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congratulations, it's a boy wonder!
[ A boy of almost eleven lays on the floor of a drafty, creaking shack. He is small for his age, and very skinny, which is only exaggerated by the oversized castoffs that make up his wardrobe; he is pale and dark haired, with brilliant green eyes that peer out above a prominent nose. To those who don't know him, he appears exactly as normal as his aunt and uncle would insist he is.
In fact, the only thing that appears odd about Harry Potter is the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. It aches a little tonight. He runs his fingers through his own messy fringe, rubbing over the raised mark idly as he waits.
His cousin Dudley's watch face is bright in the lightless room. While Harry isn’t exactly eager for the time to tick over to midnight, he has nothing better to do than to count down the minutes until his birthday.
He shivers as another strong gust from the storm outside creeps in through the gaps in the boarded walls.
11:54. 11:55.
If only he had one of those letters to read. Perhaps they were filled with birthday wishes. It seems unlikely, but it was nice to imagine.
11:56. 11:57.
Across the room, the cold, empty rectangle of the fireplace begins to glow. Harry, unsure if it’s simply a trick of his tired eyes, squints from where he is huddled at the foot of Dudley’s sagging couch.
11:58. 11:59.
The light, steadily growing, becomes a hearth filled with flickering flames. Harry knows this is impossible; he knows this is weird. Experience tells him that such strangeness can only be his fault. Logically, that means to call for help from his aunt or uncle would be to call down his own punishment, so he bites down harshly on his own tongue.
Watching, waiting. Hoping the strangeness will just end on its own, as it so rarely did.
Harry actually isn’t scared until the fire abruptly flares emerald, the same shade as his wide eyes.
Scrambling on all fours, he skitters away as a very tall figure takes shape through the flames. His back hits the wall the same moment it steps into the room.
On the couch, Dudley’s snoring stutters, but does not stop. Harry cannot find his voice to shout a warning. He croaks instead. ]
W-who – ?
In fact, the only thing that appears odd about Harry Potter is the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. It aches a little tonight. He runs his fingers through his own messy fringe, rubbing over the raised mark idly as he waits.
His cousin Dudley's watch face is bright in the lightless room. While Harry isn’t exactly eager for the time to tick over to midnight, he has nothing better to do than to count down the minutes until his birthday.
He shivers as another strong gust from the storm outside creeps in through the gaps in the boarded walls.
11:54. 11:55.
If only he had one of those letters to read. Perhaps they were filled with birthday wishes. It seems unlikely, but it was nice to imagine.
11:56. 11:57.
Across the room, the cold, empty rectangle of the fireplace begins to glow. Harry, unsure if it’s simply a trick of his tired eyes, squints from where he is huddled at the foot of Dudley’s sagging couch.
11:58. 11:59.
The light, steadily growing, becomes a hearth filled with flickering flames. Harry knows this is impossible; he knows this is weird. Experience tells him that such strangeness can only be his fault. Logically, that means to call for help from his aunt or uncle would be to call down his own punishment, so he bites down harshly on his own tongue.
Watching, waiting. Hoping the strangeness will just end on its own, as it so rarely did.
Harry actually isn’t scared until the fire abruptly flares emerald, the same shade as his wide eyes.
Scrambling on all fours, he skitters away as a very tall figure takes shape through the flames. His back hits the wall the same moment it steps into the room.
On the couch, Dudley’s snoring stutters, but does not stop. Harry cannot find his voice to shout a warning. He croaks instead. ]
W-who – ?
no subject
His parents have always been a sensitive subject. The only thing Harry's ever been informed about James Potter was that he had been an unemployed lump, a bad influence that Harry ought to be glad is gone, and that he had crashed the car that had killed him and his wife; at least one of those things was confirmed to be a lie, but Snape had refused to elaborate.
He goes over the explanation again. It makes no more sense the second or third try. Green eyes narrow, and on the tabletop his knuckles go pale with how tightly he grips his own hands. ]
I'm sorry, sir, but I don't understand what you mean. Misinformed how?
no subject
He can practically hear Lily in the back of his mind; oh, for heaven's sake, Severus, you never used to be this much of a coward. Yes, well, he never used to be a father, either, so sod off, Evans.
