FIC: The Revenant, Chapters 3-5 of 13

[geri_chan]

These chapters were pretty short, so I decided to combine them into one post rather than have 3 brief entries.

Title: The Revenant, Chapters 3-5
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Word count: ~6,320
Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts
Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except for Hob, who belongs to William Mayne, and Death, who belongs to Neil Gaiman; no money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Warning: AU; written pre-HBP
Sequel to:  Always, Summer Vacation, For Old Time's Sake, Three's a Crowd, Return of the Raven, Phoenix Reborn, Phoenix Rising, and Aftermaths.
Summary: Dumbledore has an announcement to make; Rabastan Lestrange grows weary of his life in exile; and Harry and Sirius have a talk, which unbeknownst to them, has a dramatic effect on James.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2a, Chapter 2b

***

Chapter 3: The Headmaster's Decision

The day after school let out, Dumbledore called Snape and Lupin back for a special conference. They took the Floo directly to the Headmaster's office, and found McGonagall there as well.

"I have an announcement to make," Dumbledore said. "One that I do not wish to make public as yet, but I have called you here because my decision will affect you as well."

"What is it, Albus?" Lupin asked curiously.

"I plan to retire in a year or two," Dumbledore replied. Snape and Lupin stared at him in shock, and the Headmaster smiled at them, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "Don't look so surprised, gentleman. I am an old man, after all. Don't you think that I deserve a little rest?"

Snape snorted derisively and said, "Yes, you're so old and feeble that I don't know how you manage, Albus."

Dumbledore just chuckled. "Sarcasm does not become you, Severus."

Lupin gave his mate a sultry smile and purred, "Oh, I think it becomes him very much." Snape's pale face turned a little red, and he shot a murderous glare Lupin's way.

The Headmaster just smiled and continued, "Well, I am over a hundred and fifty years old now, after all. I was planning to retire after I had seen Harry safely finish school, but I thought I would stay on a little longer to see Mr. Zabini get settled into his new position. And we will have to begin thinking about hiring a new Transfiguration teacher, since Minerva will become Headmistress after I leave. It also means that we will need to appoint a new Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress--which brings us to the purpose of this meeting. Will you accept the position of Deputy Headmaster when I retire, Severus?"

Snape's jaw dropped, and he stammered, "I...I...I..." He ought to be overjoyed; he was essentially being offered control of the entire school--not right away, of course, but eventually, and he doubted that McGonagall would stay on as long as Dumbledore had. In his youth, it was an opportunity he would have jumped at; the position of Headmaster was about equivalent to the rank of Department Head at the Ministry--certainly something that any pureblood could be proud of. His mother would certainly be overjoyed. Of course, rank did not matter so much to Snape these days, but how many times had Snape chafed at the way that the Headmaster had coddled and favored certain students? If he became Headmaster, he could do things his way, and Slytherin would certainly rise in status, just by virtue of his being from that House, even if he didn't openly favor them.

But...if he became Headmaster, he would no longer teach Potions. That ought to be a relief--no more putting up with insolent brats like Potter and Weasley, or having to deal with cauldron-melting incompetents like Longbottom. But it also meant that he would not be pleasantly surprised when a polite, obedient, and intelligent student like Takeshi Kimura came along. He would not have the joy of teaching a truly gifted student like Dylan, or the frustration of teaching an insufferably clever Gryffindor wench like Granger. He glanced up at the portraits of the former Headmasters hanging on the walls. And it meant that he'd have to put up with the annoying prattle of the portraits, including one of Sirius Black's ancestors.

"I am honored, Headmaster," Snape said slowly, wrestling with his conflicted feelings, "but..."

"But?" asked Dumbledore, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you'd jump at the chance to give Hogwarts a Slytherin Headmaster after two Gryffindors in a row, if you count Minerva."

"It's just that...well..." Snape temporized. "...I've always hated dealing with administrative details...all the paperwork and red tape..."

Lupin grinned. "He means that however much he grumbles about his incompetent students, he loves teaching and doesn't want to give it up."

"That is NOT what I said!" Snape protested, glaring at his lover. "Don't put words into my mouth, Lupin!"

McGonagall and Dumbledore both laughed. "You will not have time to teach a full schedule of classes," Dumbledore said. "But that doesn't mean that you can't give special tutoring to an exceptionally gifted Potions student."

