus himself had been feeling all day. In the Wizarding World, the mistreatment of children was unusual. The Magical community as a whole—Purebloods in particular—believed that children should be cared for, looked after, and cherished, and never abused. 

To neglect a child so plainly was abhorrent. 

“They should be hung,” Lucius snarled. “To treat a child so, so—” 

Severus nodded, understanding the speechlessness. “I know. Not that it matters now, since he’ll never be going back there.” 

“No, he won’t,” Lucius agreed, firmly. “You said that you needed my help?” 

Severus inclined his head. “I’m going to need to fit the house for him, of course, and I could use your help with that. Or, perhaps, Narcissa’s help, given the penchant she has for shopping.” 

Lucius chuckled. “Of course. I’m sure that my lovely wife will make herself available to you whenever you have a need of her in that regard.” 

“I’m also going to need an elf that’s fully trained in child care. Albus cannot be allowed to know that I have him, but he’s quite insistent that I continue on at Hogwarts. While the Dark Lord is ‘gone’, he seems to be rather convinced that that situation will not last forever. He’s sure the Dark Lord will return.” 

“And he’s making your pardon conditional on the fact that you remain under his thumb, of course,” Lucius replied, arching his eyebrow. 

It wasn’t a question, but Severus confirmed Lucius’ assumption with a stiff nod. 

“Will you be able to take Harry to Hogwarts with you?” Lucius asked, “If you have an elf to keep him in the privacy of your rooms? Or will you be using the Floo to return home every evening after dinner?” 

“I believe that I can take him to Hogwarts with me,” Severus replied. “At least until he’s of an age to begin at primary school. My wards in my private quarters have always been extremely strong—nobody, not even the Headmaster, can attempt to get into my rooms without my knowledge.” 

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll have one of our elves transferred to you within the next few days, then. They’re all fully trained and have worked with Draco long enough to know what will be expected of them.” 

“Thank you,” Severus murmured, ever grateful to his best friend. 

They talked for a while more, and then Lucius smiled suddenly. Severus followed his softened gaze down to Harry, who’d fallen asleep on Severus’ chest, his face mostly covered by the bear he was still holding tightly. 

“He’s precious, Severus,” Lucius murmured. “He’ll be the making of you in the long run, you’ll see.” 

“He’s not my son,” Severus pointed out quietly. “I’m merely—” 

“The one who will teach him, and raise him, care for him and love him,” Lucius interrupted. “What is a father but the one who does such things for a child? I’m not telling you that he shouldn’t know his heritage, Severus. He should know the blood in his veins, and those that he got it from, but a father is more than someone with whom you share blood.” 

“I don’t know how to be a father, Lucius,” Severus replied. 

It wasn’t like he’d had the best example of one growing up himself, was it? 

“You think that I did?” Lucius asked, rolling his eyes. “Learn by doing, Severus. You’ll doubtlessly make mistakes—many of them, in fact—but without mistakes, how do we know the right way?” 

Severus nodded thoughtfully. He supposed that he knew what not to do, by example of his own father. If he did the opposite of everything Tobias Snape had done, then perhaps he might actually get it right. 

Lucius smiled at him and stood. “I’ll take my leave. Do visit us at the Manor on Friday, Severus. We can introduce Harry to my Draco, and we’ll arrange the transfer of an elf.” 

“Thank you, Lucius. Really. I’m not sure what I would have done without you.” 

“You’re most welcome, my friend, though I have no doubt you would have figured it out regardless.  I’ll have Narcissa visit tomorrow to go over the list of things you’ll need for at least the next few months.” 

Severus watched as Lucius stepped back through the fireplace, and then looked back down at the sleeping boy in his lap. He was loath to disturb him, but time was getting on, and he needed to feed and bathe him before bedtime. 

As Harry curled into him even more, a soft sigh leaving him, Severus tightened his arm. Perhaps he could allow him to sleep for just a little while longer. 

… 

As the weeks passed, Severus and Harry got themselves into a routine that fit them both well. Hippy, the house elf that Lucius had signed over to Severus, was an absolute god-send. While Severus enjoyed spending time with Harry, having Hippy meant that he had time to complete his own jobs without having to worry about Harry getting hurt. 

They had also gotten into the pattern of spending a few afternoons a week at Malfoy Manor, where Harry had found a fast friend in Draco. 

They’d had a small party for Harry’s fourth birthday, and the little boy had been enamoured by the balloons, and had babbled excitedly about the presents he’d received. Severus knew from Petunia’s mind that the two birthday’s he’d spent with them had been ignored entirely. 

September was fast approaching though, and with it, the start of the new term at Hogwarts. While Severus knew that Hippy would be able to keep Harry secure in his quarters while Severus taught his classes, he found himself glad that he’d been able to sign Harry into the same school where Lucius was sending Draco. 

He thought that the elder blond may have had something to do with such a quick acceptance, but it was just another thing to add to the list of things he was grateful to Lucius for. 

It would be easier, in a way, to know that Harry was safe at a school, rather than stuck in his quarters at Hogwarts, but Severus also knew that it would be more stressful to know that he wasn’t on the same premises. 

Thankfully, the school had been quite happy to allow Severus to add Lucius and Narcissa to Harry’s emergency contact list—if anything happened while Harry was in school they would contact Lucius first, and he would then be able to make an excuse to contact Severus at Hogwarts. 

With so much maneuvering, it was no wonder that Severus was exhausted by the time the first of September rolled around. 

Despite knowing that he had to be at Hogwarts, Severus took the time to keep their usual breakfast ritual intact, making pancakes for Harry, and helping him to get dressed when he was finished eating. 

He dropped Harry off at Malfoy Manor just after eight, with a promise to see him later on that evening, before he Flooed directly into his private quarters at the castle. 

He’d barely opened the door into the corridor when Albus ambushed him, his blue eyes twinkling and wide smile splitting his face. 

“Severus, my boy! I was getting quite worried that you’d decided you no longer wanted to teach!” 

Severus snorted. Like he had the option to give it up. He shook his head, straightening his black robes as he fell into step with the headmaster. 

“Have you had an enjoyable summer, Severus?” 

“It was fine, I suppose,” Severus replied, his tone intentionally dismissive. “I made some small headway on my research on the Wolfsbane potion, so it hasn’t been entirely unproductive.” 

“Good, good. I was actually hoping for your help on a project, if you’ve the time, my boy,” Dumbledore said, as the gargoyle to his office slid aside for them to enter. 

Severus followed the headmaster up to his office and waited silently for him to elaborate, which he didn’t until the door was firmly closed, and they were seated at the desk. 

A tea set appeared on the desk between them, and then, a second later, a steaming mug of coffee for Severus. The elves knew him well. 

Under the table, Severus cast a spell on the mug to make sure that his drink was untainted, before he wrapped his hand around it appreciatively. 

“You remember that I placed young Harry Potter with his family, following the tragedy that happened at Godric’s Hollow?” 

Severus couldn’t help grimacing, and Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic look, clearly believing the expression to have been brought on by thoughts of Lily, rather than the ‘family’ that Harry had been left with. 

Severus was quite happy to leave him to his delusions. 

“What of it?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“It seems that the boy has disappeared,” Dumbledore admitted, his brow furrowing slightly. “I checked in on him a few days ago when I realised that the wards had been particularly inactive over the summer, and found him gone. I found a memory in Petunia’s mind—” 

“You left him with Petunia?” Severus asked, not having to act his horror in the slightest. “Are you insane? She despised her sister!” 

“Quite,” Dumbledore muttered, looking away. “I confess that I didn’t realise quite how deep that feeling went, until I visited her again. Regardless, it seems that young Harry was appropriated by a wizard some time this summer. Petunia just handed him over, she didn’t even question it!” 

“Imagine that,” Severus muttered, shaking his head. “What would you have me do, Headmaster? If you’ve seen the memory, then you’ll have a better idea at who took the boy, surely? I cannot imagine there are many wizards in the country that you’re completely unaware of?” 

“That’s just it, Severus. I didn’t recognise the man in her memories at all. I’ve spent the last few days wracking my own memories, trying to stir up even someone with a resemblance, and I can think of no one.” 

“Unfortunate,” Severus replied. “I’m still not sure what you’d have me do? And why you think that I care about the spawn of Potter at all, in actuality.” 

“He’s Lily’s child too, Seveurs,” Albus chided softly. “And didn’t I ask that you protect him?” 

Severus put his mug down on the desk. “You did. And had you told me where you were placing him, I’d have been able to do so, by telling you that you’d placed him in the worst place he could possibly be. Given that you didn’t, I’m not entirely sure what you think that I can do now that the child is already missing!” 

“I would just ask that you put the feelers out,” Dumbledore replied. “Perhaps contact Malfoy, and his ilk.” 

“You think that one of the Dark Lord’s followers has him?” Severus asked, arching his eyebrows. “If you truly believe as much, Headmaster, then the boy is as good as dead already. Any search for him would be utterly pointless.” 

“Severus.” 

With a huff, Severus sat back in his seat and nodded. “I’ll contact Lucius this evening and see if I can’t chase a few of his lesser known supporters.” 

“Thank you, Severus. I knew that I could count on you.” 

When Severus left the office a few minutes later, he barely managed to suppress a smirk. 

For now, at least, everything was going to plan. 

… 

“What’s wrong?” Severus asked, as he practically fell through the fireplace following Lucius’ summons. 

He’d been mid-lesson, and never had a lesson taken so long to come to an end as progressively worse scenarios ran through his mind. 

It was the first time in the year since Harry had started school that Lucius had had to call him before the end of classes, and everything from illness to kidnapping had run through Severus’ head. 

“Harry has come down with Wizard Flu, Severus,” Lucius replied softly, nodding his head towards the library. “I’ve laid him down with his teddy, and Hippy is with him, but he was quite insistent on only wanting one person.” 

Severus followed his friend to the library and sighed when his eyes caught on the little boy lying on the chaise by the fire, covered in blankets, a miserable air about him. 

“Harry?” 

Harry twisted beneath the sheets, and as soon as he caught sight of Severus, he burst into tears. His teddy quickly discarded, he held his arms out for Severus. 

“Daddy,” he cried out, and Severus froze. 

Daddy. Harry hadn’t called him that before, tending towards ‘Sev’rus’, or just ‘Sev’ when he was tired or cranky. Lucius nudged him forward, and Severus bent slightly to pick him up, cradling him close, rocking gently where he stood. 

“Oh, sweetheart, are you feeling poorly?” he murmured. “You’ll be okay, I promise. Daddy will make you better.” 

Harry pressed closer, and Severus turned to look at Lucius, sure that his expression was registering his surprise more than any words could. 

Lucius just smiled at him. “The best feeling in the world, no?” 

Harry’s crying lessened, turning to the occasional sniffle as he drifted off in Severus’ arms. 

“I believe that I have the potion in my stockroom, but I didn’t want to give him anything without your permission.” 

“Thank you,” Severus replied softly. “Since I made everything in your stockroom, I’d appreciate it if you could fetch him the potion—and in future, if he needs anything, you have my permission to medicate him providing I’m the one that brewed the remedy.” 

Lucius nodded. “As you say, you make all of our potions, Severus. I’d never dream of allowing potions in my stockroom made by any other. I’ll fetch him the remedy. You can stay with him for a while, correct?” 

“I sent a Patronus message to Albus stating an emergency,” Severus replied. “He’s not expecting me back until tomorrow.” 

Lucius nodded and smiled once more before he left to fetch the potion, and Severus sat down, arranging Harry on his lap. While he knew that, logically, Harry calling him ‘daddy’ was likely a by-product of him being ill, it had still warmed his heart to know that he was doing well enough in his care of the child that he could be trusted with such a title. 

“I won’t let you down, Harry,” he promised, pressing a kiss into the messy dark hair. “I’ll take care of you.” 

… 

Draco’s sixth birthday party was a production and a half, but Harry seemed happy to be there, mixing in with the other children. He seemed to stick close to Draco, but the blond boy also seemed quite eager to pull Harry alongside him wherever he went anyway, so Severus was happy enough to leave them to it. 

Of course, Lucius had gone all out on the party now that Draco had more friends to invite, and by the time the party was over, and the majority of the children had been collected by their parents, Harry and Draco were slumped in a mountain of cushions on the rug in front of the fireplace in Draco’s room, both of them fast asleep. 

“You can both stay the night,” Lucius offered, as the two of them lingered in the doorway, watching the boys sleep. “It seems a shame to separate them when they’ve had such a good day, and I know that you like to spend as much time with him as you can on the weekends.” 

Severus agreed easily, and the adults retired to the parlour, Narcissa joining them as Miffy, one of the Malfoy elves, brought a bottle of wine for them to share. 

“The boys seem to be growing quite close,” Narcissa said, with a small smile, as she accepted the glass Lucius offered her. “I’m glad. It will make their Hogwarts life much easier when they get there if they have each other.” 

Severus groaned. “I’m not even thinking about Hogwarts yet. It’s going to take some ridiculous maneuvering to keep Dumbledore unaware of where Harry is living.” 

“It won’t be too hard,” Lucius replied, shaking his head. “If you time it correctly, you can simply be on holiday with Harry when the letters go out, and it will simply be addressed to wherever you’re holidaying.” 

Severus nodded. “Of course. It’s more that I’m considering that I’m going to be asking my eleven year old son to pretend that he doesn’t know who I am. It’s a lot for any child to have to deal with.” 

“Harry is a smart child,” Narcissa pointed out. “He’ll understand, and Draco will help him.” 

“We’ll just have to make him a Slytherin before he goes,” Lucius said, with a small smirk. “Which, given the adults he’s surrounded with, shouldn’t be a huge difficulty.” 

Severus chuckled. He was once again overwhelmed with the knowledge that he didn’t have to do this alone. 

Which was a good thing, in hindsight. He’d have been doomed. 

… 

“Bath time, Harry,” Severus said, summoning the book from Harry’s hands when the boy showed no indication that he’d even heard him speak. 

The six year old looked up and pouted. 

“Daddy!” 

“Bath time,” Severus repeated. 

“My book,” Harry protested, holding his hands out. 

Surprising both of them, the book flew across the room back into Harry’s waiting hands, and Harry smiled smugly. 

Severus blinked, and then burst out laughing. “Of course books would be the cause for your first accidental magic. Lucius is right, you are a little book gremlin.” 

“Gremlin,” Harry giggled, as he always did whenever Lucius called him such. 

“Don’t tell Lucius I called you that,” Severus said, scooping the boy up under one arm and dropping the book to the chair. “He’ll be unbearably smug that it’s catching on.” 

… 

“Unless Lucius is lying—and that is, of course, entirely possible—none of the Purebloods have taken in any children that are not their own,” Severus said, when Dumbledore questioned his progress on searching for the missing Boy-Who-Lived.  

The headmaster sighed. “He cannot have just vanished. It’s entirely unlikely that it was a Muggle that took him, given Petunia’s memory, though I suppose that a Squib wouldn’t be out of the question.” 

“It’s possible that you’re just going to have to wait until the boy is eleven, Albus. If you hear back from him—or whomever took him—when he receives his letter, then you’ll know he’s safe, at the very least.” 

“Quite so, dear boy,” Albus replied. He gestured to one of the many contraptions on the mantle, and added, “At the very least, he is alive. His magical signature is still healthy.” 

Severus closed his eyes for a moment. How obsessed was Albus that he was already tracking a child’s magical signature, years before he was due at Hogwarts? The old coot had lost his head over Harry Potter, that much was certain.

“If that’s all, Headmaster, I’ll take my leave. I’ll see you at the end of summer.” 

“Have a good one, Severus. Do try and take a break from your research and enjoy some sunshine, won’t you?” 

“As you say, Headmaster.” 

Severus bowed his head and left Hogwarts, already considering his plans for the summer with Harry. He’d certainly be getting plenty of sunshine. Harry had a list of places his classmates had kindly informed him of, including the beach, the zoo, and the aquarium. 

Severus was in for a busy couple of months. 

… 

“He’s quite powerful,” Severus said, his brow furrowed. “More so than I’d expect from a child his age.” 

Harry was nearing his seventh birthday, but he was already proving to have some control over his magic, something that was practically unheard of in one so young. 

“You should take him to Gringotts,” Lucius suggested. “They can check him over, and it would be interesting to check out his heritage. You know my opinion that Muggleborns likely stem from Squib lines dating back to Purebloods. It’s possible that he has an old magical inheritance that you’re not aware of.” 

Severus nodded thoughtfully. “Do you believe that the Goblins can be trusted to hold their silence on his identity, though? The last thing I need is for Dumbledore to find out that Harry has been in the bank, let alone find out that he’s been with me the entire time.” 

“They take client confidentiality very seriously,” Lucius replied. “They’d no more tell Dumbledore about Harry than I would. I think it’s worth it… though, perhaps, go undercover. A glamour on yourself, at least, in case you’re seen in Diagon Alley.” 

“They won’t find that offensive?” Severus asked, doubtfully. 

He’d only ever been to the bank once, to open up his account. He had a pouch that connected directly to his account, so, given that he had no title or inheritance to speak of, he hadn’t had a need to return, or have any personal dealings with the Goblins. 

“They’ll, perhaps, be a little short with you when you first arrive,” Lucius admitted. “But once you explain the situation, they’ll be fine, I’m sure. It’ll be worth it, Severus, to get a full reading of Harry’s heritage.” 

… 

“Just a quick little prick, Harry,” Severus promised, bouncing his son slightly as the Goblin, Errongulf, nicked his finger and squeezed the blood onto the parchment. 

Severus healed the small cut immediately after, and then watched as writing filled the parchment. 

“Harry James Potter,” Errongulf confirmed, picking up the parchment. First generation Pureblood. He has the Potter magics, of course, and those passed down through the Peverell line. There is… something interesting about that curse scar on his head.” 

“Interesting?” Severus asked, frowning as his arms automatically tightened slightly around Harry, as though he could protect him with just a strong embrace. 

“Quite. Please wait here for a moment, while I discuss this with our resident Healer. I’ll return shortly.” 

“I can read now, Daddy?” Harry asked, as the Goblin left the room, and Severus nodded, handing Harry the book he’d brought with them to keep his little bookworm occupied. 

Severus occupied himself by looking around the room, taking in the ornate wall tapestries, and the subtle design details that seemed to be hiding in plain sight everywhere he looked. 

Even the ink bottle was unlike any he’d ever seen before, the ink inside it having a strangely iridescent hint to it that made Severus want to look closer. 

Thankfully, Errongulf didn’t take long to return, and he retook his seat with a serious expression on his face. 

“Would you mind if I were to create a small ward around the young master?” the Goblin asked. “This information is quite sensitive, and I’d hate to be the cause of upset for him, especially with him being so young.” 

Severus nodded his permission and felt the shimmer of magic surround Harry moments later. Harry, head still stuck in his book, didn’t even seem to notice. 

“Mr Potter seems to be the receptacle of a Horcrux,” Errongulf said, his eyes on Harry’s scar. “When he was attacked by the Dark Lord Voldemort, it would appear that the Dark Lord left behind a part of his own soul. When separated, unless guided into a specific object, soul pieces will latch onto the nearest living thing that they can find; in this case, the child.” 

Severus wasn’t quite sure what to do with any of that. He looked down at Harry and frowned slightly. “So, Harry is… the Dark Lord?” 

“No, no,” Errongulf replied, shaking his head. “No, Mr Potter still has his own soul, whole and intact. A slither of the Dark Lord’s soul has simply… attached itself to him, taking up residence in the scar on his head. It’s possible that Mr Potter will have gained some of the Dark Lord’s power or abilities, but otherwise, he is still wholly Harry James Potter.” 

“Okay. Is there a way to remove it?” 

The Goblin winced. “For it to be removed, the child must either die, or be put through a rather horrendously painful ritual that could well kill him before he made it to the end. I must ask you that, if there is any chance of leaving the slither alone, I would absolutely recommend doing so.” 

Severus nodded slowly. “And… will it affect Harry negatively if we just… leave it there?” 

“Unlikely,” Errongulf replied. “However, should the Dark Lord return, which seems likely, given this particular development, the two of them will likely have a connection of sorts, though how that will present, I cannot answer.” 

Severus sighed. When he’d arrived at the Wizarding bank that morning, he hadn’t expected Harry’s magic test to reveal anything quite so… utterly unexpected. 

“While you are here,” Errongulf added, “there are a couple of other things that I would like to discuss with you.” 

“Okay,” Severus replied. 

“We’d like to run the same test on you that we ran on young Mr Potter. I believe that there may be a dead Lordship waiting for you. Your mother’s name was Prince before she married, correct?” 

“It is. Was.” 

“Then I believe that you could possibly be eligible to renew the Prince line, Mr Snape. And, there is also the matter of a formal adoption of your young charge, here.” 

Severus blinked. “I didn’t realise that a Half-Blood could inherit the Prince line.” 

“That is what I’d like to check,” Errongulf said, readying a new sheet of parchment. 

“As far as adopting Harry formally,” Severus added. “I’d love to, but at the moment, I’m concerned about being discovered by Albus Dumbledore, or the Ministry of Magic.” 

Severus held out his hand for Errongulf to prick his finger, as he added, “And I’d also like to wait until Harry is old enough to make the decision for himself. It may come to be that he doesn’t want to be adopted. I believe that he has the right to choose for himself.” 

“Very well.” 

A smaller amount of writing appeared on the parchment born from Severus’ blood, and the Goblin grinned. 

“As I suspected, you are indeed eligible to revive the Prince name and Lordship, Mr Snape. Would  you have me bring you the ring?” 

Severus, startled, nodded his head. “I… yes. Please. Thank you.” 

… 

“Where’s Harry?” Draco asked, almost as soon as he and Lucius had stepped through the flames of Severus’ new study. 

“Where is he ever, but in the library?” Lucius replied, and then glanced at Severus for confirmation. 

Severus rolled his eyes, but nodded his head, gesturing for them to follow him. They were in Prince Manor, having only moved from Spinner’s End a few days earlier. 

Severus had spent months perfecting the Manor to be a good home for Harry and himself, and he was glad to finally be able to show it off a little. 

Lucius looked around with interest as Severus led the way, an impressed expression on his face. It was a beautiful Manor, of course; Severus was fully aware of that. Perhaps not quite as grand as Malfoy Manor, but certainly no slouch, either. 

“Ah, there’s the little book gremlin,” Lucius called, when they entered the library to see Harry sprawled out on a rug on his stomach, a book open in front of him. 

Harry laughed, rolling onto his back. “Uncle Lucius! Draco!” 

“Why don’t you show Draco your room while I show Lucius the rest of the Manor, Harry?” 

Harry nodded, tugging at Draco’s hand as they left the room. Severus and Lucius meandered from room to room, Severus pointing out certain features he loved, and the few that were still left to change. 

“Have you informed Dumbledore of your change of address?” Lucius asked, arching his eyebrow as the two of them finally seated themselves in the parlour. 

Hippy fetched two tumblers of whisky, and silently put them on the table. 

“Hippy, can you make sure that Harry and Draco have something to eat, please?” Severus requested. “And keep an eye on them.” 

“Of course, sir,” Hippy replied, her ears twitching slightly as she popped from the room. 

“And no, I haven’t informed him,” Severus replied to Lucius. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and Hippy can check Spinner’s end for any post every few days without effort.” 

“Quite right, Severus,” Lucius agreed. “This will also help with the Hogwarts situation. Prince Manor has long been unplottable and untraceable to those not logged in the wards, so he’ll not be able to follow the owl that brings Harry’s Hogwarts letter. It’ll only register a name on the envelope, rather than an address, if you’re within the wards when the letter is written.” 

Severus smiled. “I know. Quite the weight off my shoulders. It helps that, should it become necessary, I have somewhere to keep Harry safe from… anyone who may come looking for him.” 

“You’re doing a wonderful job with him, Severus. You have a child to be proud of.” 

“I know.” 

… 

Harry accepted his training wand with glee, holding it carefully in his hands as though he’d been handed something precious. Severus smiled at him, and then snorted when he saw that Draco was waving his own around as though he were a pirate with a sword. 

Lucius rolled his eyes at his son. 

“Your tutor should be arriving soon,” Severus told them. “Perhaps it would be an idea to read the first chapter of your wand handling books while you wait?” 

“I’ve read the book already, Dad,” Harry replied. 

“Oh,” Lucius said, raising a hand to his chest in fake shock. “The gremlin has already finished a book, I’m so very surprised by that!” 

Harry giggled. “M’ not a gremlin, Uncle Lucius!” 

“You’re my little book gremlin,” Lucius replied, hefting the eight year old up in his arms and tickling him mercilessly. “And even when you’re old, like thirty, you’ll still be my little gremlin. The name is yours forever now!” 

“Uncle Lucius!” Harry screeched, trying to fight the hands tickling him but laughing too much to be able to do much of anything. 

“Am I interrupting?” 

Lucius let Harry down to stand beside Draco as Severus greeted Demetrius Affonze, the tutor he and Lucius had decided on for the boys. 

“Ah, I see you’ve already given the boys their training wands, good, good. Well, boys? Shall we begin?” Demetrius asked, a small smile on his face. 

Severus and Lucius stepped back towards the door to watch as Demetrius quickly settled the boys down. 

“Hippy,” Severus called softly, looking down at the elf when she appeared at his side. “Keep an eye on things, okay?” 

