Disowned
Well, I started this thinking I'd submit it for the 2016 Spring fic fest over at Potions and Snitches, but I'm an incredibly slow writer...
Title: Disowned
Chapter: Cleared (Chapter 1)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, and more.
Summary: Sirius Black makes a hot-tempered decision that has a devastating effect on Harry in more ways than Harry could've ever imagined. Severus Snape ends up making a snap decision that he may or may not regret. Harry has to come to terms with rejection. This is written in response to the Disowned challenge on P&S.
Rating: PG (some language, but not much)
Words: 6,286
Easter Holidays were behind them and they were rapidly heading toward end of term exams - if one listened to Hermione. It was still pretty early in April so, according the Ron and Harry, they had plenty of time to worry about revising at a later date. Or, preferably, not worry about exams at all. Harry sighed, absently pushing his eggs around his plate. The year was nearly over and so far it was nearly as terrible as the one before it. Though it’d be difficult to be worse than Voldemort’s return and the murder of a student. Harry felt green and nudged his plate further from him. He reached up to absently rub at his scar and caught Hermione’s frown across the table.
“You should talk to him, Harry,” she said, repeating the same thing she’d been saying for the past week.
Ron looked up from destroying the platter of eggs in front of him. “Why would he want to do that? He’s finally free of the slimy-”
“Because it’s important, Ron,” Hermione interrupted, making a face at the bits of egg that clung to Ron’s cheeks. “Harry has to keep…up his grades in potions. It’s our OWL year and these tests are vital for our future classes and they help determine our future careers!”
“I want to play quidditch,” Ron complained. “I don’t need OWLs to do that!”
“You can’t play quidditch forever, Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, thumping a heavy History of Magic book onto the table. “You need to have a secondary plan.”
He shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned, and nodded toward Harry. “I’ll just do what Harry’s doing.”
Her lips pressed together - Harry wondered if she was channeling McGonagall - and she demanded, “And what’s that?”
They turned to Harry as one and he snapped upright, holding up his hands. “Don't look at me. I think an Auror might be cool-”
“Auror!” Hermione cut him off loudly. “You need NEWT potions for that and Professor Snape is very exacting with his standards,” she informed them. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully at him and she asked shrewdly, “And how are your potions grades?”
Harry shrugged. Ron’s ears reddened and he grumbled, “Shut up.”
Hermione sniffed, looking mildly offended. “I’ve got a study group in the library tonight-”
“It’s Friday,” Ron said, sounding appalled.
“-you two are welcome to join us if you want,” she finished, ignoring the interruption. “We’re revising herbology and potions.”
Ron’s expression showed exactly what he thought about that, even as he opened his mouth to give a scorching opinion about studying for anything on Friday…let alone potions. A great rustle of feathers and beating of wings interrupted what would no doubt have been words that led to a heated lecture on the importance of good study habits. One that both boys sat through several times every term. Harry would bet his Firebolt that he could probably recite it word-for-word, but no one wanted to hear it again.
“Mail’s here,” Ginny said, surprising Harry (he’d not been aware that she was seated next to him). “Finally. Mum promised to send me some shortbread.”
Ron’s attention snapped to his sister. “Mum sends you biscuits? She doesn’t send me biscuits!”
Ginny smirked at him, raising her eyebrows smugly when a heavily ladened Pig landed on her plate and nearly overturning her pumpkin juice. Relieving the tiny owl of his burden, she proclaimed, “I only told Mum how much I miss her homemade biscuits and the ones the house elves make just aren’t the same.”
“I’m writing Mum today,” Ron declared.
Hermione rolled her eyes as she unrolled her copy of the Daily Prophet that one of the many postal owls had dropped on her plate, eyes already scanning the headlines. “You don’t need any more sweets - holy cricket!”
Harry was leaning closer to Ginny as she unwrapped the box, curious to see what else Mrs. Weasley had sent, when Hermione’s exclamation nearly made him topple into the red-haired girl. Ron almost upset his scrambled eggs. Harry righted himself quickly, anxiously demanding, “What? Is it Voldemort?”
“No,” she assured, still absorbed in the article, “listen to this.”
