Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

*

Meetings

*

Ron glanced around. "Where do you think Harry is?" he asked. "Or whatever Michael he is now. And who are his real parents, anyway?" The redhead was understandably rather curious.

"Professors Lupin and Snape," Hermione told him for the umpteenth time. He'd been asking the same question ever since the letter from Michael had arrived. "I'd think you'd understood that by now."

"But it can't be true!" argued the redhead. "Two men can't have a child together! And it's especially impossible that Lupin would ever have anything to do with Snape. And I refuse to believe that Harry might be Snape's son! So, it must be some kind of a twisted joke, though why he'd joke with something like that, I don't know. I suppose we'll soon find out, though."

Sighing, Hermione decided not to try for the seventy-third time explain Ron that yes, in the Wizarding World, men could indeed get pregnant, and that Lupin and Snape could very well be together. And that Harry wasn't really Harry anymore. It was quite stunning, she decided, how she seemingly knew more about the Wizarding World than Ron, who had lived in it ever since he'd been born.

Then, however, she was startled by a sharp voice. "Granger and Weasley!" called out the all-too-familiar voice of their Potions Master. "Can't I really get a moment of peace from you even on my holidays?"

"But, Professor --" Hermione started to say, turning towards Professor Snape, but froze as she actually saw him. Ron, too, froze, staring in disbelief at the man in front of them.

The face and scowl belonged to Snape, all right. However, both their minds were having a hard time trying to accept that the honey brown pigtails, large pink bows, frilly summer dress, and rag doll might belong to the same man. As these all were present right in front of their eyes, however, their state of mind started to sway from disbelieving to dangerously shaken. Soon they'd probably start to sing "Jingle Bells".

Just as they were bordering on insanity thanks to the mind-boggling picture in front of them, however, the "Professor" suddenly started to giggle. "You should have seen your faces!" he laughed, walking nearer to them and tossing the rag doll onto the floor, obviously not needing it anymore. The voice no more was that of Snape, either. Even though it was a strange one, there was also a sting of familiarity in it, though they couldn't really place it anywhere. "Really, that was the best one in ages!"

Naturally, Hermione was the first one to grasp the truth. "...Harry?" she asked, then quickly corrected herself, "Er, Michael? Is that -- is that you?" She stared at the boy she supposed was her friend.

The "Snape" nodded, still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Yeah, it's me," he said, sounding very amused. "I wanted to surprise you properly. Dad helped me with the Glamouring Charms."

"So it's just a Glamouring Charm?" asked Ron as soon as he recovered from the worst shock. He was sounding almost desperate now. At Michael's nod, he sighed deeply in relief. "Good. Now, take that nose away, and quick. You're creeping me out, looking like Snape."

"I'm sorry, Ron," the other boy replied amusedly. "I can't take away the nose, as it is not a glamour. It's real. Because of some unfortunate game of the fate I have managed to get the infamous Snape nose. Although I do think I told you about that in my letter, so if you still haven't realized it..."

"He's just in denial," Hermione told him cheerfully. "Ever since your letter came he's been chanting that two men, and especially Professors Lupin and Snape, can't have children together. I've been trying to tell him otherwise, but alas, he has not listened to a word of mine, as you can see."

"I can truly see that," replied Michael with a solemn nod. Turning towards Ron, he said with his almost perfect Snape imitation, "Mister Weasley, you truly ought to listen to your annoying know-it-all friend here. At least, unlike you, she has some grasp on the concept of procreation in the Wizarding World."

Before Ron could respond, however, somebody cleared their throat behind them. Turning around, they saw the real Professor Snape, menacing as ever, even though his robes were a dark blue colour instead of the usual black, and his scowl was not exactly as threatening as usually. "Now, Michael, if you're quite done with abusing my reputation," he said dryly, "I would appreciate it if you actually came down to our quarters. Remus has been looking forward to talking with your friends, you know." Then, with a meaningful glance at his son's current attire, he continued, "Why, Michael, I never knew of this hobby of yours. Are you sure you don't want me to ask the Headmaster to allow you to use a girl's uniform this coming year?"

