Not in Name or in Blood
“I told you, nothing is official yet,” Harry said to Ron, as they crawled into their adjacent beds later that night. The two of them, Sirius, and Hermione had sat up playing cards together long after Dumbledore had left. Lupin had never returned and Sirius had been unusually reserved after the good news he’d received. Harry thought his Godfather’s face seemed lighter and happier, but it was a cautious kind of joy. Harry suspected that Sirius was wary about getting his hopes up too soon, but he wasn’t. Harry was already enthusiastically imagining the sort of home life that soon would be his, eager to unburden himself of a deep sorrow in his heart.
“All I know is that Sirius said he is getting as far away from Grimmauld Place as he can,” Harry said, molding his pillow into a more comfortable shape before lying down. “The Order can keep using it, but we aren’t going to live here.”
“Where would you like to live?” Ron asked, using his feet to kick his socks off one by one. They landed somewhere on the floor and he laid down without bothering to pick them up.
“Not London,” Harry said firmly. “And not anywhere that is anything like Privet Drive.”
“Sirius wouldn’t like that sort of place anyway,” Ron reminded him. Then he suddenly smiled. “What if you guys moved closer to The Burrow? We could be neighbours.”
“Yeah,” Harry grinned, pulling his blankets up a little higher on himself. “We should try and get enough land around us so that we can fly back and forth to see each other without worrying about being seen.”
“A larger Quidditch pitch,” Ron said enthusiastically, closing his eyes.
“Sirius will love that as much as we will,” Harry yawned sleepily, thinking about the apple orchard in Godric’s Hollow where he had once watched James and Sirius flying. He couldn’t imagine anything more amazing than creating something like that for themselves. For this long overdue second chance.
He rolled over on his other side to face the wall, with his mind full of infinite possibilities and nothing about Voldemort. Sirius would probably love to live in the countryside. With all the space and freedom he had been deprived of for nearly all his adult life. Sirius would cherish somewhere he could see the stars after all those years in Azkaban. A home together - what his Godfather had offered him the very first night they had met in Harry’ third year. They were going to be so happy together and the only tragic part was that James and Lily weren’t here to share in it. Although even that was somehow easier to contend with than usual when Harry could rest knowing that their wishes were finally being respected.
He lay there listening to Ron's steady breathing as he planned for a future that conveniently left out the prophecy and what was already destined. It was hard to worry or be upset about anything right now, and he was still wide awake when he heard Snape out in the hallway. How well did you have to know someone to be able to recognize their distinctive way of walking? Harry lay listening as Snape went down the hall. Several minutes later he returned and there was the click of a door being closed. Harry was out of his bed and across the hall without any hesitation.
“It’s just me,” he announced, knocking once before he let himself in. Harry took in the sight of Snape clutching his head in his hand as though he were suffering the effects of a very bad hangover, but he noticed immediately that his skin looked a little less sallow and when Snape looked at him, his black eyes somehow seemed a bit brighter. What a transformative effect an adequate amount of sleep could be in returning health to a worn out body.
“What time is it?” Snape asked.
“Nearly eleven,” Harry replied, stepping into the room without invitation and coming over to drop onto the bed beside him.
“Eleven?” Snape repeated. He frowned over at the open window, which was marred with blackness and the glow of lamp posts on the sidewalk below. Harry could tell that he was trying to figure out how that time was even possible. A consequence of an overindulgence of sleep when he was used to being seriously deprived. Rather than sharpening his senses, it appeared to have done the opposite in the short term.
“Eleven at night,” Harry explained with a smile. “It’s Saturday night. You’ve been asleep for an entire day.”
Snape blinked in astonishment at this news. Even if it could hardly come as a surprise - he was always bound to crash eventually. “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked in exasperation.
“Because you needed it,” Harry replied, stretching out on his back to stare up at the ceiling. He was feeling wide awake all of a sudden. Eager to update Professor Snape on all that he had missed. “Do you want me to make you some coffee, sir?”
“Not right now,” Snape said curtly, reaching a hand up to clutch at his neck as he stretched it out. A small cracking could be heard in the silent bedroom. "Has Professor Dumbledore been in touch yet?”
