Harry and Remus returned home to find Sirius had joined Severus in his waiting — Harry had told him about Bill's letter over the mirror before going to bed the night before.
In all the emotion of visiting his family vaults, Harry had almost forgotten about Bill's revelation. He twisted his fingers in the cuffs of his robes as he sat down on the living room sofa. "Bill knows what the magic in my scar is," he declared, not meeting anyone's eyes. "It's something called a horcrux."
Snape cursed, which startled Harry into looking up incredulously. His usually impassive Potions Master had horror in his dark eyes. "Is he certain?"
"You know what that is, then?" Remus asked in shock. Snape nodded.
"I've heard of them before. Honestly I'd thought them a myth. I certainly never expected they could be made from a living creature."
"Would someone please explain to me what a horcrux is?" Sirius bit out impatiently. Harry found himself lost for words, but luckily Remus wasn't. He filled Sirius in, glancing at Snape every now and then to check their information matched up, forging on when the Slytherin nodded. With every word, Sirius grew paler.
"There's a piece of that monster inside Harry's scar?" he croaked, rushing to Harry's side. "How do we get it out?"
"Bill doesn't know yet," Harry said weakly. "He's going to do some research."
"I will do some research of my own as well," Snape assured. "I'm sure I have some alternate avenues to Mr Weasley." He still looked shaken, leaning against the back of one of the armchairs. "Considering the circumstances, Potter, I believe there is something I should tell you. Something Dumbledore insists you not learn until the time is right."
"Until he's ready for me to die, you mean," Harry realised. Snape nodded sharply.
Harry's stomach was already a mess of knots and anxiety, and he didn't see how things could get much worse. "Tell me."
Snape told him of a job interview. He told him of a scared young man desperate to please his master, eavesdropping on a woman and an old man in the back room of a dirty pub. He told him of a prophecy.
"I only heard the first half. Albus Dumbledore is the only person alive who knows the full extent of the prophecy, and he has not seen fit to share it with me — or with you. I'm not sure what he hopes to gain from keeping you ignorant, but until we learn what the rest of the prophecy says, we may never know."
The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.
Harry felt like he'd been punched in the chest. That was the reason Voldemort had killed his parents? Because of half a prophecy? "But… how? How can I have the power to defeat him? There's got to be more powerful wizards than me." Sure, Bill said his core was strong, but he couldn't be that special!
"For all we know, there's something about you in particular," Remus said. He didn't look surprised by any of this; he'd heard the prophecy before. How long had he known? "Maybe something to do with your family magics. You've got quite a few of them, after all."
"Or maybe it means Harry because only he can get rid of the horcrux and make Voldemort mortal again," Sirius suggested.
"But how can that work? If not for the prophecy he wouldn't have attacked me, and then I wouldn't have been a horcrux in the first place!" Harry argued. There was no way Voldemort would've shoved part of his soul inside a toddler on purpose. And if he had, he definitely wouldn't then try to kill said toddler multiple times.
"Prophecy magic is a tricky one to work with," Remus pointed out. "It could've been a self-fulfilling prophecy, or there could be something in the rest of the prophecy that details what the power is."
A thought struck cold in Harry's chest. "What if the power is the release of my magic from the block when I turn seventeen?" he asked in a hollow voice. "What if that's why Dumbledore put the block there? The overload of magic is the only thing that could destroy the horcrux and Voldemort."
"It can't be," Sirius said immediately. "I don't care what the bloody prophecy says, there's no way you're going to let yourself die to kill Voldemort. There's got to be another option."
Harry appreciated the sentiment, but he was not that important, and if his death was the only way to get rid of Voldemort then he would happily do so.
Though he would check that there were no other alternatives, first. He wasn't that reckless.
When the initial shock of the prophecy itself passed, another aspect of Snape's story drew to the front of Harry's thoughts. He turned to the man. "You were the one who overheard the prophecy. You went to Voldemort about it."
Snape's eyes shuttered. "I did," he confirmed. Harry swallowed.
"Did you know? When you told him, did you know?"
