1965

Sitting in the corner, knees up to his chest, the little raven haired boy bit his bottom lip in an attempt not to cry. But his effort was futile as large tears rolled down his shallow cheeks. He sat shaking, whether more from cold or from fright, no one could tell. But the bruises on his face told volumes of his sad story.

“Severus,” came a call from above.

Looking up, the boy saw his mother on the staircase, her dulling brown hair hanging limply about her pale face. Her brown eyes were glazed over with fatigue and irritation. She was not a beautiful witch, but Eileen Snape was not ugly either. Her figure was slight and wiry, looking rather sickly to the eye, and thus, compelling the onlooker to feel pity. But her temper was formidable and her strength surprising.

“What are you doing down here in the cellar?” she questioned, wrapping her thick, green robe about herself more securely.

It was terribly hard to keep from crying, but the little boy found that he could not in front of his mother. “F-father was a-angry with me an-and threw me in here,” he answered. There was no use getting into details. He had no desire to hear his parents arguing about this tonight.

Frowning, Eileen jerked her head up the stairs. “Get out of here child. This is no place for you in the dead of winter. Can’t afford for you to get sick,” she turned her back on him and walked back up the steps.

Scrambling to his feet, as best as he could in his fragile condition, Severus rushed to the stairs before stopping to collect himself. His mother always told him to be careful on the stairs, and he had minded her. He once saw his father try to push his mother down the stairs, and ever since then,he tried to be as careful as he could. His father watching him like a hungry animal every time he walked by had helped him grow a healthy paranoia as well.

Taking one step at a time, hand on the railing, the little boy managed to get out of the cellar and into the relative heat of the main floor. A sigh escaped his lips as he hurried away to get to his room. If his father caught him it would not be very good. The five year old never understood why his father liked to hit him, but that was probably just because he was a stupid little moron. Father said so.

Once again facing the steps, Severus began to climb again. As he climbed, he began to ponder his recent punishment. All he had done was ask if he could get a blanket. Was that really so bad? It was quite drafty in the house, and the child had been shivering all morning. But Father had only stood up and started hitting him, like he always did, before “escorting” him down into the cellar, where he received another beating before being locked down there. It was late in the afternoon now.

The child made it up the steps, only to hear his father come storming out of his bedroom. The man did not look pleased; but when did he ever? As he passed, Tobias sneered down at the boy. “Little bastard,” he muttered.

Severus had learned long ago to ignore such statements. He did not quite know what they meant, but he understood the manner in which they were being spoken. There was no use dwelling on them, wondering how to change his father’s opinion of him because nothing ever changed. So, determined to go crawl in his bed, under his single sheet for warmth, the little boy tried to walk past his father.

Tobias’s raging black eyes watched as his son moved by him. “Insolent brat!” he spat, before grabbing the boy around the chest and practically throwing him down the steps.

There was little else Severus could do but scream. He was scared, and he was sorry, so very sorry that he had done something wrong again. If only his father would tell him why he was an insolent brat. If only his father made a list of rules, maybe then the child would be able to please the man. He was too young to realize that there were no set rules with Tobias; he did not understand that the rules would keep changing.

After several steps, Severus felt himself come to a halt and lifted up without anyone touching him. Looking around with wild eyes, he saw that his mother was standing at the bottom of the stairwell with her wand out. Eileen rarely used her wand, but it always intrigued her son when she did.

“What the hell did I tell you about using that Goddamn thing!” Tobias bellowed, thundering down the steps.

Setting down the child, not all too gently, Eileen spun on her husband. “What did you think you were doing, hurting the boy? You know we can’t afford for you to send him to the hospital again! People have already been asking question!”

And the argument ensued. While the adults were fighting, Severus took the chance to run up the steps he had fallen down, and into his room, desperate that no one would hear him.

More tears spilled from the black eyes as he curled up under his sheet. He was so cold, and tired, and he hurt awfully! He did not think he had ever been so scared in his life, like he had been when he found himself flying through the air, and falling down the steps. It had been terrible!

He cried harder, which hurt his ribs, when he thought about his father. What had he done? What could he change to make his father happy? Why was he being punished this way? If only they would tell him! He would change! He could be what they wanted him to be, anything they wanted him to be!

But no answers would ever come to these questions. As the child wept softly in the dark room, he suddenly remembered a very important thing. “Happy birthday, Sev,” he whispered to himself, before he fell into an uneasy sleep.

When he got to the staircase, Severus thought about apparating back down, avoiding the wretched steps altogether, but he had a plan that required more stealth. The crack after the apparating would give him away. Petunia was not likely to come out until she had completely composed herself, so…

Sucking it up and pushing down his phobia, Severus adorned his professor mentality before placing a hand on the rail and silently gliding down the steps. Peering into the parlor, the wizard found Vernon Dursley on his hands and knees scrubbing the carpet, his face purple. The couch looked to have already been scrubbed, but it still had the stain on it. A disgraceful mess really.

