It was 11:58 on July 30, and Harry Potter was excitedly watching the clock on his bedside table. In just a few short moments he would be seventeen and an adult in the wizarding world, capable of doing magic and no longer requiring guardians. The only damper on his excitement was that Professor Dumbledore had asked him not to leave the Dursleys just yet. After his narrow escape from Voldemort at the end of the last school year, Harry was willing to comply with the headmaster’s request.

The Dark Lord, he knew, despite his considerable occlumency skills, was furious with him and Harry was willing enough to accept whatever protection the blood he shared with his aunt could afford him. Obscurely, Harry was almost comforted by his nemesis’s rage. As long as the other wizard was that angry, he had not yet settled down to thinking up his next plot to kill the Boy-Who-Lived.

At last the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock blinked to 12:00 and it was nearly all Harry could do not to let out a whoop of joy. Owls began fluttering through the window and Harry was soon caught up in receiving letters and presents from all his many friends and much of the Order.

Harry finally collected all of his parcels, including his school letters, and had just sent all the owls off preparatory to opening his gifts when he noticed a letter floating just over his pillow. Curiously he approached the envelope, but did not touch it. He could practically feel the magic coming off the letter, though it did not feel dark, Harry still couldn’t imagine what it was. He prodded it with his wand and shrugged when there was no response.

Taking a deep breath, Harry reached out and plucked the letter from the air, other than a slight, and almost friendly, tingle nothing seemed to happen. Harry exhaled gustily and began examining the envelope. The handwriting was unfamiliar and Harry decided that he would have to open it to know what it was. Deftly Harry broke the seal and unfolded the parchment within.

He did a double-take when he read the salutation, My dear son. Who would write that? It wasn’t remotely funny. The closing was signed Lily Evans Potter. Harry decided it was a joke and not a very good one and set the letter aside. He would read it later, he decided. For now, he just wanted to open his presents. By the time he had finished with them and shoved them into his trunk, which was starting to seem a bit small with seven years worth of things in it, Harry collapsed into bed, leaving the prank letter sitting on his bedside table.

The next morning Harry was awakened by a pounding on his bedroom door accompanied by his aunt’s shrill voice. Hermione had called to wish him a happy birthday, so Harry hurried down to the telephone and chatted with his friend for a few moments while trying to ignore his uncle’s glares. After a bit, he hung up and made his way back upstairs to get dressed.

Harry was completely shocked to see his Aunt Petunia holding the disturbing letter he had received the last night with trembling hands. “What are you doing going through my things?” Harry asked coldly.

“Not as perfect as you thought, was she?” Petunia asked with a nasty smile.

“What are you on about?” Harry asked agitatedly as he snatched the parchment from his aunt’s hands. “That’s just a prank someone sent.”

“Oh no it’s not, boy. I’d know your mother’s handwriting anywhere. Haven’t read it yet, have you?” she asked, her smirk growing. “Do,” she said exultantly as she shoved past him.

Harry was staring after her in shock. Could it really be that his mother had somehow managed to send a letter to him from beyond the grave? And if so, why hadn’t she sent him letters before this? Shaking ever-so-slightly, Harry settled down on his bed and began to read.

My dear son, the letter began,

I hope with all my heart that you never receive this letter, for if you do it means that I am dead. If that is the case, I hope you know how much I love you, and how much James loves you. You may have noticed that I said James and not your father. As you are now seventeen and an adult in our world, I feel it is time for you to know, Harry suddenly stopped reading, he had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was going and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the rest.

He stood up and fetched his photo album from his trunk. After a few moments paging through it and basking in all the smiles shining up at him he decided that James was his father, no matter what. Harry gave a satisfied nod and folded the letter up, halfway through putting it away, however, he paused. He didn’t know as much as he would like about his mother, and the letter was rather long. Besides, if James wasn’t his father Harry couldn’t help wondering who was. With a small sigh Harry unfolded the letter and settled back onto his bed.

Where was he…ah—I feel it is time fore you to know that James is not your father. It is fairly likely that you knew this already, you have only a little of me in you, perhaps my nose and eyes, so most likely you will look very like your father.

James and I were happily married, as you’ve no doubt been told. The times were dark, however, and the worries that everyone had were compounded by our membership in the Order. If you don’t know what that is, do ask Albus Dumbledore, you may know him as the headmaster of Hogwarts. At any rate, know that we were committed to fighting Voldemort and it was very dangerous. There was a time when James had gone on a mission without me and he did not come back on time. I was frantic with worry. And then word came that he had died. It was believable, since he was several days overdue. I became very depressed and was not completely myself.

