Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Since Merlin's time, inheritance has been set in traditional pureblood families by blood and age. Any member of the family with the family blood is considered a relative, regardless of their purity status - though, of course, that is in the purely legal sense. Many pureblood families will exile or expunge non-pureblood members regardless of their legal status as a family member. Age is then used to determine a proper heir; the eldest family member is considered the heir unless, for some reason, their role can be challenged. This is exceedingly rare and has become only more so in the modern day, when it is the usual pureblood custom to have fewer children. (Many historians have debated on if this new social trend has come out of this specific inheritance law, what many call The Age Mandate. The current theory in these circles is that having fewer children narrows down the line of inheritance and prevents jostling for the heir position in later generations.)

Once the eldest heir dies, inheritance is then passed on to the next eldest and so on. Legally, this is binding; however, there have been multiple plots to circumvent this process, some of them more famous than others. Take, for instance, the case of Lucretia Montague, who tricked her older brother into giving up his inheritance rights or Remington Macmillan, who paid to have his older sister assassinated. Recently, there has been a rise in laws to prevent this kind of scurrilous behavior and strengthen investigations into unexpected inheritance disruptions, but they have been slow to be implemented due to pureblood backlash.

Still, these laws are more ancient than their legal state might suggest. The Age Mandate, first introduced into law in 1209, had already been the practice of pureblood magical families for hundreds of years. Indeed, those who have attempted to circumnavigate it - either legally or otherwise - have found themselves victims of unexplainable tragedy or plain bad luck. (Ms. Montague died under mysterious circumstances only six months after wresting the heirship from her brother; Mr. Macmillian lost his ability to bear children and thus continue the line in a dueling accident the year after he got his inheritance, thereby returning the heirship to his brother's eldest son when he died himself only three years later.) Many purebloods have forgotten that this is not just a rule of the land; it is a rule of magic, and thus not to be trifled with without grave consequences.

—A Study of the Intricacies of Pureblood Inheritance Rites, A Treatise by Cecilia Flint (1989)

"Is it true?"

Harry was barely awake enough to deal with Nott. "What?" he asked, grumpy and unafraid to show it.

"There's a rumor going around that you got in a scuffle with that cousin of yours."

Harry remembered being eleven and listening to Dumbledore talk about the Hogwarts rumor mill; he really had been right. He sighed and turned to face Nott's gleaming eyes and smirk as he leaned over Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah," he said. "What about it?"

At least that seemed to throw him off; he'd probably been expecting Harry to deny it. Harry didn't see the point. He had fought with James and even though he wasn't happy about it, he wasn't ashamed about it either.

"Trouble in paradise?" Nott asked lightly. "Or did Potter actually realize what exactly you are?"

"And what's that?"

"Scum."

Harry stared up at him. Nott stared back, still smiling. He hadn't even sneered the word; he'd said it as casually as he might have said good morning. Harry gritted his teeth.

"We had a difference of opinion," he said, borrowing the phrase Hermione always used when she argued with Ron

It made Nott cackle. "We'll turn you into a Slytherin yet," he said. "That was as pretty as anything Malfoy says."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to his eggs. Nott poked him in the side and Harry reached out and grabbed his wrist before he even realized what he was doing. He froze and Nott stared at him, still grinning.

"Careful, Potter," he said in a soft voice. "You should know not to attack your betters."

Harry tightened his grip around Nott's wrist. "I don't consider anyone my better." He made sure he was looking right into Nott's face when he said it, keeping his voice clear and unafraid. Nott didn't really react other than a slight widening of the smile. "Keep that in mind and keep your bloody nose out of my business."

He released Nott's wrist. Nott rubbed at it with more melodrama that Harry really thought was needed, though his smile never let up. Harry was really beginning to hate that look on his face.

"Message received, loud and clear." Harry flinched back as Nott reached for him but Nott just flicked him, hard, on the forehead. Harry scowled at him but Nott only wagged the finger in front of his nose. "Now, now," he said in a mocking baby voice that reminded Harry just a little too much of Bellatrix Lestrange. "Don't get in a temper. You might attract the wrong kind of attention."

