Lily's Charm: The Gift

1981

James slid into his usual seat at the large table. Sirius slid in beside him, winking at the pretty new Auror down the table. Her cheeks filled with a pink blush at the overt flirtation before she quickly looked down at the finely-grained wood.

"She's engaged," James whispered, using his elbow to nudge his friend in the ribs when Sirius didn't turn his gaze from the girl. Sirius didn't pay any attention. The young Auror, Mimsy was her name, James remembered, peeked through her eyelashes once, and quickly looked down again, the pink blossoming into red.

"Sirius," Remus scolded in a low voice from Sirius' other side. Sirius drew his eyes from the girl; he turned to grin at Remus.

"Just admiring," he defended himself. Remus simply shook his head and turned back to the head of the table, to wait for Albus to speak. Sirius turned to James, still grinning. James rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way, playfully letting his best friend know he thought him an idiot.

"Well, not all of us have the treat of Lily waiting at home," Sirius exclaimed in a whisper, waggling his eyebrows a little.

James did his best not to laugh. Lily was indeed waiting at home, likely with a squirming toddler, who was probably doing his best to avoid a bedtime routine without Daddy. James didn't respond to Sirius though as the laughter died in his throat at the thought of Severus. Severus was with Voldemort, in a circle of Death Eaters, and each night he spent with Voldemort lately, had been progressively worse. Voldemort was becoming stronger--and angrier--as he was continually thwarted.

"You all right, Prongs?" Sirius leaned in to murmur, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. James nodded mutely as Albus cleared his throat; both men turned their eyes to the elder wizard.

Before he could begin, an almost silent pop, that somehow sounded strangled, sounded from behind them. All heads swiveled toward the entrance to the large dining room. With a muffled cry, James shot to his feet. Severus was stumbling blindly into the room, his eyes swollen shut. Forgetting all they were supposed to be hiding, James went to him, reaching him just as his friend began to sway.

"Severus," James breathed anxiously, grabbing the other man under his armpits to steady him before he could fall. Severus' hands gripped at James' shirt, clutching the fabric spasmodically in his fingers. Fingers covered in someone else's sticky blood.

"James," he whispered before he pitched forward into James' chest.

Circling his arms around his friend's back, James, as gently as he could, sank to his knees, cradling Severus' dark head in his lap as he sat back on his heels. Blunt, the Order Healer, had already knelt and Albus was only seconds behind. James' heart thudded in his chest as he willed Severus to open his eyes.

Blunt ran her wand over the length of the Potions Master form, while her free hand carefully touched the puffy skin around his eyes. "It is a simple Muggle irritant," she announced even as she chanted a spell to reduce the swelling; it began to recede almost immediately. "Ennervate," Blunt commanded.

Severus began to stir in James' lap. He tried without success to open his eyes. "Muggles," he tried to explain as he struggled with his muscles. He brought the blood-stained fingers upward as though he was trying to tell them something.

"What is it, Severus?" Albus asked gently. "What happened?"

"Tillwood," Severus told them gruffly as he shook his hands with more insistence.

"That's a Muggle village," the pretty new Auror spoke up. She'd moved to stand with everybody else, close now to the hunched quartet on the floor. Albus spared her the smallest glance before leaning closer to Severus' now-mildly swollen face.

"Voldemort took his Death Eaters there tonight?" he questioned in a soft voice.

When Severus nodded, Sirius exploded from above James, "We have to get them out of there!"

Albus silenced him with a hand. "Dedalus and Benjy," he commanded. The two wizards moved forward. Albus gave Severus' bloodied fingers a squeeze before rising. "Benjy, you'll need to side-along with Dedalus. I believe you know the way, Dedalus?" he queried.

"I do," the little wizard confirmed squeakily.

"I have to get back there," Severus insisted hoarsely as he tried to sit up; his eyes were nearly clear again and he was rapidly regaining his strength, though not quickly enough to satisfy James. James held his arms firmly, refusing to allow the other man to sit up. "Let me up, Potter," Severus snapped, his black eyes flashing as much as they could with the slight cloudiness. James simply glared back at him.

"Not until Healer Blunt says you can move," he snapped back. "So just be still."

Severus opened his mouth to argue, but Blunt interrupted, "You can let him up, James." James stared at her, but she nodded firmly. "Carefully, Severus," she instructed as James loosened his hold. Not caring that Severus would try to refuse his help, nor that his other two friends were staring at him as though he'd lost his mind, James guided Severus to sit. And then James was standing again, and without waiting for Severus to accept, he pulled the Slytherin up as well.

