Harry still couldn’t believe that Voldemort was dead and he was alive. The headlines had been almost comical: The Boy Who Lives Still Lives and The Boy Who Once Lived Lives Again. He half expected to find ones that said The Boy Who Just Keeps On Living or The Boy Who Refuses To Die. He smiled at the thought. He finally felt free of the fear and pressure that had dogged him since he’d found out that Lord Voldemort had killed his parents.

He wound his way through the castle to the headmaster’s office. He wondered idly who would take over now that both Snape and Dumbledore were gone.

“Password?”

“Harry Potter,” he said sardonically.

The gargoyles saluted him as they leapt aside.

“You wished to see me?” Harry asked, addressing the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. He noticed that the witches and wizards in the rest of the portraits appeared to be dozing, but if he watched closely, he saw them steal peeks at him under their lashes.

“Ah, yes, Harry. I assume you are well?”

“Yes, thanks,” Harry replied.

Dumbledore paused and caressed his long, white beard. “May I inquire, then, how Professor Snape is doing?”

“He is still in St. Mungo’s, sir. He is in stable condition, but he may have permanent damage from the wound in his neck.”

“Have you visited him then?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry shuffled his feet. “Briefly,” Harry said. “I passed along your well wishes...” or at least I tried to, Harry thought.

“Would I be accurate in saying that Professor Snape does not desire company?”

Harry laughed. “You could say that.” He could remember all too clearly how Snape had told him to either leave of his own accord or he would curse him into the next ward.

“I see,” Dumbledore said more seriously, stroking his chin in thoughtful consideration. “Harry, I have something for you. For both of you, actually.”

“Professor Snape and I?”

“Yes. I have written letters for both of you and I think it’s time that you read yours. When the time is right, I ask that you give Professor Snape his letter as well.”

Harry frowned. “How will I know when the time is right?”

“Trust in yourself, Harry. You’ll know.”

Per the former headmaster’s instructions, Harry retrieved the letters from where they were hidden, said his good-byes, and turned to leave.

“One last thing, Harry.”

Harry stopped and waited. At that moment, the Dumbledore in the portrait looked every one of his 156 years.

“Please don’t think too harshly of me. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I fear this is one of my greatest ones yet. I did what I thought was best at the time, Harry. I hope after you read the letter that you can still believe that.”

Harry nodded, not sure what to make of the Headmaster’s last request as he headed back to his dormitory to read the letter.

 Dear Harry,

If you are reading this, then you have defeated Lord Voldemort. Well done, Harry. Words can not express my pride and joy in you as a wizard, as well as your many accomplishments. I admire your courage, bravery, and strength, especially in light of all of the struggles you’ve faced and the many disappointments life has put in your path.

I’ve known from the beginning that I’ve put too much pressure and responsibility on your shoulders, and often with very little information to guide you. I hope you know that I did my best, Harry, even if it wasn’t always good enough. I have made many mistakes along the way, as I’m sure you know. And while I’ve strived to never lie to you outright, I have withheld important information on several occasions, presuming you had quite enough on your plate already. For that, Harry, I am truly sorry. As you so rightly pointed out more than once, you had more than proved that you could handle knowing the truth. It was an old man’s failings in trying to protect the boy he so deeply cherished and loved.

I fear, though, that my biggest mistake of all was not telling you the truth about your parents. I believed, at the time, that I was doing what was best. If I had to do it all over again, I’m not sure I would act any differently. However, one wonders how things might have been different—for better or for worse—if certain information had been brought to light sooner. Harry, this will likely be difficult for you to hear, but James Potter was not your biological father.

I learned of the discrepancy in your parentage when Hagrid brought you back from Godric’s Hollow. I had to be sure Hagrid had the right child. I cast various charms to make sure you were truly the son of Lily and James Potter. That is when I discovered that you were Lily’s son, but that James was not your father. After some time, I was able to discover that Severus Snape was your true father. 

As I’m sure you’ve realized from Professor Snape’s memories, he was in love with your mother. And for a time, your mother loved him too. Young Severus made one last attempt to win Lily’s heart before she married James Potter, and while they shared one romantic and passionate evening, their union was not to be. Lily felt, and rightly so, that Severus was too deeply involved in the Dark Arts. For young Severus, the liaison ended with disillusionment and a great deal of disappointment. The love of his life had chosen another.

By then I’d already placed you with your mother’s sister. As you know, your mother’s blood had protected you from Voldemort’s curse, and considering what I knew about Voldemort, this seemed like the safest place for you to be. Severus had already turned spy for the Order, but he was still a young and impulsive man, suffering severely from the loss of your mother, and much too close to Lord Voldemort for your safe keeping. I feared that when Voldemort returned, both you and Severus would be killed if anyone knew about the connection between the two of you. And so I chose to remain silent on the issue, telling neither you nor Severus what I had learned.

As you might have guessed, Harry, Professor Snape does not know that you are his son. I have my suspicions as to why this possibility never occurred to him, but I will leave it up to you to tell him if and when you choose to. Furthermore, I do not know whether Lily ever confided in James that Severus was your father. I am sure that Lily and James would have gone on to have more children if things had turned out differently.

I won’t begin to beg your forgiveness in this matter, since I am unworthy of it. You have spent too much of your life with relatives who did not appreciate you for who you are. I would like to believe that if Severus learns that you are his son, he will become the kind of father you truly deserve. I am sad to say, however, that I do not know if this is possible. Severus has suffered much in his life. He has survived by building impenetrable walls around his soul and shielding himself from any sense of vulnerability. The only person who ever breached those walls was your mother.

I leave the decision up to you, Harry. You can reach out to Professor Snape, or you can walk away. I pray that whatever choice you make, it is one that brings you peace.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore.

 “No,” Harry whispered. “It can’t be true.”

He threw Dumbledore’s letter on the bed, his hands balled into fists.

“NO!” he shouted, shaking his head vehemently in denial.

He got up and paced the dormitory, thankful he was alone. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Dumbledore was lying. He was just making this up in yet another futile and ignorant attempt to make Harry and Snape like each other.

It was absolutely ridiculous to think that Snape, the man he loathed, and who loathed him in equal measure, was his father. And what did that say about his mother? That she cheated on her soon-to-be husband mere weeks before their wedding? Unless she wasn’t a willing participant... Harry snatched back up Dumbledore’s letter: “they shared one romantic and passionate evening.” That didn’t sound like rape. But what was he thinking anyway. His mother had NOT slept with Severus Snape! His mother would never do such a thing. Thoughts raced through his mind, justifications and denials in equal measure.

