Our Fathers

Snow on Snow

(Chapter Thirteen)

"A time for weeping and a time for laughing,

A time for wailing and a time for dancing;

A time for throwing stones and a time for gathering stones,

A time for embracing and a time for shunning embraces."

-Ecclesiastes 3:4-5

In the Bleak Midwinter

Draco Malfoy sat in a Slytherin-green, velveteen-upholstered chair in front of a raging fire in the dungeons. In the front room of Snape's private apartments, in fact. He was supposed to have been met by his guardian an hour and a half earlier to go up to the Christmas brunch in the Great Hall, but the professor had never turned up. On Draco's lap sat a thick photo album, which had been tossed carelessly on the (equally green) sofa when he'd first arrived. He flipped through the pages, looking at pictures of Snape and Narcissa when they attended Hogwarts together... a few pictures of a red-headed woman, though she didn't seem to be a Weasley; her robes were too nice. There was a picture of Draco as a baby, in a very ugly mess of white frills - he supposed it was probably his Baptism, from the fact a Muggle priest was standing next to his parents, and his parents were dressed in actual Muggle clothing.

For some odd reason, they'd always made an exception when it came to the Church. They could sit next to Muggles, in the very pew a Muggle had touched the week before but every time they'd dragged Draco along - it couldn't have been more than four or five times a year - they went quietly, didn't complain about the uncleanliness of Muggles, and pretended to be upstanding members of the community.

Normally, on Christmas morning, Draco would've been sitting in a Muggle church and listening to the priest drone on about something or other, instead of sitting alone in a dungeon. He realized he'd been humming to himself - a Christmas song that they sang in Church every Christmas mass. "Silent night," Draco sang softly, in a tremulous baritone, "Holy night. All is calm, all is right... round yon virgin, mother and -"

The door of Snape's bedchamber was flung open and the professor, clad in black pyjamas and a black dressing gown, stormed into the room. "What are you doing here? Would you stop that blasted singing, at ONCE!"

Draco tossed the photo album aside and narrowed his eyes. "You were asleep? You were in your sodding bed this whole time!?"

"Why shouldn't I have been? This happens to be where I live!" Snape growled, slamming the bedroom door and stalking across the room to the cupboards where his collection of teas were kept. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"It's Christmas morning." Draco slumped back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Snape paused in filling a spare cauldron with water. "Yes, and? I should be celebrating it?"

"Brunch. In the Great Hall," Draco attempted to remind him.

"Well, go and eat it, then!" his guardian returned, slamming the cauldron into place above a tiny magical flame. "Go get your breakfast and leave me in peace!"

Draco sneered over at the professor. "We were supposed to go together. Because you're supposed to be my guardian, remember? Take care of me? Make sure I'm happy? You're doing a fine job at it, aren't you!"

"I don't want breakfast." Snape grabbed up a dirty-looking coffee cup ("Slytherins are Sexier" was written across the front in bright green - Draco couldn't help but shudder at the thought of 'Snape' and 'sexy' being connected in the very least) and filled it with water and a teabag. "I hate Christmas. I don't celebrate Christmas. And I don't believe that your parents ever celebrated it either."

"We went to church. And we opened presents, and we had dinner with the Parkinsons. They made me wear dress robes and sit next to Pansy, even when I was little. We celebrated Christmas... and Easter, too..." Draco was indignant. Of course they celebrated Christmas! Only... well, only dour Potions Masters didn't celebrate Christmas.

"Well, I don't!" he snapped, slamming the mug down on the counter. "Now, unless you have something else you need from me, I wish to be left alone."

Draco rose from his seat, digging into one of his pockets. "Happy Christmas, Professor," he snapped as nastily as the words would allow. He snatched the gift he'd so thoughtfully had Blaise pick up for his godfather on the last Hogsmeade trip (which he was barred from attending) from his pocket and tossed it on the sofa. "I thought everyone celebrated Christmas, so I got you a present. Guess you didn't care enough to do the same, eh?"

He heard Snape calling after him as he stormed out into the empty hallways, but he didn't bother to go back. So he still wasn't wanted. It wouldn't be the first time.

