"He helped Black escape!  I know it!"  Snape pointed an accusing finger at Harry. 

Dumbledore tried to calm Snape as Fudge looked on in alarm. 

Harry couldn't concentrate on what they were saying.  The feeling of being pulled somewhere was so strong that he clutched at the infirmary bed sheets.  He looked around desperately, but no one seemed to have noticed anything.  Snape was staring resentfully at Dumbledore, and Fudge was shaking his head sadly.  He turned to Hermione, but she was watching the three men with rapt attention.  He opened his mouth to cry out.

Just then he felt an odd shift.  He was slipping, as easily as water over rocks, and with a jolt he landed.  There was a moment of blackness. 

He opened his eyes, and the scene was the same.  Snape was shaking his head angrily as Dumbledore led Fudge out of the infirmary.  As the door closed, Dumbledore returned to the foot of Harry's bed and gave Snape a reassuring pat on the shoulder.  He accepted it grudgingly, turning his head to glare at Harry.  But his eyes widened when he saw Harry struggle to a sitting position.  He strode to the side of the bed and grasped Harry's chin in his hand.  Harry's head was jerked to the left and he found glittering black eyes boring into him. 

Harry had the violent urge to rip Snape's hand off his face.  Instead he gritted his teeth and tried not to flinch.  He'd already attacked Snape once tonight and gotten away with it; twice would be pushing it. 

"How do you feel?" said Snape, his hand still holding him in a tight grip.

"Like I can't move my jaw," Harry mumbled. 

Snape narrowed his eyes and then dropped his hand.  "That's the fifth time you've fainted this year."

"I didn't faint," Harry said hotly.  Then he paused.  Had it really been five times?  How mortifying.  He prayed Snape wouldn't say anything to the other Slytherins, especially Malfoy.

Snape was smirking as he sat down on the empty bed next to Harry.  He wished the man would go away. 

"It's been a difficult night," said Dumbledore.  He glanced at Snape.  "Perhaps we should leave you alone to get some rest.  The effects of a dementor attack can be quite debilitating."

"Is that what that tugging was?" said Harry.  "I've been feeling it all year, but especially after the dementor attacks, and then the-" he stopped.  He didn't want to mention the time-turner in front of Snape, but it was after he'd used that device that the pulling had been impossible to resist. 

"Tugging?" repeated Dumbledore. 

"Like I went through a crack in the wall..." he stopped, not sure he was explaining this well.  "But then I opened my eyes, and I was still here..." 

Snape had pulled his wand from his sleeve and murmured an incantation as he held the wand over Harry's heart.  He stopped and turned toward Dumbledore.  "Magical phenomenon.  Very recent and localized."

Dumbledore's brows knitted together.  "You think this was caused by the dementor attacks?"

"Well...that and..." he jerked his head slightly toward Hermione. 

Snape stood, slid his wand back into his sleeve and glanced at Hermione.  "You mean the time-turner?" he asked.

Harry gaped at him.  "You know?"  He turned an accusing glare at Dumbledore.  "You told him."

"Of course he told me," said Snape irritably.  "Although I wish he'd told me sooner.  Before you went ahead with that ill-advised plan."

"But I couldn't let the dementors do that to Sirius!"  He looked from Snape to Dumbledore, who were both staring back at him blankly.

"What are you talking about, Harry?" said Snape.

"I couldn't let them kill Sirius.  It was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed my parents..."  Harry felt like he was babbling, and a niggling word at the back of his mind was telling him that something was off.  "If you find Pettigrew, you'll..." the word that had been bothering him surfaced, and he trailed off, looking at Snape.  "What did you call me?"

Snape frowned.  "Harry.  Is there some other title you'd prefer?"

"No, it's just...you always call me...you know...Potter."  He couldn't help throwing in a little derision with the last word.  It was as much a part of how Snape said his name as the vowels and consonants. 

"Potter," said Dumbledore, his eyes troubled.  "Harry...Potter."

Harry saw a flash of black to his left, and Snape's hand was again at his chin, forcing him face to face.  "What is the last thing that you..." Snape paused, the clammy sweat of his fingers pressing against Harry's jaw.  His face was even paler than usual.  "Recount the events of tonight.  Every detail," he demanded. 

"But I just..."

"Now," Snape breathed. 

Harry wriggled a little in Snape's grip, but it was clear he wasn't going to let go.  So Harry described everything that had happened from the time he, Ron, and Hermione had entered the Shrieking Shack to the time they had returned to the infirmary after using the time-turner.  Neither Dumbledore nor Snape said anything during his tale, but by the end, Snape had dropped his hand from Harry's chin and Dumbledore was looking grim. 

"And then I was being pulled, and then..."  he gestured toward the infirmary walls. 

"Harry," Hermione whispered.  Harry turned to see her staring at him openmouthed.  "That's not what happened.  I mean, we saved Buckbeak, but...we never helped Sirius escape."

Harry stared at her in confusion.  He wondered if Hermione was trying to stay out of trouble by denying what happened.  Personally, he felt the cat was out of the bag at this point. 

"Sirius escaped earlier tonight," said Dumbledore, "without help from anyone.  "Your-" Dumbledore paused, looking at Snape.  "Professor Snape observed a black dog running toward the forest a few hours ago.  Of course, he did not realize the implication until Professor Lupin explained."  He held a hand up as Harry opened his mouth.  "I do believe you are correct about his innocence," he said.  "But I am more interested in the Patronus you described casting.  You said it was a stag?"

Harry nodded. 

"But it wasn't!" said Hermione.  "It was a doe!  I saw it myself!"

Harry stared at Hermione.  How could she not remember?  "But there were antlers, and..."

"It's quite alright," said Dumbledore.  "I think perhaps Professor Snape and I should talk to Harry alone.  If you're feeling up to it," he nodded at Harry, "would you get dressed and meet us in my office?  I shall clear it with Madam Pomfrey." 

Harry nodded.  Dumbledore gave him the password to the gargoyle and went into Madam Pomfrey's office.  Snape stood, but remained at Harry's bedside, staring down at him with an unfathomable expression on his face. 

Avoiding his gaze, Harry crawled out of bed and gathered up the clothes that were folded neatly on a chair near him.  Someone had put him in starched hospital pajamas, and he'd be happy to get out of them.  He moved to a curtained area to dress, and heard Dumbledore call, "Severus," in a firm voice.  Their footsteps receded as the infirmary door closed behind them. 

Harry emerged from the curtained area as he finished putting on his robes.  He glared at Hermione.  "I don't know why you had to say that," he said.  "I know you don't want to admit to what we did, but why lie about my Patronus?"

"But I didn't lie," said Hermione, tears springing to her eyes.  "Oh, you must have seen that it was a doe."

Harry shook his head.  He didn't want to argue about it now.  "Just don't tell Ron this rubbish when he wakes up.  I want to be there to tell my side of the story." 

"You want to tell Ron...?" asked Hermione, but Harry was already walking toward the infirmary exit. 

The gargoyle leapt aside at the sound of the password.  Harry hopped on the stairs and, at hearing the headmaster's invitation, opened the door. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk.  He glanced around the room and spotted Snape leaning against the wall near the window.  No one spoke, but the air vibrated slightly, as though the echo of a shout was still reverberating against the walls.  

He seated himself in front of the desk, angling himself so that he could see Snape out of the corner of his eye.  It made Harry's skin prickle when he knew Snape was lurking somewhere behind him. 

"What do you know," Dumbledore began, "of planes?"

Harry was reminded of the sucked-out-of-an-airplane sensation he'd felt.  "I've never been on one," he said.  "The Dursleys don't travel...with me," he said. 

Dumbledore blinked, and then chuckled.  "No, no, not those type of planes.  I was referring to planes of existence."

"Oh," said Harry.  He knew less about that than he did about Muggle planes.

"There are, of course, the planes of life and death," said Dumbledore.  "But there are far more realities than that."  He plucked a roll of parchment from a stack of essays on his desk and unrolled it, holding it up.  "Imagine that this paper represents every event of my life, every choice I made...it's all here, laid out like this bright student's essay.  But what if I'd made different choices?"  He picked up another scroll from the stack and held it alongside the first.  "The result would be different, just as no two student essays are the same.  Each sentence leads to the next, just as each of our choices leads us to the next."

Harry remembered the moment he met Ron.  If he had arrived at King's Cross station slightly later, or chosen a different seat on the Hogwarts Express, they might never have become friends.  "I think I understand."

Dumbledore nodded and replaced the scrolls onto the stack.  "Now imagine that one could travel from one plane to another.  If the planes were similar, one may not even know the trip had happened...for a while.  It would be rather like getting one of your essays returned to you, only to realize you were handed another student's paper.  There might be so many similarities that it would take you a few sentences before you realized it was not your own."

Harry was getting an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.  "What does this have to do with me?"

Dumbledore leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk, his gentle eyes resting on Harry.  "Professor Snape and I noticed some...irregularities in your tale of this night's events."

"Everything I told you was true," muttered Harry, not wanting to contradict the Headmaster but not wanting to be called a liar, either.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," said Dumbledore.  "The thing is, Harry...I'm afraid the essay you wrote and the essay you're reading right now don't quite match up.  You appear to have jumped."

"To...another of these planes?  But how?" 

"It is not your body that has traveled, but your soul.  Normally souls are quite firmly planted in their bodies, until death.  But the dementor attacks loosened your soul's moorings, and then the jerking of your body through time and space with the time-turner..."

"Didn't help any." 

Dumbledore nodded.  "Your soul slipped into a neighboring plane before it could re-anchor itself in your body."

Harry tried to wrap his mind around the concept.  "That means what happened to me...happened somewhere else?  And here..."

"A different series of events played out.  Some quite different, I think."  Dumbledore hesitated, glancing at the wall near the window where Snape was still leaning.  "If you wouldn't mind indulging me, I'd like to ask about your parents.  What's your earliest memory of them?"

Harry remembered the blur of images and sounds that came to him during the dementor attack.  "I was just a baby when they were killed..." he stopped, because he'd heard a sharp intake of breath behind him.  He glanced toward the window, but Snape was no longer there.  His skin began to prickle.  "But, er, when the dementor attacked me, I heard...screaming.  I think it was my mum being killed by Voldemort."

Dumbledore looked grave.  "And your life after that?"

"I was taken to live with my aunt and uncle.  The Dursleys."  When he heard a hiss from right behind him, he couldn't help glancing backwards and saw a hand clenching the back of his chair.  Harry briefly went over the events of his life, then looked expectantly at Dumbledore.  "So things are...different here?"  He didn't really believe that he could jump to a different reality in the blink of an eye.

Dumbledore's expression, however, was not reassuring.  "We will do our best to return you, Harry.  We already have an idea of where to start."

There was a swish of robes, and Snape stepped forward towards Dumbledore's desk.  "Are you certain, Headmaster?  Isn't it possible that this is some delayed reaction to an attack on his mind?  Harry is the only one claiming these events happened..."

"I'm not a liar, and I'm not crazy," Harry growled.  "And you can't tell me this is another world just because you call me Harry." 

Snape glared at the boy.  "But it's not possible!"

"It's quite possible," said Dumbledore.  "And as to your observation, Harry, there's a perfectly good reason why Severus would not call you Potter.  It's not your name."

Harry heard Snape collapse in the chair next to him, but he was focused on Dumbledore's steady blue eyes.  "But...what else could my name be?"

"Snape."  Harry stared at him blankly.  Dumbledore sighed.  "Severus adopted you...or rather, our own Harry...a long time ago.  You're his son."

Harry felt like he'd taken a hit to the face with a Bludger. His jaw moved up and down, but no sound came out.  He stared at Snape, willing him to laugh derisively, to sneer at Harry's gullibility for falling for such a ridiculous story. 

But Snape's mouth was turned sharply downward, a look of anguish on his face.  "And what of our Harry?  Are you saying his soul is out there?"  He jerked a hand outward, toward the shadows in the room.  "He's lost?  Replaced?"

"A soul is quite strong, especially in one so young.  They are drawn quickly back into their bodies, or at least one nearly like their own.  I'm certain that if this soul was able to anchor so quickly to another body, your Harry must have done the same."

"You're certain, are you?" Snape spat.  "How reassuring that this doesn't trouble you."

"Of course it troubles me.  You know how much I care for him.  But we must deal with the situation at hand before we can move forward."  He turned toward Harry.  "We will require your assistance in this, to return you to your home and bring our Harry back to his.  Do you agree to do as we ask?"

Harry nodded, barely feeling the movement. 

"It will take time.  You may have to adjust to life here until we can find a solution.  Become this world's Harry, for a while.  I realize that may be difficult, but I would ask you to try your best."

Harry looked at him.  He was trying to form the word, but his lips had turned to stone.  "S-son?" he finally managed.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and rubbed at the line between his brows.  "Perhaps it would be best if you showed him, Severus.  We can continue this first thing tomorrow morning, after Harry has had some time to adjust."

Snape was utterly still for a moment, one hand shielding his face.  Then, with one jerky nod, he swept into a standing position and moved toward the door, gesturing for Harry to follow. 

Harry glanced questioningly at Dumbledore, but the headmaster merely smiled at him under tired eyes.  Harry forced his body to stand and stumbled out the door. 

Snape led the way, and it became clear that they were heading for the dungeons.  Harry dreaded whatever it was that Snape was going to show him.  It would just prove that this was not a dream.  He wasn't going to wake up and laugh with Ron and Hermione about it over breakfast.  The thought of Hermione flitted through his mind.  Did she know?  That he was Snape's...he couldn't even think the word.  He tried to focus on what Dumbledore had told him.  What choices could anybody have made that would lead to this?  Couldn't Dumbledore have adopted him?  Or Remus?  Or...anyone besides Snape?  Why would the man even want him?  He could barely tolerate Harry as a student.

When they reached the door to the Potions classroom, Harry paused, but Snape laid a hand on his shoulder and propelled him on, toward the end of the hall.  They stopped at a door Harry had never encountered before.

"Where are we?" asked Harry.

"My chambers," replied Snape.

Harry's spirits sank.  Snape's classroom was oppressive enough; he couldn't imagine what his chambers would be like. 

"Can't we just-" Harry began, but Snape had already unwarded the door and was pushing Harry through it. 

Harry blinked as Snape lit a lamp.  He couldn't see much in the dim light, but his eyes focused on a collection of photographs piled near a worn but comfortable-looking maroon armchair.  Three fluffy pillows were piled on it.  He stared at the pillows.  They were so normal. 

Snape gestured toward a door to the right.  "That's yours."       

Harry frowned but moved to open the door.  Inside was a small room with a single bed, decorated with Gryffindor colors and Quidditch posters.  He stared at it for a long time before it finally clicked.  "My room."  He turned and looked at Snape, who had taken off his outer robe and was loosening his cuffs.  "That's what Dumbledore wanted you to show me?  That I...he...has a room down here?" 

"No," said Snape.  He studied Harry for a long moment, as if trying to decide something.  Then he beckoned Harry toward a door further back.  With one hand resting on the latch, he turned and gripped Harry's arm tightly.  "Say nothing," he hissed.  "We will deal fully with this tomorrow."

Harry didn't understand what he meant, but turned and looked as Snape opened the door.

It was another bedroom, with a larger, four-poster bed and several vases of flowers.  Many photographs decorated the walls, creating a kind of patchwork wallpaper.  But the most unusual aspect of the room was a woman sitting cross-legged on top of the bed covers.  Her head was bent over a stack of handwritten notes.  She looked up at the sound of their entry.

The air was sucked out of his lungs.  Harry gasped for breath.  He knew that face.  It was exactly as he'd seen it in the mirror his first year at Hogwarts.

"Mum," he whispered. 

The woman's eyes unfocused for a moment, and then she smiled.  "Harry," she said.  Then she looked at Snape, looking happy but surprised.  "I've been working on events for next year."

"You work far too much," said Snape, sounding like this was any other day. 

Harry couldn't bear to stand still.  He tried to move toward her, but Snape was keeping a vice-like grip on his arm.  "Let go of me," he hissed.  Instead, Snape slowly moved toward the bed, never releasing his hold, while Harry tried to pull ahead of him.  He felt like a dog on a leash. 

Lily flipped through her notes, a sad smile on her face.  "Keeps me busy."  She looked up at them as they reached the foot of the bed.  "Are you two okay?  You look a bit out of sorts."

Snape hesitated.  "Long day," he said.  "I'll tell you everything tomorrow."         

Lily quirked an eyebrow at him.  "Promise?"

Harry didn't hear Snape's reply, as he was breathing hard now.  He reached out a hand, but Snape held him fast and he only managed to reach the tip of a note-ridden calendar. 

Lily crinkled her nose at him.  "What's the matter, Monkey?  You want to help me work?"  She smiled and patted the space next to her. 

Harry turned to Snape, ready to fight him if he had to.  But Snape slowly released Harry's arm.  He felt a slight tingle in his hand now that circulation was restored.  Then he scrambled up on the bed landed next to her in one bounce. 

She smelled like lilacs and sage, with a sharp, acidic twang that was somehow familiar.  Her red hair looked warm in the lamplight.  The same scent of lilacs whispered through the room when she swept her hair over her shoulder.

He drank in the scent.  With trembling fingers, he rested his hand on her pale one.  It was warm and smooth.  He wrapped his arms around her tightly and held on, counting the minutes by her heartbeats.  His breath came in faster and faster gasps, and his face and hands began to tingle.  He heard her say something and push against him gently, but that only made him cling more fiercely.   

Cold, steel hands sank into his arms and pulled him away.  Snape was murmuring something to Lily.

"No!" he cried, struggling, but he was pulled off the bed and out the door.  The hands didn't let go until he was back in the smaller bedroom. 

Harry spun to face Snape immediately, jerking his wand from his robes, a hex on his lips.  Snape already had his wand in hand and deflected the spell with an effortless flick of his wrist. 

"Get out of my way," Harry growled.

"You were beginning to frighten her," Snape said.  "I'm aware that this may be overwhelming for you.  But for her sake, you need to control yourself."  He extended his other hand.  "Your wand."

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded.  "You can't be serious."

"Deadly."

"I'm not handing over my wand to you."

"I won't ask twice."

"Fine by me."

Snape flicked his wand and Harry's wand flew from his hand and into Snape's outstretched one.  "Next time I suggest you hand it over willingly while you still have the choice."  He slid the second wand into his sleeve.  "Try to get some sleep."

Harry blinked at him.  "That's it?  I get to see my long-dead mum for five seconds and now I'm expected to toddle off to bed?  I don't see why I have to stay in here.  She's in there, all alone.  I want to see her."

"You'll see her tomorrow.  And she won't be alone."  He turned to leave.

Harry frowned at his retreating back.  "What?"

Snape turned and looked at him, eyebrows raised.  "I am her husband."  With that, he shut the door, draping the room in darkness. 

Harry spent the night painfully awake.

Harry wasn't frightened by the tugging sensation. He'd been feeling it all year, especially after the Dementor attacks. So he sat quietly in the infirmary bed and watched his dad and Dumbledore argue. His father's dark brows drew together every time he said the name 'Black.'

Then a strange shift had happened, and he was falling, slipping. When he opened his eyes again, he couldn't get comfortable in his own skin. Everything in the infirmary seemed...off. And when he tried to explain what had happened, it left everyone confused. The headmaster's frown became particularly pronounced whenever he mentioned his dad.

"Do you mean to say," Dumbledore said carefully, "that you saw James Potter in this room?"

"What?" Harry said. Despite the disorientation he felt, a familiar sense of irritation and fear rose in him. He put up a front of nonchalance to push the feelings away. "Course not. He's been dead ages. Bit difficult to have a conversation with a dead bloke." He heard a gasp, and looked over to see Hermione's round eyes on him. Perhaps he'd been a little too nonchalant. He tried to ease the awkwardness. "Well, except for the magical portraits," he amended. "And the ghosts..."

Snape snorted impatiently. "But you just said-"

"I said I was watching you argue with Professor Dumbledore."

"You said," prodded Dumbledore, "that you saw me arguing with your dad."

"Well, yeah," said Harry, shrugging.

Silence settled into the room as the two men stared at Harry. Then Dumbledore's head slowly swiveled to appraise Snape from head to toe.

"What?" asked Snape irritably.

"Just...considering the possibilities," murmured Dumbledore. "Harry, would you kindly point to your father for me?"

Harry wondered if this was some sort of mental alertness test, but obediently pointed at Snape. Snape stared at the finger as though it were a cobra coiled to strike.

"I see," said Dumbledore. "And how long has he been your father?"

Harry dropped his hand and considered. "Well, he married my mum when I was just two, so, er...eleven...almost twelve years."

Suddenly, Snape was inches from his face, spittle flying. "Another prank from Black and that werewolf! Did the three of you put your thick heads together and finally figure it out? Tell me!"

Facing the brunt of this anger was like standing in the blast of a furnace. Harry heard Dumbledore call Snape's name, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from his dad's face. The only time he'd ever seen those black eyes so full of rage and suffering was when Lucius Malfoy had visited and, in his Slytherin way, humiliated his mother by slyly mocking her condition. Even then, he had vented his rage on the furniture, after Malfoy left.

Dumbledore pulled Snape away, his wrinkled hand firm on the other man's shoulder. Snape never took his eyes off Harry as the headmaster spoke to him.

Harry could only hear his heart pounding in his ears. His father had been livid with him before, but never with this intensity. What had he done?

Dumbledore had led him to his office and explained to him what happened.

It was only then that his fear of his father's anger faded. It was replaced with a horrible sinking weight in his chest.

"But my dad..." Harry said. "He's still my dad, right?"

Snape, who had been pacing across Dumbledore's office the entire time, stopped and turned toward Harry, scowling.

"In this world," said Dumbledore softly, "Professor Snape only had the opportunity to teach you, not raise you."

"You mean," said Harry, tears stinging his eyes, "I take care of my mum all by myself?"

Snape's eyes slid from Harry and he sat down heavily in a chair.

Dumbledore's long beard swayed gently as he shook his head. "Other than yourself, Voldemort did not leave any survivors the night he visited Godric's Hollow. But if you left your mother safe in your own world, you will see her again when you return."

His words rang against Harry's ears with a hollow clang. He was alone. He looked pleadingly at his dad...who wasn't his dad...and saw a strange, haunted hunger in his eyes. He turned back toward Dumbledore. "My mum...when can I see her again?" he asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I can only ask that you be patient, and do your best to quietly adjust to life here as we search for a way back."

Harry nodded. Adjust...to Harry Potter's life. The name sounded strange to him. He stood, hardly feeling his legs. "May I go now, Sir?"

Dumbledore waved his assent, then paused. "I suppose I should ask...what House were you sorted into?"

Harry glanced at Snape. This had been a minor point of friction between them for years. He remembered the hurt he'd seen in his father's eyes when he'd learned that Harry had chosen his mum's House over his. But that made no difference here, he reminded himself. The man sitting near him wasn't his father. "Gryffindor," he mumbled.

"Ah. Then finding your way back to your room shouldn't be a problem. Let us hope that finding your way back home will prove as easy." And, whispering the Gryffindor password in his ear, Dumbledore dismissed him.

Harry turned and stumbled his way back to Gryffindor tower. Down the corridors, and then in the common room, he saw things both familiar and unfamiliar. Little details became foreign to him, like a portrait in a slightly different place, or an odd statue that hadn't been there before. The more differences he saw, the less he wanted to think about them, and what they meant for his life now.

Within minutes he was curled in his bed, shivering. As sleep overcame him, his mind clutched at memories of strong hands, a lilting voice, and warm laughter, in a place far away from there.

Snape woke with Lily's elbow in his ear. He sat up and rubbed the side of his face, regarding his wife. She slept with the yellow cotton sheets tangled around her knees, her limbs akimbo. Somehow, throughout the course of each night, his side of the bed gradually became hers. Last night he'd lost so much ground that he'd woken to find half of his body dangling over the edge of the mattress. He stood, and his mouth quirked up as he watched Lily claim that last space as she mumbled in her sleep and flopped onto her stomach.

His smile faded as he thought about the boy in the room next door. Their son…and yet not. He didn't know what he was going to tell her. A small voice in the back of his mind pointed out that it didn't really matter what he told her, but he firmly stamped it out. It always mattered what he said to her. Always. He could never allow himself to believe differently.

He washed and dressed, then stood before Harry's bedroom door. With a slight tap of his wand, the heavy wooden door opened. His eyes widened at the sight that greeted him. Objects were strewn across the floor, lamps were shattered, and Harry was sitting cross-legged in front of the door, his head drooping. At the sound of the door opening, he jerked unsteadily to his feet.

They took a moment to gaze at each other, Harry glaring at Snape with bloodshot eyes.

"Sleep well?" asked Snape.

"You used a silencing charm on my room," he accused.

"An effective one, apparently," said Snape. He directed his wand at the nearest broken objects and repaired them. It was easily done, but resentment simmered in him that this boy had so viciously destroyed these little pieces of his son's life. "Just what did you hope to accomplish?"

"To stop you. What did you expect?" growled Harry.

"I expected you to behave as though you were a human being and not a rabid animal. Clearly I was mistaken."

"You were in there. With her."

Snape paused in his repairs and studied the boy. He felt a pang of grief as he stared at the stranger who had replaced his son. Where once there had been love and playfulness he now saw bitterness and loathing. Last night he had only been wary of how this child would react when he saw Lily. He could understand the deep longing fed by grief—he had nearly lost Lily himself, and had given everything he had to bring her back from the brink. But the violence in this child made him wonder if it was safe for Lily to be near him at all.

"Wash up," he said, stepping away from the door. "We'll see Dumbledore immediately about this…situation." Surely Dumbledore would agree that the boy should remain in Gryffindor tower for the duration of his stay. Snape would ward the doors against the boy before he'd allow a violent outburst to happen in front of Lily.

He was so focused on what wards he could use that he didn't notice the boy's limp until he was returning from the bathroom. He laid a hand on Harry's shoulder before the boy could re-enter his bedroom.

"Sit," he said, nodding toward the sofa in the living room.

"Why?"

Snape blinked. It was the second time Harry had questioned a direct order. He found he had as much tolerance for that as he did for the boy's random destructiveness.

"Because I only ask once." Snape raised his wand. "Then I do. Levitation spell, perhaps?"

Harry scowled and limped over to the couch. Snape pulled a leather case from a nearby shelf and sat down next to him. Harry scooted a few inches further away and eyed the case suspiciously.

"What is that?"

"First aid kit." Snape opened the case to reveal several jars and vials, neatly held in place by the grooves carved into the wooden interior. He set the case on the tea table in front of the sofa and reached down to grab Harry's ankle. Harry jerked, nearly kicking him in the face. But he had anticipated it and kept a firm hold as he pulled Harry's foot onto his lap.

"What are you doing?" Harry scrabbled at his leg like a bear caught in a trap.

"Examining your foot." There was swelling and bruising along the tips of the toes.

"I can go to Madam Pomfrey for that."

"That's hardly necessary. If you went to Madam Pomfrey for every injury…" he trailed off. That was the other Harry. His little monkey, climbing every available surface and falling far more than his nerves could stand. Including from the Whomping Willow, which had required a trip to the infirmary. Snape blinked furiously and focused on the task at hand. "It only requires a salve to bring the swelling down."

"Can't you just use magic?"

"This is magic." He reached for the salve and unscrewed the lid. "Not all potions are meant to be drunk." Harry squirmed uncomfortably as he applied the salve, but Snape ignored him. Then he noticed Harry's hands. The knuckles were scabbed and swollen. He gently moved Harry's foot to the tea table and pulled one of the inflamed hands toward him. "You got all of this from throwing things on the floor?"

"No," he mumbled. "I was…punching and kicking the walls."

"Hmm," said Snape. He finished salving the first hand and pulled the other one towards him. "I'm sure the walls rue the day they met as formidable an opponent as yourself."

Harry grunted, then sat up straighter, his eyes widening. "My foot does feel better."

Snape didn't bother to reply. He returned the first aid kit to the shelf, then turned and leaned against the wall, studying the boy. He was still sitting on the sofa with his foot on the tea table, wiggling his toes experimentally. He looked so young. Snape could see how the lines of his body used to form chubby baby cheeks and tiny toes and fingers. That was how Harry had been when he'd first met him: tiny, chubby, and with lungs powerful enough to blow the roof off a house. He had been terrifying.

He heard a door open, and Lily emerged from the bedroom, rubbing her eyes. Her Muggle shirt and trousers were rumpled. She looked with surprise at Snape and Harry, then smiled. Leaning over the couch, she ruffled the boy's hair.

Harry immediately turned and, kneeling up on the sofa, encircled her waist in a tight embrace. Lily's eyes widened but she just patted him on the head. Snape took a deep breath. Last night Harry had clung to Lily with an air of desperation. She'd been confused by his behavior last night, and he had put off her questions. But he couldn't stall any longer.

"Lily," he said quietly. "I need to talk to you about Harry."

Harry released his hold, but he held onto her hand. His eyes darted back and forth between Snape and Lily as Snape explained what had happened. Lily looked confused at first, then hurt and worried.

"He isn't our son?" she said tentatively, pulling her hand away from the boy.

"No, it's not like that," said Harry. "I mean, yeah, but…I’m still Harry," he pleaded. "Don't look at me like that, Mum, please."

Lily looked from Harry to Snape. "Sev?" she asked, her voice breaking.

Snape stepped towards her and took her hands. "He is…Lily's son. I believe there is a connection between his soul and the soul of our Harry. And I will do everything I can to bring our son home." It was the best he could offer her. Anything more would be a lie.

Lily only nodded, her brows drawn together over wounded eyes. Harry looked stricken. Snape pulled Lily towards him and he felt her arms wrap around him tightly. Her shaking hands calmed as they settled against the nape of his neck, and his own heartbeat slowed as he pressed his arms against the curve of her back. He couldn't count the times they'd gathered strength from each other's touch.

He turned his head to see that Harry was still kneeling on the sofa, his throat gulping wildly as though suffering from a great thirst. He held out a hand toward Harry, but the boy jerked away and bolted from the sofa. Snape sighed and stroked Lily's hair as he heard the door to Harry's room slam behind him.

When Snape arrived at the infirmary, he found Dumbledore and the boy already sitting on one of the beds, deep in conversation. Snape didn't know how it was possible, but he loathed this boy even more than the one he had replaced. The little copy of James Potter, who chattered about Lily, blithely unaware that each word about her was like a razor. The whelp who stood uncomfortably close to Snape and stared up at him with sad eyes.

Snape flashed to that day years ago, at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, when he'd pleaded for Lily's forgiveness. He could still see her face, set in hard lines as she reminded him of everything he'd said and done. A cold emptiness in his chest had opened as she walked away from him and their friendship.

And behind her retreating back, in the Gryffindor common room, he'd seen that face. James, not much older than the boy, had looked at him with pitying but triumphant eyes. Eyes that said, I know.

And the boy knew. He knew. It was as though he were being levitated and stripped naked by Potter and his gang all over again. As Snape approached the boy, his hand twitched, as though it planned to rip those eyes out of the boy's face. But then the boy turned, and it wasn't James's eyes that stared back at him. The twitching stopped, and Snape stood there silently, feeling ill.

Dumbledore had turned as well. "Ah, Severus," he said. "I was just talking with Harry about his world. There are some striking contrasts. Voldemort's powers appear to have developed along another path." He looked at Harry expectantly. "You mentioned he was focused on the powers of the mind. Does this perhaps have something to do with the night your parents were attacked?"

The boy bobbed his head, staring at his hands, but said nothing further.

"Is this information necessary?" said Snape. Terror rose in him at the mention of that night and he was determined to steer the conversation in another direction. He turned to Dumbledore. "I thought you asked me here to work towards a solution to our--" he flicked his eyes at the boy, "--little problem."

"It's important to understand our new charge," said Dumbledore. Snape clenched his jaw. "But I suppose it can wait." With an impatient look at Snape, Dumbledore rose and asked Harry to lie down in the bed he had used the previous night.

Many incantations later, they had established that the boy was, indeed, not from this world. But his place of origin was still a mystery. Whatever had remained of the pathway was mere magical residue now. And in that residue Snape had heard the echo of other worlds—millions of them.

"Well," said Dumbledore. "It appears I was right in my assessment that this will take time."

Snape felt a tugging on his robes and looked down. A hand was snaking into one of the pockets of his outer robe. He slapped it away and glared at the boy. "What are you doing?"

Harry rubbed his hand, looking contrite. "I wanted some bubblefruit."

"Bubblefruit," Dumbledore murmured. "Used in some potions, yes? Mild calming effect, if I recall correctly."

Snape nodded. "And cooling properties." He remembered his mother giving him the marble-sized fruit as a child. He'd had a tendency to cry until he hyperventilated, and the sharp snap of the shell between his teeth and the taste of the icy-cold juices were the only thing that had soothed him.

"I eat loads of it," said Harry. "Dad gave it to me when I was teething and I took to it."

"Of course!" Dumbledore clapped his hands in delight. "Do you know that Harry has turned down every offer of sweets I've given him? I was beginning to think I was loosing my touch."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I just like the bubblefruit." He eyed Snape's pocket doubtfully. "You don't have any?"

"No," said Snape curtly. "If that's all—" he moved to leave, but Dumbledore had wrapped an arm around his shoulders and didn't seem inclined to remove it.

"Oh, but surely you have some," the headmaster said. "After all, it's a potions ingredient. You're so diligent about being well-stocked."

"I may have some in my chambers," Snape admitted. "In storage."

"Wonderful!" said Dumbledore. "I'll let Harry lead the way."

Harry beamed and trotted towards the infirmary door. Dumbledore propelled Snape along from behind.

"I'm not a fruit vendor," he growled. "Those are ingredients from my private stock."

"Now Severus, surely you can part with a few. From the sound of it, you don't use much. In any case," Dumbledore said, lowering his voice, "it will give us an opportunity to talk."

Snape took the hint and dropped back a few paces from Harry as they walked down the corridor. "You've discovered something?"

"What I discovered is that this Harry is not one to share details of his life. At least not with me. I'd finally gotten him to open up about what happened to his parents when you interrupted—"

"You asked me to come!"

"And your assistance in searching for a path back was very helpful. However, we must get to know this new Harry. I need to know how he will respond in certain situations, to prepare for all eventualities."

"All eventualities," repeated Snape. He looked sharply at Dumbledore. "You think he may have to face the Dark Lord? Surely we can return the boy before he arises?"

"It's far graver than that. There is the possibility that we may not find a way to return him at all. It may be this Harry who will have to destroy Voldemort—a Harry who may have been prepared for a completely different kind of battle. It is important that we understand what will motivate this boy. From what I can determine, he has no strong sentiment for James, and his mother was spared. Defeating Voldemort will require great passion and sacrifice, and I wonder how to find that within him."

Snape snorted. "You talk as though the other was a bastion of power and resourcefulness."

"Some resourcefulness, and yes, he had a certain power, fueled by love and loss. Not very different from yourself, in that way."

At that, Snape jerked his shoulder away from Dumbledore's arm. "Do not compare me to that insolent child."

"Not so insolent. Or have you not noticed that this child is remarkably conciliatory towards you?"

He hadn't. Snape watched the boy ahead of them, who was skipping down the dungeon steps. In all his years at Hogwarts, he had never seen a student do that. He found it disturbing.

"Harry has become a mystery to me, which makes it difficult to plan for his future. I would ask that you try to become his confidant. What he may tell you may be difficult to hear, but you must make the effort."

Snape nodded. Harry was now at the door to his chambers, tapping it with his wand experimentally.

Dumbledore patted him on the back. "Good! I'll be off, then."

Snape's mouth fell open. "You're leaving me alone with him?"

"Oh, I rather think I would be an unwelcome intrusion." And with a wink, he climbed back up the stairs.

Snape glared at his retreating back. Then he turned and caught up with Harry, who was still holding his wand against the door. As if he thought he would be able to enter his chambers with a simple Alohomora. "It's warded with several passwords. Stay here, and I'll bring out the—"

"That's okay, I think I've got it," said Harry, and spoke an incantation. The door opened an inch. Snape stared at the gap as though a giant spider were lurking behind it. "How?" He asked.

Every fourth ingredient in Veritaserum, right? This is the season you usually make it, and you like to use the number four in your passwords." He shrugged at Snape's look. "It did take me a while, if that helps." He put his hand against the door.

"Wait," said Snape. "There's an additional password for intruders who get this far."

"Lily," said Harry confidently, and the door swung completely open. Harry beamed and hopped inside. Snape remained in the hallway, waiting for the pounding in his temples to subside.

By the time he entered his chambers, Harry was already rummaging in his storage room. His brows were knitted together in a frown. "This is supposed to be my room," he muttered, but he brightened when he spotted the jar of bubblefruit near the top of one of the shelves that lined the room. He grabbed the nearest shelf and wiggled it appraisingly. Then, before Snape could register what happened, he had clambered to the top of the shelves and hung there, the jar of bubblefruit held tightly with one arm. The shelves creaked ominously.

Snape came to his senses quickly. "Get down from there. You'll break something." He wasn't sure if he was more concerned about the boy's bones or the several jars of expensive ingredients that were slowly shuddering towards the edge of the shelf.

Harry grinned and climbed down slowly. He was already unscrewing the jar when his feet hit the ground. He pulled a handful of bubblefruit out before Snape snatched the jar away from him.

"A simple 'Accio' would have done the trick." He levitated the jar back to its proper place.

"I don't know Accio."

"That is no excuse."

Harry shrugged as he poured the handful of fruit into his pocket. "S'more fun this way." He popped one of the fruits in his mouth and offered the other in an outstretched hand. After a moment, Snape accepted the fruit. The boy looked delighted. Snape silently cursed Dumbledore.

"Do you live alone?" asked Harry. "There's no one else?"

No one, thought Snape. "Don't ask impertinent questions, Potter."

"Snape," said Harry, frowning.

Insolence. Just as he thought. He was on more familiar ground now. "Professor," he replied.

Harry stared at him.

"You will address me as Professor or Sir."

Harry shook his head, and Snape warmed for an argument. But Harry simply said, "I meant my name. Snape. Not Potter."

"Ah," was all Snape could reply. He watched the dust motes circling the room. "Why?" He finally asked.

"Why what?"

"Why Snape? It wasn't necessary for him to adopt you if there's still…a surviving parent."

"Dad said it's because we're family."

Snape narrowed his eyes. He couldn't imagine a more unlikely set of words emerging from his mouth.

"But I think he also wanted to protect me. He wants to make sure I stay with him." The boy rubbed his hands on his robes awkwardly. "In case she wasn't there anymore."

An ominous buzzing began in Snape's head. He remembered the boy saying something last night about taking care of her. "You said she survived the attack."

"Yes," said Harry, a small tremor in his voice.

The buzzing had transformed into a loud clanging. He had seen how Voldemort had played with those he did not yet wish to kill. "But he did not leave her untouched."

There was no reply, and he looked over to see that Harry had bitten his lip so hard, he'd broken the skin. "There's something I need to tell you," he whispered, "about my mum."

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.

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.

Snape lasted one full minute after Harry fled from the potions classroom. He moved slowly toward the door, as if walking through water. Dimly, he felt the worn, pitted wood beneath his palm as he pushed the door closed. And then his palms slid to the roughly hewn stone wall, and his body heaved as his guts twisted.

The memories flew at him like knives: the day he had presented Rapio Memoria to the Dark Lord, so anxious to please; the night the words of the overheard prophecy slithered from his lips; the gleaming anticipation in the Dark Lord's eyes as he had listened to Snape's pleas for Lily's life.

"Do not fret, Severus," the Dark Lord had purred. "You have been a most faithful servant. I can award you this request. There is no need to destroy the girl, after all." The Dark Lord had rubbed the tips of his fingers along his thin, serpentine lips, as though remembering a delectable wine. "No. No need at all. In fact, you will soon have a lovely surprise."

Snape pressed his forehead against the chilly stone wall, wishing the coolness could numb his mind. He breathed in the damp, mossy scent as slowly…so slowly…the tightness of his shoulders loosened. Then he carefully began extracting his feelings from his memories and storing them away.

The process wasn't perfect; it was like untangling two tightly coiled springs. Once they were released from their restraints, they leapt forward with surprising force. The painful, unbearable intensity of his own emotions and the uncontrolled outbursts that followed was why he had become interested in Occlumency in the first place.

He pressed a forearm against the wall, and felt the hard pressure of Harry's wand under his sleeve. He had meant to return it to the boy today, but things had spiraled out of control so quickly. Schooling his face, he opened the door and prepared to see the headmaster. But his heart quavered, and he found himself drawn toward his chambers instead.

Inside, Lily was nibbling on the end of a fluffy quill, staring at a sheet of parchment curling on her lap. She looked up at Snape's approach. "Have I written Tuney recently?"

Snape nodded. "Last month." He bit back a remark about how her sister had treated her after she'd been released from the hospital. It had been the first Christmas Eve after the attack when he had visited the Dursleys to find Harry and Lily in a tool shed out back. Harry had been screaming like a banshee, and Lily was clutching him like he was the only thing tethering her to the earth. He remembered staring down at the two of them, with Petunia screeching in his ear that she "just didn't know what to do with them."

A few hours later, Lily was sleeping in his parents' old bedroom while he sat on the bed in his attic room, holding Harry at arms' length. When it came to crying, the tiny creature had the endurance of a packhorse. His plan to wait out the child's cries was looking more and more futile.

In between howls, he heard the front door downstairs blast open. There was only one person who could break through the wards he had recently imposed. He stood up, but was unsure what to do with the child dangling in his outstretched hands. The toddler appeared to be working himself into a fit.

Before he'd decided, Dumbledore had appeared at the bedroom doorway. "What," he asked, breathing heavily, "were my instructions to you regarding your visits to the Dursleys?"

"I’m not a wayward student to be reprimanded by the headmaster," Snape muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Dumbledore asked over Harry's cries.

Snape sighed and dutifully repeated the instructions he'd been given. "Treat Lily with the new potions I've developed while keeping my interaction with the Muggles to a minimum." He raised the child closer to his face. He had the vague idea that seeing another face might calm the infant. It did not. Well, at least it gave him an excuse to avoid the headmaster's piercing stare.

"You do realize how precarious your position is at the moment?" asked Dumbledore. "This very evening I was engaged in the task of persuading Ministry officials that you do not belong in Azkaban among the captured Death Eaters."

The child's crying had slowed to quieter bursts of hiccupping coughs that lessened the ache in his ears. "I…do realize that, Headmaster."

"Then perhaps you would explain to me," said Dumbledore, his voice freezing the air in the room, "why--midway through my convincing argument on your behalf—a Ministry aide assigned to your case came charging into the room, shouting that one Severus Snape had hexed two Muggles and kidnapped Lily and Harry Potter?"

Snape, his very bones weary, pulled the child to his side and wrapped an arm awkwardly around him as he explained what had happened. Dumbledore eyed him speculatively as the boy finally, finally quieted.

"I am not pleased that you let your anger overwhelm your judgment, Severus." Dumbledore studied the two of them for another long moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was softer. "Perhaps…some good can come of this. I can still smooth things over with the Ministry. But we will need to discuss how to return Harry and his mother to their relatives." Dumbledore raised a hand at Snape's half-uttered protest. "We will discuss it after the holidays."

Over twelve years later, they had yet to have that discussion. But Lily, who was just beginning to recover during that time, did not recall the neglect of her sister, and still kept in contact with her. If he said one word against Petunia, Lily would defend her, as always. He knew from the brittle coldness in his chest that he was still too raw and shaken from his encounter with Harry to have another argument.

She blew out a sigh and set the quill and letter to her sister on a side table, on top of a fresh pile of photographs Snape had collected. "I never know what to write. We move in rather different circles." As she looked up at Snape her face grew solemn, and she rose from the sofa. "It's too early in the day to wear that face."

He tried to smile, but only managed a grimace. He ducked his head, letting his hair veil his face. It was a gesture left over from adolescence, and one of the many aspects of his body language he'd rigorously drummed out of himself as he learned Occlumency. But near her, the awkward, desperate teenager gasped back to life. He became acutely aware of how his twisted features must look to her.

But she did not flinch, or move away. She merely threaded her fingers into his hair and curled it behind his ear. Her face turned up towards his, offering only love and trust.

Love and trust he should not be given, but that he so desperately needed. He wanted to tell her everything that had happened, but knew it was impossible. The words would tumble like an avalanche; it would take hours to sort through and find understanding. But she didn't have hours today. He could only offer her little handfuls.

"Harry and I fought," was all he said. He watched that flicker of confusion at the mention of her son's name before she remembered. No matter what he had tried, he could not pluck it away. The association with James was too close, and the damage had been too great. The moment was always brief, and he had hoped that his son had never noticed. But this new Harry had seen it straight away, and he realized he'd been fooling himself. Of course his son could see when his own mother gazed on him like he was a stranger. How could he not? He ached at the thought that his little one had lived with this pain his whole life and never told him.

Gentle hands touched his jaw, and he raised his head to look into warm green eyes. "My two boys. You'll sort it out."

He nodded slowly, wanting to believe her. He had learned over the years that even when she didn't know the details, he could trust her words. Somehow, even without memory, her heart knew. Then she was kissing him, and he was falling, blanketed in her. And allowing himself, just for a moment, to forget.

Snape's stomach coiled as he waited for his class with Potter to arrive. Potter…he knew that wasn't his name, but it was comforting to think of him that way. It was like an old worn shoe that chafed in just the right places. This new one…with his name, and his eyes…he left Snape feeling raw and exposed. There was something infuriating about those calm, knowing eyes.

But there was nothing calm about the boy who walked through the door just before class began. His hair was more rumpled than usual, and he was scratching at his palms. His eyes darted to the sides of the room, as if looking for a window to jump out of. Snape moved surreptitiously closer as Ron Weasley settled in beside Potter.

"Better give your dad a hug before class. I'm sure he'll appreciate that," said Ron.

Snape couldn't repress a shudder.

"At last my dad doesn't muck about with hula hoops and roller skates," said Harry, "and call it a job."

Ron reddened and slammed his books on the table. Hermione gave them both a reproachful look, but kept her lips firmly pressed together as she sat on the other side of Harry.

"That'll do, Mr. Weasley." Snape said, despite himself. His eyes brushed over Potter before he returned to the front of the room. "Unless you are aspiring for a detention before class has even started."

Ron uttered a strangled growl and went for his cauldron. Snape could sense Harry's gaze boring into him, but determinedly ignored it. He started class, following his usual method of a question-filled lecture to point out their ignorance, accompanied by dire warnings if they did not rectify their ignorance immediately. For once, the children were blessedly quiet, although Weasley and Potter kept banging equipment and giving each other glares with grating regularity. Snape's tolerance snapped, and he fell on his time-tested technique for getting teenagers to behave: capitalize on their terror of being humiliated.

"Potter," he said sharply, and was gratified to see Potter startled out of the glare he was giving Weasley. The boy looked up at him. "Since you consider my lecture unworthy of your attention," a faint blush appeared on the boy's cheeks. Good. "perhaps you would like to educate the class on the proper brewing procedure for strengthening potion?"

Potter's eyes whizzed over the ingredients listed on the board. "Counterclockwise in wide loops until it turns a chalky white color, Sir."

The boy must have actually done the reading. Snape cursed silently to himself and tried to think of details that weren't covered by the text. "And if it turns a dark green instead?" He waited for the flush and angry scowl that always preceded Potter's admission that he didn't know the answer.

The boy, however, merely tilted his head in thought. "Too much wormwood, I'd say."

He wrinkled his brow in annoyance. "And the remedy for too much wormwood?"

"A sprig of fresh heather, cut before morning dew."

Snape clicked his tongue. "If heather is out of season?"

"Dried black swallow-wort, grown in soil laced with dragon eggshell."

His temples were throbbing again. "And what are the properties of swallow-wort?"

The frazzled look Potter had been wearing faded, and he grinned. "African or European swallow-wort?"

Some of the other Gryffindors were grinning as well, and Snape decided he'd had enough. "Ten points from Gryffindor for cheek and for trying to show up your teacher," he said.

"And succeeding," someone muttered, but Snape didn't catch the transgressor. However, he was gratified to see that Potter's frazzled look had returned.

"Points?" the boy asked. "First time for everything, I suppose." That remark got him a jab in the ribs from Granger. He looked at her, and then noticed several classmates staring at him in puzzlement. "Ah…I mean, first time this month." More stares. "First time today?" he asked in astonishment.

Snape decided to ignore both the comments and Potter and returned to his lecture. He relaxed marginally as he picked up the rhythm of his speech. Really, teaching would be far more pleasant if it weren't for the students.

When he set the students to brewing, he heard the scrape of wood against the gritty stone floor as Potter got up from his seat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw him move toward the shelf of ingredients. Snape made a show of checking students' progress as he observed Potter, who passed by Malfoy.

"What's gotten into Weasley?" Malfoy asked. The blond boy smirked. "Did his parents tell him his clothes were third-hand instead of second-hand?"

Harry showed none of the tell-tale signs of anger he usually displayed when confronting Malfoy. In fact, a curious stillness had settled on the boy, much like what Snape observed in himself when he was repressing particularly volatile emotions. Malfoy seemed stymied by this lack of response.

"But at least he's got parents," continued Malfoy. "What's it feel like to have parents too stupid to get out of the Dark Lord's way?"

Snape sucked in his breath between his teeth.

Harry blinked at him, as though coming to a sudden realization. "It feels better than having parents who will serve him without a second thought. What does that feel like, Malfoy? All that money, and you're still just a bunch of glorified house elves."

Malfoy stumbled back as though he'd been lashed. "The Dark Lord…" He stopped, seeing that a few Slytherins and Gryffindors were listening in, and Snape realized he'd been caught. If he denied it, he was declaring defiance to Voldemort. If he said his parents were rewarded by the Dark Lord, he would be openly admitting they were Death Eaters. "One day, you'll wish he'd finished you off when you were a baby," muttered Malfoy, turning away. Harry simply reached for his jar of ingredients and strode away, frowning only when he got near Weasley.

"Catching up with your best mate?" said Ron as Harry set his cauldron on the table.

"Actually, it just hit me that I don't have to be nice to him here. Bit freeing, really."

"So you're not real mates, you just try to be his toady for political favors? You learn that from your dad?"

"I'd say I'm a better judge of friends than you. Gotten any new pets lately?"

"Mr. Weasley," Snape said warningly.

"It was him," muttered Ron.

"I'm not averse to giving both of you detention," he said. He met Harry's eyes, and said emphatically, "I suggest you be as unobtrusive as possible."

Harry gave the barest nod, and Snape relaxed slightly. He did not have any further trouble from the boy until an hour later, when Snape was deriding Longbottom's final product.

"I twice mentioned that only the leaves of the Hawthorne are to be included. Can you not remember even that simple fact?"

"It's not his fault," he heard someone growl, and turned to see Harry glaring at him.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Potter."

"You could help him if you wanted to."

"He could help himself, if he tried. If he merely paid attention, his aggravating tendency to forget would--"

"It's not that simple, and you know it. She tries every day, but she still needs our help."

Snape stopped breathing. The boy had spoken of her in the middle of class, in front of the staring eyes of twenty other students. "Be silent," he hissed, his heart pounding.

The boy's eyes glistened, and after a moment, he looked down.

"She?" said Longbottom. "Who are you talking about?"

Snape rounded on him, slamming his palms down on the table in front of Longbottom. "Do you wish to challenge me as well?"

Longbottom went pale and shook his head.

Snape desperately wished to fail Potter that day, but the blasted boy had made his potion perfectly.

In spite of everything that had happened, the reality of his situation didn’t fully hit Harry until he was completing a short writing assignment in the History of Magic. Hermione nudged him, tapping the upper right corner of his essay. He stared at the place he'd written his name blankly for a moment, until he saw his mistake. His arm weighed down like lead, he picked up his correcting quill and crossed out 'Potter.' His heart crumpled as he watched the name fade away into nothingness. Then he slowly scratched in the word 'Snape' over it. He stared at the name for several seconds, feeling like beetles were crawling down his throat.

Yesterday, Harry had gone straight to the headmaster after confronting Snape, and Dumbledore had confirmed what Snape had said: he was fully aware of the professor's past actions, and had done nothing to prevent Snape from ensnaring his mum and his other self. The headmaster even claimed that Snape regretted what had befallen his parents.

"He wants to act like James Potter never existed," Harry had scoffed. "I don't know what sick game he's playing at with my mum, but—"

"Harry," admonished Dumbledore. "I know that Severus loves—"

"Don't say it," said Harry bitterly.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "You have no memories of James Potter?"

"Just bits," said Harry. "From the dementors."

"And you do not consider the Dursleys family?"

"Hardly."

Dumbledore nodded, and fell silent again.

"So I'm not allowed to defend my dad, because I didn't know him? Is that it?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I understand why you need to protect your father's memory. But there are no enemies here."

And despite Harry's protests, the headmaster remained convinced of the purity of Snape's motives.

Harry had trudged back to the common room that morning to find a House Elf waiting for him, holding in his trembling hands a wand for the "young master Snape."

Harry sighed and pulled his eyes away from the new name written on the parchment. He laid the paper on the professor's desk and thought he heard it land there with a thud of finality.

"What's gotten into you?" asked George Weasley when Harry ran into the twins in the corridor after class.

"Potions is next," said Harry. He shifted his book bag and fell in line with the two as they walked. Ron was oddly distant with him, but the twins had taken to him well enough.

"You two fighting over Quidditch again?" said Fred.

George laughed. "Remember the time we tried to make Snape an honorary Gryffindor so he could unabashedly root for you during matches? We made him a hat with Gryffindor colors. Funny how he never wears it."

Harry plodded on in silence.

"I know what will cheer you up," said Fred. "Knock, knock."

Harry rolled his eyes. One difference he'd found in this world was that the entire school was obsessed with knock-knock jokes. He couldn't go five minutes without hearing one.

"Knock, knock," Fred repeated insistently.

Harry had also learned that the twins were the worst offenders, and would not let up until everyone had heard their latest invention. "Who's there?"

