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“That’s the best you’ve got, Malfoy?”The blond stiffened, then straightened his collar with that insufferable air of superiority he always wore like a badge. Classic Malfoy."You're not even worth my time anymore, Potter."To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy actually started turning away. 
He only attempted to do a harmless Slugulus Eructo and he is walking off? 
Harry's hand tightened around his wand. Part of him wanted to hex Malfoy for the cheap shot, but there was a little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hermione, telling him to be the bigger person.Harry exhaled slowly, trying to convince himself. There were better things to do, after all. He had homework, Quidditch practice— anything was better than wasting time on Malfoy’s games.
He's backing off. Just let it go.
Harry began walking in the opposite direction when he felt something catch him around his ankles, making him stumble and trip face down. He could hear Malfoy’s laughter exploding in his ears."Still falling for a trip jinx, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, his voice full of mockery. "You’re even more pathetic than I thought."If Malfoy wanted to provoke him then he bloody hell was doing a good job at it. Harry was dying to wipe off that smirk from his face.
Guess I do have time today after all.
Harry pushed himself up, wand in hand, and whirled on Malfoy. He found some satisfaction in the flicker of panic that flashed across the blond’s face.“Furnuncu— ”“Potter! ”Harry’s heart froze. That voice. Cold, commanding, and venomous. Slowly, he turned, his stomach sinking as Professor Snape strode towards them, black robes billowing like a dark cloud ready to strike.“Casting spells in the corridor? And against another student?” Snape’s dark eyes narrowed. “Why am I not surprised?”Harry slowly lowered his wand and tried composing himself. This wasn’t right, if only the man could’ve come a minute or two earlier he could have seen he wasn’t the one that started it! "Professor, thank Merlin you’re here!" Malfoy’s voice oozed fake innocence, stepping into his role as the victim with disgusting ease. "Potter was about to assault me!"Harry clenched his fists. The sheer audacity of Malfoy’s act made his blood boil.“It wasn’t like that, Professor—”"Really? It wasn’t? Weren't you just moments ago pointing your wand at another student, ready to curse him?" Snape interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm.“It was Furnunculus!” Harry yelled in frustration. “The worst that was going to happen was him getting pimples!”  And really Malfoy could use some so he would stop being so shallow! But Harry knew better than to voice that out loud. “Intent is what matters, Potter,” Snape said icily. “Once again, you presume yourself above the rules. Thirty points from Gryffindor, and detention with me on Saturday. Five o’clock sharp.”“What?” Harry’s voice cracked with indignation. “But I’ve got a Quidditch match on Saturday!”Snape’s smirk deepened, and Harry felt his stomach twist with rage.“Typical Potter,” Snape drawled. “Believing the world—or a Quidditch match—can’t go on without him.”Malfoy snickered in the background, and Harry’s knuckles whitened around his wand. He forced himself to take a deep breath, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.“That’s not what I meant,” Harry ground out through clenched teeth. “And Malfoy was the one who jinxed me first!”“Funny, that’s not what I saw,” Snape said dismissively, turning on his heel. “Saturday, Potter. Don’t be late.”Harry stared after him, his mind racing with a mix of anger and disbelief. He bet if Snape had seen with his own eyes Malfoy had started it he would still find a way to spin it into blaming him. This wasn’t just unfair-it was completely unjust.“Oh, like hell I am!” he blurted out, the words escaping before he could stop them.Snape stopped. His head turned slowly, his eyes gleaming with malice.“What was that, Potter?”Harry met his glare head-on, his chest rising and falling. “I said I’m not doing it! You’re not being fair! I was defending myself, and you won’t even listen!”Snape’s expression darkened as he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I’ll decide what’s fair, Potter.”“Well, then I’ll speak to Dumbledore!” Harry shouted, his frustration boiling over. “I’ll tell him you’re punishing me unfairly!”Snape’s lips curled into a mockery of a smile. “Be my guest.”Harry didn’t need to be told twice. With his blood still boiling, he turned and stormed down the corridor, muttering several curse words under his breath.He initially had no intention of reporting anything to Dumbledore simply because he felt like the man had better things to do than to listen to yet another stupid fight between him and Malfoy but he had it. He had it with Snape always being biased when it came to his Slytherins.Most specifically, he had it with Snape being biased when it came to him. It wasn’t his fault his dad had been awful to Snape when they were younger. He wasn’t his father, no matter how much Snape seemed determined to pretend otherwise!It was not even about the Quidditch match, he was simply tired of being punished for things he didn’t do—sick of being a scapegoat for Snape’s grudge against his father. He shouldn’t have to keep putting up with this.By the time Harry reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster’s office, his anger had dulled into bitter determination. He raised his fist to knock, but stopped short when he heard voices from inside.“How do you think Harry will take the news?” Professor McGonagall’s voice sounded concerned. “The poor boy’s been through so much.”Harry froze. They’re were talking about him? “He really has, Minerva,” came Dumbledore’s calm reply. “But what else is there to do? Keep the information from him? And Severus?”
Keep information from me? And Snape?
There was a pause before McGonagall answered, her tone careful. “Of course not. They both have a right to know, but we must deliver the news gradually—not all at once.”Harry’s curiosity sharpened into suspicion. What did Snape have to do with this? And why were they talking about breaking news to him like he was some fragile child?He edged closer, straining to hear.“We should tell Severus first,” McGonagall continued. “I don’t imagine he’ll be exactly thrilled, but he’s an adult. He can process it better than Harry, and Merlin knows that boy has been dealing with so much recently.”Harry bristled. McGonagall was talking about him like he was some emotionally unstable mess. He wasn’t! If anything, he was far more mature than a man who held grudges against teenagers. He could handle “mature topics” just fine- he’d always faced things that the average person his age wouldn’t even think about.And if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was people keeping secrets from him.“I agree,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “Perhaps Severus might even try to rebuild their relationship once he knows the truth.”Harry almost laughed out loud. Rebuild their relationship? With Snape? The man would sooner give Gryffindor house points than make an effort to get along with him!“Do you really think Severus will eventually accept Harry?” McGonagall asked hesitantly.Harry’s confusion deepened. What is going on? Why does Snape need to have a better relationship with me? And why the bloody hell would he need to accept him? And as if he cared if that man accepted him anyway! “But of course, Minerva,” Dumbledore’s voice spiked cheerfully, “no matter the history nothing is stronger than a bond between a father and son.”Harry wanted to snort at the overly sentimental statement before he actually processed it. 
Wait a minute…father and son!?
“I still can’t believe it myself,” McGonagall admitted. “But you’re right, Albus. Beneath his exterior, Severus is a good man. I don’t think he’ll reject Harry—not once he knows the truth.”Dumbledore’s cheerful tone grated on him. “Of course not. I believe Severus will step up and be the figure Harry needs.”Harry’s stomach churned. He didn’t want to hear anymore, but his feet refused to move.Dumbledore continued, his happy tone irritating Harry by the second, “Knowing it’s something that ties him with Lily will for sure spark something in him even if at first he denies it.”
His mother… and Snape?
She wouldn’t…not when she had James. Or would she?No. This was nonsense. A sick joke.He backed away, shaking his head as their words echoed in his mind. Dumbledore and McGonagall couldn’t seriously believe this, could they? Surely this was some elaborate prank—something Snape had orchestrated to humiliate him.The man had always hated him and no doubt this was all made up by Snape to further torment him and mess with his mind!
Yes, that must be it.
