Thy Father Lies

It was past midnight in the village of Godric’s Hollow. The last of the Halloween revelers had straggled home, leaving the streets empty. The silence was broken only by the chill October wind, making dangling scarecrows sway on porches and occasionally ripping off Halloween streamers and sending them spinning and weaving down the road.

There came a great crack.

The tall, thin, dark man who had appeared out of thin air staggered a moment, panting. If any had been there to observe, they would have seen that his eyes were wild, his black hair unkempt. He wore long dark robes, and in his hand he clutched a thin, jet-black wand.

Once he’d gotten his bearings, the man strode off down the street, to the little house at the very end of the road, the little house the villagers never took any notice of, or even saw. At the gate, he paused, wand in hand, scanning the yard. Then, as if he simply couldn’t wait any longer, he ran up the garden path to the door.

Severus Snape paused again at the door, which hung ajar, letting out a wave of light. As desperate people always will, he was clutching at straws—the lights were on and the Dark Mark didn’t hang over the Potters’ house, surely that meant the Dark Lord hadn’t come?—but the open door and the ominous silence streaming from the house spoke to his worst fears.

He took a deep breath. “Lily? Lily! It’s me. It’s Severus.”

No one replied. Severus took another breath, then another. He went inside.

All the lights were on, as if this was a cozy evening at home. But there were odd signs of disarray: a book knocked off a side table in the living room, the sofa slightly askew. A knitted throw rug in a soft pile on the carpet. In the living room, the clock ticked, loud and continual.

Severus found he was oddly fascinated by the framed pictures on the mantelpiece. They were all moving magical photographs, depicting ordinary family moments: a wedding photo, a beaming man posing with a small, solemn-faced baby. Severus found himself staring at one in particular: that of a red-haired woman smiling and joyously embracing a hazel-eyed man, both of them laughing in a shower of autumn leaves.

Severus realized he was subconsciously stalling and shook himself out of it. “Lily? James?” he called.

Then he saw the dark shape lying at the foot of the stairs.

He hurried over, wand held ready. He knelt down, and his heart thudded when he saw what it was.

James Potter lay dead, without a mark on him, at the foot of the stairs. His glasses hung askew on his face, which held an expression of great surprise and great despair.

Severus stared at the dead man a moment. Then he stood and, climbing awkwardly around James, ascended the staircase.

Upstairs it was darker. The only light came from a small room at the end of the corridor. “Lily? Lily?” Severus’s voice was a thin ghost, pushing ineffectually against the silence.

There was another dark shape lying on the floor, just inside the lit room.

Severus was never certain, afterward, how he made it to the end of the hall. All he knew was that it seemed to take forever and no time at all to reach the room and then he was standing on the carpet of the nursery, staring down at Lily Potter’s body.

For a moment, his eyes refused to make sense of what they saw. It was all a blur, a chaotic jumble. But merciless rationality flooded in, unstoppable, and Severus understood the red hair splayed out on the carpet, the bloodless face, the glazed, staring green eyes, and he knew he had failed and Lily Potter was dead, murdered by the wizard Severus had, until very recently, called master.

Far away—far, far away—someone was screaming—“No! No! No!”—but Severus could not make sense of their words. The universe collapsed around him, all things sucked into a lightless void of anguish and despair. He was falling. Falling.

When he next came back to himself, Severus was on his knees, cradling Lily’s body, rocking back and forth. Sobs broke forth from him, endless, wrenching, uncontrollable. He could not stop screaming.

“LilyLilyLilyLily…!”

He had failed her. He had failed the woman he loved in the worst way possible. She was dead because of him.

Severus might have stayed there forever—might have held Lily in his arms until he just died of grief—had he not become aware of another voice. Someone else, screaming as he was screaming.

Still holding Lily, Severus looked up, face wet with tears. And so met a pair of soft green eyes, staring at him through the bars of a crib.

The baby fell silent, mouth slightly open, face streaked with tears. He clutched the bars of his crib, still staring at Severus.

Lily’s son, Severus realized, his thoughts sluggish. Lily and James’s son. The boy the Dark Lord had tried to kill.

Harry. That was his name. Harry Potter.

Harry made a soft cooing noise and smiled at Severus.

Lily’s son. And James’s.