"I had no idea he was going to go after any child, let alone you and your family," Snape whispered harshly. "I believed the approach meant a person coming closer, perhaps from abroad; not the birth of a child. As soon as I realised how he was interpreting the prophecy, I rushed to Dumbledore to turn myself in and beg he protect you, and the Longbottom boy as well." Harry hadn't even realised Neville fit the bill too, his birthday the day before Harry's. "Believe me, Harry; if I had even the slightest inkling of what was to happen, I never would have told him. By that point in my life I was already doubting my choices; that was just what tipped me back onto the right path."
Part of Harry still didn't understand how Snape could've become a Death Eater to begin with, when he had Remus who loved him so fiercely and Harry's mother who had been his best friend as a child. But he doubted he would get that story, not until he was much older. It was clearly a long and complicated one. He just hadn't realised it culminated in Snape indirectly being responsible for the death of Harry's family.
Remus and Sirius knew, and yet they still thought of Snape as family! How was he supposed to reconcile that?
"I think I'm going to go to my room, if that's okay." Harry stood on shaky legs. Had he been looking, he would've seen heartbreak flash through Severus Snape's eyes for just a moment before the usual impassive mask fell into place.
"Harry, please," Remus started, but Harry shook him off.
"I need to think." He left the living room, heading to his bedroom on autopilot and shutting the door quietly behind him. He wouldn't slam it. He wasn't having a tantrum.
He didn't even know if he was angry. He should be; he had every right to be. But whether it was the hole in his heart that had formed after Cedric's death, or something else entirely, Harry couldn't bring himself to be angry at Snape.
Snape clearly had enough anger at himself for the both of them.
He didn't know what he was feeling. The day had been full of so many revelations, so many emotions… he was just tired. He had the soul of a madman attached to his own, and he was the owner of hundreds of heirlooms he couldn't possibly be worthy of, and he was prophesised to defeat a Dark Lord, and he was still hiding from Dumbledore and he couldn't even go out in public without a disguise, and his boyfriend's father was an awful human who worshipped the Dark Lord Harry was supposed to defeat, and nothing about his life was normal.
Apparently, nothing had ever been destined to be normal about him. Not since he was born.
There was a knock on Harry's door, and he didn't invite them in, but he also didn't tell them to go away. After a beat, the door opened. "Hey, pup," Sirius greeted cautiously, slipping into the room. "I have to head back to headquarters, but I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye." He edged closer to the bed. "Are you… okay?"
Harry let out a bitter laugh. "Would you be okay, in my position?"
"Merlin, no; I'd be crying in a corner somewhere! But we Blacks have always been a bit on the emotional side," he replied with a wink. He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes soft and sad. "You know Severus isn't to blame for all this. He's spent the last fifteen years trying to repent for that one little mistake. He cares about you."
"I know," Harry agreed quietly. He wished he had the words to explain the mess inside his head. "I'm not— I'm not mad at him. Voldemort and Dumbledore are the only ones at fault here. Manipulating others for their own gain. I just… today has been a lot."
"Moony told us you visited the heirloom vaults," Sirius said. Harry nodded. "I wish I could've been with you, pup. One day I will. I'll tell you everything I can remember about whatever we find in there." The dog animagus shuffled up the bed to bring Harry into a hug, lips pressing to his hair. "You're not alone, Harry. Whatever happens next — with the horcrux, the prophecy, everything — we aren't going to let you face him alone."
"That was Dumbledore's plan," Harry pointed out. Sirius scoffed.
"Dumbledore can go fuck a hippogriff," he declared vehemently. "His plans are usually terrible for everyone but himself, and I for one am done with going along with them." Sirius smiled. "We'll figure this out. From what Severus tells us, Bill Weasley is a smart chap, and Severus himself has more knowledge of the Dark Arts than anyone else I know. There's got to be a way. You can't give up hope." He kissed Harry's scar, then pulled back. "I'll see you when I can, alright? I love you."
"Love you too," Harry replied automatically, managing a faint half-smile as his godfather left. When he was alone once more, he slumped back against his pillows, squeezing his eyes shut.
Merlin, he needed a nap.
.-.-.-.