Severus glared at him again and even though James knew it was for the others, he felt an odd sensation in his gut at the ugly look in his friend's eyes.

"Take these with you, Severus...Portkeys" Albus said quietly, handing Severus several coins. Severus nodded curtly, as he pocketed the coins and straightened his dirtied robes. Albus put a restraining hand on his arm as he cast his strongest Disillusionment Charm on Severus' two companions. Severus glowered at them until they were invisible and then, without another word, he turned unsteadily on the spot and was gone.

James rounded on Blunt and the Headmaster. "How could you let him go back there? He was barely standing." His voice was much louder than he wanted it to be. Sirius and Remus were staring at him, completely dumbfounded. The others in the room didn't seem any less befuddled.

"James," Albus said gently, "we can't let innocent Muggles die."

"He didn't need to go back there. He might die instead!" James retorted furiously. "Hasn't he done enough already?" he asked angrily. His mouth clamped shut at the slight widening of the old blue eyes...a silent warning. Dammit, James swore silently to himself. There was too much at stake and too much for Severus to lose.

Albus gazed at him for a long moment before gesturing the others in the room to follow him through to the kitchen. To give him a moment to collect himself, James knew. But it would do little good as long as Remus and Sirius remained.

"He'll be fine, James," Remus spoke up, his voice very soft.

"It was just two swollen eyes, Prongs and Blunt fixed him," Sirius agreed with a shrug, though his lip was twisting into a half-grimace, as though it pained him to console James about Snape's well-being.

James said nothing; he turned toward the sitting room, intending to Floo back home.

"Since when do you twist your knickers into a wad over Snape?" Sirius asked, the curiosity overshadowed by the clear irritation.

Though he didn't trust himself to speak, James tossed over his shoulder, "I don't."

"He called you James."

The accusation in Sirius' voice halted James' exit, but he didn't turn around.

"Sirius, he's lived in James' house for almost two years. You can't really expect them to be continuously snarling at one another. Not with Lily and Harry-"

Sirius waved Remus' reassurances away with an impatient hand. "This is Snape we're talking about, James. Snape," he stressed. And had he not been as close to Sirius as any brother, James would not have heard the jealously masked far below the surface of the complaint. He didn't let the sigh escape as he turned slowly to face his friend.

"I know that Padfoot, all right? Lily will be worried about him," he explained, hating himself for the half-truth, but then he wished he hadn't said that either, as Sirius' grey eyes flashed in indignation.

"I've told you all along, James, that it was a terrible idea to allow Snape to live there with you," he reminded James darkly. "Someone who used to date your wife?"

"And I've told you before, Sirius," James pointed out with restrained frustration, "that they've simply been friends for years." Another lie. "And you know damn well Lily would never betray me like that," he added, flinching as more half-truths tumbled out of his mouth.

"It's Snape I don't trust," Sirius retorted.

"No one's asking you to trust him," James all but growled and Sirius snorted.

"Albus expects us to trust him every time he goes to that bastard. Every time he comes back and feeds us information."

"Feeds us information?" James nearly hissed, stepping closer to his friend, and wishing as he did that he had Severus' skill in Occlusion. "For a year and a half now, Snape has been a spy for Albus, and not once has he ever failed us and still you don't trust him?" he asked angrily.

"No," Sirius shot back. "And I can't believe you do either. For seven years, James, you hated Snape, and now that he's spent some time in your spare bedroom, he's suddenly your best mate?"

"Sirius, calm down," Remus tried to interject, but James spoke over him.

"He's not my best mate, you git," he retorted, giving the taller man a none-too gentle shove in the chest. But even as he said it, he realized it wasn't precisely true. Perhaps not his best mate...not the way mates were usually counted anyway, but Severus was something to James now.

Sirius glared as Remus caught him before he stumbled too far backward. "Could have fooled me," the Animagus muttered as he straightened up, making no move to retaliate as he ran a hand down the front of his shirt to straighten it.

"Oh, quit being a prat," James ordered, returning his friend's glare. "And we're not seventeen anymore," he pointed out, making his voice a bit milder.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we're a whole three years older than that and you've grown up so much that you're practically falling all over yourself just to make certain Snivellus doesn't fall on his arse," he said with a hint of smile, obviously willing to forego any more arguing.

James bristled at the word he only now realized had hurt Severus so deeply, but he tried not to let it show, as he asked seriously, "Don't you think you're a little too old to be calling someone by a detested childhood nickname?"