He already had a father despite him being long gone.Harry turned his heel and rapidly walked away, not wanting to hear another word. Dumbledore and McGonall should really be ashamed of themselves for gossiping and lying about such baloney!But no matter how much he wanted to dismiss it, doubt began to creep in. Dumbledore wasn’t the type to spread baseless rumors, and McGonagall…she was always so stern, so no-nonsense. Why would they lie about something like this? Or talk about it as if it was a fact without a doubt?And it’s not like they knew he had been eavesdropping…Harry clenched his fists tightly, his heart pounding. He needed answers. Now.He didn’t know why Dumbledore and McGonall had implied Snape was his…Merlin he didn’t even want to think about it or say the word. But he was going to get to the bottom of this.He needed to know where they had gotten all of this from and he couldn’t wait until they spoke to Snape. He had to see the man first.However, one thing was certain.No matter where they had gotten their sources or what anyone said, nothing was ever changing the fact that James Potter was his one and only father. “I need to speak to Snape. I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Harry told his friends after potion class, hoping they wouldn’t question him.To his relief, Ron and Hermione seemed eager to escape, probably off for another private makeout session without Harry third wheeling.“Alright, mate. See you,” Ron said, grabbing Hermione’s hand as she smiled, and the two dashed off the classroom.Harry stayed behind, pretending to pack up his books while the rest of the students filed out. He didn’t need his family business turning into even more gossip fuel by tomorrow, thank you very much.He waited until the last student was gone, leaving only Snape at his desk, hunched over a pile of essays. The professor’s quill scratched furiously across parchment, and Harry could already imagine the torrent of failing marks Snape was no doubt dishing out.For a moment, Harry hesitated. What was he even doing? Did he really want to confront Snape about what he’d overheard? What if it wasn’t true? What if it was? And even if it was, what good would it do to tell Snape now? Hell, how exactly was he supposed to even tell Snape something like this? “Oh, by the way, you’re my dad”—yeah, right. Snape would probably faint right there and then.Only Snape would be awful enough to have wasted years hating his own blood. But what else could be expected from someone like the man?Besides Harry loathed the man, Snape easily ranked a solid fourth on his “most detestable people” list, right behind Voldemort, Malfoy, and the Dursleys. Of course the feeling Snape felt towards him was no doubt even nastier but Harry didn’t care one bit.He had lived fine without a proper guardian all his life, why would he need one now? And Snape outta all people no less!Maybe Snape didn’t have to know anything of what he had heard. After all, if something wasn’t broken why fix it?Deciding some things were better left unsaid, Harry turned his heel and began to depart from the room until a voice called him out.“Since you’ve decided to linger, Potter, perhaps you’d care to explain why you’re still here?” Snape drew without looking up.So Snape had noticed he stayed behind but was ignoring him. Typical Snape. “It’s nothing important,” Harry said, his voice a little too high-pitched to sound convincing.Snape looked up, dark eyes narrowing as they bore into Harry’s. “I’ll determine what’s important. Speak.”Harry shifted uncomfortably under the professor’s piercing gaze. He really should have rehearsed this. “I...uh...you and I—we’re...um—”Snape’s lips curled in amusement. “Astounding, Potter. Every day, your brilliance shines brighter.”“Really?” Harry asked, momentarily thrown to realize an insult was coming.“With your boundless stupidity,” Snape sneered, his lips curling into a triumphant smirk. “And your inability to form coherent sentences.”Harry felt his temper flare. He balled up his fists, his resolve to stay calm crumbling under Snape’s insults. “Oh, I’m stupid, huh? Funny, that’s something else we apparently have in common.”Snape’s expression darkened, and for a moment, Harry wondered if he’d finally pushed the man too far. “You insolent little—”“What, going to take off points for Gryffindor now?” Harry interrupted, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Go ahead. I’m used to it.”Snape rose from his chair, stalking closer. His dark robes billowed slightly as he loomed over Harry, his voice low and dangerous. “Believe me, Potter, I am prepared to do far more than take points. Your arrogance knows no bounds. Just like your—”“Shut up!” Harry shouted, cutting him off.Snape’s expression froze, clearly taken aback by the outburst. Harry felt a surge of satisfaction but kept going, his frustration spilling out in a rush. “You always say I’m just like my father. Well, wouldn’t you love to know the truth?”Snape narrowed his eyes. “What truth? Spit it out, Potter, or kindly leave my sight.”Harry stared at him, his anger further bubbling to the surface. He wanted to yell, to tell Snape exactly what he thought of him, but instead, he said, “I overheard Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall talking about me. About us. ”Snape folded his arms, unimpressed. “Eavesdropping now, are we? How very Gryffindor of you.”“Shut up and listen!” Harry snapped. “They said—” He hesitated for a moment, then plunged forward. “They said you and I are related.”“Related?” Snape repeated and Harry rolled his eyes, much to the professor’s displeasure.“You heard me and in Dumbledore’s own words he said…no matter the history there is no stronger bond than a father and son.” Snape’s face paled, looking genuinely stunned without words before it turned into fury. “What idiotic prank is this, Potter? Did Weasley put you up to this?”What was seriously wrong with the man? He really thought he had nothing better to do?“Why the hell would I joke about this?” Harry snapped.“Language, Potter,” Snape growled. “And because your desperate need for attention knows no bounds.”Harry laughed, cold and humorless. “Desperate for whose attention? Yours? Don’t flatter yourself. Why would I ever want to be your son? You’re a coward, a Death Eater, and a spineless bully!”Snape concluding that Harry would ever taint the memory of James Potter by pretending Snape was his father was insulting itself!Snape’s face twisted into a mask of wrath, but Harry wasn’t done. “James Potter was ten times the man you’ll ever be!” Harry shouted. “He died protecting me, he was brave, he cared about others, and you? What have you ever done except join a blood supremacy cult?”Snape’s hand slammed onto the desk. “OUT! Leave, or so help me, Potter—”Despite the professor looking more intimidating and furious than anything Harry’s ever seen him, he wasn’t scared or much less backing down.Snape thought of him as an arrogant attention seeker? Might as well give him that then.Harry’s voice dropped to a low mocking with faux pity. “But you wouldn’t know anything about being a decent person would you, Snivellus? You wouldn’t know about protecting others because you’re just a self-loathing -”The sound of Snape’s hand striking Harry’s face echoed through the room, cutting off the words. The force sent Harry stumbling, his head colliding with a stool. Pain exploded everywhere and Harry felt like the room was spinning. A sharp, warm sensation trickled down the back of his scalp. Bringing his fingers to the spot, he pulled them back to see blood smeared across his skin.Everything was silent except for Harry’s ragged breathing. What the hell just happened? Snape…slapped him. Across the face like a ragged doll.Not even the Dursleys had ever drawn blood from him and Merlin knew how much they despised him.He stared up at Snape in shock. The professor’s face was ashen, his dark eyes wide with something almost like horror. For a moment, neither of them spoke until Snape took a hesitant step forward, reaching out.“Potter,” Snape began, his voice soft, almost pleading. “You’re hurt, let me take you to the Hospital Wing.” Harry immediately rejected Snape’s hands as they briefly touched his shoulders. How dare the man even try to touch him after this?“Don’t touch me!” Harry shouted, scrambling to his feet and stepping back. Anger burned through him, hotter than anything he’d ever felt before. “I HATE YOU!”Snape froze completely, his outstretched hand trembling slightly before it fell back to his side.Harry’s chest heaved with a mix of outrage and humiliation. “There’s no one more horrible than you,” he spat, his voice breaking as an angry tear slid down his cheek. “I hate you so much!”Snape’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He looked almost...helpless.Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of the classroom, his head pounding and his chest burning with hatred and frustration.Behind him, Snape collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Harry furiously strolled through the corridors. He barreled past students without a second glance, his vision narrowing as rage pulsed through him. A few startled faces turned his way, some murmuring to each other, eyes wide with curiosity or concern, but Harry couldn’t care less. Let them whisper. Let them make up their own stories. Nothing they imagined could come close to the truth.The sting on his cheek throbbed, the skin hot and swollen. It must’ve been quite the mark, judging by the shocked glances he received. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except the betrayal burning in his chest.When he finally reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, he spat the password through gritted teeth.“My, someone’s in a mood,” the Fat Lady remarked, raising an eyebrow as she swung open but Harry didn’t pause, didn’t even acknowledge her.He shoved his way through the Gryffindor common room, brushing off the voices calling his name, ignoring the worried faces that followed him. He moved as if on autopilot, driven by a single, consuming need to escape from everything.The moment he reached his dormitory, Harry collapsed onto his bed, his body sinking into the mattress as he buried his face in his arms. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon. The room was quiet, the only sound was the muffled thud of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
What the hell was going on?