As he stormed around the corner, however, he ran head first into Professor Dumbledore. "Whoops!" The old man managed to grab Draco's sleeve and keep him from tumbling to the ground. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, I was just coming down to find you! What amazing luck!" Draco brushed himself off and made a noise of agreement. "Have you seen Severus yet this morning? Oh, Happy Christmas! I nearly forgot!"

"Professor Snape is in his rooms." He managed to answer quite calmly, which he was very proud of. However, Draco slipped into a sneer of anger as he continued. "I'd not advise disturbing him. He's already kicked me out."

Dumbledore gave a frown and peered down the hall. "Well, Severus usually has to be dragged out to celebrate the holiday... But, perhaps today, we should let him putter about with his potions? Brunch, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco nodded sullenly and followed the Headmaster up to the Great Hall. Mere months ago, the mere thought of spending a meal with the one man that Lord Voldemort was purported to be afraid of would be like sacrilege... it was truly amazing how different things seemed now.

He caught a glimpse of his appearance as they passed a window nearing the Hall and stopped abruptly, not noticing whether Dumbledore missed him or not - he looked terrible. What had happened to the Pretty Boy of Slytherin? His skin was sallow, there were dark bags under his eyes, his hair was stringy and unkempt, and he was wearing the same wrinkled robes he'd worn the day before. He only had a few pairs, as he couldn't get back into the Manor. He looked... like Snape. Lonely and cruel. Was that all he had to look forward to?

"Are you alright, Draco?" He jerked his gaze from the window as Dumbledore's voice interrupted his thoughts. The elderly man was frowning and watching Draco carefully.

"Sir..." Draco paused, collecting his thoughts, trying to decide what exactly he should ask and what he might be able to pry from the man. "Professor, when Snape decided not to support Lord Voldemort anymore, did he tell you why?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly, setting a hand on Draco's shoulder to guide him away from his reflection. "Interesting that you should ask... he did, indeed. Shall I tell you the story over breakfast?" 

"But won't the other teachers be there? I think Professor Snape would be angry if they all heard as well." Draco certainly didn't need that. It was bad enough dealing with the man when he was in his more pleasant of moods.

The Headmaster shrugged. "Minerva should be down in a little while, but she tends to floo her sister before brunch... Filius is visiting his grandchildren, Flora is with her brother... most of the professors are not around, because of the repairs on the wards last night. They shan't arrive back until tomorrow, at the earliest. No... I think this would be a perfectly good time to tell the story. Minerva's already heard it, anyways. Come, come... you can sit up at the Head Table, too!"

They'd reached the Great Hall and, true to Dumbledore's word, it was empty. Draco found himself sitting in Professor Sinistra's customary seat at Dumbledore's left (with McGonagall's at his right open for her later arrival) and went about filling his plate with eggs and bacon and sausages. "Now then," Dumbledore began, sipping at a glass of pumpkin juice, "Severus joined Voldemort right after he left Hogwarts. His father, Septimus, was a follower, and had been for years. Just like you, he spent most of his life expecting to become a Death Eater. Septimus was... a much more brutal man than your father, though not nearly as effective in the public sphere. If there's one thing I'll say in your father's favour... he was very good at convincing people that his way was the right way."

"He always got his way when he was a governor," Draco muttered. "Even when it was over something stupid, like the dumb hippogriff."

"Ahh, but it all worked out in the end," Dumbledore replied mysteriously, beaming broadly. "Yes, Septimus was as brutal with his son as he was with those who crossed him. And I... I was not careful enough," he admitted. "It never occurred to me that Severus would follow his father willingly, after the man destroyed his childhood... but, I always have underestimated the importance of family ties to Slytherins. As I was saying, Severus became a Death Eater, and a very effective one, as brutal as his father."

"Then why did he turn?" Draco demanded. "I never understood that... if he was so good at it, and if Lord Voldemort kept pulling him up in the ranks, why did he change his mind?"