And he recognized too late that he shouldn't have said that either as Sirius drew himself up, instantly stung by the accusation. "I'm sorry I can't be as mature as Snape," he said stiffly.

James narrowed his eyes, tired of the volleying. "So am I, Padfoot," he retorted. "If you could grow up a little and open your eyes, you'd see that he's not simply a Slytherin Snake-"

And again, it was the wrong thing to say. Sirius' normally gentle grey eyes blazed. He took a step toward James. "But he is a Slytherin, and that should be enough for you to realize that he can't be trusted. That he'd betray anyone--anything if it's to his advantage." James opened his mouth, but Sirius, his mouth twisted in an unfamiliar scowl, continued to rage, "That's what he is. A liar and a schemer. There hasn't been a Slytherin who could be trusted, James. Not one--not even my own-"

And he broke off, gasping in a huge rush of air as he turned himself away from his two friends, his eyes suddenly dark and filled with pain. The trio was silent as James and Remus eyed one another and then turned to stare at Sirius' hunched back. He had curled into himself, in an unconscious effort to protect himself from so many old wounds.

Remus gave James an encouraging nod and with his emotions bouncing all over the place, James stepped forward and laid a calming hand on his friend's shoulder blade. Sirius didn't move away.

"Look, Sirius," James began quietly, "I don't want to row with you about Snape. And I know, especially at a time like this, that it's not easy to trust him." Sirius' back slowly straightened, his arms moving again to his sides, though they were balled into fists of agitation. James struggled to continue; he desperately wanted Sirius to understand.

But before he could decide how best to accomplish it, Remus put in from next to him, "He went back there to save Muggles, Sirius. He's risking his life to save people Voldemort would kill with one flick of his wrist...after he finished torturing them."

Sirius stiffened at Remus' endorsement. He turned to face them. "Both of you now?" he asked quietly, his words heavy with disappointment.

"Padfoot..." James tried, putting a pressure that was meant to be comforting on Sirius' shoulder.

Sirius shook off the hand. "He's a Slytherin," he repeated, as though that's all that needed to be said. And giving Sirius' history, it was. Without waiting for a response from his two reticent friends, Sirius brushed his hair out of his face and went to join the rest of the Order in the kitchen.

James watched him go, berating himself for allowing the destructive lies to continue on for so long.

--

1996

Harry pulled the edges of his school robes close around his body as he and Severus stepped into the dark corridor. His eyes adjusted slowly as they moved forward into the dimness, lit only by sparse sconces flickering dull shadows against the walls.

"I was thinking about last night," Harry said casually as they began the slow, upward trek through the dungeons. Severus glanced over at him sharply, but Harry shook his head. "Not about Voldemort," he amended and Severus relaxed again, nodding his head for Harry to continue. "I was wondering what you meant...what you said to Lucius about Mum forgiving you."

Severus didn't pause in his momentum though Harry was fairly certain his father's stride faltered briefly. "It was after that afternoon--the one you witnessed in my Pensieve," Severus explained, his steps perfectly fluid again. "I apologized for what I'd said to her. It took some time, but she did eventually forgive me."

Mudblood.

Harry only nodded, feeling his insides squirming at the vague pain he could both feel and hear in his father's voice. And the gratitude.

"It was only due to her acceptance that I found my way out of the darkness I was mired in," Severus went on, almost to himself this time. Harry glanced over at him; he wanted to ask his father what he meant, but he wasn't certain he could.

"Because she forgave you, you mean?" he ventured cautiously. Severus' eyes slid toward him at they continued to walk.

"Harry..." His voice was calm on the surface. But then he shook his head, and when he began again, his voice had changed a little. "I was groomed to become my father's son from the day I was conceived. He was fascinated with the Dark Arts my entire life and as Voldemort grew more powerful and gained more support, Tobias wanted nothing more for himself than to be in Voldemort's inner circle."

"And he wanted it for you as well." Harry nodded, remembering Dumbledore's words, though they seemed so long ago.

"He taught me everything I would need to know to become a faithful worshiper," Severus explained as he ran his fingers down the side of his face, in remembrance of something only he could see. He flicked his fingers, as if to dispel the memories and went on, "I wanted more than anything, as most children do, to make my father proud of me, and so I studied. Fervently," he stressed, a dark shame clouding his voice. "Lily's compassion toward me healed the perilous need I had to please my father. My desperation to finally win his approval." He shook his head again, but this time his eyes shone with love, which Harry understood was for Lily.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that with Tobias," Harry offered and again his father's eyes flashed to him. It almost seemed like he had forgotten Harry was even there.

