Author's Note: Ahead of this chapter I wanted to explain my intent here (and hopefully not over-explain). You may infer this from the title of the chapter, but it is largely adapted to suit my style/needs from the original Prince's Tale from HPDH, while retaining all canon dialogue as it was written in the American edition. More than half of this chapter is composed of original scenes. I hope you won't feel cheated out of original content or view this as simply plagiarism. My aim with this fic has been to present it as canon-divergent, which in this case means writing "as though" one hasn't read the end of the sixth and the seventh book. Important information is conveyed here! Regardless of your stance on Snape, I hope my decision makes sense as the fic unfolds.

Following the next day's classes, Harry once more went to see Snape, this time forcing his way into his office by saying he had information about the with the day he'd nearly killed Draco, he duly recounted the events of the time loop. To avoid involving the Prince, he said Draco cracked his head on the bathroom floor after getting hit by his Stunning Spell. Beyond that, only when it was absolutely necessary did he mention Draco, omitting any instance of his efforts to extract information from him. At the end, Harry explained the regret theory that he had wrestled with for the past several months.

Snape was initially suspicious, but he seemed to realize Harry's sincerity and the level of detail couldn't be fabricated, nor could he have invented his discoveries about the Horcruxes.

". . . I think I figured out how it all started," Harry finally said. "In the memory I saw in my fifth year, you and my dad hated each other, and toward the end of a fight you called my mum a—a Mudblood. That was significant, wasn't it? You were prejudiced against her because of her birth, so—"

"You have no idea what you are talking about. Absolutely no idea." Snape had gone completely still, whether with fury or some other feeling, Harry couldn't tell. "Ample opportunity to learn, and yet there is still much you fail to comprehend."

"What do you think I'm trying to do now? Er, sorry."

"We were friends."

"Who were—?"

"She and I were friends before I used that terrible word. After that, we . . . went our separate ways."

"Really? I find it incredibly hard to believe that you'd get on. Why would she ever have . . ." At the lines deepening in Snape's face, Harry decided against pursuing that thought for the time being. "Still, that sounds similar to what happened with me and Draco. After hurting him, there was little chance of going back. It was the most significant thing that happened that day; it had to have been what caused the time loop. I mean, we weren't friends at the time, or anything, but I'm in Gryffindor like my mum, and Draco is in Slytherin—"

"I assure you, it is far from the same."

"What do you mean?"

Snape was silent for a long time, out of what seemed to be a combination of self-reflexive shock and his desire to be opaque.

Harry tried to meet his eye. "Give me a reason I should trust you about this when I can't trust you about anything else. When Dumbledore refuses to tell me why he trusts you."

"If I tell you anything of importance, that information may be accessible to the Dark Lord, were he to use Legilimency against you. Have you so little faith in the Headmaster that every detail of his plan must be explained?"

"Look, it's coming on a year now, and the time loop hasn't ended. I'd let you to use a Memory Charm on me once the loop ends if you want, but for now it'll be of more use if I know."

Snape shook his head. "I must ask you to leave my office, Potter."

"Voldemort hasn't tried to get into my mind since earlier this year—your year. He could have, but he hasn't, so I doubt he will any time soon."

Snape rubbed his temple. "Do not presume to understand more than I do about how Dark Lord operates. You have eluded him many times, but your luck will hardly last forever."

"Exactly. That's why we've got to work together for once."

"There is little I can do to change your current circumstances." Snape studied him, black eyes on green. "The theory regarding the time loop has some merit, perhaps unsurprisingly, as it was the faculty who developed the idea. On the day after your mother ended our friendship, I attempted to change the past by creating a curse that would reset time to before the incident."

"And it didn't work?"

"No."

Harry, who had been sitting, got to his feet, despite feeling dizzy. "Are you the reason I've been trapped? Do you know how to fix this?"

"Possibly, and unfortunately, no. At the time, I assumed I failed." Snape sat down at his desk, and with a slight sneer, he said, "If my curse is indeed the cause of your present situation, of course it would save the hide of the Boy Who Lived."

Ignoring this, Harry pressed, "But it didn't work, not if you meant it only for one day."

"If it is strong enough to repeat for months on end, then the enchantment has likely compounded over the years, feeding on the regrets of other students. That in turn must have made it . . . unstable, and likely less discerning in terms of identifying need. What I have to wonder is why the Weasley girl's feelings were insufficient when she tried to rid herself of the diary in the very same bathroom."

"I don't know, but of course I regretted what I did. After hurting Draco—Malfoy," added Harry, stumbling to add Draco's surname, "I wasn't allowed to play Quidditch, and loads of people were mad at me. And of course I didn't want to nearly kill him."

Snape scoffed. "When I created the curse, I felt blinding pain beyond anything I had previously experienced. It changed the course of my life. You merely felt guilty."