Harry didn't look, but he was sure there were eyes on them. There always seemed to be eyes on them at the Slytherin table. He scowled, ready to yell at Nott regardless of what anyone might say or do, when a soft, silky voice interceded.

"Sit down, Nott. Surely you can eat some toast before you start haranguing your housemates."

They both turned to look at Snape. He had a book propped open in front of him, as usual, and stared back with obvious boredom. Harry was pretty sure it was faked; he'd seen how nervous Nott made Snape and the way his eyes flickered over Harry made him think that whatever Snape looked like, he was probably freaking out right now.

But he was still doing it. Harry couldn't understand why. Did he seriously think Harry couldn't handle Nott on his own? Nott was annoying and slimy and Harry didn't like him at all, but he'd dealt with way worse during his own time. Merlin, even in the past, Lucius Malfoy freaked Harry out way more than Nott did.

"Well, well," Nott said. "Little Severus Snape trying to be a white knight when he should just keep his slimy nose out of everyone else's business."

Snape raised an eyebrow. It still wasn't as devastating as it was when he was an adult, but the derision in it was clear enough that Nott actually dropped the smile.

"It's difficult to keep my nose out of anyone's business when you insist on conversing right in front of it," he said in the mild, silky voice that Harry had always been wary about. "If you're intent on not having interfere, perhaps you should take your interrogation somewhere more private?"

Nott's eyes narrowed. "You seem awfully interested," he said. "Do you seriously think licking Potter's boots will actually make him like you, Snivvy? I thought you learned better first year."

Harry stood up. Nott darted out of his way with a mocking salute.

"Oh no, now we've got Potter all in a tizzy—"

"Shut up," Harry said fiercely. "Or I'll make you."

Nott just laughed in his face. "Oh, now I'm really shaking in my boots—"

"What is going on here?"

Harry tensed. Professor Slughorn didn't sound as harsh as Vern had when she'd caught him fighting, but there was a definite chill to his voice instead of his usual over-eager friendliness. Fuck. The last thing Harry needed was to get in trouble with another professor. If they brought him up to Dumbledore for fighting again, he was done for.

Nott, to his disgust, had exchanged the mocking smile for something wide-eyed and nervous. Slimy little—

"I'm sorry, Professor," Nott said, literally wringing his hands. Was Slughorn honestly buying this routine? "I was just saying hello and Potter here snapped. He—"

"It's my fault, Professor."

They all turned to look at Snape. He, unlike Nott, was completely calm.

"How's that, Mr. Snape?"

"I kept Potter up late last night," Snape said without a hint that he was lying. "He's been helping me with Potions, you see, and we were up studying. He's just over-tired, that's all."

Slughorn made a contemplative sound. "Well, I do always remind you boys of the necessity of sleep for a ready mind. And it's kind of you to help your fellow housemates." He patted Harry gently on the shoulder. "No harm done, my boy. Just remember to keep that temper in check in the future, hm?"

He nodded importantly, patted Harry's shoulder again, and then toddled off. Harry stared after him, mystified. He'd seriously bought that?

"Snape."

Nott didn't sound so casual now. Harry dipped a hand in his pocket to grab his wand; even if Snape had gotten him out of a sticky situation, it was hardly going to matter if Nott actually attacked him.

"I think you'd better find somewhere else to sit for breakfast," Snape said, going back to his book. Harry could almost believe the bravado, but the set of Snape's shoulders was too high. He was tense. "There's no room for you here. Sit down, Potter, before you fall down."

Nott made a low, angry noise. Harry watched him warily, but it only took a moment for the obvious anger to melt away. The smile he turned on Harry was full of teeth, more obviously forced than usual. Harry scowled back at him.

"This isn't over," Nott warned him and flounced away.

Harry sank back into his seat. "I could've handled that myself," he muttered at Snape, still bewildered by his interference.

