After Harry told his dad—he couldn't stop calling him that in his head—he had eaten a few more bubblefruit, to calm himself down. The man had gone stock still, staring sightlessly at the wall of ingredients in front of him. After a few minutes, Harry began to worry. He walked over, clasped the man's hand, and squeezed. Snape blinked but remained staring at the wall in front of him.

"Even there, I'm responsible," he whispered.

Harry rubbed at his lip, which was bleeding. He found himself biting it again. He remembered the first time his dad had tried to explain why he and his mum had terrible fights every few months. "I did something…very bad," he had said, kneeling down to peer into his face and rubbing away the tears on Harry's cheeks. "And she deserves to know." Harry still felt confused about it. He couldn't imagine his dad doing anything that would hurt his mum. The man in front of him reflected his own distress at the idea.

"How badly was she hurt?" he asked.

Harry shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "She has good days and bad days."

Snape'e eyes were drawn toward Harry as if mesmerized. "And the bad days?"

"Depends on how bad. Some days, she can keep what's going on in her head for a almost an hour. And then there are some days…there are some days when it's rough for all of us," he said, twisting his fingers. "She's due for a really bad day soon. And I won't be there."

Snape seemed not to hear him. Harry reached out and placed another bubblefruit in his hand. With a sudden, hitched breath, Snape put the fruit in his mouth and bit down. After a moment, he seemed to recover. Glancing down at Harry, he nodded toward the door. "I need to speak with the headmaster about this."

Harry's heart sank. "Right now? We just saw him."

Snape looked annoyed. "I need to speak with him alone."

"Oh." Harry looked around. "Do you mind if I work on something while you're gone? I've been doing this project—"

"You're not staying."

"How long can your meeting last?"

"Most students spend their free time in the common rooms."

"But I could use some help with my homework." He'd looked through his books and his counterpart's notes hadn't been helpful, so he needed guidance as much as he wanted company. The hand pushing him towards the door, however, was not encouraging. "I thought we could talk more about my world, and, er, my mum." He already suspected this was the key to spending time with this man, and he was not disappointed. The hand paused, and Harry looked back to see a flash of longing before the depths of his eyes shuttered closed.

"Perhaps later," said Snape. He closed the door to his chambers behind them. "And when I see you in class tomorrow, I expect you to call me—"

"Professor or Sir," said Harry. "I do that in my world, too. What kind of idiot would walk into class and call the teacher Dad? I've got survival instincts, you know."

Snape eyed him doubtfully, then grunted and swept up the stairs. Harry followed at a slower pace, turning towards Gryffindor tower. He hoped Hermione would help him get his schoolwork sorted. He was happy to see her curled in a chair in the common room.

"Everything went well?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Yeah." While Harry understood that he was expected to be this world's Harry Potter, he'd told Hermione bits and pieces at breakfast, swearing her to secrecy.

"Ron's getting out of the infirmary today. He had a pounding headache this morning and Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him leave."

"Okay," said Harry. While Ron had been decent while Harry helped him find his pet, he wasn't particularly interested in updates on his health. He had more practical matters on his mind. "How about a study session?" he asked, pulling Hermione's book out of her lap.

Hermione raised a disdainful eyebrow. "Having trouble with your Potions essay again?"

"I got that covered," said Harry, flipping through the book on ancient runes. He'd read over the essay the other Harry had written, and had already decided what corrections to make. "I could use some help in Transfigurations. I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to turn in. The uh, other bloke wasn't too specific." He gave her a significant look.

"Oh. Oh! Well, I keep all the assignments written here…" Hermione rifled through her bag.

"You just pick this up?" said Harry, holding up the book.

"I've been reading it all afternoon."

"Hmm. So what type of rune was often used in sacred rituals?"

Hermione stopped rifling and stared at him.

"I'm quizzing you," said Harry. "That's what one generally does in a study session."

"I…the Barid runes were used in sacred rituals involving animals, while the Foral runes were paired with sacred ritual dances."

"Right, as usual." Hermione beamed. Harry loved how her mind was like a steel trap. He quizzed her even though she hardly needed it. He even found ways to quiz her on things he'd told her about his life. He couldn't help himself. Every aspect of his life she got right gave him a little happy pop in his chest. And the Hermione of this universe didn't give him sad, understanding looks as she recited proof of his existence.

A few hours later, he felt more prepared to face the next day of classes, and had settled down to correct his potions essay.

"You're sure you don't want me to do that?"

"Not much you can do. He missed the subtler points of the assignment, and there's no way I can cram them in without making the whole thing sound like…well, like a word potion. A badly brewed one. I wish I had time to re-write it. The professor will understand, though, right?"

Hermione pursed her lips doubtfully.

Ron walked in, looking off-balance.

"Finally!" said Hermione. "I thought she'd never release you. We've got so much to tell you. You'll never believe it."

"Hermione," Harry said warningly.

She looked startled. "But surely you want to tell him."

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry. "Tell me what?" There was a long silence, and Ron paled. "It's me, isn't it? Did Madam Pomfrey say something? Am I dying?"

"Oh Ron, you're fine," said Hermione. "But when you were asleep in the infirmary…" She looked expectantly at Harry.

Harry sighed. "Fine." He gestured for Ron to sit, then made sure no one else was within earshot. "I'm not from this world."

Ron scrunched his nose. "What, you mean like in one of those Muggle films that have flying…trains or what d'you call it?" He pantomimed with his hands excitedly. "Like the one where the thing bursts out of a bloke when he's just trying to have a decent breakfast—"

"He's not an alien," said Hermione. "And I told you not to watch that film."

"I mean I'm a different Harry," he said, and explained what Dumbledore had told him about other realities.

Ron stared at him when he'd finished. "Have you gone mental?"

Harry's anger flared. "I'm not mental."

"You probably got a knock on the head."

"I knew he wouldn’t understand," said Harry. "He's never liked me, ever since he saw me with Draco at King's Cross Station."

"You're mates with Malfoy?" said Ron.

"Not anymore," said Harry. Which was true; as Draco became more like his father, he'd grown to dislike and eventually loathe him. "Before Hogwarts, we played together when our dads had one of their meetings." He remembered feeling like a particularly exotic magical creature as the elder Malfoy stared down at him in their parlor and murmured quietly in his dad's ear. Once he'd been dismissed, he would grab Draco for a game of Gobstones and get as far away from the man as possible.

Ron was shaking his head. "Completely mental."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Stop using that word." He heard it whispered about his mum often enough.

"I told you," said Hermione, "he's a different Harry." She paused. "With a step-dad."

"He's just my dad."

"Who's he, then?" asked Ron.

The conversation went downhill from there.