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand. Before this happened, I hated Draco, whereas you . . ."

Snape kept his eyes fixed on something else in the room. When he spoke, his voice was so low it took Harry a moment to register what he'd said: "You were never supposed to know."

"I'm always the last person to know, for Merlin's sake! This is about more than Voldemort, isn't it—"

"Quiet, Potter." Snape's hand was back at his temple. "Understand that if I explain myself, you will learn the biggest mistake of my life. You so flippantly barge into other people's affairs . . . I would rather have died than have to face you after this . . ."

Harry didn't press him, as he'd seen that kind of apprehension in someone's eyes enough times over the course of the loop to know it preceded a confession.

"She and I—your mother and I—had a difficult friendship as students, often fraught with our differences—differences in background, in values . . . I pursued the Dark Arts, while she opposed them . . . but we put those things aside—attempted to overlook them—for the sake of what we had. I doubt she realized . . ." Snape fell silent, and after enough time passed, Harry's world began to tilt as his mind filled in the blank. ". . . my attachment to her exceeded friendship."

Harry felt as though he were watching himself from outside of his body. He couldn't tell if everything finally added up, or if his reality had abruptly become more confusing. "You fancied my mum? And you still chose to be a Death Eater?"

Snape ran a hand over his face. "I will always live with regret."

Harry sat back down, shaking a bit. "So were you pretending to hate me?"

Snape turned and looked at him, expression severe. "To say I hated you undermines everything I have sacrificed. Perhaps you have a tendency to be unruly, attention-seeking, and illogical like your father . . . You had to be reined in or you would endanger the larger purpose: defeating the Dark Lord. I do not wish to explain the entirety of my reasoning. But for now it is best I maintain appearances or my position as a double agent could be compromised."

"Really, what you're saying is you don't have a valid reason for why you've made school miserable for me?"

"After everything your father did? Regardless, you should not expect the world to coddle you, Potter. It was easier to live in mutual distaste. There were a number of occasions where your ignorance protected you and your friends."

"But now I can't hate you, just like I can't hate Draco. And you'll forget about all of this, and go back to acting like you hate me."

"Yes, well. It is difficult for me to explain myself in words you can understand." Snape hesitated. "I would rather show you. Were it not for your current situation, and I had to face you after—it would be difficult to live with."

"How can you—?"

"The Pensieve. After dinner, go to the Headmaster's office; I will have left the memories there. I do not wish to be around afterward, considering what you might see."

"You mean, you won't have control over them?"

"The volume of memories may be too much for me to control. I will focus on a feeling, a theme, and the memories will follow. Then, you will understand why Albus has put his faith in me." He nodded toward the door. "I shall tell the Headmaster to expect you."

After scarfing down dinner, Harry hurried to the Headmaster's Tower. The gargoyle opened upon his arrival, and upstairs, he found the room was empty.

He approached the Pensieve, unsure if he even wanted to understand Snape. Still, the memories beckoned, and before he fully realized he had dipped his face into the basin, Harry fell into the memory, sun bright in his eyes, landing on warm ground. When he straightened up, he saw that he had materialized next to a mostly deserted playground. A single huge chimney loomed in the distance over rows of tightly packed houses. Two girls swung backward and forward on the swing set as a boy watched them from behind a clump of bushes. He was thin, his black hair falling well past his shoulders, and he wore clothes that were so uncoordinated it had to be deliberate: his jeans hit him mid-calf, his tunic hung around him like drapes, and his large coat swallowed his frame.

Harry moved closer. Snape had to be no more than nine or ten years old. There was unabashed longing in his thin face as he watched the younger of the two girls—Lily, Harry realized with a jolt.

His mother swung higher and higher, much higher than her sister, who must have been Petunia.

"Lily, don't do it!" shrieked Petunia.

Just as she said this, Lily let go of the swing at the height of its arc, flying into the air with a gleeful shout of laughter. Instead of scraping her knees on the playground asphalt, she soared through the air like a trapeze artist and landed lightly with a bow.

"Mummy told you not to!" Petunia dragged the heels of her sandals on the ground to stop her swing, then leapt up, her hands on her hips. "Mummy said you weren't allowed, Lily!"

"But I'm fine," said Lily, still giggling. "Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do."

Petunia glanced around, but to her they were alone.

Lily picked up a fallen flower from the bush Snape lurked behind. Petunia stormed to her, face twisting between curiosity and disapproval. Lily waited until her sister was near enough to have a clear view, then held out her palm. The flower rested there, opening and closing its petals.

Petunia recoiled. "Stop it!"

"It's not hurting you." Still, Lily closed her hand on the flower and threw it back onto the ground.

"It's not right." Despite her apparent frustration, Petunia's gaze lingered on the crumpled flower. "How do you do it?" There was a definite ache in her voice.