Over the next few days, Harry didn't leave his room much. He appeared for meals but was silent through them, and when he didn't show up for his training neither Snape nor Remus called him down. Snape seemed to be avoiding him as much as possible, often skipping meals in favour of brewing potions. Remus just looked at Harry like his heart was being torn in two by the silence. Harry wished he could reassure the man, but he didn't know what to say. All his words dried up in his throat. He didn't hate Snape, but every time he tried to say it he thought of the piece of Voldemort's soul lodged in his head and how it was maybe Snape's fault it was there, and sure, okay, he couldn't have known that would happen but he had still been in a place in his life where following a man like Voldemort without hesitation had been an option — no, a joy — for him, and how the hell was Harry supposed to understand that when Snape had Remus in his life?
Remus, who was classified as a dark creature but who rescued baby birds and helped them back to their nests. Remus, who always had a kind word for everyone, and believed chocolate was the cure for everything. Remus, who had seen Harry so alone and desperate for family, and given him stories of his parents even when it had to be hurting him to think of them.
If Snape could have Remus and still become a Death Eater, what hope did Harry have? He hadn't known love for most of his life, and now he had it he wasn't even sure he could keep it, because he might have to die in order to save them all.
Luckily, he was distracted by an influx of owls, as his friends slowly began to return his letters. Most of the heirs had sent general updates on their summers, wishing Harry well with his and making vague illusions to the things they'd been working on through the school year. Susan sent a letter and a book — he read the letter first, relief flooding him when the Hufflepuff assured that her aunt was on board and ready to start digging discreetly into Dumbledore's history. She also seemed to have started a summer project of her own, and was recruiting the rest of the heirs; hence the book.
There's a lot to get through, and we're going to be too busy to do it when Voldemort falls, so if we're prepared now it'll be easier later, Susan wrote, explaining her plans. She had sent Harry The Self-Updating Record of Ministry Laws and Regulations: Vol 2, with the request that he read through chapters 30-39 and make note of any law that needed to be changed, or done away with entirely, and categorise them by urgency. Apparently the best time to make changes to the law was after a particularly large upheaval — like a war — when people were worried about falling back into old habits and positions were changing hands due to death or incapacitation. The last couple of times, Dumbledore had just swept in and taken care of it all, and thus nothing had changed in almost a century. Now, they had a lot of work to do, and Susan wanted to be able to start immediately.
The book was in chronological order, and was spelled to automatically record any change or abolition of laws. Susan had set herself the last ten chapters of volume 3, which were all the most recent laws, as they were often the most contentious. Harry's section was mostly innocuous, though there were some truly bizarre laws that he couldn't believe had to be put in place. What had happened to make it necessary to create a law banning people from transfiguring themselves into owls for the purpose of delivering mail?
Still, Susan had asked, and it gave Harry an excuse to stay in his room but still feel productive.
He also got a letter from Draco; shorter than he would've liked, and with a worrying contents.
H,
Glad to hear you're back where you're supposed to be. I hope it stays that way.
I might not be able to write to you much this summer. My father has invited several old friends to stay at the manor, including one I believe you encountered shortly before the end of term. I plan to stay out of their way, but they might have other ideas. Rest assured, even if I cannot write to you, I will be thinking of you.
I have spoken to mother about coming to visit, and that may still be possible. Keep your fingers crossed.
Yours,
Draco
Voldemort was living at Malfoy Manor. Voldemort was in Draco's home. When he'd first read the letter, everything within him had urged for him to go to Malfoy Manor and stage a rescue, but he knew that would be foolish. Draco had given no reason for anyone to believe he wasn't as loyal as his father, and Narcissa would die before she let anything happen to her son. They both knew where Seren Du was, and knew they were always welcome.
That didn't stop Harry from worrying. He kept the letter on his bedside table, picking it up every now and then to re-read the last two words, his heart giving a little skip each time. Yours, Draco. It was nothing he hadn't said in person, but… it felt like more.
One quiet dinner, three nights after the prophecy revelation, Remus cleared his throat. "Harry," he started, and Harry immediately knew he wasn't going to like what the man had to say. "Dumbledore has given me a mission. I'm to visit a werewolf pack in the New Forest and try and convince them to side with us instead of Voldemort."
Harry definitely didn't like it. "How long will you be gone?"