Some decisions are reached after long, careful thought. Some decisions are spur-of-the-moment. And some decisions are so abrupt, so total, so irrevocable, that they seem to have been made for us by a higher power.

Severus found himself on his feet again, standing by the crib. He reached down and picked up the baby. His weight was warm and heavy in his hands. Severus clutched him awkwardly to his side, and the boy wriggled in discomfort, grizzling.

Severus pointed his wand at the boy. “Somnus,” he whispered. Harry’s eyelids fluttered shut as he fell into a magical sleep.

He was still an awkward load, though, flopping back on Severus’s hip. A sling. Severus needed a sling. People carried babies in slings, didn’t they? Pointing his wand at Harry’s blanket, Severus murmured a transfiguration spell, turning the boy’s fluffy baby blanket into a fluffy baby sling.

He put the sleeping Harry back into his crib while he slipped the sling on, shrugging it over his shoulder. Then he picked up the boy again and slid him into the sling, held securely against his chest. Harry snuggled closer without waking up, and sighed.

Severus peered down at Harry. He seemed to be in perfect health, but there was a scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt. A curse-scar. Of course. This baby had survived a Killing Curse. But how?

Never mind that for now. Severus had to get Harry out of here before either Death Eaters or Aurors showed up. He turned back, only to face Lily’s body again, lying on the floor.

Kneeling, careful of Harry, Severus forced himself to reach up and close her eyes. She looked better like this. Like she was sleeping.

“I’m sorry, Lily.” Severus had never meant any words more. “I’m so sorry. But I’ll take care of the boy. I’ll take care of Harry. I promise.”

Lily made no response. Severus bit back a sob.

Then he stood and, moving carefully around Lily, went back downstairs.

He had a job maneuvering back around James’s body at the foot of the stairs, Harry an awkward load. Once they were past James, however, Severus moved without hesitation, going straight back to the living room.

Proceeding to the mantelpiece, he took out his wand again. A few murmured incantations, and the framed photograph of Lily laughing in James’s arms rose into the air. The back separated from the frame, the photograph itself hovered loose. Another spell, and the photograph tore cleanly in half.

Severus motioned, and the half with Lily floated over, tucking itself into his robe, right under Harry’s weight. The half depicting James fell to the floor, unheeded.

Severus turned away then, leaving the living room rapidly. He went back outside, into the October night, leaving the door open behind him.  

What now? He needed to get Harry out of here, but how? He couldn’t Disapparate—that was supposed to be bad for babies. It crushed their skulls or something. Or was that only newborns…?

Then there came a blaze of light from overhead, and the growl of an engine.

Clutching Harry, Severus dived aside, hiding behind a stand of laurel bushes, just as the flying motorcycle cleared the rooftops across the street, roared in and nearly crashed on the Potters’ driveway. The man on the motorcycle leapt off immediately, tearing away his goggles, and Severus, peering between the leaves, beheld a strikingly handsome face, framed by shining black hair.

Sirius Black looked as though he’d just survived a dementor attack—face ravaged, eyes wide and haunted. Severus made no move to call out, but held stiller than ever, cradling Harry close.

“James? Lily?” Black called, just as Severus had. Then—just like Severus—he ran into the house. Moments later, Severus heard a scream crack out.

Black must have discovered James’s body. This was Severus’s chance. He emerged from the bushes and crossed the driveway, swift and silent as a shadow. He cast a Silencing charm on the motorcycle. Then, without hesitation, he swung a leg over it, turned on the ignition, and soared noiselessly into the sky.

The cold wind whipped around Severus and Harry. The ground fell away below them, a dark mass mapped out with lines of glowing light. Harry snuffled a little at the wind but didn’t wake. Wielding his wand one-handed, Severus cast a Warming charm on him, and Harry sighed, falling still more deeply asleep.

Severus, driving the flying motorcycle across the sky, smiled down at the baby. “Good Harry,” he murmured. “That’s my good boy.”

Over a month later, an icy winter wind whipped around the house at Spinner’s End.

Other houses in the neighborhood had put up Christmas lights and decorations, but not this one. From the outside, the house looked as empty and dismal as ever, its windows blank, its doors sealed shut.

On the inside, however, all was warm and cheerful. Severus had lit a fire and bespelled the windows so no one could see the lights shining inside, cozy shaded lamps by comfortable chairs.

