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Chapter Text

Sirius Black was finally in front of him.

And Harry no longer wanted him dead.

It had been a bizarre evening, and was only getting stranger. Snape had intervened to get Buckbeak spared by the executioner—as Head of Slytherin, his delicate contradictions of Malfoy’s story were taken seriously. That hadn’t stopped Malfoy’s snide comments, or Hermione’s fist to the boy’s face. Then there had been Scabbers, and the black dog, and the Whomping Willow. Then an unbelievable tale from Sirius Black himself, and the arrival of Professor Lupin—who was, it seemed, a werewolf.

The last part had made several things clearer, including Snape’s insistence that Harry not go anywhere near Lupin’s office on the days around the full moon.

“Severus was very interested in where I went every month.” Lupin told Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “We were in the same year, you know, and we — er — didn’t like each other very much. He especially disliked James. Jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch field…”

Harry tried and failed to imagine Snape playing Quidditch. Other than the match earlier that year, when Snape had saved Harry when the dementors had attacked, he had never shown much interest in the sport at all. He had tested Harry’s new Firebolt within a breath of its life, but had not been remotely covetous in the broom—unlike everyone else who saw it.

“Anyway,” Lupin continued, “Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be — er — amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he’d be able to get in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it — if he’d got as far as this house, he’d have met a fully grown werewolf — but your father, who’d heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life… Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on he knew what I was…”

“Black tried to send Snape in to get bitten by a werewolf?” Harry asked, horrified.

“That’s right,” sneered a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin.

Snape was pulling off Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, his wand pointing directly at Lupin.

“Are you all right, Potter? Granger, Weasley?”

“Ron’s leg is broken, but we’re all right,” Harry said. “How did you…?”

“You left your cloak outside,” Snape said. “And as Lupin has so kindly explained, I knew all along about the Shrieking Shack. Dumbledore told me I was wrong about you, Lupin. Thought you’d turned over a new leaf. But I knew… You were getting closer and closer to Harry, all for old friend. You thought no one would notice?”

Harry flushed. Snape had warned him about Lupin, but had not forbidden him from their lessons. Snape could have taught Harry the Patronus Charm, but Harry had been so eager to hear stories about his parents… But Snape had known them too, and had never told Harry about his own dad’s involvement in a trick to get Snape killed.

“Sirius is innocent,” Lupin protested. “I didn’t believe it until tonight. But it’s true.”

Snape laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.” He raised his wand.

“Hold on,” Harry said, standing up.

Everyone stilled, looking over at Harry. Black and Lupin were close together, wandless but fierce. The rat was

He swallowed. “Hold on,” he repeated. “Snape, there’s something else going on here. I think Peter Pettigrew is still alive. We just need to do one spell. One spell, and we’ll know who let my parents get killed.”

Black laughed. “Harry, love, Severus Snape doesn’t listen to reason. I was dead the second he walked in here.”

“He will listen,” Harry said. “He will.”

“They’re manipulating you,” Snape said. “Bringing up your father. I thought you, at least, were better than this, Lupin.”

“Then let’s prove it,” Harry said. “We just need to cast a spell on Ron’s rat. It’s right here. We don’t have to fight, not yet.”

“My rat is not Peter Pettigrew,” Ron said, voice thick with pain.

“Your rat?” Snape asked, attention suddenly latching onto Ron.

“Snape, you told me not to do everything myself,” Harry said. The entire world seemed to be hanging on his words, and he did not know what to do. Who was telling the truth here? Who was looking for the truth, and who for revenge? He wouldn’t know if Snape stopped this final test. “You asked me to trust you. You told me that sometimes people would listen to me. Were you telling the truth?”

“I trust you,” Snape said.

“Then trust that there’s more you didn’t hear yet tonight,” Harry said. “Black’s story is… it’s a lot, but if it’s true, I need to know. Please.”

Snape stared at him for a long moment, and the room held its breath. His eyes were unreadable. Finally, he lowered his wand and nodded to Harry. “Very well.”

With a quick movement, Black had the wand from Snape’s free hand and was pointing it at his face. “Not so tough now, are you? Leave now, Severus, or you’ll be leaving here unconscious.”

“If you touch a hair on the boy’s head, the dementors will be the least of your worries,” Snape snarled, eyes glittering.

“Don’t hurt him, Black!” Harry said, taking a step forward. “Please. He deserves to be here for this. He’ll let you do the spell. He will. If you were telling the truth, let him see.”

“If he interrupts this, it could ruin everything,” Lupin said. “It’s a delicate spell.”

“He wants the truth as much as I do,” Harry said. “I swear. I trust him.”

“Why?” It was a question repeated on every face in the room, though only Black had asked it. It was clear Black was itching to curse Snape.

“Because… because he’s my guardian,” Harry confessed.

“I knew it,” Hermioned hissed.

“Your what?” Ron demanded.

“Severus Snape?” Black asked.

“Ah,” Lupin said thoughtfully.

“You knew it?” Ron asked, turning to Hermione. “You did not.”

“I thought there was something going on,” she said. “They’ve barely argued at all this semester, and when they did—well, Harry’s not the best actor. He might as well have had cue cards. Honestly, if you hadn’t been giving me the silent treatment for the past few months, maybe I would have pointed it out. Harry’s been leaving for the dungeons at least once every few days since summer break.”

“Bullshit,” Ron breathed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Harry said

Before they had returned to Hogwarts, Snape and Harry had sat at the kitchen table in Spinner’s End to discuss their plans.

It had been strange to sit there and work together after the start of Harry’s summer with Snape. At the beginning, there had been so much tension, so many things unsaid. Harry had entered each meal expecting a battle, and had not understood when he met only with mild annoyance at the worst. The kitchen had also been where Harry had finally snapped, shouting at Snape to stop toying with him. Snape had nudged and prodded until Harry had admitted some of the details of his life with the Dursleys. Instead of being met with derision or laughter, Snape had listened carefully and taken action to remove Harry from their care forever.

For the first days after that breaking point, Harry had continued to be unsettled around Snape. It seemed too easy, too good to be true. Professor Snape not only believing Harry, but offering to become his legal guardian.

In Harry’s experience, people didn’t just offer to take you on. The Dursleys had not wanted him, and he was their kin.

But even so, Snape had maintained the same consistency he had since Harry’s arrival. Providing regular meals, conducting thorough homework reviews, letting Harry fly within the wards, and cautiously—very cautiously, considering earlier incidents—letting Harry spend time in his greenhouse.

Overall, it was pleasant. Even with Harry’s lingering awkwardness, it was better than the summer Harry had first imagined.

He even thought, privately, it was a better summer than he might have had with the Weasleys. He loved Ron and Mrs. Weasley and everyone else, but the chaos of the house reminded him of the Gryffindor Common Room. Compared to the Dursleys, both had seemed the ultimate home.

But there was…peace at Snape’s house. Harry had never been so content in quietness with anyone, and it allowed him, by the end, to relax in a way he had never experienced before. There was no one to work for, no one to impress, no one to perform for. There was just the crackling fireplace, Snape reading his papers, and Harry quietly rereading a book about Quidditch history.

After settling into their truce, it had been unnerving to imagine their relationship with Hogwarts as a backdrop. Snape had carefully explained to Harry that it would be for the best if they were no public about the guardianship.

“Dumbledore has his reasons for me to maintain my connections with certain people who would want to take advantage of your presence in my home,” Snape had said. “They believe me to be on their side, and would not be able to understand any excuses I gave for not taking actions against you. Even if those people were not a lingering issue, there is the question of your general safety. We do not have the blood bond that gave you extra protection with your aunt and uncle—though we’ve discussed all the ways they failed you anyway. My home is warded, but I’d rather not risk a direct attack.”

“So I can’t tell anyone?”

“Did you want to tell people? I’d believed you might be…uncomfortable discussing the details with your friends.”

Harry wanted to argue, but he imagined Ron’s reaction. What could Harry say to explain why Snape was better than the Dursleys? Ron knew about the canned soup and barred windows from last summer, but he’d never really asked Harry for details. Would he understand Harry’s decision?

And Hermione—Harry didn’t want to think about her Oh, Harry if she learned about the Dursleys. Her pity might be too much to take. Or worse, a dismissal. When Hermione said something, Harry tended to believe it.

Now, in the Shrieking Shack, Harry had wished he had told someone. On top of the toppling pile of secrets uncovered that night, his seemed like one too many.

“What the bloody hell has happened since I’ve been gone?” Black said.

“Mr. Black,” Harry said, and Black winced. Harry’s words seemed to have an effect on him, like Black was tuned to Harry more than anyone else in the room—except, perhaps, Lupin. “You said that you’re innocent. All you have to do is prove it. Don’t hurt anyone else, and you can walk out of here.”