As he watched the overweight man, the wizard had a hard time not hexing the man. Anger boiled up inside Severus so hot that he could almost not stand looking at the cow any longer. Harry Potter… no, Severin Harrison Tiberius Snape, might have a rebellious attitude at times, and a talent for unsettling everything, but that gave Dursley no right, no right at all, to hurt Severus’s son!

As the Slytherin watched the other, his eyes narrowed into slits. The world would be such a better place without the likes of Vernon Dursley in it; he was as bad as a Tobias Snape! But then Tobias had met his end cruelly; Severus just wondered if this man was destined to have a similar fate. But no, whatever Severus had been in the past, he was no longer a Death Eater. He would not stoop to killing this insufferable Muggle, no matter how disgusting this man was. Snape had played God by taking lives before, he had no desire to try it again. He never really had the stomach for it anyway.

Slipping into the room silently, the Potions Master sat in a large chair that had an indent in it, which he supposed one of the Dursley men occupied frequently. He watched a bit before he found himself becoming too nauseated with the sight before him. “You missed a spot,” he said dryly.

Immediately, Vernon’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, looking very much like the proverbial deer in the headlights. He looked like he would say something, but of course, he did not have a voice in which to speak, causing a small smile on the wizard’s face. The Muggle shuddered visibly.

“I would speak to you, Vernon,” Severus tried to keep calm, even as he felt his temper pounding against his shield of calm. “I want to know why you hate Harry so much, and why you would hurt him.”

Taking out his wand and waving it in an impatient, jerky movement, Snape lifted the silencio, allowing the man to speak freely. There was slight satisfaction as the wizard watched the other flinch and hold up his arms up in vain attempt to protect himself. Of course, there was nothing for him to fear, but Severus was not going to let the Muggle know that.

“Now,” the wizard leaned forward slightly in his chair. “Tell me your reasons for harming P-Harry?”

Sitting on the floor in a most undignified manner, Vernon seemed to be thinking of anything he could say or do to appease the Potions Master, as though he believed he could bribe his way out of all of this. Not bleeding likely! the wizard thought indignantly.

“I,” the fat man began, as though testing his voice. When he discovered that he could once again speak, Severus steeled himself for an onslaught of ridiculous comments. “Well you see,” he began again. “That boy in there, Severus, is not like you and me. He’s unnatural, even for your kind.”

Although his expression was a stony blank, the older wizard had a hard time of not shutting the man up again, or worse. No, Vernon Dursley had not changed at all. The man was still so unbelievably unbearable that it was suffocating.

“Do get to your point,” the wizard snapped, remaining dormant in hopes of getting the information he wanted. After the life he had had, Severus had become very good at waiting.

“Well, you see,” the fat man went on. “I realized he was trouble, right from the start, I did! And he was no good as a child, always mouthing off. And his father was a terrible man, Severus, with that you’ll have to agree, and the boy’ll grow up just like him, mark my words! I know you didn’t like Potter either!”

Folding his hands neatly in his lap, while gripping them together so hard that his knuckles whitened, Severus let his lips curl upwards in another small smile. The act seemed to both encourage and unnerve the man that sat on the floor. As Vernon squirmed, Severus hoped that all of his ill will could be sent towards the man with just his eyes.

“You are right,” his voice was again silky and dangerous. “I never did like James Potter. But as for the boy,” his voice dropped. “I hope that he will turn out like his father. The more so the better. For you see Vern, Potter wasn’t the boy’s father. I am.” Vernon stared up at the wizard, horrified. “And I am here now to extract very severe punishment upon you,” the Potions Master lost his smile, allowing his full fury to show through.

Vernon paled, understanding now that he had been caught.

&&&&&

In the kitchen, Harry found that he could not work on his homework, not with the events of the past day and a half going through his mind. Snape was his father, the Potions Master was his father. It was surreal. It was ludicrous! It was true.

The young wizard let his mind wander to other things besides homework. Like, how did his mum fall in love with Snape, of all people? And if she had been in love with Snape, his father, then why had she married his f- James Potter at all?

Sitting up straighter with a thought, Harry remembered the letter his mother had written to him. Glancing at Dudley and then towards the door to the parlor, the wizard decided that neither one of them could harm him while his professor was in the house, so he got up and dashed up the stairs and into his bedroom.

Hedwig hooted to him softly as he rushed inside. Harry smiled at her as he snatched his letter off the desk. “Come on if you want to get out of here,” he coaxed. “No one can hurt you now!”