He's surely worrying a sore into the flesh of his cheek, the way his teeth keep biting down on it. )
Misinformed in that he isn't your father. He did not contribute to your genetic makeup. You have no biological relation to James Potter.
( Not to any significant degree, anyway, though who knows where the Prince and Potter lines may have intermingled generations ago.
At any rate, he cannot possibly make it any more plain, so... there. He's said it. He's exactly halfway through delivering this revelation. )
no subject
Aunt Marge squinting her tiny eyes at him across the living room, stage whispering to her brother. "You're sure there's no one else to take him? No, I know there's no one on Potter's side, but I'm not talking about him. Listen, Vern, it might be worth looking into. I'd never imply anything about Petunia, you know I adore her, but the things you've told me about her sister… Well, she strayed from home so young, and a girl like that, who's to say she didn't stray again?"
The television began to spark dangerously at that point, so his uncle had made up an excuse to banish Harry back to his cupboard before it could explode and shower the mean old bitch with shrapnel.
After the things Snape had to say about Lily – they'd been friends, he missed her too – Harry had thought maybe he would be spared ugly gossip and lies. Stunned and hurt, betrayed by someone he had been foolish enough to think a friend, his green eyes flash as his temper snaps. ]
How would you know?
no subject
He'd been braced to say it on the next breath — the last half of this confession.
He hedges instead, cautious, as though treading on brittle ice. Slowly, and with deliberately muted inflection: )
I know because I was presented with the results of the paternity test.
no subject
[ Harry blows a harsh breath out of his nose, sitting back in his chair to project his doubt – incidentally pulling himself out of easy reach, just in case this sort of attitude brings out the same temper in Snape as it did his uncle.
Furious green eyes scan the cautiously blank expression on the man across the table, reading nothing from it. He wants to dismiss the topic out of hand at the same time he wants to ask a hundred questions, and the impulses are dueling.
Aunt Petunia had begun putting regular checkups off when Dudley's weight ballooned up, so Harry can't remember the last time he'd seen a doctor. Where had they gotten the DNA for this test? What, had someone magicked a strand of hair off the cot in his cupboard in secret? Who? Why would they think to check?
What did any of it even matter? His parents were dead. Couldn't Harry just be allowed to miss them in peace? ]
I really don't see how this is any of your business.
no subject
I really don't see how this is any of your business; agitation flares through him. He's tempted to snap back, some sharp retort about respect and watching his attitude. He doesn't. Yet. It won't make this go any more smoothly.
He chews the inside of his cheek hard enough that he tastes copper. )
As unpleasant as it may feel, Mister Potter, I think... ( He begins slowly, his voice low and deliberate. ) You may want to carefully consider the next logical questions following this uncomfortable revelation, rather than putting a stopper in the conversation.
( Why is he making it harder on himself, coaxing the child toward them rather than just outright declaring it? Perhaps it's just not his natural inclination to be so brash, or perhaps he's... stalling. A little. )
no subject
He's eleven. He's hurt and offended. There's nothing logical about this, Severus, and the longer you stall, the worse it gets. Questions pile onto other questions.
Did wizard bastards even get last names? If he has to change it then Harry Evans might be alright, but his stomach goes cold at the thought of signing all his papers Harry Blank Space, Harry No One…
What does it have to do with where he'd be going next? Is this conversation to prepare him… to catch him up with something everyone else already knew, like the truth of his parents' deaths? ]
You said this had something to do with where I'd be going next.
no subject
Hell, and now the conversation is veering off the path he'd intended. The transition is not going to be smooth, he cannot lead the boy to toward the correct conclusion without having to actually say the words themselves.
Shit.
Facing the Dark Lord was genuinely easier than having this discussion. )
Yes. ( He manages after a too-long pause, finally giving in to the impulse to pry his fingers apart and pinch the bridge of his nose. Fingers press into his own eyelids, massaging gently for a moment, before he allows his hand to drop away again. His eyes settle on the table when he speaks, rather than back on Harry. ) At the age of eleven, wizarding law takes precedent over muggle law in terms of custody over minors, but I still... thought to let you have a choice between-
( A beat. )
I thought this conversation... this decision might be- easier if I weren't a complete stranger first, which is why I waited, but you still have a few days to think before you make the final choice. You could either return to your aunt, or... if you prefer... you could instead elect to stay with your living biological father.
no subject
A frown forms, deepens, then softens before it falls away entirely.