Dumbledore set down his fork and turned a serious eye on Draco. "Septimus angered Voldemort. In those days, there were many more Death Eaters than now. I'm sure your father told you of the glory days of the 1970's? Well, after Septimus discovered that Voldemort was not actually pureblooded... he was the son of a Muggle and a witch... Septimus decided that he would be a much better Dark Lord. Voldemort killed him. And killed Merinae, Severus' mother, as well as any Snape he could find... other than Severus, who had proved himself as loyal."

"Just like me..." Draco murmured. "And so... he changed sides, then?"

"Yes. He wasn't yet nineteen. He came to my doorstep in the midst of July, confessed his sins, and asked to be taken to Azkaban to die. But I offered him another choice - one which, I'm afraid, you can never be given. Severus desperately needed a way to forgive himself and, through being my spy within Voldemort's forces, I hoped he would... he never has, though. I hope, Mr. Malfoy, that it will not prove to be the same for you?" Dumbledore gave a long, silent pause, turning back to his food.

Draco thought of his reflection in the window. He was too young to be so completely alone. The death of his father... they'd said it was inevitable, but he should've been able to stop it... he knew the way into the dungeons of the Manor... And the blood that ran through his veins still held the key to Voldemort's youth. How could he live while death loomed just beyond the edge of the castle grounds?

Did they mean to keep him here, even after he graduated? In two and a half years, he'd be forced to face the outside world, Voldemort or no Voldemort. There had to be a way to keep him from getting Draco... there had to be...

"Up for sledding down by the Pitch?" Dumbledore asked suddenly. "I do love the snow, but the other teachers think it's immature of me to play about in it... they think it makes me look senile. But, if they aren't here...?"

He couldn't help but grin slightly, the dark thoughts slipping away. "Have you got a sled? Mine's at home. I can't get to it."

"We can transfigure something up... Quickly, now, before Minerva sees us!" Dumbledore jumped up and practically bounced his way out of the Great Hall, suddenly seeming to be only a teenager wearing a false beard... or incredibly senile. Either way, Draco suddenly wished his parents had chosen someone like Dumbledore as a godfather for their only son. Life would be much more fun without Severus Snape.

Frosty Winds May Blow

The day after Christmas dawned over the white landscape around the Burrow, and Hermione tiptoed into Ron's room on a mission. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him awake. "Mrpgh?" he muttered, glazed eyes landing on her.

"Shh," she whispered, pointing across the room at Harry's prone form. "We've got to talk about Harry... it's important..."

"What time...?" Ron glanced around blankly. His gaze finally settled on the pocket watch propped up near his bed, and he narrowed his eyes, voice coming out in a hiss of anger. "It's seven bloody thirty in the morning on a day I don't have to wake up for class, Hermione..."

Hermione grabbed his shoulder and dragged him out of bed anyways. Some things were too important to bother over lost sleep about - and Harry was one of them. Hermione shushed Ron again and, before he could whine about being half naked (which he wasn't), Hermione snatched up a dressing gown from the pile of dirty clothing on the floor and threw it at him, pulling him out of the room. "Downstairs, in the kitchen," she whispered.

Ron rolled his eyes, but followed anyways. Hermione stopped at Ginny's room only long enough to grab up a stack of books - Ron groaned at that, but she ignored him - and the two tiptoed down into the empty kitchen, making as few noises as possible. "Here," Hermione began, stacking the books carefully, "I've found a few more things about the stolen books..."

"Well, do it fast," Ron muttered between yawns, "I firmly intend to go back to sleep after this."

Hermione sighed. "This is important! It's for Harry!" First things first, of course - she took out the diary and tome of poetry she'd spent so much time on. "I think the key here is something about Slytherin. You-Know-Who is Slytherin's Heir, so he could be finding as much information as possible... but these books say an awful lot about Hogwarts itself. I can't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, that's what the answer has to do with..."

"I thought you actually knew something," Ron countered. "Hermione, I'm tired! I want to go back to sleep!"

"I'm not done!" she snapped. "Now, that's what I've left to do... but I found something in the Egyptian tome on Christmas Eve! There are a dozen spells in here that You-Know-Who might want to use... most are mind control spells... but one blocks mental interference!"