After an Order meeting an old school mate, Severus Snape, helped me home, since I wasn’t sure I could apparate alone. He came inside to make certain that I was alright and I talked him into staying for dinner. I will not lie to you, my son, we drank several bottles of wine and I invited Severus to share my bed that night. It was entirely my idea. I wanted, I think, to feel that James was with my one last time. Please understand that although you were not planned, I do not regret you, and I have not for even an instant since I first found I would have you.

Severus was gone before I woke the next morning. You mustn’t blame him, Harry. You may already know him, and you probably already knew or suspected that you were related.

Know that I love you with all my heart and have never made any attempt to disguise you because I am not ashamed of you, my son.

James has declared you his heir, as well, so you needn’t worry about using the money in the Potter family vault.

Forgive me, Harry, and know that I love you.

Forgive me, too, for not sending you more letters on other birthdays, but I don’t want to tempt fate by preparing so obviously for death, and I fear this may be too much already.

Good bye, my son, my love, my Harry.

Lily Evans Potter

When he got to the end Harry sat gasping for breath. He had a wild urge to drop the letter and simply run, as he had in the days before Hogwarts, but the rational part of his brain told him that even were he to run all the way to Australia nothing would change what he had just read.

Harry couldn’t understand how this could happen. He looked nothing like Snape, and everyone had always said that he was the mirror image of James. Even he had to acknowledge the similarities, hadn’t he seen his father that time in the Pensieve?

Merlin, to be related to Snape, of all people. Harry reckoned the only thing worse would be to find out that he was somehow a Malfoy. Then Harry thought about wizarding genealogy and groaned as he realized that he might very well be related to the Malfoys.

A large part of Harry wanted to insist that it was all a sick, twisted joke, but as he recalled the look on his aunt’s face he knew that it could not possibly be a prank. Which left him with the problem of what to do about it.

Harry stared toward the window, not actually looking out it but subconsciously seeking the comfort of sunlight caressing his skin. Idly he half-recalled a time when he was very young and he thought the sun must be his mother, before he had realized that it was an impossible notion.

To think, all those years in Potions class he had actually been learning from his own father. Harry laughed mirthlessly at the idea that the dour professor had been hardest on his own son. And no one had known it, no one had even guessed. But why should they have, Harry thought, there was never any reason to, after all. Harry smiled a small, cold smile, and there was no reason to now, either.

He still looked the same as he always had, and he was still the same person; nothing had changed, and nothing would change. Harry would tell no one and pretend that he didn’t know himself. That only left the problem of what to do with the letter. Harry couldn’t even consider burning it, it was all he had of his mother, and it was little enough compared with what he had from Ja— from his father.

Harry glanced at his trunk and remembered a small rip in the lining at the very bottom. Seized with inspiration, Harry got up and began emptying his trunk. He widened the hole the tiniest bit and slid the letter in. He flattened it and carefully piled his things back in his trunk. When he was done he smiled and moved off to try to enjoy what was left of his birthday and to hope that the Order came for him soon.

Two weeks later Severus Snape stumbled into his bedroom. He had been working late in the lab and had grudgingly acceded to the Headmaster's demand that he get some rest. He pulled off his shoes and strode into the bathroom. As he emerged he was drying his damp hair with a towel. When he finished he dropped the towel in the hamper and turned toward his bed. What he saw surprised him.

There, floating just above his pillow, was a faintly glowing envelope with vaguely familiar and completely unwelcome handwriting. His first impulse was to burn the letter, but he was nearly immediately seized with a sort of morbid curiosity. What in Merlin's name could be so important that James Potter would write to him after he was dead?

Cautiously Severus reached out a hand and grasped the envelope. He half expected his hair to turn pink or to start spouting rhymes, but nothing of that nature happened. The faint glow merely went out and he was left holding a perfectly normal looking envelope. With a sigh Severus examined the letter for any signs of unfriendly magic and, finding none, sat down to read the missive.

Severus, he raised an eyebrow.

I am strongly tempted to call you something else, but if I did you would only burn this instead of reading it, and I very much want you to read it. I fancy that this will affect you far more than any silly nickname.

Severus growled, silly nickname indeed, Potter had not been the one taunted with it. Severus wanted to put the letter down, or better yet burn it to cold ash, but curiosity compelled him to continue. Whatever this was it was sure to be important. It had better be, at any rate.

