Entry tags:

fic, post-dh: ewe, rated: pg

The Boy in The Mirror (1/2), for artisticentropy
Title: The Boy in the Mirror (1/2)
Author: sev1970
Giftee: artisticentropy
Word Count: ~17,500
Rating: PG
Characters: Severus Snape, Harry Potter
Warnings: This fiction is a spoiler for DH. Light swearing - two words to be exact, and they are tame.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros., etc.
Summary: Severitus. Harry has to face a post-Voldemort world, a feat made difficult when Snape shows up in the Gryffindor common room only hours after Voldemort has met his demise, but not as difficult as it will be when Harry finds out his mother had a secret. Canon-compliant through chapter thirty-six.
A/N: Written for the snarry_holidays fic exchange. Thanks so much to the mods for running this; it has been such fun! Thank you also to the two C’s who made this fic better - you both are wonderful, amazing, talented, and deserve my thanks and hugs!
A/N II: Happy Holidays, artisticentropy! I hope you enjoy what I’ve written for you.

The Boy in the Mirror

Prologue


Voldemort was dead. Seventeen years after he had murdered James and Lily Potter, it was over, and the man who had haunted their son, Harry, for so many years, lived no more.

As Harry watched Hermione ascend the stairs leading to their dormitories, he closed his eyes briefly before turning back towards the fading fire. Birds were chirping in the distance; the first vestiges of daylight were encroaching upon the serenity of the room, and soon students would awaken and invade Harry's solitude.

What had hours earlier been a castle in turmoil, what was now a shelter from the storm, and what was soon to be the focus of the wizarding world was Harry's respite, and he needed it, needed to feel safe. As much as he had been unsafe hours earlier, now he felt as if no one could hurt him. He could have gone to the Burrow, but he had chosen to remain at Hogwarts, wanting to give the Weasley family time to grieve in private. Harry knew that people were going to eventually want to see him and celebrate with him, and he knew there was little chance he would be able to avoid that, but that was in the future -- this was now, and he wanted to be left alone.

If he could only sleep, then perhaps Harry could more patiently face what was sure to come. Exhausted beyond the point of clear thought, Harry wished nothing more than to go straight to bed -- a bed he had dreamt about for months -- but there was so much going through his mind, far too many thoughts, many of them from the past year, most of them from the past few hours.

Harry had spent a year of his life insuring that the murderer of his parents would meet his end sooner rather than later, and his journey had brought him full circle to Hogwarts. What a night it had been. After everything the inhabitants of Hogwarts had been put through: the deaths, the injuries, the terror of not knowing what was about to happen to them, Voldemort had killed himself, unintentionally, yes, but dead he was.

Voldemort's death should have thrilled Harry, and on any other day, it more than likely would have, but on this somber morning, Voldemort's death gave Harry little joy. Fred's dying overshadowed everything -- the horrific moment replayed over and over in Harry's mind. So many other things had happened, both good and bad, but none of it meant anything, not a thing.

What Harry needed was some Dreamless Sleep, as that would be the only way he would get any rest, but Madam Pomfrey was busy with the injured students and Order members. Harry was not injury-free -- Voldemort's attempt at killing him the first time had resulted in quite the headache, and some bruised ribs -- but compared to the other injuries he had seen, his were minimal. In any case, Harry was not about to bother the matron.

His eyes heavy, Harry looked around the common room. So many happy memories came rushing back to him. How many nights had he, Ron and Hermione sat in this very room doing revision, and how many conversations had they had over the years? How many games of Exploding Snap and wizard chess had they played? The three of them had come here seven years earlier as children who knew very little about the world, and now they were adults who knew far more than they had ever wanted to know.

Looking at the chair Ron usually sat in, Harry shook his head and asked himself for what must have been the tenth time, if any of this had been worth it. Fred and the others hadn't deserved to die; they had been trying to help Harry get rid of Voldemort. Fred had been so young -- at Bill and Fleur's wedding, it had been him talking about his wedding, and how it was gong to be simple. On that warm day in August almost a year earlier, Fred had had his entire life ahead of him, and now that life was gone; it seemed vastly unfair to Harry. Then there was Remus and Tonks. Teddy no longer had his mum and dad -- Harry knew what that was like, but he would see to it that the boy grew up knowing how wonderful Remus and Nymphadora Lupin had been.

Ron had gone home with his parents. Harry was glad that the Weasleys were all together because they needed each other at such a sad time, but he needed Ron. Harry needed to talk, needed to tell someone how he had felt when he thought he was about to die. He didn't want someone to tell him how he should feel; he only wanted someone to listen. Ron would be the one he would have gone to. Hermione had listened and tried soothing him, but it wasn't the same. She was a great friend, but she was not Ron.

Standing, Harry yawned and began walking towards the stairs when, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something flash in the fire…a person? Obviously, he was exhausted and his mind was playing tricks on him, so he blinked a few times and looked again…it was definitely not a hallucination -- it was a person -- it was Snape.