Snape's look was long and cool. Harry could feel himself flushing, even though he couldn't explain to himself why he was doing it.

"Undoubtedly," Snape said at last, the derision clear.

Harry bristled. "I—"

"Eat your eggs, Potter."

Snape went back to his book. Harry gaped his bent head. When Snape didn't lift it, he grumpily turned to his eggs. Sometimes, he thought as he forcefully stabbed some with his fork, he really didn't understand Snape.

"Harrison?"

Harry rubbed at his eyes. "What?" he snapped before he'd even looked to see who it was.

Silence. Harry scowled and looked up from his book, ready to snap again for interrupting him for nothing, only to stop short. Pettigrew gave him an awkward little wave, shifting from foot to foot in front of his table.

"Oh," Harry said, taken aback. "Uh."

He doubted Pettigrew had come to get retribution or anything like that. Not that it would matter if he had; Harry didn't feel too bad in thinking that he could probably trounce Pettigrew with a hand tied behind his back, if his older self's skills were anything to go by. Still, it never hurt to be careful. He slipped the hand under the table into his pocket so he could get a grip on his wand.

"Hi." Pettigrew grimaced, as if he knew how stupid he sounded. "Sorry, this is—awkward. D'you mind if we talk for a second?" He held up his hands. "Just talk, I promise. Even I wouldn't start a fight in the library. Madame Price would have my balls for breakfast."

Harry considered him. Slowly, he nodded.

Pettigrew slid into the seat opposite him with an explosive sigh. He looked more rumpled than last time Harry had seen him; hair a mess, tie askew, dark circles under his eyes.

"I've been trying to talk to you since—then, but it's been surprisingly hard to get you on your own."

"Whatever you've got to say, get on with it." Harry wasn't interested in making small talk with Pettigrew. "I've got homework to finish."

Pettigrew snorted. "You're really the most upfront Slytherin I've ever met, you know that?" He must have seen Harry's unimpressed stare because he sighed. "Look, I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Harry blinked. He closed the book he'd been holding open and put it to the side.

"You're sorry," he repeated, disbelievingly.

"Yeah. For that whole ruckus or whatever. We took it too far and I think we all know that, but James and Sirius are too proud to say sorry to you themselves, so—"

"You think they need to say sorry to me?" What was wrong with these people? "Pettigrew, I don't care if they apologize to me. It wasn't me they hurt and it wasn't me they've been hurting."

Pettigrew blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and frowned.

"Who do you want them to apologize to, then?"

"Snape."

Pettigrew choked out a disbelieving laugh. "Snape?"

"He's the one they've been hurting this whole time. He's the one they were hurting last week. I don't care if they say sorry to me or whatever - what they should be doing is saying sorry to him."

"He wouldn't want to hear it even if they did say it! You might be his new best pal or whatever, but you really don't know him at all. He'd spit in their eye if they ever tried."

"So?"

Pettigrew stared. "What do you mean, so?"

"So what if he spits in your eye? You guys treat him like shit; of course he's not going to give you a hug for saying sorry. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it."

Harry had wanted a sorry from the Dursleys his whole life. He wasn't sure what he would do if he ever got one - probably spit in their faces, too. But that didn't mean he didn't still want one or that it wouldn't change things between them if they'd ever bothered to say it. Snape was different than him, of course, but Harry had felt—He didn't know. A kind of understanding between them that day. The way Snape had known, without Harry telling him, how no one had ever believed him about Dudley picking on him, the sound of his voice as he'd realized how Dudley used to isolate him from anyone who might reach out to help. They understood each other. Harry didn't feel like it was a reach to assume that Snape might think the same way as he did about this particular issue.

It was weird, having something so intimate in common with Snape. Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about it days later.

Pettigrew was still staring at him. Harry stared right back, raising his eyebrows.

"You really are on his side, aren't you?" Pettigrew shook his head. "I thought last time you'd just had—I dunno. A fit of momentary insanity or whatever."

