September 15th, 1996 

 The station looked strange, empty as it was. Devoid of students or families bustling through the steamy air, Platform 9 and 3/4 was another world.

"Seems wrong, doesn't it?" Harry said in a low voice to Professor Snape. Harry looked up at Snape, who seemed odd in muggle clothing, as he too was dressed inconspicuously. He was pale, one hand in his pocket and the other gripping a small suitcase.

"Yes," Snape muttered back, staring at the scarlet steam engine waiting in the station.

The two walked down the platform, Harry pushing his trunk along on a trolley as they passed unfamiliar, empty livestock cars and made their way closer to the engine, where there was a single passenger car.

"You two my passengers, then?" said the engineer as he dropped down from the engine, which was spewing steam around them, the damp heat hitting Harry's face like a wet blanket.

"Yes," said Snape. "Albus talked to you?"

"Yeah, it's no problem," said the man. "We just have to stop a couple kilometers out of London for a pick-up. A hippogriff breeder's got a herd of about fifty that needs to get to Hogsmeade. Bit difficult to make that number fly. It will probably take us an hour to load them all up."

"That is fine," said Snape. "We are in no hurry."

"Obviously," said the driver with a chuckle. "If you did you wouldn't be going by this slow old thing. If you don't mind me asking, why not apparate?"

Snape frowned, glancing sideways at Harry slightly.

"I had a concussion not too long ago," Harry said, shrugging, not really minding. It was not as though the driver was asking how the situation arose. "Not supposed to apparate for a while after that, right?"

"Ah," said the driver understandingly. "And side-along apparition is even less ideal, so there's a surprise."

It was clear to Harry that Snape was equally relieved by the driver's reply. No questions, which was what Harry wanted.

The driver looked at them a moment, deep in thought.

"Don't worry about what they're saying in the Prophet," he said suddenly, to Harry's surprise. "My sister ... she had a bad spell some time ago too. I get it. Don't let what others say get to either of you."

The engineer made eye contact with Snape for a moment. Snape nodded.

"Come, Potter," Snape said, clearing his throat and seeming eager to change the subject. "We should find our seats."

"Thanks," Harry said to the driver as he stepped up into the car after Snape.

"You are most welcome," said the driver with a smile, but Harry's stomach still twisted at the thought of the Daily Prophet. He swallowed. His throat was dry.

Harry shut the door to the car, and followed Snape into the nearest compartment. They sat down opposite each other in silence. The train whistled, and then began to move. The stuttering jerks of it travelling out of the empty station shook the car, causing what little Snape and Harry had put in the overhead luggage rack to slide slightly. Most of Harry's things had already been sent to Hogwarts, as much of his school stuff had gone to the castle earlier in the summer. He hadn't had to do the summer homework anyway, so his old books were there too. Mrs. Weasley had gotten what few new school supplies he had needed and sent them with Ron.

"I suppose the time has finally come," said Snape, his expression unreadable.

"I guess," Harry said, swallowing. "I mean, it will be good to be back in some ways ... it's just ... I dunno, kind of strange that everyone's there already. And with the Prophet ..."

Harry's sentence dropped into nothing, the tension of what lay ahead stealing his breath.

"I know," muttered Snape in response, once he determined Harry wasn't going to say anything more. "Ready, Potter?"

"Are you?" Harry said.

"No idea," Snape said in a tone that was supposed to be light.

"Me neither," Harry replied under his breath.

They fell silent a long time, both staring out the window, watching the world go by under the bright early morning sun.

"Still though, what a summer, right?" Harry said thoughtfully, meeting Snape's eyes.

Snape exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "What a summer."

Summer, 1996

The clarity of which Harry felt pain was startling. In fact, pain was the only thing that took him out of his thoughts, and back to earth. Thoughts. His thoughts. It was remarkably clear how all of them intertwined, and all of them were furious.

He was just angry, plain and simple. It wasn't a hazy kind of angry - it was a sharp, central fury burning deep in his heart, the kind that comes when you know exactly why something went wrong, but are powerless to fix it. For Harry, there was no divorcing the knowledge of what happened at the Ministry from the rage that he felt with himself over it. Sirius had given up his life for a mistake of Harry's, something Harry could easily have prevented if he hadn't been such an idiot, and actually listened to Snape, of all people. This knowledge coloured everything around Harry. He tried to forget it anyway. He forced away what happened, refusing to think about it. Eventually, however, it got to him in other ways.

"You just had to go and scream, didn't you!" he berated himself for what felt like the millionth time that summer, when Uncle Vernon had finally run out of words and gone back to bed. Harry rubbed his eyes out of anger, hoping to get rid of the images that kept flashing before his eyes. The nightmares were getting worse, the ones that reminded him he couldn't wish away or forget the things he had done. It had been the typical cocktail of everything that tormented him: Cedric dying, Sirius falling through the veil, his parents' deaths.

It was the third time this week he had woken the house at the early hours of the morning. The third time this week he was yelled at for disturbing the Dursleys and the third time he was promised he would not be allowed out of his room until he could control himself. So far, the second week into summer holidays, he was pretty convinced he would spend the whole holiday stuck in his bedroom. He even envied Snape now, the greasy git, for at least as a spy he was doing something, however undesirable Voldemort's company was. Instead, Harry was stuck at Privet Drive, left to stew in his own mistakes while the Wizarding World was being turned upside down with the revelation that You Know Who had returned (about bloody time they noticed, in his opinion). Not knowing where Voldemort was or what he was doing was driving Harry to the breaking point. The only letters he got were filled with reassurances and endless questions about how he was feeling. No information whatsoever, and nothing but reminders of what had happened. Harry was beginning to suspect it was punishment for what he had done.

Thoughts swirling like dark water in Harry's head, he fell back on his bed with a huff, still drenched in sweat and heart pounding from the shock of both the nightmare and Uncle Vernon storming into his room like a bull seeing red.

"Stupid!" he spat, and Hedwig ruffled her feather's slightly from her perch, where she had come inside to rest upon in the short space of time between now and the moment Uncle Vernon had left. "Just had to! What is wrong with you? Ron wouldn't let something like this get to him."

Am I going mental or is the world just mental? he wondered.

The hot fire coursing through Harry's veins made him unable to sit still any longer, and he leaped from his bed and started pacing with a vengeance, breath coming in short bursts as his temperature continued to rise. Another sick wave of shame washed over him and it was suddenly too much to take. He crossed his arms tightly, hands clenching his arms feverishly. Anything to escape the pain he felt inside. Red in his heart, Harry tried to forget about all that was within him - every thought that threatened to destroy him. He hated feeling weak, hated waking up drenched in sweat and with his eyes filled with tears. That wasn't how he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be "the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord", but how could he even begin to do that if he couldn't make it through a few days without screaming or crying from a nightmare? He sunk to his knees on the soft carpet of his room.

No. It's me, isn't it?

"Now look what you've done ..." he whispered to himself. He hadn't realized he had been digging his fingernails into his arms (Or maybe he had, and just didn't stop, but was that really an option to consider?). He hardly had noticed the action. It was just a way to keep his insides from burning, and it was almost like a reflex, at least by now. He looked at the long scratch down his right arm, which was slowly starting to bleed. Somehow he hadn't really paid attention to the sharp pain, which had now faded to a dull ache. The anger receded as he stared at it, a sick feeling in his gut (So this is what being crazy is like).

Harry tried to pretend that he didn't enjoy the pain, in a strange sort of way, but it was difficult to do. Yet, it wasn't so much that he enjoyed hurting, it was that he needed the distraction. Feeling muddled, and wishing for it all just to go away, he felt glad that he didn't have to see anyone, and that he had to stay in his room. Nobody would have to know about it. Nobody ever did. The truth was this was not the first time this had happened. But what happened at the Ministry had made it worse. Even before that though, sometimes his rage got out of control and he just lost it. Sometimes he wasn't even sure where the anger came from, especially during the last year. At least now he had a reason to be angry, thanks to his mistake. Before it had just been there, lurking under the surface and ready to break through like a wild beast. It was a lot like what had happened in Dumbledore's office at the end of term, when he'd stormed about in a rage, trying to make Dumbledore pay only to realize that Dumbledore didn't care that Harry had destroyed half his office. Yes, it was the same sort of thing in essence, his outbursts now, only these were directed at himself. It was safer that way. He couldn't hurt anyone else ... like he had Cedric ... and Sirius. Both of those had been from split second decisions, just like the ones he made when he was angry. It was better if he hurt himself instead. It was safer.

A strange sense of calm and numbness fell over Harry as the sunrise slowly coloured his room with pale oranges and reds and yellows. The anger had left nothing but the absence of feeling, and he wasn't even sure now what had made him angry. The Dursleys, right, that was it. Chest starting to slow in its rising and falling, Harry watched as the blood began to creep down his arm. It stung, but not as badly as his eyes, which he blinked forcefully to stop any wayward tears. He focused on the pain. PIain had always been Harry's distraction. Even when he was small, he would vent all of his frustration into his chores, which often did cause him a great deal of discomfort. There was always the ache of his back from painting the fence, the blisters from digging holes for plants in the flowerbed, or the tightness in his neck from mowing the lawn. After so many years, he had realized that the pain didn't matter so much. That it was, in fact, an ally from time to time.

Sometimes it was easier to get lost in the pain, thus losing track of reality. Aches reminded him when not to be rash, like the sore muscles he got after having to do chores as a punishment for mouthing off to Uncle Vernon. They said, don't make the same mistake, Harry, think. Then, there was the kind of pain that physical aches could combat, the hurts that left no outward trace. Even a punch from Dudley hurt less than the injustice of life. Emotional feelings were hard to make leave, but physical pain was temporary; a distraction. Harry had even lost all the bones in his arm once, and had them painfully regrown. But that too had passed. It always did, and he found a strange sort of comfort in that. Control.

Hedwig made a hooting noise, and stared down at him from her perch as she cocked her head from side to side as though she was trying to ask Harry what was wrong.

"Yeah I know, I like pain, so what?" he said to her bitterly. "Fine, judge me. Call me a freak. Well I don't care what others say. They're wrong!"

The flutter of wings announced to Harry that she had left her perch, for he was looking at nothing but the sprawling marks he had left on his arm. She landed softly on his leg and looked up at him with imploring eyes. She edged closer into him and nibbled at his pyjama shirt, and stayed calm and still when he bent his head low and the tears came.

"I just wish I was like everyone else," Harry muttered thickly as Hedwig ran her beak over a strand of his hair. "I don't want to save the Wizarding World. I just want to be left alone. I just wanna be a kid."

"Hooo," she crooned softly in his ear.

He stroked her head slightly, feeling guilty because she seemed worried.

"No news?" he whispered to her, though it was already clear she had not brought any post. No news. Not a hint of what the Order was up to, and not a whisper of Voldemort's plans, not even in the Daily Prophet. What he wouldn't give for just a glimpse of what was happening.

God how he envied Snape.

***

Where am I where am I where am I?

Severus lay in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, aching to his very bones and confusion building inside, his foggy mind trying to sift through his senses to figure out where he was. He opened his eyes, and the light stung them. Gingerly, he moved his arms. It burned like fire as he did so, but he reached up slightly, and he pushed the fabric of the thin, white cotton t-shirt up to his chest and fingered the bandages.

What had happened? How did he get here?

He shut his eyes, shifting his legs slightly, the flimsy fabric of hospital wing pyjama trousers damp with sweat, his body shivering.

What happened?

Think!

Slits for eyes staring down.

Red. Hot, gushing red. That shouldn't happen.

Severus rubbed his eyes, moaning. He felt a sudden convulsing pain in his stomach, and he leaned over the bed and was sick. Shaking violently, he collapsed weakly with his fingers clutching the edge of the bed, his hot cheek at the very edge of the pillow. The wound in his abdomen was unbearable now, and he let out a groan against his will.

"Severus!" cried Poppy suddenly as she ran into the hospital wing, waving her wand to vanish the mess. She bent over his bed and helped him from his side onto his back again before conjuring a basin to put on the side table.

"What the hell happened?" Severus said through gritted teeth, clutching his stomach, his eyes clenched shut as he tried to remember how he got here. All he could conjure was a fuzzy string of moments, all so overpowered by pain he couldn't remember what was happening or where he was.

"You Know Who discovered you were spying on him," muttered Poppy. "You almost died. Mad-Eye got you out."

Severus moaned, his stomach clenching again and making him heave. Poppy held the basin under his chin, a hand on his shoulder. There was nothing in his stomach, but that did not stop him from dry heaving several times. When he was done, shaking, he rested his cheek miserably on the edge of the basin.

"How'd Mad-Eye find me?" he asked hoarsely, barely able to speak for his pain, starting to recall tiny details as the seconds went by - spells, sinister, sharp instruments. Someone screaming (Me? Me.)

"Pure accident," said Poppy. "He found you, left to die in the middle of the countryside not far from Malfoy Manor. They must have thought you dead, but you weren't. Just comatose."

"Just fucking - just ... just -" he retched again.

It was a sure sign of how badly Poppy was worried that she didn't enforce the no foul language in the Hospital wing rule.

"When we found you ..." Poppy began, shaking, "when we found you you'd been impaled by ... well, we don't know if it was magic or something else. Either way, your stomach had been punctured and infection had set in. Luckily, you are on the mend. I kept you comatose with a few spells even after you showed signs of waking, just to manage the pain and to keep you from moving too much. I managed to mostly heal the internal damage, but the areas are still going to be weak and tender for a little while. The vomiting is a side effect from the infection and fever. You're about due for another dose of potions to counter both the nausea and the remaining infection. You are extremely lucky to be alive, Severus. Extremely.

"Right, then why don't I feel lucky?" he said hoarsely, shaking. Poppy squeezed his shoulder, and helped him lay down again. His consciousness began to fade once more, and whether he was going to into sleep or something deeper he was unsure. His thoughts slowed to a crawl, echoing numbly in his tired brain.

You aren't a spy anymore, he thought as he drifted off. You were found out. You aren't a spy anymore.

The light was too bright when Severus woke up later. The pain was everywhere still, and the cursed cuts on his chin stung as his jaw trembled. He turned his back on the windows, groaning with pain from the movement and swallowing thickly.

You aren't a spy anymore.

You have served your purpose.

You have no purpose.

You have no purpose you have no use you are rendered obsolete you failed them you have no purpose you failed no purpose you failed no purpose failed purpose ... no purpose ... failure.

He pulled the pillow over his head, wordlessly pleading for his thoughts to go as he fought the dizzy, feverish spinning in his head. Nobody could see the tears. Tears were not allowed. It was better they didn't see. And that was how the days passed until his release. In silence.

***

Remus John Lupin was worried. Well, he was a little bit depressed too, but most of all worried. He had been away a lot, to keep himself busy, doing work for the Order. He spent little time around anyone, only pausing to write to Harry when he could. He had recently spent the full moon safely holed up in his room thanks to the Wolfbane potion, and after he had spent a good deal of time quite literally howling over the loss of his best friend, Sirius, he had begun to ponder Harry's response to the letter he had sent. The latter of course, was why he had called a meeting with Dumbledore, and precisely why he now sat, sans furry tail, in the chair before the desk of the Headmaster.

"Something isn't right Albus, I can sense it," said Remus anxiously as Dumbledore read over the letter.

"But he seems fine from what it says. In fact it sounds like he's dealing with it admirably."

"But read the last line," urged Remus.

The Headmaster's eyes scanned the words, and then he rested the letter back on the table.

"Remus, he sounds alright to me. I think you are worrying yourself unnecessarily. Harry's just trying to keep you from doing exactly what you're doing now - worrying about him."

"Albus, that's exactly what is worrying me so much. His letter makes it sound like everything is alright. In fact, too alright. Harry is a great deal like Lily, and like her he feels everything very deeply, whether he wants to or not. For better or worse, it is also plain to be seen that he's as stubborn and proud as James. Strong emotions and too stubborn to admit the need for help - those are not an easy combination. I just know there's something he's not mentioning. Besides, why would he say that he has been keeping so busy that I need not send many letters because he won't have time to write me back?"

"Perhaps he is just trying to take his mind off things ..." said Albus thoughtfully. "Maybe you remind him of Sirius too much."

"That's what I thought at first, but I sent a letter to Molly and apparently Harry also said to Ron that the Dursleys were giving him lots of chores so he was too tired to write often, so Ron need not bother either. It just doesn't make sense. Sirius always used to tell me how Harry lived for letters, and what I have heard from Ron Weasley confirms that. Something is wrong Albus. I know it. If you'd just let me have one visit with him ..."

Dumbledore sighed. "Well ... I suppose it couldn't hurt. We all know Harry is going through a rough time. Perhaps it could be good for the both of you."

Remus visibly relaxed, and thanked the Headmaster profusely as he folded up the letter and put it in his pocket.

"I can arrange for his relatives to be out of the house next week, Saturday most likely. There are a little bit meddlesome, and quite terrified of our kind. It would be easier if they did not know of the engagement."

"I quite agree, Headmaster," said Remus. "Thank you so much. I hope I am wrong."

"I do too," said Dumbledore gravely. "Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Ah, and before I forget ... how was that last batch of Wolfbane?"

"Severus did a great job, as per usual," said Remus, satisfied. "Why?"

"I was asking because the last batch was not in fact brewed by Severus," said Dumbledore casually. "I have been meaning to inform you that Severus' life has been a little bit hectic as of late. He has informed me that it is just not feasible for him to brew it for the time being, so a good friend of mine is instead making your potion. I merely wondered if the batch was up to scratch."

"I appreciate you informing me," said Remus understandingly. Spying was busy work, and with the Dark Lord growing more dangerous by the day it was no wonder the man had so little time. If he was anyway near as busy as Remus had been, it was no wonder. Remus could hardly keep up with what was going on in the Order (in fact he'd hardly visited Headquarters in a month), let alone brew batch after batch of one of the most complicated potions around. "Make sure to pass on a grateful thanks on my behalf."

The two said goodbye, and Remus, feeling a great deal calmer, strode from the office and down the spiral staircase. The castle seemed quiet in comparison to how it had been when Remus was teaching. He found it mildly unnerving at first, but then allowed his mind to think of other things and get lost in the thoughts of the moment. This of course, was why he accidentally bumped into none other than Severus Snape as he walked along the corridors. Neither seemed to have been looking where they were going, and only Remus really seemed concerned that he had run into someone.

"Sorry, Severus," apologized Remus immediately once he looked up.

Severus grunted slightly, seeming to think that the situation hardly warranted a conversation.

"How have you been keeping?" asked Remus amicably anyway, always having been one for a pleasant chat. He couldn't help but notice that Severus looked as pale as he ever did, if not more. Unless his eyes deceived him, it appeared as though Severus' nose was a little bit more crooked too, as though it had been broken recently. In his line of work, it would not have surprised him if it were indeed true. There were a few scrapes that were almost finished healing along his chin as well. Of course, this only added to Severus' overall terrifying demeanor, but Remus, long used to this, did not really mind. He wondered if the Dark Lord's meetings were getting more intense, considering Severus' appearance.

"Fine," muttered Severus impatiently, not even trying to be civil. "Can I leave now? Or do I have to pretend to enjoy this little encounter?"

"No no, go on then. Good to see you anyway," Remus cheerfully lied through his teeth, and Severus brushed past him with surprising speed for a man who was supposed to be on holidays. Then again, he probably did have a lot to do. Remus paused to wonder what Severus was doing in the castle instead of at his home. He thought vaguely that it probably had something to do with the fact that one would have to go about anything with utmost secrecy in a home that the Dark Lord knew the location of, and therefore the castle would be a likely place to take refuge in if one did not wish to be found, or needed to do something that could not be known by the Dark Lord. Or at least that was what Remus had decided the most likely case, and as he had no information to contradict this, he settled for this explanation.

It then occurred to him that he had been so busy thinking of these things that he had completely forgotten to thank Severus for having brewed the Wolfbane potion for so long. Remus sighed slightly, but his thoughts did not linger on this regret for long, as they soon returned to Harry, who was his primary concern.

He wasted no time in sending the letter to Harry when he got home, all of his energy focused on the hope that he would receive a speedy reply. The sooner he visited Harry, the better.

****

"Well, I'll just have to tell Remus I'm really sick ... and I don't want him to get sick with what I have too," Harry said glumly to Hedwig, who sat sleeping in her cage by his desk. "I mean, he'll understand, right? That should give me a couple days at least so my scratches can heal a bit."

Harry was met by nothing but the rise and fall of Hedwig's breathing. The open letter, which had arrived with a very energetic owl (he suspected Remus had sent it for its speed) stared him in the face.

"I can't let him come," said Harry in a hushed voice. "He'll find out. Then he'll tell Dumbledore and Dumbleldore will make me come to his office and talk to him about it. Then he'll tell Mrs. Weasley and she'll get all upset and I'll just worry them. I'm fine, I am Hedwig. Really. Just a couple cuts. It's not like I really meant to do it. It just happened. Besides, it's better for everyone if they don't know how angry I get. They won't worry about me if they don't know."

Harry fell silent for a moment as Aunt Petunia pit-a-patted daintily up the stairs and shoved his supper - a piece of bread and slightly dried out cheese - through the cat flap in the door. Harry stared it for a second, waited for his aunt to pit-a-pat back downstairs and then continued to dictate to his owl, not touching the food.

"But I want to see him. I mean, it isn't like he would tell me much of what's going on out there ... but still." Harry sighed and put his quill down, which had been poised above the parchment, ready to strike. Now it lay still behind the untouched ink pot. "I just ... maybe I am a little messed up, but I don't need to be fixed. I'm fine. It'll just make him worry, and he's had it rough enough after I ..." Hedwig ruffled her feathers slightly and put her head deeper under her wing, attempting sleep. "Well, you know."

Harry paused a moment, watching her.

"I'll tell him I'm sick," whispered Harry at last, reaching for his quill again. He only hesitated once, but put the tip to the parchment with conviction. He wrote the note, making the letters a little shaky so it looked like he was sick and didn't have any energy to make it neat. Harry glanced at the long scratch down his arm, and then rolled the note up tightly. Then he gently petted Hedwig to get her to wake. She stuck her leg out, alert at once, and Harry tied the rolled up scroll to her. She gave a light hoot and soared out the window. Harry watched her departure, into the darkening sky.

"It's for my own good," he assured himself quietly before sinking down onto his bed, dinner forgotten. "My own good."

Besides, he was perfectly alright.

Yeah. Fine. Remus I'm fine.

Harry ran a finger down the cut on his arm, frowning.

***

When Severus was out of the hospital wing he told Albus he couldn't brew Wolfbane anymore (the last batch had been made by someone else anyway), that he was still in too much pain, even though it was gone now. Who could argue with the cuts on his chin still half-healed and the way his nose was even more crooked than before? He hadn't let Poppy fix it - it was only a small change. Besides, for some reason the swirling confusion in his mind was comforted slightly by the sight of it, like it was an outward sign of the brokenness he felt inside. He didn't say that though. Instead he told them it reminded him that he survived.

Survived - HA! What a thought.

So he was free of having to brew. Thus, tap tap tap went his quill on the desk for hours on end, writing nothing of the report on his recollections of the incident regarding his discovery as a spy, and what he suspected the Dark Lord now knew. There was no detailed report on the parchment like the one that Dumbledore had requested he complete.

"Only if you're up to it Severus. It would help immensely, for if we can find out what caused your exposure, as well as record the new information Voldemort has gained because of it, then we can protect our other operations."

Sure why not what else have I to do with no purpose no purpose anyway?

It was absurd the way he told others not to disturb him, like he was doing something imperative to life on earth, snapping at the visitors from the Order that tried to come and see how he was, making it out like he'd written hundreds of crucial words and had hundreds more to write. He even turned down a cake from Molly Weasley (One by one the story of what happened was getting out among the Order, and Severus hated it.), who brought it by as a thank you, saying that his stomach was still not completely healed and cake wouldn't do him any good.

"Take it to headquarters, they need it more than me. They can actually enjoy it."

Sure he lied about the cake - he was perfectly in the clear to eat whatever he liked by now. (Eating, right, he should have been eating like Poppy said, but he was hardly doing that. No food, just silence. Holed up in the office, dead things in jars and cold stones and dim lights and nothing but cold cups of tea and tired eyes and these are the ways we live our lives, we who have no purpose.)

Molly had understood. She'd understood too well. Oh how he hated the looks they gave him (Pity, fear, sadness and gratitude all in one and oh how it made his stomach hurt even though it was perfectly healed ...).

She'd left. There had been others until Severus had made Dumbledore tell everyone who came near or suggested coming near the office in the dungeons that he was very busy and wasn't to be disturbed (because he had an important report to do and his purpose was to file it as fast as possible and it will save lives I promise).

So tap tap tap tap went that infernal quill and Severus stared at the clock that seemed to think it funny to mimic the tapping of the quill clack clack clack clack oh how it drove him mad.

Mad, am I mad? No no perfectly sane I promise and in my statement of sanity I have crossed all the i's and dotted all the t's I promise I promise see I'm not mad after all - why do you ask?

Tap tap tap.

And quite suddenly the tapping ceased, and Severus knew he had to go for a walk because the letter opener was starting to look inviting with its gleaming point and its sharpened sides oh how inviting it looked (I'm not a lunatic I'm just restless, there's a difference, it's not a full moon I'm just restless and bored and haven't much of a purpose but there is one somewhere so I'm off to find it).

He bumped into the Wolf, speak of the moon and the devil (and those two were related, he just knew). How funny, and the bastard didn't even think to thank him for the years of Wolfbane he had brewed for him, and he knew Dumbledore must have informed him of the change - why else would Lupin be here? Yet Lupin didn't give Severus one of those pitying looks like everyone else - my lord does he not know what happened? The Wolf just asked him how he was - how funny and quaint and silly and why bother to reply? What words were there to say?

Fine, Lupin, I am fine I am fine - I only have an infatuation with my letter opener so sharp and shiny and what would it feel like between my ribs ... fine.

No, that wouldn't do, so he was an arse to Lupin then just kept walking, not caring in the least that his behavior was anything but civil. Severus walked and walked until he thought he might have walked hours, and when he finally stopped he stood around in a classroom and stared out the window with the empty desks around him, watching the summer storm clouds pile up in the distance.

Lightning, what would it feel for you to be in my bones? Why do I wonder? Should I wonder? Probably not, but maybe that's what those without purpose do. Wonder things they shouldn't wonder because why not? What else is there to do?

He went to bed after that, although on his way he ran into Dumbledore briefly.

"And how are you making out, Severus?" asked Albus kindly on his way out of the castle to meet up with Aberforth, he had said.

"Fine, headmaster, and you?" said Severus (Is that my voice it sounds so normal.).

"Busy, but well. And how is that report coming?"

"It will be on your desk by Monday," said Severus mechanically (and why did I say that you know you won't have it done Severus why did you say that ...)

"Marvelous," said Dumbledore. "All the better if we are going to seal up the cracks in the Order - it's an ongoing battle and we need all the help we can get. I appreciate it greatly, Severus."

So they said goodbye and Severus went back to his quarters and threw off his robes and fell into bed. Hours went by and the clock went clack clack clack so Severus stuck it in the wardrobe and wrapped it in his socks (and he knew his behavior was erratic but he didn't care). Yet, that didn't stop the other one in the sitting room from chiming one time to announce the late hour. Wide eyed, exhausted and head spinning, but unable to sleep, Severus tried to think in a straight line. He tried so hard yet no matter what it all went round and round, until at last, when he'd almost given up hope, a coherent thought arose: When was the last time he'd had a shower?

Well, might as well do that now.

(One in the morning but who cared, really, certainly not Severus.)

The spinning stopped a little with the hot, scalding water, washing away the confusion (and the fear and the terrifying question of what purpose a man has when he's at last fulfilled the question of "What will you give me in return?" which was thrown at him long ago as he knelt before the man who could end his life or save it he wasn't sure which). And Lily, oh, Lily she was gone and Harry Potter was safe with the Order looking after him and how could Severus do the job any better than them? How could he do that job better when he'd failed everyone, and now he could not keep an eye on the Dark Lord's movements anymore to protect the boy and now what? Now what!

And time passed until he wasn't sure how or when he'd come up with the idea (although, he knew why) but Monday night (the day he should have had the report done but it wasn't started but that didn't matter because there were better things than letter openers and he never meant to end things easily, nicely calmly ...) the plan came to grips and he was walking through the corridors and up to the Astronomy tower and standing on the ledge in front of the rail in the middle of the night at hot chocolate hour as Albus sometimes called it - midnight was the best time for a treat well treat yourself to this Severus you who stands on a ledge and yearns for the ground below -

And oh Mother how did it come to this did you ever love me anyway you wouldn't be proud of where I am or where I went in this life or who I have become no purpose no purpose - Albus you gambled my life for hers, for Lily's, for Potter's for everyone's and I thought I was doing it for her and you were doing it for her too but no you were gambling me away for the greater good and you always held those dice knowing that one roll of a die and I could die and you lived with it - and you lived with it - and I lived with it and now I don't have to because I survived but I didn't how could I - I didn't - no I never could because now there is no point and no purpose and the sword is useless without a battle to fight and I am a sword and I've gone rusted and dull because the warriors do not need me nor can use me and the purposeless descends Lily I tried how I tried please have mercy on me and I am jumping in one two three

One here goes life

Two here goes everything

Two and a half here goes hope and my dreams and memories and love and lost love and nightmares and fear and sorrow and pain and everything it all goes

Down

Down

And Three. This is me jumping.

And he did.