Harry walked the few strides it took to reach the fireplace, and stuck his hands in and pulled on the body, which was not moving, but Harry tugged on it for a minute or two, and then Snape's soot-covered body fell onto the hearthrug -- he was unconscious. Harry spent a few seconds staring at the motionless body, not quite believing what he was seeing. Pulling himself together, he went to the stairs; he needed Hermione, but wizards were not allowed in the girls' dormitory. Retrieving his wand, Harry performed the Patronus Charm and told Hermione he needed to see her in the common room. Looking back at Snape, Harry panicked. His exhaustion was so very near the surface, but he had to think, so he tried to calm himself.

Within a minute, Hermione was running down the stairs.

"What is it?"

"Snape, he was in the fire. He's unconscious," said an increasingly agitated Harry as he pointed to the body, not knowing what to do. He watched as Hermione looked down at the lifeless body. After a few seconds, their eyes met, and Harry glimpsed the panic in his own eyes reflected in those of Hermione, and it was disconcerting because, no matter how dire the situation, Hermione had almost always been the voice of reason and had been the one to calm Harry.

"I'm going to get Madam Pomfrey or someone else who can help; I'll be right back," said Hermione.

Harry watched as she left, and then looked at the body of Snape, feeling helpless.

"Don't die, Snape." He stared at the body, wondering how the man had got to a fireplace so he could Floo. Kneeling and reaching out his hand, Harry touched the two puncture marks on Snape's neck, and as he did so, Snape's body began to shake violently. Harry found himself shaking as well. Then Snape's body stilled. Harry leaned his head down to see if he could hear a heartbeat -- there was none.

Come on, Hermione.

Snape was going to die if someone did not do something soon. Without thinking what he was doing, Harry found himself performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He had no idea if he was performing it properly, but he was mimicking what he had seen people on those medical programs doing. It had to work; Snape could not die. Harry continued to breathe into Snape's mouth and give him chest compressions, but nothing was working.

"You can't die." Harry looked down at the body of Snape, and felt sick. Snape was pale; blood covered his neck and robes, and his hair was matted with blood, some of it in his eyes, some of it in his hands. Harry didn't want to think about how much pain Snape was in.

A cough. Another cough. Then Snape's eyes opened briefly, looking at Harry before closing once again.

"Professor? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes again?"

A barely discernible groan, but no other movement.

Harry took one of the pale hands in his -- it was cold. There was a weak pulse.

"Squeeze my hand, can you do that?" Harry was looking around frantically. Where was Hermione? Then he heard footsteps and watched as Hermione and Madam Pomfrey entered through the portrait hole.

"I need to sit there, Mr. Potter."

Harry stood and walked over to Hermione as Madam Pomfrey began working on Snape.

"Sit down, Harry. You look like you're about to fall."

Harry allowed Hermione to lead him to a chair. He could feel himself trembling, and nodded his thanks when he felt a quilt being placed around his shoulders.

"I thought he was dead when we left him. What if he has been struggling like this since we left? Oh Merlin, Hermione. He---"

"Harry."

"He can't d---"

"HARRY! Look at me."

Harry looked around Hermione and could see Snape's head -- he looked dead. When he felt fingers on his chin, he looked at Hermione and tried to focus on her eyes as he calmed himself.

"Harry, listen to me. Somehow Professor Snape made his way to Hogwarts and then he found his way into the Floo and came here. He is going to be okay."

"But you don't know that, Hermione." Harry then glanced at Snape again. How many times had he silently wished the man would drop dead? It was odd the difference a few hours made. When the night had begun, Harry would have gladly killed Snape for what he had done over a year ago, and now he was willing the man to live…to fight…to stay alive.

Snape had to live; no one else could die tonight.

"No, you're right, Harry, I don't, but I have to believe he came here for a reason. He's stubborn; he's not going to die without a fight."

----------

Less than a week later, with Snape still in the hospital wing, Professor McGonagall made it clear that Severus Snape was sure to be a presence in Harry's life for the foreseeable future.

She invited Harry to her office and proceeded to tell him that Professor Snape would resume his position as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, albeit with restrictions due to his injuries. The Headmistress gave Harry a choice: either attend his regular lessons along with everyone else, or help Snape with his lessons, which would mean Harry would be Snape's full-time assistant.

What a choice: Snape or lessons, and neither one was appealing. Attending his regular lessons would probably prove far less stressful, yet the thought of not attending numerous lessons each day did sound appealing. Harry knew Snape would be difficult, but after a few minutes, he decided to help Snape, knowing this was what he would be doing regardless -- when had he ever been given a choice? Snape was injured, and he needed someone to insure his safety. There were still supporters of Voldemort roaming around, and killing Severus Snape, a traitor, would inevitably be their number one goal.

