Harry returned to the room to find Snape already in bed. He didn't look at Harry, leading Harry to believe that he was still angry over what had been said earlier. Despite how guilty he felt, Harry was afraid to bother Snape now with an apology. Besides, every time he tried to think of one it was like he forgot what language he spoke. So, quietly, Harry put on his pyjamas and crawled into bed. He was careful to roll up the sleeves of his pyjama shirt so as to avoid them brushing the still sore cuts on his arm, which he had peeled the scabs from earlier.

He sunk down onto the bed, imagining himself to be a skeleton sinking down into the desert's midnight sand, long cooled after the heat of the day. Harry let himself become swallowed by the soothing desert, and closed his eyes. He was just a bag of bones. That was all. No thoughts. No memories, just a lifeless body. A skeleton didn't have to think. A skeleton couldn't be angry. Bones just were.

He tossed and turned much of the night away in his shallow grave, and by the creaking of springs and the soft slide of sheets on the other side of the room, Snape was doing the same. It was late when Harry finally succumbed to a fitful sleep. Skeletons don't have nightmares. But Harry was no skeleton after all.

***

Severus' eyes opened wide as he tried to hear over his loud heartbeat what had woken him. It had been a low, soft moan. It made his blood race, and his mind awoke immediately, spine tingling and the darkness enhancing the fear.

There's that sound again ...

Wind sweeping through branches lit by the full moon speak of the moon and the devil and those two are related, I just know, and broken bones in the dead of night Mummy what's wrong why are you making that sound and hear that hear those sounds those are the last breaths of victims who crossed the Dark Lord (you did this you did this)

All at once, as the Gryffindor colours on the other side of the room met his vision, Severus remembered where he was and his racing thoughts ground to a halt. He thought wryly that he would never have thought he'd be relieved to see that wretched banner, let alone one belonging to a Potter.

There was the noise again, but the mystery was gone from it. Severus glanced sideways at Potter, who was lying stock still, the sheen of sweat on his grey skin visible on the washed out light of the moon. It had been Potter making that noise. Severus stared, frozen where he lay.

Damn. Potter was having a nightmare. Well, there was no way he was going to intervene.

The squawk of bedsprings, the soft shuffle of feet kicking in the midst of sleep.

"Noooo."

So it starts.

"Don'... d-don't -"

Severus stuck the pillow over his head.

"Mum, please! He's gonna -"

Severus couldn't quite drown out his voice with the pillow, but he sneaked glances at Potter from beneath it, puzzled.

"Mum, help, he's gonna die! No ... Si- SIRIUS!" Potter thrashed wildly, tangled in the sheets.

"Oh hell," Severus muttered to himself as he tossed the pillow aside, feeling like someone had put iron bands around his chest. After a second of contemplation, he leaped out of bed. "Wake up, Potter - come on - they haven't cleared Blacks name yet you'll get us questioned -"

At least Severus told himself that was why he was sitting on the side of Harry Potter's bed and prodding his shoulder in the dead of night.

"I'm sorry, god I'm so s-sorry I'm sorry -" Potter cried loudly to whatever invisible demon had a hold of him in his nightmare (demon ... Severus, you know what demon, for he haunts you also). Potter's voice died away as he made the journey to consciousness.

Potter gave a shocked yelp when he found out who had shaken him awake, and he would have fallen out of bed had Severus not caught his arm in time and hauled him back into the centre of the mattress.

"You, er, were calling out," Severus said, his words coming out with difficulty.

Nice. Awkward. Not as though this is the first student you've woken from a nightmare, you bloody awkward moron.

Yes, but most of those kids were halfway drugged from potions in the hospital wing and hadn't a damned clue that it was you being nice to them, right?

Oh shut up.

"I ... um, thanks for waking me," muttered Potter, turning a deeper shade of crimson than his Gryffindor banner.

"Still dreaming about Black, I see," Severus said, not sure why he was added this statement in the first place. The words didn't even sound mocking.

And everyone thinks you're nothing but mean ...

SHUT UP

Potter didn't reply.

"I would be too, after that," Severus muttered, getting up to go to his own bed. In fact you still dream about the people you killed, right Severus?