On cue, Snape jumped out from behind the bushes. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

Petunia yelped and ran away toward the swings, but Lily, though clearly startled, remained where she was. Snape shrunk back, a dull flush of color rising in his sallow cheeks when Lily looked at him.

"What's obvious?" Lily tilted her head.

Snape had an air of nervous excitement. He glanced at the distant Petunia, who now hovered beside the swings, then lowered his voice and said, "I know what you are."

"What do you mean?"

"You're . . . you're a witch."

Lily's mouth dropped open. "That's not a very nice thing to say to somebody!" She turned, nose in the air, and marched off toward her sister.

"No!" Snape's voice rose in pitch and he flapped after the girls, looking much like an injured bat.

The sisters considered him, and Harry was struck by how similar their looks of disapproval were to each other. He hadn't entertained the idea that Petunia would have anything in common with his mother beyond shared blood.

Snape tried again. "You are. You are a witch. I've been watching you for a while. But there's nothing wrong with that. My mum's one, and I'm a wizard."

Petunia's laugh rained on Snape like hail. "Wizard!" Now that she was recovered from the shock of his unexpected appearance, her courage had returned. "I know who you are. You're that Snape boy! They live down Spinner's End by the river," she told Lily, and it was evident from her tone that there wasn't a worse place to be. "Why have you been spying on us?"

"Haven't been spying." Snape squirmed, hot and uncomfortable in the bright sunlight. Harry realized he kept his coat on to cover up his dirty tunic. "Wouldn't spy on you, anyway. You're a Muggle."

Although Petunia didn't understand the word, she could hardly mistake Snape's intent. "Lily, come on, we're leaving!"

At this, Lily turned to follow her sister, glaring at Snape as she left.

Snape stood watching them as they marched through the playground gate. His bitter disappointment was clear to Harry, and he understood that Snape had been planning this moment for a while, and that it had all gone wrong . . .

The scene dissolved, reforming into a new memory.

Harry was now in a small thicket of trees, a sunlit river glittering through their trunks. The shadows cast by the trees cradled Snape and Lily as they sat cross-legged facing each other. Snape no longer wore his coat, and his odd tunic looked less peculiar in the half-light. They must have been within a year of the previous memory.

Lily had been spinning a dandelion between her fingers and stopped to weave it into her hair. "Have you already got a head start? You know, since you've grown up with magic?"

"My mum can do magic, she's of age, but we're not old enough. Once you're at Hogwarts, you can only do magic in school. And the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside school; you get letters."

"But I have done magic outside school!"

"We're all right. We haven't got wands yet. They let you off when you're a kid and you can't help it. But once you're eleven and they start training you, then you've got to be careful."

There was a brief silence. Lily had picked up a fallen twig and twirled it in the air, and Harry knew that she was imagining sparks trailing from it. Then she dropped the twig, leaned in toward Snape, and said, "It is real, isn't it? It's not a joke? Petunia says you're lying to me. Petunia says there isn't a Hogwarts. It is real, isn't it?"

"It's real for us," said Snape, "Not for her. But we'll get the letter, you and me."

"Really?" Lily's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"Definitely." Even with signs of his ill care—his poorly cut hair and odd clothes—Snape's confidence in his destiny made him appear untouchable and impressive.

"And will it really come by owl?"

Snape nodded. "Normally. But you're Muggleborn, so someone from the school will have to come and explain to your parents."

"Does it make a difference, being Muggleborn?"

Harry at once felt the irony, the fate of their friendship in only five years' time.

Snape's black eyes, eager in the greenish gloom, fixed on her. "No," he said. "It doesn't make any difference."

"Good," said Lily, relaxing. It was clear that she had been worrying.

"You've got loads of magic. I saw that. All the time I was watching you . . ." His voice trailed away; she wasn't listening, having stretched out on the leafy ground to gaze up at the canopy of leaves overhead. Snape watched her as intensely as he had watched her in the playground.

"How are things at your house?" asked Lily.

A little crease appeared between his eyebrows. "Fine."

"They're not arguing anymore?"

"Oh yes, they're arguing." Snape picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart, apparently unaware of what he was doing. "But it won't be that long and I'll be gone."

"Doesn't your dad like magic?"

"He doesn't like anything, much," said Snape. He seemed to want to tell her something, his mouth twitching, but apparently decided against it.

"Severus?"

A small smile twisted Snape's mouth when she said his name. "Yeah?"

"Tell me about the dementors again."

The scene dissolved, and Harry was now in what must have been Snape's bedroom—a small, mostly empty room hung in shadows.

He stepped closer to the trembling form on the bed. It was Snape, curled nearly completely under the covers. As soon as Harry saw his face, he sucked in a breath. Blood streamed from Snape's bruised face into his pillow, and it was difficult to tell if he was sobbing or just breathing heavily. His eyes were open, but listless.