Black tightened his grip on Snape’s wand. He looked from Harry to Lupin to Snape, and then finally to Ron. “All right,” he growled. “Hand over the rat.”

#

By the time the Aurors carried Pettigrew, with the dementors trailing hungrily behind, all of them were worse for wear. Lupin had forgotten to take his potion, and in the chaos trying to capture Pettigrew while avoiding being bitten by a feral werewolf, Black had been knocked unconscious, Hermione and Harry had been thrown across the grass and rocks, and Snape had stepped between Pettigrew and Harry to take the brunt of some nasty curse that left his hands still shaking.

“Five hospital beds, and a sixth for Professor Lupin in the morning,” Madame Pomfrey said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think your end of the year stunt could have more casualties than last year’s, Mr. Potter, but it seems I was wrong.”

“None of this was Potter’s fault, and I don’t need a hospital bed,” Severus said with icy softness.

Pomfrey was not cowed. “I have three witnesses that confirm you were hit by the Cruciatus Curse. You know as well as I do the nerve damage it can leave if untreated. You’ll be sitting down and letting me take a look at you as soon as I look at the more urgent injuries.”

She gave Ron a pain-numbing potion, and then revived Black. He lurched to consciousness, and then his eyes flew to Harry. “We got him,” Harry said. “It’s over. He confessed to the Aurors, and they’re going to give him the Kiss after they’ve interrogated him.”

“And you…?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said.

“The worst injury is the boy’s leg you broke,” Snape said, nodding toward Ron.

Black glowered at Snape. “It was an accident. I was going for Pettigrew.” Then, he looked at Ron. “Sorry, mate.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Ron was still pale, though whether it was because of the pain potion, his leg, or seeing his childhood pet turn into a mass murderer, Harry wasn’t sure. Ron hadn’t been looking much at Harry since it had all ended.

Harry leaned back in his bed, watching as Madame Pomfrey bustled around to treat everyone’s injuries. Harry and Hermione’s scrapes were not bad—barely even bleeding—so she skipped them in favor of going to Snape after she finished with Black and Ron. Ron was falling asleep, succumbing to the pain medicine, but Black seemed more energized than ever.

Black climbed out of his bed and loped toward Harry.

“Mr. Black,” Madame Pomfrey called from across the room, even as she ran a diagnostic spell over Snape. “If you damage that head again…”

He waved her off and sat on the edge of Harry’s bed. “You all right?” he asked. “Merlin, you really do look just like James. He and I ended up in here often enough.”

“You did?” Harry asked.

Black laughed. “The amount of scrapes we got into, we nearly lived here—until we learned how to start patching ourselves up,” he said. “Not just with Remus, either. We were always up to something. I’m sure Moony told you all of it.”

“Not really,” Harry said.

“Yeah, well,” Black said, and his expression fell. “I guess if he thought two of us were dead, and one of us responsible, he wouldn’t have thought those memories were so fun anymore. They kept me alive in Azkaban, and he probably wanted them out of his head.” He looked haunted, that laugh gone as if it had never crossed his face.

“Black,” Harry said tentatively.

“Sirius, please,” he interrupted. “I never liked being a Black, and it’d kill your parents to hear you call me by my last name.”

“Sirius,” Harry tried again. “Will you tell me about my dad sometime? Everyone seems so afraid to talk about him in much detail, but I want to know everything.” He shook his head. “I mean, I know you’ll be busy. You’ll have your life back.”

“I only wanted my life back to make sure you were safe,” Sirius said fiercely. “I’ll tell you everything. And… Well, you should know that your parents named me your godfather.”

“I know,” Harry said, confused.

“I, well… If you want to ditch Snivellus, you could come live with me. If you wanted.”

“Live with you?” Harry repeated.

“Your parents wanted me to look after you if anything ever happened to them. I know I’m late, but… What do you say?”

#

It was strange to be sitting in his quarters again with Harry after all that had happened last night. At the beginning of the year, he had given Harry the password to the living area of his private quarters. Kept separate from his bedroom and the suite that connected to the Slytherin Common Room, it had become a place for them to meet whenever Harry could slip away. They went over his homework, chatted about their days, ordered tea and sweets from the kitchens, and had stumbled into an eventual camaraderie neither had quite expected from the guardianship.

The space was far cozier than Severus’s office, as it should be—one was built to intimidate, one was built for comfort. The furnishings were far nicer than those in Spinner’s End, supplied by the castle and kept clean by the house-elves. In classic Slytherin House fashion, there was a lot of gray stone, dark brown leather, and rich greens. Severus wondered whether Muggles were as married to their school colors for the rest of their lives as it seemed Hogwarts graduates were.

Severus had once thought that working with Dumbledore was the price he had to pay for his part in the Potters’ deaths. But he had been wrong. He could never truly pay for what he had done to Lily and her husband, but he had realized that fighting to ensure their son was safe and healthy was a first step.

But he had discovered more than obligation and his malformed sense of justice driving him.

Over the past year, he had discovered a boy as clever and kind as he had begun to glimpse during their first summer together. Harry was fiercely loyal, and somehow, more quickly than Severus could have imagined, that loyalty had been handed to him.

Now, they sat in silence. Harry was looking down at his tea, and Severus was trying to maintain a blank expression. It had been barely twenty-four hours since everything either of them understood about the past—and the future—had been upended.

Sirius Black, innocent. Peter Pettigrew, alive. And so near. Lurking right under their noses. If Severus had paid better attention to Harry’s friends, might he have noticed? He had been so focused on Lupin’s attempts to draw Harry close that he had not noticed the only Marauder actually posing a threat.

If Pettigrew had gotten it into his foolish mind that killing Harry in his sleep would have been the safest option…

Severus sliced that thought off before it could grow. He would brood later. Harry was alive and in front of him, and they had a difficult conversation ahead.

He had listened carefully last night as Black had gone over to the boy in the Hospital Wing. Black had offered to take over as Harry’s guardian—and Harry had said only that he needed to think about it before deciding.

“There is only one week until the term ends,” Severus said. “I suppose we should talk about where you will go this summer.”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly.

“Black is your godfather,” Severus said, taking the plunge. “He has a legal right to fight for guardianship. But I won’t make him fight. This is your decision. Who…who do you want to be your guardian?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said softly.

“Right,” Severus said stiffly.

“I don’t know what to do. What to believe.” There was a glint in Harry’s eyes, but it was not the guilt of letting someone down gently. It was anger. “You lied to me. You didn’t tell me that Sirius was my parents’ friend.”

“We’ve already argued about this,” Severus pointed out, slightly pleading. When Harry had discovered the truth, he had done exactly as Severus and everyone had feared—he had wanted revenge on the man who they thought responsible for his parents’ deaths. And though Severus approved of the sentiment, he had refused to let Harry continue with that train of thought one station further.

“You also never told me about Lupin,” Harry said.

“That was not my secret to tell.”

“What about the fact my dad saved your life?”

“After he and Black put it in danger? Frankly, Harry, I thought to spare you from it. I did not believe your father came out well in that story.”

“Everyone tries to protect me, and no one ever does,” Harry snapped. “You told me to trust you. That you would listen to me, and tell me things, and not leave me in the dark like Dumbledore always did. How am I supposed to trust you lot when you keep lying to me?”

“I helped Hagrid’s hippogriff when you asked,” Severus pointed out. “I didn’t kill Black or Lupin that night.”

“No. You only followed me around.”

“I was trying to keep you safe.”

“One of Voldemort’s servants has been sleeping a bed away from me for years,” Harry said. “How am I supposed to believe anyone who says that anymore? How am I supposed to believe anyone?”

No one could blame the boy. When Severus was thirteen, would he have let some new adult sweep in to fix his life? Adults were not to be trusted. They could not understand what he’d gone through, and had never wanted to try.

It had been a miracle that Harry had agreed to let Severus be his guardian, but with the Dursleys as his alternative, Severus should not feel flattered. Being the boy’s escape from a horrible situation was one thing—asking him to trust Severus was quite another.

So much of Severus’s young adult life had been centered around tricking the right people into trusting him. First the Dark Lord. Then Dumbledore. And then the Dark Lord again, though this time with a larger secret.

After the fall of the Dark Lord, Severus had been able to put aside his masks for a while. The Death Eaters believed that he was still loyal, but reserved and isolated. He was not invited to dine with Lucius, not asked to conspire with Rookwood. They had never much liked him before, and did not need his presence now. Dumbledore trusted that he was dedicated to keeping the Dark Lord at bay. His students and colleagues only needed to trust that he expected the best from his classes.

He did not want to trick Harry into trusting him. For once, he wanted to earn it. The boy had been used and manipulated every day of his life, and Severus had no interest in wearing a mask in his own home.

Severus sighed. “I’m sorry. Will you let me try again?”