As much as Harry dreaded the thought of close proximity to Snape on a daily basis, part of him looked forward to what was to come. As futile as it might seem, Harry would have a chance to talk to Snape about his mum. Despite the potential for information, however, Harry was pensive. Yes, he now looked at Snape through a different light, but Snape was still going to be Snape, and Harry was not naïve enough to think things would suddenly be different between them because a few memories had been shared. It was better not to expect anything from Snape. Hope was eternal, however, and until Snape told him otherwise, Harry was going to think there could be some good to come out of this situation.

A week later, Harry left for the Burrow, and Hermione went to retrieve her parents in Australia. The next time Harry would see Snape would be when Hogwarts reopened in September, a bit worse for wear, and a few students fewer, but open she would be.

----------

"You have no choice in this matter, Severus. You either allow Mr. Potter to assist you, or you do not teach. It is up to you, but you must be aware that once you leave the grounds of Hogwarts, you will no longer be under our protection."

"Yes, Minerva, I am aware of that fact." Severus sipped his tea as he pondered this most undesirable development. When he had dragged himself to safety three months earlier, he had done so because he had not been ready to die. That had not changed, but neither did he want Potter to be looking over his shoulder at every turn.

Severus had seen a more mature Potter last year, the few times he had witnessed him from afar, and he thought perhaps the boy would no longer be as irritating to be around, but no amount of maturation or humility would erase the green eyes or the last name that the boy had been given at birth.

"Mr. Potter has agreed to this arrangement?"

"He has," Minerva responded, her expression and voice making it clear that although Potter might have agreed, he had done so unwillingly.

"Poor Potter," Severus spat out, "he is the put-upon one, isn't he? Do tell me when he arrives so I might send a welcoming party."

"Come now, Severus, it is past time that you grew up. Lily Potter married James and they had a son -- Harry…Harry Potter. I realise it has been difficult for you, but we have all dealt with difficulties. You should be concentrating on yourself and getting better. If I recall correctly, the Healers at St. Mungo's have set some fairly stringent restrictions on your movements for the next couple of months."

"If there is nothing further, Minerva, I will take my leave." Without another word, Severus left. How dare Minerva tell him how to feel and what to do. She had no clue what it was like to be him.

When Severus reached the dungeons, he walked straight to the Slytherin common room to check that it was in order. In less than four hours, his Slytherins would be congregated. Severus was no longer the Slytherin Head of House for obvious reasons, but old habits were hard to break. He saw that there were a few house-elves cleaning, so he left. Next, Severus went to his office and sat behind his desk, preparing himself for the new term. How were the students going to react to seeing him alive and teaching again? The Daily Prophet had helped to improve his image, but written words were just that. Regardless of his reception, however, Severus was here and he was not going anywhere unless he wished to be killed.

Touching the two healing puncture wounds on his neck, Severus stood and walked to his cupboard and removed a phial, one of many that lined the middle shelf, each one labeled as to when and how it needed to be taken. This one was for his nerves, which had been badly damaged, causing uncontrollable tremors.

It was this unfortunate side-effect that worried Severus the most, because holding a wand and performing with it was not as easy as it had been before. Thankfully, Severus was adept at Wandless Magic, but not everything could be done without a wand. Potions were now almost impossible for Severus to make, and that had been the most difficult aspect of this entire situation. Potions had always been his escape, and he had spent hours forgetting about his problems while inventing and making potions. Severus met with Kingsley Shacklebolt twice a week to work on his control, and it was improving, albeit slowly. Severus was hopeful that by the end of spring term he would be able to make Dreamless Sleep again.

----------

Seated in between Hermione and Ginny, who were shielding him from unwanted questions from the younger students, Harry's eyes followed Professor Flitwick as he made his way towards the High Table and then drifted to the man seated beside McGonagall, the two seemingly involved in an animated discussion. Harry wondered if Snape was telling McGonagall there was no way he would allow Harry Potter to help him; it wouldn't surprise him.

Other than scarring on his neck, Snape looked to be the same Snape he had always been…only he wasn't. It was as if Harry were looking at a ghost; it was hard to grasp the fact that the man had lived. There was so much Harry had wished he could ask the man once he realised it was too late, and now that speaking to Snape was going to be a possibility, Harry was terrified.

As he looked around him at the other tables, Harry found it rather amusing to observe the other students' reactions upon realising that Snape was indeed alive. While a few faces looked indifferent, of course there were students who were making their displeasure known. But for a few memories shared three months earlier, Harry would more than likely have been among the students who were sorry to see the man had survived. That thought was sad, Harry mused, but truth was not always pleasant.

His attention once again turned towards Snape, Harry wondered how the man had survived. No one was talking, and Harry was under no illusion that this would change. All that mattered, he guessed, was that Snape was alive, and the how of it was unimportant. After seven years in the wizarding world, not much surprised Harry. He had witnessed and experienced the implausible and impossible, learning that with his lot, as his uncle had referred to them, most anything was not only plausible, but possible, so Harry guessed that there were any number of ways Snape could have survived.

