A/N: Hello everyone! I've never written a fanfic before and decided to give it a try, but I absolutely love reading them. It's fun to take these characters and put them into new situations and seeing what would happen. I love stories where Snape turns out to be Harry's father, but what if Snape already has a son that he just found out about a few months before Harry? I got inspired to do a sibling story but with a kind of twisted way as you will soon find out. Hope you read and enjoy!

Things to note: This is an AU so some things in canon might not apply in this universe. The Dursleys are more abusive than in canon. I wanted a Harry who was more willing to accept that Snape was his father and his want for a family to be greater. Snape might be a little OOC later on because he's a father.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, the world and all characters except my originals belong to J.K Rowling.

Warnings: Abuse scenes in this chapter, nothing graphic.


The sun blazed high above him in a cloudless blue sky, burning the back of Harry's neck as he worked in Aunt Petunia's garden beds. He took a moment to wipe the beads of sweat slipping down his forehead with the back of his hand, then continued uprooting the last of the overgrown weeds, ignoring the scorching heat and his protesting muscles. Today was one of the hottest days of the summer, according to the brief snippets he'd caught from the early morning weather report Uncle Vernon had been watching during breakfast.

Harry sighed, wishing for nothing more than a cool glass of water and the shade of the tree to shield him from the merciless sun, though he figured he shouldn't be complaining, having spend the majority of his summer so far locked in his room all day.

It was only because the Dursleys were hosting a grand dinner party for Uncle Vernon's clients that Harry was allowed out of his room for the first time in weeks. Aunt Petunia's shrill shrieks and brisk knocks on his door had woken up him before the crack of dawn, and she'd shoved a rather lengthy list of chores into his hand, ordering him to "make himself somewhat useful" by completing them before the guests arrived the next evening. Harry thought the list would certainly take more than a day and a half to finish. Everything from cleaning the entire house to mowing the lawn to even preparing most of the extravagant dinner was listed.

Uncle Vernon had never failed to mention the importance of the event over the course of the past week. Harry had heard as much from his room, and again this morning when Uncle Vernon had set his beady eyes on him.

"This dinner party could promote me to the job that I so rightfully deserve." He'd proclaimed before turning to Harry and pointing a chubby finger at him, "And you better not mess this one up boy— I'm warning you. Any freaky business, any at all, and you will wish you had never been born."

Harry could care less about this dinner party, but he decided to keep his head down and do whatever he was told, knowing it was best not to provoke the ire of his uncle. He'd found out from an early age that Uncle Vernon always followed through with his threats.

So the house had already been thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom, the garden bench and fence had been repainted, and the lawn had been mowed twice. But it seemed that no matter how hard Harry tried, it was never up to the standard that Aunt Petunia wanted, which was a standard no one could ever hope to achieve, especially not Harry. She'd even made a fuss over a speck of dust Harry had apparently missed while cleaning this morning, which was rather ridiculous if you asked him, considering they were in parts of the house that the guests would never even see.

Though Harry didn't mind the chores really, at least they were a welcome distraction from the things that inhabited his mind lately. He'd much rather be outside doing chores all day, putting his energy into the work, than stuck in his room with nothing to do except stare at the peeling gray wallpaper, his thoughts free to wander.

It was better not to dwell on those thoughts, so he tried keeping them locked away, preferring not to acknowledge them, because he knew that if he did, everything would seem more… real.

Because he didn't want to think about the fact that he'd lost the only chance he had of finally getting a family. Harry had always wondered what it'd be like to have a family, to have someone who actually wanted him around. It'd been a dream of his when he was younger, innocent and unknowing, hoping that someone would come whisk him away from his miserable existence with the Dursleys. Of course, it never happened, until Sirius had offered him a home after everything was said and done. It didn't last, the chance slipping away when his godfather had fallen through the veil, disappearing and never seen again...

How could I have been so stupid?

It was all his fault.

Harry didn't know how he could forgive himself— or if he would ever forgive himself.

If only he had really focused and properly learned Occlumency, perhaps he would have realized it was a vision sent by Voldemort before it was too late. Then that whole incident wouldn't have happened... If only he'd opened Sirius' present and used the mirror... If only—

No. He'd drive himself mad lingering over different scenarios.

Sometimes, Harry wished that it was just another awful nightmare he was going to wake up from, and everything would be all right again... That one day he would receive a letter from Snuffles asking how he was doing… but he wouldn't, ever again.

Of course, another person was killed because of his reckless actions.

And ever since his return to Privet Drive, Harry had been locked in his room most of the time. The Dursleys seemed to ignore him and pretended he didn't exist, unless they needed him for manual labor of some sort. Aunt Petunia had resumed using that cat flap on Harry's door to occasionally deliver some food whenever she remembered. It was just as well, Harry had hoped they would leave him be, even if it left him feeling more alone than ever.

