Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Harry Potter is property of J.K. Rowling. All characters, spells, and other such . . . things which you do not recognize are products of my overactive and sometimes disturbing imagination.

Title: It's Mutual

Summary: Severitus Challenge. Harry, at midnight on his sixteenth birthday, is disturbed to find out that his mother has kept everyone in the dark about his true parentage: his father, in blood, is Severus Snape. Not willing to believe, he leaves the next move to Snape. Then finding himself trapped at Grimmauld place with Snape, he continues to ignore it. With neither willing to acknowledge their relationship, and no one else knowing, it seems unlikely that they would ever become a family.

But his relations aren't the only issue he would have problems with this school year. Hearing a strange Voice, extra lessons and painful nightmares are only part of what seems to be a horrible year, not to mention being paired with two Slytherins for DADA. It seems that having a normal year will never be an option.

Sequels: It's Mutual 2 – Settles the issue of the Voices, brings in illusions, an over-worked schedule, graduation and more.

It's Mutual 3 – In progress. Delves further into the Drimas' lives, and Voldemort becomes an even bigger issue. In addition to that, Auror training, missing friends and finding out that things are never quite what they should be.

Chapter Edited? YES

Betas: GuTTerArT, LivingStoneLily, and Morwen Eruviel. Thank you very much!

Chapter 1 - Sixteenth Birthday

12:00.

He was sixteen. Harry didn't know why he bothered staying up for his birthday. Nothing exciting ever happened, with the exception of his eleventh, and yet another horrible event was bound to happen before his next.

But as much as Harry wanted to go to sleep, he couldn't. He knew that if he did, the nightmares or visions would come. He couldn't always remember what the nightmares were about, but the visions – those were frighteningly vivid. They were beginning to become painful, also. Nothing unbearable, but some mornings he did wake up stiff.

With nothing else to do while lying in the dark room, Harry thought about the past month. This summer had been, by far, the worst. His guardians didn't seem to understand the warning -- the threat, really -- that they'd be in trouble if people from the wizarding world didn't hear from him. Didn't understand, or just ignored it.

Meals pushed through the cat door were few and far between. Harry was sure that it had been two days since he last ate, but he didn't pay attention anymore. Usually, they let him out of his room twice a day for use of the loo, but it was only when the Dursleys remembered he existed. Sometimes it would feel like ages between the times when he was let out; other times, only an hour or so.

Harry was surprised that they hadn't taken his school things, especially with the dementor attack last summer, but with a lot of time to think over the past month, he began to realize that they probably believed he wouldn't do magic because of the threat of being expelled. Or maybe they were trying to tempt him; trying to get him to use magic so he couldn't go to the school that they hated so much.

They would do that, thought Harry, just to prove that they're the ones in control. And he didn't doubt it. He knew they wanted to rid him of all magic. What better way than to get him expelled?

With nothing to prevent him from doing so, he had finished his homework weeks ago, and without anything to consume the hours he had on his hands, he settled on reading through all his old textbooks. He was quite sure he had most of the information permanently committed to memory.

What really shocked him the most was the fact that his window was nailed shut. Well, bolted shut was more like it. After an hour of attempting to get it open one way or other , he finally had to give up, supposing that resorting to breaking the pane would cause more trouble than it was worth. Once the Dursleys found out that he destroyed their precious home, they'd probably brick up his only natural source of light. That, and there was nothing in the room that he was willing to use to break it with. Hedwig's cage wouldn't work, and he'd rather keep his chair in one piece . . .

Because of the bolted window and his locked door, he wasn't able to retrieve any of the mail he was sent. Uncle Vernon even blocked the chimney to prevent the owls from entering the house in their attempt to get to their recipient.

Thus, Harry was extremely confused when something landed on his head before dropping to the floor next to him in a slow flutter. Stunned, he stared at it in the dim light that came from the flickering light bulb above his head before automatically reaching down to pick it up.

The envelope, looking crisp and new, was marked with a simple "Harry" in slanted lettering. Nothing more, nothing less. Thinking he must have fallen asleep and was dreaming, he paused before opening it. Performing a few dream tests he found in the back of The Standard Book of Spells, Year 3, Harry, although not entirely convinced he wasn't dreaming, decided to go along with the strange event. Slowly, as to not ruin the envelope too much, he sat on his bed and opened the letter.

My dearest Harry,

If you are reading this now, I first want to say "Happy 16th Birthday". It's an exciting year, isn't it? One more year, and you are officially an adult. I remember my sixteenth birthday; it was my favorite.