Two weeks ago a highly momentous occasion came and passed with no comment from you, so I can only conclude that you did not know. Two weeks ago, Snape, your son was born. Severus paled; if he hadn't already been sitting he would have dropped bonelessly to his bed.

The trouble with this is that he was born of my wife and everyone thinks he is my son. Everyone, that is, except Lily and myself. You see, I know all about that night. Lily confessed it to me not long after I'd got back. She told me it was her idea, but it sounds to me like you got her drunk and took advantage of her.

Severus growled again, which was not particularly satisfying, since what he wanted to do was yell and scream and rip James Potter's throat out. He had not gotten her drunk that night. If anything she had gotten him drunk. Well, perhaps not drunk, but he had had enough wine that he wasn't prepared to resist too strenuously when a beautiful woman asked him to her bed.

Besides, James had been dead; at least they had thought so. They found out later that he wasn't, but it was an honest mistake. Bet you loved that, didn't you, Snape. Especially when I came back. Actually he had felt a vague uneasiness, in case James should decide to punish his misdeed.

How do I know he's your son and not mine? Aside from the test potion, I saw him. It is immediately obvious to any careful observer. Needless to say I could not allow the boy that will be considered my heir to look like you, so two weeks ago, while Lily was writing her letter to little Harry, I transfigured him to look more like me and anchored the transfiguration in his bones and blood.

Not even Lily has noticed the change, though she thinks it odd that your son looks so much like me. She is too in love with him to question it though. So you see, Snivellus, not only have I taken your son completely away from you, no one even noticed.

Severus crumpled the letter in his fist and dropped it to the floor. Snatching a cloak and swinging it round his shoulders he stalked down to one of the abandoned classrooms and flung open the door. Angrily he transfigured a few of the broken desks into Potter-like doppelgangers then blasted them until nothing was left but a very fine dust.

Suddenly a thought insinuated itself into is head. James, while a good enough charms student, had never been brilliant. A charm to send a letter seventeen years into the future was far too complex for him. Therefore this had to be a prank. Only Potter could be brazen enough to try something of this magnitude.

How then, had he found out about that night? He hadn't told anyone and he would have bet a hand Lily wouldn't tell anyone but James. A lucky guess, then. Potter didn't really know, he was just mouthing off.

With a wicked smile Severus evanesco'd the mess he had made and returned to his bedchamber. He knew how to deal with a prankster. Just let the little brat wait until he got back to school.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep a small voice whispered that there was a hole in his logic, somewhere. The voice, however, was throttled in an instant; Severus was very good at believing what he wanted to believe.

The rest of the summer had seemed to pass slowly, but the night before he caught the Hogwarts Express to Hogwarts for the last time, Harry could not believe how quickly it had gone. He had eventually been allowed to leave the Dursleys and spent the last two weeks of the holidays at Order Headquarters in London. It had been a relief to get away from his cousin’s cringing, his uncle’s purple face, and his aunt’s knowing looks.

It was no longer quite so painful to go to Sirius’s old home, but Harry could not help wondering what his beloved godfather would have said had he known the truth about Harry’s paternity. Harry chastised himself for that thought, James was his father. James had been the one to care for him and his mother. Snape had been nothing but an interloper who took advantage of his mother in her moment of weakness. The turmoil Harry was trying so valiantly to suppress spilled over into his behavior and he found himself constantly having to work not to snap unnecessarily at his friends.

Thankfully Harry had not seen his potions master during his stay at Grimmauld Place. Otherwise, Harry was quite certain, he would have cheerfully cursed the man for being the cause of his terrible confusion. Eventually, however, with the help of his friends who continually tried to cheer him up, despite not knowing what was wrong, Harry managed to bury all the unpleasant ruminations that had been plaguing him since his birthday. He stopped thinking about the letter more than once or twice a day, and he began once again to believe in James and by the end of break he was almost his old self again.

Harry had been nervous when he returned to Hogwarts and had spent the entire sorting and much of the following feast shooting apprehensive glances up at the head table where his f—professor sat. Hermione kept watching him and asked several times if he was okay. Harry insisted that he was fine, just a little tired, and by the end of the evening he felt he could stand whatever Snape could throw at him in class.

Severus had noticed Harry’s attention and sneered. Clearly the brat was looking for some sign of reaction from him; Potter wanted to know that he had rattled his victim. Severus vowed that he would get no such pleasure and focused all his formidable dramatic skill on pretending that he was perfectly normal and had nothing on his mind but his current annoyance with the mass of students sitting in the Great Hall as a whole. The Brat-Who-Lived was in for a nasty surprise.