“Yeah, he was here a few hours ago,” Harry replied casually. He knew he wanted to tell Snape about Sirius adopting him before he learned it from someone else, but he wasn't sure if now was the moment. He'd wait for Snape to wake up a little more first.
“And?” Snape pressed impatiently.
“And he didn’t say much about what happened at the Ministry except that he was satisfied,” Harry replied, joining his fingers together and stretching his arms out in the air above him. “Dumbledore mostly just came to tell Sirius that he was working on clearing his name.”
"Really?" Snape said quietly. "Well that must be a relief for both of you." He grimaced suddenly and reached to grab onto his forearm. Harry turned his head and his eyes narrowed at the foreboding sign.
“Is he-”
“Just a twinge, it doesn’t mean anything,” Snape said reassuringly, absentmindedly rubbing his arm while Harry continued to stare. "I'll bet it's less severe than the pain in your scar when it burns. I can hardly complain."
"That hasn't happened to me all year," Harry reminded him, which was thanks to Snape’s protection. The crafted potion that blocked out Voldemort’s invasion and had given Harry the chance to feel wholesome again, despite what awaited him in the future that could not be avoided.
"Couldn't you make something to help soothe your own pain, Professor?" Harry asked.
"No, that wouldn't be productive," Snape replied. "It’s the Dark Lord’s way of communicating with me and I'd never interfere with that channel. Your scar is an entirely different matter. The less access he has to you, the better for all of us. Besides, mine doesn't hurt that much unless he's calling. I think the twinges are just the Dark Lord’s way of reminding us that we belong to him and that he could summon us at a moment’s notice.”
“But he’s not going to right now?” Harry asked softly.
“I don’t think so,” Snape shook his head. “I think he’s rather preoccupied at the moment, now that he’s got the prophecy. I probably won’t be requested for at least a few more days. When that happens, it will burn black and the searing pain will be indistinguishable. Right now, it’s quite faint in colour. Only when he was gone did it disappear entirely.”
“Can I see it?” Harry asked suddenly, sitting up again supported by his elbows. He didn’t know why, but the idea just struck him. To gain more appreciation for what Snape had willfully endured and still struggled with, which he had only ever gotten fleeting glimpses of before now. It was a way to understand him better.
“You’ve seen it before,” Snape said uncomfortably, subconsciously pulling his sleeve down further over his hand. He held tightly to the fabric, as if he were afraid a gust of wind might blow through the open window and suddenly expose his deepest source of shame.
“The Death Eaters must all have been panicking when it started to appear again,” Harry remarked. “Do you think most of them actually desired his return?”
“Aside from the ones who went to Azkaban for him? No,” Snape smirked. “Certainly not the Malfoys. Wormtail only wanted him back so that he could hide behind him. The Death Eaters had returned to their comfortable lives and held places of respect in wizarding society without him around. The Dark Lord’s return puts all that they had worked for in jeopardy. I think very few actually wanted to see him rise again.”
“That makes him seem less dangerous to me,” Harry confessed. “He doesn’t have that many loyal followers, does he? They’d turn on him in a heartbeat if they thought it would save their own necks.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Snape replied. “Fear is a very powerful tool and the Dark Lord employs it masterfully. His army is growing and nobody would dare turn in their resignation to the Dark Lord when he's as powerful as he is now. It’s a life of service and he could care in the least which of us love him or not. He knows we will serve him faithfully because the consequences of betraying him are too severe."
And to Harry’s surprise, Snape slowly pulled up his sleeve to expose his forearm. Transparently showing Harry the worst part of himself. The ugly symbol of evilness and oppression that had begun Harry’s nightmare, starting with the night Voldemort had targeted his parents.
The Dark Mark was large and snaked all the way up to Snape’s elbow. Raised slightly on his skin like a jagged accumulation of thick scar tissue. A skull and a serpent, woven together with exact curves and precision. Voldemort himself had burned that into a young Severus Snape and it was a curse that could not be undone. A choice that could never be forgotten.
