Whelp

finger with the pin, then Severus'. They each squeezed a drop of blood into the goblet. Albus handed it to the witch, who swirled the wine and blood together.

'Drink,' she said, and handed the goblet to Severus, 'that the blood of your son should run in your veins.'

Severus took a long sip. It warmed his stomach, and the warmth spread out from there, to his back, legs, and each of his toes, to his arms, and hands, and each of his fingers. His face was suffused with warmth, as if he had a fever. Warmth like fire banked, yearning to be stoked to an inferno. The feeling dizzied him, and he took inhaled slowly, at once breathless and choked with too much air. Once he was steady again, he handed the goblet to Harry, who gripped it with both hands.

'Drink,' Madam Collin said again, 'that the blood of your father should run in your veins.'

With a quick glance at Severus, the boy complied, though his sip was much smaller. Immediately, Harry's face flushed, and the cup trembled. If it was anything like what Severus had experienced, it had to be quite a rush for the little boy. He bent down to take the goblet to prevent spilling. As he removed it from Harry's – his son's! – hands, the boy looked at him with an amazing, sudden smile, like sunshine breaking through the clouds.

'I'm your son,' Harry gasped, and Severus hurried to put the goblet down as the boy threw himself into his father's arms.

'You're my son,' Severus agreed, and felt wetness on his cheeks.

TBC

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A/N: So, a long chapter there, but I'd promised the ceremony, hadn't I? The next one will be this weekend, most likely.

*Chapter 11*: Chapter 11

Whelp -- Chapter 11

By jharad17

A/N at end

Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Except that exclamation point, there ----> !

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Severus watched Dappin usher Madam Collin into the dining room, and then lead Harry there as well, while he started signing paperwork that would go to the Ministry. Before he went through the doorway, Harry looked back at him, searching his face for something. Reassurance? Severus gave a small nod, and the boy, seeming relieved, followed the house elf to where he could get some lunch.

'He squints,' Severus remarked to Albus, who stood just behind him. He was remembering the same scrunch- faced look from other times the boy had peered at him.

'Yes. He wears glasses.'

'I haven't seen any.' He looked at Albus. 'And how do you know?'

Albus waved a hand dismissively. 'I had a picture of him from a few years ago.'

This was news. He frowned. 'And how did he look?'

'Thin,' Albus said softly. 'And with big green eyes behind bigger glasses.' A soft chuckle. 'Rather like Professor Trelawny, in that respect.'

'Trelawny?'

'My Divinations professor. She's been at Hogwarts eight years now.'

Severus sneered. 'Divinations. A more useless waste of time I've never encountered.'

Albus put a hand on his shoulder. 'There are many who would agree with you, my dear boy. But not every portent is false.'

Severus turned to face the Headmaster. Something in his tone was troublesome. The clear blue eyes held nothing untoward, but he felt a sudden ache in his gut that warned of future hurt. 'Such as?'

'Prophecy,' Albus said simply.

Scoffing, Severus turned back to his parchment and made another sweeping signature with his quill. Prophecy indeed. Nothing but soothsayers and buskers. And yet . . . his mind churned, and he looked toward the dining room. 'Do you mean--'

'I don't mean anything, dear boy. How could I?' But Dumbledore's smile rang false this time, and Severus could not shake off the feeling that there was something he needed to know. Something that was . . . Oh.

'She was the one you were interviewing at the Hog's Head. The one . . .' He drew a sharp breath. 'Oh, Merlin.'

'You didn't know, Severus. Don't blame yourself.'

Disbelief warred with disgust at himself, at the base man he had been, and could be. 'My eavesdropping, Albus. My report killed them! How can I not blame myself?'

'You did not know,' the Headmaster said again, as if that absolved him. Which it did not, of course, and Severus knew he should save the rest of his recriminations for another, more private, time.

'What will Harry think of me?' What would it do to the poor boy's fragile trust, when he found out that his parents had been murdered because of his new 'father'?