Harry was feeling particularly morose; sitting slouched in the chair at his small desk in his bedroom. 

It was the summer after he had lost his Godfather at the battle in the Ministry.  The teenaged boy was devastated and it showed in his behaviour and habits; had the Muggles cared enough to take the time to notice. 

He’d sat in his room for hours… thinking, contemplating, wondering whether events would have turned out better had he done even just one thing differently.  Would Sirius be alive now?  Could Harry have saved him? 

Then he wouldn’t be alone.  He wouldn’t have to feel guilty.  He wouldn’t have to feel so sad. 

These feelings of loss were the keenest he’d ever felt.  And whilst it was true that he’d felt distraught when Cedric Diggory had been killed, and he yearned still for his murdered parents, it hadn’t been the same.  For he’d come to know Sirius well… he’d become close… he cared, he loved him, and had finally felt love returned to him now that he was old enough to appreciate it. 

It was just all so unfair. 

The ache in his chest and the sting behind his eyes growing, Harry reached out and snatched a blank piece of paper sitting on his desktop and brought it to sit in front of him.  He then picked up the pen resting just to his right. 

He’d originally intended to write to Ron and Hermione, to continue to assure them that he was still fine, but in his low mood he’d struggled to find the motivation. 

Now he suddenly felt the need to get some of these glum feelings down on paper, if only to purge them from his mind so he might have a chance to move through this difficult time in his life.  He put the tip of the pen to the paper and wrote…  

Dear Dad, 

I thought I might write to you, rather than Mum, because you were, after all, one of Sirius’ best friends and I’m not really sure how close Mum was to him. I’m just writing today because I’m having trouble dealing with having lost him.  I miss him.   

Well, it’s more than that really, because you see I feel bad… guilty.  I think his death might have been my fault… at least in part.  There are others that are to blame - that I blame - but this letter isn’t about them, it’s about me.  It’s about mistakes and bad judgement… and about me and my incompetence, stupidity, unworthiness.  How could I be the one that needs to save everyone, when I’m to blame in the first place? 

I’m sitting here wondering who I’m supposed to feel more sorry for; myself, because I lost him in a time that I’m going to need someone there for me the most, or Sirius; because I am responsible for taking away his life, just when he had gotten his freedom back. 

Dad, I wish you and Mum were here to guide me because I really don’t know what I am doing.  And I don’t know how I‘m supposed to feel or how to get through the days without feeling sick to my stomach or so angry I want to break things. 

I want to do everything better, I want to it all right… but I need a Father to show me how.  I thought Sirius would do that for me… I honestly did, and it made me so happy to know he was there, but now I have no-one… and I need you.  

Harry was distracted from his letter when someone pounded heavily on his bedroom door. 

“Oi, Mum wants you downstairs to help with in the garden,” Dudley’s voice yelled out, before the heavy boy’s footsteps were heard stomping away. 

Largely the Dursleys had left Harry alone this summer, ignoring him mostly, but Harry had still been expected to help out with the household chores.  He didn’t mind that too much… it kept his mind occupied and prevented him from dwelling.   

So, wiping away the moisture from the tears that had escaped his eyes and tracked down his cheeks he finished his letter quickly.  

I know this letter won’t ever be delivered, but I’m going to send it with Hedwig anyway… I want you to know that in my heart you’re still out there.  And maybe you’ll share this with Mum and Sirius too. 

I love you very much.   

Your son,

Harry  

Harry quickly folded the paper into a small square, wrote ‘To Dad’ on the front and stood from his chair; approaching Hedwig’s cage. 

“C’mon girl… I have a job for you,” he said calmly to his sleepy owl. 

The bird fluffed its feathers and shock herself awake, then climbing out onto the top of her cage. 

“Will you deliver my letter please, Hedwig?” Harry asked, attaching it carefully to his owl’s, now outstretched, leg.  “It’s for my Dad… will you take it to him?” 

Harry gave Hedwig a quick, fond scratch behind her head before the bird hooted happily at him, nibbled his finger affectionately and took off through the open window. 

Harry smiled as he watched his pet fly off into the distance until she could no longer be seen.   

He felt a bit foolish after a few moments, knowing that his letter probably couldn’t even be delivered, and that Hedwig would more than likely return with it in a few hours.  But in some ways it felt like a weight had been lifted to write his feelings down onto the paper, and the last few tense coils of burden had lightened when he’d physically sent the note off with his owl.  So he couldn’t feel regret for the absurd deed at all. 

The dark, messy haired teenager then turned and made his way downstairs to help his Aunt in the garden. 

It was only a few days until Professor Dumbledore had indicated in a letter that he’d be picking him up before taking him to spend some time with his friends at the Burrow.  He’d be staying there until September 1st when they’d all be boarding the Hogwarts Express together to make their way to school for Harry’s sixth year.   Harry imagined that Aunt Petunia would be making the most of having her nephew home for these last few days and have him do all kinds of chores.  But that was okay… he was still happy to be kept busy, just so long as his relatives weren’t being spiteful or outwardly nasty to him. 

Digging into the garden with his hands and a trowel Harry smiled again, wondering with amusement how long it would take Hedwig to realise the letter was undeliverable and if she’d return before he’d been picked up by the Headmaster or not.  

HP.SS.HP.SS.HP.SS.  

He stood on the platform with his friends waiting for the train, eager to be getting back to school.  Spending time with Ron, Ginny and the rest of the Weasley family, not to mention Hermione who had also come to stay, had been wonderful, but nothing compared with the feeling  of ‘coming home’ which is how Harry genuinely felt about Hogwarts. 

Hedwig had not returned before Professor Dumbledore had arrived, and nor had she arrived at the Burrow, and Harry was becoming a little bit concerned for her. 

He briefly wondered whether he ought to ask Mr Weasley what happens to undeliverable letters or those addressed to the deceased, but ultimately he hadn’t wanted to share why he was asking.  It was deeply personal and just a little bit embarrassing, so in the end he decided to give Hedwig a little more time and if she did not arrive at Hogwarts within a day or two of Harry arriving then he would ask one of the teachers.    

After a few hours on the train, and the trio’s conversation regarding the odd behaviour of Draco Malfoy they’d witnessed down Knockturn Alley, Harry forgot all about Hedwig.  Instead he became embroiled in spying on Malfoy in the Slytherin’s carriage compartment, and then subsequently discovered.  By the time he’d made it up to the school with Tonks and was accompanied from the gates by Snape, blood spilled down over his face, he had failed to give his missing pet another thought. 

It was not until the next morning at breakfast that Harry’s concerns for Hedwig returned.  It had been two weeks now since he’d sent the owl off with the letter for his deceased father and if she didn’t turn up with the other owls during the morning mail delivery, Harry planned to first check the Owlery and if Hedwig wasn’t there he would go to Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore with his questions and concerns. 

He briefly wondered how long it would take an owl to fly from Surrey all the way to Hogwarts in Scotland, anyway…   Would it be possible that he’d just missed Hedwig’s return after a few days when the Headmaster had picked him up, and then she might have missed Harry at the Burrow also and had had to fly all the way to Hogwarts to catch up with him?  

Harry was just reaching for a second piece of toast and deciding that perhaps he ought to give the owl a little more time when the morning post owls began to descend into the Great Hall. 

The dark haired teen scanned the flock of birds for his pet’s distinctive snowy white feathers and thankfully, with relief, he spotted Hedwig soar in through the doors. 

However, instead of swooping immediately down to Harry, the light plumed bird beat its wings and flew the entire length of the long, student’s tables and descended onto the higher, teacher’s table… right onto Professor Snape’s breakfast laden plate. 

Harry’s mouth dropped open in surprise and shock. 

‘Hedwig is delivering a letter to Snape?’ he thought, bemused. 

He continued to watch as his owl plucked a letter from her leg and held it out to the teacher who wore an expression that told of an equal amount of surprise as Harry felt. 

Snape finally took the proffered note and unfolded it, a frown deepening on his face as he read the message. 

Harry could see easily from his place at the student table that the note was written on plain Muggle paper and not parchment, which was most common in the Wizarding community.  And Harry had an awful feeling he knew exactly where that piece of paper had come from. 

Hedwig, meanwhile, took off from the teacher’s table and swooped down to Harry, plucking the bit of toast from his loose fingers and winging back out the door without so much as a nibble of his fingers in greeting. 

Harry, barely noticing the bird’s discourteous behaviour, felt the blood drain from his face.  He certainly did not understand why this was happening, and nor had he yet even given the circumstance any thought, but he knew what was written on that particular piece of paper… and that git, Snape, reading it was the last thing that Harry had envisioned for the emotional, deeply personal note intended for his deceased father as a way to purge his feelings. 

Panicking, but yet frozen in place, Harry watched the newly appointed Defence of the Dark Arts teacher closely for any reaction… and he was not disappointed. 

Initially Harry read confusion and wonder in the man’s features, but after a few moments those emotions morphed into incredulity.  Then they quickly shaped themselves into calculation and suspicion.  And then, worst of all, they transformed to shock and comprehension followed by deep, raw fury. 

The man was breathing heavier by the time he snapped his regard up to Harry where he pinned him with a sharp, angry glower. 

Abruptly the dark man shot from his seat, knocking the chair over behind him in his haste and fury. 

“POTTER!” he bellowed, furiously.   

He needn’t have bothered, Harry thought, for he already had Harry’s full attention.  The boy dared not even blink, so taken aback and stunned by what had just occurred and the Professor’s curious and unexpected reaction. 

However, now the entire occupants of the Great Hall were staring at both he and the young Gryffindor sixth year student. 

“My office, NOW!” Snape bit out, heedless of the hundreds of onlookers before spinning on the spot and swooping out the teacher’s exit on his right, the offensive letter now crushed in his grasp. 

Harry sat unmoving and stunned for a few moments longer, willing his body to obey his livid teacher’s command. 

“Severus…?” Professor Dumbledore called in concern to the retreating Defence instructor’s back, but Snape either didn’t hear him over the anger pulsing through his tense body, or ignored him deliberately.   

Standing from his seat, and placating other teachers and students with a calming gesture with both his open hands, Professor Dumbledore followed his irate and disturbed young teacher from the room. 