“You were eighteen?” Harry verified, gingerly touching his fingertips to the pale skin beside the tail of the snake.
“Barely,” Snape replied, turning his arm slightly so that Harry could see the other side more fully. “I thought of it as an opportunity to be more than I was and I ran to it. The last thing on my mind was differentiating between right or wrong. I couldn’t have cared less about that back then.”
“You’re much harder than yourself than I am ever going to be,” Harry said, pulling Snape’s sleeve down for him, grateful for his trust and sympathetic to how awful bearing your worst mistake on your arm forever had to be. Snape would be buried with the Dark Mark branded into him. Solid proof that he had once decided to fight on Lord Voldemort’s side, which was something he could never erase no matter what he was doing now.
“Some marks don’t ever come off,” Snape said quietly, clutching his covered arm protectively and seeming to sense precisely what Harry was thinking.
“Do you want me to go make you a coffee now, sir?” Harry offered again, hoping to lighten the intensity right now. He wasn't angry or unforgiving. He didn't want Snape to dwell on what could not be fixed. That had never been his intention. “Or warm you up a plate from supper? We saved you -”
“What would you think about getting out of here for a little while?” Snape suggested, gazing back out the window where the blackness sparkled with city lights instead of stars. “We could walk down to the square, I know there are a lot of restaurants open at all hours down there.”
“We can do things like that?” Harry asked in surprise, because that was the last thing he had expected Snape to offer.
Though they were close and they spent time together, very rarely did that cross over the lines of school and Voldemort because Snape didn’t really know how to enjoy himself. Harry suspected that having fun was something that had long ago been forgotten in the place of insurmountable pain.
“If we both take Polyjuice, then I don’t see a problem,” Snape replied. He got up from the bed and reached under it for his satchel. His fingers unclasped the buckle as Harry watched him in amazement. It opened up into a world of ingredients, much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. Several glass vials were already labeled as completed potions and the entire thing looked bottomless.
“You carry these with you wherever you go?” Harry asked curiously.
“Well, I’d never leave home without a bezoar,” Snape replied, pointing to a small box that contained an ugly stone. He suddenly looked stern. “After just completing your OWL in Potions I hope in God’s name that you can tell me why….”
“I could answer that one since our first lesson when you decided to humiliate me in front of the whole class by asking questions I had no way of knowing the answers to,” Harry replied curtly, but Snape, who was now sorting through a container holding several small collection tubes labeled in his cramped handwriting merely smirked.
“It’s an antidote to most poisons,” Harry stated, as Snape pulled out a sealed beaker of recognizable Polyjuice Potion and set it on the bedside table.
“Correct,” Snape replied, squinting now as he held two glass test tubes up in front of his critical eye. “I think these ones will do. The donors are related muggles, so we’ll look as inconspicuous together as we could hope.”
“Who donates to you?” asked Harry, glancing over Snape’s shoulder. He put his hand into the container of tubes holding samples of hairs. Snape had labeled them with approximate ages, sexes, and physical features.
“I have no idea who these people are,” Snape replied. He had now taken out two glasses and was pouring an equal amount of thick Polyjuice into each. “The less I know about them the better because the purpose is to blend into a crowd, not to impersonate anyone. I collected these hairs off a muggle man and his son I once was seated behind on the underground.”
“The underground?” Harry repeated. “What on earth were you doing there?”
“The muggle world can be a pleasant place to visit under the right circumstances,” Snape shrugged, adding the hairs to one of the glasses before handing it to Harry.
“So you just visit the muggle world once in a while to pluck hairs off unsuspecting people?” Harry asked skeptically, as he wrinkled his nose at the concoction he was going to have to force down before he and Snape could leave the house.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The average human sheds between fifty to one hundred hairs a day. It’s hardly a difficult thing to acquire,” Snape replied. Harry watched him add the hairs from the second specimen tube to his own.
“Did you purposely collect hairs from both a father and son so that we could go out together?” Harry asked.
“I thought the opportunity might present itself, yes,” Snape replied. “Not that it’s not effective to become a Weasley or another less controversial Order member on occasions like at Christmas, but becoming a muggle can be even more freeing. You’ll see. Drink up.”