There was no proof, just the silly ramblings of an old man who wished the world was a better place, who wished the likes of Snape and Harry could be friends. But whether what Dumbledore said was the truth or a lie, the seed had been planted in Harry’s mind, and try as he might, he could not root it out.

“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.

Harry waited. He felt the electricity of the spell slide through his veins as if testing to see if there was a connection between Professor Snape and himself. He closed his eyes, afraid to know what the spell might reveal. Although Ginny and Ron had both described what it felt like, and he’d seen it with his own eyes, he was still woefully unprepared when the heat exploded from his skin. With a gasp, he opened his eyes as bands of blood red light wove themselves together, embracing his hand and Snape’s in an intimate spherical bond.  

Harry watched in both horror and fascination as the ruby red cage of light danced and shifted. He was too stunned to utter the denial that ran screaming through his mind.

Ginny lifted the wand, and both the red light, and the pulsing, burning sensation vanished.

Trembling, still holding Snape’s hand, Harry looked up only to be trapped by the blazing gaze of Severus Snape.

Harry let go of Snape’s hand like it was on fire and stumbled backward, falling onto his arse and letting out an oath.

“What the hell was that?” Snape demanded, torn between examining his hand and trying to read Harry’s expression.

Harry shook his head as he scrambled to his feet. His heart beat wildly and sweat poured down his back.

“Answer me, Potter!” Snape yelled.

Ginny jumped and edged towards the door.

“Dumbledore…” Harry managed to whisper, hoping to throw Snape off track.

“Dumbledore what?”

“He…” Harry croaked. His throat was parched. “He said… a letter…”

“Talk sense, boy!” Snape bellowed, sitting up in bed.

Harry shook his head, his thoughts still reeling as he backed towards the door, Ginny at his side.

As if coming out of a trance, Luna stepped forward. “Professor Snape,” she soothed, “It was only a bad dream. You’ve had them before you know.” Then Luna turned her protuberant eyes on Harry.

Harry wanted to hug Luna in gratitude. Instead, he nodded in thanks, and he and Ginny hurried from the room. He could still feel the tingle and tug of his heart which had rearranged itself to beat in time with Snape’s when the spell had confirmed the blood bond.

---

“You have to tell him,” Hermione said.

“No, I don’t,” Harry replied.

“No he doesn’t,” Ron said at the same time.

“Harry,” Hermione said, leaning in. "He knows something happened. It’s only a matter of time before he figures out what it means. And that’s assuming he didn’t hear the incantation, in which case, he likely already knows.”

Ginny put her hand on Harry’s knee and squeezed gently. “As much as I hate to say it, Harry, Hermione’s right. It’s only a matter of time before he figures it out on his own.”

“So let him,” Ron retorted. “Harry doesn’t owe that git anything!”

Ginny and Hermione exchanged a meaningful glance.

“Ron,” Hermione said, getting to her feet. “I think I heard your mom calling for us.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Ron argued.

Hermione looked at him severely.

“Oh, right,” Ron said quickly. “Right. Well, see you later, Harry.” He clapped Harry on the shoulder as he followed Hermione out of the room.

“Harry,” Ginny said softly, turning to him. “I think I know what’s bugging you.”

“Aside from the fact that I don’t want Snape to be my father?"

Ginny smiled sadly. “Yes, aside from that. You’ve lived your whole life without a single adult you could count on, really count on. Even the adults who cared about you didn’t stick around for long. And here’s this one last person, who’s still alive, who might care about you if you gave him the chance…”

“Yeah, right,” said Harry bitterly, starting to get up. “Like Snape would ever…”

“Let me finish,” Ginny said, putting her hand on Harry’s shoulder to push him back down. “It’s a big risk, telling him. Because if he rejects you…”

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat. He’d lost too much, and to put his hope into a cruel and selfish man was the last thing he needed. “I don’t know, Ginny…”

“You can do this, Harry. And if he turns out to be the right git we always knew he was, then I’ll shoot the bat bogie hex and him and we’ll call it a day.”

Ginny put her arm around Harry and he leaned into her, smiling slightly as she placed a kiss on his cheek.

---

Harry returned late the next afternoon, after putting it off as long as he could. Ginny was right. He doubted there was any chance that Snape would be interested in being a father figure to Harry, but he was Harry’s father nonetheless. That thought still rankled.

When he entered Snape’s room, the look of hostility on the man’s face did not surprise him. To forestall Snape’s cruel remarks, Harry said quickly, “I owe you an apology, Professor. Last night…”

“Let me guess, Potter,” Snape said, steepling his hands. “That bit of magic was both ancient and complicated. And while I don’t know quite what it was, it is obvious that someone of your meager talents and intellect could not have come up with it on your own.”

Harry felt a rush of anger at the insult.

“Therefore, I am left to believe that Dumbledore put you up to this. Am I right, Potter?”

Harry said nothing.

Snape rolled his eyes. “I know that it has always been the Headmaster’s fondest desire that you and I become…” Snape hesitated as if there was a particular bad taste in his mouth before spitting out the word, “friends.” He cleared his throat. “Obviously, the old man has lost all sense of reason in his advanced age.”

“Right,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“I’ve paid my dues to Dumbledore,” Snape said coldly. “I protected your sorry arse more than you ever deserved. So unless there’s something else you wanted to say, Potter,” Snape arched an eyebrow, “I would appreciate it if you’d get out of my room and leave me in peace.” Not breaking eye contact, Snape added cruelly, “Forever.”

The last time Harry had spoken to Severus Snape was after the war when he was recovering from Nagini’s snake bite at St. Mungo’s. He’d seen Snape a few more times after that, including when he’d testified to Snape’s role in the war against Voldemort as a spy for the Order to clear Snape’s name. But he hadn’t told Snape that he was his son. And he’d never questioned that choice, until now.

Now he found himself walking down a cobbled street called Spinner’s End. The houses along the way were run-down; some of them were deserted. Graffiti littered the walls and broken children’s toys were strewn across lawns. He wondered why Snape still lived here. After what he’d seen in the Pensieve, he couldn’t imagine it was because of any good childhood memories.

He hadn’t thought much about Snape in the last thirteen years. Their dislike had been both intense and mutual, and even knowing what he did about Snape after seeing his memories, he still couldn’t help thinking that the man could have made different choices. He could have been nicer to Harry. He could have chosen to see past his own prejudices. But he hadn’t, then. The question was, would he be able to now?