It had been something like that, maybe. Harry had heard the shouting, had come around the corner to see Snape bombarded by spells while his father and Sirius laughed and something had snapped in him. The uncertainty, the fear, that had kept him from stepping forward before, that had all washed away under the fury that had ballooned up in his chest, overtaking any other emotion that wanted to take root there.

"It wasn't a fit," Harry said. Best they all know that and he figured Pettigrew would run back and report to the others as soon as this conversation was over. "It wasn't a fluke. If you keep attacking Snape, you'd best expect to attack me too." He eyed Pettigrew. "And Snape might keep quiet about it, but you can bet that I sure as hell won't. So I'd keep that in mind, too."

Pettigrew was quiet for a long time. Harry left him to sort out whatever feelings he was having and returned to his Transfigurations homework. Unlike Defense and Charms, he was still struggling with the material - he had never been particularly good at Transfigurations and even having the added advantage of a couple extra months' study wasn't really helping him that much. He was halfway through the reading he was trying to finish when Pettigrew spoke up again.

"He's not even going to be your friend for this. You know that, right? Slytherins don't do friendship."

Harry had thought that, too. He still wasn't entirely sure that Pettigrew was wrong about Slytherins in general; he'd only seen them act like a nest of vipers and had yet to see any real connections between them. But that didn't mean it was true for Snape. Harry had seen that he could be a friend with Lily. He didn't really expect anything like that for himself, though. Even if they understood each other a little better now, Harry doubted Snape would ever see him as anything more than an annoyance. That was fine.

"I'm not doing it for his friendship," Harry said. "If he doesn't want to be friends with me, that's fine. I don't care."

"Then why—?"

"It's wrong." Harry gritted his teeth to ride out the frustration that surged through him. He saw one of the nearby candles flicker and took a deep breath. The last thing he needed to do was blow up the library. "Treating someone like that, no matter who they are - it's wrong. And I hate it. So, yeah, I'm going to keep stepping in."

He pointedly went back to his book. He heard Pettigrew sigh.

"James is devastated," he said. "He really thought you were going to join the family."

Harry was angrier with his father than he'd ever dreamed he could be, but that still made a little lance of pain go through him. He scowled down at his book. It wasn't his fault that James was upset, he knew that, but it still made him guilty to know that James was hurt and that Harry had caused it in any way.

"If he wants to fix things, he can stop attacking people in hallways," Harry told the book as his stomach writhed in some nauseating mix of guilt and anger. "But I'm not going to apologize for stopping him from acting like a bullying prat."

"Sirius is already plotting his revenge. He's been stomping around yelling about Slytherin saboteurs at all hours. Even Remus—"

"What do you want, Pettigrew?"

Harry looked up, expecting Pettigrew to be smug or even angry, but his pale eyes were cool and assessing as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. When Harry's eyes met his, he smiled a little.

"I guess I want you to know what you're up against," he said.

"What?"

"I'm not from money, you know." One of Pettigrew's shoulder went up in a slight shrug as his mouth twisted. "My family's poor as church mice. Have been for years."

Harry stared. "Then why—"

"Why am I friends with James?" The twist in Pettigrew's mouth deepened into something more bitter. "He's not some mindless bigot, you know? He's been good to me. His father even put in a good word for mine when he was applying for a job at the Ministry."

"But." Harry hadn't been able to stop thinking about the way James had talked about Snape, the plain disgust in his voice at Snape's poverty. "But, the way he talks about..."

"I'm not one of those people to him," Pettigrew said. "He knows me. And I have good robes and my family has a decent house in a nice neighborhood. I'm his friend, so he overlooks that I don't really have money."

"And you just don't care that he thinks that?" Harry couldn't imagine it. "You just let him say those horrible things and be awful to Snape—"

"He's my friend, Harry. He's protected me so many times over the years I can barely keep track of them all."

"But—"

"But." Pettigrew shrugged again, more uncomfortably this time. "I can't control what he thinks about other people. And it's Snape, you know?"

