Harry had expected to face Snape's cold, leering face minutes after he slammed the door. But the minutes stretched out one after the other as Harry sat on the bed and stared at the remaining broken objects scattered about the room. He picked up a photo of Lily on the nightstand and studied it. A shaft of sunlight fell on the thick Sunday edition of The Daily Prophet spread out on the floor of an unfamiliar room. Lily was lying on her stomach, feet swinging in the air, as she pointed to an article and laughed at the person taking her picture. Love and happiness shone in her eyes.

Harry held the picture tightly, memorizing her face, pretending that he was the one she had been looking at. He imagined being there, holding the camera, listening to whatever funny story she was telling. His eyes roved over her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and the strange, oversized shirt she was wearing. Harry blinked and looked at it again. It was the same shirt Snape had been wearing this morning. His happiness turned to gravel in his stomach, and Harry put the picture back and pulled off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. Maybe she'd been looking at Snape.

Pangs of hunger grew as the minutes slid away, but he didn't move from the bed. His summers at the Dursleys had given him a tolerance for lack of food. He turned over the morning conversation in his head, trying to think of a way he could have broken the news. The way Snape had told her made it sound like her son had been stolen away from her. He mentally kicked himself for not interrupting and insisting that he loved her just as much as any other Harry could.

He heard the door swing open and a blurry black figure formed in front of him as he fumbled for his glasses. Once he had them on, he didn't bother looking up. "I want to talk to her. Explain."

"You'll have many opportunities to explain your existence to her, if you wish. Do not expect a better reaction, though."

"I just don't want her to look at me like I'm a stranger." He'd seen that flash of distrust in her eyes this morning. And though he wouldn't admit it out loud, he had realized there had been a flicker of unfamiliarity the night before, when she'd first seen him. It was like she knew he wasn't supposed to be there.

Harry became aware that Snape had been silent for several moments. He looked up at him, but the professor's face was a mask. He turned away from Harry's bed and touched one of the many photographs of Lily on the wall, tracing it with his finger. "That can't be helped," he said.

"But if I tell her…"

"Enough," said Snape, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. He pulled out his wand and flicked the door closed. "There is something you need to know about your mother."

But as soon as the door had closed, it snapped open again. Lily poked her head in and peered at Snape, wand in hand. "There you are. How can you be in here when there's toast and jam to be eaten?" She glanced over at the bed, and Harry saw that flicker of unfamiliarity again. But she smiled at him. "Last one eats the rotten eggs."

"Mum," he said, leaping from the bed. Now that he was facing her, any words he planned to use fled from his mind. "I'm your son, too." He felt awkward and blunt, and he wished he could say something that could make the earlier conversation go away.

To his surprise, she smiled at him with clear, untroubled eyes, as if his wish had come true.

"Okay," she said. "What do you mean, 'too'?"

"He means," interjected Snape, "that he's not the son you raised."

Harry stared at Snape, but the man gave no outward indication that anything was out of the ordinary.

"You just told her that less than an hour ago," said Harry.

Lily stared at Harry suspiciously for a moment, then turned toward Snape. "Not my son? But he knows about me?"

"Knows what?" Harry felt an unexplainable panic rising.

"About the attack," said Lily. "Or…was it an attack?" Her face clouded. "Sometimes I can remember."

"It was the Dark Lord," said Snape.

Lily paled.

"But Dumbledore said he attacked my dad. You survived. You're okay," Harry said firmly, willing it to be true.

"He attacked you?" Lily asked Snape.

"No, Dad," said Harry, his voice rising. "James Potter."

"Do not speak of that man," said Snape, ice in his voice.

"James," repeated Lily, gazing at Harry. A shadow passed over her eyes. "Who…?"

Snape leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. Lily frowned, as though trying to remember a long-forgotten detail.

Harry stared at her in shock. "You must remember the man you married. My father."

"But Severus—"

"—is not my dad! How could you forget?" His eye caught the collection of photos on the wall, and his eyes roved over them. "There must be one of him." But search as he might, he could not find any.