"Snape."

Harry's shoulders slumped. Of course. "Snape who?"

"That's Professor Snape, boy!" said Fred, whacking Harry on the back of the head imperiously. "Detention!"

Harry smiled in spite of himself.

"That's the spirit!" said George. They paused at the top of the stairs leading to the dungeons. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"You-Know-Who."

Harry was already grinning. "You-Know-Who who?"

But George paused before the punch line, looking over Harry's shoulder. "Oh. Hello, Professor."

Harry's skin prickled and he smelled the sharp acidic tang that announced the Potions professor.

"What exactly are you doing?" asked Snape.

"Just escorting your young charge to class," said Fred. "We wouldn't want him to get lost."

"Indeed," said George. "Those dungeons are dark. And cold. The sort of environment where you need protective headwear. You wouldn't happen to have any, would you Professor? A nice hat, perhaps."

"I did have," said Snape. "But one night I was low on kindling. Move along."

The twins winked at Harry and hurried off to their own classes. But Harry's good mood had dispelled. Without looking at the professor, he moved toward the dungeon stairs. But a cold hand fell on his shoulder.

"Planning on throwing me into a wall again?" said Harry, his eyes still fixed on the stairs.

The hand was removed. "I should not have lost control." There was a pause, and then, "But you should do your best to accept this situation, regardless of how it came to be. You will regret it otherwise."

"Is that a threat?" said Harry, finally turning. But instead of the loathing and malice he expected, he saw only surprise.

"Just foresight," he said. "There is no point in fighting what you cannot change." He pushed at his hair, which was starting to acquire the greasy, wilted appearance Harry was used to. Faint shadows had appeared under his eyes as well.

"I'll take my chances."

Snape studied him for a moment. "You would." He nodded towards the corridor. "Class is in five minutes."

Harry left quickly, bumping into Neville when he reached the classroom. Neville looked startled at his expression.

"Just ran into the greasy git," explained Harry.

Neville's mouth fell open. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Harry stared at him. "You're joking."

"Well, it's just…when he starts looking like he hasn't slept or showered, you know what that means."

"What?"

"That he hasn't slept or showered." Neville looked at him like the implication was obvious. Then he brightened. "Oh, that reminds me of a knock knock joke…"

Harry hurried away to his seat. He had just settled in when Snape strode in clapping his hands together. "The instructions for Strengthening potion are on the board. What can replace the first three ingredients?"

Harry slunk down in his seat. Not only did he not know the answer, but he had come to despise being called on in class. He'd already gotten points deducted by McGonagall for snapping at her when she called on him using that name for the third time in Transfigurations. Then, after class, McGonagall had pulled him aside and taken him to task for being, as she called it, "sullen."

"Couldn't you just call me Harry?" he'd finally asked in desperation.

"I cannot show favoritism towards students," McGonagall had said kindly. "Especially you. Everyone knows the staff look on you as practically family. Some of us teachers have even changed your nappies."

"You've what?" asked Harry. He was horrified.

"I don't suppose you would remember," said McGonagall, smiling. "But we watched Lily and Severus raise you right under this roof," she pointed at the arched ceiling in the corridor near her classroom, "so of course we may be predisposed to be a little soft on you. Still," she said, straightening. "It wouldn’t be appropriate to show that in the classroom. We must treat you as every other student. Keep that in mind, Mr. Snape."

And with that, Harry had trudged off.

Snape clapped his hands again, and Harry jerked up from his slumped position in his seat. The man still showed signs of exhaustion, but projected an air of energy. "I'm waiting for an answer."

Harry glanced over at Hermione, expecting to see that Snape was avoiding her waving hand. But to his surprise, her hands were fidgeting with each other as she muttered something to herself.

"Yes, Mr. Longbottom," said Snape.

Harry craned his neck backward to see that Neville had his hand raised. "Shrivelfig, Sir. But it reduces the effectiveness of the potion."

Harry gaped at him. He'd never seen Neville volunteer an answer in Potions.

"Excellent, Mr. Longbottom. Five points for Gryffindor."

"Five…what?" whispered Harry, looking for Ron to share his disbelief. Ron was sitting a few chairs away, and looked blankly back when Harry caught his eye.

"Now," said Snape. "Who can tell me the brewing procedure for this potion?"

Hermione started a new round of muttering, her hands still twitching on her desk. Harry eyed them like they were dead birds. Her hand finally shot up into the air. Harry relaxed at the familiar sight.

"Ah, Miss Granger. You have something for us?"

Hermione nodded. "Stir in wide loops and with great might, until the brew turns chalky white."

Harry stared at her. He felt as disoriented as he had his first day here. "What is going on?" he whispered to her urgently.

She looked back at him. "What?"

"Not up to your usual standards, Miss Granger, but it will do. Everyone?"

Everyone in class dutifully repeated the rhyme. Harry glanced around him as though surrounded by mumbling ogres. "Why are we…?"

"It's a mnemonic device. You don't use them in your world?"

"I suppose. Just…why are you coming up with them?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I can only answer in rhyme, or he takes points from Gryffindor, even if the answer's correct. He says everyone learns the material better, and it makes me slightly less pestering."

"Mr. Snape." The name jabbed him in the chest. He turned around to see the professor, and most of the class, staring at him. "Would you like to share with the rest of us what you and Miss Granger find so fascinating?"

The class tittered, and Harry became acutely aware of whispers of "Dad" and "Junior." He wanted to sink into the floor. "No, Sir," he mumbled. He felt the dark gaze digging into his skin, but refused to look up.

"Very well," said Snape. "Now, who can tell me—"

"He's not getting points deducted?" asked Malfoy. "He's talking out of turn."

"You are also talking out of turn," said Snape, but his tone lacked bite. "And I would expect a Slytherin to understand the value of nepotism."

Malfoy frowned, but didn't argue further.

Once they started on their potions, Seamus Finnigan wandered over to Harry to ask a question, but stopped mid-sentence when he saw that Harry's potion was turning an alarming shade of puce. The student backed off and turned toward Neville, who offered him an answer about brewing with great enthusiasm and detail.

"I always knew Neville to be a bit absent-minded," Harry said to Hermione.

"Oh, he was here, too, his first year. Luckily he had two experts on memory to lend a hand. He's been mad for Potions ever since. Perhaps you can offer some tips on how to improve the memory potion he brews…" She glanced at Harry's bubbling liquid, which was now issuing wet burping sounds. "…or not."

At the end of class, Harry felt an odd sting as Snape stared down at his sickly potion in disappointment. He could tell from the homework in his bag that his counterpart had understood more of the complexities of Potions. Whoever this other boy was, Harry was clearly not measuring up in the eyes of the people around him.

As the days got closer to end of term, he settled into a routine of sorts. He deeply missed his mum, but he did not see her out in the school, and didn't dare visit Snape's chambers again. He made a few tentative gestures of friendship toward Ron, but their conversations were stilted. He spent much of his time studying with Hermione or talking with Lupin. It was on a sunny afternoon when he'd sought out Remus Lupin for company that he learned the professor wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts next year.

"Surely you can see that I put all of you in danger," said Lupin as the two of them meandered their way across the grounds. He stooped to pick a wildflower, twirling it in his fingers. "And there are other issues."

"More werewolf prejudice?"

"Mmm. Rather more specific prejudice than that. I was apparently too close for comfort this year, and I'm in danger of losing my visitation rights."

Harry tried to puzzle through that one.

"Speaking of which," said Lupin, "It looks like I'll be seeing you just a few weeks into summer."

Harry was surprised and delighted. "You've never visited me at the Dursleys before."

It was Lupin's turn to look puzzled. "The who?"

"The Muggle relatives I live with during summer break. You must at least know their name, if you're coming to visit."

Lupin scratched his head, the flower in his fingers bobbing dizzily. "Er, I don't know what family visits you've worked out, but I was planning on seeing you at home." A horrible suspicion crept into Harry's mind. He watched as Lupin turned to him, concerned. "He hasn't scheduled another trip during my visiting days, has he? He's supposed to let me know if he's canceling."

Harry slumped against a tree. "You visit mum and me at home. And these are scheduled by...Snape." His mouth was weary of saying the name.

"No, I schedule them. He just vetoes half of them. I mean really, 'only during new moon days of the month'? And submitting a blood sample to check for 'moon cycle irregularities'? I was put through less to get an appointment teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Harry was only half listening. Lupin thought he was going to be living with Snape. He saw no means by which he could possibly endure that. Part of him had actually been looking forward to a summer with the Dursleys: no Potions class, no comments about his 'dad', no more being addressed by his teachers as 'young Mr. Snape'. He pulled himself from the tree and said his goodbyes to Lupin, then marched toward the castle.

"Strawberry twists," he said to the gargoyle so he could jump on the stairs. He felt like he'd been in the headmaster's office more in the past two weeks than he had all year. He'd been questioned and prodded and ensorcelled in multiple attempts to discover a way back home. And yet, in all that time, they'd never discussed his summer living arrangements.

But when he opened the door to the office, he saw that the headmaster wasn't alone. A familiar dark figure lurked by the window. His appearance had steadily declined over the past few days. His hung limply in thick drapes, and his cheekbones were sunken. Still, his glower at the interruption was indefatigable. But Harry plowed forward.

"Where am I staying this summer?" he asked the room at large.

Dumbledore entwined his fingers on his desk. "That is the question."

Harry glanced at Snape. "I'm not living with him."

"Yes, we were just discussing that," said Snape, moving towards a chair. "And I quite agree."

The headmaster turned and regarded Snape for a long moment. "I see."

Harry felt like he'd arrived for a boxing match and found a tea party instead. He stood there, catching his breath, as he struggled to find the argument he'd been ready for. "But…Professor Lupin said he'd be visiting me."

"Lupin is mistaken." Snape's eyes narrowed. "As he has been about a great many things. He will see only Lily on his summer visit." A smile shivered across his lips. "Although perhaps I shall cancel that appointment as well."

"Really, Severus, the restrictions you put on the man—"

"He's had more than enough unrestricted access to her this year." His face darkened. "Always timing his run-ins so that she would be unable to tell me afterward."

"I hardly think that was intentional. He's not as familiar with her cycles as you are."

"Why shouldn't he spend time with my mum?" asked Harry. "They were friends."

"No, Lily and I were friends. She barely tolerated Lupin and his lot."

"She must've done more than tolerate them, as she ended up married to one of his lot."

Snape ground his teeth and turned back to Dumbledore. "Lupin and I had an agreement. He's violating it."

"And with his resignation, it appears he is willing to return to that agreement. I’m only encouraging you to consider that sign of goodwill before denying his visits."

Snape grunted a reluctant assent before glancing at Harry. "A pity you won't see him this summer, but the law is rather strict about unescorted werewolves going near defenseless Muggles. Perhaps your adoptive parents have some silver bullets lying about?"

Harry ignored the obvious threat. "They're not my parents. Just relatives I live with."

"Forgive me. I assumed there was a deeper connection, since you're willing to abandon your mother in favor of them."

Harry set his jaw. "I'm not abandoning her. And who are you to say what's good for her and what isn't?"

"I'm the man who has taken care of her for almost thirteen years."

"If it weren't for you, she wouldn't need taking care of."

Snape's eyes wavered. "Not all of us can be as blameless as yourself." Harry watched the lines of his face harden. "But I accept my responsibility and do what I can to make her safe and well. My true son also understands what duty to family means. You, on the other hand…" He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Harry's face heated. "It's not as though you've given me a choice. You won't let me near her."

Snape's mouth upturned slightly as he leaned back in his chair. "I'm not in the habit of allowing those with no self-discipline run about my home. You will be far happier with the Dursleys, who are apparently tolerant of your disobedience. Or perhaps they simply fear any magic brought on by your uncontrolled rage?" Harry felt guilt and anger flash across his face, and Snape nodded smugly. "I see. No, you couldn't handle the responsibility of being Lily's son."

Harry rounded on Dumbledore, clenching the edge of the headmaster's desk. "Can't you do something?"

Dumbledore had been watching the proceedings, his eyes gliding back and forth like a spectator at a ping pong match. "You wish to live with your mother and Professor Snape?"

Harry faltered for a moment, but the thought of his mum propelled him on. "Yes."

The headmaster's eyes skated to Snape.

"No," said Snape.

Dumbledore sighed. "Do not press me, Severus. I have been patient enough. Unlike you, I was not Sorted into Slytherin."

Snape eyed Harry reluctantly. "I want his assurance that he will obey me."

"I'll...try," Harry stuttered out.

"You'll try?" Snape sneered. "Why don't you try giving your word. Promise that you'll follow my commands and ask permission for your activities, as any son should." His face smoothed. "Or we can go to the dungeons right now. You can explain to your mum why your stubbornness will prevent you from seeing her for several months."

Harry's knuckles were white against the headmaster's desk. "Fine."

"Your word?"

He pitched his head up and down.

Snape stood, looking pleased. "Headmaster?"

Dumbledore nodded his head in dismissal, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I want to see my mum," said Harry. It was the least he could get out of this exchange.

Snape looked uncertain. "The last day of term is in four days. You shall see her then."

"No. Now. You just said we could—"

Snape held up a hand and made a show of pulling a tarnished pocket watch from his robes. He examined the face carefully. "Less than one minute. It is reassuring to know how long your word is good for."

Harry had the sudden image of Snape bursting into flames from the heat of his gaze. "Four days."

Snape acknowledged this with a mocking bow, then strode from the room. Harry's heartbeat slowed as he sank into a chair and stared dully at the headmaster.

"You could have said something."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "While I like to think I have some influence over Snape family decisions, I try not to overstep my bounds."

"He hates me. If it were up to him, I'd never see her again."

The headmaster's smile was gentle. "You underestimate him."

Harry wondered if the man had somehow Disapparated during the conversation. "You heard what he said."

"If I recall correctly, you arrived here believing you would not see your mother for several months. Now you shall see her in four days, and for the entire summer."

"Yes, but it took everything I had to convince him!" He looked into the placid blue eyes, and a tongue of suspicion licked at his mind. "Didn't it?"

"It may surprise you to learn that before your dramatic entrance, the professor was quite agitated. He was determined that, son or no, you would not be raised in the plodding cruelty of the Dursley household."

"That's not possible." He reviewed the conversation in his mind. "Why would he refuse to take me in if that's what he wanted?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Because he's Slytherin."

Harry slowly realized he'd not only been bluffed into living with Snape, but into following his every rule to the letter. He had the strange sensation that he'd just endured a highway robbery.

Dumbledore crossed over to Harry and offered him a lemon drop. "Don’t feel discouraged," he said. "It happens to me at least once a year."

Severus Snape was avoiding him. There was no other explanation.

Harry had answered every question correctly in Potions.  Snape had stopped calling on him.

He'd brewed his potions perfectly.  Snape had made his scrutiny of Harry's potions as brief and perfunctory as possible.

He'd gone to Snape's office to go over his final paper for the term.  Snape had abruptly canceled his office hours for the day.

That was why Harry had to try climbing the Whomping Willow again.

Well, that and Malfoy.  It was Malfoy who had sent his Potions textbook flying deep into the tree.  He'd meant to destroy it, but it had fallen between two large limbs instead.  Folded between the pages of that text were handwritten notes on several potions from his world.  Potions that would greatly interest someone like Snape.  Since none of Harry's notes had been transported with him, he'd spent the last few nights wracking his brains for every detail.  He was sure if he presented the material, Snape would be too curious to turn him away. 

Harry had thrown a stone at the knot that stilled the Whomping Willow.  He'd made it halfway up the trunk when a hex from Malfoy threw him back on the ground.  It wasn't until Hermione arrived and held off Malfoy and his goons that Harry could try again.  By then, Malfoy had set up a shield charm over the knot that prevented an easy climb. 

Harry didn't care.  He wasn't going anywhere without that book. 

A crowd had already gathered, chanting and cheering as he paced near the tree. He heard Malfoy's voice. It stood out. While the rest of the students were cheering for Harry, Malfoy was cheering for the Whomping Willow.

Of course, the intermittent cheers of his fellow Gryffindors had transformed into a steady chant of "Potter, Potter, Potter…" The name made his neck itch.

His fingers twitched, ready to climb. Hermione was near him, insistently saying something. But he was already tuning out the voices and concentrating on the tree. He pulled off the robes covering his tattered shirt and jeans. The Muggle clothes he'd found in his trunk were oddly oversized, but robes were not well suited for what he was about to do. Anything that fell free would be destroyed. He set his glasses in place with a sticking charm.

The Willow was already swinging ominously, as if sensing that someone was about to broach its defenses.

Harry bent in a low crouch. The grass was warm under his palm. His arms and legs tensed.

A branch whipped down, tearing across the ground.

Harry grabbed his chance. He took off like a shot. His feet landed on the knobby wood.

The limb flew upward, the wood beneath crackling.

A surge of energy pumped through his veins. He threw his arms out. His hands slammed into the branch, hard.

The Willow flailed. The bough thrashed under his arms.

His trainers skidded off the branch. Harry held on desperately. Rough bark dug deep into his fingernails. His legs scissored through the air, seeking something solid.

From below, another branch crashed toward him. The Willow was trying to flatten him between two mighty limbs.

Harry gulped in air. Steeling himself, he released his hold on the branch. Wind rushed past him as he fell.

The back of his legs hit the branch below.

Pain flashed through his limbs. He contracted his muscles instinctively. His legs curled around the branch and held.

Air whizzed past his ears. He looked up—or rather, down, from his position. The branch was rushing downward. The tree was going to scrape him across the ground like gum off an old shoe.

He yelped, flailing his arms. Catching onto the branch, he scrambled upward. He unwound his legs and clutched the top of the branch in a crouch.

A second later, the branch hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Harry's bones juddered from the impact. He took advantage of the momentary stillness and leapt toward the center of the tree.

The bough turned and twisted, trying to throw him off.

Gasping, he made it several yards. He and the branch were high in the air before he fell again. Several branches crashed against him as he plummeted.

The breath was knocked out of him. He threw his hands out, pushing himself against their movements.

Harry slammed into the crux of the tree.

Scrapes stung his palms. A trickle of sweat dribbled down his aching shoulders. He ignored it, holding himself still. He pressed his hands against the thick branches.

The wooden limbs shifted. He saw his prize. The Potions book had fallen into a small cleft.

Harry inched his way towards it. He stretched out an arm. His fingertips brushed the edge of the book. Straining, he stretched his arm further. He could just barely grab hold of the spine. But Malfoy's hurling spell had been cast with some force; the book was tightly wedged.

The tree swayed sickeningly. The heavy boughs pressed in, closer and closer. Scents of wood and rot filled his nostrils. The sunlight was cut off. Another second and he would be crushed.

Harry wrapped his arms around a nearby branch. Hands and feet scrabbling, he squeezed through a narrow opening. He spied the text below him, within reach.

His legs wrapped the branch in a tight embrace. Harry let go with both hands. His upper body swung upside-down. Reaching out, he grasped the book.

With a wrench, the book broke free. Harry was unbalanced by the movement. His overturned body dangled.

The hold of his legs began to slip.

A horrible constriction closed on his chest, but he clamped down on it. Using every ounce of his strength, he hitched his legs firmly around the branch. He was still gripping the book tightly. His eyes scanned the ground until he saw Hermione, clenching her fists. He shouted a warning and heaved the book at her.

She raised her wand. The book gently floated into her arms.

Relief filled Harry. He allowed himself a grin.

"Let me bring you down, too," Hermione called out, placing the book on the grass next to Harry's discarded robes.

Harry was slightly insulted by the suggestion. Hadn't she seen him climb up the Whomping Willow? Climbing back down was the easy part! He shook his head at her. Tensing his muscles, he pulled himself back into an upright position. He dropped his legs to a lower branch and descended.

He was only halfway down when his hands were yanked from their grip. In a flash, the ground was rushing toward him.

His heart pounded in his ears. He scrambled, clawing frantically at the empty air. He tried to rotate his body. A rolling tumble or a landing on a shoulder was far less painful. But he couldn't shift. He was falling sideways. And then he began to slow.

With a sense of relief, he realized he was being levitated to the ground. He grunted in annoyance at Hermione for ruining his accomplishment.

But it wasn't Hermione who awaited him when he landed with a soft thump. He caught sight of quickly retreating backs as the crowd dispersed. In front of him stood Snape, looking grim.

"Explain."

"Er…" Harry scratched at his sweaty scalp. He glimpsed the text lying next to his crumpled robes. "My book was in the tree."

Snape eyed the book as though it offended him. "And how did that happen?"

"Malfoy."

"You're accusing him?"

Harry shrugged half-heartedly. He was aware of his father's situation. Was there any point in asking him to punish the son of a Death Eater? He viewed the Malfoys the way he viewed end of term exams. He could rant and rail, but ultimately he had to be prepared to suffer through them.

"I fail to understand why you cannot use magic to retrieve objects."

"I did try magic." He didn't regret resorting to physical effort, though. In the past few days, he had been ready to literally climb the walls. Malfoy's little prank had given him a way to work off some anxiety.

"Behaving recklessly for the admiration of a crowd. It's a stunt befitting your father."

Harry looked at him skeptically. A blush crept over Snape's cheeks.

"I meant James Potter."

"Oh." Harry felt the familiar ache of anger and fear at the name, and the curse it carried. Out of habit, his eyes searched the area. But of course it was impossible for his mum to be within earshot.

Snape was scrutinizing him. "What are you looking for?"

The exhilaration from climbing the Whomping Willow abandoned him. "No one. Nothing."

Snape's stare never left him. "I think the last few evenings of term should be spent on potion ingredient inventory, don't you?"

Harry ducked his head to hide his expression, but Snape caught it.

"This is not something to be enjoyed, Potter." He emphasized the last word, which wiped the smile from Harry's face. "This is detention."

Harry nodded and gathered his things, following Snape back to the castle. Climbing the Whomping Willow had worked out better than he'd thought. Still, there was no guarantee Snape would be willing to talk during detention. He cleared his throat. "Sir, since I'll be working with ingredients anyway, could I borrow a few?"

Snape stopped mid-stride and Harry caught up with him. One look at the professor's face told him that his timing could have been better.

"Borrow?" asked Snape

"Well, have," admitted Harry. "I want to help Neville."

"Mr. Longbottom needs to learn the material on his own."

"Oh, it's not about exams. Not directly, anyway. I'm brewing something for his, er, problem."

"His memory?" Snape's brow furrowed. "There is only one potion that I know of for memory."

Harry nodded. "It's too short-term, though."

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "You're developing your own potion?"

"Yeah. I plan on calling it 'The Harry'." He raised his hands at Snape's look. "Joking! It's an existing potion in my world: Memoria Resarcio. It's good for cases of absent-mindedness, where there hasn't been a lot of damage. My dad and I used to brew it for Neville before he learned how to make it on his own." He listed the ingredients, and watched Snape's mind work them over.

"In the right proportions…yes…quite ingenious."

"Don't get a swelled head." Snape frowned at him as they entered the castle. "You invented it. And another potion: Restituomens." Harry felt warm inside just thinking about that potion. "It's more powerful than any other potion of its kind."

Harry noted the slight twitch of the mouth that showed the Potions master was pleased. They stopped at the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. Harry leaned against the wall and examined his fingernails. "I've written down some notes on the potions. We could work on brewing them, if you're interested."

"I’m certain I can discover the correct procedure myself."

Harry kept his face neutral, picking at a splinter under his nail while he waited.

"But I suppose it would save time if…"

Harry perked up from the wall and hopped onto the stairs. "We can do it tonight. See you then."

"Tonight is detention, Potter. It's a punishment, not a school project."

"Just trying to save time." He put a hand on his heart. "I'll try to be as miserable as possible." With that, he left the scowling professor at the bottom of the stairs and dashed to his common room.

At detention that night, Snape set Harry to scrubbing cauldrons. Snape had implied with a smirk that this would be more grueling than potion inventory.

Harry didn't mention that he did both most summers as part of his regular chores. He placed the cleaning fluids and brushes on a table near Snape's workstation, making it easy for the two to talk. Harry was getting a feel for this other dad, as he thought of him. He could sense when the man would tolerate his chatter and when he'd reached his breaking point. As it turned out, he had a very low tolerance.

"I'm trying to work things out with Ron," said Harry. "Hermione says we're best mates, but I dunno…" He adjusted the cauldron in his lap to scrub inside the rim and watched the progress of the potion. "You need to stir in a figure eight pattern."

Snape grunted, hovering over the brew. "Counterclockwise would react better with yarrow."

"Hmm," said Harry noncommittally. When he'd disagreed, he'd gotten bellowed at. When he said nothing and the potion turned lumpy, he'd received a silent glower. Much like the glower he was receiving now.

"You have something to say?" said Snape, gripping the cauldron with both hands.

"Just…usually you start with the basic formula, and make alterations later. I mean, I'm sure you'll find ways to improve it in the future—"

"Don’t patronize me, you insolent child," said Snape, but he proceeded to stir in a figure eight pattern.

Harry scratched at his nose to hide his smile and went back to scrubbing. "Anyway, Ron and I got on well yesterday afternoon, when I let him borrow my…er…broom." He studied the professor out of the corner of his eye. He was entering dangerous territory. "I didn't have a Firebolt in my world."

He saw the lean frame stiffen. "A recent acquisition. One I wouldn't have allowed. Unfortunately, I was overruled."

Harry's heart sank. During the past year, he hadn't received any gifts that were suspected to come from Sirius Black. And if he'd known from the start that the shiny new broom in his possession was from Black, he might have refused it. The two of them had quite a row about his dad the night Pettigrew escaped. But he'd had a few days with the broom before anyone had mentioned their suspicions about the donor. And…it was fantastic. He'd hoped that this world would include a dad who was surprisingly mellow about gifts from personal enemies, but no such luck. "So you'll want me to get rid of it before we go home, then?"

Snape frowned over his potion. "You should get rid of it. But I don't imagine your Muggle family will realize its significance."

Harry's heart slid into his stomach. "My Muggle family?"

Snape's face was impassive. "I believe they're called the Dursleys."

Harry jumped from his stool, the forgotten cauldron clattering to the floor. "Are you joking?"

Snape's hand jerked to a stop over the brew. "Rarely."

Harry struggled for control, but couldn't find it. He slammed his fists on the work table, making the bubbling potion jump. "Why are you sending me to them?"

"I'm not sending you. That is your home."

"It's not my home. None of this is my home. My father would never make me—"

"I am not your father!"

"I bloody well see that now!" As though caught in a gale, the cauldron flew up and smashed against a wall. Harry looked down to see a wand in his trembling hand. He didn't remember drawing it.

He looked up to see that the professor had aimed his wand directly at him.

"Lower your defenses."

Harry did so immediately, but his heart was still pounding. "Why would you do this? I don't understand."

"I've done nothing. You've been told to adjust to this world. Accept that here, we are nothing more than professor and student. There is no further connection."

"Mum is our connection. She always will be."

"Do not speak of her!"

"Why not?" Harry pressed his palms to the table. "Why are you so afraid to talk about her?"

"I am not afraid." His eyes lowered to the table. "She is no business of yours."

"No business?" Harry breathed deeply, trying to rein in his emotions and think rationally. Every time he'd tried to draw the man into a conversation about his mum, he'd been pushed away. "I want to share her with you, don't you understand? I thought that this summer, we could talk. When we talk, she's…not so far away." He sagged onto a stool, his head in his hands. He tried a mental exercise that separated his thoughts from his feelings, but his nerves were too jangled. "I don't suppose you have any bubblefruit," he muttered.

A small, jewel-toned fruit rolled between his supporting elbows.

He looked up in surprise. But Snape's face was so empty that Harry couldn't discern his thoughts.

"I expect that wall to be cleaned as well," was all he said as he directed another cauldron over to the work table.

Harry sighed and picked up his scrub brush, studying the layered stones. The urge to climb the walls was returning. Walls were so much easier to get a handle on.

The hot water thrummed against his skin.

It felt luxurious; he couldn't remember a moment in the last week when he'd had time for more than a cleaning spell. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His mind drifted. The image of his son floated before him. Harry was struggling to say something. But behind his eyes, there was only emptiness. Miles and miles of emptiness.

With a great, gulping breath, Snape jerked forward and opened his eyes. He'd fallen asleep standing up, in the shower. He grabbed the soap and scrubbed furiously until his skin burned red.

He finished his shower and dressed, resisting the urge to lean over the books by his bedside. He spent his free time scouring texts for any reference to other worlds. What little he'd found had been vague and contradictory.

Kneeling by the bed, he checked on Lily. She was in a deep sleep, her hair falling away from her in soft drifts. And when she woke, she would be herself again. Or as much like herself as she ever could be.

In the past few days, Lily's gradual, month-long deterioration had reached its lowest point. She required constant care and attention. The castle House Elves helped, but they were no substitute for his own presence.

Last night, he'd worked until the predawn hours to brew the Restituomens potion for Lily. It was the best treatment he'd found, but the price he paid was watching its effectiveness gradually seep away over the month. Any more than a monthly dose was damaging. It was also intricate, and a fresh brew was required for each dose.

It shouldn't have taken so long this time. He'd dealt with the complexities of the procedure so many times that usually, only two attempts were needed before he had success. But last night, in his exhaustion, he kept making careless mistakes.

There were moments when he doubted his decision to keep the other Harry away. He'd forgotten how difficult it was to get through these days unaided. But he could trust his own son. As soon as Harry was old enough to understand, he'd been an invaluable support during Lily's dark times. Once, when Harry wasn't more than five years old, he'd come to Snape clutching a handful of photographs, asking, "will this help her, Daddy?"

The memory sliced through him like a deep wound. His breath hitched. But he was not going to fall apart. Not today.

His bones ached with fatigue. He grabbed a vial of Invigoration and swallowed it down. Then he set to packing their things.

It wasn't long before he felt teasing hands cover his eyes.

Some of the tension in his shoulders melted away. "Careful," he said, trying to sound stern. "I might accidentally pack you away."

"Oh, you'd never do that," said Lily, dropping her hands and giving him a hug from behind. "I'd wrinkle all the clothes."

"Today's the last day of term," he said, helping her orient herself.

"I guessed as much," she passed the packed bags and dropped onto the couch, her feet dangling over the side. "That, or you're leaving me for another woman."

"Never," he said, softly whacking the bottom of her sock-covered foot.

"I don't know," she said, tapping a finger to her lips. "That Minerva McGonagall can be quite the harlot."

"I'll try to resist her lewd advances."

She threw a pillow at him, which he levitated away. "Try?" she said in mock outrage.

"I'm only human."

She giggled and reached up to grab his hands, pulling him onto the couch on top of her.

He did his best to land gently and dropped his head to hers, covering her face in kisses.

Her giggles subsided and she curled her arms around his neck. Her breath was warm against his lips. "By the way," she said. "It's extremely unsatisfying to throw a pillow at you, only to watch it float gently away."

"I should let you pummel me?"

"I'm not saying you need to get a concussion. But a few soft whacks would really improve my disposition."

"You're too good to me."

She laughed again, a deep belly laugh that turned his insides to butter. "Well, there's always the making up afterward." She kissed him again, soft and slow.

He had planned to go over the morning's agenda with her once she woke. Make sure everything was set and orderly. Lily had a way of making his plans crumple like wet tissue paper.

"You know," she said thoughtfully as he held her close, "I've been thinking about pillows. The word just doesn't sound soft enough, does it?"

He smiled into her neck. He loved this game. "What should they be called, then?"

"Flufflepods. Definitely. Nobody could resist resting their head on a flufflepod. And beds? There's got to be a better name. How about it?"

He searched his mind. "Er…somnolocus?"

She pulled her head away to stare at him. "That's terrible."

"You're the naming expert."

"True." She hummed with pleasure. "People should hand their children over to me for naming. If I had a baby, I'd name him…" Her eyes unfocused, and she gave a slight gasp, as if seeing something from far away.

He pulled away to study her. He clutched her hand, mentally willing her to remember the tiny baby she'd held in her arms so many years ago.

But her eyes centered back on him and she gave an apologetic smile. "I think I wandered off there for a bit."

He nodded, burying his disappointment. "We should check on Harry," he said carefully.

Her face went blank for a moment, and then she brightened. "Our son! Coming home with us today. Just let me find my shoes and we'll go." She hopped off the couch dashed into the bedroom.

He stood patiently, waiting. She would remember Harry for the rest of the day, of course, but he'd hoped that this would be the time that she'd remember him on her own, without prompting. Still, her grasping at the memory was a good sign. He wanted to tell Harry. It would have been a small gift for him on Restituomens Day, or Rest Day, as his son liked to call it. The first day of the month when the potion was working at full strength: no lapses of forgetfulness for an entire 24 hours.

But only his own son would understand Lily's little steps forward. And his Harry wasn't here to enjoy it. He was trapped in a world where his mother was a cold memory. Snape shook his head. There was nothing he could do for his son at the moment. And he had another boy to take care of.

He asked Lily to go on without him to meet Harry in the Gryffindor common room. He felt a pang of anxiety as she strode away from him, but it was something he was used to. She spent much of her time on her own at the school, as event planner and unofficial morale officer. She worked hard to carve out a niche for herself at Hogwarts, keeping copious notes and working with students to manage her duties.

Snape half-heartedly wished she didn't manage it so well, as she tended to conspire with the Weasley twins to create extremely loud and obnoxious Gryffindor banners for any event that celebrated her own House. However, he got no sympathy from Lily, who gave him cheeky comments about Slytherin, nor from Dumbledore, who gave him lectures on the importance of morale in dark times.

He had a final meeting with Dumbledore, in the futile hope that the headmaster had discovered a way between realities in the four days since their last meeting. A few hours later, armed with some conduit-revealing spells to try, he followed the rush of students outside the castle gates. The boy was holding his trunk, gesturing animatedly as he talked with Lily.

Snape approached cautiously. The boy's face was calm and smiling. He was also getting on well with Lily, and Snape was unwilling to disrupt that.

"Ron and I are talking again," he said as Snape approached, apparently forgetting his usual animosity towards the man in the moment. "He told me we could share a compartment on the trip back to King's Cross Station. I think we'll be mates again soon." He spoke as though the two of them had parted over a disagreement, rather than been near-strangers for the past three years.

"We usually take the floo network home," Snape said gently. "It's not as though we need to meet up at King's Cross."

Harry's face fell. "Oh. Right." He gazed back at a cluster of students, where Hermione and Ron who were chatting and laughing. Then he looked at Lily, his eyes troubled. The boy was clearly torn. "It's just that Ron was there before I had…anybody," he said. "He was my best mate."

Snape was surprised by the boy's reluctance. Harry had never wanted to miss Rest Day with Lily, and had even resorted to cutting class before Snape finally started excusing him for that day each month. This would be the first Rest Day his son wouldn't spend with Lily.

And this boy stood there, thinking about lost friendships, with no understanding. He told himself that what had happened wasn't this boy's fault. He told himself that once the knew the rhythms and rules of their household, things would be better. The words echoed in his head like hollow shells.

"Your mum's doing well today," he explained to Harry. "It's a good day to spend with her."

"Oh, I don't know, Sev," she said, hunkering down to look Harry in the eye. "The Hogwarts Express is such a big part of going to school here. If he wants to go…" she shrugged. "One of us could pick him up at the station."

Snape sighed, and had been about to agree when the boy said, "Yeah, I'll do that."

He uttered a short bark of disbelief. "I beg your pardon?" Snape asked him.

The first flickerings of anger appeared. "What?"

"I did not hear a request for permission."

He watched the storm clouds gather in the boy's eyes. "I don't need your permission."

Lily stood up and crossed her arms. "You know, I can give permission, too. You're not the only parent here."

He clicked his tongue impatiently. "I'm aware of that. The point is that he didn't ask at all."

"But I don't mind if he takes the train."

"It's not about you minding. It's about learning the proper way—"

Lily threw up her hands in exasperation and stalked off toward a group of teachers. No doubt to talk their ears off about how impossible he could be. He turned back to Harry. "I'm still waiting."

Harry had the appearance of someone under the influence of Petrificus Totalus.

"Your word…"

Harry took a deep breath. "May I," he began slowly, "ride the Hogwarts Express to London?"

"Sir," prodded Snape. He was going to work the boy into shape if it was the last thing he did.

"Sir," repeated Harry, sounding as though he were grinding glass.

"You may," said Snape, trying to keep the self-satisfaction out of his voice. "I shall meet you at the station, and we'll Apparate home from there."

Harry nodded and walked stiffly towards his mum to say goodbye.

Snape ran a hand through his hair. The boy's capacity for rebellion astounded him. He'd certainly resented—even hated--his own father at that age, but following rules and asking permission were a part of daily life. In fact, they were a part of his daily life even now. He wasn't above bending the rules—he was Slytherin, after all—but he didn't know how to explain that obedience to rules was vital, especially when it came to rules about Lily.

He was overwhelmed by the same helplessness he felt when his son was nearly two years old and throwing tantrums on the kitchen floor. He cringed at the memory even now, thinking of how Lily had stared blankly into space while he kneeled over the screaming child, shouting, "Stop crying! Stop at once!" Well. He had survived his early disastrous attempts at parenting. It looked like he would have to start over again.

Harry boarded a carriage for Hogsmeade station. His eyes fixed on Lily as the carriages pulled away. Then he shifted and raised a hand toward Snape, as if to call out a question. One look at Harry's face made it clear: he was having second thoughts. But just as quickly, he snatched his hand back. Then the carriages turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

Snape was seized by the sudden, irrational urge to run after the carriages. He reminded himself that the boy would be perfectly safe on the Hogwarts Express. He let out a deep breath and walked toward Lily. He would talk to her about presenting a united face for Harry. He'd talk to her about it hourly, if necessary. He fought enough battles each day without fighting a war on two fronts in his own home.

He reached Lily and gave her hand a quick squeeze, begging understanding with his eyes. Her annoyance softened. He realized that it had been a long time since they'd been alone together on Rest Day. And he'd learned from Lily to seize moments of happiness whenever you found them.

* * *

Hours later, he stood at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters as the Hogwarts Express pulled in. The students poured out into the waiting arms of their parents. He saw Lucius Malfoy and nodded cordially, careful to keep his face neutral. He'd grown to despise the man, but needs must. Draco stepped off the train and exchanged formal greetings with Lucius. Lucius scanned the remaining passengers hungrily.

Snape felt a prickling of irritation and fear. When he'd married Lily and adopted Harry, he'd walked a fine line, implying to his former Death Eater companions that each move was made for strategic value. Lucius had slowly come to agree, and the alliance Snape had formed with Lucius had prevented any Death Eaters from attacking Harry. But for years Malfoy had also tried to acquire Harry himself, plying Harry with gifts and Snape with monetary offers. In the past year, he had stepped up his efforts, going so far as to make frequent visits to Hogwarts. The look in his eyes when he talked about Harry made Snape's skin crawl.

Harry finally tramped onto the platform, and Snape beckoned to him. The quick greeting they exchanged made the Malfoys' reunion positively syrupy by comparison. Snape pressed his hand against the boy's back, moving him quickly away from Lucius.

Snape led Harry out of the station, slipping off his outer robes and smoothing the white button-down shirt he was wearing underneath. Despite Lily's expertise in picking out clothes, he still felt awkward in Muggle wear. But he wished to talk to Harry alone first, and a nearby Muggle park was a good place for it. He sat down on an iron-wrought bench facing the park, gesturing for Harry to join him. The boy looked uncertain, and Snape resisted the urge to yank him towards the seat. Must the child consider every order as though he were being asked to walk through fire?

"I thought we were Apparating to your place."

"Our place. We are. But there's something I need to discuss with you first." He hoped the boy had the capacity to listen despite his stubbornness.

The boy shifted uneasily. "What?"

Snape's tolerance had come to an end. "Sit. Down. Now."

Harry looked ready to argue, but closed his mouth and sat.

Snape searched himself for more reserves of patience. What he was about to explain was more important than indulging his own temper. "We have some rules in our household—"

Harry let out a sharp sigh.

"—that Harry and I both agreed to, many years ago. They have served us well. I do not expect you to follow them perfectly. There are a few times—only a few—where it is necessary to break them. And sometimes…it is too easy to slip." He frowned bitterly. "But I expect you to mind them to the best of your ability." He gazed out at the park, watching the warm summer wind lap at the leaves. "They all involve your mother."

He looked back at the boy, who was now sitting straighter. His eyes were wide and attentive. Perhaps there was hope, after all.

"The first," he said softly, "is to never say remember…"

Find the path forward. The words stood out in Snape's mind as he strode from the dusty storage room in his chambers, up the stairs and toward the front gates of the castle.

Students were milling to and fro, gleefully carting their battered trunks. Promises to keep in touch over the summer echoed in the corridors. The sea of young bodies bubbled and churned in complete chaos.

Snape strode down the corridor towards the students.

The sea parted.

In the middle of the newly empty channel stood a lone first-year. He had his back to Snape, wiping at a jam stain on his robes.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the obstruction.

Another first-year reached out and grabbed the boy's arm. The child let out a yelp as he was yanked out of the way.

Snape swept by without uttering a word. He allowed himself a slight smile of satisfaction. The first-years were quite well trained by the end of term.

At the castle gates, students were boarding the carriages bound for the Hogwarts Express.

Snape watched them warily. Normally he was content to spend the last day of term alone in his chambers, relieved to be away from the shouts and the clomping feet. But he had grown impatient waiting for a summons from Dumbledore. And beyond that...something had drawn him outside.

He heard the pleasant rumble of the headmaster's voice and turned his head.

Dumbledore was standing with his back to Snape. The headmaster moved slightly, and got a view of who he was talking to: Harry.

Snape started, taking an involuntary step backward. Then he cursed himself for such a visceral reaction. The boy had an uncanny ability to manipulate him into displaying his emotions. And not simply anger, but emotions from deep, raw places in which he didn't care to dwell. The sooner the boy went back to his own world, the better. With that in mind, he approached Dumbledore and the boy slowly.

Harry was standing between the headmaster and the sandy stones of the castle wall. His head was down and his arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, in stark contrast to the happy students milling about. As Snape approached he heard a snippet of their conversation.

"You don't need to go to the trouble," Harry was telling the headmaster. "I don't see the point, now that-" He stopped abruptly when he saw Snape.

Snape eyed the two of them. "What are the two of you discussing?"

"Nothing," Harry said promptly. There was a flash of anticipation in the boy's eyes, but it was gone quickly. "Hermione told me you never see the carriages off, but I thought...I mean, is there a reason you're here? Did you need to see me about something?" he asked.

Snape's throat felt strangely dry. After that first detention, the chattering, playful Potter had disappeared. He had been replaced by a boy who spoke only when spoken to, with answers so short they verged on churlishness. But he let it go, all too grateful for the blessed silence. And yet, Snape still caught him staring, a wishful light in his eyes. A light that was still flickering when the boy asked his question.

It was that kernel of hopefulness that galled Snape. He was not taking the boy in for the summer. The idea was absurd. Potter was clearly trying to make him feel guilty over something that was not Snape's responsibility. He was not having it. "My comings and goings are no concern of yours."

"Right," muttered Harry, casting his eyes back toward the ground. "Just professor and student."

Dumbledore looked at Snape, as if he expected him something of him.

A vague desperation stabbed at Snape, but he couldn't discern the cause. He thrust a hand into his pocket to hide the clenching of his fist. His fingers closed around a small, round potion ingredient that felt cool and comforting in his hand.

The boy still had his arms wrapped around himself. Dumbledore was looking back and forth between the two of them.

Snape felt as though he had been put on the spot. He cleared his throat. "Would you...like more fruit?"

The boy glared at him. "No, I don't want any bloody fruit!"

His reluctance to reprimand the boy evaporated. "Potter..."

Harry held himself rigid. "There's just the three of us here. No need to call me that."

"Harry," Dumbledore chided. "There's nothing wrong with the name Potter."

"It's not my name," said Harry. He looked at Snape. "Why won't you call me by my name?"

Snape was sweating. He was sure the boy was responsible. Snape brushed at his robes awkwardly. "It is time I bid you farewell."

Harry grunted. "You once..." he stopped, shaking his head. "That is, my dad once told me that farewell was a blessing to travelers. To be safe. You know, to fare well."

Snape sighed impatiently. "Is there a reason you are critiquing my every utterance?"

"I just don't want you to say things to me you don't mean."

Snape clenched his jaw. "Fine. Leave."

Harry studied him. "You can't be that different from him. You can't be."

"You'll miss your carriage," said Snape.

"My dad once told me that the hardest and best thing he ever did was to start a family. To let himself love us, and to let himself be-"

"It is too late!" exploded Snape. "It is too late for me to...to..." He took a shuddering breath, and let it out slowly. "It is...late. You should go."

Harry looked at him sadly. Then he turned and left.

"The boy's quite perceptive about matters of the heart," said Dumbledore.

"There is only one avenue that I wish to discuss when it comes to Potter," Snape growled.

The headmaster sighed. "And what have you discovered about Harry's chances of returning to his world?"

Snape pressed his lips together and stared bleakly forward.

Dumbledore nodded. "I feared as much. I was hoping we would be able to return Harry before the term ended, but..." He gestured toward the carriages. "You can find no connection at all between the worlds?"

Snape shook his head. "Whatever brought him here has closed and disappeared." He hesitated. "I did find one passage that recounted such an event." He handed the headmaster a copy of the passage. He'd already memorized it:

A weary traveler fell in the forest

And when he woke, the trees were known, yet not

Reflections of another wood

And so the traveler wandered

Lost in the familiar

And then he saw

The path forward was the path back

The guide needed was closer than close

She guided him down the path

But the first step taken was his alone

"Rather vague, isn't it?" Dumbledore murmured.

Snape nodded. "I've been driven nearly mad by the number of record keepers who were frustrated poets." He rubbed at his temples. "I'll do further research over the summer, of course." He hated to ask, but the need was inevitable. "You can summon the boy to Hogwarts, should I need to examine him further?"

"I'm afraid not," said Dumbledore. A smile danced across the old man's lips. "Fumigation."

Snape took a moment to process that. "Fumigation. At Hogwarts. For what?"

"Wrackspurts."

"Wrackspurts," repeated Snape.

"One of the younger students told me about them. Apparently they can infest the brain and induce fuzzy thinking."

"I see. Have you been infested, then?" asked Snape.

Dumbledore hitched an eyebrow.

"I only ask out of concern, Headmaster," said Snape.

"Hmm. Well, in any case, the school will be closed for several weeks over the summer."

"Then where am I supposed to perform examinations of the boy?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Dumbledore fingered his beard thoughtfully. "He only needs to spend a short time at the Dursleys to maintain the protective wards, you know."

"Don't start up again." Snape looked toward the carriages to see Harry staring at him. The boy caught his eye and glanced away.

"He's different from the other one," said Snape. "There is anger, but also...anxiety."

"More empathic." said Dumbledore. "He's taken on his father's worries."

Snape wondered about the man he would have become but for a twist of chance. How could any man with his name capture the look in those green eyes? As a child, he had searched desperately for such a lifeline. But now...

The carriages creaked into motion. The headmaster gave a final wave to the departing students. Harry sat hunched, staring hungrily back at the school.

"That passage brings up an interesting point," said Dumbledore. "A lost soul needs a guide."

Snape breathed deeply as the line of carriages curled out of sight. He didn't want to identify the reason for the constriction in his chest. "He wants the impossible."

"You underestimate yourself."

Snape blew out a soft snort.

"You excel at deftly spotting the worst people are capable of. It has made you an invaluable asset to me in the coming war." Dumbledore turned toward Snape, his face lined with concern. "But you can be blinded when it comes to seeing the best that people are capable of. Perhaps that is something on which to reflect."

Snape shrugged uncomfortably. He felt like a student who was expected to answer a difficult question correctly. "I've noted that the boy has some good qualities."

"But you do not reflect on them. Nor consider what they mean for his potential." Dumbledore clasped his hands in front of him and leaned back, tilting his face toward the sun. "However, I was not, in fact, referring to Harry with my suggestion."

Snape grunted, the light dawning. "You meant self-reflection."

The headmaster hummed a small, satisfied noise. "It's a superb place to start."

With a gentle pat on the back, Dumbledore reentered the castle. Snape remained outside He heard the whistle of the Hogwarts Express. A puff of steam rose into the sky in the direction of Hogsmeade Station. The students would soon be on their way home.

His thoughts wandered to the house at Spinner's End. If he had to deal with the boy there, then so be it. It would be purely for diagnostic research, and the information he gathered would allow him to be rid of the child that much sooner. He felt an easing of the tightness in his chest and nodded, reassured that this was the correct decision.

The rumbling of the Hogwarts Express grew fainter until it faded into the hills. Soon, it was impossible to hear the distant engine over the chirping of the birds and the whisper of the warm summer breeze.

It was only when there were no more students on which to focus that he was reminded how misplaced he was at Hogwarts: a lone dark figure squinting balefully at the empty, sun-soaked grounds. And yet, no matter how ill-suited he was for his role here, he couldn't bear the thought of being anywhere else.

He turned on his heel and treaded into the dim light of the castle, to prepare for the long months of the summer holidays. His mind visualized a dark-haired boy in a train compartment, and he found himself turning over those words again: find the path forward.

The pressure of Apparation snapped away so quickly, it left Harry gasping. Gripping Snape's arm tightly, he opened his eyes. They were standing in an alley facing a narrow cobblestone street. The large chimney of an abandoned mill swallowed the sky overhead.

Harry was pulled forward, and he realized his arm was still firmly wound around Snape's. He let go quickly and followed the man out of the alley.

Most of the houses on the street were boarded up. Discarded cigarettes and newspapers littered the ground. This was the type of neighborhood the Dursleys whispered about but would never think of passing through.

In front of them stood a narrow two-story house that squatted behind a broken sidewalk. The house was hunched on itself, as though tired from a long day. Harry looked over to see Snape plucking irritably at the collar of his shirt. The man looked oddly vulnerable in his Muggle clothes, his thin frame noticeable without the swirl of robes around him. Harry took a tentative step toward the odd, scrunched house, and they crossed to the front door.

The first rule, Snape had said, was to never say remember, memory, or forget around Lily or each other.

"But why?" Harry had asked, and had been surprised to see Snape actually consider the question.

"Because," the man finally answered, "it's too easy to use those words as weapons."

Harry had been confused. Snape had said the words wouldn't re-activate the curse the way the name 'James Potter' would. So how could they be weapons? Harry shook his head, still wondering, as Snape unlocked the front door with a tap of his wand. The door opened directly into a small sitting room. Bookshelves encircled a couch and two armchairs. Sunlight filtered through the brightly colored curtains. The room looked worn but cozy.

Lily entered from an archway under the stairs, wand in hand. A smudge of dirt decorated her temple.

"I got the garden sorted," she said, brightening as she saw Harry. "I know how you love that tree."

A surge of joy burst through him at the sight of her smile. There was no flicker of unfamiliarity; she remembered him. "Right," he said to her. He hadn't understood her logic, but he wasn't bothered by it. Snape had mentioned that it was one of her good days, and he was beginning to understand what that meant.

He shifted the small bag he'd taken with him on the train, unsure what to do with it. The sitting room had scattered spots of clutter, but it felt impolite to dump his belongings in the middle of someone else's house.

"Your trunk's already in your room," said Lily, and looked at him expectantly. Harry shifted uncomfortably, looking toward the stairs at the back of the sitting room. His room would be upstairs...wouldn't it? He didn't want to make a wrong move and reveal that he'd never been here before. That would lead to awkward questions from his mum that he would have to answer.

And that was the second rule: treat every repetition as though it were the first. If she asked questions about who he was, he couldn't say that they'd already told her. He understood that rule. He'd watched the Snape from his world pointedly tell Neville how much he was forced to repeat himself, and it hadn't helped Neville's memory any. All it did was make the boy terrified and ashamed.

Lily was still looking at him, waiting. Harry's stomach churned. She's just been looking at him with such happiness. He couldn't tell her that he didn't belong here.

He felt a gentle pressure on his back. Snape was prodding him toward the stairs. The movement was subtle, but the answer it provided Harry was clear.

The churning in his stomach stilled. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. An image flashed in his head: Ron and Hermione standing by his side, wands out, fighting for him and protecting him. He didn't understand what it meant. He shook the memory away, but the warm feeling remained. He moved away from the hand and toward the stairs.

The stairs were made of a dark wood that creaked as he climbed. At the top of the stairs was a cramped loo. Next to that was a master bedroom. Harry paused at the doorway.

"The third rule is to never lie to her or otherwise take advantage of her condition." Harry snorted, his hands clenching. It was clear that rule didn't apply to Snape. How else to explain the marriage? He didn't know what he had said or done to convince her, but he no doubt had worked his manipulation while she was in her weakest state. Taking advantage was what he did best. And hadn't Snape confessed it himself? "It's all too easy to slip." He imagined the Slytherin "slipped" whenever it was convenient. He might be several years too late, but he could still do his best to protect his mum from Snape.

He resolutely turned his back to the room. The last door in the corridor opened to reveal a tiny attic area. It was similar to the room he'd seen in Snape's Hogwarts chambers. Quidditch team banners populated the walls.

The spaces between the banners were filled with photographs of every size. There were even photographs on the bedroom door: five pictures of Harry. Each picture showed him in the branches of a tree, holding a large sign with a capital letter scrawled on it. Together they spelled H-A-R-R-Y. The Harry holding the "Y" leaned too far forward, and lost his balance. But instead of crashing to the ground, he landed gently. Lily entered the picture, wand in hand. The wand showered sparks as she waved it about, clearly scolding him. The boy picked up the "Y" and held it aloft, looking shamefaced but also slightly pleased with himself. After the scolding, the boy smiled and wrapped his arms around Lily, completely confident she would hug him back.

Harry watched the photo repeat itself several times. It was like staring into a mirror and seeing a stranger. Swallowing against his dry throat, he moved into the bedroom.

His trunk sat at the foot of the bed. He dropped his bag next to the trunk and glanced out the window. A tree as large as the house sparkled with clusters of small, jewel-like fruit. It was the same tree featured in the photographs. The branches were thick and sturdy, and hid the massive chimney that pierced the sky.