Potter looked at him curiously.

"You're not still having visions, are you?" Severus asked quickly.

"No." The boy looked away, his shoulders slumping.

"Good"

"I think I learned how to set my mind up for Occlumency, though," Potter said hesitantly. "You know, clear it and stuff."

Severus looked at him. Their eyes met for a moment, but they looked away quickly, avoiding each other's gaze once more. You could taste the guilt on both sides.

"Occlumency helps with nightmares too," Severus said, not sure why he was offering such a piece of information. "Visions, and normal ones, I mean. Compartmentalizes things."

"Is that why you learned how to do it?"

Potter stared determinately at the ceiling, avoiding Severus' questioning gaze.

"I don't know how I learned it," he said coolly. "I just picked it up."

"Oh," muttered Potter.

"We should ... get some sleep."

"Yeah. Right. Um thanks again."

"Well, it was either wake you or get no sleep ... so," muttered Severus, feeling strange being thanked.

Potter went back to sleep, or at least eventually. Severus however, remained awake. Potter had voiced what he had been wondering as of late. Where had his Occlumency come from? Severus used to think he was born with it, but come to think of it, how could a baby be good at that? They showed every feeling, every lie. And in the session yesterday with Joseph he hadn't been able to recall a time really earlier in his life where he could do it. Despite not know what it was then, his first recollection of Occlumency wasn't until he was around fourteen.

Maybe his father had taught him something.

***

It was six am. Severus was awake earlier than usual, staring at the letter that had been placed on his bedside table a few days previously. He'd left it hidden under his stack of books, and forgotten it until now. It was Potter's letters that reminded him. There were two fresh envelopes on Potter's side of the bedside table. They had probably dropped off by the house elves in the night. Potter was still asleep, though, thankfully, giving Severus time to think in peace.

Severus had avoided opening Dumbledore's letter. It hadn't been long after the huge blow-up between him and Dumbledore that the letter arrived, so Severus hadn't bothered. Until now. For all he knew it was important news. Severus opened the envelope as quietly as he could, and skimmed over Dumbledore's writing.

It wasn't the kind of important Severus had thought, almost to his disappointment. Instead, it was a long apology. But Severus didn't pay attention to that. He wasn't up to apologies. He didn't care what Dumbledore had to say about the whole Potter mishap. It also had other news in it, but Severus tried not to think about that right now. Instead he fingered Dumbledore's writing, observing the way it shimmered slightly in his vision. Albus had charmed his ink, the way he did with most letters. Not too long ago he'd devised a new way to get information through the post without anyone being able to read it but the recipient. He'd come up with it after Severus had been discovered as a spy, and it sure was effective. The only problem with it was that it was really complicated, and required phoenix tears (of limited supply, so couldn't be used all the time, unfortunately).

It was brilliant, though. Severus only wished he could have done it too, but his wand had been taken. There were other methods though, ones Dumbledore said would be fine to use. Severus could write code, oh hell, he could write code like a champion. Well, used to be able to. He didn't trust himself anymore. He was terrified to send a letter to anyone, not that he really had anyone he particularly wanted to write to. But if he did, what if someone traced it? What if someone found it? Somehow, somewhere someone must have the ability to decipher it, especially considering he nearly died the last time he'd sent one. Those past few months before the Dark Lord got him, the codes just stopped working for him. Oh, normally he could make the symbols and words dance on the page, weaving in and out of pools of information that would take days to crack thanks to his code-writing abilities, by which time the letter would have disintegrated of its own accord, unread. But he just couldn't keep it up, during those last few weeks. He'd let himself fall apart. Let his mind get stuck on other things, although Albus had just said it was fatigue that made him slip up. But that was no excuse. It had only taken two words. Two words to nail him, to trace a top secret package for Dumbledore back to the Severus Snape, traitor. Two words. Bang, you're dead.

Should have been, at least.

Severus shook his head and stared back at Dumbledore's letter. So there wouldn't have been much sense in writing back anyway, if he had anything to say to the man. Not that he would dare allude to the location (even if he had, interception was very rare and they had Order members watching the mail coming from the Hospital to make sure it didn't happen), and sure he could disguise even important details, but he didn't trust himself anymore. Dumbledore still did, for some reason. The man was a fool.