His world felt like it was crumbling around him, everything he thought he knew falling apart piece by piece. This day had officially cemented itself as one of the worst in his life—just behind the deaths of his loved ones. He slammed his fist into the mattress, his knuckles digging into the fabric. Bitterness flared bright and fierce, burning away the hurt for just a moment. How could his mother... how could Snape... how could anyone...? Lying about something like this was borderline cruel, and twisted.He wanted to believe it was all a nightmare, that he’d wake up any moment now to the familiar sound of Ron’s snoring or Hermione’s voice lecturing them about homework. But the sting on his cheek was real. The ache at the back of his head was real. And the pain in his chest—the ache of betrayal and confusion—that was the realest of all.A tear slid down his cheek, hot and traitorous. He scrubbed it away furiously, hating himself for the weakness. He wasn’t going to cry. Not over this. Not over something that might not even be true. Then it hit him. Dumbledore.The truth. He needed the truth. Dumbledore owed him that much. If anyone could explain this nightmare, it was him. Harry swung his legs off the bed, determination flooding through him, chasing away the doubt. Dumbledore was going to tell him everything, whether he wanted to or not.Just as he was about to stand, the door burst open.Ron came in laughing, his face flushed from excitement. “Mate, you won’t believe what me and Hermione -” The words died on his lips, his smile vanishing as he took in Harry’s face. His eyes widened, gaze zeroing in on the bruised cheek, the split skin, the blood staining Harry’s collar. “Bloody hell, Harry! What happened?”Harry’s hand flew to his cheek, fingers brushing the tender skin. The sting made him wince, and he turned away, his jaw tightening. “Nothing. I tripped.”Ron’s disbelieving snort filled the room. “Yeah, right. And I’m richer than the Malfoys.” He moved closer, eyes narrowing as he took in the discolored bruise and the blood at Harry’s temple. “Harry…that’s not from tripping.”“It’s nothing,” Harry insisted, his voice flat. He took a step, but his legs buckled, the room spinning as his vision blurred. His knees hit the floor, and Ron was there in an instant, grabbing his arm, his grip strong and steady.“Nothing, huh?” Ron’s voice was tight with worry. “You’re going to the Hospital Wing. No arguments.”Harry tried to protest, but the words were weak, his body too exhausted to fight back. Ron half-dragged, half-carried him through the corridors, his grip firm as he muttered under his breath about how much of a stubborn idiot Harry was at times. "Ron, you’re overreacting," Harry grumbled."Shut up," Ron shot back. "And keep walking."By the time they reached the Hospital Wing, Harry’s head was throbbing in time with his pulse.Madam Pomfrey’s eyes widened at the sight of them. She marched over, hands on her hips. “What on earth happened this time?”“Nothing serious, just a bump -” Harry began, but Ron cut him off.“He’s got a bruise the size of a Quaffle and his head’s bleeding,” Ron explained, his voice sharp with urgency. “He won’t say what happened.”Madam Pomfrey’s gaze softened, her expression turning maternal as she ushered Harry to a bed. “Sit. Now.” Her wand flicked, and a flurry of potions and bandages floated over. “What did you get yourself into this time, Mr. Potter?”“Tripped,” Harry repeated, his voice hollow.Ron rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.”Madam Pomfrey sighed, her hands gentle as she cleaned the wound at his temple. The sting of antiseptic made Harry flinch, but she didn’t let up, her touch firm and practiced. “This bruise is fresh,” she observed, her eyes flicking to his swollen cheek. “When did it happen?”Harry hesitated. “About an hour ago.”Her gaze sharpened. “And where did this ‘trip’ occur?”"The corridors," he said quickly. "I—ran into someone. Fell. Hit my head."Ron snorted. “Right. Because you’ve never done that before.”Madam Pomfrey shook her head as she inspected the bruise on Harry’s cheek. “This is a nasty injury. Wait here while I get the salve.”As soon as Madam Pomfrey walked away, he turned to Ron. "Don’t tell Hermione."Ron raised an eyebrow. "Mate, if anyone else saw your face, she already knows."Harry groaned. Hermione was relentless when she was worried.Ron leaned in closer, his eyes piercing. “Harry…what really happened?”“I told you. I tripped,” Harry mumbled, avoiding Ron’s gaze.Ron didn’t look the slightest bit convinced. “Cut the crap, Harry. I’m not stupid. Who did this to you?”Harry tensed, his fingers curling into the sheets. “It doesn’t matter.”“It does to me,” Ron shot back, his voice fierce. “If someone hurt you, I want to know who.”Harry looked away, his eyes fixed on the far wall. “Just…drop it, Ron.”“Why won’t you tell me?” Ron’s voice softened, the anger giving way to worry. “We’re supposed to be best mates. I’ve always got your back, you know that. But I can’t help if you don’t let me in.”A knot tightened in Harry’s throat, his chest aching with the weight of secrets he couldn’t share. How could he possibly explain? The conversation he heard between Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall…his confrontation with Snape.He simply couldn’t talk about this. Not even with Ron or Hermione. No matter how much it pained him to see Ron look so worried.“I just…can’t,” he whispered.Ron stared at him, frustration and concern battling in his eyes. “Fine. Have it your way. But I’m not letting this go, Harry. You might not want help, but you’ve got it. Whether you like it or not.”Before he could reply further, Madam Pomfrey returned with the salve. She gently applied it to Harry’s cheek."You'll stay here tonight for observation," she declared. "That head injury needs monitoring."“But -”“No buts Mr. Potter.”Harry wanted to argue, but exhaustion was already pulling at him. He sank into the crisp hospital sheets, barely registering Ron's worried goodbye before drifting into a fitful sleep.As he lay in the hospital bed that night, sleep eluded him. His mind replayed the confrontation with Snape over and over, each time more painful than the last. The next morning, Harry woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and the distant hum of voices echoing. His head throbbed dully, but the pain had lessened considerably since last night.Reaching for his glasses, he winced as his fingers brushed the bruised skin on his cheek, the tender flesh a painful reminder of everything that had happened.His thoughts spiraled once again, tangled and confused. He could hardly believe it—all of it felt like a fever dream he couldn’t wake up from. Snape…his father? He shuddered, the thought making his stomach churn. How could his mother have lied to him like this? People would always say good things about his mother. About how kind and brilliant she had been. How could she have ever been with someone like him ?Harry’s fist tightened around his glasses, the metal bending beneath his grip. He didn’t even notice. He wanted to scream, to break something, anything, just to release the boiling fury that threatened to consume him. But he couldn’t. Not here, not now. Not when the voices were getting closer.Harry immediately pulled the sheets up and pretended to be asleep. They were now surrounding him, talking over him. It was Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and of course… him. “Severus, please reconsider,” Dumbledore’s voice was firm, but pleading. “We can work through this.”“No, Albus,” came Snape’s low, icy reply. “My position here is no longer tenable. I’ve already drafted my letter of resignation.”Harry’s heart leaped in his chest. Snape was quitting? Good, he thought savagely. About time.  It was the least the git could do after yesterday. Hell, Snape should have resigned on the spot. Harry’s cheek still burned with the memory of that slap, his head still throbbed from hitting the stool. That bastard was lucky Harry wasn’t about to press charges with the Ministry. He would have had to explain why he was slapped, and Harry would rather drop dead than scream to the wizarding world that he might be the spawn of Snape.The conversation continued, and Harry listened tentatively, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress.“Severus, what about -”“I will find a way to do my duty regardless,” Snape cut in, his tone clipped. “Believe me, Albus, I will not abandon spying…or protecting Potter.”Harry’s blood ran cold. Protect him? What a fucking joke. Belittling him, humiliating him in class, slapping him— that was protecting him? Harry’s vision went red, anger flaring up so fiercely he could barely breathe. How dare he? How dare Snape act like he was some sort of guardian, like he gave a damn about his well-being?He couldn’t listen to another word. Harry sat up, startling the three professors.“Good riddance!” he shouted, his voice sharp. “It’s about time you left, you greasy git!”Snape’s face went utterly white, his eyes widening as they met Harry’s. Dumbledore’s head snapped toward him, his blue eyes clouded with concern, but Harry didn’t care. He was done. Done with all of them.“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore began, his voice gentle."Don't 'my boy ' me!" Harry snapped, his voice rising. “After what he did yesterday, I'd say I deserve to say worse."Dumbledore’s face grew grave, the lines around his eyes deepening. He looked over at Snape, his expression hardening. “What happened yesterday?”Harry opened his mouth, the words ready to burst out, but Snape spoke first, his voice low, rough. “I lost my temper,” he admitted, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I… struck Potter.”A sharp gasp escaped Professor McGonagall, her hand flying to her mouth. Her face went deathly pale, her eyes wide with shock and horror. “Severus…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You…you hit a student? Is that why you decided to resign so suddenly?”Snape’s shoulders stiffened, his posture rigid, but he didn’t lift his head. “Yes.”Dumbledore’s face tightened, his eyes cold as ice. “Is this true, Harry?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.Harry nodded, his eyes burning with outrage. "He hit me so hard I fell and hit my head," he said, his voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. "And you know why? Because I confronted him about what I overheard you and Professor McGonagall discussing."Dumbledore’s eyes widened, the color draining from his face. “Oh, Harry,” he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt. “You weren’t meant to find out like this.”“Find out what?” Snape’s voice cut through the room as he finally raised his head. His eyes darted between them, suspicion etched into every line of his face. “What in Merlin’s name is going on?”Harry laughed bitterly. "Oh, that's rich. Playing dumb now, are we? Well, congratulations, 'Dad'. You've managed to be an even worse father than you are a teacher!"Snape’s face contorted, caught somewhere between fury and disbelief. His hands twitched at his sides, struggling to remain still. “Albus,” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, “Potter came to me yesterday, spouting nonsense about the possibility of... of us being related.”“Lucky me,” Harry muttered under his breath, his mouth curling in disdain.Minerva’s face was still pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked at Dumbledore, her eyes steely with resolve. “It’s time, Albus. No more waiting.”Dumbledore closed his eyes, looking as though he had aged a decade in an instant. He took a deep breath before his gaze fell on Harry, sorrow etched into every wrinkle. “Harry, we recently uncovered something...something that belonged to your mother.”Harry felt his stomach lurch. He braced himself, an icy dread coiling in his chest. “What...what did you find?”“A diary,” Dumbledore answered softly, the words careful and weighted.Wrath flared in Harry’s eyes, his fists balling at his sides. “And you just went through it? Just like that? What gives you the right to invade her privacy?”“Mr. Potter, had we not examined its contents, the truth would have remained buried,” McGonagall said gently, though her voice was firm. “This secret...it needed to come to light.”Harry’s felt his temper ignite further…he didn’t want to know what they found in the diary. They had no right to look at it!