"He has been dead for nearly eighteen years. It makes little sense to dwell on what is past," Severus stated.

Harry didn't respond as the corridors began to grow brighter. They'd almost reached the lowest level classrooms as he asked curiously, "Is your mother still alive?"

For the second time since they'd left their quarters, Harry wondered at the way his father's steps seemed to falter. When Severus spoke, his voice was strangely smooth. "She is in St. Mungo's," he answered.

"What's wrong with her?" Harry questioned as they passed Severus' classroom.

"She has an incurable wizard's illness," Severus replied without hesitation.

"Oh," said Harry quietly as he took that in. "I'm sorry."

His father halted in front of a closed classroom door, and Harry stopped walking as well, tilting his face up a bit to study the incredulous look on the man's face. "Eileen threatened to kill you and forced your mother to lie to me," Severus reminded him, looking like he was wondering if Harry had taken complete leave of his senses. And as though Harry could ever forget.

"I know. And I know she was horrid to you, but she's still your mother." He shrugged. "The Dursleys were wretched to me, but I wouldn't want them to have an incurable disease."

Severus narrowed his eyes as he stared down at his son. "Just how wretched were the Dursleys?" he inquired darkly, ignoring Harry's other comments.

Harry gazed at his father warily. "You already asked me about them," he pointed out, which made Severus scowl.

"And as I recall, you did your best to avoid the question, just as you are attempting to do now."

Harry's feet shifted silently against the stones; he glanced down the hall, but there was nothing to distract them.

"He didn't beat me," he answered, unconsciously echoing his father's earlier words about Lucius as he stared down the empty corridor. "They didn't like to touch me."

"Did he ever cause you physical pain?"

Harry turned again at the brittle question. It seemed his father was beginning to have difficulty breathing.

"He threatened me...loads of times. But he only hit me once," Harry explained, finding it easier to do so with his father's features as expressionless as they were...if he ignored the slight quiver to the man's normally stoic jaw. "I suppose the damage to him, and to the parlor, wasn't worth it," Harry murmured, studying the blank walls again.

The air seemed thin between them.

"Harry..." The sand-papered words reached outward even as they curled and faded away.

Harry allowed his father's fingers to find purchase on his shoulder. He even took a step closer at the tugging pressure, but he shook his head as he found the pain-filled eyes. "I'm all right," he assured Severus gently. "And, it's not your fault," he added, knowing where his father's mind was spinning. "You didn't make them hate me."

The trembling ceased as Severus pushed his teeth together. "If I-"

Harry grasped his father's arm, squeezing it tightly. "Don't do that," he ordered softly. "We've..." and then he had to stop talking at the haunted look that crossed his father's eyes and Harry instantly wished he could rap his own head a few times against the very hard stone wall. He'd never actually considered himself self-absorbed, but it was almost impossible not to accept that's exactly what he was.

How could he have been so daft? No wonder the man was so edgy. And it wasn't just about Harry almost being lost to Voldemort...

"I'm all right," he repeated. When Severus' black eyes didn't even blink, Harry allowed his flames to project his sincerity. He was all right now, and then just to be clear, Harry told him, "Voldemort's taunting didn't make me feel any differently about you. It couldn't."

There.

The shadows receded a little, though Harry knew it would take more than that simple statement for his father to allow the guilt to subside.

"Come on," Harry encouraged, giving his father's arm a bit of a tug. "I know you don't want to miss lunch," he teased with a smirk.

"I am more concerned about our after-lunch meeting," Severus told him with a frown and Harry, relieved at the easy change in subject, shrugged.

"You said Scrimgeour will be fawning all over me, didn't you? Nothing to worry about," he said airily, though he felt little but anxiety about the entire prospect.

Severus frowned at him. "Rufus Scrimgeour is a skilled manipulator."

Harry smiled sideways as they started walking again. "So are you."

Severus' lips pressed together, but he did not disagree. They rounded the last corner of the weathered wall before the man level, and they heard the accented suggestion, "Try to keep out of trouble, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco was being shepherded out of an empty classroom by Shacklebolt and Farnsworth. The blonde boy nodded obediently, actually looking like he might mean it for once. He turned, his hands moving to straighten his perfectly creased robes. He froze as he found himself staring at Harry and Severus.

Fear pierced the grey eyes.