Harry looked at him with those familiar eyes, full of that unfamiliar caution. Lily, with her doting parents and dedicated friends, had never worried that she would be left to hang. “You said you wouldn’t fight Sirius if he wanted me. Don’t offer to keep me just because you think you have to. Last summer, there wasn’t a second option for me.”

“Ah, you believe I’ll take this as an out,” Severus said.

“You were my guardian for a year. You’ve seen what it’s like around me,” Harry said. “And you’ve, ah, well, I’ve yelled at you a lot.”

“What is it like around you? You were assaulted by dementors no less than three different times,” Severus said. “You were stalked by an escaped prisoner, only to discover that the true murderer was sleeping in your dormitory. You learned that your parents were betrayed by one of their dearest friends, and were upset by that news. Have I summarized everything?”

“And, uh, also Buckbeak,” Harry muttered, looking subdued.

“Oh, yes, and you requested that I step in to stop the unjust extermination of a noble creature,” Severus said.

Harry frowned, seeming to finally realize Severus wasn’t agreeing with him. “Most people would be scared off by that stuff,” he pointed out.

“I’ve dealt with far worse than watching a brave young man trying his best to survive against terrible odds,” Severus said. “I’ve done many things I regret. Aiding you in any way will never be one of them. This may be the only good thing I’ve done in my life.”

“Then why did you say…”

“I’m not your captor,” Severus said. “If you choose Black, that’s a decision you’re permitted to make. We’ve spent far more time than needed explaining why someone would be lucky to be your guardian. We have not addressed the very obvious fact that I am ill-qualified for this position.”

“You’ve been brilliant. You let me come in here even though we’re at school,” he said fiercely, waving to the room around them, “you helped with Buckbeak, you listened last night about Sirius even though you didn’t want to, you…” He faltered, clearly torn between embarrassment and protectiveness. Finally, he said, “You cared.”

“I hate to admit it, but Black would certainly care as well. I believe him to be dangerously immature, but his loyalty to your father was insurmountable—as we confirmed last night. Few men could escape Azkaban, and he did so for your sake. I’m certain that would only be the beginning.” Severus shook his head. “Do not question that we both would like to be your guardian. Your only task is to determine who you want it to be.”

#

“Are you going to explain yourself?” McGonagall asked, sitting down across from Severus.

He looked up at her. They were in the teacher’s lounge, which was a well-concealed room off the Great Hall. The house-elves provided a steady stream of snacks to a long table, and there were several scattered tables and couches for both meetings and independent work.

He was working his way through the Daily Prophet. The front page, even three days later, was an expose on Peter Pettigrew. After the wizarding world mourned his death, they were all the more eager to loathe him for deceiving them.

“Are you going to clarify your question?” he asked, setting down the paper.

“Do I really have to?” She crunched on a ginger biscuit, raising her eyebrows at him. “You know that Sirius Black is staying in Remus’s quarters. And that he and I have been talking. He had quite a lot to say about your recent activities.”

“He never did know when to stop talking.”

Minerva waited a moment, and then sighed. “Merlin,” she said. “Let me phrase it simply: did you adopt Harry Potter?”

“Really, Minerva? You’re going to accost me while I’m working, where anyone could overhear, to ask something like that? It sounds like a very personal question.”

She gave him an unamused look. “You know full well that I waited until we were alone. It’s rare enough to find you here, and I’m not going to waste it. Once summer arrives, I’m sure you’ll find yourself suddenly unable to answer a single owl or Floo call from your colleagues. If I want answers—and I do—this is my chance.”

“You know me well enough to track my leisure habits, but I know you well enough to be sure you’ve already checked Potter’s records before coming to me at all.”

“The Ministry has no record I can find of a change in guardianship for the boy,” McGonagall said.

“However…?”

“However, the Hogwarts records have been altered to show you as his guardian and emergency contact,” she said. “So either you, Potter, and Albus are conducting an elaborate prank on me—and on Sirius—or you have indeed taken guardianship of the boy.”

“I have to appreciate that the idea of prank even crossed your mind,” Severus said. “You’ve been the Head of Gryffindor for entirely too long.”

“They keep me young,” she said dryly, tapping her biscuit against her plate. “So it’s true. How in Merlin’s name did this come about? I’m not surprised by the secrecy—I know you and Potter well enough to see the logic behind it—but the fact itself is baffling beyond reason.”

“Harry was in the market for a new guardian, and I volunteered,” Severus said.

“You can’t be serious. The last I checked, the two of you hated each other as much as any child and allegedly responsible adult might.”

The dig hit. Severus had maintained an aggressive grudge for several years against a child in his care, like he was no better than a schoolboy himself. In talking to Harry, they had discussed his various decisions not to turn to Minerva or Albus for help in trying moments, but the idea that Harry would have ever asked Severus for help would never have crossed either of their minds. Before last summer, Severus would have been the last person alive Harry would have relied upon.

“We…adjusted our perspectives,” Severus said carefully.

“I did tell you that you had been allowing your past to cloud your judgement. He’s a good boy—smart, brave, though he could be a bit more dedicated to his schoolwork. He’s only ever had the best intentions. Was it to do with Sirius’s escape before you knew he was innocent? That was my first thought, before Sirius loudly complained that you hadn’t immediately thrown guardianship back to him.”

“It is very classic of Black to break out of prison without even knowing who the current Minister of Magic is and assuming he could adopt a child.”

“Then how did this come about? Why was Potter was in the market for a new guardian?”

“Now that I truly cannot tell you,” Severus said.

“I do hope that aunt and uncle of his kicked it,” Minerva said bluntly.

Severus narrowed his eyes at her. “You were acquainted?”

“Only at a distance. I was responsible for monitoring the house on November 1st that year to be sure they were not compromised before we could bring Harry to their doorstep. A nasty pair.”

It took effort for Severus to hold his tongue. He wanted to rail against her—she dared claim protectiveness of the boy, but had never once bothered to check and see how he had fared with people she had hated on sight? Had she been so confident in Dumbledore’s choice that she put it from her mind, or did she simply not think of it again? Out of sight and out of mind?

But to lash out at her would be betraying the first secret Harry had asked him to keep. Harry did not want her to know what the Dursleys had done, and Severus would not destroy their carefully tended relationship to lambast a woman too fool to follow her own instincts.

“Interesting,” he said finally.

“Well?” she asked, leaning in. “What’s the story?”

“That is not your concern,” Severus said. “Harry’s personal life is not your business, and neither is mine. Dumbledore gave this situation his blessing, and I ask you to accept that.”

“I’m his Head of House!” she said.

“I am your colleague, but in this case, I am his legal guardian. You can expect no more access here than you might have with any student,” Severus said.

She bristled with indignation. “Severus, you can’t be serious. You act as though I’m some gossipmonger instead of a person quite in charge of his wellbeing!”

“Are you this invested in the parental situations of all your Gryffindors? Or is it because this is the Boy Who Lived?”

“I’ll have you know that I have always cared for the boy.”

“Does he know that?” When she faltered, he found a slightly softer tone. “Minerva, how much of the boy’s life has been under public scrutiny? Especially with the news about Pettigrew. The world is rehashing the tragic deaths of his parents in every paper. Perhaps he can, finally, have one thing that is private.”

“Very well,” she said, standing up. From the white around her nostrils, she was still furious. “I suppose I should not have expected more from you. I hope you are able to be more human with Potter.”

“Again, you’ll find that is up to me,” Severus said.

She stalked from the teachers’ lounge, leaving her plate of biscuits behind. Severus sighed and picked up the newspaper again. That had gone worse than expected, but his point had been made. Surely Minerva would leave it at that.

#

“All right, that’s enough for today,” McGonagall announced. “Thomas, please desist. That poor parrot has been through enough today without you poking its eye with your wand.”

Dean, who had been leaning close to try to complete the transfiguration of the day, winced and pulled back.

“Please read the assigned pages before our next class. Friday is our last day of the semester, and I expect to see more people than Miss Granger turn their birds into vases by the end. Class is dismissed,” McGonagall said. “Mr. Potter—stay back for a moment. I need a quick word on your final grade.”

Ron gave Harry a conciliatory look, but gathered Hermione and left with the rest of the class.

“I won’t keep you from your lunch for too long,” McGonagall declared, waving Harry toward her desk at the front of the room.

Harry stepped through the aisles, narrowly avoiding a peck from Dean’s irate parrot. He hovered in front of her desk, dreading the conversation. It was rarely a good thing for McGonagall to pull someone aside. “Yes, professor?”

She adjusted her glasses and looked at him closely. “How are you doing, Potter?”

“Er,” he said. “All right?”

“Considering the little I know of the situation, that seems unlikely. Pettigrew hiding in my own House. A godfather back from near-dead. And I’ve just learned that you have a new guardian.”

“You, er, heard about that?” After the year without anyone catching on, Harry should have known it couldn’t last forever.