"I don't know. Hopefully not more than a week," Remus assured. "The moon and the few days either side of it. But… Sirius won't be able to get away from headquarters all that often. It'll just be you and Severus in the house. And Ceri, of course."
Harry glanced over at the Potions Master, who was keeping his gaze to his plate. Harry hadn't spoken much to him since he'd learned the truth, and it was starting to wear on both of them. Snape's mouth was tight in the corners, and every time he did catch Harry's eyes he looked sad. Remus was worse, but Snape clearly wasn't enjoying the silence either.
Eighteen months ago, Snape would have begged to not have to speak to or interact with Harry Potter. Eighteen months ago, Harry never would've thought seeing Snape sad would tear at that hole in his heart.
"That's okay," he said eventually, before taking a deep breath. It was time he tried some words, whether they fell in an orderly fashion or not. "I don't blame you, sir. For my parents. I'm sorry if I made you feel like I did. It was just a lot to take in, and the horcrux, and— there's a prophecy about me, and people died because of it, but you couldn't have known that. I just don't understand. Why me. Why you? Why were you even a bloody Death Eater to begin with, when Remus loves you so much and I know, I know you love him, I can see it, I'm not blind. How could things get so bad that you could still go to him? You all just say things were complicated back then, and I get that, and I probably don't have the right to ask for the truth for any of it. I just don't understand how you could go to Voldemort and how Pettigrew could go to Voldemort when both of you had people you loved! People who loved you! He still managed to get you, and his soul is in me and what if he gets me too? He said we were alike, in the diary, when I was younger, and he was right, he was so right, I'm just like him and I can feel it sometimes and it hurts and I don't want to be like him but what if I am and what if all of this is for nothing and what if his soul and my soul are the same thing now? And what if I hurt people — what if I hurt you — what if this power I'm supposed to kill him with actually just makes me worse than he is and Dumbledore was right to bind it all along and I—"
He stopped speaking, mostly due to his inability to breathe. He was hyperventilating, his chest rising in quick gasps, and then there were arms around him pulling him against a wiry chest, a soft voice telling him to breathe and to count with him as the chest beneath his face inflated and deflated slowly, carefully, until Harry was doing the same. He looked up into Snape's near-black eyes. "You are truly your mother's son," the man declared softly. Somewhere above him, on the other side of the table — when had Harry ended up on the floor? — Remus snorted out a surprised laugh. "I am glad you don't blame me, even when I still blame myself. You have every right to be angry," Snape told him, still keeping that same even tone of voice, like he was talking to a particularly spooked animal. "As for how I became a Death Eater, that is a very long and complicated story that starts with an awful man and ends with several different awful men, and it is not a story for tonight, though perhaps one day I may tell you. Needless to say I regret my choices, and I will do what I can to atone for them. But you are not me, Harry, and you are not Pettigrew. Yes, you have had awful people in your past, and awful things happen to you. And you have several awful things in your future, too. But you have the knowledge gained from watching the rest of us make mistakes. More importantly, you have more compassion in your heart than I have ever seen from anyone except your mother." Snape's lips curved in perhaps the first true smile Harry had ever seen from the man.
"Lily loved openly, and without hesitation. She did not love everyone — and if she hated you, you definitely knew about it — but if she loved you, she would do anything for you. If you threw that love aside, you would regret it. Merlin knows I did. Luckily, she deigned to give me a second chance, eventually."
The Slytherin's arms were still around Harry's back, surprisingly strong for a man so thin. Harry's heart still rabbited against his ribs. "You are like your mother in so many ways, and that is the reason you will never become like the Dark Lord. He was denied love through his childhood, and that made him bitter and angry and determined to see everyone else be denied love as well. You were denied love through your childhood, and it made you all the more determined to make sure no one else suffered the same way. You learned love and you gave it in spades. You made that choice. He made a different one. Having a piece of his soul within you does not change that."
Harry could do nothing but stare. Not only was that the most words he'd ever heard Snape say in one go, but it was the most honesty he'd ever heard from him, the most humanity. This was the Severus Snape that perhaps only Remus and Draco ever got to see these days. The Severus Snape that Harry's mother knew, before everything went so horribly wrong.