Still, Severus wished he'd opened the letter sooner now, so he could have at least taken a stab at it (and damn it all, floo calls were one way, so Severus wasn't allowed to send his head elsewhere through the floo, and no other person at the hospital had clearance to get their head in Dumbledore's home fire, anyway, which was where he was during the summer of course). Of course, he could always stage an emergency which would warrant Joseph to send a Patronus to alert Dumbledore, but that would draw him here to visit, so moot point. And that kind of communication was for emergencies only. So it looked like Severus would just have to deal with the fact that Dumbledore was planning on visiting.

The date of his visit was supposed to be tomorrow morning, and Severus doubted a letter that required hours of code would get there soon enough now. According to Dumbledore, the staff who were a part of the Order had been told that he was having further complications from the torture he'd endured in the hands of the Dark Lord, and they had taken upon themselves to drop cards and things off at Headquarters for him. Albus wanted to drop them by for Severus. Minerva and the others were worried about him too. They wanted to hear how he was doing. Dumbledore had said that he was at a hidden location, he never said St. Mungo's, only that the place was somewhere nobody could know of for Severus' safety, not even friends because it would put them in danger too. So Dumbledore was coming, whether Severus wanted or not at this point. Unless otherwise stated, they usually assumed no reply meant yes between them, as fewer letters were preferred in risky situations. Not that anyone from the outside so far had any leads, it seemed.

Dumbledore. Tomorrow. He'd be here, alright.

No not yet not ready no no way can't tell him the plan tell him the plan - no not ready - can't no

Severus didn't think he could do it. See Dumbledore. He hadn't finished thinking about how to propose his plan for Hogwarts. He and Joseph had only decided on making one yesterday. The plan, the grand plan. He wanted to be the one to tell Dumbledore, he really did, but he couldn't face him so soon. He couldn't even have a normal conversation with the man. He was furious with him - why would he come so soon? This would be the first proper visit since Dumbledore had brought Severus to Oak Tree. They hadn't really talked since the awful hours that followed Severus' worst night on earth (the one I don't speak about the one I don't think about), and then there was the conversation they had a week later when Potter arrived unexpectedly. Yeah, that had been a real success. So it hardly counted as a nice visit. Severus wouldn't have been surprised if Albus' ears were still ringing, it was only a few days ago, so it was still fresh. Why the hell did he want to visit, then? He knew Severus would still be mad.

Because he's worried - you know it, he really cares, even if he is terrible at showing it properly - and he's not going to give the staff my mailing address! Minerva's probably having a meltdown with worry, that woman and her worrying, if the students knew the half of how much she mothers ...

Severus had pictured this so differently. He pictured Dumbledore waltzing in here a week down the road with himself being able to toss a detailed plan down in front of his nose and bark, "I've been busy!"

This is the plan this is my report - it will save lives I promise -

That way he'd have a few more sessions with Joseph under his belt, and they'd agreed the last ten to fifteen minutes of their sessions (if the session went well) they would spend making their scheme for abuse prevention at Hogwarts and design a system to spot kids from bad homes. It was Severus' way of telling Dumbledore, telling him that it wasn't the spying (the torture the undercover work the murder the deaths he'd seen or the killing), that it was something else that got him here, in reality. Or it sure as hell didn't help, at the very least.

Severus couldn't face Albus without that buffer, that way of telling Albus what he'd done, how he'd failed to spot Severus' terrible home life in school. Because how could Severus ever say to Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive today (so says the world), that he had failed him? Betrayed him, been so damned blind ... and until now, he hadn't had the chance anyway. No time when the crisis was at such a level it was save or lose, no in between. Motives were to come later, be discussed later. Be explained when Severus had enough clarity to put into words what had gotten him on the ledge anyway. And he did owe Albus an explanation, the man did care about him, and despite his failings Severus cared for Albus too. He just had trouble getting past everything right now. But he needed Dumbledore to know why. To know that he'd failed him, in some way. That it hurt, damn it. But how could he just say that?