Draco's feet seemed to move without his permission as he shuffled backward and into Shacklebolt's long torso. His shoulders hunched up, as though he was expecting a blow. And he wasn't looking at Harry.

Harry paused, having no idea why he would, but he didn't have a chance to say anything to the blond Slytherin. His father very firmly took his elbow and steered him away from Draco and his escorts. Harry glanced up at Severus and wisely didn't protest. The man looked positively grim and Harry felt a particularly nervous rush for Potions class tomorrow.

His elbow was finally freed after they were suitably distant from Draco. Just as they neared the enchanted staircase, Harry suddenly felt a huge knot in his stomach as he saw a clutch of students descending the stairs. The leader of the group screeched to an abrupt halt and, with their mouths falling open, his companions toppled into him.

And then the pointing and whispering began. The grins and giggles.

The group began to move eagerly toward him, but Severus kept walking. Wasting no time, Harry hurried to keep up. His father's efforts were pointless. The Great Hall was already teeming with students, all of them standing and craning their necks toward the corridor. They were expecting him.

And then Harry saw why.

Scrimgeour was standing next to Dumbledore in front of the head table, his own eyes eagerly scanning for Harry. His face melted into a practiced smile as Harry and Severus stepped over the threshold. "I thought he wasn't coming until after lunch," Harry whispered indignantly, to which his father offered no reply. It would have been lost in the ensuing noise anyway.

As they continued forward, a huge cheer rose up among the students, even the staff seemed to be roaring behind the head table. When the thundering of stamping feet joined the deafening congratulations, Harry couldn't help it...a slow smile began to spread across his face. It was like the last match of the Quidditch Match. The one for the cup. And Harry had caught the Snitch. A great big, ugly Snitch in a serpent's body, but the emotion was the same.

Euphoria.

--

Severus was hard-pressed not to begin tossing out hexes as students from all across the Great Hall began converging on his son. He planted himself firmly behind Harry, ready to strike if there were any of Voldemort's sympathizers, unaccounted for, in the crowd.

And then Severus was hit with a wave of elation that made him fight not to stagger back. He quickly shadowed his flame, glancing quickly up at the Head Table. Lupin was staring at Harry with a strange look on his face. He was smiling in confusion. And Severus could only surmise that Harry was smiling as well now.

The voices babbling all around them, distracted Severus' musing on his son's sudden mood shift, and he realized he could not even understand the blathering. But the students were pressing closer toward them as though they all wished they could be close enough to touch Harry. Or to ask brainless questions about Voldemort. But no one actually came close enough to make physical contact. It seemed that none of them quite trusted the Potions Master not to hex them.

Wise.

Severus trained his darkest glare toward the other end of the room, toward Albus. Albus, his face scrawled with apology, nodded quickly, and placing his wand against his throat, he chanted a Sonorus. "Your attention." His voice echoed around the cavernous room; the chattering ceased. Albus smiled as he removed the wand from over his windpipe. "If you would be seated, boys and girls, I'm sure Harry and Professor Snape would like to sit down and have a chance to catch their breaths," he said in his normal voice, which carried almost as well as the enhanced one had.

With many parting words that Severus did his best to ignore, some of them using Snape as a question mark, the students wended their way back to their benches. Severus moved with Harry as he went straight to his Gryffindor house mates. Harry plopped down in his regular spot on the bench amidst a sea of friendly hands clapping him all over his back and arms; Severus continued on to the Head Table.

Scrimgeour was still smiling on the dais.

Before the Minister could make any moves toward Harry, Albus ushered him over to where Percy Weasley and two witches were waiting near the staff entrance. Scrimgeour shook his head forcefully, glancing back toward Harry. Severus took two steps toward the older man, but out of nowhere, Poppy seemed to materialize. She came to stand in front of the Minister, her eyes holding his without hesitation.

"I'm afraid Harry cannot be interrupted during mealtimes, Minister," she told him, her voice calm and steady, though even Severus would have had second thoughts about arguing with her. "He needs to keep up his strength after what he did for us last night. I'm sure you understand." She smiled encouragingly at him and after glancing once more at Harry, Scrimgeour smiled congenially and allowed Albus to lead him to a place beside his at the table.

Poppy accepted Severus' nod of appreciation with a warm smile and went back to her seat. All along the staff table, as Severus walked to his own seat, his colleagues offered him hearty congratulations, which Severus accepted without a word. He hoped this would be the last time they would mention it, though he knew it was extremely unlikely.