A woman quietly entered the room. Without saying a word, she pulled out her wand and waved it over Snape, sealing his wounds. Chin raised slightly as she braced herself, she lifted up the covers. She quickly dropped the covers and gagged, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. The woman (whom he had to assume was Snape's mother) summoned a fresh set of clothing and placed it at the foot of the bed.

Harry's gut churned with apprehension, but he was powerless. He could only watch the face of Snape's mother as she turned away, eyes shining.

The scene dissolved before he could make sense of it all.

Harry now watched as Snape hurried along the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, glancing into each compartment. He had already changed into his school robes, likely so he could take off his disheveled Muggle clothes. Toward the back of the train, he stopped outside a compartment in which two boys—Sirius and James—were talking. As much as he looked like his father, Harry had been much unhealthier on his first day; by contrast, James had the straight-backed, easygoing appearance of a child well-cared for. Hunched in a corner seat beside the window was Lily, her face pressed against the windowpane.

Snape slid open the compartment door and sat down opposite Lily. She glanced at him and then looked back out of the window. She had been crying.

"I don't want to talk to you," she said, voice constricted.

"Why not?"

"Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore."

"So what?"

She threw him a look of distaste. "So she's my sister!"

"She's only a—" He caught himself quickly; Lily, too busy trying to wipe her eyes without being noticed, didn't hear him.

"But we're going!" he said, unable to suppress the exhilaration in his voice. "This is it! We're off to Hogwarts!"

She nodded, mopping her eyes, but in spite of herself, she half-smiled.

"You'd better be in Slytherin," said Snape, encouraged.

"Slytherin?" James' attention flipped to the two. "Who wants to be in Slytherin?" He scoffed and turned to Sirius. "I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"My whole family has been in Slytherin," said Sirius, unsmiling.

James regarded him, slack-jawed, his surprise exaggerated. "Blimey. And I thought you seemed all right!"

Sirius grinned. "Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"

James lifted an invisible sword. "Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart! Like my dad."

Snape made a small, disparaging noise.

James turned on him. "Got a problem with that?"

"No," said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. "If you'd rather be brawny than brainy—"

Sirius cut him off. "Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?"

James roared with laughter.

Lily stood up, face flushed, glaring between James and Sirius. "Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment."

"Ooh . . ." The two imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

"See ya, Snivellus!" called Sirius as the compartment door slammed.

The scene dissolved again.

Harry was standing right behind Snape as they faced the candlelit House tables, which were lined with rapt faces.

Professor McGonagall read off of a piece of parchment, "Evans, Lily!"

Harry's mother walked forward, her legs trembling, and sat down upon the rickety stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head, and barely a second after it had touched her head, the hat cried, "Gryffindor!"

Harry heard Snape let out a tiny groan.

Lily took off the hat, handed it back to Professor McGonagall, then hurried toward the cheering Gryffindors. As she went she glanced back at Snape, though, there was a sad little smile on her face. Sirius moved up the bench to make room for her, but upon recognizing him, she folded her arms and turned her back on him.

The roll call continued. Harry watched Remus, Peter Pettigrew, and his father join Lily and Sirius at the Gryffindor table. Finally, when only a dozen students remained to be sorted, Professor McGonagall called Snape.

Harry walked with him to the stool and watched him place the hat on his head.

"Slytherin!" cried the Sorting Hat.

And Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering for him . . .

The scene changed.

Snape and two other Slytherins sat on the floor of their dormitory, in the center of which was a bubbling cauldron flanked by an array of supplies. Judging by the darkness of the water outside of the windows, it must have been past midnight.

It took Harry a few minutes of watching and listening to their exchange to figure out they weren't simply brewing potions. Next to them was a jar, its contents writhing with a mass of bugs. The boys were watching intently as one bug flung itself back and forth on a tray. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to have been turned inside out.

"This is getting boring," said Mulciber. He reached for a small cage that contained a small creature—a mouse, furiously scurrying as though it knew its fate.

Mulciber opened the cage and levitated the mouse before it could escape.

"I want to do it!" said Avery, raising his wand.

The mouse writhed in the air, and Harry looked away before he saw what happened. Snape's reaction matched the looks of pleasure on the faces of Avery and Mulciber, but after a few minutes passed, he excused himself to go to the bathroom, Harry in tow. "Muffliato," he managed to say, before retching into the toilet.

Pity and gratification mingled in Harry, as he wanted Snape's child self to feel remorse for his cruelty but also had begun to understand what motivated Snape's love for the Dark Arts.

It took a moment before he realized the implication of the word Snape had said. Muffliato. Before the memory faded completely, he bolted out of the bathroom, down the stairs to the dorm, and to the dorm, where he scanned the nightstands and piles of books for copies of Advanced Potion-Making—there it was, lying among Snape's things, open to the page called Common Ingredients. In the margins there were freshly inked notes, a sentence left unfinished, in the handwriting of the Half-Blood Prince.

