Harry watched quietly as Snape tried to think of somewhere to begin. It looked as though it pained him to think about it, let alone try and talk about it.

“Last year was your first year at Hogwarts,” Snape started. Harry still had to get used to the fact that he was only going to be in his second year instead of third in this… place. “You had this… curiosity of what was being hidden in the school—”

“The Philosophers Stone!” Harry blurted out, eyes wide. “So that happened here too?”

“Please don't interrupt me,” Snape growled, and Harry pressed his lips together tightly. “Save your questions until I am finished.

“You, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger tried to save that Stone, and in the process you—you died. Quirrel ended up dying down there as well, and the Stone… it was destroyed.”

Harry paled. He wasn't sure how to react to Snape's sudden change of voice; it had become thick and layered with emotion, much like thoser reflected in his eyes, that still caught Harry by surprise.

“I—I take it I'm still in Gryffindor here?”

Snape nodded wordlessly.

“Were you ashamed? Of having your… son sorted in Gryffindor?” Harry couldn't help but ask.

Snape scowled. “Never.”

Harry wasn't completely sure how to react to that answer, either. He shifted his position on the sofa as he asked, “What about Ron and Hermione? Are they still OK?”

“They were fine,” Snape replied.

Harry was quiet. He could feel Snape's eyes on him; he had been doing that often. Staring at Harry. It made him even more uncomfortable.

“Are you really Harry?” Snape broke the silence softly.

“Yes I am,” Harry answered honestly. “Just not your Harry. I am Harry Potter, Lily and James Potters' son. When they died, I was given to the Dursleys.”

“Your… aunt and uncle?” Snape guessed. Harry nodded in response. “Were they good to you?”

Harry hesitated. “I lived in a cupboard up until my Hogwarts letter came. Then I was moved to Dudley's second bedroom. I had lots of chores ever since I was little—weed the garden, cook dinner…” Harry caught himself. Was he really telling Severus Snape about his home life? Of all the people…

“So you were merely nothing more than a House Elf to them,” Snape said, looking angry. “Why didn't you ever tell anyone?”

Harry frowned. “They weren't abusing me!”

“I never said that,” Snape pointed out. “What about… us? Were we ever… close, or—?”

Harry snorted, though he ended up wincing in pain. The spot above his ear where he hit the rock was still throbbing with pain. “There is only one word to describe how you feel about me,” Harry said. “Hate. You… you despised me.”

“Oh,” Snape replied quietly, his eyebrows pulling together in a frown.

They both fell into an uncomfortable silence. Harry wondered how he was ever going to get back to his right reality. He now knew that somehow he must've landed himself into another place. Another time.

“So… I might need your help, sir,” Harry said awkwardly. “To get back.”

Snape looked startled. “What?”

“T—to get back,” Harry repeated. “I really don't know how I got here, but I really do think I should find a way to get back, and I'll need your help.”

Snape shook his head. “I'm afraid I cannot assist you.”

It was Harry's turn to look startled. “What?”

“I have hoped that somehow I'd get my son back—and now I have. I'm not letting him go.”

“That's just it,” Harry argued. “I'm not your son!”

Snape abruptly stood up and left the room. Harry pressed his hand against the side of his cut head and noticed that it was bandaged. Snape must've bandaged it for him. Harry followed Snape, and in the process had the chance to look at the place Snape lived in. It was very clean. That was the first thing Harry noticed. It was one thing, though, that really caught his eye.

Pictures.

Ones that had Snape had Harry—mainly some that were of him as a baby, then a toddler, and then a boy. They were very different from the Dursleys' pictures—for instance: they moved. But that wasn't it. It was that the Dursleys had only pictures of Dudley; never Harry.

Then Harry noticed the pictures of Lily. Some alone, some with Snape, but—Harry could see no pictures that had Snape, Lily and this-Harry as a baby in it together.

“She loved you,” Snape said from the doorway. Harry didn't turn around; he kept his eyes on the pictures. “We both loved you.”

“You don't love me,” Harry said quietly. “You hate me. You always have. You aren't my father either—James is!”

“Take a look in the mirror,” Snape growled. “Do you see any bit of Potter in you? It's me and Lily, Harry—that's the blood running through your veins. Snape blood; not Potter blood.”

“In this reality, maybe,” Harry argued. “But in my reality—the real one—I am and will always be a Potter! Never your son. Never.”

Harry swallowed, staring at the Potions Master, remaining silent. There was an uncomfortable feel in the air around them now. Snape looked as if he kept wanting to say something, but never did. Had he really just said all of that? He felt his heart race as he tried to catch his breath.

“Do you want to remain here until you go back?” Snape questioned curtly, blatantly ignoring Harry's comment.