"Hmm..." Snape said, thinking it over. That might be even better, actually. He would be able to take on a few deserving, hand-picked students without having to deal with all the riffraff. He could leave that frustrating duty to the new Potions Master or Mistress, whomever that might be. But still, he hesitated.

"If you truly don't want the position," Dumbledore said, "I won't force you to take it. But both Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout say that they prefer to stick to teaching. And Branwen feels that she would not be able to give the position the time and commitment it will require, as she will soon have a young child to raise."

"I feel ever so flattered," Snape said sarcastically. "It sounds like you're only offering the position to me because no one else wants it!"

Dumbledore laughed again. "No, Severus, I am offering you the position because I think that you will make a good Headmaster someday."

"I am sure that most of the students would beg to differ," Snape said, with a sardonic little smile.

"You will not be the same kind of Headmaster that I am," Dumbledore conceded with a smile, "but neither will Minerva. Each Headmaster or mistress has their own way of doing things. And I believe that Remus will keep you from terrorizing the students too much."

Lupin grinned, and Snape gave him a sour look. "Why not just give the position to Lupin, then?"

"Because while I might worry about you being too hard on the children, I also worry that Remus would be too soft on them," Dumbledore replied, and Lupin smiled sheepishly. "Together, the two of you balance each other out and make a good team. Besides, I didn't think that you would be able to tolerate working under Remus."

"That's right, Severus, if I became Headmaster, I'd be your boss!" Lupin said mischievously.

Snape visibly shuddered. "Perish the thought! I will have to accept the position, if only to prevent that from occurring!"

Everyone laughed, and Dumbledore said, "Actually, I have something else in mind for Remus. Minerva will have to step down as Head of Gryffindor when she becomes Headmistress, so I would like Remus to take over."

This time both Lupin and Snape stared at the Headmaster in shock. "But...but...that means..." Lupin stuttered.

"That the Head of Gryffindor and the Head of Slytherin would be lovers," Snape finished. "Doesn't that strike you as a bit perverse, Albus?"

"I think it would be a perfectly fitting example of inter-House cooperation and unity," Dumbledore replied cheerfully.

"I won't have to leave the dungeon, will I?" Lupin asked anxiously. "Because I won't accept the position if I can't live with Severus!"

"Of course not, Remus!" Dumbledore said, just a bit impatiently, as if Lupin were a student failing to pick up on a key point in a lecture. "That would totally contradict what I am trying to accomplish! Of course you can continue to live with Severus, as long as you see to the needs of your students. Minerva lives in the teachers' quarters, not Gryffindor Tower itself, after all."

"The Slytherins will be jealous," Snape said. "They're a bit possessive of Lupin."

Lupin smiled lovingly at Snape. "Yes, that does seem to be a Slytherin trait."

"You and Severus have two sons," Dumbledore pointed out. "But you love them both equally, don't you? It's not a matter of favoring one House over another."

"I will continue to spend time with the Slytherins, of course," Lupin said, thinking out loud. "Though I should also start visiting the Gryffindor common room once I am Head. This could be a chance to foster friendship between Gryffindor and Slytherin--maybe we could have nights for combined gatherings, where both Houses could get together to study, or just to talk and relax and play games. Maybe we could even include Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw so they don't feel left out."

"I think you will make a very good Head of Gryffindor, Remus," McGonagall said with a fond and approving smile. "You remind the students by your own example that a Gryffindor should be kind and compassionate as well as brave and loyal."

"So all joking aside, Severus," Dumbledore said in a more serious tone, "are you willing to accept the position of Deputy Headmaster when I retire, with the understanding that you will become Headmaster when Minerva retires? And Remus, are you willing to become Head of Gryffindor?"

"I don't think I'll be around as long as Albus," McGonagall said with a smile, "but I think I'm good for at least another fifteen or twenty years. Perhaps by that time you'll have had your fill of teaching those noisy, insolent brats, as you call them, and be willing to turn over the duties of Potions Master to someone younger...perhaps Mr. Rosier or Miss Granger? Although by then I assume it will be 'Mrs. Rosier' rather than 'Miss Granger.'"

"Oh!" Snape exclaimed, looking startled. He hadn't been thinking that far ahead, but the idea had a certain appeal, to pass on his position to his foster son and protege. "Yes...perhaps. Dylan will certainly have attained the rank of Master by then. And Slytherin will need a new Head of House as well as a new Potions Master if...when...I become Headmaster. Of course Mr. Zabini should be a full Professor by then, and perhaps Theodore might be as well..."