“Maybe it should have stayed buried!” He argued. “If my mother wanted to take this to her grave, you should have respected her wishes!”Dumbledore’s pain flashed across his features. “I understand your anger, Harry. But Professor Snape has the right to know as well.”Harry’s eyes blazed with fury. The sheer audacity! “The right? He had no right to anything! He interfered with my parents’ marriage—he doesn’t deserve to know a damn thing!”Snape shook his head. "Impossible," he whispered. "Lily would never -"“Oh, spare me the dramatics,” Harry cut in, rolling his eyes. “Clearly, she did. Though for the life of me, I can’t imagine why. ”“Potter!” McGonagall admonished, her eyes flashing with warning. But Harry didn’t care one bit.Dumbledore raised a placating hand. "Perhaps we should all take a moment to -"“No,” Snape interrupted, his tone a blade of iron. His shoulders straightened, the familiar mask of control slipping back into place. “I refuse to accept this without proof. Concrete, undeniable proof.”"Oh, now you want proof?" Harry sneered. "What, hitting me wasn't enough of a father-son bonding moment for you?"The color drained from Snape’s face once again, but he said nothing. He turned to Dumbledore, his voice giving away finality. “A paternal potion. It will verify the truth beyond doubt. I’ll brew it myself.”Dumbledore inclined his head. “A wise choice, Severus. Seeing the truth with your own eyes may help you come to terms with this new reality.”Harry chuckled mockingly. “New reality? More like a bloody nightmare. I’d almost rather Voldemort be my father than...than him.”McGonagall’s eyes widened but Snape stood frozen, his expression eerily blank. Without another word, he spun on his heel, his robes billowing as he stalked out of the hospital wing, no doubt already calculating the potion’s ingredients and steps.Dumbledore watched him leave, his shoulders sagging. He turned back to Harry, sorrow radiating from his very being. “I know this is painful, my boy. But this truth...it affects more than just you and Severus. It has implications far beyond what you can imagine.”“Like what?” Harry demanded.Dumbledore’s eyes were heavy with meaning. “The blood wards at your aunt’s home. If Severus is truly your father...those wards could be fortified even more. Your protection would be greater than anything your mother alone could have provided.”Snape’s voice came from the doorway, cold and resolved. “I’ll begin brewing the potion immediately. We’ll have our answers soon enough.”Harry scoffed, his expression hardening. “Oh, good. Can’t wait for the confirmation that my life’s gone from terrible to tragic.”“Enough,” Dumbledore said firmly. “Professor Snape will brew the potion. Harry, you will cooperate fully. I will not tolerate any more hostility between you two.”Harry opened his mouth to argue, but McGonagall’s sharp voice cut him off. “No arguments, Mr. Potter. You will comply with the Headmaster’s orders.”His shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. “Fine. Let’s get this nightmare over with.”Dumbledore looked at Harry, the weight of the world in his gaze. “I’m sorry, Harry. For everything.”Harry looked away. Sorry wasn’t good enough. Nothing would ever be good enough.Harry was out of the Hospital Wing as soon as Madam Pomfrey said he was good to go. He felt his heart pound violently against his ribcage. The walls seemed to close in around him as he fled, needing to escape, needing air, needing... he didn’t even know what he needed. His mother’s voice felt distant, a memory slipping through his fingers. Nothing made sense anymore.He barely made it halfway down the corridor before Ron and Hermione appeared, their faces full of worry. Hermione’s eyes were wide, her fingers twisting nervously in her robes. “Harry! Are you alright? What happened there?”Ron’s expression was as equally worried. “Mate, we heard shouting. McGonagall wouldn’t let us in. What’s going on?”Harry stopped, his shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths. Their concern was suffocating. They were his best friends, practically his family, but how could he even begin to tell them without shattering completely? “I...I can’t,” Harry croaked, his voice breaking. “Not right now.”Hermione’s face crumpled with worry. “Harry, please. We’re here for you. Whatever it is, you can tell us.”He shook his head violently, stepping back. His chest felt like it was being crushed. “I need... I just need to be alone.”Ron looked wounded, his brows furrowed. “Harry, come on. We’re your friends. We want to help.”“You can’t!” Harry’s voice echoed off the stone walls, full of anguish. “You can’t help me. No one can.” His throat tightened, and he looked away, unable to bear the hurt on their faces. “Just... please. Leave me alone.”He turned and fled before they could protest, the guilt twisting in his chest. Their voices called out behind him, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He just kept moving, letting his feet carry him through the maze of corridors until the sound of their voices faded away.With it still being too early for class, the castle was eerily quiet, shadows dancing along the cold stone walls. The silence was heavy, pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. He had no destination in mind, just the overwhelming urge to run, to escape. But no matter how far he went, the situation was still there, gnawing at him from the inside.His footsteps echoed down the deserted corridor, and he barely registered the figure emerging from the shadows until it was too late.Snape.The last person he wanted to see in the entire world. The man who was slowly taking everything away from him.Harry’s body went rigid, a surge of white-hot fury surging through him. His hands twitched, fingers curling instinctively towards his wand. The man’s face was drawn, pale, his dark eyes hollow and haunted.“Potter,” Snape said, his voice low and uneven. “We need to talk.”Harry’s lips curled into a sneer. “We have nothing to say to each other.”Snape hesitated, and Harry saw the moment it happened—the moment Snape forced himself to push past his pride. “I...owe you an apology.”Harry blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things he expected, an apology was the last. His shock quickly gave way to anger. “An apology? That’s rich.”Snape's face clouded with a shadow of regret, yet his tone held firm. "I overstepped my bounds yesterday. I should never have laid a hand on you."“Oh, so now you understand how messed up that was? Congratulations, Snape. Took you long enough.” He crossed his arms, glaring. “But do you think that fixes anything? You think saying ‘sorry’ is enough?”“No,” Snape admitted, his face twisting in discomfort. “It isn’t enough. It won’t change what happened.”“You’re damn right, it won’t,” Harry spat. “Fuck you and fuck your apology.”Snape's eyes darkened, narrowing with a fierce intensity. "Do not mistake this for permission to speak to me in such a manner! I remain your professor, and you will treat me as such!"“I don’t need your permission to do anything, just like I don’t need a potion,” Harry snapped, his voice rising with every word. “My dad—my real dad—was James Potter. He loved me. He died for me. You? You’re one of the worst people I've ever met.”Snape exhaled slowly like he was reigning himself in. “Believe what you will, Potter.”He stepped closer, making Harry step back. “But the truth will come out. Whether you want it to or not. And running from it will not change reality.”Harry’s hands shook, his vision blurring. “Reality? Here’s my reality, Snape: Lily and James Potter are my parents. I’m a Potter. You mean nothing to me…nothing!”Snape stood motionless, his dark eyes locked onto Harry’s, but for once, he had nothing to say.The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until Harry turned on his heel and walked away.“I hate you…I will always hate you,” Harry whispered furiously, believing Snape hadn’t heard. But he did.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Snape stalked down to his private quarters, his expression locked in its usual sneer, but inside, his mind was a hurricane of thoughts he couldn’t suppress. This was absurd. This was impossible. Potter— that boy—was not his. He couldn’t be.Yet the thought had latched onto him like a venomous leech, refusing to let go. Lily.  The name alone sent a sharp pang through his chest, though he refused to acknowledge it as pain. It was an old wound, one that had never quite healed, but he had long since learned to shove it aside. Now, it threatened to reopen with a vengeance.He had spent years loathing James Potter and everything that arrogant prat had left behind—especially his son. But if that brat wasn’t his son after all… If Harry was his —No. He refused to entertain the idea any further.Snape gritted his teeth, sweeping aside a collection of empty potion vials on his desk with a harsh flick of his wrist. The glass clattered loudly against the wood, but he barely noticed. His mind was still stuck on the fury in Harry’s eyes when he shouted that word at him— Dad. It had been meant as an insult, a verbal slap to the face, but the force of it had landed far too deeply, shaking something inside him that he had thought was long dead.But it didn’t matter.A paternal potion would put an end to this ridiculous notion once and for all. He would brew it himself, ensuring that no foolish mistakes or sentimental drama tainted the results. And when it confirmed that Potter was not his son, Snape would take pleasure in shoving the proof in the boy’s arrogant face.And yet…Somewhere, buried deep beneath his hardened exterior, a whisper of doubt lingered. A whisper that wondered— what if ?What if the potion confirmed what Albus and Minerva claimed…then what? Would he be expected to acknowledge the boy? To take responsibility for him? He had never once considered fatherhood. Not in his youth, not as a man consumed by war, and certainly not now. He had too many burdens, too many ghosts. The last thing he needed was another tie to Lily—another reason to drown in what could have been. But this wasn’t just about him.If this was true—if Potter was his —then the consequences were far graver than personal discomfort. The Dark Lord would find out. No matter how skilled Severus was at Occlumency, a secret this big would be near impossible to be kept in the dark. And when it did…Snape didn’t even want to think of the possibilities.Regardless of the results, one thing would not change: he had sworn to protect the boy. He owed Lily that much.Drawing a steady breath, he reached for his brewing supplies.The Paternal Potion was simple in theory, complex in execution. A precise mix of aconite, powdered moonstone, and the drinker’s blood would reveal a genetic connection to another, a mist forming above the cauldron to display the truth. It was foolproof. It would prove that this entire ordeal was nothing more than an error.With methodical precision, Snape measured each ingredient, his hands steady despite the storm raging inside him. He crushed the moonstone into a fine powder, letting it fall into the bubbling potion like dust scattering in the wind. He added the aconite next, watching as the deep blue liquid swirled into a near-black hue. The final step for now—his own blood—would come last.His own blood.Snape’s grip tightened around the silver dagger. He held it over the cauldron, the flickering candlelight gleaming off the blade. Just one drop. One step to putting this ridiculous notion to rest.But his mind betrayed him.Had Lily ever intended to tell him? Had she taken the secret to her grave deliberately? And if she had… why? Also, why could he not remember any memories of this clearly? If he and Lily had intimacy, surely it would be something he would not have forgotten. Yet, there were small bits of short moments in his mind that had replayed throughout several years. In his dreams, he could feel Lily’s sweet touch and words. He had always dismissed those as pure fantasies. But could there be more? Perhaps a drunken one-night stand? But no, could not have drunk to the point of not remembering anything, and he imagined Lily would have hardly been a drinker. That blasted old man would need to show him Lily’s diary because otherwise, what explanation was there?His jaw clenched. No more questions. No more hesitation.He pressed the blade against his palm, stopping for only a moment before dragging it across the skin. A thin line of crimson welled up. He turned his hand over, letting the drop fall into the potion below.The liquid hissed as it absorbed the blood, swirling violently before settling into an eerie, shimmering silver. All that was needed now was Potter’s blood. The final piece to the puzzleAnd that piece would either shatter his world or restore it.Class was unbearable.Snape prowled the classroom, his expression carved from stone, but his mind was in absolute turmoil. His black eyes flickered to Potter —not for the usual reasons, not to find an excuse to dock points or deliver a well-placed sneer, but because he could not stop looking at him.It was infuriating.He told himself it was routine. He always kept a close eye on Potter, waiting for inevitable mistakes, relishing the opportunity to tear the boy down. But this was different. This was scrutiny of another kind—one he despised himself for indulging in.His gaze tracked every movement.The way Potter clumsily hacked at his ingredients with no precision whatsoever. The careless way he stirred the cauldron, oblivious to the fact that he was rotating counterclockwise when the instructions explicitly stated clockwise . The way he kept getting distracted, elbowing Weasley and whispering some absurd joke under his breath, clearly far more interested in entertaining his dim-witted friend than executing a proper Draught of Peace.Snape’s fingers curled into his palm.