Snape seemed to realise he'd said quite enough, as his cheeks flushed faintly and he cleared his throat. "And if you think we're going to just let you sit around with a piece of the Dark Lord inside your head, you're even more daft than I thought you were."
"Oh, and he's back," Remus remarked, squatting down beside them with a grin. "That's it, Harry; Severus just used up all his emotions for the next year, no more for the rest of us." Snape glared at him, and Remus' grin widened. He kissed the man on the cheek. "You big softie," he teased. With one hand on each of their backs, Remus hauled them up to standing. "He's right, Harry. You are so full of love, it's unfathomable to me how you could possibly become like Voldemort. For one thing, we certainly wouldn't let you."
"Promise me that," Harry begged. Snape's words were nice, but Harry still didn't believe him. Not when there was that dark, ugly thing inside him, that twisted piece of magic so intertwined with his own.
"We promise we won't let you become a Dark Lord," Remus vowed. "Easiest promise I'll ever keep." He gently tugged Harry out of Snape's arms and into his own, stroking his hair. "Everyone in this house has struggled with darkness at some point or another, Harry. Even Sirius. Look at the family he came from. And there is nothing wrong with acknowledging that darkness within you. Dark does not necessarily mean evil. Severus is still a dark wizard, but he's not an evil man. I'm a dark creature, but I'm not evil. Peter Pettigrew had never successfully cast a dark spell in his life before joining Voldemort, and yet I think we can all agree whatever little bit of good left in him died a long time ago. Now," he said, glancing between Harry and Snape, "I have to leave in the morning, so I would very much like to spend my last night at home for a while in the company of two people I love dearly. Let's have Ceri make some hot chocolate and bring it to the living room, shall we?"
Harry couldn't help but smile; typical Remus Lupin response. Chocolate solved everything.
.-.-.-.
The house was quiet without Remus around. Not because Harry and Snape were still at odds with each other — after Harry's little breakdown and Snape's uncharacteristic burst of emotion, there was no way they could continue that stalemate — but because neither of them was really prone to conversation for conversation's sake, and without Remus around to nudge them into it, they just… didn't.
But there was an understanding between them. Another barrier had come down. Harry resumed his training, and Snape continued to teach him about dark magic, maintaining that Harry would need to know it, and insisting he was strong enough to know when to stop. In the evenings, Harry read the book from Susan, or worked on his animagus form. He'd owl-ordered a book about foxes and their anatomy, and it was proving very helpful indeed.
"Professor?" he asked one evening, breaking the companionable silence between them. Snape looked up from his own book, raising one eyebrow. "Did you ever try to become an animagus?" It seemed like such a useful piece of magic, Harry couldn't understand why everyone didn't do it. Sure, it was difficult, and not everyone could, but why did so many people not even try?
"When I learned what the Marauders had done, I brewed the potion to discover my form," Snape admitted. "It is a crow. The form was not suitable for what I'd hoped to use it for, and I was incredibly busy, so I never continued to learn the transformation. I only seemed to get busier as time went on."
A faint smile tugged at Harry's lips as he interpreted the Snape-speak — a crow couldn't run with a werewolf on the full moon, therefore he had no interest in being an animagus. He was starting to learn why Remus insisted Snape was a romantic, deep down. "I think it'd be cool to be a crow. Flying without a broom and everything. Do you like flying, sir?"
"I do, though I don't often fly for pleasure these days."
"You could come fly with me sometime if you wanted to," Harry suggested, hardly able to believe his own mouth. Snape paused, then looked back down at his book.
"Perhaps."
Harry grinned, turning back to the chapter he was reading about the evolution of foxes.
.-.
That night, he had a dream about Voldemort. No, not a dream — a vision. Harry couldn't remember the details, just that his scar hurt when he woke up, and he felt nauseous, but strangely triumphant. He told Snape about it when he came down to breakfast. "Do you know what he might have been doing?"
"I do not," Snape replied, lips thinning. "I have not been Called since that first meeting. I suspect I will be soon, though. Especially if the Dark Lord has made progress on whatever he is planning."
"These dreams won't stop even if I strengthen my Occlumency shields, will they?" Harry asked dully. Snape shook his head.