There were other changes too. Severus had converted one of the bedrooms into a nursery, complete with crib and changing table. In the kitchen, a large packet of Muggle baby formula was stored in the cupboard, and there were glass jars of baby food in the refrigerator. Potion ingredients lay strewn around the kitchen and a cauldron of Strengthening Solution was stewing. Severus planned to add a tiny amount to Harry’s formula later.

Severus himself was sitting at the kitchen table, holding Harry in his lap while he read an old, outdated issue of the Daily Prophet, the only one he’d been able to find. Harry, bright-eyed and curious, made a snatch for the newspaper. Severus moved it out of his reach. “I’m still reading that.”

Harry’s face crumpled, mouth opening to wail. Not removing his eyes from the page, Severus gave him a napkin to play with. Harry gurgled, waving it around.

“Ha!” cried Severus with great satisfaction. “Listen to this, Harry: ‘Notorious mass-murderer and Death Eater Sirius Black has been sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban Prison. He has been transported to the fortress directly to begin his sentence.’ Well, well, my boy.” He bounced Harry on his knee. “There really is divine justice!”

Harry, still clutching the napkin, frowned up at him. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Harry. You didn’t know him. Trust me, Azkaban can only improve Black.” Severus didn’t truly believe the story about Sirius Black betraying the Potters to Voldemort—he’d seen Black’s face the night of the murders and heard his dreadful howl of grief—but he felt no sympathy for his old enemy being falsely locked away. On the contrary, he felt a smug triumph, along with relief. There was one of James Potter’s friends who was never going to come looking for Harry.

Harry threw the napkin to the floor and reached over his head, opening and closing his fists. “Wan-wan,” he squeaked.

“Right now? Oh, very well…” Severus took out his wand and Harry wriggled and cooed with delight. Severus waved his wand, leaving a trail of bright, rainbow-colored bubbles in the air. Harry laughed aloud.

Severus sighed. He’d never been a particularly paternal man, and caring for a baby took some getting used to. It was a lot of work, even more than he’d anticipated, to constantly look after a small child and see to their every need. Harry had been very clingy at first, constantly clutching Severus and tearfully screaming, “Ma, ma, ma!” Lately, however, he’d cheered up, gurgling and cooing, exploring Spinner’s End and demanding that Severus bring out his wand to entertain him.

Harry now yelled happily, trying to catch the bubbles in his hands. Severus set his wand aside. “That’s enough magic for now, Harry. Let’s read some more Shakespeare…”

He pushed away the newspaper and drew over his huge doorstopper of a Shakespeare anthology. He’d owned this anthology since the age of thirteen, when the local library had been selling off books and he’d gotten it cheap. Since then, it had been one of his most prized possessions. He’d even taken it to Hogwarts with him—though he’d taken care to disguise it as a boring book of magical history. He hadn’t wanted his fellow students, especially his fellow Slytherins, to suspect his passion for Shakespeare.

Thinking back on it, Severus grimaced. How had he ever borne it? Hiding who he was, hiding all the things he loved, in a vain attempt to fit in with people who despised and looked down on him? The longer he spent away from the wizarding world, the less he could believe he’d ever stuck with it for as long as he had. The wizarding world was so narrow, so stagnant. Severus hadn’t seen or spoken to a single adult wizard since Halloween, and he found he didn’t care if he never spoke to another wizard ever again. What fools they all were, letting magic completely dictate every aspect of their lives. Even the Dark Lord was completely enslaved by his wand. How could Severus have ever thought obliterating the Muggle world and placing pureblood wizards in power was a good idea?

He sighed, his eyes traveling to the photograph stuck on the wall with the Sticking Charm. Lily smiled and waved at him from her half of the torn photo. How could I have been so stupid? Severus wondered for the thousandth time. His stupidity had cost Lily her life.

In his lap, Harry wriggled and shrieked, interrupting Severus’s reverie. Severus returned to himself and the task at hand. He refocused on the Shakespeare anthology, located his place on the page and began to read aloud:

“The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree

Sing all a green willow:

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,

Sing willow, willow, willow:

The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur’d her moans;

Sing willow, willow, willow;

Her salt tears fell from her, and soften’d the stones

Lay by these:

Sing willow, willow, willow;

Prithee, hie thee, he’ll come anon:--

Sing all a green willow must be my garland.

Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve.”

