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.