He wished Hedwig was here, just so he had someone to talk to, but he'd sent her home with Ron for the summer. Hedwig would be much happier at the Burrow, where she would be allowed to fly and hunt freely instead of constantly locked in her cage here.

"Boy! Get in here!" a sharp voice called from behind him, drawing Harry out of his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder and saw Aunt Petunia hovering impatiently in the doorway.

Harry plucked the last weed from the garden, and then stood, quickly brushing the dirt off his worn trousers before making his way into the house, glad to finally be out from underneath the scorching sun.

"Start preparing dinner, and try not to burn anything," Aunt Petunia ordered as soon as Harry set foot into the house. "And don't touch anything until you've washed your hands first!" She hissed, eyeing him with disgust before turning back to the rather large cake she was in the middle of icing.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, making his way to the bathroom.

Once Harry had finished preparing all the food to Aunt Petunia's standards, she ordered him to clean the kitchen and then set the table.

Just as Harry was finishing setting the table, Uncle Vernon came waddling into the kitchen, dressed in a dinner jacket and bowtie. He briefly scrutinized Harry's work before shoving a set of clothes into his hands.

"Get changed boy, and look presentable. I will not have you looking like a no good hoodlum in front of my guests," said Uncle Vernon, looking Harry up and down.

Harry was going to point out that these clothes were just slightly better than Dudley's old castoffs that they always made him wear, but thought better of it. Instead he quietly replied with, "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

But before he could leave the room, Harry was stopped by a beefy hand latched onto his overly large shirt. "And one more thing boy, I don't want any funny business happening when my guests are here. Understood?" Uncle Vernon said harshly into his ear.

"Y-yes Uncle," Harry nodded, trying to pull away.

"You better," he hissed, roughly releasing him.


The guests began arriving as soon as Harry had finished changing. Uncle Vernon was at the door with Dudley, greeting each guest and welcoming them into their lovely home. Meanwhile, Aunt Petunia was fussing over every food item that had been prepared in the kitchen.

"Boy, take these to the table," Aunt Petunia ordered, pointing to the platters of food that were waiting on the counter.

It took Harry several trips to deliver all the food to the table, all the while ignoring the loud grumblings from his stomach at the delicious smells wafting throughout the house. There was more than enough food for the amount of guests invited, and Harry prayed Aunt Petunia would allow him to have the leftovers afterwards. The last time he'd eaten was yesterday morning when she had given him a thin slice of stale bread with a bit of cheese before ordering him outside.

Once the guests were all seated around the large table, Harry retreated back into the kitchen and was set to act as their waiter throughout the dinner, bringing anything they wanted when called for. Everything went going smoothly for a while, and Harry thought he was actually going to make it to the end without any mishaps. But of course, he should have known it was too good to be true.

When it was time to bring out the cake that Aunt Petunia had baked and decorated for dessert, Harry carefully lifted it and slowly headed towards the table. Focused on not dropping the precariously perched cake, he failed to notice Dudley's foot sticking out from underneath the table until it was too late. Before Harry knew what was happening, he and the cake were both falling forward. For a fleeting moment, Harry could have sworn he saw the cake slow and hover in the air as if someone had pushed a button that paused time, before it proceeded on its trajectory, covering many of the guests in clumps of cake and colorful icing. Startled yelps and screams filled the room.

Harry stood there rooted to the spot, his heart dropping to his feet as he watched the scene play out.

I'm so dead—

"Nice going, Potter! You ruined some perfectly good cake!" Dudley shouted, aiming a glare at Harry. He scooped up a bit of cake that landed next to his plate with the tip of his finger and tasted it.

"I'm so sorry! It's my nephew, he's a bit disturbed." Uncle Vernon stood, hurriedly apologizing to the guests as Aunt Petunia dashed into the kitchen to retrieve a towel for each of them. "If you will excuse me for a moment, I promise you I am going to take care of this."

Uncle Vernon's large meaty hand then came to painfully grip his ear and Harry found himself being dragged forcefully out of the room and up the stairs, towards his bedroom. The grip was so tight Harry thought Uncle Vernon was surely going to pull his ear off.

When they got to his room, Harry was shoved in, and Uncle Vernon shut the door behind them with a resounding slam.

"You've really done it now, boy! Showing your freakiness in front of my guests! You purposely ruined my dinner party!" Uncle Vernon shouted, jabbing a pudgy finger towards him.

Harry shook his head, his hands raised. "No! I-I swear I didn't mean to, I just tripped over Dudley's foot and—"

Smack!

Harry's face snapped to one side as a meaty hand sharply made contact with his cheek. He gasped, staggering back and bringing a hand up to palm his stinging cheek.

"There's no explaining your way of this, I saw the freakiness you performed with my own two eyes." Uncle Vernon tugged him closer by the front of Harry's shirt, his large face terribly close to Harry's as it turned an unpleasant shade of red, a vein pulsing vividly in his forehead.