“Severus won’t tell me anything except confirming that it’s true,” she said. “He can keep a secret better than any man I’ve ever met. In general, it’s a useful trait, but he can be… well, frankly Mr. Potter, he can be such a Slytherin at times.”

Harry was blinded by relief for a moment. He hadn’t told her Harry’s secrets. Considering his first reaction to hearing Harry’s confessions had been to summon Dumbledore, Harry hadn’t been quite sure how much to believe Snape’s agreement not to tell McGonagall as well. Snape had the tendency to assume he knew best, and Harry had feared the news would spread throughout the Hogwarts staff before the end.

He didn’t know how they’d react, and that was the worst part of it. He barely knew what to think of the Dursleys. He didn’t want to see them again. Snape said he hadn’t deserved any of it. But he did not know what McGonagall would say. Would she pity him? Be disappointed in him? Accuse him of overreacting?

And what of Professor Lupin? Or Sirius Black?

“And I can see from your face that you have no interest in telling me either,” she said with a sigh. “Answer me this, Mr. Potter. Are you happy to have Severus as your guardian?”

“I am,” Harry said cautiously.

“I don’t need Severus or you to give me details to know that something happened to you. I’m quite certain you didn’t wake up one day and decide you wanted Severus as your guardian. I’m sure there was quite the trouble that landed you in his path in the first place.” She held up a hand. “That’s not the question I want you to answer. Severus was quite firm about keeping your secrets, and seeing you… I understand what he meant. It’s only this.”

Harry waited anxiously.

“Whether it started last year or this summer or this week, if you were having troubles, why didn’t you come to me? This is what your House is here for, Mr. Potter. Your prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, myself. We’re not just here to institute rules for you to break,” she said. “We’re here to support you. Did you not know you could ask one of us—anytime—for help?”

“It wasn’t… The reason I went to Snape, it wasn’t a school issue,” Harry said.

“You live at Hogwarts more months of the year than you don’t,” McGonagall said. “We’re to help you with more than your grades.”

Harry felt uneasy. The lunch hour was ticking on, and his friends would be wondering why McGonagall had kept him. Her eyes were sharp, but her expression seemed to be trying to convey something he couldn’t understand. What did she want from him? “I didn’t want to bother anyone with it,” he said at last.

“I see,” she said softly. “Did you know, Mr. Potter, that Mr. Black is terrified of you?”

“What?”

“I used to be his Head of House too, you know,” McGonagall said. “He’s been waiting for the right moment to ask you to Professor Lupin’s quarters for a private dinner, but he’s afraid Professor Snape has turned you against him. He’s sure that there must be something to why you didn’t accept his offer instantly. The longer you make him wait for an answer, the more sure he is that Professor Snape has convinced you he is some monster.”

“Have they always hated each other so much?” Harry asked.

“Rather like you and Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall agreed. “I won’t stick my nose into it any further. This is your decision. Just know that you have more people who care about you than you realize. If you need anything, Mr. Potter, my door is always open. Whether it’s about school or your guardians. Or anything else.”

“Thanks.”

She waited for a long moment, and then waved a hand. “Go on, then. Lunch is waiting.”

#

There was one day left of the semester, and Harry still had not told anyone his decision.

He had spent more evenings in Snape’s rooms, but Snape had not pushed him for an answer. But even though they were carrying on as usual, he was waiting. They both were. Harry had never dealt with a dilemma like this before.

Being wanted.

When the door opened to Professor Lupin’s quarters, Harry had to remind himself that he’d survived dementors and Quirrell and Voldemort and a basilisk. He could do this.

“Harry,” Sirius greeted him. Unlike Snape, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Relief, delight, anxiety—they were all written on his face. “Come on in, please.”

Professor Lupin’s quarters were similar to Snape’s, if more generic. He had not had as much time to settle into them yet, though Harry spotted several Defense books stacked on various tables.

Nearly bouncing with anticipation, Sirius led him to a study. There was a fireplace and bookshelves, but the center of the room had been turned into a dining room. “I transfigured the side table and armchairs,” Sirius said. “I’ll put them back to rights before Remus comes back.”

Harry sat down—the chair was more plush than usual, and the wood grain on the table was strangely enlarged.

“Remus left to give us some space, even though these are his quarters. I’m just staying here until the semester ends, you know. I have a house, my family’ house, but Dumbledore is making sure it’s safe to move into.”

“Safe?” Harry repeated, trying to follow the conversation. Sirius was rambling.

“It’s a long story. Besides, there are some legal issues to untangle. The Ministry’s mistake has become very public now that Peter has been arrested, but all their formal apologizing hasn’t made the process of legally clearing my name any faster. Dumbledore is leaning on them, but they don’t like admitting they were wrong. Oh, dinner!”

The house-elves, possibly taking pity on them, had sent up the first course.

“Dumbledore offered me a seat at the Head Table this week, as long as I’m staying here, but it seemed weird. Everyone would be staring, and besides, it’s strange enough to think of Moony as a teacher. I don’t need to remember that I’m as ancient as him. Dig in. If you have an appetite like your dad, I’m sure you’re starving. Or your mum, to be honest.”

For a moment, they stared at each other over the length of the table. Words had finally seemed to fail Sirius.

This man had been best friends with Harry’s parents. In another life, before Azkaban, he’d eaten meals with them.

Now, he was clumsily trying to talk to their son, who had never known them or him.

“Could you tell me about them?” Harry asked.

As they ate and talked, the awkwardness of the situation finally slipped away. Harry could not help but hang on Sirius’s every word. Lupin had told Harry some stories, but they were carefully selected. For Lupin, there was only tragedy at the end: three deaths and a traitor. But it was clear that to Sirius, the stories were a source of joy. He mentioned Pettigrew only once, and then flinched away, but it was clear that the memories of his Moony and Prongs made up for the ending of the tale. Everyone else talked about Harry’s parents like they were untouchable, like they were heroes—Sirius made them seem real for the first time since Harry had glimpsed them in the Mirror.

Once he relaxed, Harry realized that Sirius was funny. And cool. It reminded Harry of talking to Bill, only Sirius seemed as interested in listening to Harry as Harry was in listening to him.

“I used to have a flying motorbike, you know. I’ll track it down, take you on a ride. Hopefully Hagrid didn’t sell it for a dragon.”

“No, he won a dragon in a card game,” Harry said.

Sirius’s eyes lit up. “Now that sounds like a story.”

They talked long after their dessert plates were licked clean—literally in Sirius’s case. “Dog habits die hard,” he said with a wink. Harry had never talked so long with an adult who wasn’t also his teacher apart from Hagrid. Sirius treated Harry like someone he wanted to talk to, someone he was curious to know.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. He’d conjured a glass of dark wine, and was sipping from it leisurely. “I wasn’t sure you’d come see me before the end of the semester. I thought maybe you’d decided it was all too much to deal with. I’m glad I was wrong.”

“I had to think,” Harry said. “I didn’t want to bother you before I had an answer.”

Sirius frowned. “You’re not a bother, Harry,” he said.

Could Sirius really be as nervous for this conversation as Harry was? “McGonagall said that you were, er, scared of me.”

Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. “She would tell you that, wouldn’t she? Don’t let the dignified demeanor fool you, Harry. She’s got a nose for gossip, and an inability to mind her own business. She still thinks of me as a kid. To be fair, the last time she saw me I still was.”

How much older than Sirius, Lupin, and Snape was McGonagall? Teachers were teachers to Harry, but McGonagall had said she was Head of House in their time as well.

Harry remembered, suddenly, that his parents had only been twenty-one when they had been killed. It was a far-off age, in the realm of the adulthood, but surely still young to McGonagall.

“Why? Were you scared, I mean.”

“Other than the fact I only had one week to prove to my best mate’s son that I was worth bothering with?” Sirius asked. He sighed. “I thought you were living with your aunt and uncle. From what I remember about Lily’s stories of Petunia, I thought I had a chance to convince you to pick me. But you weren’t what I expected.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not like—look, James would never have volunteered to become a Snape, you know? So I was worried we wouldn’t actually have much in common. But Remus has been telling me all about you. I don’t understand how this whole thing with Snape happened, but you’re James and Lily’s kid. I wouldn’t care if you were a Slytherin. Well, maybe a little bit, but then you’d just need me around even more.” He ran a hand through his hair. It had been trimmed at some point in the last week, no longer the straggly mess it had been.

The Sorting Hat had tried to put Harry into Slytherin. How disappointed would his parents’ old friends have been with him if Hagrid hadn’t warned him away from it? How disappointed would his parents have been?

“Hell, Remus thought you and Snape had your own rivalry going on. Apparently there were a lot of stories,” Sirius added.

“We did,” Harry admitted. “But last summer—well, I ended up staying with him, and he wasn’t what I thought. Not at all.”