Custody… choice… why I waited… your living father…
That last part earns another harsh breath, a jerk of thin shoulders.
Harry stares, mouth just wide enough to catch a fly, utterly stunned. The world seems to be tilting, turning upside down, except it's just his insides moving, flipping and twisting while the rest of him is paralyzed. All except his eyes, which roam over Snape, not trusting his own understanding for far, far too long. The silence stretches entire seconds, Harry's unblinking stare boring holes into the professor as if to see straight through him to the truth. ]
I could stay? Here, with you? Because you're my… [ And if Snape can't summon the courage to say it, Harry will. He has just enough to finish the thought in a small, breathless, unsure voice: ] You're my father?
no subject
God in heaven, Merlin help him, he's got enough adrenaline spiking through his system to run a bloody marathon right now. It's a nervous, restless sort of energy that he normally doesn't feel — certainly not when he's not risking his life. There are no curses flying at him, he is not kneeling in a mask, he should not feel this much anxiety flooding him right now, but he can't... bring himself to occlude it out entirely. It wouldn't be — right. He deserves this sensation of a twisting knife in his gut.
At least one of them at this table has some Gryffindor in their blood. Harry says the words outright, and Severus nods slowly, without breaking eye contact. )
I am.
( And he doesn't have the first, faintest inkling whether this will be good news or bad news for the child. Not that it's likely to be as simple as all that, it isn't black and white probably, but — he doesn't know how the child is likely to react to this information, so he... waits. Carefully restraining his own expressions, masking as best he can, bracing himself, watching to try and gauge his reception — or rejection. )
no subject
[ At first there's nothing but wide eyed shock.
The professor has had eight and a half months to adjust to the news; Harry's only had seconds, and it doesn't yet feel real. Pieces of this last week are starting to make sense. So many of their interactions have felt weighted, significant in ways he couldn't quite figure out – investigations into his opinions, his likes and dislikes, his abilities. Now he knows why.
He's passed the most important test of his life without realizing it was happening.
Somehow, someway, his deepest, most secret birthday wish had come true. Someone has finally come to claim him.
Harry grips the tops of his thighs, fingernails scraping over the fabric of his new trousers as he digs them in, needing to be sure it's not a dream. The sting is real.
While the look on his face is the furthest thing from rejection, it's cautious, like the split second before Harry had snatched the letter out of Snape's fingers. After going a little too long without air, he remembers to breathe when his attempt at speech comes out like a strangled sigh. ]
You're sure? You're really sure I can stay?
no subject
He also wouldn't have expected him to see their last several days together as a test in hindsight, as though passing or failing it would have determined whether he had a right to the truth. A right to stay. If it was a test for anyone, it was a test Severus arranged for himself, with the child standing in to judge him at the end of it. Worthy or unworthy, more or less desirable than his horrible muggle aunt?
It seems, judging by the questions, that perhaps Severus has also passed.
He nods again, tentative, searching the boy's face. )
I've spent these past several months preparing everything for this, child, of course I'm sure. But- only if you want to. If you'd rather go back, you need only say the word. I won't force you.
no subject
[ Back in that shack on the rock, he hadn't hesitated to take Severus's hand; he hasn't brought his relatives up a single time in the days since. He doesn't need a week to consider anything. He doesn't need another second. Harry speaks so quickly their voices overlap, I won't force you drowned out by his emphatically stated decision.
The boy has yet to look away, only the occasional blink interrupting his bright green stare. His mountain of questions had been scattered by the world reorienting itself, but it is only a matter of time before they began to pile up again. In this moment, though, he's very certain.
Shared meals and chess games. The bedroom upstairs. This man and his quiet, pleasant life. Even if it's just for the summer, of course Harry wants it all. He repeats himself to make sure he's been heard. ]
I don't want to go back. I want to stay with you.
no subject
Okay.