Harry, finally able to command his limbs to move, and at the prompting of his friends and other Gryffindor housemates, stood from his seat and exited the Great Hall to head for the dungeons.  They’d been informed last night that Professor Snape’s office would remain in the same rooms despite having taken on a new position; for the man would continue to be the Head of Slytherin house at any rate and supposedly the dungeons would continue to be the most convenient location for his office. 

During his trek down the dark, damp and cool corridor Harry dearly wished that Hedwig could talk and explain why she’d just delivered the letter, clearly addressed to his father, to Snape?   

Why?  How?  Harry couldn’t understand at all… 

Unless… 

“No… no way…”  

Did You Deliver My Letter To My Father, Hedwig?  

Harry was shaking his head with every ounce of denial he could muster.   

No way could the greasy, acid tongued, git bat-of-the-dungeons possibly be his father!  The idea was ludicrous to its very core, not to mention the irony… 

The one man that hates Harry the most in the world (even taking into consideration Voldemort  - for he merely wanted Harry dead, and didn’t actually ‘hate’ him) turns out to be his father… !?  

Merlin himself would have to be mocking both Harry and Professor Snape for that to be true! 

Harry forced his legs, which had temporarily gone to jelly at the odious notion that had just passed through his mind, to continue their marching down the dungeon corridor toward Snape’s office. 

No, this had to be one veritable, foul cock-up… a mistake… an error!  

‘I mean,’ Harry thought to himself, ‘everyone is always telling me how much I look like my Dad… my real Dad… James Potter!’ he amended in his mind, feeling the need to convince even himself. 

And his parents were married before Harry was born… his mother went by the name Lily Potter; Harry knew it.  But when had they been married? 

Harry realised in that moment that he really didn’t know… he hadn’t ever sighted a Marriage Certificate after all.  So, was it possible that he had existed in utero before the Potters became a couple?  Could he have been fathered by a man other than James Potter? 

‘It is possible,’ Harry had to concede, however reluctantly.  For babies did not necessarily wait for a wedding to occur to be conceived.   

‘And nor do they discern whether either of their parents are already married to other people,’ another repugnant thought wafted through his fretting mind. 

At that Harry had to give himself a bit of a shake.  Had his treasonous mind just suggested that his mother may have had an affair?! 

And not only an affair… but if he followed the thought along a bit further he realised he’d put forth the notion that his mother may have had an affair… with Severus Snape! 

Almost gagging at the idea, Harry hastily back-tracked this train of thought, preferring to explore the path of the whole situation being merely a mistake instead! 

“No… no way!” he reiterated, more assertively, once again purely for his own benefit. 

Yes, it was a mistake… Harry was definitely a ‘Potter’, definitely James Potter’s son!  So with that in mind the boy wondered again how and why Hedwig had delivered Harry’s letter to greasy, old Snape then. 

At that moment, miraculously, a wonderful thought occurred to Harry.   

‘Maybe it wasn’t my letter!  Just maybe the whole incident is a misunderstanding… an unfortunate coincidence?’ he contemplated happily. 

Yes, yes, that idea sat much more comfortably with Harry… and he almost allowed himself to sigh with relief. 

Until he was halted from that moment of premature rejoice when he remembered that; A) the letter had been delivered by Hedwig – Harry’s pet, his personal owl; and B) Snape had certainly appeared mightily pissed off at what he’d read, and that sentiment had almost instantly transferred unswervingly in Harry’s direction. 

Bearing in mind that the paper the letter was written on was of distinctly Muggle origin, Harry’s apprehension began to rise again.   

What in the world had he done wrong?  And equally as importantly, who in the Muggle world had cause to tattle on him?  And to Snape no less!? 

And how had they managed to use Hedwig to do it?  

HP.SS.HP.SS.  

Severus stormed through the castle heading for his dungeon office, recalling with furious calculation what had occurred only moments ago in the Great Hall. 

He could hardly believe what he’d received…   

Severus recognised the snowy owl as soon as she’d plopped down into his breakfast and was quite taken aback.   

Why was Potter’s owl bearing a missive for him?   

After taking the note from the bird he immediately opened the letter and skimmed over it, taking in the signature at the bottom – Harry - and Severus became even more bemused; for he knew of only one ‘Harry’ and that boy was most unlikely to exchange correspondence with the terse man. 

After he had taken a few further moments to read the letter more thoroughly Severus acknowledged to himself that the contents had made him feel quite disturbed and perturbed, and again he shrewdly questioned how and why he, of all people, had been sent this boy’s quite personal communication. 

That was when his eyes had once again skipped back to the top of the page and taken in the name of the intended recipient – ‘Dear Dad’.  The moniker itself had him confused momentarily, as the boy in question didn’t even have a living father…  

But the letter from ‘Harry’ was addressed to ‘Dear Dad’.  And that letter had been delivered.  Carried by an apparently competent owl (and the wizard had never known an owl to get a delivery wrong), and in fact it was Potter’s owl, and delivered to him - Severus Snape.   

How could that be… how and why had that occurred?   

Intended for Potter’s Dad… yet it came to him…? 

And then the most logical deduction finally broke through his resistance and he was struck with shocked, jarring astonishment. 

‘No… no way…’   

Severus was breathing heavily by now, emotions such as he’d never experienced before creeping malignly up from his chest to choke him as incredible contemplations swiftly cut through his mind. 

‘I’m his…?’  ‘

Could he be my…?’  

But then, as his head cleared a little from the initial shock and his reason was able to kick in, Severus scowled; anger weaving its tense fingers through his gut, burning hotter and heavier with every second that passed. 

‘It simply can’t be… it’s impossible!  What the bloody hell is the boy playing at!?’ he thought viciously, suddenly convinced of the existence of a convoluted hoax being levelled against him, glaring up at the Gryffindor table and finding the boy’s eyes suspiciously already fixed upon him.  Thoroughly incensed at the apparent audacity of the Potter brat Severus abruptly pushed from his seat, his chair crashing to the floor behind him, unconsciously crushing the letter in his hand. 

“POTTER!” he bellowed, and Severus felt a certain satisfaction when the boy’s eyes, already focused on him, became rounder with alarm. 

In his rage Severus was oblivious to the hundreds of other eyes now fixed on both he and the sixth year student. 

“My office, NOW!” he bit out, before spinning on the spot and stalking out the teacher’s exit to his right.   

Severus had barely registered the journey along the cool, dungeon corridors, so deep had he been in his recollections, and he arrived at his office door in what felt like record time. 

He brandished his wand and disengaged the lock and the heavy door banged back against the wall as he swept manically through the entrance; his cloak billowing behind him.  If he had not been moving so swiftly the door would have bounced back and smacked him in the face.   As it was, when the dark man turned behind his desk he noticed the Headmaster, who had apparently followed from the Great Hall in Severus’ angry wake, had needed to take evasive action to avoid being struck as he too went to pass through the doorway. 

With a small amount of alarm Severus observed as the old wizard easily deflected the door’s violent rebound with his wand and safely secured it against the wall before stepping into the room.  Severus’ alarm expeditiously turned into relief. 

Now satisfied and divinely thankful that no harm had been done by his wayward temper, Severus flashed a wild and hostile glare at the approaching man. 

“Care to offer an explanation?” Dumbledore spoke flatly, eyeing his troubled and furious staff member.  

Severus could barely speak he was so livid, and quickly realised that he’d better work to calm himself somewhat before the brat arrived.  He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, closing his eyes to gain inner control. 

A moment later and significantly calmer he answered the Headmaster’s request.  “I received a letter… its contents vexed me,” he offered tightly, though even he recognised the vagueness in the explanation. 

The Headmaster’s expression became quietly contemplative, his eyes tightening with searching curiosity.  “A letter?  From whom?” 

Severus scowled.  Dumbledore had a gift of asking the most relevant questions.  The younger professor opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment the brat in question arrived in the doorway.  Severus glared at him. 

Dumbledore immediately noticed his distraction and turned to the door too. 

“If you would excuse us, Headmaster, I’d like to have a word with Mister Potter,” Severus requested instead, wholly aware of his impertinence toward his superior, but choosing not to care in that moment.  

Dumbledore turned back to face him.  “Ah, I don’t think so, Severus,” he countered, setting a firm and authoritative stance.  “Not until I know what this is about, at least.” 

“Get in here,” Severus ordered the boy with a snarl, both ignoring the older wizard’s assertion yet begrudgingly accepting his authority to remain.   

After a small hesitation the teenager complied, stepping into the room and standing beside the Headmaster in front of the Professor’s desk.  Severus lifted his wand and commanded the door to shut with a slam and with another flick of his wrist the lock was heard clicking into place.  The Head of Slytherin swiftly followed it up with a couple of privacy wards, ensuring this conversation could not be overheard by even the cleverest of wizards. 

Dumbledore tilted his head in question.  “Is that entirely necessary?” he asked, more out of curiosity than in disapproval. 

Severus merely nodded; the old man would soon understand the need for utter confidentiality. 

Potter was looking positively green by now… and Severus took a minimal pleasure from the sight.  He pinned the boy with one of his most punitive glares and held up the letter in his hand. 

Potter’s eyes followed the article with apprehension. 

Severus then smoothed the crushed page flat and demanded, “Explain yourself!” before he slammed the document down on his desk in front of the boy.  

HP.SS.HP.SS.HP.SS.  

All Harry’s hopes were dashed in that one moment.  The letter was definitely his… the one he’d sent off with Hedwig to his father.  He didn’t understand it at all, so stood looking dumbly at it for several moments before Professor Snape’s patience evidently ran out. 

“WELL?” the man roared, thumping his hand upon the surface of his desk for emphasis. 

Harry jumped, but Dumbledore swiftly stepped in to calm the situation. 

“Severus!” he reprimanded lightly, holding a placating palm out to the agitated man, before turning his attention to the letter sitting seemingly innocently in front of Harry.  “May I?” he requested quite calmly, indicating the missive. 

Severus huffed out an impatient breath, turning his face away, but he did not outwardly decline so Dumbledore turned his regard to Harry with a raised eyebrow in repeat of the same request. 

A little stunned Harry merely nodded slightly, not even sure he genuinely had any choice in the matter, but exponentially glad for the presence of someone to mediate this meeting. 