“So you, uh, like staying with him?”

“I… I do. We’ve gotten to know each other even more this last year.” It felt weird to defend Snape to this stranger, as much as Harry was desperate for Sirius to like him. “Snape’s been helping me.”

“I feel like I’m not going to like this conversation,” Sirius said. He laughed, but it sounded uncertain. “Just know I might hold a grudge if you don’t pick me, just for the sake of my ego. I’ve never lost to Severus Snape in my entire life.”

“Well…” Harry said. This was even harder than he’d thought it would be.

“You’re really picking him, aren’t you?” Sirius murmured, staring into his wine. “Merlin.” He swallowed the rest of the wine in a large gulp.

“Look,” Harry said, “it was a hard choice, okay? I’ve never had to do something like this. But Snape has my back, and I’ve never had that before. I can’t just throw that away because you showed up.”

“Right,” Sirius said. His energy and cheer had disappeared, leaving behind brooding quiet.

“I still want to hear more about my parents. I’ve really liked talking to Lupin this year. He’s a good professor, but he also was able to tell me about them. I think they’d want me to know you both. If you wanted, we could still see each other.”

“Are you sure Snivellus will let you visit?” Sirius asked cattily.

“I… It’s not like anyone is making you keep talking to me,” Harry said. His face felt hot. Snape and McGonagall had been so sure that Sirius cared about him, insisted that he wanted Harry. He’d have to thank them for letting him make a fool out of himself to his dad’s best mate. “If you’re mad at me, we could just. Not see each other again. I don’t need you.”

Sirius looked like he’d been slapped. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Harry said. “I’m not looking to be a burden on anyone.”

“A Potter could never be a burden on me,” Sirius said. “But how could you know that? I’m just a stranger who nearly got you and your friends killed.” He sighed and rubbed at his chest. Harry wondered if he was remembering the dementors—they had made Harry’s chest feel cold and empty in that same spot. “And I’m sure Snape has been telling you all the reasons why you should hate me.”

“He hasn’t,” Harry insisted. “And that’s partly why I decided to stay with him. He can seem overbearing, but he wants me to live the life I want, not the one everyone expects from me. When everyone else was looking at how to get what they wanted, he worried about whether I was okay. Even if it meant work for him. Even when he didn’t like me. That’s what a guardian is supposed to do, aren’t they?”

Harry took a shaky breath. Sirius was looking at him with an unreadable expression. He wasn’t hiding his emotions—there were just too many to parse.

“I used to think my parents would want me to look after myself. Everyone talked about how brave they were, and it’s not like my aunt and uncle cared about me. But I trust Snape. I wouldn’t have believed it either, but it’s true. You don’t know me. You can’t understand what that’s like for me,” Harry said. “I thought you’d maybe be happy for me. But if you’re not, if my parents wouldn’t be, then… I still have to do what’s right for me. Don’t I?”

“Oh, Merlin, please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Harry said, lying.

In a flash, Sirius had moved from his seat across the table to kneeling beside Harry’s chair.

Harry clenched his teeth, trying to wrangle himself under control. He couldn’t lose it in front of his dad’s best mate. God, he just wanted Sirius to like him. Why did he have to pick between that and keeping the strange stability he’d built with Snape? For once, Harry was wanted, and it was tearing him in two.

“Hey, look at me,” Sirius said quietly.

Harry swiped at his face, nearly knocking his glasses askew, and finally met Sirius’s eyes.

Sirius swore. “I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I? Harry, all I’ve ever wanted from the moment Lily told me she was pregnant was for you to be happy. That’s all I want. You’re not getting rid of me.” Sirius nodded to himself. “You’re not getting rid of me. Even if Snape convinces you I’m an idiot—which maybe I am. I can be a stubborn bastard, you know, and as your godfather it’s my right to bully my way into your life. If I’m being a dick, call me out, but don’t say that you never want to see me again. I’m going to make this work. I don’t care if it’s Salazar Slytherin himself who’s your guardian.”

Harry felt bowled over. “Okay,” he said.

Sirius reached up and grasped Harry’s shoulders. He stared at Harry’s face, the features so many people had told Harry were just like his parents. “James and Lily would be so proud of you. You’ve done more than any kid should have at your age. And they’d both get a kick out of you putting me in my place. Of course I want you to be happy, kid. Of course I do.”

#

If anyone asked, Severus was absolutely not lingering in his quarters long after he was ready to sleep, waiting to see if Harry would come by after his planned dinner with Black. He had been cagey when telling Severus about his plans. Of course he had been. The boy was not non-confrontational by any means, but he was still adjusting to the concept of a healthy adult authority figure in his life.

Harry would almost certainly make this more awkward than it needed to be. As soon as he was sure that Black was not going to laugh in his face and take back his offer, Harry would try to find a delicate way to explain his choice to Severus.

Imagine, a thirteen-year-old boy fearing hurting the feelings of a man twenty years his senior. It was absurd.

Severus had met Harry’s worst expectations for the first two years of their acquaintance. This was one final chance he had to prove to Harry that even when delivering a rejection, Severus could remain the adult in the situation. He would not make Harry feel any worse about the decision than he surely already did.

Once, Severus might have thought Harry would spend the evening laughing with Black about Severus. The fear hadn’t disappeared entirely—Black’s presence would always have an effect on Severus’s composure—but he knew Harry too well to truly believe it.

He had a book open, but he had not read a word of it in the past quarter hour.

Just when Severus was prepared to accept Harry was not coming by that evening, the portrait creaked open. Harry slipped inside carefully.

“Good evening,” Severus said.

“Can I come in?”

“We’ve discussed this. You have the password for a reason. These rooms are yours to use.” Severus would be sure Harry knew that offer was still open when the next semester started. After all, it would be…strange to do his work without the boy’s quiet presence, even if he was no longer Harry’s guardian. Theirs was an unusual circumstance, and Severus was sure Albus would approve of a continued mentorship.

Unless Harry chose to spend all his time with Lupin. Lupin would probably have Black over every other weekend.

Harry sat down, and Severus’s eyes narrowed. It was late and the fire was growing low—a deliberate technique from the house-elves to encourage people to head to bed—but he could see the splotches on Harry’s cheeks. He had been crying. “What happened?” Severus demanded. “What did Black do?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “I’m fine.”

Severus gave him a level stare. He had promised Harry that he would not force him to reveal his secrets, but Severus did not appreciate being lied to.

Harry scrubbed his face. “Really, it’s fine. I’m fine. It was just a hard conversation. It was a lot for both of us, I think.”

“Did he…not react how you had hoped?” Severus had expected manly hugging and possibly matching stick-and-poke tattoos.

“Not exactly,” Harry admitted.

“Did he change his mind?” Severus asked, careful to keep his fury from his voice. That immature fool. It was so very Black to offer a lifelong commitment on a whim and then take it back once it became real.

“Uh, no,” Harry said. “I told him I wanted to stay with you.”

Severus was quiet for a moment. The swell of emotion was difficult to parse, and he felt as though he had stepped onto a false stair.

“Unless you—”

Severus held up a hand. “If you finish that sentence with another attempt to make me rescind my offer, I’m going to make you do lines.”

“What?” Harry squawked, surprised out of his discomfort.

“Four hundred, I think. Perhaps ‘I will not presume everyone who professes to care for me is lying.’”

“Hey, now, hold on—”

“You truly told him you wished to stay with me?” Severus asked suddenly.

“I, yeah,” Harry said. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, “I still want to get to know Sirius. He invited me to visit a week or two during the summer. But you’re my guardian. I know it started weird, and that you only offered to help me get away from the Dursleys. I didn’t know it would be like this. That it could be like…”

“Like what?” Severus prompted.

“Like having a parent,” Harry said finally. “I know that’s not what this is, but I… I finally get what Ron and Hermione mean when they talk about theirs. Someone to rely on. I never thought I’d have that. I don’t want to throw that away.”

What had Severus done to earn this boy’s loyalty? He had been abused for years, ignored and neglected and oppressed. Severus had done nothing to help until it was nearly too late. Severus did not bake cookies or play catch. He gave advice, listened to Harry’s stories, learned to appreciate the boy’s wit, and—often—simply shared space with him.

It was what someone else should have done. His aunt and uncle should have appreciated him. Minvera should have seen the signs. The Weasleys should have made room for him. There had been a dozen opportunities for someone else to earn the right to provide stability to Harry.

But no one else had.

Let Sirius Black whine and moan all he wanted. Harry had made his decision, and Severus was far too Slytherin to step away and let a lesser man take over.

#

It was strange to take the Hogwarts Express back to London when he and Snape could have Flooed to Spinner’s End from Hogsmeade. On the way to Hogwarts in the fall, Snape had dropped Harry off at King’s Cross so Harry could make the journey with his friends while Snape himself had declared he’d had too much of the train for one lifetime.