“Of course, sir.” 

… 

“Have you heard anything about Harry at all, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, as he always did when he called Severus to his office. 

“No, Albus, no more than the last time you asked,” Severus replied. 

His temper was already uneven—Harry had been feeling a little out of sorts that morning, and he’d hated to leave the boy at Malfoy Manor when he wasn’t feeling good. 

“Apologies, my boy,” Albus murmured. “I know that I ask a lot of you. Sit, sit, we can at least enjoy tea while we prepare for the new term.” 

“Actually, Albus, I’m in something of a rush today. My syllabus isn’t changing from the one I usually use, except for the addition of Felix Felicis for the seventh year. I believe that I finally have a class capable of making a somewhat decent attempt at it, for a change.” 

“Good, good,” Albus replied, nodding absently. 

Severus rolled his eyes. “If that’s all?” 

“Oh, yes, yes, of course. You can go. I’ll see you in a few days, Severus.” 

Severus nodded and turned away. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a Gringotts letter on the edge of Dumbledore’s desk. Usually, he wouldn’t think twice about it, but the sight of his son’s name gave him pause. 

“You’ve had news of Potter from the bank, Albus?” he asked, forcing his voice calm as he nodded at the letter. 

Albus shook his head. “The Goblins are being most unhelpful, unfortunately. The only thing that they’ll admit to is that the Potter vaults haven’t been closed. All that tells me is that Harry is alive, which I’m already aware of, not where he is, or with whom.” 

Severus nodded slowly, and then turned back towards the door. He wanted to be surprised that Albus would even contact the bank for information, but he wasn’t. Not really. 

“Have a good day, Headmaster.” 

He had a son to get home to. 

… 

At Lucius’ insistent prodding, Severus didn’t wait long past Harry’s ninth birthday to sit him down for a serious talk. It was still too early in Severus’ opinion, but he also knew and understood the merits of Lucius’ prodding. 

The time before Harry would be at Hogwarts was getting less and less, and time seemed to be going at entirely too fast a pace. 

“Harry, you know how we’ve spoken about your parents? Your birth parents, I mean?” 

Harry nodded, his green eyes wide and innocent, looking at Severus with such open trust that it was enough to hurt Severus’ heart. 

“James and Lily Potter,” Harry replied. 

“That’s right, well remembered,” Severus encouraged softly. “So, we know that James will always be your father, right?” 

“Right,” Harry agreed, his head tilting slightly to the side. “But you’re still my dad, right?” 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Severus said. “There’s a process called adoption. I don’t know if you’ve come across it in one of the many books you’ve read?” 

Harry nodded. “When somebody wants a kid to be their kid.” 

“That’s right. I’ve been waiting until you were old enough to have a say in this, Harry, because it’s important for you to know that I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“How would you feel if I adopted you? Officially, I mean? Even if you don’t want this, you’ll always be my son, Harry. I’ll still be your dad, okay? But if you wanted to be my son officially, we can do it via the Goblins at Gringotts. You remember Errongulf?” 

“You want me?” Harry asked, his bright eyes shining even brighter than they usually did. “For keeps?” 

“Oh, Harry. I’ve always wanted you for keeps,” Severus replied. 

He suddenly found himself with an armful of an exuberant nine-year-old, and Severus grinned into Harry’s hair. 

“Can we go and do it now?” Harry asked, pulling back just enough to meet Severus’ eyes. 

“I’ll write the letter immediately to set up the appointment,” Severus promised. 

… 

Severus signed on the dotted line with a flourish that he rarely had the patience for, and grinned when the adoption papers flashed with acceptance. 

“Congratulations,” Errongulf offered, wrapping the parchment into a scroll. “This will be placed into your vault for safekeeping, Lord Prince.” 

“Thank you,” Severus replied. 

Harry looked up at him, eyes sparkling, a wide grin lifting his lips. “Am I a Prince now, too, Dad?” 

“You’re still a Potter, son, for your safety when you go to Hogwarts. Like I’m still officially a Snape, you remember?” 

Harry nodded. “But my full name?” 

“Harry James Potter-Prince,” Severus confirmed with a smile. 

Harry’s grin, if possible, got even wider. “I can’t wait to tell Draco!” 

… 

Severus couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched Lucius lift Harry onto his shoulders to put the star on top of the tree. Draco had already done one of the trees—because of course, one tree wasn’t enough for Malfoy Manor—and had graciously offered the second to Harry. 

Harry had already put the star on the tree at home, but given they were planning to spend the few days over Christmas with the Malfoys, it was nice for Harry to be able to do one there, too. 

“There we go, Gremlin, nice and straight,” Lucius complimented, as he let Harry down from his shoulders. 

Severus huffed, even as Harry grinned up at Lucius. 

“Uncle Lucius?” 

“What is it, Harry?” 

“You like reading too, right?” 

Lucius tilted his head, sensing the trap but curious to know where it would lead him. “I do.” 

“Does that mean that you’re Uncle Gremlin?” 

Severus laughed as Harry ran, Lucius giving chase across the large lounge room, and he shook his head. Who knew that this would end up being his family? 

… 

Harry curled up on the beanbag Lucius conjured for him, his hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate. Severus ran a hand through his hair, smiling when Harry leaned into his touch. 

While Draco seemed to slowly be outgrowing hugs and physical affection, Harry still seemed to crave it the way he had since Severus had kidnapped him. Severus wondered if it was a byproduct of the years he’d spent with the Dursleys, but he tried not to give it too much thought. 

It made him murderous, and he did his best to quell such impulses most of the time. 

“What did you need to talk to me about?” Harry asked, looking between the two adults. 

Harry was ten now, almost eleven, and Severus knew he had little option left but to tell Harry that he was a Horcrux. 

That didn’t mean he was particularly happy about it. 

“You remember that first trip to the bank?” he started. “When Errongulf put the ward around you while you were reading, so you couldn’t hear us talking?” 

Harry nodded, frowning slightly. 

“When he did the scan on you, he found something in your scar,” Severus ran his thumb over the lightning bolt on Harry’s forehead. “When the Dark Lord attacked you, he left a part of his soul behind, and it attached itself to you. To your scar.” 

Harry blinked up at him. “His soul?” 

Severus nodded. “Yes. When his curse rebounded on him, it caused his soul to break. A little piece escaped and you were the only living thing it could attach to. It’s why you could talk to the snakes when we went to the zoo, you remember?” 

Harry bit his lip. “Am I bad, Dad? Did he make me… am I evil?” 

“No,” Lucius said, even as Severus tugged the beanbag closer to him, so he could hug his son close. “No, Harry, you’re one of the purest children I’ve ever known. I swear to you, there’s not an evil bone in your body.” 

Severus sighed, pressing a kiss to Harry’s head. “What it means, though, is that when the Dark Lord returns—” 

“He’s coming back?” Harry interrupted, pulling away slightly so he could look between Severus and Lucius. 

“He will,” Severus murmured. “One day. I don’t know when, but he will, Harry, and when he learns that you’re a living Horcrux, he’s going to want you on his side.” 

“Why?” 

“A Horcrux is precious,” Lucius explained softly. “Harry, you know that your parents, that Lily and James, were on the ‘light’ side of the war, with Dumbledore?” 

Harry wrinkled his nose at the mention of the headmaster, and Severus had to bite back a grin at the sight, even as his son nodded his head. 

“During the war, I was on the Dark Lord’s side,” Lucius said. “And when he returns, I will be again. Severus is too.” 

Harry blinked up at his dad. “You were too?” 

“I was,” Severus replied. “You’ve seen the faded tattoo on my arm?” 

Harry nodded. 

“That’s called a Dark Mark, and it was the Lord’s mark for his followers. It faded when he was… when he disappeared. When he comes back, it’ll get darker. Now, I need you to listen to me, okay, this is important. If you want to hide from him, if you don’t want anything to do with him, then we can do that. I won’t ever make you do anything that you don’t want to do, okay? It’s so important that you know that, Harry.” 

“I don’t have to decide now, right?” Harry asked, his brow furrowing. “He’s not… he’s not back now, right?” 

“No, he’s not, and no, you don’t,” Lucius confirmed. “We just thought that you deserved to know, and the longer you have to think, the longer you have to make an informed decision.” 

Harry nodded, leaning back against Severus’ legs. Severus ran his fingers through Harry’s hair and told himself that it was enough that Harry hadn’t run screaming from the room when he realised that Severus was on the side of the man who’d killed his parents. 

He tried to tell himself that it would all work out in the end, but looking down at Harry—only ten, and yet already dealing with things that even grown adults would quake at—he couldn’t be sure. 

In all honesty, he wanted nothing more than to wrap Harry up in cotton wool and keep him at home, safe behind the wards of Prince Manor, for the rest of his life, so that he wouldn’t have to face the cruelness of the world outside it. 

If only it could be that easy. 

… 

Before Harry’s eleventh birthday party—hosted by Lucius and Narcissa, since Severus was many things, but a natural host he was not—they made a quick visit to the bank. 

With Harry’s eleventh birthday came the ability to collect his Heir rings, and while Severus wouldn’t usually be in such a rush for Harry to get them, the Prince heir ring came with a protection that was rare to come by. 

It protected against Mind Magic. 

Most Heir rings came with some form of protection for the wearer, be it against hexes and curses, potions, some even came warded against certain magical creatures and beings. 

The Potter ring held a potion protection, which would likely also be helpful, since it protected Harry from being dosed with Veritaserum, but it was the Prince ring that Severus was eager to get on Harry’s finger. 

He was still too young to learn Occlumency with any success, and Severus wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore to try and get into his mind to find out where he’d been and with whom. 

Errongulf handed over the rings, and they watched as Harry slipped them on; first the Potter ring, and then the Prince ring, giggling at the tingle on his fingers as they resized to fit him. 

“If you will the Prince one to hide, Harry, then nobody will be able to see it but you. You just have to ask it,” Severus said softly. 

Harry frowned. “It’s a ring, Dad, how am I supposed to ask it to hide?” 

Severus chuckled. “With your magic, son.” 

Sticking his tongue out a little as he concentrated, Harry’s brow furrowed, and then, the ring disappeared, as if it had never been there. He nodded. “It worked.” 

“Cool,” Harry murmured. “Can we go to Ollivander’s now, Dad?” 

“Of course. Thank you for your help, Errongulf.” 

“Of course, Lord Prince. And once again, Master Harry, happy birthday.” 

… 

“Where’s the little gremlin?” Lucius asked, when Severus joined him by the fire. 

Severus rolled his eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that. He’s studious, not a gremlin. ” 

Laughing, Lucius pointed out, “He hoards knowledge like a little gremlin. I’ve never seen a child so eager to learn new things, Severus. Besides, it makes him laugh.” 

Shaking his head—and knowing full well that this wasn’t an argument he was ever going to win, because Lucius was right in that Harry loved the nickname—Severus replied, “He’s in the library. When I left, Draco was trying to convince him to play hide and seek.” 

“Of course he’s in the library,” Lucius murmured, trying—and failing—to hide a smirk. “He’s a gremlin.” 

A moment later, he yelped when Severus’ stinging hex hit his thigh. 

“Hogwarts is only a month away,” Lucius said, after a moment. “Do you think he’s ready to meet Dumbledore?” 

“He’s as ready as I can make him,” Severus said, running a hand through his long dark hair. “The Prince Heir ring is working well. I’ve attempted to get into his mind multiple times, and haven’t been able to, so at least we know that Dumbledore won’t be able to pick at his memories at will.” 

“He’s a good actor,” Lucius said, his tone softening. “We’ve taught him well, Severus. I truly believe that he’ll be fine. And he won’t be alone.” 

“If he gets into Slytherin, you mean.” 

“That boy is more Slytherin than Salazar himself was.” 

Severus snorted, but eventually, he nodded his head in his agreement. Harry was as prepared as he could be, and so was Severus himself. Whatever happened from here on in, Harry’s safety was paramount. 

… 

Harry held tightly to Hippy’s hand as she popped him from Prince Manor to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He would have preferred it if his dad could have taken him—or even to have been allowed to travel to London with the Malfoys—but he understood why Hippy was the one who had to deliver him to the train station. 

Dumbledore wasn’t allowed to know anything about Harry’s life, because he’d use it against him, and it would also get his dad into heaps of trouble. That was the very last thing that Harry wanted. 

“Harry need be getting on the train, sir,” Hippy said, nodding to the gleaming scarlet carriages. “Hippy be bringing the trunk inside.” 

Harry sighed but nodded and climbed onto the train. He caught Lucius’ eye in the crowd when he turned to look behind him, and his uncle winked at him, slyly. 

Even just that smallest acknowledgement was enough to make Harry feel worlds better, and it was with a grin that he found himself an empty compartment and settled himself inside it. 

Draco had promised that he would come and find him. 

“If Harry be’s needing anything at school, he’s to call for Hippy,” the elf ordered, firmly, clicking her fingers. Harry’s trunk appeared on the rack above the seats. “Anything. Hippy is be keeping Harry safe.” 

“Thank you, Hippy,” Harry replied, leaning down to hug his elf tightly. 

Draco and Uncle Lucius both thought that it was weird to be so familiar with a house elf, but Hippy had been with Harry for years now. He didn’t think that it was weird that he liked her. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, when he pulled back. 

She nodded at him, and with a final, slightly tremulous smile, she disappeared. Harry glanced around the empty compartment and sighed once more, before he pulled the book he’d brought for the ride from his pocket. 

Enlarging it with a tap of his wand, he settled himself in to read. Who knew how long it was going to take Draco to come and keep him company? 

… 

Draco appeared about an hour into the ride to Hogwarts, with two boys that Harry didn’t know standing behind him. 

“This is Crabbe, and Goyle,” Draco said, pointing them out. 

Harry nodded to them, but he was glad when Draco pointed them down towards another carriage before he came in and sat down on the bench facing Harry. “Draco Malfoy, pleased to meet you.” 

Harry grinned, offering his hand, which Draco took and shook immediately. 

“Harry Potter.” 

Draco tilted his head slightly, an amused gleam in his eyes. “So it’s true. I wondered if I’d be seeing you here this year, Potter.” 

Harry arched his eyebrow. “Really?” 

“Oh, yes. My father told me to keep an eye out for you, you know? What with your history.” 

Harry snorted, unable to stop himself. Draco rolled his eyes, and the two of them fell into easy conversation about the book that Harry had been reading, and classes they were looking forward to once school started. 

It was only about half an hour later when the compartment door opened again, and a redhead practically stumbled inside. He had dirt on his nose, and his hair was a mess—which, given Harry’s hair disasters, was saying kind of a lot. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” He asked, leaning against the frame of the door awkwardly. “Everywhere else is full.” 

Draco wrinkled his nose, but Harry shot him a warning glance and nodded to the seat beside him. 

“I’m Ron Weasley,” the boy introduced himself. 

Draco sneered, looking away. 

Harry rolled his eyes at his best friend. Family feuds were stupid in his opinion, but he’d heard enough about the issues between the Weasleys and the Malfoys to know that Draco was never going to willingly be friends with this kid. 

“Harry,” Harry offered, resisting the urge to smooth his hair over his forehead. “And that’s Draco Malfoy.” 

Weasley let out a noise of disgust, glaring at Draco. Harry arched his eyebrow. 

“If you’ve a problem, you’re welcome to go and sit somewhere else,” he said, his tone a little chillier than it had been before. 

“Maybe I should. Wouldn’t want to sit with snakes, I might get poisoned.” 

“Bye, then,” Harry replied flatly, inclining his head towards the door. He had no time for prejudice. His dad had already told him that the Slytherin students tended to be ostracised from the rest of the school due to the stupid house prejudices. It was utterly ridiculous. 

Harry didn’t even like that they were sorted into houses. The idea that eleven year olds could be sorted by traits was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. 

It was probably being ostracised that turned more of the Slytherins ‘evil’ in the first place. 

He shook his head as Weasley stomped off. “Idiot.” 

Draco snorted. “I mean, Father did say.” 

Harry shrugged. “Gotta give people a chance to prove you wrong, Dray. I’d hate to be judged by my name or my house before people even get to know me.” 

“Better get used to it, Harry.” 

Harry grinned. “Well. Maybe I’ll just have to surprise people.” 

… 

Severus watched the first years walk into the hall. He caught sight of his son almost immediately, and was glad to see that he was as surgically attached to Draco as he usually was. The two of them were looking around, pointing things out to the other, and Severus had to bite back a smile at the expressions of wonder on their faces. 

Even Draco, who’d always taken magic for granted far more than Harry did, looked impressed by the Great Hall. 

He glanced to the side to see Dumbledore was scanning the new students as well. He was sitting forward slightly in his seat, his eyes twinkling extra brightly as he stared hard. 

McGonagall stepped up to the podium and placed the hat onto the stool, before she let her scroll of student names fall open. 

“Abbott, Hannah!” 

Severus watched, mostly uninterested, as the students moved to the tables as the hat called out their houses. He paid attention enough only to attach names to faces to make his classes easier. 

He perked up a little when Draco perched on the rickety stool, and then chuckled when the hat barely touched his blond hair before it was screaming out for the house of the serpents. 

He nodded to Draco when the child took his seat, and then turned his attention back to Harry, noticing that Draco did the same thing, ignoring the welcomes in favour of waiting for his friend. 

Eventually, her voice breaking just slightly, Minerva called out, “Potter, Harry.” 

The atmosphere in the hall shifted slightly as Harry walked calmly up to the stool and sat down. His eyes disappeared as the hat fell over them. Along the table, he could practically feel Dumbledore’s tension, and he clenched his own fist, his nails digging into his palm as he waited for the hat’s verdict. 

It seemed to take longer for Harry to be sorted than anyone else, but finally, finally, the hat announced, “SLYTHERIN!” 

Severus bit his lip to stop the smile as Harry joined Draco, the two boys high fiving as he sat down beside him. 

Letting out a sigh of relief, Severus turned his attention back to the sorting as the last of the children were sent to their tables. 

He would have to Floo Lucius later, with the good news. 

… 

Severus wasn’t surprised to be summoned to the headmaster’s office before he’d even had the chance to check in on the Slytherin common room. He sent a quick note to the Slytherin Prefects to keep the first years in the common room until he could make it there. 

It was tradition that he welcomed the new students to Slytherin on the first night of the year, and he certainly wasn’t going to drop that tradition this year. 

“Can we make this quick, Albus?” he requested, as he walked into the headmaster’s office. “I need to check in on my new snakes, make sure that they understand what will be expected of them.” 

“Yes, yes, of course. I wanted to talk to you about young Harry. Quite unexpected that he’d be in Slytherin, of course, but perhaps it’s a good thing,” Albus replied. “You’ll keep an eye on him, won’t you, Severus?” 

“I keep an eye on all of my first years, Albus, as you well know.” 

Albus nodded, and then looked down at his hands. “He doesn’t look like I’d expected he would.” 

Severus frowned. “What were you expecting?” 

The headmaster shook his head. “More… surprise, perhaps? He was clearly used to magic, Severus. He’s been brought up by somebody with knowledge of our world, if not a witch or wizard.” 

“Ah,” Severus replied, inclining his head. “Quite. Well, if you’ll excuse me? I have a welcoming speech of my own to give.” 

“Of course, my boy. And, Severus?” 

“Yes, Headmaster?” 

“Do try and connect with the boy, won’t you? A little more information never hurt anyone, after all.” 

“As you say, Headmaster.” 

… 

“Dad?” Harry murmured, slipping into Severus' private lab. 

Severus looked up. “What is it, son? Are you okay?” 

Harry nodded, but frowned. “I’m not sure if it means anything, but Professor Quirrel makes my scar hurt. It’s like a tickle most of the time, but when he comes really close, it burns. ” 

Severus beckoned him closer, hugging him to his chest. He pressed his thumb over Harry’s scar, rubbing the skin for a moment. 

“Leave it with me, okay? I’ll see if I can’t make you a salve for it, and I’ll speak to Lucius, and perhaps the goblins, about why it would be hurting, okay?” 

“Okay. Thanks, Dad.” 

“Of course. Thank you for coming and telling me about it. Do you need a pain potion for it now?” 

Harry shook his head. “No, I’m okay. It’s only really when he’s close by.” 

“Okay. Why don’t you tell me about your first week and help me chop up these flobberworms, hmm? I have half an hour free, and nobody should be bothering me for a while.” 

Harry grinned up at him. “Sure.” 

… 

Harry woke up to Draco bouncing on his bed. 

“Come on, lazybones! It’s Christmas!” 

Harry laughed, but allowed himself to be dragged from beneath the warm blankets and out into the hall of Malfoy Manor. 

His dad, Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa were already in the family room when the two boys arrived, and Harry made a beeline for his dad. 

He leant into his side as Hippy handed him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Too early,” Harry muttered, pressing his face against his dad's upper arm. 

“Ah, you know that Draco is never going to grow up when it comes to Christmas, Harry,” his dad replied, chuckling. “Lucius is just as bad, you know? Why do you think we’re already here?” 

Harry grimaced. “You mean that I’ll still have to deal with this when I’m old?” 

Lucius gasped. “Harry James Potter, did you just call me old ?” 

Harry giggled. “Maybe.” 

“How dare you?” Lucius said, putting his nose in the air as he tutted disapprovingly. “Narcissa, do something about the boy. I’m deeply offended.” 

Narcissa tilted her head slightly, and then smiled wickedly. “Why don’t you open the first gift, Harry, dear?” 

“Betrayed! By my own wife, and my own gremlin!” Lucius said, shaking his head. “I’ll never get over this betrayal. Not ever, I tell you.” 

Draco passed Harry a present from the large pile beneath the tree, and Harry smiled at his friend. “Thanks, Dray.” He checked the tag, and then giggled again. “Thanks, Uncle Lucius.” 

“Hmph! I’m taking it back to the shop!” 

Severus snorted. “Like a Malfoy would ever be caught dead taking something back to the shop.” 

“He’s got you there, dear,” Narcissa agreed, nodding her head. 

Lucius wrinkled his nose. “Fine. Fine, open it, Gremlin. You’re going to love it anyway. I give the best presents.” 

The gasp that Harry gave when he read the title of the book he opened said that he agreed with his uncle. 

The pile beneath the tree lessened rapidly as the piles of open gifts beside their recipients grew, and when there were only a few left, Draco threw another to Harry. 

The paper didn’t match any of the other presents, and Harry frowned at it. It was extremely light, despite its bulk, and Harry glanced up at Severus. 

“Do you know who it’s from, Dad?” 

Severus shook his head, casting a couple of detection spells on the paper to check for anything sinister. When he didn’t find anything, he nodded for Harry to open it. 

A cloak fell out, and everyone in the room except for Harry gasped. Harry tilted his head as he ran his hand along the material, and then his eyes widened. 

“It’s an invisibility cloak, isn’t it, Dad?” 

“It is,” Severus replied, nodding. He pointed to a piece of paper that had fallen out of the wrapping. “There’s a note, Harry.” 

“Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.”  

Harry handed the paper to Severus and returned his attention to the cloak. Had it really belonged to James Potter? 

“Don’t invisibility cloaks lose their potency?” he asked, looking up at Lucius, who was frowning at the cloak slightly. “Like, the spells wear off? How could this have belonged to my father.” 

“This is from Dumbledore,” Severus said. “I recognise his handwriting. What on earth is the old goat playing at?” 

“Who gives an eleven year old an invisibility cloak? Narcissa agreed, shaking her head. “For a headmaster, the man is ridiculously irresponsible.” 

Harry looked up at Severus. “Do you really think that it was James’ cloak, Dad?” 

Severus sighed. “I don’t know, son. I want you to promise me that you won’t use it to go wandering around Hogwarts though. It’s a useful tool to have at your disposal, but at least for now, I think that you’re a bit young to be playing with invisibility cloaks.” 

Harry nodded. “I promise.” 

“I have a couple more gifts for the boys anyway,” Lucius said, clearly intent on changing the subject and getting their Christmas back on track. He pulled two long gifts from the side of the sofa and grinned. 

“Fancy a morning flying session, boys?” 

… 

“Have you managed to get any details about Harry’s home life, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, as the summer term picked up. 

All told, it had been quite an easy year so far, but Severus was still looking forward to the summer holidays—if only so that Harry was out of the castle, and out of Dumbledore’s sphere of influence. 

Not that he’d tried to approach Harry himself, which was as surprising as it was suspicious. 

Severus shook his head. “Nothing particularly interesting. I believe that he’s living with someone magical, if that helps. He talks about a house elf called ‘Hippy’ quite a lot.” 

Dumbledore frowned and shook his head. “Perhaps they were using Polyjuice potion when they took him from the Dursleys. Or a glamour, of course. It’s the only explanation that I can come up with.” 

Severus nodded. “Whoever it is, they’ve covered their tracks well. Potter hasn’t mentioned the name of his guardians in my presence at all, and Lucius said the same when he went home with Draco for Christmas and Easter.” 

“Yes, those two seem to have become fast friends, don’t they?” 

Severus nodded. “Quite.” 

“Both of them are bright boys, too,” Dumbledore added. They’re at the top of all of their classes, one or the other of them, with the other coming in second. According to Minerva, it’s quite annoying her lion, Miss Granger. Apparently, the poor dear is upset that she cannot quite catch up to them.” 