"We can assume the connection exists because of the soul fragment inside your scar. That puts him already inside your defences. However, I believe that keeping your shields up keeps the connection one-way — you can be pulled into his mind, but if he were to try and reach into yours himself, he would hit your shields. He can reach your dreams, but not your thoughts — and not your actions." Harry didn't ask how Snape knew that was a concern of his, when he hadn't even known he was truly concerned about it until the man brought it up. "I do not believe he can possess you through this connection. Certainly there is no evidence that he has tried."
"Even though sometimes I feel feelings that aren't mine?"
"Emotional transference is not possession," Snape told him. "Now finish your breakfast and get dressed, I'll meet you in the library."
Harry was surprised they weren't in the duelling room, but grateful. He was always tired after a night in Voldemort's head.
.-.
In all the chaos that had surrounded the visit to Gringotts, Harry had almost forgotten about the other part of the trip; until he picked up his bag while tidying his room and remembered the four books inside. He removed them carefully, setting them side-by-side on the desk. His four family lines. His heritage, on paper. He picked up the Potter book first. The other three were bound to be fascinating — especially the Slytherin book! — But Potter was the name he'd known for so long, the name he associated with family.
Like with the Peverell book, the first page was the family tree. Harry pored over the names; his grandparents, great-grandparents, people going all the way back to long, long before the colonisation of India. It faded out into a series of question marks around the 10th century, but Harry was still gobsmacked to be able to trace his lineage back that far.
The book opened with several hand-written chapters of family history, detailing their roles in early wizarding culture, and how they had originally come to Britain with a Mongol raid in the early 11th century, members of the family zigzagging all over Europe and India, marrying into all sorts of families before settling mostly in India when it was colonised. They eventually returned to Britain when the Ministry was formed, to take a place on the Wizengamot and have a say in the foundation of Wizarding Britain, but the Indian magic remained strong in the line.
After the history came the Recorded Family Traits — Harry's eyebrows rose when he saw that parselmagic was a trait recorded in at least thirty prior members of the Potter family, though fewer and fewer as time passed. The last one had been back in 1883. Maybe he hadn't got that from the Slytherin side, after all!
There were all sorts of things that popped up in the line, though several of them had notes where they may have appeared from a conflicting family magic or creature inheritance. Harry was amused to see how often his family crossed over with the Blacks over the years.
The rest of the book was all about the traditions and etiquette specific to the house. A few paragraphs in, and it became pretty clear to Harry that he was going to need Sirius' help with all of it. There was no way half of that stuff could still be applicable. For one, nobody carried a sword anymore!
He smiled to himself all the same, returning to the family tree, unrolling the seemingly endless scroll of parchment to reach his own name.
The Potters had a long and varied magical history, with a lot of great names and deeds throughout. Harry only hoped to hold up to that legacy.
.-.-.
Much to Harry's surprise, he was still perfectly happy spending time with just Snape even after Remus had been gone for five days. There had been a few arguments — they hadn't magically had personality transplants, after all — but he was pretty sure they'd reached something maybe close to friendship.
Harry was on the floor of the living room surrounded by parchment and books, as he so often was these days. Snape actually had to step over him to reach the sofa. "Must you?" he sighed, and Harry snickered.
"It's easier this way," he insisted, checking something in a nearby book before crossing out something on one of the parchments.
"Dare I ask what you're doing?" Snape said with raised eyebrows. Harry wriggled into a sitting position.
"I'm trying to figure out the origins of Dumbledore's proxy seats," he explained. "There's got to be heirs for at least some of them, and if not the line should be declared extinct. Obviously he's got mine, and the Founders, but there's these other two and I can't figure out where they came from. Unless one of them is his own? But I didn't think he had a blood claim to any seat — Blaise says that's why he became headmaster."
"Mr Zabini is correct," Snape told him. "The Dumbledore family only goes back four generations, to a muggleborn. Which are the two seats you cannot identify?"
"There's the Ross seat, which I've got some early history for in some of the old Wizengamot books, but nothing particularly recent. And the Prince seat, which I can hardly find anything about," Harry said in frustration. A strange look passed over Snape's face.
"I believe the Ross seat belongs to Minerva McGonagall," the man declared, "and the Prince seat is mine."
Harry gaped at him. "What?" How was that possible? "You're— but all this time, you never said! How?"