It was a clear outcome. The linear relationship between himself and the ground had been evident since the moment he thought of the plan, and as he supposed, the sheer clarity that came with what happened next was startling. Yet, to Severus' amazement, the ground ended up having nothing to do with it.

The arms reached out and grabbed him from behind just as he tried to jump. It was rough, frantic, sharp, and so sudden that for a moment the world paused and took a breath. That moment was like a bell ringing out through the haze, temporarily clearing Severus' clouded, stirring thoughts. Shocked, Severus went limp, and in that second of time he felt the force from behind drag him roughly over the low railing and back into the center of the tower, away from the dizzying drop. The second of clarity was over, and with its departure, the confusion returned.

Who are you, you who comes in the middle of the night you who finds me here you who actually gives a damn enough to drag me from my fate. Why, why do you do this?

Severus went limp, and sunk to his knees, and the figure came around to face him, kneeling as well. The face was like a ghost in the dim night, coming to Severus out of a dream.

You! You who hold the dice and have rolled so many times knowing any second a die could fall so that I die and yet and yet and yet you haven't let it - why?

"Albus," croaked Severus, feeling as though his chest had a million little wires attached inside, and they were twisting and tightening and pulling his breath inward and closer until it was so twisted and compressed he couldn't breathe.

And Albus was crying.

"Severus, I'm sorry," Albus whispered, his hands on Severus' shoulders (His trembling shoulders. How long had he been shaking like that?). "I should have seen -"

No purpose no purpose Lily I failed even in this and why do I still yearn for the ledge and now Albus is disappointed and frightened (my fault my fault) and worried and maybe he cares about me after all but who am I to deserve it - he should have let me but he didn't he could never sentence people to death without remorse not even Tom Riddle and how have I forgotten that even when he knew Riddle was going bad he hoped he hoped he hoped but Tom had a purpose all his own at least he had one and do you have a purpose? No.

"Albus," Severus repeated, pleading, trying to find the words to make him understand when his head was spinning and his heart was pounding with dread and sickening fear. Dumbledore's grip on his shoulders tightened, and the words were not there despite how hard Severus tried. In that split second, he thought he would keep it together. Then, like the second of clarity with the arms pulling him back, this too shattered as quickly as it had come. The tears came, and he fell forward and Albus' arms were around him as he sobbed like he hadn't in years, like he'd wanted to for years, like he had the night Lily was taken from him because of his own sin. Breaking down like this was something he just didn't do, and it was at that moment when he realized how far from fine he felt, and even though he knew he wasn't fine he tried to act like it, tried to stop the tears because it was a weakness not to.

Weak, emotions are weak you shouldn't be showing them you shouldn't show anything ("Stop that Severus you pansy boy, no son of Tobias Snape's will be a crier - buck up or you'll be sorry) don't show anything at all ... and no, not loved no never loved never missed -

Yet, as each sob left him, somehow inside Severus the fog of the past few weeks lifted slightly and things grew clearer, and yet somehow they were also less clear. The thoughts were more coherent, but the frightening, powerful idea of the ledge, (and the letter opener and a hundred different poisons he knew how to make but would not take because he knew exactly how they stole each second and he'd suffered enough he'd been falling long enough why not fall, fall, fall at least this time he would land somewhere, broken, hurt, beyond repair like he felt - violent he knew but what did he have to lose he feared not the pain) that terrible, beautiful ledge was still imprinted on himself, and this was no passing idea. This idea he had flirted with for years. He just never acknowledged it until it came down on him like a thunder storm, all lightning and wind and rain and no way out.

"It will be alright, Severus," said Albus in his ear (and is that me making that noise that terrible noise, that tortured wail like a thousand storms at sea). "It will be alright. Let me help you. Let me find you a place to get better in, to rest in, to escape from all this. Please, Severus. Let me help."

Accept help from the man who held the dice live or die depends on how I roll the die ... but now he holds the dice again and this time ... this time he is rolling for me to live.

"Make it stop," Severus said in a voice that was strangled and sounded nothing like the one he knew, "Make it stop Albus." What will you give me in return? Severus could hear in his head despite the fact that Albus didn't speak and at last Severus had to shout, "I'll do anything, please!"

***

Harry lay in his bed, relishing the silence that the Dursleys left him with. It had been a few days since he had sent his letter off to Remus, and his life had momentarily improved for the day. The Dursleys had won free tickets to an evening performance of some play Harry had not heard of, and Dudley had moaned that he didn't want to go, but Aunt Petunia wanted very much to and so she dragged the other two with her, despite the fact that it was a terribly hot summer night to be sitting in a stuffy theatre. But, Aunt Petunia had always been one for dramatics, and thus found a play quite interesting. Not that Harry had a problem with this. Nobody to bother him. He was locked in his own stale smelling room, of course, but not envying the Dursleys in the least.

He was quite hot and so he collapsed onto his bed like a desert lizard in the shade. The heat was one of many reasons that it did not bother him that he did not have anywhere to go, or the permission to do so, for that matter. One thing that did bother him however was that he could not turn his thoughts off. In the silence of the house all he could focus on was the night that he had seen the vision of Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. It filled him with the desire to run, to run anywhere. It did not matter where he would end up - he just needed out of his own head. He attempted to clear his mind of all thoughts, just to fall asleep for a while, despite the fact that he knew he would probably end up in another nightmare. The change from the usual turmoil would be almost welcome however, and so he continued to let himself relax. After a while he did achieve sleep, but for once he did not suffer from any nightmares. Having been so sleep deprived as of late he simply fell into blackness, into such a deep slumber that he did not dream of much at all. That of course, was probably why he didn't hear the front door open, or the footsteps come up the stairs or the person knock then unlock his door and take a seat in his desk chair.

He awoke to find Remus Lupin sitting at his bedside. At first, he thought that it was another one of the dreams where Lupin interrogated him as to why he let Sirius die, and then he saw the finger that had reached out as though it wished to trace along the scabbed over cut on his arm. There were a few good scratches on his right, and he was thankful that he was wearing his shirt despite the heat, for Remus otherwise would have been able to see the ones on his chest. The cuts on his arm were his primary concern, and so most of his mind was thinking of a quick excuse for why they were there. This also was part of why he was not at the moment self-conscious of the fact that he had not had a shower in days and his hair was very greasy. Had he been awake enough to care, he wouldn't have been bothered much by this anyway, for a general apathy had fallen over him since the incident at the Ministry.

"How are you feeling?" asked Remus calmly. "I thought I would drop by anyway. I am sorry I did not have time to send you a letter."

"Couldn't you have knocked?" Harry asked, feeling a little bit anxious, waiting for Remus to start interrogating him. Harry tried to act like it was Remus' sudden arrival that was on his nerves. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. People don't usually just show up in my room, you know."

"I did knock Harry, but you were sleeping too deeply," he said. "I am sorry if I startled you. I was worried after you said you were sick in your letter - so I just came in. I apologize."

"Huh ... I guess I was really out." Harry didn't know what to say next, and so he simply waited, mind churning. Remus' wrinkles became more pronounced. He's worried. Great. Now look what you've done!

"What happened to your arm?"

What happened to my arm what happened to your arm come on Harry think ...

"Oh, those? I was trimming the rose garden the other day and Dudley pushed me into it," said Harry with an air of casualness, though his heart was beating frantically.

"So Dudley has been his usual self this summer then?" said Remus without a second thought. He felt that Remus might just have believed it. He relaxed a little bit.

"Well, yeah," Harry muttered. "Dudley's still Dudley."

This of course wasn't at all true, seeing as Harry wasn't even let out of his room these days to do chores, and therefore saw little of Dudley. For all he knew Dudley had gotten into reading and classical music (although he severely doubted that). He feared to tell Remus that he had not been out of his room however, for if Remus knew that then he would realize Harry couldn't possibly have been trimming roses.

"How have you been?" Harry asked quickly, hoping to get the conversation off of himself.

Remus looked a little bit weary at this statement, and replied, "Alright. Still missing Sirius, but then again, aren't we all? I've been busy though, so I haven't had too much time to dwell on it. Did a bit for the Order for a while. Then I managed to find a job again, so I haven't seen anyone for some time."

Missing Sirius - my fault my fault my fault look at all the pain you've caused ...

"That's great. Where are you working?" he replied, resisting the urge to pick at one of his scabs on his arm.

"A little bookshop just off Diagon Alley," said Lupin. "I do paperwork and keep the books. Plenty of mathematics and recording, but I rather like it anyway. My employer is very kind to me, considering my situation."

"Good," said Harry, trying to smile and sound happy for Remus, but it was hard to be happy for others when smiling seemed a chore.

"Enough about me, how have you been?"

Harry tried to conceal his distaste for the question.

"I've been keeping busy too, like I said in the letter," Harry muttered, pretending not to notice Remus glance around at the general messiness of the room and the old prophets lying unopened on the floor. His eyes flicked to Harry's greasy hair.

"Look Harry, I know things have been hard -" began Remus leaning forward slightly.

"Yeah, but I'm doing fine," interrupted Harry. "You just caught me on an off day. I was really sick when I last wrote you. Stomach flu. I just started to feel better this morning."

"That wasn't very kind of your Aunt and Uncle to lock you in here then if you haven't been feeling well. Your room was locked from the outside when I came in."

"Whatever. Aunt Petunia didn't want me wandering around the house and touching stuff with my germy hands if she couldn't follow me around with her disinfectant. She was worried everyone else would get sick too. She's a little bit germaphobic, really. This is the first time my room has been locked all summer." Harry was quite happy with how the lie sounded.

"Harry, how would you like to come to Hogwarts with me on Wednesday?" asked Remus a little suddenly. "I have some things that need to be done. It might be nice for you to get out of the house. Have a visit with Hagrid maybe. "

"I can't," said Harry abruptly, panicking.

"Why not?" Remus' question was not rude, but curious.

"Er ..." Oh god he's going to guess he's gonna figure it out he's looking at your arms he's gonna -

"Are you still mad at Dumbledore; is that it?"

"Yes! I don't want to see him," Harry spat, although it was only half the truth and he was mostly glad for an excuse not to go. He did not want to see Dumbledore, but it was not so much due to the fact that he was mad at him (while he was a little, he was more angry at himself than anything) but for the reason that he knew Dumbledore to be very meddlesome, and far too clever for his own good.

"That's fine Harry; you don't have to see him," Remus assured him. "You can spend the day with Hagrid. I myself need to meet with Albus, but you do not need to come for that. What do you say?"

"Well ..."

Harry tried very hard not to let Remus see the war that was going on inside him. On one hand he did not want to come to Hogwarts lest he do run into Dumbledore, but he really did miss Hagrid. Hagrid knew a lot of how he was feeling, mostly. Hagrid's father died when he was young, and Sirius was the closest thing to a father Harry had ever known, so Hagrid would understand. And Hagrid had made lots of careless mistakes, and he managed to live with them, although Harry doubted they were ever as bad as his own. He was getting sick of his room too. Maybe it would be good, just for a day. What were the chances he would see Dumbledore anyway? Besides, I can always wear a long sleeved shirt. Nobody will know.

"Well, I am feeling better, so I guess so, but only if I don't have to see Dumbledore," said Harry slowly.

"Deal," said Remus. "I'll be here for you at eleven-thirty on Wednesday. I would suggest you mention it to your Aunt and Uncle."

"Okay."

"There is only one condition." Remus' voice had grown stern for a moment, and Harry began to worry. "And I am making it a condition because I care about you."

"What's that?"

"Please have a shower," Remus said. Then, as though he hoped it might motivate Harry, he added, "I'm worried someone is going to think you're related to Snape, or something."

Harry made a face. God forbid he ever be like Snape. He brushed the thought away though, and he found he didn't mind so much because Remus hadn't said it to be mean.

"Alright, good seeing you Harry," Remus told him as he got up.

"Bye. See you Wednesday. Don't forget to lock my door. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon will be upset if you don't."

Remus gave him a smile upon his departure, although his eyes still appeared a little sad and the overall effect just made him look ill. Harry flopped back down onto his bed. He let out a big sigh when he heard Remus leave the house. Perhaps Remus wouldn't think anything of the cuts, not that Harry minded this of course. He didn't really feel like explaining why he got so angry sometimes. Besides, they would probably think he was weak, and that he meant to hurt himself all the time. That was all there was to it. He didn't really mean to snap, but ever since the beginning of his fifth year he had had a bit of trouble controlling his anger, and after what happened in the Department of Mysteries it simply gotten worse. But really, it wasn't that bad. He would return to normal soon. He could stop getting mad any time he liked, or at least he told himself. But as night grew nearer and the sleepless hours slipped by, this excuse sounded feebler and feebler.

***

Albus stayed awake the whole night with Severus, awaiting the morning, sitting in the quarters behind the head office. Severus, looking pale and clammy lying on the sofa with his puffy eyes and shaking hands. Albus read aloud selections of stories but Severus hardly listened because Albus had suggested what his "anything" was, the thing he had to do for help. His anything: The Oak Tree Centre for Mental Health in Saint Mungo's Hospital - yes, the mental ward ("It's not a mental ward, Severus, it's a hospital where they treat people, not mental cases as you call them" said Albus. "There's a difference.") and Severus wasn't sure what to think about that one. But Dumbledore said they were the best of the best there, and were sworn to keep patient rosters a complete secret and the other patients all had to sign waivers so they could not reveal without permission who was staying there, a contract that was magically binding. It was safe there anyway, Dumbledore said, because it wasn't well known. You needed a referral from a healer that specialized in mental health to even hear about it - and that was only if they decided to send you there. This was different than the long term care, the hopeless cases. Those wards were somewhat open to others simply because it would be very lonely otherwise, but the Oak Tree Centre and the one for teens nearby were completely closed and hidden. It had to be kept that way, and had been operating in such a manner ever since the first Wizarding war. The trouble was that a lot of the people who suffered breakdowns at that time, or other ailments of the mind had something to do with the war, and had to be kept hidden. They were very good at that in St. Mungo's, and they'd kept their policy.

Besides, it was the best option, Albus said.

A strange kind of calm had come over Severus as Albus read the book aloud, the words washing over him even though he didn't bother to comprehend a single one. That calm came and went.

But why, why had Albus done this? Why had he saved him? Dumbledore could have fallen himself, reaching over the ledge like that. Had he panicked enough not to think to use his wand, or did he simply not have the time to pull it out? Why? Why why why why? Momentary panic.

That calm came back again, restored a few moments later. It wasn't a good kind of calm, entirely. It was a miserable, cold, numbing blanket over Severus's senses. He knew it well. He'd known it all his life, since he was a little boy under the table with his parents screaming at each other. It was that blank feeling of misery lying over his chest, and in his eyes until he felt a thousand years old. But it was safer, and now he hadn't the energy to move, and for a while the thoughts stopped, because the calm took away all thoughts. It left only heavy, dreary weight. It was the antithesis of the racing, panicking and despairing realization he had no purpose. Now, his eyelids felt heavy, but he was not tired. Weary, wanting to sink into blackness, but not tired.

The night passed like this, although it seemed like it never would end. It was the longest night of his life, and there reached a point where he couldn't cry anymore (He hadn't been able to stop for a long time even though Tobias reminded him that it was weak - well maybe I am weak what about that Dad?), and just lay there. Severus no longer felt the intensity of Albus' gaze, which had been watching over him every second, not leaving him alone no matter what, no matter where Severus went. He didn't go anywhere much anyway. To the window once or twice, the bathroom, back to the sofa. And Albus never left. Severus thought he was afraid to, since he found the letter opener tucked away in Severus' cloak pocket ("Empty your pockets - I have to ask - I care about you. Please Severus."), wrapped in a handkerchief to keep it from ripping the fabric around it. It had been there just because Severus had felt like carrying it around a few days back. He planned on different methods. The letter opener just held a slight appeal, and he hadn't had the heart to leave it on his desk. He wasn't ever going to use it. But Albus felt better if he didn't have it.

He closed his eyes. Cold. Numb. Weary.

Make it stop.

The next day, Harry was lucky enough to be let out of his room for a while so he could have a shower. When he was finished, he dressed in a long sleeved shirt and jeans, and then fell back onto his bed. It was a bit of a chore to leave it, he found, but he had had to take a shower, and when Aunt Petunia had unlocked the door he broke the news that he was going to Hogwarts. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were less than thrilled at the prospect of Remus coming to take Harry there, but Harry quite frankly didn't give a damn if they were giving him the cold shoulder about it. In fact, he was pleased they were ignoring him. His room was therefore unlocked, just for the day, and to celebrate he had stayed precisely where he was - in his room. Funny how once his room was unlocked, and he was able to go wherever he pleased, he didn't want to anymore. He was in one of his dull states anyway. It seemed to him most days that the only emotion he could feel was anger, and when that was gone, there was just nothing. The nothingness was worse, almost.

Better to be angry than to feel nothing at all.

(Nothingness that forever brought

A dull parade of tired thoughts)

I should be a poet.

Hedwig was sleeping soundly, and he watched her for a good hour, lying on his side. When the clock reached elven-fifteen he decided he had better go downstairs, as he knew that Remus was consistently punctual, if not habitually early. Despite the fact he wished to be with the Dursleys about as much as he wished for a stomach ulcer, he went slowly and methodically down the stairs and into the sitting room. Dudley was watching television, and Uncle Vernon was reading the paper. It was a Sunday (No post on Sundays!), so naturally there was not a lot going on. Harry, trying to remain unnoticed, sat down in the armchair farthest from the sofa, which Uncle Vernon and Dudley were sitting upon.

"What are you up to, boy? Sneaking around eh?" said Uncle Vernon, his beady eyes surveying Harry from over the paper.

Trying to avoid you, obviously.

"Just waiting," Harry replied dully, unhappy that his uncle had finally broken the silence that the Dursleys had been keeping around him.

"No sneaking in this house," Uncle Vernon replied, hardly seeming to have heard Harry.

"Yes, Sir." No being a fat arse either, Vernon. Oops, you broke that one already.

"That's better. I see they've been teaching you some respect at that freak school."

Harry looked up sharply. Of course. It was a Sunday after all. He should have clued in sooner. Uncle Vernon did not have to work, so therefore had no chance to bully the people in his office. Naturally, his nephew was the next best thing. Harry slumped down in his chair slightly as he remembered this, thinking in a dull sort of way that this was the last thing he needed.

Uncle Vernon put down his paper, and looked pointedly at Harry as though willing him with his mind to sit up straight.

"What are you looking at?" spat Harry before he could stop himself, his blood boiling all of a sudden. Bubble bubble toil and - you'll cause trouble Harry, if you don't watch it ...

"Watch your tone, boy," warned Uncle Vernon dangerously (See?). "Now sit up properly. Petunia and I did not spend years trying to instill some manners in you just to have you slouch about the place like some sort of vagrant."

Harry didn't move for a few moments, hardly caring and not afraid to show it. Then, tiredly, he sat up a bit more. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon seemed to be in a ranting mood. Dudley, who had looked up from his television program, watched intently.

"What's wrong with you? Moping around. You won't even eat what your Aunt so graciously gives you! You've been a right brat lately, and you have no right to act the way you do. Why do you think you have to stay in that room of yours? Your dreary attitude is bringing Dudders down. It's pathetic, and I demand you stop it at once."

"Pathetic?" asked Harry in a low voice. He was no longer able to bite his tongue.

"That's what I said boy; are you deaf?" said Vernon, picking up his paper to rifle through it. Harry rose up from his seat, fury pumping through his veins. He looked at the clock. It was only eleven twenty.

Unable to take it any longer, Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of the sitting room and up the stairs. Harry slammed the door of his room shut, not even caring that Uncle Vernon bellowed up the stairs at him for doing it.

"No right! No right? Pathetic?" Harry said furiously to himself, cracking his knuckles and barely restraining from yelling. He felt as though he was filled with poison, and it had its deadly hands on his heart and was pressing his lungs tightly inward so he couldn't breathe. Harry growled with anger as he interrogated the wall, still taking in a hushed voice. "Who is he to tell me what to do? If he only knew!" On the last word he thrust out his fist and punched the wall. His fist met it with a crunch, and with satisfaction he saw that he had chipped the paint, and dented the drywall slightly.

Take that, Vernon, you bastard!

He was too angry to care what he'd done (in fact he got a great deal of satisfaction out of it), and with his chest heaving he threw himself onto his bed, making the frame creak under him. His heartbeat began to slow after a few moments, despite the fact that Uncle Vernon was shouting up the stairs again at him ("QUIT BANGING THINGS AROUND BOY!"). He ignored this, and it was only after a moment or so that he realized that his hand was throbbing something fierce. There was a small cut on one of his knuckles, and with his fingers still curled up in a fist he observed the drop of blood grow, a strange sort of calm indifference washing over him. He flexed his hand, and pain shot through the knuckle again, which looked a little bit sunken in, and possibly broken. Yet he didn't care; in fact, he closed his eyes and let the pain take over, mind blissfully blank. It was only when the doorbell rang that he remembered Remus was coming. Hastily he grabbed a tissue from the tissue box and dabbed it on the small cut, hoping to make it less noticeable. He then pulled his sleeves down a bit and shoved the tissue in the pocket of his jeans. He ran down the stairs, and then skidded to a halt in the hallway below. Lupin was standing on the doorstep, Aunt Petunia at the door. She had a distasteful expression on her face, despite the fact that Remus was dressed (albeit shabbily) as a muggle.

"Ready Harry?"

Harry nodded, trying to catch his breath as his knuckle continued to throb (don't look at my hand don't look at my hand).

"Well, come on, then," said Remus, beckoning for Harry to follow him.

Without a goodbye Harry rushed out the door, and they continued their way down the street. They walked for a ways, Remus chatting with him amicably, and then upon reaching a small alley Remus asked Harry to grab a hold of his arm. Curiously, Harry did so. They landed outside the gates to Hogwarts, Harry feeling as though he had just been put through a wringer.

"Yes, you just apparated," said Remus in response to the look on Harry's face. "The dizziness won't last long."

Speechless and head spinning, Harry just stared at Remus. He let Harry have a moment to catch his breath and then they proceeded through the gates.

"Ah, there you are, Hagrid," said Remus cheerfully as they approached the half-giant, waiting for them a ways down road

"Remus, Harry," said Hagrid. "Thought I'd come to meet yeh."

"Hey, Hagrid," Harry said, grateful to see him.

"Well, I suppose you two can be off then. I'll be up at the castle. I have some business with Albus which will probably take most of the afternoon. I'll be back when it's done."

"Alrigh'," Hagrid replied.

"Oh, and thank you, Hagrid. You two have a good visit."

"You're welcome. I'm sure we'll have a fine time."

Harry watched as Remus continued to walk away.

"I was planning on goin' to feed some thestrals, would ya like to come?" Hagrid inquired hopefully.

"Okay," Harry said, shrugging.

They walked down to Hagrid's hut first because he had to grab a pail of food for them. After that they started their way down a path into the forest. They walked a ways in silence, which Harry liked. After Remus' questions, the silence was very welcome. That was what Harry liked best with Hagrid. He knew when a person wanted a little bit of silence. Just a knack, Harry supposed. They arrived at a small clearing. A kind of contentment had come over Harry, and for the moment it lifted a bit of the numbness. Out in the forest one could almost forget everything, and just exist. Though the throbbing in Harry's fist reminded him of many painful realities.

"It will take a little time to lure ‘em," said Hagrid, uncovering the bucket, which held some raw pieces of meat. He poured a little bit of the blood on the ground.

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, thinking suddenly of the end of last year, how the Thestrals had begun to show up when they were covered in Grawp's blood.

"Draws ‘em like flies. They get judged for it though. Real nice creatures if ya take the time to get to know ‘em."

"Hagrid?" Harry asked after a long time of them sitting and waiting.

"Yes?" Hagrid bestowed a large smile on Harry, beneath his beard.

Harry bit his lip and stole himself to ask what he was wondering, "What did you do after your Dad died?"

"Ya mean how did I deal with it?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, I didn't do much of anything for a while," said Hagrid softly, eyes off in the distance, searching through the trees as though he was trying to find something that was not tangible in the least. "I stayed in bed a long time. It didn't help much. After a while I started to go back to doin' normal things. I came out here a lot. Wasn' supposed to of course, back then being a student an' all. But I'd come visit the thestrals. There was only a few back then, not as friendly either. I got ter know ‘em, and it sorta helped."

"Why?"

"Well, you can only see thestrals if you have seen death Harry, right? You know that. An' somehow, once I learned I could see ‘em an' found out where they lived, I took comfort in them. I don' really know why. I guess they reminded me of meself a bit. People just sorta stayed away from the topic of me dad's death, but then again people don't like to talk about death at all, really. I felt a bit like the thestrals, like people were scared o' me or somethin'. So I came here. Got ter know ‘em."

Harry pondered the idea, but he wasn't given much time to, for something was coming through the trees.

"Look, there's one now," said Hagrid in a hushed voice, pointing off to the edge of the little clearing. "They're quiet things, sorta shy, but I suspect they'll be warmer to you now that you've been out to meet ‘em a few times."

Harry breathed in deeply as one of the thestrals stepped into view. The sunlight that flowed through the leaves of the trees caught the smooth, black skin of the thestral's bat-like wings. It was strange, dark, and yet somehow beautiful. The no longer seemed ugly and grotesque to him, like they had when he had first seen them. Harry found himself drawn to it, and he started to see what Hagrid meant.

Hagrid took a piece of meat in his hand, and held it out for the thestral, which eyed it curiously. It took a hesitant step closer, dark eyes filled with wonder. It leaned forward and gently took the meat from Hagrid's hand. Harry jumped a little at the noisy gulp with which the thestral swallowed it. He relaxed as the thestral took a step closer to Hagrid and began to lick the blood from his fingers.

"You can pet her if ya like," he said to Harry.

Harry hesitated at first, because it had been a little while since he'd been around one, but then lifted his hand and reached out for the thestral. He rested his palm on its neck, and gently stroked the cool, smooth skin. The thestral seemed to like that, and now that it was done with the blood on Hagrid's hands, it turned to look at Harry. In the meantime, another thestral was approaching, and Hagrid took a few steps toward it, leaving Harry with the first one.

"Hello," whispered Harry, softly caressing the skin of the animal. It looked at him with big, doleful eyes, so dark, and yet so kind for such a creature. It let out a soft breath on his face, blowing Harry's hair around. Yet it continued to look at him for a second, as though it was trying to tell him that it understood. Its nostrils widened and narrowed as the breath whooshed in and out of them serenely. After a moment it bent its neck down lower, looking at Harry's other hand. It stuck its long tongue out and started to carefully lick at the cut on Harry's knuckle. Harry flinched, but calmed, and let it continue. He could once again feel that overwhelming pressure build up deep within him, like a sob trying to escape, and his eyes grew damp. For, even though he knew the thestral probably just liked the taste, he was touched by the gesture, and the gentleness that the thestral cleaned away the blood. Harry quickly scrubbed his eyes with the tip of his sleeve, and a few moments later Hagrid turned around to see how Harry was doing.

"Nice, aren' they?" he asked softly. Harry nodded, unable to speak.

***

Silence. Severus didn't say a word as the little cup was held in front of him. He pulled at the wrinkled cuff on his pyjama sleeve and stared into the sunshine yellow liquid (such a sulfurous colour nasty not happy - HAH - never). He didn't say a word, but his thoughts raced even though he tried to make them fall silent too. Familiar thoughts, just like the cup they made him take every morning in the hopes of making him better.

Make me better suppress the thoughts suppress the thoughts. They're trying to drug me confuse me put me in chains control me poison me poison well if its poison I should drink it I should drink it but what if it keeps me alive no matter what I don't want to live don't want to don't want to don't want to don't drink don't drink it -

"Severus," said the healer patiently. "Please take your potion. It will help."

Help! Maybe for a while but do I want it to? Sometimes I don't want it to. Like this I don't have to try and find purpose no not at all because I haven't got one. No hope and I like it that way, what about that you sneaky healer?

No.

No ... no ... resisting is too much work. Poison me if you like. They haven't got the brains to make a potion to keep me alive, but poisons are easy. Poison me then poison me so I don't have to.

"Good," she said with a smile, her lime green robes burning Severus' eyes. He stared at his feet and handed the little cup back with its unbreakable glass - he knew it was, he'd checked. He'd dropped one the other day and spilt it all on the floor to see what they would do with an ex Death Eater who was defiant. The Healer had just smiled and poured him a new one (Drink up, Severus, we'll make you better). Severus grimaced.

It tasted like mint and lemons and familiarity and everything good and benign.

Not poison. Damn. Make it stop make it stop

Make it stop

Stop

***

After they fed the group of thestrals - a total of seven had shown up - Hagrid led the way through the forest and back to his cabin, leaving Harry in silence to meditate upon the encounters. The trip to Hagrid's hut seemed shorter than Harry recalled, and so it was with mild surprise that he saw it coming into view. Fang greeted Harry enthusiastically as he came into the door. In the meantime Hagrid was putting away the empty meat bucket out in his shed, and pouring a little bit of water on some of the rows in his garden. Harry sat down in a chair by the small fire to wait, which had a pot of soup sitting over it. He closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them again, and then glanced at the picture on a small shelf nearby. It was of Hagrid's father. Harry turned his chair so he didn't need to see it, for it only made him hurt more.

He gently ran his finger over his knuckle, which had swollen somewhat. Flexing his hand, he winced slightly. He wondered what his friends would say if they knew about his hand, and the numerous other scratches on his arms and chest. They were not very large, most of them, but were there nonetheless.