I don't want to think of what it means if you actually receive this. It's too depressing, thinking that you might not live to see your son reach adulthood. I don't know where you are now, but as you've received this letter, it means that we, Lily and James Potter, are dead.

Harry nearly dropped the letter in sudden realization. It was a letter from his parents! Eagerly, he continued reading.

I am aware that this letter is coming across as awkward and not very personal, but it is hard to write to you when you are asleep right next to me; I am writing with the hope that you will never get this.

What I am about to first tell you is less – well, perhaps distressing is the word I ought to use – and you may already know of it. Not long before you were born, there was a prophecy that suggested you might be the one to defeat You-Know-Who. I am unaware of what it entails; I'm not sure anyone does. If no one has talked to you about this yet, please find and talk to Albus Dumbledore.

The second is something that I have told no one, and I am not entirely satisfied that if I live I would ever tell you. I love you, James and your father very much, but I am embarrassed and displeased at finding myself in this situation, and at this time, I wish to pretend I'm not.

Harry paused in his reading, confused. His mother was implying that . . .

No, Harry thought. I have to be reading this wrong . . . or she wrote it wrong . . . With that thought, he continued.

You are confused, I'm sure. I suppose I should tell you. Your father, biologically, is not James Potter. James does not know this, and if he did . . . I fear I would find myself in an even worse position; he does not react well when he is hurt. That is something both James and your father have in common.

If you are wondering how this happened, which I'm sure you are, please believe that I wasn't intending on betraying James, especially so early in our marriage, nor was it . . . random. Your father and I knew each other very well and met unexpectedly one day. The situation got out of hand. We were drunk, yes, but that does not excuse my actions.

Your father, Severus Snape, is a good person, but has a dark past. He was easily influenced, because of this, and ended up joining the wrong side of a conflict. I knew he didn't truly want to, but once he turned, he couldn't turn back.

Severus, if alive, will receive a letter from me in one week. I would suggest talking to Albus Dumbledore about whether he can be trusted. Dumbledore is usually fair in his assessments of people. I feel I must warn you: I don't know what sort of man he has become, so please be careful. He has always had a temper, and it is quite possible that it has worsened over the years.

Before you were born, I placed a charm on you which would make you look like James instead of Severus. It was a very complex charm but it wasn't permanent. For it to stick, it would have to be recast between your thirteenth and fifteenth birthday. Without recasting, the charm will last for 16 years before it starts to fade. It should take an entire year to fade completely.

I'm sorry.

Love forever, your mother,

Lily Potter

Harry dropped the letter, trying to process what he had read. This has to be a joke, he thought shaking his head. It had to be impossible. Snape seemed too . . . wrong for his mother. For one, she was Muggle born and Snape was a Death Eater.

The more he thought about it, though, the more his brain reasoned it was possible. Snape hated him since the beginning, and over the course of that first year, he began to hate Snape with that same passion. It was a purely mutual relationship, but because of how Snape treated him. Dumbledore's reasoning as to why was because his father – no James – and Snape didn't get along, but what if there was something more to it? What if they didn't get along because of his mother? And Snape hated Harry because he wanted to marry Lily . . .

That thought was as disturbing as Snape being his father. Snape being married to someone, or even wanting to be married, felt like a very far fetched idea.

Unsure of what to do, and suddenly feeling very wary, Harry crawled into bed, leaving the letter on the floor. Before he fell asleep, he did his best to try and occlude his mind, which he has been practicing daily since Sirius fell through the veil. After Hermione found out, she suggested ordering a book on the topic to help him, which he did almost immediately. It sure helped him a lot more than Snape ever did.

When he cleared his mind, he usually slept better, but it did nothing for the visions he saw in his sleep. The visions were usually of some sort of Death Eater meeting or attack, and Harry was always Voldemort in them. He knew they were real, but he wasn't able to tell anyone about them.

Slowly, Harry fell into a restless sleep with the letter on his mind, despite his efforts to clear his it.

"Good, good," he heard. "Very good."

"Been busy?" A sneer, vaguely familiar. "You have much to do . . ."

"I'm working as much as I am able to," he answered, slightly irritated.

"Oh?" The sound echoed.

"I can only read so much," he pointed out. He was doing his best.

"See to it that you are." The response was aimed toward his unspoken thoughts.

The room faded in, like a staged play. The set, a library, was filled with bookshelves to the immensely high ceiling.