"Thank you for letting me know that Harry was all right after your visit to the Infirmary," Lupin said quietly as Severus sat beside him. Severus simply inclined his head as he watched his son. Students all around Harry were leaning in toward him, presumably still pestering him with questions. But to Severus' puzzlement, Harry didn't seem to mind at all. And although he'd sequestered Harry's wisp, his son's excitement was still very much present in Severus' mind.

"Harry doesn't seem to be having any problem with all the attention," Remus observed, sounding at least as perplexed as Severus was.

"Harry is well used to attention from his peers," Minerva spoke up from Severus' other side. "Granted," she added with a small frown, "it is often negative attention."

Severus frowned at the observation before turning to survey the room, taking in the dejected features of most of his upper classmen. The younger Slytherins seemed just as eager as the other Houses to gawk at Harry. Draco, Severus noted, was seated next Zabini and the remaining sixth and seventh years, with the exception of Pinth, who was sitting conspicuously alone at the very end of the long table.

Severus wondered if his Slytherins had finally taken heed of his repeated lessons in self-preservation. Pinth would certainly not be anywhere near Harry's good graces. And Severus found himself vaguely relieved that none of the Slytherins had been found to have ulterior motives regarding Harry--they'd been, after Harry's friends, the first to be subjected to Veritaserum.

"Did you see the Prophet, Severus?" Lupin asked. Severus drew his gaze from his Slytherin students. A copy of the infamous newspaper was fanned across the table.

--

"You must have been so frightened," a rapt Lavender Brown gushed as she leaned across the table.

"Of course he wasn't," Colin scoffed from down the table. "He's a Gryffindor." He puffed his chest out as though he'd been the one using his prided courage to meet Voldemort.

Harry opened his mouth to correct the over-exuberant fifth year, but a Hufflepuff from the neighboring table, grabbed his sleeve. Harry turned slightly to find a blonde girl, surrounded by a cluster of friends, smiling at him. "Can I have your autograph?" she asked shyly, thrusting a small leather-bound book at his chest.

"My autograph?" he repeated, staring at the girl and her tittering friends.

"Can you sign it Harry Potter?" one of the girl's friends asked in a husky voice. "Your real name," she clarified, as her blue eyes widened.

"Erm..." was all Harry could come up with.

"Snape is his real name, Elizabeth," Ginny informed the bold brunette girl tersely. The other girl slid her eyes toward Ginny, her gaze assessing.

"Well, if that's your name from now on, Harry, that'll do," Elizabeth agreed, smiling at Harry now. They were all smiling at him. Harry could feel the tips of his ears burning. He grabbed the book hastily from the blonde girl's fingers and scrawled his name without even looking at the page, and then handed it clumsily back to her. She smiled shyly again.

"Thanks," she said softly.

"Er, you're welcome," he stuttered before spinning back around.

"Did you see the Prophet, Harry?" Seamus inquired as soon as Harry was facing forward again, ignoring Harry's flush. "It's all about your new name."

"Seamus, Harry doesn't want to see that," Hermione interjected as Seamus tried to hand a copy to Harry.

But it was with morbid curiosity that Harry accepted the newspaper, telling Hermione, "It's all right."

Harry Potter Proclaims Himself a Snape, Denying the Father Who Died for Him was the headline, above a doctored photograph of a distraught Harry in front of Lily's and James' grave. Next to that was a picture of the Mark, burning black against a pale forearm. Harry's eyes flicked in astonishment to his father. Severus was watching him.

Of course that couldn't be Severus' arm, but it hardly mattered. Rage seethed as Harry realized just how much his father was going to suffer throughout this. He ripped his gaze from the Head Table and scrunched the delicate sheets in his fists.

There is a reporter here.

The quiet warning startled Harry; his eyes went back to the Head Table. Both his father and Remus were looking at him with a fair amount of concern. Taking a breath, Harry forced himself to calm. When his fingers uncurled, he gave the adults a small smile. A smile and nod were returned.

"Dammit," Harry muttered as he picked up his pumpkin juice and took a large swig. Ginny laid her fingers over his; Harry barely noticed they were there as he glared at the photographs splayed out in front of him.

--

Extracting himself from his doting fans proved much simpler for Severus than for Harry. Harry had attempted to excuse himself multiple times, but had ended up being pulled back with a question each time. When the hour drew near for them to be in Dumbledore's office, Severus finally swooped down on the overcrowded Gryffindor table and with one sweeping glare, Harry's admirers backed away. Harry, with a wave to his friends, made a somewhat reluctant exit.