Harry let his eyes close, trying to forget the world. The calm crackle of the small fire relaxed him, and the smell of the soup wafted gently over to where Harry was sitting. He did not realize until then just how tired the walk through the forest had made him, for according to his watch, they had been in the forest for a little over an hour and a half. His body tired, feet sore, Harry soon fell asleep before the fire. He awoke with a start sometime later by the sound of the logs settling in the fire. Blearily he looked into the flames, and his heart leaped, for he though he saw a face in the fire.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, still fighting off the folds of sleep. He leaned forward to get a better look, and his heart fell. Nothing but logs. It was just coals.

Still and silent Harry sat there, rigidly staring into the place he was so sure he had seen his godfather. His stomach fell like the sun and a panicky sort of anguish - just like he had been fighting for a long time - filled him. Harry felt Hagrid's hand rest gently on his shoulder. Hagrid did not speak, but then again he didn't need to.

Harry bowed his head and he started to shake silently, but tears would not come now. He was far too deep in depression to be able to cry. There always comes a point for those who have seen too much, where tears run dry, and Harry had reached that point. With a soft thud Hagrid knelt down to sit on his knees next to Harry's chair, though he still towered over Harry. All the while he kept his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm tired of it," Harry croaked after a little while. "I'm just tired of it all."

Hagrid squeezed Harry's shoulder, not knowing what to say. But Harry didn't mind.

"It's just ... everything ... it hurts." His voice had fallen to a whisper. "I just can't stop thinking about what could have been if I just kept my stupid mouth shut!"

"I know it's not easy for you to to believe, but it ain't yer fault," Hagrid assured him. "Ya did it out of love Harry, an' Sirius could never blame ya for doing what ya thought would protect him. That's the most important thing. He doesn't blame ya - I'm sure of it - an' ya shouldn't blame yerself."

"But it is my fault, you just don't understand!" Harry said, voice barely making it out of his throat. "I'm the reason he's gone!"

That same, overwhelming and strangling force rose up in Harry, making him wish to scream, to rage, to yell (Supress it supress it don't think about it don't think). He didn't notice his fingers digging themselves into his arms, which were wrapped tightly around his body. After a second or two, Hagrid gently took a hold of Harry's hands and held them between his own. Harry looked up sharply, shocked at what he had done. That he had given himself away.

But Hagrid was not angry, as Harry had expected, but sad. In fact, the sadness in Hagrid's eyes made him want to disappear. Harry let his hands go limp, and simply let them rest between Hagrid's as he looked away. He flinched when Hagrid let go, and with his enormous hands gently took one of his wrists instead.

"I won't hurt ya," whispered Hagrid, and Harry simply didn't have the strength to try and fight back as Hagrid carefully rolled up one of his sleeves. The angry scratch marks showed up starkly against the paleness of Harry's skin. Hagrid seemed unable to say anything, and all he could do was look at Harry in a way that could tear an already broken heart into a thousand pieces. Harry could only look down at his feet. The next thing he knew Hagrid had pulled him into a hug. Despite the fact that Harry understood that Hagrid would never hurt him, he could not will the tension away in his spine. The fear and sadness and anger within him threatened to tip over once again, but it was quelled momentarily by the tight embrace.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I gotta tell Albus. I can't just leave this ... I can't. Do you understand?"

A small, choked sort of sob escaped Harry's lips at those words, but he nodded his head.

"Sorry for the short notice about this, Albus," sighed Remus as he walked through the door into Dumbledore's office, having just left Harry with Hagrid. "But I think it will be good for Harry. You should have seen him ..."

"Is it really that bad?" Albus asked, sounding surprised by the look on Remus' face as Remus took a seat at the desk. His wrinkles showed, and Remus noted this.

"I doubt I am wrong about this," Remus muttered. "He is obviously in a very deep state of depression - and I sure hope I am wrong but he has a few cuts and scrapes that don't look ... entirely accidental. Whether that turns out to be true or not I still think he should be taken for counselling. I've never seen him like this before. It reminds me of when James crashed at my place the time he and Lily had that really bad row while they were still dating. He was a wreck, only Harry's even worse if that's possible, and you know how upset James could get."

Albus seemed to pale, and then said, "Is that why you suggested he spend a few hours with Hagrid?"

"Yes. Harry seems to be able to talk a little bit better with Hagrid than others. I didn't want to push Harry too hard for answers. I was worried he would refuse to confide in any of what has been going on if I did. I'm hoping either he will be improved by a short visit, or Hagrid will be able to offer some insight that will help us figure out how we can help Harry. "

"I hope so," muttered Albus.

Remus looked at the clock.

"Nothing to do but wait, I suppose," said Albus as he glanced out the window, a mournful expression on his face.

"I wish I was wrong about this, Albus," Remus muttered. "But I don't think I am."

"I fear you are all too correct," muttered the headmaster.

So they waited, and waited. The knock on the door that came at last was a gunshot in the silence.

***

Harry shut his eyes tightly. The door creaked open.

Don't think about it don't think about it

***

So the whole psychiatry thing as muggles called it, wasn't all that it cracked up to be. Well, okay, you could definitely say that in all reality, it was cracked up in a sense, although it was nothing like Severus expected it to be. The whole process felt a little surreal, and Severus felt pretty crazy sitting in that quiet office, with its soothing paint and soft chairs, the inspirational posters getting on his nerves.

Inspiration I'll give them inspiration breathing in perfect get it inspiration expiration breathing in and out and in again see that's all the inspiration I have right now see?

They started with how he was feeling, (that yellow potion was brewed wrong - letting it build up in my system won't make a difference - it's brewed wrong I can tell) he and the healer that was supposed to be working wonders on his mind. An unlikely thought, in his opinion. Feelings, they started with feelings (No son of Tobias Snape's will be a crier). And when that approach was done and the healer came to the conclusion that the only feelings Severus was talking about was the lack of them, they moved on to what happened when he was discovered as a spy. The Healer clearly thought that something extraordinarily horrible had happened to trigger Severus' sudden expedition into suicide.

That's not it you dumb Healer well heal this find this read me try and read an occlumens because I'll never tell - hah - you think that it is the spying that got to me? The torture? No no spying is different spying spying torture that wasn't it -

All that torture hadn't been the thing to break him - it was just the pebble that hit the already crumbling mountain and set its fate in motion. It wasn't the torture, or the spying, or the years of secrecy and the forced paranoia from it. No. It went way back, and Severus hadn't even been sure what had started the purposelessness until the nightmares came back. The nightmares that he'd started having in the hospital wing, initially of torture, had shifted into something new. They had evolved from torture racks to kitchen tables (from Voldemort to Daddy from hate for the sake of hate to what should have been love but wasn't oh yes - hah - the foundation had been set years and years ago a foundation of failure a big fat crack hidden under the walls and bricks and wooden boards even I didn't see - HAH - just wait you'll see the house come down sit back and watch sit back and watch it's started already with the roof coming off watch wait watch).

Severus was actually pretty amazed at how persistent the man was (Joseph, he was called, and he was specially chosen for Severus due to his affiliation with the Order. It had only been when Dumbledore started calling in favours that awful night that Severus realized just how far the Order went now, and he got the sense he'd only seen the tip of the iceberg). Joseph insisted on a name rather than a title (Healer) which Severus supposed was a sign that he wasn't conceited like all the other Healers he'd ever met seemed to be. But still, Severus didn't think it would work. He knew it wouldn't work. The trouble was that he didn't trust Joseph, or anyone for that matter. Maybe, just maybe if the healer was a woman (less of them had tried to kill him and he'd yet to meet one named Tobias so that was a plus) he might have been able to say something, anything, but not like this. He didn't trust men, not after Tobias. And the funny part was that this so called Healer seemed to be able to tell Severus didn't trust him, and kept asking what made it difficult to trust him. But Severus couldn't tell him that, could he? Of course he couldn't, because the Healer was right, Severus didn't trust him. So he couldn't trust him with the knowledge of why Severus didn't trust him. Simple. It made the whole exercise feel rather futile. And stupid.

"Maybe we should switch subjects for a change," Joseph suggested after a while, sensing Severus' impatience. "How about we talk about something positive for a while?"

"Positive?" said Severus skeptically.

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

"Well, why not you tell a good story, perhaps something nice. Maybe a memory or story from when you were a kid?"

Big mistake. Hah. Nice story? Sure.

"I haven't got any nice stories about being a kid," Severus barked, his hands clenching on the chairs. The Healer didn't seem too surprised, oddly enough. Like he had planned this.

Well, the only nice parts of being a kid had Lily in them, but now all those memories just reminded him of losing her, of failing her of being discovered as a spy, thus failing, then falling.

Falling. Failing.

And that was the problem. All the good things couldn't fight the bad ones anymore. There were good things. They just weren't enough. It just wasn't working, and all he could see now were the holes in his life where something should have been. Anything. Good versus Bad, and Good was losing. Wasn't that why he was here? Wasn't that why he had fallen in the first place? He didn't need a healer to see it.

Fighting. Failing. Falling. Failing falling fighting kitchen tables and broken chairs and stop it stop it stop yelling please just stop daddy stop - "I haven't got any nice stories about being a kid!"

"So tell me a bad one," said Joseph quietly after a moment of silence, leaning forward.

So tell me a bad one so tell me a bad one which one which one there are so many -

Severus wasn't sure what made him do it (was it because he was tired of being silent or because he was tired of talking about torture that didn't hurt like it should have or was it that he wanted to feel how much being a kid hurt again because it hurt so bad it almost felt right or was it that he wanted to be heard he didn't know which he didn't know), but he opened his mouth, and let the words fall out. One by one by one.

When I was five,

"When I was five," Severus began numbly, his eyes clouded over with fallen chairs and broken glass and angry faces and the way Mother looked when she cried. His ears became full of the sound of yelling and crying and everything else that brought him back thirty years to Saturday night. Saturday night, a night he wished he could say was unique but in the end, in the end, was just another Saturday night with the Snapes. Just another night in the life of a five year old who had known nothing else of life. Just another night of his life, the life he wished he'd never had.

***

Harry preferred not to think of the meeting that had taken place in Dumbledore's office earlier. He had been working hard to make the whole thing as blank as possible within his mind.

This wasn't quite successful. He lay awake in his four-poster bed, in Gryffindor tower, the early evening light seeping through the drawn curtains around his bed. His head pounded with the anguish that remained from the meeting, yet he could not cry. He wished he could, and even the fear and pain of having been found out seemed to be dulled by the deep numbness that was rising within him. Dumbledore and Remus had made him tell them the whole story, when he had started hurting himself. And quite frankly, he didn't really want to remember what he'd said or what they had asked. They had made him tell them how the cuts got there, how many there were. If he was suicidal - which he wasn't. But most of all why he had the scratches. They wanted to know why. They had made him feel crazy without even meaning to, because both seemed almost afraid of the way he had reacted, afraid to know what had made him do such a dreadful, awful, inconceivable thing such as deliberately cut the arms of the precious Boy Who Lived.

They feared his actions because they didn't know what it was like to commit them. Even Remus, who turned into a werewolf every full moon and bit and scratched himself (or at least he had been violent until they invented wolfbane) did not really know. But that was different, wasn't it? Remus wasn't quite human then. He was a werewolf - a monster created by his circumstances, so he didn't do it on purpose, of course. And no matter how many ways Harry tried to say to Remus that it was the same thing, really, that he had to fight it like Remus had to fight the Werewolf, the words couldn't come. Remus and Dumbledore just saw Harry, a teenager with cuts of his own making. They didn't see the circumstances or cause like Remus could see Fenrir Greyback's photographs, like those published in the article that was in the paper not too long ago, detailing Greyback's crimes and warning the public he was believed to be alive still. Harry's cause was still alive too, yet it didn't stare out of the photographs, but out of his own eyes, a compilation of all those moments that had been internalized and could not be forgotten. They forced their way out when it got too much. A childhood spent amidst hatred ... a life of being bullied, being the freak ... the blood he saw on his hands though everyone insisted it wasn't there. Those circumstances weren't murderers that found their way into the Daily Prophet. They were silent, and somehow, in the eyes of the world, that made them less valid a reason for Harry to react in such a way.

So Harry could tell Dumbledore and Remus didn't understand, and all they did was pity him. The whole meeting had passed in a foggy haze. When it was over Hagrid had taken him back to his dorm, and he had been given a phial of dreamless sleep potion, with instructions to take it even though it was still hours earlier than Harry was used to going to bed. It was clenched tightly in Harry's hand at the moment. He was afraid to drink it, that they might have put something else in it, some sort of truth potion and they were waiting to swoop in on him because they didn't trust his words. He knew they didn't trust him, because he had caught the small house elf peeping into his dorm every so often, monitoring him. He knew he was being watched. So that was another reason to avoid the potion. Or maybe he was just afraid to sleep. Afraid of what would come tomorrow, for Professor Dumbledore and Lupin hadn't decided what to do about it yet, and for all Harry knew were still in discussion now. He feared what they would suggest, for he had no idea what sort of proposal they would come up with. They thought he needed fixing. They thought he needed help.

"I'm fine!" Harry said to his (almost) empty dormitory, clenching his fists and not caring that the house elf probably heard him. "Why do they always have to stick their noses in my business?"

When Harry's brain responded with because they care, he scowled.

I wish the Dursleys had cared. Maybe I wouldn't be like this if they had. Maybe -

"Shut up," he muttered, and pulled the cork from the phial in sudden determination. With what felt like an odd air of defiance he downed the whole thing. Just before it took full effect and sent him into a deep sleep, he felt a flicker of fear and uncertainty grab a hold of him. The phial fell silently upon the pillow, the sleep swallowing him instantly.

***

When I was five ...

The memory came into focus at first like a badly tuned telly, with the picture sliding in ripples across the screen until the knob was twisted into the right spot. Then, the picture focused, and Severus remembered it like yesterday, his father coming home late at night and the scream from the kitchen. He was five, and the scream was scary so he ran down from his room and into the kitchen. He was only five, and he was holding his blue baby blanket to his chest as he watched Daddy screaming at Mummy.

And the chairs seemed to topple like in a dream, and the empty glass bottle Daddy had in his hand hit the wall (CRASH!). Severus started to cry as the pieces of glass cascaded to the floor a few feet from him.

"Go back to bed, Severus - please sweetie, go back to bed," begged Mummy in a low voice as Daddy backed her up against a wall.

"Don't you ever think about dipping into my beer money again, woman!" roared Daddy, his words slurring. "I bring it home, I spend it, got that? What did you use it for?"

Mummy just cried.

"I SAID, WHAT DID YOU USE IT FOR, YOU SLUT?"

Severus didn't know what a slut was but he was pretty sure it wasn't good because Mummy flinched like she'd been hit.

"A school j-jumper. The school complained that Severus didn't h-have one and seeing as it's been so c-cold he needed one for his uniform to be complete."

"And you just listened, and let them complain?" said Daddy in a dangerously low voice. Severus backed into the corner by the table. Daddy was going to be angry and he knew it, so he shrunk down and slid under the table.

"He needed one," said Mummy hoarsely, arms up and backing into the opposite corner as Daddy raised his fists.

My fault my fault my fault, Severus thought as he shut his eyes tight. That jumper was too good to be true, he had known it all Friday morning; he knew it by the way Mummy walked like she would break the floor with every step, which she did all day yesterday and all day today until Daddy got home from the bar and when Daddy finally snapped the floor moaned like it had been broked like Mummy was afraid of, and now that it had started Severus really did hear something break. It didn't sound like glass or the floor like before when Daddy thumped across it, no, it sounded like something Severus hadn't heard before. It was a dull, crunching snap, and he wasn't sure what had happened but Mummy screamed and he'd never heard her scream that way before.

"NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" raged Daddy, and Severus wanted to run to Mummy, who was on the floor now holding her wrist to her chest, but he was scared. From a distance he saw Daddy's big muddy boots and Mummy's wrist gone all funny and the way she shook but didn't make a sound.

"Fix it, fix it bitch," Daddy said like he wasn't sorry at all, and Mummy pulled from her pocket that thin stick, her wand, and she waved it but nothing worked because her hands were shaking too much, shaking like they did most of the time.

Daddy raged and stomped up stairs and Severus hugged his blue blanket tighter as he looked out from under the table then ran for Mummy when all was clear.

"I'm s-sorry ‘bout the jumper Mummy 'm sorry!" he cried as he fell to the floor beside her.

"Shh, shh, Severus, it isn't your fault," she whispered, her eyes glassy with pain. "It isn't your fault."

It's not my fault it's not my fault

"It isn't your fault," Mummy whispered. "It's mine, honey. Shh. Not yours."

"It's mine, she said," Severus finished hoarsely as the memory fell away and the world was still, his hands cold and shaking. "She said it was her fault."

He fell into stunned silence.

"It was neither of your faults," Joseph said after a moment, when it was clear Severus had no more to say. "You must understand that, Severus. That was on your father, and him alone. He was using what little money your family had for things that he shouldn't have. It was not fair of him to do that, or react in the way he did."

"But she thought it was hers. And I could never convince her otherwise. Never." My fault my fault. "If she'd believed it wasn't her fault maybe ... maybe she would have left like she wanted to."

"Or maybe she wouldn't have," said Joseph with a sigh. "You can never know, and it is important you see that it was not your fault that she stayed."

"Yes," Severus muttered, simply for something to say. But it was. If I hadn't been born, she could have left. Simple.

He wondered if the so called Mind Healer could hear the words that he didn't say. Deep down, a part of him hoped so. Somehow he wanted to be told he was wrong again, that he really was innocent. But his hands would never be clean. Not with the life he had led.

***

Remus tapped his fingers on Albus' desk, his tea untouched, unable to get the worrisome words of Hagrid's from his mind.

"What are we going to do?" he asked, almost to himself, feeling sick after the evening's revelations.

"Would he be able to stay with you a while?" Albus suggested, an expression of deep thought upon his features. "We could have a Mind Healer come and visit Harry daily - I know a few who are affiliated with the Order, one that specializes in young adult cases. You would not need to worry about money; the school has an emergency fund. Besides, Harry does get along well with you."

"I don't think so, although I wish I could. I cannot get any time off work." Remus sighed slightly. "And I don't ... I don't know if I could help him. I am afraid that I just would not be enough."

"I respect your wishes. It was merely an idea."

Remus looked out the window thoughtfully. "I doubt Harry would appreciate this suggestion right away ... but what about the psychiatric ward in St. Mungo's? I'm sure they have one. They have a teen ward, don't they?"

"Yes, yes they do," said Dumbledore slowly. "But ... I do not know if it would be safe enough for him."

"What other option do we have? He would be with kids like himself, some worse off. Perhaps he would not feel like he was going through his hardships alone. Besides, they have people there that are trained to deal with difficult situations, and understand to an extent what he is going through. You or I could not possibly help Harry get over something of this nature. We have too little experience in matters such as this."

"Well, he would not be able to leave the ward. It isn't as though he would be wandering through other areas of the psychiatric floor," muttered Professor Dumbledore. "I still would feel better if he were to stay here at the school. I can get a Healer to come in to talk to him about it."

"Albus, the solitude is not good for him. He needs to be watched, and be with others. I see no reason why he would not be safe at St. Mungo's. Their security is top notch, especially in days like this, and you can always send some undercover Aurors to keep an eye on him. Nowhere else has better resources to help him through this."

"Perhaps you are right," muttered Albus reluctantly after some time of consideration, like he was taking other matters into account that they had not discussed. Remus was sure the situation would be complicated, and involve a great deal of covering up for the order. "I can see no other way. So long as he stays in his area and does not wander. There is no reason for him to endanger himself further. We must make sure he has not got his invisibility cloak."

"Of course, Albus," said Remus gratefully, reheating his tea with a tap of his wand. "This will be good for him. You'll see."

"Oh, I have no doubt he will do alright. I suppose I merely ... worry too much. The teen ward, it's quite separate. Yes, he'll be fine."

***

"I don't want to go," was Harry's short answer when Lupin came into his dorm at noon the next day. Harry was still lying in bed, his pyjamas on and hair a mess. He didn't care. "Can't I just stay here?"

"I already explained that, Harry," sighed Lupin from where he sat at the foot of Harry's bed, having pushed aside the curtains so that he could do so. "There will be no one at the castle who can be there as much as is needed."

"I do just fine on my own." Harry gave Lupin a look of defiance.

"No, you do not. And don't feel bad about that. James was better off with company too. Too much alone time is hard on anybody, and you need some time to get sorted out, as well as a place to do that. Hogwarts is not that place. But this will be somewhere safe you can go, where you can properly deal with these things, and talk about what is bothering you." Lupin held up a small pamphlet that had a painting of a tree with birds magically fluttering in and out, and nestled in the branches was the name Willow Branch Centre for Adolescents. Harry looked away. It was sickeningly cheerful.

"Harry, please," Lupin said softly. "I know you don't want to go. But I promise that things will get better. These people will be able to help you, and maybe you'll meet some people there that you can relate to."

"Wait ‘til the Prophet gets a hold of this," muttered Harry darkly. "Now they'll have proof I'm mad."

"Harry, St. Mungo's has a very rigid policy about that. Everything is strictly confidential, and the other patients are bound to a magical contract not to divulge names of the people within the center, and this rule goes for everyone, all the time. Not just because you are going there. I promise that nothing will get out. We have plenty of people in the Order of the Phoenix that are ready to set false trails for the media should they begin to suspect where you are. Those are only some of the precautions being taken. It will all work out. You just have to trust us."

Harry thought for a moment. He looked at Lupin' pleading expression. He knew that Lupin was only doing this because he cared. But he couldn't say yes, and Lupin seemed to know this.

"Harry, if you won't do this for yourself, then please, do it for Sirius. He never wanted you to feel like this. He wanted you to be happy ... please."

"FINE!" cried Harry, mad that Remus had gotten to him. He crossed his arms. "But nobody can know! You can't tell anyone. Not even Ron and Hermione."

Lupin sighed, and then said, "It is up to you to inform them of where you are, Harry. It is your decision on whether or not you lie, or tell them the truth. I would suggest you trust them. But I cannot force you to tell your friends.

"Meet me in the Entrance Hall at two-o-clock so I can take you back to Privet Drive to get some of your clothes and books. Sunday morning I will bring you to Willow Branch."

"That is such a stupid name," Harry said childishly. "And that dumb house elf better stop spying on me."

Lupin had no response to this, and instead patted Harry on the knee and got up, leaving the dormitory.

"I will be staying here in the rooms that connect to my old office," said Lupin. "If you need me come and find me, alright?"

Harry nodded wearily and then rolled over on his stomach, breathing in the scent of his pillow. He had missed his four-poster, and it made his stomach ache to know that he was not here to stay.

"Breakfast, Severus," said the young Trainee Healer as he crept into the room and opened the blinds.

"No," Severus said dully, pulling the covers over his head.

"Why not?"

"Because."

"We'll miss you at breakfast."

"Nobody will."

"I will. Can you at least take your potion? You can sleep if you just take your potion."

Severus scowled and emerged from under the covers, avoiding the Healer's eyes. He took the potion, then sunk back into bed.

"Thank you, Severus," said the Healer. "Chicken soup for lunch - it's going to be good. If you're going to hit any meal today, definitely do that one."

Severus did not answer, and listened for the sound of the door closing. The empty bed by the window stared him in the face. The silence was all he had desired while the Trainee Healer was trying to make conversation. Now that he was gone, Severus sort of wished he would come back.

But it was better to be alone, because he knew he looked like a mess and today he actually cared about that, oddly enough. He stumbled out of bed and stared in the charmed, unbreakable mirror in the tiny bathroom that was in his room. Someone he didn't even know stared back. The man's hair was tangled and he had dark shadows under his eyes, which were puffy. Severus blinked. No. It was him. It really was he, himself, Severus Snape staring back in that mirror.

He hated himself when he thought of that session yesterday evening with the Mind Healer. He knew why his eyes were puffy, and he didn't give a damn if Joseph had said so proudly that he thought they'd made progress. Severus didn't see how he'd made progress. He was just miserable, and he dragged his socked feet across the floor and fell back into bed. He shut his eyes.

***

Harry's few possessions were soon packed up, leaving Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon rejoicing. Harry had made Lupin promise to tell them that he was going to the Burrow, rather than to a psych ward. He was pretty sure he would never live it down should they have found out. Lupin seemed to have mixed feelings about this, but Harry assured him that his relatives really didn't care all that much either way, but telling them that he was at Ron's it would make them significantly easier to live with in the future.

They arrived back at Hogwarts, and Harry sorted through what things he was going to leave in his dormitory and what he was taking with him. He rose early on Sunday morning due to nerves, and met up with Remus once more. Then they went up to meet Dumbledore, but he had received an unexpected piece of news from the Order and, with much dismay, he told them that he was unable to come with them as he had planned. Harry was rather glad he was not coming, to be honest, for he was getting sick of the amount of time Dumbledore had been spending stressing the point that Harry was to stay in the teen ward at all times, no matter what, period. Harry was pretty sure the Headmaster was just worrying about him too much. In addition to this, Dumbledore had had a private word with Harry to say that he knew the counsellor Harry would be talking to, and that the counsellor was one of a number of healers associated with the Order. He didn't give the names of any others, but Harry honestly didn't care. Professor Dumbledore then went on to say that Harry was safe to talk about the prophecy with this person, as they had been told the basic meaning of it, and that it was important for Harry to come to terms with such a heavy piece of information. Harry thought it was a bit silly that Dumbledore actually assumed he would open up to a complete stranger. That, and he really didn't want to think about the prophecy at all, so he was quite happy to leave Dumbledore behind in the airy office.

Remus had used a handy little spell to shrink Harry's things and put them in his pocket in preparation for travelling to St. Mungo's by floo powder. Harry was not very keen on leaving Hogwarts. Although, he had to admit, the room behind the Great Hall from which they were flooing from did not hold the pleasantest of memories.

"Ready, Harry?" Remus asked.

Harry shrugged and said, "I guess so. But don't I have to be disguised a little? I mean, we have to walk through the rest of the hospital."

"Willow Branch has its own waiting room connected to the floo network. It's a bit easier for people who don't want it to be known that they are going there."

"Hm. That's smart."

"It is, isn't it?" Remus replied, distracted as he fished around in his pocket. From it he pulled little drawstring pouch with floo powder. He held it out to Harry and said, "You first."

Taking a deep breath, Harry grabbed a pinch and threw the powder in the flames. He stepped into them, trying to keep himself from shaking. Not knowing what was waiting for him on the other side, Harry shouted "Willow Branch Centre!"

He tripped slightly on arrival, rather rusty from lack of fire place travel. He was able to catch himself however, and get out of the way in time for Remus to arrive behind him. Remus stepped gracefully out from the flames to stand next to Harry.

"And where were you headed?" asked a rather bored female clerk at a desk nearby. The room they were now in was rather cramped, and looked nothing at all like a waiting room. A large map of the hospital with marked fireplaces was the only thing on the walls. The place looked a lot like a roomy broom closet, actually.

Harry, rather surprised, did not answer the question. Harry noted that Remus seemed to be suffering from the same thing.

"This is the office of redirection," droned the clerk when she finished snapping her bubble-gum. "Your destination within the hospital is unavailable for the time being, either due to renovations or other causes. If you can tell me where you were headed, I can redirect you to the appropriate service."

Remus, who seemed to have recovered from his state of surprise, replied, "We were headed for the Willow Branch Centre for Adolescents."

"Uh huh," she said, chewing her gum loudly. "Yeah, there was a bit of a mishap last night. Accidental magic. Someone managed light the place up, and cause some pretty impressive fire damage. Everyone was okay, but the fire did away with a fair bit of the ward. It will be under repair for the next couple of months. Twelve through fourteen year olds have been relocated to Mulberry Bush, the children's ward. And fifteen to seventeen are at Oak Tree, which is the adult ward."

"Alright, thank you very much" said Remus before turning to Harry. "Oak Tree, then."

"The outgoing fire is on your right, labelled out, and you may help yourself to our complimentary pot of floo powder," the clerk informed them, snapping her gum once more when she finished.

Harry reached up and put his hand into the pot of powder, and then he was instructed by Remus what to say and when to go. He appeared in the room a moment before Remus, and in those few seconds he looked around. The walls were a pale yellow with posters here and there about various psychiatric conditions. There were four chairs, and a front desk with a little bell on it that said "ring for service."

Harry threw himself into a chair while Remus rang. In a few moments someone came through the door and greeted them both with a smile. He was a young man of about thirty, perhaps. He was dressed somewhat more casually than the healers Harry had seen when he had visited Mr Weasley during the school year.

"Hello, my name is Richard," said the man cheerfully, despite the tired expression on his face. "How can I help you?"

"Richard Cross?"

"The one and only."

Harry scowled at Richard's chipper attitude.

"So you were the one that Albus contacted?" Remus asked, looking rather glad.

"Yes," said Richard. "And you are?"

"Remus Lupin," said Remus, shaking Richard's hand. "Albus was unable to come, though he did want to."

"That's too bad. I'm glad you two made it, though," Richard said sincerely. "Sorry for all the confusion. We had a nasty fire on Willow Branch yesterday. We haven't had a moment to spare, what with all the paperwork. I've had to cancel nearly all my counselling sessions just so I could move that section of my files over to Oak and get reoriented, as all my cases are from Willow Branch. It's been quite the process. I am sorry we didn't get a chance to contact you about the changes, but it's been a right mess."

"That's alright," Remus assured him. "Can we get Harry checked in and settled?"