Harry waited to watch Snape take the first sip from his own glass. Snape did it with his eyes closed, much like Sirius had. He covered his mouth with his hand between doses to keep the potion from spewing back up. Sirius had always struggled to get the Polyjuice Potion down every single time he’d taken it over Christmas as well, but it was always worth it in the end. Bracing himself, Harry lifted his own glass and attempted to get as much down as possible in the first swallow. Feeling like he was choking on mud, but noticing the results begin to take effect instantly.
“I’m okay,” he tried to sound reassuring for Snape, as the room began to spin and he had to grip tightly onto the bed post for support.
He watched through his eyelashes as the skin on Snape’s hands and face was bubbling and molting before his very eyes. He was stretching taller, adding some weight around the middle, and his hair was shortening and turning a grisled grey. His face was plumping out, losing much of its sharpness. When he opened his eyes to look at Harry, they were now a gentle light brown.
“You should be feeling better now,” the stranger, who was actually Snape, remarked. He pointed his wand at the empty glass Harry had cast beside him and it vanished. Pointing his wand at himself, his own black robes transfigured into trousers and a long sleeved shirt more befitting a muggle. “Do you want to see what you look like?”
Harry nodded his head dizzily. Letting go of the bedpost and standing shakily on his feet. He could already sense the nausea leaving his body. As he recalled from the time he and Ron had taken Polyjuice Potion to break into the Slytherin Common Room and impersonate Malfoy’s friends in second year, transforming was the hard part. Turning back into himself later would not hurt him as much and he felt perfectly normal right now, if not at all like himself.
Harry’s pants dragged on the floor and needed to be hoisted up as he walked over to the mirror. He was smaller now. His hair was brown and curly, his eyes a light brown that matched Snape’s, and his cheeks were cherub and splashed with so many freckles that he appeared tan.
“At least I don’t look like Goyle this time,” he remarked aloud, forgetting for a moment that Snape could hear him, but fortunately his professor seemed to have no interest in digging into that statement. "But I’ll barely pass for a twelve year old like this…."
“People might wonder why I’m bringing you out so late,” Snape smirked, as he came over to stand behind Harry in the mirror. The resemblance between them was uncanny. Nobody would doubt who Harry belonged to right now. “A problem I didn’t foresee, but oh well...just hold still so I can shrink your clothes. I won’t have my son walking about London looking so slovenly.”
“You aren’t you,” Harry reminded him, though he obediently didn’t move until his pants had been shortened in length and his t-shirt resized to fit his smaller body. Then the man who was Snape nodded his approval and tucked his wand discreetly up his sleeve next to his unmarked arm. Harry waited patiently for Snape to find a black leather wallet inside his satchel. He opened it to check for the muggle money kept inside before pocketing it.
“Try not to wake up the portrait on our way out, Harry,” Snape whispered, as he gave him a gentle push out into the hallway.
Harry didn’t need to be told to be quiet though. Sirius had already gone upstairs to bed but the last thing Harry wanted was to devastate his godfather over an outing that he knew wouldn’t be wise to include him in. Not when justice was so close to being served and Sirius only had to hold on for a little while longer. Neither Snape nor Harry spoke until they made it downstairs and out the front door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place without incident.
“Do you spend much time in the muggle world, sir?” Harry asked, as Snape led him down the sidewalk towards the main district that hosted the main hub of nighttime activity. Harry’s shoes were a little big for his feet but he didn’t want to waste time asking Snape to shrink them for him. He wriggled his toes in the extra space, enjoying a warm breeze on his face and the change of scenery which had never really happened before. He seldom was outside of Hogwarts and most of his time back at Privet Drive consisted of being confined to his bedroom with bars on the window.
“It has its place,” Snape remarked slowly. “You know that I grew up in the muggle world just like you did, even if I didn't always value it. But I think there's a lot to appreciate - art, culture, history, discovery, and progress. I find it a very pleasing escape from time to time. There’s a definitive advantage to not being pure blood, which Death Eaters refuse to acknowledge.”