"See to it that you are. You have much to do . . ."

"I realize that!" he shouted, wanting to throw something, anything, at the invisible source of the voices. "Let me alone for a bit!"

"For a bit," was echoed, and he snarled at the book filled table in front of him.

He relaxed when none of the Voices spoke again. He hated them. He couldn't remember why, precisely, but he hated them. They hounded him to no end; that was one of the reasons. There were more, hidden somewhere, maybe even hidden in this secret library that only he ever saw.

He sat in his usual chair. He couldn't remember sitting there before, specifically, but it was the only chair to use. As he was here before, it only made sense it was his.

There was a puzzle of sorts in front of him. Large and unorganized, he had not a clue where to start or how it should be. Among the bits of broken fragments stood moving images, waiting to be connected.

"Not time just yet . . ."

Harry woke suddenly, unsure of where he was. The sunlight was trickling through the small crack between the curtains calmed him slightly and his stomach yelled at him when he heard food being pushed roughly through the cat door.

Sitting up slowly, Harry shook his head in a futile attempt to gather his thoughts. That was one bloody odd dream, he thought. Problem was, he could not really remember what it was about. Something about a library, and maybe someone trying to . . . force him to do something? Trying to remember, he took the bowl of quickly cooling porridge and sat down using the wall to the right of the door as a back rest.

Spotting the letter on the floor a few feet away, a strong sense of dread settled over him. Confused about what he was supposed to feel, or do, for that matter, he stood up and sat against the wall under the window; the opposite side of the bed and out of view of the evil pieces of parchment that seemed intent on making his life worse than it already was.

For the next three days, Harry wandered about his small room in a confused and uncomfortable daze, unable to do much besides think. He didn't know whether to believe the letter, but he really wanted to believe it was a joke. At the same time, though, he couldn't push away the thought that it was real and what that could mean if it was. Would Snape refuse to acknowledge him or would the professor force him to become a Snape in name in addition to blood? Or would he try to forget their horrible history and try to be a real father?

By midday, Harry decided to stop thinking about it. If it wasn't a joke, then Snape would get a letter in four days time, and he was sure that a joke like this wouldn't be played on Snape; it would be too dangerous to do so. Deciding to leave the next move to Snape, he went to the corner of his room to the right of the door, picked up his book on Occlumency, and started reading it once again.

That evening, a cat that was quite familiar to all students of Hogwarts paced outside the gate of Four Privet Drive, her tail twitching madly. It had been three days, and she hasn't seen the boy once and every owl that attempted to enter the house had flown away, only partially content with leaving the letters on the front stairs. At least she knew now why Potter hadn't been responding.

She knew something had to be done, soon if not immediately. Debating whether to talk to Albus Dumbledore first or take Potter from his relatives without warning, the cat walked along the street and found a large tree. Sniffing and rubbing against it, she made sure no one was around before changing into her human form. After Professor McGonagall was satisfied that she was presentable, she walked back to the house and paused outside the gate.

The sun, which was half below the horizon, gave only enough light where she was standing to see an outline of an older woman in a dress; nothing would seem suspicious from any onlookers and she took advantage of the fact to continue pondering. She had promised the headmaster that she would not act unless absolutely necessary, and Minerva doubted that the situation, although horrible, was unbearable.

Making her decision and deciding to deal with the consequences later, she walked smoothly to the front door and knocked. After a minute of waiting, a large man opened the door, seemingly annoyed with the interruption.

"Yes?" he asked. His voice, although polite, had a sharp edge to it that suggested he was not in the mood for company.

"I'm here to see Harry Potter," she answered. The man in front of her narrowed his eyes and glared at her, now noticing the robes that he had mistaken for a rather loose coat.

"There is no Harry Potter here," he stated and moving to close the door, but Minerva stopped it with her foot before it slammed in her face and she took a hesitant step inside.

"I know Mr. Potter lives here," she said while pushing on the door to keep Mr. Dursley from closing it. "It will do no good to say otherwise, Mr. Dursley."

"Vernon, who is at the door?" asked a voice of an irritated woman from inside. McGonagall used the advantage of the distraction, and thus the lessened pressure on the door, to force herself into the house and past the uncle.

"Mrs. Dursley, I presume?" Minerva asked, disgusted with the woman standing in front of her.

"Yes. And you are?" she asked haughtily, noticing the robes immediately.

"Minerva McGonagall. I am a teacher from young Mr. Potter's school. I wish to speak with him." At that, Petunia went pale. There was a pregnant pause as Vernon Dursley quickly and quietly closed the front door.