"You bet," Richard replied before glancing over to Harry, who was slouching in one of the chairs nearby. "Hello, you must be Harry."

"Yes," replied Harry through his teeth, rather wishing he wasn't. He didn't really feel had had much grounds to be civil; as far as he was concerned he had practically been blackmailed into being here.

"Harry," Remus warned.

"I wouldn't worry about it - I'm pretty sure I would be a bit annoyed too if I had to give up my summer to come here," said Richard in response to Remus's words. He paused a second, looking around the room. "Oh, wait ..."

The joke was so unexpected that Harry cracked a small smile for a moment. Richard winked at him, gesturing for him and Remus to follow him into the office.

Harry got up and walked behind the waiting room counter and entered the office, which held a small desk. Richard pulled a form out from a basket and unscrewed the inkwell nearby. He scribbled a few things down, checked some boxes, and when he was done he pushed the paper toward Remus to finish filling out. Harry spied over at what Remus was writing, and as soon as he saw the heading Reason for Admittance he looked away.

Remus soon finished filling out the form, then Harry was told to sign it at the bottom as well. Then, he had to hand over his wand, much to his dismay. He was told that it was a necessary precaution.

"Alright Harry," said Richard finally. "We have one last thing to do before I show you your room. I'd like to finish a quick interview. If you wish, Remus can leave the room. Would you prefer that?"

Harry frowned for a second before saying he would.

Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder before going outside into the waiting room.

"Alright, let's start with something simple," said Richard, getting out a notepad and picking up the quill. "What's your favourite thing to do?"

"Quidditch," Harry replied, staring at the wood on the desk.

"Your best subject in school?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"In one word, describe this last school year. You can have a moment to think."

Finally, Harry replied, "Daunting."

"Nice word," remarked Richard, scribbling it down. "If you could come out of this place changed in one way, what would it be?"

Harry looked at Richard for the first time. He didn't really want to say what was on his mind.

"This is my last question," Richard gently prodded. "After this one I'm done."

Harry, wishing to be rather trying, let out a dramatic sigh and looked at the clock in the room. It said nine thirty-five.

He was rather annoyed when Richard didn't reprimand him for being difficult.

"Less angry," Harry said finally, the fight gone from him.

"That's a good goal," Richard assured him. "Thank you, Harry for answering my questions. It helps me to get to know you a little, so I can better understand how to help you."

When Remus had returned and taken his seat, Richard pulled out a big leather book. On the front it said Rooming List. Richard perused it for a moment or so. He nodded, looking unsurprised.

"Well, it's your lucky day. There's only one bed open in the men's side. It's pretty packed since so many have moved over from Willow Branch. The men and women have separate hallways for their rooms, so don't let me catch you sneaking around the women's area." Richard said it rather playfully, although Harry took note of the rule laid out for him. "All rooms have two people sharing them, so you've got a roommate as well. Hmm ... looks like he's one of the adults ... not on my patient list so he must be. Unfortunately, we have an odd number of teen boys, so you'll have to make do.

"Now, for a tour. I don't know this place as well as Willow Branch, as that is where my patients usually reside, but I'll give it my best shot."

Harry and Remus stood up and followed Richard out. They went through a door into a wide, bright hallway. It had the occasional piece of art on the walls, mostly serene paintings of rivers and lakes. Immediately on their left there was a door. There were windows put into the dividing wall so you could see into the room that the door led to. Harry could see a few sofas and a fireplace through these. Looking straight ahead, with the windowed room off to the side, Harry noted that the rest of the ward was mostly open space. There were people wandering up and down the halls.

Richard gestured to the windowed room.

"That's the visiting room," he informed Harry. "If you want to talk with someone face to face, and they cannot come here to visit, go to the front desk and make sure you make an appointment that you've agreed on with your visitor, who will put their head through the fire in the visiting room. If they want to come through fully they'll have to use the waiting room fire. Don't try to leave through any of the fires, because they're monitored and patients who are not cleared for release can only have visitors come to them, for safety issues and whatnot. We also have a telephone that connects to muggle ones, for those connected to phone lines. You'll do all your interacting with visitors with those methods, all of it in the visiting room."

Harry nodded, and then they continued on. Harry tried to ignore the interested looks the passing people gave him. He looked at his feet as they walked along. Eventually they stopped in a wide, open spaced area with tables and chairs.

"This is the dining hall," Richard told him. "You can show up for breakfast between eight and nine in the morning. And, lunch and dinner are at twelve and six respectively. You're expected to make an effort to maintain the routine and attend meals, even if that means just working up to coming to a set number of activities and taking things slow."

Harry barely held back a grimace. His stomach churned at the thought of food.

"Up ahead is the recreation room. You can come in here any time during the day, although there may be some group activities going on in here. The room just off to the right is the arts and craft room. There's plenty of art supplies for you own ideas, as well as a daily project you can partake in. There are also poetry and writing sessions some days if you like that sort of thing. I would encourage you to try it at least once."

"Sounds like there are some interesting things going on here" Remus commented to Harry.

"Certainly," said Richard, ignoring the withering look that Harry was giving Remus. "We have a lot of activities here. There is going to be even more going on than usual, as I have been working to get a few of the usual activities from Willow over here for the teens that have moved for a while. You will have access to the adult activities as well as the teen ones, while you are here Harry."

"That's good," said Harry dully, trying to sound enthusiastic for Remus' sake.

"One last stop before we get to your room," said Richard, turning away from the craft room and going down the hall opposite the door. They went past a storage closet and then arrived at the end of the relatively short hall. There were two doors in the hallway, one to the right and one at the very end of the hallway.

"Harry, you will be coming into this room here for sessions with me," Richard told him, gesturing to the door at the very end of the hallway. It had a frosted glass window in it, and a temporary sign that said Richard Cross. "This is where you and I will be meeting every day for counselling sessions. They are mandatory." He seemed to have added the last part at the rather apparent look of dismay on Harry's face.

Remus put a hand on Harry's shoulders. Harry slouched it off and followed Richard out of the hall. He heard Remus sigh behind him as he caught up. They were led through the dining hall again, then made a left turn into a hallway labelled Men. There were bedroom doors all along the right side, except one on the left, which said men's shower upon it. Harry watched the doors go by as they traipsed down the hall. Some of the doors had pictures taped to them, and signs that said things like ‘Steven and Jesse's room'. A few of the doors were open, and Harry caught a glimpse of men or teens lounging around in their rooms. After passing about seven or eight rooms the hallway went left. They rounded the corner and went down a ways, until they came upon the second last door on the right. There were no pictures on this door, nor any names.

"Well, this is you," said Richard, knocking on the door. There was no answer. "Your roommate must be sleeping, so we'll have to be quiet."

Richard opened the door softly and stepped into the room. Harry and Remus followed. It was a simple room with a small window at one end, the sunlight pooling on one of the beds beneath it. There was also a little bathroom by the door, with a toilet and a sink. There were two small wardrobes across from the two beds in the room. The bed closest to the door was taken, quite obviously. Everyone tiptoed painstakingly past the bed. The occupant was clearly sleeping. Harry barely caught sight of a dark shock of hair poking out of the blankets, and he saw two socked feet sticking out from under the covers.

"I'm sure you two will get a chance to swap names later," said Richard in response to Harry's stare.

Harry nodded while Remus pulled his shrunken trunk from his pocket and made them their proper size. He set it at the foot of Harry's bed.

"How about you get settled," said Remus in a whisper. "I would like to have a quick word with Richard outside and then I'll come and say goodbye. Alright?"

"Okay."

Remus and Richard left the room, closing the door gently behind them. Harry could see their feet standing out in the hallway, and could hear the hushed tones of their voices, though he did not bother with what they were saying. He took a moment to survey the room. It was quite brightly lit, but his roommate seemed to have made up for it by pulling the covers up over most of his head. There were a few books on the small table between the two beds. In addition to this, Harry noted with some curiously, there was a number of folded paper cranes scattered atop the pile of books and the table. The person had not spread their things out much, leading Harry to believe they had not been here overly long.

Done his quick survey of the room, Harry knelt down and unlatched his trunk. Rummaging through the trunk, Harry pulled out some of his clothes, and set them neatly in the small dresser drawers. He grabbed his Gryffindor banner and draped it over the top of the dresser to admire the effect. If he had to be stuck here, he might as well spread some of his things out. Even at the Dursleys he wasn't allowed to do that, really. They didn't much like him having Hogwarts things lying around, even banners. It was strange to be able to put the banners where he pleased. Having little else to unpack, Harry searched for his copy of Flying with the Cannons, which he thought he might as well re-read if he was stuck here. He found it quickly, and decided he would put it on his side of the little table between the beds. There were a few paper cranes in the way. As he was debating on whether or not he should move them now, or wait to ask his roommate, he was saved having to make the decision. His roommate was stirring, stretching his arms up over his head, his face burrowed in the pillow. The man moaned slightly.

"Er, hello," Harry said awkwardly. His roommate didn't jump, and appeared to have heard him already due to the slight shuffling of his trunk. "Sorry for waking you. I'm your new roommate. Seeing as you're up, can I move some of these paper cranes to put my book on the table too?"

The man stayed motionless upon the bed, seeming as though he were still quite tired. Or perhaps merely lacking the will to get up. Harry was betting on the latter due to the lengthy silence before the man answered.

"Yes," came the muffled voice through the pillow.

"Thanks," said Harry gratefully, carefully picking up the cranes and setting them on the man's pile of books. "I'm Harry, by the way."

"What?" said the man, rolling over onto his back, looking taken aback, squinting tiredly in the light. Harry caught sight of his face and let his mouth fall open.

His new roommate let out a yelp of shock and anger, and flailing slightly as he attempted to get away from Harry, he fell off the far side of the bed.

It was Professor Snape, and Harry was pretty sure even Uncle Vernon had never heard of the cuss words that were now coming out of his Professor's mouth in a steady stream, floating up from where Snape was still lying on the floor in apparent shock, his hair sticking up in places and his pyjamas wrinkled. Harry really wasn't sure what to say, and stood there, frozen as Remus and Richard burst into the room, both looking equally shocked.

It was at that moment that Harry decided that if there was any person who was crazy enough to be locked up it was Albus Dumbledore, because if he had planned this in any way he was dead meat.

"HOW COULD YOU?" shouted Severus as soon as he'd slammed the door to the visiting room behind him. It felt like his feet were going to come out from under him, and as he screamed the same words at Dumbledore once more he couldn't stop the tears streaming down his face. This only infuriated him further, and made him feel all the more powerless. He hated that he could not control them.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?"

"Severus -"

"YOU KNEW! YOU KNEW I WAS HERE! YOU STOPPED ME FROM KILLING MYSELF JUST TO BRING ME HERE AND SHOW POTTER WHAT A FUCK-UP I AM, RIGHT? RIGHT?"

"Severus -"

Albus knew he knew he knew he's trying to make me kill myself no that's paranoid he's trying to punish me for getting caught spying no no paranoia help help what's true and what's not?

Severus glared at the visitor window, and saw Potter standing at a distance out in the main area, white as a sheet. He suspected Potter was far enough he couldn't see the tears, but at this point Severus was almost too angry to care. Almost.

Severus growled and stomped to the window, pulling the shade down further so Potter couldn't see them.

"Albus, how could you," he said, his voice hollow, the blood draining from his face.

"Severus," Albus said quietly, reaching forward to put his hands on Severus' shoulder and bending slightly to his height.

"Don't touch me," growled Severus, pushing Dumbledore's hands away and backing against the wall. He pressed his shoulder blades into it. Safe. He wiped his face roughly with his dirty pyjama sleeve.

"I did not know that there was a fire," Albus said slowly, his forehead creased with concern. "I didn't know that Harry would end up here. He needs help too, and we had arranged for him to go to the teen ward. Then the fire happened, and they did not tell me where they were moving him. Remus did not know you were here, and Richard normally works on the teen ward and was therefore not informed of the history you two have. I'm sorry, Severus, truly. We will just have to work with it."

"We?" said Severus numbly, fury exploding inside him again. "We? You're ... YOU'RE LEAVING ME HERE? YOU NEVER MAKE TIME FOR ME! YOU ONLY VISITED ME ONCE WHEN I WAS IN THE HOSPITAL WING! I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE BUSY - IF YOU GAVE A DAMN, YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN THERE!"

"Severus, I wanted to sit with you, I did," said Dumbledore, taking a step forward, his eyes wide.

"But you didn't!" said Severus, panting and out of breath, his fists clenched.

"I know," said Albus, his voice trembling, to Severus' surprise. "But the Order needed my attention. Your discovery changed the face of the operation - we needed new strategies immediately to reduce the risk -"

"The Order, of course, the Order!" Severus said, starting to pace. "It's always the Order over PEOPLE. Over ME. THE GREATER GOOD, RIGHT? RIGHT?"

Nurmengard, yeah, Nurmengard. I know you've been there. I know you know that saying - everyone does - "the Greater Good" carved across that arch, and you live every second by it! How did I never see it before?

Severus knew it was a low blow, but he didn't care. Dumbledore was famous for his defeat of Grindelwald, but Severus was starting to see a tyrant not so different before him as well. Severus was angry, hurt, and betrayed. A part of him knew that he was probably being irrational, that Dumbledore wasn't quite as cold as he was making him out to be, but the rest of him just didn't care.

"You know," he said in a dangerously quiet voice, "for someone who beat Grindelwald, you sure do sacrifice a lot of people."

Dumbledore backed away. All the colour had drained out of his face. The effect shocked Severus. He hadn't expected the words to cut that deep. He didn't understand that look on Albus' face, that look almost akin to fear. He knew he should have felt bad for making Albus look this way, but the hate inside his chest was still yearning for attention.

"What did you say?" Albus asked, his voice crackling and his eyes wide.

"I SAID," Severus bellowed. "FOR SOMEONE WHO BEAT GRIDELWALD, YOU SURE SACRIFICE A LOT OF PEOPLE!"

"Yes," said Dumbledore heavily, suddenly showing weakness and sinking into a chair. "Yes, I do. And I hate doing it."

"But you do anyway," Severus said, his words low and shaking with anger, his breathing coming in sharp gasps. "You never cared about me. All I am is a pawn to you, and my purpose is over. You said it was for her, but it was for you and your cause. It was always for you."

And Severus stormed out of the glass windowed visiting area. He glared at people, daring them to get in his way. They didn't. They were all scared of him, but that was alright. It was better that way. There was nobody to hurt but himself.

****

As Harry was led to the front office for a meeting, he watched in wonder through the gaps in the narrow blinds of the visiting room, where a furious conversation was taking place. Snape had looked halfway insane, still dressed in his pyjamas and his hair not combed as he bellowed at Dumbledore. Harry reminded himself that Snape very likely was halfway insane, what with being in the loony bin too. Harry didn't need to hear what was being shouted to know what Snape was berating Dumbledore about. He suspected Dumbledore had put a silencing charm on the room, which meant that nobody except those who thought to look through the partially shuttered window (the purpose of the windows being for security reasons, or so Harry was told) would know there was a heated verbal battle going on in there. Harry shrank back when Snape glared through the window and shut the blinds further.

Miserably, he then followed Richard and Remus, not pausing any longer. Before all of this, Dumbledore and Lupin had had a long discussion with him in the room while Snape went somewhere else. Harry suspected it was an attempt to get Snape to cool down a bit, but it obviously hadn't worked.

During their talk, Remus had apologized profusely for not alerting Dumbledore of the repairs on Willow Grove. But Harry didn't see the point in that, for he had no idea how they could have known that Snape would just so happen to be at the same place Harry was being shipped off to. Apparently he wasn't the only one that had cracked. Harry wasn't sure if he should feel relieved he wasn't the only one that had landed himself here, or if he should feel daunted by all of this. If Snape, the iron fist of Hogwarts cracked, then how could Harry even hope to stand the strain of the oncoming war?

They arrived at the office soon enough, and everyone sat down. Richard looked tired, and Remus looked like he was ready to keel over dead. Then again, Harry had never really known a time when Remus hadn't looked at least somewhat like that, so he wasn't all that worried.

"I am so sorry about all this," Richard sighed. "That's the problem when you mix two wards together."

"Is there any chance one of them can be moved?" Remus asked hopefully.

"I really hate to tell you two this," said Richard as he flipped through the rooming book, "but I don't think there is. I mean, we don't like to juggle patients around, especially if they're improving. We're full to bursting, and the other teens are all paired off, and everyone else has been settled for quite some time with their roommates - some for weeks. It just wouldn't be fair to them, because people tend to get pretty close to each other around here, when they're together for weeks, sometimes months at a time. And, until we get an opening it will be hard to shuffle things around. I'm sorry to say it, but I think you two will just have to work with it for now, at least for a few weeks until someone moves out. At least for now you only have to be in your rooms to sleep, and the rest of the day is pretty full. We try to keep people busy, so you'll be doing a lot of things throughout the day away from each other. You don't really have to see each other much anyway."

"Are you sure there isn't something that can be done?" Harry asked, pleaded, almost.

Richard sighed. "I'm sure, Harry. I'm really sorry. Under ordinary circumstances we could have made it work, but right now, things have been so messed up and hectic what with the repairs and the fire, that I don't think we'll be able to figure something out soon. Like I said, maybe in a week or two, or when we get some patients moved out. Until then, you're out of luck. I'm sorry."

"Okay," Harry said, deciding he might as well just accept it for what it was. He hadn't really expected this whole stay to be a good one anyway. Besides, he was used to terrible living arrangements, and when did complaining every get him out of them?

After that, Richard gave him his schedule and told him to go pick an activity, and Remus said goodbye. Remus seemed to be quite flustered and worried over the whole situation, but Harry found himself reassuring him that things probably couldn't get worse at this point.

That didn't seem to help for Remus. But it helped for Harry, who was thinking that maybe if there was enough conflict going on they might just decide to send him home early. He was cheered by this, and straightened his glasses before reading the schedule. It was eleven-o-clock in the morning, which meant he had until lunch at twelve to try out a few of the activities. There were three slots to pick from on his schedule: arts and crafts in the craft room, reading in the recreation room, or cards and wizards chess in the dining hall. Harry decided he would go read. He wasn't sure he had the energy to read right now, but he thought that he might as well try to get lost in the pages of a book. Anything to get away from his own thoughts.

***

Severus had hoped things would sink in, but they didn't. He still felt that this couldn't be happening, and at the moment he had started to wonder how his life could get any worse. He scowled deeply from a nook in the corner of the craft room as he folded paper cranes with a vengeance, the argument with Dumbledore still swirling in his head. The worst part was he couldn't even hide away in his room. HIS room. For all he knew Potter was there. That, and, he felt ridiculous. How was folding paper supposed to help him relax and get his mind off things?

Relax relax I don't need to relax. Fickle little paper things - Cranes, really they just fall apart fall apart, just like me and look how easily they fall into pieces just like me just like my mind -

He took one of the cranes which he had finished folding and sat tearing it to shreds as slowly as possible (look at it fall apart look at it fall apart). How could Dumbledore let this happen? How could he let Potter come here? Severus had started to think that maybe Potter had found out something was wrong with him, and then Potter had decided to fake some sort of mental illness to land himself here just so he could get some dirt on his nasty Professor in time for school to start again. Now that he thought of it, Severus wondered if Potter hadn't paid someone off to start that fire in the teen ward. No doubt he had enough gold.

Severus let out a haughty breath. No. He wasn't that paranoid ... yet. Potter couldn't have had a hand in that fire. Though he still did wonder if there really was anything wrong with the boy. Perhaps Albus was just overreacting. And then there was the matter of his betrayal, allowing Potter to be sent to Severus' ward, of all things. Severus had to admit that Albus had seemed downright shocked to find that Potter had ended up in Oak Tree. Of course, the shock may have seemed genuine enough, but Severus was still convinced that somehow Albus had merely gotten better at acting.

Staring at the little pile of paper shreds, Severus let out a deep breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. And just like that, the fight was gone from him. He was exhausted. He wished he didn't care about anything, and naturally, the mind's defence to pain and suffering, responded. Severus could feel himself going numb again. He could feel the cold sneaking up, as it always did when he had things on his mind he didn't want to think about. Leaving the pile of paper shreds on the table he stood up, and walked quietly across the room. People didn't pay much attention to him leaving. They were used to him ditching activities halfway through. There were a few that always did that, and Severus was hardly the only one with pyjamas on and his hair uncombed. It was the loony bin, after all, and it was probably a combination of his reputation and appearance that scared people away. People were too afraid to talk to him most of the time, whether he looked put together or not. They still thought he was a Death Eater.

Just like the rest of the world.

See? What's the point in staying when the world wants you gone?

Snape scoffed as he walked down the hallway. He was glad to see Potter was reading in the sitting area, because that meant that nobody would be in his room. It was his room. Not Potter's. He wished that he could have had someone else as a roommate. Anyone. Anybody. But nobody would share room with a mentally unstable Death Eater. Even an ex Death Eater at that. Not that they knew that he been discovered a few weeks before he ended up here, he thought to himself. Potter probably didn't either, but Potter likely wasn't bothered by his so called Death Eater status. He was probably just here because someone overreacted, or because he wanted to do a little snooping. Brat.

Severus pushed open the door and dragged himself into his room. He kicked his shoes off and flopped down onto his bed, pulling the covers up over his head. He was numb again. Blissfully numb. Potter was just a name now. Not a meddlesome boy, for the misty cloud had descended on his senses. He didn't care now. About anything. It was a blessing, and a curse. Depression always was, for him. It had always made it easier to clear his mind and resist the Dark Lord's Legilimency because it was difficult to discover the thoughts of a mind that didn't have the energy to think. Of course, when you needed to think, well, then you were shit out of luck.

Severus swore heavily under the covers. He wished he had been able to think that night, when the Dark Lord had called him for the last time. If he had been thinking it might not have been his last chance to spy for the Order. But most of all, he wished that Albus had just left him well enough alone up on that tower.

It was with much reluctance that Harry arrived in the afternoon outside the counselling room, where Richard was to be waiting for him. He rapped on the door. It took a moment to answer, and in that moment Harry considered turning this into a game of Knock Knock Ginger, and simply ditching the hallway as quickly as he could. He was about to turn around when Richard opened the door with a smile.

"Good to see you, Harry," he said, stepping aside. "Come on in."

Harry tried to smile back, but all he managed was a grimace. Richard didn't look concerned though, and he waved at a set of cozy looking armchairs, sitting so that they were partially facing eachother. Enough to allow for talking face to face, but not enough to make it uncomfortable. The room was painted in soft brown tones, and Harry was very pleased to see that the cheesy quotes had been dropped for the decor of the room. Of course, in their place were a few motivational posters, but they were at least fairly serious. In the corner the glitter of a pensive could be seen, and a locked cabinet sat beside it.

"Ah, I see you're admiring the pensive," Richard said with a small smile as he sunk down in the chair opposite Harry. "Have you seen one before?"

"Yeah," muttered Harry, his eyes downcast.

"Ever been in one?"

"Yes."

Upon seeing that Harry wasn't planning on elaborating Richard added that it was a good thing, because they would probably end up using it before their sessions were over.

"Right," said Harry curtly. "So what am I here for? What are these sessions supposed to do?"

"Good question," said Richard, not taking offence to Harry's blunt approach. "What are you here for, Harry? You don't have to say it to me right now. Just think."

I'm here because Dumbledore's making me be here. Harry thought miserably.

"Is your answer honest?" Richard asked.

"What?"

"Are you being honest with yourself?"

No.

"Yes."

"Alright then, let's get started," said Richard, flipping through some papers. "Whatever reason you feel you've been brought here for, the paperwork says a few of the facts. So, I understand that you've lost someone recently?"

"Yes," Harry said sharply. "But I don't want to talk about it."

"And I won't force you to," said Richard. "But it will help if you do - although some time to adjust first is in order, I think. So, how about we just start with getting to know each other?"

"You ... you aren't going to force me to talk about Sirius?" Harry asked, shocked, thinking of all the times his friends had been nudging him to confide in them.

"No, it's your choice. You may talk of him when you are ready. People tend to forget that. I won't."

"Er, okay."

Richard glanced a moment at the sheet.

"How about we start with just asking a few questions? Simple ones - don't worry. Just a little trust building exercise. I'll ask one, you ask me one. A bit like a game. Nothing too drastic."

"Alright, then," Harry said, surprised that Richard would be willing to answer questions too. "Can I go first?"

"Sure."

"What's on that paper? Did someone write bad stuff about me or something?"

"Just a few little notes about your case I made, a few comments from your friend Remus on who you are in general terms. Think of it as a vague description of a character from a book - you know, just a rough idea of who they are that helps you to picture them better."

"And what does mine say?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Hang on - my turn to ask a question."

Harry frowned. "Okay, shoot."

"What do you like to do most in the world, and why?"

Harry felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. He'd expected something harder.

"Er, probably flying. It's easy to forget the world below you, I guess."

"Good answer," said Richard, adding a small note. "Don't mind me writing some of this down - the act of writing helps me remember small details, and thus get to know you better."

"So, what do my comments or whatever say?"

"Hmm," said Richard. "There are a fair few. Here, how about this one? "Harry is a very independent thinker and is good at finding his way through difficulties using his own skills. This makes things both easy and difficult for him. He has difficulty trusting others, which has led to him becoming very resourceful and highly competent on his own." That was Dumbledore. Sound about right?"

"Yeah. I am used to doing stuff myself."

"And why is that?"

"Hey, no fair. The last one was super easy, and now you've just jumped right off the cliff into deep water."

"So the answer isn't easy. Do you want to come back to that one?"

"Okay," Harry said, relieved.

"Instead -"

"Wait, you already asked another question - when you asked me if I wanted to come back to it."

To Harry's surprise, Richard laughed, a deep belly laugh, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

"You're right, Harry. Well spotted. Your turn then."

"What made you want to help people and go into this job?"

Richard sighed softly, his forehead creasing. Harry could tell it was a tricky question, and he leaned forward slightly, wondering. Would Richard answer? Would he actually be honest?

"That one's into deep water too," muttered Richard. "Haven't gotten that one before. It's always - why are you trying to help me, but you put a new spin on it .Well done."

Harry leaned back into his chair, noting the hesitation written on Richard's features.

"The simplest way I can put it," continued Richard, to Harry's amazement, "is that I was making up for what I didn't do."

Harry stared deep into Richard's eyes, and it was clearly the truth. He saw pain in them, and a slight tremor ran through Richard's voice as he continued." My little brother killed himself when I was nineteen, and the signs were so clear, Harry. So clear. And I was too blind to see. So I went into Mind Healing. I suppose, in part, I wanted to make up for my lack of sight with my brother, Daniel, and also use what I learned from it to do some good for someone else."

"Sorry to hear," muttered Harry, and Richard just nodded.

Harry was silent for a long while, looking down at his feet, thoughtful. Richard gave him a moment to digest this. Harry spoke before Richard could ask a question of him.

"Why did you tell me that?"

Richard surveyed Harry slightly, looking at his wide eyed, hesitant expression. "I am a man of my word, Harry. You asked, and I want you to trust me, and how can you begin to unless you understand my motives for helping? I cannot help you if until we build some amount of trust between us."

Before he could back away, Harry spoke, his words coming fast. "Nobody cared about me when I was little - not even my Aunt and Uncle. That's why I'm used to doing stuff myself, and ... don't let people help."

"That's hard," said Richard, nodding slightly, and Harry, oddly enough, felt that he meant his words. "Thank you for telling me. It must have been very difficult growing up."

"It ... it was," Harry said, silently thinking just how strange it was to say it. To admit it, and have someone agree. It felt good. "Yeah. It was really hard."

"Do people care about you now?" asked Richard, the question game seeming forgotten by both of them. Harry didn't mind so much. Richard reminded him a little of Remus, in some ways, only a little less oblivious.

"I ... I think they do," Harry said quietly to his feet, toeing the carpet with the tip of his trainer.

"They wouldn't bring you here if they didn't care," was the soft reply. "I know you don't really want to be here, Harry. But sometimes the best things can come from the things that seem the worst at the time."

"I hope so," muttered Harry.

Richard smiled softly. "Me too."

Surprised at himself, Harry felt himself smile back slightly, if only for a moment.

***

The rest of the hour session had gone well. Richard had given Harry a piece of paper with a drawing of a brain on it and gotten him to write a few of the feelings he had been experiencing lately, so they could decide how to address them and how to cope with them. Among them were confusion, anger, injustice, fear, grief, instability. The last one had been written after Harry described the feeling he'd had of walking on a wire lately, and Richard had suggested the word to fit it. Harry thought that it described it fairly well. When he was done the session, Richard and he said goodbye, and Harry left for the day, promising to return at the same time the following day.

Overall, it hadn't been that bad, and Harry was at least sure that Richard wasn't horrible. He seemed alright, which was good. Harry returned to his room to find Snape lying on his bed again, staring at the ceiling.

"So, did they give you the list of reasons why you're crazy?" Snape drawled.

Harry just shrugged and flopped down on his own bed for a moment.

"Whose list is longer, do you think?" Harry added after a long moment of silence, more out of curiosity as to what Snape would say than anything.

"Mine." The word had come without thinking, and he quickly added, "Discussion closed, now go away."

After that, Snape turned his back to Harry and refused to say another word upon Harry asking him what he meant. Even when Harry asked something as simple as "Have you seen my socks?" he remained that way.

Fed up with silence, Harry got up and left for the craft room to wait for supper. He sat and drew abstract scribbles with black ink, making the fine tipped art quill travel in circles, over and over and over. All the while, Harry wondered what was on Snape's list.