How could such an undisciplined brat be his blood?
Everything about Potter screamed James. The arrogance, the reckless disregard for rules, the insufferable confidence despite his clear lack of talent. He wasn’t precise. He wasn’t collected. He wasn’t Snape.And yet…He saw Lily.In the way Potter’s brow furrowed when he concentrated, in the way his lips pursed in frustration, in the way he cared —even if he tried to hide it behind that ever-defiant attitude. And most of all, in those eyes.Those damned, familiar green eyes.Snape’s grip on the edge of his desk tightened until his knuckles went white. This was ridiculous. He was allowing himself to be swept up in absurd speculation, in a delusion he had no desire to entertain. 
The potion would prove the truth. He simply had to wait.
In the meantime, he would do what he always did.“Potter.”His voice cracked across the room.Potter’s head snapped up, startled. He blinked at Snape, confusion flickering across his face, but it was the color of those eyes that sent something sharp slicing through Snape’s chest.He masked it instantly, his scowl deepening.Striding toward the desk, robes billowing behind him, he peered into Potter’s cauldron.The potion was… passable. Barely. But that wasn’t the point. That wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that his insides twisted in ways he could not afford to acknowledge, and he needed— needed —to reassert control.“Your potion is—” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. It was decent despite how much Potter messed up in the procedures. He loathed admitting it. “—barely acceptable.”Potter bristled, indignation flashing in his expression. “I followed the instructions exactly.”“And yet, I expect mediocrity from you regardless,” Snape sneered, his words automatic, easy, familiar.Something flickered behind Potter’s eyes. He didn’t speak, didn’t snap back with some disrespectful retort. He only glared.That glare. James’s glare. Snape felt something in his chest tighten, the pressure unbearable.Without another word, he turned sharply, retreating before his composure could splinter further. He could not— would not —let his thoughts linger on what the boy’s silence meant, on why it rattled him more than any shouted insult ever could.By the time the lesson ended, he was utterly exhausted —not from teaching, but from the relentless war waging inside his own head.A war he was no closer to winning.“Harry, what is seriously going on?”Hermione’s voice was sharp with concern, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She wasn’t going to let this go. Of course, she wasn’t. “You can’t keep brushing us off like this,” she pressed.Harry sat hunched forward in an armchair, staring into the crackling fire as if it held all the answers he didn’t have. His fingers curled around the edge of his sleeve, twisting the fabric between his fingers.“I told you, it’s nothing,” he muttered.He could feel both of them watching him—Hermione with open frustration, Ron with quieter worry.Ron leaned in, lowering his voice. “Mate, come on. You spent the night in the Hospital Wing after looking like you got beaten, and Snape was staring at you the entire time in class. It was weird.”
Yeah, no kidding.
Harry swallowed, his jaw tightening. He wanted to tell them. He wanted to spill everything, let them share the weight of it, let Hermione figure out some logical explanation for this complete madness . But the words felt too big, too impossible.How was he supposed to say, Hey, turns out Snape might be my father without sounding like he’d lost his mind?“It’s… complicated,” he finally said. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s not good enough. We—”“Potter.”The single word sliced through the common room.Every muscle in Harry’s body locked up as he turned toward the entrance. The Gryffindor common room fell into an eerie silence.Snape stood just inside the portrait hole, looking as out of place as a Dementor at a children’s birthday party.Dozens of Gryffindors gaped at the sight of him, their conversations dying mid-sentence. A first-year by the fireplace actually yelped, scrambling backward like Snape might deduct house points just for existing in his presence.Harry’s stomach twisted.Snape’s face was unreadable, his dark eyes gleaming with something unsettling.Harry forced himself to sit up straighter, masking his unease with defiance. “What do you want?”“Come with me,” Snape said, his voice cold.Harry didn’t move. He glanced between Ron and Hermione, who looked at him and Snape with clear suspicion.Snape’s patience thinned instantly. “Now, Potter.”Ron shifted beside him. “Oi, what’s this about?”“That,” Snape said icily, “is none of your concern, Weasley.” His gaze flicked to Hermione as well, daring her to intervene. She frowned, clearly troubled, but said nothing.Suppressing a sigh, Harry stood. “I’ll see you guys later.”Ron shot him a look that clearly said, ‘We’re talking about this later,’ but didn’t argue further. Hermione, however, looked ready to follow them until Harry shook his head slightly. Reluctantly, she sat back down.As Harry followed Snape out of the common room, the portrait hole swinging shut behind them, the silence between them was thick with unspoken words.They walked through the castle in near-perfect quiet, their footsteps the only sound echoing off the stone walls. The corridors were mostly empty, most students in their dormitories or the Great Hall, but even so, Harry was aware of how isolated this felt.Snape strode ahead, his robes billowing. He wasn’t speaking—he wasn’t even looking at Harry. Fine by me, Harry thought bitterly.His mind raced. Was this it? Was Snape going to tell him the truth? Had he already done the test? The stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office loomed before them.“Sherbet Lemon,” Snape said briskly.The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the spiral staircase. Snape stepped onto it without hesitation, and Harry followed, his stomach sinking lower with each turn of the stairs.The office door opened as they reached the top.Inside, Dumbledore stood behind his desk, hands folded neatly, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Professor McGonagall sat rigidly in a chair, her lips pressed into a tight line.Harry felt his heart pound against his ribs.Snape moved to stand near Dumbledore, arms crossing tightly over his chest.Dumbledore’s gaze moved between them both, calm yet heavy with something else—anticipation.“Now,” he said gently, “shall we finally uncover the truth?”Snape’s expression didn’t falter, but there was an unmistakable rigidity in the way he held himself now. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from him, his mind screaming that this was a mistake, a misunderstanding—that any second now, the world would right itself again.Dumbledore reached into his robes and retrieved a small silver dagger, placing it on the desk beside a cauldron of shimmering potion. The blade gleamed in the candlelight, a cold and unfeeling instrument of fate.“The test is simple,” Dumbledore explained, his gaze softening as it settled on Harry. “Professor Snape has already contributed his blood. Now, all that remains is for you to do the same. A few drops, and we shall know for certain.”Harry wanted to run. Every instinct screamed at him to turn away, to pretend this wasn’t happening, to refuse to let some stupid potion tell him who he was. But his feet were rooted to the spot, as if bound by an invisible force.With a shaky exhale, he stepped forward.The dagger felt heavier than it should, its handle cool against his sweaty palm. He swallowed hard and looked up at Snape, searching his face for—what? Anticipation? Dread? Some sign that the man hated this as much as he did?But Snape’s face was an impenetrable mask.Gritting his teeth, Harry set his jaw and pressed the blade against his palm. A sharp sting, a thin line of red opened up, and then—before he could second-guess himself—he let the blood drip into the potion.There was a tense silence as the potion absorbed the blood. Slowly, it began to shimmer more brightly, its color changing from pale silver to deep crimson.Then, above them, the mist that had been swirling inside the cauldron expanded, stretching into the air. It twisted, shimmered—then split into two distinct figures.One was unmistakably Lily Evans, her fiery red hair tumbling over her shoulders, her bright green eyes filled with warmth. She was smiling, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.Harry smiled back at the sight.And then there was the second figure.The moment Harry saw it, his heart plummeted into his stomach.The mist shimmered, solidifying, forming sharp angles and familiar lines—the hook of a nose, the curtain of dark hair, the perpetual scowl etched onto the face of a man he had spent years hating.Severus Snape.The mist solidified, connecting Harry to Snape in a single, undeniable line of glowing silver.“No,” Harry breathed, shaking his head. “No, that’s not—”The mist slowly faded, dissipating like smoke in the air, leaving behind only the suffocating weight of the truth.The room was unbearable. The only sound was the maddening tick of the silver instruments on Dumbledore’s shelves. Harry gripped the arms of his chair, his knuckles whitening.“This—” Harry choked, his voice thick with disbelief and something dangerously close to panic. “You must have done it wrong.”Dumbledore exhaled, slow and steady. “It is done.”McGonagall’s gaze was softer than his, but no less firm. “The test is conclusive, Mister Potter.”Harry shook his head in vehement denial. This was too insane—they couldn’t expect him just to accept it like this!“You don’t get it,” he burst out. “I don’t want any of this! I don’t want—” He broke off, breathing hard, turning to glare at Snape. “…I don’t want you.”Snape’s fingers twitched at his sides. He had wondered, when the potion revealed its truth, if he would feel something shift within him. Some spark of recognition, some innate sense of connection that would suddenly make Potter more tolerable—perhaps even important—to him.But there had been nothing. No sudden flood of warmth, no paternal or sentimental emotion. The boy still stood before him, insufferable as ever, his green eyes alight with misplaced fury, his posture radiating defiance.No, he felt nothing different at all. Even with all the proof in front of him, he could barely believe the boy was his.“Harry-” Dumbledore said softly, but Harry shook his head again.Snape rolled his eyes at the act. “Quit acting like a spoiled eight-year-old, Potter.”Harry whipped around to face him, his blood pounding in his ears. “Oh, shut up! This is your fault, isn’t it? You probably did something—tampered with the potion—”“Tampered with it?” Snape’s dark eyes flashed, his voice low and sharp. “You imbecile. Do you truly believe I would want this?”