Ron looked on blankly, prompting a long sigh from Hermione. "Blocks interference?"

"Yes," Hermione continued impatiently, "interference... Like telepathy, and induced dreams... We might be able to use it on Harry to keep You-Know-Who from sending the visions! It could save his life!"

"Well, then do it!" Ron demanded. "He got another bruise yesterday morning, and his nose was bleeding again. His hands are shaking... Gods, Hermione, he's falling apart! If you have a spell, use it!"

Hermione blanched slightly, trying to cover up for a sudden wave a guilt and worry, though she failed miserably. "Well," she started hesitantly. "Harry... oh, to use the spell... umm... You-Know-Who has to be in the room."

Ron's jaw dropped. "You can't seriously... Hermione, the only reason You-Know-Who would be in the room is to kill Harry! I doubt he'd consent to take a jaunt up to Hogwarts to save the Boy Who Lived!"

"It's the best spell we have!" Hermione snapped. "We can show it to Professor Lupin, and he can learn it, just in case... I'll look in the library when we get back to Hogwarts, but I hadn't found anything before! This might be our only chance!"

"Then he really is going to die," Ron glared, "because there's no way in hell he could stand up to You-Know-Who now!" He pushed to his feet and stormed out of the kitchen, though Hermione couldn't hear any doors slamming in Ron's wake.

She sighed. She'd thought Ron would take it badly, but had hoped for better... It was possibly Harry's only choice, however. And she certainly couldn't handle the thought of going on without Harry... it was unthinkable.

Snow Hath Fallen

Remus shook Harry's shoulder lightly, attempting to stay quiet to keep from waking Ron, who was snoring loudly in his own bed. "Harry?" he whispered, "It's time to wake up for a bit..."

"But I'm so tired..." he whined, yawning loudly.

"Shh..." Remus stroked Harry's mop of black hair soothingly. "You can go back to sleep, I promise... but it's time for Sirius to go meet Professor Dumbledore, and he wants to say goodbye."

That certainly was enough to snap the boy awake. He scowled deeply, rolling onto his side and crossing his arms. "No. I don't want to talk to him."

"Harry..." He let out a loud sigh, forgetting about Ron for the moment. With only a moment's hesitation, Remus sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Harry up into a hug, cradling his head against his shoulder. "Harry, listen to me... Sirius doesn't want to leave, but he has to. It's not his choice. If he stayed in England, he'd end up either dead or worse. He could be back in Azkaban... or he could get the Dementor's Kiss... However, if he changes his name and leaves the country, he can start a whole new life. He could get married... maybe have children... he'll be able to do all the things that were barred to him because of Azkaban. This might be his only chance to live. He'll be a Muggle... but he'll be free..."

"I don't want him to leave," Harry whispered. His face buried in the folds of Remus' sleeve, he tell whether the boy was angry or sad, crying or otherwise. "He promised me... he said I could live with him..."

"Oh, Harry... he wants that, believe me... but sometimes, we make promises that we can't keep." Remus rocked him slowly, becoming aware of his shaking shoulders and wet tears soaking through the shoulder of his shirt.

Harry's voice was almost incomprehensible through his tears. "My fault... Voldemort's back... nobody wants me... what's going to happen to me?"

"It is not your fault," Remus said firmly. He took hold of Harry's shoulders and pulled him away in order to look him in the eyes. "Do you understand me? None of this is your fault. Voldemort would've found a way to come back whether or not you were here. But you might be able to stop him. And there are certainly people who want you! Arthur and Molly care for you very much, and so does Sirius, and so do I. We all love you very much."

Harry dropped his eyes to his hands. "Then what's going to happen? I can't live with Sirius. They won't let me live with you. And I don't want to put the Weasleys in danger. Do I have any other relatives?"

"I don't know," he admitted. Remus smoothed down the boy's hair again and wiped away his tears with the pad of his thumb. "James had a brother and a half-brother, but both died before you were born. I don't think James' dad had any brothers or sisters, but I don't remember - I didn't know him very well. I think his mum had a bigger family... well, I'm sure as it gets closer to summer, Dumbledore will pull out the genealogies and find someone for you to stay with - and I promise, I'll make sure they're better than those blasted Dursleys."