---

Severus Snape sat in his sitting room, reviewing correspondences. While meager, a few letters trickled in a week, as well as journals on potions, defeating the darks arts, herbology, and a selection of others. His owl, Cinder, hooted dolefully from her perch.

“In a minute,” Snape muttered absently, flipping the page of the journal article he was reading.

When a knock came at the door, the owl hooted hopefully. “Fine,” Snape said, holding his arm out. The bird landed softly, and together they walked to the door. As Snape opened it, Cinder flew out, making the person standing there duck against the unexpected rush of wings. Snape’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes rested on an older version of Harry Potter.

“May I have a word with you?”

Snape studied the man before him. He was no longer a boy. His hair was tidier, though still long enough to hide the scar on his forehead. His clothes were neat but casual. He stood with the bearing of someone who had seen too much but had managed to rise above it. Much to his surprise, he looked like Lily. Snape could no longer find the traces of James Potter that had been so evident to him in Potter’s schoolboy days.

Against his better judgment, Snape stepped aside and allowed Potter to enter the small sitting room he himself had just vacated. He watched as Potter took in the sparse furnishings and the multitude of books that lined the walls, tables, and any other horizontal surface available. Potter’s gaze did not linger long.

Snape shut the door and followed Potter into the room. He crossed his arms and leaned against the archway. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Snape asked, sarcasm clear in his voice.

A younger Potter might have taken the bait, but this man’s face was a study in worry and something more indefinable. He had come on a mission, and it was clear that he would not leave without having his say. Snape stood up straight and observed his former adversary more closely.

“I have a daughter. Her name is Lily. She’ll be three next month.”

“If you’re expecting congratulations...”

“I’m expecting you to shut your mouth and listen for once,” Harry shot back. After what seemed like some sort of internal struggle, Potter added, “What did I ever do to you anyway?”

“You were born,” Snape retorted.

Harry laughed without humor. “Ironic, that.”

Snape watched as Harry ran his hands through his thick black hair, ruffling it slightly and making it look more like it was when he was at Hogwarts.

“As I was saying, Lily. She got struck down with dragon pox when she was two years old. She’s never recovered. She’s getting worse every day and if we don’t do something, she won’t live much longer.” Harry took a breath. “I’ve come to ask for your help.”

Snape watched the play of emotions on Harry’s face: vulnerability, fear, desperation. “I’m not a healer, Potter.”

“That’s not the type of help we need,” Harry said softly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old piece of parchment tied with a red ribbon. Caressing it with his fingers, he addressed Snape. “I was given this after the war with instructions to give it to you when the time was right. I guess that’s now.”

Snape looked at the proffered parchment as if it might bite him. Harry, he noticed, did not offer any reassurances to the contrary.

Taking the missive from Harry, he immediately recognized Dumbledore’s loopy, slanted script.

Dear Severus,  

If you are reading this letter, then I have moved on to the next level of existence, Tom Riddle is dead, and you and Harry Potter have both survived. Congratulations.

Let me first express my gratitude for all of your hard work and efforts. I know that the personal cost to you was great and that you had to endure more than any witch or wizard should ever have to. I also wanted to thank you for protecting Harry and keeping him alive long enough to fulfill his mission. I know the boy was a painful reminder of Lily’s loss, and I regret not being able to bridge the distance between the two of you while I was still alive to see it.

On that subject, I have more to say. As you know, Harry Potter is Lily Evan’s son. However, James Potter was not his biological father. I am sure this will come as a shock to you, Severus, but his biological father is you.

Please understand that I believed it best to keep this from you for the safety of everyone involved, including yourself and young Harry. Not only had Riddle marked Harry for death, and I’ve no doubt he would have killed you both, but I also didn’t believe that you’d be able to knowingly send Harry to his fate at the hands of Riddle if you knew that he was your son.

I won’t ask for your forgiveness, as I am not worthy of it. I doubt that you will ever be able to grant it anyway. Merlin knows how different things might have been if you’d been the one to raise Harry after Lily’s death. Regrettably, all that can be done now is for you to consider how you wish to proceed from this point forward.

May I remind you that Harry was born of your love for Lily and that Harry lives on in her spirit. This is something to celebrate, not mourn, Severus. The war is over and it’s time that both of you got on with your lives. You have more in common with one another than you’ve ever been willing to see. I sincerely hope that the two of you will be able to build some sort of relationship, for it is my belief that Harry needs a father as much as you need a son.

As you of all people know, Severus, things are not always as they seem, misunderstandings abound, and people can change. Do try and keep an open mind. Give the boy a chance. He may well surprise you.

Humbly yours,

Albus Dumbledore

---

Harry watched Snape as he read Dumbledore’s letter. His gut churned with  apprehension. It was one thing for Snape to deny Harry as his son; it was another thing entirely for him to refuse to help his granddaughter. The play of emotions that ran across the man’s normally stoic face would have been comical if the situation had not been so dire.

Snape’s hands were clenched as he read the parchment, as if he was hanging on to it for dear life. When he finished, he closed his eyes, and whispered, “Is it true?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

Snape met Harry’s gaze. “How can you be sure?” he asked, and for once, his voice held no trace of cruelty.

“The blood bond spell,” Harry said. “The one you caught Ginny and I using in the hospital on you that night. The red light…”

“Proves the familial bond,” Snape finished, nodding curtly. “And why are you first telling me this now, Potter?”

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead absently. “I tried to tell you the day after we performed the spell,” Harry replied. “But you told me to get out of your room and leave you in peace.” Harry didn’t add Snape’s last word, forever, but it hung in the air between them nonetheless.

Snape shook his head and turned away, busying himself with rearranging the few objects on the mantle of the fireplace. Without turning around, he said, “I need some time to think, Potter. Can you give me that?”

“Of course, sir,” Harry said, moving towards the door of the small house.

“How much…” Snape said, and then cleared his throat, “How much time does young Lily have?”

“A month,” Harry said around a lump in his throat. “Maybe two at most.”

Snape nodded once before Harry let himself out.

---

Shock and raged blazed through Severus, along with a burning desire to wring Albus Dumbledore’s sanctimonious, interfering neck. Good thing the mighty Wizard was already dead or Snape might well end up in Azkaban for murder. How dare Dumbledore keep this information from him? His own son! What right did Dumbledore have? What right did anyone have?