When Harry had arrived at Hogwarts, still pale and shaking from the dementors, Snape had announced that he’d suddenly changed his mind and would be riding the train with the students from then on.

Harry wished that Snape had just let him take the Floo when they boarded the train and Ron opted to sit in another car with Dean and Seamus.

Ron had been giving Harry the silent treatment since the night under the Whomping Willow. At first, Harry had thought Ron was recovering from his broken leg, but Madame Pomfrey had taken it out of its cast after three days.

When Ron shuffled along to the next car, ears red and not looking at Harry or Hermione, Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him into another car. Neville was inside, talking quietly to his Mimbulus Mimbletonia. He nodded to them in greeting.

“Harry, you know how Ron is,” Hermione said. “He’ll get over it.”

“He didn’t talk to you for months!” Harry pointed out.

“Yes, well, he’s gotten over that,” Hermione said. “It’s obvious Crookshanks really didn’t kill Pettigrew, though I almost wish she had. But then Sirius would still be a wanted man.”

Harry didn’t want to talk about Sirius either. “Yeah, but the thing Ron is mad at me about is true,” he pointed out.

“Still,” she said. “He’ll realize you’re still you. You just have to give him some time.”

“And you’re not mad?” Harry confirmed.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. “I told you, I figured it out ages ago. Even if I hadn’t noticed you seemed more happy because of it, I would have forgiven him as soon as he helped save Buckbeak. If anything proves he’s changed for you, it’s that.”

For the rest of the ride in, Hermione began reading a fourth-level Charms textbook while Harry stared out the window. The dementors were long-gone, and the sky was a clear blue outside. Still, it wasn’t the train ride he’d hoped it would be.

At the station, Harry unloaded his trunk and Hedwig’s cage, and scanned the crowd for Snape. Hermione’s parents were beyond in the Muggle section of the station, so she gave him a hug and promised to write that summer before scampering off.

Really, Harry and Snape should have talked about this part before they’d boarded the train. With Harry’s luck, he’d end up lost in London.

A nondescript man with a bland face and a low brown ponytail came to stand alongside Harry. Harry glanced up at him, worried the schoolyear had one more adventure in store. “Polyjuice Potion,” Snape’s voice said from the unfamiliar face. “I believe you’re aware of its effects.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Harry said neutrally, and Snape snorted. Maybe he had noticed the lacewing flies disappearing last year.

“The hair is from a French colleague of mine who doesn’t mind muddying the waters about his exact location. I thought people would notice if I picked you up from the station,” Snape said. “We’re not ready to be quite so public about this.”

Harry nodded and then jumped when a voice shouted his name. “Harry! Oh, Harry, there you are. Ron thought you’d already left.”

Molly Weasley bustled up, all of her children in tow. Ron was sulking behind her, still not looking at Harry. The twins had already changed out of their school robes into something patched together and utterly flamboyant. They’d draw stares in King’s Cross, which might have been their intention. If anyone was going to violate the Statute of Secrecy for fun, it was Ron’s brothers.

“Good, good, I wanted to check in on you, Harry. It’s been quite the year you’ve had. Sirius Black back—and innocent! I always knew. He was a good kid, came into Hogwarts during my seventh year. I knew he wouldn’t… Well, anyway. I assume this is…” She glanced at Harry’s companion and whispered, “Professor Snape?”

Snape nodded once.

Behind her, Ron looked repulsed.

“Dumbledore told us the situation,” Molly assured them. “He let the Order know. Half their business now is keeping Harry safe anyway, and people would be wondering why Arabella wasn’t reporting anymore.”

“Arabella as in…?”

Harry was cut off by Molly waving a hand and continuing, “I’m throwing a party to welcome Sirius back. I wanted to do it right away, but Remus says the poor man needs some rest. We’re going to have it at the end of June. You’ll come, won’t you, Harry?”

“Of course,” Harry said. It would be a chance to prove to Sirius that Harry wasn’t letting Snape scare him off getting to know him.

“Professor, you’re invited as well, of course,” Molly said.

“I must decline.” It was odd to see this stranger wearing Snape’s perfectly blank expression.

“Well, if you change you mind, you’re always welcome,” Molly said. “I suppose that’s it. I need to get the kids back. Arthur had to work today, or he’d be helping me wrangle everyone. We’re taking a Portkey with the Lovegoods to a nearby town to get out of London proper, and we’ll need to hurry to catch it.” She gave Harry a smacking kiss on the cheek, and then bustled away with her kids.

The twins waved to Harry and Ginny gave him a small nod, but Ron just walked away.

Harry watched them go until Snape’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Come on,” Severus said. “We’ll Apparate outside my wards.”

#

Severus thought that, perhaps, there would be an adjustment period to living together full-time at Spinner’s End again. At Hogwarts, Harry could come by Severus’s quarters when he was feeling an urge for his companionship, and spend the rest of his time with his friends.

Though last summer they had found their own rhythm after Harry’s revelations about the Dursleys, Severus feared it would not be so easy now.

Then, Harry was still so bewildered to find himself free from his aunt and uncle that he had looked at Severus with something alarmingly close to hero worship. After their neglect, Severus’s most basic sense of humanity had seemed revolutionary. It showed more than anything Harry’s refusal to nurse a grudge.

They were both aware that until that summer, Severus had received too much pleasure in tormenting Harry and his classmates. For the first two years of Harry’s schooling at Hogwarts, Severus had believed himself back in his own schooldays, with James Potter Jr. on a mission to defy and destroy him. He had, with an astounding lack of awareness for any of the players involved, seen his treatment of Harry as some sort of cosmic balancing.

Severus had worked for the past year to treat Harry as Harry—a thirteen-year-old with the weight of the world on his shoulders since birth. A boy who had been neglected and beaten by his guardians, mocked by his teachers—namely Severus himself, hunted by the worst murderers and maniacs the world had known.

And Harry, with an easy forgiveness Severus could not have found in himself at any cost, had moved past Severus’s years of trespasses.

For most of the day, Severus worked in his lab while Harry entertained himself. He flew around the small grounds, avoiding the wards, wrote and received long letters, and—at Severus’s prompting—got a head start on his homework.

They ate three meals a day together in the kitchen. After last summer, Severus made a point to watch that Harry was getting enough food.

“I can cook sometimes,” Harry said over breakfast one morning.

“I’ve told you that you don’t need to cook here,” Severus said.

Harry poked at his eggs. “It’s just… Well, I prefer my eggs a bit less cooked.”

Severus frowned down at his own plate. They did look a bit rubbery. “You believe you can do better?”

“Definitely,” Harry said firmly.

“Well,” Severus said carefully, “if you would like to cook…”

“Oh, thank God,” Harry said.

For lunch, Harry cooked seared salmon and mashed potatoes. The smells floated down to Severus’s lab, and he emerged with a growling stomach.

“What is this?” Severus asked, poking at a piece of green on the fish. He had, after all, been Harry’s Potions Master for three years, and had a valid fear of the boy’s work.

“Dill,” Harry said, already eating his own plate with clear satisfaction. “The herbs in your garden are good for more than potions.”

Severus took a bite and hummed with surprise. It was delicious, and Harry’s smugness was palpable for the rest of the meal. They ended up coming up with a split schedule for their meals—Severus refused to let Harry take on all the work, despite his clear skill. Harry grumbled at Severus’s overuse of boiling, but agreed.

Harry tended to work on his schoolwork in the evenings when Severus read through scholarly journals by the fire, asking Severus for clarifications or commenting on what he was learning. It was a familiar routine, one they had perfected over the last year at Hogwarts. The house-elves could not send them snacks, so Severus made sure to summon tea and biscuits from the kitchen when they settled in.

So, no, it was not their own routine that first caused trouble, but the quickly oncoming Weasley party.

“They said I can Floo over tomorrow afternoon,” Harry said over breakfast. It was one of Harry’s days, and he had roasted bangers to go with baked beans and toast. “They’ll still be setting up, but I think Mrs. Weasley wants me to feel more like part of the family than a guest. Not sure how Ron will feel about that.”

“You’re still not speaking to him?” Harry had dropped brief hints about a divide between him and his best friend.

“He’s not talking to me,” Harry said. “Either he wasn’t told his mum, or she’s hoping we’ll patch it up at the party. I don’t think she’s met her son. He’s more stubborn than anyone.”

“But he cares for you,” Severus said. “You’ve told me what he’s done—sacrificed himself in Minerva’s chess match, entered the Chamber of Secrets by your side. Surely whatever small argument you’re having will clear up soon.”

He had argued with Lily often in their younger years, until that moment he had ruined things forever. He hoped that Harry was wiser than he was. Some things were unforgiveable, and Severus had regretted his temper ever since that day.