"There will be plenty of candidates to choose from," Lupin agreed cheerily. "You've made up your mind, then, Severus?"

Snape nodded. "I would be honored to accept, Headmaster."

"Then I would be delighted to become the next Head of Gryffindor," Lupin said, smiling widely.

"That's wonderful!" Dumbledore said, beaming at them and vigorously shaking first Snape's and then Lupin's hands.

"Hmmph," said the portrait of former Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black, frowning as he looked down at Snape with a critical eye from his vantage point on the wall. "It was considered scandalous in my day for two men to openly consort with one another. Still...at least he's a Slytherin..."

Snape glared up at the portrait and silently resolved to lock all the portraits in a storage closet when he became Headmaster.

"Although Salazar would be rolling in his grave if he could see the Head of his House sullying his pure blood by consorting with a werewolf..." Phineas continued.

Enough was enough. As far as Snape was concerned, he was the only one who was allowed to insult Lupin. "You will be civil to this particular werewolf, Black," he said coldly.

"Or you'll do what?" sneered Phineas. "The real me is already long dead, and besides, it is forbidden for the current Headmaster to damage or destroy the portraits of his predecessors."

"Ah, but Slytherins are chosen precisely for their inclination and ability to bend the rules in their favor," Snape said in a silky voice, and Phineas began to look a little worried. "Besides, I don't need to harm your portrait. I was thinking of turning it over to your great-great-grandson, Sirius. Wouldn't you like to return to your ancestral home, Phineas Nigellus? I'm sure that your dear grandson will give your portrait the tender loving care that it deserves..."

"To Sirius?" Phineas cried. "That worthless, good-for-nothing little..." He spluttered incoherently with rage, then managed to get control of himself. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me," purred Snape with an evil smile, and Phineas abruptly vanished, leaving behind a blank canvas.

"He's gone off to sulk," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "He does that quite often."

"Or more likely, he thought it would be safer to lie low until Severus's temper cools down," McGonagall said, looking very amused.

"You already have the makings of a fine Headmaster, Severus," Dumbledore laughed, patting Snape on the shoulder. "I'm sure that you'll do fine when the time comes! Well, thank you for coming, all of you. Now that everything's been settled, I can enjoy my vacation with an easy heart and no worries."

"Vacation?" Snape asked, then noticed a large, battered-looking trunk sitting in one corner of the room.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied. "A vacation. I haven't had one in half a century. Now that Voldemort is gone and Harry is safe, I thought I would take a little fishing trip with Aberforth."

"But...but...what about the school?" Snape asked, stammering slightly. It wasn't as if the old man didn't deserve a vacation, but Dumbledore rarely left the school unless absolutely necessary, as when he had been forced to leave by Umbridge, and it seemed strange to think of him not being here. Then again, he would be permanently leaving the school soon enough, so Snape supposed that he should start getting used to it.

"Oh, I'm sure Minerva can look after things for a few weeks," Dumbledore assured him. "She will be the new Headmistress in a year or two, after all." He winked at her. "This will be good practice."

"There are no students here during the summer," McGonagall pointed out. "Everything should be quiet and I anticipate no problems." She added, a little tartly, "I think I'm perfectly capable of looking after an empty building on my own."

"I'm sure that Severus didn't mean any offense," Lupin said smoothly, and Snape had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "It's just that Albus has always been here ever since we were students, so it seems a little strange for him to be gone, even for a short vacation."

"It seems strange to me, too," McGonagall admitted, looking mollified. Then, echoing Snape's thoughts, she said, "But we must start getting used to it, I suppose. If any emergencies do come up, I will call on the two of you."

"Of course," Snape said, bowing slightly to make up for his unintended insult. "But I'm sure that everything will be fine."

McGonagall smiled. "I hope so, since I imagine that Lady Selima will be keeping you quite busy this summer. I understand that she wishes to have a party for Lukas and Narcissa when they return from their honeymoon, as well as a party to celebrate Theodore's graduation?"

"Don't remind me!" Snape groaned.

Dumbledore chuckled, then said, "Well, you had better head back to Snape Manor, then, Severus."

"Oh, we're not staying at the Manor right now," Snape replied. "If you need to contact us, we'll be at Lupin's cottage for a couple of weeks."

"Really?" Dumbledore asked, looking surprised. "I hope that you and Selima haven't had a disagreement..."

