His True Father

Picture a boy, sitting under the stars,

Staring at nothing in particular through his glasses;

Visualize a solitary figure enveloped in darkness,

His face wetted not by the pearls of heaven, but by tears.

The sky was a living picture of Van Gogh's Starry Night; the balls of inferno that made up the constellations burned fiercely as they always had since time immemorial, oblivious to the fact that millions of miles away, a boy was wiping his face on his sleeve.

Harry Potter flicked a pebble into the lake, and watched with bleary eyes as the rock made a little splash. He observed the perimeters of the waves expand steadily from the nucleus. Eventually, the rock sunk into the unfathomable depths, and all was calm again.

A forced bitter laughter escaped from his lips. In a way, the transient scenario reminded him of his godfather, Sirius Black. The man had started out with a splash, made waves in his life, only to fade away into oblivion.

The tip of Harry's wand sparked, striking a contrast against the darkness.

The number of fools is infinite. It was my fault that he died… even though nobody implied it, I know that Sirius was a victim of my gullibility.

He had always been able to perform wandless magic.

It wasn't his time.

Harry's wand was directed at a dangerous angle towards himself. He tried to find a reason to continue the battle against Voldemort, but failed.

Even my own father refuses to acknowledge my existence.

Harry shut his eyes, and looked into the darkness within. He imagined Sirius laughing, as he extended a hand towards Harry. He visualized his parents smiling at him, beckoning for him to follow them into a world where there were no fights, no conspiracies. Where he could be an unassuming teenager with a regular life.

Avada Kedavra.

A world where Sirius was still alive.

Avada Kedavra.

Where Snape wasn't his father.

He smiled a little. A resigned smile.

I come.

As he parted his lips to mouth the words of the deadliest curse ever, a blow landed on his cheek. His eyes stung with pain, and he squinted to see the trespasser who had intruded his most private of moments.

He saw a man in billowing black robes and greasy ebony hair.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and hollered profoundly into the night. A cool breeze caressed his cheek where Snape had struck him.

As Snape watched Harry wiped his face on his damp sleeve, his hatred for the Dark Lord grew. The war hadn't even begun, but it had already torn so many people apart. But when Harry turned to face the man with the broken smile, Snape saw the faint flicker of recognition in his son's eyes. There was anger, disappointment and loathing, but there was hope as well. It was just a spark, but Snape saw it.

"Your father would have been disappointed to see you giving up so easily," said Snape finally, though his expression was impassive. He was glad that the darkness camouflaged the emotions that would otherwise have been written on his face. A pregnant pause hung in the air. Then-

"I wouldn't know. He is dead."

"No he isn't," said Snape quietly, and this time, he held Harry's gaze. The boy stared back, wondering if it would finally be over. If they could just go back to Hogwarts, and forget that this had ever happened.

"He isn't?" echoed Harry with a tinge of insolence. Go on, he thought, give me the performance of your lifetime. Tell me that he isn't dead, that he's watching me from Heaven, and we'll go on pretending to live in ignorance.

"No….Potter." The older man appeared to be fighting a battle within himself. Harry stood transfixed to his spot, awaiting Snape's lies.

"Damn it!" he shouted finally. "Do you honestly think that I'm that stupid?!" Harry knew that he was shouting at a teacher, but he didn't care. At that moment, he wouldn't have turned a hair if Voldemort himself appeared. "I've been practising Occlumency for months—heck, I breached your defences! I saw you in that damn mirror. You! You think the mirror only shows what I want? It doesn't! It shows what I didn't want, but at least it was the truth! Unlike everything that I was taught to believe, it was the truth!"

He was crying now. He knew that Snape would obliviate him again, and this time, there wasn't any backup plan to save him. He wasn't crying because Snape refused to admit him as his son, but because after that night, he would be robbed of his memories. And his memories were part of who he was. The future seemed so bleak; nothing seemed right. One day, he would become the champion of the world, but on the same day, he would have to commit murder. Either that, or he would be dead himself.

Just once, he thought, I'd like something to go my way. Just once. But I know it wouldn't happen. Not in this lifetime.

That was why he failed to notice that Snape had laid a hand on his shoulder. He dared not hope that it was Snape, whose eyes sparkled in the dark. He dared not believe that the man, who had, up until then, been the source of misery in his life, was the one pulling him into a fierce hug as they stood with their shoulders shaking.

He dared not believe that Snape had said the words, "I'm sorry….son."

Picture a boy, his smile synonymous with hope,

Walking back towards the castle;

Visualize him walking with a hand around his shoulders,

The hand of his true father.


A very big THANK YOU to everyone who have reviewed this humble story... And to those who are planning to submit a review.

THE END