In Potions class, which Harry was dismayed to find that he had the first day, Severus was surprised to see that they boy was back to his usual behavior, namely glaring every time he felt Snape’s eyes watching him and flailing about in a hopeless attempt to concoct the assigned potion or a reasonable facsimile.

When Harry strode up to the front to place his sample on the desk Snape came up behind him. “Mr. Potter,” he said, laying an odd stress on the last name, “See me after class, I believe there is something we need to discuss.”

Harry glowered a little but said, “Yes, sir,” in a fair approximation of respect.

A few minutes’ time found the pair standing in an otherwise deserted classroom. “You wanted to see me, professor?” Harry asked.

“I thought you would be interested to know that I received your letter,” Severus replied, barely restraining a smirk.

“Received my letter?” Harry repeated, “What do you mean, what are you talking about?”

A tiny bit of panic crept into the young man’s voice and Snape thought, gotcha. “Why the letter you sent me, of course, Mr. Potter,” this time as Snape carefully pronounced ‘Potter’ he smirked viciously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry exclaimed. “I didn’t send you any letters!”

“Then you can hazard no explanation for the missive I received just two weeks after your coming of age which claimed to be from your father, excuse me, I meant James Potter,” Snape corrected himself with a toothy, predatory grin.

“You got a letter from James?” Harry asked, paling dramatically.

Severus quirked an eyebrow at the response. “Yes,” he replied. “It was most…informative.”

Harry paled even further, his face turning a sort of pasty gray, and for a moment Severus thought that the youth would pass out, but though Harry clutched a chair for balance, he did not go down. The silence stretched for a moment before Harry said, “If you’re trying to accuse me of playing some sort of prank on you, let me assure you nothing could be farther from the truth. As a matter of fact I received a rather nasty hoax letter myself. I didn’t find it the least bit amusing, and I certainly didn’t send anything at all to you.”

Severus was dumbfounded. If this wasn’t Potter’s attempt at a joke, what was it? Certainly it couldn’t be real? Severus searched Harry’s face, looking for a clue to some other explanation.

“Why would James write to you?” Harry asked softly. “Surely it’s not true?” he asked, voice full of distaste.

“What’s not true?” Snape snapped.

“I got a letter which claimed to be from my mother. It said that I was not her husband’s son,” Harry admitted in a near whisper. Severus snarled and whirled away from the youth before him to drop into his chair. “It is then?” Harry murmured.

“I have no intention of suddenly becoming you best friend,” Snape snarled.

“Good,” Harry bit out, “because it’s a bit late to suddenly acquire a parent.”

“We’re agreed then,” Snape said cautiously, “we go our separate ways and pretend none of this happened.” Harry nodded sharply in agreement. “Very well, Potter, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied and stalked out of the classroom as fast as he could.

A few months later Severus stood quietly in the back corner of his classroom. He was not immediately noticed by the seventh years who bent over their cauldrons and he raked the class with his gaze trying to decide which of them he should sweep down upon first and who would be the first to lose points. His eyes settled on Potter. Certainly it would be most satisfying to take points from him, but would it be better to do it immediately or to wait a bit longer?

As Snape studied the young man he noted absently the easy way he prepared the boomslang skin. It was almost as though he was already familiar with this particular potion. For a fleeting instant Severus could see that Potter might have been quite good at potions with the right encouragement. Was it possible that that talent had come from him? That he had passed on his own ability to his son? What might it have been like, to have gotten to know the boy? Or perhaps even to have raised him as his own? Then he saw the knowing, mischievous grin he shared with Granger. It was pure Potter.

With a snarl he stalked off toward another student and proceeded to berate them for poor technique. It wasn’t until much later, when he had successfully chased all sentimental wishes completely out of mind that he found a reason to take points from Potter, but when he did Gryffindor’s standing dropped rather significantly.

Several weeks after that, Harry was wandering around the school. It was quite late, after curfew even for seventh years, but Harry couldn’t sleep so he had slipped his invisibility cloak on and set out to walk through the corridors. He was inexplicably drawn to the dungeons, as he had been for some time now. It seemed his feet carried him down to the depths of the school every time his mind stopped actively guiding him away.

