Over the next two days, Harry remained in the Hospital Wing, recovering from his ordeal at the Death Eaters' hands and coming to terms with the loss of his magic. After his initial outburst, Poppy watched him like a hawk, but Harry controlled himself and didn't have any more embarrassing episodes. His face burned when he recalled how he had screamed and attacked Snape and then ended up crying all over the man. He prayed he wouldn't have to see the man anytime soon, for after yesterday, when they had gone on that unexpected outing to McDonalds in London, he knew the man would be waiting for his chance to question Harry about the Dursleys, and that was one subject Harry did not want to discuss at all, with Snape or anyone else.

Dumbledore didn't return to visit him either, for which Harry was also grateful. He knew his behavior towards the old wizard had been abysmal at best and he would rather not face the other right then, his emotions were still too raw. One day though, he would have to apologize to Dumbledore, and perhaps Snape as well, for flipping out and acting like . . .well a hormonal teenager.

Poppy treated him the same as always, making him eat and drink and take her disgusting potions on a schedule. She did not insist he remain confined to his bed, so he was allowed to get up and walk about for short periods of time, though she did insist he rest every hour. Harry obeyed her instructions, because the plain truth was he still felt awful and in his depressed state sleeping was preferable to being awake.

The loss of his magic was like an invisible wound upon his soul, bleeding silently, but causing him agony nevertheless.

He cursed the damn Death Eaters from the depths of his soul. Their unreasoning hatred had cost him everything that mattered. Without magic, would he even be allowed to attend Hogwarts in the upcoming year? And if not, then where would he go? He refused to return to the Dursleys, he knew his aunt and uncle would never forgive him for hexing Aunt Marge, no matter that she'd called his mother a whore right to his face.

If he shut his eyes, he could just hear the woman's sneering shrill voice, saying, "If there's something wrong with the bitch, there's something wrong with the pup, and God knows your sister was no better than she ought to be, running around with another man while being married. Of course, her husband wasn't any prize either, low class trash, wasn't he, Petunia? Still, a wife ought to remain true to her vows and not go round with another man, no matter how handsome and rich he was. Then she had the nerve to divorce him and get remarried to that arrogant Potter. Such a scandal!"

Harry had remained dumbstruck for a moment before crying, "What are you talking about? My mum never cheated on my dad! That's a lie!"

"Quiet, boy! You know nothing about what went on, you weren't even born yet," snapped Marge. "Your mother thought she was brilliant, but she made awful choices, in men and in her life. She got what she deserved, the tart."

Then he had lost it and hexed the dreadful woman, for daring to speak of his mother that way. Lies, it was all lies. Lily had never been divorced and remarried, he had the proof in the photo album Hagrid had given him in his first year. His parents had been happily married, had him, and then been killed by Voldemort when he was a mere fifteen months old. There had been no scandal attached to his mother's name. That was something his miserable Muggle relatives had made up, like they made up the lie that Harry was a delinquent and went to St. Brutus's School for the Criminally Inclined.

He wished that he'd hexed Marge's tongue off instead of blowing her up like a balloon. It'd be no more than she deserved, the wicked old gossip. He sighed, leaning back on his pillows and wishing he had a book or something to read. Merlin, he'd even welcome one of Snape's God-awful potion essays, anything to relieve the tedium of staring at the walls of the Hospital Wing and remembering how he'd come to be there.

He didn't even know how he was going to tell Ron and Hermione the awful news. It was hard enough for him to even think about it, much less write his two best friends and tell them he was magicless. He wished the dark wizards had killed him instead of forcing him to endure this awful torment. Bitterly, he thought the only ones who would be pleased at the way things had turned out were the Dursleys, who need never worry about their freaky nephew using magic again. Them and maybe Snape, who was probably having a party at not having to teach Harry next term.

Although he had to admit the Potions Master hadn't seemed at all pleased over his loss of magic when Harry had last seen him, he hadn't made any sarcastic snarky comments or yelled at Harry for being an overdramatic teenager like his father the way he normally did. In fact, in his own sharp way, he'd comforted his student, much as Harry hated to admit it, Snape had been almost . . .compassionate. Harry remembered the way Snape had held him gently and had run his fingers through Harry's hair and hadn't sneered at him for bawling like a two-year-old on his professor's shoulder.

Maybe Snape did have a heart after all.

Or maybe he'd imbibed a Personality Altering Draft, Harry thought wryly. Yes, that'd make more sense than Snape suddenly developing a conscience or compassion, right?