“Because they consider muggles to be beneath them,” Harry said.
“Precisely,” Snape agreed. “They refuse to recognize that not having magic breeds a different kind of intelligence. It forces muggles to be inventive and creative, to study the universe and the sciences around them in order to find practical solutions and advances. Things like airplanes, telephones, pharmaceuticals, and medical procedures - most wizards don’t consider understanding such things to be worth the effort.”
“Besides Mr. Weasley, you mean,” Harry smiled. Ron’s father was obsessed with everything to do with muggles. He found them extraordinarily clever and it was surprising to learn that Snape shared some of those sentiments. But perhaps Harry should have given Snape more credit. His past mistakes had never been borne from hate of any particular group, but more out of the desire to belong somewhere himself.
"Potion making really relies on understanding the science and logic of the world, which differentiates it from most branches of Magic," said Snape. "I wouldn't be able to modify Lupin’s potion or concoct what was needed for your mind if not for a strong foundation in factual science. Most wizards don’t gravitate to that, but it prevents me from taking my magic for granted.”
“Hermione once said that a lot of wizards don’t have an ounce of logic in them,” Harry recalled.
“She’s quite right about that,” Snape agreed. “We tend not to think as critically about the ‘how’ or the ‘why’ when it comes to magic, because so much of it cannot be explained. That's the definitive element that makes us stand apart from our muggle relatives, but you must also have some things you appreciate about that side of you ...."
“Not really,” Harry shrugged. “What I learned in my primary school never interested me much, but I did okay. Other than school, I was mostly just stuck at Privet Drive. My Aunt and Uncle would leave me behind when they took Dudley out to do fun things. I never went to adventure parks, hamburger bars, or the cinema….”
"I could take you," Snape said quietly.
Harry’s face reddened and he was momentarily thankful that it was dark out so that Snape wouldn't be able to tell. “I didn’t mean - I wasn’t trying to coerce you into taking me, sir.”
"You overestimate your ability to manipulate me," Snape sneered. "I know you'd never ask for any such thing - I'm offering. As you pointed out before, I slept all day, and I just finished telling you that I find Muggle entertainment to be pleasing on occasion, so this is hardly a chore for me."
"Just making sure," Harry said with a small smile.
Snape was eyeing him quizzically now. "We can have dinner and then walk right over to the cinema across the road - there's always midnight showings. How about we eat there?” he pointed at a restaurant with the name flashing above it in blue lighting. A few people were coming out the main door laughing together.
Harry nodded his head happily, imagining the Dursleys' faces if they could see him out enjoying himself right now. Doing all the things they'd deprived him of for his entire life. At least he’d more or less be rid of them soon. Which suddenly reminded him of Sirius, and he glanced guiltily up at Snape, feeling as if he was withholding a traitorous secret.
“Dumbledore talked to us tonight about what we can do once Sirius is free,” Harry shared, as they reached the entrance to the restaurant.
“Did he now,” said Snape calmly, opening the door and holding it for Harry to go in ahead. It was crowded inside. A large group was walking out and Harry had to squeeze around them to reach the hostess stand where a middle aged woman peered down at him as though she thought he was lost. Harry silently bristled in annoyance at the reminder that Snape had given him the hairs of a boy years younger than himself.
“Who are you here with, dear?” she asked.
“Uhh...my Dad,” Harry replied, deciding on the spur of the moment to try out the name he'd never gotten to use before. He felt his heart skip a couple of beats as she counted out two menus. He was surprised at his own daring and nerve, when he could just as easily have said the number. Now he understood exactly what Snape meant when he said the muggle world could be incredibly liberating to escape to sometimes. There was no consequence to calling him that here, aside from Snape’s own reaction.
“Follow me,” the hostess beckoned, and Harry looked over his shoulder to see that Snape was standing directly behind him. How long had he been there? Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as they walked through the busy restaurant together and sat down on opposite sides of the table.
“Did you hear me just now?” Harry couldn’t resist asking, once their server had appeared and then gone to get them their drinks.