As Harry moved the food around on his plate, he cast his eyes towards Snape every few minutes, hoping the man would look at him, but no such luck. Not that Harry had anything in particular to ask at the moment, but it was beyond ridiculous that Snape had fallen into the Gryffindor common room, had scared Harry and Hermione, yet now he ignored them. Yes, the man had never been nice, and Harry knew that was not going to change, but Snape was acting childish, and Harry wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and ask why he was being such a git.

"So what happened? Last I heard, he was in a coma."

"I heard that he died, and the Healers at St. Mungo's refused to work on him, so Madam Pomfrey brought him here."

"Mum said he has to use a cane to walk."

"Professor McGonagall said…."

Seeing that pudding and other savory delights had arrived, Harry began tucking into the Pumpkin Pasty he had picked up as he stealthily listened to the comments coming from his fellow housemates, wanting to hear what everyone else thought. He heard Hermione say something about there still being venom in Snape and that was what had caused the scarring. Apparently it was spreading, and to slow its progression, Snape had to take a special potion each day. How Hermione knew this, Harry had no clue, but he would ask her.

"Mr. Potter, a word?"

Nearly jumping as he set down the Pumpkin Pasty, Harry's breath hitched. Hadn't Snape been sitting down only seconds earlier? Harry felt his breathing speed up and his heart begin to beat faster. Glancing around him, he saw that most everyone was looking at the man standing behind him. A hand on his forced Harry to look to his right at Ginny. She was nodding. Harry gave her a curt nod, then turned his head and forced himself to look up.

Swallowing, he opened his mouth.

"Professor Snape."

"If you are finished, please come to my office, Potter."

Harry stood, and after looking at Ginny and Hermione, he followed Snape down to his office. Now that Snape was standing, it was easy to see that the man was in pain: his gait was much slower, his speech was somewhat laboured, his neck was scarred, and his right hand was wrapped in a bandage. As bad as Snape looked, Harry knew it could have been so much worse.

Once they were at the door of Snape's office, Harry watched as shaky hands pointed a wand at the door, and noticed that the man's entire body was trembling, not severely, but enough so that it was noticeable. Once inside, Harry was directed to a chair across from the desk and watched as Snape sat behind the desk, looking at him as if he were studying him.

"I have spent the past month choosing my next words, Potter, so I would ask that you not interrupt me."

A nod.

"I managed to get myself to your common room that night because I knew you would be there, and I knew you would see to it that I received the proper treatment. Do not ask me any further questions regarding what happened that night. Understood?"

Again, Harry nodded. He had no intention of adhering to what Snape was saying, but for now he would agree.

"Against my better judgment, you will be assisting me in my lessons, and while I am allowing this because I do not have much of a choice, I will not be a repository of information you can draw from regarding questions you might have concerning your mother. You have seen what I needed you to see; you do not need to know anything further. Let me be very clear, Mr. Potter -- what you saw of my memories will never ever be discussed. I realise you must have all of these wonderfully formulated, heart-warming questions for me -- save your time and breath, Potter. I have been given a second chance at life, and I do not intend on living in the past. I do not hate you, and I am almost certain you do not hate me. Let us leave it at that."

That was Snape, and Harry should have expected it. When had the man ever shown Harry any compassion? Yes, the man had saved his life time and time again, but there had been nothing compassionate about what he had done. Hell, it wasn't as if Harry even wanted compassion now; he only wanted answers, and damn it, his mum was dead and he wanted to know what she had been like. How would Snape feel if someone else had information about his mother but refused to tell him anything? At that thought, Harry had to stifle a laugh, because Snape probably didn't love anyone enough to want to know about them.

"Fine." Harry stood, so furious that he was shaking. "Then we have nothing further to discuss." Harry would never understand how someone could be so bitter and utterly despicable. Leaving the office, Harry slammed the door. When he entered the common room, he brushed off Ginny's and Hermione's concerned looks and walked up to his room, where he found his Invisibility Cloak. He passed the two again on his way out of the common room, and ignored their questions as he went through the portrait hole.

Finding a side corridor, he donned the Cloak and went outdoors to the lake where he took off the Cloak and his shoes before sitting on the edge, his feet upsetting the formerly smooth water, sending ripples in every direction. Looking around at the grounds, everything was eerily still and quiet. Harry's last memories of the grounds of Hogwarts at night had been chaotic: bodies strewn across the grounds, dead and alive. The echoes of those cries, screams, and pleas resonated through the surrounding silence with a slicing sound so sharp it physically hurt.

Seeing the Giant Squid emerging from the depths of the moon-lit lake, Harry watched it, thinking the lake-dweller had a pretty nice life, not having any responsibilities.

"Hi, Harry."

Harry looked to his left and stared. Dennis Creevey was standing a few feet from him, and he was smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world. But how could he be smiling? His brother had been killed three months ago here…at Hogwarts.