He turned back to see that Snape had placed an arm around Lily, his eyes flashing. Harry caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind them.

"What about me, Mum? Everyone's always telling me I look just like him."

She ran a hand across her forehead. "Just like who?"

He felt like he was losing his mind. "James--" But his tongue turned thick and numb, and he couldn't finish the name. He saw that Snape had raised his wand.

"I told you not to speak of him." The man looked paler than usual.

Lily rubbed her head again, looking at the floor for a long moment. She looked up at Harry, then Snape. "What were we talking about?"

"It's all right," said Snape. He took a deep breath and gave her a kiss on the temple, leading her out of the room. "Harry and I need to talk."

But Harry wasn't waiting for that. He sped from the rooms and was in the outer corridor before he heard Snape calling his name. He turned, fuming.

"She's cursed, or sick. And you've let her go on like that. Dumbledore's got to know."

Snape said nothing, but continued to stride forward. He seized Harry's arm without breaking step and pulled him into the nearby potions classroom.

Harry wrung himself from the man's grip as Snape closed the door behind them.

"The headmaster is aware of her condition."

"Then why isn't he doing anything? It's like she's being Obliviated over and over."

"There's nothing he can do. It's a powerful curse designed to cause deliberate and irreversible damage."

Harry recalled what Snape had said earlier. "When he attacked my parents…he killed my dad, and then…"

Snape nodded, falling into one of the classroom chairs. "Rapio Memoria. It incorporates Legilimens—the extracting of memories from another's mind—with Obliviate. It allows one to enter the mind and destroy everything related to one thought, place, or person."

"Like my dad." Harry saw a muscle in Snape's jaw jump as he nodded.

"James Potter was the focus of the attack. The merest mention of him can reactivate the curse. It took all my skill in Potions and Legilimens to repair those memories only indirectly related to him. And anything directly related to him—which includes her last year at Hogwarts and several years afterwards—are gone. Her ability to create new long-term memories, meanwhile…" He shook his head.

"Years?" asked Harry. "He took years of her life? But why?"

Snape's eyes moved restlessly over his hands. "The Dark Lord needs no reason to make those around him suffer."

"Wait," said Harry. A slow heat was burning its way up his chest. Something about the story was off. "Why would Voldemort—"

"Do not say that name," hissed Snape.

"Why would Voldemort," repeated Harry firmly, "care if Lily remembered James Potter?"

There was a catch in Snape's voice as he spoke. "He would not. She was merely a means for him to experiment in a new dark art."

"Then why rip my dad from her memories? Why not Aunt Petunia or the color blue or the works of Shakespeare? Why pick him?"

Snape's eyes stilled, and a deep bitterness and loathing infected his features. "I believe he considered it a gift. A token for the loyal servant who discovered a powerful new spell for him."

Rumors he'd heard about Snape's past clicked into place. "You," Harry spat. "You gave him the spell that destroyed her mind."

"I did not know how he would use it!"

"And if you had known, you would have done what? Voldemort killed the man you hated, then wiped him away like he never existed. You must be thrilled."

Snape stood, his chair clattering against the floor. "I never asked for this to pass."

A white-hot fire burned inside Harry. "Do you even love her, or are you playing out some elaborate revenge fantasy? Kill your worst enemy, then shag his wife?"

The air was blown out of him as he was thrown against the cold dungeon wall. He hadn't even seen Snape draw his wand. Harry struggled, but found he was held fast to the wall as though pressed by a large, heavy weight. His breath came back in a whoosh when a hand grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down. He found himself inches from Snape, who was looming over him with his lips curled back in disgust.

"You know nothing," Snape said. "You vile hobgoblin, stealing my son and latching onto her as though you were hers. Who are you to intrude into my life and demand answers? You are the one who has no idea what it means to love her."

Harry yanked at the hand holding him, but it was like steel. And then he was free, tumbling. He landed with a skid on the floor, and stared up at the classroom door swinging open.

"Get out."

This time, Harry didn't need to be told twice.