“Yeah, well, same here!” Harry shot back, his hands trembling. “You think I want you to be my father? I’d rather go back to being an orphan!”Snape's expression hardened, colder than ever. “Then you are in luck, Potter. Because I have no intention of playing daddy to you. The last thing I desire is an insufferable brat such as yourself.”McGonagall inhaled sharply. Her lips pressed together as if restraining a scolding.“I think,” she said carefully, casting a wary glance between them, “everyone might need some time to process this information.”But Snape barely heard her.He wasn’t done.“I see before me exactly what James Potter thought he left behind,” Snape continued, his voice cold and clipped. “An arrogant child who believes himself above everyone else.”Harry felt like he had been punched in the gut.But he wouldn’t give Snape the satisfaction of knowing he got under his skin.Harry forced himself to stand tall, even as his insides twisted painfully. “You hate that this is true, don’t you?” His voice shook, but he pushed forward. “It’s killing you inside, knowing that I’m your son.”Snape's entire body coiled like a viper ready to strike.“I do not hate the truth, Potter,” he said, his voice sounding mocking. “I simply have no use for it. You give yourself far too much importance, boy.”Harry flinched. He couldn’t stop it in time, couldn’t hold back the way his breath caught in his throat. The words stung, not because they were unexpected, but because they made it real. Because Snape wanted nothing to do with him.And, God, wasn’t that for the best?Dumbledore cleared his throat, his voice now firm. “Severus, this is not helping.”Harry swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Snape’s gaze. His whole body was trembling, but he wouldn’t let himself falter. He wouldn’t.“I don’t care what some bloody potion says,” he said, his voice thick with defiance. “James Potter is my father. He always will be.”Snape’s eyes remained impassive. “How very childish of you, Potter—believing sheer willpower can change reality.”Harry’s temper snapped.“It’s not willpower! It’s the truth! James loved me—”Snape only snorted, arms crossing over his chest. “A noble sentiment, but the world does not function on sentiment, Potter. I did not ask for this revelation any more than you did, but it does not change the facts.”Harry’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “The fact,” he hissed, “is that I will carry on my father’s legacy. I’ll always be a Potter.” Snape’s lip curled again in disdain. Legacies. He had never cared about such things. He had long accepted he would die as the last of his bloodline, and it had never mattered before. “As expected,” Snape sneered, “you are nothing but a sentimental mess.”“If you would stop ruining my life, maybe I wouldn’t be acting this way!”Snape crossed his arms once again. “Yes, I am sure growing up in your adoring little Gryffindor bubble, with everyone singing praises of Saint Potter, was such a hardship.”Harry’s vision went red. “Are you serious? You know nothing about my life.” His hands shook at his sides. “I grew up in a bloody cupboard, Snape. A cupboard. I was starved, I was hated, and guess what? My mum’s protection didn’t mean a damn thing when my own family treated me like garbage.”For a second, Snape didn’t move. Harry wasn’t done.“You think I had some glorious life as the Boy Who Lived? That I had a family?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I had nothing. I was nothing. But at least I thought my parents loved me, that we were a happy family. That James chose me!” Snape’s voice was like a whip crack. “And I did not!”The words rang through the office like a death sentence.Harry flinched, his chest rising and falling too quickly.“Severus,” McGonagall murmured, a warning in her tone.But Snape wasn’t finished.“I did not ask for this,” he continued, his voice low, furious. “I did not ask for a son, least of all you. And I certainly did not ask to be tethered to a boy who is nothing but an unfortunate mistake.” Harry’s breath caught, his throat tightening as though invisible hands were squeezing it shut. He had been prepared for rejection. He had expected cruelty. But hearing it—hearing it in Snape’s voice, in those cold, cutting words—made something inside him crack.He had heard horrible words before. From Snape himself. From the Dursleys. But this was different. This was final.“I—” His voice wavered, and he hated himself for it.His stomach churned, and for one terrifying moment, he thought he might pass out right there on Dumbledore’s office floor.“Right,” he whispered hoarsely. “Got it.”He turned sharply, wrenched the door open, and stepped out into the hallway before anyone could stop him.The door slammed shut behind him, and the sound echoed like a gunshot.For a long moment, the office was silent. The fire crackled in the hearth. The silver instruments continued their quiet ticking. Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on the door, sorrow clouding his features.McGonagall was the first to break the silence. “Severus,” she said, her voice heavy with disapproval. “That was uncalled for and cruel.”Snape didn’t look at her. “I did not ask for this,” he repeated, his voice almost too quiet to hear.Dumbledore sighed, his blue eyes filled with something knowing and infinitely tired. “And yet, here we are.”McGonagall shook her head, standing stiffly as she smoothed the front of her robes. “The boy is devastated,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “As much as you refuse to acknowledge it, this affects you both.”A bitter sneer curled his lips. He was not a father. Not in any meaningful sense. He had never been nurturing, never been the kind of man who could offer warmth or comfort. And Potter—Potter had grown up without him, had survived without him. He had no use for a father now, least of all one he despised and that despised him back.Snape let out a slow breath through his nose. “Potter made himself very clear. He wants nothing to do with me, and the feeling is mutual.”“And yet you still found it necessary to wound him further,” McGonagall snapped, her patience finally running out. “Act like an adult, Severus! Harry is only a teenager, it’s normal for his emotions to be all over the place with this revelation!"Snape turned to her, his dark eyes flashing. “Would you have had me lie to him? Coddle him? What would you have preferred, Minerva?”“I would have preferred,” she said sharply, “that you show him the slightest bit of compassion. You might end up regretting this one day, Severus. I only hope by then that Harry is still kind enough to forgive you.”Snape didn’t respond. He merely turned away, his fingers twitching at his sides.Dumbledore folded his hands together. “It will take time,” he said simply. “For both of you.”Snape scoffed, reaching for his cloak. “Time will change nothing.”Without another word, he strode toward the door, his robes billowing behind him. The door opened and closed with a decisive snap, leaving Dumbledore and McGonagall alone in the dimly lit office.McGonagall exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “Foolish man.”Dumbledore said nothing. His eyes remained on the door, a knowing sadness in their depths.“Time changes everything, Severus,” he murmured to the empty room.Outside, down in the castle corridors, Harry walked with hurried, unsteady steps. He didn’t know where he was going—he just knew he needed to move. Away from that office. Away from Snape. Away from everything.His vision blurred. He swiped at his eyes angrily.It didn’t matter.
He was still Harry Potter.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"And I certainly did not ask to be tethered to a boy who is nothing but an unfortunate mistake."
Snape’s words had struck like a curse, lodging deep within Harry’s mind, burrowing into the fragile seams of his thoughts. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t shake them. They repeated over and over, circling like vultures, waiting to pick him apart.
Because what if Snape was right?
What if he really was nothing more than a mistake?A weight settled in his chest, thick and suffocating, pressing harder with every breath he took. His existence had cost so much—his parents, their lives stolen in the name of protecting him. His friends dragged into danger simply by standing at his side. And Cedric…Harry clenched his eyes shut, but it was useless. The image was seared into his mind: brown eyes once filled with life, now empty, staring at nothing. Cedric’s body sprawled on the cold, unforgiving ground, the echo of Voldemort’s command still ringing in the air.
"Kill the spare."
Harry’s stomach twisted violently.“Cedric…” The name slipped from his lips, barely more than a breath. A plea. A prayer. But no miracle would ever bring him back.It wasn’t his fault. Logically, he knew that. Wormtail had cast the curse. Voldemort had given the order. And yet, logic had no place in grief. No reason could silence the crushing guilt, the unbearable truth that he had walked away from that graveyard while Cedric had not.How was that fair?How was it fair that he was still breathing when Cedric was not?And now—on top of everything—Snape’s words had dragged out a fear Harry had buried deep inside.He wasn’t wanted.The Dursleys certainly hadn’t. The Wizarding World? He felt like they mostly only saw a symbol, a legacy. His biological father clearly couldn’t stand the very thought of him.His stomach churned.
James.
Would James have wanted him if he had known the truth? If he had looked down at the newborn in his arms and seen someone else’s son staring back at him?Would he have still loved him? Held him? Died for him?A sickening thought crept into Harry’s mind, slithering like a serpent.
Maybe not.
Maybe, if James had known, he wouldn’t have thrown himself in front of Voldemort’s wand. Maybe he wouldn’t have shielded a child that was never truly his.Harry’s breath hitched, something sharp and cold twisting inside him. Suddenly, he needed to move—to go anywhere, anywhere that wasn’t here, drowning in these thoughts. His feet carried him without thought, past the glow of torches, past the low hum of distant conversation, past everything until he found himself standing at the edge of the Black Lake.The water stretched before him, dark and still, reflecting nothing but the vast emptiness of the night sky.Just like him.He exhaled sharply, shoving the heels of his palms against his eyes before turning back toward the castle. But the words still clung to him, curling around his ribs, squeezing tighter with every step.