Snape cursed and paced the small expanse of his sitting room. He fought the urge to break every trinket and piece of furniture in the house. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was his son. “Damn you, Albus!” he screamed, slamming his fist down on the mantle. A few potion bottles fell and shattered on the floor. “Damn you for all eternity.”

---

“How’d it go?” Ginny asked as she cradled Lily in her arms.

“We’ll see,” Harry said, brushing soot from his robes. He walked over to the two of them and kissed them each on the forehead in turn. “How are you my precious little one?” he said to Lily.

Lily looked up at him with large green eyes. “Daadee,” she said.

“Yes, I’m your daddy,” he said, running his fingers through her soft strawberry blond curls. His eyes met Ginny’s and Ginny shook her head sadly. Harry felt his guts twist. Lily was worse today, then. He fought back the tears that inevitably rose every time he thought about losing his little girl.

“What did he say?” Ginny inquired, craning her head momentarily to look out the window and check on their other two children who were playing with a snitch in the back yard.

Harry straightened and repositioned his glasses. “He said he needed some time to think.”

“I bet he does,” Ginny murmured, “I bet he does.”

 

Mr. Potter, 

With regard to the most pressing matter of young Lily’s health, please be assured that I will offer whatever assistance you wish. I suggest we meet in person to discuss the details further. I will make myself available at your earliest convenience.

With regard to the issue of your paternity, I am left to wonder how things might have turned out differently had we both known the truth from the beginning.

S. Snape

The letter had come very early the next morning. If Harry was not mistaken, it was delivered by the same owl that nearly took his head off when Snape had answered the door of his home.

Harry read it first, then gave it to Ginny.

Ginny jumped into Harry’s arms, hugging him tightly. “He’s going to help Lily,” she said. “Bless him.”

Harry murmured in agreement and held Ginny tight for a moment. He felt the weight of fear and anxiety lift slightly from his shoulders. Snape was their last chance for saving their daughter’s life. There was no guarantee it would work, but a small spark of hope kindled within his heart at the possibility. That being settled, Harry pulled back and reached for the letter, reading it again: I am left to wonder how things might have turned out differently had we both known the truth from the beginning. Harry sighed and closed his eyes.

“Harry,” Ginny said, biting her lip. “I know you’re disappointed…”

“No, it’s great,” Harry said, mentally shaking himself. “I couldn’t be more happy that he’s going to help us with Lily. I mean, he doesn’t owe us anything.”

“I know, but…” Ginny took his hand. “Give him time, Harry. He’s just found out that you’re his son. You’ve had thirteen years to get used to the idea. He’s had little more than thirteen hours.”

Harry shifted his weight. It shouldn’t matter this much. “I suppose I should write him back, set up a time to meet.”

Ginny squeezed his shoulder. “It’s a risk, you know.”

“What is?”

“He doesn’t know what you want. All he remembers are the years you spent as a student. He treated you like crap and you hated him for it. We all hated him.”

Harry let out a snort of mirthless laughter.

“He doesn’t know what you think of him now, if you’ll accept him as your father. He doesn’t even know if you want him to be your father.”

“Who says he wants me as his son?” Harry retorted.

“If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have responded so quickly, or been so eager to help. He also wouldn’t be spending his time wondering how things might have turned out differently.”

Harry shrugged. He was afraid to hope that she was right.

---

“Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” Harry said. He’d thought about lying, but there was no use. Hermione’d see through him in an instant.

“It will be fine,” she said.

“You sound like Ginny,” Harry said.

“Well, she’s right,” Hermione concluded. “Snape gave you his word that he’d help.”

Harry ran his hands through his hair and blew out his breath through pursed lips. “Here we are then,” he said, holding open the door to the café for Hermione.

“Does he know I’m coming?” she asked.

Harry shook his head while he surveyed the room. At the very last table, Snape sat looking at them, a sour expression on his face.

“He doesn’t look any different,” Hermione commented.

“Maybe he dyes his hair,” Harry offered, smiling as Hermione burst out laughing, cutting the tension they both felt.

Snape stood as they approached the table. “Ms. Granger,” he said, extending his hand.

She shook it warmly. “I hope you don’t mind that I came along,” Hermione said. “I wanted to share with you my work so far. I am hoping you might find it useful.”

“Hermione’s a healer,” Harry added for clarification.

Snape nodded and sat back down, smoothing his robes beneath him.

“So,” Harry said, unsure where to start.

“How have you been Professor?” Hermione asked.

Snape raised an eyebrow at her. “I believe we are here to discuss young Lily,” Snape retorted. “As you were saying, Potter?”

Harry grimaced as Hermione shuffled in her seat next to him. Snape was dismissing her like they were back in school.

Harry glanced at Hermione, questioning if he should call the Professor on his behavior, but she shook her head as if to say “don’t bother.”

“Well,” Harry started, “Lily came down with the dragon pox on her second birthday. James and Albus had it too,” Harry paused, noting that the Professor rolled his eyes at the choice of names, “but they recovered just fine,” he rushed on. He felt the heat of anger rise in his cheeks. Who was Snape to judge Harry for what he named his children? And what would Snape think if he knew Albus’s middle name? Harry thought he’d save that bit of information for later. “Lily, though…” Harry said, trailing off.

Hermione leaned in and Harry was thankful for the help. “Lily seems to have some sort of genetic condition that predisposes her to immune dysfunction,” Hermione summarized. “When she got dragon pox, her body was not able to fight it off. But worse than that, the disease seems to have overwhelmed her immune system to such an extent that her body is slowly shutting down. We’ve tried everything, from potions to Muggle blood transfusions, but short of buying her extra time...”

Harry winced at Hermione’s words and felt her hand on his shoulder. Without looking up, he waited for her to continue.

In a softer voice, she added, “Well, here Professor.” She slid a black, cloth-bound book towards Snape. “These are all of my notes and all of the things that have been tried, as well as a description of the disorder.”

Snape took the book without opening it. “Are there any other known cases?”

“Yes,” Harry said dully.

When Harry said no more, Hermione said softly. “There are eight other known cases. All of the children passed away before their fifth birthday.”

Harry looked up to see a look of horror briefly flit across Snape’s face.

Snape cleared his throat before saying, “What do you wish me to do, Potter?”