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
Sirius Black: Wrongfully Imprisoned 12 Years, Declared Innocent
In a sudden turn of events, evidence has emerged that brings to light many unanswered questions from that October night in 1981 when You-Know-Who was defeated by young Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Sirius Orion Black, the oldest son of Orion and Walburga Black (for Black Family Biography see page 13), was believed to have been You-Know-Who’s greatest supporter after the deaths of James and Lily Potter on 31 October 1981 and the presumed death of Peter Pettigrew and 12 muggles on 1 November. Black was arrested at the scene and sentenced to life in Azkaban where he remained until the summer of 1993 (see page 8, Sirius Escape).
In a strange series of events that are still unclear at the time of this printing, Peter Pettigrew was discovered in the atrium of the Ministry, alive. Veritaserum was administered, under which Pettigrew confessed to being a Death Eater (his left arm sported the Dark Mark), being the Potter’s Secret Keeper, and betraying them to You-Know-Who. Further questioning revealed that Black has never been a Death Eater and that the curse that killed 12 muggles was cast by Pettigrew himself.
A special assembly of the Wizengamot gathered to discuss these new findings and quickly pardoned Sirius Black. We at the Daily Prophet would like to congratulate Mr. Black on his well-deserved freedom and wish him the best of luck in the years to come.
Pettigrew’s sentence has been deferred until more evidence is gathered.
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
Whispers and exclamations of surprise echoed through the Great Hall. Several students stood from their seats to peer at the Gryffindor table to see if they could see Harry’s reaction to the news, but Harry was just as surprised as everyone else. The print swam before his eyes as he stared at the small photo of Pettigrew. Hermione smoothed out her own copy of the newspaper, beaming across the table at him. “Isn’t that wonderful, Harry?”
Harry nodded mutely, surprised he didn’t feel more excitement. His stomach still felt like lead from his last Occlumency lesson and his feelings were conflicted when he thought about his father and Sirius. Harry glanced toward the Head Table, scanning the professors. Each of them had a newspaper in front of them and were engrossed in the pages. At the far end, Snape tossed his paper to the side with a snarl and picked up his teacup, lifting it to his lips. He must’ve had a sixth sense because no sooner had Harry looked at him, than those piercing dark eyes snapped to him and narrowed in a murderous glare. Harry swallowed thickly, quickly dropping his eyes back to his newspaper.
“Do you think you’ll be able to live with him now?” Ron wondered aloud. “I mean, now that the Ministry knows he wasn’t a Death Eater and all, you should be able to live with him.”
“I don’t know,” Harry muttered uncomfortably.
Hermione shook out her newspaper. “I’m sure Harry’s situation is more complicated than most people’s.” At Ron’s blank stare, she sighed and lowered her voice. “The blood wards, Ron.”
“Oh.”
Ginny looked between them, her brow furrowed in thought. “Are they really that strong?”
“Dumbledore seems to think so,” Harry said, slouching in his seat.
“Well,” Hermione said, “I think you’d be safer and better cared for with Sirius inside a Fidelius Charm than at your relatives’ with the blood wards.”
“The Dursleys aren’t that bad,” Harry felt compelled to say.
Ron snorted. “Mate, they starve you all summer.”
“They starve you?” Ginny asked with disbelief.
“I don’t starve!”
“Only because Mum sends you food,” Ron argued
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Glad to hear it, Mr. Potter,” a voice drawled behind him and Harry cringed, turning to look up at the scowling Potions Master. “Professor McGonagall would like to see you in her office after your last class today.”
“Why?” Harry blurted apprehensively.
“I wasn’t informed,” Snape sneered at him and then swept away, black cloak billowing behind him.
“Git,” Ron and Ginny said together.
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
Potions class was nearly as miserable as the last. Instead of Snape’s biting criticisms and deriding of Harry’s assignments, the professor ignored everything about Harry. In fact, it wasn’t until the end of class, when Harry was bottling his first ever nearly perfect potion, that Malfoy finally spoke, pitching his voice to be heard by the rest of the class, “Well, it looks like remedial potions has done you some good, Potter. You might actually earn the grade you get.”
The class turned to look and Harry felt Snape’s piercing gaze. Harry clutches the potion vial tightly. His ears burned. Ron twisted in his seat to glare at Malfoy. “Harry doesn’t have to take remedial potions anymore.”