The old wizard took up the letter and began to read, his expression changing only subtly as he read through the text.   When he came to the end of the letter he looked up to his younger colleague with slight surprise and a strange, calculating twinkling in his blue eyes.   

“You received this via owl this morning at breakfast?” he asked to confirm. 

“Yes,” Professor Snape said tightly, “Potter’s own, personal owl, if I am not mistaken,” he added. 

Professor Dumbledore nodded in understanding with more than a small amount of additional curious calculation expressed on his face and continued.  “And you infer what from these circumstances?” he asked, looking over the top of his half-moon glasses at his young teacher, discernable shrewdness colouring his tone. 

“I infer nothing!” Professor Snape denied furiously, though it was obvious he knew exactly what the Headmaster had been suggesting.  “Nothing except for Potter’s involvement in some convoluted prank, that is,” the dark man added in ire. 

Dumbledore raised his chin a little along with one eyebrow.  “Really, Severus…” he said with subtle, yet obvious amusement, “I hardly believe this would be Harry’s idea of a joke, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“That remains to be seen,” the man shot back, instantly turning his steely scrutiny onto the silent and reasonably confused teenaged boy.  

“That letter is written by your hand, is it not?” he asked, tilting his head to the paper still held in Dumbledore’s hands. 

Harry nodded, “Yes,” he admitted quietly, though wishing he could deny it. 

“Yes, Sir,” the Professor shot back heatedly, glaring at the teen as though he’d sworn viciously at him. 

With a perturbed and beseeching glance at the Headmaster, from whom he received no defence, Harry conceded.  “Yes, Sir.” 

Satisfied, barely, Snape continued with his interrogation.  “And delivered, by your owl, at your request?” 

The boy nodded again.  “Yes, Sir.” 

With some semblance of a smug expression Snape looked pointedly at Dumbledore, before pinning the boy again with his glare. 

“And to what purpose, Mister Potter?” he asked confidently, surely never expecting the answer that was to come. 

Struck dumb for a moment Harry truly didn’t know what to say, but the hard glare he was receiving implied no leeway for non-compliance. 

“Er… um…” he began. 

“Do not attempt to lie to me!” Snape snapped sharply, impatience ringing loudly in his tone. 

“Severus,” Dumbledore interjected firmly on Harry’s behalf, “please allow the lad to answer.”  It appeared to cost the younger Professor much effort, but he managed to nod in agreement and hold his tongue; though the glaring did not abate. 

Dumbledore then nodded for Harry to continue. 

Harry took a breath, slightly more ready to divulge the truth now he’d had a few moments to compose himself.  “I was feeling a little low a couple of weeks ago… I have been ever since Sirius died…” 

Snape scoffed softly at that, but Dumbledore sent him a castigating glare of his own that left the dark man looking embarrassingly discomfited. 

“… anyway, I felt the need to get my feelings down on paper, so I wrote a letter to my Dad-” 

“You don’t even have a father, you deceitful little cr-” Snape interrupted, before Albus cut in on him. 

“Severus!” he reprimanded severely, looking highly disappointed at the behaviour of the other ‘adult’ in the room. 

“It was only meant to be hypothetical,” Harry defended himself, “I wasn’t actually going to send it… to begin with,” he explained, fighting the depressed emotions welling inside him and desperately summoning the angry ones forward instead. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” Snape snarled, interrupting again despite his promise of restraint, unimaginably livid.  “What sort of fool do you take me for, Potter?  What did you hope to achieve by sending that drivel to me?” he demanded, taking a few aggressive steps around his desk toward the boy.   

Dumbledore swiftly took a step forward to ensure he was practically between the pair… just in case. 

Harry creased his forehead, utterly mystified by, and furious at, the other man for his misplaced indignation and incense.  And he suddenly found a target for the rage he’d called forward to replace the despair. 

“I didn’t!” he insisted hotly, glaring at the man that was as outwardly livid as Harry felt inside.  “I didn’t send it to you.  I don’t know why Hedwig brought it to you… because after I’d written it I just felt as if the deed was incomplete… unfinished, somehow, so I sent it off with Hedwig to him… I sent it to my Dad, I asked her to take it to my Dad!” 

Harry was inconsolable at that moment, only just holding devastated tears at bay, but he found just a shred more fury within him to spit out spitefully, “And you don’t hold a candle to him… you’re not my Dad!” 

After that he crumpled under the emotional strain, dropping his head forward desolately. 

“You can’t be… can you?” he softly voiced his confusion involuntarily. 

Severus took a slight step back when the boy himself, steeping in miserable sincerity, questioned his own paternity.  He had not considered the possibility until now that the brat had also added up the evidence that placed the past assumptions in doubt as Severus, and apparently Dumbledore, had.

But as soon as the Headmaster glanced up with a curious, decidedly searching, flash of his eyes Severus could tolerate the jarring situation no more.

With a low growl he stepped quickly forward and grabbed the moping teenager by his shoulders giving him a little shake.  "We'll soon see if any of this ridiculous tripe is true or not," he hissed coldly.

Potter tried to hastily step back out of his grasp, but Severus only tightened his grip and skilfully performed a silent Legillimency spell with his wand, that had at some point slipped back into his palm from where he'd lodged it up his sleeve, when the boy lifted his gaze to grant him an alarmed glimpse.

Dumbledore had reacted promptly to Severus' apparently aggressive gesture, stepping forward, but obviously recognised Severus' true intent, for he did not try to dislodge the dark man from his endeavour.

Severus' consciousness instantly dived into the memories of the moments that had been at the forefront of the boy's mind, the very ones the boy had described and which Severus sought to view.  There he found the slightly unsettling truth, that the boy had not lied or elaborated the events, and which confirmed that the letter that Severus had received from the boy's snowy owl earlier this evening was the very one the boy had sent off nearly two weeks ago addressed to his father.  With nothing further to garner from the boy's memories Severus withdrew.

For a few moments he stared into the boy's green eyes, those shaped and coloured precisely like Lily's, with a strange feeling of longing welling within him.  But it was only fleeting before he promptly swept it aside; the sentiment was absurd.  He dropped his hands from the boy's shoulders.

"Well, Severus?" Dumbledore queried, wishing to know his findings.

He huffed out a short sigh before answering, looking over at his superior.  "Potter's version seems to be in keeping with his memories of the event," he responded, evasive of specifically announcing that the boy was being truthful.

Potter himself was oddly silent, his eyes still fixed upon Severus.  The dark man wondered what the brat was thinking.  Beginning to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny Severus took a step back from the boy.

"Severus," Albus began, taking a step forward as Severus had moved away so he was essentially between the two younger wizards.  "Is there... any possibility...?" he enquired probingly, a contemplative frown creasing his forehead.  And although he had not concluded the submission Severus was well aware of what he'd really asked and he found himself flushing a little in discomfiture.

SS.HP.SS.HP.

Harry was watching the older pair of wizards intently, desperately wanting to glean some idea of whether his sudden doubt regarding his genetics was justified or not.

When Professor Dumbledore had asked Snape if the notion was even possible, and Harry knew very well he'd virtually asked the younger wizard whether or not he'd ever had sexual intercourse with Harry's mother, Harry made a slight shuffle to the side to witness the dark man's response.

High spots of colour upon Snape's cheeks confirmed to Harry that Snape had interpreted the question in the same way Harry had.

After an uncomfortable few moments for all in the room Snape deigned to answer.  "I have not ever..." here Snape paused to take a fortifying breath and Harry almost keeled over with mortification when he thought Snape was about to admit to being a virgin!

Fortunately though, Snape soon continued his proclamation, "...been intimate with Lily Evans," he said, and Harry almost sighed aloud with relief despite the fact that he'd just been contemplating an element of Snape's sex life. 

The man continued to stare resolutely at the old Headmaster; however Harry thought for a moment that there seemed a pinch of uncertainty in Snape's features.

Dumbledore had not responded as yet, and Snape swallowed and seemed to feel the need to add, "...to my knowledge anyway." 

Harry's eyes practically bugged out at the addendum.  Snape wasn't steadfastly denying it... and therefore the potential that he was Harry's father?  Harry was thunderstruck!

"No... no I suppose we ought not to discount the possibility of memory tampering or deception just yet, even though it is most unlikely," the Headmaster suggested, musingly.  After a few more moments considering his thoughts internally he suddenly tilted his head at Snape.  "I rather think this is an issue that must be determined absolutely one way or another though.  Don't you?" he proposed, his measuring gaze roving over the dark man in front of him.

After a hard look in return, and a quick flick of his glance to Harry, Snape nodded once.  But the man had definitely begun to look rather pale now that his blushing had receded.

Harry felt his face also drain of blood and now felt decidedly faint.  This revelation of the prospect of mistaken parentage seemed to be going from bad to worse and Harry did not know how much more of the tension he could endure before his composure would crack.

Snape looked over at Harry again just then and after a momentary concerned crease of his brow he indicated toward a chair against the wall to Harry's left.  "Sit down, boy," he said fairly harshly.  But Harry didn't care, he was grateful for the solid support of the hard-backed, wooden seat as he complied immediately.

Harry continued to watch both the other men in the room to be sure he followed every twist and turn their contemplations and discussions would take despite his moment of feeling off-colour.  He felt a great ownership of the conundrum and therefore wished to keep abreast of their conclusions as they came to them instead of just when they felt like sharing with him, which he wouldn't put it past Snape to do.

Dumbledore was still eyeing the Potions Master with curiosity. 

"Are there any specific incidents which would give you cause to suspect you might have been deceived?" he asked Snape meaningfully.

SS.HP.SS.HP.SS.HP.

Severus, already feeling rather peaky, blanched further at the Headmaster's enquiry.  Was he really about to contemplate whether he had ever achieved his greatest, most personal dream and then had been deceived about it?! 

It was agony enough to know that he could never aspire to be Lily Evans' choice of partner despite his adoration for her, but to suppose he might have at least once been intimate with her and then had that memory robbed of him for some reason or another... it was inconceivable.  Just to fathom it stung so deep it resulted in indescribable anguish.  Severus could barely believe he was able to keep the emotions internalised only in the face of it.

But another short glance over at the child sitting on the student chair in front of his desk, the one whose paternity was in doubt, made him realise that for both their sakes the truth needed to be determined once and for all.

