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.