Harry pressed his forehead against the mottled glass and looked down. The yard below was the size of a postage stamp, and the tree trunk took up much of the space. A long white iron bench circled the base of the tree, and clusters of terra cotta pots were filled with blooms. The small patches of color made the grey walls of the surrounding buildings less oppressive.

He closed his eyes, imagining himself growing up amid this decay. He didn't see how it would have made him like the boy in those pictures. Then again, it couldn't be worse than a cupboard under the stairs.

He heard a floorboard creak, and turned to see Snape stepping into the room. "You've been up here for a while."

"She still remembers I'm here?" he blurted, then remembered the rules. "Er, I mean, she still..."

Snape waved away his words. "She'll need no reminders today." His face glowed pleasantly as he took a seat at the desk pressed against the wall.

Harry stared at him. The stone walls of his face had parted, and a quiet expressiveness shimmered through. That, combined with the starched shirt and slightly frayed trousers, gave the impression of an entirely different man. He even caught a hint of a Northern accent in his speech that hadn't been there before. Harry blinked at this strange new man in his ordinary clothes, and realized he'd seen that brand of trousers before, on discount at a department store.

He wrapped his mind around that: Snape shopped for trousers.

"What have you been doing up here?" asked Snape.

Startled, Harry looked around. What had he been doing? "Getting settled."

Snape's eyes flicked to the still-unopened trunk and bag.

"I meant...forget it," he said. Then realized the words he'd chosen and grunted in frustration.

"It's the most difficult rule to keep, at first. It'll soon become second nature."

Advice on how to protect Lily. Advice that was coming from Snape. Harry shook his head. He opened his trunk and pulled out his broom, shrunk to half its size for easy traveling. It was an older model, and he missed his Firebolt. Next out of the trunk was the Invisibility Cloak.

"Ah," said Snape, extending his hand. "I'll have that."

Harry froze, clutching the cloak to his chest. "What?"

"It's my job to keep an eye on you, and I don't need further obstacles." He flicked his fingers impatiently. "You'll have it back when you return to Hogwarts." Snape showed a mixture of annoyance and resignation. "The headmaster and I have agreed it's valuable for your protection there."

Harry thought of the moment he'd learned that the cloak was his father's. It was physical proof of someone who had wanted to raise him, and had tried to protect him. "But..."

The word acted as an incantation, and the walls of the man's face slammed down.

"Do you foresee any reason to use the cloak in this household?"

Harry foresaw plenty of reasons. What if he needed to protect his mum, or hide her from Snape? But remained silent on that. "My dad would want me to have it."

Snape seemed to shuffle through any number of responses to that. Finally he said, "It's kept under magical protection. No one will steal or misuse it."

"You stole and misused it when you went after Sirius Black."

Snape stood, eyes flashing.

Harry backpedaled. "Look, I promise I won't use it unless I have to. I'll keep it safe."

There was a dangerous glimmer in the gaze that fell upon him. "A second promise means little when you have such difficulty keeping the first. I've asked you to hand over that cloak. I have your word, and, failing that, I have my wand. You cannot win this."

Harry squeezed the slippery fabric between his fingers. He saw that Snape was right, and hated him for it. He held out the cloak and watched helplessly as it disappeared with a small pop under Snape's ministrations.

"Is that it?" he asked sullenly. "Or do you want to rummage through my trunk for something else to confiscate?"

"Don't be melodramatic," said Snape, although his eyes roved curiously over the trunk. He moved toward the door. "Come downstairs when you've finished unpacking. Dinner is in one hour."

"Great." Harry grabbed an armful of clothes and dropped them in a drawer. "Family time."

"Considering your background, that should be something you'd appreciate."

"I appreciate time with her."

"Then cease fighting me. You're only blocking yourself."

"I'm not fighting you!" Harry exploded. Every time he argued with the man, he felt like he was being attacked by bees on all sides until he was so turned around his head spun. He tried again. "What do I have to do after dinner?"

A shrug. "Nothing in particular. We sit and talk. You and Lily will sometimes play Exploding Snap, or Gobstones." He smiled wryly. "Or convince me to play. Lily uses her record player. You've heard of them?" At Harry's nod, he continued, "She sings along. She's particularly fond of an odd song about a showgirl named Lola." He rubbed his hand along his jaw. "She has a lovely voice." He studied Harry. "Any objections?"

Harry was seized with a deep ache that made his eyes water. "No," he said softly. The trainers he had been holding had dropped to the floor, forgotten.

Tentatively, Snape reached out and gave Harry's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The ache lessened.

"Then we go to bed. It's all very uneventful."

The warmth left from Snape's touch turned ice cold. Harry backed away, scowling. "You mean you'll go to bed with her."

Snape raised his head, as though searching for answers from the ceiling.

"We have a marriage, although a far from perfect one. Why does this anger you so?"

Because you should repulse her, was the thought that came to mind, but he didn't think he could voice it and keep his skin. "Because I know you're in there...having her..."

For a moment Snape looked murderous, then something changed in his features, and he issued a harrumph of laughter.

Harry gaped at him. "You think this is funny?"

Snape pressed three fingers to his lips before he responded. "It's just...your phrasing. I'm not a sailor on leave."

Harry grabbed fistfuls of his own hair to keep from screaming.

"I've been married for nearly twelve years. If you wish to have a rational discussion about this, that can be arranged. My Harry and I had our discussion years ago about....the wands and the cauldrons." Snape grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. "I suppose there's no point in being coy about it now. In any case," and now he started to color, "it's not as if I...that is, your mother is the one who typically initiates..."

Harry pressed his palms to his ears. "I'm not listening. This is not happening," he chanted.

He felt firm fingers prying his hands away, and heard, "--attles."

"What?" He blinked at the man in front of him.

"I said we'd both find more peace if you chose your battles."

Harry looked at him blankly. He didn't recall anyone in his House ever using such a phrase.

"It means to not rail against everything. Pick one battle, if you must."

"Then when do I fight the other battles?"

"You don't..." Snape stood, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Just...think about it." And with that, he spun on his heel and exited the room. Harry could hear him striding down the hallway, muttering, "Gryffindors."

Over the next two weeks, Harry found that living at Spinner's End was both far better and far worse than living with the Dursleys. This truth was brought into sharp relief one afternoon when the skies opened and a heavy, grey rain fell to the earth. It pounded the grunge against the cobblestone street, gathering up wet wrappers and broken bottles and drowning them in the gutters.

Harry had spent the morning working on summer Transfigurations homework. He had sat in front of one of the open sitting room windows, books strewn on the floor, feeling cool currents drift into the muggy space. By the afternoon, he'd given up, and he and Lily had drawn chairs up to one of the windows, peering at the grey sheet outside.

"It's depressing," said Harry.

"I quite like it," said Lily. She glanced at Harry, her mouth quirking up. "I know, it sounds strange. I just remember coming here, as a child, on rainy days.  Sometimes it was grim.  Your grandparents were always a bit grim."

"Grandparents?" Harry questioned. 

Lily frowned at him as though the answer was obvious.  "Your father's parents."  She nodded toward the kitchen.  There was the sound of scraping pans as Snape prepared a meal.

Harry started.  "He's not--"  He bit down on his cheek before he said more. 

Lily's forehead wrinkled.  "Your father's not...what?"

Harry shook his head.  "Nothing."  Denying that Snape was his father would lead to a conversation he didn't want to have.  About why Harry, her Harry, would say such a thing.  "You said my...er...you said they were grim?"

Lily still looked puzzled, but let it go.  "They would grumble about everything, including us being underfoot, but that just gave us a reason to sneak off into a corner and play one of our rainy day games, like whispering secrets, or telling each other silly stories."

Harry tried to imagine Snape telling a silly story.

"Mostly, though, we talked about Hogwarts. Talking to your father was like hearing about a fairy tale that would come true. When we got our letters...we couldn't wait to start a new life."

Harry smiled, thinking of his own letter. He wondered if every young witch and wizard felt the same way. But the topic had reminded him of something he wanted to ask his mum. "You're not kids anymore," said Harry. "Don't you ever wish you could be out there in the magical world? Start a new life again?" Away from Snape?

Lily's ginger brows drew together in a thin line. "I did start a new life after Hogwarts. Right here."

"But don't you ever just want to...escape?"

Lily folded her hands on the windowsill and rested her head on top of them, her face still turned toward Harry. "This isn't how I expected my life to turn out. And sometimes I do wonder...but I don't want to escape my family, Harry."

"But how can you trust...your family? I mean, with your..." Harry didn't know how to say it. He'd been trying hard not to say things like 'memory,' but he wanted his mum to understand.

She did. "It's because of what happened to me that I have to trust you," she said, reaching out a hand to stroke his cheek. Harry felt warmth bubble up inside him. "My life would be so much harder if I didn't have you and your father."

"But he's..." Harry began, then cut himself off. "I mean, I could take care of you myself, so if you ever felt the need to...escape..."

Lily's expression hardened. "I don't need taking care of. I need people I can trust. And what's all this talk of escape, anyway?" Her eyes grew suspicious.

Harry shrugged, twisting away from her gaze. Even though there was so much she didn't remember, there were times when she seemed to be aware that he wasn't the other Harry. She would ask awkward questions, and Snape insisted that she be told.

Harry closed his eyes, in pain just thinking about it. He had clung to that image in the Mirror of Erised, of Lily's face glowing with love. When that look was replaced with suspicion and fear, it was like his insides had been slashed. He needed to see in her eyes that he was her son. The years he'd gone without it now felt like years without air in his lungs, or blood in his veins.

He tried to understand her grief at learning the other Harry was lost; he really did. But when that sadness entered her eyes, it was like he was being sent off to the Dursleys all over again. He knew it was irrational. His mum hadn't left him, she'd died. And even when she knew, she never even implied that he should be sent away. But still, whenever she grew suspicious, a panic would thrum in his heart.

She had doubts in her eyes now, so he quickly changed the topic. He gestured at the patchwork of photos pasted to the wall. "Look at this," he said, pointing to a new photo. "From last week? When we played Dodge the Bludger?" He frowned for a moment. He didn't remember anyone holding a camera that day. He shook the thought away, and looked at his mum, hopeful the photograph had triggered bits of her memory.

But Lily was pressing a palm to her temple, lines of pain etched around her eyes. Harry's heart sank, and he waited until she opened her eyes and oriented herself again. Her memory had been declining ever since they had arrived at the house, and now she only managed half a day before anything they said and did together disappeared.

Harry curled into a cross-legged position on his chair, trying to think of something to say once she'd recovered from her mid-day lapse. The silence felt awkward and strained. Lily looked as though she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Finally, she pulled out her wand, and Harry watched as she waved it over the windowsill. Slowly, the splashing raindrops began to dance. The little pods of water twirled in the air, pinging when they bounced off the sill.

"We used to do this on rainy days at Hogwarts," she said. "Remember, Sev?"

Snape emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel. He nodded and crouched down next to their chairs. "Colors, too." With a tap of his wand, the drops burst into shimmering colors. A yellow drop bounded towards a green one and bounced it off the sill. Lily shook her head.

"The yellow ones are always so aggressive. I've never figured out why."

"Perhaps they resent their lot in life," mused Snape.

"The middle color. Always overlooked."

Snape smiled at Lily, then turned and offered a smile to Harry.

Harry smiled tentatively back. He still felt on edge around this man. He followed his rules, just like he'd followed rules at the Dursleys. But at the Dursleys, he'd always understood what they wanted: for him to take care of the housework and then be as scarce as possible.

He didn't know what Snape wanted. There were chores, of course-nothing worse than he'd had to do in detention-but the rest was...confusing. Checking up on his summer homework. Impromptu potions lessons.

And Snape was just...there. Always there. Downstairs, there was the sitting room, and the kitchen, and it became ridiculous to shift from room to room just to avoid the man. Harry explored the tiny backyard, and then the surrounding neighborhood. But it had been a rainy summer, and that meant trying to relax indoors with Snape never more than a stone's throw away. Even when Harry retreated to the refuge of his bedroom, the man would eventually seek him out, wondering why Harry wanted to spend so much time alone in a bedroom during the day.

The Dursleys had certainly never minded when Harry had hidden himself away.

Harry remembered bedtimes at the Dursley household. He'd be ordered to bed immediately after cleaning away the remains of dinner, and locked in. He'd lie in his cupboard...and later in his bed...and hear the others getting ready for bed. His uncle would grumble about what work lay ahead the following day, and his aunt would offer to tuck Dudley in and read him a story. Dudley would complain loudly that he wasn't a baby...and then let her do it, anyway.

Bedtimes at Spinner's End start started later, with Harry spending time with his mum and Snape in the sitting room, playing cards or talking with his mum. But soon, he'd get the firm command from Snape: "Harry. Bed."

And he'd lie in bed like always, listening to the sounds of the rest of the household preparing for sleep.

The first night, he'd gone to bed willingly but resentfully. He listened to the murmur of conversation coming from the next bedroom. Sounds that stopped with the abrupt finality of a silencing spell. Harry shuddered, trying not to think about what that might mean.

But then, he'd heard the door to his bedroom creak open, and the swish of robes. The tall figure paused near his bed. "Asleep?" he whispered.

Harry didn't know what to reply to that. Was Snape going to reprimand him for not immediately falling asleep? Harry couldn't help that. Since his encounters with the dementors, his nightmares had increased, and that hardly made it easy to drop off.

The moonlight shining in from the window must have been enough for Snape to see Harry's blinking eyes, for he said, "Ah. I see you're not." Harry heard the scraping of a chair against the floor, and watched the dark form descend into a seated position by the bed.

And then silence. Harry could sense, rather than see, those glittering eyes bearing down on him. When he couldn't stand the waiting any longer, he blurted out, "Well?"

The shadow moved slightly. "Is there anything you need?"

Harry frowned into the darkness. "What do you mean?"

"Something I can get for you?" inquired the voice. "Or something you wish to discuss?"

"Right now?" asked Harry. "I thought I was supposed to go to sleep."

"And so you are." The voice sounded amused. The figure stood and leaned over the bed. A set of fingers brushed against his fringe, so quick and so light that Harry didn't even flinch.

"Goodnight, Harry," came a soft whisper before the door closed.

Harry didn't know what to make of it. And it had been the same every night since then, although he'd learned to simply say 'no thank you' to the requests. He'd decided it was disturbing. Disturbing, to have Snape sitting there, waiting for Harry to...talk, or something.

And yet, Harry found it so much easier to drop off to sleep afterwards.

And yet, here he was, on this rainy day, offering the man a tentative smile.

It would be a tolerable situation, if only Snape and his mum didn't insist on kissing in front of him. In fact, they looked close to it now. Snape and his mum were looking at each other in a way that told him snogging wasn't far behind. Harry cleared his throat to interrupt.

"Er, Sir?" he said. Saying 'sir' to someone about to nuzzle your mum felt odd, but Snape insisted Harry address him somehow. And, as he said, "'Er' is not an option." "Sir? About dinner?"

Snape was still falling into Lily's eyes. "Hmm?"

"We're having stew?" Harry could taste the aroma of carrots and beef juices from the window. His mouth watered. He was happy to choke down the creations his mother made and smile obligingly, but Lily usually admitted she was rubbish at cooking and left it to Snape.

The man finally tore his eyes away and towards Harry. "Stew. Yes."

"And that bread with the little pumpkin bits...?"

He chuckled as he stood. "I made more. You ate nearly half the loaf last time." Harry offered a sheepish shrug as he tugged at the waistband of his jeans. This was the first summer he was gaining weight.

Snape tilted his head to observe the movement. "You've outgrown your clothes again." He gestured for Harry to stand and studied the result. Harry looked down to see that the cuffs of his jean legs landed above his ankles.

"Lengthening charm?" asked Lily.

"Those jeans already have more charms than Flitwick's classroom." Snape tapped one of the knees with his wand and the threads split apart to reveal a gaping hole.

"Shopping," said Lily. "How much can we spend?"

"I'll check. Harry, go upstairs and pull out anything that no longer fits. We'll decide what to charm and what to replace."

Harry climbed the steps to his room and emptied his dresser drawers onto the bed. There were none of the oversized hand-me-downs from Dudley, nor the lumpy but brightly colored concoctions from Mrs. Weasley. Just a standard array of faded shirts and trousers. Most were frayed and worn to some degree. He found a gift box in the back of his wardrobe with several pristine shirts in Slytherin colors. The card on the top read:

Father says this is the last year I have to get you a gift.

I do hope you don't "lose" it like the others.

Draco Malfoy

Harry shoved the box back in the wardrobe and began sorting the clothes on his bed. He hadn't gotten far when he heard a scratching.

He followed the noise.

An owl was bumping against the outside of his bedroom window.

Once he opened the window, the owl had difficulty climbing through due to the long package it was carrying. Harry clutched its wet feathers and hauled it through. The owl huffed indignantly and dropped the package on the desk.

Harry fingered the wrapping. It looked familiar, and with growing excitement, he pulled off the attached note. The address printed on the back was:

Harry, born Potter

Second bedroom on the left

31 Spinner's End

Harry tore open the note to read:

Dear Harry,

I hope this reaches you with no interference. I gave special instructions to the owl.

I wanted you to have this sooner, but couldn't find a way into the common room at Hogwarts. Consider it something to make up for all the missed holidays.

I'm sorry we fought. I guess it doesn't matter now, as I'll have to stay away until I clear my name. But my wish is that you'll at least think about what I said, and maybe someday you and Lily can live with me.

Padfoot

Harry ripped open the package. "My Firebolt!" he cried to the owl, holding it aloft. The owl offered a bored hoot and flew back out into the rain.

He ran down the stairs, calling out, "You'll never guess what just came by owl!" He was at the bottom of the steps before he remembered what had happened to his cloak. He stopped, tightly gripping the broom.

Snape approached, eyeing it suspiciously. "Who sent that?"

Harry remembered the last meeting he'd witnessed between Sirius Black and Severus Snape. "I...don't know."

Snape's eyes traveled from Harry's face to the crumpled note still clutched in his other hand.

Harry could feel the note getting damp with sweat.

Disappointment sped across Snape's face. "I wish to read what this anonymous donor has to say."

The note now had the weight of a large rock. His arm slowly pivoted forward.

After a few forceful tugs, Snape plucked the paper from his grasp. His eyes ran across the page, darkening as they reached the end. Then he flipped over the sheet and glanced at the address.

"Born Potter," he drawled.

Lily joined them, her arms crossed. "Well, who's it from?"

"Sirius Black." The words dripped like venom from his throat. He held the note out with a flick of his fingers. Lily pinched it free and straightened the wrinkled paper as she read.

"You can hand that broom over as well," said Snape.

He held the broom behind him protectively. "You just don't want me to have it because it's from Sirius."

"You are entirely correct. Hand it over."

"But I need a new broom."

The thin body went stiff. "Your current broom is fine."

"This one is better."

"I am not accepting gifts from that man!"

"You don't have to. If he wants to get me something-"

"He's trying to humiliate me. Can't you see that? The name on the address, the note, the expensive gift-"

"So I can accept gifts from the Malfoys, but not my own godfather?"

"I need an alliance with the Malfoys. It protects you."

"Sirius can protect me."

"Black has little regard for human life. I'd sooner have you protected by a dementor."

"Malfoy would like nothing better than to hand me over to Voldemort. Death eaters will do anything to please their master. But you know all about that."

Snape's body jerked as though hit by a curse.

"I shouldn't be protected or...or make promises to people of that sort." Harry tried to put fire into his voice, but his conscience was squirming.

Snape had gone very still. "I see. So your word only applies to those who meet your exacting standards. How fortunate you've found this ethical loophole at the moment a precious new toy is threatened."

"It's not a toy."

"Toys are for those who act like children. How would you characterize your behavior?"

"Oh, stop it, the both of you," said Lily, her eyes flashing.

Relief flooded Harry. "Thanks, Mum."

"Don't thank me yet," she said.

Harry's stomach churned as he realized her anger wasn't directed at Snape.

She brandished the note. "Did you even read this? 'You and Lily can live with me'? Who is this man?"

"Don't you...I mean, he's...a friend."

"So he wanted to break up my family. Some friend." She scanned the letter again. "What's this about a fight? Did you tell him his suggestions were insulting?"

Each angry word from her was like a bullet. "I don't know. I didn't fight with him."

She gave him an accusing stare. "Are you lying again?"

His heart skittered. "No! Sirius is...thinking of someone else."

She scoffed. "Someone else named Harry?"

"Lily," began Snape, "this Harry is not--"

"Please," said Harry, crumpling on the bottom step. "Not now." She was already staring at him with that horrible anger. And when Snape explained that he'd replaced the son she knew... "It's nothing, Mum, really. Maybe Sirius and I did fight, and I didn't want to talk about it, but...but..."

"Harry," Snape said warningly.

"I'll give up the broom now," he said desperately. "Just don't."

Snape glanced from Lily to Harry. "I have to tell her," he told him. "I can't lie to her."

"Right, you're an honest bloke. I'm an idiot. I forgot." Snape gritted his teeth at the words, but Harry pressed on. "Do you tell her the truth whenever she asks how Voldemort cursed her? That you're responsible?"

Lily backed away from them. "Severus?  What is he saying?"

The color drained from Snape's face.  "It's true," he whispered. Looking stricken, he told her his part in Voldemort's attack. With each word, the storm raged higher in Lily's eyes. When he finished, he stood there, shoulders hunched, listing as though ready to disintegrate. But Lily coldly stood her distance, offering no comfort. She wrenched her body towards Harry.

"And you? What are you hiding from me?"

Harry glanced at Snape, but the man was mired in his own struggle, his breath coming in fitful gasps.

"Don't look at him," she spat. "Try being honest for once."

"I am honest! Just because you can't remember those times-"

"Oh, that's right. I forget. I'm an idiot."

Harry recoiled as his words were thrown back at him.

"Well, this idiot would like to know why any son I raised would lie to me. Or entertain the notion of running off with this man." She crumpled the note still in her hand and threw it in the cold fireplace, where it turned grey with ash.

Harry gaped at her. "You still want to stay? Even when you know what he did?"

"Oh believe me, we will be discussing that." She looked at Snape, who had recovered, although he still looked shaken and pale. Her eyes became troubled as she watched him. "Since we were children, I worried, but I never thought..." her hand fell over her heart as she fingered her wedding ring, the movement jerky and strained. Snape looked at her, beseeching, and took a tentative step toward her.

"I don't believe this," said Harry. "You should be revolted by the thought of him coming anywhere near you. Ever since I met him at school, I've seen nothing in him but hatred, and you can't think-"

"What do you mean, you met him at school?" Lily moved her gaze from him to a patchwork of photographs on the wall behind him.

He turned to see that they were images of him as a young child. One photo showed him clinging to Snape's robes as he proudly jumped up and down. In another, his hair stuck up wildly as he grinned over a toy cauldron in the Christmas-decorated sitting room. His limbs shook as he faced Lily and watched her distrust grow.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

"I'm Harry, and I love you, and the rest doesn't matter."

"Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but I'd like to know."

"But we've told you, over and over! And it hurts every time, and it's not my fault that you can't remember. So why should I have to tell you? You'll just forget, and I'm the one who has to live with it."

"Yes, you must deal with this poor, invalid woman who can barely remember her own name. What a burden I must be."

She crossed her arms, pacing. "You think I live in some blissful haze of forgetfulness? If only it were that simple. I remember. It may seem like bits and pieces to you, but it's far too much. The pitying look in someone's eyes when I was walking through Hogwarts. The nauseating feeling of waking up in a strange place with only the knowledge that something's been stolen from you." Her hands pressed against her forehead. "And that memory of him, rooting through my life like it was so much garbage." She pulled her hands away from her face, and he saw tears glimmering.

"Mum," he said, reaching out a hand.

Her face twisted as she backed away from him. "Don't touch me," she spat. "I don't know who you are, but you're not my son."

The shaking in his limbs turned to fire, and it was torture to stand there under her gaze. He tore from the room and out onto the street. The rain hit him like a thousand needles. He ignored it, taking off at a run. At the end of the block, he realized he was still holding the broom. He was soon in the air, flying over a roaring, polluted river. He followed the waterway, leaning forward as the Firebolt picked up speed. The banks of the river were a blur below him.

He would find Sirius. Or Lupin. Either one of them would take him in. Against his will, his mind raked over what had happened. Her icy stare shredded his insides. He wanted to find a time-turner. Go back, and shake that boy in the sitting room until the words he was going to say rattled away like marbles.

Power lines broke through the haze of his foggy glasses. He swerved. Balance lost, he clung to the broom.

The riverbank spiraled toward him. He skidded through the muck. Pain knifed through his left shoulder. He lay there as the world reeled. The chill from the mud and sludge seeped into his clothes.

He tried to sit up, and found that his left arm wouldn't move. An excruciating throb emanated from his shoulder, and there was a strange tingling sensation in his fingers. Panic rising, he struggled into a kneeling position and searched his surroundings. All he could make out under the sickly late afternoon light was a blurry brown and grey landscape. He'd lost his glasses.

Carefully holding his limp arm close to his body, he crawled through the mud, desperately prying his fingers into the ground around him. At last he found them, mired in a foul-smelling puddle and miraculously intact. He tried wiping them off on his clothes, but only managed to get them dirtier. He settled for holding his glasses out and letting the rain wash them clean.

He rested his head against his drawn knees, feeling his chilled skin through the rips in the jeans. Dully he watched the raindrops bounce off his lenses. He couldn't remember any locator spells. He wasn't likely to find Lupin, and even Ministry officials with powerful magic had been unable to find Black. There were few other places he could go. The summer staff at Hogwarts would send him back to Snape. The Weasleys, with the best of intentions, would send him back to Snape. The Dursleys would stare at the thirteen-year-old stranger that had appeared on their doorstep.

He buried his head further into his knees. Ultimately, none of it mattered. In a hundred different ways, Snape had taught him: make a choice before one is made for you. And living with his mum had awakened a deep hunger in him. He would go back.

He put on his glasses and stared through the watery lenses at the raging river. He had probably traveled several miles away from Spinner's End. The best thing would be to fly back by broom. His left arm still hung painfully at his side, but he had flown one-armed before. And yet, he remained sitting among the bent weeds, watching the afternoon sky darken into evening. He felt as though he were waiting for something, and with a slow, dawning horror, he realized he was waiting for her to forget. He cursed himself for being such a coward.

The sky had settled into twilight when he caught a faint glow out of the corner of his eye.

He craned his head to see Snape standing a few yards behind him, his wand aglow. Apparently he had no trouble remembering locator spells. Harry's stiff muscles protested as he stood. He trudged up the incline, his trainers making wet sucking sounds as they slogged through the mud. He carefully picked his way around the rocks and debris until he was standing before Snape, cradling his injured arm against his chest. The rain had stopped abruptly; he looked up to see a shimmering shield charm above them, the rain cascading off it and pouring down a few feet away.

The glowing wand was held aloft as Snape delicately released it. The wand hovered in midair, illuminating the two of them. He prodded the oddly lumpy shoulder with his fingers.

Harry jerked back reflexively.

"Dislocated. Hold sill," he commanded as he grabbed both shoulders firmly. "The number of times I've had to do this," he muttered, and then he thrust against the left shoulder firmly.

Harry let out a howl as stars glittered before his eyes. He felt his legs buckle, but the grip on his shoulders kept him upright. He managed to find his footing again, and the hands released him.

Snape looked distastefully at his filthy palms and wiped them with a handkerchief before plucking his wand from the air. He blasted a cleaning spell at Harry, followed by a drying spell.

Harry flexed his arm experimentally. It felt sore, but it was working again, and that horrible tingling had disappeared.

"A hot bath and salve will take care of the rest." Snape tapped his wand against a nasty gash on Harry's forearm, and it knitted closed.

Harry looked up at him, grateful. A hot bath sounded like the best thing in the world.

"You appeared to be waiting for something. Care to tell me what that was?"

Guilt filled him, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"As I thought. She was still livid when I left, if you're wondering. I explained as much as I could. About both of us." He sighed.

"She's forgiven you, then?" asked Harry bitterly.

There was a long pause. "No. Forgiveness takes time. More time than the curse will give her. But she never leaves. She knows what she has learned will disappear. And she never leaves."

Harry looked up at him, but the man's face was a mask, reflecting only the shimmering raindrops bouncing off the shield. "However, we are discussing your behavior, and its consequences. She has agreed to let me set the punishment. Although she certainly had a few suggestions."

Harry nodded numbly.

"You are grounded, of course. You will not leave the house without my express permission. Your activities will be set and monitored by me. Your chores have now tripled. If, by some miracle, you find yourself with free time, you will come to me and ask for more responsibilities."

Harry bit his lip, but said nothing.

"You will also answer any questions she has of you, honestly and fully. There will be no hedging, no avoiding the issue. At least until I am convinced you understand the difference between doing so for her sake, and doing so for your own. You can start this evening, when we return. Regardless of her state when we arrive, you will explain to her exactly who you are. And if necessary, explain precisely what you said and did tonight. In full detail." He paused. In the twilight, his face was a study of light and shadow. "I realize this will be difficult for you, so I have brought incentive."

Harry watched as Snape pulled a vial of clear liquid from his cloak. Veritaserum. Snape had described it to him as part of his summer lessons.

"You said its use was restricted."

"My private stock."

"I don't need that."

"Experience has taught me otherwise."

"Everyone lies sometimes," he said. He sounded pathetic. "I won't lie to her again."

"Trust, like forgiveness, takes time and effort. For tonight, I would like an assurance of complete honesty from a source other than yourself. After that, we shall see."

Harry felt shame heat his face, but he opened his mouth and tilted his head upward. The drops sizzled on his tongue, and he swallowed.

"Tell me when you're ready," said Snape.

Harry prayed that Lily hadn't phased into forgetfulness. Repeating what he'd said and done tonight would be agony. "I'll never be ready to talk to her," he whispered. It was the truth that bubbled up from the constriction in his chest, a truth that he felt would be inside him for a long time. "Let's just go."

Snape studied him by the dim glow of wandlight, and nodded. Harry took his arm and steadied himself for Apparation, but Snape was murmuring something under his breath. A broom flew into sight and came to a stop in the air in front of them.

"You wouldn't want to lose that," said Snape.

Cheeks flushing, Harry grabbed the broom handle, and they Disapparated.

Harry shut the cupboard door achingly slowly, so that only the barest click announced that the latch was re-locked. He blew out a breath over the bent paperclip still clenched between his teeth. He rubbed his thumb against the wand he now gripped in his hand. The weeks it had been locked away in that cupboard had been unbearable. Having it back was like finding a lost friend.

"Boy."

The word was like a shot of adrenaline. Harry spun. His legs crouched, ready to bolt.

Large, meaty hands descended on his arms. He was pulled forward. Mere inches away, a splotchy face was turning purple.

"How," demanded Vernon Dursley, "did you get that...thing? I made sure the cupboard was locked!"

The reason for Harry's access still lay between his teeth. Harry decided to give the most direct answer possible. He sucked in a lungful of air and spit. The bent paperclip flew from his lips. It bounced off Vernon's eye with a wet pling.

The man bellowed. He released his grip on Harry, slapping one hand to his eye.

Harry took his chance and bolted. He sprang for the front door. A blur of pastels appeared before him. His body collided with something sharp and bony.

"What have you done to him?" screeched Petunia. Her thin fingers snatched Harry by the ear.

Pain seared down the side of his face. Harry bent double, flailing his hands.

The brutal grip disappeared. Harry looked up to see that Petunia had backed away.

"Don't point that thing at me," she whispered, her face white.

Harry followed her gaze and realized he was still holding his wand. He must have waved it in a manner that looked like a spell. Although, to these Muggles, all his gestures were interpreted as magical. And threatening.

He weaved his wand randomly through the air, hoping it would spook the woman. Instead, he heard a shout from behind.

"You dare threaten your aunt?" said Vernon. "After all she's done for you?"

"She's not my aunt," retorted Harry. If he couldn't have a dad in this world, he certainly wasn't taking on these people as his kin. It had been all-out war since the day he arrived, and they could go rot as far as he was concerned.

Still, that didn't change the fact that he was now trapped in a hallway between a man and a woman who were steadily advancing on him. The front door and the foot of the stairs were blocked by Petunia. The other rooms were blocked off by Vernon. Harry couldn't go backward or forward without encountering a pair of angry hands. To his right was a wall. To his left was the locked cupboard. So he moved the only direction he had left.

Up.

He shoved his wand up his sleeve and leaped toward the cupboard, raising his legs as high as they would go. He managed a quick foothold on the cupboard knob. His hands wrapped around the posts of the stair railing above it.

The cupboard knob snapped off under his weight.

Harry clung to the posts and scrambled over the banister. His foot caught on the edge and he fell onto the stairs. White heat shot up from his elbow and he gasped.

He heard a thudding on the stairs below him.

Lurching to his feet, he took the stairs two at a time. He reached the head of the stairs and turned too quickly. His shoulder slammed into the wall. He didn't pause, but barreled past his room, to the end of the hallway. Darting into the master bedroom, he leaped up and tumbled across the bed. He was at the far side of the room when the door crashed open.

Vernon Dursley stood there, sweating and clutching his sides.

Harry edged toward the window.

"Don't..." gasped Vernon, "...even...think...about..."

Harry wrenched the window open and jumped out.

His hands found the trellis before he saw it. His muscles fell into familiar movements and he flowed upward...until he felt a snag on his leg.

He looked downward and saw a thick hand poking out of the window, clutching his trouser leg.

"Get off," said Harry, shaking his leg.

"Back inside, Boy," Vernon hissed. "The neighbors will see."

"So?" replied Harry. He hadn't figured out this obsession with the neighbors. "Perhaps they'll be impressed by my athletic skills." He gave his leg another shake. The trellis began to pull away from the house. Harry gave one final jerk and dislodged his trouser. The trellis lurched backward. The vines holding the latticework to the house began snapping apart.

Harry ricocheted toward the roof. He pushed off the tumbling trellis and launched himself onto the tiles. Burns etched across his forearms as he slid down the angle of the roof, digging for a handhold. His descent slowed before he reached the gutter. He lay there, panting.

He didn't move until he heard something clank against the roof. He rolled into a sitting position and looked across the tiles.

The top of a ladder was peeking over the edge.

Harry moved toward it cautiously, leaning forward for balance. When he got near the ladder, he peered past it to the ground.

Below him, the three Dursleys were staring balefully upward.

"Little Harry, with nowhere to go," sing-songed Dudley. "Dad's coming to get you, and you'll be sorry..."

Harry glanced around him. Dudley was right. He hadn't been thinking when he bolted for the roof. At home, the houses were so close together that the rooftops were like a second street level; you could move across town without ever setting foot on the ground. Here, the roofs were separated by wide canyons of manicured lawns. He'd never make a jump from one to another.

Little Harry, with nowhere to go.

Vernon put a foot on the first ladder rung.

"I'll use magic," said Harry in the most commanding voice he could muster.

Vernon paused, but only for a moment. "You can't during summers," he retorted. "I remember when I picked you up from the station and insisted you hand over that...thing." He took another step up the ladder.

"Shows what you know," Harry gritted, but the man was right: he hadn't uttered a single spell when his wand was ripped out of his hand. But he knew what words to use now. Two beautiful, magical words. "Severus Snape."

All three Dursleys froze. Their heads whipped back and forth fearfully as if they expected a dark specter to appear in a clap of thunder. It had been the same ever since Harry had announced that the man would be picking him up to work on a "research project."

Petunia had gone positively green, gasping something about "an adult one" invading her home. An hour before Snape was due to arrive, they'd shoved Harry out the front door and told him to wait there. Then they'd locked all the doors and latched all the windows.

When he was returned to Privet Drive, Snape had promptly Disapparated. And still, Harry had been forced to talk through the keyhole, promising Snape wouldn't return for several days. It had been several hours before they had finally let him back in.

Harry gazed down at the Dursleys from his perch on the roof, hoping that the man's name would be enough to get him through the day. But it was not to be. When Vernon Dursley was reassured that no wizard would appear out of the blue, he ascended another few steps on the ladder.

Petunia stepped forward. "Perhaps you should wait, Vernon. You don't know that man..."

Vernon took another step. "Neither do you." He paused, and turned back to her, frowning. "Do you?"

"Yes...no, you're right," stammered Petunia. "But he's...he looks dangerous. Maybe you should-"

Vernon looked up at Harry and gave a triumphant stare. "No need to fret over him. He's not coming round again. Is he, Boy?"

Sweat trickled down Harry's neck. He shifted his weight, searching for better balance. "I don't know what you're talking about." He shoved his hand into his trouser pocket, his fingers curling around a note he kept there at all times.

"I overheard your last conversation with him," said Vernon, taking another step upward. His head was now level with the rooftop. "I heard everything he said before he...evaporated."

"Disapparated." Harry pulled the paper from his pocket and crouched down. He scooted slowly away from Vernon's leering face.

"Popping out of existence like freaks, you mean. A shame it wasn't permanent." Vernon's left eye was still twitching from the paperclip, but the other glinted maliciously. "Although it was permanent for that Snape fellow, wasn't it? 'I do not care to return here.' Isn't that what he said? I see he's as sick of you as we are."

"More like he's sick of you." Harry realized he was unfolding and refolding the note in his hands. He glanced down at it. Snape had just handed it to him at their last meeting, but he'd already memorized the words. A few stood out: 'unnecessary travel' and 'onerous.' He swallowed and glanced up.

Vernon had climbed onto the roof. He advanced on Harry. "You've got no place to go."

Harry got to his feet and backed away, toward the other side of the house. "No closer."

"I know you won't use...you-know-what." He gave a harsh chuckle.

"I won't," said Harry, "but you will." He glanced behind him and realized he was near the other edge of the roof.

Vernon paused, teetering uncertainly. "What?"

Harry held up the note. "Written protection. Come any nearer, and you'll trigger it. There'll be flashing lights. Noises." He waved the note menacingly. "Magical noises."

Vernon wet his lips, his eyes darting back and forth. "You're lying."

He was indeed lying, but Vernon Dursley didn't know that. He just wanted to leave the roof the easy way. "It's ready to go off," he said. "I can feel it, with my...er..." he searched for a word that would sound sufficiently terrifying to a Muggle, "...my demon sense. And if it starts firing off magic, it'll be your doing. You'll be the one locked up."

Vernon's eyes bulged. With a roar, he charged. His hands clawed at the air, eager to sink into Harry.

Harry dove to the side. His shoelace caught in the gutter, and he tumbled over the edge. Guess I'm leaving the roof the hard way. He clenched the note tightly and shouted, "Onerous!" The ground was hurtling toward his face when he felt the yank of the Portkey right behind his navel.

He opened his eyes to find his stomach pressed into hard pavement and his nose pressed into a moldy fish and chips wrapper.

"Ugh," he said, peeling the wrapper off his cheek. He stood up and looked around. He was in an alleyway directly across from a very familiar-looking house on Spinner's End.

A warmth spread through him, but he didn't approach the house. He backed further into the alley instead. A rusty fire escape was pressed against the brick wall, and he heaved himself onto it. Scaling it, he reached the roof.

Now, these were rooftops and knew and understood. He crossed to a chimney that hadn't seen smoke in decades and reached inside. His hand found a canvas strap, and he pulled. A soot-covered bag emerged from the chimney. Harry dusted it off as best he could. He peered inside, checking over the contents. There was always a risk he could lose that the bag could be lost or stolen, but it was a greater risk leaving anything he valued at the Dursleys.

Harry sighed and descended to ground level. It had been weeks since he'd argued with his...with Professor Snape, over where he would live this summer. And since then, he'd decided to handle things on his own rather than ask for something from Snape again. But now...Harry shook his head as he crossed the street to 31 Spinner's End. Maybe it wasn't possible to handle the Dursleys. All he knew was that he was dreading the trip back to Privet Drive. Not that what he had to do now was going to be easy.

He rapped loudly on the peeling wood and stepped back. It felt odd to Harry to knock on his own door, but he knew that sauntering in unannounced would not go over well.

The door opened a crack, and black eyes bored into him. "What is it this time?"

In his haste to escape the Dursleys, he'd forgotten to make up an excuse for his visit. "Er," he said, twiddling his fingers, "I left something last time I was here. My, er, wand."

"Your wand."

Harry shrugged.

Snape opened the door further and revealed that he had his own wand in hand. "Accio wand."

A wand flew from Harry's sleeve and into Snape's hand.

"Oh," said Harry. He stared at his sleeve for a few seconds. "Always the last place you look."

Snape held Harry's wand out to him. He took it sheepishly.

"Since I'm here..."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Like your last two visits, you were going to suggest assisting me in potions or talking about-" his jaw snapped shut. "I have no interest in doing either."

"Really." Harry was weary of playing this game.

"Did you not read the note I gave you? 'no unnecessary travel'? I gave you that Portkey with the understanding that you would use it responsibly."

"I thought it was with the understanding that you wouldn't have to deal with...what were your words? 'Those intolerable Muggles'?"

"With your excellent powers of recall, I'm sure you can use the Portkey again and find your way back to those intolerable Muggles."

The door closed in his face.

That's okay," Harry called out loudly. "Portkey travel makes me a bit wobbly, so I'll just wait here, on your stoop. For an hour. Or two. Shall I sing songs to pass the time? I know a great Gryffindor one, but it's best if I sing it at the top of my lungs..."

The door creaked open and an impatient hand beckoned him inside. "This is the one and only time."

Harry threw his bookbag on the sofa and heaved himself next to it. "Well, if this is my one and only social call, can I see the rest of the house?" So far, he'd only been in the sitting room when they ran tests and checked for magical pathways. Even then it was only for an hour or so, before he was taken back to Surrey.

The sitting room looked different from the one he was used to. It was dark and dusty, and surrounded on all sides by bookshelves. There was no visible means of exit other than the door through which he'd just entered.

"You said you grew up in this house," said Snape, the words stiff. "You hardly need a tour."

"In our house we weren't so stealthy. Do you really need a secret entrance to every room?" He relaxed, already feeling more comfortable. If only he could soften the professor up a bit. Maybe he didn't have to spend the rest of the summer confined to Muggle suburban prison. He rubbed at a fresh scrape near his wrist.

Snape's crossed arms did not bode good tidings, however. The man surveyed the imposing walls of bookshelves. "It prevents intruders."

"Who's going to intrude into the kitchen? It's like needing a password for the toilet."

Snape glanced toward the bookcase that led to the stairs and toilet.

"To the toilet? Seriously?"

"How I arrange my house is no business of yours."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to hide a grin that was threatening. "Shall I try to guess the toilet password? I might need it later."

Snape grunted in annoyance. "You won't be here that long. He slashed his wand toward a side bookshelf and it slid away to reveal a descending staircase. "I'll be in my workroom until you feel well enough to leave. Don't touch anything. I shall know if you do."

"Wait," said Harry. He kneeled on the sofa cushions and rummaged through his bookbag. "I brought photos."

Snape stopped at the top of the steps, his back to Harry. "Of what?"

He pulled a leather-bound photo album from his bag. "Of my first dad. And Mum." He held his breath. Slowly, as though pulled by some unseen force, Snape pivoted around. His eyes fell on the album.

"Where did you get that?"

"Hermione said Hagrid gave it to me." Snape took a step towards him. Harry clutched the album to his chest. "You know, the light's much better in the garden." He waggled his eyebrows significantly at the forbidding bookcase on the back wall.

Snape stopped, frowning. "That's blackmail."

"Technically, it's a bribe." Harry shrugged at Snape's stare. "What? I was raised by a Slytherin."

Snape issued a grunt and opened the back passageway, and Harry followed quickly. But his high spirits evaporated as they entered the yard. A few yellowed weeds scrabbled for purchase on a bare patch of dirt. Two rusty chairs huddled in a corner. And a sickly bubblefruit tree stood in the center, not much taller than Harry himself.

"No garden?" asked Harry mournfully. "What about plants for potions?"

"I'm only here a few months a year. There's no point in cultivating anything."

"I suppose not," said Harry, patting a branch of the tree.

"It's always been like that. It simply doesn't grow."

"It's huge in my world. It doesn't feel the same when I can't climb Bolie."

Silence. "You...named the tree."

"Er," Harry scratched his head self-consciously. "Mum asked me to. It's this game we play." Actually, the tree had about eleven names, as Harry kept forgetting them and Lily kept asking him to name it.

Snape sat down heavily in one of the metal chairs. "I'd forgotten she liked to do that."

Harry crept closer and placed the album on his lap. With trembling fingers, Snape opened it. Lily's laughing face shone out at them.

Harry was hit with a loneliness so deep, he nearly lost his balance. He sat down on the other chair and drew it up next to Snape.

Most of the photos were of Lily and James together. Harry eyed them curiously. For most of his life, any mention of James was quickly quashed. A few months ago at Hogwarts, Remus had tried to give him a photograph of James and Lily's wedding, but he'd pushed it back, terrified his mum would find it and see it.

It felt strange to look at these photos and know it was safe. He was so used to protecting his mum from this ghost that he didn't know what else to feel. But there was nothing threatening about the tousled hair and features so similar to his own.

"Did you know him well?" asked Harry. He had never asked about James unless it was in relation to the curse.

But Snape appeared not to have heard. The man was focused on a photo in the upper right corner of the page. A baby Harry was sitting in a high chair, chewing on his fist. In the background sat Lily, chopping roots for a potion. She paused after adding them to the brew, and her eyes took on a sad, faraway look. Then the moment was gone, and she was shaking her head and murmuring something to the person behind the camera.

"I wondered sometimes, if she...if she ever thought about..." his voice trailed off to a hoarse whisper. Then his lips pressed together and his face turned to ice. Harry placed his hand on Snape's back and rubbed gently.

Snape jerked away from the hand. "What are you doing?"

"Dad always does this with me when I..."

"When you what?"

When I cry, thought Harry. "When I feel tense," said Harry.

"I can control my moods without assistance."

Harry doubted that, but removed his hand. He'd seen that same look on his dad every time he confessed his sins to Lily. Her reactions ranged from fury to misery, and Snape took it all with the same rigid blankness. And yet, when Harry would draw close to him and squeeze his hand, his dad would return the grip with ferocity.

Once, he had felt that grip as he sat with his father in the kitchen. Lily had seen them, loathing and suspicion in her eyes. "Get away from him, Harry," she'd said. He had tried to protest, but Snape had shook his head. "Listen to your mother," he'd said. So Harry left him sitting alone at the kitchen table, looking as frozen and brittle as ice over a spring river.

A loud hoot interrupted his reminiscence. Hedwig was perched on the bubblefruit tree, the branch bending precariously low to the ground.

Harry leaped up. "Have you seen my owl?" He'd been delighted to discover he had his very own snowy owl. Under Hedwig's protests, he gathered her up in his arms. Setting her on his chair, he pulled the message from her leg. "It's from the Ministry of Magic," he said excitedly. "I've gotten special dispensation." Finally. This was the foothold he needed to stay right where he was.

A questioning eyebrow rose.

"For a summer project. I submitted a request to the Ministry to ask if I could be allowed to use magic this summer to work on it."

Snape leaned forward. "It's extremely difficult to be excused from the restriction of underage magic."

"Well, there are stipulations."

Snape reached out, and Harry handed the note over. His eyes flickered over the words, then stilled. He lowered the paper and stared at Harry over it.

"'Under the supervision of a certified Hogwarts professor.'"

"Er."

"You must introduce us. I'd love to meet a professor willing to teach you for the entire summer."

"Just let me show you the project," said Harry, scrambling for his bookbag.

"You assume too much." He scanned the note again. "'Excellent recommendation'. Who...?"

"Dumbledore."

"Of course."

Harry pulled out a brass frame and a stack of blank photographs. "He also helped me get the supplies I needed for the Statua Screen. It's a bit like a Pensieve. Dumbledore could explain the differences better."

Snape eyed it curiously. "How does it work?"

"The photographic paper is like the Pensieve. But of course, it's just a photograph, not a moment you can jump into," he said, latching a blank photograph onto the frame. The frame wobbled slightly on its ornate legs before coming to a rest.

Snape stood, fingering the ornate engravings on the frame.

"The problem is, I haven't quite mastered extraction. I can do recent events," and with that he tapped his wand against his temple, and a thin silvery strand was pulled away. He let the strand wriggle onto the photographic paper, and soon an image had formed: Snape scowling at the front door. Snape scowled at it.

"Er, you may not bother keeping that one," said Harry. "Anyway, it's the older events that I have trouble with, and with my project, I want to go into my early childhood. I need a guide."

"You need my help in extracting memories?"

"No, in finding them. I need a Legilimens."

Snape looked at him sharply. "This is advanced magic for someone your age."

"I've had a lot of help. I've been working with my dad on mind magic since I started Hogwarts. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And technically, before I started Hogwarts. Don't tell the Ministry." He attached another blank photograph and stood with the frame interposed between them. "Ready?"

"I should ask you that." Snape raised his wand.

Harry felt a reverberation in his mind, familiar and yet not. He had the feeling of being pulled out to sea, and memories flooded him. The sensations came at him, one after another: the bone-jarring jolt of the ground after he fell from a tree, the rustle of robes as his dad carried him up to bed. And then she was everywhere: smiling, angry, curled in a quilt on the sitting room sofa. The images were pulled from him so quickly, he lost his bearings. He fought back, hiding the memories in the pockets of his mind and throwing up the shields he'd created long ago. The rush of images stopped, and he was in the yard again, blinking at the dark figure before him.

"You know Occlumency," he accused.

"Good thing, too. That felt more like combat training. If I knew you were going to attack, I would have prepared myself."

"I was not attacking you."

"If you want to see moments with my mum-"

"I have no interest in that! I cannot control what memories emerge when you have inadequate defenses."

"My defenses are there when I need them." He frowned. His dad spent so much time preparing him for his eventual battle with the Dark Lord, with frequent training sessions in preventing a mental attack. So far, this man hadn't even mentioned the path that lay before him. He preferred to keep it that way. He ran his hands through his hair, thinking about how to move forward. "Look, let me nudge you in the right direction. There's something specific I'm looking for. It's about my parents." He did his best not to emphasize the last word.

Snape's face betrayed nothing, but he nodded.

This time, Harry prepared for possible Occlumency, but the searching presence that entered his mind was less demanding. He let go of his barriers, and went back to the sense memory he'd discovered a few months ago. The presence followed him. There was sunlight, and arms wrapped tightly around him. He watched as the sensations became clearer, and the image slowly sharpened. The light formed into the very backyard he was standing in now, with the same sickly tree. But large bunches of flowers hung from the wall around the yard, and the tree was decorated with garlands. Near the tree, Dumbledore, Snape, and Lily were standing. Dumbledore was speaking, but Harry couldn't discern the words. He felt the memory pulled further into his consciousness, and the babble of sounds became voices he could understand. The voice belonging to the arms that held him spoke.

"I don't understand why you're here, Augusta. It's not as though you and Lily are close. And I don't suppose Severus..."

"Hardly," came a prim voice to his right. He shifted, his pudgy legs pushing against the lap he was in. The woman shifted her weight, and he was facing a small boy with a round face, sitting in the grasp of a middle-aged woman. The woman leaned slightly towards Harry, whispering to the other woman. "Not after what happened to Frank and Alice, leaving Neville an orphan. I know it's never been stated outright that Snape was a Death Eater, but he kept far too close company with them for my tastes."

"Then why?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Minerva," said Augusta.

"Dumbledore asked me. He said he was having difficulty finding the necessary two witnesses for the ceremony. He neglected to mention that would also include babysitting duties." She gave a harrumph, but her arms were gentle as she shifted Harry again so that he was facing the trio in the yard. "Lily's forgotten herself again, poor dear."

Harry saw that Lily was looking around dazedly. Snape was stroking her hand and whispering in her ear. She brightened as she saw the garlands and the two women in the chairs nearby. She waved at them. Snape followed her gaze and gave them a sour look.

"My, my," said Augusta disapprovingly. "I don't know which one has more work in store for them."

Minerva gave a slight chuckle. "Still, it worries me," she said. "It hasn't quite been a year since James Potter died." Harry hiccupped a slight cry, and McGonagall rubbed his plump arms gently to quiet him. "It's rather sudden."

"You mean it's as though he swooped down to take advantage of a damaged woman before her husband was cold in the ground? Quite."

"Then you're doing this out of duty?" Minerva shifted in her seat, her tartan skirts rustling. "Did Dumbledore ask you as well?"

"He did, but I have my own reasons for agreeing. Oh look, Severus has written her vows down for her. Clever thing."

Harry watched as a golden scroll unfurled in the air under Snape's wand. Lily beamed at him and began to read. Once she finished, the scroll glided over to Snape, although he began speaking without glancing at it.

"She has no family?" asked Augusta.

"Just a Muggle sister who is rather unpleasant, from what I hear. She was invited, but..." Minerva waved her hand at the two solitary chairs the women were sitting in.

"No, I didn't see any family visiting her at St. Mungo's, either."

"Oh, of course. You were seeing to your son and his wife?"

"They were in the same ward. I passed by Lily's room every day."

"Did you--oh my," breathed Minerva. Snape had paused in his vows, and was clenching and unclenching his hands convulsively. Dumbledore and Lily both looked worried. He began speaking again, and Harry heard the words, "...love you with all my heart, and protect you with all my strength..." and then Snape stopped again. He bowed his head as his body shook. A single sob echoed against the walls.

The minutes stretched out painfully as Snape struggled for control and those gathered silently watched.

Finally Lily tucked her bouquet in the crook of her arm and moved to Snape's side, wrapping her free arm around him. She leaned her head into his and read his vows aloud, as Snape mumbled incoherently after her. Dumbledore had joined her on Snape's other side, giving him encouraging pats on the shoulder.

With a jagged sigh, Snape reached the end. Dumbledore moved away and said the final words that joined them. Lily wrapped her arms around Snape's trembling form and kissed him. He relaxed in that moment, falling against her like snow on a hill.

