As Potter came around to the passenger side of the car to help him out, Snape turned to Lily. Amazingly enough, the woman was looking at him with a warm smile. She was rather remarkable, really. She wasn't his Lily, but he'd never met another person quite like her.

"Thank you," he murmured quietly. It wasn't quite as difficult to say as he'd imagined.

"You're welcome," she said kindly.

As Potter opened the passenger door Jillian called from the back seat, "Bye Harry! Maybe you can some visit the park again soon."

Harry chuckled, smiling brightly at the little girl. "Yeah, I think I'd like that." he said. Turning to her mother, Potter's look became a bit more subdued. "Well. Bye…" His voice dropped to almost a whisper, "Lily."

"Take care, Harry. You know where we are if you ever want to come by and say hello."

Potter's heartfelt smile spoke volumes as he helped Snape from the car, waving back at Jilly when the little girl turned and waved as they drove away.

The two of them were silent as they made their way up the path to the front door. Snape was more than a little apprehensive as he considered the questions that could be coming his way.

It didn't take long.

Snape stiffened as Potter locked eyes with him and said, "Well that was…" He paused, obviously not possessing the words to describe the emotions.

"Indeed," Snape replied, placing his hand on the door and cutting the boy off, making it clear he didn't want to discuss it. I'm not ready for this. Not yet. Not ever.

Potter continued, thick-skulled as ever and not taking the hint. His eyes were far away as he murmured, "She looks like the pictures I have of her, with the long red hair and green eyes and everything. And for her name to be Lily, of all things… Don't you think that's strange?" He didn't even wait for a response before asking hesitantly, "Sir…? Did you… Did you know my mother?"

Snape froze. How did Potter…? His thoughts came rushing, tumbling over each other in a stricken panic as he frantically considered his options. No… there's no way! There's no POSSIBLE way that he could know…

Snape must have been doing a very poor job at hiding his distress, for Harry took one look at his face and then continued in a rush, "I mean, you would have been at Hogwarts around the same time, right? I know she was a Gryffindor, and that you probably would have stayed away from her because of my dad and everything. But…" Snape closed his eyes as his heart constricted painfully. Harry lumbered on, completely unaware. "But I was just thinking, you know, if you had any classes with her and knew what kind of… what kind of person she was…"

Stop talking, Potter. Please stop talking about this. About her. The front door popped quietly open beneath his hand, and Snape couldn't get inside fast enough. He shrugged out of Potter's grasp, desperate to get away, and stumbled to the foot of the stairs.

"Sir…?" Harry questioned behind him, but Snape kept his back to the boy as he waved him away without a word. Snape forced himself up the stairs, knowing that the pain he experienced as he hobbled up every step was justified. Befitting of a murderer. I deserve nothing less…

He barely made it to his room before the tears began. Closing the door behind him, he pushed his back against it and slid down the side, no longer caring about the agony in his side.

Because the agony in his heart was so much worse.

His head dropped heavily into his long-fingered hands as the gut-wrenching sobs tore through his chest, making it almost impossible to draw breath. Seeing Lily… who he thought was Lily… Believing that she was there, close enough to touch, to hold in his arms. To beg for her forgiveness.

She was right in front of me.

But then… It was like she had died all over again.

The guilt washed through him once more as the horrible memories of that long-ago night replayed through his mind. Her lifeless body crumpled on the ground; her arms splayed out in odd, unnatural angles; her mass of hair billowed out around her like a pool of blood; her face deathly pale against the vivid auburn locks. She was as beautiful in death as she had always been in life. His hands fisted tightly in his hair as the image burned itself behind his eyelids.

It's my fault she's dead. Kind, sweet, gentle Lily is gone because of me. I never got to say I'm sorry. I never got to say goodbye. Snape hadn't broken down like this since those very first weeks after it had happened, when all he'd wanted to do was curl up and die right alongside her.

But then something odd happened. Something that in all those years, in all the times his mind had tortured him with images of Lily's crumpled body, he had never seen before.

Harry…

Of course he'd always known the boy had been there. But for the first time that he could ever recall, Snape actually saw him in his memory. A mop of dark curls, cheeks round and downy soft like the skin of a new peach. A thin trickle of blood oozing from the wound on his forehead, a rivulet of red dripping down the side of his tiny nose and off his chin. Small hands clutching the broken wood of his crib, reaching through the bars and frantically, repeatedly, grasping the empty air for his mother. Green eyes – Lily's eyes – watching as Snape cradled her body in his arms, rocking her body back and forth. The baby boy sobbing in fear and confusion and desperately looking to him for comfort.

He wasn't the only one who had lost Lily that night.

Harry had lost her, too…

The fingers that were twisting and pulling unendingly at his scalp suddenly loosened. Harry lost her, too…

The constriction around his chest – like Nagini snapping and crushing his bones within her massive coils – abruptly eased. Harry lost her, too…

The thought brought him up short. He raised his red-rimmed, watery eyes from the protective barrier of his arms, feeling like he had finally let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding for almost sixteen years. He'd been under water that entire time, struggling, writhing, thrashing desperately to get air. It was only here, thinking about Harry, that he'd finally broke the surface. He gasped.