It had been Snape all along. Snape who knew how to heal Malfoy in the bathroom, who knew he'd been getting help in Potions, whose spells the Marauders learned and used against him . . .

The scene dissolved.

Harry looked around the Three Broomsticks, which featured a half-hearted arrangement of pink and red decorations.

"Sort of sad, we're both yet to have a date for Valentine's Day."

Severus nodded, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. "At least we have each other."

"You're right."

Laughter preceded the Marauders, who entered at the other end of the restaurant, causing Lily and Severus to turn in their direction.

Severus met James' glare with a sneer. "Odd that they don't have dates, considering how many girls fawn over them. Quite queer, I'd say."

"Sev," said Lily reflexively, as though his comments in this vein were a source of regular disagreement.

"It's not normal, how close they are."

From where Severus sat—alone, awkward, and frustrated—it was easy to disparage the Marauders for their togetherness, ease, and joy.

One moment Harry wished he had the same dynamic with Ron and Hermione, the next, he pitied Severus for not having anything close to that friendship. The Marauders had grown accustomed to draping themselves over each other and laughing until tears ran down their faces, with the caveat that their friendship appeared to be influenced by how others perceived them, on popularity and on reputation, which Harry—and Severus—could never be comfortable with.

"So how d'you prefer it, then, Severus? Sitting on opposite sides of Slytherin common room, glowering at each other and never smiling?"

Stung, Severus broke his stare from the group. "That's not how it is."

Lily pursed her lips, but didn't argue. She noticed the couple nearby exchanging gifts and remembered herself. "I got you something. Think of it as a belated birthday gift as well, since I only gave you a card."

Carefully, Severus accepted the globe, peering inside with a look of wonder. "This is our spot!"

Harry craned his neck to see the object. Inside the glass was a tiny willow tree.

"How did you make this?"

"You're not the only one who invents spells, Sev."

He smiled at her. "You're an incredible witch, Lily."

She flushed and averted her gaze; his smiles must be rare. "I'm not incredible at everything."

"But you're rather good at what matters."

At this point, it was clear Severus had developed feelings beyond friendship, whether or not he was aware of them. He reached into his pocket and handed her what looked like a piece of beach glass, smooth and a dusty green. "This is for you. It's a protective charm, it guards against certain hexes and minor curses. As long as it's somewhere on your person, it should work."

"Thank you, Sev. Though . . . why do you think I need it, though?"

"After school, I don't know if you'll be safe. And even here, I'm not always around if someone were to try something." He glanced around, as if someone were already lurking around the corner, just out of sight.

"Maybe if you weren't friends with Avery and Mulciber, they wouldn't be powerful enough to do anything. Have you thought about that?"

"I told them to stay away. If I hadn't—they know not to do anything to you."

"What about everyone else? There are more than two blood purists in the school, let alone the wizarding world."

"Everyone likes you, so they shouldn't target you anyhow."

Lily scoffed. "When you say things like that, Sev . . . you have to realize how much of a hypocrite you are!" She glanced at the table next to them, then smoothed her hair. "And here I thought we could have a pleasant afternoon in town without getting into a row."

"I don't want to upset you! We can talk about something else." Genuine fear had crossed his features.

Harry found himself wishing he could tell Severus what he was doing wrong, wishing he could help him. Before he could think of anything, the scene dissolved.

The lake caught the sun's rays, the bright light bringing the whole scene into focus. The Marauders, now likely a year older, had targeted Severus.

"Leave him alone," Lily said, glaring at James. "What's he done to you?"

"Well, it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean . . ."

The crowd laughed along with the Marauders, but Lily didn't so much as smile. "You think you're funny. But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone."

"I will if you go out with me, Evans," said James quickly. "Go on . . . go out with me and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," said Lily. The people in the crowd oohed and snickered.

"Bad luck, Prongs." Sirius sensed movement behind him and turned back to Snape. "Oi!"

But it was too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James. There was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James's face, spattering his robes with blood. Was it Sectumsempra?

James whirled about. A second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside-down in the air. His robes fell down over his head, revealing his ill-fitted, graying pants and his unnaturally white legs.

Amidst the cheers, the Marauders roared with laughter.

After a moment's hesitation, Lily's voice cut through the celebration. "Let him down!"

"Certainly," said James and he jerked his wand upwards; Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes, he got quickly to his feet, wand up.

Before he could do anything, Sirius said, "Locomotor mortis!" and Snape keeled over again at once, rigid as a board.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" shouted Lily. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

James tried more charm. "Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you."

"Take the curse off him, then!"

He sighed, then turned to Severus and muttered the counter-curse.