"Er, hi, Dennis." Should Harry say anything about Colin? He figured he should, but what?

"Hi. I hope you don't mind me here. It was so loud inside and I just wanted to get away somewhere where it was quiet."

Harry nodded and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't mind. I'm sorry about Colin." The smaller boy looked at him and let out a small laugh.

"My mum always told us that when we are passionate about something, we should do something about it. Colin did."

Wow. Harry didn't know what to say, or if there was anything proper to say after that.

"So how are you? I'm a bit surprised your parents allowed you to return."

Dennis shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm fine. It feels good to be here; Colin's here, so it's where I should be. Yeah, Mum and Dad didn't want me to return, of course, but I knew I had to be here."

Nothing further was said, and Dennis left a few minutes later. As he walked back towards the castle, Harry thought about what Dennis had said, not quite believing how well the boy seemed to be coping. Harry was a wreck -- losing Fred was something Harry would never get over.

Later that night as he lay in his bed, Harry's thoughts ran rampant -- Snape, Fred, Voldemort, Colin, Remus, Tonks…and back to Snape.

----------

Sitting in his bed, glasses perched on his nose, Severus was reading, but what his eyes were seeing was not what his mind was thinking. For almost seventeen years, Severus had lived and taught at Hogwarts, and for the better part of that time, most of the staff had merely tolerated him, ignoring him when possible. Having been a Death Eater, this had been unsurprising, and Severus had quite liked his solitude. Now that his story was public domain, however, his fellow staff members were apologetic, and volunteered their time to help him if he needed it.

Severus didn't want their time or help. He just wanted to live. Unfortunately for him, his injuries prevented him from being as independent as he would like. It was not going to be easy having his fellow staff-members and Potter help him, but if nothing else came out of this experience, Severus thought perhaps the other teachers would learn about not judging people so harshly, and the boy would learn that the wizarding world did not entirely revolve around him.

Setting down the unread book, Severus summoned the six phials from his sitting room, drank the contents, then pointed his wand and put out the fire before trying to get in a comfortable position.

----------

In between Snape's lessons, Harry walked by the lake, trying yet again to come to terms with the current state of his life. Being back at Hogwarts was not at all as it had been in previous years. Ron was now living in Diagon Alley with George, helping to run the joke shop, and all of Harry's other year mates had moved on with their lives…well, except Hermione. She of course had decided to return, but they all knew that had been her intention all along. Harry was back because he had been talked into it, but he did want to become an Auror, so that had been another reason for his now being where he was. Then there was Ginny….

"You are Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Harry had been miles away from what was going on around him, and the voice made him jump. Looking at the student who appeared to be a first or second year, Harry nodded.

"Erm, yeah, why?"

"Headmistress McGonagall asked me to give you this."

Harry took the parchment. "Thanks." Entering the castle, Harry felt alone as he looked around him and saw the small groups of students talking and giggling as they walked to lessons. They all looked so happy. Not so long ago, it had been him, Ron and Hermione huddled together. Harry opened the letter:


Mr. Potter --

After Professor Snape's last lesson of the day, please come to my office; there is a matter that needs to be discussed.

Professor McGonagall


First day of lessons and he was being called to the Headmistress's office. McGonagall had been giving him odd looks at breakfast. Harry had thought she was merely worried about him, but now he was wondering if it wasn't something more. With him it always seemed to be the case that there was something more.

----------

After handing out the tests and telling the students to begin, Severus sat down at his desk and opened his bottom drawer, withdrawing two phials. After downing the foul-tasting concoctions, and allowing them to begin working, he studied his right hand, silently berating himself for the constant tremor he was witnessing. Sighing, knowing there was little he could do about his injuries, Severus looked at the students. Thus far, his classes had been well-mannered, and Severus knew he would have to thank Flitwick for that. McGonagall had told him that the Ravenclaw Head of House had gone to each of the houses last evening and had talked to the students. Severus refused to accept help from the teachers, but he would accept their respect, no matter if he deserved it or not.

Turning his attention to Potter, who was marking the first and second year papers, Severus studied him. The boy really did look like his father. McGonagall had been right: Severus did need to grow up, but regarding Harry Potter, Severus did not know if that was a feasible possibility. Severus would never get over losing Lily, and Harry Potter was the constant reminder of what a failure Severus had been.

----------

As Harry neared the gargoyle after Snape's fifth year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw lesson, in which he and Snape had barely spoken three words to one another, McGonagall appeared as if out of thin air and beckoned him forward. After ascending the stairs, the two entered the circular study, and Harry sat in one of the chairs across from the large desk that seemed to dwarf the new Headmistress as she took her seat. Looking around him, Harry noticed that the room had changed little from the night Harry and Dumbledore had left to find the locket. Yes, he had been in this office not so many months ago when looking in the Pensieve at Snape's memories, but he had been exhausted and hadn't paid any attention to what Snape had done with the office, but knowing how Snape had venerated the Headmaster, even if he would never admit to it, Harry doubted Snape had changed it in any way.

