Another year was coming to an end. Harry could hardly believe everything that had happened. All of it, the diary, Ginny, Tom Riddle, the Basilisk, it all seemed too strange, even in the wizarding world.Harry, Ron, Hermione, and all the other Gryffindor and Slytherin second years were sitting through their last Potions class of the year. Professor Snape, Never one to give breaks, was giving out the summer homework assignment.

“I do hope that you will all,” he looked purposefully at Neville Longbottom, a rather nervous and clumsy boy, “do better in my class next year.”

The bell rang and, in his rush to leave the classroom, Dean Thomas knocked into Harry. Harry went sprawling and the contents of his bag flew all over the room.Harry scrambled to gather all his books and parchment. In his haste, he failed to notice an old, worn bit of parchment flutter right to Professor Snape’s feet.

Thinking he had everything, Harry nearly sprinted to the door, eager to leave the dour man’s presence.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled, “I believe you have forgotten something.”

Harry turned around in time to see Snape reading something he had vowed never to let anyone see. Dropping his bag he rushed to the professor. "Thank you, professor,” Harry said, trying to take the parchment from the tall man, “I’ll just take that and leave.”

But it was too late. The damage was done. Professor Snape, always the stoic, had so many emotions on his face that Harry wasn’t even sure he could identify all of them. He could see confusion, shock, anger, and, most surprisingly, hurt for sure. Other than that he was unable to tell.

“She-she-,” he vulnerable man stuttered.

“Professor?” the nervous twelve year old whispered hesitantly.

"Are-,” Snape’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Do you know if this is legitimate?”

“It is,” Harry whispered. “It’s from the ministry. It can’t be faked. I checked in the library last year.”

“I see,” the professor said. “Perhaps we had better talk about this. Follow me; we can speak in my rooms.”

“But professor,” Harry said, “I have Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall won’t be pleased if I miss her class.”

“I do believe that this is more pressing than a Transfiguration lesson,” Severus Snape said quietly. “However, I will speak to Minerva later and explain. Now, follow me; I will show you to my rooms.”

Harry silently followed his professor into the potions master’s office and through a painting. The rooms he saw when he walked through the painting were very cozy looking, done in browns and greens.

“Have a seat,” the man said, gesturing towards the couch and three armchairs.

Harry chose a worn, brown leather armchair. Ever since Professor Snape had gotten a hold of that blasted piece of parchment, Harry had been trying to find a way out of this mess.

“Now,” the professor nearly whispered, “do you have any idea how it is that I am your father?”