It was dark. Only slivers of the dim moonlight lit his way, penetrating through the dense leaves of the towering trees around him as he ran past, but he hadn't an inkling of where he was going or why he was even running in the first place. His feet seemed to be moving of their own accord, the dry leaves and grass crackled underneath his feet with every step.

The forest seemed endless, the shadows around him closing in.

Until finally, in the distance, a single marble headstone suddenly came into view, directly in the middle of his path. He stopped when he reached it, noting how familiar it seemed. Just as he noticed the name chiseled on the front, a figure appeared beside him. 

Cedric.

Wearing his Triwizard garb, his wand held tensely in front of him.

And around them, the trees had vanished, replaced by an eerily familiar graveyard.

He knew what would happen next.

When he reached for his own wand, he found it was missing.

He needed to run. 

They had to leave.

But his feet were rooted to the spot.

Cedric turned, saying something to him that he couldn't make out over the drumming of his heartbeat building in his ears. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, as if wanting to burst from its confines.

He needed to grab Cedric and get back to the portkey before—

"Kill the spare!"

"No, Cedric!" he wanted to shout, but the words were stuck to the back of his throat.

"Avada Kedavara!"

As if in slow motion, he watched the horrible green light erupt from the tip of Voldemort's wand and rush toward Cedric, hitting directly into his chest.

There was the sound of a body thudding to the ground.

"Why did you get me killed Harry?" said a cold voice, startling him. Cedric was beside him once again, but this time, his appearance was ghostlike, glimmering and translucent, looking exactly like he did when he came out of Voldemort's wand during the Prior Incantatem. "It's all your fault." Cedric's face contorted then, to an almost inhuman look.

"I-I'm sorry," Harry rasped, but knew that it wasn't going to be enough. It never was.

Suddenly, his surroundings shifted and he was in the Department of Mysteries. Death Eaters and Order members were dueling around him, their multicolored spells flying all over the vast room, but Harry wasn't aware of any of that as his main focus was on one person dueling in front of the veil. 

Just as Bellatrix cast the curse that sent Sirius stumbling into the veil, everything in the room appeared to have slowed down as if a time spell had been cast. Sirius suddenly looked straight at him, the expression on his face cut through Harry's heart.

"See what you've done, Harry? I'm dead because of you!" Sirius shouted at him, his face twisting into a look of disgust. "You aren't worthy of being my godson."

"No! P-please Sirius, I'm sorry," Harry said as he tried to make his way toward Sirius, hoping to grab his godfather before he fell through the veil. But with every step he took, he seemed to be getting further and further away. 

Sirius abruptly turned away then, and fell through the veil, disappearing forever without even a backward glance at his grief stricken godson.

Harry gave a strangled gasp as he jerked awake, immediately regretting the sudden movement as it caused a burst of pain to radiate from his battered body. He winced, curling up on his side as he shivered violently in his sweat drenched shirt, breathing heavily as if he'd just finished running a marathon. The nightmare wasn't uncommon; Harry had been having them quite often ever since that incident in his fourth year, but recently, Sirius had started to become a part of them as well.

After several minutes of him attempting to slow his frantic breathing, Harry pushed himself gingerly up to a sitting position, having realized he was still laying on the hardwood floor of his bedroom. Then he tried to make it onto his bed, only to fall back to the floor with a groan as his damaged body protested to the exertion.

Gritting his teeth and drawing in some long deep breaths, Harry managed to carefully lift himself onto his worn down cot the Dursleys provided for him. He pulled the threadbare sheets over him, set his glasses on the small nightstand, and laid there, staring at the blurry wall opposite him. He felt exhausted, but it usually took awhile for him to fall back asleep after one of his nightmares, and just as he was about to drift off to unconsciousness, he heard a quiet swoosh that once again snapped his brain back to full awareness. Harry jerked his head up, the movement jarring his already sore neck, and he gave a slight groan as he gingerly rubbed it.