“Oh?” Malfoy scoffed. “So it’s true, then? I heard Prince Potter’s lessons were terminated rather abruptly just after Easter hols. It can’t be because Potter mastered the art. Why is that, Potter?”
Ron’s face flushed red. “That’s because Snape-”
“-refuses to spoon-feed a student,” the Potions Master drawled, coming to stand in front of their table. “Particularly a student who has no desire to put any effort into his studies and shows nothing but belligerent disrespect.” Snape sneered down at them, dark eyes narrowing on the vial in Harry’s hand. “Five points from Gryffindor for disrupting my class and a zero, Potter, for cheating.”
Ron sputtered with indignation, but Hermione clamped a hand on his arm to remind him to hold his tongue. The professor held out his hand and Harry reluctantly surrendered his potion. Snape glanced at the vial and Harry held his breath. He wouldn’t be surprised if Snape dropped the potion or vanished it completely. Instead, the Potions Master tucked it into his robes and leveled a dark look on him. “I’m sure the Headmaster will be interested in learning of your deplorable behavior. Get out of my class, Potter.”
“Professor-”
“Get. Out,” Snape hissed.
Harry swallowed back his words, rising stiffly to his feet and gathering his books to shove into his bag. Ron nodded that he’d pack up Harry’s potions supplies when he glanced at the redhead. A quick look at Snape revealed the Potions Master’s imperious expression turning impatient. Harry quickly averted his eyes and snatched up his book bag, hurrying from the classroom, determinedly ignoring Malfoy’s snicker.
The door slammed behind him as soon as he stepped into the corridor. Harry cringed, lingering uncertainly outside the potions classroom with the feeling of mortification warring with anger before deciding he didn’t want to listen to Malfoy’s gloating when the class finally emerged. He turned sharply on his heel and marched out of the dungeons. Halfway up the dungeon stairs, the anger faded back into the familiar feeling of guilt.
The corridors were mostly empty and the students he did pass cast him curious looks but said nothing. He was passing the DADA classroom with no particular destination in mind when someone cleared their throat, freezing him in his steps.
“Hem, hem.”
Harry turned slowly. Dolores Umbridge stood in the door of her classroom, wearing her fuzzy, pink cardigan and smiling widely. Harry straightened, meeting her narrowed eyes. “Professor.”
If possible, her smile widened. “Mr. Potter. Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?” Harry said nothing so Umbridge continued, “Potions, right?”
“I - Professor McGonagall asked me to come to her office,” he grudgingly said.
“In the middle of class?” she asked sweetly. “What reason could Professor McGonagall possibly have to interrupt your lessons?”
Sharp steps turned the corner and McGonagall came to an abrupt halt next to them, her lips pressed thinly as she looked between Harry and Umbridge. Her chin lifted and she turned pointedly away from the shorter woman, addressing Harry, “There you are, Mr. Potter. Professor Snape informed me you were on your way to my office. Come along.”
She motioned for Harry to come with her, but Umbridge shifted. “Hem, hem.”
They paused. Umbridge’s smile as all teeth. “Why is Mr. Potter meeting with you, Professor? I believe he is supposed to be in Professor Snape’s class right now.”
“It is time for us to discuss Mr. Potter’s future career options. Professor Snape was kind enough to release Mr. Potter early when he finished his classwork.”
It was clear Umbridge didn’t totally believe McGonagall and her smile slipped from her face. Her bulging eyes narrowed skeptically on Harry. A forced smile returned to her wide lips and she simpered, “Well, Mr. Potter’s future career choice is very important. We’re all very interested in your future.”
“Quite,” McGonagall said tersely. “Come along, Potter.” She turned and took a few steps before she paused to level the toad-like woman a look. “Professor.”
Harry moved to McGonagall’s side, a little surprised when she reached for his arm and guided him briskly down the corridor and into her office. McGonagall closed her office door with a snap, marching across the room to her desk, muttering, “That woman.”
She settled into her desk chair, grumbling for a moment before she subsided with a sigh. Harry stood uncomfortably before the desk, watching as McGonagall took a deep breath and finally looked up. Her stern features relaxed and she gave a small smile. “Now, in light of recent news, Sirius has asked if you would be able to celebrate his pardoning. I am prepared to allow you to spend the weekend with Sirius; if you wish.”