Harry was getting really tired of hearing that, as if Snape's existence was all that really warranted treating him like shit. The Dursleys had thought that about Harry too; it didn't matter how good he was or how quiet he could be, he was always going to be dirt to them just because he was there. It rubbed him the wrong way to see the same attitude applied to Snape, to anyone. He gritted his teeth.

"You're his friend," Harry said. "He'd listen to you."

"Or he'd drop me. It's not worth that to me."

Harry took several deep breaths. Getting angry was too easy for him sometimes, but it hadn't helped in Dumbledore's office and it wasn't going to help here. He wished for Hermione again; she'd always been better than him at arguing about this kind of stuff. She would know exactly what to say.

"Fine," he said. "I don't care what they're doing and I'm not accepting any apologies. I don't want them. If you're going to apologize, do it to Snape. But the only thing he really wants is for all of you to leave him alone."

"What about you?" Pettigrew leaned forward. "Do you want us to leave you alone, too?"

Harry almost laughed. This was what came getting your wish answered. He'd wanted for so many years to meet his parents, to talk with them - and now that he had, he almost wished he was back in the future just so he wouldn't have the option anymore. He'd come through that Veil for Sirius and the thought of speaking to him made Harry furious. How was that for irony?

"Right now, yeah." Harry shook his head. "If James and the others can do the right thing then... I don't know, maybe we can do something about that later."

"So you're not going to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Potter? James wrote them about what happened, you know."

Harry paused. "I didn't think about it."

Pettigrew stared at him. "You didn't think about it?"

Harry shrugged. In the aftermath of everything, he'd realized that he'd probably blown his chance to meet his family but he found it difficult to regret doing it, no matter how much he still wanted to know them. He'd grown up an orphan, he reminded himself now as he had since he'd first realized exactly what he'd given up by choosing to step in. He'd survive.

"James always goes home once a month," Pettigrew said. "Saturdays at noon. He'll Floo from the Headmaster's office."

Harry scowled at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

Pettigrew stood. "If you won't accept my apology, the least I can do is this."

"Pettigrew—"

"Watch your back, Harry. You're going to need to."

He disappeared among the stacks. Harry leaned back in his chair, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Friday afternoon, Harry almost didn't go to the library. Despite their new truce, he wasn't sure Snape actually wanted him to be around them. But after classes, as Harry piled his books on his desk, Snape stood in the doorway and pointedly tapped his foot.

"We will be late," he said when Harry didn't move.

Harry blinked. "Oh. I thought—"

Snape scowled and ducked his head just a little. "Lily will be disappointed if you don't come," he muttered.

Harry eyed his bent head and decided to just roll with it. He grabbed his books again and followed Snape through the Common Room, ignoring the eyes that watched them both. He didn't care if the Slytherins knew he was spending time with Snape. They could think what they wanted.

Lily had already beaten them to the little table in the back of the library; her books were making a precarious mess across the table as she bent her head and scribbled something with one of her pens. Harry relaxed a little at the sight of her. James was —confusing and infuriating and disappointing, but at least his mother was still someone he could like without reservation. He smiled a little as she scowled down at her parchment and wondered if his face looked anything like hers did when he was frustrated.

"Lily."

She looked up and blinked for a long moment before she realized who they were. She beamed, standing to sweep Snape into a—hug. Harry stared, unable to stop himself. He'd never seen anyone dare hug Snape before, not even Dumbledore. Snape even looked like he was enjoying it. Before Harry could compute that, Lily was pulling away and approaching him. He didn't have a chance to say anything before she'd grabbed him in a hug as well. He stared over her shoulder, tense and still as she squeezed him, too surprised to move or hug back. No one really hugged him either, honestly, except Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

He met Snape's probing stare as Lily pulled away and had to look away. Snape's eyes were too knowing. It made Harry squirm, stomach tightening with discomfort.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Lily beamed up at him. "I'm a hugger, you can tell me if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not—" Harry cleared his throat. "Just caught me by surprise, that's all."

