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.