Suddenly, as he approached a corner, he heard voices. Harry slowed and crept carefully to peer around the stones. There he saw a Slytherin standing in some distress. The child was quite young, perhaps a first or second year, and she was trying valiantly to suppress the tears tracking down her face. Harry was just striding forward, thinking of taking his cloak off and comforting the girl when he saw Professor Snape approaching from the other end of the hallway.

He froze.

Harry’s first impulse was to run, but he was reluctant to leave the younger student to the mercies of Snape. Granted she was a Slytherin, but still…and as Snape couldn’t actually see him…

He was surprised when the greasy potions master did not immediately take points, and shocked beyond words when the man knelt next to the little girl. “Nightmares again?” he asked in a gentle voice.

She simply nodded.

“Do you wish to talk about it this time?”

She shook her head vigorously.

Snape sighed and looked around as though searching for an answer.

“You know you can trust me,” he said to her.

She did not reply.

“Perhaps next time,” he said softly, as though to himself. “Come,” Severus said to the child before him, “I will give you a potion to let you sleep the rest of the night. And perhaps the house elves can be persuaded to bring a mug of cocoa as well.”

The girl looked carefully at him and nodded. Harry looked on, gobsmacked, as Snape stood and offered the little girl his hand to lead her to his office. He continued to stand there as the young Slytherin grabbed onto her professor’s longer fingers and followed him trustingly.

A curious sort of equilibrium was reached between them, though an outsider might notice little to no difference in their relationship. Despite their denial each had strange moments when they wondered what it might have been like if they had reconciled, but both Severus and Harry quickly pushed these moments aside.

There wasn’t much time for such idle thoughts anyway. Voldemort was becoming more active and few weeks went by without some report of Death Eater activity. Refugees flocked to Hogwarts and whole new wings of the castle appeared to accommodate them all. Harry spent every spare moment studying and training and Severus was run positively ragged answering summons and attending to his professorial duties.

As the year drew to its close, tempers frayed and there was a dramatic increase in hallway confrontations. Voldemort, too, grew more snappish and was more likely to curse his supporters for the slightest infraction. Albus Dumbledore grew worried. Not only was his spy within the Dark Lord’s ranks endangered, he was genuinely worried for the tall, dark wizard he looked on as a very close friend and ally.

Finally, a week before NEWTs testing was scheduled to begin, Severus was summoned and did not return with the dawn as he usually did. Dumbledore immediately set a closer, but no less surreptitious, watch on Harry.

For his part, Harry was far more worried than he let on. Snape was a cruel, horrid, unhygienic git, but somewhere in all the unacknowledged half-moments Harry had accepted that the cantankerous professor was family, the kind of family that made you grateful for your friends, but family none the less. Consequently, the night before NEWTs, one week after Snape’s disappearance, Harry approached his headmaster with an off to dis-occlude his mind in an endeavor to get some hint of Snape’s whereabouts.

As it turned out, he never had a chance to complete the first sentence. Lord Voldemort appeared at the edge of the wards and made his way toward the castle, systematically blasting every stone warthog he came to. Behind him walked Severus Snape. With hardly a second thought Harry Potter, boy-who-lived, summoned his broom and flew down to meet them.

Just as the seventh statue was destroyed Harry drew near the pair. “Don’t you have anything better to do than hex the statuary?” he sneered.

“You would prefer, perhaps, that I blast something else, like you?” Voldemort returned, gesturing to Snape who stepped forward and passed him a vial full of a clear and slightly viscous substance.

“You’re welcome to try, of course,” Harry smirked back, “But you’ve been rather singularly unsuccessful so far, haven’t you?” Voldemort smiled a ghastly smile and threw the vial to the ground at Harry’s feet.

Seemingly nothing happened.

“What do you expect me to do, melt?” Harry said contemptuously. “You didn’t even hit me.”

The Dark Lord just smiled again and said, “A death for a life, Potter, Sanguinans Nex Necis!”

At that a dark mist rose from the puddle and surrounded Harry, spinning tighter and tighter until suddenly, for no immediately apparent reason, it reversed directions and surrounded the Dark Lord. “No!” he shrieked in his high, cold voice.

A moment later his body fell to the ground. Harry, who had fallen to his knees as the swirling cloud left him, could see his nemesis trying to escape in spirit form but the potion-mist quickly encircled and enveloped him. It whirled into a sickly, blackish-green sphere and suddenly collapsed into non-existence with a loud whoosh!

Harry and Severus stared in shocked silence for a moment before Severus snapped his mouth shut and walked over to the corpse between them. He considered it for a moment before delivering a sharp kick to the ribs of the deflated-looking cadaver. When nothing further happened Harry said, “I think he’s really dead this time.”