"Well," said McGonagall, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a handkerchief fluttering. "I must say he's surprised me. I've never seen anything like it."

"I have," said Augusta. "Every day at St. Mungo's."

The memory receded, and Harry grabbed his wand and pressed it against his temple, pulling away a thin filmy strand and touching it to the photograph in the center of the frame. The frame glowed for a moment, then an image appeared of Snape, buttressed on both sides by Dumbledore and Lily. Snape was looking down, dark lashes against pale skin.

Harry frowned at the image. "I was trying to get the kiss." He tilted his head, surveying his work. "It's not bad, though, is it? I always wondered why Dad never wanted to talk about his wedding." He reached out to remove the photo, but Snape's hand landed on his. He looked up to see the man mesmerized by the small tableau.

Harry drew on everything he'd ever learned about Slytherins. "I need to go," he said carefully. "Not supposed to be here long, you said."

"You could..." Snape's eyes flickered over the photo and then Harry. "...return to continue the project tomorrow."

Harry smiled weakly. "I'd like that. But couldn't I just stay? The Portkey-"

"No." Snape removed his hand. "A few hours a day is more than sufficient."

Keep your eye on the Snitch, Harry reminded himself. "I can't do this every day. The Portkey makes me wobbly. I wasn't lying about that," he said, lying. "Maybe next week?" He plucked the photo from the frame and tucked both into his bag.

Snape stared at the place the photo had been. "Stay." It sounded more like a cough than a command.

Harry hopped up and down in delight. "Really?"

Snape watched him. "No hopping," he said.

"Yes, Sir," said Harry, standing on one foot and wobbling.

"And I expect you to follow my every command-"

"Right."

"And refrain from being underfoot when I-"

"Absolutely, Sir," said Harry.

"And stop...wobbling."

"Actually, Sir..." Harry became aware of a sudden urge to hop on one foot, "...seeing as I'm staying here...could I have the password to the toilet now?"

Snape watched him through slitted eyes as he hovered in a corner of the kitchen. He watched as the boy explained himself to Lily. Watched as he struggled with the serum he had been given.

It was true that the Veritaserum was from his personal stock. What he hadn't mentioned to Harry was that it was also his own formula, weakened slightly. He didn't want Harry to turn into a mindless, babbling drone. He wanted Harry to feel the serum working, to feel himself forced to tell the truth. Perhaps if he struggled, he'd see the lies for what they were.

The boy did struggle. His face downcast, his body trembling, he went through everything he said and did. By the end, his voice was hoarse, although Snape could not tell if that was from fighting back the truth or from fighting with something else coming from deep inside.

He looked much like his Harry, on Lily's very bad days.

But Snape firmly replayed the events of that afternoon to remind himself: the boy could not be trusted.

Lily was listening. And cleaning. Violently cleaning. Her wand whipped the air, and suds sprung out of kitchen countertops, racing across the surface like frightened animals. A dirty pot leapt into the sink and shivered as a spout of water from her wand attacked it. She finally turned and faced Harry, clamping her arms across her chest.

"What did you think?" she asked him. "That you could replace him? That I can't remember raising my son, so it means nothing?"

"No," said Harry. His voice could barely be heard over the clattering of the pots. "I know what it means. It means everything."

Lily's arms dropped to her sides. She studied the wand in her hand, rolling the pale wood between her fingers. "Can I trust you?" she asked plaintively.

The boy's shoulders tensed as he fought the serum. "I...don't know," he said finally. "I thought you could. Before tonight. But...I needed to do something. To...help."

Her jaw tightened. "You think what you did helped?"

Harry's gaze moved across the tiled floor and across the uneven surface of the cabinets. "I know it didn't. I know I...lied, I took advantage of...of what the curse did. I just wanted to save you."

Lily's free hand slammed down on the countertop. "I don't need saving! What exactly do you think you can save me from?"

Harry's eyes darted toward Snape. Pain flashed across the boy's face as he looked back at her.

In that moment, it felt right to resent him. The liar, the troublemaker. How could he ever trust this...replacement? This boy who wore his son's face?

Well. There were weeks' of grounding ahead of them. He'd find a way to make the boy trustworthy.

Lily just looked tired. "Go to bed, Harry," she said.

"But...can't I..."

"Bed," repeated Lily.

Harry nodded, gave a last, searching glance at Snape, and climbed the stairs. Halfway up, he stopped, his eyes fixed on the hand gripping the banister. "I can still call you mum, can't I?" His voice was unnaturally high.

Lily shut her eyes and rubbed two fingers against the taut skin at the edge of her forehead. When she looked back up, there were lines around her eyes. "Yes, Harry. Of course you can."

Harry nodded and fled upstairs.

Lily's shoulders slumped as she moved to the living room. Falling back into a pale yellow armchair, she folded her legs around her body. Her wand was laid out along her crossed legs. Strands of hair fell haphazardly into her face.

Severus longed to lean over her and tuck them behind her ear. Instead he followed slowly after her, lowering himself onto the sofa on the opposite side of the room. He folded his hands on his lap and wondered-as he had all the other times--what he could say. He'd learned a long time ago that Lily's sharp ears could spot the faintest hint of a rehearsed speech.

He grasped the scent of lilacs floating across the room. If it were another time, another situation, he would remark on it so Lily could tease him about the nose that could spot a scent from a hundred yards.

But tonight, he only cleared his throat. "You're staying." Severus tried to make it a statement. Tried to be confident in what he'd told Harry. She'd always stayed, before.

Lily stared at him with glittering ice. She shook her head, but what she finally said was, "Tell me it's the right choice."

He glanced away. "Don't look to me for right choices." The lamp on the side table cast a warm glow across the photographs on the wall. They glimmered, the figures within them moving in and out of the lamplight."But you always knew what choices to make, Lily. There was never doubt in your heart." His hands moved restlessly off his lap, his fingers playing with the raised threads in the upholstery. "And you chose me."

Her gaze became distant. The silence stretched between them, only broken by the rat-a-tat of raindrops on the roof tiles.

"And our Harry?" she asked. "Will I ever see him again? Or is he just going to be..." she gestured to the photographs on the wall, "...another casualty of the curse? Yourcurse. Another person who has fallen into the blackness?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "I wish I did."

"There were others," said Lily, her voice scratching the damp air. "Others I've loved, others I've forgotten."

"Yes," whispered Snape.

"But you can't tell me about them? The people I loved?"

"I can," said Snape. He hesitated. "All but one."

Lily nodded, a muscle in her jaw twitching. "And the one?"

"He was Harry's...our Harry's...first father."

Lily blinked, then stared at a photograph stuck to the Victrola record player standing near her. Snape knew the picture well: he and Harry sprawled in the grass, head to head, talking.

Lily leaned toward it, her thumbnail tracing the lines of the two faces. Two faces that were not quite similar enough. "Right," she said, the word a small gasp of realization. She closed her eyes, frowning in concentration. "There's nothing," she murmured. "Nothing."

"No," said Snape, raising an arm as if to physically stop her rummaging for an image of James Potter. "There cannot be."

She opened her eyes. "Tell me something about him."

Snape swallowed, his mouth dry. "The curse..."

"Yes, your curse. Don't be squeamish about the pain it causes me. I can't imagine you had any qualms when you developed it."

"I did not know-"

"Tell me about him! I want this from you. Tell me what kind of man he was."

Snape had reached his snapping point. "A man who enjoyed the suffering of others! A coward, a bully..."

Lily strode from her chair and leaned close to Snape, her clenched fingers and wand pressing deep into the arm of the sofa. "And a man I loved? Doesn't speak much towards my heart, does it? How can I trust my feelings for you when I loved such a blighter?"

"He was...It was not my intention to..."

"You can't have it both ways, Severus. Either I can trust the people I love, or I can't. If you can't find one kind word for this other man, one thing about him that made him worth loving, that what am I to think about you?"

His mind was an empty cupboard. He snatched at the first thought that came to light: "He looks like our son."

He knew as soon as he said it that it made no sense. Sons take after their fathers, not the other way round. But as he looked into Lily's face, the frantic movements of his mind calmed.

"He looks like our son," she repeated, her eyes searching his. Then she stepped back. Lily tucked her wand away and curled into the armchair. Her hair splashed against the pale canvas as she tilted her head up.

The movement brought back a memory for Severus, and he knew what to say. "Snow in the summer."

Lily stared at him, puzzled.

"It was a spell he taught me. Well, not taught. I observed him using it. Seemed useless at the time. But last summer..."Snape leaned back into the sofa. "Harry's birthday last summer fell on the hottest day in July. That afternoon, we were in the garden, trying to stay cool. You had brought your record player out, and Harry put on a Christmas record. He said it would help the cooling charms work, if the charms were convinced it was winter." Severus smiled. "So I cast the spell. You and Harry stood with your tongues out, trying to catch the flakes."

The snow had sparkled as it fluttered down, melting under the hot sun. Lily and Harry had tilted their bodies backward, held upright only by the two strong ropes of their clasped hands. Their tongues would dart inward whenever giggles overcame them, but they kept trying, their faces glittering like leaves on a dewy morning.

Severus watched Lily's upturned face now. She had closed her eyes, and he knew she was trying to picture it, trying to bring forth an image that wasn't there.

She shook her head. "I can't."

"I know."

She shifted on the armchair, tilting her head.A heaviness settled on her features. "I'm sorry, Severus. But I hate you for this."

His hands fell back into his lap. "I know."

Lily stood slowly and headed toward the stairs.

"You're staying," He murmured. It was a statement, this time.

She paused near the stairs and turned partly toward him. Her eyes did not meet his, but strayed to the wall of photographs. Photographs of Harry and himself. "There are two reasons I want to leave. And two reasons I want to stay." She turned fully, and her eyes sought his. "And so I stay."

The garrote pressing against him vanished. He nodded. "Do you want me to remind you? Tomorrow?" he asked. Sometimes she didn't feel matters between them were finished in one conversation. Sometimes she simply wanted to know what he'd done for a day longer.

Telling her twice in two days made him ache, but he would do so if she asked.

Lily studied him. "There are other times, too? Like snow in the summer?" she asked.

"Yes. Like snow in the summer."

She nodded. "Then let's have that. For a while."

Snape sat alone in the dark for much of that night, holding tightly to those words.

***

A week later, Snape watched Harry scrub the kitchen floor. He watched as the boy scrubbed with a combination of resentment and gusto. Watched the boy glance at the Veritaserum displayed on a kitchen shelf as a prominent reminder.

But the boy had been doing well. He answered all of Lily's questions honestly and fully.

Snape was thinking of giving him chores beyond simple menial tasks. He could complete those far faster than the boy through magical means, but at first he'd been wary of giving Harry anything more complicated. The tasks where his Harry had been a true help was in brewing Restituomens and in caring for Lily during her dark times. But this child was not adept at Potions, and his past conduct with Lily was questionable at best.

Harry finished the floor and looked up at Snape, breathing heavily. Snape nodded, performing a drying spell on the floor and on the boy's sodden shirt.

"Upstairs," he said. "Start with the toilet."

Harry stood up to leave silently, taking the bucket and brush with him. Snape caught his eye As he passed, before the boy looked away. He saw a flash of the night Harry had been grounded. The boy was either feeling remorseful or resentful. He'd bet on the latter. Harry had been unusually quiet since that night, and rarely made eye contact. Snape imagined he was sulking.

He thought that he should start training Harry, as this boy had remarkably few mental defenses. He nearly projected his thoughts. But training him meant admitting that this was the boy who would fight the Dark Lord. That his son wasn't coming back. He couldn't bring himself to do it.

It eased the lurching of his heart to give this boy more chores instead.

And yet, the boy desperately needed protection. No matter how much antagonism existed between them, it had been important to investigate the matter. It was unclear whether the sacrifice his mother made in his world would shield him here. But it was certainly true that he had less protection than his son, who had been guarded threefold by the family Patronus.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft taping at the front door.

Snape glanced at the small brass clock in the kitchen and sighed. Schooling his face, he strode to the door and opened it.

Remus Lupin stood there, holding a handful of wildflowers.

Snape jerked his head at him. "Round back," he said. He closed the door in his face.

He moved toward the back of the house, passing Lily in the living room. Lily flipped down the corner of the paper she was reading. "Who was that?"

Snape paused. Her memory only lasted a couple hours these days, and she was due for a new cycle in a few minutes. "You'll see," he said. "Would you mind getting the tea ready?"

Lily gave him an exasperated look but hopped off the sofa. Cups clattered as he exited the back door. At the gate to the garden, Lupin was waiting.

"Am I allowed in, now? I thought perhaps there was a doggy door I needed to crawl through."

"Appealing suggestion," said Snape, but he stood aside to let Lupin into the garden. He indicated a small iron-wrought table with chairs scattered about it. "She'll be out shortly."

Lupin seated himself. "And Harry?"

Snape looked up to see a dark-haired figure at one of the upstairs windows. "I'll see to that now." He re-entered the living room and had almost made it to the stairs when a tangle of arms and legs barreled into him. Harry stumbled back and tried to duck around, but Snape blocked him.

"Where are you going?"

The boy tried to peer around Snape's form. "I saw Professor Lupin out back."

"He's visiting."

"I want to see him."

"Do you recall the grounds on which you're allowed to leave this house?"

"Yes," he hopped impatiently, "Sir. I need permission."

"Have I given it?"

Harry looked pained. "I made breakfast. I scrubbed the downstairs floors. I...I...Lupin helped me last year, and I want to talk to him..." His eyes searched the room as though looking for an argument that would get him outside. The boy was floundering. The boy was clearly not a Slytherin.

Snape took pity on him. "Ten minutes," he said.

Harry bolted around him so quickly, Snape felt the breeze of his passing.

He returned to the garden with Lily. She'd gotten through her disorientation quickly and insisted on carrying the tea tray out. He found Harry and Lupin whispering amongst themselves.

Lupin beamed when he caught sight of Lily and rose to help her.

"What were you two discussing?" Snape asked as Lupin and Lily exchanged greetings.

"Nothing," said Harry defensively. Snape stared down at him, but before he could peel the truth from his mind, Lupin spoke up.

"Harry was telling me that you heard from Sirius Black."

Snape approached Lupin's chair and stood rigidly over him. He watched Lily set out the tea and forced a thin smile. "He dropped us a line. I'd love to return the favor, but he neglected to supply a return address. Perhaps you could be so kind?"

A flush crept up Lupin's neck. "I don't know where he is."

"And if you did, you wouldn't tell me."

"We saw Pettigrew. Surely your own son has told you."

Harry started. "I'm not-" He bit his lip, looking from Lupin to Lily.

Despite Harry's reflexive outburst, Snape found himself relaxing. He moved to his chair and sat down. Your own son. Such words made him feel that he'd won a battle in an unspoken war. He accepted his cup of tea from Lily. She was frowning, clearly trying to follow the conversation.

Lupin accepted his own cup, then leaned toward Snape. "He's blameless," he whispered.

Snape stirred milk into his tea solemnly. His son had been very clear about Pettigrew's appearance and confession. And yet, he knew Black. His responsibility in the attack on Lily felt true; it felt right.

"Perhaps," said Lupin, "the best solution is to form a visiting arrangement, like you and I have."

Snape's hand froze over his cup. "Never."

Lily stirred her cup of tea. "Someone wants to visit? Is he a friend?"

"Yes," said Lupin.

"No," said Snape.

She looked from one to the other. "Well, is he a friend of mine?"

"Yes," said Lupin.

"No," said Snape.

Lily rolled her eyes and drank her tea.

"You once had reservations about me," said Lupin, his sandy hair falling into his eyes.

"I still do. But I can predict and restrict your bestial turns."

"He's not dangerous."

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Not with Harry. He would never-"

"Throw him to the wolves?" asked Snape mildly.

Lupin colored, and for several minutes the only sound that could be heard was the clinking of spoons against china.

"Hmm," said Lily in surprise, holding out her hand. "An inscription appears on my wedding ring whenever I touch it. 'My heart, my soul. Severus.'" Her smile was like a shaft of sunlight.

Snape felt like a teenager caught passing a love note. He coughed, reaching for a scone. "That's a private message. Only you can see it." It also prevented scoundrels from claiming to be her husband, but he didn't mention that part. She was very touchy about what she saw as his over-protectiveness. He remembered when he'd tried to discourage her from getting a job at Hogwarts. His ears were still ringing.

"How did you get engaged?" asked Harry, his eyes narrowing on the ring like it was an angry scorpion.

"Yes, tell us," said Lily. "I bet it's romantic."

She'd lose that bet. "It's uninteresting."

"I'm sure no one minds," said Lupin. "After a year at Hogwarts, we could do with a bit of boredom."

"Unless there's some reason you don't want us to know," said Harry.

"There's nothing to tell. I had my mother's ring, and I asked her." He picked at his scone as he felt three pairs of eyes boring into him.

"There's got to be more to it than that," said Lily. "Did you at least get down on one knee?"

"Yes," he said. Lily gave a little hum of pleasure while the other two remained silent.

"It sounds," said Harry, "like you're not answering her questions honestly and fully."

Did the boy lie in bed at night, memorizing his words so that he could throw them back in his face? "If you must know," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "proposing wasn't my idea."

"So I proposed to you?" asked Lily, delighted.

"In a way," said Snape.

"Do you really feel that you're answering honestly and-"

"I wasn't going to ask her, all right?" said Snape. "So she made it happen."

"You weren't going to ask me?" she said, crossing her arms.

Snape ran a hand through his hair. "Lily, you were...not well. People were already whispering about how I'd taken you in. But you were getting better, and Harry was finally sleeping through the night. The house elf lent to us from Hogwarts was a help. And just when things were manageable, you got the idea in your head that we had to be married."

"So I did ask you."

"Every day, for a month, when I set Harry down for a nap." He didn't know how her subconscious managed to dredge up the same thought at the same time every day, but it did. She'd point out that they loved each other, and they were living together, and that she wanted the three of them to be a family. He came to dread those conversations. "You'd get very angry when I said no."

"What exactly did you say?" asked Lily.

"Different things."

Lily leaned back, arms still folded. "You mean you tried different answers every day to see which one I'd accept."

Snape stirred his tea glumly. That's exactly what he'd done.

You're welcome guests, he'd said.

Visitors in our own home, you mean, she'd reply.

We're already a family, we don't need marriage, he'd said.

How terribly modern of you, Severus, she'd reply.

Even though he'd known the argument was coming every day, he had never managed to win it.

Lily tapped her scone against her plate in a staccato rhythm. "I berated you into proposing? How horrible."

"Not exactly. One summer afternoon, when I was laying down Harry, you showed up looking pleased. You had my mother's ring on your finger. When I asked the house elf about it, he said that he was forbidden to tell you that you'd put the ring on herself."

"I don't follow," said Harry.

"She was convinced I had proposed. She had the ring as proof."

Lily let out a snort of laugher as she examined her ring. "I tricked myself."

"If I thought you were angry before, it was nothing compared to what I heard when I told you I hadn't proposed."

Lily clicked her tongue in satisfaction. "Called you a liar, did I?"

"Among other names. You thought I'd gotten cold feet and was," his eyes cut to Harry, "taking advantage of your situation so I could back out."

Lupin was smiling behind his cup. "And the house elf wouldn't support your story."

"He was under orders not to," he growled into his tea. "I was only allowed to take the ring back if I promised to propose properly."

"And you did!" said Lily, curling herself around his arm. "I don't know, that's rather romantic."

"But why don't you wish to talk about it?" asked Lupin. "Surely you've heard," he glanced at Harry, "what people say about your quick marriage."

"It's not the first unpleasant rumor I've experienced," said Snape.

"But if it really happened the way you say," said Harry, "then why-"

He was interrupted by Lupin smacking his hand down on the table. "No! Don't tell me that this is about a Gryffindor manipulating a Slytherin?"

Snape was silent.

"Really Sev, I'm allowed to have the upper hand sometimes."

"You have the upper hand all the time," he grumbled.

"But what about the wedding?" Harry asked. "That was...normal?"

"I don't wish to discuss that."

"You don't want to talk about the proposal, you don't want to talk about the wedding," Lily huffed. "Can we at least look at our wedding pictures?"

"I've looked. There's no pictures of the ceremony, just afterwards." Harry eyed Snape suspiciously. "It's like we're not allowed to know what happened."

"Oh, There's nothing underhanded, I'm sure," said Lupin. Snape blinked at him, surprised by his defense.

"Anyway," said Lupin, "A photographer wasn't there, so how could there be photos?"

"I don't need a photographer to create personal photographs." The Statua frame more than sufficed. Snape paused, turning over Lupin's words. "How do you know who was there?"

Lupin choked on a bit of scone. "I, er, heard about it."

Snape stared into Lupin's eyes and caught sight of his own wedding, as seen from far away, through the branches of a tree. Then the pale eyes became hooded, and the image flitted away.

"You were spying," he accused.

"I wasn't," said Lupin. "I was...passing through."

"Through a tree? Can you also transform into a shrew? Suits you better."

Lupin grimaced. "It's not as though I was invited."

Lily made a little moue before sipping her tea. "We should have invited him, Severus."

"Invitations are given to well-wishers. And when one is not invited, one should stay away."

"I did wish well."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"To...Lily," Lupin amended. "And Harry."

"So all of your lurking about that year was to find the opportunity to congratulate me on my new family? How touching."

Lupin drummed his fingers on the table. "I had concerns."

"You wanted to take in Harry and Lily yourself."

"Not really."

Snape hunted for an opening in those eyes.

Lupin looked away. "Well, the thought crossed my mind, at the time. I wanted everyone to be safe."

"And where safer than with you?"

Lupin tapped his empty cup with his fingernail. "I would have taken precautions."

"And what exactly would you have done?" Snape leaned toward Lupin and lowered his voice to a hiss. "If Lily had one of her relapses on the night of a full moon, and came looking for you in whatever part of your house you have barricaded? Please tell me, in graphic detail, what you would have done."

Lupin's fingertips whitened as he gripped the porcelain cup. "I told you," he murmured, "it was just a passing thought." He raised his voice to a normal level. "My primary concern was that everyone was protected."

"From me."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," said Lily. "I'm sure that's not what Remus meant."

Lupin smiled weakly. "Yes, well...it became clear you didn't need my protection. Anyway," he said, nodding to Snape, "the arrangement we made for visits is far more amenable. And less dangerous. I'm not the tree-climber Harry is."

Snape leaned back in his seat. "I was under the impression that you agreed to our arrangement because you didn't want me to call Magical Law Enforcement about your stalking."

"I don't recall you having a particularly friendly relationship with the Ministry Courts at the time." Lupin sighed, composing himself as he poured another cup of tea. "And it was your wedding that made me rethink my approach. It was quite a revelation."

Snape's insides froze. "How much did you see?"

"The entire ceremony." He smiled innocently as he plopped a sugar cube into his cup.

"Well, what was it like?" asked Lily, leaning forward eagerly.

Harry had leaned forward too, but was looking from Snape to Lupin, evidently aware something was going on between them.

"Quite beautiful," Lupin told Lily. "You looked radiant."

Snape started breathing again.

"Not a dry eye in the place. Wouldn't you say, Severus?"

Snape felt an uncontrollable blush forcing its way to the surface. He stood stiffly. "Excuse me."

He heard the crunch of Lupin's footsteps behind his as he approached the back door. He spun as Lupin entered the living room after him. He searched his mind for something to attack him with. His eyes fell on the package containing the blood vial Lupin had sent before his visit. "Come to offer another blood sample?"

"Just an apology."

"I prefer the blood."

Lupin smiled wryly. "I'm not surprised." He sighed and rolled up his sleeve. "If you must."

Snape hadn't expected Lupin to agree. His supposed blood tests were only expected once a month. But it would certainly be good to have some samples in reserve. Snape led Lupin toward the passageway to his workroom.

"Oh," said Lupin as a bookcase slid aside. "A secret passageway?"

Snape grunted affirmatively, descending the staircase. "I find them useful. Despite past associations."

"We're not going to re-hash that again. You know that I wouldn't have gone along with Sirius's plan."

"You were certainly willing to go along with others. Your attempts at humiliation today must bring back fond memories of him."

Lupin growled in a disturbingly wolf-like manner as they entered the workroom. "It's just a little teasing, Severus. I don't mean you any harm."

Snape opened a drawer and brandished a silver knife. "How fortunate for you."

Lupin had a look of trepidation, but extended his arm.

Snape made the cut quickly and cleanly, and set a vial on the table below. With a tap of his wand, the droplets of blood fell in a slight arc into the vial.

Lupin watched, entranced. "It really was a lovely wedding," he said after a moment. "I wasn't joking about that."

Snape busied himself with cleaning the knife. "I was there."

"But you don't like to talk about it."

The blush was threatening to return. "I talk about it when she asks me."

"But not honestly and fully, as Harry says."

Blast the boy. "The details aren't relevant."

"If you gave in to a burst of...ah, emotion, that's not so terrible. It shows how much you love her."

It shows how much I hurt her. "She already knows that." Then he bit his tongue. Why was he confessing anything to this man? He snatched the vial and sealed it, placing a preservation charm on it. Lupin followed him as he left the workroom.

"There's tension between you and Harry these days," observed Lupin.

Snape didn't bother looking back at him as he crossed the living room. "He's not the boy I used to know."

"People change."

"He's changed into an irresponsible child with no awareness of the needs of others."

"He's thirteen." Lupin touched Snape's shoulder with a tentative gesture to stop. Snape turned to him at the door to the garden, arms folded. "It's just...you two were always so close. I remember visiting Lily at Hogwarts, eight or nine years ago, and seeing little Harry clinging to your shoulders like a..."

"A monkey." Snape fingered his robes, hearing the crackle of paper through the fabric. He didn't need to pull the paper out to know exactly what was on it: stick figures of Lily and Snape, holding hands. And a stick figure Harry, perched atop Daddy's shoulders.

A raw nausea swept over him. "I used to put a binding charm on my robes. Lily required so many potions then, but if I tried to set Harry down..."

"He'd cry loud enough to shake the walls. I remember. In those days, you had the air of a man ready to jump off the nearest bridge."

Snape gave him a dark glare, but regrettably ruined the effect when a corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"That is," continued Lupin, "you had that air until you picked up Harry."

Snape recalled one predawn morning, several months after he had rescued Lily and Harry from Privet Drive. Lily had finally fallen asleep, exhausted from the torment the curse was wreaking on her mind. Harry had been crying all night, and Snape had picked him up and carried him downstairs. Sitting in an armchair, he rocked his own body and stroked the soft round back in a rhythm that soothed the both of them.

It wasn't the first time he'd done this, but it was the first time he realized that these moments renewed him. The tiny hands clutched at his neck and he was filled with a strength and direction he'd never known.

Snape rubbed at his neck now, but of course there was nothing there. "I just did what he needed," he said to Lupin.

"He still needs you now," the man replied.

They were interrupted by a scream coming from the garden. Snape was outside before the sound had fully registered. Lily was lying on the ground near her chair. Her palms were pressed to her temples, her fingers digging into her skull. Harry was kneeling over her, hands clutching one of her trembling arms.

He looked up as Snape rushed forward. "She asked me why I wouldn't call you Dad, and I...I said his name." Harry ran his fingers through his unruly hair, his eyes wide. "I didn't think, why didn't I think?" He rocked back and forth.

Snape fell to Lily's side, calling her name. She opened her eyes, and, seeing him, clung to him. "He's inside my head," she said, over and over. He held her tightly.

Harry had his arms wrapped around himself, and was still rocking. Lupin knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, but Harry didn't appear to feel it. "What can we do?" Lupin asked.

Snape shook his head as Lily trembled against him.  The curse could do more than scrape away the past few hours, or minutes.  Sometimes it caused her to relive the moment it was cast. It was devastating in its unpredictability. 

"There isn't a potion, or..."

"They help, but nothing can stop it completely." The curse he'd created was far too powerful for that. He was filled with a cold self-loathing. He pushed it aside as best he could, focusing on Lily. He helped her to her feet. "I think it best if you go."

"Surely you need-"

"I need you to go."

Lupin opened his mouth to say something more, but then he simply nodded and reluctantly moved toward the gate. Lily leaned on Snape as he led her to their bedroom. she spoke brokenly of Voldemort's attack. He listened quietly as he stroked his fingers through her hair, ivory in a crimson sea.

Her emotional exhaustion finally overtook her. He gave her a potion for dreamless sleep and stayed in a wing chair by the bed as she slumbered.

That boy. It felt right to resent him. Then he recalled Lupin's words about Black, and wondered. He wore resentment and suspicion like an old familiar coat. Of course it felt right. But there were times when he had been served well by not trusting his instincts. Instead, he had trusted Lily. Trusted his son.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep himself until he opened his eyes at the sound of the door creaking open. Harry stood there, looking forlorn.

"How is she?" he asked.

Snape gazed at Lily. "The effects of the Restituomens potion is weakening. But I can only give her a dose once a month. She'll get worse before she gets better." He rubbed at his eyes.

"Isn't there anything else we can do?" The boy looked like he'd been ill.

Snape realized with a pang that he'd left the child when he'd clearly been in distress. But his Harry would have never...

He stopped the thought before he finished it. He wasn't going to do this. They were both exhausted, both lost. As Lily circled downward, he would need the boy's help. And the boy clearly needed to help.

He leaned forward in his seat, his arms folded over his knees. "Would you like to stay with her until she wakes?"

Harry shifted from one foot to the other. "I want to," he said. "But..." he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, "...my chores."

Snape saw his handwriting on the paper, listing the boy's chores for the day. The list was extensive. A fog parted, and Snape saw a weight the boy was carrying. A weight he hadn't asked for. The weight of a stolen child. "We can set that aside for now."

"No, I'm grounded," he said firmly. "I should do them."

"That's noble." Or masochistic. "But not necessary."

Harry was studying him intently. " I should be punished. I said..." he bit his lip. "Why isn't that one of the rules?"

Snape sighed. "It never needed to be. The other Harry learned at a very young age that his name could hurt her. He used to cry when he heard anyone say it."

Harry was staring at the cracks between the floorboards. "Do you still hate him? After...everything?"

Snape ran a hand through his hair. Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew. It had been years since he stopped checking over his shoulder for their silhouettes. And yet, they continued to hover over him. "Yes," he finally admitted. "Even if it weren't for the past...He's tangled in my life, far more than I can abide." He paused, searching for something positive to say. "I realize that's not fair."

"No, it's not," said Harry. "He didn't deserve what happened to him."

"True." Snape fingered his wedding ring, his hands heavy. "Sometimes you don't get what you clearly deserve. It's one of the few things we have in common." He stood and gestured for the boy to take his seat.

Harry wrinkled his brow as he sat. "You have something in common?"

Severus watched the soft afternoon light fall on his wife and the boy next to her. Watched their skin glow in the light, like fragile glass. Watched as Harry's breathing steadied, and matched hers. "Yes. We have that. But we also have snow in summer."

He swung his feet to the cold floor and slid his hand under the pillow. He felt a familiar easing of tension as his fingers closed around his wand. He'd once tried to magically attach his wand to his hand before he slept, but had woken to discover he'd cursed his wardrobe to ash during the night.

It hadn't made a difference. In his dreams, he was still wandless. He had no curses or shields to cast. She still died.

He stripped off his nightshirt, performed a quick cleaning spell, then dressed for the day. He stopped in his bedroom doorway and glanced to the left. The rosy light of dawn splashed across the plaster wall, across from an open doorway. He moved towards the doorway and looked into an attic room.

Light glowed from a window on the opposite wall, creating shadows on the objects shoved against the sides of the room: a wicker chair with a broken seat; a striped pillow with its insides spilling out; a stack of grammar-school workbooks, faded and yellowed by time; a small tri-corner pirate's hat. Under the brim, he could see a child's scrawl in faded chalk-marks: "Severus."

A small bed had been set in the cleared space in the center of the room, its headboard spotted with photographs. The boy was flung across it, his arm hanging over the side. His breath came in deep sighs. A pair of glasses were precariously perched on a stack of moth-eaten blankets. With his eyes closed, he was a perfect replica of James.

Snape had the sudden mad urge to attack him while his defenses were down. He pulled away and crept down the stairs. The boy was a fool for asking to stay here. He was a fool for allowing it.

A memory pushed at him: spring leaves, and a silver light. He locked it away. He had more immediate matters on which to focus.

He descended to his subterranean workroom and stared moodily at a shallow pewter bowl which held a deep violet liquid. He'd worked with Dumbledore to develop a potion that would ripple if the passageway that brought the boy here reopened. Except for the occasional swirling shadow, the liquid was as still as the night. He peered at the bowl closely. Even the swirling shadows had become less frequent. Whatever this soul's origins, it had put out new roots voraciously.

Severus clenched his hand near the bowl, willing it to stir. The boy needed to go back. Not that he wanted the other, but he understood the other. To see that familiar form, taut with anger, took him back to teenage battles on the Hogwarts grounds. It gave him satisfaction that he could make the son feel what he had always felt: fury, powerlessness, humiliation.

To have those accusing green eyes strike him with outrage and loathing... Snape swallowed. That felt right, too. But for other reasons.

Snape shuttered his feelings and focused on the book lying open on the scratched oak table. But no new information had appeared since the last time he read the passage. There were three ways that might reopen a doorway between worlds, and two endangered the boy to an extreme level, tearing his soul from his body.

The third option was safer. If performed properly, it would involve a gentle tugging of the soul away from this body, and then back to its own world. Snape pressed his fingers into his chest as he considered what he would need to do to cast the spell. No tearing of the soul. Not for the boy, at least.

He re-read the book mechanically, part of his mind wondering how Dumbledore would respond to the information he'd sent him. He hoped he could find some solution other than that third option, but the tome offered no new possibilities. He closed the book only when he heard the creak of floorboards that told him the boy was up. He girded himself before ascending the steps.

The boy stumbled into him the second he entered the kitchen.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, rubbing at his wild thornbush of hair. He stood blinking vacantly mere inches away.

It made Snape's skin itch, but he held his ground. He had learned long ago to resist the urge to back away. Potter and Black had crowed the word 'coward' whenever he showed any signs of intimidation.

The boy hovered and clung like a Remora on a shark, but there was little Snape could do about it. This was not a helplessness he could alleviate with curses and hexes. Even his attempts at insults were ineffective. They evaporated away in Harry's presence like ice in a furnace.

Harry finally moved aside, mumbling and yawning a spell that resulted in a slice of bread blackening into a thin disc. His glasses were pushed up to his forehead as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Properly awake, he frowned at the charred object. He set another slice of bread on a plate and held it out to Snape.

Snape sighed, but cast a heating spell that toasted the bread nicely. All the Muggle devices that his father had bought for the kitchen had eventually broken, and Snape had never bothered to replace them. The only one that he still used was a refrigerator that stood forlornly in one corner.

He remembered the day it stopped running, a few months after his father had died. It was the day his mother had left for parts unknown. She'd only taken with her the things she valued highly: her wand, her potions, a photo of her parents she'd always kept on her dressing table. She'd left most of her clothes in the closet. She'd left her wedding ring on the kitchen table.

Snape had reluctantly searched his own possessions. As he'd suspected, everything was still tidily in place.

It was on that day that the refrigerator had shuddered to a halt. Neither he nor his mother had ever bothered to pay the electric bill. Still, with a cooling charm, the object was useful.

However, the lack of electricity had the unfortunate effect of making the boy dependent on him. The lessening of restriction on his magic helped, but Harry's skill was focused mainly in potions in and mental defense. His cooking spells left the kitchen a shambles. So, when a meal involved more than the opening of a tin, Snape took charge.

He spread jam on the toast and handed it back to Harry. He had faced Death Eaters and Dementors to protect the boy, and yet the simple act of preparing a meal was like a punch to the chest. There was something disturbingly intimate about giving food to a child.

Harry munched on his toast as he pulled a crumpled envelope from his back pocket. "This came for you while you were downstairs."

He stared at the note he was handed. It had Dumbledore's seal on the outside. Perhaps the headmaster had found another solution, another pathway. Anything other than the option he'd discovered. He ripped open the envelope. There were only four words inside:

It must be done.

He focused on the words until his eyes hurt. Then he folded the message into his robes and turned to Harry.

"Get dressed," he said.

Harry frowned as the put his plate in the sink. "Are we going somewhere?"

Snape nodded curtly. "Godric's Hollow."

* * *

The warm air was cut by a cool breeze as they Apparated onto the street, Snape holding tightly to Harry. Before them stood a skeleton of rotted wood and broken glass. The rooms and stairwells could be seen through the blackened holes in the siding.

A war raged inside Snape. It took everything he had to keep himself immobile and expressionless. He took several deep breaths and slowly released Harry.

Harry approached the house softly, as though he might wake someone within. It wasn't until he passed through the front gate that Snape was compelled to follow. He stepped through the jagged frame that had once held a front door. He could taste mildew and soot in the air. He heard a shuffling, and spied the boy in a dark corner of the entrance hall.

Harry was staring at the floorboards as if they hid a terrible secret. "Do you know how it happened?" he asked.

He did. He'd never asked Dumbledore for the details, but word of the Potters' deaths and Voldemort's disappearance had blazed through the wizarding community. Snape caught most of the details from the whispers of his colleagues, and his vivid imagination had supplied the rest.

"I heard this is where he died," said Harry, gazing down the hallway. "That bit's the same, I think. But Mum..." Snape unwillingly followed the boy's eyes to a set of warped stairs leading upward.

Harry carefully tread on the first step, which let out a creak. He paused, slowly shifting his weight forward, and the step held. Climbing slowly, he checked each step for sturdiness before moving forward.

Snape's joints had turned to ice. He had visited this house, climbed those steps on so many nights, after he had tossed and turned himself to sleep. First, as a young man, with the blood pounding in his veins, unwillingly seeing the two of them together, curled against each other. Later, he saw himself, curled over her cold body.

Now he could only see the stairs rising above him. Gravity pressed heavily on him, far too heavy for him to ascend. He heard roaring water, battering against his carefully constructed walls. He would turn back. He would write Dumbledore, tell him...something...

The boy paused on the fifth step and turned, crouching down. Now at eye level, he peered at Snape through his thick lenses. Then he slowly descended and threaded Snape's fingers through his own.

"Best if we climb together," he said. "Less dangerous."

Snape found himself placing one foot above the other on the steps. The wooden boards groaned, but held their weight. They reached the old nursery, which was little more than four walls now. The roof had caved in, and the floor sagged toward a sharp-toothed hole in its center.

Harry leaned forward to look through the hole, balancing precariously on the rotted boards. Snape felt a tug. He looked down to see that his knuckles were white against the boy's hand. He jerked Harry backward onto firmer ground before releasing his grip.

His skin chilled in the cool morning air. Through the crumbling roof tiles, he could see grey clouds gathering. "The protection was created here," he said.

"Her life for mine," whispered Harry. "My dad told me that I had the same protection when I was a baby. He said that right afterwards, she was...it was like a living death. But he brought her back, and the protection faded." He rubbed at the scar on his forehead. "We had to create a new protection for me. For all of us."

Snape heard his words though a fog. His tongue was thick and heavy as he spoke. "Her sacrifice...may protect you here. The spell may be connected to you both."

Harry's eyes moved across the room, following the thought. "And if we're connected by that protection, there's a pathway? A way back home?" His eyes shone. "I could go home today."

A restlessness crept into Snape. He attributed it to a desire to complete the task. Soon, the boy would be away from him. No more stomping feet, cheeky grins, constant questions.

No more thoughts of what could have been.

A memory nagged him again, at the corner of his consciousness. A wisp of silver, spring leaves on an oak tree. A hand clutching his arm. He shoved it from his mind and began the chant that would begin the first step towards sending the boy home.

A blue mist blossomed from his wand. The incantation caused any spells cast in the room to appear in physical form; magic made flesh. It was only in this way that Snape could see the magical protection in physical form, see if it was entwined to both Harrys. Only then could his soul be guided away, and the other returned.

The blue mist rose, obscuring the morning sky visible through the broken roof tiles. The magic within the room began to manifest. Tendrils of wood grew from the floors, twisting upward and outward. Plaster dust showered down as the walls bulged and snaked outward, tangling around the wooden columns. The house creaked and groaned. Snape and Harry stepped around the limbs as they grew, the air thick with the scent of moldy plaster and burnt wood. When the spell was complete, a forest of tendrils was woven throughout the room, knotted and twisted around each other. They rippled gently, undulating against magical currents.

Harry clambered over a thicket growing out of the floor. Snape moved toward him, rubbing a finger against a small tendril. It was warm and smooth, the grain of the wood visible on the surface. Perhaps a manifestation of a simple spell: a levitation, or a Lumos.

Harry peered at the swaying, twisting limbs over Snape's elbow. "Brilliant," he whispered.

"Mmm," said Snape. But he was pleased; he'd never attempted this spell before.

They picked their way carefully around the tendrils. Some were thick, corded through with the matter they'd manifested from. Others were thin and whip-like, poking at the air as they coiled and curled.

Snape pushed aside a thick, fuzzy column and saw it: black tendrils, knotted in a throbbing mass. They twisted and writhed, rasping against each other. The smell of charred wood smothered him.

Avada Kedavra.

Snape led Harry around dark tangle. They both kept well away from it. He heard the laughter of boys passing outside, uncaring of what had happened in this very spot.

Behind the snarled knot stood two pale yellow branches, thick as Greek columns. Wound around each other, they reached through the blue mist towards the sky. They thrummed like a distant summer storm.

Snape reached forward and rested his hand against the warm limbs. A scent surrounded him.

Lilacs.

The boys passing outside had stopped, as their shouts were getting louder.

"Mum," whispered Harry. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the tendrils. They rumbled in response.

They both stood there for a moment, leaning into the living heart of the protection spell.

"What do I do?" murmured Harry.

Snape reluctantly removed his hand from the tendril. "What do you feel?" he asked.

Harry pressed the length of his arms around the twined pillars. "Hmm. Soft blankets. A warm hand on my face. Arms holding me."

Snape's heart twisted, but he kept his face still. "You're attached to the protection."

Harry turned his face toward him, his face alight. "I can go home?"

He nodded. Casting another spell, the two limbs glowed, and smaller tendrils erupted from the smooth golden skin. They reached toward Harry, prodding him. Beckoning like little hands, a tiny chorus of whispers vibrated through the air:

Come home, come home.

Harry closed his eyes as a small yellow finger brushed his cheek. "I can feel it," he said. "I can go back."

The air was thick with blue mist, and it should have obscured Harry's features. But instead, Snape found himself noticing small details he'd never seen before. Details he'd never seen beyond the features of James Potter: the way Harry's nose turned up just slightly at the very tip, how the tops of his ears stuck out of his untidy hair, the spattering of freckles across the tops of his cheeks.

Lily's freckles.

Another tendril skimmed across his neck, and the boy shivered.

Snape eyed him, and felt that they were both teetering at the edge of an abyss. "I thought Gryffindors were known for courage," he said.

"I can't help it," Harry whispered. "It's like...something's coming. Don't you feel it?"

He did indeed. A yoke pressed upon his chest, and he had the deep urge to look over his shoulder. One of the boys outside shouted something, and the words finally became clear.

"Filthy Mudblood!"

It hit him like a splash of icy water. He realized, to his horror, that the voices weren't coming from outside the house. There weren't even coming from outside the room. The voice shouting those words was his own, high with anger and adolescence. Two words he would regret for the rest of his life.

He shook his head, forcing the memory back. The dark places of his mind were being twisted forward, wringing out his fear, his guilt, his shame. He and Harry locked eyes.

The weak light did not hide the color draining from the boy's face. "Dementors," said Harry. The boy tried to raise his wand, but was bound by the tendrils that enclosed him. They sank into his skin, trying to pull the soul from his body. A defenseless soul that a Dementor would greedily devour.

The sight of Lily's hurt and angry face blazed in front of Snape's eyes. He set about undoing the spell, but his talent and skill had abandoned him. It took three stumbling incantations before the tendrils drew away. Harry took one step forward and crumpled in a heap.

Snape raised his wand to create a Patronus, but before he could utter the words, a death rattle filled the room. Frost seeped into his bones. The world tilted, and he was upside down, hearing the laughter of Potter and Black. He forced himself to stay in the moldering room. The images from the past spun away, and he found himself on the floor, a short distance away from Harry. A small, round man with pointed features was leaning over the unconscious boy.

"The Dark Lord was right. You could not resist the draw of this place. You saved us so much trouble, little Harry Potter. My master has need of your body...and your blood." The points of his fingers pecked at a vein on the tender flesh of Harry's wrist. Then he snatched at the boy, grabbing Harry's arm. With a heave, he slung him onto his back. His head twitched from side to side. Shifting Harry's weight, he twisted, offering his face to full view.

With a shock, Snape recognized him. "Pettigrew."

Pettigrew jerked violently at the sound of his name. Then he saw Snape through the falling mist, and gave him a crooked grin. "Oh, he's eager to see you too, but there's only time for one. We shall see to your body later. As for your soul..." He gestured, and Snape heard the scrape of sinew on bone behind him.

He turned, and the smell of decay overwhelmed him. A Dementor closed in.

"Expecto patronum." His throat closed around the utterance. A thin thread of silver spun from his wand, breaking apart into curling wisps.

He heard Pettigrew stomping towards the door. A moan from the boy being carried away across his shoulders. A sharp cry.

He tried again, but it was no use; he could not imagine ever being happy, not in this place.

The Dementor's dark hood surrounded his face, cutting off the light. He must save the boy. But he was tumbling into the dark recesses, slipping down, down... He felt the long, bony claws of the Dementor tilt his head upward.

And then, a memory, of silver and spring leaves, a clutching hand-a memory he had been pushing away all morning-burst to the forefront of his mind.

He was lowering his wand, watching the dappled sunlight filter through the budding branches. Something glimmered behind the curve of a gnarled oak tree. He stepped closer, the soil spongy under his feet.

Two silver does stood side by side.

Lily was clutching his arm, her wand still out. Her eyes were wide. "What does it mean, Severus?"

Severus could only stare, filled with a curious lightness.

The cold fingers released him. He fell, the wooden floorboards knocking against the back of his head. A brilliant light flooded him.

He pushed himself onto his elbows, blinking against the radiance. His eyes focused, and he saw a silver doe bounding lightly over a thicket of tendrils. She cantered to a stop where the wisps of his attempted Patronus were trailing weakly along the floor. They gathered around the doe's hooves, glowing. The fragile curls grew and transformed into a cloudy shape, and then there were two does standing side by side.

Severus blinked, and tried to push the memory away again, but the does remained. They were truly there, not just an image from the past. Then he recalled the something Harry had said to him, when he'd first entered this world. That his Patronus was just like his mum and dad's. A doe.

The first doe turned and nuzzled the other. Their noses touched, two points of darker grey. The point of contact became hazy, and the two forms rippled, gentle waves lapping toward each other. The hazy forms flowed inward, merging and coalescing.

And then, a single silver doe was moving slowly toward him. She shone more brightly than his Patronus, a soft glow springing from each delicate hair on her coat. Her large eyes shone as she dipped her head close to his chest, as if to reassure herself that he was well.

It hurt to look at her. And yet, she was his. He could feel the essence of himself radiating from deep within her.

She shimmered, undulations coursing through her. Then she broke apart, waves of light cascading downward. The light poured over Severus, frothing against him in millions of tiny starbursts, seeping into his skin.

It was the sheltering peace of quiet after a storm. He breathed deeply, and was buoyed by a sense of connectedness to another life...to Harry. For a brief moment, he could feel the truth and the power of it.

The light faded, and she was gone.

He gazed at the empty space remaining before he remembered his surroundings. Scrambling to his feet, he pushed a tendril aside. It crumbled at his touch. The effects of the spell were receding.

He saw the boy over the tops of the broken tendrils. He could see that he was trembling, but he was standing on his own two feet. He held a defensive posture, his wand out, in a stance that reminded Snape of himself.

The Dementor had vanished, and the rest of the room appeared empty until he heard a scrabbling in the corner. Pettigrew was huddled there, amid the dust and debris. He rubbed his arm and moaned.

"I've got his wand," said Harry, revealing the slip of Hawthorne in his left hand.

Snape strode around the thicket of branches to stand next to Harry. "We're leaving. Now." He directed his wand at Pettigrew.

The man who had been trembling in a corner a mere moment ago moved like a thunderclap. He spat a short incantation, and the second wand Harry was holding flared red. The boy cried out. The muscles in his left hand convulsed, closing in a tight grip. His lower arm rippled with dark magic.

Snape grabbed Harry's left arm, holding his wand inches from the boy's hand. "Expelliarmus!"

The wand held fast. The curse worked its way up past his elbow. Ragged cuts formed as the muscles tore away from the skin. The boy moaned, his knees buckling.

Pettigrew threw out another incantation. Snape held the still-clenched wand out, away from Harry. An oily liquid gushed from it, splashing down with a hiss. The droplets gathered and snaked towards them, eating through the floorboards greedily.

Snape flung out a hex, and what remained of the roof rained down on Pettigrew. He dragged Harry behind a heap of broken tendrils, hurling defensive spells behind him.

Pettigrew scrambled behind a chunk of broken plaster, calling for his wand.

Harry howled as his arm snapped into a straight line away from his body. The wand sunk into his hand quivered, trying to pull him towards Pettigrew.

Snape wrapped an arm around the boy, who had fallen unconscious. He kicked a broken branch toward the advancing acid, and watched it devour the obstacle. He felt the strain of the forces pulling the boy away from him, and made a decision.

A rough chant over the clenched hand. He gritted his teeth against the popping and snapping as magical forces pried the small fingers backwards.

The cursed wand fell to the floor. The liquid advanced on it. The two met, and sparks showered upward.

Pettigrew leapt from his hiding spot. "Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem!"

Snape smiled grimly and hauled the boy toward the stairs. He hoped the blasted wand was eaten away to the core.

His hope proved wanting.

They were in the upstairs hallway when Pettigrew's curse hit the wall behind them. Fissures streaked out from the point of impact. The house trembled.

Snape thudded down the first few steps, his arm aching with the weight of the unconscious boy pressed against his side. He stumbled, his shoulder slamming against the wall.

Another blast, and there was a splintering crack beneath him. With a lurch, the stairs collapsed in a crash of splintering wood.

Spikes of wood jabbed at him as he fell. Throwing one final hex, Snape held the boy tightly and Disapparated.

They landed in a heap in front of the house at Spinner's End. Snape wasted no time in hustling the boy inside. Harry's breath was coming in fitful gasps as he laid him on the living room sofa. Snape ripped open the front of the boy's shirt and tore off the sleeve. The arm had turned a sickly yellow-green color, and a spider web of veins were spreading over the surface of the skin.

Snape murmured in a rhythmic voice, working against the dark magic. Harry fell against the faded cushion, his eyes rolling back into his head. Snape felt the sweat trickling down his temples as he watched the black lines crawl toward the boy's heart. Harry released a long, rattling sigh.

Then silence.

Snape choked on his chant, his mind stuttering to a halt. This had not happened. He had not failed. "Wake up," he muttered. A fire roared to life in him. "You will answer me," he ordered, his voice battering the walls. "I have not tolerated your insolence, your laziness, your recklessness and stupidity, all for it to come to this! Do you hear me, Potter? Potter!"

Nothing.

"Harry?"

His legs gave way, and he sat down heavily on the floor. The memory welled up in him again. What does it mean, Severus?

Nothing, he had finally told her, as he memorized the placement of each tiny freckle. It means nothing.

With trembling fingers, he reached out and touched the boy's cheek. The skin was still warm, and light downy hair brushed against his fingertips. He watched as his hand stretched into the distance, and darkness edged into the corners of his vision.

A prickling in his palm brought the room back into focus. Beneath his fingertips, a silver light glowed. The brightness grew, rippling through his arm and hand, his fingernails turning translucent.

Snape pulled his hand away, and the light suffused Harry's face. There was a pulling inside of him, at something warm and familiar. He could smell rich earth, feel the press of ground against hooves.

The boy jerked like a puppet on a string and rasped in a deep breath.

Snape stared, dumbfounded, as the web of black veins curled and shriveled under the skin. Coming to his senses, he bundled Harry into his arms and carried him upstairs. The boy was moving restlessly by the time he placed him in his small bed.

Harry's eyes snapped open. His gaze darted wildly until they settled on Snape. "Hey," he said, yawning, as if waking from a nap. Then he groaned, his body curling around his injured arm and hand.

"Lie still," Snape instructed, conjuring a chair next to the bed and closely examining the cursed areas as he knit the cuts along the arm. The veins had faded, but the arm was still discolored. The yellow-green color had congealed into lumpy splotches across it. Snape suspected they would turn into large pustules if he didn't find a way to remove the residue of the curse. He made a mental checklist of the potions needed. Then he cradled the smaller hand in his own, resetting each bone and mending each joint with delicate precision.

"Better," said Harry, touching his affected arm gingerly.

"No numbness?" he asked, keeping the roughness out of his voice. If there had been no feeling, there was a strong chance he would have had to remove the arm. Numbness in the hand was not as serious, but it might have kept him from climbing, or Quidditch. Severus realized he couldn't bear that.

Harry shook his head. "Just sore." He struggled to sit up. "Did I muck things up for you?" he asked.

"I'm rather used to saving your life at this point." Snape placed a hand on Harry's chest and gently pressed downward.

The boy fell back on the bed weakly and sighed. "I meant Pettigrew. You attacked one of his servants."

Snape replayed the morning's events. "It is not irreparable." He studied the boy. "You're aware of what I must do when the Dark Lord returns?"

Harry nodded, his eyes far away. "This might have been my last summer here. Once he returns, if Dumbledore insists I stay within the defenses of Hogwarts year-round..."

"Then...your father...can claim he is unable to break those defenses and deliver you to the Dark Lord." Snape paused. "It's a precarious position."

"Nature of the job, my dad says."

"But if you have no magical protection in your world-"

"I have protection. We both do. Didn't you see it?"

Snape recalled the silvery light that had filled the boy when he touched him. It had brought the boy back from the threshold. The silvery light that was so like... "The doe?"