Harry felt a rush of excitement even as his stomach swooped with dread. “Really? What about Umbridge?”
Her brows lowered sharply and her lips pursed. “I’m sure you and your friends can come up with some explanation for your absence.”
Harry laughed. “I can see Sirius? When?”
“We should be able to arrange for you to visit Sirius’ home after supper so Professor Umbridge will be less likely to notice your absence.”
The flush of excitement was fading now and his anxiety as growing. Harry shifted nervously, rubbing his palms against his robes. He’d spent the last weeks thinking about what he was going to do with the new information he had about his dad and godfather and it’d only been the previous night that he’d decided to ask for an explanation. After all, the memories were from Snape’s perspective. Maybe he forgot something? For some reason, Harry felt that was a futile hope. The Potions Master never seemed to forget the smallest detail.
McGonagall looked over her glasses at him, asking, “Is there something troubling you, Mr. Potter?”
Harry shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
“If you’re sure,” McGonagall allowed, waiting until he nodded before dismissing him, “Make sure you pack a bag for the weekend and then meet me by the front doors after dinner. Ensure that you are not seen. By anybody.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
Harry ate dinner quickly, hurrying Ron and Hermione through their meal and then back up to the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione settled on the edge of Harry’s bed while he dug through his trunk and pulled out shirts and trousers. He stuffed them into a rather ratty looking bag and then searched under his bed for socks. Hermione shifted, picking up one of Harry’s discarded books. “Are you going to talk to Sirius about…you know?”
Ron flopped onto his own bed with a gusty sigh. “I don’t know why you’re so upset about it, mate. Snape’s a right git and he probably deserved it.”
Harry sat back on his heels, cautiously sniffing a pair of socks before he tossed them towards his bag. “It’s not right,” he said. “It’d be like - like attacking Malfoy for no reason.”
“I’ve got plenty of reasons to -”
“No,” Harry interrupted, “I can’t explain it.”
Hermione stacked several school books next to Harry’s bag. “Bullying is never something you want to imagine your parents participated in.”
“Bullying?” Ron scoffed. “Snape probably gave as good as he got.”
Harry stuffed his socks into his bag and tied it closed, ignoring the books and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m not saying Snape was completely innocent-” Ron snorted and Harry ignored him “-but - I don’t know. I don’t want to think of my dad and Sirius acting like that.”
Hermione nodded. “We understand, Harry.”
By the expression on Ron’s face, Harry could tell that the redhead certainly didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway. Harry forced his nervous tension down and smiled, “Thanks, guys.”
He turned for the stairs down to the common room and Ron was quick to follow. Hermione, however, paused long enough to scoop up the books he’d left before she hurried after them, exclaiming, “Harry, your books! How are you going to do your homework if you don’t take them?”
“Lay off, Hermione,” Ron groaned. “Harry’s not going to be doing homework while hanging out with Sirius. That’s not fun at all.”
The girl looked momentarily offended before a fierce scowl crossed her face and she huffed, “He’s got to keep up with his studies, Ronald. Exams are only two months away.”
“That’s plenty of time,” Ron argued.
“We still have homework,” she shot back. “And waiting until the last minute to revise doesn’t help you actually learn anything.”
In an attempt to divert the escalating argument, Harry plucked his books from her arms and stuffed them into his bag. “Thanks, Hermione. I’m sure I’ll have time to finish my homework before I get back. You’ll check my work?”
“Of course,” she readily agreed. “You’ll write if you have any questions; right?”
“Sirius is there,” Ron grumbled, “he can just ask him. He’s a fully qualified wizard, after all.”
Hermione looked doubtful, but she smiled and leaned forward to give Harry another hug. “Good luck. Take care.”
Ron thumped him on the shoulder when Hermione pulled away. “Yeah, tell Sirius we said hi.”
They paused to let Harry pull his invisibility cloak over himself and make sure nothing was showing before they pushed the portrait door open and Harry slipped out with a last whispered goodbye. The portrait swung closed behind him and Harry quietly made his way through the nearly deserted corridors to the entrance hall. Professor McGonagall was standing before the house hourglasses, frowning darkly at the shining gems. Gryffindor was far behind the rest of the houses and it was unlikely they would catch up. In fact, Harry thought the House of Gryffindor was simply ignoring the point system for the rest of the year.
