Father Of Mine

1.

"...with this, the adoption is finalised. Congratulations." Dumbledore smiled, his eyes void of humour.

"There is nothing to congratulate," Snape hissed, snatching the documents off the desk, folding them neatly with practised motions, and shuffling them into his pocket.

"The matter is grim only if you allow it to be," Dumbledore continued, his tone placating. "I hope you find light in this seeming darkness."

"Spare me the nonsense."

"Severus..."

Harry had never heard Snape speak to the Headmaster in such a way. He would have enjoyed the spectacle if he weren't busy fighting his own internal crisis.

Adoption. The word made him recoil. Luckily, his stomach was already empty, a token bestowed by the Dursleys.

Just where had everything gone so wrong?

Was it the Dementors? Or Dudley nearly meeting his premature demise—this time for a reason other than his high blood sugar? The expulsion from Hogwarts had only escalated things. When Harry shouted, "This was never my home!" after Petunia kicked him out, it was just an outburst at the end of a horrible evening.

Snape picking him up the moment he'd set foot on the sidewalk was not part of the aftermath. It was the beginning of something much bigger, much more twisted, much more messed up.

The blood wards had fallen.

The protection was gone. Harry was without a guardian. And Fudge, as he soon found out, was waiting in the shadows for just such an opportunity.

Snape had gifted him with a torrent of insults, tangible seething, and then–once he ran out of breath–manhandling. It was worse than a Portkey. Harry never wanted to experience the feeling of Apparition again.

Hogwarts. Grass under his feet, his battered luggage sinking into the wet mud, a gust of warm wind in his nose. Home. Except the empty hallways didn't feel like home, closing in on him, choking him, drawing warmth away, as if saying, "You're too early. You don't belong here."

Snape's painful grip on his arm didn't let him believe it was all a dream. No, in his nightmares, he saw Cedric.

Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore's smile. Dumbledore's lemon drop. All familiar, all out of place. Dumbledore talking. Snape's fury. More talking. Adoption. Adoption.

Harry finally snapped back.

"You cannot be serious," he said, the air tense with the weight of impending proposition.

"I wish we weren't," Dumbledore sighed, ever the witty one. "It is anything but a farce. Time is of the essence, and we are doing this for you, Harry. I hope you understand."

He did not understand. At all. Fudge painted him a madman; that much was clear. But when had adoption come into the mix?

"The minister denies all claims of Voldemort's return. Blinded by fear and the premise of winning the upcoming elections, Cornelius has been maintaining the peace in wizarding society by putting them in far more danger. Several attacks have taken place, orchestrated by Death Eaters, but they were attributed to Sirius's alleged crimes."

"That's not true—!"

"Truth is a fragile thing, Harry. Something is true because people believe it. And people's beliefs are, with the right tools, easily manipulated. The minister has been adamant about feeding his truth to the world."

"And what's that?" Harry asked, waiting for the pieces to fall into place.

"You're a traumatised, abused brat, compensating for lack of attention by spreading lies," Snape supplied from the corner, reminding Harry of his presence. "I wholeheartedly agree with the last bit."