"They weren't... they weren't too bad..." Harry said hesitantly.

Remus frowned. "Yes, they were. I remember Petunia, Harry. I know how she treated her own sister - I doubt she treated you any better. And Vernon? Did you know your dad cursed him the first time they met?"

"He did?" Harry's jaw dropped, tears forgotten. "Dad cursed Uncle Vernon?"

"Turned him into a frog," Remus grinned. "Petunia screamed so loudly that the neighbors called the police. James had turned him back before then, of course... and Vernon certainly wasn't going to charge James with turning him into a frog! He'd have ended up in the mental ward for that one! Not that he wouldn't deserve it." He sobered slightly. "Harry... Professor McGonagall told me how skinny you were when you came back to school every year, and how the Weasleys had to break you out your second year, and how they refused to sign your Hogsmeade forms and you had to run away because you were so scared... that's not the way parents are supposed to treat their children. Now, you might not have been their son, but you were still under their care, and starving you and treating you like a spot of dirt is hardly right. It's illegal, actually. It's called neglect."

Harry shrugged slightly, obviously not wanting to touch the subject. "The relatives Professor Dumbledore finds could be worse."

With a low sigh, Remus nodded. "Yes. They could. But, if that's the case, I'd make sure you weren't left with them. You could always spend the summer at Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy - he's not to be allowed to leave, since he's in so much danger."

"Ugh. Summer with Malfoy? I'd rather face the Dursleys." Harry made a face. "But what about the bill Percy wrote? If you're a being, doesn't that mean I can live with you?"

The mere thought sent Remus' heart soaring with hope - a hope he squashed immediately. Things had never gone his way in the past. He certainly doubted his luck would change. "Harry... yes, it would... but please, don't count on that. I know Percy quoted all those statistics the other night, but the British wizards are notoriously hesitant about allowing a werewolf any rights. I doubt -"

"Sirius said you were born on the Continent," Harry butted in. "If we went there, could I live with you? Would they let you take care of me?"

"My job is here. My life is here. Yes, I was born in France, but it doesn't mean I wish to spend the rest of my life there. Werewolves are still second-class citizens, despite what Sirius seemed to suggest. Living as a Muggle here is better for me than living as a Werewolf Wizard in France. Maybe... maybe someday things will change, but for now, my kind is hated. The rise of Voldemort will only make the situation worse. Many werewolves joined the cause in the '70's. That's why Sirius and James suspected me of being the one to sell them out - not because I'd done anything to suggest it, but because of what I was." Remus gave a long sigh, running his fingers through ever-grayer hair. "Maybe someday, Harry, but it's certainly not a promise I could ever hope to keep."

Harry nodded solemnly and wiped at more tears, which were suddenly reappearing. "You won't leave me, though, will you?"

Remus shook his head quickly. "No, never. I can promise you that much. So long as you live in England, I'll be here for you. I can't be a dad, but I can be... an uncle, maybe? That's the part James wanted me to play, at least - I couldn't be godfather, but I could be the unofficial uncle."

"Uncle Remus," Harry whispered. "Can I call you that?"

He smiled, almost hesitantly. It was a title he'd sorely wanted to hear, from the moment he'd seen Harry in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but one he'd never imagine being allowed. But, Harry needed family. His foundation, however shakey, had been knocked away by Voldemort's resurrection. "Yeah," Remus whispered back, "I'd love it if you'd call me that... but how about Uncle Re instead? It's shorter... and only my closest friends call me Re..." He wiped away Harry's tears again. "I want you to know that I love you, Harry. Don't ever believe that nobody cares, because I do."

Remus wasn't at all surprised when Harry threw his arms around the werewolf's neck and started sobbing again, but at least it was proof - he'd gotten that point across. "I love you too, Uncle Re." He was surprised, however, to find his own cheeks wet.