***

It did not seem too long to Harry before everyone was shuffling off to bed. Supper had been alright, although he wasn't really all that hungry, and had only managed a bowl of soup. Snape had actually shown up to that, although he had spent most of the time just pouring his soup from his spoon into the bowl again. Harry wondered what was making Snape lose his appetite like this. Most of all however, he wondered why his Professor was here. The comment earlier had set him thinking about it, and the more he did so, the less he liked the idea of Snape being here.

Quite honestly, it scared him a little bit, to see Snape in a place like this. Harry had spent much of the meal contemplating this, and observing Snape from a distance. He was a bit of an odd sight. Gloomy, shadows under his eyes, and clothed in nothing but black in a brightly coloured room with inspirational sayings painted on the walls here and there. Nearly the whole place was like that, Harry had come to realize. Most of the ward was painted in warm, bright shades, and almost every room had a few quotations on the wall of things that were supposed to be helpful. Only the bedrooms were bare of any ‘helpful' messages.

After supper Snape promptly disappeared, and Harry spent away the rest of the evening reading anything but the stupid sayings on the walls. Harry found these little sayings irked him a great deal, especially as he wandered down the hall to his room. No, he and Snape's room. He grimaced at the thought. Amidst the rest of the men and teenage boys wandering off to their beds, Harry felt more alone than ever. He hadn't really talked to anyone today. He had kept to himself, and people had seemed to respect that. Harry supposed it was a sort of unwritten rule in this place, only disturbing those who wanted to be.

He crept quietly into the room. He had thought Snape would be sleeping, but was surprised to find him sitting on his bed, flipping through the pages of a green cloth-backed book without really paying attention to it.

"Hello," Harry said, trying to be friendly. Snape said nothing in return, so Harry went over to his things and grabbed his toothbrush.

He retreated into the small bathroom to brush his teeth and put his pyjamas on. When he came out he sat down on his own bed and stared out the small window. It puzzled him to see a field, and a grove of trees at the edge of it, waving in the wind beneath the starlight. It looked quite real to him, despite the fact that he knew St. Mungo's to be located well within the city of London.

"They charm the windows, the sneaky bastards," Snape spat rudely, having put his book on the side table and noticed Harry's confusion. "They think it's calming."

Harry almost laughed for a second. The way Snape said the word ‘calming' had been almost funny. It was as though Snape thought the charming of windows to be a criminal offence. Clearly this had been bothering him a long time. Harry turned to look at his professor, who had gotten off of his bed and was glaring at the window with a vengeance.

"They make sure it never rains because they figure it's depressing," continued Snape, arms crossed. "Annoying as hell in my opinion. I like rain. What's wrong with rain, anyway?"

The last few words Snape practically growled, eyes narrowed in disgust. His robes billowed as he turned on his heel, toothbrush in hand.

The image made Harry have to cover his mouth to avoid laughing. Although, he had to admit, Snape did have a point. Rain was rather calming, so long as it didn't linger for too long. Harry pulled off his socks and got into bed, plumping his pillow slightly. Snape emerged in a few minutes, looking odd to Harry in pyjamas. He was wearing a grey cotton shirt, and a pair of plaid flannel pyjama bottoms. Harry wasn't surprised they had green on them. Despite having seen Snape wandering around the ward earlier wearing pyjamas, Harry still felt it was strange.

"Er, mind if I turn off the light?" Snape asked. At first his voice was awkward, but his usual spite returned fairly quickly. "Or are you afraid of the dark?"

His insides simmering, Harry told himself silently to ignore the barb.

"Go ahead," he told Snape through gritted teeth.

Harry stared back at the ceiling as the light went out. After a moment he heard Snape's mattress creak. In the room the tension was thick enough the air could have been served as lumpy, pea soup. It was dead silent, except for the occasional shuffle of someone moving in their bed. After a while, much to Harry's surprise, Snape spoke.

"Did Dumbledore tell you why I am here?" Snape asked calmly.

Harry continued to stare at the ceiling, but answered, "No."

Snape paused before speaking.

"You have not told anyone where I am?"

"No sir. I couldn't even if I wanted. You know, the contract."

"Right. Well, my position as a spy was compromised," continued Snape after a few moments. "I am here in hiding, as this is the last place The Dark Lord would think to look for me. "

"So, it's all an act to fool him, being here?" Harry replied, feeling his stomach sink to the ground. Snape's position couldn't have been revealed, could it have been? It would explain some of Snape's miserable demeanour. He was probably pretty angry about being stuck in hiding. Of course, that was assuming he was telling the truth.

"Yes," Snape said sharply. "Naturally. And in case you are too stupid to come to such a conclusion yourself, it is therefore imperative you do not even allude to others that there is someone here you know, or tell any of the other patients I am just here in hiding. It would not do for the Dark Lord to find either of us. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good, and if you dare to look for loopholes in that contract they give everyone, I will know. And so will the Dark Lord, because if he even hears a whisper of either of us being here, the whole hospital is in danger."

And with that final word, the tension settled over the room once more.

Harry tried to get to sleep, mind swirling at this piece of information. Dumbledore had only said to him that it was of utmost importance that he avoid letting on Snape was here too, and had not said why. Was Snape really just confined here because it was a good cover? Harry thought about it for a moment, and the more he did so, the more sense it made. He could certainly see that even if it did get out, Snape being in a psychiatric ward did make him look a little less of a threat to the Dark Lord. The Order would be likely to question Snape's information if he landed himself in the loony bin, so making this look the case would play to Voldemort's interest.

The Order. Harry frowned. They wouldn't have a spy now. With a sinking heart he wondered what the Order was going to do now that there was nobody on the inside to inform them of Voldemort's movements. How many more lives would be lost? How many of Voldemort's plans would go untold, until it was too late? He rolled over on his side, dread filling the pit of his stomach. This wouldn't bode well for him either.

***

Harry had hardly slept at all during the night. He had tossed and turned constantly, mulling over all that had happened and afraid to sleep in case he had a nightmare. He suspected he may have slept a few hours from about three am to five am, but he didn't remember any dreams so he wasn't quite sure. Snape was sleeping still. Being used to rising early from years of living with the Dursleys, Harry did not so much mind this. Harry got dressed in the semi darkness of the room, the blinds still closed. He had a feeling that Snape might just kill him if he woke him before he wanted to be, and Harry wasn't keen to stay in bed solely because he would have to stay in a room with Snape longer. Otherwise, he probably would have.

Carefully, he pulled on a long-sleeved shirt, covering up the scars and cuts. In the dim light he examined his left knuckle. It didn't hurt anymore, but there was a gash on there, which kept opening up and bleeding. He wondered why the healers hadn't used magic to mend the wounds. He frowned, supposing it probably had something to do with him coming to terms with the problem himself, or something like that. He wished the gash wasn't so visible, though.

Sitting on his bed and pulling on his socks, Harry stared at the paper cranes sitting on the little table between their beds. There were more on top of Snape's book than there had been when Harry went to bed. Harry had to have slept, then, or at least for some amount of time, as Snape must have folded them sometime in the night. The tiny stack of paper next to the book was also smaller.

Snape let out a soft snore. Harry started slightly, but his professor did not wake. It was strange to see Snape sleeping. He had never thought much about it, that his Professor had to sleep too. He noticed that Snape practically curled up into a ball when he slept. His left hand was just sticking out from under the covers. His fingers twitched as he slept. Harry tore his gaze away from the peculiar sight, and slowly stood up, trying not to make a sound. He crept across the room and put his shoes on. With one last incredulous glance back at his professor, Harry slipped out the door and into the hallway.

It was seven-thirty when Harry walked into the main room. A few early-birds were milling about, reading or visiting with each other. Many of the sofas in the sitting area were full. Most seemed to be waiting for eight-o-clock, when breakfast started.

Harry took a seat by the window and looked out. These windows too were charmed to a pretty wilderness scene. The waving trees and flying birds did what they must have been meant to, and greatly calmed Harry's troubled mind. His eyes wandered over to a large willow tree. It waved lazily in the breeze. A falling sensation suddenly pierced Harry's stomach as the image of the Whomping Willow filled his vision, and Sirius coming out of the passage. Sirius asking him to live with him. Sirius laughing. Sirius telling him Harry reminded him of James. Sirius flying off into the night on the back of a Hippogriff ...

Sirius falling through the veil.

"Are you alright?" asked a voice, and Harry opened his eyes, not realizing he had been clenching them shut.

It was a woman who had asked the question. She looked to be in her early thirties. She was wearing set of blue, casual robes, and her long blonde hair was in a loose, slightly messy ponytail.

"Er ... sorry, stupid question," she said, looking down at him.

"That's alright," Harry said, twisting his hands in his lap and ignoring the slight sting of the scrapes on his knuckles.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked.

"Sure," Harry said, noticing that most of the seats in the room were already occupied.

"Thanks. I'm Daisy."

"Harry."

"What were you thinking about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Bit of a difficult question to answer," he muttered.

"That's fine. I didn't really expect one," she said good-naturedly. "Welcome to Oak Tree, by the way. I noticed you coming in yesterday."

"Thanks."

"I've been here a few weeks already, so I know my way around pretty well," Daisy explained. "If you have any questions about the place, feel free to ask me anytime."

Harry frowned for a moment. "Do you know who Severus Snape is?"

"Hmm ... yeah, I've seen him around," she replied slowly. "Why?"

"I was just wondering how long he's been here," Harry said. "He's my roommate."

"Oh. I think he's probably been here for ... four or five days? Hasn't really been out of his room much, though."

"Thanks."

"I take it you aren't too pleased to be sharing a room with him?" she said, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "When you said you were roommates you looked like you had eaten a lemon." She giggled slightly.

"Not really. He teaches me potions at school, and he really hates me," Harry said miserably. "And neither of us knew that each other would be here, because I was supposed to be in the teen ward."

"That's awkward," she said. "Perhaps he just needs to get to know who you really are. Maybe things will improve."

"I can't really see that happening."

"You never know. Maybe he'll relax a little. I hope that's how it goes. Anyway, I promised I would wake my roommate Shelley before breakfast starts, so I had better get going. It was nice meeting you, Harry."

"Nice meeting you too," Harry said honestly.

As she was getting up, Daisy added, "You know, I think you would get along well with some of the other teenage boys if you approached them. Steven's a nice kid - he's the one with the curly hair. You should say hello when he comes down the breakfast. I bet you two would find a lot in common with each other."

"Maybe I will say hi."

"You should. See you around, Harry."

Daisy went over to the women's side, leaving Harry to migrate over to the dining room along with the others waiting for breakfast. They had just started serving, and Harry lined up to get his food. There was a fair bit of choice, but Harry ended up getting a slice of toast, an orange, and a glass of apple juice. His talk with Daisy had distracted him enough from Sirius so that he felt hungrier than he normally did. He glanced over at the schedule written on the chalkboard at the front of the dining hall. There were a number of activities after breakfast. He didn't particularly want to go anywhere, and thought for a moment that perhaps he would just go to his room for a while. And then he saw the activity: ‘Ground Quidditch', which was located in the gym. A part of Harry wanted to disappear into his room, but a larger part really didn't want to go back there in case Snape was hanging around. So Harry finished his breakfast and thumbed through a book while he waited for nine-thirty, so that he could got to the activity.

When breakfast finally finished Harry made his way across the sitting room, down the hall across from it and into a large room. It was bare except for one wall entirely with mirrors. Harry supposed they must be charmed not to break, if this room was for things like Ground Quidditch. The floor was of shining wood, like one would find in a gymnasium. There was a large storage room open at one end, holding a mismatched jumble of equipment, of which some things Harry didn't recognize. He saw a few battered quaffles, and before he knew it he was starting to get excited despite himself. He milled about the room, waiting for others to show up. People slowly migrated inside, until a group of about ten had formed. Four of them were teenage boys, yawning and muttering about having to get up early for the best activity. Harry supposed that the one standing near the storage room must be Steven, as he was the only one with curly hair as Daisy had described. Harry didn't have the nerve to talk to him however, and waited for the activity to begin.

After a few minutes passed and someone wearing one of the name tags that the staff wore entered the room. She was a taller woman, her hair pulled back in a bun. She had a whistle.

"Hello everyone!" she said enthusiastically. "Today's gymnasium activity is Ground Quidditch. Does anyone not know the rules?"

Harry looked around as he raised his hand nervously. Only one other person had not played before.

"Do you know the rules for regular Quidditch?" she asked, and both Harry and the other girl that had put up her hand said yes.

"Well, that will make Ground Quidditch a lot easier," she said cheerfully. Harry squinted to read her name tag. It said her name was Sandy. "It's quite a lot like regular Quidditch, except that you will be running around rather than flying, and there are only six players on each team, rather than seven.The reason for having fewer players is due to the fact that the seeker does not spend the entire game hunting down the snitch, as space is usually an issue with Ground Quidditch. Instead, any one of the players on a team will be nominated to be the seeker, and will drop their position near the end of the game for the showdown between the seekers.

"This last part happens when the designated amount of time that is to be spent playing, ends. It varies from place to place. Each team will then blindfold their seeker, and someone will put a stationary ball, being the snitch, somewhere along the pitch. The teams will be at one end of the room, and will then direct their seeker through voice commands toward the snitch. Whichever seeker arrives at the snitch and picks it up first wins. The snitch, unlike in regular quidditch, is not worth 150 points. It is instead worth fifty, seeing as there is less time for goal scoring, and less speed in this version of the game due to the lack of brooms.

"Another difference in Ground Quidditch is that the beaters do not get bats, and instead have dodgeballs. They will be throwing them at the players. Same rules apply as in Quidditch, and if someone is hit they must drop any of the balls they are holding and spin around five times before resuming play. The idea is to mimic the disorientation a bludger hit causes. The rest is just like Quidditch. Are there any questions?"

There was a general murmuring of no, and so Sandy continued.

"Alright, Steven and Louise are team captains. Steven, heads or tails?"

"Tails," said Steven as he and Louise ( an older, red haired woman) moved to the front of the group.

Sandy flipped the knut, catching it deftly and slapping it down on her hand.

"Heads. Louise, you pick first."

Louise chose a woman named June, and then Steven chose one of the teens, named Kyle. The two proceeded to choose their teams. Harry ended up on a team with Steven, having been picked near the end. At last, Sandy joined Steven's team to even out the teams, so that there were six players on each.

There was a rabble of noise as the two teams huddled together to talk strategy and decide a name for their team. Harry snorted loudly when someone suggested Crackpots United, and to his delight, the name stuck. The other team, comprised mostly of women, chose Unicorn Blitz. The only man part of Unicorn Blitz (whom Harry learned quickly was named Jonah) did not seem to mind the girlish name however, as he was too busy flirting with his teammates

The game began, and by the time the first goal was scored, Harry knew he liked ground Quidditch, even though there wasn't any flying involved. His team members seemed to be impressed with his reflexes, and Harry ended up being passed to quite a lot. He scored three goals for his team, although, in reality, this wasn't entirely that much of an achievement seeing as Jonah was the keeper, and spent most of the game focusing his attention catching himself a date rather than the quaffle.

An hour later the main part of the game wrapped up with the score 80 to 70 for Crackpots United. Unicorn Blitz, while slightly hindered by Jonah's keeping, had a wicked offense. It was anyone's game, and the time had come for someone to be nominated for seeker.

"I think we should let the new guy have a go," said Sandy while their team panted on the sidelines. "What do you say, Harry?"

Sure," he said, grinning. "It'll be the first time I'll have caught a snitch with my eyes closed, though."

"That's not what I've heard," snorted Steven, a few of the other guys agreeing. Harry thought he recognized one or two a year above him at Hogwarts. "I'm home-schooled, and even I've heard about your Seeking skills."

"Really?" Harry said, taken aback.

"Yeah, I have friends back home that go to Hogwarts. They think you're some kind of ninja." Harry couldn't stop the shock from showing on his face. "What, that surprises you? "

"Well, people are usually more interested in my stupid forehead than the rest of me," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

A few people chuckled, and then Sandy got the blindfold ready.

"Who am I seeking against?" Harry asked Steven as Sandy tied it around his eyes. He had given her his glasses for the moment.

"Ladies, please, don't all try to blindfold me at once. You can each have a turn later."

"Never mind," Harry said, rolling his eyes while Sandy busted a gut laughing at whatever Jonah was doing nearby.

"Alright, the snitch has been placed," called Sandy once both teams were ready. "Let the seeking begin!"

"Forward, Harry!" one of the teens called, and he started forward.

"Right, go right, Jonah!"

"No, your other right!"

"STOP, HARRY! Okay, Jonah's passed you now. Take three steps, then start going right."

Harry obeyed.

"Run Harry!"

Harry grit his teeth and started to speed ahead, holding his arms out in front of him. Nearby he could hear Jonah's feet clattering across the floor.

"Okay, stop!" he heard Sandy yell.

"Go back, Jonah!"

"Two steps forward, Harry! At your feet! GRAB IT!"

Harry knelt down and groped along the ground. His hands found a small, cool ball.

"Yes!" he said gleefully as Crackpots United let out a roof-rattling cheer.

He took his blindfold off and was met with high fives all around.

"Good directions," Harry said to his teammates, smiling.

"Ladies, ladies, calm down," said Jonah. "We may have lost the game, but you still get the prize."

He flexed his muscles a little, and most of Unicorn Blitz rolled their eyes before bursting into laughter and making their way out of the gym.

"Aw, come on, these muscles are so golden Gringotts is just begging to get their hands on them!" he called after them.

"Cool it, Jonah," said Sandy with a grin.

"Only for you, my darling," said Jonah, smoothing his pristine hair and straightening his robes before leaving the gym.

Harry followed his team out into the main area, where they all milled about for a few minutes before lunch.

"So, what do you think of ground Quidditch?" Steven asked.

"Pretty good," said Harry. "I haven't had that much fun in ... well ..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Steven, looking thoughtful suddenly at the expression on Harry's face. "I kind of forgot what fun was like for a long time too. But this place is pretty good for reminding you of that from time to time, oddly enough."

"I'm starting to think that maybe this isn't going to be so bad," said Harry thoughtfully.

"It's mostly pretty good. Well, except for the showers. No locks and all, and sometimes people forget to knock. Annoying security measure if you ask me."

"I bet Jonah likes it though," Harry said under his breath.

Steven gave a rather surprised sounding laugh, to Harry's delight.

The small dinner bell was rung, signalling lunch-time, and Steven stood up.

"Want to join me and the rest of the guys for lunch?" he said, hands in his pockets.

"Sure," Harry said, following him into the lunch area. As Steven waited in line for food in front of Harry, he rolled up his slightly too long sleeves so that he wouldn't get the cuffs in the soup as he took the ladle and poured himself a bowl.

Harry saw the scars.

His first thought was of unspeakable relief that he was not alone. The second was that Daisy was too clever for her own good.

Harry was exhausted by the end of the day. Between Ground Quidditch and meeting all those new people, and a lack of sleep from the night before, he felt dead on his feet both emotionally and physically. That, and he'd had another session with Richard, and with a few prompts he had started to talk about what life had been like at the Dursleys. Richard had said people coped with death in such different ways, and a lot of it had to do with where they came from and where they learned their coping skills. So he'd asked Harry about his family, and Harry couldn't believe how much it hurt to talk about growing up with the Dursleys. He had always sort of believed he didn't care about what his relatives thought, but after the hour with Richard, Harry had realized a few things he hadn't really paid attention to before. For example, he had unreasonably high standards for himself. He had always known he had trust issues, but not trusting had become normal. It wasn't though, and he had been taught growing up with the Dursleys that if he wanted something, he always had to do it himself, and making mistakes was never an option. Making mistakes meant you didn't get dinner for a few days.

Maybe that was why he couldn't forgive himself for Sirius. It was his fault though. It really was, and he had basically killed the only adult who had given a damn about him. Well, Remus cared about him, but not quite in the way Sirius had. He'd made a fatal mistake, and for mistakes there was no forgiveness. Just punishment.

Harry sighed, leaning against the wall outside his and Snape's room. He didn't want to go in there. Snape was probably inside, but there was a half-hour of quiet time before supper started at six, and Harry was exhausted. His eyes felt blurry, so quiet reading was out of the question. But he wasn't sure if he could face Snape, or anyone else for that matter, because he had cried a lot in the session with Richard. Harry had tried so hard not to, but he'd never, ever talked about what it was like at the Dursleys and it was like some sort of tidal wave came over him, and he couldn't keep himself together. The trouble was that he hadn't spoken of a lot of his life aloud because he had been convincing himself that if he didn't speak of it it wasn't really happening. That was just how it was. In difficult situations, it was easier not to talk about what was happening on a day to day basis. There was some sort of unspoken rule about it - and it was the same as when Umbridge had been ruling over the school. Sure, it was hell to live through, but you didn't talk about hell while you were in it. He saw this practise in others too during Umbridge's reign. The ones that had learned how to survive just didn't talk of the bad things while they were happening, because if you talked about them, they broke you.

That was Harry's way of going about it. The Dursleys, Umbridge, everything that was going wrong. Only until that world was far away could you stop to think about it all. The Dursleys, however, Harry had rarely ever stopped to think about, because as a kid if he thought about all the things they did, it got too hard to get out of bed every day. One day he just stopped reminding himself of what had happened, but earlier today he'd had to go back and think about all the things he'd refused to. And so he knew very well his eyes were puffy and he had shadows under them, and his face was blotchy from crying. He knew that he looked a mess, and he felt like only a breath of wind or a single insult might just bowl him over and break him into a million pieces.

But it was Snape or an entire room full of people he hardly knew. It was the devil he knew versus the devil he didn't, so he went in. After all that worrying, however, the empty room seemed almost like an insult. Snape wasn't there.

Look at you, all worked up for nothing.

Harry clenched his teeth together, then shut the door forcefully behind him. He relished in the way it made the window rattle. He leaned against the wall and sunk to the floor, resting his elbows on his knees and staring up at the dull grey ceiling.

"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath and shut his eyes.

***

Severus was sitting in his usual spot in the craft room. It was one of the only places he could stand being besides his room, which now had an unfortunate lump underfoot named Harry James Potter. Thus, with a stack of black craft paper beside him he folded paper cranes over and over and over. He had a pile of about fifteen when someone sat down beside him.

He looked up in shock. Everyone was terrified to sit near him. Nobody ever ate by him, and he did nothing to discourage this. The person he imagined would have the gall to sit near him would probably be a very frightening fellow indeed. But the person that sat here was a woman, wearing light pink robes and her blonde hair back in a ponytail with a pink ribbon.

"Anyone sitting here?" she said, gesturing to the chair beside him at the table. "Mind if I do?"

"Chair isn't taken. I don't mind."

"Why black paper?" she asked curiously as she sunk into the chair, set down a battered looking sketchbook, and pulled a pencil from behind her ear.

"I like it," said Severus slowly, through gritted teeth.

"I can tell," said the woman, gesturing to his black robes, which were slightly wrinkled. They were a more casual set, rather than the ones he wore to teach.

Strangely enough, she didn't say it like an insult. It just was.

"I'm Daisy, by the way," she said, her eyes sparkling as she smiled and the light caught them.

"Severus," he muttered back, looking away and continuing to fold cranes.

They worked in silence for a few moments, and Severus kept stealing glances at her.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" he said at last, his words coming out with a suddenness that came across as awkward.

"Oh, I don't know," said Daisy with a shrug. "If Albus Dumbledore hired you as a teacher you can't be that dangerous, can you? And he's usually right about things."

"Sound logic," said Severus in genuine surprise.

"I thought so," Daisy said mildly as she meticulously erased a portion of the pine tree she was sketching. "Besides, some of the women are really very catty, and quite frankly, I'd rather risk being over here."

Daisy stared over at the group of other women, sitting around a table and chatting a distance away.

"Women," said Severus darkly, focusing so much on his paper crane he wasn't thinking about his words. "Beastly things."

The scratch of Daisy's pencil faded, and Severus looked up to see why. She had placed her furthest elbow on the table and had her hand on her chin, and was staring at him with an expression that denoted a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Not all of them," Severus said quickly, realizing his mistake. "Just ... some."

"No worries - I know what you mean," she said, clearly trying to suppress a smile as she went back to drawing.

In silence they continued, and the pile of cranes grew until Severus had around thirty, by which time he'd run out of paper. Daisy seemed to have finished her drawing of a pine tree, and she rubbed her eyes slightly. She glanced over at Severus' pile of cranes.

"Wow, you're fast at that," said Daisy in surprise. "You know, if you fold a thousand of those, there's a legend that says you can make a wish and it'll be granted."

"Yes, I think I heard that somewhere," said Severus, recalling a book Lily had once read and told him of. He glanced over at her pine tree. It was excellent. "Your pine tree turned out nice."

Despite the modest word choice, Daisy must have seen the admiration on his face, because she smiled and eased the piece of paper out of her sketchbook.

"Here, you can keep it," she said, pushing it over to him. "I've done at least twenty since I came. They're more fun to give away anyway, and the rooms are so plain here they could use a bit of decor. Well, besides those stupid charmed windows."

"Er, thanks," Severus said, shocked.

Daisy smiled.

"Nice meeting you, Severus," she said, tucking her sketchbook under her arm and getting up.

He watched her walk out of the craft room until her pink pastel robes had fluttered round the door frame, still surprised she had had the nerve to talk to him. Severus rather wished he'd given her a few cranes in return for the picture. It really was well drawn.

Feeling slightly less dismal than before (and oddly light-headed, for some reason), Severus dragged the pile of cranes over to a paper box he had folded a while ago, the size of a large book, and put the lid on. He tucked it under his arm and made his way back to his room, Daisy's picture in his other hand. He knew just where to hang it.

Thinking that maybe things weren't quite so bad after all (though still bad, admittedly), Severus stared down at the picture he was holding, paying little attention to the hulking figure a few steps away.

He was given a nasty shock when the man rammed his shoulder into him, sending him flying, the box and picture included. The black paper cranes spilt across the floor, flightless and scattered haphazardly along the corridor. Severus ended up halfway slumped down the wall, his hair in his face and panting with the shock, trying to keep his breathing under control. He hadn't taken well to sudden movements or loud noises since being tortured, and sometimes it sent him into a panic. Severus didn't like to think of those times, and he was glad nobody had really been around when they had happened. He fought the feeling now, his head spinning with the sudden shock and his chest hurting.

"Traitor scum," said the man, much taller than Severus. He seemed to be in his mid-forties, and had numerous scars along his neck and face, some shallow and some deep. Severus thought he might have been an Auror once. The man glared at him, then scoffed at the paper cranes before grinding his heel into a few of them. He stared Severus down, then turned to leave. "Later, Snape."

The man spat his name like a curse, and Severus was unable to say a word. He just froze up. It was only for a few seconds, but by the time he came up with something to say back, the man had sauntered off to another man that had been waiting at the end of the corridor. The Auror's friend clapped him over the back and they walked around the corner.

Severus sunk down to the ground. He let out a wheezing breath. Nobody was in sight. His stomach felt hollow and empty. The trampled black cranes littered the area around him. After a moment, Severus swept them all up and dumped them back in the box, grabbing Daisy's picture and walking numbly into his room. He shut the door behind him, and slumped against it, exhausted.

Potter was lying in bed, hair even messier than usual and eyes puffy. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, paying no attention to Severus. Severus might have been surprised if he had any feeling left to be surprised with.

Severus threw his shoes off and his outer robe, not bothering to fold it and put it on the set of drawers for his clothing, and instead letting it fall to the floor. He set Daisy's picture on the bedside table, then dropped the box of paper cranes there as well. The box lid slid off and a few of the crumpled origami birds fell onto the floor between his bed and Potter's. Severus stared at them wearily for a second, with their bent wings and broken bills. Then fell into bed in his trousers and shirt, pulling the covers up to his chin, staring up at the ceiling like it was the only thing that existed.

"You too, sir?" said Potter hoarsely.

"Yeah," Severus replied in a low, hollow voice.

Then they were silent. Neither went to supper. Harry remained still, almost hoping someone would come and make him go. But nobody tried. Richard must have bailed him out, mentioning it was an upsetting session. Maybe that was why one of the healers came by with a little tray of crackers and fruit, which was left on the small table in their room. Snape had feigned sleeping.

So the food went untouched, and Harry wanted to yell at it. Scream at it. Find the healer that had left it and knock his block off. It was stupid, he knew, but he wanted to.

Make me go I dare you let me start a fight anything better than this tired numbness. Anything better than this ache, this knowledge I couldn't do anything to stop the stupid Dursleys from locking me in a fucking cupboard. Weakness weak.

This was how the night passed. Nearly sleepless, a fire in his gut. He must have slept a little though, for Harry awoke late in the morning to notice that Snape's bed was empty.

It was only as he was getting dressed for the day, roughly pulling threads off of his unwinding jumper that he thought back to how Snape had acted last night. Harry had been so caught up in himself he hadn't paused to think. Now that he was paying attention, he could not help but feel that the way his Professor had seemed last night was a convincing act, on Snape's part. Which made him wonder if Snape really was hiding from Voldemort. Because maybe ... he was hiding from something else too.

"Damn it all!" Harry swore as he tore a hole in his jumper after pulling the wrong thread, driving all thoughts of Snape from his mind.

He had a feeling today was going to be a difficult one.

***

"Hey, where were you at supper yesterday?" asked Steven as Harry at last joined him at the breakfast table. Steven appeared to have slept in a bit this morning, as the rest of the boys had already started up a card game in the sitting area not far away, done eating. Steven, who had just gotten a plate, was spreading inhuman amounts of peanut butter on his toast.