"An unfortunate mistake."
It shouldn’t have mattered.Snape’s words shouldn’t have cut this deep.And yet, they had.He shouldn’t have happened. His mother shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have been with Snape. He wasn’t meant to exist.Snape was right.The realization sat heavy in his gut like a weight he could never hope to remove. It was wrecking him from the inside out.By the time he reached the Gryffindor Tower, his thoughts felt like shattered glass, jagged and relentless.The Fat Lady eyed him with an unimpressed look. “Teenagers,” she huffed as he muttered the password. “One moment, raging storms, the next, drowning in their own moods.”Harry ignored her, stepping through without a word.The common room was alive with warmth and laughter. It was just another evening for them. Just another day. The world hadn’t shattered for anyone else.Dean’s voice called out, light and easy. “Harry! Join us for a quick chess game, yeah?”Harry shook his head. “Not in the mood,” he mumbled.Dean and Seamus exchanged glances, but he didn’t give them the chance to pry. He climbed the stairs two at a time, each step heavier than the last.Of course, Ron was waiting.“What did Snape want?”Harry’s stomach clenched. The truth was right there, hovering on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t say it. “He just… assigned me detention,” he lied.Ron frowned. “He came all the way to the Gryffindor common room just to give you detention? You missed dinner, mate. That wasn’t just detention.”Harry avoided his gaze. “Yeah, well, you know how he is. Always making a show of making me miserable.”Ron’s frown deepened. “Alright… but why’d that take the whole afternoon?”Harry sighed, irritation creeping into his voice. “Would you and Hermione stop interrogating me?”He hadn’t meant for it to come out so sharp. But the moment the words left his mouth, guilt settled like lead in his stomach.Ron hesitated, then softened. “I’m not interrogating you, mate. I’m worried.”Harry looked away. “I know,” he muttered. His voice felt too tight. “I just… I’ll tell you and Hermione when I’m ready.”Ron didn’t press further. But the concern in his eyes only made Harry feel worse.He hated this.Hated making his friends worry. Hated keeping things from them. But how the hell was he supposed to explain this?With a groan, he flopped onto his bed, shoving his face into his pillow.
How was he supposed to live like this?
The diary sat there, slightly worn, but unmistakably hers. Severus had been staring at it for what felt like hours.He hadn’t wanted to read it. Not after that… confrontation. It had unsettled Severus more than he cared to admit.Albus had insisted as well as Minerva. But it still felt wrong to read Lily’s thoughts, to pry into something so deeply personal.And yet, he had to know…how was the boy his? How was it physically possible? The potion couldn’t lie; he had brewed it himself and ensured it was flawless without mistakes. And if the results confirmed that Potter was his son, then it had to be true.But how? He just had to know.His fingers ghosted over the worn edges of the diary before he forced himself to open it. He skimmed past the early entries—he had no desire to read about Lily’s teenage infatuation with James Potter.Albus had said the entry was near the end.And then, suddenly, he found it.
Dear diary, October 3rd, 1979
His breath slowed.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.
Severus swallowed, his fingers tightening around the edges of the diary. A part of him already wanted to shut it. Pretend he hadn’t seen. Pretend he hadn’t even opened it in the first place.But his traitorous eyes kept reading.
Everything was perfect. We were so happy. James was everything I could have hoped for and more. It felt like a perfect fairy tale ending. 
His grip turned to iron.
But not anymore.
The words seemed to echo in his mind.
I saw him. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did.

James. With her.
The ink was smudged here, as if Lily had pressed the quill too hard in her frustration—or as if her hand had shaken while she wrote.Severus stilled. A sharp, unnatural stillness.He had called James Potter many things. Arrogant. A menace. A reckless, self-absorbed idiot who had no right to the pedestal the world had placed him on.But this?He had never imagined this.His heart pounded against his ribs, a sickening rhythm that matched the shaky, uneven lines on the page.
I don’t even know how long it’s been happening. Maybe it was just once. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I should ask, but I can’t—I can’t hear him say it. I can’t bear to know how long someone else has been wrapped around his arms.
His fingers curled against the diary’s spine, nails digging into the worn leather.
I thought about leaving. But I still love him. I wish I didn’t, but I do. Now all I can think about is how he betrayed me. How I can’t even look at him without wondering if he was with her that same morning. I don’t even know her name, but she’s taking the man I love.
Severus inhaled sharply. He could picture it now—Lily, standing in front of the mirror, the realization sinking in, the lies piling up around her, suffocating her—And then the next entry.
Dear diary, October 14, 1979
His stomach twisted.The ink was uneven, blotted in places, like she had hesitated before pressing on.
I was so angry. So broken. And I did something I shouldn’t have.
Severus’s eyes flickered to the date at the top of the entry. A precise moment in time. One that tugged at something deep inside his mind, something he couldn’t quite grasp—but it was there.A gap.A space where a memory should have been.His name.
Severus.
His hands stiffened around the diary.
I went to him. I don’t even know what I was looking for—comfort, familiarity, maybe just someone to remind me that I wasn’t completely unlovable. I knew it was wrong. I knew it even as I let him hold me, even as I whispered things I didn’t mean just to drown out the pain. It was desperate, selfish, and in the morning, I knew I had made a mistake.
The edges of his vision blurred as he read further
He doesn’t remember. I made sure of it.
The room swayed.
I took the memories from him. I had to. He would never have forgiven me for using him like that, and I couldn’t risk James finding out. I couldn’t risk losing my family over something that never should have happened.
Severus’s breath came shallow and sharp. His mind was racing, piecing together fragments of memories that no longer existed.
Dear diary, October 31, 1979

I realized… I’m pregnant.
The ink was blotched in places, the writing unsteady, like she had hesitated before pressing on.
James confessed to everything and has begged for forgiveness. He’s been more attentive and sweet than ever. I know we can make it work. I can feel he regrets his affair.

But I feel so guilty. I can’t confess to my own mistake. I don’t know if James will be able to look at me the same, especially if this baby turns out to be Severus’s. I don’t know what to do, I pray this baby is James's.

Dear diary, August 21, 1980

I told myself it was James’s. It had to be. I needed it to be. But when he was born—oh, God. I knew the truth, even if I didn’t want to see it.
The world tilted. The walls of his quarters, the flickering candlelight—it all felt distant.
I couldn’t let anyone know. Not James. Not Severus. So I did what I had to do.
His nails nearly tore into the paper.
Glamours. Subtle ones—just enough to make him look like James. Enough so no one would ever question it.

Because I love my son. But I love my husband, too. And I couldn’t lose him.
Severus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
I tell myself that  I made the right choice. But sometimes, I look at Harry, and I wonder…if I was wrong.
He couldn’t read any further.With a trembling hand, Severus closed the diary.His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.Lily had done this? Lily? Lily.The woman he had spent a lifetime loving, mourning, idolizing. The one he had revered, untouchable and pure.She had used him. And then erased it like it had never even happened.The word slipped out before he could stop it.
"Whore."
The sound barely made it past his lips, but the moment it did, it curdled into something else.Guilt.Severus shut his eyes.He had spent years viewing Lily as a saint. As if she had been incapable of fault, as if she had never made mistakes, as if she had been beyond human weakness.But she was human. And she had hurt him.He wasn’t about to justify what she had done.Yet who was he to judge?He had made mistakes. Worse ones. Ones that had left blood on his hands, ones that haunted him in the dark.Lily had been a victim of his mistakes, too.His throat tightened. "I’m sorry," he whispered.He had to forgive her. He had to. Because the alternative of holding resentment towards the only woman he ever loved was unbearable. But this only confirmed what the potion had shown. Potter was truly his. His blood in every way.Severus groaned, pressing his fingers against his temples. He didn’t have time for this. His class started in less than ten minutes, and he could not afford to spiral right now.He shoved the diary away, stood abruptly, and stormed out of his quarters. He sent even more menacing glares than usual towards any student who looked in his direction.Reaching his classroom, he strode inside and scrawled today’s potion instructions on the board. His mind was a storm, but his voice remained steady as students began to fill in their seats."Instructions are on the board. Get to it. Anyone who talks has detention tonight."His voice was sharper than usual, his glares enough to silence the entire room.He prowled between desks, his criticisms going full at it."Longbottom, if you intend to poison us all, at least have the courtesy to do it correctly."Neville flinched, scrambling to fix his potion.But no matter how many students he tore into, the words of the diary refused to leave him. They clung to his mind, looping over and over—Until something snapped.His gaze swept across the classroom.Potter wasn’t there."You two," he said, his voice slicing through the quiet hum of the room. "Where is Potter?"Ron and Hermione stiffened."We don’t know, sir," Hermione said carefully.Severus’s eyes narrowed."You expect me to believe that?""We’re telling the truth," Ron muttered. "He wasn’t in the dorm this morning. Wasn’t at breakfast either."The worry in their eyes was real. They didn’t know where he was."Ten points from Gryffindor for Potter’s absence," he snapped. "Now get to work before I make it more."He turned away, ignoring Weasley’s whispering over how unfair he had been.
Where the hell is Potter?