Snape had made a vow, a solemn oath to Dumbledore. He'd promised to do anything the man asked, if only he would keep his precious Lily safe. It hadn't been enough. Lily had been ripped away. But that vow was no less sacred, the oath no less relevant. Now, instead of doing everything in his power to protect Lily, he was going to do everything in his power to protect her son. He was going to give the boy the home that he so desperately needed, the love that had been torn away from him before he'd even had a chance to know it.

You taught me what it was to love, Lily. Now I'm going to do the same for Harry.

Staggering painfully and ungraciously to his feet, Snape moved slowly to the wardrobe on the opposite wall. Opening the doors, he knew that although he couldn't see it, it was there, right where he'd put it sixteen years ago. It had been too painful to see, to even think about. So he'd hidden it away on the top corner underneath his mother's old quilts.

But he reached carefully for it now, not even feeling the deep ache in his side as his heartbeat rapidly increased. In his hands when he pulled them down was a simple wooden box with one single word carved lovingly into the top: Lily. Backing slowly into the large four-poster bed, he sunk down onto its surface as the back of his knees hit the edge.

"Apertus," Snape whispered, and the box popped gently open in his hands. His heart clenched again as he stared down at the items inside, pillowed on a soft interior. His breath hitched as the tears welled up once more. But this time as they traveled slowly down the side of his cheek, they felt strangely like a warm caress from long ago.

.:HP::SS:HP::SS:.

Harry stood at the bottom of the stairs for endless minutes, on the verge of following his professor. But in the end he removed his foot from the first stair and his hand from the banister, turning instead to the darkening sitting room. He built a fire the old fashioned muggle way, with a bundle of wood he'd seen tucked neatly by a bookshelf and a box of matches he found in a kitchen drawer.

Going through the process reminded him that he somehow had to rescue his trunk and all his magical belongings from the Dursley's. The thought should have struck fear into his heart; after all, the Dursley's were alone with all his magical belongings, most likely after being approached by Aurors or other Ministry officials after his encounter with Dudley and his gang. Harry could only imagine the rage Uncle Vernon must be feeling when he thought of his nephew, and he'd probably try to take it out on Harry's things since Harry himself wasn't there to suffer at his abuse.

But strangely, he wasn't afraid for his things. In fact, the only thing he wanted at that moment wasn't his wand, although did feel strangely naked without it. No… If he'd been able, he would have chosen his album of photographs that Hagrid had given him in his first year.

He sadly flipped through the book in his mind, seeing his parents waving, dancing, and happily grinning throughout the pages. However, as he examined the memorized photos in his mind's eye, he only had thoughts of his mother.

After that disastrous meeting in Dumbledore's office following Sirius's death, Dumbledore had finally been honest with him. After almost an entire year wishing that Dumbledore would open up and tell him what exactly was going on, Harry had sat there listening to the headmaster and wishing for nothing more than to cover his ears and scream so he would hear no more.

Why had Voldemort zeroed in on James and Lily Potter? He supposed the reasoning behind it didn't really matter in the end. But as he sat there with his arms wrapped protectively around his legs and his chin resting on folded knees, he hated Voldemort in that moment more than he ever had before. Not for marking him – Harry – as the threat, but for taking his mother away from him before he'd ever had a chance to know her.

"Her favorite color was teal."

Harry almost jumped out of his skin at the murmured words, reaching for his wand out of habit. Snape stood in the doorway to the sitting room, gazing down at a box in his hands. He hadn't even heard the man come down the stairs, which was no small feat in his condition.

"And she loved the dawn. It was her favorite time of day."

Snape made his way to the sofa, gently sitting and still staring at the box as he continued, "She had an infectious laugh that could light up a room..."

Wide eyed, Harry got slowly to his feet and moved to sit beside his professor, as if pulled there by an invisible line. It wasn't until he got closer that he saw tears in the man's eyes.

"She was beautiful. So full of joy. So full of…" he stumbled, a hitch in his voice.

"Life," Harry whispered, thinking of the laugh he'd heard from Lilith that afternoon that had so affected him. "She was full of life." He sat down next to Snape, unconsciously leaning over the man's shoulder to see the box. His professor handed it over without hesitation.

Harry's fingers brushed the top of the carved lid. Lily… It never even occured to him to ask why Snape – a known Death Eater renowned for his love of the Dark Arts – would have such a box in his possession.

The lid was shut but not completely closed, and Harry opened the box with his heart in his throat. Inside lay a random collection of items that might not have meant much if he hadn't known that they belonged to his mother.

Snape's eyes followed the movements of his hands as Harry reached into the box, pulling out a small turquoise hair bow with a mood ring slipped around the middle. Sliding the little muggle toy off the bow, Harry placed the ring on the end of his finger and was shocked to see that it wouldn't even go around the first joint, even as skinny as his hands were.