He reached for his glasses and shoved them back on his face before looking around to see what had happened. By the slivers of moonlight shining in from his window, Harry spotted a letter on the floor next to his bed.

Cautiously rising from his bed, Harry wondered where the letter had come from as it surely hadn't been there a few moments ago. It certainly hadn't come from an owl— his window was locked and Uncle Vernon had reinstalled the bars outside.

Harry slowly crept towards it, reaching out a hand before he quickly pulled it back.

It could be a trap… Or maybe a Portkey—

Then a floral scent that seemed somehow familiar suddenly surrounded him, and Harry could make out his name written on the front in an elegant handwriting he didn't recognize. He carefully picked up the envelope, his heart jumping into his throat as he realized with a start who this could possibly be from.

But it can't be from her... 

Harry slowly broke the seal and opened the letter, unfolding the parchment with slightly trembling hands and began reading.

My dearest son, 

It is my greatest hope that you will never receive this letter, and I am there to tell you in person. However, if you are reading this now, it means that James and I are dead. The protections put in place to keep us safe have failed, but at least you would eventually know the truth.

James is not your father. I had applied a charm that made you look like a mixture between James and myself. It is set to slowly wear off after your sixteenth birthday, finally revealing your true appearance. Hopefully by then, the war would have ended and your real father would still be alive.

His position in this war has become too dangerous for us to remain a family. Dumbledore had suggested that you and I would be safer with James for the time being due to the severity of the war. It was an incredibly difficult decision for your father and I to make. He and James have never been on very good terms, however, I would like to believe that there was a sort of truce between them while living with this arrangement. 

Your father is a spy for the light, he is exceedingly brave and continues to put himself at risk for the sake of the wizarding world. Always having to conceal his true feelings from Voldemort is never an easy task. If he ever discovers that your father is a spy, he would be killed immediately.

Your biological father is Severus Snape. Even though he may seem like he has a cold exterior, he does have a heart that only few are fortunate enough to see. Your first words were "Dada" and every time he came home after a long day you would toddle over to him and climb onto his lap to cheer him up. Just as well, Severus possessed the incredibly rare talent of being able to calm you with just a few soft words in your ear when you were upset. You were his entire world, Harry, ever since the day you were born. 

Severus had to have his memories removed to ensure that he does not get caught with them, after having a close encounter with Voldemort. Another letter will be sent to Severus at the same time as you receive yours. I have included a vial of Severus' memories in his letter so he could remember all the good times we had as a family. Please find Severus, and help him remember. He will need you as much as you need your father.

Never forget Harry, you are so loved.

Your mother,

Lily Snape

For the longest time, Harry just stared at the letter in disbelief, his fingers having gone numb. A swell of contradicting emotions swept over him as he reread it over and over…

Is it true? Is Snape really my father?

His mum... and Snape?

Scenes of the memory he witnessed in Snape's office flashed through his mind.

She'd defended him… but he'd called her a...

No, it can't be…

How did this happen?

The strict potions professor who had tormented and belittled him for the past five years at Hogwarts was his father?

A wave of anger and bitterness surged through him at the injustice of it all.

Why did the man who had loathed him ever since he set eyes on him, have to be his father?

It's not fair.

Just then, Harry caught a glimpse of the clock on his desk from the corner of his eye and realized that it was just five minutes after midnight.

He was officially sixteen now.

"Happy Birthday to me," Harry whispered, sighing as he lowered his eyes back to the letter.

He knew that he won't receive any gifts this time because he told his friends to hold his presents until he got back to Hogwarts. Usually he would have Hedwig to celebrate his birthday with him, but this year it was just him.

The Dursleys certainly never cared about his birthday, they actually went out of their way to make him even more miserable when he was younger. He remembered one year when Aunt Petunia had organized a party on his birthday and didn't allow Harry to join. It turned out to be a day for Dudley to invite his friends over while Harry was forced to listen through the slits in his cupboard. He remembered asking Aunt Petunia why he wasn't allowed to join in, and received the simple answer: "Because freaks don't deserve it."