“I don’t know…” Harry prevaricated. He glanced up at Severus. “It’s nothing. If he doesn’t get over it, well—maybe he wasn’t the friend I thought he was.”

Severus hummed and took a sip of his tea.

Harry seemed to argue with himself for a moment, and then changed the subject, “Do you ever go flying?”

“Merlin, no,” Severus said. “There are enough ways to facilitate my death in the safety of my own lab.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, you’ve got a nice loop up there. I could help you learn,” Harry said.

Severus hid a wince. “Ah, that’s very kind of you, but I’ll keep my feet on the ground.”

“Okay,” Harry said easily. “I’ll fly with the Weasleys, I’m sure. And Sirius says there’s a field near Lupin’s house they can set up for practice when I’m over.”

Of course Sirius had said that. His letters to Harry, which Severus had seen Harry poring over several times each, were likely full of all the reasons Harry should regret choosing to live with Severus.

“Okay, I’m going to go out for a flight then,” Harry said, picking up his plate and taking it to the sink. It had taken a long time to truly convince Harry that Severus didn’t need him to clean his dishes—Severus had eventually taught him the simple cleaning spell to assure him that it was no extra work for Severus at all.

“Stay safe,” Severus instructed. With the amount of wards and alarms Severus had set on the property, it would be difficult for Harry to properly injure himself, but Severus didn’t put it past him. This was a boy who had crawled through a pipe to fight a basilisk, after all. Reasonable precautions did not seem to apply.

Severus finished his tea and picked up the Prophet. He started toward his lab downstairs only to be interrupted by the chime of his Floo activating. Severus had installed a locked grate in front of it to dissuade any unwanted visitors and was alerted whenever it was contacted, but he still disliked the ease it gave people into his home. Before Harry, he had kept his Floo off the network, but Dumbledore had convinced him to activate it for Harry’s sake.

Severus flicked his wand to permit the caller through the ward. A familiar head appeared, floating in the green flames.

“Lupin,” Severus drawled. “This is unexpected.”

“Hello, Severus,” Lupin greeted.

“Is this about the Wolfsbane? You know, the potion you opted not to take this past month?”

“I had other priorities that night,” Lupin said.

“Ah, that’s a comforting thing to hear from a werewolf. So pleased Dumbledore decided to have you back again next year despite your little stunt.”

“No, Severus, it’s not about the potion,” Lupin pressed, “though I do appreciate you offering to continue providing my dose through the summer until we’re back in the fall.”

“Harry is out flying,” Severus told him. “If you want to talk to him, you can owl and set up a time. I’m not interested in playing secretary.”

“I’m calling to talk to you,” Lupin said. “I thought if I gave you warning, you’d avoid the call.”

Severus could not argue with that. He sat in the armchair facing the fire and crossed one leg over the other. “Proceed, then.”

“Molly says you aren’t coming to the party tomorrow,” Lupin said.

Severus blinked. “I assume you were toasting this news with champagne,” he said.

Lupin huffed. “Severus, you can’t be serious.”

“Fortunately not.”

“A Sirius pun? Really? I expected better of you. If it will dissuade you from doing that again, please just assume Sirius has made every conceivable joke possible.” He shook his head. “I’m calling to ask you to reconsider.”

“Lupin, we’ve known each other for nearly twenty-five years, and have been colleagues for the last nine months. I’m sure you are aware that I’m not interested in voluntarily spending more time with you, Black, or anyone else attending that party.”

“And what about Harry?”

“Fortunately I am able to see Harry plenty often without leaving with him to another house,” Severus pointed out.

“You know, we were all stunned when Harry told us you were his guardian,” Lupin said. “I was still reeling from finding out that Peter was alive. I didn’t think I could be more surprised. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Everyone said you had mellowed out this year, and the reckless Harry I expected from Minerva’s stories also seemed nowhere to be found. I still don’t know how it came about, but it seems to have done wonders for you both.”

“And this is relevant to the party how?”

“If you truly care for Harry, you won’t isolate him.”

Severus was quickly moving from annoyance into anger. It roiled inside him, and he swallowed it with difficulty. “I did not tell him not to attend the party. He has my full permission to go.”

“Yeah, but,” Lupin said, “does he feel like you want him to go? Sirius told me about his dinner with Harry. Harry was worried he was having to decide between the two of you. You hate each other so much that he was sure whichever person he didn’t pick would never speak to him again.”

“I have my reasons, as you well know,” Severus hissed.

“You have an ugly childhood rivalry that you’ve both let live too long,” Lupin said. “I’ve tried my best to demonstrate that it’s possible to work congenially alongside an old rival this year, with no help from you. And I didn’t care, because I was proving to myself that I’d grown beyond what we all were in school. It didn’t matter to me if you had the emotional development of a twelve-year-old.”

“Excuse me?”

“But now that I know you’re Harry’s guardian, I can’t sit back and watch you try to starve out the only connections the boy has to his parents. I know you knew Lily once—”

“Don’t tell him that,” Severus said. “He doesn’t know.”

“Severus,” Lupin said gently.

“I know what I did wrong. Telling him won’t change the past—it will only hurt him.”

Lupin nodded. “I won’t tell him. But the point stands. Sirius and I would do anything for James and Lily’s son. From what I’ve seen, Harry could use a few more people in his corner.”

“The Boy Who Lived…” Severus drawled.

“Yes,” Lupin said. “And I think we both know that’s done more to isolate him than give him any sort of support. Come to the party, Severus. Show Harry that you won’t hate him for spending time with Sirius.”

“Lupin, no one wants me at this party,” Severus said. “We’ll all be miserable.”

“Everyone just wants Harry to be safe and happy. Just try not being a complete twat and you’ll see more people will want you around than you think,” Lupin said. “And if not, you can at least show Harry you tried.”

“I don’t need parenting advice from you,” Severus said.

“Merlin, and you shouldn’t take it from me. This is just a friendly word from someone who cares about Harry—and Sirius. If you’re looking for advice, though, I’m sure Molly Weasley will be happy to talk to you.” Lupin laughed at the expression on Severus’s face. “And—oh, that’s the door. Sirius is home. I should go.”

“He has no idea you’re talking to me,” Severus guessed.

Lupin gave him a crooked smile and disappeared.

#

The Weasleys’ backyard was decorated in red and gold streamers, and orbs of multi-colored lights floated over the grass like balloons. A groaning table sat on the lawn covered in platters of food, along with a multi-tiered cake as crooked as the Burrow behind it. There was no banner declaring what the occasion was. What could they have put? ‘Welcome back, Sirius’ didn’t quite allow for the fact he’d been in prison for twelve years.

The Weasleys all gathered together already created a large crowd, and there were a half-dozen other people besides. Mrs. Weasley had assured Harry when he and Snape had stepped through the fireplace that everyone in attendance was trusted implicitly by Dumbledore and would be prepared for Snape’s presence, and Snape had nodded to agree.

Some, he recognized: Sirius and Lupin, obviously. McGonagall was present, wearing a tartan robe and talking to another older woman Harry didn’t recognize. Hagrid had come as well, giving Harry an enormous smile when he spotted him. Hermione had written to tell him she was in France with her parents for the summer, but Harry still looked around in the hopes that she would be there.

Sirius was in the middle of talking to one of the strangers, a small man with a top hat, when he saw Harry. He extricated himself and strode across the yard. “Harry!” he greeted, sweeping Harry into a hug. Harry’s feet left the ground as Sirius twirled him in a circle. “Merlin, that was easier before you turned one,” he said, setting Harry back down. “I’m so glad you could come.”

Harry laughed, relieved by the enthusiastic welcome. They’d been exchanging letters all summer, but Harry had known showing up with Snape beside him was a risk.

Snape had changed his mind at the last moment to come along, and had even changed from his usual black ensemble into a, well, similar black robe, but lined in emerald green.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Harry said. “How are you?” It had only been three weeks since they’d said goodbye, but Sirius was already looking healthier. He’d put on some weight, filling in his gaunt cheekbones, and his hair was lush under the glowing lights.

“Fine, fine. Still mooching off Moony’s kindness while we get my old house sorted out,” he said. “I’ve been catching up on everything I missed. Someday you need to tell me about all the stories I keep hearing about you. To talk to half your professors, you’d think you’re a regular Kid Superman.”

“How do you know about Muggle superheroes?”

Sirius laughed. “One of my other best mates, Dorcas, was a Muggleborn. I spent some time in Muggle London in my teens, even. She’s the one who introduced me to good Muggle music. Do people still listen to Queen?”

“My aunt and uncle hated most music,” Harry admitted, “but I heard Queen at some school events. That ‘we will rock you’ song?” He flushed, feeling silly. “People liked to clap and stomp along, you know?”

“And that’s it? Oh, Harry, I have so much to teach you,” Sirius said. He looped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him forward. “Come on—you need to meet everyone.”