"My father was a muggle. My mother was Eileen Prince; third child of Octavius Prince, and not expected to inherit a thing. But both her older sisters died childless, so the line passed to me. By the time my mother passed, I was working at Hogwarts. Albus does not allow his teachers to hold Wizengamot seats; he insists it distracts from our teaching duties. He's held my seat in proxy ever since, and Minerva's for long before that." Snape's lips curled in distaste. Harry kept gaping.
"So you're technically Lord Prince?" he asked, astonished.
"If I had ever been given the chance to step foot in the Wizengamot, I would be," Snape replied. "But as that has not happened, I am still only the heir to the line. I believe Minerva is the same; her brother held the title before she did, but his children were both squibs, so when he passed away it moved to her."
"But the rule about teachers not holding seats, that's Dumbledore, right? That's not a school rule?" If the Founders themselves could do both, Harry didn't see how other teachers couldn't.
"Indeed," Snape confirmed darkly. "Albus put the rule in place when he first hired Professor Horace Slughorn. He claims it's to make sure our full attention is on the welfare of the students."
"To make up for the fact that his isn't?" Harry remarked bitterly. Then, he brightened up. "But this is brilliant! All we have to do is get Dumbledore removed as headmaster, and he's off the Wizengamot for good! I'll change my proxy to someone else, the Founders' seats will go to the new head, and you and Professor McGonagall can have your seats back!"
"Removing Albus Dumbledore from Hogwarts is a feat that many have tried and failed to do," Snape pointed out. Harry shrugged.
"I still think it's doable," he said nonchalantly. "I'll squeeze it in somewhere around killing a Dark Lord."
Snape's dark eyes met his for a long moment, filling with a mix of exasperation and utter resignation. Harry just grinned.
.-.-.-.
At last, Remus returned home. He'd been gone for just over a week, and Ceri popped in to announce his return while Snape and Harry were duelling. They halted immediately, and Harry beamed. "We can finish early, can't we, Professor?" It was only four, but they'd been working all morning too. And there was no way Snape could deny he'd missed Remus.
"I believe we can end here for the day, yes," Snape agreed. Harry cheered, holstering his wand.
They met Remus in the entrance hall. The werewolf was somewhat ragged, with dark circles under his eyes and a healing scratch along the line of his stubbled jaw, but he was smiling. His eyes lit up when he saw them. "My boys," he breathed fondly. Snape made a face.
"I'm hardly a boy," he pointed out, making Remus chuckle. He leaned in close to Snape, smiling.
"You've been my boy since you were thirteen. Get used to it." His nose brushed across Snape's cheekbone in a very wolfish move, his hand on the nape of the man's neck. When he was satisfied, he bundled Harry in a tight hug. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you haven't killed each other!"
"Oi!" Harry argued playfully. "We wouldn't kill each other. You'd be upset." The greying man barked out a laugh.
"I've missed you, cub," he declared, smoothing down Harry's messy hair. "How have you two been? Be honest. I'll ask Ceri to tell me if you're lying."
"We've been good, actually," Harry insisted. "He hasn't been grouchy or anything. Well, a bit in the last couple days. I think he missed you." He dodged the Tripping jinx Snape sent his way, but wasn't quite fast enough to miss the Stinging hex that immediately followed. "Rude!"
"He's been grouchy, hmm?" Remus drawled, turning amused eyes on his partner. "Harry, go see what treats Ceri has in the ice box, would you? I'm craving something sweet."
"You could not be any less subtle, oh my God," Harry said flatly, turning on his heel. "Fine, fine, I'm leaving so you two can snog in peace!" That earned him another Stinging hex on the way out, and he yelped.
There were in fact several home-made eclairs in the ice box, and Harry munched on one while sat on the countertop, trying not to listen to any noises that might come from the hallway. Ceri popped into the room, scowling at him. "Master Harry should be sittings on chairs, not on Ceri's nice clean counter," she scolded lightly. Harry jumped down, pulling a chair out.
"Sorry, Ceri. These eclairs are great, though!" The elf's scowl faded, and with a click her fingers there was a tray on the table with several more eclairs, and some mini chocolate tarts.