Harry nodded. "Patronum Duos."

Snape breathed in sharply. "When two family members share the same Patronus, the two can merge into one..." He remembered the feeling that the doe had been of himself, but more than himself.

"It's rare. And when the whole family shares the same Patronus..."

"Patronum Totus." The protection was extremely powerful. Once established, the Patronus did not need to be consciously summoned, but emerged in times of great need. "My touch...cured you." His hand ghosted over the injured arm, landing on Harry's chest. The strong beat of the heart reassured him. "But that should not have happened. I am not connected to you the same way my counterpart is."

"We're connected," Harry said softly. "Maybe there was someone else in that room. Someone who could sense what we both need."

"No." Snape stood, turning his back to the boy. The grief that had been threatening to overwhelm him all day was too close to the surface. His mind frantically threw up barricades. "It does not matter, in any case. We cannot return to the house, and that eliminates the one chance we had to return you home."

"But...if we were careful...my Invisibility Cloak..."

Snape had no desire to return to that place, but there was a moment of regret before he faced the boy and shook his head. "It will be closely watched for magical activity. Perhaps, eventually, the Dark Lord will focus his attentions elsewhere, or after he's defeated..."

The light faded from Harry's eyes. "You mean years from now."

Snape focused on the buttons of his robe. He fingered them gingerly between a thumb and forefinger. "It's not so intolerable here." He glanced around. "If you wished to clear out some of this old rubbish, perhaps..."

The boy shifted, raising his good arm to finger a photograph stuck to the headboard. The photograph of Lily, silently murmuring as she stirred her potion. "It's nothing to do with what's here," said Harry.

Snape had the vague feeling he should say something. "I will brew a potion to cleanse the curse from your system. And...lunch. You should have lunch. Until then, you should rest."

The boy nodded listlessly, his eyes once again fixed into the distance. Snape could think of nothing else to say, so he left the boy lying on his bed.

Harry drank the potion, but left his lunch on the tray near the bed. A few hours later, an untouched dinner joined it.

By the third day, Snape had given up threatening and cajoling and sent off a message to Dumbledore.

Stay with her.

In the past few days, those three words had consumed his every waking thought.

Grime had collected in the grooves of the tiled kitchen floor, but he was no longer expected to scrub it away. His list of chores had shrunk from an arm's length to one item:

Stay with her.

He was going to do this. He was going to prove to her--to both of them--that he could do this one thing right.

Lily was sitting near him at the kitchen table, stirring the dregs of her oatmeal. Every few seconds she would pause, staring into the bottom of the bowl. Then she would start again, stirring, the murky remains circling like the thoughts in her head.

She was at the end of her cycle. The final days when the curse had regained ground, but before she could take the Restituomens potion and be restored again.

"You should eat more," he said to her.

She dropped her spoon, startled. Her green eyes were dark but steady as she turned toward him. "Who...?" she began.

Harry pressed his forehead against the tabletop. He couldn't answer that question again. He simply couldn't. "I'm Harry," he said to her. "Your son." Snape had told him he could say this, that it wasn't a lie. He put every effort into the words, filling each one up with the feelings he had for her. He wanted each word to have magic in it, to make her remember, to fix what was broken.

It was a few moments before he could find it within himself to look up again.

Lily was watching him closely, as though seeing deep inside him. She reached out and touched his hair, his face. "You're so young," she said. "I shouldn't see that face on someone so young."

There was no sign of recognition. She'd already forgotten his words. It was to be expected. Her lapses were only a few seconds apart now.

But it still hurt.

"Mum," he began, but was interrupted by Snape entering the kitchen.

The lines around the man's eyes stood out sharply, and his hair clung to the sides of his face. The heady scent of the Restituomens ingredients wafted around his body.

Harry rubbed his hand through his own slick hair and imagined that they made quite a pair. The two of them spent every spare moment watching over her. When Snape could break away, he worked on Restituomens. When Harry wasn't watching over her, he was poring over the Potions books he found in the house, determined to understand what would help her recover. Determined to learn enough so that he could find a way to fix this.

But it was like trying to fly without a broom. He'd hunch over an advanced Potion text in the muggy evenings, ignoring the itchy beads of sweat springing down his arms and back. Reading the same passage over and over, the words skittering past his mind no matter how much he focused on them. He'd toss a book aside, until he remembered that his counterpart had read and understood these books. Had helped Snape prepare the potions his mum needed.

So he'd pick up the book again, telling himself he could do better. That he had to be better.

Snape cast a cooling charm across the kitchen. The blistering heat faded away for the moment.

"Severus," said Lily, turning in her chair to look up at him. Her face was open and welcoming. She remembered him instantly. She always did.

Harry felt a sharp stab in his heart. He turned over the past few hours, looking for something that could have helped her remember him. It made him think of his cupboard at the Dursleys. Curling up in the cramped space, he would run over the day. Tried to think of something he could have said or done to avoid that single finger pointing toward the dark space under the stairs. He couldn't stop trying then. And he couldn't stop trying now.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself back to the kitchen, and what needed to be done. He raised his eyes to Snape in a silent question.

The man shook his head. "The temperature dipped below the acceptable range for a few seconds. I'll brew it again this afternoon."

Asking Snape anything about potions reminded him strongly of classes in a dank dungeon. But he'd tentatively broached the topic. Snape had fetched the parchment that showed the formula he'd developed.

Harry's hopes that he could brew it for her this month had been dashed. The entire process took hours, and the slightest deviation from the instructions--some of which he could barely understand--caused the concoction to be worthless. The timing was also essential: a fresh brew, given on an exact day. Too soon caused a toxic interaction with last month's potion. Too late left her in a coma. Even Snape had difficulty with the demands. Harry knew his ability in Potions made him useless to her.

So he would stay with her, and take care of her. But he wanted to do more. He had to do more. He looked desperately at Snape. "Isn't there something...anything...?"

Snape gazed down at him with his fathomless eyes. With a rustle of robes, he sat near Lily. He leaned close to her, murmuring, asking her questions. Simple questions. "What do you hear?" and "What do you feel?"

Lily fell into the rhythm, answering back. "I hear rumble of your voice," "I feel the swell of magic inside me." It had a lilting, chanting quality to it, like lullaby that rolled on and on.

Snape paused and took Harry's hand, placing it over Lily's "Try," he said, offering an encouraging nod. He started to chant again.

Harry repeated after him, tripping over the words. There was a beat to the mantra he couldn't catch. But he did his best, listening to the words, feeling the heat where their three hands were joined, and finding strength in the strange ritual.

That afternoon, he helped Lily into the living room. He'd taken to memorizing bits of his day. Little things, like the fat rabbit he'd watched turn purple as it nibbled on one of the plants in Snape's potion flowerbed. Or how he'd managed to reach the first level of branches on the bubblefruit tree out back. He didn't care for climbing much, but he felt like he should try it, and tell her about it. He described each detail carefully, thinking hard, trying to push the feeling of remembering it into her.

She nodded silently, smiling at parts. She reached out and laid her hand over his, her face clearing for a moment as she looked at him. "It's okay, you know," she said. "You don't have to try so hard."

Harry shook his head, but a frenzied scrabbling inside him lessened. "Try so hard at what?"

Lily began to speak, but then her face clouded, and her eyelids fluttered. She fell forward, going limp in his arms, her body sliding slowly off the sofa.

The sense of peace he had begun to feel quickly left him. He grabbed her sholders, his hands sliding across the thin cotton of her shirt.

She slipped through his fingers and crumpled in a heap on the floor. Her eyes stared sightlessly ahead. Like she had never existed.

He swallowed the panic rising in his chest. "Mum?" he asked, hesitantly laying a hand on her forearm. His heart pounded in his ears. He held trembling fingers to her lips.

A gentle warmth.

He pulled his hand back. A choking sound came from his throat. She was still breathing. But...was it too late? Was this the coma? Harry glanced at the clock, but he clearly recalled Snape saying that they had until morning.

"Mum, wake up, please." He rubbed her hand frantically.

Her eyes focused for a moment, and she stared deeply into his eyes. She breathed in and out slowly, her pupils widening, as if she had just seen the most beautiful sunset. Then her eyes glazed over and unfocused again, and her body became dead weight. She looked like a discarded rag doll.

Breathing heavily, he laid her head gently on the floor. She was getting worse...maybe even falling into a coma early, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to help her.

He raced to the bookcase that concealed the workroom. Then he stopped and paced back to where Lily lay. Snape was working on the Restituomens potion. She needed it. It might be the only thing that would save her, and any disturbance might destroy it. But his mum was lying there, looking like she'd never laughed or sung or tousled his hair.

He couldn't bear it. He pounded against the bookcase until his jangled brain brought forth the password: "Dragonwort."

The bookshelf slid aside, and Harry flew through the entry. He crashed into Snape at the bottom of the steps.

Snape staggered from the impact, and gripped Harry's arms so that they both maintained their balance. "I heard pounding," he said. "What-"

"It's Mum," said Harry. He kept a tight grip on one of Snape's arms and trampled up the stairs, dragging the man behind him.

As soon as Snape saw Lily he fell towards her and knelt. His wand out, he touched her gently, checking her breathing, her pulse points. Then he leaned back and took a deep breath, hand against his forehead. "She's fine," he said.

Harry was dumbfounded. "Fine? How can you say that?"

Lily's eyes opened and closed in a slow blink, as though the movement cost her great effort.

Snape ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek. Lily closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, as if it were something to be savored. "This is how the cycle always ends. She has lost all memory. Each moment, as it happens...that is her whole world." He looked at Harry, and there was an apology in his tone as he continued. "I've been distracted. I thought you already knew this. But that was..."

"The other me," Harry finished for him. The other Harry knew. The other Harry wouldn't have panicked. The other Harry would have known how to help her.

Snape nodded. "Well, you do have a passing resemblance." He waved his wand over Lily and chanted the light-as-a-feather spell.

"But...I...what do I do now?" Harry had been ready to help with a life-saving spell, a rush to St. Mungos, a plan to do...something. Now he was just standing there, feeling damp and twitchy.

Snape gathered Lily easily in his arms and stood. "There's nothing more you need to do. She will be like this until morning, when I can give her the Restituomens."

"The potion." Harry pressed a palm against his eyes. "It's ruined, isn't it?"

Snape was silent for a moment. "I will brew it again this evening." He carried Lily upstairs.

Harry groaned and paced across the sitting room floor. He couldn't stand still. He glanced at the bookcase and remembered the password: dragonwort. It was one of the ingredients for Restituomens, and it had to be harvested the day the potion was made. He headed for the garden.

The heat outside hit him like a brick wall. The plants were only kept from wilting by Snape's watering spells. The dragonwort was doing well, blooming in a small stone-lined plot near the gate.

He kneeled in the dirt and started working his fingers around the roots. He would get the plants ready for Snape, and then at least he'd have done something helpful.

The sun beat down on him. The dragonwort plants were scraggly things, long scars running along their stems. The heads held large, multi-colored blossoms, and seemed too heavy to be supported by the thin body of the plant. But the blooms were held high, turned toward the light.

Harry ignored the heat as best he could and kept working. He'd weeded the flowerbeds more times than he could count at the Dursleys. He'd never minded weeding as much as his other chores. He remembered once, after he'd weeded a particularly thorny patch, Aunt Petunia had given him the barest flicker of a smile.

There was a creak of rusty hinges as the back door to the house swung open. A moment later, the blast of the sun was muted by a long, thin shadow falling over him.

Harry didn't look up from his work. His fingers dug deeply into the soil, finding comfort in the crumbles of rocks and dirt.

"What are you doing?" asked Snape.

"It's one of the ingredients for the potion. I remember-" He paused for a second, silently cursing his tongue.

"Harry," said Snape.

He shook his head and went back to his work. "I know, the rules," he said. "But I'm already grounded, so can I just finish this?"

"Harry, stop," said Snape.

"Just tell me how much you need--"

"Stop," repeated Snape. He heard a sigh. "The dragonwort blooms must be cut from plants that have never been removed from the earth."

Harry stopped digging and stared at the pile of limp plants at his side. "So I destroyed them. For nothing." He stood up, looking at Snape for confirmation.

The man rubbed the heel of his hand against the droplets of sweat gathering at his temples. "They can be replanted," he said. He conjured a small wooden divider to separate the flowerbed into two sections, and then knelt, carefully gathering the pulled plants.

Harry gaped at him. "But...you said that they're useless. They're completely useless." An anger filled him, and he tried to grab the plants out of Snape's hands, to tear them to pieces.

Snape pulled away from him. His hand curled protectively around the flowers. "They're not useless."

"So...you can still use them? For the potion? They can give her back...I mean, they can fix her?"

Snape stared at him with somber eyes. "Not everything can be fixed, little one." He adjusted the plants and laid his palm along Harry's cheek.

Harry shied away, sitting back on his heels. "I'm not little," he muttered. "Tomorrow's..." he stopped, shifting uncertainly.

"Tomorrow's your birthday. I know." Snape gave him a small smile.

Harry's heart beat faster at that, although he wasn't afraid. He shrugged, not knowing how to respond. He gestured toward the plants the man still held. "So...what can they be used for, then?"

Snape glanced down at the plants, then gestured for Harry to kneel forward with him in front of the flower bed. Pressing his fingers into the soil, he carefully hollowed out a space, then nestled each flower in its tiny plot of land. Many of the plants listed to the side, or sprawled out across the ground.

"They don't look very good," said Harry.

"They'll get better."

"But they'll never be the same."

"No. They'll never be the same." Snape gathered soil around the last flower and pressed it into place. "Do you see the scars along the stems? Do you know what they're from?"

Harry traced a long, jagged scar on one stem and shook his head.

"From struggling out of the rocky earth. It tears at them, shredding some of them. But some survive their wounds to grow and bloom."

"Couldn't you plant them in softer soil?"

Snape shook his head. "Then they wouldn't be dragonwort."

Harry waved his hand at the newly planted flowers. "What about those, then? You said they weren't useless. But if I ruined them, they're just a bunch of scarred-up, scraggly things that are no good to anyone."

"But they'll live. They'll reach for the sunlight. They'll bloom." He stood, pulling Harry up with him. He held onto one of Harry's hands, rubbing away the dirt with his thumb. He frowned at what he saw. "It was that bad at the Dursleys?"

Harry looked down and saw that he'd dug so hard into the rocky soil that his fingers were bleeding around the nails. "I did that myself. Just now."

"Hmm," Snape agreed. "You stayed with her, as I asked. What did you learn?"

"I...I was supposed to learn something?"

"She's taught me. I...well, I have a tendency to hold grudges, sometimes."

"Er...yeah. I've noticed."

"I'm sure," drawled Snape. "I don't claim to be perfect. But I watch her. How she walks free while I'm stumbling, dragging weights behind me. Everything that was done to me. Everything I've done." A shadow flickered across his face. "It helps to only hear and see and feel in the moment." His thumb traced along the tiny grooves in Harry's palm. "It's helped with you, I think."

Harry thought he should pull his hand away, but didn't want to. He remembered the chant from this morning. What do you feel? He couldn't answer that, not at this moment.

"She can teach you, Harry. To see yourself. What you can offer her."

He flashed to the image of his mother on the sitting room floor, eyes as wide and still as death, and how he stood there, with nothing to offer her.

His throat twisted. Before he knew what had happened, he was gasping, tears leaking out of his eyes. "I learned...you were right," he said, finally pulling his hand away to wipe at his eyes furiously. "About me. I can't be her son. I..." Every word Snape had snarled at him since he'd entered this world came back to him, feeling true, feeling right. "I don't know what it means to love her. There's nothing...nothing inside that can do anything..." The tears were flowing more freely now, and the back of his hand had gotten slick from his attempts to rub them away. He clamped his jaw together to prevent his body from betraying him further.

"You're wrong," Snape said, producing a handkerchief from his robes. With quick movements, he removed Harry's glasses, placed a hand on his chin to tilt his face upward, then pressed the clean white linen against his eyes. "You're not empty, little one. You're overflowing. And she can see that. We both can."

The sunlight shimmered through the whiteness. The cotton was a whisper of softness against his face.

A barricade ruptured deep inside him, and with a shudder, the first sob tore out of his throat.

The handkerchief was removed and arms pulled him firmly forward, until his body shook against stiff black robes.

"I...I'm not..." Harry stuttered. A hand was pressing the back of his head against Snape's chest, and his words were muffled.

"What's that?" asked Snape, and the hand disappeared.

Harry moved his face to the side. "I'm not little," he managed to get out. He couldn't remember when he'd been this close to another person for this long. His arms hung limply at his sides, his hands grabbing fistfuls of air. "I'm near-nearly fourteen," he gasped.

He tried to gather the strength to pull away. A voice in his head reminded him of every insult he'd suffered in Potions class, every derisive look, every moment in the past three years that told him not to trust this man. But another voice, from deep within, was now screaming something without words, something bottomless and primal.

"Well," said Snape. The hand had returned, and was rubbing his back in a rhythm that was smoothing the sobs from his body. "Your birthday isn't until tomorrow. Humor me and be my little one for a while longer."

The voice deep inside him won, and Harry wrapped his arms around him. And he found that he didn't feel little. Not anymore.

Harry faced a blurry pile of...something. He'd stopped wearing his glasses, as he kept falling asleep with them on, and there was nothing in this attic room to look at, anyway. His Quidditch posters were locked away in another dimension, being looked at by some other Harry. And he'd never see them again.

He heard a knock at the front door down below, but didn't bother moving. Not-his-father would get it. Or he wouldn't. It made no difference to him.

He squinted at the pile again. Without his glasses, it looked like a deformed troll. In fact, now that he'd thought it, he couldn't imagine it being anything else. But surely it must be. He searched for his glasses.

He'd just put them on when the door burst open. A large red-haired woman entered, surveyed the room, and uttered a loud "Harrumph!"

Harry stared at this strange phenomenon. "What...?" He began.

"Harry," said the woman. "Well, first things first." Hurtling toward him, she pulled him from the bed. The hem of his shirt was up over his head and then peeled from his body before it even occurred to him to put up a fight.

The woman was examining the limp cotton drooping from her fingers. "Completely filthy," she decreed, and squeezed it in her fist as she looked round the room. "Where's the hamper?"

"I don't need one," said Harry. He crossed his arms over his naked chest in embarrassment. "I just have the one set of clothes."

"You just have the one set...?" The woman turned toward the door, where Snape was entering, his body stiff with anger. He looked ready to shout at the woman, but she interrupted before he began.

"Severus Snape," her voice rang out. "Why does this child only have one set of clothes?"

"I...what?" said Snape.

"I moved here suddenly," said Harry. "I didn't pack much. He rubbed at his sides. "Can I have my shirt back now?"

The woman harrumphed again, but performed a cleaning spell on the shirt. "We'll wash them properly once we get you some extra clothes."

Harry reached for the shirt and yelped when she pinched the skin over his ribs. "What was that for? Who are you?"

The woman shook her head. "Poor dear. Lost his head from hunger." She leaned forward and shouted at him. "I'm Molly Weasley, dear! Ron's mother!"

"He hasn't lost his head," Snape said in a long-suffering voice. "He's never met you. He's from another world. Or didn't Dumbledore mention that when he was giving you the passwords to my home?"

"Really, Severus," said Molly, stripping the sheets from the bed. "I'm hardly an enemy combatant."

Snape looked unconvinced.

Molly finished stripping the bed and scanned the room again, her eyes landing on Snape. "Yes, I'll have those too, I think."

Snape glanced from her to the exit as though planning his escape. "You'll have what?"

"Your robes. If you haven't noticed, I'm doing laundry, and I'll wager you haven't had a proper laundry day in ages. Cleaning spells are for basic maintenance, you know." She waved her wand at the pile of sheets on the floor, and they bundled themselves up into a floating ball of linen. She gave Harry a sidelong glance. "And you," she said. "I want you downstairs eating something. I'll cook dinner tonight, but you simply can't wait." She stared at the two of them, tapping her foot. "Well?"

Snape had regained some of his composure. "Do what you like with the child," he said. "But this is my house. You cannot order me about."

An hour later, Snape and Harry were sitting at the kitchen table. Snape wore a Muggle shirt that was an ugly shade of green and had two buttons missing. He picked at a thread where a button was supposed to be.

"You put up a good fight," said Harry.

Snape growled at him.

"Well," said Molly, bustling in. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Soon you'll both have clean sheets and clothes. So what did you two have for lunch?"

Harry started guiltily. "We, er, haven't eaten yet."

Molly muttered something about heads being screwed on and opened the refrigerator door. She stared at its interior for a solid minute, then closed it. "Severus," she said without turning, "why is there only a loaf of bread in there?"

Snape's brows knitted together as though he'd been asked a trick question. "The beans are in the cupboard."

Molly crossed her arms and faced him. "Beans on toast? That's what you were planning on having for lunch?"

Snape rubbed at the back of his neck. "I like beans on toast."

"And what did you make for lunch yesterday?"

Snape glared at Harry as though this conversation were his fault. "He wouldn't eat anything yesterday."

"But if he had eaten? What would you have given him?"

Snape was silent a moment while he stared at his fingers. "Vegetable bullion," he finally answered. "With honey-glazed ham, and a side of...apple..." he trailed off when he caught Molly's eye. She was looking at him like he was one of the Weasley twins, stink-bomb in hand. Snape let his arms fall into his lap. "I like beans on toast," he muttered.

"Well, the boy can't survive with just beans on toast," she said. "I'll make something proper once-oh, there they are," she said as she heard a nervous tapping at the front door. "Come in!" she shouted.

Snape stood up. "You cannot invite-"

But the door had already opened, and Ron popped his head inside. "Is it safe?" he asked. Before anyone could answer him, he was pushed through the door by the twins. All of them were carrying large bags.

"Blimey, so this is what it looks like," said George, surveying the sitting room.

"I told you, there aren't any-" began Fred.

"Oh, yeah."

"And not a single-"

"Right," said George resignedly.

Snape was studying them. "What are you two blathering about?"

"Oh, just a little bet we had going this morning," said George, straightening and carrying his bag into the kitchen. "I'll pay you later," he muttered to Fred.

Ron was still standing in the sitting room, clutching his bag like a lumpy teddy bear. "Come on, then," Fred called to him. "Nothing to be afraid of. No skeletons of missing Hogwarts students hanging from the walls, like you were saying."

"I wasn't!" Ron squeaked, giving Snape a wide berth as he entered the kitchen.

"Yes, that's good," said Molly as the twins emptied out the contents of the bags. There were piles of food and clothes. "Set the clothes over there, that's a dear, and start slicing the meat for the sandwiches." She started passing the sandwiches out as soon as they were made. "The first one's for you Harry, poor thing. And Severus," she said, levitating a plate to where he sat. Snape studied the sandwich like a dissected toad while the rest were passed out. "Now eat up, everyone. Especially you two," she said firmly, glaring at Harry and Snape. Harry bit into his sandwich obediently. Snape pried a piece of crust from his and nibbled at it.

"You'll be leaving, now that you've fulfilled your duty?" he asked.

"There's still dinner to be made. Dumbledore told me to stay as long as Harry needed me."

Snape glared at his sandwich. "I never agreed to that."

Molly studied him carefully. "You know, I never noticed how thin you are. Perhaps it's those Muggle clothes."

Snape stiffened. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Molly sighed. "No clean laundry, beans on toast every day." She shook her head, but her mouth was set. "Well, I'll do what I can before I leave."

"You'll do nothing. I'm perfectly content with my life."

Molly clucked her tongue disbelievingly.

"Uh oh," said Fred. "Someone just got adopted."

"You'll get a jumper this Christmas," George informed Snape. "Big 'S' plastered right across it. She'll check in to see that you wear it, too."

Snape narrowed his eyes at the twins. "It occurs to me that this would be an excellent time to discuss your sons' academic progress. I believe I have my records in my work room downstairs."

The twins went slightly green. "Would you look at the time," said Fred, not even glancing at the clock. "Best dash."

"Now boys," Molly protested. "I could use your help making dinner."

"Ron can do it," called George as the door closed behind them.

"Wait...what?" said Ron, his mouth full of sandwich.

Molly tilted her head at Snape. "How are they doing, anyway?"

Snape took a bite of his sandwich and leaned back. "Terribly, I'm sure."

"And their records?"

"At Hogwarts. Feel free to leave here and retrieve them."

"Really, Severus. I'd think we weren't welcome here."

"You only think it?"

"There's nothing wrong with having a few people over occasionally."

"I prefer a household of two."

Harry looked up. "Two?"

Snape choked on a bit of sandwich. He coughed and stood up. "I have work to do. I'll be downstairs."

Molly's head whipped around to the table. "Did you finish...?"

Snape snatched the half-eaten sandwich from its plate. "I'll take it with me, you blasted woman."

Molly nodded contentedly and resumed her work as Snape stalked out. "Harry, would you like to help Ron and me with dinner?"

Despite their best efforts, Harry and Ron were soon outside, playing one-on-one Quidditch. Mrs. Weasley had chased them out of the kitchen after the third spill, and charmed the back garden with a privacy spell. They did without brooms and kept the snitch low to the ground.

Ron won the first round by catching the Snitch with a slide toward the corner of the garden. He lobbed it toward Harry. The Snitch zipped out of the arc and upward, but Harry scrambled onto the fence and caught it with an outstretched hand.

As the afternoon waned, the smell of roast lamb and carrots wafted out the back door. Molly had propped open the secret passageway in a pique of frustration at using passwords constantly. Snape remained shuttered in his underground workroom.

Throughout the game, Harry found himself watching the back door and sniffing the air, checking for the faint scent of brewing potions.

After a particularly long match between the two of them, Ron leaned forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He examined the back of the house in the slanting sunlight. "I always imagined him living in a mansion on a hill," he said. "With bats, and lightning."

Harry flopped down on a thin patch of grass, letting the slight breeze waft over his sweat-stained shirt. "He doesn't control the weather."

Ron joined him, sitting cross-legged and running his hands through the damp hair at his temples. "Right. But you know, all dark-like."

"Did you also imagine him sleeping in a coffin?"

"I never imagined he slept at all."

"He's just a bloke, Ron."

Ron nodded, and they were silent for several minutes. Ron coughed awkwardly as he reached into an inside pocket of his robes. "I have something. For your birthday."

"Oh." Harry felt his face heat slightly. He hadn't expected this. He didn't even know when Ron's birthday was.

Ron kept his eyes on the envelope he handed over to Harry. "It was really for..."

"Him. Right." Harry turned the envelope over in his hands. "You don't have to give it to me."

"It's nothing. Bill can't make it, so even with you coming we still have an extra...well, open it up and see."

Harry did so, and found a glimmering ticket inside. His heart gave a happy skip. "Quidditch World Cup?"

"Yeah! Dad got tickets for all of us. It'll be brilliant."

Harry nodded, cautiously hopeful. "I'll ask as soon as he comes back up."

"Ask...?" said Ron. Then he groaned, sprawling backwards onto the ground. "Snape. He'll never let you go."

Harry frowned. "He has been hovering a bit since the attack. I've been catching him lurking at my door. He'd call me a lazy child with a martyr complex and stalk off, but then, an hour later...I don't think he likes having me out of his sight."

"He's left you to yourself today, though. That's a good sign."

Harry shook his head. "He popped his head in the kitchen a few times. And out the back door while we were playing."

Ron stiffened. "When? I didn't see him."

Harry grinned. "He prefers it that way." He studied Ron appraisingly. "You said you have an extra ticket?"

"Yeah, we're trying to figure out who to invite." Ron caught Harry's meaning and paled. "No. Absolutely not."

"I'd stand a much better chance of going if he did."

"It's not my decision."

"But you could talk to your mum and dad?"

Ron rubbed at his eyes. "Fine. I'll ask." He raised his head in horror. "I don't have to give him the ticket myself, do I?"

Harry snorted in amusement. "No. It's better if I do it myself. Make him think it's his idea."

"How do you do that?"

Harry cocked his head in thought. "Well, the first step is to live with a Slytherin for thirteen years."

"I'll pass. Just promise he won't make the whole trip miserable. If he turns me against Quidditch, I'll never forgive you."

"It'll take more than a few snide comments to turn you against Quidditch. Just wear an extra-thick skin."

Ron shook his head. "I don't know how you do it. I mean, even with you being his, er, his..."

"Son?" said Harry tiredly.

"Er, yeah. Even with that, he's not exactly cuddly around you, is he? Some of the things he says...our Harry wouldn't have made it five minutes here."

"Huh," said Harry, watching the light play across the ticket. "But...they're just Bludgers, aren't they?"

Ron looked at him blankly.

"Something I figured out about my dad. I think it's true for him, too," he said, nodding at the back door that led to the work room entrance. "I'd watch him with students. They were usually trying to stay out of detention, or avoid points being deducted. And he'd distract them faster than you can say go. They'd lose sight of what they were after-the Snitch, you see-and start flailing around at his insults."

Ron's eyes lit up. "The Bludgers."

Harry nodded, shrugging. "You wouldn't let yourself lose a match because you wanted to turn round and attack a Bludger, would you? Focus on what you want from him. Keep your eye on the Snitch."

Ron gazed at Harry thoughtfully. "What do you want from him?"

Harry shook his head and lay back on the ground, staring at the sky. "I don't know anymore. I...I just want to look into that face and see my dad."

Ron stared at the ground and plucked at a tuft of grass. "My first year at Hogwarts was...tough. Sometimes...I'd pretend my dad was there. Think about what he'd say to me."

Harry rolled onto his side to face him. "What would he say?"

Ron smiled shyly. "Oh, you know. 'Chin up. Be yourself. It'll turn out all right.' Stupid dad things."

Harry smiled back. "Stupid dad things."

"What about yours?"

Harry looked back up at the sky. "He'd threaten to hex my legs off if he caught me climbing one more thing." Harry pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. "And he'd ask me what my heart was telling me."

"Yeah?"

"He'd ask me all the time. I used to take it very seriously. Then I thought he was having me on. Now...now I'm not sure. But whatever I told him, he'd just...listen. Like I was saying the most important thing in the world."

"He never struck me as a bloke who listened to his heart."

Harry shrugged, lost in thought. "Maybe that's why he wanted to listen to mine."

Ron frowned, then shook off whatever he was thinking. "So? What's it telling you now?"

"To keep trying." Harry sighed. "It tells me that a lot."

"You going to listen?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his thumb against the ticket's slick surface. "I don't think I ever stopped."

Snape stared down at the twisted World Cup ticket drowning in a dark puddle and recalled a phrase he'd heard since his youth. The promises of Slytherins, they'd said, are like snakes in your cellar.

Three weeks ago, he'd made a promise. Three weeks ago, that ticket had lain crisp and clean inside its envelope, propped against a brightly wrapped package on the kitchen table.

But the birthday boy only had eyes for the baseboard. He'd stopped abruptly when he'd entered the kitchen, and scuffed his trainers against the tiled floor. His eyes had flicked toward Snape, then around the kitchen--everywhere except toward the gifts on the table. "Did you need me to clear the table for breakfast?" he'd asked. "There's...er...some things on it."

And Snape understood. Harry was a boy who took risks. But even after yesterday afternoon in the garden, even after laying his soul bare…there were still some risks he couldn't quite manage. "The gifts are for you," he'd told him. "And Harry? You're safe. Safe as houses. I promise."

Harry had believed him. He'd believed it himself.

And three weeks later, that ticket was clutched tightly in Harry's hand as they walked toward the stadium for the Quidditch World Cup. Banners of every color snapped in the wind as the three of them joined the queue entering the stadium.

Lily detoured to say hello to a group of Bulgarians they'd met in the time leading up to the match. They had arrived weeks ahead of time, as was required of those with cheaper tickets. That was all Snape could manage to get.

Well, it wasn't all he could manage. Snape frowned as he remembered Lucius Malfoy's offers to give them box seats. No, not just offers. Insistence that his family join the Malfoys in the box seats.

It had been a year after Voldemort's attack on the Potters that Severus had seen Lucius Malfoy again. They'd spotted each other amidst the bustle of Diagon Alley. Lucius had several elves in tow, carrying his packages. Snape carried his own packages, along with a dark-haired toddler tightly fisting his robes.

Two grown men, and yet, Snape felt the urge to crane his neck upward, as he had when he'd been eleven and first met the blond boy. The tall, older boy who had promised to watch over him.

Snape had been determined to impress the boy with intelligence, skill, cunning. To prove himself worthy of the name Slytherin. It became his habit to boast of a new accomplishment each time he met Lucius.

Standing in the street of Diagon Alley, he knew he could not trust the man. He knew they were no longer on the same side. He knew his loyalty now lay with Dumbledore, and Lily, and Harry.

But some habits are hard to break.

Before Malfoy could offer one sneer over his choice of wife and son, Snape was spinning out words. Nothing direct--never so blunt as that. Bland comments. Implications. That he was now the keeper of the boy who had destroyed the Dark Lord. That anyone who held that place would find power and influence.

And finally, he'd seen what he'd always longed to see in those stony eyes: Envy. Respect.

He'd later told Dumbledore--and himself--that it would cement his place within the inner circle of former Death Eaters. It had taken years of greedy looks over the boy before he had realized that he'd made a mistake. But by then, all he could do was refuse the increasing amounts of galleons and insidious comments Lucius offered him. Such a troublesome thing. I could take him off your hands. It's not as if that mother of his will miss him. I promise I'll watch over him.

The promises of Slytherins...

Harry grunted when he saw the long queue leading into the Quidditch World Cup stadium. "Can't we just apparate in?"

Snape shook his head as he watched an owl soaring low over the heads of the people milling outside. "Apparating is banned in the stadium. No need to buy tickets if we could apparate in."

"Oh, right." Harry scuffed at a tuft of grass in the dirt and looked impatiently at the man in front of him, as if he were personally responsible for the slowness of the queue.

"In any case, I wish to give this to you before we enter," said Snape. He removed what looked like a small sphere of black fabric from his pocket. As he held it in his hand, it slowly transformed into a flesh-colored ball.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Salvus," said Snape. "A potion I created."

"Potion? Looks more like a charmed object."

"It's brewed until it thickens. And it is ingested." He handed the sphere to Harry.

Harry held it between thumb and forefinger, examining it. After a minute, the ball turned slightly pinker to match Harry's skin. "It'll make me…camouflaged?"

"No, that's merely a property I included to make it harder to detect. A problem with potions is they lack the element of surprise. One's enemies tend to see one drinking down vials."

"Great," said Harry, watching as the sphere as it took on the appearance of his fingertip, complete with a translucent nail. "Now I can look like an inconspicuous cannibal who's nibbling on a bit of his own flesh."

Snape ignored the jibe. "It's true purpose is to be another type of portkey."

"Oh, like that thing that brought us here?" Harry pressed the pink object between his forefinger and thumb. "Where would it take me?"

"The idea was for it to transport the user back to his home."

Harry looked sharply at him. "Home?"

"Our home," Snape clarified. "I like to think of myself as an accomplished brewer, but I'm not capable of brewing something that will transport you across worlds."

Harry's shoulder's relaxed and he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Oh, that's all right," he said, smiling. "So if I spot any trouble, I just swallow this, and I'll be back at Spinner's End?"

"Ah. There have been some problems in development. In its current stage, it only transports the user about 100 meters from his current location."

"There's lots of times I've wished I was about 100 meters away." He tilted his head up at Snape. "You said problems, plural. There's something else?"

Snape shifted his gaze to the owl gliding on air currents above the milling witches and wizards. "I see you were paying attention when we discussed picking up subtle verbal cues. Picking up such cues is often seen—"

"—as a sign of intelligence by Slytherins. Yeah, you mentioned. You also mentioned something about Slytherins using compliments to sidetrack someone from getting the information they want. So, there was another problem with the Salvus?"

His gaze settled back on the boy. He couldn't help but be pleased, although he was reluctant to answer Harry's question. "The Salvus only transports the organic matter of the individual."

"Organic matter? You mean…" Harry made a face. "I'd get transported with no clothes?"

"I'm working on it."

Harry handed the Salvus back to him. "Keep working."

Severus snorted, but put the Salvus back in his pocket. "A little embarrassment—"

"A little!"

"—is a small price to pay for your safety."

"I have an idea. How about you take it, and when everyone's distracted staring at your bits, I'll make a run for it."

"I won't allow you to—" Snape began, but he was interrupted by the owl overhead swooping down, neatly dropping a package in his hands. Lupin's address was neatly printed in small lettering on the front.

He carefully folded back the brown paper and held up a small vial. The thick blood inside the glass glowed amber in the sunlight.

"Checking Lupin for…moon cycle irregularities?" Harry asked, eyeing the vial as they moved toward the front gate.

Snape cast protective and preservative charms on the vial, avoiding Harry's eyes. "It is what I require of him if he still wishes to visit. Any change in his moon cycle could be dangerous."

"Uh huh." A pause. "I think I'm picking up some parts of Restituomens. The preparation before brewing, anyway."

"Good," said Snape, his voice noncommittal.

"While I was studying, I noticed that one of the ingredients for that potion is werewolf's blood."

"Is it?" said Snape, feigning surprise.

Harry turned and gazed at Snape. "Anything you'd like to tell me?"

Snape turned the vial over in his hands before pocketing it in his robes. "I…may not check it for moon cycle irregularities."

"You don't say."

"Do not arch your eyebrow at me," said Snape as they entered the stadium. "Lupin would be happy to know his blood is used for a good cause."

"He would be happy to know that. Why don't you tell him that it's for Mum?"

Snape frowned. "Then he would be doing me a favor."

"That's a bad thing?"

"I would owe him."

Harry ran his hands through his hair. "He wouldn't see it as…he'd love to help…" He grunted and tugged at his hair. "He hates submitting a blood sample like a criminal. You know that, right?"

"I require the ingredient. And he is helping Lily, whether he knows it or not." Snape brushed at his robes absently as he felt a smile flicker across his features. "His embarrassment is simply a side benefit."

Harry shook his head. "You're the one who needs a potion. For a terminal case of nastiness."

"I'll shall endeavor to live up to your shining example. By the way, if I ever needed Draco Malfoy's blood for a potion…?"

"How much blood?" muttered Harry before he caught himself.

Snape smirked at him.

Harry grumbled as he pulled a creased copy of the Restituomens instructions out of his back pocket. "Fine. Maybe it just runs in the family," he conceded, bending his head over the scribbled lines.

Snape's breath halted, but Harry seemed unaware that his words had any impact.

They had never spoken of that moment in the garden on that scorching summer day, and he could not think of anything momentous that had happened between them in the weeks after. But something had shifted. Snape reached out and rested his hand on top of Harry's head, smoothing down the disheveled hair as he'd done so many times with his own son. Harry, his shoulders hunched as he memorized a section of the potion, relaxed slightly at the touch.

Lily rejoined them at their seats with an armload of pastries. "Banitsa!" she said, handing them both several of the paper-wrapped treats. "They're giving away free ones in some big spectacle at half-time," she gestured toward a large gate near the snack stand, with cavernous pipe protruding from it. "but I thought you'd like some now."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"It's the traditional Bulgarian pastry!" Lily insisted. "Harry told me he wanted to try a traditional Bulgarian dish."

"Did he?" Snape said. Lily's new Bulgarian friends were excellent bakers, and Harry had "tried" Banitsa about twelve times since they'd arrived.

Harry hunched down in his seat as he munched. "It's tradition," he mumbled. "For...good luck, and...things."

"Yes, you're adamant about supporting Bulgaria every time you get hungry," said Snape. He nodded toward Harry's rosette which glowed green in support of Ireland.

"I haven't completely decided. I have Irish friends...but there's reasons to support both teams. Bulgaria has a lot of...er..."

"...traditions," finished Snape.

Harry ate his Banitsa in silence. Flaky crumbs fell to the floor, and Snape started when he saw a lime-colored mouse snatch it and scamper away.

Lily grimaced. "Petrof was telling me about it when he gave me the pastries. Wizarding Mice. They keep the place free of litter."

"A few cleaning spells would have the same effect," Snape grumbled.

"Rumor is that Ludo Bagman thought this would be more festive."

"Bit too festive," said Harry, who had to shoo away a pink-furred mouse that was running up and down his robes. "This one wants to play with me instead of work." He made another shooing motion, and the creature finally ran off.

"At least they're staying away from me," said Snape.

"They probably figure you'd conjure mousetraps," said Lily.

Snape merely smiled.

"Shame we don't have drinks to go with these," said Lily, munching on her pastry. Or something more filling. Like a meat pie. Or a cheese pie. Or--"

"Yes, all right," said Severus, standing up. "I take it a visit to the food vendors is in order."

"I'll help," said Harry, brushing crumbs off his robes. The brightly colored mice danced around his feet.

"You'll miss the opening ceremony--"

"I don't mind. You'll need help carrying all that."

Snape was about to give him a lecture on levitation charms when he noticed that Harry was studying the floor again. Perhaps it was the mice.

He kept his lecture to himself stepped into the aisle, gesturing for Harry to follow.

Harry nudged Snape's arm when they reached the vendor area. "I'll get the drinks, you get the pies."

Snape reached into his pocket. "Take this with you."

Harry held his hands out in protest. "I'm not taking the Starkers."

"It's not called a Starkers, it's called a Salvus. I just have a few kinks to work out--"

"Kinks is right."

"Quiet, or I'll put one in your Banitsa."

"Look, I'll be right over there, S-- er, Mister...Professor Snape." Harry winced.

Snape sobered immediately. Professor. It was too formal. Severus would make them both uncomfortable.

The other was too much to ask.

After a moment of awkward silence, Harry gestured to a line a few meters away. "You'll see me the whole time."

Snape nodded, and Harry joined the queue for fizzy drinks and butterbeers.

"Did I hear the boy right? Professor Snape?" a voice in a slight Bulgarian accent called out.

Snape turned to see a tall, heavyset man in chocolate-colored robes step up to him. He nodded assent, warily.

The man showed no such reservation. He grabbed Snape's hand and pumped it eagerly. "I've been looking for you all week! I was hoping we could talk a bit more about our favorite subject, yes?"

Snape pulled his hand away. "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure…?"

"Not of a true meeting, no," the man's laugh echoed out of his great barrel chest. "But I've gotten ahead of myself. Nikolai Radomir, at your service."

Snape felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Professor Radomir. It is indeed my pleasure." Nikolai Radomir was known for his research into other worlds, and he and Snape had corresponded regularly over the summer.

"You had mentioned the World Cup, and I had hoped we would find time to talk…"

After a few minutes of talk about the upcoming match, Snape steered the conversation toward their research. "Your last message mentioned a possible new lead," said Snape, his heart pressing against his chest. "A pathway?"

"Some promising new discoveries on the connection between worlds. Protection is a common theme. The literature speaks of a guide from within…" he trailed off as his eyes lowered to something behind Snape. "Ah. Is this a student of yours?"

Snape turned to see Harry, carrying an armful of drinks. His fingertips were white as they pressed into the cups.

"Not precisely," said Snape. "This is my son—"

"I’m just Harry," said the boy, the ice in the drinks banging against each other as he stepped forward. "So," he said, the word small and hard, "having a good chat?"

"Harry," said Snape in a low tone.

The boy ignored him. "You know about other worlds, then?"

"Oh yes," beamed Radomir. "It's my specialty. Are you studying the subject with your father?"

"I'm nowhere near as interested as he is," said Harry, jerking his head sharply toward Snape. "He's riveted by the subject. I could jump headfirst off the top bleacher and he wouldn't tear himself away."

Snape tilted his head politely toward Radomir. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion at a later time," he told the man. He laid his hand on Harry's head.

Harry shook the hand off and stalked away.

Radomir handed Snape his new Owl address, nodding his understanding. "Difficult age, this."

Snape caught up with Harry as he was stumbling up the stairs toward his seat. The drinks he held were sloshing over the rims of the cups and spilling onto the carpeted stairs. Wizarding Mice darted out to lap it up.

"Your behavior was inexcusable," Snape hissed at him.

"Then I won't excuse myself," said Harry. "What does it matter, anyway?" He stopped for a moment and gulped in a deep breath. "You'll soon be rid of me and my inexcusable behavior."

"If we had found a way back, I would have told you," said Snape. "It's unclear how long such a discovery may take."

Harry grunted as he worked his way to his seat. People sitting in the row yelped as soda and butterbeer spilled on their laps. "So I'm, what? A hobby? Something to keep your parenting skills fresh?"

"You're nothing of the sort--" Snape stopped as he heard his name called. Lily was looking up at him, happy. And surprised. A new memory cycle had started since they'd left.

She tilted her head and looked at Harry. Blankly.

"I need to get out of here," muttered Harry. He turned around and pushed against Severus, backing them both out of the row. Spectators sniped at them as ice joined the puddles of drinks on their laps.

Snape stopped him once they reached the aisle, planting a hand firmly on his chest.

Harry stared up at him, thin lines standing out between his eyes. "I want to be alone."

"I will not allow you to be alone here. I need to keep you safe--"

"Don't say that word to me," said Harry.

Lily had followed them out into the aisle. "What's going on?"

"Harry is--"

"Harry!" said Lily, recognition flashing in her eyes.

A high-pitched groan escaped the Harry's throat. He tried to slip around the two of them, but Snape curled his fingers firmly around the boy's upper arm.

"Ergh," said Lily. "Look what's coming our way."

Snape glanced up and saw Lucius Malfoy gliding his way down to them, looking like he'd rather not be touched by anyone who had the temerity to sit in the cheap seat section.

"Be civil," he hissed. "We have an alliance with Malfoy."

Harry and Lily greeted his announcement with baleful looks.

"Now is not the time to debate it," he said. Gryffindors would never understand.

"Severus," Lucius said formally, looking entirely comfortable in his velvet robes despite the late summer heat. "I expected your family to call on us. "I'm sure you can see our box seats from here. With your omnioculars, perhaps."

"Why would we want to look at you lot?" said Harry.

Snape moved his hand to lay on Harry's shoulder. Lucius frowned at the boy. "More discipline is in order, Severus," he said.

"Reasonable advice," said Snape dispassionately. He felt Harry tense, and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Lucius studied the restraining hand before his glacial eyes landed on Lily. "Ah, yes. The…wife."

"Malfoy," Lily's voice dripped distaste.

Lucius raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Yes, that's right, dear," he said in his slowest voice.

Snape took his hand from Harry's shoulder and fingered the wand beneath his sleeve.

"Be careful how high you set yourself above others," Lily said to Malfoy. "You might find that someone will kick that pedestal out from under you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Malfoy. "But then I'd expect you to be rather…muddleheaded."

Malfoy laid the barest emphasis on mud.

With a murderous look, Harry launched himself at Malfoy.

But Malfoy was faster than the boy. He sidestepped the attack and grabbed a fistful of dark hair, pulling Harry against him. "Such manners," he said, making tutting noises. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask the boy to leave." A few spectators turned in their seats at the disturbance. Malfoy let go of the boy's hair, although his grip around his body remained firm. He nodded his head at someone in the distance.

Snape's heart was pounding in his ears, but he kept his face blank and his eyes searching. At last, he spotted two massive bulks in robes a few aisles down, headed their way. The senior Crabbe and Goyle. Some things never change, even down the generations.

"Let go of my son," growled Lily. She stepped forward, wand gripped tightly.

This was quickly escalating towards a battle, and he didn’t like the odds. Severus lay a hand on the crook of Lily's elbow and focused his attention on Malfoy. "It's not like you to resort to manhandling," he said, keeping his voice low and even. "There are new kidnapping security spells in use. They won't allow you to forcibly drag a child out of the stadium."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. Once I offered a few…unofficial contributions, the staff was quite helpful in describing the security at the stadium--and its loopholes."

At that, Malfoy slammed a hand into Harry's chest.

Snape and Lily jerked their wands up instinctively, but Harry stayed on his feet, staggering slightly at the impact.

When Malfoy pulled his palm away, however, Snape saw that a rosette supporting Bulgaria had been planted squarely in the middle of Harry's chest. It burrowed into the robes, as Harry pulled an arm free to yank at it. He gave out a cry of pain at the first tug and looked up desperately. "It won't let go."

"Yes," drawled Malfoy. "Certain rosettes were designed to be portkeys, to transport the winners to first-row seats when Bulgaria scores. However, this port key's destination has been...altered, slightly."

Snape had no doubt that Malfoy had a gilded cage ready and waiting for his prize. And they were only seconds away from the start of play on the Pitch. There wasn't much time before Bulgaria scored and Harry was stolen away. Pulling Lily out of the line of fire, Snape slashed out with his wand.

Malfoy was too fast for him. He threw a shield up and deflected the stunning hex. But Lily was ready for a fight. Her wand was a blur in the air, striking out with curses that weakened the shield.

With a growl, Malfoy retreated to steps leading higher into the stadium, dragging Harry along with him. A man wearing a pointed, flashing "support Ireland" hat stood up, his eyes flicking between the four of them as if he was unsure if he should get involved. But at that moment, trumpets announced the start of play, and the aisle filled with people rushing to get to their seats. The man was bowled over, and Malfoy was lost in the throng.

Lily dove headlong through the crowd, and Snape followed on her heels.

Snape scanned the area for Harry and Malfoy. He spotted Malfoy at the top of a stairwell leading to an exit, struggling with Harry. Harry had pinned Malfoy's wand arm against the metal banister. The wand dangled uselessly from his hand, but Malfoy had his other hand on Harry's wrist and was yanking viciously. Harry had thrown his weight against Malfoy's arm, but Malfoy was a large man and Harry was quickly losing the tug of war.

"Hex?" questioned Snape.

"Charm," said Lily, flicking her wand.

A long metal strut pulled itself away from the wall of the stairwell with a squealing noise and formed into a flat metal hand. The hand struck Malfoy on each side of his face with two resounding thwacks.

Malfoy howled and stumbled back.

The crowd around them had become enthralled by the game. There was a deafening cheer from the crowd. Snape's heart leapt in his chest. He turned quickly to scan the scoreboard.

Ireland had scored, not Bulgaria. The portkey in the rosette hadn't activated…yet...

Harry dived down an aisle stretching towards the field. Snape and Lily both headed towards him, but a blast of ice from Malfoy's wand froze their robes to the steps. Lily cast a heating charm while the spectators around them cheered on, oblivious to the icicles hanging from their beards.

They split up, Snape moving toward Malfoy. Lily ducked around a cluster of metal supports, heading towards Goyle, and he lost sight of her.

He still had the Salvus, he realized. Snape fumbled in his pocket as he ran, pulling out what looked like a ball of black lint. After a few moments, it transformed, its oblong shape turning flesh-colored. He turned a corner, searching for Harry. If Harry swallowed it, it should transport him without the portkey. A little embarrassment was a small price to pay to avoid lifelong imprisonment.

He turned another corner, and saw Harry at the top of a landing. Malfoy was there with him, trying to stun him. But years of Quidditch had paid off, and Harry twisted and turned, using his small size to prevent Malfoy from grabbing onto him and getting a clear shot.

Snape hurried toward them, but his way was blocked by Crabbe. The man was like an immobile mound of earth—and so were his blocking spells. Snape conjured bricks and lobbed them at the immense bulk of flesh. One got through the shield, and struck Crabbe directly on the forehead. The man blinked. It had no other apparent effect.

In desperation, Snape called up to Harry and threw the Salvus towards him.

His aim was terrible, the Salvus flying several feet over Harry's head. But Harry wasn't a Seeker for nothing. He climbed on the stair railing, balancing, and caught the Salvus in one hand while pressing his other hand against the wall for support. Harry frowned at the Salvus for a moment. Snape was ready to shout several choice words at him if teenage embarrassment prevented him from taking it. But Harry brought the hand to his mouth.

Malfoy took that moment to slash at him with another hex. A series of darts emerged from the man's wand and arced toward the boy.

Harry ducked, throwing himself against the man walking past him on the landing, who had just opened a bag of Bertie Botts beans. One dart landed directly on the man's neck, and he immediately passed out, rolling a few yards on the carpet. Beans went flying down the stairs.

Crabbe was watching the spectacle, his mouth hanging open, his eyes following a neon pink bean as it bounded down the steps.

Snape took advantage of his distraction and tackled him with a stunning spell. Crabbe sagged, his jaw going even slacker. Falling with a whump against several standing spectators, he slid slowly to the floor. Snape searched the stairs for the Salvus, but didn't see it. Then he realized he wouldn't. It had hit the sack of beans as it flew out of Harry's hand. So it would look like…

Snape groaned and grabbed the neon pink bean. He waited a few moments for it to transform, but it did not. Just to be sure, he took a nibble. It tasted of sand and rubber. Ergh. Beach ball flavored. He ran up the steps, ducking Malfoy's curses, which were now directed at him, and snatching beans as he saw them.

Harry was scrambling down the stairs, doing the same. He made faces as he threw each bean into his mouth. He looked surprised as he chomped down on a brown and yellow one resting on the step above Severus.

"Salvus?" asked Snape breathlessly.

Harry shook his head. "Broom flavored. Not bad, though."

Snape spotted a lone bean in the aisle. Its color was changing, turning from a dark brown to a purple that matched the color of the carpeting. "There," he said.

A mouse with baby-blue fur spotted the bean and raced after it, its beady eyes shining brightly.

"Wizarding Mice," grumbled Snape, and he and Harry stumbled after it. They ended up between the hot dog stand and the meat pie vendors in the snack area. The mouse had the bean between his paws and was about to nibble it.

Harry snatched the mouse's tail and pinched. The mouse gave a squeak and dropped the bean indignantly.

Harry made one last scramble forward and grabbed the Salvus. It changed colors, swirling into a flesh-colored hue again. He held it up triumphantly.

A flashing light caught the corner of Snape's eye. He turned to see the scoreboard blinking around scrolled words:

"Free meat pies for the next 15 minutes, courtesy of Sal's Meat Pie Emporium!"

"Harry..." he began, but he was cut off when a horde of wizards and witches swamped the area, stampeding toward the snack stands. Harry was lost in the swarm.