Severus took a moment to consider every lover he had ever taken in his early years; the admittedly inconsiderable mix of prostitutes; the drunken hag from the Leaky Cauldron plus the desperate, foolhardy, married woman from his Muggle neighbourhood.  Four or five in total... could any of those not have been what he'd assumed?  Did anything about those women and their encounter not add up?  Or, had there been another that had simply disappeared from his memory, left gaps in his remembrances?

However, out of all his recollections during the time period in question, the month Harry Potter would have to have been conceived, Severus could recall nothing of interest or note to suggest he might have had his memories tampered with or that any of the women had not been what and who he'd originally believed.  It was almost disappointing to concede given his unending desire for closeness with Lily Evans.

He shook his head in denial, returning his attention to the older wizard in front of him.  "No, Albus... there's no reason to believe it could ever have happened.  I can recall nothing suspicious."

The Headmaster looked him over again in contemplation, "Yet enough doubt remains... enough to seek more solid confirmation that Harry could not be your son?" he proposed softly, although he was quite taken by the idea of Severus being Harry's father if the tone of his voice was anything to go by.

It made Severus feel sick to the stomach to have the idea that the boy might be his own child voiced in such terms.  Was Harry his son... his own flesh and blood?  Had he been treating his own offspring with sickening disdain and bitterness all these years?  He didn't know what to wish for the most; that which would vindicate his treatment of the boy; or that which would cement an eternal bond with the woman he had loved so deeply even well beyond her death.  With such sentiments flying around his mind Severus did not dare to glance in the boy's direction again.

The only certainty Severus knew right now was that he must discover the truth! 

He spun abruptly on the spot and swept into his workroom through the unassuming, partly-concealed door behind him.  "I need to brew a potion," he stated over his shoulder before disappearing into the dark room.

HP.SS.HP.SS.HP.

Both the Headmaster and Harry Potter watched him depart and the tension in the room immediately diminished significantly.  The old wizard then turned to the younger and gave him a small, encouraging smile.

"Lemon drop, Harry?" he offered, holding out a small container that he'd deftly plucked from within his robes.

Harry swallowed nervously.  "Er... no thank you, Sir," he declined, his belly protesting in earnest to the very idea of filling it with anything more at the moment.

Dumbledore nodded understandingly and conjured his usual fancy chair to sit right next to Harry.  With a small flurry of robes he sunk into the armchair and leaned back, making himself comfortable.  Several minutes passed in utter silence as each mulled over the day's revelations so far, Harry with profound shock, and the Headmaster with deep consideration.

Eventually Harry could stand the quiet no more and blurted out, "It can't possibly be true can it, Sir?"

The Headmaster appeared almost surprised at the question and took a moment to answer.

"Ah, Harry... there are many ambiguities in this world, and without proper investigation I could not begin to suppose the truth to all of them."

Harry just blinked vacantly.

‘What?' thought Harry, genuinely perplexed at the vague response the Headmaster had given.   It made little sense to the teenager, nor gave any real meaning to the situation.  His forehead took on a confused frown.

"But I thought everyone knew James Potter was my father?" he asked, getting quite desperate for an explanation.

Professor Dumbledore turned in his seat a little toward the anxious teen.  "It was a rather unambiguous hypothesis, my boy," he answered, sounding rather bemused at the idea that there might have been a mistake made.

"But... why... how...?" Harry began, only to be stopped when Snape strode rather indomitably back into the room bearing a beaker full of sky blue, glistening potion.

"It is ready," he announced dispassionately.

"Ah," intoned Dumbledore, pushing interestedly to his feet.  "Kinship?" he inquired, nodding questioningly toward the beaker.

Snape nodded in confirmation.  "Yes."

Harry felt too queazy to stand.  "What's that for?" he asked, the apprehension in his voice undeniable.  "Are you going to make me drink it?!"

‘Just in case,' he thought reluctantly, guilt waiting portentously on the fringes of his awareness.

"It is not a potion to be consumed," he corrected the nervous boy, and he watched the boy relax minutely. "However, I shall need several strands of your hair," he added, placing the beaker onto the middle of the solid desk.

The boy again looked worried, but he reached into his robes. ‘No doubt for his wand to sever a portion of hair,' Severus deduced.

"Not cut," he clarified, "but plucked from the root. Five to seven will do," he illuminated quickly.

Potter nodded his compliance and reached up to his head. And as he waited for the boy to hand over the hairs Severus reached into his pocket where he had placed his own selection of newly plucked strands. He retrieved them and held them in his hand.

Once the boy held out his offering, Severus swiftly took them and added both sets to the blue potion immediately.

Without being wholly aware of their actions, all three in the room leaned curiously closer to the beaker to see the reaction. It first began to simmer, then quickly started to boil rapidly and Severus breathed quietly the two differing possibilities they might yield.

"We shall see a purple froth for a confirmation of kinship. Or, alternatively, dense, orange clumps for none at all."

It was surprisingly quick considering the significance of the results for those that sought guidance from the potion; one might anticipate an elaborate and torturous wait for such evidence, but this was fortunately one of those with blissful variance from the expectation.

The potion bubbled merrily, higher and higher, and then with an abrupt explosion of shimmering brightness, where each male in the room had to shield their eyes momentarily, the potion settled into dusky, amethyst foam.

Or... purple froth, to be consistent with Severus' description... therefore, to everlasting marvel, the potion established a confirmation of kinship between Harry Potter and Severus Snape!

Whilst one in the room was quietly contemplative, the other two were utterly astonished and stared somewhat aghast at one another for several seconds.

Severus was the first to break out of his stunned bearing and shot around his desk toward a fearful and astounded teenager.

Just as Severus reached the cowering boy the Headmaster called sharply to him.

"Severus!" he roared, giving the sense that this was not the first time the man had called his name, but merely the first time it had made it through the pounding in Severus' ears to reach his brain.

Severus paused only long enough to assure the Headmaster of his intent. "I won't hurt him... I would never hurt him," he promised, with every ounce of sincerity he possessed. "I just want to look... see..."

Harry Potter looked terrified to be within the reach of his grasp, so Severus crouch down to his level and he also whispered a word of reassurance to the boy. "I just want to see... without these," he said, reaching gently to remove the most insistent, obvious resemblance to his, until now, assumed father - Harry's round glasses.

With them gone Severus began to explore the features with both his eyes and his fingers, smoothing every curve and tracing every ridge to see if he could identify anything familiar to his own.

His chest resounded with ache every time he identified one of Lily's features. They were few and far between, but they were there; the most obvious, her striking, green eyes, hauntingly identical though set into the slightly darker face; there was how the boy's lips curved slightly up at the corners, Severus had never noticed that before; and also the way the child's forehead crinkled with surprise...

It was her, and he ached to see it so closely again after all these years.

But what he also suddenly shocked to realise, was that he yearned to see something noticeably his blended with the features of Lily in the boy. For a moment he wanted to find something... he wanted the child to be his.

Though, looking closely and going over every inch of the boy's face Severus did not come up with anything definitive. The boy's hair colour, though similar in colour to Severus' own, could also have been handed down from James Potter; the curve of his cheek, too adolescent to determine its final, mature shape; the set of his jaw, too soft to be Severus', but Severus could not be sure his own had even been this angular at Harry's age; the arch of his eyebrow, not steep enough to be Severus', but not necessarily James' either... yet. It was too hard to be sure.

With the hateful glasses on his face, Harry Potter had seemed to be the clone of James Potter, but now without them it was harder to discern the features individually and Severus' doubt remained.

His hands pulled slightly back from the boy's face and he scrunched them into a soft fist, frustration and disenchantment tensioning his limbs.

Gentle hands had now clasped him around his shoulders and were encouraging him to rise and move away from the boy, and he complied; out of excuses for even himself to be so close to the child. His eyes roved the teens face once more as he stepped back and it wasn't until then that he recognised that Potter's expression had shifted away from terror to fall into intrigue... with even a touch of longing of his own.

Dumbledore was talking to him, so he had no time to consider the occasion.

"Severus... you must realise that this potion proves that nothing but a genetic relationship with Harry exists. And that relationship could very well be quite a distant one. Your mother's family could easily have shared a mutual genetic line with the Potters just a few generations back, or several. It does not, and cannot ever, definitively prove what that relationship might be. Severus, you do know this, don't you?" the Headmaster asked, imploringly.

"Severus?!" he asked again, prodding for an answer when the Potions Master had not yet responded.

"Yes... yes, I am aware," Severus swiftly granted at the nagging, and though he would not admit it the Headmaster's advice did ground him a little from the shock and turmoil this matter was causing within his mind and deep in his chest.

"But we are related, though?" Potter asked, his voice sharing the astonishment that still filled him.

"Yes, it would seem so, Harry," the Headmaster responded, "though most of the pure-blood wizarding families are related in some manner. This is not a unique result and in some ways we should have expected it."

HP.SS.HP.SS.

Harry was beyond astonishment now.

Whilst he was being accosted by the Potions Master, Harry distinctly had become aware of the emotions and turmoil the other man was experiencing. Obviously the man was an expert at keeping his physical responses veiled in times of stress, but at this proximity, and during these circumstances, to keep it all masked must have been beyond his capabilities. It was true that the betrayals were minute and subtle, but they were enough for Harry to recognise them.

He'd first seemed intensely shocked, as Harry had felt too, but after the man had raced around his desk and knelt in front of Harry to gently remove his glasses and had begun to survey his face, Harry was immensely surprised to find the extent of tenderness the typically harsh man possessed. Snape had even used his fingers to softly trace the angles of Harry's features, apparently looking for clues to ascertain Harry's heritage.

At least three times Harry read devastating hurt in the man's eyes as he continued, and at some point the almost frantic search turned into a desperate longing to find what he was looking for, followed by what Harry could only define as a level of disappointment.

‘Did the man want to find traces of himself in me? Did he wish to discover he was my father?' Harry had thought incredulously. And suddenly he had found himself longing for it to be true, for someone to want him, be proud of him... to love him.

Harry realised instantly that if Snape found what he sought, then Harry would have a living, breathing, real life father. Someone to count on, to advise him... someone to care and defend him... finally!