Ron, who had somewhat miraculously managed to recover from the shock of Snape not immediately biting Michael's off as he saw what was happening, snickered. As Michael shot him a halfhearted glare, he turned defensive. "What? You have to admit that it was pretty amusing!"

"No, it wasn't," muttered Michael. Then, again smiling, he turned towards Hermione. "Oh, and Hermione, I finished reading Hogwarts: A History yesterday. You were right; it is really very interesting."

"Really?!" Hermione looked absolutely delighted. "That's fantastic! At last I'll have somebody to talk about it with! How did you start to read it? And where did you get it from, anyway?"

"Well, I asked Dad if he had anything for me to read," replied the black-eyed boy cheerfully. "He recommended it for me. It appears that, despite calling me and Dad bookworms, Father here has quite a fascinating collection of literature. I think I saw even a couple of Shakespeare's plays on his shelf."

"Really?" Hermione turned to look at their Potions Professor with fascination in her eyes. "I never thought of you as one to have any respect for Muggle literature, Professor Snape. No offense, of course."

"None taken," Snape replied mildly. "Even though I am the Head of Slytherin, I do not necessarily share the opinions that all Slytherins are stereotypically assumed to have. And as we are all currently on holiday and you are my son's friends, I think it might be appropriate for you to call me just Severus."

Ron's eyes almost popped out of his head as he heard this. Hermione just smiled, although it had to be admitted that her smile was a bit nervous. Something like this didn't happen every day, after all.

Ron and Hermione seemed just as startled to see the decorations of the Snape quarters as Michael and Remus had been. They both looked delighted, though, to see Remus there, healthy and smiling. He truly looked better than he had on their third year, although there was a tinge of tiredness and worry in him that nothing seemed to erase. Well, Michael couldn't really blame him for that.

"It's nice to see you, Ron, Hermione," Remus said, smiling warmly as he rose from the armchair he'd been seated in to greet their guests. "I hope you're both doing well."

"Yes, we are," Hermione replied, smiling. "It's nice to see you, too, Professor Lupin."

"Oh, please," Remus laughed. "I'm not your professor anymore, Hermione. Just call me Remus."

"Okay, Remus." It seemed that this was much easier for them to accept than the invitation to call Severus by his given name. Well, that was most probably because they actually liked Remus.

"Maybe you'd like to go to change your clothes, Michael, while I talk with your friends," Remus then said amusedly, earning a halfhearted glare from his son. Michael still did as he was instructed, disappearing into his room. While he stayed there, Remus talked with Ron and Hermione, Severus listening but not talking.

When Michael finally emerged from his room, wearing jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, his hair down, Hermione jumped up from her seat. "Oh, you absolutely must show your room!" she exclaimed. "No offense, Remus, it was really interesting to talk with you. But I want to talk with Michael, too!"

"It's okay, Hermione," Remus said, smiling. "I understand completely."

So, Ron and Hermione followed Michael into his room, preparing themselves for a long conversation. This, well, stranger in front of them knew everything about them, all those little details only very close friends might know. They, however, didn't know practically anything about him, anything at all.

But they'd be damned if they didn't at least try their best to find out.

*

Michael sighed as he glanced at the mirror, making sure he was presentable. Today, they would welcome Professor Manson to Hogwarts, and everybody was required to be there -- even Michael. As he thought about the woman, his mind wandered to the discussion he'd had with his fathers after hearing of her.

*

It wasn't until in their quarters that Michael caught his fathers, who obviously had been walking pretty fast to get to the peace of their own rooms as soon as possible. As the boy walked to the living room of the quarters, he found both his parents sitting on the couch, Severus's arms wrapped comfortingly Remus as the werewolf sat in his lap, trembling slightly. Seeing Michael coming in, Severus merely raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the nearby armchair, urging his son to sit down onto it. When Michael did as was told, the Potions Master then started to speak, at the same time petting his lover's hair with one hand.

"Monica Manson," the Slytherin started, "is the worst of all evil. Her heart, if such a thing exists within her chest, is dark as a midnight in the middle of winter and cold as the polar ice. The only way she can find happiness is by torturing and killing other beings, preferably other humans. As laws prohibited that, she tried, and managed, to get the post of the werewolf executor for the Ministry. Nobody quite cares how a werewolf is treated before their death, as long as they stay dead afterwards. Many times she has taken delight at the last, fading whimpers of her victim as she finally gets enough and delivers the last strike."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "So, in short, she's a psychopathic bitch?" he concluded.