Before he could ponder the strange behavior of his least favorite teacher, Hedwig flew into the Hospital Wing holding a rather large package wrapped in fading brown paper. She flew down and dropped it in Harry's lap.

"Huh? What's this? I got a package?" Harry stared at it, wondering who on earth could have sent him something. He'd not written to Ron or Hermione to tell them where he was and no one else knew either.

He reached over to scratch the snowy owl between the ears, then picked up the package, which was the size and shape of a large book, and peered at the address on the outside.

My dearest son, Harry Potter

From your loving mother Lily

Harry gaped at the address. A package from his mother, and he was only getting it now? How and why? "When did you get this, Hedwig?" he asked the owl, who merely hooted softly and nibbled his hair.

"Well, if it's from my mum, it can't be bad, right?" he reasoned, then carefully unwrapped it.

Inside the paper was a glossy photo album in green leather with the inscription Our Family in gold letters on the outside.

"More pictures. Maybe Hagrid remembered there was another album," Harry told the owl excitedly, and opened it.

Taped to the back of the front cover was an envelope with his name and the directions, Open Me First, on it in his mother's handwriting.

Trembling, Harry carefully removed the envelope and read the following letter.

To my beloved Harry,

If you're reading this, my sweet son, something has happened to me and I can no longer be with you and there is no need for you to maintain the fiction that you are James's son anymore. Not that he wasn't a wonderful and loving stepdad to you, but the fact remains that he was not your real father and you do not need to keep up the masquerade and fear to acknowledge your true father, who is my beloved and dear best friend, lover, and soulmate.

Were it not for the danger posed by Voldemort-may he rot forever in hell!-and the nature of your father's work as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix, this deception would never have been necessary and you would not ever have to pretend to be someone you're not. But we decided, your father and I, soon after you were born, Harry, that we would do all in our power to keep you safe, even if it meant playing the whole world for fools and hiding you in plain sight.

We cast glamour spells on you to make you appear like James, though your father has probably removed them by now. He hated doing that to you, he was so proud that you resembled him, except you inherited my nose and eyes!

I trust your father has explained everything to you by now and I wish that I could be there with you, my sweet baby boy. Never doubt that I love you, Harry, and I will watch over you and love you forever, even from heaven.

Mum

PS These pictures were taken by Remus Lupin, or Uncle Moony as you call him, they are the original pictures of our wedding and your baby pictures, which we had to hide when we created the fiction that you were James' son. This is the true album and the pictures here have not been altered in any way like the other fake album was. Enjoy them, love.

Harry stared at the letter and felt the bottom drop out of the world for the third time in over a week. What the hell was happening? Had his life suddenly become a sandcastle? As if it weren't bad enough having Death Eaters capture him and losing his magic, now he had to learn that he wasn't even the son of James Potter, the way he'd thought for thirteen years.

He recalled Marge's voice, saying all those dreadful things about his mother and thinking they were lies. Apparently they hadn't all been, if what was written here was true. Lily had referred to James as his stepdad, not his father, which meant that some of what Marge had said was true-Lily had been married twice, and the man who'd been her first husband was Harry's real father.

Lily had said it had been a necessary deception, to protect him. And his appearance wasn't his real one either. Who the hell did he look like then? Shivering, Harry's fingers touched the thick page of the album, brushing against it lightly. Did he dare turn the page and discover the secret he'd never known, the father he'd never met, who had probably been killed the way James and Lily had? Otherwise he'd have been sent to live with him and not the Dursleys.

Taking a deep breath, Harry turned the page.

And saw the first picture was of his mother, looking radiant in a dress of dazzling white and gold, her hair shimmering brightly in the noonday sun. Underneath the picture was the caption Lily Ann Evans, her wedding day, 1979, Yorkshire, England.

Harry felt tears come to his eyes as the picture moved and he saw his mother laughing in joy. You made a beautiful bride, Mum. Absolutely stunning. But who were you married to?

He turned the page once again.

This picture was of both his parents, Lily and a tall dark haired man dressed in a smashing black and white tuxedo with fancy green dress robes. The man had short silky black hair and was smiling down at his bride as if she were the most precious thing in the world. And she in turn was gazing at him as if he were the most gorgeous man on earth. Truth be told, the man-his father-was quite handsome.

Underneath the photo was written in Lily's flowing script Me and Sev on our wedding day, just after the ceremony.

Sev? That was my dad's name? But who is he? I don't recognize him.

Harry removed his glasses, rubbed them on his shirt tail and peered again at the picture. Something about the man's face seemed familiar, but no, it couldn't be . . .