“She’s an insipid know-it-all,” Severus muttered. “Really, Albus, Minerva should be encouraging her not to behave like she swallowed her text books, and then, perhaps, she’ll get better marks in her classes. She’s basically copying the texts at this point.” 

“Now, now, Severus,” Dumbledore reprimanded slightly. “She’s trying very hard, Miss Granger, and she’s a good student.” 

Severus rolled his eyes. Of course Dumbledore was sticking up for a Gryffindor, what else was new? 

“Well, do keep your ears peeled, Severus. Perhaps you’ll hear something. In the meantime, I believe I’ll see if I can do a little more digging with the Ministry. Perhaps someone there will know our mystery guardian.” 

Severus nodded, sighing. Merlin, but he was already looking forward to Harry’s graduation. 

… 

“I saw Dumbledore put in the paperwork for another Defence teacher,” Lucius said, pouring out two tumblers of whisky. “What happened to Quirrel? I know you said he was a bit… odd.” 

Severus frowned. “He was. Stuttering all over the place like a bloody fool. How he was supposed to teach the students when he was scared of his own shadow, I have no idea. But… There was something strange about him. He was making Harry’s scar hurt.” 

Lucius blinked. “The Horcrux scar?” 

Severus nodded. “Quite so. I’m not sure why, but… surely it had to be something to do with the Dark Lord, right? For a Horcrux to have a reaction, it would have to be something to do with the original soul? I’m not completely sure about the function of Horcruxes beyond the obvious, unfortunately. The lack of reading material on the subject is really quite irksome.” 

Sipping from his glass, Lucius hummed lightly. “Did pain potions work for Harry?” 

“I made him a salve that seemed to do the job well enough,” Severus replied softly. “It took the edge off, if not all of the discomfort, but I’ll continue to work on it in case anything similar happens.” 

“What if… what if it actually was him, ” Lucius asked. “It can’t be that Quirrell was marked, because Harry has never reacted to either of us. But—hear me out, Severus—given the Horcrux in Harry’s scar, we know for a fact that the Dark Lord has to still be out there, somewhere, correct? What if he was actually in the school, possessing Quirrell?” 

“Son of a bitch,” Severus muttered, shaking his head. “The Stone. You know that Dumbledore was keeping the Philosopher’s Stone in the castle for Flamel? What if—” 

“The Dark Lord wanted the stone to regain his body,” Lucius finished, with a grim smile. 

“Why wouldn’t he have come to me, in that case?” Severus asked. 

“Perhaps he isn’t sure if he can trust you? You’ve been living in the same castle as Dumbledore for ten years, Severus. It wouldn’t be completely irrational to believe that you’d been turned from his side, would it?” 

Severus grumbled under his breath, but nodded. “I suppose so. Though, that doesn’t bode well for me when he does return, does it?” 

“Don’t worry so much, Severus,” Lucius offered softly. “We can explain. I know that he’s curse happy sometimes, but… he’ll listen.” 

“I hope so.” 

… 

“Merlin, he’s actually an idiot,” Harry ranted. “How are we supposed to learn anything from him when he can’t even handle sodding pixies?” 

Draco snorted, shaking his head. “I suppose it’s a good job that we’re ahead in our studies, or we’d be screwed. Then again, you remember what Demetrius said, when he had us read Lockhart’s books, right?” 

“Fairy tales,” Harry agreed, grinning slightly, even as he slumped down on the common room sofa beside Draco. “We should probably supplement the lesson though. Do you think that D—Professor Snape would maybe teach us a little when he has spare time?” 

Draco’s eyes glimmered at the almost slip, but then he nodded. “We can always ask. Maybe even the prefects could do a couple of lessons a week with us or something. Anything has got to be better than that nimrod.” 

“What is Dumbledore thinking?” Harry said, shaking his head. “He can’t actually believe that Lockhart is a good teacher, right?” 

“My dad said that there’s a curse on the Defence position,” Draco replied. “Nobody can keep the job for longer than a year. At least we know that he’ll be gone by the summer.” 

Harry chuckled. “Small mercies. Come on, let’s go and see Professor Snape.” 

… 

“Harry?” 

Harry blinked, and then looked at Draco. “Sorry, what?” 

“Did you hear a word I just said?” Draco asked, rolling his eyes. “Why were you staring at the She-Weasel?” 

Harry shook his head. “I wasn’t, sorry. I was just lost in thought. What were you saying?” 

As Draco repeated himself, Harry glanced over at the youngest Weasley again. There was something about her that felt… odd. Odd, but familiar.

He tried to pay attention to Draco, but he couldn’t concentrate. He had to find out what was going on with the little Weasley. 

… 

The invisibility cloak that he’d promised he wouldn’t use was draped around his shoulders comfortably, the hood hiding his face from view as he followed one of the second year Gryffindors up to their seventh floor common room. He slipped through the portrait behind them, pressing up against the wall so that he didn’t accidentally bump into anyone. 

He spotted Weasley in the corner, writing feverishly into a small, black leather bound notebook. It took him a while to make it over to her corner, but he managed eventually, glancing over her shoulder from a distance. 

He watched, horrified, as her writing sank into the page, only to be replaced with a different handwriting, the words looping elegantly across the page. 

That wasn’t normal, even in the Wizarding world. 

Harry watched her until she finally packed up her stuff and then followed her up to her dorm. He levitated himself up the stairs with a whispered ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ on his trainers, knowing from Hogwarts: A History that the girls' staircase turned into slides if a boy tried to go up them. 

He felt a bit weird being in the girls’ dorm, but there was something about that book. Harry thought that it was the book that was emanating the odd, familiar feeling he’d been getting from Weasley, and he wanted a closer look at it. 

He sat in the window seat as he waited for Weasley to go to sleep, cursing his luck when she tucked the book beneath her pillow. When he thought that it had been long enough, he used a summoning charm on the book and plucked it out of the air when it flew at him. 

Weasley turned over, but she thankfully didn’t wake, and Harry smiled to himself. Now that he had his hands on the book, he was certain that it was the item that had made him feel weird, and he decided that he was taking it with him. 

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like it was his. 

Harry slipped from the dorm and back down to the common room, the book held securely in his pocket. He concentrated his energy on getting back to the dungeons without being caught. 

His dad would be absolutely fuming with him if he were caught out after curfew, especially using the cloak. 

When he made it back to the dorm, he tucked the cloak back into the bottom of his trunk where he usually kept it, and then sat on the bed, turning the book over in his hands. 

Whatever it was, it really did feel like it belonged to him. Still, he knew better than to play with magical artifacts when he didn’t know what they were, and he absolutely wouldn’t be writing in it himself. 

He wasn’t an imbecile. 

Not sure what else to do with it now that he had it, Harry tucked it into his trunk, beneath his invisibility cloak. Until he knew what it was, he wouldn’t do anything with it. Simply having it was enough. At least Weasley didn’t have her paws all over it anymore. 

Satisfied, Harry changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed. He knew that he’d have to answer Draco’s questions about where he was in the morning, but for now, he was completely done in. 

… 

Severus groaned as he rubbed a hand over his face. Why was it that, just when it felt like things were going well, life decided to kick him in the face? 

And of course, this time, it was fucking Black. Of course it was. 

Harry’s second year was done, and it had been quiet. Really quiet. And Severus had been enjoying that, dammit. 

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Harry asked, frowning at him as he pottered into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of milk. 

Severus grumbled under his breath. “There’s been a breakout at Azkaban. Sirius Black.” 

Harry blinked at him. “My godfather?” 

“The one and only.” 

“Huh. That’s different. How did he break out?” 

Severus snorted. “I feel like you’re far too used to me telling you bad news. I don’t know how he broke out, son, just that he did. The Ministry seems to be under the impression that he’s after you, according to Lucius.” 

“What? Why? What did I do to him?” 

“Nothing, Harry. Lucius doesn’t believe it, and neither do I. Of course, I’ve got no idea why he chose now to break out if he’s had the means to do so all this time, but… yeah, I’ve got nothing, kid.” 

Harry chuckled. “I’m sure it’ll come out eventually, Dad. It usually does.” 

“True enough,” Severus agreed. “Are you ready to head over to the Malfoys’? Lucius has been insufferable that you’ve been home for almost two weeks and you’ve not been to see him yet.” 

Harry grinned and nodded. “Sure. Hey, Dad?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Try not to worry about Mr Black, kay? It’ll all be fine in the end.” 

“I wish I had your faith, son.” 

… 

“Divination is a waste of time and energy,” Harry said, striking that option out with a flourish of his wand. “You’ve either got it, or you haven’t, you can’t learn it.” 

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Trelawney is a right weird old bat, as well, so I’ve heard. Apparently, she chooses a student every year to like, continuously predict their death.” 

Harry laughed. “Knowing my luck, I’d be that unlucky student. Pass. What about Ancient Runes?” 

Draco nodded. “Father wants me to take that. Runes gives a pretty decent foundation for warding, and you always want to be able to make your own wards, you know?” 

Harry nodded, ticking the box beside Ancient Runes. “Care of Magical Creatures?” 

“That could be interesting? You like creatures,” Draco pointed out. “And Professor Kettleburn—” 

“Is retiring,” Severus said, as he and Lucius entered the study. “Apparently, Albus has decided to promote Hagrid for the coming school year. Alongside his groundskeeper responsibilities, he’ll be the new Care Of Professor.” 

Harry and Draco exchanged a look, and then both of them crossed off the lesson, shaking their heads. 

Lucius laughed. 

“Arithmancy then,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. “Good enough.” 

Severus glanced over his shoulder at the electives, and then squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “Good choices, son.” 

Harry smiled at him and nodded. 

“Flying?” Draco offered. “I’m trying out for the team this year, I need to practice.” 

“Sure, Dray,” Harry replied, nodding his head. 

Harry loved flying, he really did, but he was quite happy to leave Quidditch to others to play. He didn’t mind helping Draco practice though. 

“We have to go and find books on Runes after, though,” he added. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course we do. How are you not a Ravenclaw, Harry?” 

… 

“Harry?” 

Harry turned his head to find himself standing face to face with the man he’d seen splashed across the front page of almost every Prophet over the summer. 

He tilted his head slightly. “Mr Black.” 

He took a step back and sighed in relief when he felt the Malfoy wards welcoming him. He and Draco had lost track of where they were and had flown low out of the wards. Thankfully, not far beyond them. It was just his luck that the escaped prisoner would be there, just as he was about to go back inside them. 

Draco had already gone in, the gates were the only entry point for the wards. Harry hoped that he’d looked back and seen Sirius, and gone to get one of their dads. 

Sirius blinked at him, as though confused by the address. “Harry, I—” 

“Stay right there, Black,” Lucius growled, his wand trained on the escaped prisoner as he pulled Harry back behind him. 

“I’m not going to hurt him, Malfoy!” Sirius protested. “I would never!” 

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t take your word for that,” Lucius replied. “Why are you here?” 

“Heard in Diagon Alley that Harry had been seen there with your son,” Sirius admitted, running a hand through his messy, filthy hair. “I just… I just wanted to see if I could get a look at him, that’s all. It’s been years . He’s my godson .” 

Lucius’ eyes narrowed slightly. “Boys,” he murmured. “Head on up to the house, and shut yourself in the library. Have one of the elves tell Severus to meet me in my study, immediately.” 

Harry was about to protest when Draco pulled on his arm. Harry allowed himself to be tugged up towards the house, stumbling when he bumped straight into his dad. 

“Black’s here?” Severus asked, checking Harry over critically. “Are you okay?” 

Harry nodded. “Uncle Lucius said that we’re to go to the library, and you’re to meet him in his study straight away.” 

Severus nodded. “Come on, I’ll walk the two of you to the library.” 

“Uncle Lucius—” 

“You’re more important than Black,” Severus interrupted, softly. “Five more minutes isn’t going to hurt anyone, is it?” 

Harry felt his lips tilt up, and he nodded, slipping his hand into his dad’s. He might be a teenager now, but he still needed his dad sometimes. 

He was okay with that. 

… 

“I’ll work on getting you in front of the Wizengamot,” Lucius said, running a hand through his hair. “With Veritaserum, it’s an open and shut case.” 

Black arched his eyebrow. “Why would you do that for me?” 

“It’s not for you,” Lucius replied, shrugging. “It’s for Harry. You could rot for me, Black, I’ve never thought of you fondly, but you’re his godfather, and if he wants you in his life, then he deserves that.” 

“Why would you care about Harry?” Black asked, his eyes narrowed slightly. 

Lucius tilted his head slightly. “Let’s get past the truth serum, shall we? Maybe after that, I’ll consider answering your questions.”

…

“So Pettigrew was living with the Weasleys as a rat for all these years?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose. “Gross!”  

Severus chuckled, but nodded his head. “Quite. Regardless, as soon as he heard the Aurors were asking about him, he snuck away and ran, the little coward.” 

“But Mr Black is free?” 

Severus nodded again. 

“He’s not… I know that he’s my godfather, but he doesn’t have a claim on me, right? Harry asked, biting at his bottom lip worriedly. 

Severus shook his head. “He only has a claim if you want him to have it. Lucius has invited him over for afternoon tea tomorrow. We can sit and talk with him then. We’re going to have him swear an oath of secrecy, Harry. Even if he doesn’t like something, he won’t be able to tell anyone anything.” 

Harry nodded. “Okay. I have to be there for that, right?” 

“You don’t have to do anything,” Severus replied softly. “If you don’t want him in your life, Harry, that’s your right and your choice. And you don’t have to make any decisions until you’re ready. You hear me?” 

“I hear you,” Harry agreed with a small smile. “I’ll come after the oath? I don’t want to have to pretend anything in front of him.” 

Severus reached out a hand to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Whatever you want to do, kid. Now, you want to come and help me brew a potion to turn Lucius’ hair pink?” 

Harry grinned and nodded eagerly, following his dad into the potions lab. 

… 

“Where’s Harry?” 

“He’ll be joining us shortly,” Lucius replied. “First, I’ll have your Wizard’s Oath that everything we tell you will remain in this room, and that you won’t run off to tell anyone else.” 

Sirius arched his eyebrow. “And if I refuse?” 

“Then I’ll have you ejected from the Manor, and you won’t get anywhere near Harry until he’s seventeen and can make his own decisions legally,” Lucius replied flatly. “It’s up to you, Black, but do make a decision. Time's-a-wastin.” 

Sirius stared at him for a long moment and then nodded. Severus gave him a slip of parchment with the Oath already written out, and he read it outloud. A flash of acceptance from Magic herself blinded them all momentarily, and then Sirius sat back in his seat. 

“What’s so bad that you needed a secrecy oath? What’s happened to my godson?” 

Severus murmured for Hippy to collect Harry, and then sighed. “When you were arrested, Dumbledore placed Harry with the Dursleys.” 

Sirius frowned for a moment, and then blinked, his eyes widening as realisation sunk in. “Wait, Petunia? Lily’s awful sister?” 

Severus nodded. “I was told about it when Harry was almost four, and I couldn’t believe that Dumbledore would be so foolish as to leave him with her, so I went to have a look for myself. He… they…” Severus shook his head. “I kidnapped him.” 

Lucius snorted. 

Sirius stared. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I kidnapped him. Put a false memory of a stranger taking him in Petunia’s mind, and I took him with me. He’s been my son ever since. Albus doesn’t know that I have him, and it will remain that way, Black.” 

“How?” Sirius asked. “How does Albus not know?” 

“His name hasn’t changed. We make sure to be anywhere but at home when the letters written by the Registration Book are done. Harry only ever talks about Hippy—our elf—when he’s at Hogwarts, and he technically spends Christmas and Easter with the Malfoys.” 

“Sneaky bastards,” Sirius said, shaking his head. 

Severus noticed that he didn’t seem particularly put out by the ‘sneaky’ part, though. 

A knock sounded on the door, and Lucius called for Harry to enter. 

“Hey, Gremlin,” he murmured, when Harry stepped inside, glancing nervously at Sirius. “Come and sit,” he added, patting the top of the beanbag he’d purposefully placed by his own chair. 

Severus understood his reasoning; if it came to blows between Severus and Sirius, he wanted Harry to be out of the crossfire. It didn’t soothe Severus’ need to have his son close by, though, and the anxiety of having Sirius in Harry’s life was making itself known. 

“Hi, Harry,” Sirius said, when Harry had curled up in the beanbag. “I’m Sirius.” 

“I know,” Harry replied, quietly. “Are you here to try and take me away from my dad, Mr Black?” 

Sirius froze for a moment, glancing at Severus. Eventually, he said, “I’m not trying to do anything that you don’t want me to do, Harry. I’d like to be as much a part of your life as you’ll let me be.” 

Harry nodded slowly. “Okay.” 

“So, why don’t you tell me what you like doing, hmm?” 

Severus sat back a little and watched Harry and Sirius talk. It was stilted at first, but with Lucius facilitating, it eased a little. Especially when Lucius got Harry onto the topic of his favourite books. 

To Black’s credit, he didn’t seem disappointed that Harry hadn’t followed in James’ footsteps with Quidditch and pranking, and when he left, it was with the promise to write to Harry to arrange another meeting before he went back to school. 

Harry seemed to be happy enough with the meeting, and Severus was happy that Harry was happy. In the end, that was all that really mattered. 

… 

“Are you sure that you won’t come with me?” Harry asked for the third time, standing in front of the fireplace. “What if—” 

“Harry, if you want to come home at any time, for any reason, call for Hippy. She’ll bring you home immediately. If you need me, Hippy will bring me to you, I promise. Okay?” 

Harry wrinkled his nose, but he eventually nodded, reaching out to hug Severus. 

“Love you, Dad.” 

“I love you too, kid,” Severus replied, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Now, off you go. You’ll have fun. And just think, the Black family library might have some fun books that we don’t have.” 

Harry laughed before he stepped through the fireplace, calling out for Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Severus watched him go, and then ran a hand through his hair. 

Time to go and blow up some cauldrons. That was the only way he was going to get through the weekend until Harry got home. 

… 

It was strange, being in a house that wasn’t his own, or Malfoy Manor. Harry felt out of place in a way that he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. Malfoy Manor was as much a home to him as Prince Manor was, and Spinner’s End before it, so to be in Sirius’ home was a little odd. 

He perched on the edge of the sofa, wrinkling his nose at the dust in the room. The ‘home’ didn’t feel lived in. It felt… old. A little grimy. 

Harry tried to remind himself that Sirius had spent a long time in prison, and home care probably wasn’t his first priority right now, but… he wanted to go home. 

And Sirius was clearly feeling just as awkward as Harry himself was. He’d greeted him jovially when Harry had stepped through the fireplace, and the first few minutes of small talk had been easy enough, but once that had dried up they were both left looking at each other, shifting uncomfortably as they searched for ‘safe’ conversation topics. 

“So, are you looking forward to your next year at Hogwarts?” Sirius asked, eventually, sitting back in his armchair. 

Harry nodded, and then realised that to make things less awkward, he was going to have to make an actual effort. 

“I guess. I’m looking forward to my new classes. Draco and I are taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.” 

Sirius smiled slightly. “Your dad took Arithmancy because he heard that your mum was taking it. Even at that age, he was mildly infatuated with her.” 

Harry chuckled. “What else did they take?” 

“Your mum took Ancient Runes like you, and your dad took Care of Magical Creatures with me.” 

“Is Runes hard? Dad, I mean, uh—” 

“He raised you, Harry. I don’t mind you calling Sniv—Severus ‘Dad’, kiddo.” 

Harry nodded, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly. “Kay. He, uh, told me that Runes is hard, one of the hardest classes at Hogwarts.” 

“I didn’t take it,” Sirius admitted. “But I think I remember your mum saying that it was hard but worth it. She was a bookworm, like you.” 

Harry grinned. 

“You wanna take a look around the house with me?” Sirius offered. “You can pick your own room for when you come to stay, and maybe help me decide what to do with some of the others? This house needs lots of work.” 

Harry followed Sirius around the house, commenting here and there when asked for his opinion. The only time he really became interested was when they stepped into the library on the first floor. 

Sirius let him look around for five minutes, before dragging him out, promising that they could return later. 

Harry pouted a little bit, but it was soon driven from his mind when an innocuous looking dresser thoroughly stole the library’s thunder. Harry was getting that feeling again, the same one he’d felt when he took the leather notebook from the Weasley girl. 

He glanced over it, trying not to get Sirius’ attention as they looked around. “I think I like this room,” he said, just before they could leave. “For a bedroom, I mean. It’s near the library, after all.” 

Sirius snorted, but shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, kiddo, whatever you want. Come on, I’ll show you around the rest of the house, and then we’ll go and get ice cream, hmm?” 

“Kay.” 

The locket was carefully placed in the bottom of his bag, liberated from the dresser. The feeling was a tiny bit different from the notebook, but just as welcoming to Harry. It almost felt protective, in a way. 

Harry wasn’t sure if he liked it, or if he should even be collecting these items that felt so odd, but he really couldn’t suppress the feeling that they were his. They felt like him. 

The weekend passed by in a blink after the first night, and Harry found that he enjoyed being with Sirius in the same way he enjoyed talking to some of the other boys in his school year. 

It was jovial and fun, but distant. Like the kind of friend that you only really talked to when you saw them, not someone that you specifically sought out. 

He wasn’t sure if that would change—part of him hoped that it would, it was nice to have the connection to his birth parents—but he didn’t know. He wasn’t convinced. 

Sirius was still recovering from spending so much time in Azkaban, and beyond that, there was something coming, even if Harry didn’t know what it was, and he had a feeling that he and Sirius would be on opposite sides of whatever ‘it’ was. 

Still, Harry accepted the hug from his godfather before he Flooed home, and a part of him—an admittedly small part—felt bad about leaving the man alone in the sprawling house. 

But, he figured, Sirius must have friends, right? He must have people that he could be around while he figured himself and his life out. Everyone needed that. 

… 

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Lucius asked, when Severus stormed through the Manor three days before the beginning of the new school year. 

“Remus sodding Lupin is the new Defence teacher,” Severus snarled. “It’s like Dumbledore is trying to make me lose my fucking mind!” 

Lucius snorted. “I’m actually sure that it’s just the lack of interest in the job, what with the curse and all. Anybody with any intelligence wouldn’t go anywhere near that job, Severus.” 

Severus rolled his eyes, but inclined his head. “Being around Black for Harry’s sake is one thing, but being around Lupin for extended periods of time… this year is going to be hell on wheels.” 

“Well, look at the bright side,” Lucius said, shrugging his shoulders. “At least you know that he’ll be gone in a year.” 

Glaring, Severus shook his head. “That isn’t comforting now, Lucius.” 

Lucius shrugged. “That’s all I’ve got.” 

… 

“Dad?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Professor Lupin is a werewolf.” 

Severus blinked, and then turned around to look at Harry. “How did you figure it out?” 

Harry snorted. “He’s always off ‘sick’ around the full moon, and he’s quieter than usual for days after. And, well, I mean, I read the whole Defence book. And you’re brewing Wolfsbane.” 

Severus shook his head, but he smiled slightly. “I don’t know why anyone ever tries to keep anything from you, you’re too smart for your own good. But yes, Harry, Lupin is a werewolf.” 

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Kay.” 

“He’s… not safe,” Severus hedged, “but there are precautions in place to keep things as safe as they can be. You don’t have to worry about him being out of control.” 

“I know. If it was up to Dumbledore, I’d be worried, but I know that you’ll make sure he takes your potion.” 

Severus smiled again and nodded. “I will.” 

“Alright. I should go and finish my homework,” Harry said, leaving the office with a distracted wave. Severus watched him go and shook his head. Sometimes, his kid was way too smart for his own good. 

… 

“We knew it was coming,” Severus said, handing the letter back to Lucius with a heavy sigh. “I had hoped that it would be a little while longer, but…” 

“Severus—” 

“Only for Harry’s sake,” Severus clarified. “He’s thirteen, Lucius, barely a teenager. This is going to be a lot for him to handle, and I dread to think what will happen if the Dark Lord dismisses what we have to say about the Horcrux.” 

“The ritual is an old one,” Lucius said, glancing down at the letter once more. “Can you brew the requested potion?” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “Of course I can,” he replied. “Though it will take a while. I believe it takes six full moons to be at its most potent.” 

Lucius winced. “Well, if that’s what it takes, it’s what it takes. I’ll write back to Barty and let him know that you’re willing to brew the potion.” 

“I… might have an addition that will make the potion… better. It will help the Dark Lord’s power return to its full strength,” Severus said, grimacing slightly. “Let him know that we’ll write to him about it over Christmas, it’s only a week away. I need… I need to talk to Harry.” 

“What addition?” 

“This ritual, I remember it. The Dark Lord will want Harry’s blood, but it’s “blood of the enemy, forcibly taken’. If it’s changed to ‘willingly offered’, then the Dark Lord’s magic will be more stable. Not only that, but… I’m not particularly interested in anything being ‘forcibly taken’ from my son.” 

Lucius sighed. “I know that you don’t like putting so much on his shoulders, Severus, but—” 

“You don’t like it either. It is what it is.” 

Lucius nodded. “Truer words have never been spoken.” 

… 

“I don’t understand,” Harry admitted, frowning between Severus and Lucius. “If I willingly give him my blood, he’ll be stronger? Do we want him to be stronger?” 