Keeping a wary eye out for the Inquisitional Squad, Umbridge, or even Snape, Harry cautiously approached his head of house and whispered, “I’m here, Professor.”
McGonagall didn’t even flinch with surprise at his sudden words. She nodded and turned to the doors, saying softly, “Follow me and keep close, Potter.”
“Where are you going, Minerva?”
Umbridge stepped out of the shadows, her bulging eyes squinting suspiciously at the professor. McGonagall bristled, twitching her robes with annoyance. “I don’t believe I am required to divulge what I choose to do during my free time, Dolores.”
“Of course,” Umbridge demurred, “but I would like to know when my professors are no longer on school grounds. Just a precaution, my dear.”
McGonagall’s lips thinned at the endearment. “There are a few things I require in Hogsmeade and then I was going to stop at the Three Broomsticks for a pint.”
“By yourself?” Umbridge asked, her tone sickly sweet.
Quick steps down the marble stairs interrupted them and Madam Pomfrey rapidly approached, smoothing down pale blue robes and hardly glancing at Umbridge as she spoke to McGonagall, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Minnie. Oh, hello, Dolores, are you joining us for a pint?”
Umbridge looked between them before insincerely smiling. “Have a good time, dears.”
McGonagall nodded sharply, glancing at Madam Pomfrey and then swept out of the castle doors. Madam Pomfrey followed quickly and Harry hurried after them, making sure to keep his cloak wrapped tightly around him so Umbridge wouldn’t see his shoes.
McGonagall’s stride was brisk and they were almost to the gates of the grounds before she slowed down and released a gusty sigh. Madam Pomfrey checked over her shoulder, moving up next to McGonagall, saying softly, “Minnie?”
“That woman!” McGonagall exclaimed emphatically. “The words I wish I could say to that woman! Surely the Headmaster could’ve found someone. Another incompetent fool would’ve been better.”
Madam Pomfrey huffed a quiet laugh. “I think even Severus would agree with you.”
They exited the gates, starting down the path to Hogsmeade and McGonagall stretched out a hand, saying, “Mr. Potter, take my arm. We’re going to apparate. Do you remember headquarters?”
Harry’s hand appeared from beneath his invisibility cloak to take the transfiguration professor’s arm. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Normally we would floo, but Professor Umbridge is monitoring the castle’s network,” she told him with a disapproving sniff. “She believes someone is in communication with the Headmaster and is determined to catch them out.”
“Have you heard from Professor Dumbledore?” Harry asked anxiously.
McGonagall ignored the question, addressing Madam Pomfrey, “I’ll see you at the Three Broomsticks shortly, Poppy. Ready, Potter?”
McGonagall apparated before Harry could agree. The sudden squeezing, twisting sensation stole his breath and his feet hit the road in front of Grimmauld Place with a jarring thump. McGonagall’s hold was the only thing that kept him from stumbling and landing on his face. The transfiguration professor ensured he was steady and then released his arm, allowing the invisibility cloak to flutter down around him. She glanced warily up and down the street before striding across the street to the house that seemed to pop up between 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place.
Harry was hustled inside and the door was firmly closed behind them before McGonagall nodded and he was allowed to remove the cloak.
The entryway was as dark and dreary as Harry remembered it. The heavy draperies that hid Walburga Black were gathering dust again. It was clear that Kreacher was still neglecting the house and Mrs. Weasley still hadn’t defeated the doxies and dust bunnies that sought refuge in the dim corners and dusty curtains. McGonagall lead the way down to the kitchen of the house and Harry followed, stuffing his cloak into his bag.
There was a marked difference in the atmosphere between the entry and the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was at the stove, grumbling over some offense (Harry thought he heard Sirius and Kreacher mentioned several times). When they entered, Mrs. Weasley was just turning to reach for her wand and she caught sight of them. She immediately released the wooden spoon she was holding and greeted them with a bright smile, crossing the kitchen to envelop Harry in a tight hug. “Hello, Harry. Let me look at you.”