"There you go," he said, as Severus struggled to his feet. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—"

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" Snape spat.

A chill froze Harry's body as he watched a feeling pass through Snape's face, the feeling for which he had been searching for nearly a year: regret.

"Fine," said Lily. "I won't bother in the future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."

"Apologize to Evans!" James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

"I don't want you to make him apologize," Lily shouted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is."

"What? I'd never call you a—you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can—I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me sick." She turned on her heel and hurried away.

"Evans!" James shouted after her. "Hey, Evans!"

But she didn't look back.

"What is it with her?" James tried and failed to look as though the answer didn't threaten to tear out his heart.

"Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate," said Sirius.

"Right," said James, looking furious now, "right—" There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside-down in the air. James surveyed his audience, who had broken out into murmurs. "Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

Cries of encouragement. If Snivellus hadn't deserved the humiliation before, he certainly deserved it now.

James brandished his wand again, eyes wild, and the scene dissolved, reforming as the girl's first floor lavatory.

Bright silver magic swirled around the tiled floor at Snape's feet. He was surrounded by empty glass beakers and a various thick books, and by the state of him he must have been there a few hours already. With one hand, he pointed at the floor with his wand, and with the other, he held a roll of parchment from which he read the same phrase over and over: "Reversio Unodie, Mutatio Ponitet! Reversio Unodie, Mutatio Ponitet!"

"Quit that racket, or I'll scream!" cried Myrtle over his muttering, floating nearer.

Snape looked up at her, face shining with tears. "It's not working."

She sighed as she floated away. "Give up, it's easier."

Harry had asked Myrtle if she knew of anyone who tried to reverse time. He'd spoken with her how many times about the loop? What could he have possibly said differently to get her to realize—and then he knew. Everything hinged on one thing she had said, something he'd taken as frivolous: Myrtle claimed to only remember "the cute ones," the boys she fancied with good enough looks to hold her attention. With no one around to judge him, though certain he wouldn't have cared otherwise, Harry shouted a slew of curses profane enough to have earned him a year's detention.

The bathroom dissolved.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not interested."

"I'm sorry!"

"Save your breath."

Lily, standing with her arms crossed in a dressing gown, stood in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. "I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here."

"I was. I would have. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just—"

"Slipped out?" There was no pity in Lily's voice. "It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends—you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?"

Severus opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking.

"I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."

"No—listen, I didn't mean—"

"To call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?"

Severus struggled on the verge of speech. With a contemptuous look Lily turned and climbed back through the portrait hole.

The scene dissolved into a new one, and Severus was in some sort of tunnel. A familiar tunnel—he was headed to the Shrieking Shack.

As they approached, distant bangs and thumps grew louder. Just as the tunnel grew taller and the door came into view, there were footsteps, and James appeared from under the cloak.

"Oi! Let's get out of here!" James grabbed his arm. "It's not safe, come on."

"Potter, I should have known Black would tell you." Severus raised his wand. "Get out of my way."

Silently, Remus in wolf form crept closer behind him.

James grabbed Severus, threw him aside, and created a protective shield in front of Remus that forced him to slide backward into the shack.

"Run! Get out of here, I'll handle him! Go!"

Severus didn't have to be told twice. He scrambled back up the tunnel . . .

The scene dissolved into a dark corridor.

Severus, eyes wide with panic, perhaps a couple years older, looked around, but there was no one to witness his state. Severus' breath overcame him, and he staggered down the corridor. "Muffliato."

Now that no one could hear him, Snape found a shadowy corner and sobbed.

The voices of the Marauders approached, growing closer and closer. "Prongs, you have to slow down. Trust me, you want to enjoy it while it's still new. Not that I doubt your ability to . . . innovate."

Their laughter carried around the corner, but Severus seemed not to recognize the sound, which was broken up from bouncing off the walls. They appeared at the end of the corridor, and upon seeing them, Harry wished he could call out to warn Severus; Lily and James led the group, holding hands, grinning.

Just as they began to pass, Severus caught himself, shrinking back into the shadows, pressing himself against the wall. He drew his wand, straightened his shoulders, and took a deep, ragged breath.

"Whoa, Snivellus! The hell's wrong with you?" James drew his wand, matching Severus' stance.

Lily tugged on James' arm. "Let's just go. Come on."

"Look at him, he's pathetic!"

Sirius chimed in, now: "Sniveling in the dark, he must be so devastated now that you two are . . ." He made a motion with his hands to fill in the blank.

"Leave me alone, both of you, or I'll—"

"Enough." Lily looked at Severus, her expression betraying no remorse, then at James. "We should get back before curfew."

"We have a few minutes to spare, haven't we? Lily, go back to the room with Remus and Peter."

"And leave you to do what? No! You're being immature, and it'll be better for everyone if you drop it."

James hesitated, and with a final glare at Severus, followed her, the other Marauders in tow.

