"Cooking classes?" Harry said, studying the schedule as per was his habit every day with Stephen following breakfast.

"I love cooking," said Stephen, looking a little less dismal than he had been previously, "especially if chocolate is involved."

Harry, pleased to see that there was still a flicker of light in Stephen's eyes, felt a wave of relief. Stephen had caught a case of the stares this morning, just as all the patients prone to depression tended to have often.

"We should go, then," Harry said, even though he didn't particularly feel like it. "I used to do a lot of cooking, before I went to Hogwarts. It's been a while."

"Yeah. Yeah, why not? What kind of things did you used to make?" Stephen asked, falling into tired steps beside Harry. Each step was slower than usual, and it was obvious to Harry that today was one of those days. Harry knew those days, the endless hours that felt like heavy weights you had to force your way through.

"Oh, all sorts," Harry told him with a shrug.

Stephen nodded and fell silent, looking down at his feet as they made their way to the meeting spot where the cooking class started in ten minutes.

"Rough day, huh?" Harry asked in a low voice. "I get like it all the time. I know how it feels. And it sucks. What's got you down today?"

They stopped a few feet from the small group of patients (one still wearing pyjamas, shadows under her eyes) milling about, waiting for the cooking class to start. Stephen looked at the floor, the bottom of his trainer squeaking against it as he scuffed the toe upon the tiles. He sighed.

Harry waited, patient and silent.

"My parents are coming for a visit tomorrow," muttered Stephen at last, head hung low.

"That's got to be nerve-wracking," Harry said in a low voice, imagining what it might be like for Aunt Petunia to show up.

"Yeah, and I just know my Dad is going to try to reason with me again, tell me I could be better if I just ... tried," Stephen said through his teeth. "That it's my fault, or something. Joseph asked them not to come too often - he gave them some bullshit reason, something about me needing some independence to boost my confidence or something. I can't remember. But he can't exactly tell them not to visit at all. So, tomorrow ... maybe ... maybe just stay away from me, okay?"

Confusion flitted across Harry's face, and he felt his heart fall. Stephen didn't want to be seen with him. Stephen hated him.

"No - no, not like that," Stephen said quickly, to Harry's relief. "It's just, my Dad's psycho, and I'm scared he'll think you're my boyfriend or something. I know we're just friends - don't worry, it's just ... every time he sees me hanging out with any guy he automatically assumes the worst and starts to get into his usual rant of how unnatural I am and that I'm a disgrace to the family name, blah blah blah ... that sort of thing.

"Oh," Harry said, relieved for a second that Stephen still liked him, then horrified. "Does he really do that?"

"Yeah, he thinks one day he can find a potion to ... to cure me," said Stephen, looking sick.

"But you don't need a cure," Harry spat, furious, the fire in his Gryffindor heart leaping to life.

Stephen smiled a little.

"No," he said, his eyes brightening. "No I don't." He sighed. "I just wish my dad would see that."

"Yeah ..." Harry muttered. After a moment, he slapped Stephen on the back like he'd done at thousand times to Ron, "Come on, let's do some cooking. My family's insane too. No sense in letting them ruin your day. Besides, I'll get my friends together and we'll kidnap you and take you to Hogwarts this year if you want."

Stephen laughed, nodding.

"I would too, if you asked," Harry said, looking Stephen in the eye.

"I know you would," Stephen replied, meeting Harry's eyes. They looked at each other a moment, and Harry nodded, their mutual understanding evident.

Without saying another word they lined up with the group and followed one of the activity coordinators to a small room attached to the kitchen. They didn't need to speak.

***

Cooking ended up being a lot of fun, and Harry was quite pleased with the spaghetti sauce they were preparing for lunch. Each group was preparing different components of what would be lunch for the ward. Stephen and Harry were doing the sauce. Another group was making homemade dressing for the salad, and the final duo working at shaping the garlic and oregano infused dough for bread.

"We need more basil," said Stephen, giving the sauce a taste.

"That was the last of it."