“As of right now, I believe we do,” Severus replied. “Unfortunately, son, I can’t predict the future, but I believe that the fact that you’re his Horcrux will protect you. He won’t harm you for fear of damaging his soul.” 

Harry sighed. “Do you want me to do this, Dad? Because I’ll do it willingly… for you. But not for him. I don’t know him. The only contact I’ve ever had with him was when he tried to kill me.” 

“I know, son. And if you don’t want to do this, I’ll back you the whole way,” Severus promised, his tone soft. “But… the Dark Lord has clear ideas on the Wizarding World, and he isn’t wrong about many of them.” 

“I know. I do know that, Dad, and I’m not trying to be difficult, but—” 

“You be as difficult as you want, Gremlin,” Lucius interrupted softly. “You’re a teenager, it’s your time to be difficult.” 

Harry snorted, but quickly sobered. 

“What is it, Harry?” 

“What if he… what if he thinks that he owns me, because I'm his Horcrux? I’m not a… a thing. I don’t want to be owned. ” 

“Then you’ll just have to set him straight,” Lucius replied, with a small smirk. “After all, if he can’t hurt you, then he’ll have to allow for you to have your own opinions, no?” 

“You really think that he’ll listen to me?” Harry asked, doubtfully. 

“I think that stranger things have happened,” Lucius replied. “And I think that you’re capable of anything you put your mind to, Gremlin.” 

“So, uh. How do I… how do I give him the blood?” 

“When the potion is ready—which it will be during the summer—I’ll take a few vials of blood from your arm,” Severus said, stroking a hand through Harry’s hair. “It won’t hurt, I promise.” 

Harry nodded. “Okay. I’m, uh, gonna go and find Draco and see if he wants to go flying for a while.” 

Severus nodded, watching Harry scamper off, and he sighed. “I just wanted him to have a good childhood. It’s all slipping away.” 

“Seveurs,” Lucius reprimanded gently. “He’s having a good childhood. The few times a year that we have to deal with some… unpleasantness don’t change that you’ve given him a life without fear of abuse. That means a hell of a lot; don’t diminish that.” 

… 

“Another one bites the dust,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. 

Draco snorted, sitting across from him. They’d actually managed to get a compartment on the train to themselves for a change, so Draco was sprawled across two seats, his feet up on the one beside him. 

On the table between them were their summer Defence Against the Dark Arts essays. 

“Why do we even bother doing these?” Draco grumbled. “The teachers never last long enough to grade them anyway.” 

“It gives the next one something to work with, I guess?” Harry suggested, though he scrunched his nose because he didn’t actually believe what he was saying. 

The teacher would have to be competent for that, and really, Lupin had been their most competent yet. 

He wasn’t holding out much hope for next year. 

“I still don’t understand why you’re making me work now, ” Draco added, pointing at Harry accusingly with the point of his quill. “We have the whole summer to do these essays.” 

“Oh, so you’d rather be writing about Dementors and Inferi instead of playing a Seeker’s game with me? I see how it is.” 

Draco glared and then huffed. “I hate you, Potter.” 

“I hate you too. Also, that last paragraph you wrote is wrong. So. Probably change it.” 

There was a pause, and then, “Really, really hate you.” 

… 

It was incredible to feel the power emanating from the man that they’d both followed for so long once again. It had been a surprise when the man stepped from the cauldron, naked as the day he was born, looking more human than he had before he died. 

He looked… Well, he was handsome, there was no doubt about that. Gone were the snake-like features that had often struck terror into his victims before he’d even lifted his wand to attack. 

Only the red eyes remained to set him apart from any other man—at least in appearance. 

The graveyard was almost empty but for the three of them, and Peter, sobbing on the ground after giving up his hand for their Lord. Barty was elsewhere, doing only the Dark Lord knew what. 

Severus didn’t overly care. He’d never been particularly fond of Barty Crouch Jr; he always found the younger man to be whiny. 

“My Lord,” Severus murmured, bowing deeply when Voldemort stepped in front of him, freshly robed, his red eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness of dusk. He heard Lucius echo him at his side, and they both held their breath for a long moment. 

“Rise.” 

They stood together, shoulder to shoulder as they waited for the Dark Lord to speak, neither knowing if it would be good or bad. 

“Tell me about the boy.” 

Severus swallowed hard and did as he was told. He spoke of kidnapping—rescuing—Harry from the Dursleys and raising him, and of what the Goblins had realised about Harry being the Dark Lord’s Horcrux. He told of Harry’s eagerness to learn, his intelligence and forethought, and that he was open but cautious about the Dark Lord’s mission. 

“My Horcrux,” the Dark Lord murmured. “How… intriguing. I wonder how much of an effect my soul has had on his personality.” 

Severus considered mentioning Harry’s ability to speak to snakes, and then thought better of it. Until he knew the Dark Lord’s intentions for his son, the less he knew about him, the better it would be. 

“I want to meet the boy,” Voldemort added. “Though, perhaps not quite yet. He’s fourteen?” 

“Almost, My Lord,” Severus replied. “His birthday is in just a few weeks.” 

“I believe it would be better to wait a while to meet him,” Voldemort replied, nodding his head. “I cannot imagine that he’s particularly eager to see me, and fourteen is such a… prickly age.” 

Lucius snorted and tried to cover it with a cough, but the Dark Lord merely chuckled darkly. 

“We have much to do in the meantime. I’ll be in touch, Lucius, Severus. For now, you may go.” 

“Thank you, My Lord,” they replied, before apparating back to the Manor together, to find their boys. 

“I can’t believe he’s back,” Lucius murmured, as they walked up the sweeping path. 

“One thing is for certain,” Severus replied. “Everything is going to change now.” 

… 

Harry snorted as he read the morning paper. 

“What has you so amused, Son?” Severus asked, as he flipped the last of the pancakes he was making onto a plate. 

“Lord Slytherin,” Harry replied, pointing to the front page of the Daily Prophet. “Did you know that he was going to do that?” 

Severus nodded. “He alerted Lucius and I to his plans a few weeks ago. I, admittedly, didn’t realise that he was going ahead with the plan so soon.” 

“Didn’t Dumbledore know him when he was younger?” Harry asked, frowning down at the photo. “Surely he’ll recognise him?” 

Laughing, Severus nodded. “He likely will, Harry. Proving it, on the other hand, will be nigh on impossible. The Dark Lord does love to play games with the old goat; he’s just playing on a different battlefield now.” 

“Less bloody,” Harry supposed. 

“Lucius would tell you differently,” Severus replied. “Eat your pancakes. Hippy will be taking you to the platform shortly, and I need to show my face at school.” 

Harry nodded and tucked into his food. If the Dark Lord was planning to play in politics, hopefully that meant that Harry would be able to stay under the radar—or off his radar completely—at least for a while longer. 

… 

“I think it’s bloody rude that they’ve put an age limit on it,” Draco griped, as he and Harry walked towards the Great Hall. “Either one of us would have been a shoo-in if that age line wasn’t going to be there.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m quite happy not being put into a murder competition, thank you very much. You know that people have died in this thing, right?” 

Draco shrugged. “That just means that they couldn’t handle the tasks.” 

“We’re fourteen,” Harry pointed out. “How well do you think we would actually be able to ‘handle’ whatever the tasks are?” 

Draco blinked at him. “Harry, we could both pass our NEWTs right now! It’s not like you give me any choice but to study ahead. The amount of time you make me spend in the library is actually unhealthy, you know?” 

“Ah, the sacrifices you make for me,” Harry said, his tone dry. “It warms my heart, it really does.” 

“You’re a jerk.” 

Harry nodded and then shrugged his shoulders. “Probably.” 

… 

“A bloody Hufflepuff champion,” Draco said, throwing his hands up in the air, a look of utter disgust on his face. “I’ve never been so embarrassed for the school.” 

Harry laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “In fairness, I was expecting a Gryffindor champion,” he admitted. “You know, given how superior they are.” 

Draco stared at him. “I am betrayed by my own brother . How dare you?!” 

Hitting Draco with a pillow, Harry nodded at the three Slytherin seventh years that had entered their names, all sulking in the corner of the common room. “You didn’t expect any of them to get it, did you? Hell, Flint is barely a step up on the intelligence ladder from an actual Troll.” 

Draco considered that for a moment, and then inclined his head. “Okay, so you have a point. But you could have at least said Ravenclaw, Harry, really!” 

“... Okay, my bad.” 

… 

“No, thank you,” Harry said, for what felt like the hundredth time, this time to a third year Ravenclaw who looked so betrayed at the rejection that Draco actually laughed. 

“I don’t even want to go to the stupid ball,” Harry complained, shaking his head as she ran off down the corridor. “Why can’t I just spend the evening in the library? Or better yet, go home for the holiday?” 

Draco sighed. “Everyone is staying, Harry. Besides, our fathers are busy, so we have very little choice. Why don’t we just go together?” 

“Draco Malfoy, are you asking me on a date ?” 

Draco fluttered his eyelashes and bowed formally—exaggeratedly so—before he took his hand. “Will you do me the honour of being my date, Harry?” 

“You’re an asshole,” Harry said, shaking his head. “But also, yes. If only to see the looks on people’s faces when we walk in together.” 

Draco grinned. “I knew there was a reason I liked you that made up for the copious amount of hours you make me spend studying.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, Dray.” 

… 

“I have some rather grave news, Severus,” Dumbledore said, as the two of them settled at the desk in his office for tea. 

“Oh?” 

“You’ve seen the news, of course, of a Lord Slytherin that is sweeping the political circuit at the moment?” 

“Of course,” Severus agreed. “It’s been all over the Prophet. I must admit, it’s nice to see the Slytherin name getting some good publicity for a change.” 

Dumbledore sighed. “Well, Lord Slytherin is actually Tom Riddle, though he’s added the Gaunt name to his collection now as well.” 

Severus made a show of racking his brain for familiarity before he frowned. “You’ll have to excuse my ignorance, Headmaster. Should that name mean something to me?” 

“It wouldn’t, I imagine,” Dumbledore replied, with a tired smile. Shaking his head, he continued, “Tom Riddle was—is—better known by another moniker. Lord Voldemort.” 

Severus choked on his tea—and inwardly applauded himself for his acting skills—spluttering over it for a moment. “You’re saying that Lord Slytherin is actually the Dark Lord in disguise?” 

“Quite so, unfortunately. I’ve tried to find out more information as to where he’s been and how his return came about, but to no avail. I wondered if, perhaps, there had been any changes to your Mark?” 

Severus shook his head and pulled his sleeve back to show the still faded mark on his arm. It had been the quick thinking of Lucius that had had them writing to the Dark Lord over the summer to fix Severus’ darkened Mark in time for his return to the school, knowing that Dumbledore would eventually ask to see it. 

Dumbledore frowned. 

“I’d have informed you of any changes immediately, Albus,” Severus said, injecting his tone with a mild amount of hurt. 

“Oh, I know that, Severus. I just… I wonder if I’m getting too old for this.” 

Severus, wisely, didn’t reply. 

… 

“Ugh, the Puffs are going to be unbearable,” Draco complained, as they walked away from the Quidditch Stands where they’d been watching the final task of the Triwizard Tournament. 

Well. They were staring at the outer edges of a maze, anyway. 

Harry really didn’t think that the tasks had been thought out from a viewers perspective. For the second task, they’d been looking at the Black Lake for an hour, and now this time, hedges. 

Not the most exciting entertainment in the world. 

Regardless of the lack of entertainment, Cedric had won the Cup—much to the surprise of most people, given his rather pathetic display in the first task. 

“Hey, school pride and all that crap,” Harry pointed out, wiping away a speck of ash from his silver and green scarf  that had been draped over his shoulders. “At least Krum didn’t win. He was the absolute worst, always hanging around the Library, trying to get into Granger's knickers. Creep.” 

Draco snorted. “You were only irritated because his fanclub was interrupting your studying.” 

“True,” Harry agreed, shamelessly. “I can’t wait until the school is back to normal again, honestly.” 

“Uh huh. Fifth year next. OWLs. Yay, fun!” Draco drawled. 

“One year closer to being done with the place,” Harry muttered in response, and Draco nodded. 

“Fair.” 

… 

The beach wasn’t as fun as Harry would have expected; though, that could be because the people he considered his family weren’t there with him to enjoy it. 

The headmaster had decided that Harry’s dad was his to do with as he pleased, given that he had no knowledge of his home life. Instead of spending the summer at home, and with the Malfoys, Harry was on holiday with Sirius. 

Not that he disliked Sirius—quite the opposite, he liked Sirius just fine. 

For a day. 

Or even a weekend. 

Not three weeks and counting. 

Harry wanted to go flying with Draco. He wanted to go shopping in Diagon Alley with Aunt Narcissa. He wanted to argue about a book with Uncle Lucius. 

More than any of that, Harry wanted to spend some time with his dad without worrying them that somebody would see them together and start questioning them. 

“You okay, kiddo?” Sirius asked, joining Harry on the beach. 

He flopped down onto the beach towel beside the one Harry sat on, sunglasses covering his eyes, his bright yellow and orange swimming shorts practically as blinding as the sun. 

He looked better—certainly healthier—than he had since Harry had first met him, and Harry was happy for him. He really was. 

“Just missing home, I guess,” he replied, digging into the sand with his fingers. He didn’t want to look at Sirius, because he felt a little guilty for not wanting to spend any more time with him. 

“Ah,” Sirius murmured. “Well, I have good news on that front. Lord Blondie has sent word that you’ll be able to go home on Monday.” 

Harry brightened up. “Really?” 

“Really, kid. So, what say we enjoy the rest of the weekend since it’s probably the last I’ll see of you before you go back to school, hmm?” 

 Harry nodded, and then wrinkled his nose. “Sorry I’ve been grumpy the last few days. It’s, uh, the longest time I’ve ever spent away from my dad. I guess it makes me a bit… antsy.” 

“You’re fine, Harry. Now, there’s a Muggle theme park down the road, and it looks like a whole bunch of fun. Shall we go and play?” 

“Are you going to vomit on the rides?” Harry asked, pushing himself to his feet. “Because if you are, I’m not sitting with you.” 

Sirius snorted. “I have the stomach of a Hippogriff, thank you very much.” 

Harry arched his eyebrow. “Uh huh. We’ll see.” 

(Sirius vomited on the fifth ride, and Harry wasn't even mad, he laughed so much.) 

… 

“I wanted to talk to you before we left,” Sirius said, holding out a hand to halt Harry as they approached the Spanish Ministry of Magic to catch their portkey back to England. 

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked. 

He was eager to return home, but he knew that a few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. 

“Everything is fine,” Sirius assured him, as he pulled a small box from his pocket. “Harry, change is coming, and… I don’t know where that change is going to lead any of us, you know? I can’t fight for the dark, I’ve known that since I was younger than you are now, but… I don’t believe I can fight against you. ” 

“You’re so sure that I’ll be on the ‘dark’ side?” Harry asked, a little derisively. He wasn’t particularly fond of the terms ‘light’ and ‘dark’ for the opposing sides of what was sure to be a coming battle. 

“I don’t know,” Sirius replied, and he sounded so genuine that Harry believed him. “What I do know is that you’re the closest I’m ever going to have to a son.” 

He handed the small black box over to Harry, who took it curiously, flipping open the lid to see a Heir ring, much like the two that already adorned his fingers, albeit one of them was still hidden. 

“You’re making me your Heir?” 

“You’re already my Heir, Harry, you have been since shortly after you were born. I guess I just thought you should know about it. It’s up to you if you wear the ring, of course, but it’s yours by right, and it offers some protection against specific curses. It… well, it might come in handy.” 

“I… thank you,” Harry said, unsure what else he could say. He slipped the ring onto the index finger of his right hand and waited a moment for it to resize. When Sirius let out a sigh of relief, Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. “You weren’t sure if it would accept me, were you?” 

Sirius shrugged. “You’re a half-blood. While that doesn’t matter to me in the slightest, my family…” he trailed off awkwardly. 

“I know. The Blacks have always been pure-blooded and traditionally have strong views on those that aren’t. I’ve read the genealogy books.” 

“Of course you have,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes goodnaturedly. “Well, come on then, let’s get you home to the bat cave.” 

Harry snorted, but as they walked into the Spanish Ministry, he said, “Sirius? Thank you. Even if—” 

“I gotcha, kid. Doesn’t matter where we end up in the world, you’re my godson, and I’m proud of you. Your parents would be too.” 

… 

“Hey, Dad,” Harry greeted, when Severus joined them in the Malfoy library, a week before term was due to start. Harry was reading through the next year's books, while Draco finished up his summer homework at his mother’s behest. 

Harry had seen his dad a few times since he’d returned from Spain, but not nearly as often as he would have liked. 

“Harry,” Severus replied, smiling slightly at his son. He glanced over Harry's shoulder at the book he was reading, and then glanced at Draco, who was grumbling over his Charms essay. “Do you want to go home? I have the next few days free, short of Dumbledore having an aneurysm.” 

“Let him have one,” Harry muttered. “What are we going to do?” 

“Whatever you want, Harry. I’m at your disposal.” 

Harry grinned. “Can we go to the zoo? I want to visit the snakes.” 

Severus sighed. “Of course that’s where you want to go. You know, most fifteen year olds wouldn’t be caught dead at the zoo?” 

Harry stood up and smirked at his dad. “Most fifteen year olds can’t freak everyone out by making the snakes dance simultaneously, can they?” 

Draco perked his head up. “Can I come? That sounds epic.” 

Severus glanced at the stack of essays the blond still had to finish, and sighed heavily. “Let’s go. Quickly, before Narcissa finds me and hexes me.” 

… 

“At least he’s competent,” Harry muttered to Draco, as the two of them left their first Defence class of the year. “We might actually be able to pass our OWLs.” 

“Like we wouldn’t have done anyway,” Draco replied, rolling his eyes. “Besides, Shacklebolt is an Auror. If he wasn’t at least competent, he’d be dead.” 

“Eh,” Harry shrugged. With Fudge in charge, I reckon that’s still hit or miss.” 

Laughing, they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. 

“Did you hear about Lord Slytherin?” Theo asked, practically as soon as they’d taken their seats at the Slytherin table. 

Harry arched his eyebrow, showing interest as he filled his plate from the nearby platters. 

“He’s petitioning for a complete overhaul of Hogwarts. As the Heir, it’s his right to see the school reaching its potential, and he doesn’t think that it currently is.” 

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Draco agreed, sagely. “What with Binns and the ever changing Defence Professors, not to mention the blatant favouritism from the headmaster towards the Gryffindorks.” 

“They’re talking about sending an inspector to check over the school sometime in the next few months. I’m surprised that they’re listening to him, honestly,” Theo added. “Someone so new to the political scene isn’t usually given any attention.” 

“His name speaks for him,” Harry pointed out. “He’s from one of the Founders’ line, of course people are falling all over themselves to be in favour with him. He’s got one of the most powerful claims in the British Wizarding world.” 

“He’s a half-blood,” Pansy sneered from beside Theo. 

Harry glanced at her, and tilted his head. “So?” 

She glared at him. “Purebloods would never pander to a half-blood, no matter their name, Potter. ” 

Harry tilted his head. “Why not? Surely it’s about the power of the individual, not the blood. And do remember, Parkinson, that while you’re barely scraping by in the majority of your classes, I’m sitting pretty at the top.” 

“Look, Potter—” 

“Watch your words, Pansy, dear,” Draco reprimanded placidly, though the glint in his eyes was a plain warning for all to see. “Given that Harry here is my best friend, and my father is quite fond of him. It wouldn’t be good for your father if mine were too, ah, lose favour with him, would it?” 

Pansy paled and sank back in her seat, apologising quietly to Harry. 

Harry rolled his eyes and paid her no mind; he’d been dealing with her and others that thought the same way she did since starting at Hogwarts. For the most part, as he’d proven himself magically talented, the sneers and jeers had faded out—but there would always be those that thought themselves above him, simply because of their blood. 

It was ridiculous, in Harry’s opinion, but not something that he could change on his own, and certainly not yet. 

Perhaps, in time. 

It was good that his dad had brought him up to aim high, after all. 

… 

Harry couldn’t concentrate. 

While Madam Pince usually kept a tight control on the noise in the library, the oncoming hysteria with the approach of the OWLs had made being around his classmates practically unbearable. 

Even in the relative quiet, he could hear them hissing questions to each other, and see the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs throwing balls of parchment from table to table. 

It was infuriating. 

“Hippy,” he murmured, calling his elf to his side. 

When she arrived, the noise drew the attention of a few others, but Harry quickly cast a privacy charm around them. 

“Do you know anywhere in the castle that I can get some studying done in private?” 

She shook her head, and then perked up. “I’s asking the Hogwarts Elves, Master Harry.” 

“Thank you, Hippy.” 

She disappeared, and he continued reading his book, glaring at anyone that dared interrupt him—but he was still grateful when she returned quickly, only fifteen minutes later. 

“There be’s a room, Sir, the Room of Hidden Things, on the seventh floor. Master Harry can study alone there, Sir.” 

Harry sighed in relief. “Thank you, Hippy. How do I find it?” 

… 

The room Harry had requested was wonderful. It was almost a perfect replica of the library at Prince Manor, and Harry had spent almost four hours in perfect, blissful peace. 

He knew that he would have to share the room with Draco, but just for one night, it was his. As he was leaving, he pondered what Hippy had told him. 

The Room of Hidden Things. 

But Harry hadn’t seen any sign of ‘hidden things’. 

He glanced at the once again blank wall and frowned. Walking back and forth three times, he thought hard, I want to see the room with all the hidden things. 

Sure enough, when he opened the door, it was to a room stacked with things left and right, mountains of books, clothes, an odd looking crown— 

Harry looked again at the crown and frowned. And then he felt it. 

Like the diary and the locket before, it had a strange sensation emanating from it. Harry approached it carefully, reaching out to snag it carefully in his hands. It felt stronger than the others, more… alive, even as he felt a feeling of mine rush through him. 

Leaving—with a plan to return and look a little more closely at the books—Harry cradled the crown-like object in his book bag carefully to add to his growing collection in his trunk. 

There was something connecting them to him, and it felt like it was on the periphery of his brain, just waiting for him to have an epiphany of what they were. 

He knew he’d figure it out eventually. He just had to reach out and take the answer. 

… 

“The Dark Lord will be here this evening, Harry. He’s expressed an interest in meeting you.” 

Harry glanced up at his dad and arched his eyebrow. They were getting prepared for the Malfoy’s annual Christmas Eve ball together, as had become something of a tradition for them over the years.  

“He’ll be here as Lord Slytherin, I presume, and not the Dark Lord.” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “Impertinent brat. Of course as Lord Slytherin.” 

Harry snorted, but sobered. “Of course. I’m not sure that I want to meet him, Dad.” 

“He’ll seek you out by the end of the night, son. I don’t think you have much of a choice in the matter. He wants to know his Horcrux.” 

“I’m just housing his soul piece, Dad. I’m not his. ” 

“You’ll do well to watch your tongue with him, Harry,” Severus warned. “He’s not likely to give you half as much leeway as Lucius or I. Just… present yourself as I know that you can. Prove to him that you’re worthy to be noted as more than a Horcrux.” 

Harry glared at his dad. “I don’t have to prove anything to him.” 

“Harry—” 

Shaking his head, Harry stomped away from his dad’s room and walked down the hall to his own, locking the door behind him with a careless wave of his wand. Why was his dad so eager for him to prove anything to Lord Slytherin? 

Sure, Harry understood that to get by in life, one had to have ambition, and Harry proved himself every day in that regard. Why wasn’t that enough? 

All thoughts of the ball leaving his mind, Harry slumped down onto his bed, no longer looking forward to the evening as he had been. 

His robes were wrinkled where he’d slumped down without a care, and he sighed as he looked at them. He could magic them back into their pristine condition, of course, but… 

He didn’t really want to, now. 

The book on his bedside table called to him, and he pondered for just a moment what would happen if he just curled up on the bed and finished it, instead of attending the ball downstairs. 

His father would be angry with him, but then, he probably already was. He hated it when Harry stormed away from him—the few times that it had happened, rare though it was—and Harry hadn’t exactly been respectful, either, had he? 

He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up after spending almost twenty minutes getting it perfect. There really hadn’t been a reason to be mad with his dad; Harry knew how much the man worried about him. 

How much he’d been worrying about Harry’s first meeting with the Dark Lord. 

Grumbling under his breath about his own tendency to be an idiot, Harry climbed off the bed and set about his preparations again. It wouldn’t do to look anything less than his best if he was going to make it up to his father, would it? 

… 

The Christmas Eve ball was in full swing by the time Harry finally made it downstairs. He’d ‘sorted his face out’ as Draco would say, and his robes were pristine, and he had not a hair out of place. 

Despite his earlier irritation, he really couldn’t show his dad up by being anything less than perfect in public. Across the room, he could see his dad talking to Uncle Lucius, but he paid them no mind. 

He would talk to his dad later, when they’d both had the chance to cool down a little. Instead, Harry walked over to the opposite end of the ballroom, to where Draco, Blaise and Theo were propping up the wall as they had a spirited discussion about the last Quidditch match that Hogwarts had hosted, just before the break. 

Harry didn’t understand why they were still talking about it, honestly. Who cared what happened between the Lions and Hufflepuff? 