Harry calmed, the flow of words seeming to put him at ease. Severus, however, fell silent. Tears stung his eyes, thinking of lost love and scornful lovers who were justified in their scorn. God, but he was losing it: drowning in grief and sentimentality. Why was he reading Othello yet again? This was the third time he’d read it since Halloween, both silently to himself and aloud to Harry. It was just like the summer after his fifth year at Hogwarts, after he’d lost Lily’s friendship, when he’d read Romeo and Juliet six times in a row and cried pints over both Romeo and Juliet’s poor, despised suitor Paris and lost himself in morbid, maudlin fantasies of committing suicide in Lily’s tomb—

A shriek rose, shattering his thoughts and jerking him back to the present. Harry was crying and screaming, writhing and kicking in Severus’s lap. “Shh, shh,” he murmured, rocking the boy, but it didn’t work. Harry just kept crying.

Severus stood and walked around the kitchen, rocking Harry. “Shh, shh, what’s the matter?” Harry continued sobbing and wailing.

Severus cast around. Lullabies. You sang lullabies when babies cried, right? But he didn’t know any lullabies.

Except one. “You spotted snakes with double tongue,” he began to sing:

“Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen.

Newts and blindworms, do no wrong.

Come not near our fairy queen.”

Harry fell quiet, blinking up at him. Encouraged, Severus continued singing softly:

“Philomel, with melody

Sing in our sweet lullaby.

Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby.

Never harm

Nor spell nor charm

Come our lovely lady nigh.

So good night, with lullaby.”

Harry giggled and nestled closer. Severus sang on: “Weaving spiders, come not here—”

Rap. Rap. Rap.

Severus stiffened, coming alert. Harry, sensing the sudden tension, starting wriggling and crying again. Severus paid him no heed. Someone was knocking at his door, and that should not be. He had no friends or relatives who might call, and his Muggle neighbors didn’t even know he was here.

Severus drew his wand and, still holding Harry, sidled to the window to look outside. What he saw made him swear viciously.

For a moment, he entertained the idea of taking Harry and running away. But if their visitor had found them here, he would undoubtedly follow them wherever they went. It was better to face him now.

Accordingly, Severus went to the door and, with a flick of his wand, opened it. “How did you find me?” he demanded of the white-haired, long-nosed wizard standing out in the freezing rain.

Albus Dumbledore beamed at him with bright blue eyes. “A Merry Christmas to you too, Severus. May I come in?”

“No.”

“Come now, Severus, would you really rather have this conversation on the porch?”

Severus hesitated. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.” When Severus eyed him suspiciously, Dumbledore said, “I swear. No one knows I’m here.”

Rather against his will, Severus believed him. Grudgingly, he stepped aside and let the Headmaster of Hogwarts in.

Dripping water, utterly out of place in his wizard’s hat and robes, Dumbledore looked around Severus’s house. “I say! It’s much cozier inside than out, isn’t it? I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“How did you find me?” Severus demanded again, still clutching Harry on his hip.

“Oh, come, Severus.” Dumbledore rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “I knew it had to be you who had taken Harry. No one else would have taken the boy, closed Lily’s eyes and stolen her half of the photograph while leaving James’s half—and James himself—lying on the floor.” Dumbledore nodded at the photograph stuck on the wall. “From there, it was just a matter of deduction.”

“I suppose you want to take Harry?” Severus’s grip tightened on the boy.

“Well, it did cross my mind,” said Dumbledore mildly.

Severus held Harry still harder. “You can’t take him!” Harry cried out at the sudden pressure, and Severus rocked him, still glaring bloody murder at Dumbledore.

“Why do you even want the boy, Severus?” Dumbledore asked softly. “As I recall, you never cared about him before.”

“That was before I found him orphaned by his dead mother. What do you plan to do with him, anyway?”

“Take him to live with his aunt and uncle.”

It took Severus a moment to process this. When he did, his eyes widened. “What? You mean—Lily’s sister? Petunia?”

“Why, yes,” said Dumbledore, looking a bit surprised. “Ah, yes—you grew up with her, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did, and I’ll tell you this right now, Dumbledore: Petunia Evans is the very last person to look after Harry!”

“She is his family.”