Harry deferred to Hermione, who said “Well, Professor, there’s one avenue we haven’t been able to try yet. It’s a combination Muggle-Magical treatment that has some potential, although I haven’t worked out all of the details. It appears that if we can get blood samples from all of the living grandparents, and separate out Harry’s mom’s DNA from his blood, then maybe we can replace Lily’s blood and give her a healthier, yet compatible supply. She shouldn’t reject the blood of her direct relatives, and yet the recessive genes that are causing this degenerative disorder, which makes her unable to heal from her parents’ blood alone, should help her. I think.”

Snape closed his eyes a minute, before opening them and looking between Harry and Hermione. “Let me get this straight. You want me to give a blood sample which can be combined with that of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s. You also want me to remove my components from Harry’s blood, leaving behind what you hope is Harry’s mother’s blood, and add that to the concoction as well. And filter out any recessive genes that might be causing Lily’s ailment. Is that correct?”

Harry and Hermione both nodded before Hermione added, “Yes. But there’s more to it than that.”

“Of course there is,” Snape commented.

Hermione paused before continuing. “There is a potion similar to the blood replenishing potion, but much more complicated, that will enable the combined blood specimens to be reproduced in enough quantity to replace Lily’s blood. And then…”

Snape raised a hand, looking dubious. “And what makes you think this might work, Ms. Granger?”

“We tried something similar already,” Hermione responded.

“But then we had only Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s blood.” Harry added. “We didn’t have yours. My aunt Petunia is the only living relative on my mother’s side. And even if she was willing to help, which I doubt, she’s not magical, so her blood wouldn’t be compatible.”

“So we didn’t replace her blood, we just added blood,” Hermione said, “to see what would happen.”

“And the results were?” Snape inquired.

“She seemed to get better for a couple of months,” Harry responded, Hermione’s comment of buying her extra time ringing in his ears.

“It’s all in the book,” Hermione added, pointing to the volume she’d passed to Snape. “Everything I’ve been able to find. I could brew the potion myself, but I’m not a potions master and I’d feel better if you’d do it. If you’re willing, that is.”

“I will look at your notes, Ms. Granger, and let you know what I think.”

“If you have any questions,” Harry added, “or if you’d like to meet Lily…”

“I know where to find you,” Snape said.

Snape rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache. Damn Gryffindors trying to save the world. Of course, if it was his child, he’d likely do the same, but they were pulling at straws here. He’d read through Granger’s book and didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in Hades that this would work. It might buy the child some time, but he didn’t think it could cure her. After all, the body was more than the blood that coursed through it, magical or not. And magical DNA was in every single tissue, every single cell, and the signaling mechanisms in the body were more complex than any witch or wizard or Muggle understood.

It was nearing 2am as he sipped his brandy, debating if there was any other way. Granger’s reports had been painstakingly thorough, as had her review of the medical, potions making, and spellbinding literature, but no child on record with this condition had survived. Granted this particular method had not yet been tried, but to his trained mind, the treatment proposed seemed too simple, too incomplete. Yet it seemed safe enough. He would go along with it in hopes of buying himself more time to find a cure. Granger had offered to work with him, and while he wasn’t all that enthused about spending time with her, he would do it if it meant saving the little girl’s life.

---

 

Mr. Potter,

I have reviewed Ms. Granger’s research and agree to help with what you have proposed. However, I must once again caution that I am not a healer. While I am able to brew the potions you require, I can not guarantee that any of this will work. In the meantime, I will search for any alternatives that Ms. Granger may have overlooked.

S. Snape

 

---

Although Potter had offered, the first time that Snape met young Lily was when he brought the finished blood replication potion to the home of the Potters’. Two boys greeted him as he emerged from their fireplace. The older one looked like a miniature Fred Weasley, while the younger one looked more like Harry with one exception: he had Snape’s long, narrow nose. That disconcerting realization almost had him dropping the potion he held protectively in his hands.

“Professor,” Harry said, drawing him into the room. “Meet James and Albus.”

James took a bow while Albus nodded shyly.

“Lily’s in here,” Harry added, pointing towards a room off the living room.

Snape followed Potter into what looked like a nursery. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, as were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ginny sat in the corner rocking a bundle of blankets.

Snape nodded to all present, passing over the niceties, and headed towards the nurse. As he dubiously studied the obviously Muggle equipment she was organizing, she said, “You must be Professor Snape. I’m Clara. Ginny has told me a lot about you.”

Snape merely raised an eyebrow before motioning towards the equipment. “And that is for…”

“We will need to replace her blood. This equipment will help catch it.” The nurse shuffled around the table. “You have the blood replication potion?”

“Of course,” Snape nodded.

“Then we can begin whenever you are all ready,” the nurse said, taking the potion from Snape and arranging it, along with the other equipment, neatly on the surgical table.

Snape watched as Harry bent over Ginny and kissed her lightly atop the head, whispering “It’ll be okay,” before picking up the bundle in her arms. Ginny nodded, tears in her eyes.

Snape had a bad feeling as Harry walked back towards him, not meeting his gaze.

“Here, can you hold her for me a second?” Harry said, thrusting the child into his arms.

Instinctively, Snape reached for the bundle.

“Meet your granddaughter,” Potter said, a smile on that damn Gryffindor’s face.

“Watch that scowl, Professor,” Ron said, “you’ll scare her.”

Snape schooled his features into something more neutral before studying the too light and too small child in his arms. His muscles tightened and he held her more securely as she yawned and stretched. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. With a shock, followed closely by a pang of longing, he saw Lily Evans looking back at him. He looked to Harry, then Ginny, trying to find their features in this tiny child, but all he could see was Harry’s mother.

“Hiya,” she said, looking up at him with innocent green eyes.

His throat closed. She was beautiful, angelic, innocent. “Take her,” he growled, shoving her back into Harry’s arms. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me,” he said, stalking out of the nursery. He heard Ron Weasley’s laughter follow him out of the room.

---

Two hours later, the process was complete. Lily was still in a magically-induced state of stasis, and would remain that way for several more hours, but she was stable and her body seemed to be responding well to the blood transfusion as well as the potions. Snape left with instructions to fetch him if there was any change or if he was needed.

Back in his own house, he paced restlessly. He’d done all that he could, but he couldn’t get Lily’s face out of his mind, either one of them: the woman he’d loved, or the baby that was made in her image. “I didn’t want this,” he snarled, “any of this. I didn’t ask for this.”

---

Snape was waiting when Potter stepped out of his fireplace the next day at noon. Harry had owled that he’d be stopping by with an update.

“She’s doing well,” Harry reported. “She’s regained some color and the healers have said her immune function is normal. We’ll have to see if her body can maintain it, but she looks better than she has in months.”