The cold bit at Harry’s skin, but he barely registered it. He sat motionless, arms wrapped around his knees, staring into the vast expanse of the sky as if the answers he sought might be written in the clouds. Maybe he was waiting for clarity. Maybe for a sign.None came.The castle bells tolled in the distance, signaling the end of lessons, breaking through the numb haze that had settled over him. With a weary sigh, he uncurled himself and forced his stiff limbs to move. He knew he couldn’t avoid everyone forever. Descending the stairs, he felt heavier with every step, as though the weight of his revelations had sunk into his very bones. But the moment he entered the main corridor, regret coiled tight in his chest.Because striding toward him was Snape.“Potter.”His stomach twisted into knots as he already dreaded that Snape was about to further ruin his day. “You seem to have mistaken yourself for someone who is above attending my class.”Harry lifted his chin, willing himself to hold firm. “Didn’t feel like going.”Snape’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening like a thundercloud. “I see. A new level of insubordination. How fortunate for me.”A few passing students slowed their steps, sensing the tension crackling in the air. Harry could feel their stares prickling against him, their silent curiosity pressing in.He didn’t care.Snape inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring as if trying to rein in his temper. “So, in addition to being reckless beyond measure, you’ve now taken to outright defiance.”“What does it matter?” His voice came out flat, distant. “It’s not like I’m your problem, right?”Silence.The words burned in his throat, but he forced them out anyway. “An unfortunate mistake. That’s what you said, wasn't it?”Snape went utterly still.The corridor felt suffocating. Even the students who had been shamelessly eavesdropping moments ago seemed to shrink away, sensing they were witnessing something more dangerous than the usual Potter-versus-Snape conflict.Soon enough, the only ones were standing there. Harry could have passed out right then over how sick he felt.“You could’ve just ignored me. You could’ve never told me, and it wouldn’t have mattered. But no—you had to say it. You had to make sure I knew exactly how much you—” His breath hitched, his voice threatening to crack. “—how much you hate me.”Snape’s expression didn’t shift.Then, at last, his voice cut through the suffocating silence.“Detention.”The damn audacity of this man. “Of course.” He shook his head. “That’s all you know how to do, isn’t it? Punish me. Control me. Make sure I know exactly what a burden I am.”Snape remained quiet.“Just say it, Snape,” he spat. His chest was heaving now. “Say you wish I wasn’t yours.”The air was thick, suffocating.For a moment, Harry swore Snape was about to say it.But then, Snape’s face hardened. “Detention,” he repeated. “In addition to the one you already have on Saturday. All of next week.”Harry let out a short, breathless scoff. “Right. Whatever you say.” And with that, he turned on his heel.He didn’t look back.Didn’t stop to see if Snape was still watching him.But he didn’t make it far before he heard a familiar voice.“Harry.”He exhaled sharply and turned to see Ron and Hermione standing there, their faces mirroring twin expressions of shock.“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron burst out.Harry dragged a hand down his face, already regretting that they’d seen any of it. He hadn’t wanted to explain. Hadn’t wanted to talk about it.Hermione stepped closer, her voice softer but no less insistent. “Harry, what was that?”He could still feel Snape’s voice trying to get under him. He clenched his jaw. “It’s nothing.”“Nothing? ” Ron repeated incredulously. “Mate, you just— you just screamed at Snape! You said—” He hesitated, clearly replaying the words in his mind. “What did you mean? About him—hating you? About—”His voice faltered, but Hermione wasn’t about to let it go.“Harry,” she said gently, her sharp eyes scanning his face. “Please. Just tell us.”His chest felt tight, like he was being crushed under the weight of everything he had been trying to keep inside. He could lie. He could brush it off.But the truth was already clawing its way free.Harry inhaled slowly, steadying himself before exhaling a shaky breath.“I was going to see Dumbledore because Snape was being a git and gave me detention when I tried to defend myself against Malfoy. But when I got to his office, he was talking to Professor McGonagall.”“Go on,” Hermione urged.Harry swallowed hard. “I overheard them. They were talking about me… and Snape. There was something about a secret. McGonagall said Snape might actually—” he hesitated, forcing the words out, “—make an effort to get along with me once he found out.”Ron snorted. “Yeah, right. Why the hell would Snape ever make an effort with you?”“Because…” He squeezed his hands into fists. “Because Dumbledore said there’s no stronger bond than that between a father and his son.”Hermione gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, already understanding before Harry even had to say it.Ron, on the other hand, blinked. “I don’t get it. What does that have to do with—” His sentence cut off abruptly. A beat of silence stretched between them before his eyes widened, realization crashing over him.“Wait— ” He gaped at Harry like he’d grown a second head. “You mean—James isn’t—Snape is—”Harry nodded stiffly.“Bloody hell! ” Ron swore. “You’re saying Snape is your—your dad?”His stomach twisted at the word. “Not to me, he’s not. When I confronted Dumbledore, Snape made a paternal potion, and the results…were exactly what Dumbledore and McGonagall expected.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before shaking his head bitterly. “And he hates it. Hates me. He said I was just… an unfortunate mistake.”His voice broke on the last word.Hermione let out a tiny, strangled sound, her hands hovering uncertainly, as if she wanted to reach for him but wasn’t sure how.Ron, on the other hand, found his voice.“What the hell!?”That’s exactly what Harry had thought when Snape spat out those words to him.“That greasy, miserable—” Ron looked like he was ready to grab his wand and march straight down to the dungeons. “He actually said that? To you?” Harry let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah. But are you really surprised?”Ron gestured wildly. “I mean—out of all the insane things that have happened in your life, this takes the cake!”“But, Harry…” Hermione’s voice was gentle but weighted with concern. “What about your mum? About James? Are they saying she—” she hesitated, as if she could barely bring herself to voice it, “—betrayed him?”Harry’s chest tightened painfully. “Dumbledore said they found it out by reading an old diary of hers. I—I couldn’t read it. I don’t want to. I want to believe that my mum regretted it with every fiber of her being, that she truly loved—” his voice faltered, “—my real father.”Because no matter what some stupid potion said, James Potter would always be his father. He was the one who had raised him for the short time he had, the one who had died protecting him. That was a father. Not Snape.Ron let out a low whistle. “So that’s why you’ve been acting so bloody weird lately. Mate, why didn’t you tell us sooner?”“I couldn’t,” Harry admitted, voice raw. “It’s just… everything I believed about my family—everything I found comfort in—it’s all gone. I thought my parents were madly in love. That even though I lost them, at least they had each other, at least we were happy, even if only for a short time. But now?” His voice wavered. “Now it feels like my whole life has been a lie.”Hermione’s eyes shimmered. “Oh, Harry… I’m sure they did love each other. We don’t know the whole story. Your mum wouldn’t have married James if she didn’t love him.”Ron scoffed. “Who’d have thought Snape of all people was a homewrecker?”Harry could have laughed if the whole situation wasn’t about him. “Yeah, well, after slapping me, nothing from him surprises me anymore.”A horrible silence fell between them. It took a second for Ron and Hermione to process what he had just said.“What?” Hermione whispered, her face paling.“What the actual fuck?!” Ron exploded. His ears were burning red. “He was the one who gave you that bruise on your cheek?!”Harry looked the other way.“Mate, you were bleeding from your head that day! You could barely stand!”“Why would he do that?” Hermione’s voice was quiet, but something was underneath it, cold and furious.Harry exhaled slowly. “It happened the day I told you I had to stay after class to talk to Snape. I couldn’t keep quiet about everything I’d overheard from Dumbledore and McGonagall. When I confronted him, he thought I was making it up. That I was just trying to get attention.” Harry’s hands curled into fists. “He thought I’d dare taint James Potter’s name by pretending he was my father.”He let out a sharp breath. “We argued. And then…he slapped me so hard I fell and hit my head on a stool.”Ron looked like he was about to explode. “What the hell did you say to him to set him off like that?”Harry hesitated. He could still hear his own voice from that day, spitting out the nickname James and Sirius had always used— Snivellus.  Was it wrong of him? Maybe. But after everything Snape did afterward, he deserved it.“Nothing bad enough to deserve that,” Harry muttered instead.Hermione shook her head, her face set in a hard line. “Harry, a professor physically harming a student like that is illegal. No matter what.” Her tone was firm. “Whether he’s your…guardian or not, this is against every rule Hogwarts has. You need to report this.”“Oh, don’t worry. The git tried to resign on the spot. Dumbledore practically begged him to stay.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not reporting it. I don’t need the entire world knowing I’m Snape’s spawn.”Ron chuckled. “Yeah, imagine if people started calling you Harry Snape.”Harry shuddered at the thought. That felt wrong on every level. It was an insult to James’s memory.Ron grinned suddenly. “I dare you to call him dad in potions next time he starts targeting you. Bet he’d explode on the spot.”Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the thought.Hermione smiled slightly. “He took points from Gryffindor today, by the way. Said it was because you skipped class.”Ron smirked. “Look at him. Already embracing fatherhood.”Harry let out another small laugh, his shoulders feeling just a little lighter. At least now, he wasn’t alone in this nightmare.“Don’t tell anyone,” he warned. “If this gets out to the wrong people, it'll be a disaster.”“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione reassured him. “We’ve got you.”They turned to leave, unaware of the shadow lurking just beyond the corridor.Draco Malfoy stepped out from behind the wall, his silver eyes alight with cruel amusement.“Well, well, Potter,” he murmured to himself. “I think you not being an orphan anymore is definitely worth…sharing.”