He allowed himself to lean into the hug, letting the warm feeling in his heart the hug gave push aside the apprehension he felt over Snape’s pensieve memories. She held him out at arms’ length and Harry felt like she was cataloging every blemish he had - real or imagined. With a click of her tongue, she shook her head and lovingly patted his cheek. “You’re too thin, dear. Are you eating? Ginny mentioned that you seemed to lack an appetite recently. Have you been sick?”
“Lay off, Molly,” Sirius suddenly spoke up from the door.
Mrs. Weasley let Harry go when he turned and so he didn’t notice her lips pursing with her disapproval. Harry felt several emotions at the same time; a curious combination of dread and anticipation and relief.
“Hey, kiddo,” Sirius said with a grin, “did you hear the good news?”
“Your pardon?” Harry asked, feeling stupid a second later for asking such a ridiculous question.
Sirius threw his head back and laughed, seizing him a bear hug and swinging him around. “Of course! This is the best week I’ve had in years!”
Sirius released him suddenly and Harry stumbled on shaking legs. The pardoned man dropped into a chair at the table, the grin still brightening his worn features. As Harry steadied himself, he heard Mrs. Weasley say, “Thank you for bringing him, Minerva.”
He didn’t hear McGonagall’s response over Sirius’ sudden bark of laughter and then the stern transfiguration professor turned to Harry, saying crisply, “I’ve arranged it with Madam Rosemerta for you to floo to the Three Broomsticks Sunday afternoon no later than two. Either Madam Pomfrey or myself will be there to collect you. Make sure you wear your cloak.” She glanced briefly at Sirius before finishing, “Behave yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
A small smile softened her features and she nodded then turned a stern look on Sirius. “That goes for you as well. No trouble. You’ve only just received your pardon.”
“Stop worrying, Minnie,” Sirius laughed. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
McGonagall’s face took on a pinched expression. “See that nothing does. It’s not safe for Mr. Potter. Don’t forget it, Sirius.”
Harry caught his godfather rolling his eyes and he bit his lip, looking quickly at his professor. McGonagall’s expression tightened, but she said nothing, instead, nodding at them and bidding her farewell to Mrs. Weasley before she disappeared through the floo to the Three Broomsticks. Sirius thumped the table. “So, there’s something you want to talk about? Your letters didn’t seem exactly happy, kiddo. Snivellus treating you all right?”
The cruel nickname made Harry bristle and he straightened, setting his jaw, as he recalled his earlier resolution to talk about his father and godfather’s bullying. Before he could speak, Mrs. Weasley shooed them out of the kitchen. “Go get Harry settled into his room, Sirius. I’ll have some tea sent up soon.”
Harry nodded mutely, his resolve withering. Sirius winked at his godson, shoving back from the table and rising to his feet. “Right. Let’s put your stuff down and we can talk privately.”
They kept quiet in the hall in order to not disturb Madam Black and creaked their way up the stairs. The room was just as he remembered it, though a little dustier since Mrs. Weasley didn’t have much help keeping the place clean. It appeared Kreacher was still as misanthropic as usual.
Sirius crossed the room and dropped onto the bed Ron used, watching as Harry stopped by his own bed from the summer and let his bag drop to the quilted coverlet. When Harry didn’t venture to continue the conversation they’d started downstairs, Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You wanted to talk, right?”
“It was nothing,” Harry muttered.
Sirius didn’t look convinced, but shrugged anyway. “Okay. I was thinking, now that I’m free, we should go out and do something fun. Just the two of us. It’d almost be like Padfoot and Prongs, Part Two!”
“Really?” He felt the excitement bubble up. No one had ever wanted to do anything with him. “Like what?”
The smile that crossed Sirius’ face could only be described as sly. “You’re fifteen now, right? James and I found this club nearby when we were about your age. The girls weren’t bad looking and some were extremely accommodating, if you know what I mean. I’ve been out of the action for way too long and I’m feeling the itch.”
Harry stared at his godfather in confusion. “A…club?”
“Sure! You know the type, right? They’re not as stuffy as some of those girls at school,” Sirius said with a laugh. “Lily gave James quite the chase. Of course, she had Snivellus sniffing around her before she knew better.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open as the meaning beneath his godfather’s words registered. “Mum?”
“Yeah, old greasy git Snivellus drooled over your mum for years. James was worried she’d been plucked before he got his chance, but Lily knew better. Like a Gryffindor girl would let some slimy snake put his hands on her.”