"It's nothing like that," Snape hastily assured him. "It's all because of Lupin's bloody dog." He turned to glower at his lover.

"Cabal is quite well-behaved," Lupin said earnestly, "but I wanted to take some time and make sure that he's perfectly housebroken and trained before I bring him to Snape Manor."

"You're deluding yourself if you think that my mother is going to allow that animal in the house no matter how well-trained he is," Snape said skeptically.

"Oh, don't worry," Lupin said confidently. "Cabal and I will win her over, I'm sure."

"My money is on Remus," Dumbledore said with a mischievous grin.

Snape said nothing, but privately, he decided that he wouldn't care to bet against Dumbledore. After all, he had also assumed that Lady Selima would never willingly allow a werewolf into her house, either, much less accept him as part of the family.

Lupin grinned, as if he could read Snape's thoughts, and said, "Well, shall we go home and celebrate, future Headmaster Snape?"

"Indeed, future Head of Gryffindor Lupin," Snape said. "However, it might be difficult to explain to the boys why we're having a celebration if the Headmaster wishes to keep this news a secret."

"I think that we can trust in Dylan and Theodore to be discreet," Dumbledore said. "Just make it clear that they are not to tell anyone else about it, not even their friends. If word leaks out, everyone will make a big fuss about it, and I would prefer to retire quietly, with no fanfare."

Snape could well imagine: the Ministry would probably want to have a parade in his honor; Rita Skeeter would want an exclusive interview; and it would be impossible to get the students to concentrate on their studies with all the commotion. "I understand, Headmaster," was all he said.

"Come, let's walk down to Hogsmeade before we go home," Lupin said, linking his arm through Snape's. "Since we're going to celebrate, we can pick up a bottle of wine and something nice for dinner." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And maybe we could have a quick snog by the lake. That's always been one of my fantasies, you know..."

"LUPIN!" Snape bellowed in outrage as they left the Headmaster's office, and Dumbledore and McGonagall laughed together.

"Yes, those two will do just fine together, Minerva," Dumbledore said, smiling affectionately, and just a little smugly.

***

Chapter 4: Rabastan Lestrange

After his brother and sister-in-law were slain by his Master, Rabastan Lestrange fled without waiting to see the outcome of the battle. Even if Voldemort won, he no longer wanted to serve the Lord who had betrayed him, and if Voldemort fell, he certainly didn't want to linger behind to be arrested by the Aurors. He was able to escape while both sides were occupied with the battle, and fled across the ocean to the United States, hoping that would be enough to keep him safe from both his former Master and the Aurors.

More than a year later, he was living in California, hiding in plain sight, making his living as a "magician"--not as a real wizard, but a Muggle version of one. Muggles were enamored with the idea of magic, it seemed, and there were any number of charlatans with even less magic than Sibyll Trelawney earning money telling fortunes or "reading auras" or selling "healing crystals" or writing books on witchcraft (even though the "spells" in them were laughable). It was easy enough to insinuate himself into their ranks. Occasionally he used a small illusion or a bit of glamor to impress a client, but he didn't want to risk attracting the attention of the American equivalent of the Ministry of Magic, so most of the time he didn't use any magic at all. He found that the proper atmosphere (room dimly lit by candles, with incense burning in the background) and attire (gaudy robes embroidered with stars and moons, or sometimes a turban and caftan for a more Eastern flair), along with vague predictions intoned in a dramatic voice would usually suffice to please his customers; their own imaginations did most of the work for him. Rabastan knew that the Aurors would never think to look for him here; they would never imagine that he would be so bold as to actually openly work as a wizard (although technically he was more of a fortune-teller). Nor would they ever imagine that a proud pureblood and Death Eater would ever demean himself by living and working among Muggles. So long as he refrained from using much magic and did nothing to draw attention to himself, he would be indistinguishable from any of the other charlatan Muggle mages and fortune tellers.

He told himself that it was a clever idea, but the truth was that it was also borne out of necessity. It was the only type of work in this world that he was really suited for; Rabastan knew little about Muggle technology and would have been unable to hold down a regular Muggle job that would have required him to, say, operate a cash register or computer. During his year of exile, he had learned enough to get by and blend into society--not perfectly, of course, but people didn't seem to think it odd that a fortune teller was a little eccentric. His clients expected him to be mysterious, and the more skeptical Muggles who did not believe in magic just considered him another "nutjob"--which might be a little insulting, but at least they were not likely to draw the Ministry's attention to him. This large Muggle city was full of people who--at least outwardly--were far stranger than Rabastan, so no one paid much heed to him.