Snape nodded, unable to speak.

“Thank you again, for all that you’ve done. Ginny and I, we appreciate it.”

“Please keep me appraised of her progress,” Snape said.

After Potter left, he felt even more agitated than before. Potter seemed both happy and hopeful. But Snape had a sinking feeling in his gut that the girl was not out of the woods yet. How long until it all came crashing down? Perhaps he was just being a pessimist. He’d seen so much evil and strife in his life, perhaps he’d just forgotten how to hope.

---

“Her cell counts are dropping,” Potter reported as he sat, desolate, in a chair in Snape’s sitting room. Six months had passed since Lily’s last transfusion.

“Well,” Snape said, scratching his chin, “this is not a surprise. Her body did not create those blood cells, so naturally they can’t regenerate them. And with the suppressing agent we’ve added to her blood, she can’t generate her own cells, which are believed to be toxic to her.”

“That’s what Hermione said,” Potter agreed. “She wanted to know what your thoughts are on increasing the dose of the modified blood replenishing potion.”

“That’s one option,” Snape conceded. “But I’ve had another thought as well. I’d prefer to use a potion I’ve been working on to see if we can’t get her body to perceive the blood we’ve transfused as her own and have her body replicate it.”

“Can we do that?” Harry asked.

“We can try, but it’s not risk free.” Snape said as he paced, thoughts racing through his head. “In order to try it, we’d have to remove the cell reproduction suppressing agent.”

“Doesn’t that mean she could start producing her own cells again, which we don’t want?”

“It may,” Snape said, “but it may not. The hope is that her body will have adapted to the new cells and reproduce those instead. But there’s no guarantee.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” 

“Worst case scenario, we repeat the process and start over, and we are back to where we are now.” Buying time, Snape thought. We are just buying time.

---

Four Months Later…

“It’s not working, she’s getting worse,” Hermione said

“We have to try again,” Ginny pleaded.

Hermione had tears in her eyes. “Ginny, I don’t think it’s safe.”

“We can try something else then. We can try Professor Snape’s cell suppressant potion.”

“We can’t suppress her cells any further.”

“There has to be something else we can do,” Ginny lamented.

Harry sunk further into himself, cradling Lily to his chest. He couldn’t do this anymore.

He looked up to see Snape standing solemnly in the corner, his expression unreadable.

“Professor Snape,” Ginny begged, “what if we…”

Harry lost track of what Ginny was saying as he looked into Lily’s eyes. He wanted to believe she’d recover. Wanted it with every fiber of his being. He heard Snape’s voice, harsh yet soothing, trying to dissuade his distraught wife. The words slipped away before he could comprehend them.

“Professor,” Harry finally said, quietly, but silence fell as everyone looked toward Harry. “Is there anything, anything at all, that we can try to save her?”

Snape’s pained expression and interminable silence had Harry dropping his head into his hands in despair while Ginny’s sobs echoed around the room.

 

Snowflakes fell like faeries outside the window, reflecting the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. Harry and Ginny and the boys sat around the tree, softly singing Christmas carols, while Lily slept in Harry’s arms. It was a miracle, Harry thought, his whole family together on Christmas Eve. Lily’s nurse Clara happily snapped pictures, and for this one night, Harry and Ginny had promised themselves not to think about the future, but to live in the moment, this one perfect moment, together as a family.

---

“Professor Snape? Professor?”

Snape tossed in his sleep. Those damn carolers were knocking at his door again. Go away and leave me alone he thought. If I’d wanted company on Christmas Eve, which I obviously do not, I’d have gone to the Potter’s.

“Professor? Professor Snape?”

Snape bolted upright. Not carolers, Potter. Disoriented, he hobbled out of bed. He’d gone to bed early with a headache and had no idea what time it was.

“Surely you aren’t here to try once again to convince me to join your silly holiday celebrations?” he inquired, coming hastily down the stairs. “I left that nonsense behind when I left Hogwarts…”

Snape stopped, mid-step, when he saw Potter’s face. “What is it, Potter? Is she…”

Harry cleared his throat. “She’s asking for you,” Harry said.

---

Snape stepped through the Potters’ fireplace right behind Harry. Ginny was holding Lily and speaking soothing words to her. James and Albus were in their pajamas, huddled close to their mother, abnormally subdued. Hermione and Ron, Snape noticed, were standing off to one corner, as were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Lily’s nurse was hovering, waiting to be needed.

Harry knelt down before his daughter. “Grandpapa Snape is here, just like you asked,” Harry said.

Lily looked over, meeting Snape’s eyes. He felt a jolt of recognition and his knees gave way, forcing him to sit suddenly on a foot stool. Harry took Lily and put her in Snape’s arms. Awkwardly, Snape cradled the girl. She was three-and-a-half years old, though she weighed no more than a two year old.

To Snape’s surprise, Lily reached up and touched his cheek. Something clicked in the distance, but he didn’t look up. He had eyes only for the little girl who stared at him through Lily Evans’ eyes, with unconditional love. He gazed back, unable to look away.

Her soft voice, when she spoke, was like a melody. “Granmama Wiwy is waiting for me.”

Snape felt the air crackle around him as everyone in the room stopped and stared. He looked up to see Harry and Ginny exchange a sharp glance.

“Grandmama Lily?” Harry croaked.

“Yes,” Lily said, “Granmama Wiwy says she’ll take good care of me. And Unca Fred too.”

“Uncle Fred?” Ginny repeated, clearly stunned.

“Unca Fred is funny,” Lily said, flapping her hands. “He says he has lots of jokes for me.”

Ginny let out a sob, but Lily had eyes only for Snape. “Granpapa?”

“Yes?” Snape breathed, his throat constricted with emotion.

“Granmama Wiwy says to tell you she’s sorry and she forgives you. Granmama Wiwy says thank you for keeping my daddy safe too. When he was at school.”

The silence in the room was absolute.

Lily reached up and touched Snape’s cheek again. “I like Granmama Wiwy.”

“Me too,” Snape said, taking her tiny hand in his.

Eventually, Snape handed the little angel back to Harry and moved to stand beside the fireplace. Bracing his hands against the mantlepiece, his head hanging low, he concentrated on his breathing as he listened to the conversations behind him. He could hear Harry and Ginny cooing over their little girl, asking more questions about Grandmama Lily and Uncle Fred. He couldn’t bear to hear her answers. He could feel to the core of his magical self that she was leaving them, saying her good-byes. Soon she would be what her namesake was, a horribly empty hole in his heart.