“There you are!” Draco exclaimed, when he caught sight of Harry approaching. “I thought that you’d decided to abandon us for the night!” 

“Actually, he thought that you’d gotten lost inside another book and had forgotten that it was Christmas Eve,” Theo corrected a little snidely, making Harry laugh. 

“I was speaking with my father,” Harry said softly. “And then lost track of time while I was getting ready. Even I’m not stupid enough to start reading on the night of the ball, lest Aunt Narcissa hex me.” 

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Blaise said, his eyebrows arching with interest. 

Draco opened his mouth to tell the story of what Narcissa had done to Harry the one and only time he’d gotten lost in a book when he was supposed to be at an event she was hosting, but Harry narrowed his eyes at him. 

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he said, with a deceptively innocent tone. 

Draco closed his mouth. Theo and Blaise both laughed, Theo shaking his head. 

“The blackmail material you have on each other is ridiculous. One day, you’re both going to start spewing all the stories, and it will be a beautiful thing. ” 

Draco shook his head. “We’ll never talk.” 

Harry’s lips tilted up. “Quite right, Draco.” 

“Ah, Harry, Draco,” came a feminine tone, and both boys turned to see Narcissa behind them. 

“Aunt Narcissa,” Harry greeted with a small smile. “You look exquisite as always.” 

“Such a charmer, Harry,” she replied with a smile. “Lucius wants the two of you to join him. There’s someone you should meet.” 

She met Harry’s eyes, and he knew immediately that he was about to be introduced to the Dark Lord. 

Or, Lord Slytherin, at the very least. 

He swallowed hard, but nodded his head, falling into step with Draco as they followed her across the hall. 

Lucius smiled at them when they arrived in front of him, and then turned to the man standing beside him. 

“Lord Slytherin, this is my son, Draco, and Severus’ boy, Harry. Boys, this is Lord Slytherin.” 

Harry and Draco bowed in sync, their upbringing shining through, and when Lord Slytherin lifted Harry’s hand to his lips to press a soft kiss against his knuckles, Harry managed not to flinch away. 

He was intrigued by the Dark Lord, that much was certain, but he was wary too. This was the man who’d killed his birth parents, after all. 

This was the man that had left a piece of soul attached to Harry’s own then he’d tried to kill him as a baby. 

There was intrigue, but there was fear, and Harry wasn’t ashamed to admit as much. 

And yet… he housed a part of this man’s soul. And in that moment, when lips brushed the back of Harry’s hand, Harry realised why the diary, and the locket, and the crown had called to him. 

Harry wasn’t the only Horcrux. 

“A pleasure,” Lord Slytherin murmured, his eyes flashing subtly red for just a moment as they met Harry’s. 

He shook Draco’s hand—and Harry noted the difference, but said nothing—and asked after their studies, making conversation about the school as though they had no idea who this man really was. 

Harry responded on autopilot, mind still going over the thought that he had, technically, four pieces of this man’s soul in his possession. When Lord Slytherin was pulled away to talk to other guests, Harry found himself beside his father in mere seconds. 

“Are you okay?” his dad asked, his tone low and concerned. 

“Fine,” Harry replied, and then blinked away the haze of his thoughts. “I’m fine, Dad, promise. And I’m sorry about earlier. I was being a brat.” 

Severus smiled at him. “But you’re my brat. Go on with Draco and sit with your friends, you should be free for the rest of the evening.” 

Harry nodded. “Kay. I’ll come and see you before I go up to bed.” 

… 

Harry sipped out of the ballroom as soon as it was socially acceptable to do so, and found himself in the Malfoy library. It wasn’t exactly a big surprise; he’d spent so much time there over the years that it was the place he was the most comfortable. 

He didn’t bother picking out a book, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on one, and instead simply curled up in his favourite armchair by the fire, his eyes on the merrily flickering flames. 

He knew that, eventually, Draco, Uncle Lucius, or his dad would find him there, but for just a moment, it was nice to have a moment to himself. 

He continued to ponder the existence of the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes. It made sense, Harry supposed. The Dark Lord must have split his soul prior to his attempt on Harry’s life, or the killing curse would have simply killed the Dark Lord upon the rebound. 

Harry couldn’t help but wonder how many the man had. If Harry had already found three, how many more were out there? 

A noise sounded behind him, and Harry looked over the edge of the chair to see Lord Slytherin closing the door to the library behind him. He approached Harry with slow, measured steps, and folded himself elegantly into the chair facing him. 

Harry swallowed hard, but forced himself to meet the man’s eyes. 

“Harry,” the Dark Lord murmured. “What are you doing, hiding away in here instead of having fun with your friends?” 

Harry tilted his head. “My idea of fun doesn’t really include balls, unfortunately. This is my natural habitat.” He gestured to the library around them. 

“You like to read?” 

“I do.” 

“What books do you like?” 

“Any,” Harry admitted. “All of them. I like to learn; I like to discover new things.” 

“I was the same in my youth,” Lord Slytherin replied, a small genuine looking smile gracing his lips. “I remember the first time I saw Hogwarts library. I confess, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.” 

Harry’s lips tilted up involuntarily. “I felt like that the first time I came here.” 

“And school? What is your favourite class? You never told me when we discussed it earlier.” 

“I like all of them,” Harry replied. “Apart from History of Magic, though I fear that’s more the teacher than the subject. History as a subject is fascinating, but there’s only so long that you can listen to a ghost drone about Goblin wars before even someone as studious as I gets bored.” 

“Quite right. Binns will be the first to go, when the inspection of Hogwarts is complete.” 

“Why did you decide to improve the school?” Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Why not?” Lord Slytherin replied. “It is my right as an Heir, is it not?” 

“I suppose.” 

“Besides, when my inspectors recommend the injection of new blood into the castle, which they undoubtedly will, it can only work to my benefit if people of my choosing are implemented.” 

Harry nodded, finally understanding the real reason for the inspection. It had less to do with the school, and everything to do with getting a better foothold in the castle and weakening Dumbledore’s position. 

Genius, really, to do it through legal means. 

“Of course the little Gremlin is in here, Severus,” came Lucius’ voice as the door opened. “Where else would he be? Ah, you see, I told you.” 

“My Lord,” Severus greeted, as the two of them bowed to Lord Slytherin. Severus quickled turned his attention to his son. “Harry. I wondered where you’d gotten to,” he murmured, reaching over to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. “Draco was complaining that you’d ‘ditched him’.” 

“There’s only so much Quidditch talk I can listen to before my wand hand gets itchy,” Harry replied, smirking. “Given cursing Draco would lead to an all out war between us, I thought it better to remove myself.” 

Lucius snorted, fully aware of the ‘wars’ between Harry and Draco. 

“I’m sure Narcissa will thank you,” he said, shaking his head. “Between the two of you, I’m not sure how much furniture she’d had to replace over the years, but if you’d upset her ballroom, you’d have had her wand aimed at you instead of the other’s.” 

Harry nodded and glanced back at Lord Slytherin, who was watching the exchange with an amused air. When he saw Harry looking at him, he smiled slightly and then looked at Severus. 

“Your son does you credit, Severus. He’s an intelligent young man.” 

“Thank you, My Lord,” Severus replied, smiling down at Harry. “He makes me proud every day. I look forward to the day I can publicly claim him as my own.” 

“It will come. I do have one question, Harry, before I leave for the evening.” 

Harry looked at him once more, waiting. 

“How is it that your mind is closed? Don’t mistake me, I haven’t tried to enter your mind, that would be inexcusably rude of me, but I can usually pick up surface thoughts even without invading a mind.” 

Harry bit back the thought that the Dark Lord didn’t give two hoots about being ‘inexcusably rude’, though he knew that the man likely spoke the truth. His dad picked up on surface thoughts occasionally too, though he tried not to. 

Instead of verbally replying, he looked down at his hand, willing his Prince Heir ring into view. 

“It’s the gift of the Prince ring,” he explained, extending his hand slightly. “It protects me from any mind attacks. Or, well, even reading surface thoughts, I suppose.” 

“A triple Heir,” Lord Slytherin murmured, his eyes moving from one ring to the next on Harry’s fingers. “You’re going to be quite the impressive young man when you leave Hogwarts, Harry. It’ll be my pleasure to watch as you flourish.” 

Nodding, Harry offered a tight smile as he stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Slytherin, I think it’s time for me to retire for the night. It was nice to meet you.” 

“Of course. Good night, Harry.” 

Harry leant into Severus’ side for a moment in an approximation of a hug, and Lucius ruffled his hair. 

“G’night, Gremlin.” 

Harry snorted, and Severus shook his head before he said, “I’ll come and check on you in a little while, Harry.” 

Harry nodded and left for the stairs. He was so tired now, that he doubted he’d even be awake when his dad came to check on him. 

… 

Staying at Hogwarts for the Easter holidays hadn’t been a difficult decision for Harry. Between the peace and quiet of three quarters of Slytherin house being gone for two weeks, and the lure of the Room of Requirement, Harry had decided that it was a no-brainer. 

Of course, he hadn’t actually expected the summons to the headmaster’s office. 

As soon as the letter arrived, Harry called for Hippy, asking her to alert his father as long as it was safe to do so, before he made the walk up from the dungeons. 

The gargoyle in front of the office slid to the side as soon as he approached, and he stepped onto the moving spiral staircase, letting it take him up to the office. He knocked once and waited to be called in, looking around in interest when he was. 

There were all kinds of magical instruments spread around the room. A few of them were making tiny noises, or emitting little puffs of smoke. In the corner of the room, a large cage stood proudly, a phoenix swinging on the bar. 

Harry stared for a long moment. Reading about phoenixes and seeing one were two entirely different experiences, and he couldn’t help but admit the red and gold bird. 

“This is Fawkes,” Dumbledore said, noticing where Harry’s gaze was focused. “You’ve caught him mid life span; he’s at his very best at the moment. Quite a beautiful creature, and very useful as a familiar.” 

Harry nodded, tearing his eyes away to look at the headmaster. “He’s beautiful, Sir.” 

“Take a seat, my boy,” Dumbledore said, waving Harry into the comfortable seat at the front of the desk. “Would you like tea? A lemon drop, perhaps?” 

“Tea would be great, thank you, Sir,” Harry replied softly, knowing that his Potter ring would detect any potions in the tea before he could drink it. 

“You know, Harry, I rather thought I would meet you before now,” Dumbledore said, as he poured the tea and pushed a cup and saucer towards Harry. “Why, I had your father and his friends in here at least once a month for one reason or another.” 

Harry blinked. “Do you often have students here, Sir? I haven’t heard about it from any of my classmates.” 

“Oh, no, James was quite the prankster in his day,” Dumbledore replied, blue eyes twinkling brightly. “The professors often sent him and Sirius—I believe you know him—up here for punishment. I think I rather let my staff down, Harry. I found James and Sirius quite amusing, I’m afraid. I don’t think they saw the visits as much punishment at all.” 

“I do know Sirius,” Harry said, picking out the safest part of the speech. “He’s my godfather. It’s been nice to get to know him. We holidayed in Spain this past summer, in fact.” 

“Lovely, lovely,” Dumbledore said, nodding his head. “I believe he loves you very much, Harry. I cannot help but wonder why your… guardian chose to make him take a vow as to not reveal to anybody about who they are, though, my boy. It’s quite unsettling, you understand; I cannot help but wonder at the secrecy.” 

“My guardian chooses to remain hidden, Sir, for my safety. They want me to have somewhere safe to go, should I need it. After learning about how my parents were murdered, I understand the precaution.” 

“Quite understandable, of course, Harry! It’s admirable, even. Though, I cannot help but think that at least one person should know who they are. In case of emergency, I’m sure you understand. It’d be safer if you were to tell me their identity, I can help to protect you, if it ever becomes necessary.” 

Harry frowned. “I can’t be much more protected than I already am, Sir. Given the secrecy, I’m able to simply disappear from the world if I need to. I can’t be much safer than that, Headmaster.” 

“I really must insist on knowing the identity of your guardian, Harry.” 

“Hippy,” Harry called softly, smiling at the elf when she appeared beside him. “Professor Dumbledore would like to know who my guardian is.” 

“I is,” Hippy replied firmly, looking up at the Headmaster. “Master Harry is my charge, and I protect him always.” 

“You can go now, Hippy,” Harry offered, before he looked back at the headmaster. 

Dumbledore was staring at him, clearly confused. “A wizard took you from your Aunt’s residence.” 

Harry blinked. “Apologies if I’m being rude, Headmaster, but… do you take this much interest in all of your students’ home lives?” 

“You cannot simply have an elf as a guardian, Harry,” Dumbledore said, sidestepping the question. 

“I don’t,” Harry replied flatly. “But should you ever be in need of a guardian for me—for school purposes, of course—then Hippy will more than suffice. If that’s all, Headmaster, I do have some studying to do. OWLs, you know?” 

“I… yes, yes, of course, my boy. Do visit again, won’t you?” 

Harry stood. “If you send for me again, Headmaster, then I’m sure I’ll answer the summons. Have a good day, Sir.” 

He turned away and left the office, irritation running strong. While he knew that he shouldn’t go straight to his dad, he couldn’t help but want to. Instead, he returned to the Slytherin common room and slumped onto the sofa. 

The headmaster had entirely interrupted his planned studying for the day, and he was too irritated to get back to it. 

“Draco!” he called across the room, knowing that the blond would hear him from their dorm. 

“What?” 

“Let’s go flying.” 

… 

The last morning of the Easter holiday fetched news of a Death Eater attack on a Muggle town in Surrey. It took Harry a moment to realise why the name of the place was so familiar before he realised that it was where his Aunt and Uncle lived. 

Auror reports had flocked in, and news of a Voldemort sighting had shook the Wizarding world to the core. 

Around the Great Hall, Harry could see the students that had remained for the break pouring over the Daily Prophet, muttering in low voices to one another. 

“I used to live there,” Harry murmured to Draco, pointing to the name of the town in the paper. “It’s where my Aunt and Uncle lived before I was… moved.” 

Draco’s eyes widened slightly in understanding. He turned the page of the paper and pointed to an article about Lord Slytherin, who was condemning the lack of Auror power available to defend against the attack, followed by a somewhat unsubtle attack on the Ministry as a whole for being incompetent. 

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it. Why would the Dark Lord break news of his current status, if he was still playing the political circuit? 

He glanced up at the high table to see his dad reading the paper. Looking along the table, he could see some of the Professors looked deeply concerned by the news. In the middle, Dumbledore and McGonagall were whispering to one another. 

The headmaster in particular looked quite agitated. 

“What does this mean, do you think?” Draco asked, as they closed and folded the paper between them. 

Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure. Time will tell, I suppose. I do know that we need to study Transfiguration.” 

They left the Great Hall shoulder to shoulder, heading towards the library. Harry’s mind, however, was still on the Prophet article, and more specifically, the Dark Lord. 

What was the point, and more importantly, why there ? 

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about the mindless killing of Muggles. Even if he personally didn’t care for them, he couldn’t help but think, in the long run, it was going to create more of a problem. 

If the Dark Lord appeared to be unstable, who in their right mind was going to want to follow him? 

It made very little sense to Harry. 

But, for now at least, it was none of his business. 

… 

By the time school broke for the summer, Harry was definitely ready for time off. As ready as he felt he’d been for the OWL exams, he was still grateful for the break from school work. 

Having to wait for his results, though, was enough to leave a constant feeling of anxiety and anticipation in his stomach. He just wanted to know that he’d passed well, and more importantly, he wanted to know that he’d made his dad proud of him. 

Unfortunately, Lord Slytherin had also descended on Malfoy Mansion for the summer, so every time Harry went to visit, he was also greeted by the Dark Lord watching him across rooms and halls. 

His eyes always seemed to find Harry. 

It was unnerving. 

Still, it also came in handy, because there was something he was building up to talking to the man about, and when he finally got up the courage, it was a simple matter of asking him for a moment of his time in private. 

“For you, Harry, of course,” he’d replied softly, a glint in his eyes as he nodded to the library that Harry had practically grown up in. 

“I’ll, uh, meet you there in five minutes?” Harry offered, a little awkwardly. “I have to get something from my room first.” 

Lord Slytherin nodded his head, and Harry raced up the stairs and to his bedroom, where he’d stashed the objects he wanted to talk to Lord Slytherin about in a small black bag. 

The locket, the crown, and the diary. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to give them up—he didn’t, really—it was that he felt bad keeping them when he knew that they didn’t belong to him, despite feeling somewhat like they did. 

They weren’t his to keep, and keeping them in his school trunk as he had been, so close to Dumbledore, seemed more of a risk than Harry had any right to take with things that didn’t belong to him and were so important. 

He lifted the bag and returned downstairs at a slightly slower pace, slipping into the library to find that the windows had been opened, and a lovely breeze was drifting through. 

Lord Slytherin eyed the bag curiously and arched his eyebrow. 

“I, uh. So, we both know that I’m your Horcruz,” Harry started, swallowing hard against the quick flash of emotion on the older man’s face at the admittance. “And it turns out that I can, uh, sense other Horcruxes?” 

A quick flash of surprise, and then Harry was pulling the items from the bag with reverent hands, placing them carefully on the table between them. 

“Why are you giving these to me now?” Lord Slytherin asked, after a moment. 

“Dumbledore,” Harry replied, simply. “He’s been watching me more this last year, and I don’t suppose that’s going to change anytime soon. I didn’t want to put them at risk of him finding them, but I didn’t know what else to do. And… they’re yours.” 

“How do you even have them? The diadem—” 

“Wait, that’s Ravenclaw’s diadem?” Harry interrupted, his eyes wide as he looked at it on the table. “Really?” 

Lord Slytherin smirked. “You didn’t recognise it?” 

Harry shook his head. “I… no. I didn’t. I’ve never really researched the founders beyond Salazar, to be perfectly honest.” 

“Go on, tell me how you came to have the others.” 

“I found the diary first,” Harry said, thinking back to his second year. “A first year had it, but it felt… strange. Like… like it was mine, I guess. I don’t know. So, I took it from her, and I hid it. And then, last year, I was at my godfather’s house, and I found the locket stuffed in a dresser. It felt the same as the diary, but different. I… it felt more mine. So I took that too. And then the diadem I found in the Room of Hidden Things at Hogwarts.” 

“Interesting,” Lord Slytherin murmured. “I believed they were safe, and yet, you’ve managed to find three with little effort. I thank you, Harry, for returning them to me.” 

Harry nodded, watching as the man slipped the diary into a pocket of his robes, the diadem into another. When he picked the locket up, he played with the chain for a moment before he looked at Harry. 

“Would you wear this?” 

Harry blinked. “I… why would you want me to?” 

“Because you are a part of my soul, Harry, but only a small part. I’d like to keep you safe. Protected. When you are at the school, I cannot be there with you, but… part of me can. The locket will protect you, if it ever becomes necessary.” 

“Like my rings?” Harry asked, glancing down at his hands. 

“Similarly.” 

“I’d be honoured,” Harry replied, stilling so that Lord Slytherin could drape the chain over his head until the locket fell to his chest. Harry tucked it beneath his shirt, and felt a warmth where the metal met his skin. 

It was almost like the locket was greeting him. He smiled, a little bewildered at the feeling. 

“Thank you, Lord Slytherin.” 

Long, thin fingers cupped his chin, gently pushing his face up until their eyes met. “I think, Harry, that I’d like for you to call me Tom.” 

Harry stared. “I thought… I thought you didn’t like that name.” 

Tom smiled. “I believe falling from your lips, any name of mine would sound sweet.” 

Feeling his cheeks heating up, Harry looked away, grateful when the elegant fingers left his face. “Thank you, Tom.” 

He chanced a glance, and found Tom watching him with slightly softened features. When their eyes met, Tom’s lips curved up. “Sweet. Just like I said.” 

… 

“What the bloody hell happened to you?” Harry asked, walking quickly across the hall to support Lucius, who looked like he was ready to collapse. 

His robes were singed, his hair dirty with both grime and blood, and there were entirely too many cuts littering him, his robes sliced open to show the marked skin. 

He was suddenly very glad that Draco was already fast asleep in bed. Harry was only awake himself because he’d been unable to settle and had gotten bored staring at the ceiling. 

He paid little mind to the other Death Eaters that followed, some of them supported by others. Harry didn’t care for them, didn’t know them. 

“Dumbledore intercepted us,” Lucius grunted. 

“My dad?” Harry asked, his tone suddenly sharp, even as he helped Lucius into a chair. 

“He’s fine,” Lucius assured him with a pained smile. “I promise, Harry, Severus is fine. He’ll be here shortly with potions for those of us that are injured.” 

Harry shook his head, pulling his wand from his pocket. A string of Latin left his lips as he concentrated on healing the injuries he could with his rudimental healing abilities. 

“Harry,” a voice greeted as he entered behind the Death Eaters. “I didn’t know you were a healer.” 

Harry glanced over his shoulder just long enough to aim a glare at the Dark Lord—for this was Voldemort, not Tom—before he turned his attention back to Lucius. 

Intellectually, he knew that Tom and Voldemort were one and the same, but seeing was believing, and Harry wasn’t sure if he could right at that moment. 

Not when his uncle was so bloody. 

“Gremlin, be nice,” Lucius chided gently, sighing in relief as Harry’s magic began to knit his wounds together. “It was a raid, these things happen. It could have been much worse.” 

“You say that now,” Harry muttered. 

“I say that always,” Lucius replied. “Really, Harry, I’m fine. It looks worse than it actually is.” 

“Don’t tell me,” Harry said, his lips tilting despite himself. “The other guy looks much worse?” 

“The other guy is dead,” Lucius retorted, snorting, and Harry blinked and then laughed, because what the hell was he supposed to do with that? 

Lucius smirked at him. 

Narcissa joined them, and rolled her eyes when she saw her husband. “Really, Lucius, you’re going to come home and get blood all over my favourite chair? Is this how you show your love for me these days?” 

Lucius laughed, reaching out to snag her hand in his, before he brought it to his lips for a kiss. “I’ll buy you new chairs.” 

“Yes, you will,” she agreed, glancing at Harry with a sly wink. She turned her head to Voldemort. “My Lord, do you require anything?” 

“Perhaps some refreshments, my lady,” he replied. 

Harry turned to see that he’d transformed back into Tom during the time that Harry had been focused on healing Lucius. 

“Severus is bringing the potions that are required, but in the meantime, I believe that tea and scotch would be welcome.” 

“Of course. I’ll have the elves send up a service. Harry, why don’t you come with me?” 

Harry nodded but glanced back at Lucius. “Please have my dad come and find me after he’s delivered the potions?” 

“Of course, Gremlin,” Lucius promised. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

Harry nodded, and then allowed Narcissa to lead him from the room. He heard Tom call a sharp ‘goodnight’ to him, but he ignored him. 

Perhaps tomorrow, after he’d been assured that both his dad and his uncle Lucius were truly okay, would he apologise for his behaviour. 

Until then, well. The Dark Lord could suck a lemon drop. 

Narcissa waited until they were out of hearing distance before she laughed, her hand leaving Harry’s shoulder only so that she could wrap her arm around him properly. 

“What’s so funny?” Harry asked, perplexed as he watched her giggle. 

“Only you, my love, would ever get away with what you just did in there.” 

Harry snorted. 

Narcissa grinned at him. “Keep it up, Harry. I think it does him good to have someone challenge him. Now come on, get yourself up to your room. Your father will be here shortly, and I’ll make sure that he can at least come and say goodnight to you before they begin dissecting the mission.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, reaching up slightly to kiss her cheek. “Goodnight, Auntie.” 

“Goodnight, Harry.” 

… 

It was almost forty minutes later when his dad finally made it up to his bedroom. Harry looked up from the book he’d been trying to concentrate on, letting out a breath of relief as he took in his sight of his father, uninjured and whole. 

“I’m fine,” he assured Harry, perching on his bed. 

Harry, not caring for propriety or whether he was too old, leant over to wrap his arms around his dad’s shoulders. 

“Promise?” he asked, feeling more like a child than he had in years as Severus cradled him to his chest. 

“I promise. Are you okay?” 

Harry nodded, before he pulled back reluctantly to sit against his pillows. 

“The Dark Lord is in quite the snit downstairs. I don’t think he enjoys it when you’re angry with him, Harry,” his dad murmured, a small smirk on his face. 

“Uncle Lucius was a mess, Dad!” Harry protested. 

“Flesh wounds, for the most part, and nothing that your spell work and a couple of potions hasn’t already fixed, I promise.” 

Harry huffed, and his dad chuckled. 

“I have to go back downstairs—the Dark Lord has called for a meeting to debrief—but I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

Nodding, Harry shifted on the bed until he was lying down, one hand automatically reaching up to clamp around the locket, as he did every night. 

“I love you,” Severus murmured quietly, reaching out to stroke Harry’s hair from his face. “Sleep well, son.” 

“I love you too, Dad.” 

… 

Harry’s hands shook slightly as he pulled the parchment from its envelope. He unfolded it and laid it flat against the table in front of him. 

A wave of relief almost had him slumping against the varnished wood, his eyes tracing over his OWL results. 

“How’d you do?” Draco asked, looking up from his own results with a strong expression of pride on his face. 

“I did well,” Harry replied, nodding. 

They switched parchments, and Harry noticed that Draco had done as well as he had, and he smiled at his best friend before he looked up to find his dad’s impatient gaze. 