“Like that’s a guarantee of anything.” Severus’s laugh was nasty. “Tell me, have you actually asked Petunia if she’s willing to look after a wizard baby? Or were you planning to just leave Harry wrapped in a blanket on her doorstep, with a little explanatory note?” Severus spoke sarcastically, but when Dumbledore failed to answer, he stopped short. “Good God, Dumbledore. You really were!”

Dumbledore was silent a moment, marshaling his thoughts. “Tell me, Severus, do you know how Harry survived Voldemort’s attack?”

Severus shifted Harry to his other hip. “No,” he admitted.

“He survived because Lily died to save him,” Dumbledore said. “Her sacrifice invoked an ancient magic that provided Harry with inviolable protection. That same magic reflected Voldemort’s curse back onto him, destroying his body—”

“Then he’s gone!”

“No, Severus.” Dumbledore’s voice was soft but inexorable. “He’s not.”

“What do you mean?” Severus asked after a moment.

“It is my belief,” said Dumbledore heavily, “that Voldemort is in possession of several Horcruxes.”

“Horcruxes!”

“I’m glad you appreciate the gravity of the situation,” said Dumbledore with a saturnine smile. “Unless and until all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort cannot die. His Killing Curse may have destroyed his body, but his soul—fractured though it is—remains earthbound. And he will come again, Severus. He will try to kill the boy. You told him the prophecy yourself.”

Both men fell silent. Even Harry was quiet, blinking at the two wizards. In the crackling of the fire, Severus could almost hear the deep, rasping tones of the Seer in her trance: “A boy-child is coming who is the Dark Lord’s doom…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…The Dark Lord must destroy him…For he is the key to the Dark Lord’s undoing. He shall grow to give the Dark Lord’s greatest enemy the power to destroy him, once and forever. He cannot defeat the Dark Lord, yet he is the Dark Lord’s doom…A boy-child…Born as the seventh month dies…”

“Harry Potter must live.” Dumbledore’s glasses glinted in the firelight. “For the sake of us all, he must grow up to give Voldemort’s greatest enemy the power to destroy him—whatever power that may be. And his best hope of survival is to dwell in a place of those of Lily’s blood. Thus Lily’s blessing shall stay alive. It shall keep him safe.”

Severus clutched Harry. He felt torn in half. What Dumbledore said made sense, but—Severus couldn’t part with Harry. The thought made him want to scream. And the idea of handing him over to Petunia, of all people, made him physically ill.

Then something from Dumbledore’s last statement caught his attention. “Wait…a place of one of Lily’s blood?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore drew back a little.

“Then he doesn’t need to live with Petunia, does he?” Severus spoke rapidly, words spilling over in urgency. “He just needs to live in a house Petunia owns!”

“That—that could work.” Dumbledore blinked a little. “I confess I…wouldn’t have thought of that. It’s genius, Severus, really. But do you think we can make Petunia cooperate?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Severus gave a sour smile. “We just need to threaten to leave Harry with her and she’ll fall all over herself to avoid that fate.”

“Is she that bad?” said Dumbledore after a moment.

“She’s worse.” Severus sighed. “And even if she wasn’t, I doubt many people in her position would appreciate having an unexpected child thrust on them—let alone a magical one.”

Another silence passed. Harry wriggled hard, trying to free himself, and Severus placed him on the floor. Harry immediately grabbed his trouser leg and hauled himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily. He grinned, looking proud.

“Sev-wus,” he said, surprising Severus: Harry had never said his name before. “Sev-wus.” Then he flung his arms around Severus’s leg in a hug.

Dumbledore observed all this. “The boy certainly seems fond of you, Severus,” he said quietly. “And you of him.”

“I am fond of him,” said Severus shortly. At his feet, Harry plunked to the floor and started playing with his shoelaces. “I love him. He is Lily’s son, and now my own. And I won’t give him up, Dumbledore. Not to you or anyone else.”

Dumbledore was silent another moment, staring at Severus. “No. I can see that.” He sighed. “So what do you propose we do, Severus?”

“Pay a visit to Petunia Evans,” said Severus grimly. “You, me and the boy. Threaten to leave Harry with her if she doesn’t cooperate. Then I believe I shall rent whatever property she buys and raise Harry in it.”

“Not a bad plan at all,” said Dumbledore. “Actually, I might have a suggestion.”

“What?” Severus demanded suspiciously.

Dumbledore cocked his head at him. “Tell me, Severus, do you object to emigrating?”