When he’d finally composed himself enough to turn back around, Lily looked peaceful in her mother’s arms. Save for the weeping that Ginny and Harry were doing over her small body, he would have thought she was sleeping. Snape closed his eyes as the world spun around him. When he opened them again, the nurse was hovering over Lily, Harry was weeping into Ron’s chest, Hermione and Ginny clung to each other sobbing, as did Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The two small boys looked lost and desolate, tears streaming down their cheeks as well.

Slowly, Snape walked over to where young Lily lay. He placed a kiss on her soft translucent  forehead, bading her a silent farewell. Then he stepped into the fireplace and disappeared.  

---

Snape held the letter and accompanying photo in his hands. He didn’t have to look at the picture to see the image, it was permanently transfixed in his mind—Lily Potter’s tiny hand stroking his cheek, a too pale porcelain doll’s face framed with strawberry blond curls, a look of pure innocence in her startling green eyes. Six months had passed since her untimely death, and yet he felt as hollow and empty as if it had been yesterday. The memory of her touching his face, when no one had touched him in years, the feel of her tiny, helpless hand clutched in his much larger one… He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes against the pain, but the images kept coming. The image of Potter clutched in Ron Weasley’s arms, howling with pain. Comfort that Snape hadn’t been able to give, to the boy or to the man.

Potter. He didn’t come around anymore. The only thing they’d had in common was trying to save young Lily’s life, and once she was gone, Snape wasn’t needed anymore. Snape could understand that. He’d failed, after all. Failed to save Lily Evans, failed to save Lily Potter. Add to that how he’d treated Harry Potter at Hogwarts, and he’d pretty much failed The Boy Who Lived all the way around.

His vision blurred as he looked again at the letter, the photo.

He hadn’t wanted any of this. Hadn’t wanted to find out he had a son. Hadn’t wanted to meet his grandchildren. Hadn’t wanted the agony of loss. And yet there it was, an endless chasm of grief and pain and regret. His hand clenched the tumbler of brandy, an oily black slick staining its surface.

 

Professor Snape,

Ginny and I wanted to thank you for all of your help with Lily. We appreciate all that you did to make her life better. In the short time that she knew you, she had grown very fond of you. Included is a picture that her nurse took on Christmas Eve of the two of you.

Sincerely,

Harry

Lily, Christmas, ~2:15am. The words glistened beneath the photo. As he studied the image with rapidly blurring vision, young Lily’s words came back to him, echoing in the silence: Granmama Wiwy is waiting for me.

He drained the brandy in one long gulp, the black potion staining his tongue as it slipped down his throat. She’s waiting for me too, child.  

Harry was achy and shaky. Worry snaked through his mind like snake venom through blood. He had been so caught up in his grief, in his own world, he’d failed to notice. When he received the owl from Madam Pomfrey, guilt and fear had wracked his body. It still did, but now anger was dancing around the edges too.

The man lay, quiescent, on the bed, wrapped in St. Mungo’s white sheets. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t alive either. He was somewhere in-between and no one knew, least of all Harry, if there was any chance of him coming back. A wizard who attempts to take his own life has to want to return, for even if the body is healed, the magical soul remains separate unless said soul chooses to return and become whole again.

Harry reached for Snape’s hand. Unlike 14 years ago, the gesture wasn’t made with fear of awakening him. This time it was made from regret and guilt and a desire to truly know the man who was his father. Harry cursed himself. Why hadn’t he thought to check in on Snape? Surely Snape had been grieving too; Lily was his granddaughter after all. But Snape had led such a solitary life, and everyone had been so caught up in the loss of Lily, that no one had thought of Snape or how he might be doing. Harry cringed at the thought that this was likely how it was when his mother had died too. No one ever thought of Snape… until it was too late.

The only reason Madam Pomfrey, who had found Snape quite by accident when she’d stopped by his house to ask him to brew a particularly complicated potion, had contacted Harry at all was because Snape had written him a letter, or part of one anyway. The messy, scrawled parchment was more mystery than answer. More things were left unsaid than anything else. And the one question that was answered had lost its meaning and relevance for Harry 13 years ago. Harry had read it over and over, his frustration growing each time.

Mr. Potter  Dear Harry,

I thought you should know that I

I want you to understand how much I regret

I imagine you have wondered how the possibility of you being my son never crossed my mind. The answer is this. Any third year Hogwarts witch knows contraceptive spells, and your mother

Had I any inkling that you were my son

You deserved better than

I am truly sorry that I could not help more with young Lily. She looked so much like your mother  I thought that I had seen and felt  everything after the war

Words can not describe my

I wish

And that was it. He hadn’t finished it. Was it even meant to be a suicide note? Clearly he’d meant to rewrite it before sending it. What did the man regret? What did he wish? What had he wanted Harry to know that he couldn’t even put in writing when he knew he’d be dead before Harry’d even see it? Harry sighed and grasped Snape’s hand tighter.

“Damn you, Professor, for doing this to me,” he muttered. He laughed at the irony, wondering just how many times Snape had said the same thing about him.

---

Two weeks had dripped by, yet nothing had changed. Snape hung in the balance, no more here than a man kissed by a Dementor. Yet word had it that like a Muggle in a coma, Snape could hear everything Harry said. That didn’t mean the man would want to come back, though. What was left here for him? Harry knew that he himself wasn’t much of a draw. He sighed and rubbed his scar absently.

“You know, sir,” Harry said. “I’m really angry with you.”

“I’m mad at you because you left me and you didn’t even have the decency to say good-bye.”

“That was damn selfish of you,” Harry said, venting his frustration at the unconscious man in the hospital bed before him.

“Not that you care about me, I know. But you cared about my mother, and I think you came to care about her namesake too.”

“But you didn’t care about me, at least not enough to stick around.”

“Not even enough to finish that damn letter.” Harry exhaled loudly through his mouth.

“Guess you don’t regret anything that much, do you?”

Harry rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“You really are a coward, aren’t you?”

He watched for any sign from the man. Maybe goading him would help. Nothing else had.

“You stick around long enough to save my sorry arse in school, as you’ve said, but not long enough to get to know me.”

“Too damn cowardly to be a father,” Harry muttered.

“It wouldn’t have been that hard,” Harry mused. “I didn’t want all that much from you. Just to know you cared. That I mattered.”

“I guess I wanted someone to care about me for me, not just for what I could do for the Wizarding World. Not for this damn scar,” he said, pushing the fringe of his hair over it.