At that moment he didn't care that it was, ugly, greasy, acid-tongued Snape, of all people; for what mattered most in that moment was that Harry would finally have someone for himself.

Snape had been guided away from him and he heard the Headmaster tell the man that although they were related that the potion could not prove what the relationship was exactly. It could be from several generations previous, Dumbledore was saying insistently, but Harry could only grasp one point.

"But we are related, though?" he said, wanting to be sure he'd heard and understood correctly even though it was an incredible revelation.

Professor Dumbledore answered, confirming what Harry had supposed. And at the Headmaster's further explanation Harry recalled what he'd once been told by Sirius whilst staying at 12 Grimmauld Place before Harry started his fifth year about the pure-blood families being interrelated. It made sense, but to find out the fact may apply to him and his family, whoever they really were, was a bit surreal.

Especially to find out that, in whatever way it had come about, he was a blood relative of Professor Snape.

"Perhaps, in order to be absolutely certain, you should begin with a little research, Severus," the Headmaster suggested, clicking his fingers in the air and softly calling, "Fawkes?"

The great, flaming red and gold bird burst from the air and immediately settled on her owner's shoulder, folding her wings against her body. Fawkes then leant close to Dumbledore's ear and chirped soothingly in greeting.

"Fawkes, would you be so kind to retrieve my Genealogy volume from the bookshelf in my office?" Dumbledore requested, with a kind scratch to the fantastic bird's breast.

The bird agreed with a sharp trill and popped out of the room, only to return moments later bearing a heavy book in her talons that she swiftly let thump down onto Professor Snape's desk.

"Thank you, Fawkes," the old Professor said, and correctly sensing she was no longer needed Fawkes promptly vanished once more.

Both Professor Snape and Harry leaned in to read the title of the book: Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. Snape reached out to touch to book lightly with his fingers, looking up to nod in agreement.

"If you do not find a connection amongst your ancestors then you might wish to explore a more exact method for determining paternity, Severus," Dumbledore said, eyeing the Potions Master shrewdly.

Harry saw Snape swallow tensely and could not help imitating the act, the nervous butterflies fluttering within his stomach making him feel a little giddy again. An uneasy Snape did not inspire confidence after all.

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape agreed again, taking in what appeared to be a bolstering breath.

HP.SS.HP.SS.HP.

Severus was substantially unnerved by this point, and the Headmaster's proposition made him shiver internally. He hoped it would not need to come to that, as the process needed to make the particular potion he assumed the older wizard was suggesting was, even by his standards, barbaric. Let's just say it brought a whole new meaning to the term ‘Flesh and Blood'.

At that moment the bell for first lessons of the day pealed through the barren dungeon corridors.

"Right, well I shall leave you two to it. I will send your apologies on to Professor Flitwick, Harry, and I'll step in for your first lesson, Severus... to allow you time to sort this out," the old man offered genially.

Severus glanced quickly at Potter and noticed that the teenager seemed just as uncomfortable about being left with him as he was to be left with the boy. But this matter needed to be dealt with and this was the most appropriate option.

He nodded again to the Headmaster's proposition. He banished the wards and unlocked the door so the older wizard could leave, then re-evoked them once the door had closed behind him.

Potter had stood from his chair when the Headmaster had departed, and this now left them standing and staring awkwardly at one another; clearly neither one of them knowing just how they should proceed.

The boy was the first to look away, glancing at the book the Headmaster had supplied (which appeared both insidious and liberating at the same time) and Severus took advantage of the direction the boy's attention had taken.

"Well, I shall begin," he proposed, ushering the boy back into his seat. Severus was feeling quite lost regarding how he should act under these circumstances without the senior authority of the Headmaster guiding him, so the dark man determined diving into research in avoidance seemed a rather favourable alternative. He stepped around his desk and took his seat. He realised it would be quite impossible for them both to examine the book with each of them on either side of the desk, but considering the awkwardness of their relationship at the moment Severus felt content with the distance the circumstances provided.

He slid the Genealogy volume in front of him and flipped open the cover to the opening chapter which, at first glance, looked as though it instructed the reader how to use the publication most effectively.

"Well, what shall I do?" the teenager whined.

Or ‘whining' was what it sounded like to Severus. He glanced up and eyed the boy a moment, supposing eventually that he'd better give the dolt an occupation.

"You can take notes as I call them out," he recommended; retrieving a quill, ink and parchment from a desk drawer and sliding it across to the child.

Potter looked a little put out at the suggestion, but had the good sense not to argue.

Pleasantly surprised for once Severus put his head down and got on with his reading of the chapter, wondering with deep seated disquiet whether anything would be revealed by this book, or if the relationship was much closer than this particular text was capable of illuminating.

Would You Tell Me If I Asked, Hedwig?

The boy was now regarding him rather curiously.

"Do you think I get my hair colour from the Prince line?" he asked suddenly, rather surprising Severus.

He shrugged. "It is possible," he replied, finding the notion rather intriguing despite his outward nonchalance.

"Hmm," the boy hummed, sinking back into deep thought.

Severus lifted his chin a little and happened to spy the letter sitting on the far corner of his desk where Dumbledore had replaced it; spurring him on to ask about the matter that had been on his mind.

"Why did you send that letter, Potter?" he asked, still rather perplexed about the boy's motives.

The teenager glanced back up at Severus.  He shrugged.  "I don't know, I guess it was just symbolic... like I was actually talking to someone else, rather than just myself," he replied, embarrassment becoming obvious in his demeanour.

Severus continued to gaze at the boy in silence, taking in the small nuances that told the fuller story the boy could not, or was unwilling to, put into words.

Because the Professor had not yet responded Potter evidently felt it necessary to continue.

"I'm scared, alright... no-one is ever there to tell me what to do or what not to do.  I'm not really sure what's expected of me.   I'm bloody well fumbling around in the dark and I'm making mistakes - really critical ones - and I don't want to make any more!"

The boy's tone was rising in anger.  He was clearly frustrated and certainly feeling the pressure that Severus only just now could appreciate the boy must be under.  The dark man had an idea that Dumbledore must have recently shared the contents of the prophecy with the teenager; his words hinting at a fresh awareness of a future burden.   But what should he tell him?  Severus himself was not acquainted with the entirety of Albus' plans... but as much as that knowledge galled him he had come to accept it to a degree.

He took in a breath before speaking.  "You are a child, Potter - nothing is expected of you yet." 

The teen looked back up at him, frowning; irritated by Severus' apparently dismissive words and perhaps a tad indignant at being called a child.  But Severus was not yet finished. 

"When, or even if, you are meant to act, you will be apprised of what you need to know in order to do so.  Spend your time not in worry or guilt, but preparation; learn, study, practice - be the best you can be and then you will be ready to act when it is required of you."

That was all he was prepared to offer the child for the moment.   At least until he himself could grasp and come to terms with what their actual relationship was comprised of.  He wasn't even sure he could give more considering his own entanglement in the looming war. 

That fact alone almost swayed him that perhaps never discovering the truth might be the best strategy from here.  The boy seemed quite satisfied with the evidence he'd so far received, Severus could very well let it be and save them all the grief and anguish that might be looming should it be discovered they'd both been deceived all these years.

But then, what if it was true... what if Severus never knew for sure?  Could he bear gazing upon the boy for the rest of their lives wondering; aching to find out if somehow he'd finally created something wonderful... something he could finally be proud of?

And if it turned out that it wasn't so... well then they could go on with their pitiful lives knowing they'd not lost anything more than was already known.  They could be at peace with the issue.  The both of them honestly had far greater burdens on their shoulders that weighed them down enough without this looming portentously in the background.  And the boy would most likely realise the issue was not resolved absolutely all on his own... eventually; and then he'd demand to know.

Severus sighed resignedly.  "Well, you might as well know now," he began, gaining an uneasy, yet questioning glance from the boy.  "You see, the evidence of a common ancestor, whilst seemingly implicative of the truth, is not sufficient to definitively determine the question of your paternity."

Potter looked genuinely perplexed, so Severus explained further.

"Meaning that we could still be father and son if it turns out you are not, in actual fact, a Potter by birth."

Potter paled a little, evidently realising their dilemma was still ongoing.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked, appearing to instinctively know that what was coming was not something to be thrilled about.

"Something a little more potent than the Kinship Potion, and arduous to brew I'm afraid; the Fateor Parentis Draught.  The process is somewhat barbaric and the both of us will need to be sure about proceeding - and consent is critical.  It's not a decision to be taken lightly," Severus said with utter seriousness.  He would not (literally could not) deceive the boy about the ordeal they would need to ride through to get their answer.

"Fateor Parentis?" the boy questioned.

"To Reveal Parental contribution," Severus translated, "through flesh and blood... literally," he added emphatically.

"Like a blood test?" Potter asked somewhat hopefully.

Severus scoffed slightly before snuffing the sarcasm.  "Hardly, Potter... the flesh and blood of both subjects would be used as the base for the potion; they are the bulk of the ingredients."

The teenager's eyes widened for a moment, comprehending the extent of what Severus was illuminating.

"We'll go over the recipe before we need make a decision," Severus offered, knowing that only seeing for oneself what was required could empower anyone to choose to proceed.

"And... well, when would we be doing this?" Potter asked tentatively.

Severus decided to answer the question with a question of his own.  "When do you want to see this issue resolved, Potter?"

Reluctant, yet resigned, Potter answered.  "Same as you, I guess... as soon as possible."

Severus nodded his agreement.  "I do not possess a copy of the recipe, though I believe I know where I can obtain a version easily enough.  In fact, I'll have you act as courier." 

Potter looked surprised, but Severus merely reached for his quill and scribbled out a note on another piece of parchment for the boy to take with him.

"Professor Slughorn I am sure has in his possession a copy of this text," he said, indicating the message he'd written on the page and then proceeded to fold the letter and hand it over to the teenager.  "Do not discuss with him what I could need it for; play dumb," and unable to resist getting in one more dig before regret could kick at him again, he added derisively, "I'm sure that is well within your capabilities."

Potter scowled at him, clearly affronted, practically snatching the folded parchment from Severus' outstretched fingers.  Severus very almost smirked at the boy's reaction - no wonder he'd found baiting the boy so gratifying throughout the previous years.