Lily's beam softened into a kind smile. "Well, I'll keep giving them out, if you don't mind. I've already done my best to get Sev used to them, so—"

Harry caught Snape's grimace out of the corner of his eye and repressed a smile, some of his uneasiness fading. He wondered what Snape would do to him if he dared call him by the friendly nickname.

Probably murder him.

"I've already started on the Charms homework, but we can move on if you want to work on Potions," Lily said, settling back down at the table. "That essay is going to be a beast."

"For some people, perhaps," Snape said as he took the chair on her right. He started unpacking his bookbag. "For others, however—"

"Yeah, yeah, Mr. Potions Genius."

Harry sat as well and listened to their quiet bickering as he unloaded his own materials. A piece of parchment fell to the floor as he tugged out his books and he scooped it up. He grimaced a little when he saw the seal; he'd forgotten he'd left the letter in his bag.

He still wasn't sure if he was going to go or not, no matter what Pettigrew said. Being around James was—uncomfortable and he wasn't sure he'd be able to do it without yelling or starting a fight. The Potters were another thing altogether - a complete unknown. He wasn't sure if they'd agree with James or not, but he probably hadn't earned any points with them for attacking their son and accusing him of being a bully to the Headmaster.

"Potter? Are you—"

Harry looked up. Lily stared at the letter in his hand, blinking rapidly. Harry shoved the letter in his bag, face heating up. He knew Snape was watching him too.

"Oh!" she said. "Sorry, it's just—that's the Potter seal, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered.

"They've been in contact, then? That's so nice!"

Harry had endured enough snide remarks that he almost thought she was being sarcastic for a moment, but she was just beaming at him, totally sincere. He relaxed a little, rolling his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug.

"Yeah," he said. "They, uh. Invited me to lunch this weekend."

"Really?" Lily leaned forward. "Have you ever even met them before?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I didn't even know I had any family other than my mum."

"You must be nervous." Lily patted his arm, all sympathy. "I'm sure there's no need. They must be excited to meet you!"

"It's fine." Harry pointedly didn't look at Snape. He made up his mind in a snap decision, shoving the letter back into his bag. "I'm not going to go."

"What? Why not!"

Harry almost told her, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught Snape shaking his head. Snape's face was wan, eyes huge. When he saw Harry was looking, he mouthed stay quiet.

"Uh." Harry floundered, caught off-guard. Shit, what could he say— "I don't. Have anything to wear?"

Lily snorted. "Really?" she asked. "You're going to give up on meeting your only family because you don't have the right robes?"

Harry coughed. "Well, they've—got high standards," he said, knowing it came out weak. But Snape was relaxing across the table, clearly relieved Harry hadn't told Lily the real reason he wasn't going. Did Lily even know what James and the others were doing to him? "I don't think they'd be all that impressed with hand-me-down school robes."

"Come on! I'm sure they won't care!"

Harry shrugged. "They're purebloods." He sounded a little calmer now that he'd decided what the hell he was going to say. "I'm not—really what they're looking for in a relative." Best not to force it, I think."

Lily stared at him. Her face scrunched, eyebrows coming down and eyes narrowing. Determinedly, she began collecting her books and papers.

"Uh, Lily—"

"Lily, what in Merlin's name—"

"Come on," she said. "I've got a marvelous idea."

"Your marvelous idea is to get us killed?" Snape hissed.

Lily crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't be so melodramatic," she said. "It's hardly going to kill you."

Harry wasn't so sure either, even though he couldn't stop staring at the Fat Lady's portrait. It felt like it had been years since he had seen the Gryffindor Common Room.

"We are Slytherins," Snape said.

"Really? And here I thought you just liked snakes."

"Lily—!"

"Oh, fine! Fine! I'm going to run and grab someone and come back. Can you two babies manage out here in the hallway for five minutes without me?"

