The shock of the change kept Harry in bed for a while, his mind too tired to sort through any of the information consciously, so he spent his time sleeping. After three days of this, he finally decided that enough was enough, and that he needed to get back into life.

He started with taking a shower.

The water, which he had been denied in his past dwelling, was clear and comfortable, and ran in rivers down his scales, making him sigh in pleasure. It was amazing how something seen so small by others had this effect on him.

When he finished with his shower, he changed into newly bought clothing, which also made him smile in pleasant surprise. He slipped on a tight fitting pair of black jeans (A/N/: yeah, they're skinny jeans), a black silk shirt, and a pair of black socks and boots. Assuming these, were his, of course, since he found them hanging in the closet and hiding in the droors of the dresser.

When he was done getting dressed he made his way out of the room, down the hall (with instruction from the portraits, who were now properly situated in their correct frames), and into a sitting room that was decorated warmly, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth. But Harry did not feel its warming affects. He lowered himself onto an armchair with a wide back, placing his hands on the arm rests on either side of him and gripping the fabric tightly with his fingers.

Lyra made her way gently out of his shirt and down his arm, where she rested at his hand, flicking her tongue onto the tight knuckles. "What is wrong, Harry?"

Harry looked down at his familiar, "I don't know what to do now, Lyra. I don't know how to be a son, or what kind of son Professor Snape wants. What if..." his voice dropped to a conspiratoral whisper, "What is he doesn't want a no-good whelp as a son? There's no where else for me to go, now."

Lyra gazed on softly, saddened by Harry's lack of confidence. While she could perfectly understand the young master's fear of the impending future, it wasn't well for him to be so concerned with an obviously trivial matter.

"Professor Snape will love you forever. And if he doesn't, then I will take care of you, for you are my master, my lord, and my friend."

Lyra wrapped herself around Harry's waist and squeezed. His heart raced as he traced his thin fingers over her scales, but nearly stopped when a voice penetrated the brief silence,

"Thank you, Lyra, I appreciate the gesture. Call me Severus. As for you, Harry." Severus leveled his eyes on Harry, gaze softening as he took in the young boys hunched shoulders and lowered eyes. He lowered his tall frame down next to the child, his son, and gripped his shoulders gently,

"There are many things in my life that I hate, and that I would never want to touch anyone, and I would never want to touch." Harry squirmed, trying to shy away from his hands, but he only tightened his grip slightly, "But you, Harry...Adrian, my son..." Harry glanced up at him, tears in his eyes, as Severus continued. "I will always want you, no matter what you do, no matter who you become, no matter who you were before I found you. There will be times when we may disagree, but I, and your father (when he is returned), will always be there when you need us. Do you understand?"

Harry's felt like his heart was lodged in his throat as he nodded his head. They sat in silence for a moment, Severus's hands still holding him still, until Harry shifted and asked,

"You called me Adrian, before. Was, is, that my name, then? I...please...I would like to know."

Severus nearly melted with love as he pulled Harry closer, "Your name, my dear, sweet child, is Adrian Marvolo Riddle. You have your father's middle and last name, and my Grandfather Prince's first."

A bright smile lit up Harry's face as he turned his head upwards to meet Severus, "Please, I'd like that to be my name now."

And it was.