So Rabastan survived, and even earned a decent living, enough to rent a small apartment and keep himself fed and clothed, but he hated living in this filthy Muggle city--the City of Angels, its residents called it, but to Rabastan it was like living in hell. He hated its crowded streets and noisy, smelly motor vehicles. He hated that everything was done with technology and not magic. He hated living among the Muggles; they all seemed like a bunch of stupid, mindless sheep, even--no, make that especially--his clients. They were the worst of the lot, treating magic as if it were some sort of amusing parlor trick, unable to comprehend its true power and glory. He wished that he could exterminate them all, as his Master had planned.

The one thing that Muggles were good at was creating a variety of narcotic substances, which were the only things that made his hellish existence tolerable. Actually, many Muggles seemed to hate living in their own world, since so many of them sought escape from it through drugs, as he did.

As the days and weeks and months passed by, Rabastan drifted through life in a dreamlike daze. He was never entirely sober, but neither did he ingest so much drugs and alcohol that he could not function. These days his eyes were as heavily-lidded as Bellatrix's had been, but his clients assumed that was because he was in a state of trance, "communing with the spirits." Finally, either lulled into complacency by the drugs, or simply having grown confident that the Aurors had stopped looking for him since no one had yet showed up to apprehend him (or perhaps a combination of both), Rabastan took the risk of venturing into the wizarding section of the city to seek news of his homeland. He used a small glamor to disguise his features, but he had also changed physically over the past year. He had lost a great deal of weight due to stress and the fact that the drugs he took dulled his appetite, and he had grown out his hair and grown a beard. It was likely that even someone who had known him would not have recognized him at first glance.

Even so, he was a little nervous about venturing into a shop to look for a copy of the Daily Prophet, and was not sure if he could even find it here. But it turned out that he didn't have to take the risk; he found a discarded American wizarding newspaper on the street, and it happened to have an article mentioning that their British compatriots were celebrating the anniversary of the defeat of the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was keeping a low profile attending school at Hogwarts, and declined to be interviewed. The article made no mention of the fact that one Death Eater was still at large, but it was not a very long article. The American wizards had not been directly affected by the war, so the story did not have the same importance that it would have in Britain. But it was enough to tell Rabastan what he needed to know.

Voldemort was dead, and Rabastan had feared his former Master far more than he did the Aurors. Harry Potter was still alive. He didn't know if the traitor Snape was still alive, but Rabastan thought it was likely that he was. Perhaps it was time for him to return home and take revenge on the ones who had forced him into this loathsome life of exile.

In his drug-induced haze, Rabastan forgot that it was his Master who had driven him away, not Snape or Harry Potter. But it didn't really matter, because Rabastan merely wanted someone to hate, someone to vent his rage on. He quietly returned to his home in the Muggle world, and began making plans to catch a flight to London. He didn't dare seek out a legitimate Portkey, so he would have to take a plane. He grimaced at the thought of having to ride for several hours in the Muggle contraption. The cost of the ticket would use up all the money he had saved, but it didn't matter. He didn't intend to return, so he didn't need to worry about paying next month's rent. At this point, dying in battle seemed preferable to living as a Muggle for the rest of his life. But he didn't intend to go down without a fight. If he was going to die, he intended to take his enemies with him...

***

Chapter 5: Fathers and Sons

Hob, the little creature who looked after the Black house now that Kreacher was gone, was delighted when he learned that Sirius and Blackmore were going to have a baby. "Finally!" he cried, an expression of joy filling his small round face. "A baby for Hob to look after!" He had already decorated the nursery in neutral pastel colors, but now he began fretting that he ought to repaint it now that he knew they were having a boy.

"It's fine as it is," Blackmore said, but Sirius whispered, "Shh, don't spoil his fun."

"Perhaps Hob should paint the room blue?" the household spirit mused out loud. "Or perhaps wallpaper would be better?" He brought down some samples of paper that were being stored in the attic.

"Good Lord, that's the same wallpaper I used to have in my room when I was a boy!" Sirius exclaimed, pointing at a light blue piece of paper decorated with a design of broomsticks and Snitches.

"Yes, I think we should definitely go with that one!" Harry said, grinning.

"Hob will get right to work, then," Hob declared, looking very pleased.