Snape held his position and looked for Harry. He heard a shout, and saw Harry standing in an archway that faced the Pitch. On the other side of Harry was the opening of the massive pipe. The side of the pipe read, "Free Banitsas! Compliments of Petrovich's Bakery."

"I got the Salvus!" shouted Harry. He held up a small object, now flesh-colored.

"Take it!" shouted Snape. The further away Harry was from this, the better.

"But I'm near the exit!" said Harry. "I can just…" he stopped and frowned as a loud rumble came from the pipe near him. He frowned, peering into the cavernous opening.

Crabbe was recovering and scrabbling for his wand, which was lying near them. Severus kicked it down the stairs and ran toward Harry. "Get away from there!" he shouted at the boy.

Harry leaned toward him, frowning. "What? I can't—"

Snape had just reached the top landing when a deep roar emanated from the interior of the pipe. Snape turned towards the pipe mouth to see an ocean of creamy yellow liquid rolling towards them.

"Run—" said Snape, and then a mass of milk and flour hit them both.

Snape had always wondered what flying without a broom would be like. He had never imagined this. All he could see was pale yellow, and he could barely feel Harry through the sticky mess. At least they seemed to be landing gently. A levitation charm built into the batter? He wiped his eyes when his feet touched ground near the sidelines of the Quidditch pitch, and saw Lily running towards them, her wand out.

"Goyle's down," she shouted, a smile tugging at her face. "Now let's find a way out of this stadium," she gasped, "before someone else blows their nose with you."

Snape slopped after Lily with Harry, swiping his hand at his robes. He ended up with a handful of goo, long strings of it dribbling between his fingers. He didn't see what was funny about it. "A cleaning spell wouldn't be amiss," he grumbled.

"Won't need one," said Lily. "Look."

Snape looked behind him, and saw thousands of pale yellow squares falling into the stands. People were standing up and grabbing them, then stuffing them into their mouths. Snape felt a tingling, and then, with a series of pops, the yellow mixture transformed into more of the squares and tumbled to the floor. Harry caught one as they headed for a lower-level exit.

Snape sighed. "Banitsa. Traditional…"

"…Bulgarian pastry. Right." Harry frowned. "I think I've been cured of my addiction."

"Slight problem," said Lily. She pointed towards the nearest exit.

Snape turned to see Malfoy and his cohorts slipping through the rows of spectators. Malfoy had never been one to give up prey once he had it in his sights. Snape closed his hand around Harry's robes and tugged him toward the sidelines of the Pitch.

A short break in play had been called when the Banitsa had gone flying through the air. The three of them moved past the resting Irish players and lounging leprechauns, Snape hoping security wouldn't notice them. Harry was still struggling with the rosette attached to his chest. He grimaced with each tug, as the rosette was grafted into the skin. Snape stilled Harry with a touch and a shake of the head. "There's a less painful way. You still have the Key?" Harry held it up and Snape nodded. "If you swallow that--"

"I'm not appearing a hundred meters from here starkers!" exclaimed Harry.

"It's better than appearing inside the dungeons at Malfoy Manor," hissed Snape. A referee was headed toward them, no doubt to order them off the sidelines. The Irish team was hovering on their brooms nearby, waiting to get back into play, and munching on the pastries. "Take it--"

He was interrupted by players on every side of them collapsing to the ground in a chorus of snores.

Snape spun to face the source of the spell, pushing Harry behind him.

Malfoy was pushing through leaning, drowsing bodies as he strode toward them. A trumpet chorus rang out, announcing the resumption of play. Apparently no one had told those in charge that half the Irish team was now asleep. A man near him lay in mid-air, snoring as he slumped over his broom.

Malfoy had stopped at the trumpet call and raised his wand with a gleam in his eye. Several flicks, and the snoozing Irish team was up in the air, heading for the goalposts. The referee was screaming at them to stop, frowning as one player zoomed past him, drool seeping down his chin. The Bulgarian team scrambled after them.

Harry was struck from behind by a low-flying broom and stumbled, dropping the Salvus in the grass. He cursed and dropped to his knees, searching for it. Snape's chest tightened, the writing on the wall. It wouldn't take much for Bulgaria to score against a sleeping team.

What would a Gryffindor do? Snape took a deep breath and grabbed at one of the sleeping players flying low to the ground. The player tumbled off into the soft grass, and the broom yanked Snape off his feet.

This was not his ideal method of travel—certainly not with him dangling by his hands as the broom careened around the pitch. The whistle of the referee was sharp in his ears.

"Time out," he called out feebly. He doubted that he would be mistaken for a member of the Irish team, but hoped the sight of a man dangling off a broom was enough to halt play. Unfortunately, Malfoy had stunned the referee and the game was continuing.

He glanced toward Malfoy, who had resorted to his earlier ploy of brute force and was dragging Harry off the pitch, fending off Lily's hexes. Harry was digging at the rosette with his fingers, wincing as he pried it loose from his top layer of skin underneath the robes.

Snape yanked at the broom handle, aiming it toward Harry and Malfoy. Gritting his teeth as he approached them, he let go with one hand and reached down to grab Harry.

He missed.

Time moved slowly as he watched himself head straight for Malfoy. Malfoy turned as if moving in molasses, his eyes widening as he saw Snape hurtling toward him at the ungodly speed of a Firebolt. He managed to throw one arm up.

This, thought Snape, is why he never played Quidditch.

With a thwack to his chest, a mass of velvet and hair and arms came at him from all sides. He felt as though he was being attacked by a baboon with a set of drapery.

Malfoy was not attacking, though, but trying to untangle himself from the position he found himself in: on the ground with Snape pinning him down. He shoved Snape aside and stood towering over him. He opened his mouth to deliver a curse.

Harry threw something--the Salvus. Snape watched as the whirling little ball arced over him and deep into Malfoy's mouth. With a gurgling, choking noise, Malfoy swallowed. Then promptly disappeared, the perfectly tailored—and now empty--velvet robes spilling to the ground.

There was a shout from the pitch. Snape took his time turning his head. He wanted to savor this.

Malfoy was standing in the middle of the pitch, the wind flapping his hair--among other things. With a sound that sounded like a high-pitched "eep," Malfoy clapped his hands between his legs and ran, hunch-backed, off the field.

Lily pulled out her omnioculars and held them to her eyes. "Unimpressive," she decreed.

Snape snatched them out of her hands.

Lily shrugged innocently.

A pink Wizarding Mouse came scuttling out onto the field and nibbled at the hem of Harry's robes. Harry, still chuckling, scooped it up and petted it.

Lily wrinkled her nose at that. "Wizarding Mouse, my eye. Looks more like a rat with a rubbish dye job."

Snape remembered that same mouse paying particular attention to Harry earlier. He narrowed his eyes at the creature. "Harry," he said softly. "Put it down and back away."

"What--" began Harry, but then the mouse transformed. It lengthened and widened until it was a balding man with a pointed face. Ropes spun from the man's wand, binding Harry's arms to his sides.

Snape and Lily pointed their wands directly at him. A growl rose from Lily's throat. "Back away, or I'll--."

"Don't!" Pettigrew squeaked, pressing his wand against Harry's neck. "I'll hurt him. I swear it."

"Malfoy wouldn't like it if his prize were injured," said Snape, swallowing against the dryness in his throat.

Pettigrew grinned, cracked lips peeling back from jagged teeth. "My master is far more powerful. Far beyond Malfoy's petty plans. Once he rises, Malfoy will be punished for his grab at power." His mouth twisted. "But he does have excellent knowledge on altering portkeys."

And, with a muttered incantation and a tap of his wand, the rosette twisted and glowed. "Change of destination," he whispered. "End of the line."

Harry looked at Snape and Lily desperately. "Mum," he said. "Professor...Sir...D--"

Snape took a chance and rushed forward. But it was too late. With a pop, they disappeared. All that was left was a puddle where their footprints had been, and the ticket Harry had dropped in his struggles.

Snape stared down at the twisted ticket drowning in the dark puddle. Safe, he'd promised. Safe as houses.

The promises of Slytherins...

"I wasn't fast enough, said Lily, hurling her wand at a sideline bench. It struck the metal with a sharp rap and rolled to the ground. Her face was drawn in angry lines, but her hands were white and trembling. "We should have done something more. He should have had more protection."

"He did…" began Snape. Then, in a flash of insight, he knew. He knew how to find the pathway. He whirled and clutched Lily by the shoulders.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes wide as she searched his face.

But now was not the time to talk. He shook his head. "Hogwarts," said Snape.

The boy was clearly lost.

Snape hunched over his work table, staring moodily into the shallow bowl before him. The boy's soul was lost, and he had yet to find any guide home. Shrugging off a slight shiver than ran down his spine, he chanted the incantation that would reveal any pathways between worlds.

The chilly air of the work room settled around his words. Dampness seeped from the stones, misting condensation on the outside of the jars of ingredients scattered about the room. Even though the weather outside spoke of a perfect summer day, the air in the work room was reminiscent of a wet November morning.

The violet liquid in the bowl lay still, offering no indication of a pathway between worlds. The only image revealed by the potion was the narrow reflection of a frowning man.

It was merely routine to search for anything, at this point. Snape sighed, reluctantly admitting that it was not only in the magical realm in which the boy was lost. Harry had been neglecting his own health, not eating, spending so much time alone in his room, staring off into space, no doubt mired in his own thoughts...

A loud thud echoed above him: the singular sound of a bookcase-concealed passageway opening. Feet clattered against the wooden steps leading down to the workroom.

Snape stood, grasping his wand. If Dumbledore had given the password to his work room to that Weasley woman... He was unsure what to protect first. She might try to clear away the burn marks on the table...or the stacks of parchments he had lined up against one wall...or the jars of pickled creatures lined up on a low shelf. Oh bollocks, the jars had a layer of dust on them. He could imagine her cleaning spells now, moving everything out of order...

But no, the feet on the stairs weren't pounding away with a single-minded purpose. They had taken up a skipping staccato.

He only knew one person who skipped down steps, although he certainly hadn't heard that sound for the past few days. He flicked his wand at the shallow bowl, levitating it to a cabinet.

As the bowl settled onto a shelf, the violet liquid inside gave a slight ripple. Although the potion inside was spread thinly, a light glimmered within it from a great depth.

Snape frowned at it, but saw nothing further. He shook his head. Trick of the light.

A flushed teenager galloped down the last of the steps. Rushing headlong across the stone floor, Harry braked himself by throwing his hands up. Palms collided with the work table, causing the glass vials on the surface to tremble.

"Hey," he said, attempting a casual tone through his gasps for air, as if this were the normal way to enter a room.

The boy was a menace.

"Mrs. Weasley wants to know if there's any wizard space--" Harry began.

"Be still," Snape interrupted, circling around the table. Although he was it was certainly a good sign to see the boy up and about again, the breathlessness and flushed face were clear signs of unacceptable behavior. He just needed further proof. Holding the boy still with one hand to his shoulder, Snape brushed his fingers through the boy's hair.

The flyaway strands were hot from remembered sunlight. His fingertips came away tinged with yellow from a dusting of tree pollen.

"You've been climbing," he accused.

"Haven't!" said Harry, but his voice was uncertain. He touched his scalp were Snape's fingers had been, a strange look on his face.

Snape thumbed the pollen off his fingers and slid an empty cauldron towards Harry. "Skele-gro," he ordered. "If I'm going to use up my medical supplies on your inevitable injuries, you may as well make them yourself." He leaned against the table and studied the boy. "What were you saying when you tumbled in here like a drunken chimp?"

"I haven't broken a bone in months," grumbled Harry, but he began pouring ingredients, his movements quick and smooth. "Oh, and wizard space. Mrs. Weasley wants to know if there's any in the kitchen."

"Incendio," said Snape, setting the fire under the cauldron. "Why does that meddlesome woman need to know?"

Harry shrugged as he hooked a stool with one leg and hopped onto it. "Figuring where to put her pots and pans." He gave Snape a sidelong glance. "You haven't finished the sandwich she made."

Snape picked up his half-eaten sandwich and took another bite. It was a rather good sandwich. "My pans should certainly suffice."

"Pan," Harry corrected. "You have one."

"Even so..." He settled on a stool next to Harry, their elbows nearly touching. The boy was quite good at potions, but it couldn't hurt to observe him closely.

Harry smelled of cut grass and freshly turned earth. He was still pale and thin from the days he spent isolated in his room, but he had the glow of a summer afternoon spent outdoors. The black strands parted to reveal a small movement underneath.

Snape's squinted suspiciously and reached across the small space between them. Diving a hand into the nest of hair again, he searched until something brittle moved between his fingers.

"Aha!" he said, pulling out a tiny, wriggling shape. He held the black insect in front of Harry's face. "A bark beetle. Found only in trees."

Harry grimaced and patted down his hair. "Er...how did that get in there?"

"How, indeed?"

The boy shrugged, hunching over the potion. "There was this oak by the river...but it was only 20 feet high. That barely counts!"

"Imp. I should charm your feet to weigh fifty pounds each."

A sly smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth. "So I can stomp down trees instead of climb them? That could be fun. Though it might cause problems when I help Mrs. Weasley move in her things."

Snape flicked the beetle into the air and banished it. "Perhaps your hands as well..." He frowned. "Things? You mean pots and pans?"

"Half a mo." Harry counted under his breath as he stirred. "Pots, pans, extra clothes, more food...she figures she can transfigure the rest. Turn the sofa into a bed..."

"Bed?" Snape stood, leaning over the boy. "How long is she intending to stay?"

"Not too long. Just for the next month or so..."

"Month?"

"She says she wants to lavish us with care."

"Why can't she lavish those children of hers?" growled Snape. "I can think of a few Weasleys that could do with a good, solid lavishing."

Harry watched the bubbling potion carefully as he added his last ingredient. "They're busy. Going to the Quidditch World Cup," he said.

Snape stared glumly at a burn mark on the work table. Off to see the Cup, while he and Harry were stuck with lectures on proper nutrition and hygiene.

Harry tapped his stirrer against the side of the cauldron to shake off the excess potion. "You know, Ron did mention that they had two extra tickets. D'you think we could convince them to invite us along?"

"Possibly..." Snape paused, a little alarm bell going off in the back of his head. The same alarm that went off whenever one of his Slytherins tried to convince him to alter a an exam mark. When had Harry ever referred to Quidditch with such neutral disinterest? The boy was so enamored with the sport, he practically gasped the word. Snape smelled a rat. And not the one pickled and stored on a nearby shelf.

"Then again," said Snape, smoothly switching gears, "I wouldn't want to impose."

Harry's whole body drooped, and the grey, blank face that Snape had seen for the past few days reappeared. "Oh."

Snape felt a twinge in his stomach. The boy's good cheer was clearly hanging by a thread. Watching the boy slowly descend into depression was not something Snape wanted to experience again.

And it was the Quidditch World Cup.

"But I imagine you can smooth over any imposition," Snape continued.

Harry leapt off the stool and collided with Snape in a bear hug. "Absolutely! It'll be brilliant!"

Snape stood frozen, wrapped by strong, wiry arms. He recovered after a moment, slowly extricating himself. "Yes...well...behave yourself while we're there. Or I'll tell Molly about that beetle in your hair."

Harry let go and clapped his hands protectively over his scalp. "Don't you dare! I saw her fingering a comb when I got near her earlier. She wants to comb me." He hopped onto the bottom step. "I'll go tell Ron."

"You mean ask him." Snape lifted an eyebrow. "For an invitation to join them?"

"Er...right." With a sheepish look, Harry backed toward the stairs.

Snape stopped him with a raised hand. "Tell me...was Mrs. Weasley really transfiguring a bed?"

"Yes! Although...that may have been so that I have something larger to sleep on. She said she likes to apparate to the comfort of her own home at night." He shrugged, his fingers dancing nervously on the banister.

Snape shook his head. "Well? Go on, before I decide whether to hex you or ground you for your impudence."

With the flash of a grin, the boy rushed off.

Snape turned back to the work table, and sent the ingredients bobbing back to their shelves, smiling in satisfaction. Despite Molly's interfering, he was the one who managed to lift the boy's spirits. It wasn't until he caught himself humming under his breath that he stopped, wondering at his strange mood, and began to feel a bit lost, himself.

* * *

"Three cheers for Ireland!" squawked a drunken wizard, stumbling through a campfire. The hem of his robe smoked as he landed against Snape. "I won thirty Galleons on Ireland, and I want to cele--celeb--have fun," he finished, his pointed hat tilting precariously to the side. "Let me buy you a drink, friend," he slurred. "Oh, barkeep," he called, beckoning to a nearby tent pole.

The tent pole ignored him. Snape put out the smoke twisting its way up the robe and pushed the man aside. He wound his way through the glow of campfires, searching. It was late at night, but the glow from campfires, lanterns, and frequent fireworks overhead kept the swarms of celebrating witches and wizards in clear view.

Near a the dark shadow of a small tree he caught a half-moon flash of light, one that came from the glint of firelight off spectacles.

Snape pursued it, winding through a gaggle of wizards who were singing Ireland's national anthem at the top of their lungs. He ducked under a teetering banner that was flashing the winning score.

Among the off-key singing and crack of fireworks were the shouts of two identical voices that he'd learned to associate with impending disasters:

"I'm sure we can turn this into a charm. We just need to get the movements down..."

"Watch it!" said the other voice. "You've got your foot in my ear!"

Snape pushed aside a tent in flashing green and came upon a much abused tree in the middle of the campsite. Streamers and other and debris hung from it, as did a tangle of freckled arms and legs. The Weasley twins dangled from the branches, twisting their bodies like banners in the wind.

Harry stood nearby, holding casting light with his wand, his expression halfway between amused and annoyed.

Snape stared.

Three pairs of green eyes blinked back at him.

Finally George Weasley cleared his throat. "Thought a few climbing lessons might come in handy."

Fred Weasley grinned, attempting to stuff something in his pocket--a task made more difficult in an upside-down position. "Purely for academic interest, of course."

Snape strode over to them, levitating them both out of the trees, keeping them upside-down. Then he flicked his wand up and down, alternately shaking each one like salt and pepper pots.

Out of Fred's pockets fell a series of paper-wrapped sweets. "Oi!" said Fred, flailing his freckled arms about.

Lowering the twins slowly, Snape then dropped them the last few feet onto the ground. They bounced slightly on their bums and tumbled over each other as they came to a rest on a grassy patch below the tree.

A red sweet rolled to a stop near his black boots. Snape plucked it from the grass and examined it carefully.

"That's ours!" shouted George, struggling to stand and teetering over onto his side.

Snape turned the sweet over to read the writing on the wrapper:

Trapped in the infirmary from one of our skiving snacks? Escape out the window with this climbing charm!

"And the reason I should not give you both detentions is...?" he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Teachers can't give detentions over the summer," he said.

"In this case, I shall find a way." Snape pocketed the sweet.

"You can't confiscate, either!" protested George.

"Not without a parent's permission, no. Perhaps we should return to the Burrow and discuss this with your mother?"

The twins grumbled as they dusted themselves off and stalked away.

Snape turned toward Harry. "You shouldn't encourage them. In anything. And sneaking out of bed--"

Harry ran for the tree, his momentum getting his feet halfway up the trunk before he had to reach for a branch. He twisted, landing neatly on a curve in a thick lower limb. "Wasn't sneaking. Mr. Weasley said we could stay up. It was fun. Educational. Want to have a go?" He patted the branch that supported him. "I bet I can teach anyone."

Severus stepped back from the tree. "I think never."

The boy turned and rested in the crook of the tree, his fingers laced behind his head as though he were lolling about on soft pillows. The golden light from nearby campfires cast a glow around him. "S'not difficult. Just takes practice. And calluses."

Severus shifted uneasily.

"Oh," said Harry. He pulled himself upright and ran a hand through his hair. "My dad used to be afraid of heights, too."

"I am not afraid of heights," retorted Snape. "I simply see no reason for both of us to risk our necks senselessly."

"That's what my dad used to say. Still, whenever he got too far off the ground, he got a little...twitchy."

"It is merely distance. One cannot be afraid of distance."

Harry's swinging feet stilled as he stared through the branches at the sky beyond, a familiar longing look flitting across his features. "I dunno about that."

A sharp scream of terror punctured the celebratory rumble around them.

He whirled, gesturing sharply for Harry to join him. The crowds of revelers had thinned, many streaming away from the source of the scream. The two prowled slowly through the campsite. Snape saw them first when they moved past a cluster of tents.

Black robes. Masks.

Behind him, Harry sucked in a breath. "Death Eaters."

Snape pushed Harry behind him, out of their line of sight. He moved carefully backward, no sudden movements, nothing to draw attention toward them. It seemed as though Harry's ragged panting was too loud, his skin catching every flicker of the firelight, announcing his presence to any who cared to pay attention. Snape didn't draw a deep breath until they were several hundred yards away. He glanced at Harry curiously, then. "You can recognize Death Eaters?"

Harry made a vague gesture, shadows hiding his eyes. "Dad showed me once. When he was trying to explain. He keeps his hidden under wards. In the back--"

"--of my wardrobe. Yes." Even though he couldn't see the robe and mask under the wards, he could feel them, every time he opened that wardrobe door.

"Harry!"

Hermione Granger dashed towards them, frazzled hair flying around her. Behind her followed Ron Weasley and the twins. Hermione gasped to a stop. "We've been looking for you. Mr. Weasley's gone to get reinforcements. They say there are-" she froze as another scream split the night. "We need to get out of here." She grabbed Harry's hand and pulled, only to stop short. "Sir?"

Snape realized he was gripping Harry's shoulder, holding him close to his side. Slowly he released his grip and met the boy's eyes. "Go with them. Keep to the forest."

Ron Weasley looked curiously at him. "You're going to...fight them?"

Snape heard the unspoken doubt in the young voice, and ignored it, turning to Harry. "I need to observe. Go."

Harry's mouth turned downward, but he nodded, falling in step with the small group as they headed towards the woods. His red and yellow Muggle shirt was a bright flag among the dark milling figures.

Snape watched his small form moving further and further away until long after he was swallowed by the crowd. Then he cleared his thoughts and moved against the flow of the fleeing witches and wizards.

The white of the Death Eater masks were etched sharply against their dark hoods as they strode through the campsite. They were laughing, walking shoulder to shoulder, comrades.

He wasn't surprised that he hadn't been invited to join in their activities. Even when he had been loyal to the Dark Lord's cause, he had been seen as an outsider. His years working for Dumbledore only caused the others to look on him with more suspicion. But he was not envious of the closeness they shared.

It was a lie.

Death Eaters tore through the camp, playing their macabre games with the Muggle family floating helplessly before them. The Muggle woman struggled to keep her dignity as she was held upside down with the flick of a wand and a mocking incantation.

Snape's gut twisted as he followed, watching from the shadows. He pressed the pads of his fingertips into the smooth ebony of his wand. You're a coward if you don't stop them. But that thought was chased by another: you're a fool if you do. If you are seen defending Muggles...He pushed the roiling thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand. Identifying most of his former comrades from their movements and their magic, he mentally tallied who was present, and who was not.

Distracted, he did not realize he'd lost his cover until a moment too late. He came into a space free of tents and debris, to the side of the Death Eaters. One glance to the left by any of them, and he would be seen.

But they did not glance to the left. A virulent, green glow emanated from above. The group looked up as a ghostly snake and skull appeared overhead. The Dark Mark floated in the night sky, smothering the stars.

With a yelp, a masked figure tore away from the group and fled. The rest of the Death Eaters scattered in his wake, scurrying into the shadows.

Snape stood rooted to the spot, a coldness crawling down his spine. The faded Mark on his arm burned, and he clutched at it through his robes.

Once, he had thought that symbol had meant closeness, pulling them all together from any distance, a shared vision. But the illusion shattered, thirteen years ago, with one name on the Dark Lord's lips: Harry Potter.

With that thought, he turned and headed toward the forest.

* * *

"Lumos."

The tip of Snape's wand glowed faintly green under the night sky. The green light undulated, a sign that the serpent above him was moving, curling its way through the mouth of the skull.

Snape resisted the urge to look at it again.

A witch hurried past him, her bare feet squelching in the wet grass. Her hands worried the hem of her sleeve. She turned red-rimmed eyes toward the Dark Mark hovering in the sky as she passed, and shouted, "Ian! Ian, where are you?"

"Harry!" Snape called.

He was drowned out by other voices. Families had gotten scattered. Fear and confusion had escalated to terror and chaos. Parents everywhere were calling out for their children.

Harry couldn't possibly hear him.

Severus felt a terrible constriction in his chest. He needed to find the boy now. He rolled his wand between his fingers and thumb, and thought back to the Patronus that he and Harry had summoned together at Godric's Hollow. He remembered the sense of protection, of connection, and came to a decision.

Closing his eyes, he fell back into his memories, trusted and true, of sunny childhood days, and the shining figure of one red-headed girl. The images and feelings flowed from a place he kept carefully hidden: clasped hands, whispered secrets, helpless giggles. He could feel the magic building within him.

But something shifted, like a lens suddenly snapping into focus. New memories were right there for the taking, had been there just out of sight. Images of a thin, bespectacled boy emerged from the deep. He knew every nuance of that face now; Harry grinning, frowning in concentration, or looking up at him, filled with a light that glowed with the infinite power of the sun.

Something cracked inside him, shattering to pieces. Light filled him, poured through him, out of him. And he understood the connection, one fragile soul touching another; he knew it as well as he knew the thrum of magic in his veins, the beating of his heart.

"Patronum Duos," he whispered.

A silver strand unwound from his wand, curling around the tree trunks in the forest, probing into the darkness within. Shadows bled in its wake.

Something reached deep inside him and pulled. Suddenly Harry felt close enough to touch. He stumbled forward, following the rope of light, and trying to recover from the feeling of being turned inside out.

The light guided his way through the shadows, gradually becoming brighter. Through the trailing branches of a willow it spun and grew, until it solidified into a silver doe. She stood by a magnificent oak tree, her head tilted upward.

He stepped closer, and reached out towards the clear light. Centimeters away, but he pulled his hand back, deep into his robes. Something in those eyes stopped him.

Deep, ageless eyes that were filled with an inexplicable sorrow.

In a blink, she vanished.

Casting Lumos again, he craned his neck backward to look up into the branches.

Five pairs of dangling legs greeted him. The Weasley twins were swinging their feet and grinning; Miss Granger was yanking at a twig that had gotten snarled in her hair; Ron Weasley had his hands wrapped tightly around a branch in front of him as he leaned forward. "Sir," said Ron, "I think you should take a look at Harry."

But Snape already had his gaze trained on the boy.

Harry sat comfortably, but was gasping for breath. His face was pale and his arms and legs trembled. His eyes were unfocused, as though seeing something far away. "I just saw the world split in two," he whispered hoarsely.

Amidst the turmoil roiling through his heart, a new fear blossomed in Severus.

* * *

Harry recovered. Severus didn't.

He had escorted the other children as quickly as possible back to Arthur Weasley. They had all looked pale and tired, but that hadn't stopped the man and his children from peppering him with questions.

Snape could only shake his head, insisting that he and Harry must leave.

Finally Arthur shushed them and sent them to gather their things. He smiled weakly at Snape. "I won't feel safe until my children are in bed behind warded walls," he said.

Snape looked into those tired eyes and realized he now knew how the man felt. His voice left him, and he turned away, holding Harry close, and apparated to Hogwarts.

Poppy hadn't been able to do anything for Harry. But the boy regained his color and strength quickly. Snape set up a bed for him in his quarters and sat nearby as the boy rested, doing his best to talk of inconsequential things. It was in the small hours of the night that Harry lapsed into silence. Snape thought him asleep when he heard a quiet whisper:

"What's wrong with me?"

A weakness entered Snape's limbs, but he kept his voice firm. "Nothing to worry about. I'll find a cure."

"I know you will." And with that, the boy turned over, nestling into the sheets.

Snape listened to the sounds of Harry's breathing, until the boy was fast asleep. Then he touched the fingers curled softly on the mattress. He ran his fingertips along the callused surface of the curved palm, like a blind man searching for answers. He rose and stalked to his own room to pace away the remaining night.

He knew no cure would be forthcoming.

* * *

The next day, the sun was shining on the Hogwarts grounds as if the long night before had never happened. Snape did his best to keep that feeling afloat, resting beneath a birch tree and digging his hands into the cool grass. He pulled an orange out of a brown paper bag. On the outside of the bag was scrawled, "Daily Care Package! Use it! -Molly Weasley." Snape banished the bag and began peeling the orange, never taking his eyes off one of the stone walls of Hogwarts a few yards away.

On that wall clung a dark-haired boy in Muggle clothes. His trainers dug into the grey stones, his arm reaching up for another handhold. Snape had never really observed him this long as he climbed. He wasn't simply boundless energy-he was focused determination.

He heard a soft chuckle behind him. Dumbledore stood near the birch tree, smiling. "It's been a long time since I've seen you enjoying the grounds, Severus."

Standing up quickly, Snape brushed at his robes impatiently. "I was not expecting you back so soon."

"I could hardly ignore your owl." Dumbledore glanced at the boy, who was carefully adjusting his footing on the stone face. "His recent troubles haven't affected his agility, I see."

Snape growled. "At the Quidditch World Cup, I forbade him from climbing trees. And Quidditch banner poles. And the support struts of the bleachers."

"I see," said Dumbledore, amusement hiding in the corners of his eyes. "And did that manage to...ah...ground him?"

"Hardly. It's as if I forbade him to breathe. "Now I just set cushioning spells under him." Snape's mouth twitched. "Insolent child."

"He's looking well, despite his brushes with gravity."

Snape grunted. "Blame that horrible woman you sent to my house."

"Ah yes, Molly. It appears that she did quite well with both of you. You're looking much more...well, forgive me Severus, but until now you always had the look of a tree in winter."

"Don't speak to me of trees," Snape grumbled. He studied the movements of the boy on the wall.

A stone under Harry's foot crumbled. The boy slipped, his hands scrabbling for purchase. Pebbles rained down as he pressed his body against the wall to slow his descent.

Snape whipped his wand out and began an incantation, hissing the chant quickly as he felt the protective magic build inside him.

But Harry had slowed his descent. His feet found toeholds, and he stopped for a moment. Then, with a little shake of his head, he was moving upward again.

Snape let his hand drop, the incantation unfinished.

Dumbledore raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I thought you said you set a cushioning spell?"

"I did," said Snape. He fiddled with his wand for a moment before pocketing it. "Knowing the boy, he'd find a way to get himself killed despite protective spells."

"Spells?"

"Just a few. I can't leave his safety to a mere cushioning spell. And I can't be expected to watch him constantly."

"No, no one expected that," murmured Dumbledore. The headmaster scratched at his beard. "Perhaps someone other than Molly is responsible for you looking so...well tended? I must say, I haven't seen you looking like this since your fourth year at Hogwarts. I'm sure you remember the time you were attacked by that stray Bludger and a certain young Gryffindor came to see you at the infirmary every day..."

Snape was getting an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I didn't ask you here to talk about my health."

"No, of course not." All traces of amusement left Dumbledore's face. "When did Harry say it started?"

"The end of the World Cup. He said-" Snape caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

A body was falling from the wall, arms and legs splayed out in the air. Harry curled his body into a compact shape as it encountered the cushioning spell. He bounced upward and threw his arms and legs out on the rebound, as though playing on an invisible trampoline.

Snape had run toward him at the first sight of the fall, and came to a halt just in front of the cushioning shield. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Falling," replied Harry. "Never tried the walls of Hogwarts before. Bit tricky." He bounced up and down on the invisible shield. "Landing was fun, though." The boy looked up at the wall. "I bet I could get further on another go."

Snape felt his heart pound faster. "Since you're unable to keep your balance, you'll do nothing of the sort. I've had enough of watching you fall from heights for one day. Do you wish me to forbid climbing again? There are spells that will stop you from scaling so much as a footstool."

The boy paled. "Sorry, Sir. I had another one of those visions, and it threw me off."

Snape nodded, a rawness filling his throat.

"They've been coming more often?" inquired the headmaster.

Harry nodded. "They get stronger each time. It comes up from the ground, but no one else feels it--"

The sound of roaring water filled Snape's ears. "Yes, all right," he said, desperate to end the discussion. "Go wash up for supper."

The boy gaped at him. "It's the middle of the afternoon!"

Snape glanced up to see the sun still shining brightly overhead. He wasn't one to lose his sense of time. Gathering his senses, he tried to smooth over the error. "Then go wash up and study, so I don't have to worry about you falling on your head and incurring further brain damage."

"But I finished my summer studying, and classes don't start until-"

"Footstool," warned Snape.

Harry eyed him. "You said we could explore later. Said we could do a scavenger hunt..."

Snape glanced sidelong at the headmaster, who had a horrible knowing smile on his face. "I said nothing of the sort! I said I needed potions ingredients. You are the one who must turn everything into some sort of...into something..."

"I believe the word you're searching for," murmured Dumbledore, "is fun."

Gryffindors! He'd had enough of Gryffindors! But the green eyes in front of him weren't amused. They were assessing, determined, focused. Exactly how they looked when Harry had set his sights on something to be scaled.

A tree, Dumbledore had called him. He felt very much the tree now.

Harry's eyes were all innocence now. "I suppose," the boy began, "if you don't want to, I could just--"

Snape waved a hand to cut him off. "Spare me your machinations. We'll have an outing later, if you must." He eyed him suspiciously. "You're certain the Sorting Hat wished to put you in Gryffindor?"

Grinning, Harry hopped off the cushion of air. "I'm certain that's what I've claimed." He walked backwards toward the front entrance, still beaming a smile at Snape. "I'll get the list for the scavenger hunt." Turning, he dashed off.

"Call it that one more time and you'll spend the rest of the summer in the dungeons.  And if I catch you climbing one thing out of my sight--" Snape shouted, but the boy was already out of earshot.

"No need to be so harsh with him," said Dumbledore. "His remaining time here is short."

Snape felt that he was the one who had fallen several stories toward the earth. "He's not aware of that yet. He doesn't recognize the symptoms, but I do." Harry was being pulled back to his own world. The sensation of moving earth was a sign the pathway is blocked. Snape shook his head. "It's not the world that's being split in two. It's Harry. Part of him is pulled there, part is held here."

Dumbledore nodded. "It's a tug of war he won't survive. This blockage holding him here must be removed." He gazed at Snape solemnly. "I suspect this has something to do with your previous attempt to send him back to his home."

Snape frowned, gazing absently at a cluster of vines trailing up the stone wall. "At Godric's Hollow, I established a connection with him. To use my thoughts, my will, to give him the initial push toward his world, but circumstances..." He paused, remembering the silver light, the doe, the magic that poured from him. "Circumstances may have made the connection stronger than I intended."

Steady blue eyes watched him carefully. "And now it is your will that is keeping him here."

He hunched over his folded arms, glancing furtively at the headmaster. "Perhaps the connection is too strong," he said slowly. "This force that's calling his soul back may be the weaker one. We should focus on cutting that off at its source, stopping the pull from the other world-"

"Severus." His name was spoken with much kindness and much sorrow. It was an echo of other conversations throughout the years. Other losses.

And Snape knew the argument was lost. He straightened, facing the headmaster. "I merely thought...for his own wellbeing..."

A hand fell on his shoulder. "You must let him go, if he is to return safely."

Snape leaned into the firm hold of the headmaster. A long silence passed between them. Then Snape pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose and pulled away. "I will keep you informed of the boy's condition." He moved away from Dumbledore, towards the castle. "If you'll excuse me..."

"Of course, Severus," said Dumbledore, a small smile playing across his face. "It's a beautiful afternoon. Enjoy your time with Harry on the grounds. Such sunlight does not last forever, and we should feel its warmth while we can."

Snape nodded numbly, not trusting his voice. He couldn't bring himself to tell the Dumbledore the truth. A truth that cut cleanly through him, a truth he'd known ever since Lily's death, so many years ago. And his magic, his will, his concern for the boy's safety would not change that one, simple truth:

He couldn't let go. He didn't know how.

Voldemort was watching him.  He could feel it like pinpricks against his skin.  He struggled to open his eyes, but was falling deep into darkness, and all sensation seeped away. 

He had no sense of time or space.  Images flitted past, of a small garden, sunlight, and Snape plucking several small globes of glittering fruit from a tree.  "I'm getting a taste for these," murmured Harry as he took one from his palm. 

He wanted to see Snape, and his mum...and then he was, walking across the floorboards of their room. 

She was laid out on the bed, her hands folded across her chest, and Snape knelt by her side.  Moonlight ghosted across Lily's face, her features unnaturally still.  The silence was broken by the squealing of metal from the floor below, as hinges were torn from their homes and a door was shattered to splinters. 

Dread flooded Harry, and he hurried forward, crouching near Snape.  "It's Voldemort," he said, tugging at Snape's sleeve.  He took a deep breath, and a sharp pain jabbed his side.  Something had happened, he remembered.  He'd been at the Quidditch World Cup, and something had happened...

"Shhh," said Snape.  "Watch."  Pinching his fingers under his sleeve, he withdrew a shimmering fabric, impossibly large to have come from the narrow space.  He shook it out, the netting dazzling in the moonlight, and laid it atop Lily's body.  "Protection," he said.  Another sheet fell across Lily.  "Healing."  A third joined the others.  "Home."

The scent of moss wafted from the blanket.  It filled Harry's senses, rich and loamy, penetrating the darkness.  His mum moved now, the subtle movements of sleep, her breath humming in the quiet room. 

Harry watched, mesmerized.  "How do you do it?" 

Snape smiled.  "Magic."  He pulled another sheet from his sleeve, and flung it high in the air.  The world turned to silver and shadows as the fabric draped over Harry's head. 

Another blast reverberated downstairs, and there was the creak of a foot on the steps.

"Please," Harry begged.  "He'll kill you."  He tried to pull the fabric off him, but it slithered across his face, endless. 

The silhouette of Snape stood, backlit by the moon.  "We already died for you, Harry.  Don't you remember?"

"You're not supposed to say that," whispered Harry.  He tugged fiercely at the gauze, and it fell away. 

It was not Snape standing before him, but a man who looked like an older version of himself.   A man he'd seen only in photos, and in a magical reflection. 

"Dad," said Harry, the fabric slipping through his fingers.  The pain in his side flared up again, now searing.  

James Potter extended his arm towards Lily, who blinked awake and rose to stand by his side.  They looked every bit the couple from the photo album.  But when his dad spoke, it was with Snape's deep voice.  "Potter.  It is time for us to go."  He nodded towards the door that led down the stairs, where Voldemort was waiting.

 Harry found it difficult to breathe.  "But what am I supposed to do?" 

His parents smiled and knelt down, drawing him near, one on each side of him.  They were each whispering something to him, but he couldn't make out the words.  Their voices ran together like waves crashing against the shore.

He wanted to tell them to wait, that he couldn't let this happen, not again.  But something was niggling at him, warning him.  Underneath the deep green scent that filled the room, another smell lurked.  The smell of decay. 

Harry gasped awake.

The pain he'd felt before stabbed him sharply between his ribs.  It made him want to gulp in air, but each time he tried, he was jabbed again, deeper and deeper. 

He forced himself to take shallow breaths, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy.  He opened his eyes and slowly sat up, careful not to change his breathing. 

Soft, sandy shapes mixed with dark forms, shadows blurring the edges.  The sound of something wet dripping on rocks was the only distinct feature, the echo striking his ears sharply.  

He touched his face where his glasses normally perched and found empty air and bare skin.  He blinked, trying to improve his vision as looked around.  He caught a movement-something small was moving several yards in front of him.  He squinted at it, trying to determine if it was a trick of the wind and light, or something alive. 

Then the thing spoke.  "My, haven't you grown.  You were merely an infant when I saw you last."

Harry knew that voice, from the memories uprooted by the Dementors.  It was the voice from his nightmares, one that was followed by the screaming of his mother, and a terrible sense of helplessness.  He sucked in his breath.

An invisible, icy blade gutted him, and he couldn't hold back his cry of pain. 

Voldemort's crackling laugh was like dead leaves.  "Ah, yes.  One of my favorite curses.  Keeps the breathing shallow, and the victim...docile."

Harry clutched at his side, forcing himself to take tiny breaths.  He tried to focus, but his thoughts scattered like marbles.  He squinted at the moving shape before him.  The form seemed wrong, somehow. 

"Blind as a bat." The voice tsked.

Voldemort was watching him when he couldn't watch back, and the thought of it filled him with a frantic energy.  He reached out, grabbing at the hard ground, until his hands landed on the familiar shape of his glasses.  He shoved them on, ignoring the smears of dirt on the lenses. 

Heavy rocks loomed in the shadows, and lichen covered the walls in a thick carpet.  A thin trail of water dribbled over the lip of a massive overhang, feeding a lake that stretched out in all directions.  Harry realized he was on an island inside a cave.  It was a jagged lump of rock in the center of the water, covered in red dust.  The odor of decay wafted in with the mist crawling across the lake. 

The dark shape in front of him was in shadows, but it slowly crept forward, into the dim light.  An emaciated hand reached out, gripping a jutting rock for support.  It looked frail, this creature before him, with its grey skin and tiny limbs, but the air told another story.  The air tingled with power.   

"What do you want?" Harry rasped.  His throat was raw and bruised.  Memories of Wormtail's grabbing hands flitted past as he tried to remember how he got there.  The images scurried away, out of his grasp.

A pitiless voice emerged from the tiny creature.  "Something only you can provide, little boy."  It hobbled forward, hunched low.  In one withered hand it clutched a wand.  "But don't worry.  You won't miss it.  Your pathetic excuse for a mother certainly didn't."

A flame erupted inside Harry, and he lunged at the figure.  But he only managed two steps before he slammed into something hard and cold.

Choking back a yelp, he reached out in front of him.  The thing he'd encountered was a glass wall--or something that resembled glass.  He traced the contours of it with his fingertips, leaving a dusty trail on the surface, until he'd completed an entire loop.  Above him, he could see the faint shimmer of his prison walls curving together, ending in a small circular opening. 

A bottle.  He was trapped inside a giant bottle.

"Quaint, isn't it?" said Voldemort.  The warped figure moved closer.  Harry could taste the dark magic in the air, like tar at the back of his throat. 

The shrunken hand brushed along the outside surface of the glass.  "I'm tempted to create one for each of my enemies; start a collection.  But its true purpose is to lower your mental defenses.  No doubt your...father..." and at this the thin lips pulled back from tiny, half-formed teeth, "...has been training you for battle."

Harry swallowed.  Snape had recently given him a few lessons in Occlumency, but they hadn't gotten far.  He couldn't block a single thought.  He kept his face stoic, unwilling to let Voldemort see his fear.  But his right hand still clenched reflexively.

Another rasping chuckle.  "Missing something?"  Harry's wand appeared from under the dark robes, almost half as big as the body holding it, but handled with assurance and ease by those delicate hands.  

The hands moved the wand in a careless wave, and the wand floated up, over the mouth of the bottle, and down towards Harry.  Harry grabbed for it, and hurled a breaking spell at the glass in front of him.  The spell rebounded, knocking Harry off his feet and shattering several buttons on his shirt.  The bottle remained intact. 

Laughter rasped from Voldemort.  "I designed the glass to dampen magic.  Your feeble skill has been reduced to nothing.  Even in my weakened form, my magical abilities are far stronger than yours."  Another wand appeared, made of pale and knotted yew wood.  "And I've discovered a delightful way to regain what strength I've lost.  A bit of poetic justice." 

The remnants of his dream flooded back to him: the need to fight, the inability to do anything.  He curled a fist against his glass prison. 

The scrape of wet wood against rock pulled a satisfied look from Voldemort.  "And so we begin."

The sound came from the sandy shore, where Wormtail was struggling to climb out of a small boat.  The boat rocked in the shallow water as the rotund man stumbled out.  The narrow craft slipped from its moorings, but Wormtail did not notice as he rushed forward, his wand twitching erratically at his side. 

"My master."  He  bowed to the Dark Lord, but his eyes darted towards Harry, roving along the outline of his glass encasement.  "What do you wish me to do?"

Voldemort's face contorted as he stared at Wormtail.  "Where is the victim?" he hissed.  "My sacrifice?"

Wormtail kneeled, his hands dancing across the ragged edge of his robe.  "I...my Lord...there wasn't time..."

The air crackled with magic, and Wormtail was writhing in the sand, his screams reverberating against the overhanging stones.  Another lesson Harry had learned in his defense lessons this summer: Crucio.

For a moment, Voldemort looked ready to let Wormtail writhe himself into dust.  But the warped arm holding the wand relaxed, and the body at his feet quivered to stop. 

"A small setback," he murmured.  "But do not expect to escape further punishment."  He waved his hand towards a section of the shore where a rocky ledge extended out into the lake.  "Let us begin." 

Wormtail tumbled to his feet, taking a small step towards the shore where Voldemort gestured.  His beady eyes were fixed on Harry.  Harry remembered those thick hands around his throat, the fear in the eyes of his mum and Snape as he disapparated away. 

Why had he spent so much time fighting Snape when he should have been paying attention to the real enemy?  Snape had protected him, had told him he needed to focus on the right battles.  But he had treated Snape like the enemy.  And his anger had gotten him captured.

As he watched Wormtail watch him, he resolved that even if he stood no chance, he would fight the right battles.  He pressed his hand flat against the glass and watched the mist collect around his fingers as he let out a long breath.

He would be the man Snape wanted him to be.

Wormtail's eyes were pulled away from Harry when a splash echoed throughout the chamber.  A hand sprouted from the water, white and glistening.  Reaching outward, it clawed the air, until it found the ledge.  Grabbing hold of it, the hand tightened, and a slick, pale body rose slowly from the watery grave.  Rivulets of water dribbled down its back as it heaved itself into a standing position.  It stood for a moment with its back to them, the stench of death clear, even inside Harry's glass prison.  It shone like bleached bones. 

Then it turned towards them.  Its jaw was hanging open, its cavernous mouth a gaping hole.  And its eyes-its eyes were cold and lifeless, lit only by a sinister magic. 

Harry stared at it, his heart pounding, his fingertips pushing at the glass until they turned white.  He felt dizzy, the pain in his chest jabbing at him until he forced himself to take steady breaths. 

Inferi.  The name recalled conversations he'd had with Snape about the darkest magic.  This creature before him had been someone once: a person with a name and a life.  But there was no sign of that person now.  Each flicker of light on its decaying face, each unnatural movement of its limbs showed that it was a thing designed for evil. 

Voldemort crooked his finger, and it lumbered forward, emitting a gurgling sound.  Its sunken eyes trained on Harry as it drew closer.  The Dark Lord held up his hand when the Inferi was only a few feet away, and the creature stopped, dripping onto the rocky soil, awaiting its next order.

Harry fought the urge to pull away, refusing to show weakness.  He held himself rigidly in place, close to the thick wall of the bottle.  The scene in front of him flickered as the mist on glass in front of him blossomed and evaporated.  The heat of his shallow breaths brushed against his hand and face.

"Wormtail," whispered Voldemort.  "Bring the creature forward.  Closer to the boy."

Wormtail seemed shaken out of a reverie caused by the Inferi in front of him. Slowly, he nodded.  Holding up his wand, he murmured a command, and the Inferi stepped forward, towards the glass vessel in the center of the island. 

Harry watched the Inferi approach through scenes of evaporating mist, like jumpy bits of film.  Ten feet away...five feet away...and then the mist dissipated and it was there, on the other side of the glass, scant inches away from the curved exterior. 

No mist formed in front of its gaping mouth. 

Wormtail waited nearby, his wand held at the ready.  He stared at Harry, surveying every inch of him.  

A shiver ran down Harry's spine as he felt every inch the specimen in an aquarium.  But he raised his chin and stared back. 

"We'll need it much closer than that," said Voldemort, indicating the Inferi with a nod of his head. 

"But-the glass," said Wormtail. 

"Easily dealt with."  Voldemort traced his wand through the air.

The world tilted sickeningly. Harry was pitched forward, towards the thick wall of his prison.  He threw his hands up, and his palms smashed into the cold glass.  The jolt of the impact shot up to his elbows, leaving his forearms tingling.  He dropped his wand, and it rattled away from reach.     

He slid towards the narrow opening above his head.  Flailing against the casing around him, he scrabbled for purchase, but his body twisted and tumbled towards the round mouth. 

Through the glass, the entire world was off-kilter, the ground rising up above him, the rocky overhang of the cave ceiling falling away below his feet.  He realized what was happening.  The bottle was now upside down, and he was being shaken out of it like a stubborn bit of mustard. 

He pressed his trainers outward, shoving them against the flared lip of the bottle.  But with a squeal, the traction on his shoes slipped, and he fell in a rush of cold air.

The ground jolted the small of his back and he rolled, sand splashing into his nose and mouth.  He coughed, and the hex jabbed him viciously through his side and into his lungs.  Spitting out grit, he dug his fingers into his ribs to ward off the pain and closed his eyes to shut out the swirling world.

The dizziness eased, and he wiped his glasses with his fingers, blinking away the granules that had burrowed between his lids.  His vision cleared, and he looked up.

The Inferi was reaching for him. 

His body reacted.  Hands and feet tore at the ground, sand jumping around him before he realized that he was moving.

Wormtail got to him first.  Pudgy hands closed on him, the dirty nails pressing into his shoulders.  "Harry," he pleaded in his nasal voice.  "Listen..."

"To you?" Harry choked incredulously and flailed, tearing at the tattered robe around Wormtail's shoulders.

"Bring him closer," crooned Voldemort, beckoning.  "The Inferi must touch him..."

Wormtail held him tightly as the Inferi approached.  "Do not do this," he hissed, his soft belly pressing into Harry's back.  "Not now..."

Harry growled as he struggled.  He was going to die here, and what were the last things he had said to his mum, to Snape?  Something childish, no doubt.  And that was the last memory they would have of him.  Guilt and worry fueled his strength, and he pulled his arm free, twisting to face Wormtail.  "You're the reason Voldemort got to me," he shouted, wishing he could aim those words at himself.  The jabbing pain in his side only encouraged him to shout more.  "Let me go."  His fist sank into soft flesh and tangled in the tattered robes.

Wormtail jerked at those words, his thick hands tightening as he snatched Harry's hand, pulling it towards him.  The folds of Wormtail's robe engulfed his arm.

His fingers clenched madly, struggling to be free of the heavy fabric.  They closed on what felt like a small bag of pebbles at his side, and Harry grabbed at it, hoping it was a weapon he could use.

The pebbles burst under his hand, drenching his palm in something cold and wet.  A sweet, fruity scent filled the air.  A scent that made him think of warm days at Spinner's End.

Bubblefruit.  Wormtail's pocket was filled with bubblefruit.

Harry froze as a vivid image splashed into his mind: the kitchen at Spinner's End.  A small shelf above the sink held a neat row of potion vials that Snape liked to keep on him at all times:  Veritaserum, Skele-gro, Polyjuice.

Polyjuice.

Harry looked into Wormtail's eyes. 

They were still small and beady, but there was something else there, something only Harry could see. 

Something that said, I'm here, little one.

The tip of a wand touched him gently, hidden from view, and a gentle warmth spread through him.  The jabbing pain that accompanied each breath melted away, replaced by the soft ache of a healed wound. 

For the first time since he awoke, Harry breathed freely.  Snape was here.  He had another chance to make things right.  He took a deep breath and the scent of moss returned, filling his lungs.  With Snape gripping him tightly, he stepped towards the waiting Inferi.

The stench of death smothered the air.  The Inferi loomed over him, the remnants of its clothes hanging like seaweed.  At a signal from Voldemort, it stretched its hand towards Harry.

The touch of Snape's wand moved slowly across Harry's back, towards the gap between his arm and side.  Snape now had a direct line of fire towards the Inferi and the Dark Lord.

"Wait," murmured Voldemort, and just before that whitened hand touched him, it paused. 

He gestured sharply towards the water, and the still lake exploded upward.

Snape tensed behind him.  Two more Inferi emerged from the water.  They moved towards the first Inferi, and then past it, pausing to stand over Harry and Snape.  Harry wondered how many more were lurking beneath the lake's surface.

"Yes, I think that will do, Wormtail," said Voldemort. 

Snape was still gripping Harry's arm tightly.  "My Lord?"

"As I said," and the Dark Lord smiled, "you should not expect to escape punishment.  And since you were unable to procure a sacrifice for me...I shall have to make do with your miserable life." Voldemort gestured again, and one of the Inferi lurched down. 

Snape gasped, and the grip on Harry's arm was gone. 

Harry whirled to see Wormtail's body dragged backwards by an Inferi.  Nearby, the bottle rose in the air, still upside down.  At a hissed command from Voldemort, the Inferi released Snape, and the bottle plummeted towards him. 

Snape raised his wand in defense, but the bottle swallowed him up before he could cast a spell.  The mouth of the bottle buried deeply into the sandy ground, trapping him on all sides.  He struck the glass with his wand, but it had no effect.  A green gas rose from the ground and surrounded his wand, then crawled up his arm to his face.  Snape fell to his knees, retching.

The Inferi holding Harry dragged him towards Voldemort, and another Inferi approached.  It stood, a silent sentinel, as Voldemort began an incantation. 

Harry felt a pull as the withered man before him spoke the words, very few of which he understood.  His Latin had never been good, but he heard "sacrifice," "death," and "power." 

The Inferi reached out its hand, a single, moldering finger extended, and reached for the scar on Harry's forehead. 

Harry recoiled, but another set of arms held him tight.  The finger drew a wet line down the scar.  Pain exploded in Harry's head. 

"Yes..." hissed Voldemort.  "Death, pain...all elements of the night I was nearly destroyed.  And now--death unto death."  He pulled out a dagger.  The handle was intricately carved into the shape of a writhing snake, its ruby eyes glittering.  With a slash of his wand, the dagger flew forward and buried itself into the Inferi who had touched his scar. 

The Inferi let out a shriek, and black liquid seeped from the wound.  The blackness seeped slowly outward, visible under the pale skin.  Minutes ticked away as the creature struggled.  The ruby eyes of the snake sparkled ever brighter as the blackness flowed outward, the dark magic consuming the body beneath it.  It was an eternity before the Inferi collapsed, far more natural in its stillness than it had been in its movements.