Severus didn't know how. He didn't have the words, but if he could get this plan onto paper and hand it to Dumbledore, he wouldn't have to find them, because Albus was smart enough he would fill in the blanks. He would see that the plan wasn't really just about the plan, it was about what should have been done years ago. Severus knew that would make it clear. He just needed more time!

Severus looked at the date on the letter. Dated days ago. He got up and threw on his clothes, storming out of the room and not caring he probably woke Potter, because he was so mad at himself for not opening the letter sooner. A coded reply would never get there in time now.

Damn you, Snape! Procrastinator - just like dear old Daddy -

My fault my fault my fault

***

Harry awoke with a start when the door shut noisily. He glanced at the clock. It said six-forty am. He groaned and fell back against his pillow. Snape wasn't in bed, which was all well and good with Harry. His stomach tightened with the memory of the nightmare last night. So it had started. The situation was old news now. He'd been in Oak Tree for a few days, and now his mind had unfrozen from the panic of a new situation, and all his old problems were coming back. It was starting. It had been starting for a little while now.

Harry got up out of bed, pacing back and forth, unable to be still. He ran his hand through his hair. He rolled up his sleeves and glanced down at his arms, where the scrapes were freshly scabbed over. More proof. He was himself again. Or was it that he wasn't himself before he came here, and that the new environment had sent him back into his old self? No, that didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. His mind felt like a mess. His thoughts tangled as he looked down at those cuts on his arms. How had he let it get this bad? Harry sunk down on the bed, pushing his palms into his eyes, forcing his head to focus. But it just felt like a backward vice grip, pushing out from inside of his skull instead of squeezing from the outside.

Harry removed his palms, noting for the first time that two letters lay on his bedside table. Ron and Hermione. A letter from each. Of course. He knew they would write just as soon as they caught wind he wasn't coming back to the Burrow for summer. Hermione would be there, probably. Well, maybe not yet. Maybe later in the summer but she'd be there eventually and she and Ron would be able to compare notes about how odd he'd been acting. Harry wondered what excuse had been given to them about why he had to stay at the Dursleys'. At least he hoped Dumbledore and Remus had agreed to keep it quiet, and let Harry tell them on his own steam. He knew it wouldn't be enough for Ron and Hermione. Hermione would figure it out, probably. She always seemed to. In fact, she was one of the few who actually saw through his facade on occasion. Not enough though, if she wanted to save him from ... from this. From himself.

"Breakfast," muttered Harry dully. "Round four."

He looked at his watch. It would be a while before that, though. He lay back on his bed, staring out the window. It was a gorgeous day. Too gorgeous, in fact.

Bloody hell. Snape's right. Unrealistic.

A beautiful imaginary day, more like.

Harry looked over at the letters again. Three, two, one ... here goes nothing ...

He snatched Ron's up, thinking it would be less full of emotionally intelligent questions. A safe bet.

Hey Harry,

Mum told me the bad news today.

(Oh no. Did Ron know?)

Can't believe you have to stay at the Dursleys. I bet you're pretty mad. Bloody hell, I know I'm pissed. Dumbledore just can't do this. It's stupid. You'd be just as safe, if not safer, at the Burrow! I mean, come on, your fat cousin could sit on you and squash you! Is Dumbledore really willing to take that risk?

Harry snorted, despite himself. So the promise had been kept. Ron hadn't been told. So why did he feel that sinking feeling in his stomach?

But seriously, your relatives are horrible, and I really feel your pain being stuck with them. If there's anything I can do for you, mate, just write me. I'll send you prank stuff, or comic books, or baking from Mum. Anything. I wish I could come see you. I'd put up with the Dursleys any day if I was allowed to see you. Mum said something about me maybe getting to visit (I hope so), but she says that things might not go that way and there are a few things you gotta work out on your end before we can arrange something. She got all teary when she said it, so I think that was her way of saying that your relatives are dolts and she feels really sorry you're stuck there, and hopes you can convince them to let us visit. I mean, didn't exactly go well last time, with the fireplace and all, right? Either way, I'm sure she'll send a letter soon enough to tell you herself how she feels about you being stuck there. You should have seen her. Caught her out in the garden crying, but don't tell her I said that. What I mean to say is she misses you too. And Dad. You're family, you know. Anyway, Mum's made me promise to de-gnome the garden, so I should finish this letter now. Shit, she's yelling. Gotta go. I'll write a longer letter a.s.a.p.