"Didn't feel like it," Harry said with a shrug, picking at his own toast. Not like anyone can make me go, anyway. Harry bit back this comment, swallowing his anger so as not to ruin his almost friendship with Steven. The last thing he needed was to blow up over something stupid and scare off the only person who was interested in talking to him. It wasn't as though he was angry at Steven. The trouble was that the shock of moving here had just started to wear off, leaving Harry stewing in his usual thoughts.

"Why not?" Steven asked.

Harry looked at him a moment, noting the look on Steven's face. It was one of understanding. It didn't judge.

"I got talking about my family with Richard yesterday," Harry said at last, albeit distastefully.

"Your family's not great either?" Steven said, setting his piece of toast down.

"No," Harry said, scoffing. "They kind of hate me. And not just the usual teenager stuff, like the I hate my life so my family must hate me thing."

"Sorry to hear," Steven said. "Dunno what your family's like exactly ... but at least for me, my parents are really controlling, so I get you on that level. I mean, they won't even let me go to Hogwarts, and made me do home-schooling instead. They were worried I'd ... well, make them look bad or something. It sucks, huh?"

"Yeah, whereas my relatives can't wait to be rid of me," muttered Harry dully. "They don't give a damn whether I live or die. You know, I could even tell they were disappointed that I actually was around to go to their place again last summer, because Dumbledore sent them a letter explaining how I almost got killed in the Triwizard Tournament. It kind of sounds crazy, but it is true."

"Rough," Steven said, grimacing.

"What did you mean by saying your family was worried you'd make them look bad by going to Hogwarts?" Harry said curiously, taking a bite of toast, some of his appetite returning with distraction, the hot bubbling in his chest lowering slightly with the conversation. "If you don't mind me asking."

Steven blushed slightly.

"I don't mind. They were worried I'd ... I dunno," Steven said, picking at his own toast now. "See, my family's pureblood, and purebloods have this thing where they have to fit in and do all the right things, and keep up the family name. And I'm not exactly normal, so ..."

"Seem okay to me," said Harry with a shrug.

"Yeah, but when I was a couple months away from going to Hogwarts I went to this summer camp for magical children," said Steven dismally. "And I met a boy there who was a lot like I was and we got talking ... and found out we were both different, and that we both ... well, sort of figured we liked ... boys."

He looked at Harry like he was waiting for him to leave the table.

"And your parents found out?" Harry said, the picture growing clearer. He was a little surprised, but he didn't show it. Steven seemed like just another one of the guys, so Harry would never have guessed. Harry had met a few people who were gay. Hogwarts did have a few, some really obvious, others just blending in like Steven. But come to think of it, none of them were purebloods as far as he knew. He wondered if they had similar problems as Steven.

"Yeah," said Steven, sounding relieved Harry hadn't missed a beat. "My father showed up to pick me up from camp, and he found me and Josh - that was the boy - holding hands. And my Dad ... he got sort of quiet and asked me why I was doing that. And because I was stupid I said it was because I liked Josh. My father didn't say a word, but when we got home asked if I meant that I liked Josh as a friend, and I told my Dad no, that I liked Josh the way he liked Mum. I was stupid. I should have known, but Dad got really mad and before I knew it I was going to be home schooled so they could watch me and try and ... and stamp it out of me."

Harry saw that Steven's eyes filled with tears and Harry felt his stomach clench. Stephen blinked them away, and Harry opened his dry mouth to speak.

"That's ... that's like my magic," Harry added in a low voice. "My Aunt and Uncle call me a freak. You know, for being able to do magic. And they spent years trying to make me stop being magical. I couldn't help it, though, right? But they still thought that I was a freak for it, and tried to stop me doing it."

"Didn't know your family was so much like mine," said Steven with a shaky smile.

"Yeah, who knew?" Harry said in a low voice. He smiled slightly at Steven too. "I guess that makes us friends, then."

"Friends," said Steven, a proper grin spreading across his features as he reached across the table to shake Harry's hand. Harry reached up too, but as he did so, his sleeve fell back, and Steven saw the scratches. His grin faded to seriousness, and Steven looked Harry in the eye. He nodded. The two shook hands.

***

"What's the poetry club like?" Harry asked Stephen curiously as they studied the bulletin board later in the day.

"Never been," said Stephen. "Words aren't my thing. Give me potions though, and I can really go places."

"Snape would probably like you then," Harry said, amused, looking around to make sure Snape wasn't nearby. "My roommate, that is. Snape's brilliant at potions. Downright evil teacher if you're not up to his standard though - don't tell him I said that - but definitely knows his stuff. I just wish I understood half of what he went on about. I think I'd make a better poet, honestly. We did creative writing in primary. It was fun."

"Go be a poet then," Stephen said with a shrug. "I get all the letters swapped around, so I think I might go help tend the herb garden. We can meet up with the rest of the guys for lunch or something."

"Herb garden?" Harry said, surprise.

"Yeah, didn't you know? They have a nice little courtyard that connects to Oak Tree and Willow Branch. They keep a garden in it, and twice a week they have a group go out and pick fresh basil, mint, and things for the kitchens. They also grow some of the tamer potions ingredients for the hospital too. They even have a pet goat that keeps the grass short, which is way cool."

"Um, think I'll stick to poetry," said Harry apologetically. "My relatives have made me do enough gardening to last a lifetime."

"Yeah, can't blame you," said Steven. "See you later, Harry." He waved after Harry as he went over to join the group quickly gathering in one of the corners of the room.

Harry stood there a moment, thinking. Snape wasn't anywhere to be seen. He had a distinct feeling that if there was any activity Snape would like, this was it. He checked his watch, noting that there was still five minutes before the gardening group left.

Shaking his head at himself, and wondering why he was doing this (because you wish someone would do this for you if there was an activity you might like, you effing martyr), he rushed off to his and Snape's room.

He found Snape lying on his bed, a book in hand that he was flipping through disinterestedly.

"Sir, they have a group of people going out to pick potion ingredients and herbs," Harry said, slightly out of breath. "They leave in five minutes. Thought you might want to know.'

Snape stared.

"What do you want, company?" said Snape distastefully over the book, glaring fiercely.

"No, I'm going to do, er, poetry," Harry said weakly (Did you think he'd actually be pleased you told him, you moron?). "I just thought you might find the garden interesting."

"Poetry," Snape said, rolling his eyes. "Of course that is where you are going. Thank you for that useless piece of information regarding the herb garden, Potter. Now leave me alone."

"You don't need to bite my head off - I was just trying to make a suggestion!" Harry snapped back, clenching his fists tightly and biting his teeth into his cheek for a moment. "And you actually wonder why nobody wants to be around you?"

Harry turned on his heel and left. He was halfway down the corridor when he stopped dead in his tracks, finally registering the expression he'd seen on Snape's face before turning and storming off. Harry looked back just in time to see the door slam forcefully. The sound echoed through the corridor. It resonated hauntingly through Harry's mind, like a bell's last toll in an empty church. It made Harry feel strangely cold to the bone. And again he saw the reaction, the expression that shocked him to the core.

Snape's face had crumpled. Like he was going to cry (You lied to me Professor, you lied -).

That wasn't the Snape Harry knew. That wasn't Professor Snape at all. Snape would never do that normally. And if Snape had lied about being here only because he was in hiding (and after that reaction Harry was pretty sure he had now, or at least only said part of the reason) at last came the question of who this new Snape was (New, was he new? Had he always been there, this broken Professor, hiding like Harry's monsters did - like the little cuts on Harry's arms like the silent nights where Harry cried because nobody was there to hear him hidden from the world, hiding those moments, those secrets, those weaknesses from others so he could say they didn't exist - and Snape ... what of Snape was he really in hiding or was Snape hiding from himself too?). And how had this Snape ended up here? Somehow, in all of Harry's swirling thoughts, he didn't think it was simply because Snape was trying to stay hidden from Voldemort. No. The Snape Harry knew would have just yelled at him for what he said. Not fallen apart.

Harry felt sick, wishing he could take back those hateful words.

You're just like them horrible no good how could you how could you Harry how could you I would have thought you of all people would know better know better -

He had mostly thought Snape was just the same old, contemptuous Snape, that him being here was really just an elaborate way of minimizing his perceived threat to the enemy. Now, after seeing that reaction, he wished he had a Time Turner, because he never would have believed before this that Snape could look like that. Harry's vision fuzzed out for a moment, the world seeming far away to him and his body seeming to fall away.

Sick I feel sick sick to my stomach to my mind to my soul guilt there's no washing it away the monster that lives inside - the Guilt Monster remember that old friend remember him Guilt Monster he was there always always when you took extra bread at the table and you weren't s'posed to and when you got Hermione and Ron (oh god they're gonna write any day now and they don't know about this this place about me what will I do what can I say) and Neville and Ginny and Luna hurt at the Ministry and when you killed murdered brought to death the only one the only father you've ever the only one who ever wanted you as a son Sirius I'm sorry -

Professor I'm sorry I said that I can't control it I can't I -

"What have I done?" whispered Harry as he leaned against the corridor wall, staring at the inspirational sayings on the wall and begging them to answer him.

***

Severus stared at the ceiling, hoping its blankness would dull the thoughts that ran through his head. It didn't, and the same loop of poisonous thoughts pervaded his senses again and again in a tangled confusion, the reminder of all the words that had been said to him over the year by bullies, parents, students, the world, himself.

Not liked not liked and then you wonder why nobody wants to be around you be around be around you then you wonder why nobody loved you why nobody ever why nobody could love you. Mother did you ever love me Father I know you didn't but Mother did you ever ... did you ever ...

No purpose (not a spy) my make is obsolete obsolete no purpose no reason no one to love nobody to love me

Going down down

This me falling (Stop that, pansy boy)

Jumping this is me jumping three two one -

He blinked once, then rolled onto his side, unseeing eyes fixed on the enchanted window that wasn't really a window, just another illusion with its calm summer sun and waving grasses and trees - an illusion, so vivid, so bright and yet untouchable. Severus wanted to open it and feel the wind in his hair, bask in the sunshine, lie on the grass and wile away whole afternoons with nobody to disturb him. That window that he had found so easy to hate previously was suddenly an object of desire. He'd caught himself with a longing, a longing to go through it and simply exist. But it was only an illusion, forever out of his grasp, a reality that could only be present until he reached his hand out to lift the window sash. And then, when the flawless glass was pulled away, all there could ever be behind that window was the pale painted white of institutional bricks behind it. The beautiful window wasn't real (but what was real, was it real - was this real?). The grasses kept drifting lazily in the sun.

This is me falling

But in his heart he wondered ... how could you feel like you were falling when you'd already hit the ground?

The grasses kept dancing, and Severus, fury rising within him with all the suddenness of a summer storm, leaped out of bed and pulled the blinds around it so forcefully that they ripped and hung askew. He threw himself back into bed, the energy that had electrified his limbs melting into the mattress beneath him.

***

Harry didn't go to the poetry club. He went to the reading room. It was quiet. Nobody was in there at the moment, and Harry sunk down into one of the soft cushions. He fingered the cuts on his arms, now scabbed over. Fury welled up inside him, and he wrapped his arms around his legs and pushed his face into his knees, wishing desperately his nails hadn't been cut and he could dig them into his skin.

No. He wasn't supposed to do that.

But it hurt. His heart hurt.

It hurts it burns I want to bleed just let me bleed I hate this I hate myself what did I do I hurt someone again is that all I'm good for why did I have to why did I why -

STOP THIS MAKE IT STOP STOP STOP -

The fire was in his chest again. It raged, and burned, and fought to escape, and Harry was so angry

And the world was spinning out of control and he could feel his pulse going thump-a-thump, thrumming hard against his temple like some wild tribal drums before the war, before the slaughter, before he threw himself at the pain and the hatred and screamed "So what, let me have it!". That thumping ... could there be any way to get rid of it, that wild warning before he did something rash and dangerous (so Gryffindor so Gryffindor, and they praised it, they did but it wasn't bravery it was recklessness).

Snape you were right about me you were right I'm rash I'm dangerous I'm a danger to others to myself I need to be stopped someone stop me please please dear god someone stop me -

But that isn't how it works remember? Huh? That isn't how it works and you know it. No angels no saviours no mighty saviour from above to save me never. Always I had to do it myself. Always I was the one that fought. Always.

Always me only me and

that's all it can ever be -

Hah poetry club - not there but still poetic anyway...

Harry opened his eyes, fire in his veins. His vision was blurred, and he ran his finger along the burning half-healed scrapes on his arm. He worked what little he had left of his fingernail under the scab and eased it away from the skin, the red blooming from beneath it, a deadly flower against his pale skin.

He watched the small drop of blood run down the side of his arm, observing it like he was a scientist and someone's life depended on his observations, some cure that would fix everything.

And it felt like a cure. In some ways.

But not completely.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry -

Severus knew that he was due for his session with Joseph during the hour before lunch, but he didn't get out of bed.

He lay thinking instead, how he hadn't seen Potter since that outburst a half hour or so ago, when Potter had told him it was no wonder nobody wanted to spend any time with him. No wonder. Of course it was no wonder - look at the way that Auror had treated him. Even locked up, cracked-up, crazy, batty, insane Aurors thought Severus Snape was beneath them. What a load of dragon dung. But the Auror's words were like poison anyway, and Potter's statement had brought back that hateful confrontation from the previous day. It filled Severus with fury, and then nothingness. Anger was always a gateway to despair, and now he felt like a shell of what he once had been. Nothing but emptiness inside, like a cup that should have been full but somehow couldn't hold any water, no matter how much it tried. Something was just wrong with him, and there was no escaping it, no leaving it behind. He was defective, and Potter knew it.

Later, Snape, traitor scum. The Auror knows too he knows - no escape he's here too his words can't leave ...

Sticks and stones, stones and sticks, broken bones and bloody fists - and aren't you a hypocrite (Hypocrite!) telling Potter he was an idiot for going to poetry club well listen to you look at that book on your table whose book is that whose it's yours you borrowed it and who wrote it? A bloody poet remember? Robert Service - ran away to France to be a poet what was he running from why was he running and then what happened? Got caught up in a war, running from wherever, hoping for something better, then gone all gone out into a battle into blood into death into loss and burden and horror -

Where am I going where are you running from Snape what battle have you run into where have you landed yourself- where, Traitor? Where have your cursed feet taken you? LOOK!

The ceiling stared at him, plain and unfamiliar. He was late to his appointment, and the ceiling hated him for it

It wasn't until ten after one that the chipper Trainee Healer came to get him. Severus had since learned that the boy's name was Kevin. He was probably in his twenties, and overall, an enigma. Severus didn't get Kevin. He didn't get how someone could smile so much when surrounded by people that were most often hurling insults at him. After all, the Trainee Healers got the fun task of handing out medication and running to get people if they decided to play truant, like Severus. Severus had caught wind that one of the female Trainee Healers had been reduced to tears the other day when she had been sent to coax one of the women out of their room to breakfast. Severus couldn't imagine going through all that schooling just to find out that you couldn't take the daily ins and outs of the job.

"Severus, Healer Kyte is waiting in his office," said Kevin amicably.

"And?"

"You have an appointment with him," said Kevin. "It started a few minutes ago."

"Really? Studied what, five years to figure that out?"

"Six, actually," replied Kevin, looking amused as Severus glowered at him from where he was lying in bed.

"Well done, now let's see if your fancy education taught you how to find the door, shall we?" Severus said, crossing his arms.

"Hmm," Kevin said. "You seem upset."

"Piss off," Severus said wearily. "I'm not playing that stupid ‘how do you feel' game."

He turned onto his side and staring blankly at the dull, institutionalized wall (cursed feet), the fight having left him as quickly as it came.

"You know, pretty much every person here is going through a rough time, even some of the workers," Kevin said, sitting in a chair by Severus' bed. "You look like you're in the same boat right now."

Severus stared, surprised at the persistence. He didn't answer.

"Is there any way I can help?"

"Probably not," said Severus, scoffing. "Besides leaving me alone, that is."

"I could do that ..." said Kevin thoughtfully, "but you know, people have asked me to go before, and I've obeyed their wishes on some occasions. But the people that let me bring them to their appointments, even if they didn't want to at first, they were glad they went. The ones that stayed in their room never seemed any happier for it."

Severus didn't bother to reply.

"Can I fix the blinds for you?"

"Erm, okay," muttered Severus, watching as Kevin got up and tapped the blinds with his wand, mending the tear.

Kevin came back and sank down into the chair.

"Better?"

"Sure." Severus paused, staring at the waving grasses, serene and peaceful from where they peeked through the gap in the blinds (Are those your fields, France?). "I still hate that window, though."

"You hate the window?"

"Yes, I bloody hate it."

"Yeah, it does look pretty fake, at least to me."

"Fake," Severus said, feeling his chest tighten. Something snapped inside him, and his voice rose in volume. "Don't get me started on how fake it looks! They put these stupid windows in here and expect everyone to stare out at a perfect, stupid world with ridiculous flowers and trees all waving in some imaginary breeze that you can never even feel because you're locked up!"

"It's frustrating, isn't it?"

"Exactly. And you know what the worst part is?"

"What?" Kevin asked, leaning forward slightly.

Severus sat up, gritting his teeth in such a way that the words were difficult to get out. "It isn't real! Just like everything good in the world. You go after it, thinking it's there, that it's just within reach and as ... as soon as you're almost there, or get a glimpse of something almost good, some bastard comes around and ruins it!"

"Who ruins it?"

"Everyone!" Severus said louder than necessary. He clenched his fists, his apathy replaced by a feeling that his chest was an engine driving him forward, all fire and steam and roaring. "There I was, just minding my own business, trying to decide where to hang a picture Daisy gave me and some arse of an Auror decided he'd go after me and try and start a fight! I didn't say a damned word to provoke him and he just thought he'd push me around, all because he thinks I really am a Death Eater. Ignoring the fact that Dumbledore's backed me up in the truth, which is that I've been spying for the good side and actually trying to stop the effing Dark Lord from murdering that Auror's ungrateful arse and everyone else's! That is, until I almost got killed as a little thank you for my efforts, courtesy of the Dark Lord!

"How long do I have to put up with bastards like those guys? He's probably just sour because he's stuck here too and can't do anything about it! The damned Dark Lord and that bloody Auror - just like the bleeding Marauders and their Saintly crusade to rid Hogwarts of nasty Slytherins who weren't up to snuff to meet their high moral standards. The whole world is fucked, I tell you, straight up fucked, if that's how people decide to treat everyone. I mean, I can understand it from the Dark Lord's perspective, because I did make him look like an outright idiot by infiltrating his organization successfully for so many years - and that is no easy feat, let me tell you - but I am on the same side as that Auror! So what's his problem? Is that what I get for trying to do something good? Because if that's how people repay me, I might as well just quit fucking breathing right now."

Severus, chest heaving, fell silent. He couldn't believe how much he'd said. He felt a surge of anger at himself for letting himself be tricked into the Assistant Healer's little game. He'd run straight into the trap. Damn these feet!

"I wish people could be kinder to each other," said Kevin, eyes downcast. "But it doesn't seem to go that way, does it?"

"No," said Severus sharply, feeling his energy drain, sinking back on the bed. "People never pay attention to others. They just ... don't care."

"What about Healer Kyte - Joseph? Surely everyone can't be that bad."

"Joseph ... what about him, "Severus said dully. "Maybe he cares. I don't know. Isn't it his job to care?"

"Maybe," said Kevin. "But, does that make it any less genuine? He probably got into healing for a reason. You have to want to help others to consider doing this kind of job.

"I - I don't know. Maybe he just got into healing for the money."

"Why don't you ask him why he does what he does," Kevin suggested. "You'll know if it's a genuine answer. I imagine you've gotten really good at reading people if you were a spy for so long."

"Yeah, I have," Severus said, surprised, examining the wall but not really seeing it. "I suppose I could ask him."

"You've still got forty-five minutes left with him. Want to go now?"

Severus thought for a moment, his eyes watching the breeze blow through the magic trees out the window. He shrugged, but nodded, allowing Kevin to lead the way. It was either that or stare at that stupid window, anyway.

Kevin dropped him off in front of Joseph's door, parting with a goodbye and an assurance that he was going to go and have a word with the Auror Severus spoke of. There was only one in the ward, anyway. Severus, used to this sort of assurance, ignored it, knowing nothing would come of it.

For the first five minutes that he was in Joseph's office Severus stared blankly at the wall with his arms crossed, too pissed off to say anything. Joseph was patient. Too patient. He sat there, chewing his bubble-gum like he tended to do from time to time. At least he had the damned good sense not to snap it. Severus might have had to kill him if he did that and, despite the fact that they weren't at Hogwarts, there was no doubt he would have committed said murder while shouting that he was taking points from whatever house Joseph came from (probably Hufflepuff, the damned do-gooder). Joseph had asked a few questions already, despite the silence. Same mumbo jumbo that Kevin had been saying. Severus was pretty sure they used the same technique from some stupid book somewhere. Now, Joseph seemed to be waiting for Severus to speak, and had thus fallen silent.

"You're doing this for the money, aren't you?" Severus barked at last, shooting a glare at Joseph. "That's why you've gotten all quiet, right? You don't care. You're paid by the hour round here. It doesn't matter if I talk. Less work for you, right?"

"So, what you're saying, Severus, is that you're worried I don't really care," he said placidly, chewing on his bubble-gum, resting his hands on his leg, which was crossed over the other.

"You know damn well what I'm asking," said Severus. "Do you do this for the money, or don't you?"

Joseph paused in chewing, rubbing his slightly stubbled chin.

"I do need a job so I can afford to live," he said, "but I could have picked any profession to do that. I picked healing for more than just a salary."

"What did you pick healing for?"

"I love the way the brain works," said Joseph so automatically that Severus was inclined to believe him. "There's a sort of beauty in the mind, flaws and all. You see, while every person thinks differently there are things that are all the same. Everyone is sort of broken in their own way, and it's a pity people have to hide it, because the human mind is more alike than people would like to admit. I suppose I wanted to make a difference. Make people feel like they don't have to hide their flaws. Not exactly the most radical of answers, I know, but those are my reasons for doing this job, and I like it very much."

Severus narrowed his eyes, and Joseph stared calmly back.

"I'm not just a pay check for you?"

"No. You are a person. Someone who needs to shuffle a few pieces for the picture to become whole again. Hopefully through working together, we can fix the puzzle. "

"People don't treat me like a person," Severus said, his words coming out before he could stop them. Joseph's reasoning had seemed so strangely full of hope and innocence that he'd been take off guard. For a moment it had reminded him of Lily and her belief that people weren't so different, that Gryffindors and Slytherins were silly to be so caught up in rivalry. She'd always said that they were more alike than different. Maybe they were. Lily usually was right.

"How do people treat you like you aren't a person?" Joseph asked. "Has something happened recently?"

Severus picked at a thread on the armchair, unravelling it slightly to see if Joseph would say anything or make him stop. He didn't say a word, so the only thing to do was answer the question.

"One of the other patients ..." - was mean to me. Wow, because that sounds mature - "well, he's an Auror. And he thinks I'm ... evil or something. That I'm really not on the side of the light. He's wrong, but he wouldn't listen. Nobody listens. They just judge. He pushed me around and ... I ... I just took it! Just sat there and took it! The guy doesn't even know me, he's only heard what the papers say or what other people say, so how could he just ... just do that? He knocked me against a wall because he thought I was just some evil bastard, without even bothering to check first if I was! But they always do that, even when I was a kid, just because I've never been what they think is normal."

"Another patient assaulted you?" Joseph said with alarm once Severus reached the end of his train of thought.

"Yeah, it's no big deal, it happens all the -"

"No, Severus, it is a big deal," Joseph said firmly. "Listen to me - you don't have to put up with that. I'm going to talk to the staff on the ward, and have a word with this Auror. I think I know who you're talking about. If it happens again, let me know. You are not deserving of that kind of treatment."

Severus fell silent. He looked at his feet, which suddenly seemed blurry. He swallowed thickly, staring at the floor but not seeing. Joseph handed him the tissue box, and he took one numbly. Joseph seemed to be telling the truth, so maybe Kevin was actually going to have a word with the Auror too.

"Has anyone ever told you that you don't deserve to be treated that way?"

"No. Not really. Sort of. A friend of mine in school once. Kids used to ... used to push me around there too."

"What was that like?"

Severus looked up finally.

"Bloody horrible," he said with a bitter laugh. "That stupid gang of Gryffindors ... they called themselves the Marauders. James Potter, Sirius Black, that crowd. Bunch of pricks, more like. Used to tie me up and shove me in broom cupboards, send trip jinxes after me, you know, just school stuff."

"But it didn't seem like just school stuff, did it?"

"No."

"So then why do you call it ‘just school stuff'?"

Severus let out a deep breath and sunk back into the chair, letting his posture slide somewhat.

"That's what teachers said," he mumbled. "Normal school antics. Said they'd talk to Potter and Black. Give them detention. That never worked. Half the time Professors didn't even do that. Just ‘ten points from Gryffindor' and that was that."

"And what did that feel like?"

"Like I was just a worthless piece of ... well, they obviously liked Potter and Black more than me. Everyone did. Just because I was the black sheep and knew how to do curses and things. Look, I know they were right that I was into dark stuff then, I was. I just didn't know what else to do. Figured I'd learn all those curses in case I needed it, I mean, my fath - well, I just thought, better safe than sorry, right? You can only protect yourself so much with lighter curses."

"You were about to say something about your father."

"Eh, what about him. He was a prick."

"I think it's important. You've said before, he wasn't the safest person to be around."

"Safe. Hell no."

"So the dark curses you learned, was he part of the reason you learned how to do them?"

Severus felt his spine stiffen again, and he could feel the blood drain out of his face. His eyes were going blurry again, but he wiped at them roughly with his sleeve. Finally, he nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"Did you do it to feel safe?"

Severus shrugged, but the answer was a clear yes. He was silent a moment, but finally, he couldn't take it any longer and the words poured out like whisky, tasting of fire and smoke, "And those d-damned blood M-Marauders called me EVIL because of it. EVIL! BECAUSE I HAD TO STOP MY FATHER FROM BEATING THE SHIT OUT ME EVERY OTHER NIGHT! WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO? WHAT WAS ... what was I supposed to ... And the Professors ... they just ... they acted like I deserved it." His voice was shaking almost too badly now to speak, but Severus kept going anyway. "Professor D-Dumbledore j-just ... just told me not to use d-dark magic but he never asked why I felt I had to use it in the first p-p-place! If he'd just stopped the M-Marauders ... m-maybe I wouldn't have had to. Why did he think I learned that anyway? Did he think I just got a kick out of it? That I made up d-dark spells for f-fun? Did he think I had just gotten into fights w-with the neighbourhood boys when I came back to school with a broken n-nose and black eye? Did he ... did he? How come he never wondered, how c-come none of the Professors ever wondered?"

"So, your father hit you?"

Severus felt his mouth fill with bitterness as he wiped his eyes, slouching back into the armchair and scowling.

"Yes," he said sharply. "And I wanted to curse him into a million pieces, I did, but my mother always said not to, that the Ministry would know and I'd be thrown into some juvenile centre for good. But she never threw a spell at him. She couldn't, her magic got weak every time she was around him, and even though she couldn't curse him she told me never to try it. Just like Dumbledore - don't use bad spells, Severus, don't get into trouble, just wait for one of us to save you Severus! Only NOBODY EVER DID."

Severus crossed his arms tightly.

"Nobody ever bloody well bothered," he finished, feeling his bones sink down into the chair like it was a grave, exhaustion catching up to him.

"Hmm, that was a difficult situation, I bet," Joseph said, looking sad. "Did you ever tell any of your Professors what it was like at home?"

Severus let out a half-hearted scoff, picking at the fabric on the armchair. "They couldn't stop kids from going after me, remember? Maybe they meant to, but whatever they did didn't work. How could they have stopped my father then? Or gotten me away from there?"

"So you didn't tell anyone?"

"No. Well. Not exactly."

"Tell me what you mean by saying that."

"I ... well, my father didn't really start getting ... physically violent toward me until the summer after first year," Severus said, letting the words come out but remaining distant from them, his compartmentalized mind so suited for occlumency aiding him in staying detached. "Before then it was just the usual stuff, you know? The swats to the behind if you weren't careful, just normal things. It was mostly ... mostly Mum he went after though, before that. But when I came home the summer after my first year ... I don't know, maybe I got a smart mouth, or something, maybe he was worried I'd tell someone what he did to Mum ... but when he drank he'd start going after ... after me. So ... I guess I was ... scared to go home after my second year. I knew what was waiting for me. My mother," - he scoffed - "was useless. She couldn't protect me. So, my head of house, Horace Slughorn the posh bastard, I went to him. Kind of."

"What did you tell him?"

"Went into his office, a few days before we left for home after second year. My best friend, Lily, she could tell something was on my mind. She knew things had gotten worse, not that she knew how worse. I didn't want to tell her because I knew she would freak out and go straight to Dumbledore, who had done nothing to fix anything for me in the past. Well, he tried with all the bullies, I think, but it never worked. He had too much of a soft spot for the Marauders, so how could he fix something bigger? Anyway, Slughorn. I went down to his office. He was my Head of House, so he should have ...

"I went to see him, and I asked if I could stay at Hogwarts for the summer. That I didn't want to go home because there wasn't much there for me anyway. Told him I could use the time to further my Potions projects. They did require a lot of research, anyway, so I wouldn't even need to brew and have supervision. I could just stay in the library most of the summer."