Snape didn't look happy about it, but after a long look at Lily, he nodded. She winked at Harry, then muttered the password to the Fat Lady before disappearing behind her portrait.

Harry crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall. "Why didn't you want me to tell her about James?" he asked.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're incurably nosy, Potter?"

More than once. "I just thought—you two are so close—"

"There's hardly any reason to bother her with trivialities."

"Trivial—You call that a triviality?" Harry stared at Snape's stoic face and an awful certainty crept up on him. "She doesn't even know about September, does she?"

Snape's head whipped around, teeth bared. "No one knows. I don't even know how you found out about that, Potter."

"I—" Harry cleared his throat. "I had some questions when Dumbledore roomed me with you."

He doubted Snape would believe Nott was spreading rumors. This was why he hated lying; eventually, there was just too much to keep track of to keep everything straight.

"Of course you did." Snape scowled, turning back to the portrait. The Fat Lady eyed them suspiciously. "What exactly did Dumbledore tell you?"

"That they pulled a prank that went too far. It nearly killed you." Harry licked his lips. He definitely didn't want to tell Snape anything about his deal with Mrs. Snape. That would not end well for anyone. "They aren't supposed to be alone with you again and you got your own room."

Snape sneered. "Well. That is the bare bones of it."

"So why didn't you tell Lily? She's your friend, she'd—"

"She'd what?' Snape didn't look at Harry again; he directed his scowl at the Fat Lady. She scowled back. "The less I let this nastiness touch her, the better."

"She would help you." Harry's frustration mounted. Snape was attacked on all sides, but he refused to get any help from the one person who seemed to actually like him? Where was that strategic Slytherin sense when you needed it? "She'd back you up. I'm sure she'd talk to James and the others for you—"

"I don't want her to do that." Harry waited. Snape breathed in and out several times before turning a side-long glare on him. "Tell me," he said in a softer, silkier voice. "Did you ever tell your friends about your tormentor?"

Harry opened his mouth, ready to snap back, only to stop dead. Had he ever said anything to Hermione and Ron? No. Ron knew some of it just because he'd been the one to rescue Harry that awful summer before second year, but he'd never said anything. At first, he just hadn't realized it would do anything; after all, it wasn't like they could do anything to stop Dudley. And then it just—hadn't seemed like it mattered all that much in the scheme of things. What was Dudley next to Voldemort?

"I thought not." Snape wore a smug little smirk when Harry looked at him.

"It's different," Harry said.

"Oh? How so?"

Harry frowned at him. "My friends couldn't have helped me against him," he said. "They weren't around when he was—" Harry swallowed. "When he was doing stuff to me. So. But Lily is around. And she's part of their house, they'll listen to her."

"Will they?" Snape snorted. "That, I very much doubt."

The portrait opened again and they both tensed, Harry partly just because Snape did. But it was Lily coming through again, her arms laden with cloth. Behind her was—

Harry frowned. He didn't recognize the short, smiling boy who followed Lily out of the portrait hole. He had a wild afro and the kind of eyes that reminded Harry of Fred and George Weasley; as if he was in on a joke that nobody else could hear.

"Here," Lily said briskly, shoving the cloth at Harry. He fumbled with it for a moment, almost dropping it. "Leo says you can borrow these for tomorrow."

"What?" Harry realized as he looked down that the cloth was actually a set of dark dress robes. Nice dress robes, going by the feel of them. "Oh, I couldn't—"

"Lily says I'll be tearing apart a newly reunited family unless I let you borrow them." The boy - Leo - grinned, exposing a sharp eyetooth. "How could I say no?"

Oh, shit. "Look, Lily, this isn't really—"

"Now you don't have any excuses." Lily raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms over her chest. "Leo's family does all those pureblood parties, he's got plenty of swanky robes. And I'll come by and try to do something with your hair tomorrow morning."

Harry didn't need to ask what she meant by do something with your hair. He'd heard some version of that his entire life. His heart sank. How the hell was he going to get out of this? He spared a quick, panicked glance at Snape, but the bastard was as unreadable as ever.