"She always did have delicate hands. It made her very good at slicing potion ingredients."

Harry slipped the ring carefully back around the bow, rubbing the satiny fabric between his thumb and forefinger. As he did so Snape said, "She wore pigtails sometimes as a girl."

After gently replacing the bow in the box, Harry lifted a small scrap of parchment and unfolded it. It looked as if it had been torn from the bottom of a sheet of notes, for he could see the edges of random words and letters directly beneath the tear. And below that, small, amazingly realistic renditions of all the house mascots were sketched – an eagle for Ravenclaw, it's talons extended and it's beak open in mid-cry; a badger for Hufflepuff, standing tall and proud on a cliff, the wind ruffling its fur. But when Harry looked down at the Gryffindor lioness and Slytherin snake, he was shocked to see that the animals had their heads bowed toward one another, their eyes closed and their foreheads touching in affection. Tender smiles graced the animal's faces. It was a mystery seeing the two house rivals like that, but the scene was rather… sweet.

"She was a gifted artist," Snape murmured, "Although she never seemed to believe me when I told her."

Harry didn't stop to contemplate as curiosity about the rest of the box's contents got the best of him. Folding the scrap and placing it gently back into the box, his fingers brushed a small glass vial, smaller even than those that Snape kept his finished potions in. He thought it looked rather like the tiny perfume bottle that he had once seen Mrs. Weasley use to dash perfume on her finger and dab along her neck while they were in line to meet Gilderoy Lockheart. Harry uncorked the small bottle and leaned down to smell.

"Jasmine… Her favorite scent."

The smell evoked a very obscure memory from the depths of Harry's mind. It could barely be called a memory, as the details were hazy and unfocused. It was more like a feeling than anything else. But Harry could swear that he remembered that smell. Tangling strands of auburn hair around chubby fingers, eyelids heavy. The gentle movement and squeak of a rocking chair. The feminine tones of a soft voice singing faintly, full lips and the curve of a jaw the only part of her that he could see as he cuddled against her shoulder…

His throat tightened dangerously, and he gently replaced the bottle.

The last item in the box sent a thrill of apprehension through Harry. Although it was wrapped in a bit of old flowery fabric, the size and shape allowed him to guess at what it was. Swallowing hard, he picked up the small bundle with the same care as if it were a new, fragile infant. Unraveling the fabric in his palm, Harry felt the breath catch in his throat as it revealed its hidden treasure.

A wand. Willow, a little over 10 inches long. His mother's wand. Harry closed his eyes, trying desperately not to replay the heartbreaking scene that he'd first recalled after the dementors had come after him in third year.

Not Harry… Please! NOT HARRY!

Had she carried the wand in her hand that moment as she stood before Voldemort, pleading for Harry's life?

Would it even have made a difference?

Harry didn't feel the wetness on his lashes when he opened his eyes once more.

"Why…?" Harry asked softly, not sure how to form the words. Not even sure what the words should be.

But Snape seemed to understand. "Your mother and I were… childhood friends. She lived not far from here, closer to the park you ended up at today." And then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a polaroid that Harry would have never believed to be the truth, before this night.

Snape held the photograph reverently, gently stroking Lily's cheek with his thumb as he continued, "I always hated to have my picture taken. It used to drive her quite mad. She'd sneak up on me at the most random moments, trying to get a picture of the two of us. But all she could ever capture was my shoulder or my back as I turned away from the camera." Snape sighed regretfully as he handed Harry the picture. "This was the only time I actually allowed her to take a proper photo of the two of us."

He'd known it already, but the truth hadn't really hit him until now.

His mum had been friends with Snape.

Harry was starting to get the feeling that no matter how much the man tried to hide it from the world, no matter how dark and cruel and menacing he seemed on the surface, there was a lot more to his potions professor than Harry had ever given him credit for.

Mum knew that, he realized as he gazed down at the teenagers in the polaroid. The lips of a resigned teenage Snape twitched in an indulgent, albeit uncomfortable, smile. His mother on the other hand was smiling brightly, eyes glowing with obvious pleasure. Her shoulder moved like she had just thrown her arm around her unenthusiastic friend, and she leaned comfortably into the boy's embrace. She looked so… content.

The notation below the two friends was just as telling. It was his mother's handwriting, which he realized he had never before laid eyes on. The writing was flowing and free, like the girl herself had been. Hogwarts, 1976. Only five short years before he had been born. Year 5… They had been around Harry's age when this photo had been taken.

Love this one of you, Sev!

Sev… So informal and intimate, a nickname that Harry imagined Snape would never allow anyone to call him. Unless…

He realized with a jolt that if things hadn't gone the way they had, if Snape had chosen this vibrant, beautiful girl instead of the Dark Arts, he may have been looking at who his parents could have been. The thought both comforted and terrified him.

"Harry… Look at me."

Green raised up slowly to meet black, and something within Harry broke at what he saw within their tortured depths. "You have your mother's eyes."