“Straight O’s,” he admitted, grinning. 

“Me too,” Draco added, smiling at his parents. He looked back at Harry. “I still think that we could stand to spend a little less time in the library.” 

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Heathen.” 

Severus rounded the table to look over Harry’s letter for himself, his hand warm on Harry’s shoulder. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmured, for Harry’s ears only, and Harry leant back against him for a moment, enjoying the knowledge that he’d done as well as he possibly could have. 

… 

Harry stared at the woman, unsure of his insanity-laced laugher. “Is she… okay?” 

Severus snorted. “That’s Bellatrix Lestrange, son. So, no. No, she’s not okay. But she wasn’t okay before Azkaban either, Harry, so I believe it’s something you’ll just have to get used to.” 

Harry chuckled as his eyes travelled over the others in the group of newcomers. “Are they all staying here?” 

“No, of course not,” Severus assured him. “They’ll be gone before the end of the weekend, only coming back for meetings if, and when, they’re necessary. I rather thought that we could go home for the weekend though. I know we’ve spent quite a lot of time here this summer.” 

“Can we?” Harry asked, glancing at the fireplace. 

“Of course. Shall we ask Draco if he’d like to join us?” 

“Won’t he want to greet his…” Harry glanced back at Bellatrix. “Aunt?” 

“I’m quite sure that he’ll be grateful for the excuse not to,” his dad replied dryly, and Harry chuckled again. 

“I’ll go and ask him. I can’t believe that Tom broke into Azkaban, though. Dumbledore won’t be happy, will he?” 

“Oh, I think that the Dark Lord is quite happy with any plans that displease the headmaster,” Severus said, amusement evident in his tone. “Go and collect Draco, and we’ll take our leave.” 

Harry nodded and left the room, skirting around the newly released inmates. He was so ready to not be at Malfoy Manor. 

… 

“He’s made me the Defence Professor,” Severus announced to Lucius and the Dark Lord a week before the beginning of term. 

He’d been called in to see the Headmaster, and had been told, quite firmly, that it was only for a year, and then he would be able to return to Potions, but Severus wasn’t stupid.  

He was being discarded in the only way that made it impersonal for the Headmaster. 

“Is that right?” the Dark Lord mused, rubbing his chin. “Interesting. Who is he bringing in for Potions?” 

“Slughorn.” 

“So that’s his play,” Voldemort said softly, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Slughorn was a professor in my day, and I asked him about Horcruxes. If Albus is bringing him back, then I imagine that’s the reason. He knows of my treasures. How much he knows is anyone’s guess, of course, but perhaps it’s time I collect them myself, before he can get his hands on them.” 

“Have you told Harry yet?” Lucius asked softly. 

Severus shook his head. “Not yet. He’s not going to be happy, and honestly, neither am I. Regardless of what this means for me, he’s going to be spending his final year at Hogwarts without me there.” 

“Not necessarily,” Voldemort replied, his lips tilting into a smirk. 

“My Lord?” 

“I was the one to curse the position,” he pointed out, twirling his wand in his hands. “I can release the curse just as easily as I placed it. Won’t it shine a light on his incompetence if you were to serve two consecutive years as Professor of a subject you’ve reportedly been asking him for for years?” 

Severus chuckled. “As you say, My Lord.” 

“Consider it done, Severus. And do tell Harry not to worry, won’t you?” 

“Yes, My Lord. Thank you.” 

… 

The welcoming feast was barely over when Harry received a summons to the headmaster’s office. 

Frowning down at the parchment, he tilted it slightly to show it to Draco. 

“What the hell?” Draco muttered. “I’ll tell your dad when he comes to welcome the firsties.” 

“Thanks. I have no idea what this is about, but it can’t be anything good, can it?” 

“Doubt it,” Draco agreed. “I’ll wait up for you.” 

Harry nodded, and as Draco moved down the stairs towards the dungeons, Harry made his way up to the headmaster’s office. He was already irritated with the headmaster for making his dad the Defence Professor, despite the assurances from both his dad and Tom that it would all work out fine. 

He really wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the old man. 

Dumbledore was waiting for him by the gargoyle, and they travelled up the moving staircase together. 

The headmaster didn’t speak until they were seated at the desk with a tea tray between them. 

“I know the last thing you expected this evening was to be visiting with me, Harry, but I’ve come to the conclusion that I can no longer keep the truth from you.” 

“The truth, Sir?” 

“About your destiny, my boy.” 

Harry blinked. “Um. Okay?” 

“Shortly after you were born, a prophecy was made. It told of a child, born as the seventh month dies, that was foretold to be the one that would defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort. You, Harry, are that child.” 

Harry stared at him for a long moment and then snorted. “I don’t think I am, Professor. Sorry to burst your bubble and all, but—” 

“Harry, you must listen to me. You are the Chosen One.” 

“Uh. Have you been watching Muggle movies, Sir? That sounds like a line from Star Wars.” 

“I feel like you’re not taking this seriously, my boy. I have the prophecy here, for you to listen to. Perhaps, when you hear the whole thing, you’ll understand the gravity of the situation. 

Harry nodded dubiously as the headmaster tapped his pensieve. A ghostly figure rose from the depths, and a voice sounded out in the otherwise quiet office, breathless and airy. 

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."

Harry frowned slightly and looked at Dumbledore, who was watching him with an expectant expression on his face. 

“I still don’t really know why you believe that’s me, Headmaster.” 

“Your mother and father, James and Lily Potter—” 

At this, Harry rolled his eyes, because did the headmaster really think that he wasn’t aware of his heritage? He didn’t say anything, and Dumbledore continued. 

“—Had defied the Dark Lord Voldemort three times publicly. The scar on your head was left by Voldemort when you destroyed his physical body when you were just a baby, thus, you’ve been marked as his equal.” 

“Just because my parents defied him three times publicly, doesn’t actually mean anything, Sir,” Harry pointed out. “They could have defied him ten times more in private. And who says that my scar is the sign of an equal? It doesn’t look like an equal sign, that’s two horizontal lines.” 

“Harry—” 

Not to be deterred, Harry soldiered on, ignoring the attempted interruption. “And ‘neither can live while the other survives’ is the most open line I’ve ever heard in my life. What if we were both ‘living’ rather than surviving? I consider myself to be living, not surviving, Headmaster, so does that mean that Voldemort is only surviving? If he learnt to live, then that would make that line null and void, surely?” 

“Prophecy interpretation—” 

“Is just that, Sir,” Harry snapped. “It's an interpretation. I interpret it differently to you, but who is to say which one of us is correct? I don’t appreciate you bringing me into your office to tell me that I’m prophesied to kill someone. I’m not a murderer. ” 

“Harry, it matters not how you interpret the prophecy at this point. Voldemort has already decided that you’re the boy that can defeat him, and he’ll stop at nothing to get his hands on you. I’m afraid that, one way or another, the prophecy will be fulfilled.” 

“Tell you that over tea and biscuits, did he?” Harry replied, shaking his head as he looked away. 

“I know that this is a lot to take in, Harry. Perhaps you should go and think it over before you make any rash decisions.” 

Taking the out for what it was, Harry stood up, leaving his tea untouched on the desk. Before he left, he said, “I know that you believe this is a ‘rash’ reaction, Headmaster, but I’m not planning to fight a Dark Lord. I enjoy my life as it is, and I’m not going to ruin it in a fight in which I’d be severely outmatched. If Lord Voldemort is as feared as he seems to be by the Wizarding World at large, I’m not stupid enough to want to fight him personally. You need to find yourself another ‘Chosen One’. Have a good night, Sir.” 

…  

As the weeks passed and the weather turned colder by the day, Harry received more letters to ‘visit’ Dumbledore’s office for tea. 

Given that there were presented as mere suggestions, and not orders, Harry felt quite comfortable in ignoring the summons until such a time came that he was ordered to see the headmaster again. 

Instead, he continued his school career as he always had, concentrating on his studies and spending the vast majority of his time with Draco. 

The Prophet seemed to be bringing more news of chaos and destruction wrought on the world by the Death Eaters, and Harry always read the articles carefully, he and Draco dissecting them line by line as to the whys, and the hows. 

Halloween passed, and there seemed to be an air of anticipation amongst the staff. Harry thought that Dumbledore had actually seemed disappointed when nothing happened during the Halloween feast. 

It was almost like the man wanted Voldemort to attack. 

Strange behaviour for the headmaster of a school in Harry’s opinion. At this point, though, Harry was just waiting for the Yule break. Between the headmaster annoying him by post, and Slughorn’s constant invitations to the ‘Slug Club’, Harry was done with the adults in the castle. 

He just wanted to go home. 

… 

Harry decided that he loved Rabastan Lestrange. 

An odd discovery, certainly, but the man was hilarious. ‘Coming home for Christmas’ had, in fact, meant Malfoy Manor, though his dad had been home for the entire time with him. The Manor was bustling with visitors, but Tom and the Lestranges were there for the entire two weeks. 

While Harry was still doing his best to avoid Bellatrix—the air of crazy around her was intense—he found that he actually enjoyed the company of the brothers. 

Rodolphus had a dark humour that had Draco in peals of laughter quite frequently, while Rabastan was witty, which Harry appreciated. Watching his dad and Rabastan banter over dinner had become Harry’s favourite part of the day. 

“C’mere, shortstack,” Rabastan said to him, a few days into the break. 

Harry snorted at the nickname, but did as he was bid. “What is it?” 

“I’m going to teach you how to torture someone with the lightest spell imaginable,” Rabastan replied. “We’re going to get Bella.” 

“Have you got a death wish?” Harry asked, arching his eyebrow. “I don’t think she really needs an excuse to murder people, and here you are, trying to give her one.” 

“I was in Azkaban for a long time, Harry. You can’t expect me not to be a little bit addled.” 

So, Harry had watched as Rabastan—one of the most feared Death Eaters in the entire organisation—tortured Bellatrix Lestrange—the most insane of the Death Eaters—with Rictusempra. 

For twenty five minutes. 

In fairness to Bellatrix, she’d managed the first couple of minutes with barely a twitch—an impressive feat with the tickling spell, in Harry’s opinion—but by the five minute mark, she was clutching her sides as she cackled loud enough to be heard on the other side of the house. 

Every time Rabastan let the spell go, she glared at him and threatened retribution, only for him to cast the spell again. 

It was a lesson in torture in the weirdest way possible. 

Three days before the end of the break, Rabastan was still running away any time Bellatrix entered the room. Harry didn’t really blame him. 

During the break, Harry had also found himself spending more time with Tom, who still seemed to be seeking him out far more often than he did anyone else. 

A lot of the time, they discussed books, because it was a passion that they’d shared, but there had been a serious discussion at the beginning of the holidays, when Harry had mentioned the Prophecy. 

All of the adults in the room had stiffened, and Harry froze, not realising that he’d just dropped a bomb on the room. 

He was hustled off into Lucius’ study along with his dad and the Dark Lord before he could even apologise for whatever he had said to cause such a reaction. 

“When did he tell you the Prophecy, Harry?” his dad asked, as soon as the door was closed. 

“The first night of school,” Harry replied. “I told you that he’d called me up there to tell me that I was the ‘Chosen One’, remember?” 

“You didn’t tell me that he’d given you the Prophecy,” Severus replied, his tone soft so that Harry knew he wasn’t in trouble. 

“Uh, sorry? He made it seem like Tom already knew about it, though.” 

“Would you mind sharing the memory of the meeting with us, Harry?” Tom asked, nodding to Lucius’ pensieve. 

It was smaller than Dumbledore’s, but no less ornate, the gold markings glinting in the light. 

Harry shrugged. “Sure.” 

Lucius guided him in the removal of the memory from his mind and into the bowl, and Harry curled up on his armchair while the three of them watched the memory. 

He was surprised to find them all laughing when they returned to themselves in the office, and Harry blinked at them all. 

“Gremlin, you don’t know how beautifully you did,” Lucius said, wiping at the tears of mirth gathering in the corners of his eyes. “But that was an absolutely stunning performance.” 

“And you were correct,” Tom added, sitting in the seat beside Harry, their elbows brushing together. “Interpretation of Prophecies is a tricky business. In this case, however, Albus was correct about one thing. You’re the only one I’ve ever marked as my equal.” 

His eyes flicked to the lightning bolt on Harry’s head. 

“Does this mean that you’re going to start chasing me around the country trying to kill me, Tom?” Harry asked softly, arching his eyebrow. 

Tom rolled his eyes. “Cheeky. No, I rather like your interpretation of the second half of the Prophecy, actually. I’d never heard the full thing, it’s certainly interesting to hear it all after so long wondering about it.” 

Harry scowled. “You came after me on the basis of a half-heard Prophecy? Are you addled?” 

Tom snorted, even as Severus and Lucius’ eyes widened at Harry’s cheek. 

“Perhaps I was,” he admitted, meeting Harry’s eyes. “I’ve felt much better since you returned two pieces of my soul, after all.” 

Harry nodded and then scrunched his nose. “So… I didn’t do anything wrong with the Headmaster? I didn’t think it was that important, but—” 

“You were perfect, Harry,” Severus assured him. “I know that you’ve been avoiding his continued requests for you to visit his office, but I think that next term, he’s likely to be more insistent.” 

“He will,” Tom assured them. “If he—like I did—truly believes Harry to be the child of the Prophecy, he’ll stop at nothing to get Harry on his side. I think this may require moving up the schedule, in all honesty. If he doesn’t get his way by the summer, it’s likely that he’ll do something quite rash.” 

“What schedule?” Harry asked, brow furrowing. 

“The headmaster needs to be removed from the school, by any means necessary,” Tom replied. “I had planned to do it by political means. I’d quite like to embarrass him professionally before I allow him to face off against Voldemort, but I believe that, perhaps, for your safety, we may have to change our plans.” 

“My safety?” 

“It’s possible that Dumbledore will attempt to keep you at the school at the end of the year, Harry, if you continue to refuse to fight against the Dark Lord,” Lucius said. “Or, perhaps, even remove you himself to take you somewhere ‘safe’ of his own. We don’t want to take that chance.” 

Harry nodded his understanding. 

“Something to think on, certainly,” Tom said, ending the discussion there. “But for now, Yule approaches, and I believe that we should be enjoying ourselves, no?” 

Lucius nodded. “Quite right. Narcissa has a list of jobs that she requires help with in preparation for the ball, and I believe that she intends to recruit everyone over the next few days.” 

“You’d think that being a Dark Lord would excuse me from such tasks,” Tom muttered, shaking his head. 

Harry laughed. “Nothing gets between Aunt Narcissa and a perfect ball, Tom. Not even the threat of torture.” 

The holidays had passed quickly after that, between the gift exchange, the ball, and the antics of the Malfoy’s guests, and Harry found himself sad to be getting back onto the Hogwarts Express with Draco for the beginning of the new term. 

It had been his best Christmas yet. 

“Only a year and a half to go, Harry,” Draco said, as they settled into their compartment. 

“That’s not as comforting as you think it is,” Harry replied, shaking his head. 

“I was commiserating for the both of us, actually,” Draco scoffed. 

Harry laughed. At least he still had Draco. 

… 

Returning to school after Christmas was hard. Harry didn’t think that he’d ever enjoyed a break more; not only had he had fun himself, but his dad had seemed more carefree and happy than Harry had ever known him. 

He tried to remind himself of Draco’s words, that there was only half a year until the summer, and then just one more year being so close to Dumbledore until he was done forever. 

The old man made Harry nervous. 

Not that he didn’t think he was protected—he absolutely was, and he knew that he had many powerful people in his corner—but Dumbledore actually seemed a little unhinged to Harry, and insane people were dangerous people. 

Just look at Bellatrix. Rabastan still couldn’t walk into a room she was in without having to dodge curses from her wand. 

Packing up after Defence, a few weeks into the term, Harry realised that there was something inside the scroll of homework his dad passed back to him. Forcing himself to be patient, Harry put it into his bag as he usually did and left it there until he was in the dorm, behind the privacy of his pulled curtains. 

The envelope was expensive, that much Harry was sure, having gotten used to the Malfoys. His name was written on the front in dark green—almost black—ink, the writing in a perfect calligraphic script. 

He opened the letter and immediately scanned to the bottom, his eyes widening slightly when he saw that the letter was from Tom. 

Settling back against his pillows, Harry read. 

Dear Harry, 

It’s been but a few weeks since you returned to the castle, and yet, Malfoy Manor seems utterly lacking without your constant presence. Lucius can only entertain me for so long as we discuss books—his opinions are never quite as amusing as your own, and he seems unwilling to argue with me quite the way you do. 

Not that I can blame him for that. Curses flow to mind when I’m faced with others far quicker than they do when I speak with you. 

How is it going at the school? I’d hope that the Headmaster is leaving you alone, but I’m not expecting as much. How are your studies? Have you learnt anything particularly interesting in the last few weeks? 

I’ve never been interested in learning things about someone before, you’ll have to tell me how my letter writing skills are. Usually, if I write a missive, it’s to order the… removal of an obstacle in my path, not because I actually care about the answers to my questions. 

Your father has agreed to pass this along—as I’m quite sure that you’re now aware—because I don’t put it past the old goat to be watching your post. He’s quite paranoid, you know? 

Merlin knows why. 

I thought, perhaps, if you wish to correspond with me until we see one another in the summer, that you could use your house elf to fetch and carry the letters. It’s much safer than any—legal—ways I could come up with, and given how taken your Hippy is with you, I know she’d never do anything that could cause you harm. 

It comforts me that she cares for you so much. 

Please write back at your earliest convenience. 

Tom 

Harry read the letter twice and then shook his head, bemused. Knowing who Tom actually was, it seemed so odd, that he’d write such a letter. Surely he had better things to be doing with his time, given his current duel personage. 

But then, Harry considered how much time Tom had spent with Harry over the break, how often he sought Harry out when he had a free moment, and he wondered if perhaps having someone off limits for his wand was good for Tom. 

As he was thinking about a return letter, the realisation that he liked Tom hit him, and he froze on his bed, brow furrowed. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to not reply, and it wasn’t even like he felt particularly pressured. 

He just… enjoyed Tom’s conversation. 

He enjoyed his company. 

This was the man that had killed his parents, that had killed so many people, that had split his soul without remorse. This was the man that Harry should hate more than anyone else in the world, and yet… he really didn’t. 

Biting his lip, Harry folded up the letter—unfolded it and spelled it for his eyes only before he refolded it—and then tucked it away in the drawer of his bedside table. 

He’d reply to it tomorrow. 

… 

Their correspondence quickly grew into two, sometimes three, letters every week. Harry kept them all, spelled so that only he could read them, in a box in his trunk, not trusting the headmaster to not try snooping. 

The end of the year was approaching rapidly, and Harry and Draco had turned their attention to the end of year exams. Harry still wasn’t sure what was going to happen at the end of the year, at least as far as Dumbledore was concerned. Tom hadn’t made any mention of his plans. 

Unwilling to compromise his exam results over worrying about something he didn’t know would happen, Harry pushed the matter from his mind and threw himself into his revising. 

He thought, later, that that was why he hadn’t realised it had been four days since Tom had written to him—the longest gap since the first letter. 

The morning after his last exam, Harry followed Draco down to the Great Hall as he did every morning, absently pouring himself a coffee and grabbing a few slices of toast from the nearest platter to put on his plate before he flipped open the Daily Prophet. 

He blinked at the photo dominating the front page, and then automatically looked at the teachers table to find that the headmaster was indeed missing from his usual seat. 

“Merlin,” Draco murmured, clearly ahead of Harry in reading, and Harry looked down at the writing at the bottom of the page. 

During an attack last night, led by non other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers, Albus Dumbledore entered the fray with an envoy of his own people who immediately stepped in to help the Aurors battle the Dark Forces attacking a Muggle suburb in the South of England. 

What followed was surely a battle for the ages, with Dumbledore clearly hitting the Dark Lord with everything in his repertoire, and the Dark Lord fighting back with just as much ardor. 

At more than one point in the battle, it appeared as though the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had the upper hand, only for the Dark Lord to turn it quickly on its head with an offensive the likes of which have never been seen before. 

 In the end, the Dark Lord seemed to win the battle, as Dumbledore Apparated away from the scene in bad shape, and the Dark Lord disappeared with his forces only seconds later. 

The losses of the battle were few, and their names are printed on page three. Our thoughts go out to their families. 

Harry shook his head and was about to open the paper to see if they recognised any of the names, only to be interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. 

“Mr Potter, would you come with me, please?” his dad murmured. “I’ll write you a pass for your classes.” 

Harry frowned but nodded, the paper left in Draco’s hands as he followed his dad from the Great Hall and back down towards the dungeons, where his dad had kept his office despite having switched subjects. 

Only when the door was locked behind them did his dad relax the ‘Professor Snape’ persona. 

He warded the office quickly, and then turned to look at Harry, a sombre expression on his face. 

“Harry—” 

“Who died, Dad?” 

His dad winced but nodded. “Black. He was amongst the Order—Dumbledore’s group—that joined the headmaster last night. Tom sends his apologies, nobody knew that Black was there. They were all wearing masks.” 

Harry stumbled back until the back of his knees hit a chair, and then sat down heavily. 

“He’s dead?” 

“I’m sorry, Son,” Severus murmured. “If I’d known—” 

Harry shook his head, feeling a little lost. “Wasn’t your fault. Sirius… I guess he made his own choices, right?” 

Severus sighed, but perched back against the desk, running a hand through Harry’s hair as Harry leant sideways against him. 

“You okay?” 

Harry nodded blankly. “I just… he was the last thing linking me to my birth parents. It’s weird that he’s just… gone now.” 

“I believe I can have you removed from school a few days early on bereavement leave,” his dad offered softly. “You can go home and wait for me there, or go to the Malfoys. Lucius has already professed a wish to see you, and has sent his condolences.” 

Harry nodded and then scrunched his nose. “I don’t want to just wander around on my own at home, and…” 

“What is it, Son?” Severus asked, when Harry hesitated to continue. 

“I know it’s not his fault, but I don’t want to see Tom right now. I know that I’m being unfair, but—” 

“Hey, no. Your feelings are always valid, Harry, haven’t I always told you that? If you want to stay here, then you can, and if you want to spend the whole summer at Prince Manor, then that’s what we’ll do, okay?” 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

Severus nodded, folding himself slightly to press a kiss to Harry’s head. 

“Can we… Can I go to the funeral?” 

“Of course. You’re his Heir, Harry, you can do whatever you want to do.” 

Harry nodded, and then sat in silence for a little while as Harry tried to pull his head together. It wasn’t easy, and he knew he’d be feeling it for a while, but for now, he just wanted to carry on with his week and deal with the sudden empty feeling in his chest later. 

Eventually, in an effort to distract himself, he asked, “How’s Dumbledore? The paper said that he’d been in bad shape when he left the battle.” 

“For once, the Prophet actually managed to report the truth,” Severus quipped softly. “The Dark Lord hit the headmaster with a slow acting curse that has no known cure. For now, it’s been localised to his arm, but he has—at best—a year to live.” 

Harry nodded slowly. “Was that wise?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The headmaster already struck me as being somewhat unstable; giving him a death sentence isn’t going to make him any less desperate, is it?” 

“Likely not,” Severus agreed. “But he has an… expiration date now, and it’ll be one less thing for us to worry about with regards to your safety. I can’t feel sorry about that, Harry.” 

Harry shook his head. “I’m not asking you to feel sorry , Dad. I just… I guess I think that he’s going to be even more dangerous now, that’s all.” 

“We’ll have to be careful,” his dad murmured. “It’ll be over soon, Harry, and you’ll be able to be who you are.” 

Harry nodded. When he still didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of people dying in general, he couldn’t deny that it would be nice to no longer have to pretend that his dad was only his Head of House. 

And it was nice to know that Severus was relishing the thought of being about to publicly claim Harry as his son. 

“I’m going to go to class, Dad,” Harry said, forcing himself to his feet. “I can’t just sit around all day, I’ll go mad.” 

Severus nodded and quickly wrote out a pass for him on a slip of parchment. “If you need me at all, you know where I am. And you can always send Hippy to get me, okay?” 

Harry nodded. Thanks, Dad. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Son. And I am, truly, sorry about Sirius.” 

Harry tried to smile—he wasn’t sure that he was successful—and nodded his head. He knew his dad and Sirius had never gotten along, so the sentiment was appreciated. 

He left the office and walked towards the Charms classroom, his pass tucked into his pocket. 

Today was going to be a day. 

… 

Harry pulled on a black travelling cloak over his formal robes and checked his appearance in the mirror. He knew he was going to be expected at the funeral—and a large part of him wanted to be there, to pay his respects to the godfather he hadn’t known long enough—but having to go alone wasn’t easy. 

Severus had offered to take Polyjuice so that he could go with him, but Harry had told him no. He knew that his dad would be expected there as himself; he had been practically ordered to attend already by Dumbledore. 

Lucius had also offered to go with Harry, but again, Harry knew that it would be weird for Lucius Malfoy to turn up to Sirius’ funeral. 

He was grateful for the offers, the knowledge that they would be there for him no matter the circumstances, but he also knew that he could handle this. He was only a few weeks off of his seventeenth birthday. 

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair—he hadn’t even tried to fix it, there was little point—and called for Hippy. Despite his knowing how to Apparate, he wasn’t technically allowed to take the actual test for a few more weeks. It was ridiculous, really, but it was important that he did some things correctly, especially with the people who would be in attendance at the funeral. 