"Maybe you can ask to go get some from the herb garden?" Stephen said, nodding over the instructor, Sandy, who often instructed Ground Quidditch, was doing cooking classes today.

"Yeah, good idea," Harry said, heading over to where Sandy was.

"- and you'll want to brush the dough with a bit of olive oil to keep it from drying out," Sandy finished as Harry stood by the group making bread, waiting to ask.

"We ran out of basil. Can I go get some from the courtyard to use?"

"Sure," Sandy said with a smile. "How's the sauce coming?"

"Great," Harry said.

"Mmm, I can smell it," she said, giving the air a good sniff. "Everyone's going to be in for a treat come lunchtime."

Harry grinned modestly, fiddling with a piece of yarn that was coming out of his well-worn Weasley jumper.

He was glad he'd worn the jumper when he went out into the courtyard, for it was rather chilly today. It looked like it was settling in to rain a little later. The courtyard wasn't overly busy due to the weather, but there were a few people milling around. Snape was wandering about, looking thoughtful. Harry crept into the herb garden, unnoticed by him.

***

How does one convince a Potter to trust you?

Severus frowned, pacing like an animal out in the courtyard while the stupid goat bleated its head off at something or another.

He remembered James Potter. Stupid git. Trusted so many people he shouldn't have. Pettigrew, for one. Pettigrew was unsavoury ... the only reason Potter and company hung around with that little lump was pity. At least Severus thought.

Pity. Pity because of weakness. And Potter junior was very much his father, although less so than Severus had believed. But still.

Weakness weakness no never show never reveal the cracks the faults ...

He would have to give Potter a glimpse of who he was. But being himself meant cracks. Weaknesses. He could never let any of those show.

No wonder I have no friends.

What about Daisy?

Daisy.

Severus stopped in his pacing, staring off at the courtyard walls, his eyes staring far beyond them into nothingness. Daisy hadn't pushed him away when she found out why he was here. She hadn't made fun of him ... abandoned him ... pushed him to the side-lines and used her knowledge of his weaknesses for bad.

But that was different.

Was it?

What if he just told Potter why he was here? What if he just let it happen ... let it come up in conversation sometime.

No.

Not an option.

But people didn't seem to trust you until you showed them your heart. Severus was an expert at making people trust the idea of Severus Snape. He'd spied for years. That had only ever been an idea of what his heart held ... a lie. Death Eaters were happy to believe he had a heart of darkness and his dislike for all things muggle oozed from every pore. It was partly true. He knew he was biased, thanks to his father being a muggle and despising magic. Much of it though, had been an act. A facade.

But in doing that ... in being just an idea ... becoming the invisible man and sliding into a shell they wanted to see ...

He'd lost himself. He'd lost himself long ago.

Now he had to find himself. Maybe that was why he'd jumped. He'd lost the only part of himself he knew. Spy. Top secret warrior for against evil. Lily's silent avenger. That was the only part of himself he really knew. He'd pretended to be Voldemort's man so long he'd forgotten who Severus Snape really was.

Potter wouldn't buy a fake Snape. Actually, maybe he would, but it felt wrong. Like lying to Lily too. He owed it to her to be straight with her son.

Severus shook his head, sinking into a nearby bench. He was so deep in thought that he didn't see Daisy approaching.

"You look bothered," she said, sinking down on the bench as well.

Severus sighed, nodding.

"So, going to tell me what's going on in that crazy head of yours?" she said. "Can't be much crazier than my head."

He stared off into the swirling clouds above, low and grey. Daisy waited patiently, and finally, he spoke.

"I was so wrong," muttered Severus. "I really fucked up this time, Daisy."

"How so?" she asked, glancing sideways at him.

"Well ..." he began, trying to think of a way to say this ... a way to get the iron weight off his chest. "I, of all people ..." he cleared his throat, "should know what it looks like when a child is abused. And I missed it. I missed it because I am biased, and bitter and now ... now it might be too late. How long has this been going on for this kid? I taught him. I should have seen, but I just thought he was his father all over. I didn't see him for what he was."