Severus's lips drew into a thin smile. "That's about it, yes," he admitted. Then he embraced his husband even tighter, the long, fine fingers never leaving the golden locks. "Promise me something, Michael. No matter how friendly she may seem, no matter how convincing, do not trust her. For your own sake and ours, do not trust her even for the shortest of moments. Ever."

Michael merely nodded, not saying anything in response. Despite being close to them only for a brief time, he'd known his both parents for years, and knew what they were like generally. Anything that shook them this much had to be taken seriously. He had no intention to trust Manson.

*

Shaking his head, Michael returned to the present world. Now he would get to see this sweet monster for himself. It couldn't be said that he was looking forward to it, but he was admittedly a bit curious. Not curious to see if she was that bad, but to see what a person that evil could look like. He'd seen his Father and heard his voice when he'd been talking about Manson, as well as seen his behaviour towards his Dad after it. And now, nothing could convince him that Manson was in fact a good guy.

"Michael! Are you ready?" called his father's voice from the other side of the door. "We must go now!"

"Yes, I'm ready," he called back, making his way to the door of his room. He'd noticed that he actually liked the proper Wizarding robes, and although he did occasionally wear jeans, that was not the case now. Not only was a robe his preferred piece of clothing, but he knew that his parents were going to wear robes, and wanted to appear as a part of the same front against Manson.

As he stepped out, he saw his parents nodding approvingly. His robe was exactly similar to those of his two fathers except for the size. Both the cut and the silver-deep blue colouring were the same. They were also all wearing their hair on a ponytail for a change. Yes, this family did stick together.

Noticing his Father's cool determination and his Dad's barely controlled nervousness, Michael nodded. "Let's go," he said then determinedly. Time to face the monster.

They made their way to the Entrance Hall just in time. The rest of the staff was already there; only Manson was missing. And right after the Snapes came in, she arrived. The great doors were banged open and she marched in, a couple of trunks following her with the aid of some kind of a levitation charm.

"Ah, Miss Manson," Dumbledore said warmly, stepping forward to shake her hand. "I'm so glad that you accepted to arrive. As you already know, I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster."

"It is truly pleasant to meet you," Manson said with a warm smile. "Please, call me just Monica." While she spoke she let her gaze wander around the room, looking at the people gathered there. When her eyes brushed Michael, he shivered. Her smile was as warm and friendly as any he might have received from Hermione, but her eyes were cold and calculating. Those eyes had never smiled or held any other positive emotions, that he was sure about. How he knew that, he couldn't explain, but he was certain about it.

Vaguely aware that a round of introductions was going on, Michael watched the new teacher closely. A nod here, a smile there, she could have fooled anyone who didn't look closely. And why'd anybody look for signs of cruelty or evilness in such a wonderful woman? There was no reason to do that. But the boy had promised his parents he wouldn't trust her, and thus, he expected only the worst.

"...And this is our Potions Professor, Severus Snape," Dumbledore's voice shook him from his thoughts. "And of course his husband Remus and son Michael. Michael will be on the sixth year, in Gryffindor."

"I think I've met you before," Manson said pleasantly as she offered her hand to Severus. "Oh, in some Ministry business, right? Both you and your husband," she continued, now turning to greet Remus. "It is truly delighting to meet you again in more pleasant circumstances." She then turned towards Michael. "Sixth year Gryffindor, eh? I am looking forward to teaching you -- assuming you take DADA, of course."

Michael forced himself to ignore her obvious beauty and charming smile as he shook her hand politely. She looked sweet, but he could sense that his father was right -- she was poisonous underneath the sweet exterior. This woman had tried to get his Dad killed, and would indeed kill him, given the chance. She would enjoy it greatly as well, maybe even laugh. Yes, truly a poisonous one.

Like he watched her closely, he also felt her eyes lingering on him for a second. Then the cold gaze was gone, a pleasant laugh again echoing in the hall, but Michael was still shivering.

*