Ron

Harry stared off into nothing, the letter still clutched in his hands. He hadn't been sure what to expect. Now that he'd read it, he realized what he'd wanted. He'd almost wished that someone had told Ron. Mrs Weasley obviously knew, but had kept quiet. Now that left the news to Harry, and Harry didn't even know how he could start. He felt a little sick at the prospect of telling Ron the truth, but reading Ron's letter had made him wish more than anything Ron was coming to visit. He missed his friends so suddenly it made his stomach hurt. They were his family, really.

Harry wasn't sure if he could bear to read Hermione's letter. He needed time to think about Ron's first anyway. He needed distraction. Harry grabbed his shower things and left the room, hoping the men's' shower would be open. To his relief, it was. He closed the door behind him, making sure to put the sign to "occupied", and turned on the water as hot as it went.

***

It was a long time before breakfast started, and Severus spent most of the time staring out the window blankly, trying to think of ways to prevent having to meet with Dumbledore. His mind drew a blank. There was no way anyone here could contact him unless it was an emergency, and a little bit of anxiety over a visit wasn't really an emergency. Severus picked at the hem of his sleeve. He hadn't bothered with his robes today. Just a jumper and jeans. He usually didn't dress muggle unless he had to, but today he just felt like jeans. They were a little sloppy, and there was some paint on them and the knees were torn up a little. The last time he'd worn them he'd been painting the door frames in his house on Spinner's End. Wouldn't be going back there again. Oh well. He was glad to be rid of the place with its bad memories and stupid peeling paint. The number of bloody times he'd had to whip out his wand and redo the paint on the frames had made him want to just torch the whole house. But damned if he was going to have peeling door frames with Lucius dropping by for visits like a bloody leech, trying to suck some information out about Dumbledore.

At last the call for breakfast came, and by now the early risers were lining up after they got their daily potions and meds from the healers in the little window closed to the dining area. Severus went by the window as he was supposed to, promptly scowled at the sunshine yellow potion, ignored the healer's cheerful "have a good day, Severus", and got his tray for breakfast. All the while he was thinking curses and hexes he'd love to throw at the healer that made him take that stupid potion every morning.

When he sat down in his customary lonely table he stared at his toast and eggs, poking the sunny-side up yolk with his fork like it was diseased. His stomach growled though. Normally it just did a sickly flip-flop. Still, he wasn't sure if the whole eating thing was appealing to him.

"Morning, Severus," said a voice, the thwap of a tray being set down in front of him meeting his ears.

Severus looked up, wondering if someone had come to take the mickey out of him. That had been how it went in school. Even some of the Slytherins thought he was a slime ball, and if someone sat near him willingly a lot of the time it meant trouble.

"Oh, hello, Daisy," he said, letting out a breath of relief. She had shadows under her eyes, but she looked happy to see him.

"Hope you don't mind if I sit here," she said in a low voice.

"No, it's fine," said Severus.

Daisy smiled, which only seemed to highlight the shadows under her eyes. She started to tear little pieces off her toast, but she didn't eat them.

"So ... er, how are you?" Severus said, not knowing where to start.

Daisy shrugged, a gesture Severus understood. "You?"

"About the same," Severus told her, eyes downcast.

"Eat your toast Daisy, and you get a check mark toward the special event next week," said a healer walking by. "You too, Severus."

Daisy waited for the healer to leave, then scowled.

"Thanks, Tips," she said under her breath, still shredding her toast.

"They really are irritating," said Severus, although at the moment he was wondering why Daisy had been told to eat too. Only some of the patients were reminded. He wondered what she was here for, but thought it better to ask.

"Urg, tell me about it," said Daisy. "Like I care about special events, anyway."

"What special event?" Severus said, taking a small bite of his own toast. "I know they've got some sort of weird reward system, but I cannot say I remember hearing about special events."