"Harry?" muttered Daisy.

Severus glanced at her. There was a contract, he knew. She couldn't let it slip to anyone what was said in here. Besides. She hadn't gone telling everyone what he had done to land himself in here. He looked around to make sure nobody else in the courtyard was in listening distance. Besides, he trusted her.

He nodded very slightly.

"Well, you caught it now, though," she said, clearly trying to make him feel better.

"I think I'm right in what's happening," muttered Severus, "but ... Daisy ... I have messed this up so royally, made the kid hate me because I've been horrible to him in classes. How can I begin to gather evidence to get him out of there? How can I get him to confide in me when all I've ever done is cut him down?"

Daisy frowned. "I don't know," she said in a small voice. "I don't know."

"Neither do I," Severus said in a low voice. "But I have to now. I have to make him trust me. He's here now for a lot of reasons, but that situation ... if it's as poisonous as I think it might be ... well, he's only going to come back here someday. I know what it's like to have a family that does not give a damn. It breaks you."

Daisy nodded.

Severus paused, then glanced at her, and met her eyes.

"I guess it's what got me here too."

Daisy was silent, her lips quirked in a small smile, the kind that spoke not of happiness, but of understanding.

"And ..." he said, his voice growing a bit stronger. "I do not want to see Potter end up like me."

***

Surrounded by shrubs in the herb garden, bending among the row of basil obscured by blackberry bushes, Harry had almost collected enough basil.

"- know what it's like to have a family that does not give a damn. It breaks you."

He froze, the wind ruffling his hair. That was Snape's voice. Quickly, Harry crouched down further, the sudden feeling that he'd accidentally intruded on something private filling him with fear. He could see Snape's back a distance away, sitting on a bench, and beside him Harry could see Daisy's blonde ponytail. What were they talking about? He didn't think he wanted to know.

Harry didn't know what to do. He had the feeling Snape didn't want to be overheard, so he felt like he should move, but he didn't want to move because that would mean that he might be heard moving around the shrubs. He missed some of the conversation, shuffling about and trying not to listen, but it didn't quite work.

"And ... I do not want to see Potter end up like me."

A few droplets of rain started to fall. They hit the soil with gentle pattering noises, and the scent of fresh rain exploded into the air. There was a rustling as Snape and Daisy got up to go inside, walking fast as the rain started to fall thick and fast, their hands over their heads and running.

The droplets ran over Harry's glasses, and dripped off his hair, soaking him to the bone. It was not an overly cold rain, however.

Know what it's like to have a family that does not give a damn ... give a damn - know what it's like ... do not want

And ... I do not want to see Potter end up

Like me

Like me

Harry walked slowly through the rain, in a dream, mechanically tracing his steps back to the kitchen.

"Wow, you got soaked," Stephens said, grinning as he saw Harry come into the kitchen.

Harry wiped his glasses on his jumper, staring off into nothing. Like me (What do you mean, Professor?).

"Harry, he-llo, earth to Harry," Stephen's voice said from far away.

"Oh, sorry," Harry said quickly.

"Did you get the basil?" Stephen asked, amused, his spirits having rebounded somewhat.

Harry looked at his empty hands.

"Damn," he said with feeling, closing his eyes for a second. He could see in his mind's eye the clumps of basil lying out in the herb garden, lost in little rivers of water running over the rain-soaked loam. Stephen chuckled slightly.

"Oh well, that rain sure came on fast," Stephen said, chuckling as he nodded to the little window in the kitchen, which was streaked with large raindrops.

"Yeah," Harry said, still feeling a little shaky. "Yeah it did."

"Something bothering you?" Stephen asked, peering at Harry out the corner of his eye as he stirred the sauce.

"Nothing," Harry said, giving Stephen a convincing smile, much to his relief. "The rain was just a bit of a shock, is all."

Nothing.

"Okay - well, I was thinking, rather than get soaked by the rain we could add some -"