He then checked over his staff timetable, invoked the doors to unlock and sent the boy on his way to find Horace Slughorn in either the staff room or his office, for luck would have it that the old Professor was free of classes at this very moment.

HP.SS.HP.SS.

Harry was rather peeved at the continuing jibes by Professor Snape.  Could the man not just put it aside until they knew for sure where they stood relationship wise?  Harry was confused enough about how he ought to act and respond to the man at present - the man who just might still be his biological father - without the added tension that came from him constantly flipping from agreeable to callous and back again.

As he walked along the corridors, headed for the new Potions Master's office, Harry allowed his mind to digest all that had occurred that day so far.

After all the testing and evidence they had already discovered there apparently was still some doubt about who was actually Harry's biological father.  But why Professor Snape still believed there was a chance ‘he' might be Harry's father perplexed Harry a bit.  The man had admitted that he'd never been with Lily intimately, so wouldn't that exclude him?  But of course Harry had understood what both Dumbledore and Snape had meant when they discussed whether it was possible that Snape had been deceived all those years ago, or had had his memory of a potential encounter Obliviated from his mind; but the question that now occurred to Harry was not how it may have happened, but why both men deigned it possible at all.

What conceivable circumstances would have to have existed to have the possibility that Harry's mother, Lily Potter, nee Evans, would ever have considered sleeping with Professor Snape and which also would have meant Snape would need to contemplate the possibility as deeply as he had?

‘What... had they known one another better than Harry realised?' he thought incredulously.

The thought gathered momentum more and more as it formed until Harry wondered further, ‘Did they date one another at some stage or something?' 

He frowned at the thought because he couldn't comprehend how his mother could possibly have liked the cold, acid tongued, ugly man... but that didn't necessarily mean that he couldn't like her.  Lily Potter was beautiful and immensely popular, after all.  Or so Harry had been told.

‘Had Snape fancied her?' he thought, and the idea took on more merit when Harry recalled Snape's reactions to the question Professor Dumbledore had put forward.

The prospects after Harry contemplated that idea soon birthed more and more fantastic notions and possibilities that came pouring from his subconscious.

Had Lily been such a wonderful person that she'd been able to look past the horrid man's flaws and a relationship had blossomed?  (Remus had once said she could see the beauty in some that couldn't even see it in themselves.) 

And then... had Lily ultimately come to terms with the fact that Snape wasn't worthy of her respect, when he announced his affiliation with the Death Eaters, and broken their union; turning at last to the honourable James Potter? 

And afterwards, in bitter jealousy, Snape hadn't left her alone, so she'd been forced to Obliviate his memories of their relationship altogether?

Or perhaps had Snape forced himself upon Lily; the man was once a Death Eater, after all.  And then Lily had stolen the memories of the crime because she hadn't wanted Snape to get his hands on Harry? 

Or... or had Lily, when she was part of the Order, been sent to spy on Snape when he was still in Voldemort's ranks and she'd slept with him to convince him to trust her?  It would have been easy if Snape had fancied her...

Or maybe she went in disguise, using Polyjuice Potion or something... and that's why Snape didn't realise...

Harry instantly shook himself as he rounded the last corner before he came to Professor Slughorn's office.  His thoughts had become bizarre and, quite frankly, stomach-churning.   The teen did not want to imagine that his conception had come as the result of such deprivation and deception.  He would need to stop the wild speculating and maybe try to get a little more information from Snape himself.  Maybe, just maybe, the Professor would share something with him if he asked nicely.

He came to a stop in front of the new Professor's door and knocked firmly.

"Come in," a muffled voice said, and Harry turned the doorknob and entered the office.

HP.SS.HP.SS.

Severus flipped through the pages of the text Potter had brought back with him until he found the page he sought.  He skimmed over the recipe before him and grimaced slightly; the reality of the process was even more vicious than he had remembered.

He drew his eyes back to the top of the page and examined the list of ingredients more intently and after several moments determined that he had enough of everything listed at his disposal for them to be able to proceed immediately if they so chose.

He looked up to the oddly quiet teen sitting back on the opposite side of his desk just as the boy opened his mouth to speak.

"Just how well did you know my Mum?" he asked so quickly that Severus had to take a moment to decipher what the boy had said.  

Schooling his features into his routine unreadable expression he summarily ignored the boy's loaded question in favour of sliding over the text for the teen to read from.  He had absolutely no intention of satisfying the boy's sudden curiosity.

"Read," he commanded the boy.  "You will need to be certain you are willing to proceed.

Potter took a hold of the text and drew it closer to himself, but before he glanced down at the page he maintained eye contact with Severus and a minutely fraught look settled onto his face.

"Please tell me why you would even believe my mother could have slept with you and then stolen your memories of it," he said. 

Severus narrowed his eyes, but decided to respond.

"I do not," he answered succinctly, hoping to nip the questioning in the bud.

The boy frowned with disbelief.

"But you're considering it; otherwise we wouldn't even be doing this," he said, indicating to the book his teacher had just given him.  "I want to know... why do you even consider it possible?"

The teenager gazed speculatively at the stony faced, dark man for a moment before taking a profound breath.  "What, did you fancy my Mum or something?" he asked boldly, but moments later he looked as though he was physically trying to retract the words from the air into which he'd foolishly released them.

Severus practically saw stars behind his eyes in his shock at the boy's audacious, very personal and prying question and gripped the edge of his desk furiously whilst glaring at the teen.

"Read. The. Page," he leaned forward menacingly and demanded with a brusque and pointed snarl, but despite all his best effort he could not stop the warm flush that washed across his face.  He hoped very keenly that Potter interpreted the colour, which no doubt gave him away, as a burn of anger and not a blush of embarrassment.

HP.SS.HP.SS.

Harry, although quite cowed, felt intrigued by the pink shade of colour that had just bloomed across the Professor's face.  It could easily be humiliation or mortification, and could just as easily represent guilt as it might the fury that Snape probably wanted Harry to believe.

‘So Snape liked Mum?' Harry inferred, wondrously amused, though he wisely kept that sentiment to himself.  He obediently looked down at the text, pretending to read to gratify the irate man glaring at him from the other side of the desk.

The boy, his eyes glancing uncomprehendingly over the print, continued to speculate.  ‘So, is that why he seemed to want to find something of himself in me - because he liked the idea of sharing something with Lily?'  The idea stung a bit, because Harry had honestly desired someone who might want him for himself for once in his life, but maybe Snape could grow to be proud of him; Harry could settle for that.

‘And that's why he's not immediately ruling it out,' Harry decided.  ‘That's why he wants us to complete this potion,' he thought, finally starting to take in the words his eyes had been skimming.  ‘He wants to know for sure whether he has any claim to Lily's child.'

Harry began reading the list of ingredients to the Fateor Parentis Draught; there weren't many.  Well, there weren't many separate ingredients.  However, he didn't fully register until he came to the Method just how much of some of the volumes of those elements really equated to.  He was aghast.

Reading further, Harry even felt his face drain of blood when he realised not only what he'd be expected to provide (and over that extended period of time) as ‘subject number one', but what Snape would be expected to do as not only ‘subject number two', but also as the ‘brewer'.

He looked up in alarm at his Professor.  "Are you going to try to brew this on your own?" he asked, concerned.  "Well, with only my help?" he supplemented.

Snape attempted a sneer at the teen implication that his help would be at all valuable, but clearly the task at hand was cause for disquiet for him as well so his derision was only half-hearted.  "I will need to examine the process more closely before we try, but I think I can manage," he answered.  The confidence, and even arrogance, Harry perceived wasn't nearly as potent as he would ordinarily expect from Snape.

Looking back down at the recipe Harry read over it again.  The things they would be expected to withstand were utterly brutal and honestly Harry did not think he'd be able to endure it.  He shook his head, completely in awe of Professor Snape's fortitude and courage; for he would not be able to rest or lose concentration in between times like Harry would be able to.

Harry glanced back to Snape.  "Can maybe Professor Dumbledore brew, or help at least?" he asked, hopeful.

Snape regarded him intently.  "Perhaps... are you saying you would agree if that were the case?"

Harry took in a very deep breath.  He would have liked to say ‘yes', but another glance at the insidious page and his nerve rebelled on him - he just knew it was asking too much of his body to endure this.  He wasn't necessarily scared (well, maybe he was scared a little), but he just didn't think he could hold out physically.

He looked up again shaking his head.  "No," he answered concisely.  "I don't think I can do this."

Snape frowned at him.  "No...?" he drawled sardonically, clearly unimpressed.  "You'd rather not know?" he asked mockingly.  "Frankly then, Potter, your supposedly famous Gryffindor nerve is somewhat disappointing."

Harry frowned back, feeling quite affronted by the dig at his courage.  But he did not retort to the jibe, merely huffing out a sigh in his own disappointment.  He really had wanted to know for sure, no doubt as earnestly as Professor Snape had.  It made him wonder if there was truly no other way.

"There must be another way to find out for sure," he began, "some other potion or test..."

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes.  "No, there is no other.  Not that provide such definitive results, anyway," he replied. 

This had Harry thinking.  It didn't sound right to him.  He knew there was a way; he had seen this sort of dilemma play out on Muggle television programmes.

"What about a Muggle blood test?" he suggested eagerly.

"Not definitive, they're based on blood type matching and exclusion of factors - and without a sample from you mother I don't believe a result is possible," Snape said dismissively.

"Yeah, but what about DNA?  They can do that, can't they?  And you don't even need blood, just a swab sample taken from inside your cheek will do, I've heard."

At Harry's suggestion Snape looked genuinely perplexed.  "DNA?" he asked curiously.  And after a moment of confusion Harry suddenly gasped incredulously.

"You don't know about DNA?" he asked.  Snape shook his head slightly.

"It's what Muggles use now.  It's Muggle science.  They use it to match suspects if they have a sample from a crime scene.  They can even isolate diseases in people, and then devise cures.  Or like us, to determine paternity.  They can compare the DNA from your cells.  From what I understand it's definitive."

Snape blinked, evidently lost for words.  Harry didn't know the man could even be reduced to such a state.  He felt suddenly elated at having knowledge that Professor Snape didn't.