“I did,” Snape replied silkily. His face gave nothing away as he opened up his menu and disappeared behind it. Feeling ignored, Harry leaned back in his chair with a notable sigh, worried that he had taken things too far and embarrassed himself.
Everyone took for granted just how easy it was for them to speak of their Dads, which was a gift that Harry had never known or understood. The word had felt so peculiar leaving his lips in reference to a father figure who could respond and spend time with him, instead of just an angel in the sky, or wherever James had gone when he died. Harry had for some reason expected saying it to sound as naturally coming from him as it did when he heard Ron call for Mr. Weasley, and it hadn’t. Not even while looking the part right now and with the assurance from Snape that he was considered just as good as a son. Harry was now overthinking whether he had done the right thing.
“I’ll send a message along to Sirius so that he doesn’t worry if he notices you gone,” Snape said calmly, turning his menu around to read the back of it.
“Thank you, sir," Harry replied quietly, sitting up a little straighter and opening up his own menu at long last.
"You don't have to call me 'sir'", Snape must have noticed the note of dejection in Harry’s voice because he suddenly looked directly at him with a calculating expression on his face. Closing his menu and setting it on the table in front of him he asked. “What were you saying about Sirius before we got interrupted?”
"Right, " Harry said through his clenched teeth. "Well, once Sirius gets his name cleared, he’ll be able to become my legal guardian. Dumbledore said he’ll support it so long as I agree to still go to the Dursleys for the first two weeks of summer. What do you think?”
Snape had absentmindedly brought his finger to his mouth while he listened. “Well, it doesn’t really matter what I think,” he said after a pause, looking at Harry while he traced an outline of his lips.
“It matters to me,” Harry insisted. He'd never turn down being adopted down if Snape didn't like it, but he was sincerely concerned that it would change things that he hoped could remain the same. Harry didn’t want Snape to think he was choosing Sirius over him. Just like he had been so worried all year that his growing closeness to Snape was making Sirius insecure. He had room for both of them in his life.
“Harry, I was never going to be an option,” Snape reminded him softly.
“I know that,” Harry replied coolly, "I just-"
He broke off as the server returned with their drinks. Harry muttered a word of thanks as he pulled his soda close to himself. He drank nearly half of it through the straw immediately, as he listened to Snape order a medium well steak with a baked potato for himself. Harry was thirsty from the walk but also eager to get the after taste of Polyjuice Potion out of his mouth. Even more than that, he was feeling a bit sullen at the moment and in need of something to do with himself.
"I'm going to have the same thing, thanks," Harry said when the server turned to him. Harry handed over his menu and then leaned back in his chair once again. Snape picked up his scotch and took a long sip, never once taking his eyes off Harry. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something, as he savored a bit more of his drink before he spoke.
“I have no doubt that both of your parents would be disgusted at what Sirius endured and how you were made to grow up," he set his glass down on the table in front of him. "This is your chance to remedy that and it’s what your mother and father would have wanted for you.”
Harry stared at him. “I just don't want you to think - well he has a real Dad now, so he doesn't need me anymore.”
"You worry about that?" Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Even after all the effort I've put forth to coexist with Sirius Black this year, purely for your sake?"
"Sometimes, yeah," Harry replied honestly.
Snape shook his head disbelievingly. "You get worked up about all the wrong things. Not having my blood or my signature on a guardianship decree doesn’t make a difference to me. I wouldn't be sitting here with you right now if I didn't consider you my family. I thought you already knew that.”
"I do," Harry said quietly, pushing the ice cubes at the bottom of his glass around awkwardly with his straw. "I just-"
“You’re not caught between myself and Sirius,” Snape interrupted. “It’s not like that at all. I'm still not entirely sure how we all came to be as we are, but I want to be very clear about that. Understood?"
"Yes sir," Harry answered automatically, before remembering that Snape had told him he didn't have to say that anymore. At least not when they were alone.
Snape lowered his gaze and picked up his scotch again. He swirled the liquid in the glass and clinked the ice cubes against the side. Then he took another taste.
"You don't have to call me sir," he said finally. "unless you still want to. You can call me whatever you wish.