He was still irked by Skeeter's article though and as soon as he and his father cleared the Great Hall, Harry said as much.

Aiming several glowers at eager passersby, Severus said seriously, "She will not write another article."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Blackmail?" he wondered, but his father didn't answer as they stopped in front of Dumbledore's gargoyle.

"Marshmallow Figs," he drawled and with a small smile, Harry stepped beside his father and spun up to Dumbledore's office.

Scrimgeour's lips lifted in an elegant smile as Harry and Severus stepped inside. The Minister's hand made a smooth transition from his side to Harry's palm. Harry wasn't even certain how it had happened, but Scrimgeour was pumping his arm up and down roughly. When he let go, Harry wiggled his fingers a bit, working the circulation back into the digits.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Harry," Scrimgeour said, his face suffused with gratitude. Harry simply nodded, noting for the first time that Percy, along with a witch who was obviously the reporter, was standing to the Minister's side. The reporter's quill was poised over a small pad. A younger witch, with jumpy features and a camera, was standing nervously behind the reporter.

"There will be no reporters," Severus announced severely as his eyes swept over the little group. Scrimgeour turned his smile to Severus.

"I always bring our Ministry correspondent with me when I meet with someone of such importance as Harry," he explained, sounding perfectly affable. Harry could feel his father's irritation at the officious Minister. With a little effort Harry directed his tiny wisp to assure him, It's all right. I don't mind. He just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible and a long argument about reporters wouldn't accomplish that.

After a short pause, Severus told the Minister, "She may remain." Scrimgeour smiled, looking rather pleased with himself, but Severus wasn't finished. "You will not, however, print any articles or photographs regarding this meeting without my approval." Scrimgeour opened his mouth to protest, but Severus said firmly, "You will agree or this meeting ends here."

"Professor," the Minister began smoothly, "surely Harry doesn't believe I would allow anything derogatory to be printed about him." He turned to Harry. "You'll trust Anne to write a complimentary article, won't you, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer, not liking the man's oily tone. He watched warily as his father narrowed his coal eyes. "Harry is sixteen, Minister. I am his father, and I do not trust you. I will not allow you to manipulate him, nor will I allow your reporter to use my son to further your own political agendas."

Scrimgeour looked between father and son, his eyes full of subtle calculation. Finally he smiled again. "Your concern is unfounded, I assure you, Professor Snape, but if you insist, I will agree to your terms."

"I trust you realize that any plans you wish to make regarding ceremonies or appearances with my son will not commence should you fail to keep your word." Severus' voice deepened with the threat. Scrimgeour betrayed no surprise at the tone.

"Of course, Professor," he said with a smooth nod, though Harry thought his voice sounded a little stiffer than it had when they'd first come in.

Without further ado, Scrimgeour gestured to a group of chairs arranged in front of Dumbledore's desk. Harry took the seat closest to the large desk. The Minister sat across from him, his smile looking forced now. Severus sat beside Harry, leaving the open chair for Dumbledore, while Scrimgeour's party clustered behind him.

They all waited while Scrimgeour arranged his robes around him importantly. He cleared his throat before beginning, "As I said last night, Harry, I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to you, on behalf of all of us."

"I couldn't have done it without my father," Harry told him pointedly. The Minister smiled indulgently.

"Of course, Harry. It was fortuitous that you were able to use his Mark," he agreed, though that wasn't what Harry had meant at all.

"It's not his Mark," Harry corrected. "It's Voldemort's and my father took it to protect my mum. And without him to chant the spell with me, Voldemort would still be alive," he finished in a hard tone, ignoring his father's clear wish that he didn't want to put emphasis on what he'd done, but Harry couldn't let it slide. Not after that article.

"We are indeed grateful to Professor Snape as well, Harry. No one will deny he had a role to play."

Harry narrowed his eyes, disliking the insinuation in the Minister's words.

"But wizarding Britain wants to see you, Harry. They want to hear you tell them what you did for us. All of us owe you a great debt," he said fervently and Harry realized that Scrimgeour meant none of what he was saying. The words were laced with insincerity, so Harry said nothing. Scrimgeour didn't even seem to notice his lack of response. "We'd like to have a dinner, Harry, to honor you. The most influential witches and wizards will be in attendance, of course. It will certainly be in your best interest to meet as many of them as you can."

"I am certain, Minister, that you have very little knowledge regarding the best interests of my son," Severus interjected coldly, to which Scrimgeour blinked as though he'd forgotten Severus was there. He collected himself quickly.