He looked at the next picture, this one showed his mother and Sev dancing, looking deliriously happy, like all newly wedded couples. Lily had written Sev and I dancing the mambo, oh it was fun! And James didn't think he could dance-ha!

The next few pictures were all of Lily and his father and in the background were other people, including James and someone called Sirius, and one shot of a rather serious looking young man with blond hair and dark eyes that Lily said was our best friend Remus "Moony" Lupin.

Then there came a flyleaf with the words Our Son and Harry flipped it over to see a baby picture of himself, probably taken right after he'd been born, as he looked a bit red and scrunched, with a tuft of very black hair and dark blue eyes. The caption here read Harrison Remus Snape, born July 31st, 1980 7 lbs, 20 inches.

Harry gasped. He must have read that wrong. He reread the caption, rubbing his eyes hard.

The words remained the same.

Harrison Remus Snape.

Oh dear God, it couldn't be, his mind shrieked.

Because if it were true that made his father . . .Severus Snape.

He quickly looked at the rest of the pictures, only now recognizing the smiling young man leaning over Lily in the hospital bed looking at baby Harry as his potions professor. Snape had cut his hair in the pictures and his nose wasn't crooked then and the sneer was gone from his face. He looked like a totally different person.

There were many other pictures of himself, Lily, and Snape, or "Sev" as his mother had called him. Pictures of Harry with food all over his face, laughing up at his mother, another of him crawling to Snape, who was lying on the carpet, holding out his arms. Harry's first step, taken while holding onto Snape's hands, according to the caption. Another showed him nestled on Snape's shoulder while the man was seated in a rocking chair, patting Harry's back while Lily looked on, smiling.

"Go to sleep, son." murmured the soft silky voice, and Harry closed his eyes, snuggling against the comfortable shoulder.

Harry blinked, coming out of the memory with a gasp. It had been real, not a hallucination brought on by pain or fever. It had really happened, it was true.

He scanned the rest of the pictures, of the family at the seashore in Devon, in the park, where Severus pushed Lily and baby Harry on the swings. Harry sharing an ice cream cone with his daddy and making them both get covered in sticky chocolate, another of a scowling infant Harry, and beneath that one Lily had written I know where he gets that temper from, Sev! Following that one was a photo of Harry at seventeen months wearing a tiny pair of glasses and Lily had commented But he gets his poor eyesight from my side of the family, he needs glasses just like Grandpa Evans.

But far and away the most embarrassing picture of the whole lot was the one of Harry naked in his bathtub, blowing bubbles at Lily and splashing his dad with one little hand as the two attempted to wash him. Merlin, Mum, what were you thinking, putting that in here? D'you want me to die of embarrassment before I'm twenty? I'm taking this one out of here. If Ron or Malfoy ever saw it . . .Only to discover to his utter horror that the pictures were charmed fast to the page and he could not remove them without ruining the whole album.

Groaning, he left the picture alone and examined the rest, which were mostly candid shots of him playing with toys, he'd seemed to like a stuffed gray wolf best, beating a wooden spoon on a little cauldron-Future Potions Master, huh?-smiling at Remus Lupin, riding a broom with James, yes it was James, and the last photo showed a close up of Harry, Lily, and Severus, with Severus's arms wrapped about both his wife and son, looking down on them with love written all over his face. Beneath that one Lily had written, The Snape family, 1982, perfect together.

1982? But that would mean I was two when my parents-I mean Mum died, not fifteen months like I always thought. Guess that was another damn lie, like everything else I ever thought.

He gently shut the album and buried his face in his hands.

He could not comprehend how the sweet loving father in those photos which Lily had written about with such devotion had become the cold hard man he knew. And if Snape was really Harry's father, then why had he allowed the Dursleys to raise his son? Why had he given Harry away and why did he despise his own son?

Because he's a greasy bastard, hissed the cynical part of his mind.

No, there had to be another reason. The Snape in the pictures clearly loved his baby, it was there on his face plain as day in dozens of pictures.

What had happened between then and now to make Severus change?

Obviously one answer was Lily's death. But what about James and the deception they'd worked on Harry?

Questions swirled in his head and he could feel the beginnings of a migraine beating in his temples.

He knew of only one man who might know the answers to all those questions and it wasn't Snape.

Harry rose to his feet and quickly pulled on his clothes. Then he tucked the album with its startling secrets under his arm and slipped out of the infirmary, praying he could make his way to Dumbledore's office undiscovered by Madam Pomfrey.