“Ready, Master Harry?” 

“As I’ll ever be, Hippy,” Harry agreed, holding his hand out for her to grip. There was a split second pause, and then they were gone, leaving behind only an echoing snap. 

… 

Harry sat in the second row, avoiding the eyes of everyone that sought to make eye contact. Dumbledore was there, the twinkle missing from his eyes as he affected a sombre appearance, helped into his seat by Professor McGonagall. Around him were seated the Hogwarts contingent. 

Harry had smiled at his dad, nodding his head in greeting, but he’d chosen a seat on the other side to them, unwilling to put up with the headmaster today. 

Listening to the man at the front—a Ministry Official that Harry didn’t recognise the name of—talk about Sirius, Harry had the feeling that nobody had bothered to supply a eulogy. 

The man clearly didn’t know Sirius, as he talked about a clever, serious man. The pun—despite it not having been explicitly made—had Harry biting his lip so as not to laugh. 

How many times had Sirius made that pun, time and time again? 

He was nothing like this man described him. 

Harry had never been to a funeral before, and he watched with a small amount of curiosity as the casket was lit on fire—a magical fire, if the colours were any indication—and it was completely engulfed in the flames until they died down, leaving nothing but a pile of ash. 

The ashes were collected into an ornate urn, and there was a momentary hesitation, before it was handed solemnly to Harry. 

Harry accepted it with wide eyes, unsure what in the hell he was supposed to do with them, as the guests around him started standing from their seats. 

He didn’t know Sirius well enough to know what he wanted to be done with his ashes, and he sighed as he realised he was going to have to approach the group across the aisle. 

He’s seen Remus Lupin in the group, and he supposed that if anyone would know what was to be done with the ashes, it would be him. 

Gathering himself, Harry stood, the urn cradled delicately in his arms, and walked across to the group. 

The Headmaster opened his mouth to speak, but Harry beat him to it. 

“Mr Lupin?” 

His old professor looked up at him through haunted eyes, and Harry barely managed to hide a wince. He looked so much older than he had in Harry’s third year, like the grief had aged him decades. 

“Harry. It’s good to see you. I know that Sirius would have been happy you were here,” Lupin said, practically choking on Harry’s godfather’s name. 

Harry wanted to point out that Sirius wouldn’t have wanted him here because he didn’t want to die, but he held his tongue, knowing the sudden rush of anger wasn’t really for Lupin. 

“I, uh. I wondered if you wanted to keep his ashes,” Harry offered softly. “Or, if you knew what he wanted me to do with them, at least? It wasn’t something that we ever talked about, so I’m not really sure what he wanted to be done.” 

Lupin offered him a tired smile, and nodded. “I believe that he wanted to be scattered by your parents’ graves, Harry. We were… we were all a family, for better or worse, so I think he’d like to be there with them.” 

Harry nodded and swallowed hard. He tried to hand over the urn, but Lupin shook his head. 

“You should do it, Harry.” 

Harry blinked. “I… don’t know where they’re buried, Mr Lupin.” 

Remus stared at him, and then turned glaring amber eyes on Dumbledore. “You never took him to his parents' graves?” 

Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry’s guardianship isn’t mine, Remus. It would be for his guardian to take him. I’d be happy to escort him though, when I’m feeling a little more spry.” 

Shaking his head with clear disgust, Lupin turned back to Harry. “Would you like me to take you, Harry?” 

Harry had never wanted to look at his dad so much in his life, but he forced himself not to, and then nodded his head. If he had to spread Sirius’ ashes there anyway, it would make sense to visit now and get it out of the way. 

Lupin stood on slightly shaky legs and gestured for Harry to follow him to the outskirts of the clearing. 

“Hold on tight to my arm, Harry,” Lupin instructed softly, and Harry did so. Moments later, they were travelling through the tight vice of Apparition. 

… 

Godric’s Hollow was a picturesque village, and Harry looked around with interest. This was where he’d spent the first year of his life. This was where he would have grown up, had Tom not followed half of a prophecy. 

Harry didn’t know if it was better that he hadn’t. He couldn’t imagine being without his dad, and his uncle Lucius and aunt Narcissa, and Draco. 

And Tom. 

Shaking the thoughts away, he followed Remus through the graveyard and along a clearly familiar-to-him path until eventually, he stopped in between two well cared for gravestones. 

Harry looked at the inscribed names, and he couldn’t help but wonder what his life would have been like had they lived. Would he have been a Gryffindor, waiting and eager to join the fight against the Dark Lord, as they had been? Would he have been a Quidditch enthusiast? Would he have still enjoyed books and learning the way he did? 

Not that he would ever have answers to those questions. His biological parents were dead, and no amount of wondering or questions would change that. 

Harry opened the urn and carefully tipped the ashes out between the two graves. 

“I’ll miss you, Sirius,” he murmured, almost silently. 

When there were only the last stubborn specks of ash in the urn, Harry once again offered it to Lupin. 

“You should keep it,” was all he said, and Lupin nodded, swallowing hard against the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. 

“Thank you, Harry,” he murmured, accepting the urn with careful hands. 

Harry nodded. 

“If you need anything,” Lupin offered. “I’m just a letter away.” 

Harry nodded again, unsure what to say—or if there was even anything to say. Instead, he called for Hippy, wincing when her arrival sounded loudly in the silence of the graveyard. 

“I’ll see you at the reading of his will next week,” Remus said, glancing at the elf. 

“Okay. I… thanks for bringing me here, Mr Lupin.” 

“Call me Remus,” Lupin offered. 

Harry just offered a tight smile in return and let Hippy take him home. 

Standing at the graves of his birth parents had only reinforced for Harry just how much he needed his dad right now. 

… 

Since the reading of Sirius’ will was the day after Harry’s seventeen birthday, he decided to save all of his business at Gringotts for the same time. It would make for a long day, but it also meant that he could just enjoy turning seventeen. 

He woke in his bed at Prince Manor and spent a moment doing inconsequential spells just for his own amusement. Despite the fact that he’d been doing magic outside Hogwarts since he’d first learned it, given the wards on both Prince Manor and Malfoy Manor, it was still novel to know that he was allowed to use it now. 

He finally left his room to find his dad waiting for him in the kitchen with a simple breakfast spread under warming charms, and a pile of presents waiting. 

“Happy seventeenth, Son,” Severus said, smiling when Harry hugged him. “How are you feeling this morning?” 

“I’m good,” Harry replied. “I feel better about today than I have been.” 

Severus nodded, and Harry focused on filling his plate for a moment. After lunch, they were to go to Malfoy Manor for the first time since Christmas, and Harry had been rather ridiculously nervous about it. 

He’d felt stupid even admitting as much to his dad, given the amount of time he’d spent there over the years, but Severus had taken him at face value and offered a compromise. 

They could spend the first part of the holidays at Prince Manor, and allow Lucius and Narcissa their fun throwing Harry a birthday party, using that as an excuse to return. 

It was giving Harry enough space, while also limiting the time he was apart from the people he considered his family, and it had been just what he’d needed. 

They ate breakfast in a companionable silence, Severus looking over the paper and occasionally pointing at specific things that he thought Harry would be interested in. He made sure to stay away from any mentions of the battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore, for which Harry was grateful for, and instead pointed out that there was a potions ingredient auction coming up in a couple of weeks, and that the Weasley twins—the only two Weasleys’ that Harry had met and actually liked—had opened up their own joke shop in Diagon Alley. 

After breakfast, Harry turned his attention to the pile of presents, opening them carefully one by one. 

His dad bought him a watch, a new wand holster, and a certificate for him to take Muggle driving lessons, which had made Harry chuckle, along with a few books that Harry had been eyeing lately. 

He hugged him again in thanks, and asked his dad to help him put the watch on. 

A sign of adulthood, aided with the promise that Harry still needed his dad to help him navigate life. 

From Lucius and Narcissa—along with a note promising more later—came a travelling cloak with his three house insignias already sewn into it, and a book that made Harry drool. 

From Draco, he received a practice snitch, a bucket load of sweets, and a pair of leather trousers that made Severus choke on his coffee. 

There was nothing from Tom, not that Harry had really expected anything, but it still kind of stung. Then again, there had been no letters between them since Sirius had died, so Harry wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to think about what was going on with the man. 

Harry flew over the grounds for a while after breakfast in an attempt to shed some of his nervous energy, playing with the snitch that Draco had sent him, before he returned to the house to shower and change for his party. 

Merlin, but he didn’t want a party. 

… 

Thankfully, Harry’s arrival at Malfoy Manor was met with little fanfare beyond the usual hugs and Lucius’ declarations that he’d missed his Gremlin desperately , and a promise of the library having been restocked with plenty of new books for him to devour in good time. 

It was normal, and Harry had never been more grateful for normal in his life. 

The party was low-key, almost non-existent really, if what Draco said was anything to go by. His own seventeenth birthday party at the very beginning of the summer holidays had been the party to end all parties. 

Harry had apologised again for missing it—and had been told to stop being a Hufflepuff for his troubles—but he really hadn’t been feeling up to it. 

There were more presents—Harry practically had a library of his own by the time he’d stacked them all up, not to mention the clothes and strange little magical objects that he’d enjoy figuring out in time—along with cake and drinks. Blaise and Theo joined them, along with Daphne and her little sister. 

Harry had wondered about the latter guest for all of two minutes until he’d seen the way Draco was looking at Astoria. 

If the gleam in Lucius’ eyes was anything to go by, there would be a betrothal contact set between the two of them before Astoria had even finished school. 

Harry didn’t see Tom, but he tried not to let it bother him. Wherever the Dark Lord was, or whatever he was doing, Harry was sure that it was important. 

Rabastan and Rodolphus provided the entertainment as they got progressively more drunk throughout the evening, and Harry’s ribs hurt so hard from laughing that he’d had to walk away to remember how to breathe. 

Draco had demonstrated how very much of a lightweight he was by falling, face first, out of his chair when he fell asleep sitting up. 

Narcissa may have taken pictures to be used as blackmail later, but Harry wasn’t going to say a single word about that. 

Adult or not, aunt Narcissa would always terrify him just a little bit. He thought she probably liked it that way. 

It was an amazing day, and Harry was so grateful for his family. A small part of him still missed Sirius’ presence—not that he’d have been at the Manor, but Harry was absolutely certain that he would have made himself known at some point through the day—but it was still a happy occasion, and he’d been thoroughly distracted, and the whole time, Severus had watched on with a small smile on his face, like he couldn’t quite believe that the day was actually here. 

Harry had never been happier to be his son than when he saw the pride shining in his eyes while Harry laughed at Rabastan’s terrible jokes. 

… 

Later that night, when at least half of the adults had fallen asleep after too much fine wine and whisky, Harry sat in the conservatory, looking up at the stars. 

He’d debated on the library, and cracking open one of his new books, but it was a nice night and it wasn’t often so clear that you could see so many stars. 

A knock on the door startled him, and he turned his head to see Tom standing in the doorway, watching him with dark eyes. 

“Hi,” Harry greeted softly, turning his gaze back to the sky above. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Tom murmured, stepping into the conservatory. “I’d hoped to be back in time for your party, but… well, honestly, I wasn’t sure if you’d even want me there.” 

Harry frowned. “Why?” 

“I caused your godfather to be killed, Harry. It’s not unreasonable to believe that you wouldn’t want to be around me.” 

Harry shook his head. “You didn’t. Sirius made his own choices, and… that’s something that I have to live with.” 

“If I hadn’t—” 

“Are you really going to argue with me on my birthday, Tom?” Harry rolled his neck to look at Tom again, sat in the armchair beside Harry’s. 

Tom glanced at his watch and smirked. “You only have eighteen more minutes to use that excuse, you know?” 

“Just as well,” Harry replied, with a smirk of his own. “I happen to enjoy arguing with you.” 

Tom laughed, and then glanced at the rings adorning Harry’s fingers. He had all three of them on show today, knowing that he could trust the people in the house to hold their tongues until he was ready and able for his third inheritance to be known. 

“Lord Potter-Black,” Tom murmured. “Quite the title, Harry.” 

Harry nodded. “It’s going to take some getting used to. Lucius has already spoken to me about lessons to go over etiquette in political situations. I know some, but… reading about it isn’t quite the same as putting it into practice.” 

“You have another year before you have to worry about it,” Tom pointed out. “New Lords don’t debut on the circuit until they’ve finished their last year at school.” 

“I know, but next summer will be rife with it,” Harry pointed out. “So I have to learn how not to incite a public feud with the wrong family before then.” 

“As opposed to inciting feuds with the right families?” 

Harry chuckled. “Exactly.” He sobered then. “If I ask you a question, do you promise not to lie to me? You don’t have to answer, but don’t lie.” 

“I promise.” 

“Why are you still Voldemort?” When Tom frowned slightly, Harry elaborated. “You’re Lord Slytherin, and if the papers and Lucius are to be believed, you’re gathering quite the fan club. Why keep terrorising the world as Voldemort?” 

Tom nodded, looking thoughtful. “Because while being Lord Slytherin is a part of who I am, it’s not the whole of me. Voldemort is as much as part of who I am. I did… so many atrocious things, Harry, and I don’t feel remorse for much of what I did. I regret very little, and I’ll continue to not regret the things I do if they move the world in the direction that I want it to go.” 

Harry nodded, not entirely satisfied with the answer, but accepting it for what it was. “Do you really need to keep murdering people, though?” 

Tom sighed. “You’re so grown up, Harry, and yet still so innocent in some ways. It’s refreshing. I hope you don’t lose that innocence.” 

A non-answer if Harry had ever heard one, and he scowled. 

“If you hadn’t noticed, Harry, each raid, each murder, has a purpose. Voldemort attacks, and then Lord Slytherin is there to tell the masses what they need to do to fix the mistakes. Eventually, Voldemort will be able to disappear into the ether, and I’ll be able to control the Wizarding World with words, rather than with wands.” 

Harry nodded slowly. 

“What was the purpose of attacking Little Whinging?” 

It was a question he’d wondered about since it had happened, and while logically, he understood the taunt at Dumbledore, he couldn’t help but think that there was a deeper reason. 

“They hurt you.” 

Harry tilted his head. “Severus got me out of there.” 

“I grew up in an orphanage,” Tom said, and Harry’s eyes widened slightly. “And it was awful. Hearing about your treatment at the hands of the Muggles… I couldn’t let it go, Harry. Don’t ask me to be sorry for it.” 

“I won’t,” Harry replied, because he couldn’t. He himself wasn’t sorry about it, though he wished that innocent people hadn’t been involved. 

Harry tried to stifle a yawn, but Tom’s smirk told him he’d done a terrible job, and he rolled his eyes. “I should go to bed. I have a long day tomorrow.” 

Tom nodded, and reached out to cup Harry’s cheek. “Goodnight, Harry.” 

Harry leant into the touch for a moment. “Goodnight, Tom.” 

… 

Harry was just about done with everything by the time the will reading was over. 

He’d already spent over an hour with Errongulf prior to the reading, settling the Potter estate and updating his own will. 

As a Lord, to not have a will was exceedingly stupid, even at just seventeen. 

He’d have to do the same again for the Black estate, but he’d hoped that by fulfilling the Potter estate, it would save him time after the will, since he’d promised to attempt to get back to Malfoy Manor in time for dinner. 

Given Sirius had left the majority of his family’s wealth and artifacts to Harry, along with the title of Lord Black and the family properties, he’d been the first to be told about his inheritance. 

Afterwards he’d been asked to stay for the larger will reading as the new Lord Black, and it was dragging. For every small bequest, the beneficiary was there, and Sirius knew a lot of people. 

The entire Weasley family were present, much to Harry’s displeasure, along with Remus, Dumbledore, McGonagall and a whole host of people Harry didn’t know. 

He committed their names to memory, sure that at least some of them were members of Dumbledore’s Order. 

Settled in his chair in the corner, Harry tried to ignore the others in the room, their exclamations and tears irritating him. He understood that they were grieving—probably even more than he himself, since many of these people would have known Sirius longer and better than Harry had—but really, did Molly Weasley have to make such a show of it, sobbing loudly and telling everyone what a good soul Sirius was? 

She was just making everything harder, and Harry was hard-pressed not to tell her to hush the hell up. 

Finally, Errongulf came to the last of the bequeaths, and Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. He stood, nodded to Remus, and swept from the room as quickly as he could. 

Unfortunately, because he couldn’t leave the bank without going over the Black estate, Dumbledore caught up with him before he could get out of range. 

“It’s important we discuss this, Harry,” Dumbledore told him, urgently. 

“If you can be quick,” Harry offered, eventually. “I still have business to do with Errongulf, and then I have dinner plans to get to.” 

Dumbledore looked irritated at being dismissed, but nodded. “Before he died, we were using one of Sirius’ properties as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“Order of the—oh, you mean the people who were fighting with you when Sirius died?” Harry asked, arching his eyebrow. “What about it?” 

“I’m requesting that you allow us to continue using it,” Dumbledore said, a grandfatherly smile on his face that gave Harry the creeps. “To be forced to move headquarters in the middle of the war would  be disastrous for our efforts against Voldemort, Harry. It’s what Sirius would have wanted.” 

“Don’t tell me what my godfather would have wanted. If he truly wanted you to continue using the house, he’d have bequeathed it to the Order in his will, wouldn’t he?” 

“Harry, my boy—” 

“I am not your boy, Headmaster. I’ll discuss the house with my advisor and get back to you by post no later than the end of this week, okay? For now, I really have to go.” 

Harry turned away, shaking his head and wondering if he could get away with cursing the Headmaster in the middle of the bank if only he paid the Goblins enough gold to keep a lid on it. 

Deciding that it probably wasn’t worth it, Harry allowed himself to be led back into the private office of Errongulf and sighed in relief as the door was shut firmly behind him. 

Merlin, if this was being a Lord, Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted any part of it. 

… 

“I can’t believe he actually asked you,” Lucius said, shaking his head. “Is he truly that senile? Even disregarding that he has absolutely no idea who your guardian is and where their loyalties lie, he is fully aware that you spend many of your school breaks here with Draco.” 

“He’s desperate,” Severus said, rolling his eyes. 

He’d been called to an Order meeting almost immediately following the Headmaster’s departure from the bank, and had been forced to spend over an house listening to them complain about the unfairness of the situation, like they were just entitled to the house because. 

“And not only is he desperate, but the Order is falling apart. Now that they all know that Dumbledore has a death sentence hanging over his head with the curse still affecting him, they’re scrambling for who to look to as a leader when he passes.” 

“It’ll be Moody, most likely,” Tom pointed out. “He’s surely got seniority over most of them; he was a pain in my ass during the last war. Kept taking out my fighters.” 

Harry snorted, and Tom rolled his eyes at him. 

“I think that you should let him use the house,” Lucius said, eventually. “Of course, before you agree, you’ll need to do a walkthrough. A few listening devices wouldn’t hurt.” 

Harry scrunched his nose. “Is it bad that I don’t want the house? I was going to just give it to Remus to do with as he wished. If you think it will help, then I’ll do as you ask, but,” he shrugged. “I don’t want anything to do with it, really.” 

“It will mean that your father can stop ‘spying’ for the Order as soon as the old man dies,” Tom pointed out, and Harry glanced at Severus. 

“If you truly don’t want the house, Son, then do as you need to. It’s no real hardship to—” 

“Someone will have to teach me how, and where, to place the listening devices,” Harry interrupted, and then stuck his tongue out at his dad for good measure. “As if you think I wouldn’t do anything to make your life easier, Dad.” 

Severus sighed, but then nodded his head and smiled slightly at Harry in appreciation. 

“Take Draco with you,” Lucius suggested, twisting his lips slightly in thought. “He’s a sneaky little sod, he’ll be able to find the best hiding places for the devices. We’ll make them for you before you leave.” 

Harry nodded. “Okay. I still want to know how they actually work, though.” 

Lucius grinned. “Of course you do, Gremlin.” 

… 

“It’s a bit… grim, isn’t it?” Draco asked, looking around the parlour with distaste. 

Harry nodded. He’d thought that Sirius would have cleaned it up a little more since Harry had visited; he’d said that he intended to do the whole house up. 

Everytime Harry had seen Sirius after the first time he’d visited him, it had been elsewhere, and Harry hadn’t seen the house since. 

“Perhaps, in payment for you allowing them to continue to use the house, you should tell them that you want it cleaned up,” Draco suggested, a cheeky grin on his face as he turned slowly, looking for the ideal place for the first listening device. 

“Wouldn’t that give them more chances to find the devices though? They’re not stupid—or at least, they’re not all stupid—and you know that they’ll be looking for them anyway. Tom said that Moody is paranoid as hell.” 

Draco nodded almost absently as his eyes narrowed on a tiny nook in the panelling around the top of the room. He conjured a set of ladders—a little rickety, but usable—and climbed up them to place the tiny bug just inside it. He waved his wand to activate it, and then smiled over his shoulder. 

“That’s one done. Testing, testing.” 

A few minutes later, a fox patronus appeared in front of him, telling Draco in his father’s voice that it had worked. 

They moved around the house, picking different rooms that seemed most likely to hold important conversations, including the kitchen, the library, and the hallways, placing the little bugs as they went. 

When it was done, Harry and Draco left via the fireplace to Malfoy Manor. Harry was glad to be done with it, and he was quite happy later that evening to send a letter to the Headmaster, telling him that the house was theirs to use. He, on Lucius’ advice, included a warning against putting more wards on the place, given that it wasn’t their house. 

Unsurprisingly, he got a return letter the very next morning, thanking him for his ‘cooperation’, and including thinly veiled threats that they’d be seeing a lot more of each other in the coming months. 

Not if Harry could help it, they wouldn’t, as he read the letter and then handed it off to his dad to peruse and share with Tom and Lucius if he saw fit. 

Glad that the ordeal was over and done with, Harry set himself to enjoying the rest of his summer. Hopefully, it would be problem-free. 

… 

“Oh, sweet lord,” Harry muttered, shaking his head at the two letters in front of him. 

Lucius and Severus both looked up from their own breakfast in concern, while Draco shifted in his seat to look over Harry’s shoulder, to see what the problem was. 

When Draco let out a snort of laughter, Lucius arched an eyebrow in question, while Severus frowned slightly. Harry slid them down the table towards the two older men, a scowl firmly fixed on his face. 

“Someone tell me how to say ‘oh hell no’ without inciting a family feud, please?” he requested. 

“What’s got you looking so sad?” Tom asked, announcing his presence at the same time as he joined the breakfast table. 

Harry simply waved his hand at the two letters Lucius and Severus were perusing. He wasn’t best pleased to see that both men were chewing on their bottom lips in an attempt to hide their laughter. His scowl deepened. “Traitors, the pair of you.” 

“Now that he’s an adult—not to mention the Lord of two houses—Harry has begun to receive courtship notices, My Lord,” Lucius said, the amusement very evident in his tone. “I assume that you don’t intend to accept either of them, Gremlin?” 

Harry threw the crust of a piece of toast at him. 

“Rude,” Lucius grumbled. “I’ll write you a template of refusal up for this, Harry. I should have foreseen it happening, really, but I wasn’t truly expecting any until you’d graduated. You’ll get many more of them next summer, I guarantee it.” 

“Oh, yay, something to look forward to,” Harry replied, his tone dry. 

He turned to ask Tom how his evening had been, only to find him glaring at the parchment in Lucius’ hand so hard, Harry was surprised that it didn’t spontaneously erupt into flames. 

“Tom?” 

“Who sent them?” Tom demanded, turning his gaze to Harry. 

His usually brown eyes seemed redder than usual, more akin to the ones Harry expected to see on Voldemort. 

“I don’t think you need to know that,” Harry replied, softly. “I’m going to reject them anyway, no harm done.” 

“Harry—” 

“Tom. You’re being silly.” 

There was a long moment, fraught with tension, before Tom relaxed his shoulders slightly, and his eyes darkened to their usual brown. 

“I apologise,” he said, a little stiffly. Harry nodded, and then watched as a spark of mischief appeared in Tom’s expression. “Are you quite sure I can’t convince you to tell me who sent them, Harry? If I promise not to kill them?” 

Harry snorted. “Not killing them leaves entirely too much scope for a mind such as yours, so no deal.” 

“How about if I promise not to hurt them?” 

“Why do you need to know?” 

“I… would like to know the competition, as it were.” 

Harry blinked, and then froze as he thought the words over, and the open implication of them. 

Huh. Well then. 

“There is none,” Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders as his lips lifted into a tiny smile. “So don’t worry about the names, okay?” 

Tom’s head tilted to the side slightly, before a pleased smirk appeared on his face. “Okay, Harry.” 

… 

“You didn’t tell him who sent them, did you?” Harry asked Lucius later, when he was carefully copying the rejection letter onto two fresh pieces of parchment. “I may not like either of the families, but I don’t wish the wrath of His Majesty on them, either.” 

Lucius snorted, but shook his head. “He didn’t ask. I think you settled his temper rather well yourself at the table, Gremlin.” 

“Are you ever going to not call me that?” 

Scrunching his nose, Lucius replied, “Well, I don’t suppose I can call you Lord Gremlin when introducing you on the circuit next year, but when it is just you and I, or we are at home with family? I’ll still be calling you Gremlin when you’re seventy.” 