He instantly came to the conclusion that Snape, like most Wizards (and especially Pure-blood Wizards who did not place sufficient value on Muggle technology and knowledge and rarely ventured into the Muggle world), had not kept abreast of Muggle science the Muggle technology since the Professor had last become aware and literate in blood typing (which must have been many years ago) and the discipline had moved on and left the dark man lagging woefully behind. 

It was rather comical really, to see the Potions Master floundering in what would have been considered the closest Muggle counterpart field to Potions - Science.

The man huffed out an astounded sigh and nodded.  "I shall look into it," he said quietly, and very smartly Harry found himself evicted from the Professor's office and sent on his way to the Gryffindor common room.  The last class for the day would be ending in only fifteen minutes, and Harry was given permission to skip the remainder so long as he made an effort to source his homework assignments from his classmates for the entire day.

Pacing along the corridors heading for the tower Harry was intermittently shaking his head; he was both bemused and slightly dazed at the whole goings on and discoveries made throughout the day; and still the mystery of Harry's paternity remained...

When Harry was found by Ron and Hermione sitting and waiting for them calmly in the common room they immediately set upon him with a barrage of concerned questions.

“Shh…” Harry insisted, he honestly didn’t think Snape would take too kindly to any of what had transpired today becoming public, no matter how it all turned out in the end.  Both Hermione and Ron had nodded understandingly, lowering their voices to a whisper and huddling closer.

“Blimey mate, I was worried ole Snape had murdered you and pickled your body parts for potion ingredients when you didn’t turn up to any of our lessons,” Ron hissed out; he was oft prone to dramatization.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but it was clear she’d been quite concerned too.

“What did Professor Snape want, Harry?” she asked, and Harry fought the urge to grimace. 

He honestly didn’t want to share any details about the letter he’d written and the highly personal and vulnerable emotions that it had contained.  Those were the kinds of things he felt should be only shared with a parent, or parental figure, and he felt rather embarrassed at the sentiments now that he wasn’t feeling as low as he had when he’d written them.

And honestly, it was bad enough that Snape, and also Dumbledore Harry now recalled, had read his highly exposed and emotional scribbling, without making his friends consider whether he was having a mental breakdown or something.  But without describing how it had all started Harry wondered quickly just how he would explain to his friends.

“Look,” he began quietly, “Snape was really angry about something I did.”  At Hermione’s disappointed, somewhat accusing look, and Ron’s almost congratulatory one, Harry explained further.  “I didn’t do anything deliberately… it was mostly a misunderstanding.”

Ron frowned slightly, looking a bit disappointed, but Hermione looked mollified.

“Anyway, he was pretty pissed off, but then something else came up… a question, I suppose,” he continued rather vaguely.

Both his listeners frowned deeper.  “A question… what?  What do you mean, Harry?” Hermione voiced what they both must have been thinking.

Harry felt his face warm, the reaction completely out of his control.  “Er… well…” he paused, weighing whether he really was going to reveal the question of his paternity to his friends.  “It seems there might be some doubt as to whether James Potter really was my father,” he blurted, eager to get the words past his lips.

“What!?  Bloody hell, mate,” Ron exclaimed in a quiet, sympathetic tone.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, also expressing her commiseration.

Harry nodded his agreement with their sentiment.  “Yeah, I know,” he said, forlornly, even though a part of him was still a little thrilled at the prospect that he might have a living father if it turned out he wasn’t a Potter after all.

“Well, who do they think your real father might be, then?  I mean, do they even know?” Hermione asked, already thinking past the shocking notion.

Harry’s gut clenched at the inevitable question, and he turned his face away from his friends. 

“Er… they do, but I’d rather not say at the moment.  I mean, they’re going to run some tests, and if it turns out that he is… well, I’ll tell you then.  Is that okay?” he added, turning back to his two best friends in the world imploringly.

Both looked rather disappointed, but eventually they nodded understandingly.

Ron then snorted out a chuckle, evidently finding the thought floating through his mind amusing.  “Yeah mate… I mean, what if it turns out to be greasy, old Snape?” he joked, “I can tell you I definitely wouldn’t want anyone to know about that possibility!”

Harry burned with embarrassment, hoping earnestly that Ron hadn’t noticed.  “Yeah… that would be bad,” he agreed pitifully.  But deep down he felt traitorous and treacherous denying his inner joy and hope that he might soon be able to call someone, anyone (even Snape) Dad.

HP.SS.HP.SS.

Later that night Harry lay in his bed unable to sleep.

First his thoughts had been consumed with a number of fantastic versions (some pleasant and some not so) of how his life might be if Severus Snape did turn out to be his father, but eventually they became mutinous and dredged up a plethora of guilt for denying and forgetting James Potter and all the man had done for him as his father; including laying down his own life to protect him as an infant.

But Harry could never forget that, he decided.  He would always be eternally grateful and immensely proud of the man whose name he had shared throughout his life so far.

“Dad…” he whispered so softly that there was no chance of being overheard. 

“… James,” he amended, suddenly uncertain. 

“No - Dad!” he ultimately decided.  “I know you’ll understand that I’m not denying you, and if you were still here with me I wouldn’t even bother trying to find out, because I wouldn’t need to, but seeing as you’re not please understand that I still love you very much, and to me you’ll always be my dad no matter what the tests say.  If it does turn out that Snape is my biological father I hope you’ll see why I need to accept him… and try to get along, because I know you didn’t like each other much.  I just need someone, and I’m going to give him a chance… because I need someone.  Okay?” he pleaded into the ether knowing he’d never get a response.

He felt much better after getting the sentiments off his chest though and was soon able to settle into a deep, comforting sleep.

HP.SS.HP.SS.

Harry was called to Professor Dumbledore’s office on the Saturday morning and asked to provide a cheek swab sample for the upcoming DNA paternity test.  Snape was nowhere to be seen and the Headmaster told Harry that Professor Snape had already provided a sample on determining it was the best course of action considering the rather unpleasant alternative.

Dumbledore had even chuckled lightly when he disclosed that Snape had seemed rather relieved that he would not need to endure the barbaric ritual required to get a result via the brewing of the Fateor Parentis Draught.  And the old Wizard had also let slip that he’d never before seen Professor Snape so thankful to have been proven unapprised.

After Harry’s swab was done it was dropped into a test tube and sealed immediately.

“I’ll send them away to the Muggle laboratory and we’ve been told to expect the results in around two weeks,” Professor Dumbledore advised him with an assuring smile and nod.

“Thanks, Sir,” Harry said, pleased to finally be on their way to a definitive answer.

HP.SS.HP.SS.

Classes with Snape were strange over the following two weeks.  Sometimes the man was hideously unpleasant; glaring and growling with pointed venom at Harry in particular over the smallest of transgressions, and others he ignored Harry’s very presence altogether.  Other times still Harry had caught the newly appointed Defence against the Dark Arts teacher watching him wistfully; though the man had very quickly turned his attention away whenever Harry looked at him.

It was very confusing for the teenager who was struggling with his own emotions and thoughts during the agonising wait for answers.

And it all came to a head one afternoon toward the end of the second week.

Harry had become exceptionally and ultimately fed up with the nasty jibes and unrealistic expectations during his Defence double and had allowed his tongue to get the better of him, lashing out disrespectfully at the unfair treatment by the dark Professor which had instantly earned him a detention and a face full of  an incensed Snape’s spittle. 

In that moment Harry had very almost allowed his fist to rise and ram itself into the older wizard’s jaw, but just in the nick of time he’d managed to snatch back his control and reason and instead he turned on the spot and rapidly stomped out the classroom door.  He expected Snape to come storming after him, but as the bell for the end of the lesson had chimed as he’d reached the end of the corridor he supposed Snape must have decided that he’d deal with him later during the detention.

Feeling particularly worked up Harry headed for a quiet corner of the student courtyard in which he could sit and work to calm himself down.  It proved quite a challenge and come dinner time Harry still hadn’t felt like facing anyone; so he sat there, pondering his bizarre situation and the unpredictable and bewildering man who was at the centre of his conundrum.

HP.SS.HP.SS.

When Potter had stormed out of his classroom Severus had needed to hold himself back from going after the little snot and shaking the brat until his teeth rattled.  How dare the boy speak so disrespectfully to him; and in front of his class too!

And the worst of it was that he’d ultimately been forced to dole out a detention, which meant he’d actually ended up punishing himself, along with Potter; for the last thing Severus wanted to do was spend more time with the boy.  Especially given the turmoil the doubt over Potter’s paternity had been causing him.

The man thundered through the corridors alongside the courtyard; headed for the greenhouses to implore the Herbology instructor to part with a few rare specimens for his own personal brewing project; as even though he was no longer teaching Potions it did not mean he had no interest in brewing.  In fact, his desire to pursue his own private research had heightened now he was not brewing so routinely.  Though unfortunately the fact he was no longer the Potions Master meant that he could no longer take advantage of the abundant and continuous range of ingredients that were once available to him from the Hogwarts’ stores; he now needed to acquire and purchase them for himself.  But maybe Pomona would be agreeable to donating a few at least, and given his recent turmoil he could do with a distraction that would require intense concentration.

He didn’t notice the boy initially, but as he rounded the final corner he spotted the teen, sitting curled defensively in a secluded corner, alone.  Severus immediately halted; remaining hidden behind a wide pillar where he could observe the boy.  He was sure he hadn’t been spotted, and was able to watch him more attentively than normally.

He appeared troubled, but Severus expected that.  But what specifically was running though the boy’s mind was not especially clear.  What was he thinking?  Was he dreading the upcoming results?  Did he still yearn for them to be found Father and Son?

‘Do I?’ he thought suddenly.

Swallowing down the abrupt rising of emotion he breathed out a slow breath.  ‘What in the world are we going to do if you are mine, Potter?’ he wondered silently.  His hand unconsciously inched toward the forearm that bore the brand of the Dark Lord.  It was an impossible situation; one that really could not be resolved easily… or even at all.  Severus could not abandon his position as spy; Death Eaters did not just walk away from the Dark Lord.  He would not allow it.   And once the reason for Snape’s abandonment became clear then he would be hunted as summarily as Potter.  How could he protect the boy then?

‘Merlin, Lily… how do I deal with this?’

Severus watched the boy for a few more minutes until his mind turned to the boy’s letter, the delivery of which had instigated this madness to begin with.