Harry hesitated before answering. Would he be able to spend his time with Snape until he found a way to return?

“Er… sure,” Harry answered uncertainly. “Is there, uh, room though?”

Stupid question, Harry realized. Of course there would be room. He used to, apparently, live here.

“Of course,” Snape replied as he stood. “Follow me, I'll show you to your room. Would you like to have lunch now or afterwards?”

“It's lunch already? I was out for a while, then.”

“Indeed.”

Harry followed Snape up the stairs quietly, still a little uncomfortable with his outburst, until they reached a room, which Harry assumed was his. When Snape opened the door, Harry was extremely surprised to see it decorated in Gryffindor colors.

After seeing Harry's expression, Snape said, “You've always liked Gryffindor. Feasibly because that was the House your mother was in.”

There was another pregnant pause between them.

“I'll have Nome tell you when it's lunch.”

Harry reckoned that Nome was the House Elf. He watched as Snape silently left. Harry cautiously stepped into the room, looking around.

It was a big room with a large closet and window. The four-poster bed sat in front of the window. Lots of pictures decorated the room, as well. Mostly of him and Snape; some were of Lily, too.

Harry slowly went through the room, studying everything. This was all so… weird. He stood in front of the mirror, observing himself. He couldn't get used to this new appearance. One thing that was very much the same was his messy, untidy hair.

A thought struck Harry out of the blue. What exactly was his name in this reality? Was it still Harry? He assumed that it was, since it was what Snape had called him earlier.

Harry walked out of the room and slowly stepped down the flight of stairs. This was a pretty big house—where would Snape be?

Harry walked through the house until he finally reached the dining room, where he found Snape. He sat on the other end of the table; Snape never looked up as he tipped the cup up to his lips and took a sip.

“So do you do this often, sir?” Harry asked.

Snape briefly looked up. “Do what?”

“Just… sit. Staring,” Harry elaborated. “Like you are now.”

“Occasionally,” Snape responded.

They slipped under another blanket of silence. This had been happening frequently now, Harry realized as his eyes wandered the room.

“What was my name? My full name?” Harry asked conversationally, his eyes drifting back towards Snape.

Snape silently caught Harry's eye. “Harry Severus Snape.”

Harry gave his head a nod. “Right.” He tilted his head to the side. “Was I happy here?”

As the four words slipped out of his mouth, Harry realized how odd it sounded. He just wanted to know—after all, he kept thinking of the cold, sour Potions Professor back in his reality, and Harry couldn't imagine that Snape ever being nice to him… or treating him like a father would to a son.

It was a thought that seemed impossible.

“I'm quite sure you were,” Snape said, then added more confidently, “In fact, I am positive that you were.”

After another silent moment that wasn't becoming new to Harry, he asked tentatively, “So… you… really won't help me get back?”

Snape merely took another sip from his teacup. Harry waited rather impatiently until Snape replied.

“No,” Snape answered briefly.

Harry sighed. “I guess I'll just have to get help from Dumbledore.”

Snape gave his head a sharp nod. “Very well.”

“So even if, to get back, it involved a potion—you wouldn't make it?” Harry hesitantly asked.

Snape seemed to ponder the question thoughtfully before briefly saying, “No.”

Harry let out a sigh. It seemed that this Snape was just as stubborn as the other surly one. Then again, Harry was always just as stubborn.

Harry pushed his chair back and stood up, catching Snape's attention.

“Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” Harry replied. “To the—the bedroom.”

Snape gave a small nod, and Harry started towards the stairs. What if he could never find a way back? What if he ended up having to stay in this… dimension forever?

Harry shuddered as he entered the bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he could be able to see himself in the mirror. Harry pushed his fringe back, noticing that he still had the lightning bolt scar.

Harry dropped his hand, turning as he heard a noise in the doorway.

“How'd you know to trust me?” asked Harry. “That I wasn't an imposter, or—or—”

“Your eyes,” Snape answered in a quiet voice. “You've always had honest eyes, Harry. All your emotions are shown through those eyes. They tell one everything.” He suddenly cleared his throat, his voice becoming louder. “Well, lunch is on the table. Are you coming?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, just one minute.”

He waited until Snape left before turning his attention back to the mirror. He got up and walked closer, staring intently at his eyes. He couldn't really see his emotions in them—but then again, maybe it was only something Snape could do.

With one last look, Harry was able to tear himself away from the mirror and go downstairs. All the way, he wondered how he was ever going to be able to go back home, out of this…what was it? Reality, dimension, place; whatever it was to be called.

And it had to be before Hogwarts started up again. Besides, how could it be explained to everyone that—even though this wasn't the right Harry that everyone here had came to know—this Harry was alive again?