Understanding, the Snowy Owl leaped into the air and flew out the door. Harry smiled as he watched her go, but as he left the room himself, he stopped in the hall and looked towards his aunt and uncle's bedroom. He wondered what was being said in there. After all, it did not take a genius to figure out that Snape had been angry with Petunia. Hopefully nothing too terrible was being said to her.

Racing back down the stairs, the young wizard peeked open the kitchen door, half expecting Snape to be standing there with his arms crossed, tapping his foot in impatient disapproval. But all that was there were his school supplies and Dudley, still mumbling about stupid magic and awful wizards. The Gryffindor smiled as he listened.

Sitting back down, Hedwig landing on the back of the chair,  Harry opened the letter from his mother carefully. Even though he now craved to know more about his…parents' relationship, the young wizard was also apprehensive. If he opened this and accepted Snape as his father, then where would that leave James Potter? James had given his life to protect Harry, not to mention give all of his wealth and his name. Harry had no desire to simply cut James out of the equation. Besides, Snape and James had hated one another, what had happened to make his mother simply turn the tables on both men and switch from one to the other at apparently random times?

Staring down at the letter in his hands, Harry found that once again that he did not want to open this letter, though not opening it was killing him. Snape was his father, Aunt Petunia had said so, and Snape himself seemed to have remembered past memories that he claimed Dumbledore hid from him. This letter might explain everything. Perhaps it would let him see the true man behind the impassive veneer and allow him to accept the man he had hated for three years.

Breaking open the seal, he noticed it consisted of an intricate letter “S” which supposedly stood for Snape. The parchment was fine and thick, holding a hue of maroon, making Harry’s lips curl into a smile. He began to read his mother’s scrawl in shining green ink.

With tears in his eyes, Harry smiled at his mother’s light heartedness. He wished he had known her…But on with my real reason for writing. Until you’ve received this letter, you would have gone by the name of Harry James Potter. I write that you may know the truth, my dear, as the truth is one of the most powerful things in the world. I am afraid that I have some rather shocking news to inform you of, that being, you are not the son of James Potter.

Please do not be distressed, my love! I am sorry if this is a nasty shock for you, but my deception was necessary, I assure you. You see, your own, excellent father died before he even knew of your conception while in service to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who is at this time, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You see, your father was in the rather dangerous employment of spying. He died while in a raid between Death Eaters and Aurors.

To see his mother truly believe that Snape, his real father, was dead hurt. It hurt much more than Harry would have thought. His mother had honestly believed the Headmaster when he had informed her of the Potions Master’s death. It was almost sickening, but he continued on with the letter.

But you are wondering about James Potter. You see, I dated James while in school in my six and seventh years, hoping, by a foolish, flippant notion, that I could get your father’s attention if I dated his rival. But I quickly discovered that I did not love James, nor did I like him. But he was a popular student and a powerful wizard as well. Soon I realized that I simply could not end a relationship with James. He would never have allowed it, and as time went on and we graduated from school, I found myself engaged to Potter, with some encouragement from the Headmaster.

As time when on, James became an Auror and a member of a secret organization called the Order of the Phoenix. His attention towards me had never been what I wanted them to be, and as he now had “bad guys” to chase, his attention slipped into almost disregard, but he would not release me from our engagement. For you see, what James Potter wanted, James Potter got. I was miserable, and since I had angered your father, pushing him over the edge, I found myself doomed to be Lily Potter.

The account of James was shocking, to say the least. Harry found that his mouth was hanging open. When he had first learned of the wizarding world, all accounts of James Potter that Harry had heard, the exception coming from Snape, said that the wizard was a good man. The very best of men actually. But his mother said differently!

The way in which Lily described Snape, made the Potions Master seem like a hero! But it amazed Harry that he had never heard any praise from anyone about Snape’s deeds. Sure, they complemented him on his potion making and other school related item, but for a man that had risked his life and helped bring down the fall of Voldemort, the man was sadly unrecognized!

Harry had to smile once again. Snape must have had his stupidity of Gryffindors speech worked out before he became a professor. He could just see his mother smile softly as she wrote this sentence. It warmed Harry’s heart.

Sitting back in his chair, Harry looked out into space, not really seeing the kitchen he was in. Snape had been the good guy and James the bad? Dumbledore had mislead his mother into thinking the Potions Master was dead? Snape had wanted kids? This was not even his true appearance!

At that moment, Severus walked into the room with Vernon in tow. He glanced at Harry and noticed the boy was white. Looking down, the professor noticed the letter on the table. “Dear Merlin, what now?” he muttered.

It was then that Harry realized that his father was in the room at all. And it came as a greater surprise when he realized that it was indeed, his birthday.