"What did the boy do this time?" Petunia asked flatly, and the professor gave the woman a look.

"Absolutely nothing," Minerva answered, checking her posture in an attempt to avoid snapping at Potter's aunt.

"Then you have no right to be here. We do not wish to be bothered by your kind." Petunia Dursley had taken a step back, pointing a finger at the door. "Now, leave."

"I do not care if you do not want to be bothered. I must speak with him."

Again, there was a rather long pause between the three in the room, and the Dursleys looked at each other, both angry at the intrusion and nervous as to what this freak would find upstairs. Finally, seeing no possible way out of the situation, Petunia Dursely relented to McGonagall's request with a nod.

"His room is upstairs," said Vernon, rudely, walking into the kitchen with his wife. Minerva watched them leave before walking slowly up the stairs.

There were several doors on the top of the stairs, but it didn't take long for McGonagall to decipher which door was Harry's. With a quick and focused alohomora, she magically undid all the locks and knocked firmly on the door. Not receiving an answer, she slowly pushed it open.

The room was unlike the rest of the house; with minimal light from the half drawn curtains she saw rolls of parchment, books, and clothes cluttering various parts of the floor and the standard school trunk laying open near the foot of the small bed.

"Mr. Potter?" she asked quietly into the room, not seeing the child. Her voice sounded still, as if she were talking into a void.

"Professor?" came a weak voice from her left. Professor McGonagall turned to the voice, startled by what she saw. "What are you doing here?"

"Harry! Are you all right?" When Harry didn't answer, but just looked down, McGonagall became extremely worried. "Mr. Potter, what have they been doing to you?" Harry didn't speak for a minute, but he did look up at his professor.

"Nothing, Professor," Harry answered. There was a flutter from the cage atop the dresser and Harry stood up with obvious effort. He took an owl treat out from the bag on the nightstand, opened the cage door and fed it to Hedwig. She flew immediately out of her small prison, owl treat in her beak, and landed on the bed to eat it. Harry watched as she then flew around the room before landing on Harry's shoulder, giving a few hoots and pecking at him in an irritated manner.

McGonagall ignored the owl as she watched Harry. It was hard to tell with the minimal light in the room, but he looked sick and far too thin to be healthy; the room smelled horrible, also, and with a sudden decision, she walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains with one smooth motion. Harry blinked and looked away from Hedwig, who was now sitting contently on his shoulder eating a small piece of owl treat.

He almost stopped his professor when he saw she was trying to open the window, but didn't. She was bound to find out anyway; all Harry really had a choice in was how she found out. And he did not want her feeling sorry for him. He cringed slightly as McGonagall turned on him, worry in her eyes.

"Why doesn't the window open, Potter?" she asked, and Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's been stuck for awhile," he answered as if he didn't know why. He watched his professor nervously as she looked at him suspiciously, and suddenly she turned to face the window again, waving her wand. Nothing happened. She tried again and Harry jumped as the window slammed open, nails jutting out from the bottom of the now-open window. Automatically, Harry took in a deep breath of the fresh air. McGonagall turned on Harry, angry at him for lying to her.

Seeing him now without most of the deathly shadows, with enough light from the setting sun entering the room, she stopped herself from scolding him when she realized how much more sickly he looked in the light.

"Harry?" McGonagall asked softly. "Have they been feeding you? You look deathly thin."

"They've been feeding me," Harry answered too quickly. "Just . . . er . . . not as much as I would like, I suppose."

"How much food have they been giving you?"

"Well, er . . ."

Having heard enough to suppose how much he had been fed, McGonagall made her final decision immediately, walking to the door and turning as she opened it.

"Pack your belongings, Potter. I must speak with your relatives, and then we will be going." She left, leaving the door open to allow the warm, fresh air to travel freely across the small room.

Stunned, Harry started packing, checking every corner of the room to make sure he collected everything. He hadn't realized he used so many of his things over the past month, but he seemed to find more small objects everywhere he looked. His telescope, which he knew he didn't use, had rolled under his bed and was sitting beside a few of his school books and his pile of old assignments, which he looked over a few times and corrected himself. There was a pile of his old schools robes, the ones that didn't fit, not-so-neatly thrown into a corner of his room and a small pile of the few that did, neatly folded next to his nightstand.