"What did I tell you about keeping it under control? You will pay for this boy." The hold on his shirt was released, then his uncle's large fingers began clumsily unbuckling his belt from around his wide waist.

"No please, I-I'm sorry, Un-uncle Vernon. I really didn't mean to— it was an a-accident!" Harry backed away as far as he could, and tried apologizing even though he knew it wasn't going to help deter Uncle Vernon's anger. It never did.

"You ungrateful little freak!" Uncle Vernon roared, sharply swinging the belt. It hit Harry on the shoulder, and he put his arms up in an attempt to shield his face, turning so that his back would take the brunt of the blows. "We provide you with a roof over your head, food, the clothes off our Dudley's back and this is how you repay us? By ruining my dinner party— my one opportunity for a promotion!"

Each strike seemed harder than the last, and Harry tried to not to make any noise, except a sharp breath every time the belt buckle tore into his back. He had found out from a young age that crying never helped lessen the beatings, especially when there wasn't anyone around to stop them. When he had received his first beating at seven years old, he'd pathetically cried for Aunt Petunia's help, stupidly believing that she would do something. Harry had just received receiving harder hits and a week locked in his cupboard, too hurt to move.

"Nothing, but a nuisance. A burden to my family!" Uncle Vernon went on, "Should have died along with your no good freaky parents. Would have done us all a favor!"

It felt like hours had went by, that was surely only a couple of minutes, as the lashes kept coming, and Harry wondered when Uncle Vernon would tire. He couldn't stop a pained gasp from escaping as he crumpled to the floor when Uncle Vernon aimed a few good hits to the back of his legs. Tears pooled in his eyes, ready to stream down his face, but he resolutely kept them from falling.

When it seemed Uncle Vernon had tired of using the belt, he dropped it with a clunk and moved on to kicking and punching instead. Harry's attempts at rolling and squirming out of the way were useless. One especially well placed kick in the ribs knocked the wind out of him and caused him to cough violently. He nearly passed out from the pain of it.

Just when it was becoming too much to bare, Uncle Vernon abruptly stopped and stood there for a moment, silently glaring down at Harry, panting heavily from the exertion.

"Nothing but trouble. This is precisely what you deserve!" Uncle Vernon said breathlessly as he clumsily put his belt back on. "And don't be expecting any meals for the next week."

He placed a few well placed kicks to Harry's ribs before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him. Harry could hear the sounds of the many locks on his door clicking into place a moment later.

After hearing the last of Uncle Vernon's heavy footfalls receding, Harry attempted to get up off the hard floor and onto his bed, but quickly decided against it. He curled into himself instead, hissing at the sharp pain in his chest from the brief movement. He probably had a broken rib or two and he knew his back didn't look too good either. His whole body, especially his back, felt like it was on fire and the slightest movement he tried to make would send a burst of pain coursing through his body. His bottom lip was bloody and puffy from his efforts of preventing his screams from escaping.

He took in shaky, shallow breaths, the tears he'd been holding back were now silently streaming down his face. Uncle Vernon's words reverberated through his mind.

And somewhere in a corner of his mind, he agreed with all that was said.

He was unwanted, unloved, ungrateful, a freak, a burden.

Maybe he's right... I deserve to get punished, I get people killed. Look what happened to Sirius... and Cedric, and Mum and Dad.

More than ever, Harry wished he was with them.

He wished that there someone… anyone who wanted and cared about him for him...

Not because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, or the savior of the wizarding world, but about Harry.

Just Harry.

That was all he'd ever wanted. Everything that his friends seemed to take for granted.

Was that too much to ask for?

Harry sighed and rested his cheek against the cold floorboard, trying unsuccessfully to push those thoughts out of his mind.

Maybe I should just kill myself off now, I could be with Sirius, Mum, Dad, and all my other relatives I've never met.

It would certainly put him out of his misery. There wouldn't be anymore pain…

But then who would defeat Voldemort? Could he leave his friends here with a madman still on the loose if he had the power to put an end to it?

He wasn't sure about that.

Voldemort had been the one who murdered his parents. He was the one who made his life this way. If anything, he was going to finish this war for his parents because they sacrificed so much for him.

They sacrificed their lives for him.

Harry wanted honor their sacrifices, and hopefully make them proud.

But he didn't know how much more he could handle before he shattered into a million pieces that couldn't be put back together. He was sick of being the Boy Who Lived. Nobody seemed to really understand what he'd been through or what was going through.

His friends did mean a lot to him and he was forever grateful to have had them by his side during all those difficult times. But they have each other and their families, so Harry wouldn't be missed too much, right?

The many thoughts continued to swirl around his mind, until his eyelids began to feel heavy and he let them fall shut, the exhaustion from the day starting to settle in.

It wasn't long before sleep claimed him.