“Hermione,” Harry asked, trying to sound casual. “Do you know of any spells that can prove a witch or wizard’s true parentage?”
“What do you mean, true parentage?”
“Well, you know. Take Ron for instance. Is there any way to prove that Mr. Weasley is truly Ron’s father?”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Do you have any reason to believe that he’s not?”
“No, no, no. It’s nothing like that. I was just wondering. Hypothetically.”
The shocked expression on Hermione’s face cleared and she considered the situation. “Well, yes, I think there is one. I’d have to look up the details. But if I recall, the two people wishing to know if they are related hold hands and a third person casts the spell. If they are blood relatives, ribbons of red light will wrap around their joined hands signifying a blood bond.”
A blood bond. Great. Fantastic. How on earth was he going to get Snape to agree to hold hands to check if the evil git was truly his father? Not to mention that yet another person would need to be present to cast the spell. A witness to his humiliation was all he needed.
Harry cringed. He didn’t want to tell Snape what Dumbledore had said, especially since Dumbledore was most likely wrong and Snape would find him an idiot for even entertaining such a ridiculous and highly distasteful notion.
He supposed he could ask Ron and Hermione for ideas, except that would mean he’d actually have to tell them about the letter. And he already knew what they’d say. Ron would be outraged and agree with Harry that it was just another feeble attempt of Dumbledore’s to make Snape and Harry kiss and make up. Hermione would say that Dumbledore had never lied to Harry and that Harry should really prove it to himself once and for all so he could get on with his life; that doubt would eat away at him forever if he didn’t. Well, she was right about that. It was the only thing he could think about.
“What do you want, Potter?” Snape sneered from his hospital bed. “Come to gloat about my infirmity? Or my memories?”
Harry gritted his teeth. No matter what, he did NOT want Snape to be his father. The mere idea made him want to punch something.
“No, I just came to see how you were doing.”
“Really, Potter? I find that hard to believe. Did Dumbledore put you up to this?”
In a manner of speaking, Harry thought, but said instead, “When will they let you go?”
“When I am healed.”
“What will you do after that?” Harry asked, picking up a St. Mungo’s quill and turning it over in his hands so he wouldn’t have to meet Snape’s eyes.
“Why do you care, Potter?” Snape sneered.
“I… you…” Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, Snape was staring at him, a mixture of fury and distrust in his eyes. “I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you did.”
“Save your breath for someone who cares, Potter.”
Harry felt anger surge in his chest. Before he could think better of it, he said, “I pity you, Snape. You and your holier-than-thou attitude. No wonder you have no friends.” With that, he stomped out of the room.
“We could Stupefy him,” Ginny suggested.
“Ginny!” Hermione protested. “He’s a professor! Or was one anyway.”
Harry smiled, loving Ginny even more for her daring and her wit, not to mention her unconditional support of him.
“I agree with Ginny,” Ron said around a mouthful of pastries. “Curse the bastard and get it over with. Then you can prove he’s not your father and your mind will be at ease.”
“Maybe I could slip him a sleeping potion,” Harry suggested.
Hermione scoffed. “He’s a Potions Master, Harry. You don’t think he’d notice?”
“It was just a thought,” Harry mumbled.
The four of them sat in silence in Ron’s room at the Burrow, thinking. It hadn’t been easy to confide in his friends, but he had been glad for their outrage and support when he finally had.
“Why don’t you just ask him if you can do the spell?” Hermione said, not for the first time.
“Yeah, right,” Ron snorted, saving Harry the need of replying. “Hey you greasy git, Dumbledore thinks you might be my father. What do you say, mate, want to hold hands and find out?”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “I just don’t see any other way. Snape’s not stupid. I don’t think you’re going to be able to trick him into it.”
Ginny, who had been quiet for while, spoke up. “I might have an idea.”
It was Luna who snuck them into St. Mungo’s late one night. She’d been volunteering at the hospital, tending the war’s injured, and was happy to run interference for Ginny and Harry without asking any uncomfortable questions. Best of all, she knew Snape’s medication schedule. Snape received his evening pain killing and dreamless sleep concoctions at approximately 10pm. To be safe, they arrived at 11pm.
Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron had all practiced the complicated spell so that any one of them could accompany Harry if need be. It had been fascinating to see how the spell had worked on Ron and Ginny. Brother and sister had held hands, and Hermione had cast the spell. Everyone in the room gasped as pinpricks of red light shot out from clasped hands and wrapped around them to form meridians of a globe, shining and pulsating with the now synchronized beating of their hearts. Ginny had “oohed” at the sensation while Ron had look stymied. “Feels like ants trying to crawl out of my skin,” Ron had muttered. “Not ants,” Ginny had chimed in, “more like worms.”
“Ready?” Ginny asked, pulling Harry from his memories.
“Yeah, I think so,” Harry whispered.
Harry studied Snape who was lying on his back, sheets pulled up to his chin, his arms lying loosely at his sides. Even his slack features didn’t make him look any less intimidating. Harry approached the bed slowly, afraid that the sound of his footsteps or breathing might wake the Professor. He nudged Snape’s arm gently, and then not so gently. No response. He did it again, just be sure.
Luna stood in the doorway, looking dreamy. Harry wondered briefly if she was curious about why they were here. He met Ginny’s eyes before turning back to Snape. Harry flexed his fingers. Did he really want to do this? Did he really want to know?
Ginny took a step closer and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Here goes,” Harry breathed. He took a deep breath and placed his hand atop Snape’s. Nothing happened. No lightening from above, no flicker of recognition on potion master’s flaccid face. Carefully, he intertwined his fingers with Snape’s cold ones and held his breath.
Lightly touching their linked hands with her wand, Ginny’s voice stretched across the silence in a melodic whisper. The ancient spell filled the room with its magic.
The End.