Then the scene took on a strange, pearly tone, as though everything was dimly illuminated from within. Harry recognized this at once as the distortion of an altered memory.

The Marauders had disappeared, leaving just Lily and Severus. Their voices started to overlap and repeat, becoming difficult to understand, their facial features blurred and movements odd, robotic.

"Sev, what's wrong?" Lily reached for Severus as though moving through water.

Severus was shaking his head, "I love you." His quick words echoed eerily around them.

"I had no idea . . ."

"What about James? Will you leave him for me?"

But before there was an answer, the scene abruptly dissolved.

Trelawney and Dumbledore sat in a dimly lit wood-paneled room that Harry didn't recognize.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . ."

He had seen Trelawney recite the prophecy once before. Why hadn't Dumbledore shown him the complete memory?

There was commotion outside the door before it flew open, and Aberforth stood gripping Severus' shoulder.

"Ah—you see, I only desired insight into the art of Divination, I'm young but fairly experienced—nervous for the interview, is all—"

Her trance broken, Trelawney looked at Severus merely with annoyance, as she apparently had no idea what she had just said. "Come in hopes you'd ruin my chances?"

Severus shook his head furiously. "It was rude of me to eavesdrop, but I was worried about the competition—I'll be going now." He wormed out of Aberforth's grasp and hurried out of sight.

When the scene dissolved, Harry felt as though he were flying, passing shapes and colors until his surroundings solidified again. He stood on a barren hilltop, forlorn in the darkness, the wind whistling through the branches of a few leafless trees. Snape told Voldemort. He had my parents killed. And Dumbledore has known this entire time! He'd caught himself starting to call Snape by his first name, but after the man betrayed his parents, how could he?

Snape, now about twenty years old, turned on the spot as he gripped his wand tightly, waiting for something or someone. His fear infected Harry, who looked over his shoulder, too, wondering what Snape had come there for—

A blinding, jagged jet of white light flew through the air. Harry's initial instinct was that lightning had struck the hill, but Snape had dropped to his knees, disarmed.

"Don't kill me!"

"That was not my intention."

Any sound of Dumbledore Apparating had been drowned by the sound of the wind in the branches. He stood before Snape with his robes whipping around him, face lit from below in the light cast by his wand. "Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

"N-no message—I'm here on my own account!" Snape was wringing his hands. He looked mad, his black hair flying around him, dark eyes huge in his pale face. "I-I come with a warning—no, a request—please—"

Dumbledore flicked his wand. Though leaves and branches still flew through the night air around them, silence fell on the spot where he and Snape faced each other.

"What request could a Death Eater make of me?"

"The—the prophecy . . . the prediction . . . Trelawney . . ."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore's tone was bitter, sharp. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"Everything—everything I heard! That is why—it is for that reason—he thinks it means Lily Evans!"

"The prophecy did not refer to a woman," said Dumbledore. "It spoke of a boy born at the end of July—"

"You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down—kill them all—"

"If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

"I have—I have asked him—"

"You disgust me," said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape shrunk back a little as he continued, "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Snape said nothing, looking up at Dumbledore. "Hide them all, then. Keep her—them—safe. Please."

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"

"In—in return?" Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, "Anything."

The scene dissolved, and now Harry stood in Dumbledore's office.

Something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal. Snape had slumped forward in a chair as Dumbledore stood over him, looking grim. After a moment or two, Snape raised his head, looking like he had lived a hundred years of misery since leaving the storm-stricken hilltop.

"I thought you were going to keep her safe . . ."

"She and James put their faith in the wrong person," said Dumbledore. "Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"

Snape's breath escaped him in short bursts, and he clutched his chest.

Dumbledore looked at him. "Her boy survives."

Snape's expression flickered, breathing abruptly still.

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans' eyes, I am sure?"

"Don't! Gone—dead . . ."

"Is this remorse, Severus?"

"I wish . . . I wish I were dead . . ."

"And what use would that be to anyone?" Dumbledore's voice was surprisingly sharp. "If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

Snape seemed to see through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore's words took a long time to reach him. "What—what do you mean?"

"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son."

"He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone—"

"The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

There was a long pause, and slowly Snape managed to get a grip. "Very well. Very well. But never—never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear . . . especially Potter's son . . . I want your word!"

Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape's anguished face. "My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you? If you insist . . ."

"The best of me? No, the worst of me. I will never live a day without regretting what I have done."

"I understand." Snape took no notice of the flash of pain in Dumbledore's eyes. "Then you are condemned to suffer without sympathy."

The scene dissolved.

"Potter, where are you going?"

Harry recognized the scene; he was a second-year, expressive and round-faced, his features beginning to wrinkle with dislike. Had he always been so transparent? Snape too looked much younger than he would four years later, after Voldemort's return had taken a toll on them all.