Harry’s lips moved soundlessly until he choked out the first thing his whirling mind could latch onto. “A strip club?”
He must have sounded more horrified than intrigued because Sirius looked at him oddly. “It’s more than a strip club. James and I always had a good time. Last time we were there was just before he died. That was a wild night.”
Harry felt heat flood his cheeks. “I don’t - Dad - Professor Snape was friends with mum?”
“Friends,” Sirius spat, lip curling in disgust. “Lily learned better. James finally got her in the end. Not that the slimy snake was any competition. James was a real ladies’ man. The girls all loved him. He swore it was the hair. Natural bedroom hair, so he said. What do you think? I bet you’ve got your pick of girls. Fame and the Potter good looks; James would’ve killed to have both. I bet you’ve got some stories already. So, favorites?”
The wink Sirius gave him made his blush flare brighter and the sliver of anger he’d nearly forgotten surged forth and he demanded, “Is that the reason you picked on him? Because he was friends with mum?”
Sirius looked taken aback. “Who? Snivellus?”
“Don’t call him that!” Harry shouted, a part of him surprised at how upset he was. He didn’t even like the potions master.
“Are you defending him?” Sirius asked with flabbergasted disbelief. “He’s no saint, Harry. He’s a Death Eater. He was bad from the day we met him. It was only a matter of time.”
“You bullied him. You and Dad! It was wrong.” Harry couldn’t believe the words that were pouring out of his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to stop them. “No wonder he hates me. It wasn’t fair. It was three against one! Did he even start it?”
Sirius leapt to his feet and Harry flinched, words drying up. The glare Sirius leveled on him shot a spike of fear through his heart. Sirius had never before given him such a look of disgust and loathing.
“James was a great man,” Sirius shouted.
“He was a bully,” Harry’s voice cracked and he could feel his eyes burn, “and a cheat and for the first time since I learned I was a wizard, I’m ashamed he’s my father.”
Sirius’ face flushed with anger and his hand shot out, seizing Harry painfully around the arm. He shook him roughly, snarling, “You don’t mean that.”
Memories of his own time at school - before Hogwarts and before he learned he had magic - assaulted him. Times he was alone and cornered in the school yard or in the loo. Times his cousin and his gang would kick him around just because he was there and because he was different. Just because he existed.
“I do,” Harry gasped, trying to pull free. “Let go! You’re hurting me!”
“You’re not acting like a Potter!”
“I’m glad,” he screamed. “I don’t want to be like my father if my father was like that!”
Sirius’ expression turned ugly and his fist clenched tightly around Harry’s arm. “Then get out of my house. I told James that Lily was only worth a fuck or two. After all, she actually liked Snivellus. I knew she was a bitch and I told him she’d ruin him, but no. He married the chit when she told him she was pregnant. James claimed she hadn’t wanted to, but he said no bastard sprog of his would be a leech on his family. A bastard could ruin the family reputation.”
Sirius bared his teeth in a vicious snarl, twisting Harry’s arm painfully. “I warned him. I know there are ways - muggle ways - of ending a pregnancy, but the bitch refused. And I was right. You - she - you both were the death of him.”
Harry could only stare at his godfather, robbed of words. Each sentence, every syllable, was dripping with bitterness. Sirius dragged him from the room, jerking him down the stairs all the way to the kitchen, tossing him through the door. Mr. Weasley had arrived at some point while they were upstairs and he turned in surprise when Harry, cheeks flushed and tear-stained, stumbled in. Mrs. Weasley quickly stood. “Harry-”
“If you don’t want to be a Potter,” Sirius spoke over the Weasley matriarch, “then you no longer are.”
The Weasleys gasped and Mr. Weasley struggled to his feet with a grimace of pain. “Sirius-”
The floo flared and a dark figure stepped out onto the flagstone hearth. No one paid any attention, their wide eyes riveted on the furious man. Sirius straightened, glaring imperiously down at his godson. “I deny that you are the son of James Potter. You shall no longer be acknowledge as his son and heir. All assistance and privilege from the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black and the Noble House of Potter is revoked henceforth. So speaketh I, Sirius Orion Black. Get out of my sight.”