Harry and Sirius helped Hob paper the nursery, although Hob probably could have done well enough on his own without their "help." Putting up the sheets of paper and making sure that they lined up evenly was a lot harder than it looked, and they wound up getting glue all over themselves, but Harry wanted to contribute in some way to the preparations for his little brother, and not just sit back and watch Hob do all the work. Besides, he and Sirius had fun working together and laughing at how ridiculous they looked, covered with glue and scraps of paper. Hob didn't seem to mind that they were making a mess; he only smiled and sighed happily, "Ah, how nice it is to have a family in the house!" And with his peculiar form of magic, so similar to a house-elf's, he would even out the places where the sheets of paper did not quite match, and smooth out any bubbles of air or glue trapped beneath the wallpaper.

"Listen, Harry," Sirius said, laying aside the wallpaper and glue for a moment, "I just wanted to say that it means a lot to me that you think of the baby as your brother. It really makes me happy."

Well, that seemed like a perfect opening to the conversation Harry had been wanting to have for some time now. He looked up at his godfather with a solemn expression on his face, and Hob, who seemed to pick up on the sudden shift in mood, quietly slipped out of the room to give them some privacy.

"Of course I think of the baby as my brother," Harry said. "Because...because...you and Professor Blackmore are like my parents now, right?" Harry paused, gazing at Sirius nervously, but his godfather was smiling at him tenderly.

"Of course, Harry," Sirius said softly. "We're all a family now--you, me, Branwen, and the baby. And Hob too, of course."

Harry gathered up his courage and asked, "So, do you think...I mean...that is, if you wouldn't mind...would it be all right if I started calling you 'Dad'?" Sirius's eyes went wide, and Harry hastily added, "I mean, if you think that wouldn't be disrespectful to my real mum and dad. It's not like I'd ever forget about them or anything, I just--"

Sirius mercifully cut off his stammering with a fierce hug. "Yes, Harry," he whispered in a hoarse voice, "that would make me very happy, for you to call me 'Dad.'"

Harry hugged him back, filled with a sense of relief, then asked anxiously, "You don't think that my dad--that James--would mind, do you?"

Sirius hesitated for just a second, but a female voice replied firmly, "No, of course James wouldn't mind," and Harry and Sirius turned to see Professor Blackmore standing in the doorway, with Bane perched on her shoulder. "He and Lily chose Sirius as your godfather, after all. They would want him to look after you like family, and I'm sure that they would be glad if they could see how happy you are."

"Of course!" Sirius said confidently, whatever doubts he might have had apparently banished by her words. "Your dad and I were like brothers; he knew that I'd look after you and love you as much as he did if anything happened to him. He would be happy to know that you have a real family now, after living with those rotten Dursleys for so long." He hugged Harry again. "I'm sure he'd rather be here to raise you himself, but he'd be glad to know that you're happy. The same way that, God forbid, if anything happened to me and Bran, I would rest easy knowing that Remus would look after the baby." He grimaced comically. "Although that would make Snape the poor kid's stepfather. But the baby would be all right; knowing Moony, he would spoil the kid rotten. I bet he'll love being a grandpa when Hermione and Dylan get around to having kids someday. It's a shame that Theodore and Blaise can't have any; I wonder if they could adopt...?"

"Don't talk like that, Sirius!" Harry cried, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of "anything happening" to his godfather. He had already nearly lost Sirius once, when Bellatrix had almost killed him during the battle at the Ministry of Magic.

"Take it easy, Harry," Sirius said gently, patting him on the back in a reassuring manner. "Don't worry, I plan to be around for a long time. I only meant that we were all like family, your dad and Moony and I, so I think he would be okay with things."

"Okay," Harry said in a subdued voice.

Blackmore gently kissed him on the cheek. "Sirius and I are very glad that you're part of our family now, Harry. I think that James and Lily would be, too."

"Thanks, Prof...er..." Harry's voice trailed off as he realized that he didn't know exactly what to call Professor Blackmore now. He wasn't sure that he was comfortable with the idea of calling her "Mum" yet, but to call her "Professor" seemed overly formal if he was calling Sirius "Dad."

But Blackmore smiled, seeming to understand his confusion. "I'm sure that it would feel a bit strange to call me 'Mum' or 'Mother.' You can call me by whatever name you feel most comfortable with, Harry, but I'm not really your Professor any longer. Perhaps we could compromise and try 'Branwen' for now?"