"Yeah, I don't listen to them either, much," Daisy said with smile. "But I was talking to one of the other patients who's been here longer, and apparently every so often they have a big event or something. Like some evening thing for fun. Other weeks it's just something small, but at the end of the month they do something bigger. Some sort of party, I think."

"Wow, great incentive to eat my breakfast, then," said Severus sarcastically, looking around at the people who had deliberately sat a few tables away.

"Yeah," said Daisy, looking over at the group of giggling women a distance away.

"I guess you don't get along with the other women?" said Severus, feeling awkward.

"Not really," Daisy said, attempting a bite of her toast.

"Are they mean?"

"Not all of them," Daisy told him.

"Yes, but some of them are, right?"

Daisy nodded.

"I guess we're both sort of ... outcasts, then," Severus said. "You know that guy with all the scars on his face? The auror? He went after me the other day. So I know what you mean."

"Yeah, I know him," said Daisy. "Peter's his name. My husband mentioned him once or twice. They both worked in the auror department. My husband never liked him, either."

"Oh, you're married?" Severus asked, finding it strange that his voice had taken on a bit of a strangled quality. He pinched himself under the table.

What the hell was that, Snape?

"Um," Daisy dropping her toast, looking pale.

"Sorry, complicated, I guess," Severus said hastily. "I did not mean to -"

"No, it's fine," said Daisy firmly, swallowing. "He died a long time ago, during the war. He started working for the auror office ... and it went bad."

"Death eaters got him?" muttered Severus, feeling sick.

"Yeah, guess so."

Severus felt his hands shaking under the table.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you sitting with me, then?" muttered Severus, unable to look at her. "Everyone knows I was a ..."

"He went undercover too, not long before the Potters' deaths," Daisy said, shaking her head. "Spies have a tough job, and I believe you. That you were on the right side. Only difference was my husband did it for the aurors' office, rather than Dumbledore. He didn't last as long as you. Got caught just three months before the war ended."

Severus dropped his fork. "No ... what was his name?" His mouth was dry.

Daisy pretended to scratch her nose, but she was really wiping the moisture from her eyes.

"Eric Jamison," she said, a sad smile on her face.

"Merlin," muttered Severus, pushing away his plate.

Daisy stared, half fearful, half hopefully. "You knew him?"

"Just by ... just by what happened to him," Severus said in a low voice. "I heard about it. Honestly, it ... it scared me pretty badly. I'd been passing information to Dumbledore for months by then, and ... and everyone heard about Jamison. Everyone. It was a warning. A clear warning. I'm sorry, Daisy. I'm really sorry."

"They never said what exactly happened to him," she whispered, shaking, her clammy hands clenched together around her coffee cup.

"Good," said Severus. "Good. And do not ask me to tell."

Daisy shook her head.

"Wouldn't change how he died, if I knew," whispered Daisy. "He wouldn't want me to know."

Severus nearly laughed with relief. They were silent for a moment or two.

"Was that the only reason you talked to me in the first place?" asked Severus, trying to avoid sounding downhearted. "Just to see if I knew him?"

Daisy looked at Severus. "No. I wasn't thinking of that when I first talked with you."

Severus searched her face for a sign of a lie, but he saw nothing but sincerity. Well, if nothing, her husband's previous occupation explained why she wasn't scared of him.

"Actually, I just wanted to talk to someone who wasn't sucking up to Kylie," said Daisy, making a face and glancing over at a tall women with flowing black hair. "She's been here ages, and she is such a bitch." One of the teenage girls at a nearby table looked up in surprise, glancing around. Daisy covered her mouth. "That was louder than I meant it."

Severus fought a smile, because Daisy had gone red.

"Well, stick with me and I'll make sure Kylie the bitch stays as far away from you as possible," said Severus in a low voice, smirking.

"Very macho" said Daisy, amused. "I think I should be able to fend her off without help, though."

"Alright, but do not say I didn't offer," muttered Severus. Daisy laughed, to his delight.

"I think I'd settle for a friend, honestly," Daisy said, biting into her toast with some amount of zest now.

Severus smiled back at her, and this time, he felt it. He hadn't felt a smile like this in a long time, and he liked it.

"So, Daisy who fights her own battles," he began, picking up his fork again, "Got any plans for the day, then?"