"Um." He looked at Leo. "You're sure this is okay?"

Leo crossed his arms. "Well, Lily didn't mention you were Slytherin, but I figure you're more likely to return them in good condition than anyone else."

"Really?" Harry blinked. "Why's that?"

"Slytherins are all about debts and all that nonsense, yeah? So you're not just going to bugger off with them, not when you know you owe me."

Harry had never quite heard it put like that before. "Uh. Thanks, I think?"

Leo flashed him a thumbs up and a wink. "Besides, if you do steal them, I can just prank you until you give them back."

Definitely a kindred spirit to Fred and George. Harry smiled weakly.

"Now, then." Lily examined him. "Robes, check. Hair, check. Do you have any shoes other than those awful trainers?"

"You know someone in my show size, too?" Harry asked her, mostly kidding. He was alarmed when he realized Lily was seriously considering the question. "No, it's fine."

Lily eyed him for long enough that Harry's heart began to pound, but she sighed eventually.

"All right," she said. "What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

Harry was seriously fucked. "Noon," he said.

Lily nodded briskly. "Meet me in the library at 10. Leo, can you come, too?"

"Me?" Leo blinked at her. "Up before noon. On a Saturday?"

"He's going to need some pointers on pureblood etiquette."

"What makes you think—"

"You're the one who helped me, remember?" Leo stared at her and Lily's eyes widened. Did Harry's look like that when he wanted something? Merlin. "Come on. I'll owe you!"

"A week of your treacle tart."

"Oh, fine."

Leo smiled. He had a dimple in his cheek. "Done. By the time I'm done, he'll be a proper little lordling."

Snape made a derisive noise under his breath. Harry hadn't realized how quiet he'd been until that moment.

"If you think a change of robes and a half-hour is all that it will take to forget what you are, Potter, you're deluding yourself."

Harry's shoulders hunched. He knew he was tightening his grip on the borrowed robes; he forced his fists to loosen.

"Severus." Lily put her hands on her hips. She wasn't that much shorter than Snape, but she still managed to seem like she was looming over him. "How can you say something like that? Potter's nervous enough as it is!"

"I'm not—"

"He needs your support right now! Honestly, Severus, I know you don't like the Potters much but they're hardly so monstrous they'd turn away their own nephew—"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You're just as clueless as he is," he said. "The Potters are not going to be fooled by this charade." He looked at Harry. "You would be better off avoiding them while you can."

Harry wavered. "I should at least meet them," he said.

Maybe he could explain. Harry didn't really think they would be able to do much, but it was possible James would listen to his parents where he wouldn't listen to Harry. And if he really was stuck in this time... Harry shivered, rubbing his arm. It was going to be hard enough without having to dodge the Potters because he'd let bad blood fester between them. At the very, least he could tell them that he wasn't interested in any more communication and leave it at that.

He ignored the little voice in the back of his head muttering about excuses. So what if a part of him longed look at someone's face and see pieces of himself reflected back? So what if he didn't want to give up the only connection he might ever have to his actual family? All of his other reasons were good ones, too.

He didn't know what Snape saw in his face, but it was making him sneer.

"So be it," he said. "When this comes tumbling down around you, I won't be there to help you pick up the pieces."

He whirled away. Harry scowled at his disappearing back; as if he'd ever needed Snape to save him! Those times in the future didn't count; it wasn't the same Snape and, besides, they'd all been flukes anyway. Harry would be fine and then he'd rub Snape's nose in how fine he'd been and how wrong Snape had been.

"Bit of a prick, that one."

Harry turned on Leo. "Don't call him that," he snapped.

Leo held up his hands. "Bit touchy, are we?"

"He's right, Leo," Lily said, giving Harry an appraising stare. "Sev's just concerned."

"He's got a weird way of showing it."

Well. Harry sighed, some of the fight going out of him. He wasn't exactly wrong about that.