Ever since then, Harry wanted to prove her wrong and had tried hard not to be so freaky, but despite his efforts, his relatives would always treat him the same way. They always glared at him as if he was an annoying piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe. He had become resigned to the irrefutable fact that no matter what he did, he couldn't change the way the Dursleys saw him.

After a long moment of getting lost in his thoughts, he noticed that there was more in the envelope than just the letter from his mother. Four photos slipped out onto the floor when Harry tipped the envelope upside down. All of them seemed to be wizard photos as the occupants were moving in a time loop.

The first one was apparently taken the day he was born. His mother could be seen in a hospital bed looking tired but the joy was apparent on her face as she was watching, to Harry's surprise, Snape holding a baby Harry in his arms. There was pride and amazement shown noticeably in Snape's usually cold eyes as he looked down at the tiny infant cradled in his arms. Then a small smile appeared on the man's usually stoic face as his thumb tenderly caressed the baby's soft cheek. Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing.

He would have never thought that Snape could be so... gentle, considering the man in the picture was the same man who had always went out of his way to make him miserable at school.

Moving on to the second photo, Harry almost gasped when he saw his younger self on Snape's lap, the man gently bouncing the little toddler. Little Harry was grinning and giggling like mad the entire time. Then Snape did something that completely shocked Harry. He wrapped his arms around the happy toddler, pulling him close to lean against his chest, and gently kissed the child on the temple. A look of pride and affection was shown clearly on his features.

Had there really been a time when Snape actually...

Harry shook his head and sighed.

Obviously, whatever feelings of affection Snape might have had for him was long gone now.

The next photo was also one of himself and Snape. He blinked, staring at it for a long time, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. Snape was dozing in a rocking chair, his arms wrapped tightly around the toddler who was sleeping contently against the man's chest. Harry couldn't help the little smile that involuntarily crept onto his face as he sat staring at the picture. He would have never imagined Snape— the Greasy Git of the Dungeons— to have once rocked him to sleep, but here was the proof.

The last photo was of all three of them sitting at a kitchen table. Snape was trying to feed Harry in his high chair, the spoon's motions imitating a train that was headed towards the little boy's mouth. Lily sat on the other side of Harry, green eyes shining with amusement as she laughed at the scene. A scowl appeared on Snape's face, though it didn't reach his eyes, as little Harry squirmed out of the way, just as the spoon was about to reach the little toddler's mouth. He could see the barely concealed amusement in those usually cold black eyes.

Harry stared at this photo for the longest time, trying to remember every little detail of the perfectly captured moment. The way his mother's face lit up as she laughed, Snape's reaction to the little toddler's antics, and the giggling younger version of himself...

Everyone looked so happy.

This was how a family should be, how growing up with loving parents would have been like. These moments spent with family that are treasured forever because they're priceless. Harry would give anything to have remembered those moments, to have remembered what it felt like to be held and cherished by people that wanted him and... loved him.

Then an unbidden question came into his mind: Was there still a part of Snape that could still love him like he did back then?

Maybe he could finally have someone in his life that would care for him and who would want him.

So he wouldn't feel so alone.

But then again, did he even want that from Snape of all people? The cold, stern professor was a far cry from the warm and loving father he had just watched in the photos. It seemed highly unlikely for them to even be the same person.

Snape hates me, Harry thought bitterly, what makes you think he will want to be your father?

But he is your father, a small voice in his head reminded him. And he did look happy in those photos. 

Maybe when he gets his memories back... 

No— Harry halted that thought before it could finish forming. He didn't want to hold onto too much hope that Snape would want to be his father.

If he was rejected, the pain from that would be even worse than never hoping at all. The thought of knowing that even his own father didn't want him would reinforce what the Dursley's always told him. He was an unwanted freak and unworthy of being loved.

He should used to it all by now anyway...

But still, a part of him was stubbornly refusing to let go, clinging tightly onto that tiny sliver of hope.