"There are tubeworms stuck to your desk," continued Snape, not looking up from his papers.

Harry watched his younger self grit his teeth in frustration. "They were there before our class, sir."

Snape looked up, sneering. "So you failed to properly sanitize your desk before you began your classwork?"

Younger Harry struggled to think of a response, which was for the best; had he protested further, Snape would surely have boiled over.

"Once you have finished that desk, clean the others."

It was a miserable task, scraping off tubeworms, and a familiar feeling of injustice bubbled inside Harry as he watched his younger self. He tried to imagine himself as his father, as Snape saw him. It was easy to do; his nose a touch shorter than James', hair (he wouldn't have believed it possible) less wild, skin a shade or two lighter, but otherwise the resemblance was striking. With enough time to forget the differences, they may as well have been identical.

After Harry had finished his task and hurried out, Snape sighed and rubbed his temple, eyes closed.

There was a knock on the door, and Professor McGonagall entered the room. Snape straightened in his chair, making to stand, but McGonagall waved him down. "This will be brief. I wanted to ask if you have any reason to think Potter is responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets. If your attitude toward him the other night was founded in any knowledge you have."

Snape shook his head. "He did not open the Chamber on purpose."

"Then on accident . . . ?"

"It is unlikely." He glanced at the door behind her. "We should ensure this conversation is private . . ."

At once, McGonagall waved her wand and the door shut, completely without a sound.

"The other professors must remain ignorant, of course. But the slim possibility is Harry's connection with the Dark Lord would allow him to open the Chamber." "Connection? What connection would there be?"

Snape made a gesture close to a shrug, which punctuated the difference in their age. "It may be nothing. Given his ability to speak to snakes, however, as the Dark Lord could, it must exist in a small way, at the very least . . ."

The scene dissolved.

Harry watched himself fall, quickly, through the fog—and Dumbledore hurried onto the Quidditch pitch, waving his wand to slow him as he fell, scaring off the dementors . . . Severus had gotten up as well, drawing his wand. Before anyone else could react, his third-year self hit the ground. Of course, Harry knew the fall had slowed enough that he wasn't injured, but the panic in the stands was infectious.

Severus strode onto the pitch, robes billowing in the wind, hair plastered from the rain. It was clear that the worst had occurred to the crowd—and perhaps Severus himself—that Harry could be dead. The shouts from the crowd swept through Harry, making it difficult to focus on any one thing; but the professors who helped Dumbledore banish the dementors maintained their senses.

"He's alive," said Madam Hooch, her fingers on Harry's pulse.

Madam Pomfrey hurried onto the field alongside Dumbledore and magicked Harry onto a stretcher. She levitated him up to the castle as Dumbledore told everyone else to fall back, instructing a panicked Hagrid to manage the crowd.

Harry stared at his seemingly lifeless body, the arms dangling over the side of the stretcher, the soaked hair plastered to his young face. He wasn't sure what to feel: should he revel in the emotions of his friends, their faces a reassurance of how much they cared, or cringe at the embarrassment of his helpless appearance? He looked back at Severus, who was staring at the body of his younger self, expressionless, pace slowing as they reached the castle.

Rather than following the group of professors to the Hospital Wing, though, Severus broke off and slipped into an empty classroom nearby.

Once alone, Severus breathed in sharply and exhaled, a shuddering, ugly sound. He covered his face with his hands for a minute as his breathing steadied, and when he revealed his face, there was no evidence that he had cracked. He swept out of the room and strode back into the Hospital Wing. Professor McGonagall was speaking in low tones to Dumbledore, stopping when she saw Severus. She nodded to him, then left.

"I have ordered the dementors off the grounds and contacted the Ministry of Magic to better control the blasted creatures," Dumbledore informed him without preamble.

"Potter should not continue playing Quidditch if it needlessly puts his life on the line."

"And take away the one thing that makes him feel normal?"

"I would argue it merely inflates his ego."

"Severus," Dumbledore cut in sharply, "There is no need for your pretense here."

Severus' frown deepened. "I only meant that surely the sport is not worth these brushes with death."

"There are many more serious risks that Harry will encounter. This incident will pale in comparison to what he may face in the future." At Severus' wince, he added, "You know as well as I that prevention is of little use. With Quidditch gone, he would only become more reckless. Boredom can be destructive . . ."

Severus grunted, wishing neither to affirm this nor continue arguing.

"I protected him this time, Severus. However, I would hope that if I was not there, you would step in. Or did a part of you hope he would fall to his death?"

"How could you—" Severus kept his voice steady. "Do you really think I would willfully undo my efforts from over the past twelve years?" For only a moment, his eyes passed over the hospital bed where Harry lay. "I will be quicker next time, Albus. You can be certain of that."

Harry left the memories with a gasp.