"Not a real life, mind you," said Voldemort, "But tonight is a night for three sacrifices.  It begins with death unto death, it ends with life unto death--our friend Wormtail will help us with that--and in between...in between is reserved for you."  Voldemort's eyes glittered, much like the ruby eyes of the carved snake.  "I'm sure your adopted father has made you familiar with Rapio Memoria?"

Time slowed down.  Harry could hear his breath rasping in his throat.  In a daze, he looked out over the water, watching the little boat drifting, empty, across the lake.  "The curse you used on my mum.  The one that stole..."

"Her memories, yes.  Much of her life, one might say.  What is life, after all, but a series of moments stored away?  I need life to restore my power, to recreate the moment of my demise.  Life unto life."  He grinned with pointed teeth.  "Your life taken into mine." 

The Inferi pushed Harry to his knees.  Bits of sand and rock pressed through his jeans.  Harry took a deep breath, struggling to find the calm strength he'd had just a few moments ago. 

Voldemort hobbled forward, wand outstretched.  He traced the tip of the wand along Harry's scar.  "All those moments of your life, ready to be plucked.  Your mother was lucky.  I only took a fragment.  With you, I will take it all."

A thud reverberated behind them.  Voldemort turned, and Harry could see Wormtail--Snape--fist against the glass, his face pale.

"Not now, Wormtail," hissed the Dark Lord.  "There is no point in begging for mercy." He turned back towards Harry, moving the tip of the wand down to his temple.  "The entire process should not take long, and then I can complete the ritual."

And then I can complete the ritual.  Once Voldemort had finished with Harry, he would take Snape's life.  Harry struggled in the firm grip of the Inferi.  He couldn't save himself, let alone Snape.  And soon they would both be dead.  He flashed back to that summer afternoon with his mum, before she had taken Restituomens, when she lay cold and still on the floor, no memories left.  He saw himself in the same position, eyes wide and empty, nothing left inside.  But there would be no recovery for him.

Dead, or as good as.

"None of that," whispered Voldemort.

Harry realized he had his eyes squeezed shut.  Something dry and withered touched the tender skin at the corner of his eyelid, and he jerked back, snapping his eyes open.  "Don't touch me."

"Oh, we are about to become far more intimate than that," said Voldemort.  "Let's start with something simple, shall we?  Quidditch, perhaps."  The length of knotted yew jabbed towards him. 

Harry was pulled away, inside himself, and those slitted eyes were following him, down into a dark well. 

The island disappeared, and then he was holding the handle of a broom tightly, the grip smooth and warm in his hands.   The wind whistled past his ears, chilling them until they tingled.  Below, the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch formed a tidy square of green.  It was one of his own memories, he realized. 

The skin on his back tingled with the sizzle of magic, and a sibilant voice was murmuring in his ear.  He couldn't grasp the meaning of the words, but they were as sharp as hooks, dragging their way across the landscape.  A few soft hisses, and the broom ruptured, splintering into pieces between his hands.  The wind faded into silence, and he was falling in the darkness, trying to hold onto the memory like a wisp of smoke.

Then it was gone. 

The voice reached inside him again, and he was catching a snitch in the golden sunlight, watching as Snape raised his wand to direct another at him, and another. 

The onslaught abruptly stopped, and Harry collapsed to the ground. 

"Traitor," spat Voldemort.  "To take in my enemy..."  

Harry blearily looked up.

The hideous, shrunken creature stood a foot taller now.  Its body had filled out, and it stood straight, no longer hunched over.  As Voldemort moved closer, the walk was even, his hobbling gait gone. 

"You see?  You have something to offer me, worthless though you are.  A quirk of the spell I used on your mother.  Even the barest delving into your memories increases my strength.  Imagine  what power I will gain when I strip everything away."

He tapped his wand against his lips, smiling like a child in a chocolate shop.  "What shall I take this time?  Something closer to your heart, I think."  The smile grew wider.  "Ah yes.  Your little Mudblood mother." 

Fingers reached inside Harry's mind and ripped.  A memory spilled out: an afternoon at Spinner's End, the rain pattering on the roof as Harry sprawled out on the sofa, a book on his knees.  His mum curled beside him, and she was saying something, giggling, but he couldn't hear her.  Those withered hands were there, scratching, pulling, until the book in front of him was blurry and distant, the smell of the pine house receded, and the feel of the worn upholstered sofa fell away from fingers.  He was left grasping nothing in the darkness, searching for some scrap of what had been there.

The hands moved inside him again, digging deeper for the remaining memories he had of his mum. 

Harry pushed back, and for a moment he was back on the island, sand seeping into his shoes, his scalp itchy from sweat.   Through a headache so intense it rattled his teeth, he squinted at Voldemort.

The shriveled figure had grown even more, lengthening to the same height as Harry.  The Inferi pulled Harry to his feet so he was eye to eye with the dark wizard.  In the bottle, Snape was mouthing words, his eyes closed in concentration, his wand tip pressed against the glass.  The white of a hairline fracture could barely be seen.  The single line moved outward from the wand tip, the progress as slow as a trail of ants. 

Harry mentally urged it on, then buried the thought as best he could.  Voldemort could not see Snape's efforts from this angle, but the Dark Lord would be in Harry's mind again soon, seeing his every thought.  He wished that he and Snape could be far away from here, and stared out towards the lake again, towards the empty boat, drifting towards the island again.  Escape was so close, but just out of reach.

"A weak attempt," breathed Voldemort. "You cannot stop me." 

Harry was pulled down again, into the sound of glass shattering as he threw a picture at a stone wall, the scent of lilacs as red hair swept against his arm, a warm hand settling on his head.

No, he wasn't going to let those moments go, he wasn't.  He shoved back, drawing on what he'd learned from Snape about mental battles. 

It wasn't enough.  The force was too powerful. 

He diverted the attack, leading them both towards other, darker places.  A green flash of light as his mother screamed, a dark cupboard under the stairs, a large red face screaming at him.  Yes, Harry thought.  Take those instead...

The tearing, ripping sensations inside him abruptly stopped.  Harry reeled back, his arms squeezed painfully as the Inferi held him in place. 

Voldemort bared his teeth.  "What trick is this?" he hissed at Harry, then turned to the man in the bottle.  "The death of the mother, the other memories...you have brought me an imposter!"

Snape's eyes were unusually bright.  "Give me another chance, my Lord.  I will take the boy away, discover his secrets..."

"No," said Voldemort, his fingernails idly tracing the skin of his neck.  "His memories still give me strength, but...such strange memories.  This makes me unhappy, Wormtail.  You should have uncovered such secrets before you brought him to me.  It makes me impatient to begin your part in the ritual.  You have lived far too long as it is."

He whipped his wand at the bottle, and the sand at Snape's feet shifted and grew.  It piled around his ankles, building up around the glass walls.  It would only be a matter of minutes before the sand rose above his head and suffocated him.  Snape would only have a chance if Voldemort were distracted from his attempts to escape.

Harry looked at Snape fighting the rising sand.  Voldemort was wrong.  Memories were not all that made up a life.  A life was made by the people in it, by the love you gave them, and the choices you made for them. 

Harry knew what choice to make now. 

When he felt the dark presence in his mind again, he didn't fight it.  He led it to the memories the wizard wanted.  A gentle hand on his brow at night, the sight of his mother being given her potion, the flicker of silver as Snape's Patronus helped his mum on her mind's healing journey.  Memories of happiness and love--they were all he had, and he gave them away, for the man who was here for him, who needed him.

It was there again: the scent of moss, like the breath of the forest. 

Harry inhaled deeply, knowing that soon his memories would be gone.  Everything that he had lived through, who he had become, would be ripped from him.  Through the mire of images, he looked out over the water. 

The boat was no longer floating on the lake.  A deep current underneath the still waters must have moved it back.  It had settled on the shore of the island. 

He hoped it would give Snape the chance to escape.  He hoped his sacrifice would make the difference between life and death for him.  He hoped, because soon hope would disappear, along with everything else.

Harry closed his eyes, and the inrush of Voldemort's mind filled his senses, devouring him. 

"No one to help you now," said Voldemort.

"Wrong," a voice rang out.  A voice Harry thought he would never hear again.  His mum was here.

The assault within Harry's mind stopped. Harry clung to his memories, making sure they were safe before he opened his eyes.                                                  

Voldemort, now as tall as a man, was stock-still.  Lily stood a few feet away, the fiery sweep of her hair visible even in the faded light of the cave.  Her wand was aimed directly at the Dark Lord's throat.  "Move away from him."

Voldemort sneered at her.  "Do you think you can stop me?  You couldn't remember your own name when I left you last, and that was more than you deserved."

"I may not remember much," said Lily, her eyes flashing, "but I remember you."  Her wand whipped forward.

An arc of light stuck Voldemort in the throat.  He opened his mouth, and a stream of water gushed out.  He fell back with a gargle, gesturing towards the Inferi. 

The Inferi dropped Harry and moved as one towards his mum.

Harry reached the bottle in seconds.  The sand was now up to his neck, and Snape lifted his chin, gasping for air as he frantically tried to weave another spell.  Harry glanced back towards his mum, who had fired her wand at the Inferi.  One of the Inferi screeched as a swarm of pebbles rose from the water and dove at him, rattling as they slammed against his head.  When Harry turned back towards Snape, he had disappeared.  The bottle was overflowing with sand.

Harry pounded against the glass prison.  The hairline cracks along the glass lengthened across the surface.  He shoved at the center of the splintering web, and rebounded back onto the ground. 

The bottle tilted, and a figure swam to the surface.  There was one last moment, where he was able to look into those eyes, Wormtail's eyes, but eyes that he knew...and then they were swallowed by the sand. 

"No," whispered Harry.  He crouched into a starting position, and launched himself towards the bottle.  The impact slammed into his shoulder like white light, and he fell.  He opened his eyes to see the edifice, heavy with sand, teetering in a strange balancing act.  It hovered over him, its shadow falling across his body.

The stillness was broken with a loud crack, and then came the musical sound of the bottle shattering into millions of tiny shards.  An avalanche of glass and sand hurtled towards him. Harry held up his arms in defense.

"Protego!" shouted a familiar voice.  A shield formed around Harry and the glass and debris bounced away.

Through the sea of swirling grit settling around him, a prone dusty figure appeared a few feet away.  The plumpness of the figure was melting into a thin form as the Polyjuice lost its effect. 

Pushing through the dissolving shield spell, Harry rushed forward, tripping and falling onto the figure.  "You're all right?" he gasped.

The figure gave a grunt of discomfort.  Raising himself on his elbows, Snape turned his head to the side and spit out sand.  "In a manner of speaking."  He opened his hand, and a wand unearthed itself from the debris and landed neatly in his palm.  He held it out to Harry.  "And you?  You're well?" 

"My wand!" said Harry, then realized Snape's eyes were searching his.  "I'm fine.  Or I will be."  Harry thought of the memories he'd lost, of that horrible empty spot in the center of his mind where Voldemort had been.  "I lost some things...but I found something.  I found..."  He stopped, embarrassed.  He wanted to say what he felt, but was afraid that he would muck it up, that his attempt to name the thing would destroy it.  "I found...my wand," he finished. 

"You found your wand," repeated Snape, brushing sand away from Harry's face.  His eyes were still scrutinizing Harry's, as if looking for a visible wound.  He seemed to find none, as the dark lines around his eyes relaxed. 

"You helped me," said Harry, trying to find a way to say more.  Perhaps Snape would understand. 

But Snape was frowning, as though focused on another thought.  "Cutting it a bit close."

"I don't..." Harry began, but saw Snape was looking upward, past Harry's shoulder.  Harry looked behind him, but didn't see anything...until he looked down and saw a line of sandy footprints that stopped near them. 

"A simple 'thank you' would be more appropriate," said a voice, and Remus Lupin's disembodied head appeared in the air.  It was followed by his shoulders and body, and then Remus was standing there in his entirety, a shimmering cloak draped over his arm. 

"My Invisibility Cloak," said Harry.  He mumbled thanks to Remus for his protective spell, feeling himself flush at how ungrateful he sounded.  But Remus had interrupted something important.  "How did you get here?"

Snape and Remus stared at him as if to say, Isn't it obvious? 

Harry's brain caught up.  The Invisibility Cloak..."The empty boat."

Remus smiled.  "Not so empty."  Behind Lupin, an Inferi lumbered towards them. 

Snape grumbled as he pulled himself up.  The Inferi was close now, dragging its feet through the footprints in the sand.  Snape stabbed his wand towards it, and a stream of insects erupted from the air, diving towards the Inferi's mouth.  The creature clawed at its throat and tumbled to the ground.  "Took your time about it."

"The boat was hesitant about taking us across," said Remus, hurling the mound of sand and glass at the Inferi, burying it.  "A curse-damaged witch and a werewolf...I don't think it knew what to do with us."

"The information we pried from Wormtail was quite clear,"  Snape growled as the trio ran towards the battle near the shore. 

Lily was holding off the Inferi, but now they were advancing.  Voldemort had recovered and was struggling to stand, his wand whipping towards the lake.  There was a disturbance in the water, and two more Inferi rose and climbed towards the shore. 

Remus headed towards the shore to fight the Inferi emerging from the lake, and Snape moved towards Voldemort.  Harry ran for his mum, already firing stunning spells at the two Inferi that had grabbed her arms.

One of the spells struck, and the Inferi stumbled to one knee.  It dropped its hands from Lily, and she took the chance to slam her elbow back into the one still standing.    She broke from its grip as the second one recovered, levering itself to its feet.

Harry stopped at his mum's side and they both fired off spells, driving the two Inferi back towards the water. 

The sounds of Remus and Snape shouting out spells could be heard from further down the shore.  Snape and Remus were moving back, closer to Harry and Lily.

It took Harry a moment to realize what was happening: they were being herded into a circle.  He was reminded of the night the Dementors surrounded him, leaving him defenseless.

Snape and Remus were at his back now.  They were holding off the Inferi, but just barely. 

His heart pounding against his ribcage, Harry scanned his surroundings.  His eyes landed on the boat and he edged towards it. 

The water was lapping at their heels before Voldemort realized what was happening.  His eyes widened.  The Dark Lord slashed his wand through the air, towards the boat.

Remus stopped him, transfiguring the sand in front of the boat into a steel door.  The curse bounced off it, a black scorch-mark left in its wake. 

Harry dove for the boat, scrambling over its rim.  "Come on!" he shouted. 

Remus grabbed the steel door and rammed the Inferi back with it, causing their bodies to block Voldemort's curse.  One of the Inferi made an unearthly screech as the curse turned its right arm into wriggling maggots. 

Snape pulled back, shouting something at Lily.  She shook her head, yelling over the noise of the blasts of magic.  With an exasperated jerk of his arm, Snape's wand crashed down, and a sandstone wall surged up from the shore, cutting Lily off from the battle--and Snape.  She slammed her fist into it, then pulled away and ran for the boat. Pushing off from the shore, she leapt in.

"Wait," Harry said, tugging on her arm.  He gestured at the sandstone wall, slowly disintegrating from the charms and curses hitting it as Snape and Remus continued the battle.  "They won't make it to the boat."

"They're not coming.  Severus made that perfectly clear," said Lily. Her face was flushed with anger, but her eyes were wet.  "The boat will only take two."

Harry's hands gripped the edge.  The boat glided silkily over the water.  Below, the bodies of hundreds of Inferi lay silent and waiting.  "We'll go back.  I'll stay."

Lily pulled Harry close, holding him tight.  "When we heard about the enchantment on the boat, we knew it might come to this."

Harry stared at the curved bottom of the boat, trying to mentally push it back to the island. 

But the boat glided on, towards a dock on the far side of the cave.  A section of Snape's wall tumbled down, revealing two of the Inferi down and unmoving.  Light surged from Voldemort's wand, striking Snape in the chest.  He twisted and fell. 

"No!" screamed Harry, the sound echoing over the water. 

Voldemort's head whipped towards the noise, and another blast of light headed towards the boat, steaming the water as it rushed towards them. 

"Harry," Lily gasped.  He felt the heat of the oncoming fireball, and burning light filled his vision.  "Jump!" 

Fingers grabbed the back of his shirt, and he was yanked backwards.  His feet left the bottom of the boat, and the heat disappeared in an icy splash.  There was a moment of splintering wood and smoke, and then everything became a muffled echo as he was submerged in murky blue.  

He reached out with his arms and legs, encountering another set of limbs, and a trail of long hair.  Mum.  He grabbed her hand, and she clutched it. 

Harry began to feel a tightness in his lungs.  He kicked back and forth, moving towards the surface. 

The hand in his jerked suddenly, hauling them both downward.  Something was dragging her down to the bottom of the lake.  Inferi--there must be more down here.  He searched for the dim light of the surface.  Harry squeezed his mum's hand tightly. 

She squeezed back.  And the warmth of it made him feel like they weren't in this place at all, but somewhere peaceful and filled with light.  He was drowning, he realized.  The light faltered, and darkness surrounded him.

His mum's fingers opened and pulled away, into the cold depths.

Harry floated upwards, towards the surface, away from his mum. She'd let him go.  She'd let herself be pulled down so that he could escape. 

Snape had fallen, and his mum was drowning.  Flashes of his dream came back to him, of his helplessness as his parents had prepared to face death.  But this was no dream, and he wasn't going to let himself be helpless again.  Twisting his body, he reached for her. 

Then another hand--stronger, colder--reached up from below and wrapped around Harry's ankle.  With a wrench, he was pulled down, into the embrace of something mindless and relentless. 

His lungs burned as he was pulled down further.  The water was as thick as molasses now, and every movement was an effort.  He stopped struggling, wishing vaguely that the arms around him would stop crushing him, wishing that his mum were holding him instead.  A thin trail of bubbles wound away from his mouth, towards the distant surface. 

With a sudden sparkle, the bubbles doubled, then tripled. They crowded around him, fizzing against his skin.  The froth danced everywhere, crackling like static in his ears.  In an explosion of air and light, the water was gone, and he was falling to the soggy lake bottom, coughing, taking gulping breaths of damp air. 

The Inferi had loosened its grip during the fall. Harry kicked back, shoving the creature away from him.  He stumbled across the muddy ground, searching through the thick fog that surrounded him.  He wiped his fingers across the condensation on his glasses, leaning against a dripping rock wall, and peered into the rolling steam.

A pinprick of light appeared, feeble in the haze.  It grew as it approached, until the glow revealed the wand attached to it.  Lily appeared out of the mist, her hair plastered to the sides of her face.  The shadows around her eyes disappeared when she saw him, and she rushed forward. 

"What happened?" gasped Harry.

"Ebullio.  Although not like any bubbling charm I've ever seen.  Turned the lake into..." she waved her hand through the white, swirling vapor, "...this.  He found us."  She pointed towards a cliff face, one that used to be the distant lake shore, near the cave entrance.  A light was beaming outward, burning away the fog surrounding it.

Dumbledore stood in the center of that light, his wand aloft.  He threw up a shimmering shield, one that was soon struck by a jagged slash of lightning, cast from the island beyond. 

"Professor!" Harry shouted.  "We're down--"

Lily's hand wrapped around his mouth.  "Shh!" she hissed.  "Listen."

There was a rustling, like thousands of rats moving against each other.  The sounds grew louder as the things moved through the mud.

Harry shivered and rubbed his hands briskly over his damp skin.  He squinted through the fog, but could see nothing.  He and his mum moved slowly backwards until the hard surface of a jagged rock face pressed up behind them. 

The mist moved fitfully now, jerking back and forth in an odd rhythm.  The whiteness solidified, and the random movements turned out to not be random at all.  It was a row of Inferi, pale as bone, stumbling over the bodies of their still-waking brethren and advancing towards them. 

His mum's fingers dug into his shoulder.  "Run," she whispered. 

They turned and, gripping each other by the forearms, tore into the darkness.  Harry did his best to shield his mum as they ran, to protect her from the approaching Inferi.  Snape and his mum were willing to risk their lives to protect him, and he wasn't going to let them die for his sake.  He would do his best to keep them from making the sacrifice his mum and dad had made in his world. 

The fog batted at Harry like a living thing, cold on his hands and face.  A  twisted rock reared up through the mist.  They veered, and slammed into another wall.  His mum fell, her hands sinking into the slime of mud and seaweed. 

The mist moved again, and the Inferi were closer now, reaching for them.  Harry tugged at his mum, using the weight of his body to drag her to her feet, and they stumbled forward, into deeper muddy hollows.   

They were trapped in a nightmare, running in slow motion through the thick ooze.  Zigzagging through the maze of rocks and caves, Harry could barely see what was in front of them...or what was behind them.   

They reached a cave that sloped down below the lake bottom.  Inside, the glow of their wands was the only source of light.  Their panting echoed against the dripping walls, the air thick in Harry's throat. 

"We'll wait here," said Lily, pressing them both against a wall eroded by the currents of the water.  Holes in the wall gaped like empty mouths.  "Just for a moment, and then--"

An explosion of stone interrupted her.  Sand and debris flew in their faces.  A slimy white hand emerged from the enlarged hole, grasping at Lily, wrapping around her neck. 

Lily aimed her wand back towards the hand, but her incantation was choked off. 

"Incendio!" cried Harry.

The spark sputtered and died in the damp atmosphere.  Then hands were upon him, dragging him away from his mother, into the mud.  They were too strong for him.

Through the haze, another spark blazed in the darkness.

He tried to call out to his mum, to tell her Incendio wouldn't work, but a heavy hand muffled him.  He watched the spark smear across the wet air.

But it wasn't smearing; it was lengthening.  The spark had become a glow of silver light.   It probed the darkness, searching for something--or someone.   

Harry let out a breath.  The breath wisped between the fingers clamped around his mouth and curled towards the light.  As his puff of breath touched the light, the spark exploded, streaming outwards towards the mouth of the cave and into the lake bottom.  Harry's heart leapt.  Someone was still alive out there, looking for them.

One second ticked by, then two.  Then a dark figure was silhouetted in the cave entrance.  "Glacialis!"

The mist in the air solidified into tiny shards of ice.  The shards turned their sharp edges towards the Inferi holding Harry and Lily, and attacked.  Their grip weakened as the blades peppered their moldering faces and hands. 

Harry pulled himself free and staggered forward, into the weight of Snape's arms around his shoulders.  His body sagged in relief.  Snape and his mum were all right.  And he was going to make certain they stayed that way.

Snape urged him onward.  "The Headmaster and Lupin are holding back as many of the Inferi as they can.  Quickly!" 

The cave sloped upwards as they ran.  There was a circle of light up ahead, and they broke through to the larger cavern of the empty lakebed.  Harry heard that rustling again, of bodies against bodies, but amplified a hundredfold.  All the Inferi were awake now.

Light flashed on the sloping hill that had been the island, as Remus and Dumbledore fought against Voldemort and the Inferi surrounding them.  The Inferi on the lake bottom were climbing the hill, clawing their way towards their enemies.  But when Harry and the others emerged from the cave, they turned, ready to grasp onto new prey.

Snape flung out a curse, his voice like splintering wood.  Magic hissed through the air.   

Harry knocked away grasping hands, shoving against them for enough room to use his wand.  Snape was near him, saying something, but Harry couldn't hear over the noise of crashing bodies and shouted hexes.  Harry followed Snape's gaze to the rocky overhang above.  Lily was at his side, and they both directed their wands upward.  They shouted "Palpito!" and a pulse emitted from their wands, heading up.  Harry followed suit.

The sound waves reached the roof.  With a loud crack, rocks the size of cauldrons fell on the nearest Inferi.  The creatures thudded to the ground. 

"Move!" shouted Snape, heading for the slope that would take them outside. 

The Inferi were everywhere, grabbing at them, their foul breath on Harry's neck.  Harry shoved at them, but they closed around the little group.  Harry was lifted off his feet as the bodies pressed in, and he looked up, gasping for air.  The large overhang that spread across the roof trembled.  Dust trickled down to the lake bottom.

Harry caught a flash of a purple robe.  Through the Inferi, he saw Dumbledore and Lupin headed towards them.  Inferi surrounded them, and they were lost underneath a thicket of white limbs.

The Inferi were everywhere.  They weren't going to make it out of the cave.  They would become like the bodies surrounding them--lifeless, mindless.  Harry couldn't let that happen.  He took one last aim at the overhang, and summoned every spark of magic he could feel inside him, every longing he had to protect those he loved.  "Palpito!"  he roared.  An arc of light hit the spot where the overhang latched to the roof of the cave.

The dust became a sprinkling of debris, then a shower.  The Inferi swarming around them paused, as if listening.  It was only then that Harry felt it: a trembling that ran under their feet. 

In an explosion of sound, a pile of Inferi fell back as Dumbledore and Lupin emerged from the center.  Dumbledore's face was set in tight lines.  "Go!"

Harry grabbed fistfuls of mud and rock as he climbed his way towards the shore.  He took one last look back. 

With a crack that split his eardrums, the overhang toppled over, into the lakebed, and onto the Inferi below, like ants under a boot heel.  And amidst it all, still on the island, Voldemort stood with his wand raised, his body glowing with a fierce red light, screaming at them.  He cast his wand towards them, and a sliver of darkness shot towards them.  And then he disappeared amid the rubble as the cave collapsed in on itself. 

A hand grabbed his, and he stumbled through a rough-hewn stone doorway.  Out in the open air, on a cliff face, the wind pushed against them.  Beyond the cliff, waves crashed into foam around jagged rocks far below. 

Over the noise of the wind and the waves, the five of them stood panting.  Snape had paled, and was holding his hand against his side.

The waves seemed to crash into the side of the cliff with excessive force, until Harry realized that he was feeling the vibrations of the cave-in.  The cliff shuddered with each reverberation of the turmoil inside. 

Harry moved towards Snape, feeling deep gratitude.  "I knew you'd come for me," he said.

He felt Dumbledore's hand rest on his shoulder from behind.  "It was Severus who captured Pettigrew, learned the secrets of this place.  We wouldn't have managed, otherwise."

Harry nodded.  On this tiny slab of rock over a turbulent sea, he'd never felt safer. 

Snape said nothing, still breathing heavily.

"Oh come now, Severus," said Dumbledore.  "Surely the race out here didn't take that much out of you?"  He paused, and then, "Severus?"

Snape's face was waxy now, and his hand still clutched his side.  Harry ran to him and tugged at the hand.  Snape's arm dropped, and the folds of his sleeve fell away to reveal the handle of Voldemort's knife buried into his left side.  Harry knew now what that slip of black that Voldemort had cast towards them had been.  The knife handle glittered with dark magic.  He thought back to the Inferi the Dark Lord had killed with that dagger, and imagined that inky black liquid seeping out of the wound and through Snape's body. 

Snape fell to his knees, gasping.  Dumbledore kneeled beside him, pressing a hand to his heart.  "My dear boy," Dumbledore said.  "We must get you back to Hogwarts."

With great effort, Snape shook his head.  "Lily," he said. 

Lily was at his side in an instant.   She tilted her head, listening to his whispered instructions, and then they both raised their wands as one.  Lacy lines of silver appeared, fluttering together into a soft, four-legged creature.  The doe approached Severus, dipping her head near his. 

Snape reached up with a trembling arm and brushed his fingers along her neck.  Pinpricks of light appeared where his fingertips touched her.  Trails of silver glowed underneath his skin and Snape closed his eyes, his brows pinched together.  The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks echoed along the cliff as the moment stretched like a taut wire. 

Snape let out a groan and shook his head.  The doe stepped away, her head bowed low to the ground. 

"Not enough," Snape said, opening his eyes. 

Remus stood near Dumbledore, his hands clenched around his elbows.  "But you've said before that the healing power of the Patronum Totus is like none other.  Bragged about it, really..."

Snape glanced at Harry, but flicked his gaze quickly away.  "Patronum Duos," he said, holding up two fingers.  "Not powerful enough for the Dark Lord's curse."

"But can't Harry--" Remus began, then stopped abruptly.

Patronum Totus.  Harry remembered a summer afternoon at Spinner's End, when Snape and his mum had showed him a single doe created by two spells.  They had explained that it used to be three, that when all members of a family have the same Patronus, it can bind the family's power together.  It made them safer, offered them healing magic that wasn't available to others.

Harry had seen their surprise when he'd shown him that his Patronus was a stag.  His father-James Potter's-Patronus.  The man who had died for him, so long ago.  In many ways, he had been born in that sacrifice.  It was a part of his parents--the parents of the other world--that he carried with him. 

He kneeled in front of the crumpled figure.  "The other Harry," he began.  "You could create the Patronum Totus with the other Harry?"

Snape nodded, the movement a mere shadow. 

Harry settled on his heels.  He needed to go back, so his other self could return.  

Protection.  Healing.  Home.  That was why the Patronus had come here.  Harry gazed out over the foaming waves of the sea, each one sharp and clear as they broke against the rocks. 

That was why he had come here, too. 

He kneeled in front of the man he had once hated.  He'd spent the past months fighting a war with memory itself.  He'd clung so tightly to the memories of old hurts, and waged a war for their sake, not seeing what was right in front of him.

But he could see who was in front of him now.  He took Snape's hand. A more recent memory came to him.  "That day in the garden, you said I could be your little one, for a while longer."

The hand squeezed back.  "Yes."

Harry managed a smile, for Snape.  "That while is over now."

Snape shook his head, pulling Harry closer.  "Never."

Harry fell into an embrace between Snape and his mum, the warmth of their bodies sheltering him from the sharp wind.  Another tremor lanced through the cliff. 

"It's all right," said Harry--and it was.  Now he knew what to do.  He knew the kind of man he could be.                                           

His mum reached over and grasped their hands.  Harry held on to both of them, this moment making up for any taken by Voldemort.  He leaned into Snape's shoulder.  He had no trouble finding the words to say now.  "I would have been proud," he whispered, "to be your son."

"I am proud," said Snape. 

"We both are," said his mum.  "Always."

Harry didn't say anything more, feeling the weight of their arms as he listened to the crashing of the waves.  When he looked up, he saw the silver doe, still standing near Remus and Dumbledore, her head tilted questioningly. 

Snape gestured towards her, his breath more ragged now. 

Harry nodded, the knowledge clicking into place on an intuitive level, as if it had always been there, waiting to be found.  "She can help me."

"Guide you...but you must take...the first step..."

Harry took a deep breath and stood.  The wind still buffeted him, but he stood strong.  He stepped towards the Patronus and held his hand out to her.  The tip of her nose touched his fingertips, and he felt a warmth run through him, an echo of a familiar place he'd almost forgotten.  He took one last look at Dumbledore and Lupin, but he didn't look back at his parents.  He didn't need to. 

"I'm ready," he said. 

The world shimmered, and he felt himself floating.  The doe was more solid now, her silver fur soft as he wrapped his arm around her neck.  He looked down, and saw that he was floating high over the cliff, the figures on it like a silent tableau: Snape and Lily, huddled together, with Dumbledore and Remus standing near them.  And his own shape, lying prone on the ground, his eyes shut as if in sleep.

He stared at the doe wonderingly, and heard a voice in his head.  Home.

The world swirled away in a spray of white.  The smell of moss caught him, pulled him somewhere new.  A forest sprung up around him, a narrow pathway before him.  The dirt was as soft as powder under his feet, spurting upward in tiny sprays as he walked.  The doe walked beside him, lighting the way through shadowy trees.  If he looked too closely at anything, it wavered.  This world was fragile, he sensed, but it could lead him home.  But the paths between the trees split in every direction, and he did not know the way.

He looked at the doe.  "What do we do now?"

The voice was inside his head again. Hope.

Harry stared at the paths stretching out in front of him.  He closed his eyes, and did as the Patronus asked.  He hoped. 

Harry's well-worn trainers skidded across the roof of an abandoned shop on Spinner's End.  A river bordered by trees shone in the distance, but Harry didn't spare it more than a glance.  He couldn't stop running.  He gulped for air like a drowning man, his feet turning up bits of gravel and tar scattered across the flat roof. 

As he neared the edge, he sped up, one foot hitting the short wall at the edge, launching himself over the narrow alleyway and onto the roof of the next building.  He landed and kept running, the echo of the impact stabbing into his heels. 

A dark shape flitted in his peripheral vision, following him.  "If this is your idea of hiding," said the shape, "I have quite a lot to teach you."

"Not--" gasped Harry, and now he slowed, his lungs battering against his ribs.  He turned toward Snape, who hovered to his right.  "Not...hiding.  Exercising."  He wiped the sweat out of his eyes.  "Is that my Firebolt?"

Snape gave his deepest scowl, although the impact was lessened by the sight of his legs dangling below a broomstick.  "I had no intention of searching for my broom when an adequate substitute was within reach."

"If you ever used your broom--"  Harry stopped, his cooling skin heating again.  His temper had been close to the surface ever since this morning.  "What do you mean, 'adequate'?  It's a bloody Firebolt!"

"Language," chided Snape.  He shifted on his seat.  "Staying at Hogwarts during the summer does not mean you are unsupervised.  Departing on a whim--"

"--A Firebolt!  Tell me it's not brilliant."

"Portkeys--"

"Faster, I know, but the Fire--"

"Portkeys are no longer to be used, if you plan on running off.  I want that letter returned."

Harry fished the Portkey out of his pocket, but the anger was still there, crawling under his skin.  Locking eyes with Snape, he set his jaw.  "Tell me it's not brilliant."

Snape leaned forward and the Firebolt swooped closer, braking so that Snape's nose was a centimeter from Harry's.  "The Portkey." 

Harry held out the letter.  Snape grabbed it, and the words on the paper glowed briefly.  Harry held onto the letter, watching the black scrawl dance across the page, blurring illegibly. 

Snape tugged at the letter, but Harry could not loosen his grip.  It was happening again: the fierce pull of two worlds, splitting him into pieces.  He needed to tell Snape, but his teeth chattered to a staccato beat; the same beat to which the words danced, to which his heart skittered, so fast he thought his veins would rupture. 

Snape wasn't tugging at all; it was Harry's arm jerking to that same rhythm.  Snape held Harry's face with both hands, his mouth wide in a shout.  Harry couldn't feel his touch or hear his words.  Snape began to glow, so bright that his features disappeared, blotted out in a white haze. 

Harry tried to close his eyes, tried to will the world right.  But the world was cracking.  Fine lines appeared across Snape's body, in the air between them, across the sky.  Everything was falling apart, and he couldn't stop it.  A sound grew: a high-pitched whine, drilling into his eardrums. 

With a clap, the noise ended, leaving his ears aching. 

He lay on the roof, Snape's hands still clasped around his head, the only sound his own labored breathing.  His body had all the strength of a wet noodle.  He stared at the gouges in the cement near his face and tried to get himself working again. 

"Worse than before," said Snape.

"S'fine," said Harry.  His mouth was filled with cotton.  He cleared his throat.  "Bit of dizziness.  Could've been those dodgy eggs I had this morning."

For a brief moment, the hands squeezed painfully tight around his face.  Snape stood up, looking about twelve feet tall.  "Do not lie to me."

Harry righted himself, forcing his legs not to quiver.  The sunny sky seemed overcast after the harsh brightness of his vision.  He was careful to look Snape in the eye, and smooth out his face.  "I'm not lying," he said. 

"Dodgy eggs," repeated Snape.  "You weren't at breakfast in the Hall."  Snape breathed in sharply, his hand falling over a small bump in his breast pocket.  "You overheard us in the kitchen this morning." 

"I--"

"How much did you overhear?"

So much for lying.  "Not much," said Harry.  "You and Dumbledore kept your voices low."

Snape's hand fell away from the pocket.  "You didn't hear...?  What exactly did you hear?"

"I heard why I can't return home."

Snape no longer looked twelve feet tall.  He had shrunk in on himself.  "My  Patronus needs to join with yours, to be your guide.  But it cannot, in its current state."

Harry remembered peering out from his shadowy corner of the kitchen, watching  Snape cast his Patronus: wobbling on thin legs, ribs showing through her sides like the rings of a barrel, her coat a dull grey rather than silver. 

"I do not have the necessary...commitment to the project," said Snape.  "The connection between us must go, if you are ever to leave this world."

The connection: the mysterious magical force that enabled them to combine Patronuses, or offer each other healing magic.  It grew stronger as they grew closer, but it was also binding them to each other, holding Harry tight when his own world pulled at him.  Weakening their Patronuses so that they could not guide Harry home.  Breaking such a connection was difficult, if not impossible. 

Harry crossed his arms, the heat building in him like stacked coals.  "What've you come up with, then?  What's your brilliant solution?"

Snape studied him.  "There are few spells that can break ties between two people.  The simplest, and least dangerous, is--"

"Obliviate!"  The word exploded out of Harry.  "You're going to use Obliviate!"

"Not on you," said Snape.  "On me.  I require assistance in--"

"Forgetting me."
"Harry."  Snape's voice was quiet, but hard.  "These seizures are killing you."

"Why don't you let them kill me, then!  Either way, I'll be gone." 

Snape grabbed his arm, yanking him close.  "This is your fault," he growled, so low it vibrated through Harry's skull.  "You insisted on staying with me, on following me about like a lost puppy, and it's wrought you a death sentence."

Harry ripped his arm away.  "Everyone I care about forgets me!"

"Everyone I care about dies!  If wiping you from my mind keeps you alive, then so be it!"

Harry's legs were charged with electricity.  He needed to run.  No, he needed to climb.  Snatching the Firebolt still hovering in the air, he aimed it toward the trees lining the river. 

He was just about to clear the roof when an arm wrapped around his shoulders.  "I think not," said Snape.

Harry wasn't about to be stopped.  With a growl, he lurched forward, urging the Firebolt on.  Snape pulled him backward.  Harry wrestled with Snape's elbow, jerking until Snape lost his balance, nearly unseating them both.  The Firebolt, sensing a release of its anchor, bounded for the sky.  Harry managed to hold on.  So did Snape.

"Potter," said Snape, who now had a death grip across Harry's chest.  "Land this broom!"

The Firebolt was on the verge of going into a nosedive, straight into the tarmac.  "Landing is not a good idea," said Harry.  He struggled to pull the Firebolt up, and the broom bucked like a wild pony.  "And my name...is not...Potter!"   With a wrench, the broom straightened and rocketed toward the river. 

The cool breeze became a freezing blast, like diving into icy water.  The landscape blurred.  He welcomed the sting across his face.  He could shut out the buzzing of his mind, see nothing, hear nothing. 

Except for the shouting in his ear.

"We will discuss this rationally!" screamed Snape.

"You're rational enough for the both of us!  So go ahead.  Have Dumbledore Obliviate you.  Erase me like a bad sum."

"Do you think I wish to lose these memories?  I have no choice!  Unless..."  Snape's arm jerked convulsively around Harry's ribs.  "Unless you stay.  You overheard that, as well?"

Harry shook his head violently, causing the Firebolt to swerve.  It veered down, toward the river.  He tried to pull up again, but a tree loomed.  He had just enough time to process the inevitability of the crash before the branches closed in. 

He was battered by a thousand pointy, leafy arms.  Until he hit one of the larger branches, which slammed him in the gut, effectively braking his progress.  Harry spent a moment curled around the branch until he was certain none of his organs would ooze out of his sides. 

The Firebolt rested peacefully in a nearby nook.  Snape was sprawled out over several uneven branches.  One of Snape's legs hung over a nearby branch, the robe rucked up to reveal a bony shin ending in a drooping sock. 

"Well."  Harry spit out a leaf.  "I finally got you up a tree."

Snape's face was flushed, and his eyes had the glassy look of someone who had just witnessed a hurricane.  "Try anything like that again,"  he said, his voice as rough as pounded gravel, "and that Firebolt will become firewood."

The breeze kicked up, and the leaves chattered around them.  Harry climbed toward sturdier seating while Snape righted himself.  Snape summoned his lost shoe from somewhere within the depths of the tree.  Grunting, he twisted his leg toward himself, aiming for his foot.  "You think I will try to keep you here?"

Harry rubbed at a spot on his knee where a branch had whacked him with enthusiasm.  "Dunno," he said.  "Do you want to?"

Snape inched closer to Harry, disrupting a nearby bird who squawked like a rusty hinge.  "Irrelevant.  We'll continue on course.  Return to Hogwarts, and, despite your reservations, use Obliviate--"

"No."

"Harry--"

"It won't help, anyway."  Harry turned his face away from Snape.  "Your Patronus is weak?"  He pulled out his wand.  "Expecto Patronum!"

A sickly doe appeared on a heavy branch near them, as though tossed there by a raging wind.  She looked just as Harry remembered her from his last casting: near death.

"You're not the only one," said Harry. 

The breeze lessened, the chattering of the leaves faded, and there was a long silence. 

"You could stay," Snape murmured, so quietly Harry could barely hear him.

Harry's heart pounded.  "Anchor me to this body.  No going back, ever."

"Your symptoms would cease.  Your body cannot endure being dragged in two directions."

Dragged in two directions.  It would stop, if he made a choice.  Just one impossible choice.  "I can't abandon my mum and dad.  But...I can't leave you alone."

"You're stubborn to a fault.  Much like James Potter."

"And I can't protect the people I care about.  Just like him."

"You have reason to dislike James Potter, but I have no doubt he did everything in his power to protect...his family."  The words seemed torn out of Snape. 

Harry looked at him.  "You're my family, too."

"No.  Your family is on the other side."  Snape pressed his hand to his breast pocket, clutching something inside.  "Go back and protect them."

"And you?"

"I survived many years without a Harry in my life.  I'll do so again."

"But you will have a Harry in your life.  The other one."

"Harry Potter is not you.  By any stretch of the imagination."

"So you hate him, but you--"  Harry grinned.  "-'lack the necessary commitment' to get rid of me?"

Snape's gaze remained steady.  "Essentially."

Harry's smile fell away.  "At the beginning of summer, I told you that you couldn't be that different from my dad."

"You were wrong."

"I was wrong.  I wanted you to be the dad I left behind.  You're not.  But you could be somebody's dad."

"I'll never be a father."

"You could be a friend." 

"Concern yourself with your own well-being, not mine.  In any case, if I use Obliviate--"

"Promise me that you won't use it, and I'll come back to Hogwarts.  We'll work together to send me back."  Harry doubted it would do any good.  But he needed the reassurance of Snape's word. 

Snape's hand fell to his breast pocket again, his hands idly trailing along it as though he were lost in thought.  "All right."

Harry thought making a decision would make him feel better.  It didn't.  He had begun to see a glimmer of who this man was, how they might fit into each other's life.  Now that glimmer had been abruptly shut off.  He rubbed at his mouth, trying to signal to his eyes to behave themselves. 

Snape reached out and grabbed his hand, in preparation for Apparition.  "You were right about one thing," he said.

His stinging eyes were not getting the message.  "Oh yeah?  What's that?"

"The Firebolt is brilliant."

As the pressure of Disapparation closed in, Harry nodded.  "Bloody right." 

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Harry had memorized every crack in the walls of the infirmary, and he hated them all.   But he needed to be here.   He'd had another attack soon after they'd reached Hogwarts, and the pain hadn't retreated until Snape had administered a strong  potion. 

Snape stood over his bed.  Déjà vu.  But this time, Snape wasn't pointing an angry finger; he was fingering his breast pocket.  Again. 

"All right," said Harry, sitting up in bed.  "What's in there?  You're not going to offer me more bubblefruit, are you?"       

Snape sat on the bed. "No.  But it is for you."  He pulled something silvery from his pocket and placed it in Harry's hand.  It looked like a bit of lace made of thin glass.  But this was not glass, nor any material Harry had encountered before.  Each strand glowed, and it was warmer and heavier than it should be. 

"I can't take things with me, can I?  It's only my soul that's going.  Or supposed to go."  They still had not managed to create a Patronus strong enough to be a guide to the other world. 

"I can transfer its properties to you.  To your soul."

"Is this to make up for not taking me to the Quidditch World Cup?"

"I took you to the Cup, as you well know.  Stop testing to see if I've used Obliviate."

Harry couldn't help himself.  Every time he looked at Snape, he wondered if the man would keep his word.  It would be so easy for Snape to cut off his feelings, to forget him the second he left this world. 

Harry held the lace in front of him, testing the weight of it.  The thin strands were as heavy as chain mail.  "What's it made from?"

"It's made from me," said Snape.

Harry frowned.  He hadn't heard that right.  "From...?"

"It's magical energy manifested.  Much like the memories one puts in a Pensieve, or a Patronus.  I experimented with it years ago, and your appearance revived my interest.  If a shared Patronus is powerful, then an object created with a person's magical energy could also contain great power."

"But magical energy can't manifest outside a person forever.  It fades, or needs something like the Statura or the Pensieve to sustain it."

"This is temporary as well. I've stabilized it with a brewed solution.  But it will degrade.  That is why it must be incorporated into your magical signature."

"You're giving me some of your power."

Snape paused.  "Yes."

"That's temporary, too, right?  Like with the Patronus.  The power will return to you."

"The transfer is permanent."

Harry squirmed.  "I can't do that."

"You have not heard what it is for, yet."

"To make my journey safer?  I can't-"

"It is a curse eater."  Snape kept his eyes fixed on the lace.  "Your mother.  Her curse."

The bottom dropped out from under him.  "This will..."  He couldn't say cure.  It was too much to hope for. 

"It is uncertain.  I could only transfer a fraction of my power.  And the power will begin to degrade once it becomes a part of you.  It may be too little to have an effect.  You will not know until you make the attempt."

Harry held the lace tightly to his chest.  "I need to go.  I need to go now."

Snape looked up, a strange light in his eyes.  "Yes.  Cast your Patronus."

Oh, hell.  He was off his game, being manipulated like this.  He tried to quench the fire in his belly, but he couldn't.  Every fiber in his being was lit with a need to find the way home.  Taking a deep breath, he raised his wand and cast the spell. 

His Patronus shone brightly, her hooves clacking on the floor as she paced restlessly. 

There was one problem.  "Cast yours," said Harry. 

This Patronus was still a sickly figure.  Snape banished her, and looked at Harry.  "It appears," he said, "that you will need to release me from my promise not to use Obliviate." 

Damn, damn, damn!  The frustration inside Harry was close to panic.  "Why are you doing this?  Why are you making me choose?"

Snape leaned close.  "There is no choice.  There never was.  We are who we are.  You cannot stay here.  I cannot let go.  We were never meant to be anything to each other.  Best to accept that, and go back to our lives."

"Just teacher and student, right?  Just like you said when I left Hogwarts last June.  No wonder you can't say farewell to me.  My dad said farewell means--"

"You told me.  I do wish you to fare well, Harry.  This is the best way.  It's the only way."

"It's not!"  Another tremor hit him, blinding him.  He could feel his hand shaking, the lace slipping from his fingers.  But Snape's hand enclosed his, wrapping in a tight grip.  Don't let go, don't let go, Harry chanted, although the words were lost amid his chattering teeth.  

When he came back to himself, he was flattened in bed, the sheets soaked in perspiration.  Snape knelt beside the bed, his hair tickling Harry's ear.  "Just say it," Snape crooned, his hand pressing down on the top of Harry's head as if to keep it from shattering.  "Say, 'I release you from your promise.'  That's all you have to say."

It would be easier to split in two.  Bloody Slytherin tactics.  But this was not a battle he needed to fight on Slytherin terms.  He was part Slytherin, part Gryffindor, and he was going to use everything he had to win this.

"Did you think about using Obliviate before?  After you lost my mum?"

A terrible moment stretched out.  "Yes."

"Why didn't you?"

"If it were not for memories of her...I would have sank even further into the darkness."

Harry understood sinking into darkness.  "You're afraid of being forgotten, too."

"Nothing so simple as that.  I'm greedy by nature.  When I see something of value, I..."  His palm closed, his fist clenching tightly.  "I've let go of too many things.  Too many people."

"This is different.  You're overthinking this, the way Slytherins always do.  It doesn't mean what you're thinking."

"Oh?  Give me your Gryffindor perspective. What does it mean?"

"It means...farewell.  You need to learn to say farewell."

"Naive thinking.  I cannot break the connection."  Snape stood up and strode out of the room, his last words echoing behind him:  "Not without Obliviate." 

Harry stared into the infirmary fireplace for a long time after that, trying to get the pounding of his heart to slow.  Fires calmed him.  They reminded him of his dad's workroom, where a fire always burned, licking one or more bubbling cauldrons. 

He thought back to a time, years ago, when he had watched the flame under a cauldron dip lower and lower, until it slipped under the curving pewter.  He held his breath, afraid he would blow the flame out, until he couldn't bear it any longer.    

"Dad!  It's gone out!"               

A hand came to rest on the work table as his dad leaned down, eyeing the flame.  The firelight caused the edge of his hand to glow, like magic.  That's how Harry thought of his dad's hands: full of magic, full of power.    

His dad's hand moved now, skimming over the steam rising from the cauldron.  "It's fine.  Banked."       

"Bank?" Harry asked.  He thought a bank was a large room full of leathery creatures who scowled at his father and said words like "denied" and "overdrawn."  His father usually left the room with a scowl of his own, and a few muttered words Harry guessed he wasn't supposed to hear.      

But his dad wasn't scowling now.  One corner of his mouth wriggled in that funny way, which meant he was holding back a smile.   

"Banked," his dad said.  "Hold your hand closer to the fire.  Carefully." 

Harry did so.  "It's hot."

His dad pulled his arm away.  "Hot enough to create magic. Listen."

Harry listened.  Potions made all sorts of sounds, like crackling, or whistling.  This one made a soft ting-a-ling-a-ling, like a faraway ice cream wagon.  "Will it be strong enough to help mum?"

"Is that why you're here?  Your mum was supposed to see you to bed."

"She forgot again."

"We aren't going to use that word when she's near.  Rules."

"Rules."  Harry nodded vigorously, going over the rules in his head.  Then he said, "she did that thing.  That thing with her eyes."  That thing where she looked at him like he was a problem she couldn't quite solve, and he knew she'd forgotten him.  But he didn't know how to tell his dad.  Whenever he started to explain what he saw in his mum, the light would go out of his dad's eyes, and that made him hurt inside.  He tugged his dad's robes, wanting to climb up.

"You're too old for that," his dad said, but he sat down on a stool, and pulled Harry near.  "I know there are times when her eyes... But your mum is still there."

His dad hadn't quite understood what Harry meant about her eyes, but he let that go.  He felt like his dad was telling him something important.  Harry closed his eyes.  The ting-a-ling tickled his ear.  She's still there.  "Like the fire?"

"Like the fire.  You won't be able to see it.  You have to feel it."

"But I don't know what to do.  When she's banked."

His dad said nothing, but held him more tightly, as if he were afraid Harry would fall. 

"Maybe I should be banked, too?"  asked Harry.

"What do you mean?"

Harry hadn't been able to explain what he meant, then.  But he could explain it now.  At least he hoped he could. 

xxxxxxxxxxx     xxxxxxxxxxx     xxxxxxxxxxx

"You can use Legilimency to cut the connection?"

"No."  Harry lit a fat candle on a pedestal between himself and Snape.  "It's not like a rope that has to be cut.  It's like a fire that has to be banked.  It's still just as hot.  It just can't reach out and engulf what's around it."

"Do you really believe that?"

Harry offered a weak smile.  "It's all I've got.  The Legilimency is so you can see what I do.  I don't know how else to explain it.  There aren't any words to the spell.  I just know how I feel inside when it works."

"How can you know it's magic, then?" 

"I know.  When you're filled up with needing someone, and then you're not-that's magic."

"You've used it.  During the bad times."

Harry looked at the candle, trying to focus his mind on the flame.  "Only  for a while.  I thought it would hurt less...but Mum needed me to be there.  All there.  Even if she didn't know it."

"And you need me to not be here."

"Our feelings, our shared Patronuses...it's all intertwined.  We need to untangle it  This spell should help us do that."

"And if it doesn't?"

Harry knew what Snape wanted him to say.  Obliviate.  But he wouldn't say it.  He wasn't sure he could ever say it, even if all his other options ran out.  "Start.  I'll show you what to do."

"How do I start?"

"Begin with goodbye."

Snape looked impatient.  "I should simply say goodbye to you?"

"No."  It was too recent, too direct.  It was the bubbling froth on the surface.  Harry reached out with his mind, and could feel it.  Trying to turn down the heat, to settle the connection between them to a low burn, was like trying to cool a fire that had been burning hot for days-or years-by sprinkling a bit of water on the top.  To have an effect, he had to reach the core  And the core was not this moment, this goodbye.  The core was something deeper, older. 

Harry only knew a few pieces of this Snape's past.  There were any number of places he could probe, hoping to find the right memory that would cool the fire of Snape's emotions, of his need to hold on. 

But he also sensed that this was not a time to probe and analyze.  This was not a time for Slytherin strategy.  The Gryffindor part of him knew exactly what question to ask.  And so he did.

"My mum.  Did you ever say goodbye to her?"

"This is--"

"Irrelevant.  Yeah.  But if I'm dying, I should get a last request.  Tell me."

"Lily and I...did not part on the best of terms.  There were no goodbyes."

Snape's tone warned Harry to leave it alone, but he couldn't.  This was the only way.  He could feel the connection between them, warm and tough, like burnished leather.  He pushed forward, gently.  "How would you have said goodbye?" he asked.  "If you could have?"  

The man's look said this is pointless.  His gaze fell to the lace carefully cradled in Harry's hand, and something changed in his face.  His eyes closed into thin lines.  "There was a summer when...that is, she..."  He cleared his throat.  "I cannot..."  He rubbed his long hands on his knees, and his body quivered, as if fighting forces as powerful as those surrounding Harry. 

Harry understood that this was difficult for the man, even if he didn't completely understand why.  With Snape sitting at the edge of his bed, he was reminded of his dad, at bedtimes, not so long ago.  "Once upon a time?" he ventured.

Snape stared out the long infirmary windows, lit by the late afternoon sun, and for a moment Harry was certain he would roll his eyes and walk out.  But then he spoke. 