There were still silver contraptions, although they were now on a shelf behind the desk instead of on the little tables they had been on previously; the hat was still on its shelf, and Harry's mind took him back to the moment Neville had pulled out the sword and killed Nagini. It had been unbelievable, but it had happened. Neville had later told Harry and Ron that he had been petrified when the sword materialized, but as scared as he was, he had known what he needed to do. Fawkes was of course absent, and the sword of Gryffindor, which had sat atop one of the shelves, was also no longer there. Harry looked above the desk at the portrait of Dumbledore, knowing the sword was safely ensconced within. The Pensieve must have been in the cabinet. Harry wondered if anyone had rebottled Snape's memories. He had told McGonagall where they were, and he knew she had viewed them, as well. After all, it had been the memories that had cleared Snape and saved him from a future in Azkaban.

Harry was brought out of his meandering thoughts when McGonagall handed him a letter. Harry took it, but hesitantly. There was something in his former Head of House's eyes that worried him.

"This was left to you by Professor Lupin," said a reticent Headmistress.

"Do you know what it is?"

"I have no idea what Professor Lupin might have left you, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded. There was something she was hiding, of that he was certain. Part of him wanted to wait until he was in his room to open the letter in private, but then he decided that as everything else in his life seemed to do, this would get back to the Headmistress, so he might as well open it in her presence. Slowly, he opened it and glanced at Professor McGonagall before looking down at the words written on the parchment.


Harry,

I owe you an apology. Your mum asked me to give you this information on your sixteenth birthday, but since that was so soon after Sirius died, I decided to wait. Then I meant to give it to you on your seventeenth birthday, but that was so soon after Dumbledore's death, so I again decided to wait. So now it is your eighteenth birthday and I am finally giving this to you. Please forgive me for being so late.

Please go to Gringotts with the key provided (it will materialize) and ask that vault 1000 be opened for you. There is only one item within -- a letter.

Remus


Harry looked up at McGonagall. She did not look as if she were in a good mood, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"May I have permission to go to Diagon Alley, Professor? Professor Lupin left me a key to retrieve a letter from my mother that is in a vault." Had it been a year earlier, Harry would have never asked such a question. Students were allowed into Hogsmeade on certain weekends, but never was a student given permission to go to Diagon Alley. But Harry knew he needed to get this letter; his curiosity was eating away at him.

An hour later, Harry and Hagrid were standing inside Gringotts in front of vault 1000. It had been more than a bit weird walking into the same bank in which he, Ron and Hermione had broken into a vault, not that many months earlier, but not one goblin had looked at him with anything less than admiration. Quite to the contrary. They thanked him for ridding them of Voldemort. It was humbling, as well as somewhat disconcerting -- he had committed a crime, and had not got in trouble for it; it was eerily similar to when he had made his aunt blow up. Yes, he knew there were valid reasons for both situations ending without him being in trouble, but still, he felt uneasy because he seemed to get preferential treatment far too often.

When Harry entered the large vault and saw the one letter in the center, it was something of a shock -- why had such a small letter been placed in such a large vault? Not even the Philosopher's Stone had been placed in such a spacious vault.

Out in daylight again, Harry felt somewhat bad because he knew Hagrid was curious to know what was in the letter, but Harry wanted to be alone when he opened it, so he waited until he was ensconced within his bed, the curtains drawn. Opening the letter, his hands trembling, Harry was nervous, but he was also excited about what he was about to read.


My dearest Harry,

It is my most fervent hope that you never have to read this letter, but if you are, then something has happened and I am no longer alive, a fact which pains me because that would mean I am unable to watch you grow into the young man your father and I knew you would one day become. You are everything to us, Harry, and your father and I could not be happier. You bring us such joy, and no parents could ever be more proud.

Now for the difficult part which I would love to keep from you, but that is not a possibility, so I will attempt to tell you what you need to know.

Harry, not long after your father and I were married, Lord Voldemort (you will have heard of him by the time I tell you this or you read this) attacked James's parents' house where we were living, and during the ensuing fight, it seems as though Voldemort cast a curse on me, one which I had no knowledge of until months later when you were born. James was out of town when I gave birth to you, and when I saw you for the first time, you were the most beautiful baby, and had the darkest eyes, almost hauntingly so. They were beautiful, as I said, but they weren't my eyes or your father's. I loved you and no one was ever going to take you from me and James, but there was something strange happening, so I went looking for answers, and found them.

It pains me to tell you this, my son, but James is not your biological father. Voldemort impregnated me with the semen of one of his followers, a man who I was once close to.

I was horrified of course when I discovered what had been done, and immediately placed a charm on you to make you appear as though you were James's son. It will last and no one will be able to break through it, but on your sixteenth birthday, it will begin to fade. If it was not for this fact, I would never be telling you this because you are James Potter's son - that man loves you so much, and you bring him such happiness. You might have the blood of Severus Snape running through your body, but never doubt that you are James's son.