His more recent school books were in his usual corner of the room, along with the rest of his unused parchment and a few old notebooks. Moving to the underside of his bed closest to the door, Harry froze as he saw the letter he pushed underneath in an attempt to force it from his memory. Hesitantly, he dropped it into the bottom of his trunk.

By the time he sat down next to his trunk, he was exhausted from packing and now with nothing to do but wait, he noticed again how hungry he was. He played with the idea of asking the professor for food, but that would only confirm her suspicions and cause her to feel more pity for him. It appeared as though she was already planning on taking him from here, so why give her any more information?

Not long after he started catching his breath, McGonagall entered the room and stood a few feet from him, looking very imposing from his spot on the floor. Not liking the vulnerable feeling, he stood up.

"Ready?" she asked. Harry looked at her for a bit, wondering why, when last year there was a whole guard to bring him to the Order's headquarters, this time it was only McGonagall taking him from the Muggle world. It felt as if she had decided a mere fifteen minutes ago that she was taking him along.

"Yes," he replied. "Where are we going?"

What he really wanted to know was why they decided to check up on his living conditions now when he'd been both hinting at and plainly stating how horrible it was with the Dursleys. He even told Mrs. Weasley how much he hated it with them, hoping she would say something to the headmaster since he felt quite uncomfortable telling Dumbledore that himself, but she had only looked at him sadly and gave him a hug, telling him it was only for a few more years. Every other adult he told, they only replied with how he needed to be there during the summer for his protection. After all, if Voldemort was able to find him, he'd hate it even more.

"Harry," McGonagall sighed, looking around the room with disgust. At least the unpleasant smell that had accumulated over the month had dissipated some. "If you don't wish to stay here, put Hedwig in her cage. I assume you'd prefer to leave?" Harry nodded his head immediately. Of course he didn't want to stay here! That's what he was trying to tell everyone for the past five years! "Hurry, then. I do not wish to stay here longer than necessary."

With one more appalled look, she levitated his trunk and left the room as Harry persuaded his owl to enter her cage with the promise to let her out soon. Thankfully, she didn't put up much of a fight, and he took out a treat from his pocket and poked it through the wire cage. She took it roughly, obviously angry at being in the small space yet again.

By the time he had carried Hedwig down the stairs to where McGonagall was, once again, talking to his guardians, he was exhausted. He wasn't used to so much activity anymore. He really hoped they weren't walking anywhere. Maybe McGonagall set up access to the floo again.

"Harry, you will be returning here next summer," McGonagall said, turning to Harry. At this, he just stared at his teacher, not knowing what to say. She was taking him away now, but he had to come back? Did she not understand that no matter what they do, they would still treat him horribly? "Actions," she said, giving the two Muggles a glare, "will be taken to ensure better living conditions, so do not fret," she continued, noticing Harry's look. "We'll be taking a portkey, then a Muggle bus to headquarters."

Harry glared at McGonagall, no longer as excited about leaving as he was when the Deputy Headmistresses first told him. He didn't like portkeys since the incident of the Third Task, but after a minute of staring blankly at his aunt and uncle, he gave in. It was definitely better than walking or riding anywhere. He felt as if he didn't have any energy to spare, and using the argument that he was scared of the magical transportation would have made him sound like a young child. He really didn't want anyone to know that; he'd never hear the end of it, especially from the twins.

McGonagall took a quill out of her cloak, and indicated Harry to grab on. With the quill in one hand and Hedwig in his other, his professor said "Green Lollipop" (obviously Dumbledore's doing), and Harry felt the unwanted, familiar tug at his navel.

When they landed, they were in a dark alley. The sun was now below the horizon, leaving just enough light for them to find their way out of the alley and to the bus station without trouble. At the station, Harry took the time when McGonagall was buying ticks to rest after the ten minute walk, and when she was finished, she sat down next to him. They both sat in an uncomfortable silence as they waited for the bus to arrive.

A bus numbered 43 arrived soon, but two minutes late, as Harry overheard his professor mumble beside him. Without speaking, McGonagall indicated that that was the bus they needed and they boarded immediately, choosing the back seat so they had room for Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage. After what seemed like an hour of staring out of the window at the passing scenery, the unfamiliar area somewhat creepy in the darkness, they finally arrived on the corner of Grimmauld Place.

Walking to the space between houses 11 and 13, Harry exhausted from the short walk, Harry thought of the address as he did last year and the dark, foreboding house appeared. McGonagall entered without hesitation, and Harry followed to the door. Taking a deep breath, trying to not think of Sirius and how much he hated it here, he stepped inside.