“Emigrating where?” Severus asked, taken aback.

“America,” said Dumbledore. “Specifically, California. I have several contacts in a small town called San Benito. It’s a beautiful place, warm and sunny and right on the beach. A Muggle tourist town. No one would think to look for you or Harry there.”

Severus was tempted. Dumbledore was right: no one would think to look for him or Harry in such a place. He felt no reluctance at the idea of leaving Britain. Indeed, he felt eager. Still, he hesitated. “These contacts of yours…are they wizards?”

“No. They’re a Mexican Squib and his Muggle husband. They know of the magical world but are not part of it. Miguel Gomez has kept up his contacts in the wizarding community, and he and Michael Smith regularly provide an interface between Muggles and wizards—for a price, of course.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “They’re willing to make bargains and keep secrets if they’re given remuneration—you know the type.”

“Indeed.” Severus was more intrigued than ever. He did know the type of Muggle Dumbledore was describing, and also knew they were invaluable to wizards wishing to go unnoticed by other wizards. Muggles knowledgeable about the magical world but not part of it, interested in money and not afraid to make shady deals to get it, with flexible consciences…perfect. A wizard, especially an expert potion-maker, could make a great deal of money in collaboration with such Muggles, and keep an eye on the magical world without it noticing him.

“They sound perfect,” Severus said honestly.

Dumbledore regarded him. “I take it you no longer wish to associate with other wizards?”

“I do not,” growled Severus. “I’ve had enough of the wizarding world. I don’t care if I never see another witch or wizard again.”

“I suppose I don’t blame you,” sighed Dumbledore. “Very well. We will make the arrangements with Petunia Dursley. I daresay we can work out the legal and financial side of it if all are willing.” He paused. “But what then, Severus?” he said softly. “Voldemort will return eventually. What then? When Harry is grown and gives Voldemort’s greatest enemy the power to destroy him?”

Severus’s fists clenched. “That prophecy,” he hissed, “shall never come to pass! Harry is a boy, not a weapon—yours or anyone else’s. I will not raise him simply to destroy the Dark Lord. I swear on Lily’s grave that I will do all I can to foil the prophecy!”

“Oh, really?” said Dumbledore. “I would have thought you of all people would want to see Voldemort destroyed.”

Severus stiffened even further. For a moment, the fire flickered and nearly went out, casting the room into shadow. “Oh, I do,” he whispered, soft and vicious. “I want to see the Dark Lord destroyed, all right. I want to see him annihilated. I want to take everything from him and laugh in his face before I grind him into oblivion. But…” He sighed, all the rage draining out of him. “Not at the price of Harry’s life,” he said softly. “Not at the price of his safety or happiness.”

“So what do you propose?” Dumbledore asked again, after a short pause.

Severus looked him straight in the eye. “You said the Dark Lord has several Horcruxes,” he said grimly. “You will need help finding them and destroying them. I can provide that help. I shall obey you in this, and help you hunt out and destroy each Horcrux, and then I will help you destroy the Dark Lord himself. We will not need the prophecy.”

“And in return?” said Dumbledore after a moment.

“In return,” Severus said, “you give me Harry. Swear to me, Dumbledore, that you will leave Harry Potter in my keeping and let me raise him as I wish. Swear to me that you will keep all other wizards away, that we may live in peace. And I will do everything in my power to help you destroy the Dark Lord once and for all.”

Another silence passed. Dumbledore stared at Severus as though he would see into his very soul. “The boy means so much to you?” he said at last.

“He means the world to me,” Severus whispered.

At his feet, Harry tired of being on the floor and held up his arms. Severus bent over and picked him up. Harry cuddled in, his arms going around Severus’s neck. “Sev-wus,” he said happily.

Dumbledore looked from Severus to Harry and back again. He gave a long, weary sigh. “Very well, Severus. I swear to you that I will leave Harry Potter in your keeping and never touch him without your permission. I will keep your secret, and I will do my best to keep other wizards away. I will let all the wizarding world think you are both dead, and you may raise him as you wish, free of other wizards. And in return, you will help me hunt out the Horcruxes and destroy Voldemort forever.”

Severus held Harry close against his own heart. “I swear on Lily’s grave.”

Around the house, the December wind whipped and howled, bearing witness to the bargain made within.