I am sorry to say the charm can't be renewed. Please forgive me, Harry. I do not wish for you to have to go through this, and I do not wish for Severus to ever discover that he has a son - it would be cruel for him to discover this.

If you choose to seek out your biological father, his name, as I have already said, is Severus Snape. He has a house in Spinner's End. He is a Death Eater, my son, so be careful. He and I were once close, but he has led a sad life and it has led him down a dark path. Let me warn you also that learning you are his son might be a fate worse than death for Severus. He is good. I hate that he is your father, but it is not his fault. Had he known you were his son, he would have loved you - that, I have no doubt about.

I am so very sorry, Harry. Please forgive me.

Love, Mum


Hands trembling, the letter now on the bed, his heart thumping so loud he thought it was going to burst, Harry stared at the letter. It was a lie. Harry was eighteen, and he still looked as he always had. Someone was playing a cruel joke on him. Snape was not his father. It had to be a joke. He was Harry Potter and what he looked like was the real him.

Deciding to not think about it for a while, he placed the letter in his bedside table, and then left his room -- Harry was now thankful that he had a room to himself -- and went to meet Hermione by the lake. The weather was becoming cooler, but it was still comfortable outside. Looking towards Hagrid's, Harry thought about going to see him, but decided that he and Hermione could both go after they ate.

Not surprisingly, Hermione was reading a book, and she had a notebook beside her filled with notes. She looked up when Harry sat down.

"The new Muggle Studies teacher wrote this; it's quite an intriguing read."

"I'll take your word for it. I have a question." Harry watched as Hermione looked at him worriedly. She knew him too well.

"Okay."

"Do you know much about performing complex charms to disguise people? I mean, I know that you can do Disillusionment Charms, and people can transfigure themselves or use Polyjuice, but I am wanting to know about charms that can last years. Is there such a thing?"

Harry could see that Hermione was in deep thought; she always loved a good riddle to solve. This was definitely going to be one riddle she would not soon forget.

"I've read about it, but nothing factual is known. It seems unlikely that a charm could ever be strong enough to change anyone permanently -- it just seems improbable -- the properties could never equal what is needed for a change that involved. Why are you asking?"

Harry knew the relief on his face was evident. If such a charm existed, Hermione would know about it, so it was looking as if the letter was indeed a joke…only Harry knew this was no joke. His mum had been very good in Charms. It had to be true -- Snape was his father -- it was so comical and devastating that it had to be true.

"It was something Ron and I were talking about the other day and I was just curious." Harry shrugged his shoulders and hoped he sounded truthful, but the look he was receiving from Hermione said otherwise. Regardless, Harry knew she would see the letter, probably sooner rather than later, because he needed to talk to someone about how he was feeling, and he needed someone to tell him there was no way this could be true.

----------

Harry sat in the corner watching Snape lecturing to the fifth years about Patronuses, and for a few seconds, Harry thought Snape was going to produce his silver doe, and that got him thinking about Animagi, and more specifically, Snape's. Had he ever learned how to become one? And if he did, what would he be? Might he be a doe? And could he have transformed that night in the Shrieking Shack? Perhaps that was how he survived, but Harry would probably never know because Snape was being a git about it. All Harry knew was that Snape had looked dead to him, and here he was, explaining the methodology behind producing a Patronus to his students. It was still unsettling for Harry to watch Snape move around so gingerly. Gingerly and Snape did not go together.

Harry hoped he wouldn't be asked to produce his Patronus if Snape produced his. It would be awkward knowing Snape's Patronus was a doe, and that it was a doe because Snape had been in love with Harry's mother. It was just a bit odd.

He remained in the corner until Snape turned towards him after the last student had left.

"Next lesson I will show the students my Patronus; you and I will not be producing our Patronuses together; I am certain this does not need to be repeated."

"No, sir." Harry shook his head.

"See that you do not forget. Are you planning on becoming an Auror when you leave in June, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"You will continue to assist me with my lessons, and certain staff members will work with you to assure that you are prepared to sit your NEWTs, in June, and that you meet the necessary requirements to be accepted into the Auror program. You and I will work on Defence. If it is thought that you are not grasping what you should, then you will be returned to your regular timetable. No matter that most of our world lavishes you with praise, becoming an Auror is an occupation you cannot hope to pursue if you do not grasp what you are taught. You will also be expected to have high marks."

"I will study; I know how important it is that I do so." Harry would have said more, but it would do him no good, so he all but bit his tongue so as not to speak. Harry was eighteen, so why did he feel eleven? Despite what Snape thought, Harry was not stupid. One day Harry would be an Auror, and he could not wait to see the look in Snape's eyes when that happened. There was so much he wanted to prove to everyone; he was who he was and nothing could change that, but he could prove that he was more than just a face.