"Well," he gave a loud sniff and patted Harry's back, "why don't we go downstairs and say goodbye to Sirius? He's waiting. And I think you owe him that much." He noticed that Ron wasn't snoring anymore. Perhaps getting Harry out of the room was the best idea possible - he knew the boy would be incredibly embarrassed to know that Ron had been listening in to his sobs, even if accidentally.

Harry nodded and climbed out of bed, letting Remus sling an arm around his shoulders to guide him from the room. The pair tiptoed lightly down the creaking steps of the Burrow and into the living room, where Sirius was standing uncertainly before the fireplace. It was nearly time for him to meet Dumbledore for his change of name and face - he looked nervous, but relieved to see Harry coming to see him off. Sirius crossed the room in a dash, throwing his arms around the boy. "Harry, I'm so sorry... I don't want to leave, I swear I don't..."

"I understand," Harry whispered, "and I'm sorry I got mad. I just... I'm afraid. I don't know what will happen." He blushed. It had probably been hard for him to admit fear - he was a Gryffindor, after all, and Remus knew just how important great courage was to all of his old House.

"Everyone gets afraid sometimes," Sirius admitted. "I'm afraid now. I don't know where I'm going, or what will happen to me, either."

Harry winced. "But you'll be free, finally... I'm still trapped." There it was - trapped, the real fear he'd seemed unable to name. Remus understood completely. He was trapped in being the famous Harry Potter, orphan and Savior. What choices was he given about his life? Nothing at all. Face the Dark Lord, possibly die at his hands... and Harry was only fifteen. At fifteen, all Remus had been worried about was whether or not Lily thought he was cute and whether or not the next Charms test would fall the day after a full moon. Even being a werewolf seemed to pale beside being Harry Potter.

Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder firmly, just to let him know he heard and understood. Sirius hugged Harry tighter. "I'm so proud of you."

"Will I be able to send you letters?" Harry asked, looking slightly panicked. "I know I can't see you... but will Dumbledore cut us off completely?"

"I don't know. I bet he'll be able to get a few letters through, now and again... though you may have to send them through the Muggle post to get to me." Sirius glanced over at the clock on the mantle, a small Muggle piece. "I have to go. Dumbledore is expecting me."

"I'll miss you," Harry whispered.

Sirius gave a watery smile, over-bright eyes showing how hard he was working to hold back tears. "I'm going to miss you too, Harry." He gave another hug and a peck on the forehead before turning to Remus. "Moony... Lord above, am I going to have a hard time without you."

Remus drew Sirius into a hug, though keeping a hand firmly on Harry's shoulder. "I'll miss having you around, Padfoot. Just remember us, and we'll see you in a few years. Voldemort will be gone by then... he has to be."

Both men gave loud sniffles and Sirius managed a half-smile before ruffling Harry's locks and turning to the fireplace. With a handful of powder into the fire, he called "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office," and was gone.

Remus slid an arm around Harry's shoulder once more. "He'll be alright... he managed twelve years in Azkaban - so long as he doesn't have to speak German, he'll fit right in." The boy didn't respond. "Harry?" Remus asked, glancing down at the younger man.

His hand was held to his nose. "Uncle Re... I need a handkerchief." A thin trickle of blood had begun flowing between his fingers.

Remus had him sitting on the sofa, with a clean cloth pressed against his nose, in an instant. "Are you alright? Does it hurt? Did you See anything?"

"No..." Harry blushed. "I'm fine... It's just a bloody nose..." But his hands started shaking as he held the cloth.

"A bloody nose doesn't make your hands shake, Harry," Remus murmured. He took the cloth from Harry and held it in place for him, holding both his trembling hands, despite the blood, in his unoccupied one and giving a squeeze to them to try to give comfort. "It's alright if you don't want to tell me what happened. I'm... I'm glad Sirius didn't see. He doesn't know that you're this ill. He had to go, but he wouldn't have, had he known..."

"Good," Harry whispered. He closed his eyes as another tear joined the wetness on his cheek. "I didn't want him to see."

Remus patted Harry's hands and moved next to him on the sofa, pulling him close. "It'll be alright... you still have me."