“I think you’re right,” Severus agreed. “Though you know it pains me to agree with you on anything.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “All that training and I didn’t even throw a hex at him,” he said, shaking his head.

“Some hero you turned out to be,” Severus said snarkily.

“Yes, well, I did come rushing down here,” Harry said snarkily, “Surely that counts for something.”

“I suppose Albus will be along in a minute,” Severus said contemplatively.

“He’d better be,” Harry commented, “I’d really like to know what just happened.”

“Ah, I think Severus can explain that much better than I,” Dumbledore said, seeming to appear from nowhere.

Snape smirked at the way Harry startled. “The Dark Lord attempted to use a spell-potion complex to kill you. For whatever reason he could not and the magic turned against its caster seeking the promised life.”

“But why didn’t it work?” Harry asked curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“Perhaps it was your mother’s sacrifice,” Dumbledore suggested.

“Maybe,” Harry conceded, “It’s worked before.” Severus frowned but said nothing.

“I will need to contact the Ministry,” Dumbledore said. “I would suggest that the two of you go and relax while you have the chance.” Severus nodded and strode off, only to stop a moment later when he realized Harry wasn’t following him.

“What about NEWTs, Professor?” he asked.

“I daresay they can be put off a bit,” the headmaster replied with a twinkle. “I doubt even the examiners will be in the mood for tests tomorrow.”

Harry smiled a little and nodded, moving off to follow Snape. They walked in silence until they reached the door to Snape’s office. Harry paused for a moment, wondering if somehow Gryffindor was going to lose points, but walked in when he saw the man’s impatient glare. “Have a seat,” he said, handing Harry a teacup.

“I’m not sure I’m really in the mood for tea,” Harry said as he seated himself.

“It will settle your nerves,” Snape said. Harry took a cautious sip and sighed as the warmth of the liquid spread through him. Snape seated himself in a similar chair before the fireplace with his own cup of tea.

“You want to know something really funny?” Harry asked after a moment.

“I suppose you’ll tell me anyway, so go ahead,” Severus replied, not looking up from his contemplation of the fireplace.

“All I could think when he shouted that incantation was that I wasn’t a Potter.”

Snape snorted, “I suppose that explains why the potion rejected you. It makes more sense than your mother’s sacrifice, really. If somehow the potion absorbed your name as part of t the incantation…” he trailed off with a thoughtful look on his face. “Then, too, the potion was keyed to James Potter’s flesh.”

“I don’t even want to think about how you did that.” Harry said with a nauseated look. “Even if I don’t think of myself as one, I certainly do look like a Potter though, and that’s the bit I’ve never been able to figure out.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Severus asked in surprise.

“Who didn’t tell me what?” Harry frowned.

“James didn’t write you a letter?” Severus asked.

“No, you’re the only one who got that privilege.”

“You were transfigured less than an hour after birth.”

Harry’s frown deepened, “Shouldn’t that have worn off by now?”

“Ordinarily,” Snape replied in an odd tone, “But Perfect James Potter didn’t want his heir looking like me, so he anchored the transfiguration. You would have to lose all your bones and your blood to release the transfiguration.”

Harry gaped at him, “But that’s Dark Magic!” he protested.

“Yes,” Severus agreed, “but it’s also expedience.”

“Some Gryffindor he turned out to be,” Harry huffed. Severus nodded. “Don’t you want revenge?” Harry asked, looking at the older wizard from the corner of his eye.

“It’s a bit late for that, James Potter is dead.”

Harry bit back a retort about how glad he was that Snape was finally able to recognize that face but said instead, “But don’t you want it?” Harry repeated.

“Why, what do you have in mind?” Severus asked, turning toward Harry with a faintly amused glint in his eyes.

“We should get to know each other,” Harry said simply.

“I think that potion addled your brains. We’ve been over this. I have no desire to be paternal.”

“I’m not asking you to be paternal. I’m asking you if you don’t think it would make him spin in his grave to see us getting along. We could get together once a month or something,” Harry waved a hand deprecatingly.

“Once a month?” Severus asked, thinking that that didn’t sound like too much, and he did feel a little curious to see what this young man, his son, would make of the new world.

“Once a month.”

“No paternal duties?” he confirmed.

“None whatsoever,” Harry reassured him.

“It’s a plan, then.”

“Good,” Harry said with a small but genuine smile. Snape nodded and the corner of his mouth that Harry could not see flicked up ever so slightly.