"See that you do. Slughorn has taken a liking to you and I would hate to see him allow you to get by with minimum marks. Our citizens deserve the best protection."

Harry was furious. How dare Snape?

"Kingsley told me exactly what my marks need to be, and they will be above what is needed. No matter who I am, if my marks are not what he told me I need to make, I won't be accepted, and I resent you implying that I would place other people at risk. I want to become an Auror to protect people, not hurt them." Harry felt himself shaking. No one would ever be able to make him as angry as Snape did.

----------

On the way down to meet with Professor Flitwick, Harry ran into Ginny, so they walked to the Entrance Hall together. Ginny was having a rough time of it, and she spent a lot of time these days talking to Hermione and her other girl friends, but she and Harry usually talked before they went to bed, and it was nice, sitting with her.

Harry's feelings for Ginny were still there, but it all seemed rather unimportant now. One day the two might end up together, and that would be wonderful, but for now Harry had so much on his mind, and that left little time for him to think about someone else, even someone as important to him as Ginny. Fortunately, Ginny seemed to feel the same, and it was nice not being pressured.

She left him in the Entrance Hall, and Harry was on his way up to the first floor when he saw Dennis Creevey seated by himself on one of the benches just inside the hall. He thought about going to see if anything was wrong, but decided not to, knowing there was nothing he could say to make things better for Dennis.

Anxious to speak to Professor Flitwick, Harry quickened his pace. If there was a charm like the one his mother supposedly performed on him, Flitwick would know about it. Harry reached the door to the Charms room, but there was a note saying Flitwick had an emergency and wouldn't be back until after dinner. Dejected, Harry left, wondering if he would ever know the truth.

By the time Harry sat down between Ginny and Hermione at dinner, he had decided to talk to them and show them the letter. He needed help, and more importantly, he needed to talk. Maybe Hermione would have some ideas about what he should do.

"What's got you looking so down?" asked Hermione.

"You and Ginny meet me in my room after you finish eating and I'll tell you. I'm not hungry."

When he reached his room, there was a parchment on his bed. Harry retrieved it and walked over to the window. The moon was visible, and the trees, almost invisible, were swaying in the breeze. Opening the letter, he sighed; it was from Snape.


Mr. Potter - One of my students requires extra help in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He will be your responsibility; the two of you will meet on Thursday evenings at seven. If this time is unsatisfactory, inform me tomorrow, and other arrangements will be made. - SS


Snape requesting Harry to help someone was unsurprising; what was, was the lack of anything remotely inflammatory accompanying the request. Very curious.

Before Harry had time to ponder the request, there was a knock on his door and Hermione and Ginny entered, then plopped themselves down on his bed. Just seeing their faces calmed him, and made everything seem so much easier to bear. They would be an invaluable source of information and support, whatever the truth ended up being.

"So what's been bothering you, Harry? Is there anything Hermione or I can do to help?"

Harry opened his bedside table, took out the letter and handed it to Ginny.

"Read this." Harry sat in his desk chair and watched as Ginny and Hermione read it, pensively awaiting their reactions. Hermione gasped but then quieted down, and a few seconds later, Ginny looked up and stared at Harry, her eyes wide.

"You've got to be kidding." Ginny sat up and handed the letter back to Harry.

"Harry, he doesn't know, does he?" inquired Hermione.

"I haven't said anything to anyone yet; you two are the only ones. I need to know what you think I should do."

Harry spent the next hour listening to their thoughts. By the time the girls left, he was more confused than ever, but they had helped him decide what to do. He did wish he could get Ron's opinion about what to do, but he hardly thought this was the thing to write about in a letter. Harry knew Ron would have quite a bit to say about Snape possibly being his father, but that talk would have to wait.

After their initial disbelief, both Hermione and Ginny had been forthcoming with their ideas. Hermione had suggested to Harry that trauma was what might have delayed his appearance from changing, which did have merit. At the end of fifth year, Sirius had died, and Harry had been traumatized. Then at the end of his sixth year, Dumbledore had died, and that too had been stressful. And a few months earlier, Harry had seen Voldemort die…a much needed occurrence, but traumatic and stressful, nonetheless. Within two years, Harry had suffered at least three major losses. Of course there might be a completely different reason he had yet to change; he might never know the why of it.

Ginny had suggested Harry tell Snape as soon as possible because if Harry's appearance did begin changing, that could be bad, which Harry agreed with. She had also said Snape would want to know and that he deserved to know because even though he hadn't known what Voldemort had done, Snape did have a son and deserved to know about him.

As much as Harry had not wanted to hear them telling him these things, Harry knew what they said to be the truth, and he was thankful they hadn't tried to pacify him by telling him things that he wanted to hear.

So he was going to tell Snape. It was a scary thought.

Looking out of his window again, Harry had to laugh. Tomorrow was the third day of classes, and he was about to tell Snape he had a son, and that said son was none other than Harry Potter. One thing was for certain: the upcoming three terms were going to be interesting.

Go on to part two