"Of course not, Professor. I meant that only in the most general terms," he agreed. Severus narrowed his eyes. Scrimgeour smiled again, and Harry wondered how stiff the muscles around the Minister's mouth would be after this meeting. "We would like to schedule the dinner for tomorrow evening. Albus has been kind enough to agree to allow you to miss classes on Friday so that you won't have to be concerned about getting home to sleep--of course," he amended swiftly at Severus' raised eyebrow, "whatever time you wish him to go home, we will understand, Professor."

"If Harry is agreeable, I have no objections," Severus told him, not even pausing. Scrimgeour wasted no time in turning back to Harry.

"Harry?" he queried.

Inwardly Harry sighed, but he nodded. "All right."

"Excellent," the Minister approved. And then with a small nod at his reporter, he went on, "I heard that you went to visit your parents' home this morning. Is that right, Harry?"

Harry frowned. Scrimgeour obviously didn't need to ask. "Yes, we did. And we were very rudely interrupted by nosy reporters," Harry gave Anne a pointed glance. She smiled at him and wrote something on her little pad.

"Yes, I heard about that as well," Scrimgeour said with a look of dismay. "Very bad manners," he agreed. But then his smile returned. "Did the state of the house distress you?"

Harry stared at him. "Of course it did," he told him, while shaking his head in mild disbelief. "It was destroyed by Death Eaters."

"Oh, I know." Scrimgeour nodded sadly, his eyes swimming with exaggerated sadness. "But, I'd like to fix that for you, Harry. Erase those terrible deeds."

"What?" Harry asked, trying to keep up with the man and his erratic swings in both mood and conversation.

"We would like to erect a monument on the property, Harry," Scrimgeour explained, looking very pleased at the prospect. "To allow our world to have a place to remember these times--to remember what you've done for us. We'll have a magnificent dedicatory ceremony."

Harry stared at the grizzled man. He was almost glassy-eyed with excitement. Imagining how much this would boost his approval ratings with the public, no doubt.

"You'll have to ask my father," Harry told him, causing the older man to frown. "The property belongs to him."

Scrimgeour held a hand out to the side and Percy pressed a piece of parchment into it. Scrimgeour shook out the completely unwrinkled parchment and scanned it quickly. He looked up at Harry again. "The property is in your name--Harry Potter--handed down from your mother after her tragic death."

"It's Snape," Harry corrected immediately. Scrimgeour smiled automatically.

"Ah yes," he nodded. "I do remember reading about that in the papers this morning." Harry couldn't stop his eyebrow from rising in skeptical disbelief. Scrimgeour didn't seem to notice. "I think it might be best, Harry, to continue to refer to you as Harry Potter. It is, after all, the way you've been known for fifteen years. It's the name everyone wants to see signed on their copies of that wonderful photo from this morning's paper."

"We've already signed the paperwork," Harry's fingers clawed into the arms of his chair.

And again, Scrimgeour paid no attention to Harry's mood. "Well, we needn't do anything official to reverse it, of course, but you could certainly still use James Potter's last name," he encouraged.

"No," Harry said quietly as soon as the suggestion left Scrimgeour's tongue. "Snape is my last name. Severus Snape is my father and Lily Evans was my mother. They were married and they loved each other. Voldemort destroyed all of it." He was perfectly calm as he continued, ignoring the frown on the Minister's face, "James Potter was a very brave and wonderful man, but I won't act as though I'm ashamed of who I am. And I won't hurt my dad that way. If you, and the rest of Britain, can't accept that, then there's really no need for all your ceremonies."

Severus' pride was unmistakable as Scrimgeour stared, dumbfounded, at Harry. And Dumbledore's smile was easily detectable through his bushy beard. Harry glowed with both responses, while he waited for the Minister to reply.

"Well..." he finally said, running a finger down the knitted pattern of gold on the front of his robes. "...I can certainly understand your perspective. And I know the rest of Britain will be able to make the change. You are after all, a hero." The last word seemed to stick to the roof of Scrimgeour's mouth, and the two syllables had a little too much emphasis as they were thrown through his lips.

"Thank you for understanding, Minister," Harry offered politely.

Scrimgeour nodded, his smile thin now. "Shall we go over the details of tomorrow's festivities?" he inquired to Severus, his tone matching the state of his lips.

When Severus nodded, Percy stepped forward eagerly and beginning with Harry's scripted entrance, he began rattling off the schedule for the night. Harry did his best not fidget too much as Percy's fussy voice filled the office.