( He says immediately, numbly. A second later, his fingers loosen from where they'd locked so tightly around themselves the knuckles had begun to turn white. What it really means sinks in — this child is his son, and he has chosen this. He- this is real, and unless he changes his mind, very likely permanent.
He knows the truth now, and he's staying, and they're doing this.
He exhales a soft breath, nods, and repeats himself a little more firmly. )
Okay, then.
( So that's that. It's settled.
...What the absolute fuck does he do now? An awkward silence falls over him, because he hadn't actually... prepared himself for what comes next. It's going to take him a minute to recover any sort of grace. He is very much at a loss. )
no subject
[ That's it? No magical flourish? Harry sort of expects… something. Anything. A scroll to appear at the center of the table and unroll, ready for both their signatures? Balloons and streamers to fall from the kitchen ceiling, renouncing his status as unwanted orphan?
For the Dursleys to pop out from behind the hidden doorway, jeering at Harry for falling for such an obvious trick…? No, of course not that. The professor wouldn't be part of something so cruel and juvenile.
Besides, what would make this feel real? It might be a mistake. To a child so starved of good news, it doesn't seem possible that this isn't a mix up, a miscommunication. There's some other boy out there named Harry Potter, and he'd been intended to get his letter and meet Severus Snape, to be given this incredible news on top of the rest.
He squeezes his own knees again, heart battering against the inside of his ribs. ]
May I see the test?
no subject
( He begins, faintly bemused — until his struggling brain manages to begin spinning properly again, and it dawns on him what the boy means. Understanding flashes acrsos his features. The paternity test, the proof in concrete. Perhaps it shouldn't be surprising that he'd ask for it. )
I don't have access to the one that was shown to me.
( It was an entirely different sort, the kind that didn't necessitate fresh blood to pull from. Something older, and far more complex, that the headmaster managed to procure — Merlin only knows how.
But. )
If... you find it necessary, we can brew a new one tonight. It will take a couple of hours.
no subject
[ Harry offers this reassurance quickly. Something tangible would maybe kill a few anxious, illogical doubts before they can take root, but during all the staring he's found the most simple form of proof: looking at Severus is like seeing his own face, just aged, a little distorted. Unconsciously he reaches up to rub his own nose, which would look exactly like his father's if Dudley had managed to break it a few more times. ]
And I do believe you. We look alike, don't we?
[ Now that he knows what to look for, he's seeing the signs everywhere. His hand comes back down to the tabletop as his head tilts, making his scar disappear beneath shaggy fringe. What else had he missed? ]
Was I supposed to figure it out? You've known for ages, and I had no idea…
no subject
He's tempted, strangely tempted, to reach out and clasp the boy's hand. Entirely uncertain where that impulse is coming from, he's hardly the hands-on sort, certainly not known for his physicality or his empathy. It's there all the same, and he only manages to curb the gesture by smoothing his palms absently over the surface of the table. )
No, child, of course not. How could you have known? This wasn't... a trick, or a puzzle you were meant to solve. I only thought to make it... easier, for you, than it might have been if everything was thrust upon you at once. That it might be- a little less... undesirable to hear, coming from somebody who you'd had a chance to meet properly. If I can be completely honest with you?
( A beat, to let the question sit — not that he's actually expecting a real answer. )
I'm not entirely sure if I've done this- the right way, and I suspect that's a trend that will continue on for the foreseeable future. I can't imagine I'll be particularly- good at this. I'm likely to make more mistakes than either of us can count, probably, but if you could find it within you to be patient with me, I would like to try.
no subject
Nowhere and no one could be worse than what he'd had before… but that's so far from the life he's lived beneath the professor's roof that to compare him to his aunt and uncle seems wrong. You're better than the monsters I knew before is not the appreciation he deserves. ]
You've been brilliant.
[ Harry is fiercely, eye-stingingly overwhelmed, but one thing is certain: Severus stepping out of those magic green flames had been the best thing to ever happen, and it has only gotten better from there.
He's quick. In the time it takes the boy to slip out of his chair and around the corner of the table, there's only been a split second for either of them to brace for impact. The embrace is awkward, one of only a handful he's ever initiated. His pointy chin digs into one of the bony shoulder's he has wrapped himself around. ] I don't- really know how this works either, but. I want to try too.