“I somehow knew that was going to be the answer,” Harry replied, grinning softly. “You know, you’re the only person to ever give me a nickname that I didn’t immediately hate?” 

Lucius smiled. “If anyone else ever calls you Gremlin, I’ll challenge them to a duel to the death.” 

“Bit of an overreaction, no?” 

Shrugging, Lucius said, “Perhaps, but I have to get my enjoyment somewhere. Are you done with those letters? I’ll have them taken to the Owl Post by one of the elves so that they can’t be traced.” 

Harry nodded, putting the two letters into their respective envelopes, ensuring that he got the two in the correct ones. One would be winging it’s way to Parkinson House, and the other to ‘The Burrow’, which was apparently the name of the Weasley’s home. 

The very thought of marrying into either of the families was grim, never mind the fact that he really didn’t like either of the girls who had been offered to him for courtship. 

Besides, he had a feeling that he wasn’t interested in the fairer sex at all, if his reactions to Tom—and his lack of reaction to the females he knew—was anything to judge. 

Then again, given Tom’s reaction at the breakfast table, Harry supposed that his decision was likely already made. 

… 

“Nine months,” Lucius told Harry, as they walked through Platform Nine and Three Quarters. “And you and your dad will both be free. You’ve got this, Gremlin.” 

“What happened to not calling me that in public?” Harry asked, his lips tilting up. 

Lucius rolled his eyes. “I have a year before I have to call you Lord Potter; let me enjoy it.” 

Harry laughed as Lucius shared a quick goodbye with Draco, and then winked at the older man before he followed his best friend onto the train. 

“Nine more months,” he repeated to himself, running a hand through his messy hair. He glanced at Draco. “Why does it feel like the next nine months are going to be the longest of my entire life?” 

Draco snorted. “NEWTs, Dumbledore, courtships and politics. Dude, it’s going to feel like a lifetime.” 

“You should never get a job that requires you to comfort people,” Harry said, shaking his head. “You’re bloody terrible at it.” 

… 

The first month passed without effort, and Harry was quickly buried in his studies, Draco alongside him and complaining about it all the way. 

October brought more Death Eater attacks—three, in quick succession, in the middle of the month—and Dumbledore sent for Harry the morning after the third. 

Harry politely declined the invitation—as he had for almost the whole of the last year—entirely too busy to entertain whatever the Headmaster wanted. 

It wasn’t until November that anything happened that was interesting enough to fully distract Harry from his studies. 

He’d had a few more courtship offers, along with two or three betrothal contracts meant for any children he might sire—and wasn’t that just the creepiest thing—but he’d politely rejected all of them by return owl and heard nothing from any of the senders since. 

So, a courtship offer shouldn’t have been considered interesting in the slightest. 

And yet, the name scripted on it made Harry sit up straight and stare, because what the hell was Tom playing at? 

Along with the letter came a small box that Harry opened at the table, unthinking about the fact that eyes were on him from around the hall. 

A ring was nestled on silk, shining up at him. It was very clearly an heirloom, the stone in the middle was scratched in places, but it had been lovingly restored to almost perfect condition. 

What was more interesting was that the ring was emitting the same feeling as the locket that still hung around Harry’s neck. Tom had sent him another Horcrux. 

Harry slipped the ring from the box to get a closer look at it, and he smiled to himself slightly before he put it back into the silk and closed the lid. 

“You’re not going to put it on?” Draco asked, when Harry cast a few protection spells around the box, and put it carefully in his bag. 

Harry shook his head. “Not yet.” 

“You’re going to make Lord Slytherin work for it?” Draco asked, laughter soon following until he was practically cackling at the table. 

Harry shoved him lightly, then tucked the courtship offer into his pocket. He was going to have to contact Tom and find out what the hell he was playing at now. 

… 

“Harry! Come in and sit down,” Dumbledore greeted with a feigned cheer that grated Harry’s nerves. 

The latest letter had arrived after dinner—and Harry didn’t think that it was a coincidence that it came on the same day as Tom’s courtship request—and was much less an offer than an order to go to the Headmaster’s office. 

Harry took a seat, declining the food and drink offered in favour of crossing his arms and legs in front of him and waiting for Dumbledore to speak. 

“Tell me, Harry, did you receive a courtship request from Lord Slytherin?” 

Harry tilted his head. “I’m not sure that this has anything to do with school, Sir, so I’m not convinced that it’s any of your business.” 

“Harry, please, this is most important.” 

Sighing, Harry nodded. He knew that it would likely be in the Daily Prophet in the morning anyway, so what did it matter if he admitted it a little early. 

“I have to tell you something, Harry. Something about Lord Slytherin.” 

“Okay?” 

“He’s Lord Voldemort.” 

 Harry stared for a moment, and then snorted, covering his mouth with his hand. When he’d composted himself, he said, “I apologise, Headmaster, that was rude of me, but uh. Well. I thought that you said that Voldemort wanted to kill me?” 

“He does, Harry!” 

“Okay. Then… Why have I been spending time with Tom for over a year on my breaks and during the summer without him hurting a single hair on my head? No offence, Sir, but either your theory about the Prophecy is wrong, or your theory about Lord Slytherin is wrong. The two don’t make any kind of sense together.” 

Dumbledore frowned. “You’ve been spending time with Lord Slytherin?” 

Harry nodded. 

“Where?” 

“At Malfoy Manor. He’s friends with Draco’s father, Sir. It’s common knowledge that I spend a lot of time with the Malfoy’s, so I’m not sure why it would be unreasonable to assume that I’ve come into contact with Tom.” 

If possible, Dumbledore’s eyes widened even further. “You call him Tom ?” 

“That’s his name, Professor. He can hardly be expected to adhere to political titles in his time off, can he? Even Lords are allowed to take Sundays for themselves, Sir.” 

“I cannot stress enough how dangerous that is, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his tone solemn. “Lord Slytherin is Lord Voldemort.” 

“Do you have any proof of that?” Harry asked, bored of the conversation now. 

Dumbledore pulled his wand and wrote Tom Marvolo Riddle in thin air, and then with a wave of his wand, sat back to watch the letters rearrange themselves into I am Lord Voldemort. 

“Neat trick,” Harry murmured. “But not any sort of proof. You can just as easily rearrange those letters into,” he paused for a moment to think about it. “Immortal Dove Lord. Admittedly not as frightening, similarly lame. Also, I thought we were talking about Lord Slytherin. Not Tom Riddle. You cannot be saying that they’re one in the same because they share a first name, Sir.” 

“Harry—” 

“Really, Sir, I’m not sure what you have against Tom, but he’s not your Dark Lord. If that’s all, I really do have studying to do.” 

Dumbledore opened his mouth to argue, and then seemed to think better of it. “If you’re sure that you won’t believe me, Harry, I suppose that you may go.” 

Harry walked away from the Headmaster, considering the anagrams Tom could have made from his name. 

Mortal Dildo Mover was a fun one, he really should have gone with that. 

… 

Lucius put his mask on, securing it into place before he nodded to Rabastan. “Let’s go, we’re ready.” 

They Apparated together, directly into the Atrium of the Ministry. Around them, Death Eaters appeared in twos and threes as screams sounded from the few workers who were still in the building. 

Lucius' wand—a spare, of course—was in his hand and aimed in the direction of the closest Ministry worker, shutting her up with a stunning spell. He bound her for good measure, then summoned her wand and snapped it under foot. 

While he understood the Dark Lord’s order to only kill if there was no other choice—for Harry, Lucius was sure—there was no sense in leaving someone armed, just in case they were freed from the stunner before the Death Eaters left. 

Voldemort arrived in the middle of the pack, and directed them to different floors. He kept Lucius, Rabastan, Rodolphus and Bellatrix with him, and the five of them made their way to the Department of Law Enforcement. 

There were specific targets—Moody, Shacklebolt and Scrimgeour—but any blow to the Aurors could only be a good thing for future attacks. 

Bellatrix was practically dancing as she walked; her excitement for a good battle was palpable. 

They found Scrimgeour first, alone in his office and he was dealt with quickly, the power of five proving too much for the man. The alarm sounded as they neared the main department room, and Lucius readied himself for the fight, his blood pumping in his veins, his adrenaline high. 

While he enjoyed the savagery of the political circuit, there was just something so satisfyingly primal about a real, want to wand, fight. 

And a decimation was even better. 

… 

Hippy dropped off a letter for Harry before he’d even departed for breakfast, and he accepted it from her with a frown, thanking her softly. He hadn’t been expecting any letters from Tom, not since he hadn’t replied to the Courtship offer yet. 

Leaving his tie undone, Harry opened the letter. As he’d thought, it was from Tom, and Harry read the assurance that he, Lucius and Rabastan were all fine, so would Harry please not be mad at him with a raised eyebrow. 

What in Merlin’s name had he done? 

The postscript made him chuckle and he rolled his eyes. 

Was my ring not to your taste, Potter? Must I drape you in diamonds to call you mine? 

“Whatever we hear about today, your father is fine,” Harry whispered to Draco, as the two of them left the common room on the heels of Theo and Blaise. 

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Do I even want to know?” 

Harry shrugged. “I know as much as you do.”

Of course, it didn’t take them long to find out. The front page of the Daily Prophet was emblazoned with the headline Mayhem At The Ministry! 

Harry read the article with amused exasperation more than anything. While Tom’s letter made more sense in context, he was still a little baffled at having received it. It was thoughtful though, and Harry wondered if it was more a way to bring up the courtship than the attack on the Ministry. 

Harry really should have answered him by now. He was just… confused by it, and he really wanted the opportunity to talk to Tom in person about it, rather than writing him a letter. 

Draco rolled his eyes and folded the paper over when he was done reading. “As if we needed more proof that the Ministry is full of incompetents.” 

Harry snorted. It was a good point. 

… 

Severus sat at the head table, picking at his steak. The headmaster had informed the staff that he’d be making an announcement after dinner, and Severus was feeling uneasy about it. 

Nothing good could come from Dumbledore at the moment, and he knew that it wasn’t going to be pretty, whatever it was. 

He was just hoping that it didn’t involve his son. Harry was already feeling the strain a little more than usual between NEWTs and the Dark Lord’s courtship off—and hadn’t that come out of left field? Severus hadn’t been expecting it anymore than his son had and it had thrown him for a loop—and he was also already irritated with the Headmaster. 

Sighing, Severus glanced over his Snakes. Harry and Draco were sitting about a third of the way down the table away from Severus, Zabini, Nott, Greengrass and Parkinson sat around them. 

They seemed to be having a rather spirited conversation about something, and when Greengrass pointed to the book on the table, and Harry scoffed, Severus realised that they must be arguing over a mistake in the book. 

He’d have to remember to ask Harry about it later. Nothing set his son off like a mistake in a book, and it did amuse Severus to ‘poke the hippogriff’ occasionally. 

When almost everyone had finished eating, Dumbledore clinked his glass for the students’ attention. The older students in particular sat up a little straighter, glancing at each other, and then at the teachers with concerned curiosity. 

The Headmaster only usually spoke at meal times during the feasts. 

Many of them surmised that it had to be something to do with the attack on the Ministry, given the talk over the last day had been of nothing else. 

“You’ve all either read about it yourself, or heard about it second-hand that the Ministry of Magic was viciously attacked by Lord Voldemort and his forces,” Dumbledore began. Severus frowned, and he noticed that both Harry and Draco were frowning up at the head table as well. “Hogwarts is the last stronghold against the Dark Lord. As such, we’re strengthening the wards and blocking all entrances to the school.” 

Severus blinked and looked along the table to see that Minerva was staring at Dumbledore like he’d lost his marbles. She wasn’t alone. 

“You can’t just lock the place down indefinitely, Albus,” she hissed, shaking her head. “The Dark Lord won’t be the one banging against the wards, the parents will!” 

“Hogwarts is the safest place for you to be in the current climate,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring the words of his deputy as though she hadn’t spoken. “As right here in the castle resides the prophesied defeater of Lord Voldemort; Harry Potter.” 

Severus glanced at his son, watching as bright green eyes narrowed on the Headmaster. 

“I’ve told you,” Harry called out, much to the surprise of almost everyone in the hall, “that you’re wrong about that, Headmaster. I’m prophesied to defeat anyone or anything. For you to announce such a thing is misleading and misguiding for the students. You’re trying to give them a false sense of safety, and I won’t have you doing that in my name!”

Severus nodded, watching his son with pride. He was glad to see Harry would stand up for himself in public when the occasion called for it, as much as he did in private, and he was pleased that everyone was seeing the Headmaster for what he truly was. 

A delusional old fool. 

“You can’t hold us here indefinitely,” Harry added. “And if you try, I’ll have you charged with false imprisonment before you can even say the word prophecy .” 

Standing up, Harry swept from the hall with Draco a step behind him, and Severus’ lips tilted up slightly. 

He’d never been prouder. 

…

After Dumbledore’s—failed—attempt to pressure Harry into his presumed destiny, Harry was glad to get back to Malfoy Manor for Christmas. Yet again, the Headmaster was keeping Severus busy for at least the first few days of the holiday, much to Harry’s displeasure. 

It was nice to finally relax, though. Harry hadn’t been able to relax at all during the term, especially with Dumbledore staring at him during every meal.  

Tom was being more present though, which was nice. Harry had stumbled out of the fire and straight into his arms, and it had seemed like the man hadn’t left Harry’s side since. 

“We’re going to attack in the Spring term,” Tom told him, that first night. “I wouldn’t want to… distract you during your exams, and if we leave it until after, Dumbledore may not even survive that long.” 

Harry sighed. “I’d still prefer that you wait until after. Either way, Dumbledore is dead by your hand. Does it really matter that much if it’s the curse you already put on him, or a killing curse?” 

Tom grumbled at him. “You’re just trying to ruin my fun.” 

“If you attack the school in the Spring, it’s going to cause so much change, and… it’s not fair on the exam students.” 

“You could pass them tomorrow,” Tom pointed out. 

“As could Draco, and a handful of others,” Harry agreed softly. “But not everyone could, and these students are the ones that are going to be shaping the world under your rule, Tom.” 

“I… despise it when you’re right, Potter,” Tom huffed, and Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Fine, we’ll attack on the eve of the final exam. Are you satisfied?” 

“I, uh, might have some ideas about that, too.” 

“Of course you do.” 

… 

“So, do you intend to accept my courtship at any point in your lifetime?” Tom asked, a few days before Harry was to return to Hogwarts. 

Harry glanced over at him and sighed. They were sitting in the conservatory again, though this time there were flames crackling merrily in the fireplace, and there were blankets over their laps to protect against the cold. 

“I… want to know why you sent it, first,” Harry admitted. “You didn’t even warn me that it was something you were considering or wanted.” 

“I thought that I made my intentions quite clear, actually,” Tom replied, his tone soft in the way it only ever was for Harry. “Have I not been enamoured with you since the moment we met? Do I not let you get away with far more cheek than I’ve ever allowed anyone else?” 

“I’m your Horcrux,” Harry pointed out. 

“And, at first, that was what mattered,” Tom allowed. “But, Harry, it’s been two years, and you still draw my attention like a moth to a flame. I feel free around you. You challenge me in ways nobody else would dare, and you’re intelligent. You remind me of me, but better, because despite everything, you’re still innocent.” 

Harry stared for a long moment, and then cursed his cheeks when they heated up. He was quite sure he was flushing brightly. 

“Harry, you are… the best part of me. And I mean that both about my Horcrux, and not.” 

Harry nodded slowly, and then flicked his want up from the holster on his arm. He silently summoned the box that held the Gaunt ring, and when it flew into his hand, he offered it to Tom with a small smile. 

“You’re not going to make me put it on myself, are you?” 

… 

After the Yule holiday, time seemed to pass in warped little pockets of studying and stress, but with the NEWTs fast approaching, Harry was trying not to think about anything but the books he needed to revise and the spells he needed to practice. 

Of course, it didn’t help that Ron fucking Weasley was around every corner, demanding that Harry stand up to his fate and kill the Dark Lord. 

Harry was absolutely done with the guy. And the stupid thing was; he understood it. If Harry was in Ron’s position, only knowing half—or maybe even a quarter, given Dumbledore’s skills for spinning tales—of the story, he’d be mad at Harry too. 

But really, couldn’t he just concentrate on the coming exams and leave Harry the hell alone? 

Draco tried to intervene a few times, but only managed to make things worse, since the two of them always seemed to rapidly devolve into throwing spells and curses at one another. 

In the end, Harry did the only thing he could. He politely pulled Ron into an empty classroom, sat him down on an abandoned chair, and told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t leave Harry alone to study for his exams, then he was going to give Weasley to the Dark Lord as a graduation gift to himself. 

Ron left him alone after that. 

Okay, so maybe Harry was a little more than ‘mildly stressed’ about his exams. 

He really needed a bar of chocolate and perhaps a whole mug of whisky to settle his nerves. 

… 

The NEWTs were aptly named. 

Harry had felt completely prepared for them, and even he was feeling the pressure from the seemingly unending slew of tests and hurried, last minute revision, with only the occasional pause for food. 

Sleep became a myth that the seventh years remembered fondly, but forgot how to do. 

When the last exam—Charms practical—finally ended, Harry felt like he could lie in his bed for a week and just stare at the ceiling in between the longest naps he could possibly manage. Younger him would never have believed it, but even he had decided that he needed a break from books. 

Of course, with the end of the exams also came the knowledge that Tom—or rather, Voldemort—would be in the castle that very evening. 

Against all the odds, Dumbledore was still living, albeit looking somewhat worse for wear. 

While Harry would love nothing more than to skip dinner entirely and just go to bed, he knew that he had to be there. 

For better or worse, this was the life—and the man—that he’d chosen. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t make Tom pay later for making him stay awake longer than necessary. 

… 

A siren sounded, and the teachers all perked up, their backs straightening, their wands slipping into their hands, and a few of them even stood up. 

Dumbledore’s eyes were practically gleaming when the doors were flung open, and Voldemort stroke inside with an army at his back. 

Harry didn’t know how they’d managed to get so close to the school without Dumbledore knowing they were there, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with the Shrieking Shack passage-way, since Harry had told Tom of its location at Christmas. 

Oops?” 

“I suggest that the students return to their houses,” Voldemort said, never taking his eyes away from Dumbledore. 

McGonagall took charge, the other Heads of House following suit, and then the remaining teachers joined in, all hustling the children from the hall as quickly as they could. 

A few of the older Gryffindors tried to stand their ground, but Harry noticed that a quick glare from McGonagall had them moving along with the younger students. 

Hell, if they couldn’t stand up to her, they had no chance in a fight against Voldemort. 

Tom didn’t even have the freaky red eyes, and his glare still made even the bravest of his minions hit the deck faster than Tom could say Crucio. 

Harry stood back from the table, leaning against the wall as the rest of the Slytherin students were herded down to the Dungeons. Not that Tom would hurt them—or any of the students, unless he was forced—but they really needed the hall to be empty for their plan to work. 

Dumbledore was trying to make himself appear stronger than he was, and Harry supposed that lesser wizards might still be intimidated, but the weakness from the curse was evident in every movement he made. 

He looked around the hall as the last of the students were pushed out, the teachers with them, and spotted Harry. 

“Harry! You must fight him! It’s your destiny!” he pleaded, and for a split second, Harry almost felt bad for him. 

Almost. 

Voldemort turned slowly to look at Harry, and even in this guise, his eyes softened just a little and Harry knew that his Tom was still in there. 

He held his hand out to Harry—palm up, an offer. 

“You’re such a dramatic shit,” Harry muttered, shaking his head as he stepped forward to slip his hand into the offered one. 

“Are you going to kill me, my dear?” Tom asked softly, as he tugged Harry closer. 

“ La petite mort , perhaps,” Harry replied, with a cheeky grin. “If you’re lucky.” 

“Harry?” 

Harry turned away from his fiance to look at the Headmaster. Dumbledore had paled, his wand held loosely in his hand, and Harry tilted his head a little. From the holster on his arm, his own wand slipped down into his grip. 

“ Expelliarmus, ” he murmured, smiling when Dumbledore’s wand sailed through the air into his waiting hand. “I’m sorry, Headmaster, but you made my choice for me years ago, when you gave me to a woman who preferred to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs rather than take care of me.” 

“You—” 

“My father rescued me from that before I turned four, but the damage was already done.” 

“Goodbye, Albus,” Tom murmured. “ Avada Kedavra.” 

… 

Following the death of Albus Dumbledore, it felt like the Wizarding World had almost tilted. The public lost faith in the Minister, and he was ousted within forty eight hours. In his place, Pius Thicknesse, one of Tom’s most loyal, had slipped into place. 

With the right words from him and Tom, order was slowly being restored. Voldemort was still on people’s minds, and he’d remain so for some time—particularly since Tom wasn’t planning to give his alter-ego up just yet—but slowly, people were beginning to feel safer. 

Harry had graduated with the people in Hogwarts being none-the-wiser of what had actually happened in the Great Hall, and another realisation was made. 

Dumbledore’s wand—the Elder Wand, apparently—was connected to not only Harry’s invisibility cloak, but also the stone that resided in the ring on Harry’s left hand, and between the three of them, they formed the Deathly Hallows. 

As Master of Death—and really, that hadn’t been the fairytale Harry would have ever expected to come true if any—Harry was no nearer death than Tom was. 

Harry had never seen Tom smile so wide as when they’d found that out. 

Of course, now that summer had truly arrived, Harry was being forced to put his training to the test as he arrived with Tom to the first ball of what Harry was sure would be many. 

Still, Harry supposed, it could be worse. He could be alone. Inside the room, he knew that Lucius, Narcissa, Draco and of course, his dad, had already arrived. 

His dad had taken up the Prince Lordship a few weeks after Dumbledore’s death, and had quite gleefully quit his position as a Professor at Hogwarts. He was looking forward to working more experimentally with his potions, and Harry was beyond happy for him. 

“Do try to remember that these people are your peers,” Tom reminded him, as they stepped into the Ministry. 

“It’s not like I was planning to curse anyone, Tom,” Harry replied, as Tom tugged him closer to the ballroom. 

“Perhaps you should tell your face that,” Tom chided, amused. “You look more willing to commit murder than I am.” 

“Merlin forbid,” Harry muttered. He glanced up at his fiance and smiled. “Better?” 

Tom rolled his eyes and bent for a quick kiss. When he pulled away, he smirked. “ That’s better.” 

“You’re a smug bastard.” 

“I know, dear. I love you too.” 

“Uh huh.” 

… 

~ epilogue ~ 

… 

Harry was practically vibrating in his skin with nervous energy as his dad slapped his hands away from his robes, settling them perfectly for him. 

“You seem excited, Son,” he said, a small smile on his face. 

“Can you believe that it’s finally here?” Harry replied, running a hand through his hair. 

He hadn’t tried to make it sit in a certain way; he was quite strongly convinced at this point that his hair was a magic-resistant entity all of its own. 

Besides, Tom was fond of running his hand through it, and he’d only complain if he got product on his fingers. 

“I knew you’d get here from the first moment Tom didn’t hex you for being cheeky,” Severus told him, chuckling. “You’ve attempted to give me so many heart attacks over the years, Harry Potter-Prince.” 

“You forgot Black.” 

“You don’t use Black unless you’re doing something official.” 

“Dad, I’m literally getting married. You don’t really get more official than that.” 

“Not right this second you’re not.” 

“ Holy shit, Dad, I’m getting married! ” 

“ There it is,” Severus laughed. “You’ve been entirely too calm throughout this whole process. Lucius and I had a bet on when you’d finally snap.” 

Harry blinked and then rolled his eyes. “Of course you do, you bet on everything. You’re a pair of gossiping old biddies.” 

“You’re not too old for a spanking.” 

“You’ve never spanked me once in my life!” 

“Maybe that’s why you’re so bloody cheeky now,” Severus retorted, before he stepped back to check his handy work. “You look perfect, by the way. Tom isn’t going to know what hit him.” 

“He finally convinced you to call him Tom, did he?” Harry asked, grinned. “Can we go now? Is it time?” 

“He’s about to be my son-in-law, I can’t exactly call him My Lord after that, can I?” Severus replied, rolling his eyes. He checked his watch, and then reached out to cup Harry’s cheek. “Yes, we can go. It’s time. Are you ready for this?” 

Harry nodded. “You made sure of it, Dad.” 

“They walked down the stairs of Malfoy Manor, and out onto the grounds. Narcissa had truly outdone herself, and Harry glanced around at her handiwork. He smiled when he noticed a few things that were a nod to Draco’s wedding to Astoria, from just a few months earlier. 

At the end of the aisle, Tom stood with Lucius at his side, a broad smile on his face as he watched Harry approach. 

Harry couldn’t quite believe that they’d made it here, if he was honest with himself, but he was glad that they had. 

On Harry’s side of the aisle, Draco stood, waiting to fulfill his position as Harry’s best man, a beaming smile on his face as he gave Harry a sneaky thumbs up. Harry grinned at him. 

Before Severus could pass Harry’s hand into Tom’s, Harry paused and turned to look at his father. This was the man who’d given him everything, and Harry tugged him close for a hug, burying his face against Severus’ shoulder for a moment. 

“Thank you, Dad. For everything.” 

Severus smiled. “For you, my son, nothing is too much.”