"I will be takings these up to the living room for masters," she told him, then disappeared. Harry eyed the kitchen doorway warily.
"Are you two done yet?" he called dubiously. Remus' laughter greeted him.
"Yes, it's safe!" he assured. When Harry returned, the pair were stood close together and Remus' hair was a little messier than it had been before, but other than that they looked unflustered.
"Ceri's got eclairs and chocolate tarts in the living room," he reported. Remus' face lit up.
"It's so good to be home!" He started up the stairs, Snape close behind.
"How was your trip? What are the werewolf pack like?" Harry asked as they walked, curious to hear about an actual proper werewolf pack. He'd only heard stories before, and he was pretty sure the stories in most textbooks were wildly inaccurate. He doubted they sacrificed a small muggle child every full moon. Someone would've noticed that.
"It was an eye-opener," Remus declared. When they reached the living room, Ceri had the tea set ready as well. "I've been to werewolf packs before — Albus sent me in the first war, and I spent a bit of time with them in between when I was really desperate. I was never comfortable around them before. This time… Merlin, the difference in Moony now I'm no longer under that curse!" He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know how Albus ever expected me to be able to negotiate with them while still suffering its effects. They never quite accepted me in the past, and I think that's why. They could tell my wolf and my self were disjointed, out of harmony. This time… it was much, much easier to fit in with the pack. I still wouldn't call it comfortable," he added ruefully. "But it was better. They could actually respect me, this time."
"Maybe that was Dumbledore's plan," Harry suggested. "To have you fail to negotiate because you weren't in touch with your wolf."
"It certainly would make it easier for him," Remus agreed. "Even with me getting along better with them, they aren't exactly thrilled about the prospect of joining Dumbledore. He's been promising to overhaul the werewolf legislations for decades, but never actually done anything. They thought it might change when they heard he'd let a werewolf — me — attend Hogwarts, but I think they realised that was a one-off rather than the start of a new trend." He reached for an eclair, frowning faintly. "Luckily, they don't really trust Voldemort either. I think they'd rather stay out of it, to be honest, but they know if war comes that's not going to be an option. If they fight and lose, they'll die; if they fight and win, they might gain a few more rights but they'll still probably die; and if they don't fight at all, they'll surely die as well in the end."
"There's always another option," Harry pointed out. Remus' eyebrows rose. "They fight with me — with us — and when we take back the Wizengamot we give them the rights they deserve." He'd already found several outrageous creature-related laws in his section of the Ministry Regulations book that he was planning on bringing to Susan's attention.
"You really plan to be that open against both Dumbledore and Voldemort?" Remus questioned.
"I think I'll have to be, don't you?" Harry couldn't imagine being able to get any of the things he needed while sticking under Dumbledore's shadow. "I'll keep acting dumb as long as I can, but I'm running out of time. I expect by the end of the year, Dumbledore will be onto me, so I might as well start playing against him now."
"It could come in useful, having the werewolf packs on our side," Snape agreed thoughtfully. "If they're willing to agree to it. A fifteen year-old boy isn't the most inspiring leader, even if he is the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Yeah, okay, fair point," Harry agreed. "But it can't hurt to offer, right? Let them know we'll be working on the legislation regardless, so if they want to stay out of it that's totally fine, but we'd appreciate the help if they want."
Remus was silent while he ate his eclair. "It's worth trying," he agreed eventually. "I'll keep it in mind next time I'm sent out there. I'll have to report to Albus at the next Order meeting that this wasn't exactly a success, so he'll probably ship me back out after a few months. Hell, half the wolves aren't even willing to believe Voldemort's back yet." He took a sip of his tea, eyes darting to one of the chocolate tarts. "Anyway, how have things been here? What have you two been up to?"
Harry grinned, bouncing in his seat a little. "I turned the tip of my nose black the other day while I was meditating!" he announced proudly. It was his first visible sign of the animagus transformation. Remus beamed at him.
"Harry, that's brilliant! Tell me everything." He kicked off his shoes and wedged his feet under Snape's thigh, earning a half-hearted eye roll. Harry happily told the man about the minor transformation, and how it had taken a few hours for him to undo it.
Yes, the house was far too quiet without Remus around.