"What did he say?"

"Well, no, obviously," Severus said, slightly annoyed. "Bastard said no, and he didn't even ask why I wanted to stay at Hogwarts. I mean, it would have been pretty damned obvious I was scared! I was only just thirteen! As if a thirteen year old can hide that they're scared to go home - I ... I couldn't. Not then."

I couldn't ... not then. Couldn't hide my emotions you couldn't hide it then - occlumency do you remember it before then? Do you?

"So you were forced to go home, after dropping some heavy hints, you thought, to your Professor?"

Severus nodded, pulling out of his thoughts slightly.

"I didn't tell him outright, how could I? How can anyone? Even I've never met a student who could openly admit something bad going on at home without significant prompting."

"Do you think he should have been able to tell?"

"Hell yes!" Severus said, sitting up straight and leaning forward. "All the ... all the signs were there! For the love of - how could Slughorn have failed to have noticed my broken nose when I came back at the start of second year? And the bruises on my wrist? Lily noticed them, and I told her the nose was from a broom crash and my mother couldn't do healing magic - that last part was true enough. But I was always up front in that arse of a Professor's class, and always was talking to him about projects, I mean, potions was my best subject! He should have seen! That's a Professor's job!

"I would never expect a student to outright come and tell me, ‘Hey, Snape, my Dad's an abusive bastard and beats the shit out of me every summer, just thought you should know'. Come on, right? Nobody in their right mind would do that unless their hand was forced, or they had more bravery than any kid at their age. You have to look for it, open your bloody eyes! I can count at least five students, all abused in varying degrees, that I've spotted over my years as a Professor, and not a single one was direct enough to say what was going on. Some hinted, some didn't at all. But Slughorn should have bloody seen it. I was so damned obvious how could he not have?"

"To you, the signs would be clear," said Joseph. "Which is exactly what your students need from you now, to see those signs clearly. Slughorn probably didn't know what to look for like you do. It doesn't excuse him, of course."

"Well, he was an idiot, that's for sure, but Professors should be taught those things," said Severus. "Even now there's no training on that matter, just meetings called as needed. I'm always the one spotting kids from bad homes, even McGonagall has trouble telling ... my point is, even back when I went to school they should have had some sort of training for Professors who don't know what to look for. If bloody stupid Slughorn had just had someone sit down and tell him five signs to look for, he could have ... well ... I'm not sure if anyone could have saved me, but he at least could have made a start!"

"There should be training for that, you are right," said Joseph, eyebrows raised, looking surprised. "I didn't know that Hogwarts did not have a program offered in that area."

"Damn straight, there should be," Severus said, sinking back into the chair, exhausted.

"How about we work on that?" said Joseph. "Tell me what's wrong with the system, and we'll get some sort of program started. I know plenty of healers who would be willing to do a weekend seminar for Professors in spotting abuse. It would be just as relevant as it would have been when you were in school, and it might help you resolve some of this, feel like you're making a difference get some small amount of good out of your bad experiences."

"You'd actually ... arrange for something like that?" Severus said slowly, the gum-chewing Joseph before him suddenly taking on a whole new light.

"Absolutely - you're right, it is an area that needs awareness," Joseph said. "It's the nineties, for goodness sakes. We should have had something like this going years ago."

"Can I tell Dumbledore?" Severus asked, fighting not to betray his glee.

"Absolutely," Joseph said with a smile. "You make the proposal. From what I understand, he has been wanting a visit. If you want, you can even write up an outline for the program for me to look at. Anything you feel like contributing. If you want me to figure out all the details, that's fine too. But I think it's an idea we have to run with, considering."

The session ended, and Severus left feeling considerably lighter.

He couldn't wait to tell Dumbledore. About time somebody listened to what he was saying.

Take that, Albus you old fool! After that talk you'll be wishing you never brought me here.

Besides, it was about time Hogwarts had more people with their eyes open. Who knew how many Hogwarts students suffered every summer, and were passed over by the blind eyes of their Professors?

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?"

Harry frowned. He tapped the table and glanced out of the main sitting area's window. He'd been trying to answer Ron's letter for the better part of an hour.

"I think I'm going to tell him," said Harry to Stephen, who was playing solitaire with exploding snap cards.

Stephen nodded.

"But how, though?"

"I wish I could tell you," said Stephen, looking up from his cards. "I didn't have anyone I wanted to know that I was here, so no experience there. Being home schooled kind of killed any chance of meeting people who weren't pure blood pricks."

"Yeah," Harry said. He frowned and reached into the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans that Stephen had dragged out. "Do you think ... Ron'll treat me weird if he knows where I really am?"

"For a while he will," said Stephen apologetically, "everyone does when they first find out. Least they have for me. But that's only because they don't want to hurt you, and are worried they'll say the wrong thing. It's just because they care - I get that now, but it was hard when people were getting used to it."

"How did your family react?"

"My Mum cried a lot," said Stephen quietly. "But that's what mums do, right? Dad just got mad that I'd hurt myself on purpose. He didn't understand. But my Dad's not the best example. He's a bit of a hard-ass."

"Ron's Mum knows. He said she's been crying too."

But that's what mums do, right? That's what mums do what mums do what mum ...

"What if you asked her to tell him?"

"What?"

"What if you asked your friend's Mum to tell Ron. I mean, she must know if she was crying, and if she's crying she must care about you."

"Seems kind of like a cop-out," Harry said, sinking down into his chair a little more, "but I wish I could ask her. She would too, if I just asked. She ... she kind of likes to act like she's my mum too."

Harry smiled a little. He hadn't really thought too much about it, but trying to describe Mrs Weasley to Stephen made it sink in. Mrs Weasley did act like she was his mother. Admitting it felt ... good. Really good.

"The only problem," Harry continued, "is I have to tell my friend Hermione too. I'd have to tell her straight up. She'll be tougher, ‘cause she's so emotional, right? At least if I tell Ron myself, I can ... I dunno, practice. "

"I bet Richard would be able to help," said Stephen, who, as one of the teens, also had Richard for sessions. "He's good like that."

Harry shrugged. "I don't think it will matter how many people I ask. It's just ... the problem is, there's no nice way to say that you've ended up here, is there?"

Stephen set down his cards, staring at the table top, forehead creased. "No," he said. "No there isn't."

"Guess I just gotta do it," Harry muttered after a long silence. He glanced over the table at Stephen, their eyes meeting. It was the look of reassurance Harry needed, and he put the quill to the page. He took a deep breathe.

Dear Ron,

I'm not stuck at the Dursleys'. I made Dumbledore and Remus promise not to tell you and Hermione where I was. It's complicated, but I promise I didn't do that because I wanted to hurt you guys. I don't really know how to say any of this. It's tough. So, um, remember those cuts that you and Hermione asked me about? The long thin ones on my arm? Well ... those weren't from Hedwig getting spooked, like I said. Anyway, Remus got worried over them, and he guessed they weren't exactly ... an accident. Don't call me crazy, please Ron, I just ... I've been so angry lately. I don't know. So Remus and Dumbledore sent me here for a while to get my head back in order. I'm just so mad at myself over Sirius' death, and I know everyone says it isn't my fault ... I just can't believe it right now. Not yet. I don't know. I'm in a hospital right now. Don't worry, I can say that in a letter. Dumbledore's arranged it so I can give my letters to the Order affiliate who works here. He's agreed to pass them on without post to your Mum or Dad at Headquarters. Although you probably have been doing that already, or something, only on your end, considering owls don't exactly show up here. I dunno.

Anyway, in your letter you said you'd put up with my family even, if you could just visit. And I know that coming to a hospital isn't ... isn't really fun. I know. I'm in one. But I really would like it if you visited. Just don't treat me like I'm going to break, okay? I'm not suicidal or anything, just kind of pissed off and depressed. If it's too much to ask, that's okay, we can just send letters, but I really miss you, and I hope you come.

Hope that made some sense,

Harry

P.S. your parents know, I' m pretty sure. They might be able to answer a few questions. And Hermione will know soon too, but I wrote your letter first because I figured it would be easier. You know how intense she gets, sometimes, when she's worried.

Harry set down his quill, and before he could lose his willpower, he put the parchment in an envelope and sealed it.

"I'm going to go see if I can give this to Richard now," said Harry, hoping he wouldn't be doing a session at the moment.

Stephen offered to come with Harry, but Harry said he didn't need to. He could tell Stephen was enjoying his game of solitaire by the way he was shuffling his cards restlessly. Besides. Harry felt oddly like he had to do this alone. Do this himself.

He took a deep breath, walking through the ward. People were milling about. Some sat in chairs and stared blankly, cups of tea or coffee before them. He avoided their eyes, hoping he wouldn't have to say hello to any familiar people.

Harry's heart felt like it skipped a beat. A nervous flutter he'd had a long time. Richard said it was anxiety, that Harry's heart was fine. Still, it always made it feel like the ground had fallen away for a half second. He thought of what Ron might think when he read the letter. Yet, even though he was really frightened to see Ron's response, he didn't think that it would be a bad response. It wasn't that he was afraid Ron would make fun of him, or be angry at him. It was more that Harry was afraid to hurt Ron, because he knew that he cared. But wasn't that always how it went for Harry? Didn't he always keep quiet about everything that hurt out of the desire to protect the ones he loved? But why was he protecting them from himself? His friends didn't badger him every other minute of the summer to see how he was doing because they wanted good news. They wrote so much in case there was bad news, because they wanted to make things better for him.

By the time Harry got to Richard's office, Harry's legs felt stronger. His hands didn't shake.

"I'm telling Ron where I am," Harry told Richard, who was luckily between sessions and shuffling through some paperwork.

Richard took the letter. To Harry's surprise, he beamed.

"I am so proud of you, Harry," said Richard, his eyes glowing. "Well done."

Harry felt a strange warmth inside him, and then a sharp falling sensation. That smile, that look of pride reminded him of an expression he had seen on someone else.

Harry returned the statement with a smile, albeit a watery one, and left for his room. He fell onto his bed, his tears pouring onto the pillow and his sobs muffled by the feathers.

Sirius, remember those times you said you would be proud of me? Are you proud of me now? Would you be proud of me still?

He wasn't sure. He didn't know. But he knew what he wanted to believe.

Harry cradled his stomach as he pressed his face into the damp pillow. He missed Sirius so badly it hurt. He didn't understand how he could have been feeling just fine minutes earlier, and now, it was like the world had broken apart. A simple statement - "I'm so proud of you, Harry". A simple statement that broke the dam again, lit the fire that was the knowledge that Sirius was gone, that he was never coming back. It was beyond words, the feeling, the knowledge that the world would never be the same. That all around him, people were continuing with their lives as though Sirius Black had never existed, that it didn't matter he wasn't here now. Continuing on as though they didn't notice that someone so vibrant, so important, so full of life and heartache of his own, had dropped off the face of the earth. Three, two, one, gone. Just like that.

How could they go on? How could the world go on?

But it did, and as Harry's cries ceased he felt his own heart thrumming steadily on. Maybe it skipped a beat every so often, but it was still going. Still marching toward every second that came and went. Harry felt like it was somehow against the rules, that it could keep going when every breath hurt so bad. But it did. And to him, at that moment, what a painful, impossible, and yet somehow wonderful thing it was.

***

Severus was overjoyed that it was raining outside. Constantly beautiful weather when life was a disaster had been wearing him down, and the first thing he did when he looked out the courtyard door to check the weather, was grin. Usually the ward opened up the garden during the day for patients to walk through, and like today, they were swung wide open to allow the fresh air in. It had been a long shot asking to go out into the garden, considering how muddy it was, but thankfully, they were able to convince one of the healers that some fresh air would be good for them, rain or not. So, at last, the healer agreed that ten minutes - even in this weather - couldn't hurt them, as long as the door was left open so the healer could watch them to make sure they didn't do anything they shouldn't. Normally there was a healer in the courtyard whenever it was opened, but during bad weather they often asked patients to stay inside.

It was mainly Daisy's womanly prowess when it came to looking sweet and innocent that got them the go ahead. Thus, donning their cloaks and borrowing some of the ward's wellies (kept for those weeding the herb garden) to keep their feet dry, they went out into the rain.

It was a cool rain, but not so cool as to be chilly. The courtyard was filled with puddles, and the sky up above was a damp grey, but to Severus it was the most refreshing thing he'd seen since he had come to stay. They walked through around for a few minutes, exploring and chatting amicably.

"Have you ever gone on one of the gardening activities?" Daisy asked him after some time as they splashed around the edge of the herb garden.

"No," said Severus. "You?"

"Yes, it's pretty good," said Daisy. "They let you feed the goat too."

"Goat? You're joking." What purpose did a goat have here?

"I am not," she said in mock indignation, "come on!"

Daisy grinned, then took off through the rain.

"Bloody hell ..." muttered Severus, taking off after her and getting water in his wellies, soaking his socks. Although, to be honest, the freedom to run (albeit through mud and puddles) felt nice.

Severus slid to a halt in the muddy corner of the courtyard, narrowly avoiding Daisy and sending a cascade of dirty water off in all directions.

"Watch it," said Daisy with a chuckle, wringing out the edge of her cloak.

"You're the one who insisted on careening through the courtyard," Severus said, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.

"Maaahhhhhh," the goat bleated, and Severus jumped badly.

"Told you," said Daisy, making a face at Severus and reaching over the small fence before them and scratching the goat's back. "Don't worry, she's friendly."

"Okay, you were right. But why on earth do they have a goat?" Severus said as it bleated again.

"Why not?" said Daisy, shrugging. "Must be because animals are good for ... you know, nutters like us."

He looked to Daisy curiously, but she was busy feeding bits of grass to the goat.

"What did you come here for, anyway?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Oh, nothing much," said Daisy, avoiding his eyes.

"Sorry," said Severus.

Daisy just shrugged. "Bound to ask it eventually, but it's complicated. I'll save you the trouble."

Severus wanted to say that it wasn't any trouble, but the sound of the Healers calling them back rang through the courtyard.

They turned around and started for the door. As they did so, Daisy changed the subject, asking Severus if he'd gotten anything interesting in the mail. That was just about the only other highlight of living at Oak Tree. Mail. Severus said his hadn't been great, that he didn't want to see Dumbledore tomorrow, and wished he could just call the whole thing off. He didn't quite want to talk about why yet, but Daisy didn't pry. He was glad for that.

The healer, who had been watching from the door, took their wet cloaks and dried them with his wand. They handed over the two pairs of wellies, and were told to stand on the mat while the healer performed a drying charm.

"You two left the goat tied, right?" asked the healer when he lowered his wand.

"Of course we did," said Daisy scornfully. "Wouldn't want a rampant goat around the place. It would scare off all the visitors."

The statement sounded innocent enough, but the healer, caught up in putting the wellies away, didn't see Daisy's sideways glance, or notice the truly awful grin that spread over Severus' face as she spoke.

"Oh, no, definitely not," he said, forcing an innocent expression upon his face as the healer's gaze turned back to the two of them.

Severus lay in bed that night, listening to the sound of Potter's soft breathing coming from the other bed. The shadows from the window cast long, sinister shapes on the floor and walls. The gentle outline of the drawing taped to the wall met Severus' eyes. He'd only taped it there this evening. Before he and Daisy had said goodbye so that Daisy could go to one of her sessions, she'd run off to her room to grab another picture. She'd told him she was sorry the Auror had ripped up the other one, that she doubted Severus did anything to deserve that.

Traitor traitor traitor -

It was a beautiful picture. A single pine tree, raggedy, needle-less branches drawn by the edge of a deep, charcoal lake. It was a sad picture, but at the same time, it wasn't.

Severus caught himself sighing, and fell silent abruptly in the midst of it, thinking.

Daisy. Daisy.

Daisy flower in the garden, running through puddles, smiling. Stirring coffee sadly at breakfast. Why ... why did you sit near me? Why did you have to sit near me? God, why?

Severus had actually made a friend, it seemed. What a strange thought that was. And amazingly, he'd actually had fun visiting with her, walking through the garden, coming back in rain-soaked, and shivering as they folded paper cranes in the craft room. He could still see her fingers, delicate and pale as they creased the blue paper, how the shadow of her blood vessels graced the back of her hands, pale blue and pink underneath that smooth skin. The ghost of life just beneath the surface. Ghosts. Severus knew ghosts. He knew ghosts better than anyone he knew. She felt like one now as he stared at the picture her warm hands must have drawn. At the moment though, he couldn't imagine them doing so.

He didn't understand what brought Daisy here. Why she was here. How she could seem so normal, for the most part. Most of the time she appeared to be fine. Then, there were mealtimes, when she seemed to retreat behind a veil and stare into coffee cups like they could be read. She was a mystery. Just like that pine tree, sitting out by the lake, and how every other picture that she'd pulled from her sketchbook and showed Severus when he asked was nearly identical. Always the same, but with little variations. Thicker branches, spindly branches. Moonlight, no moonlight. She said it calmed her, and he'd watched as she'd half-heartedly scribbled in the sketch pad over lunch while he tried to talk to her about books, but right then she seemed different. Different, for a few moments. But why, he couldn't tell. Still, she was good company anyway.

Severus took another glance at the picture on the wall. He'd had fun with Daisy today. He'd made a friend, hadn't he? Hadn't he decided that already? Making friends was supposed to make people happy, right?

Then why do I feel ... like this.

Cold. He just didn't understand it. The healers had looked at him with a smile when they saw him talking with someone, talking with Daisy. It was the kind of smile that comes when they start to think you're saved, and it made Severus feel sick. Was he really saved? No, no of course not, nothing nobody not anyone could save him. He couldn't be saved because his chest felt like a sack of straw. His heart, a lifeless piece of paper being creased and reshaped by frail, veined hands. But it could only ever be paper because that's what it had learned to be. Just paper, and nothing more, so the warmth that heated it only kept it out of the cold for a moment, because it had no way of making heat for itself. Severus tried. Severus tried so hard for a spark, some warmth, but nothing came.

I should be happy. Someone thinks I'm interesting. She's even ... even ... well, she's different. Good different. How come I feel nothing?

Severus got up out of bed, and sank down in the wooden chair nearby. The room was still, stuffy. Potter snuffled slightly in his sleep, and then fell silent again. The room might as well have been empty.

Empty empty empty -

He closed his eyes, and let his vision fall away. He didn't sleep, but he dreamed anyway of towers, and earth and marble and the name Prince and frail skin and paper cranes, and he spent the hours wondering when Daisy would admit she'd talked to the wrong man. When she'd walk away and leave only bare branches and charcoal behind.

The night went by this way, until he crawled into bed at last, and thankfully, slept.

***

Mornings were different. They were weird. Severus never really understood how you could wake up and it was like iron bands were torn from your chest and suddenly everything felt almost alright. Almost. So he felt okay, all of a sudden, and it seemed like it shouldn't have been real. But it was, and he knew it because after that second of pure, fresh air, a trickle of staleness tainted it. It was simple, just one thing. Dumbledore. Dumbledore was planning to visit this afternoon, and Severus hadn't had time to prepare what he'd wanted to say to him. He couldn't have that meeting. Not yet.

But Severus knew exactly how he was going to fix it. He was going to fix it. He didn't care anymore. The idea was there and it would make it very hard for Dumbledore to take part in a visit if Severus pulled it off. Severus knew that he shouldn't put his idea into action. He knew it would get him in trouble but right now he wanted nothing more than to do something against the rules. It was like a sharp, strong craving for a food he hadn't tasted in a very long time. This yearning, aching feeling had risen yesterday, and it had yet to cease. He'd ignored the call to mischief before in his life, but his time, he wasn't going to ignore it. Because he had a mission now. A purpose. A reason and a task he had to complete. Rules be damned. He'd done everything Dumbledore asked him since he came to work at Hogwarts, nearly everything. Now, it was time to do the opposite. It was time to wreak some havoc. Conduct anarchy and live, damn it. His stomach filled with a rebellious fire, and he was ready to fan the flames until everything burned.

Like a film reel memories flashed in the back of his mind. Bullies, hate, smashed whisky bottles, broken bones and walking like you thought the floor would break any second. Voldemort and Dark Marks and losing best friends and the tallest tower up up up the stairs and never planning to go down them again everything. Everything pressed in on the backs of his eyes like an explosion, all of it, the memory of being afraid to take a step or open his mouth, or do anything for god's sake lest it bring the world down again. Sit down. Be still. Be a good boy, or Daddy's going to be mad.

Fuck that. The fire was burning. The day was young. Severus had his plan, and he knew how he was going to bring it about. He would have to time it exactly right. The fuzzy confusion of the night before was gone, and now, his head was clear.

It was a simple prank, the idea he had in mind. It was mostly harmless, but somehow, it seemed like the solution to everything. Like a grand monument to show that he wasn't going to sit still like he was told while everyone tried to plan his life. Maybe it wasn't just that. Maybe it was some kind of strange desperation. A shout to the world in the hopes someone would look and see that he was still a mess inside, even though the Healers seemed to think they were saving him. Maybe it was just a way of saying to Joseph that he was scared to face Dumbledore but didn't know how say it. Joseph wasn't stupid. He'd see the connection, but Severus didn't care. Severus wasn't going to think about that kind of reasoning, however. He as just having a little fun, right? That's all he wanted.

Look at you, now, Sev. Been a good boy too long now, huh? Can't catch me now, Tobias you snake. Forget rules. Forget order.

Besides, why put up with order when everything was disordered inside, anyway?

Good. This was good.

Purpose. Purpose I have purpose - nothing left to lose and who cares if they catch me anyway.

Dumbledore can't own me I don't have to listen to him I don't have to not anymore not ever.

And his heart was beating. Beating harder and stronger than he'd felt it in a long time. And right now, plans in his head and the promise of something, anything but this mundane life he'd been forced into since the end of his spying duties, it felt good. It felt really good.

***

It had been a slow day for Harry. Late afternoon was approaching. After sending the letter to Ron yesterday, Harry had felt halfway anxious and halfway relieved. His stomach pinched a little even now when he thought of it, and he'd wanted to open Hermione's letter this morning. Well, sort of. He wasn't sure if he could do it right now, and then after spending an hour worrying he realized that he would be okay if he didn't touch the letter today. That he'd be just fine to open it tomorrow when he felt a little less worried over it. Maybe if he gave himself permission to take a break and come back to it when he was ready, his head would be clearer. Harry figured that had to be better than stressing over what he would say to Hermione all day. He had pitched the idea to Richard this morning, after visiting with him for a minute or two when they'd bumped into each other on their separate routes. Richard liked that idea. He'd said that it was a smart decision, a very mature one too, for it showed Harry understood that he had limits and needed to take a break sometimes.

Reminding himself again of their early morning conversation, Harry swirled some of the paint on his paper, feeling less guilty over not writing back soon as he thought of Richard's words. He looked up from the piece of paper, which had a messy combination of purple and orange slopped onto it. Stephen, opposite him, paused with his dripping green hand over top the painting. Harry fought yet another laugh, unable to believe that his friends were probably doing summer homework while he was sitting here and finger painting with someone who also happened to be sixteen. Stephen said they might as well have some fun with the painting, and everyone in Oak Tree was crazy anyway so why not finger paint?

Their laughter was cut off by the sound of an alarm, which wailed loudly and drowned out the noise in the craft room. Silence fell among the occupants of the room.

"What's that?" Harry asked over the alarm, feeling his stomach twist with the fear that someone had broken in. His carefully cultivated peace was shattered, and he looked around with apprehension, trying to see what the matter was.

"Attention everyone," said a voice over the loudspeaker in the ward, the wailing noise halting now that everyone's attention was focused, "the resident goat has escaped the courtyard -"

"There's a goat here?" Harry said with a laugh, relief flooding through him.

"Yeah," Stephen said. "Spells keep it off the herbs. I met it when we were gardening. Usually it's kept tied to some sort of picket pin so it can graze and keep the grass short. Maybe someone let it out?"

"- currently been trapped in the reading room. We ask that you please return to your rooms immediately while we herd it back into the courtyard. You may leave your activities without clearing them up, so long as you return to do so when we announce that you may. Thank you, and sorry for any inconvenience."

Harry looked at Stephen for a moment, and for a second they simply stared, before bursting into peals of laughter.

"S-See you Ste-Stephen," Harry said, trying to speak through his laughter as they filed out of the craft room, making sure to rinse their hands before they did so.

Stephen, face red with laughter, just waved breathlessly.

Harry looked around, wondering where Snape was. Although, considering his usual routine - which was either lie in bed, read in the room, and on rare occasions, leave - Harry was willing to bet he was already in the room. Of course, he had spent some time visiting with Daisy yesterday, oddly enough.

"Harry, my boy, how are you?" said a voice.

Harry, about to enter the men's hallway with the rest of the crowd, looked over to see Dumbledore standing in the mouth of the visitors' room.

"Professor, what are you doing here?" Harry asked, gritting his teeth slightly and ignoring the question.

"I was going to visit with Severus, but considering the fiasco they have going on, I think that plan is dashed. Could you tell him that I will send him a letter so we can reschedule? Also, I left a box of things for him at the front desk, tell him to get it, will you?"

"Erm, okay," Harry said, wondering if that was why Snape had been a bit grumpier off and on the past day or two. "Bye sir."

"Take care, Harry," said Dumbledore, and Harry had to resist the urge to make a face as he turned his back on Dumbledore, and went into the men's hallway, giving a lazy wave in Dumbledore's direction as he did so.

Harry wrenched the door open and went inside the room, shutting the door behind him a little louder than he'd intended. Snape was sitting in one of the wooden chairs in the room. Interestingly enough, his feet were propped up on the foot board of his bed and he was leaning on the back chair legs, looking amused for some reason.

"Guess who I ran into?" Harry said, gritting his teeth.

"Dumbledore?" he said almost cheerfully.

"Er, yeah," Harry said. "How did you know?"

"He said he was coming to visit. Did you talk to him?"

Snape moved his legs so Harry could get past to where his area was. He propped them back up and resumed balancing on the back chair legs like a teenager. Harry stared.

"Er, yeah," Harry continued, "he said he's sorry, but with the whole goat escaping thing he'll have to come back another day. He says he'll write so you two can arrange a different time to meet or something."

Snape nodded and chuckled darkly, fishing around in his robe pocket for something. He was wearing the same unnervingly cheerful expression that Harry had observed on him when he took house points for menial offences.

"That goat could not have picked a better time to escape from the garden," Harry said, making a face and sinking down on his own bed and leaning against the headboard, having kicked his shoes off. "The old coot probably would have wanted to see me too or something."

"Clever goat, indeed," said Snape, now chewing on whatever he'd pulled from his pocket. "Care for some mint?"

"What?"

Harry stared at the bunch of freshly picked mint in Snape's outstretched hand. To Harry's amazement Snape was holding back laughter. Harry's eyes widened in shock.

"Professor ... did you -"

"Did I what?" Snape said, but he was smirking as he put the bundle of mint back in his pocket when Harry made no move for it.

"No way. You broke the rules? You!"

"Ten points from Slytherin, I suppose?" Snape said, letting his chair fall to its four legs with a sharp snap, a mock look of guilt on his face. He chewed the mint some more with a look that Harry could only describe as cocky.

"And you say I'm a rule-breaker!" Harry said, torn between amusement, shock, and respect.

"Only because you are," Snape said, rolling his eyes and pushing back on the chair again.

"I don't mean to get into trouble," muttered Harry.

"And neither did that goat, but look at all the trouble it's going to be in. What a shame."

Harry really couldn't stop himself from breaking into laughter. "You really are a hypocrite, you know. Everyone thinks you must have been the most rigid student ever when you went to Hogwarts."

"Did I ever say that I behaved while I was a student?"

"Well, not to me. You always said my father was such a troublemaker, though. Which ... was true."

"Very true," Snape said, eyes glazing over slightly. "Although ... I suppose it takes one to know one. Even if he was a prat."

He shrugged.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, shaking his head.

"Finally realized that Professors have lives, did we?" Snape said scathingly, carefully selecting another piece of mint.

"Well -"

"We do have lives. And contrary to popular belief, Professors are quite capable of misbehaving. There, I said it. And nobody will ever believe you if you say what happened today, contract of confidentiality or no. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Harry just shook his head.

"You can't let a goat out every time Dumbledore comes to visit though," Harry said, amused. "They might get wise about it. And you say I have poor planning skills."

Snape's grin faded.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, looking downward. "Just thinking aloud."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to save the next time for a special occasion," Snape said airily, getting up out of the chair to grab his book on the side table. He opened the book and settled in to read, which Harry took as the signal that their conversation was over.

"Sir?" Harry said hesitantly.

"What do you want?" Snape peered over the top of the book, his brows furrowed.

"That was really cool." Harry grinned.

"Oh. Er ... thanks."

Snape lifted the book up again, and Harry thought he saw a slight smile disappear behind it. It wasn't anything like the one Snape got from taking points. This one was different. It took Harry a moment to decide how, but after some contemplation, he realized it was because this smile didn't set him on edge.

Harry sighed with relief, having just finished his letter to Hermione. Her concerns had mainly been the same as Ron's, although there had been a few more lines about how she wanted him to stay out of trouble, and a reminder to phone her if he wanted to talk and that she'd try and call a few times once Harry gave her the go ahead. Thankfully she was much more phone savvy than Ron, but after reading that, somehow it had made it easier for Harry to tell her where he was. All he really had to do was start with the fact that his current telephone number had changed. He'd even thrown in the phone number for the guest phone here, so she could talk with him. Richard assured it was protected with so many enchantments that it couldn't be tapped. That was the plus of magically compatible telephones. Very difficult to listen in on. So he'd finished his reply to her, and he only felt a little anxious over it, which was good.