The words fell like blows on Harry and left him gasping and nerveless. He staggered into the kitchen table, his vision spinning and hardly aware of the chaos that erupted around him. A teacup shattered on the flagstone floor and Mrs. Weasley’s shrill voice demanded, “What were you thinking, Sirius! Harry’s your godson!”
“I have no godson,” Sirius said, turning from the kitchen without another glance towards the devastated teen. “I want him out of my house before the end of the hour.”
“I didn’t realize you had so little respect for Potter’s brat,” Snape drawled, his dark eyes flicking between his student and his childhood nemesis.
“James and his family are no longer responsible for Lily’s bastard child. You were always sniffing after the bitch, Snivellus, you take her cast-off. I no longer care.”
The kitchen door slammed shut in the stunned silence that followed that pronouncement. Harry groaned, clutching his suddenly throbbing head and curling into himself as he sank to the cold floor. The click of hard-heeled shoes moved across the stones and Harry felt someone kneel by his side. The scent of Dreamless Sleep potion reached him and he knew Snape was the one who placed a hand on his back. He made an odd, grunting noise and then cleared his throat, saying, “Harry.”
Harry looked up, tears blurring his vision even as it tunneled and the edges darkened. Dark eyes examined him closely and then Snape turned to Mrs. Weasley. “What happened?”
“Oh, Severus,” Mrs. Weasley fluttered worriedly, “Sirius has disowned Harry! You heard! What are we going to do?”
Snape scowled, those piercing eyes turning back to examine Harry. He felt light-headed and he closed his eyes, letting his head drop to his raised knees. Snape rose to his feet, shaking out his robes. “I will have to speak to the Headmaster, but it is clear he can no longer remain here.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Weasley fretted. “How long do you think…”
She trailed off as if uncertain and Harry heard her move around the table, her robes rustling loudly in his ears. His head was starting to pound and chills raced down his spine. It felt like he was getting sick. Snape moved away, closer to the fireplace, saying, “We should have a few hours before the effects take hold-”
He was silenced by Mrs. Weasley’s gasp. She had placed a hand on the top of Harry’s head, only to snatch it back a moment later and kneel hurriedly next to him. “He’s got a fever, Severus.”
Mr. Weasley shuffled around the table, dropping heavily into a nearby chair. “Harry,” he said, “look at me, son.”
It took more strength than Harry realized to lift his head and meet Mr. Weasley’s eyes. Mrs. Weasley gasped, “Severus! He’s bleeding!”
“Calm down, Molly, it’s just a nose bleed,” Mr. Weasley soothed, though his expression was worried.
Harry raised trembling hands to his nose, flinching when Snape seemed to swoop in out of nowhere. Strong, thin fingers griped his jaw and tilted his face upward and piercing black eyes narrowed. If it’d been anyone else, any other professor at Hogwarts - well, except for Umbridge - Harry would have thought he looked concerned. With his other hand, Snape snatched Harry’s hand away from the flow of blood, leaning closer and scowling blackly. “Hold still, boy.”
The warmth of a spell passed through him, momentarily pushing aside the encroaching cold that seemed to come from nowhere. Harry’s head was spinning and he was having difficulty keeping up with the activity going on around him. The one thing he knew, without a doubt, was that Sirius didn’t want him and close on the heels of that knowledge was that even his own father hadn’t really wanted him either.
“It’s happening too fast,” Mrs. Weasley said. “It’s not supposed to happen this fast.”
“What’s happening?” Harry slurred, tongue feeling thick and unwieldy.
“That imbecile,” Snape snarled, his dark eyes flashing. “He should have stayed in that hellhole where he belongs.”
A sharp crack startled them and Harry’s bag popped into existence, knocking the tea set off the table with a crash. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley jumped in surprise, but Snape merely snatched it off the table and reached for Harry’s arm, noting the boy’s violent flinch. Snape filed that piece of information away to look into later and hauled the teen to his feet. Harry’s knees felt as stable as jelly and he stumbled into the potions professor. It felt like the world was tipping on its axis.
Snape half carried, half dragged him to the fireplace where the professor threw down a fistful of floo powder, called out a destination Harry couldn’t understand, and they disappeared in a rush of green fire.
Chapter 2: Consequences