‘What’s going on in that Muggle home of yours, Potter?’ he queried wordlessly.  ‘Why are you finding the need to reach out to a dead man, anyway?’

Several possibilities instantly ran through his mind, from the memories of sneering scorn and jealousy that had frequently adorned a much younger Petunia Evans’ face, to the strict harshness and occasional brutal frustration demonstrated by Severus’ own Muggle father.  It occurred to Severus that Muggles often struggled with having the knowledge of Magic, but never being able to wield the power too.  He hadn’t acknowledged their anguish nor felt pity for them in his younger years, but as he’d become older he’d recognised and comprehended the sheer exasperation they must have felt; for Severus had shared such sentiments before and knew that they could turn a person bitter.

‘Perhaps the issue might need investigating,’ he considered to himself.  He was loath to become more involved in the teen’s life, especially if the results of the test proved he was not related beyond the distant one already established, but he had a sudden gut feeling that it was an issue that ought not to be ignored.

As Severus continued to observe, a female voice called across the courtyard.  “There you are, Harry!  We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Yeah, mate, Hermione has dragged me all over the castle… literally,” the unmistakable voice of the second youngest Weasley teen whined.  “Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

As the trio of students joined in the middle of the courtyard Severus could not hear any more of their exchange, and ensuring he would not be seen he swept off in the direction of the Greenhouses.

HP.SS.HP.SS.HP.

The detention time loomed quickly and at seven o’clock precisely Harry found himself outside Professor Snape’s office.  He raised his arm and rapped sharply with his knuckles upon the wooden door.

Harry waited, quite reluctant to find out what sort of mood the Professor was in.  He imagined the worst – foul - and resigned himself to the foulest of foul detention tasks.

After only a few moments the door was yanked open and Harry was face to chest with the taller, dark man who seemed stiff and tense with displeasure himself.

He was ushered in wordlessly and Snape indicated stiffly for him to take a seat in front of the Professor’s desk where a chair waited for him.

Snape himself took a seat across from Harry and glared intensely at him for several moments before speaking.

“I will not accept such blatant disrespect in my class… I don’t care who you are,” he stated firmly, his tone full of malicious warning.  “Your aggression is ill advised also, because I can assure you that you are woefully outclassed and if you ever dare to lay a hand on me in violence you will swiftly find yourself expelled from this school!”

Harry blanched, only now realising that Snape had apparently been aware of his inner battle not to uppercut the man there and then in class. 

“It will, of course, be a lenient punishment compared with what I am truly capable of, but don’t push me, Potter… I might not deign to adhere to the rules in future,” he smoothly threatened.

Silence reigned for a further few moments before Snape bit out angrily, “Don’t you have something to say?!” he demanded icily.

Harry flinched slightly, and internally berated himself, but wasn’t foolish enough to egg Snape into further irritation.  “I’m sorry, Sir,” he offered, and at least some part of himself meant it.  He didn’t particularly like the angry, violent responsive part of himself; it reminded him of Uncle Vernon.

Snape glared some more, but eventually his expression softened slightly as he put the topic aside.

“We’re going to have a little chat, Potter… and I want only the truth from you,” he said firmly.

Harry stared back, clueless as to the impending discussion.

Snape curled his lip into a sneer, somewhat out of habit Harry felt, but the teenager could never have predicted the question that rolled from the surly man’s tongue immediately afterwards.

“Is your home-life under the guidance of Petunia and her husband as intolerable as I might imagine?”

Harry was shocked and he was hard pressed to control his incredulous expression.  “Wha…?  I mean, pardon, Sir?”

Snape narrowed his eyes.  “Tell me the real reason you sent that letter off to a dead man, Potter, instead of going to your doting and loving Uncle,” he said, with rather indelicate sarcasm.

Harry’s mouth had dropped open in astonishment, but the man’s meaning for asking was now explicitly clear; he snapped his jaw shut immediately.

“It’s fine, Sir,” he answered, though quickly amended himself.  “I mean, it’s not as bad as you might be thinking.”

“And what might that be?” Severus asked, curious about what the boy specifically meant.

“Abuse… I’m not abused.  They don’t particularly like me, so mostly they just ignore me, that’s all.”

Severus relaxed internally a little; he’d been slightly concerned about the possibility and that he might need to do something about it, but it seemed he’d been let off the hook.  But it did not escape his notice that there appeared to be an element of emotional abuse that even the boy could not deny or disregard.  However, Severus was utterly aware how hypocritical it would be for him to cast judgement regarding the torment of this boy by another; although Severus felt the boy ordinarily worthy of his disdain, he knew his own behaviour had often stepped over the line of acceptability.

“You should find someone else to talk to, then” he suggested instead.

But the boy swiftly threw it back in his face.  “I had someone,” he said ardently, “but Sirius was murdered… as was my father,” the boy bit out bitterly.  Severus gathered quickly that the boy attributed some blame to at least one of the incidences to him.

‘If only he realised which one,’ Severus thought instantly, but internally castigated himself for allowing his thoughts to drift in that direction.  He frowned, taking in the boy’s body language; noting that it seemed the rest of the blame was directed inwardly; and if he recalled the contents of the boy’s letter that was probably the case.  And now he considered what he recalled of the written words Severus could now identify around the boy an amount of fear that the trend of his father-figures dying would persist.  He couldn’t help but feel some pity for the teenager.

“They are gone, but you are not.  Someone will listen; you do not need to-”

Severus was cut off by a sharp rap on the door.

“Come in,” he commanded.  The door was promptly opened and the Headmaster appeared in the doorway.

“My apologies, Professor Snape.  I learned from his friends that young Harry was down here for detention and realised your office would be most appropriate.”

Severus scowled in question, unsure exactly what the Headmaster was intimating. 

“You may wish to impose those privacy wards once more, Severus… your results have arrived.”

Severus felt his face drain as understanding dawned.  He glanced toward the teenager sitting across from him and he too looked to be turning rather pale.  Severus didn’t know if he was ready to find out; he still didn’t know what result he wished for the most.

Dumbledore was busy reaching into his cloak for a large flat muggle-style envelope and once he had retrieved it he handed it over to the dark man who had retaken his seat upon finalising the privacy wards.

“I need not stay if you’d rather I didn’t,” the old man suggested delicately to both the younger men sitting opposite one another.

Severus glanced again at Potter and immediately knew they both wished the same thing.

“No… stay,” he said, but his voice slightly betrayed his nervousness.  He swallowed thickly and drew a calming breath before beginning to open the sealed folder.  He could do nothing about the strong, loud beating of his heart within his chest.

SSHPSSHPSS

The dark man slid out the pile of documents from the envelope and sat reading their contents silently for a number of minutes, barely any expression giving away his emotions to his avid audience, before he deliberately turned the documents face down, stood from his chair and stalked toward the door; disabling the wards as he went.

“Severus?” Dumbledore asked with concern, but the younger man did not even glance at him.

“See the boy back to his common room,” he bid of the Headmaster as he left the room.

Harry was rather alarmed, but stared hesitantly at the pile of documents only for a few short moments before he scrambled desperately for them.

The top sheet was merely a cover letter explaining the following pages; Harry quickly dismissed it and put it aside.  The next was a muddle of figures and scientific results that meant nothing to Harry, he flipped it hurriedly aside also.  The third, however, provided him with the answer to the question that had eluded and tormented him for a little over two weeks now.  Was Severus Snape his biological father?

“The DNA comparison has excluded the subject Severus Snape from being the immediate paternal relative of subject Harry Potter.”

Harry had to tell himself to breathe.  He drew in a deep breath and fought down tears that threatened to spill.  Whether they would have been tears of disappointment or tears of joy Harry could not at this point in time determine.

“Severus Snape is not related to me,” he said aloud for the benefit of Professor Dumbledore who was watching him closely though had remained several feet away.  “He’s not my father.”

Dumbledore nodded understandingly and when Harry was ready to leave he escorted him back to the Gryffindor common room in complete silence.

SSHPSSHPSSHP

Over the next few days both Hermione and Ron, and Professor Dumbledore tried to coax Harry to talk about the results.  Ron and Hermione never found out who was the contender for the place of Harry’s father, but as it was a moot point the detail was quickly dismissed by the both of them.  Their concern was their friend’s low mood, and encouraging him to revel in the newly discovered confidence that James, the hero that gave his life to save Harry’s, was in fact his father.

Professor Dumbledore wanted to feel sure the boy was at peace with the issue, but Harry persisted in assuring the older man that he was more than happy to have proved he had Potter blood running through his veins.  Eventually, over time, Harry began to genuinely feel that pride again too.

Harry’s encounters with Snape went swiftly back to normal; the terse man belittling Harry at every opportunity and inexorably ignoring the event ever occurred.  Harry felt a certain private sadness at the outcome and would always wonder how things might have changed if the paternity test had come back with a different answer.  He also wondered if he would always look at Professor Snape a little differently now, both because of what they might have had, but also because of what he’d surmised about the man during that day.

One Sunday afternoon several weeks later, Hedwig fluttered in through the open sixth year boys dorm window to deliver a muggle-style letter to Harry.  Harry took it quickly from the owl’s outstretched leg, fed her a quick thank-you treat, and opened it curiously.  It read:

Dear Harry,

The pain you feel for your lost fathers will eventually fade, and then you will remember the good times and the good in us; treasure those in a special place inside your heart.

 We would not wish for you to take from us the responsibilities for our own actions.  We did what we did because it was within us to do it – let us have our glory through others knowing our sacrifice was worth it.  A man needs to know he made a difference.  Acknowledge the difference we made in you, and for you; it will be our departing triumph.

It is an unusually difficult position you find yourself in and as your father I fear my advice will only take you so far, but I nevertheless offer it as long as I can give it.  You can find me here if needed, if only to share your inner turmoil with somebody.  I understand your need.

Your mother would be so proud of you, I know it.

Dad

With a small smile Harry refolded the letter and hid it deep in his school trunk. 

He suspected where it had come from, but he determined never to delve deeper into the mystery.  He needed only to know he had a father-figure willing to do whatever he could to help his son through the tough times.  It need not have been a specific single person…

Harry gave his owl an affectionate scratch on the back of her head.  “You found him, Hedwig?  Thanks!”