“But you never saw me as anything more than my father. I wasn’t like him, you know. I wish I was. I wish I’d have been as brave as him.” Harry paused, waves of regret and missed opportunities washing over him.

“Damn you, wake up!” Harry yelled. How many times had he demanded that of the man?

“You know," Harry said, taking a different tact, "if you don’t wake up, I’m going to move you into my house and let my children torture you and hire Hermione Granger as your personal nurse.”

No response.

Harry sighed. “There’s something else. I didn’t tell you. Albus’s full name is Albus Severus Potter. Even though you didn’t want me in your life, I wanted you in mine. I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I didn’t come after Lily died. There’s no excuse, really, other than to say I was a mess and so depressed after she died that I didn’t leave the house at all. And now I’m here. I guess I have you to thank for getting me out of the house.”

Absently, Harry scuffed the soles of his trainers against the highly polished floor. “I would have appreciated you doing it in a little less dramatic way, though, Professor.”

“Oh, and Ginny’s pregnant. She was actually already pregnant when Lily… Well, we weren’t trying anyway, it just happened. It’s a girl,” Harry said, swallowing against the constriction in his throat. “We’re planning on naming her Dora Eileen Potter. Dora after Nymphadora Tonks and Eileen, after your mother.”

Harry reached over and squeezed the man’s hand. He’d even tried “Ennervate” when no one was watching. It hadn’t made a difference.

“I just wish I knew if you’d even wanted to be my father. For all I know you still hate my guts and I’m wasting my time. Or you’ll wake up and tell me to get lost.”

Harry let go of Snape’s hand and placed his own hands back on his knees. “That’s why I didn’t tell you all those years ago, you know. I was afraid you wouldn’t want me. I didn’t think I could take the rejection. I guess I was the coward, huh?”

---

“If you could do it all over again, is there anything you’d do different, any fork in the road where you wish you’d have gone the other way?”

This wasn’t the first time Ginny had asked him this question. But it was the first time his answer was different.

“Yes, just one,” Harry murmured. “I’d have told Snape thirteen years ago that he was my father. Even if he’d have rejected me. If he had, it wouldn’t have changed much. But if he hadn’t…”

“Are you ready?”

This time, there was no doubt. Harry was more than ready, he was eager. He took Snape’s hand in his, intertwined his fingers, and held on tight.

Ginny touched her wand to the two hands and said the spell she’d said so many years ago. In moments, the red lights flashed and shuttered, hungrily grasping Harry and Snape, linking them together. Harry felt his heart flutter, felt its beat align with Snape’s, felt himself being pulled into Snape, and Snape into him. Harry didn’t let go. He didn’t know how wild the ride would be, but dammit he was going to pull this man back into the living if it was the last thing he did.

“Come on, dammit, wake up.”

The red globe of light strengthened, thickened, pulsed, and glowed. It was hot. It was uncomfortable. But Harry held on.

“Professor Snape, it’s Potter.”

Harry’s hand trembled in the link. He wondered if Snape’s body was trying to throw him off.

---

“I need you.”

Snape’s hand was on fire. He tried pulling away, but the force holding it was too strong. It felt like hot worms under his skin, trying to burrow their way out through his pores.

“I need a father.”

Snape thrashed under the assault on his senses. Magic vibrated in every cell of his body. A body he was only attached to by a thread. Someone was trying their damnest to pull him back. To tether him.

“I need you to need me.”

That voice. Those words. He’d heard them before. Days and weeks of them. Pleading. Angry. Guilty. Sarcastic. Funny. Cajoling. Chastising.

“I’m your son.”

Potter. He wanted to roll his eyes.

“Damn you, wake up!”

He groaned inwardly. Would the insufferable child never leave him in peace? Not a child anymore, he reminded himself. A grown man. With children of his own.

“I’m not leaving until you wake. Do you hear me? You’re stuck with me.”

“I’m awake already,” Snape said, “now will you stop trying to burn my hand off my arm?”

Potter looked up in such shock and bewilderment that Snape almost laughed. He watched as Ginny lifted her wand, ending the spell. The red light and heat vanished. Potter made to pull his hand away, but Snape held on, tightening his grip.

“Let me get this straight, Potter,” Snape said. “You want me, Severus Snape, to be your father? Why on earth would you want that?”

“I need a father,” Harry said simply.

“And I suppose that you think I need a son,” Snape replied.

“I can hope, can’t I?” Harry replied.

Snape snorted. “That is something you’ve never ceased to do.” Easing his grip on Potter’s hand, he murmured, “I heard everything you said, by the way. When I was… not quite all here.”

“Good,” Harry said, “I meant it. What I said. All of it.”

“Damn Gryffindor,” Snape muttered, letting go of Harry’s hand but not pushing the boy away. “And regarding what you said earlier, I owe you an apology... and a thank you." Snape cleared his throat. "And the answer is yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” Snape replied.

---

The day after Snape was released from St. Mungo’s with a clean bill of health, Harry received an owl. He unfurled the rolled piece of parchment and read.

Dear Harry,

I thought you should know that I have come to think of you as a son, though I don’t know how to tell you.

I want you to understand how much I regret treating you poorly at Hogwarts; I of all people know how damaging and long lasting the consequences are of such actions and how strong childhood grudges can be.

I imagine you have wondered how the possibility of you being my son never crossed my mind. The answer is this. Any third year Hogwarts witch knows contraceptive spells, and your mother was a brilliant and incredibly gifted witch. We spent one night together after your mother had broken off her engagement to James. Shortly thereafter, they reconciled and were married. Why she didn’t use a contraceptive spell, I can not begin to imagine. Had I any inkling that you were my son I would have taken you in. I would have hid you from the Dark Lord. I would have given my life to protect you. I would have kept you safe.   

You deserved better than your mother’s short-sighted, jealous sister and her imbecile husband.

I am truly sorry that I could not help more with young Lily. She looked so much like your mother, and I failed her, just like I failed your mother. I thought that I had seen and felt everything after the war, but I was wrong.

Words can not describe my sadness for your loss, which surely is far worse than mine, as acute as mine is. I can only begin to imagine the loss of a child. It is a loss I feel now, knowing that I am leaving you, knowing that I never really gave you a chance. 

I wish I had the courage to tell you all of this.

This is the letter that I had started, but not finished, after everything happened with young Lily. Now you know.

Yours truly,

S. Snape

P.S. I accept your dinner invitation and will see you this evening at 7pm.