"Once upon a time," his voice was slow, fumbling, "there was a boy and a girl.  And a river between them.  The boy would the bridge to see her.  But one summer, there was an industrial spill...ah, that is...there were..."

"Dragons?"

"Dragons.  A shadow passed over Snape's face.  "And the boy couldn't cross."

Harry guessed Snape was remembering more than an industrial spill, because that was how memories were: crisscrossing caverns, all connected.  Exploring one happy memory meant bringing light to all the dark ones that surround it.  Maybe awakening something from the past that should have stayed buried. Dragons. 

He tested the connection between them.  Still strong, pulsing with fire.  They needed to stay focused.  "What did the boy do?"

"He stood on the bank of the river, and she stood on the other.  They found, if they wished very hard, they could send messages to each other."  Snape raised his hand to his mouth and whispered into it.  Then he blew gently, as if releasing the words into the air.  Harry heard...no, heard wasn't right.  A voice was tickling the inside of his ear.  It said, Are you there?

Harry whispered into his palm.   I'm here.  Snape cocked his head, as if listening, and his face brightened for a moment, the years dropping away.  Harry remembered an old photo of his dad as a child, with wide eyes and an open face.  For the first time, he could see that child in the man before him. 

"So the boy and the girl...they were separated.  But not kept apart."

Snape made a strange sound then, low in his throat, and Harry felt it: the thick band between them wavered and cooled.   He couldn't explain how he knew, but he could visualize it shrinking in front of him.  He looked up at Snape. 

Snape raised his wand, and cast his Patronus.  It stood strong. 

As soon as the doe had finished forming, Snape moved to the fireplace, sending off a quick firecall.  "The lace," he said, turning back toward Harry.  His eyes were as forbidding as they'd been the first time they'd met in this world.  "Once its energy runs out, you must cease any attempt at a cure."

Harry searched Snape's face for any sign of the warmth that had been there moments before.  Anything other than this cold lecturer.  But there was nothing.  He ran his fingertips over the lace.  It's made from me.

"What happens if I don't stop?" asked Harry.

"The lace will siphon your magical energy to continue.  It will use you to absorb the curse.  If allowed to continue, you could become as afflicted as your mother."

No sign of concern; it was a simple statement of fact.  Harry sighed.  This was what he wanted, wasn't it?  The connection was gone.  He could go home.  Nothing holding him back. 

Nothing at all.

He turned the lace over, finding comfort in its steady warmth.  "How will I know?  When the energy runs out?"

"You'll know.  I've erected multiple wards.  An alarm will sound inside your head.  The light will shift.  It will take an extreme act of will to push past them.  Do not try."

Harry nodded.

Impatience colored Snape's face.  "I'm familiar with reckless Gryffindor heroics.  I will not be responsible for bringing this curse down on anyone else.  Promise me."

Harry searched Snape's expression.  Perhaps he still cared, after all?  "I'll stop.  I promise."

"Severus?" called a voice.  Dumbledore emerged from the creaking infirmary door.  "Your message sounded urgent.  Are we ready?"

"Yes, Headmaster."  Without another word to Harry, he began an incantation. 

The lace in Harry's hand grew warmer, until his palm became uncomfortable, nearly sunburned.  "Is it..." he started to ask, but then the lace began to melt, its intricate lines seeping into his skin.  Heat ran up his arm, into his chest, spiraling throughout his body.  His eyes throbbed, and his tongue burned the roof of his mouth. 

Everything looked odd: the chair, the bed, even the infirmary walls, like they were made of thin paper.  Snape and Dumbledore stood near him, each outlined in brilliant colors.  Dumbledore's was thick and orange, like butterscotch pudding.  A white mist outlined Snape, flickering as he stepped closer.  A tendril of mist formed, reaching toward Harry. 

"What is that...white?"  Harry asked.

Snape tilted his head, the mist moving, reaching the footboard of Harry's bed. 

"An aura, you mean?" asked Snape.  "You're seeing the magical signature of each wizard, part of their souls.  The combination of the lace's properties and the Patronus spell must be creating that effect..."  Snape stumbled, reaching for the footboard to break his fall. 

The tendril touched Harry, and he noticed that an aura enveloped him, too, and it was reaching out for Snape's.  Grabbing it, pulling it towards itself.  Absorbing it. 

"Stay back!" said Harry.  "Something's wrong.  It's pulling you.  Pulling your soul."

Dumbledore stepped forward, the orange bubbling briefly toward Harry, and pulled Snape back.  The tendrils broke contact.  Snape gripped Dumbledore by the arm, breathing deeply.  Harry wanted to run to him, but didn't dare get any closer.   

"Lie down, Severus," said Dumbledore.  "I'll fetch Poppy." 

Snape shook his head.  "Momentary weakness.  I can carry on.  It's best to get this over with."

Get this over with.  The fire wasn't just banked; he'd succeeded in breaking the connection.  Maybe it was too much to ask, to say goodbye and still care.  Maybe Snape had said goodbye too many times. 

It was time.  He focused his mind on happier thoughts.  Home.  The doe sprang from his wand, merged with Snape's.  She grew brighter, her flicking ears casting off glimmers of light into the shadows.  Clacking toward Harry, she nipped at his ear. 

An electric current shot from his ear and down through his spine.  Powerful forces yanked at body.  Not his body, he reminded himself.  His soul. 

Fatigue washed over him.  He was pulled out in a strong tide, warm salty water covering his vision.  But before he shut his eyes completely, he rasped out a mantra to himself: "Separated.  But not kept apart."

The last thing he felt, before the water covered him, was a tickle in his ear.

Yes. Farewell, Harry.

xxxxxxxxxxx     xxxxxxxxxxx     xxxxxxxxxxx

When he opened his eyes again, he was surrounded by trees: a forest of light and shadows, moss thickening the air.  Paths split in every direction.  The doe chose one, her hooves making soft impressions in the powdery soil.  Harry followed.

In a clearing, waist-high grasses swayed as if in a breeze, but the air was still.  The path narrowed to a tiny trail, leading to a lake at the center of the clearing.  The doe wound her way through the grass, dipping her nose to the lake.  Ripples floated across the surface. 

"Thirsty?" asked Harry.  He felt like they had been walking for a long time, but he didn't feel thirsty, or even tired.  He wanted to be home, and wondered if the doe knew where she was going.  Would they wander in this place forever?  He ran a finger across the surface of the lake.  His reflection broke into pieces and reformed, rocking with the movement of the water.  His reflection frowned at him, as if annoyed by Harry's manipulations.

But Harry wasn't frowning.  He leaned forward, peering at the reflection. 

The reflection stretched a hand toward him, the fingers touching the surface of the lake from the other side.  Ripples skated away from those fingers. 

Harry reached out, fingertips touching fingertips.  He broke through the surface of the water and felt a warm hand clasp his.  The other Harry pulled, and the world shifted, the lake turning on its side, dissolving in a roar of water.

They both stood in the clearing, arms still clasped, a sheet of water suspended in the air between them.  It undulated, like linen on a clothesline.  A doe stood by each of them.

"How?" Harry asked his mirror image.  "How do I get back home?"

The other Harry's eyes widened.  "I thought you would know." 

A strange rat-a-tat rhythm ran through his thoughts, intrusive, jarring.  "I can't wait," he said.  "I need to get back.  My mum."

The other Harry frowned.  "No, your dad."

"What--" Harry began, but then he saw: his dad, lying against a rock face, clutching a wound in his side.  Black liquid oozed over his fingers. 

Harry jerked back.  The other Harry was pulled forward by their clasped arms, stumbling into the water.  A spray of mist erupted on both sides.  Harry tried to yank his arm free, but found he couldn't.  Their arms had lost their shape, and were now entwined around each other like the thick fibers of a rope.  It reminded him of the tendrils reaching toward him in the infirmary, of souls.

That was it, he realized.  While he might walk along a path with his feet or feel the water on his face, he had no body here.  His body was somewhere in his own world.  What he saw as arms and legs weren't physical.  He was a soul without an anchor, and so was the other Harry. 

"You can cure her?" asked the other Harry.

The rat-a-tat noise in Harry's head grew louder, becoming fragments of words: my mum...save her...should have...done more...

The words were similar to his own thoughts, but he could sense that they weren't his; the feel, the rhythm, wasn't quite right. They came from the other Harry's mind, tapping to its own beat.  He felt a contrast in the pulses of longing, in the need to protect.  He felt himself being drawn in, to childhood memories different from his own. 

He tried to shut out the other's thoughts, clearing his mind enough to speak.  "It's like it was in the infirmary.  Our souls are getting...tangled up in each other." 

The other Harry, who must have been hearing his thoughts as well as his words, seemed to understand immediately.  "How do we separate?" 

The paths in the clearing were disappearing, swallowed by the thick grasses that were growing around them.  "Brute force?" suggested Harry. 

The two leaned back and pulled, as if in a tug of war.  Harry watched over the other Harry's shoulder as a single path was left, shrinking until it disappeared entirely. 

"No!" said Harry.  Was he too late?  Were they trapped here forever? 

The two does approached, one on either side of the water.  Each lapped at the sheet, their tongues sending shimmers of light through the barrier. 

The water.  He needed to go through the water.  "Jump through!" he shouted to the other Harry.

The other Harry stopped tugging.  Their arms were free, but the tendrils still entwined each other at their hands.  Harry couldn't wait any longer.  He had to go now.  His dad's life depended on it.  He plunged through.  He heard a splash, and then he was falling.  He hoped the other Harry made it through. 

He hoped he made it through himself.

The black ooze ate away at Snape's body, but Snape was focused on the fear that ate away at his mind. 

He tried to keep his face controlled as Lupin and Dumbledore knelt beside him on the cliff, their wands ticking against his robes.  Lupin's voice rose and fell with each tick, contributing to a healing spell. 

Black liquid slid beneath the surface of Snape's skin, a thick oil spilling into his limbs, burning and freezing each place it touched.  He pushed Lupin's wand away.   "Your spells aren't working.  If you had half a brain, you'd try Tersus-"

"I don't need you to recite the counter curses to me," Lupin's voice rose over the crashing surf.  His hands dropped to his lap.  "If you weren't such a pedantic old git-"

"Just checking your sums.  And you're the same age as I am."

"You're as ill-tempered as someone a hundred years older."

"I resent that," said Dumbledore, a smile playing on his lips, his fingers never stopping their movements. 

Lupin flushed.  "I'm sorry, Headmaster...and Severus. I don't know what came over me." 

Snape couldn't help it; he chuckled.  "Two decades of my jabs, and this is the first time you've broken that polite façade of yours."  The weight of this settled on him, and his amusement vanished.  "Clearly, I'm dying." 

Dumbledore's smile dropped.  "Rest.  Let us do what we can."

Albus was right.  He was letting his temper use up what little resources he had left, and distracting the two people who might be able to save him. 

You must rest, Mr. Snape. He'd heard a nurse say that, years ago, when his father lay dying in his hospital bed.  His father had gotten hold of the nurse's forearm, and it had taken a needleful of sedation before he'd let go.  Even then, his eyes remained wide and bloodshot, staring fixedly at Severus. 

"I won't let them take me," his father had said, his jaw snapping shut between breaths. "Don't let them take me."  The wildness left his father's eyes for a moment, and he beckoned.  "Severus..." 

Something in his father's tone gave him the courage to approach the bed.  He watched his father die, and he swore to himself: never again.  Never would he look at his father-at anything-with such terror in his eyes. 

But as Dumbledore and Lupin tried counter-spell after counter-spell, his terror rose. I won't let them take me.  Don't let them take me.  And another thought, more powerful than the darkness: don't let me die like my father.

Lily bent over their son and wrapped her cloak around him.  She had been quiet as Lupin and Dumbledore worked to save his life.  Now she gripped his hand, as if she could hold him there by force.  "Fight this," she said.

He concentrated on her strong grip, on the crashing of the waves.  He tried to ignore the terror.  "I want to find peace."

Lily's fingers dug into him. "Peace can go rot," she hissed.  "Do you think I have peace?  I could.  I could lie back and let my bloody curse run havoc in my head until I was left with less sense than a potato.  I'm not going to be at peace.  I'm going to be at war."

"You didn't see him at the end.  My father."  He and Lily had parted ways at that point.  He had pursued the Dark Arts with ever-increasing fervor, and the rift between himself and Lily fell into the jumble of thoughts he didn't examine too closely, merely wishing the constant loop of their final conversations would go away. 

He focused on developing spells.  Curses.  He had been scribbling his notes onto parchment when his mother informed him that his father was at hospital.  His first thought was that he should find Lily.  Then he realized that was an old reaction, like an amputee who still reaches out with his missing limb.  He wished that he could develop a curse to wipe out memories. 

"You didn't see him," he told Lily, fighting back a violent cough.  The curse seeped into his chest, lacerating his lungs.  "He was raging.  Not a moment's peace.  Not until after he died.  I want to find peace."

Lily's neck was taut, her eyes tracing the interlacing of their fingers.  "I'm sorry, Severus."  Her jaw hardened.  "I'm sorry, but this is a marriage.  Equal responsibility.  If I fight, you fight." 

The plateau shifted underneath them, the bones of the cliff cracking and crumbling with the collapse of the cave.  Dumbledore and Lupin were thrown back, and they turned, lashing their wands toward the widening cracks, attempting to prevent the rock face from collapsing into the sea.  Lily checked the stability of the healing spells and counter-curses woven around Snape.  They were stable.  But they were simply not strong enough.

Her stiff posture broke, and she pressed her forehead into his shoulder.  "Tell me when I fell in love with you.  Tell me when I knew I wanted to build a life with you."

Because soon, he would no longer be there to tell her.  Soon, he would just be a childhood memory.  Without his physical presence as a constant reminder, Rapio Memoria would wipe the rest away.  He felt guilty for arguing with her.  She didn't want to forget him, but this-like death-was inevitable. 

"I'm not certain when you decided it was love," he said.  "I think it was about the time I started changing Harry's nappies."

She smiled.  "Sounds terribly practical of me."  She looked down at Harry, her face falling.  The boy was completely still.  Empty.  "He'll come back, and he'll need you."

"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted.  We need to get you to away from here.  The cliff-"

"Headmaster," said Snape.  He could hear the strain in his own voice.  "Harry will return."

Lupin knelt by Harry's body and gently brushed the dust from his face.  "We can take him with us."

"That may prevent his soul from finding his body.  A pathway between worlds was created here.  That pathway will lead him back."

Lily nodded.  "It will lead him home."  Then her face tightened.  Nothing momentous, a slight shift.  But Snape knew what it meant.  Her cycle was drawing to a close.  She was going to forget.  And she was trying to fight it.  Before, he'd wished that she would accept it, to ease the pain.  Now he understood.  She had to fight. 

"Stay with me," he said. 

She squeezed his hand even tighter.  "Tell me...tell me when you first saw me."

But he couldn't.  It wasn't love at first sight.  He had likely passed her in the grammar school hallways, and hadn't noticed her. 

Then one clear September day, he'd looked at her and something had changed: a shift in the breeze, a certain slant of light, and every detail of her face was familiar, as though he'd known her all his life. 

Mist was swirling up from the sea, shrouding everyone on the cliff.  Lupin's voice cut through the haze.  "Lily, he can't stay here."

Lily looked at Severus.  "St. Mungo's--"

"The Dark Lord would not have used this blade if it could be easily cured by a medi-wizard."  The counter-curses had slowed its progress, but it was only a matter of time.  The Patronum Totus--and his son--were the only cure.

The faded look in Lupin and Dumbledore's eyes showed that they knew it, too. 

"He'll come," said Dumbledore.  "Have faith."  He laid out another web of spells, and the shifting plateau stilled. 

Have faith.  Any faith Snape once held had seeped from his bones long ago.  He'd sought forgiveness, he'd sought redemption, and yet he had never had enough faith to believe he could achieve either one. 

Faith in what was possible.  That's what he'd seen in Lily all those years ago.  He could see it now, although she was more hardened by experience.  She believed he could be saved. When he told her what he'd done to her, she couldn't forgive him, but she stayed with him.  Because she had faith that one day, she could forgive him.  She had more faith in him than he had in himself.

Lily features darkened.  The curse was taking her; she couldn't hold on any longer.  Neither could he.  I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but the words would not come.  All he could feel was the fading pressure of Lily's hands.  He cast about for something to keep him there, some light in the darkness. 

Like a flame erupting, he saw it: Harry's body heaved and bolted upright. 

Severus thought he didn't have any spark of life left.  But he found it now, a burst of energy as he called out: "Harry!"

Dumbledore and Lupin whirled around, echoing the shout.  But Harry was already crouched by Snape, his eyes intent.  A Patronus burst from Harry's wand and settled at Snape's side, lapping away the black ooze seeping from the wound.  The wound stung as it healed.  But it was surface healing; the curse had spread deep inside him.  Their combined Patronus was the only thing that would stop the curse. 

"Patronum Totus."  Harry's words echoed distantly.  Snape's wand had slipped from his fingers and fallen to the ground.  Harry put the wand in his hand, but Snape's fingers were too curse-numbed to grip it.  Perhaps, with Lily's help...but her eyes were compressed in knotted lines, rasps escaping her throat as she fought against her curse. 

He saw the desperate light in his son's eyes, and steeled himself for what he had to say.  "Dumbledore will get you back to Hogwarts.  You'll both be all right."  He drank his fill of his son, living and breathing again.  "You're all right."  The feel of Harry's hand was ebbing away now, but that was all right.  His son was home.  Everything was all right now. 

Harry pressed his hands to his temples.  "I'm sorry, Mum," he finally said.  "I thought I could save you, but Dad..."  he made a choking noise as he swallowed.  "I'm sorry."  He laid both palms on Snape's shoulders. 

A warmth spread from Harry's hands.  Snape looked into his son's eyes, and could feel the connection they shared through multiple Occlumency and Legilimency lessons, the effortless way they could be in each other's thoughts.  And he understood: another Snape, in another world.  A curse eater, meant for Lily. 

His thoughts sped along the track of Harry's mind, and saw the choice Harry had made.  Remove Lily's curse, or save Snape.  "You should have told me-"

"I'll use it on you.  Save you."  The indecision Snape had seen in Harry was gone. 

"Too dangerous-"

But the warmth already ran though his body, and the darkness lessened.  The curse was shriveling, scattering.  His strength came back to him.  He let Harry feel what he was feeling, and the boy used the connection, determined to find and eradicate every last bit of the curse.

And then it was gone.  He broke free of it, surfacing from murky waters.  

"Harry-" he began.

But Harry wasn't listening.  He had reached out to his mum, a feverish look in his eyes. 

Their connection still lingered.  He focused on Harry's thoughts.  Then Snape heard it: a clanging alarm, deep within Harry's mind.  It took him another moment sifting through his son's memories to understand:  wards, keeping Harry from harm.  To stop him when the energy of the curse eater had been used up.  To keep Harry from absorbing Lily's curse himself. 

Harry was breaking past those wards. 

Snape grabbed his shoulder, shaking him, but Harry's focus on Lily was a power of its own. 

"Harry.  You need to stop."

"Can't."

"You will.  You cannot allow yourself to become cursed."  Snape tried to wrest Harry away from Lily, but the boy's grip was something beyond sheer physical force.  His stomach roiled.  This curse-his curse-inside his son...

"If I need to hex you, I will," he said.  "Let go."

"Last chance.  Only chance."  The echoing of Harry's voice, that ghostly quality to his thoughts-it was still there.  Snape had thought the curse was dulling his senses, but now he wondered. 

"Harry.  Which Harry are you?"

Harry looked at him.  Snape could see it: two boys through one set of eyes.  Harry Potter hadn't made it back to his side.  He was right here, with his son.  Two souls in one body. 

"We can cure her.  Let me do this."  It was clear from Harry's tone that it wasn't about letting at all; he was going to do this, regardless. 

Dumbledore and Lupin lost ground as the cliff, inch by inch, fell into the sea.  Chaos.  It never went away.  Why couldn't he stop things from falling apart? 

"Harry.  Please." Snape wrenched the boy's face toward him.  Their mental connection was still there.  Perhaps if he could draw Harry into his mind, he could cut him off from Lily.  Separate him mentally if he could not do so physically. 

It was a delicate operation.  Legilimency was meant for invading another's thoughts, not pulling someone else's mind into your own.  He had read about using Legilimency in this way, but had never attempted it.  With anyone else, he would not have tried.  But he knew the pathways of his son's mind.  And he only had moments to stop what was happening.  

He pulled at Harry's thoughts, drawing him in, and had the curious sensation of falling into himself.  The world shifted, and it was just the two of them, surrounded by shadows.  They were safe within the walls of Snape's mind.  A chance to be alone, and to talk.

But they weren't alone.  Voices muttered and rose as a memory coalesced around them.  Snape pushed deeper, to find a quiet corner of his mind.  But the memory fell solidly into place, white hospital walls rising up around them. 

His father lay in the bed, beckoning.   A young Severus stood nearby. 

Over the beeping of the hospital machines, Snape heard something else, something that wasn't part of the memory: scratching, scuttling. 

Harry looked around.  "Where--?"

"Shh," said Snape.  He pressed his ear against the wall.  Tiny claws scratched, closer now.  He wanted to say it wasn't real.  But with magic, anything could be real, and dangerous. 

Harry leaned against the wall and the scratching got louder, more frantic, mandibles tearing through plaster and wood. 

Snape pulled Harry away. 

"It's after me," Harry said.

It's not real, Snape wanted to say.  But it was real.  He'd made it real.  "It's a manifestation of the curse.  It's trying to find you."

"It's okay," said Harry, and he smiled.  "I'm ready.  It's my chance to do something other than watch and wait."

"I want you to stop.  Your mum would want you to stop, too."

Harry's smile faltered.  "Can't you hear it?  You talk about her like she's not really there.  Like she's already dead." 

"Harry, this isn't the time.  I know about the curse eater.  I knew about such things when I developed the Rapio Memoria.  I prepared for them.   Do you understand?" 

Awareness spread across Harry's face, followed by disappointment.  "It won't work.  She'll still be cursed."

Bless the boy for thinking the young, Death Eater Snape had been that benign.  "More than that.  It will attack you.  You must stop now.  All you will accomplish is cursing yourself."

Harry shook his head.  "I can feel it working.  She's getting better.  Light filled Harry's face.  "I can do something for her.  Finally." 

A sudden shift of light, or some inflection of Harry's voice, and Snape knew.  It  wasn't Harry Potter that he needed to convince.  It wasn't Harry Potter exerting influence over his son as they shared this one body.  Snape had attributed Harry's actions to the stubborn child of that other world.  The boy had changed while he was here, but...

It appeared his son had changed as well. 

"What's come over you?" he demanded, using the tone that had always garnered obedience in the past.  "Stop this at once."

The fear that had been nibbling at the corners of Snape's mind could no longer be avoided when he saw the glint in Harry's eyes.  "I'm sorry, Dad, but I can't.  All my life, I've wanted to do this.  I shouldn't have promised.  I've never broken a promise in my life.  But once I saw her again..."  His voice grew soft.  "Some promises are older than others.  Ones I've made to myself.  To mum."  Harry looked away from Snape.  "I should have tried to make you understand."

Promises to her.  Snape understood those.  He should have known it would be in his son as well, amplified by thirteen years of watching and hoping. 

He had convinced himself that he had been a sufficient buffer between mother and son. He'd put rules in place, tried to control the situation.  But he'd learned when he was young that control was a tricky thing.    

His younger self was still by his father's bed.  His father gripped the tubes surrounding him in one hand, breathing heavily.  The young Severus was all rigid lines, staring down at the stranger on the bed.

His father laughed.  "'Begone, old man.'  That's what you're thinking.  I don't need any of your magic to see that."

Snape couldn't hear his younger self reply.  His low voice was obscured by the rustling of little claws, seeking out whoever had tried to break Lily's curse.  Little defenders designed by a methodical young man. 

"Why?" he whispered to that younger self, someone who couldn't hear him, would never hear him.  His thinner, smaller body was bent, as if waiting for a storm to subside.  A boy, barely a man, who wanted to unleash his own curse on the world. "Why couldn't you leave it alone?"

"I won't let it take me.  I won't!" said his father.  By the time the echo of the shout faded from the room, he was dead. 

It took a moment for the younger Severus to realize it.  He stood with hands still clenched, until the medical staff rushed into the room, assaulting the body with machines and syringes. 

"Don't," the young Severus said, his eyes widening.  "Don't-don't leave me!"  I-"

I was wrong.  I'm not ready for this.  I thought I was in control.

Too late.  The heart monitor bled out its flat line.

Severus could feel all the terror he'd felt in that moment, watching his father fade away.  He'd hated the man, but his father's rages had been the clear borders to his world.  He understood what his life was with his father in it.  

But Harry was more than a border to his world.  He was everything.  And now his son was waiting for the curse to take him.  All his attempts at rules, at control, and he was still as helpless as he was twenty years ago. 

Part of the wall crumbled, and a dark insect emerged, its antennae circling toward Harry.

The iron control Snape always kept on himself, the lens through which he focused and filtered his emotions-he let it shatter.  He grabbed Harry awkwardly, desperately.   

"Harry, you can't do this because...I need you."  His voice was too loud, too high.  He was shaking.

Harry's eyes widened.  "It'll be all right.  Mum will be better.  Everything will be better." 

"It won't.  Don't you understand?"  Barely able to breathe, he choked over his words. He was terrified of himself, but he couldn't stop.  "I can't do this without you.  Any of it."

The insects streamed out of the wall, surrounding them in a chattering swarm.  He pulled the boy closer, hid his face over Harry's shoulder.  His son depended on him to be strong, but he didn't have any strength left.  "I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I'll take care of things.  I'll find a way." 

"No," said Harry.  We'll find a way.  Both of us."  He breathed out, and a warm mist filled the room.  "I'm letting go now.  Stopping."  The chattering of the insects abated.

The memory was breaking apart, and they were pulled out of it.  The room dissipated in the mist.  They were back on the cliff, the wind whipping around them.  Harry had his hands on Lily's shoulders, but he was looking at Snape.  

A thread of their mental connection remained.  Snape could still hear the whisper of his son's thoughts, and the echoing quality of Harry Potter's thoughts among them. But he also heard something else: the clacking of insects.  The curse had already gained entry into Harry's mind. 

"No," said Snape.  Rapio Memoria was powerful.  Once it gained a foothold, it had the advantage.  Snape grabbed his wand and began a series of counter-curses. 

"S'alright," said Harry, gasping. 

"Be still," said Snape, his voice quavering.  He was loosing control again.  "I need to work.  The curse is inside you."

"But it's not inside him.  Not yet.  I can take it with me."   Harry reached up and held Snape tightly.  "It's the least I can do."

"Take it with you..."  said Snape, frowning.  Then he understood: Harry Potter was talking to him.  Harry Potter was going to take the curse with him.  To save the other Harry. 

Snape dropped his wand.  "Don't!" he shouted. 

It was too late.  A light flashed, and another image of Harry appeared, a ghostly double-image.  The other Harry: half in this world, half in the in-between space that separated worlds.  A dark smog swam from Lily's body and into that misty double: the curse.  His young face contracted in pain, and the ghostly image of Harry Potter faded. 

"What happened?" Harry-the solid Harry-said, holding his head. 

Snape pulled Harry away from Lily, checking him over with his wand.  No more sign of the curse eater.  No sign of Harry Potter.  Just one Harry.  His Harry. 

"The curse.  Do you-"  He stopped.  But he had to know.  "Do you remember who I am?"

Harry looked up at him.  "Yeah.  Who could forget that face?"  He gave him a smile, but it faded.  "The other Harry.  He was in my head, we both were-"  He stopped, his face contracting.  "He was cursed, wasn't he?  I tried to pull away, but I couldn't in time, and then it was like he was all around me, blocking me...shielding me..." 

Lily opened her eyes, seeing Harry for the first time.  Harry smiled wanly at her, and Snape's suspicions were confirmed, now that he was willing to see it.  The love in Harry's eyes, the hope, but quickly followed by subdued resignation.  He knew she would not remember him. 

The darkness faded from Lily's face.  "Monkey?" Lily whispered.  She looked at Harry without hesitation, without the look of someone encountering a stranger. She looked at him the way a mother looks at her son. 

The curse was still there.  Snape could see it in the shadows of her eyes, whispering in her mind.  There had not been enough energy left to remove it completely.  It was a slight improvement, a small thing.  To anyone else, the change in her expression was nothing, the trick of a certain slant of light. 

But Harry's eyes showed that a certain slant of light was the entire world. 

Severus held them both tightly.  One small thing to hold against the chaos.  One small thing that gave him hope for a day when Lily could be whole, and he could be saved. 

The earth shifted, and someone cried out.   Lupin fell into a widening crevice.  He struggled to pull himself out.

Lily, still orienting herself, had enough presence of mind to take in the situation.  "We need to go."  

Harry pulled his eyes away from her, and looked up at Snape.  "Did he do this?  The other Harry?  Is he cursed now?"

"I don't know if it can cross over to another world.  But the curse is insidious."

Harry shook his head.  "I shouldn't have let him do it."

"I'm beginning to learn that you can't control what people do.  You can only do what you can for them, and hope the damage isn't too great."  He laid his palm on his son's head and smoothed out his hair, feeling the softness of each strand.  It never did any good; the hair stuck up anyway.  But that was all right.  His thoughts strayed to a place far from there, to another young man who had so very little, and had still given up so much. 

"Thank you, my son," he murmured.  

Dumbledore levitated Lupin from the crevice, and the two reached them in a few quick strides.  Lupin put his arms around Harry slowly, as if afraid he might disappear.  Dumbledore gripped Snape by the arm, more firmly than necessary, and beamed at Harry.  "Glad to have you back, my boy," he said, then met Snape's eye, a familiar gentleness in his features.  "Both my boys.  Welcome home."   

Harry drew in his breath.  "Home."

They backed up to the collapsed cave entrance, as rocks tumbled down into the sea. 

Let it fall apart.  Snape knew he couldn't stop it.  But right now, in this moment, he didn't need to.

"Home," repeated Severus.  In a flash of light, they were gone.

Mind and hands. They were what Snape could trust, what would get the job done. The moment Harry Potter returned to his body, Snape's mind and hands told him that something was wrong.

The other Harry--his Harry--had gone still, and he and Dumbledore waited for Harry Potter to return. Waiting for any sign of life. After several minutes, Snape ran though the spells he could use to call Harry Snape's soul back.

But as Snape leaned over to administer the spells, Harry took a huge breath, his back arching off the infirmary bed. His body came back to life in a hurry. Color flooded his skin, and he didn't stop gasping. But as much as he tossed and turned, he did not wake up.

Snape told himself that the boy had just crossed over from another world, that there were bound to be difficulties as his body re-adjusted to its new occupant. But that was the small kernel of his hopeful self, telling him that it was all going to be all right. A lifetime of disasters had taught him to listen to his experience instead. His experience told him that the boy was in danger.

Both he and Dumbledore cast a series of detection spells. Snape diagnosed the problem first: "Cursed."

"Can you counter it?" Dumbledore asked. "The way it eludes discovery...it's diabolical. The work of a dark wizard."

"Yes." Snape felt his jaw set as he recognized the familiar signature of the curse. "It is my work."

Dumbledore's gaze pierced him. "Explain yourself."

"It is the memory curse of which the other Harry spoke. The one that cursed his mother. Developed by my counterpart."

The lace. The curse-eater he'd given Harry, made from his own power. Harry had promised to stop if he felt the lace lose energy, if it tried to pull the curse into him. He'd extracted no such promise from this Harry-from Potter. Damn the boy. But the boy was already damned by his own actions.

"Not your work, then," Dumbledore said. "But you are uniquely qualified to stop its progress."

Snape prayed that he could. He may not have created the curse himself, but he created something that allowed it to move into Potter. If he didn't stop it, he could count the damage as by his own hand.

The curse burrowed into Potter's mind. Counter-curses failed. Legilimency failed.
He moved his wand at the correct angles, he poured the correct amounts of potion down the boy's throat. He relied on how fluidly his mind and hands worked together.

But they weren't working fluidly now. He knew the right movements, but the magic wasn't right. It was weak, barely having an effect. Then, in a sudden fit, a burst of uncontrollable magic would come forth. He was like a First Year all over again.

And like an unpromising First Year, he had the Headmaster frowning over his shoulder. Snape stood, gesturing for Dumbledore to take his place by Harry's bed. "You had best try yourself."

Dumbledore leaned over Harry, the lines in his face deepening. The boy sweated profusely, the sheets in twisted cords around him. Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus, you must do this."

"I cannot."

"Because of the curse's origins, you are his best hope. Your expertise, your power and skill--"

"Power and skill I no longer possess. I relinquished it to the other Harry. He must have--" But he couldn't admit that his curse absorber caused this. "My magic has not been the same. Your power is necessary."

Dumbledore had that look in his eyes. The one that made Snape want to tear his hair out. The one that said, "I believe in you."

Snape tried again, casting several spells before he was able to slow the curse's progress. He knew it would not last long. It crept through the boy's mind, snaring his memories--

"Memories," said Snape. He could pull the memories from the boy and try to save them one by one. He turned to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore brought the Pensieve without being asked.

Snape drew out the gossamer memories. The strands swam fitfully, like esoteric aquatic creatures. And why not? They were bits of life. Bits of this boy's short life.

A dozen strands swirled in the Pensieve when Harry woke up. A hand clamped onto Snape's wrist, its heat digging into his skin.

Harry's eyes were glazed. "Don't take them."

"It's necessary," said Snape. He tried to push him back, but the boy held on. He wasn't certain Harry understood him.

Harry's gaze moved restlessly, finally settling on Snape. Snape wasn't sure what he saw in those eyes: trust, or merely a feverish daze. But the boy nodded and let go, slipping back into unconsciousness.

One of the memories died. The silvery gleam of its slender body darkened to charcoal grey. It curled, shriveling, a wisp of ash and smoke burning his nose. The remains of the memory floated on the surface of the Pensieve like a dried husk.

His own fault. His thoughts were jumbled, and his fingers were numb. Snape gripped his wand more tightly and worked harder to isolate the curse, to quarantine the uninfected memories.

He should be better than this. Stronger. He'd spent his life removing the weaker pieces of himself, whittling away in hopes of finding a stronger core. But all he'd managed was to make matters worse. Perhaps the best he could hope for was to carve away until nothing remained.

He harvested the memories until grey slivers filled the Pensieve. Color rose--vibrant life struggling to survive. Snape did not look too closely at the images that flashed within them. If he allowed himself to be drawn in, he would fall into the Pensieve and become infected himself, lost in the tainted memories.

He tried blocking the curse, then filtering it out, then dragging it from the Pensieve while leaving the memories intact. But all of it only limited the curse's progress. He gathered the infected memories and held them temporarily in place with a barrier spell.  The Pensieve sloshed fitfully while he stared at the sleeping boy.

He had two choices: he could let the curse retain its hold on the memories. Limit the curse's power, but allow it to fester beneath the surface. Harry would keep his old memories, but would find it difficult, if not impossible, to form new ones. Forever suffering the effects of the curse, like the Lily of that other world.

Or Snape could snuff out the curse, and the memories they were attached to. Harry would be able to form new memories. But the memories that the curse had already infected would be gone. Especially recent memories.

Wipe out Harry's past, or wipe out his future.

Snape caught a glimpse of something in one of the infected memories. Red hair, and a throaty laugh. The smell of lilacs...

He was halfway immersed in the Pensieve before he realized what was happening. He jerked himself out, the memories splashing back.  He recast the barrier spells around the memories and turned away, wiping his mouth with his hand.

Dumbledore had quietly waited. "You've found a solution?"

Mind and hands. His fingers laced with Lily's, racing across the Hogwarts grounds. His mind capturing each ray of light across her face. Simple memories of his childhood. But they were the reason he was here, why both Dumbledore and this boy trusted that he would do the right thing. What would have changed for him if his memories of her had been destroyed?

"Yes," Snape answered Dumbledore. "I've found a way to stop the curse." He explained what he would do. Dumbledore protested, prodded him for other options. But in the end, he clasped the sleeping Harry's shoulder, and nodded. Because ultimately, there was no choice. Not for Snape, and not for Harry. With an oncoming war, the past was a luxury they would both have to sacrifice.

His hand trawled through the clusters of grey and blooms of color. He compressed the infected strands between his fingers until the curse drained away, siphoned off by his steady chant. The warm strands grew cold and lifeless.

When he finished, he stared at the ruin he'd made of Harry's memories. Not all of his memories, of course. But he would have gaps. Pieces missing.

Snape imagined what it would be like to do this to himself-to pour out all of his past and crush each moment like an insect until all his misdeeds were forgotten. But his actions lay clear in his mind. Including this one.

He returned the crushed memories to Harry one by one, attempting to rebuild what he had destroyed. There was nothing else he could do.

Ruined. The potion was ruined. Snape sniffed at the congealed mess and banished it before the stench pervaded his quarters. He had learned to compensate for his loss of power, but the rhythm of his magic had changed. He was out of step every time he cast a spell.

He tugged at his sleeve, adjusting the cuff. Nothing was visible through the fabric, but he knew what lay beneath the surface: the Dark Mark, its outline becoming clearer as the Dark Lord's power rose. He could not afford to be unsure of his magic. If only he could manage to brew this potion. Just this one potion.

As he started another attempt, there was a knock on the door. It was a week before classes started and Dumbledore had left for the day. Only one other living person inhabited the castle.

Snape liked to think that he had a Slytherin sort of bravery. He did not relish dangerous situations, but he knew how to handle one. He could face those who meant him harm and survive by his wits.

But he did not want to answer that knock. He allowed himself a moment, his hands pressed into the table. Then he straightened and strode toward the door.

The door creaked open before he reached it. Potter stood on the threshold, his eyes wide. "All I did was touch it. It opened on its own," he said.

Because it was set to admit Harry. Harry, who bounded into his work room like he'd discovered Aladdin's treasures. "Problem with the wards," said Snape.

Harry hovered on the threshold. He shoved his hands in his pockets and studied the lumps they formed against his robes. "I thought no one was here."

"And that ameliorates your intrusion?"

"Er...what?"

Do you not know that word, Snape wanted to ask, or do you simply not remember learning it? Of course, the boy wouldn't know. Snape focused on his new attempt at the potion, now a shade of aquamarine. Restituomens. When Harry had shown him his notes for the potion, he had told Snape that it was tricky. Snape had not realized just how difficult it would be. Ever since Harry Potter's return, Snape had stayed bent over his cauldron, trying to recreate it.

"The curse is eliminated," Dumbledore had said to him a few days ago, in the Headmaster's office. "The potion may aid in Harry's recovery, but what he needs is Legilimency. Help in sorting through his memories during the healing process. You can work with him. Patch together what is undamaged."

Snape said nothing and stared out the window onto the Hogwarts grounds. The back of his legs ached from standing, but his fingers itched to work over the potion again.  Temperature, he thought. Temperature is the key. I must keep the brew at an even temperature.

"You're avoiding him," Dumbledore said.

"The Restituomens potion requires my full attention. You are just as capable of mind magic as myself, if not more so."

"I think Harry would be more comfortable with you," Dumbledore had said.

Snape thought about Harry's feverish gaze.  "I am not comfortable with him."

In the end, Dumbledore stopped prodding him and had conceded defeat. The headmaster helped the boy weave together the gaps in his memory, and Snape had been left alone.

Until now. Snape looked up from the lapping ripples of aquamarine. The boy was still there. "What do you want, Potter?"

The look on the Harry's face made him wish he had not used that name. He did not know exactly why the name Potter felt more comfortable now. Old habits. 

"I've been reading through some of the notes he--my other self--left," Harry said. He pulled out a wrinkled note and read, "'I left some of your things at his place.'"

Of course. The other Harry, with his hopefulness and good intentions--not to mention his deviousness--was determined to make them collide. The thought of that Harry, fervently hoping from wherever he was, made Snape leave his potion and study the boy more closely. Perhaps his Harry was right. Perhaps there was hope.

But as Harry Potter stood there and the silence stretched, he didn't feel hope. Merely futility in the face of all that had gone before. Getting them in the same room was unlikely to solve anything. May as well give him what he came for and be done with it.

He flicked his wand at the box that held Harry's things, stored on a shelf in the corner. The box floated toward them, steadily at first, then losing momentum. When it was a few feet from Harry, it shot forward, crashing into the table.

Snape cursed and kneeled down to gather the items. Summoning charms had not given him any trouble before. He never knew when his magic would fall out of step.

Harry joined him, and they picked through old shirts and textbooks, until Harry came upon his photo album. The album was well-worn, one corner slightly upturned. Harry opened it, touching the edges of each photograph.

"S'funny," he said. "Most of these were taken before I was born. I tried to pretend I could remember them. But I can't." He frowned. "I've got images like that inside my head now. Of her. Of you. But that's all. They don't feel like real memories. They're just...photographs."

This was the last thing Snape wanted to talk about. But Harry was here, now. He was talking. Snape did not want to push this chance away.

But he did not know how to begin. He hadn't realized how much he'd depended on the other Harry's enthusiasm. He'd depended on Lily's, as well, before he'd ruined things.

He recalled something he'd read in one of his books, Spells of the Mind. "Memories are like a wand with no owner," he quoted. He thought of his own magic. "Fickle. Unreliable."

Harry rubbed at his palm. "Likely to give you a shock." He shook his head. "I don't know what I'm saying. I had this feeling that I needed to talk to you." He rapped on his head. "It's all jumbled up in here."

Snape could offer no comfort. He did better with subterfuge. Pretending to connect with someone was far easier. Similar goals, similar fears, similar hatreds-these were the things that brought his enemies close. But now, he was at a loss.

"There are potions that may help. I've given the information to the Headmaster, but you may wish to learn how to brew them yourself."

"Haven't made much progress with potions. At least, I don't think so. I remember studying." Harry's face clouded. "I remember failing."

"Perhaps the other Harry's notes will be of some use to you." His gaze moved back to the potion, which had turned a shimmering copper. He was near the point where the last brew had gone sour.

Just breathe, Lily would have said to him in Potions class, years ago. Before that, too, had gone sour. He had never found a way to ease things between them. Sometimes, he thought he'd succeeded. Someone's potion would explode in class, and she 'd turn to him, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. And he would think that, somehow, he'd done it. He'd done something, and she had forgiven him.

But he hadn't done anything. The grand gestures he'd planned had stayed in his head. And Lily's smile faded as she remembered. She would turn away, back to the circle of people she could trust.

The copper turned bronze as the potion neared its boiling point. He threw ash on the fire, and the temperature dropped. He wondered if he would be able to brew this at all. Who was he to be offering Harry instruction on memory potions? Perhaps he should try to master his own skills again before attempting to instruct others.

Harry rummaged in the box. "He stayed with you? The other Harry?"

Snape disliked the feelings that rose in him. "No. We worked on brewing techniques. He preferred having a few personal items at hand."

"Look," said Harry. He took a breath. "Look, could you be honest with me? Just for now?"

Snape immediately thought of three believable ways he could support the lie he'd already established. But the plea in Harry's gaze made him reconsider. "He stayed with me. Over the summer. He insisted."

"Me, too. I mean, my Snape made certain I stayed with him. With them." His face colored. "Not...my Snape, I guess. But I think of him that way. As family."

My Snape. His Harry. And this Harry-the boy from his world, the son of the woman he loved-he was the Other Harry. He had no doubt that, in Harry's mind, he was The Other Snape. They may as well still be separated by a million worlds.

Harry gripped the album. "Dumbledore said that a lot of the memories might still disappear. He said I should be prepared." Harry stopped, and his brow furrowed. "I'm not the same as I was last spring.  Something's changed.  Am I going to lose that?"

Snape could see the change. Harry's gaze was had a certain sadness to it, but it was also calmer. His frantic energy had been replaced with something more focused. He thought of the infected strands in the Pensieve, dying like the last embers in a fire. Was that all he and Harry were-strands floating on the surface?  Destroy that, and what was left? "It's uncertain. Your mind is healing itself. Sealing off the damaged memories. Forming a scar over them."

Harry rubbed his forehead with a wry smile. "Brilliant. Another scar."

There are techniques that can ameliorate...that can mend the damage." Snape glanced at the potion. If only he could brew it perfectly. He wanted to rely on his potion-making skills. He understood his potions. They could be difficult, but once he understood them, he controlled them. He could take venoms and creatures and plants and force them to his will, to be something of purpose.  Except this one.

He forced his attention back to Harry. "If we used Legilimency-"

"Dumbledore tried that. He called it linking the strong with the weak. Pairing what I feel with the memory it belongs to." Harry shook his head. "But they just don't connect."

Snape had worked with Dumbledore himself to ensure his Legilimency and Occlumency were still strong. "There are some nuances I can show you. A way of slipping beneath the surface of thoughts."

"I think I've done that." Harry's face brightened. "Yeah, you said I spent too much time bobbing on the surface. Like a duck. When we practiced, you said..." Then he stopped. "Oh. That wasn't you."

Harry's smile faded, in precisely the manner that Lily's used to.

Snape made another attempt, before the warmth disappeared from Harry's face. "Once I'm inside your thoughts, I can--"

"No, that's..." Harry held a hand up to his temple, as if he could physically block Snape from entering his mind. "Thank you, Professor, but I don't think it will help." He took a few steps back. "These images I have of you, these feelings, they just..."

They just don't connect.

Snape looked at the boy, gloom settling over him. He knew what would happen. Months of fading smiles, years of strained conversations.

He'd been better off when Potter was nothing but an irritating duty. No what-ifs. No wishes that he could be something other than who he was. He turned back to the potion and built the fire again. "I'm sure the Headmaster will do what is best."

Harry poked at the things in his crate. "I've read things wrong." He found a mangled toy soldier in the bottom of a shoebox and rolled it between his fingers. "Same with Uncle Vernon. I left one of these on his night stand once. A gift." He shook his head. "Stupid. It was back in my cupboard the next morning."

"Your cupboard?"

"Nothing. Forget it." Harry winced. "I keep talking as though I'm back in that other world. Everything is so familiar." He glanced at Snape and looked away. "Then..."

"Reality sets in."

"Yeah. Reality." Harry stared hard at Snape. "Maybe I need some time."

Time. Yes. Time made things bearable between Lily and himself. Years put more distance between them. There were moments when he could even convince himself that they had never meant anything to each other.

The surface of the potion shimmered. He would need to readjust the temperature again soon.

Unless he didn't. Unless he gave up on this foolhardy enterprise, and admitted that there were some things that were beyond his abilities.

Harry's mind was already healing. The fragments of memory from last summer would fade. Harry's friends might talk, but the social world of students moved quickly. This summer interlude would be forgotten. Disapparated.

He turned the thought over, his breath quickening. He could slice away the past. It would be as if the summer never happened. Go on with their lives as they had before. They would both be better off.

"Would it be so terrible," Snape asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "if you forgot?"

Harry's eyes flashed.  "How can you even ask? You don't know-"

"You asked for honesty. I expect the same. There's no part of you-none at all-that wants to forget?"

Harry clenched his fists. "Knowing my mum--it's what I've always wanted. To see her, to have her see me." He paused. "But..."

There it was: a small flash of doubt in Harry's face. Snape felt a frisson of anticipation.

"But she was never really mine. My mum is here. Was here." Harry rubbed the bent album corner. "It never felt real before. That she died. Before, I wanted to fight for her. Right the wrong. Now, I don't feel like fighting. I just don't want her to be dead."

How many times had Snape had that same thought? That he would see her wand light up again, or watch her make a flower bloom.

But these were childish dreams. Her wand would never cast another spell. People did not come back because he wished them to. Wands went dark. This was the way of things. "These thoughts will fade," he said.

"When the memories fade, yeah." Harry shook his head. "I shouldn't feel this way."
 
Harry stopped talking, his gaze drifting. More memories going black. The cauldron bubbled. The temperature had reached the boiling point.

Let it. Let it boil away. The summer was best forgotten. Harry admitted as much himself. Reality had set in, and what they thought they wanted turned out to be a dream.

These memories would tear them down with a thousand cuts. Unless he cut both Harry and himself with one surgical strike. He would lock away his own memories, and treat Harry as he had before. There were rumblings of a Tri-Wizard Tournament-soon that would be all anyone talked about, and it would be as if this failed experiment had never happened.

Harry was still drifting. "Harry," Snape said, reaching out to brush his sleeve. Then he remembered himself, and pulled back. "Potter." He rapped sharply on the table.

Harry shook his head, as if coming out of a daydream. "I was...what was I saying?"

Time to get things back on track. "What was I saying, Sir," Snape corrected. He busied himself with ingredients, although he had every intention of discarding the potion. "You were just leaving."

"Right. Sir. Right." Harry looked down at the box. "But...we were talking about the summer. About my mum."

Snape didn't allow himself to waver. "Perhaps your fans enjoy hanging on to your every word. But I assure you, I do not. I've been more than tolerant of your intrusion and your monopoly of my time. I suggest you leave before my patience comes to an end."

Old habits. Harry stiffened, his shoulders tightening into familiar lines. He piled his possessions back into the box. "I came down here to talk, Professor. I thought..." He shook his head. "You know what? Never mind. It doesn't matter."

He moved to the door, his things teetering precariously as he turned the handle. Then he stopped.

Snape closed his eyes for a moment. Just leave. Just leave me be.

"He left another note," Harry said. Setting the box down, he pulled some papers from his pocket. He stared at them, then strode forward and shoved them across the table. "Better do it now. Might not remember there was another Harry if I wait too long."

It was a photograph and a note. The photograph was one Snape knew well by now: An infant Harry, and Lily brewing a potion, murmuring something indecipherable.

The note read:

Harry,

Photographs mean a lot to me. I'll wager they mean a lot to you, too. But if you can-would you give this one to Professor Snape? I feel like he needs it.

I understand if you can't. But I thought I'd ask.

Harry Snape

Snape studied the picture. He still couldn't make out what Lily said. Most likely, he would never know. Some things were lost forever.

But now, his gaze was drawn to the young Harry. The child gazed up at the photographer-James Potter, most likely. Lily had claimed that he had overcome his cruelty and arrogance, but Snape did not consider him capable of it.

For the first time, he wondered if he was wrong. Because when Snape had Harry in his life, something had changed. He had felt Harry's fierce belief like a physical presence. It pushed him, made him want to be something else. Something more. Something like what Lily had seen in James Potter.

Perhaps keeping Harry's memories of another Lily did nothing for the one that died in this world. But the Lily of this world had always kept Severus holding onto hope. Hope that one day, she could have looked at him, and her smile wouldn't have faded away.

Harry trudged to the door and shoved it open.

"Wait," said Snape.

What could he say? He thought of the words he could spin, ploys that had been successful in drawing other Death Eaters close, lulling them into trust. Some of them might work on the boy.

Harry looked at him, halfway out the door, and Snape knew he couldn't say those words. Against all instincts, he tried to think of what his Harry would do.

Snape opened his mouth. "Knock, knock."

He decided, in that moment, that he was ill-equipped to act like a fourteen-year-old Gryffindor.

Harry gripped the door handle reflexively. "Did you...that wasn't a..."

Snape stood frozen.

Harry's gaze shifted uncertainly. "Who's there?" he asked.

"Snape."

A spark lit up Harry's eyes. The memories were not entirely gone. The corner of his mouth turned up. "I've heard that one."

"I have it on good authority that it's popular."

"I never saw you as the type to laugh at yourself."

"Who's laughing?"

"Not me," said Harry.

Snape sniffed, straightening his posture. "Excellent instincts."

Harry stepped closer. There was still wariness in his eyes. Snape didn't know if he would ever get past that. The other Snape-the Snape of that other world-was able to. But he was not that person, no matter how many similarities they might have.
 
"Your potion," Harry said.

The potion had boiled over, foam seeping over the lip of the cauldron and onto the table. Snape sighed and vanished the sludge.

Harry touched the table where the foam had been. "What was it?"

"Restituomens."

"But my mum's not here. Who..." Harry's face clouded. "Oh. Will I need it every month? Will I be like her?"

"No, I destroyed the curse." He paused, then met Harry's gaze. "I had to destroy the curse."

Snape was reminded of the feverish eyes he had seen in the infirmary. But there was something clearer in them, now.

"I know," Harry said.

"I thought the potion would help you. But you will heal on your own. Which is just as well, as I am unable to brew it."

"He had trouble, too. My--the other Snape. But he always managed, in the end."

"I am not him." He paused, realizing how absurd that must sound. "Not in the way you might wish."

"Me, neither. I mean, I'm not that Harry. They treated me like a son, but...I wasn't their Harry. I'm just-what was it you said?" He laughed, quietly. "Just a wand with no owner."

"Ollivander has said that wands choose their owners. And that their choices can be surprising."

"I remember something like that." Harry closed his eyes, concentrating. "Yeah. I hope he's right." He opened his eyes. "What do we do now?"

Snape wondered what his counterpart would have said and done. He had no idea. It didn't matter. He could not be that person. But he could, perhaps, be someone other than the person he had been. He looked at Harry, and he believed that they were more than strands in a Pensieve. More than the sum of their parts.
 
"We'll try brewing it again," Snape said, "if you would assist."

"I'm rubbish at potions. You know that."

"So am I, these days. But I am willing to try."

Harry drew himself up. "Yeah. We'll work it out."

Snape still had the photo. But it was not his to hold onto. "Keep it. Look at it, and the other photographs. It will help revive your memory."

"I don't really remember this. Or any of the others. I was too young."

"Then tell me what you do remember. We'll bring back what we can."

Harry picked up the picture to examine it in the light. Snape grasped the other corner of the photo, and they held it together, close to touching, but not. Perhaps this was all he could hope for.  

Snape's thoughts stilled when Harry closed the gap, nudging Snape in his side.

"Look," Harry said, indicating the photograph.

Snape realized that, at this angle, he could make out the words spoken silently by Lily as she stirred her potion. Her eyes didn't seem as sad as he had thought. Snape shifted so Harry could lean closer, and they both whispered the words along with Lily.
      
"I remember," she said.