Harry glanced back at Snape, but let Sirius lead him into the crowd.

#

“Why, hello, Severus,” Lupin greeted.

Severus suppressed a sigh. He turned from watching Black dragging Harry around to talk to the other professor. “Lupin.”

“I see you took my advice,” he prompted.

“Obviously,” Snape said. “Do Gryffindors know other colors exist?” he added, nodding to the streamers.

“House loyalty,” Lupin said. “Do Slytherins not cover their parties in green and silver?”

“Decidedly not,” Severus said, though it wasn’t entirely true. Even the Malfoys, who were the height of class, tended to throw in extra silver and green into their décor.

“Severus,” Minerva said, coming up to them. From the glass in her hand and the glow to her cheeks, this wasn’t her first sherry. She had an arm around her companion’s waist. “I didn’t think you’d come!”

“Hello, Severus,” said her wife, Elsie. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Bonjour, Elsie,” he said, nodding to her. “It’s been a long time.”

Minerva’s wife was a magiarcheologist, and spent the school semesters traveling the world for her research. Though nearly Minerva’s age, Elsie seemed nowhere near slowing down. A few of the professors’ spouses lived in Hogsmeade so they had a chance at having family time during the school year, but Elsie lived in her native Paris when she wasn’t traveling.

“I’ve always adored Sirius. I was more than relieved when I heard the news that he was innocent,” Elsie said. “He stayed with us for part of one summer when he was having troubles at home. Do you remember that, Minnie?”

“Of course,” Minerva said. “See, Severus, you’re not so unique.”

Severus forced a small smile, but he seethed inside. Of course Black had whined about his home life and been immediately taken in by his Head of House. Where had this generosity been for Harry? Or Severus himself? It always seemed that the charismatic attention magnets got all the world’s empathy, and the rest were left to suffer. Was it only that Black had asked for help, or was there something else about him that made people care?

He was still dragging Harry around the gathering, introducing him to the old members of the Order as though he had any right to speak for Harry at all.

“Sirius talked about that summer for ages,” Lupin commented. “As though he weren’t already unbearably posh before then. You should never have let him into the wizard area of the Louvre.”

“A boy needs some time in Paris before he’s too set in his ways to absorb it all,” Elsie said wisely.

“Ah, yes, poor Sirius Black,” Severus said. “How would he have survived without a summer in Paris? It’s truly lucky he had the two of you.”

“Severus, you do recall that he just escaped from being wrongly held in Azkaban, don’t you? I don’t think a bit of sympathy for the man is out of line,” Minerva asked. So, perhaps not entirely over their spat.

“Of course,” Severus said. “Pardon me. I’m going to grab some refreshments.”

He strode away without waiting for farewells.

#

When Harry finally ducked away from Sirius and the stream of strangers giddily welcoming Sirius back, he slipped into the house. It was blessedly quiet after the chaos of the outside. Everyone was eager to talk to Sirius, and Sirius seemed only buoyed higher and higher by the conversations. Harry, meanwhile, felt drained. There was so much everyone was not saying. They were skating around Sirius’s time in prison as though he’d been on holiday, avoiding mentioning Snape’s presence at all, and pausing awkwardly when anyone mentioned Lily or James—which they seemed to do non-stop.

He didn’t know how Sirius was doing it. Harry could not have laughed so much after everything Sirius had been through.

He took the short hallway to the kitchen to see if there were some snacks away from the prying eyes around the tables outside. He found a plate of biscuits and was about to pick one up when someone stepped into the kitchen from deeper in the house. They both froze.

“What are you doing in here?” Ron asked, arms crossed.

Ron had been outside when Harry had first arrived, but he’d disappeared in the first few minutes.

“What, am I not allowed in here anymore?” Harry demanded. “After first year, it was ‘make yourself at home, Harry.’ Now it’s ‘what are you doing in here?’”

Ron flushed, but didn’t answer.

Harry gritted his teeth. “So, were you hiding in here? Going to ignore me all night?”

“I’m surprised you even noticed, with your new dad to keep you company,” Ron spat.

Harry flinched. “Really, Ron?”

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?” Ron challenged. “How long has this been going on? What happened to hating Snape? Suddenly you’re a mini-Slytherin?”

“He’s not as bad as we thought,” Harry said. “This year, he’s been—”

“An entire year?” Ron asked. “Merlin, I thought I knew you. Did you tell Hermione? Were you laughing about me not knowing this whole time?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Harry said. “It wasn’t safe.”

“Not safe? Who got their leg broken this year, huh?”

Harry frowned. “That wasn’t Snape.”

“No, but it was your fault, wasn’t it? After everything, you do something like this and don’t even tell me? It’s like we’re not even friends.”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d act like this!” Harry snapped. “You ignored Hermione for months for something she didn’t do. How was I supposed to explain Snape?”

“Oh, so you’re the victim here,” Ron scoffed.

“You don’t know what it’s like not to have parents!” Harry shouted. “You saw, you saw what the Dursleys did to me after first year! You had to break the bars on my windows to get me out. You wanted me to stay with them forever? I had a chance to get away from them, and I took it.”

Ron looked shocked. “You would have told me if it had been that bad,” he said. “I thought it was some Muggle thing.”

“Even Muggles don’t lock up and starve their kids, Ron,” Harry said. “If that was happening to you, I wouldn’t wonder if it was some wizard thing. I would have helped you.”

“You never said anything,” Ron said hollowly.

“Yeah, I did,” Harry said. He was shaking with anger. “And everyone thought it was a one-time thing, or that I was exaggerating, or that it wasn’t as bad as I said, so I stopped talking about it. But Snape listened to me. And I don’t care if you stop talking to me. Because the only person who has ever cared was someone I thought hated me. And everyone I thought I could trust just left me there.”

“Mate,” Ron said, but Harry couldn’t listen anymore.

He shook his head and left the kitchen.

There were two people already in the hallway, standing in front of the door and talking in hushed voices. Sirius and Lupin. Harry hesitated. He didn’t want to interrupt, but the only other way out of the house was back through the kitchen.

“You’ve had enough, Sirius,” Lupin said, taking a glass from Sirius’s hand.

“What do they want from me, Moony?” Sirius asked, gesturing back toward the party outside. “I’m not who I used to be.”

“No one asked you to be the same.”

“They did. They do,” Sirius said. He plucked the glass back from Lupin and downed it. “No time for this. Back into the fray.”

“You could take a break,” Lupin said, but Sirius was already walking back out.

Lupin sighed and stared after him before finally following.

Harry lingered in the hallway until he thought it wouldn’t be obvious he’d been behind them, and then went back into the yard.

If Harry hadn’t overheard the conversation, he would have had no idea Sirius was unhappy with the party. He was beaming at Mrs. Weasley, and kissed her cheek with a wet smack.

Harry looked over the mingling guests, but he felt as though his insides had been scooped out. A sick feeling lingered in his throat. He worried that he might be about to cry, and blanched to imagine doing so in the middle of the festivities.

Snape was across the yard, talking to Hagrid. Hagrid seemed delighted, and kept patting Snape on the shoulder with obvious affection. Snape wasn’t running away, but seemed to be focusing most of his energy on keeping his feet under the onslaught. Harry knew from experience that Hagrid could accidentally knock over a hippogriff with his gentle pats.

“’Arry,” Hagrid greeted when Harry approached them. “I was just telling Severus here about how cute you were when you were a babe. Such a shame he never got to see you like that. Such a precious thing you were.”

Harry turned bright red. “I, uh, thanks. Do you mind if I steal Sna—uh, him for a second?”

“Of course, of course,” Hagrid said. He ruffled Harry’s hair. “Look at you. A new guardian and Sirius back. It’s going to be a good time for you. I just know it.” He wandered over to McGonagall and her guest, still smiling.

Harry and Snape stood in silence for a moment, a pocket of calm in the chaos.

“You can call me Severus,” Snape said suddenly. “If you want to. I know we haven’t worried about it before, but there’s no reason to use my last name or ‘professor’ when we’re with people who know.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Okay.” He hadn’t thought about how weird it was to call his guardian by his last name. When he was with Snape—Severus—he usually didn’t call him anything at all. He was glad, suddenly, Severus hadn’t told him to call him Dad. That might have been the final straw for Harry’s night.

“Is everything all right?” Severus asked.

“Yeah, just… Can we go home?”

Severus didn’t ask any questions. He just nodded. “Do you want to say goodbye to anyone?”

“Not really,” Harry admitted.

It seemed that everyone in the crowd was as intimidated by Severus as Harry had once been. When he stalked through the party with single-minded focus, Harry trotting along behind him, no one tried to stop him. They made it through the fireplace without being accosted, and Harry stepped back into Spinner’s End and finally took a full breath.

Home.