"Okay...Branwen," Harry replied, a bit awkwardly. But she smiled warmly at him, which made it a little easier.

"Come now, you two," she scolded briskly, sounding quite motherly--almost like Molly Weasley, as a matter of fact. "It's almost time for lunch; go wash off all that glue before you come down to eat."

Harry and Sirius both grinned, then chorused, "Yes, ma'am!" and hurried off to clean up.

***

Branwen saw the hob reappear after Harry and Sirius left. He was smiling contentedly and brushing a tear from one eye; he was a very sentimental little creature who loved nothing more than to see that his family was happy. She gave him a conspiratorial wink, and he smiled at her, a little bashfully, then went back to work wallpapering the nursery.

Branwen descended the staircase, pleased that things had gone so well. There had been an awkward moment, where things could have gone the other way, when Sirius had hesitated over Harry's question of whether James would have minded his son calling someone else "Dad." Of course Sirius loved his friend and wanted to believe the best of him, so a little nudge from Branwen had served to ease his doubts.

But despite what she had told Harry, Branwen was not really so certain that James would not have minded. He had been a kind and goodhearted person for the most part, but he had also sometimes been a little petty and self-centered. It was mostly the callowness of youth, which he might have outgrown had he lived, but the James Potter that Branwen remembered might have been a little hurt and offended at the idea of his son calling someone else "Dad." He had loved Sirius, of course, and he would not have wanted Harry to be unhappy, but she suspected that he might have considered it disloyal of Harry to want another father, as if Sirius were replacing James in Harry's affections.

But Branwen--who came from a long line of Dark Sorcerers and Slytherins--had no problem with bending the truth a little in order to spare Harry's feelings. Because it was Harry who was most important here, not the feelings of a man long dead. Harry had suffered enough in his young life; he deserved to be part of a stable, loving family, to be able to love Sirius wholeheartedly as his father if that what was what he wanted, instead of simply being an orphaned child taken in by a family friend. And Harry would never be able to call Sirius "Dad" if he thought that his real father would disapprove, so Branwen felt no remorse about telling a harmless white lie. It wasn't as if James was around to contradict her, after all.

Besides, maybe she was wrong. Perhaps she was letting her dislike of the way James had treated Severus cloud her judgment. Maybe he really would have been happy for Harry, as Sirius thought. She did believe that Lily, at least, would have been happy for her son, and would not have begrudged him the love of his new family.

So Branwen forgot her doubts and headed down to the kitchen to fix lunch, humming cheerfully as Bane croaked out an accompaniment, his voice very out of tune, but loud and joyous.

At the time, Branwen had no idea that the issue was anything more than rhetorical, or that James Potter really was watching over his son...

***

Meanwhile, in the waiting room, James buried his face in his hands and wept tears of bitterness and despair. His son no longer needed him; Harry had replaced him with another father, one that he perhaps considered more worthy. He told himself that this would never have happened if it hadn't been for that scene from the past that Harry had glimpsed in the Pensieve. If Snape hadn't warped Harry's image of him, Harry would never have thought about seeking a replacement for James.

A very small part of him told himself that he was being selfish, that he should be glad that Harry was happy and had found a loving family to take care of him. But it hurt so much to hear his son call someone else "Dad," even if that person was his own best friend. Of course he had wanted Sirius to care for Harry if anything happened to him, and of course he he wanted Harry to be happy--but he had assumed that Harry would love Sirius like a favorite uncle. It had never occurred to him that Harry would want Sirius to actually take the place of his father. Maybe he clung to the title of "Dad" so fiercely because it was all that he had to connect him to Harry. He couldn't talk to or touch his son. He didn't exist for Harry, except as a vague memory and a few photographs, and now he wouldn't even have the small comfort of knowing that he was the only one that Harry thought of as "Dad." In time, Harry would forget about the father he had never known, and think of Sirius as his real father.

James wanted to be angry at someone, but he couldn't bring himself to hate his son or his best friend, so once again he turned his anger on the most convenient target: Snape. It was all Snape's fault; he had turned Harry against James, and even got Moony and Padfoot on his side. Why did everyone forgive Snape but not him? Why were a few childish pranks so bad compared to everything Snape had done as a Death Eater? Snape had stolen everything from James--his son and his best friends. Maybe he was doing it on purpose, as revenge for the pranks James had played on him when they were students.

James knew that he was not really being rational, but he didn't care, allowing himself to be swept away in grief, despair, and anger...

Chapter 6