My BETA: BellWitch. I like to thanks for all her help, without her my grammer suck.
A/N: Here is the next chapter please tell me what you think. Hope you will like it. - MorningStar like so much the first chapter she wanted to write about it a story of her own, its called: A New Hope. (AFF) But not forget to read my story neither. : )
Daddy, look what I found!
Severus stood, dumbfounded—his son had just brought home Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He groaned. How in heaven had Damien met the Potter boy? He had another question, a better one: why did the boy look like he lived on the streets?
As he got a better look at Potter, he noticed some bruises on the boy’s face. He clothes were about three times larger than the boy himself and he couldn’t help but notice how Harry looked smaller and starved beside Damien, who was almost a year younger than Harry. When had he become Harry?
Shit. He was his archenemy’s son who he needed to hate and yet Harry looked so young and vulnerable that Severus’ heart went out to him.
Severus arched an eyebrow, asking silently for an explanation. Damien dragged the other boy closer to his father, his whole face lit up as he saw Severus’ look soften as he watched the new discovery.
“I found him near the park.”
“The part?” Severus’ eyes narrowed—he didn’t allow his son to go to the park alone. He was supposed to be playing in front of their house.
“Dad! He was all alone. His uncle left him there and said to wait for him.” Damien tried to change the topic—very Slytherin of him. But it never worked with Severus, mainly because Damien usually used this tactic when he was in trouble as a result of one of his Gryffindor tendencies.
Severus sighed and asked tiredly, “And it wouldn’t be better if he stayed there? After all, his uncle must be worried by now.”
“Dad!” his son whined. “It was yesterday…”
Hold on. Yesterday? Severus held up his hand to stop his son from continuing. He knew his son enough to know that the boy wasn’t lying. His dark gaze switched to the other boy who was now almost hiding behind his son. His black eyes met Harry’s green and he saw what the child went through. He knew parents could be like that—his own family wasn’t better. But it always hurt to watch a child in pain or need as no one had been there to drive away his own pain or help with his needs. He knew very well what the result would be if a kid did not know what love or security were, when he had to fight with his own anger and fears, when he was without hope. He just wanted to give a chance to these others to make their own decisions. This was one of the reasons why he hadn’t stayed loyal to the Dark Lord.
He shook his head to try and escape this dark corner of his past where his demons lay, which kept him awake so many nights. He needed to concentrate.
Harry needed his help, but what should he do? If any Death Eater knew that the boy wasn’t protected by Dumbledore’s charms they would hunt him down. If he told the Ministry they would pamper the boy, raise him in the spotlight, and he’d never be a normal boy again. He saw many with great potential who could not achieve anything good. Like the Malfoys who thought they owned the world, that they could buy anything and everything. Or the late Potters whose arrogance was well known—the golden Gryffindors were as bad as any Malfoy. Or maybe worse. They thought themselves good, and better than anyone else. He could not allow the bright, shy and innocent child that he saw in this boy transform into something so annoying and inflated.
That left two options. The first one was easier for him—to pass down the boy to Dumbledore. Of course he knew the old coot too well to think that he would love the boy or care for him as more than a weapon that could be created under the Headmaster’s hand to kill the Dark Lord. Maybe the old man would simply send the boy back to his aunt’s house to be raised. It would be a good way to condition Harry. Without love or care he would hold to the first person he met who showed him these things, be it Albus Dumbledore or the Dark Lord himself.
He couldn’t let that happen to a child. Maybe he’d gone soft in his old age. He almost laughed out loud—old age—he was just twenty-three. That left the last option. He needed to take the boy in without anyone knowing his true identity for a while.
He knelt down in front of the young boy and swore to all gods listening that he would care for him like his own flesh and blood. He put out his hand for the boy to shake and in his best calm voice, he welcomed him.
“Welcome to our family, Harry Potter, if you wish to be part of it.”
Emerald eyes widened in shock and filled with tears. Harry’s lower lip trembled. The next thing Severus knew the small body rushed up to him, all-too-thin arms snaked over his neck and soundless tears soaked through his robe. He embraced the boy, no—Harry, and beckoned his son to the family embrace. When Damien pulled closer to him, he felt the magic around and inside of him swirling. A new bond came alive, as between every father and son.
And for the first time he recognized what he had just done. Not just adopt a stray orphan, a boy, but the Boy Who Lived. He would need to be trained to defend himself when the time came. Severus was sure it would come.