Harry looked up from the breakfast table where he had been writing. He'd found it easier to reply out in the rest of the ward, rather than his room. It felt a little less like he was the only one who was in this situation. Plenty of good people had gone through a rough patch and were here like him.

Across the dining hall Harry could see Snape cloistered in his usual corner. So far it didn't seem like Daisy had shown. Although, as far as Harry could remember, Daisy wasn't too regular about showing up at breakfast. He wondered if she was one of those people who felt a little sick in the morning. Harry used to be like that before he went to Hogwarts and got used to eating a morning meal. For first year he only ate breakfast because he needed something to do while Ron shovelled down food - it was only after forcing himself to do it that he started to feel like breakfast was a good idea. Without Daisy, Snape sat all alone. He seemed to be staring so fiercely at his cup of tea that it was liable to burst into flames. A strange thought occurred to Harry. Maybe Snape had actually been looking forward to seeing Daisy.

Harry turned back to his breakfast plate and took a bite. As he did so one of the other patients let out a roar of indignation. Harry dropped his fork, terrified he'd offended someone somehow. Evidently it was not him that was the issue. The yelling patient Harry recognized slightly as the resident Auror. Everyone just called him The Auror, because he only hung around with one other guy and refused to talk to anyone else unless it was to bark out orders or something. The Auror wasn't having a good day, clearly. He threw his newspaper down so hard it knocked over a cup of orange juice. Healers were closing in already, ready to diffuse the situation. Harry caught Snape watching with mild interest, smirking at the Auror as though he was pleased his day was going so terribly. Harry wondered what the paper said, because whatever it had the Auror was now grumbling loudly, his words obscured by the foul slew of curses. The healers were on either side of the Auror immediately. Harry saw a healer wave his wand, and the Auror visibly calmed and was led away.

Then, as though reading the minds of everyone in the room, one of the teenage boys Harry hadn't talked with much yet (Harry suspected his name was Kyle) had been sitting nearby grabbed the crumpled paper that had been left behind. Kyle shook his head, wide eyed and shocked. Then, in a loud voice, speaking in a way that seemed to dismiss the Auror's behaviour as acceptable, Kyle said, "They've declared Sirius Black innocent."

The world broke. The newspaper was held for all to see and in black bold type the headline shattered the dining room silence.

Innocent Sirius Black is innocent declared innocent free to walk through those doors as a free man innocent -

Harry wasn't really sure how he got back to his room. He'd walked, he supposed, but he was in such a stupor he didn't care how. It wasn't something he cared about. All he could comprehend right now was that the shackles he knew so well - those shackles that held him to his ghosts and misdeeds, the shackles the others said he'd made for himself because they weren't really there and the key was his anytime he wanted it, those shackles - had clamped hard and fast on him. And they were pulling him down, deep.

I did this I did this he's gone he's gone no chance now too late -

So he had his back against the corner and that window in his room was bright and sunny and the Auror's indignation rang in his head, but it took on a new meaning. It was no longer shock, surprise, horror - no. It was a tirade aimed at him, an accusation, a pure nonstop stream of hate (make it stop, please someone, make it stop). The words were knives and they were white hot and terror-filled, just like Harry's insides, and the Auror's angry mouth was the one that had swallowed the key to the shackles and Harry would never get out and he'd only go deeper, further, darker down under to where he could never escape. Eternity for what he did. Life in prison - his own Azkaban. The shackles kept pulling, strapped to some sort of iron weight that was dragging him into a dark world where he couldn't breathe.

Sirius would be free but he's not free Sirius can never be free now because of me because of me because I did this I did this

You did this, Harry

You

YOU

Harry shut his eyes and rammed himself further into the corner because it was the only thing that felt solid as the layers of earth rose up around him, as the sun disappeared and the room went away and a fire off in the distance started to burn, a fire he knew was for him and only him and he could feel it already. It burned and it would never stop. Never.

He had to stop it but that was it, there was no way to do that.

Guilt - Guilt Monster he's come for me he's come for me he's come -

***

Severus had seen Potter flee the room the moment that the idiot teenager grabbed the paper and read it aloud. Potter had that strained look - the look that scared Severus. It was the look he had seen on his own face too many times, and notably, it had also been present on his face those weeks leading up to when he jumped. Jumped. It seemed forever ago - and he still wasn't sure if he was glad he had been caught. No matter, that wasn't what he was concerned about right now. He didn't want to think about that. But Potter had looked pretty stressed. The hollow cheeked, wide-eyed look of guilt had been a clear indicator of that. The healers hadn't noticed either as they were too busy dealing with the Auror. Only human, after all, and it wasn't like they had spent years observing the boy the way Severus had. Besides, Potter hadn't ran. He had simply walked, but Severus, having been (however much he hated to admit it) in a dark place not unlike the one Potter was probably in, had seen the stiff mechanical walk a mile away. It was a million times easier to see if you had done it yourself.

Severus really wished he could just leave Potter be, but there was this annoying little voice in the back of his head that sounded just like Lily. And Lily seemed to poke him out of his chair with a nonstop stream of "remember your promise". He owed it to her. He'd failed to keep spying to protect the kid, so it was only fair he looked out for him now in this godforsaken place. Didn't mean he wanted to, though.

So Severus left his half-finished mug of tea, thinking it was for the best (however dully he thought this) that Daisy didn't show after all.

He wasn't sure what he would find when he opened the door to his and Potter's room. So he was neither surprised nor expecting to see Potter wedged into the corner of their room. At first it seemed like the boy was crying, but a second glance revealed that there was more to it. There was blood.

There was blood on his arms, and Potter's fingernails were scrabbling almost in vain over his wrists. His nails had evidently been clipped, but even clipped fingernails could do some damage. Potter's brows were furrowed, and tears poured from his eyes. He looked so incredibly frustrated that Severus felt it himself. He knew that look (My fault my fault - Right Sev, you know that look it's yours isn't it isn't it -).

Yes. He knew that look. In that split second that Severus had stood in the doorway of the room, Potter had grown fed up with his blunted fingernails. He took his wrist, tears pouring down his face, and sunk his teeth into it, face screwed up and fury on his features. He made a slight whimpering noise as he did so, like a suppressed sob, as though he was biting down in order to stop something worse from happening. Severus unfroze, shutting the door because he knew Potter would never want the other patients to see this, then ran for him. He hit his knees (and it hurt but it didn't because he was too focused on Potter) and slid the last foot to come to rest before Potter.

"Hey, hey, stop that!" Severus said, panicking and not knowing what else to say as he reached for Potter's forearms and gently prised his right arm from his teeth.

Potter released his arm from his mouth in the same manner as someone who had been on the receiving end of an electric shock. He froze, his wide tearful eyes fixed on Snape. Potter seemed to cease breathing, shaking silently as Severus held his arms to keep him from hurting himself. The bite-mark was visible still on Potter's wrist, pale flesh and pink indentations. It must have hurt, and the scrapes now drawing blood around it probably did too, but Potter showed no indication he felt them.

Neither knew what to say, or do, but sat there, Severus on his knees and holding Potter's wrists, and Potter trembling and sickly looking.

Severus had no words, and hoped Potter would break the silence. It was at first unclear to him whether or not Potter would yell at him to get out, or do something different.

Potter's arms went slack, he bent his head low. To Severus' amazement, Potter gave in and cried.

Potter was crying. No. Sobbing.

Shit what do I do, Snape, come on! Oy, Professor, you are in here somewhere, so where are you - I need you!

What was he supposed to do? He wasn't cut out for this.

"I can go get, er, Richard," suggested Severus, aware of just how awkward this was with his hands still gripping Potter's forearms.

Potter shook with silent sobs.

"No - d-don't leave," the boy croaked.

"What?"

"I-I'm scared!" Potter admitted after a moment, his voice hitching.

"You are scared?" Severus said faintly.

Potter nodded.

"Of Richard?"

"Myself, you idiot," Potter snapped in a way that was so reminiscent of Severus' usual tone that he had the absurd desire to laugh. But he didn't.

"Oh," he settled for. "Oh."

"You can let go now," Potter said meekly. "I don't ... I can't ... I won't try anything with you around. I'm only bad when I'm alone."

"Right," said Severus sharply, "but before I let go, I will not hesitate to do this again if I have to. So you know."

"Thanks," muttered Potter. Strangely enough, he sounded grateful.

Slowly, Severus began to let go. Potter sniffled, and took his arms back. They were silent a minute.

"We have to get that blood cleaned up, before anything," muttered Severus, not sure what else to do. "Come here."

He held out a hand for Potter, standing up. Potter's eye welled up with tears. He looked confused, but he took the hand. Severus helped him up.

"Follow," he said curtly to Potter. Severus went over to the tiny bathroom, and grabbed one of the clean washcloths under the sink. He closed the lid to the toilet and pointed. "Sit."

Potter sat, and Severus got the washcloth damp, and added a little soap.

The blood was starting to run down Potter's arms, and there were spots on his jeans already.

"Arms," Severus asked, feeling a surge of control at last.

There you are, Professor. Good to see you. You can handle this.

Potter held out his arms, and Severus knelt before him, starting to wash away the blood with care. Potter stared at him like he'd never seen him before, and then to Severus' amazement, Potter let out a sob.

"Sorry, does that hurt?" Severus asked, letting his worry show, much to his chagrin. Why was it so much harder not to let emotions show here? Was it why he himself was here that was making being impartial so hard? Was it that his emotions hurt so much more now after he tried to ... tried.

"No-o," said Potter in a whisper.

"Alright, well, let me know if it stings too much," muttered Severus despite how stupid his statement felt as he continued to clean the self-inflicted cuts. Potter was quieter now, but it was obvious he was crying again.

Severus grabbed a clean, dry towel, and told Potter to hold that to the cuts on his arms for now. Keeping a close eye on the boy, he led him into the main room, and made him sit on one of the two small chairs that sat by the cramped table. Severus pushed his origami cranes aside, and looked at Potter.

"Why did you do that?" Potter asked hoarsely, unable to look at Severus. "The cuts are my fault. How come you didn't just ... find a healer?"

"Because you asked me to stay," said Severus, confused. Why was Potter acting like he didn't deserve anything? Wasn't Potter supposed to be an entitled brat?

Then again, Severus had also thought Potter had gotten here because someone overreacted. And look how that hypothesis had turned out. He was stunned after what he'd just witnessed. Potter was screwed up. He was screwed up good.

Although, considering what the kid had been through, Severus really couldn't call that a surprise.

"So, the newspaper, that was the trigger," Severus said slowly, not sure what to say and wracking his brains to recall what his Healer, Joseph had said. Joseph had been fixated on triggers lately. Things that brought back bad memories ... feelings. That sort of thing. No way the newspaper wasn't one for Potter. Look at the boy.

"Yeah," Potter said. His voice trembled as he did so, and his voice cracked again and he was crying, the words pouring out like he'd been holding them back all along. "R-Richard is going to be so dis- disappointed! H-He made me p-promise! I had a c-contract with him not to ... not to ... freak out. Or hurt myself. Whatever."

Potter took a deep breath, turning red after his outburst. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the little table and blew his nose noisily.

"Little steps, I guess?" said Severus, frowning and once again trying to channel Joseph. "You cannot be perfect all the time. At least that's what ... what ... my healer says."

"Yeah."

They were silent a while.

"Potter," said Severus suddenly, a thought coming to him that he doubted a dunderhead of a teenager could come up with alone. "Black probably wouldn't have been declared innocent unless he'd died. You know that, right? The Dark Lord would never have come out in the open unless he absolutely had to. He was ready to wait a long time, so Wormtail would have stayed hiding too."

Potter shrugged. "I just ... I wish ..." Potter fell silent.

"I know," Severus said, eyes downcast. "Look, you know I hated Black, and ... you might not believe me, but I am sorry you had to lose him. There was no stopping him, though. You should have seen him, that night. I went back to headquarters to see if he was there. Once we got everyone together - and it was nearly impossible to get him to wait - I tried to make him stay. I admit by force ... and he tried to ..."

"What?" Potter asked. Severus shook his head at the memory.

"You know him, he tried to kill me, the bastard," said Severus casually, chuckling slightly to his own surprise. "Dumbledore gave him the verbal thrashing of his life, but he said it was worth killing a slimy git if it meant saving his godson."

Potter cracked a watery smile. "Yeah, that sounds like him."

"There was no stopping him. He was Black. He would have drank poison straight up for people he cared about." Severus resisted the urge to add, foolish prat to the end of his sentence.

"But I shouldn't have -"

Severus suddenly grew annoyed. He glared at Potter, as though he was trying to scare him into believing what he had to say.

"You did what you did because you are like him, Potter! Think a second! Your father and Black were the best of friends because they were so much alike. You have the same crazy protective streak as your father, and therefore of Black. You did what Black would do, so how then could he blame you when he did the same damned thing for you that very night? He also rushed in."

Potter looked at his lap, a stubborn look so familiar relief coursed through Severus. Thank goodness - here was an inkling of the Potter he knew.

"I know I have said before on many occasions that you rush in without thinking," continued Severus, feeling as though he needed to soften the words a little given Potter's state, "and that Black is guilty of the same thing. I suppose I should really say that people like you and Black, Potter, do think. Just ... differently. You decide in seconds that no price is too high for someone you care about. That really isn't pure rashness after all. Just a different perspective. It only seems stupid to people like me who cannot feel that connection. So you weren't being stupid. You were making the decision to risk everything to save him. Unfortunately all the information wasn't available to you, which I personally blame Dumbledore for."

Severus finished, Dumbledore's name coming off bitterly. He wasn't sure if Potter had heard the longing that he had accidentally infused in his words, either. The jealously he felt, the wish to have someone in his life he cared enough about to just say to hell with everything and jump through fire for. It had been a long time since then. Even his attachment to Lily - that had been one sided. Potter gave everything for Black, and vice versa. Severus just gave everything for someone who stopped being his friend when he was fifteen. It felt a little pathetic, sometimes. Maybe it was. Severus wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't even sure if failing Lily and failing as a spy had been the only reason to get him up on that tower. He wasn't sure now.

Potter fell silent, staring at his lap, thoughtful.

"It ... it was also partly my fault," Severus said quietly. "I should have been a better Occlumency teacher. I never learned it in a classroom. I just picked it up on my own."

Potter looked up sharply.

Severus looked away.

"Come on, Potter" he said to, standing up. "You have to get those cuts healed."

Thankfully, he didn't protest.

"Richard will find out," Potter said dismally, although he followed anyway.

"Well, hiding it will not get you anywhere, either," said Severus tiredly, thinking more of himself than anything. Thinking of all the years he thought about that tower and how many nights he'd spent staring into darkness only to realize he was looking in the mirror.

He always swore he would never jump. That fleeting thoughts like that were natural for everyone. Really, the words "I might be suicidal" had always just seemed too big to say, and why say them when it was only just a passing idea? But then the idea become something terrible. He wondered how long Potter had delayed saying "sometimes I hurt myself", and when blood and scars stopped being just ideas. Mostly, Severus wondered how many opportunities he'd had to spot Potter for what he was, the boy he was right now. Scared. Just scared.

And Severus was scared too, because as he walked side by side with Potter down the hall, silently accompanying him to see one of the healers even though the boy didn't ask - because he knew that Potter was too scared to go alone - he started to see that there was a huge crack in his view of Potter. Cuts and frightened tears didn't fit with the Potter he knew. Well, that was the point, wasn't it? This wasn't the Potter he knew. Then again, he wasn't the Professor Snape that Potter knew. Both of their images were cracked now.

That was just it. The cracks were there, and they would never go away, no matter how much either of them tried. Maybe it was time to let the image break. Let the cracks spread until it was just Severus and Harry, not Severus Snape - Spy, and Harry Potter - Boy who lived. Let it all break way until they were left with just two people. Messed up beyond belief, but real at last.

His life was untitled. It meant nothing. There was nothing in his life that meant anything, thus the whole of it meant nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Severus couldn't understand how one second he could be fine and then the next he could realize he'd been lying in bed for hours and still had no desire to get up. It was like a tidal wave that crashed over him without warning, a tsunami that left all but desolation and devastation in its wake. He was the sole survivor, and he wished he wasn't.

Severus stared at the ceiling. He knew ceilings. Oh, how he knew ceilings. This one was smooth, institutional. Off white from years of the stale air he breathed indoors here. He had memorized the ceilings in his quarters, too. Every crack. Years of lying down on the sitting room floor in a fit of exhaustion. Years of lying in bed on weekends and wishing he couldn't see the ceiling anymore. Years of recovering from one disaster or another, caused by the Dark Lord or himself. The arches at the top of the hospital wing, their shadows and hidden fissures. He knew ceilings. What a useless area of expertise that was.

No use to society. Lying here in a mental ward. Not needed. Not wanted. Purpose served, done.

How could he ever hope to contribute to anything, or be successful in the world when the smallest things sent him crashing to the floor in a heap of bones? Made his legs become lead and his chest tighten into a heavy, monstrous mass that dragged him down.

The room seemed strangely empty now, with Potter gone. Potter was off talking with Richard. Severus had taken him to one of the healers, who had healed his cuts. Then, seeing as Richard had some time, Potter was able to get in to talk a little with him about the incident.

Great. Severus had done a good thing. He'd made sure Potter was safe, and with someone who could get him out of his head a little.

So why the hell do I feel so bloody terrible?

Because you were wrong. Wrong all along, at least partly. Wrong wrong wrong -

So Potter was definitely not what he seemed. He rang alarm bells. Familiar ones. Any other kid and Severus would have been asking about the family. But Potter's adored him, right?

Or did they? To be honest, Potter had scared Severus. The pain on his face, the reaction from the mention of his godfather ... if Severus didn't know better he would have said that Potter felt like he had nobody else in the world now that Black was dead.

Too tired for this. Doesn't matter. Nothing does.

Severus gave a small sigh. Yes, he had been wrong. Somewhat. He didn't know what to think anymore. Oh well. He supposed he'd have something to talk about with Joseph later in the evening.

Wow, when did deciding what to talk about with my healer become normal?

Severus supposed he should have a shower before he went off to his meeting, but he didn't have the energy. It seemed so pointless. He would only have to do it again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. The days stretched before him, grey, dull, and listless.

Snap out of it snap out of it snap out of it you'll never get anywhere if you keep this up never get anywhere anywhere anywhere anywhere failure failure -

"Just shut up already!" Severus cried loudly, anger flaring in his chest. He sighed, the cold replacing the fire as soon as it had come. "Just leave me alone."

He stared up at the ceiling again, examining the cracks and chips in the paint.

One ... two ... three ...

***

"I'm so sorry," whispered Harry, beyond tears, shivering as he sat in the chair in Richard's office, his arms bandaged and cleaned up. They had some dittany applied to them, and the bandages remained to protect the newly formed skin.

"Harry, you do not need to keep apologizing to me," Richard repeated gently for what must have been the fifth time. "Now, how about instead of apologizing to me again, you try apologizing to yourself? You were going to treat yourself with care. You have done well up until now, but today was a slip up. You deserve to be treated with respect, not just from others, but yourself included."

Harry nodded.

"Try saying it," prodded Richard. "Try telling yourself you're sorry. How about you picture yourself as you were as a child, and imagine you are apologizing to him. It might make it easier to remember a more vulnerable version of you."

"I'm sorry ... Harry," muttered Harry, doing as Richard said. "I'm s-sorry."

Harry tried to stop the tears, but Richard said it was okay. So he let them fall, and Richard prodded him to keep going. Explain himself to his inner child, who was frightened by what had happened.

"I'm sorry," Harry said louder, seeing the little boy in the cupboard, crying too. "I did not want to hurt you, Harry. I just ...I felt so bad over Sirius. That newspaper threw me for a loop. I'm going to do better."

"Good," said Richard. "Ready to try out that contract again?"

"Yeah," Harry said, wiping his eyes.

"Alright, now that you want to continue to try not to harm yourself, we have to think about what that means. What do you think you can do next time you feel overwhelmed and have the urge to self-harm?"

"Er ..." How should I know? He tried to remember some of the techniques Richard had said before on the matter.

"Take your time, Harry."

After a moment of thought, hesitantly, Harry spoke. "I could ... go take a shower?"

"If it relaxes you, definitely," said Richard. "What else? What if you can't take a shower? You've said before you only hurt yourself when you're alone."

"Oh, you said before that I could ... find someone to be with? Or talk to?"

"Yes," Richard said. "You can come find me next time, or talk with a friend. Any of the other healers here would be happy to listen if I'm in a session and cannot get away to help. Those are good suggestions, Harry. Any other thoughts or ideas?"

"I guess I just have to be ... kinder to myself, forgive myself when I make mistakes so I won't get so mad," Harry said, staring off into space and thinking deeply. "Maybe when I feel guilty ... no, that's stupid."

"No suggestion is stupid. It's just a stepping stone toward a better solution. You were doing well. Let's hear it."

"Er, maybe I just feel guilty? What I mean is, Sna- Professor Snape, he ... well, he said it wasn't my fault, really. That he tried to stop Sirius from going and that I should have been given more information in the first place, so maybe if Dumbledore had been straight with me, I wouldn't have gone, right? If anyone else said it ... I dunno ... it's just with Snape, I know he'd never lead me on. He always tells me the flat out truth about what he thinks about me and doesn't pretend if something is my fault. I mean, it kind of sucks sometimes but at least I know where I stand with him. So ... he really must think it isn't my fault, and he usually would be the first one to blame me. So maybe ... maybe I just feel guilty, but just ‘cause I feel guilty, that doesn't mean I am. Or is that silly?"

Richard beamed.

"That is great thinking, Harry. How about the next time you feel overwhelmed or guilty, you remember that. You can make it a mantra, something you repeat over and over to yourself. Why not try summarizing that thought now, and saying it aloud?"

"Er, okay," said Harry, rubbing his eyes slightly, relieved Richard liked it. "How about ... ‘just because I feel guilty doesn't mean I am guilty'?"

"That sounds good," said Richard. "I think you are developing some good thoughts and tools to help you achieve our goal. It's not going to be easy always, but keep telling yourself that mantra, and remember what we discussed for options besides hurting yourself next time you are overwhelmed. I think that's about all the time we have, right now, however. I have another session I have to start soon, but before we finish, have you got any other things you want to discuss?"

Harry thought for a moment. "No, I feel okay now. I really do."

"Good," said Richard. "Take care Harry."

"Bye, Richard," said Harry, exhausted but feeling calmer as he headed out of Richard's office and into the main room. He fingered the bandages in his arms.

"Hey, Harry!" called Stephen, sitting over in the cluster of sofas and armchairs by the windows.

Harry smiled back at Stephen, and he went over to him. He sunk down on sofa beside him.

Stephen looked down at Harry's arms, wrapped in the white gauze. Stephen grew sober. "Rough morning?" he said in a low voice.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly.

Stephen nodded, meeting Harry's eyes. He did not say a word, but there was a depth to his gaze that even Richard lacked. It only took that three second glance for Harry to feel more understood than he ever had. Stephen had been there. Stephen knew.

Then, Stephen rolled up his sleeve. There was another small cut on his wrist, healed over from a few days ago with fresh pink skin. He rolled his sleeve back down. It looked like it had been done with fingernails too. Nothing sharp around here.

"Did you tell someone?" Harry asked in a low whisper. He couldn't believe the way he felt after seeing that. It was like a hammer had hit him in the stomach. Was this how Ron and Hermione would be feeling when they got his letter?

They care this much. I've known why Stephen is here all along. They haven't know about me.

He felt suddenly sick, and for a second he knew how Hagrid had felt when he'd seen the cuts on Harry's arms.

"Yeah," muttered Stephen. "Joseph talked with me about it two days ago."

They looked at each other a moment. Harry nodded slightly.

"You want to go play Ground Quidditch?" Stephen asked after a minute. Then, he admitted, "I know it really helps me if I've had a ... rough morning, and stuff."

"Lead the way," Harry said, allowing Stephen to offer a hand to him to help him off the old, sunken sofa.

Suddenly, Stephen's face adopted a look Harry could only describe as mischievous.

"Race you," Stephen said, glancing to make sure the healers weren't looking.

Then he took off, and Harry was chasing after him and laughing more than he had in a long time. The Healers saw, of course, but as no patient was in danger of being run over so they didn't try to stop the two. Harry got the feeling the healers were enjoying the laughter just as much as Harry was.

Maybe things won't be so bad. Maybe I can do this.

***

Severus opened his eyes after having been asleep for a while. It was mid-afternoon. He still had some time before lunch. He felt a little better. And hungry. But still terrible.

Come on, Severus, get up.

He tried thinking of Lily sitting by his bed, convincing him it was worth it. He didn't know why he bothered, because that had stopped working a long time ago. Severus closed his eyes. When he opened them he caught a glimpse of Daisy's pine tree. Lone. Silent, bare of needles. Blackened, stick-like branches, but beautiful.

There was a flicker. A spark. It wasn't much, and it died as soon as he'd felt it, but it had been something. Curiosity. It had been curiosity.

Daisy, why are you here?

Then that spark came again, as he stared, wonderingly at the pine tree.

What made you talk to me? Why would you talk to me?

She had skipped breakfast. She would probably be at lunch, then. Daisy had to be hungry, right? Everyone got hungry, though they didn't always feel like eating. He thought there was a chance she would be there, though.

Severus tried to sit up, but the world was sitting on his chest, a heavy, time-devouring earth pressing into his lungs and keeping him on the bed. He tried to push it away and sit up, but fell back onto the bed.

Come on Severus. Get up or you'll never know what brought Daisy here. GET UP.

GET UP!

He gave it another try, but exhaustion claimed him again.

He stared at the lone pine tree.

Don't give up on yourself. Don't give up. That's why people are sent here, right? People aren't ready to give up on them. Guess Dumbledore wasn't ready to give up on me, even if he is a manipulative bastard sometimes.

Am I ready to give up?

Sometimes.

But something was keeping him from lying there. Something was keeping him from stopping in his attempts. He had to know. He needed to know. Then he'd be at peace. Then he could stay in this bed forever and never care. Just a few hours out of bed, that was all. An afternoon to find Daisy. Find out why she was here, maybe interrogate Joseph later during his session if that proved fruitless. Yes. That was it.

Severus took a deep, forceful breath. He did not quite know how he did it, but it cost him almost all his energy. He sat up and moved the world from his chest, just for a moment. Just long enough to get up out of bed. He swayed a little, his mind still caught in the toxic dream world he had been inhabiting so long. It made the world look strange. It made the floor seem too far away from him, and the furniture the wrong size. The light seemed strange too, like it was too bright and too unmoving. But he took a step forward, dragging the world on a shackle from his ankles. But he dragged it forward.

Daisy. Daisy Daisy Daisy what brought you here do you wonder what brought me here do you care what brought me here why did you talk to me I have to know I have to know, one more step come on just do this Severus and then you can be at peace. Peace. Peace

Does that exist anymore?

He wanted to believe peace existed for him. And most of all he wanted to believe it existed in life, in living. He supposed wanting to believe was a start. It was a start.

He opened the door and left the room.

Severus entered the main area, the beginnings of lunch now underway. Daisy was nowhere to be found, and Severus quietly ate a bowl of soup. He couldn't think of why Daisy wouldn't be at lunch. Well, he figured that whatever brought her here was acting up right now if she wasn't leaving her room, but what was it? What could keep someone so bright, full of life like Daisy, in her room?

He thought of the moments that she faltered in her brightness, those nearly invisible cracks that sometimes came to the surface. He'd seen them, from time to time. A sideways glance at a group of laughing women, her eyes dark and bothered. Maybe the girls here were hard on her? Severus remained pensive, stirring his soup rhythmically, one stir clock-wise, two counter clockwise. He did this unconsciously, for his best thinking he did while brewing. He hadn't been able to brew potions for weeks before he had his break. Weeks. His spoon clinked gently as it scraped along the bottom of the bowl, and Severus frowned. He couldn't remember the girls saying or doing anything to Daisy. The only bad incident of that sort at Oak Tree that he could think of was the one with him and the Auror in the hallway.

Come to think of it, the Auror had yet to bother him since that incident. Obviously, he'd decided to give up on it. Severus was surprised. Maybe Joseph really had fixed something for him. He wondered if Joseph could help fix up whatever or whoever was bothering Daisy. Perhaps he would tell Daisy that this place wasn't quite like the rest of the world ... that sometimes people actually backed off. Severus wondered what Joseph had said to the Auror to get him to leave him alone. He hadn't the guts to ask, for he had a worrisome suspicion that Joseph would be surprised, and admit he actually hadn't had time to talk to the Auror about his violent behaviour. That the Auror had just mysteriously backed off and Joseph really hadn't given a damn after all.

Severus shook his head. Perhaps Daisy hadn't told anyone about the other girls, if they were indeed cruel to her.

Yes. That has to be it. The other girls are mean to her. Why else would she sit with me?

On a whim, Severus took the chocolate biscuit he'd been given with his lunch, wrapped it up, and put it in his pocket. He knew exactly what he was going to do. No more guessing if Daisy was okay. He was going to visit her himself.

The tricky part would be sneaking into the women's hallway.

Severus watched the healers, counting them off on in his head. Time to put that spying to good use.

He watched them move around the room, the trainee healers stacking books and putting them away on shelves, preparing for the next activities that would be taking place after lunch. It was no use. They were all too near the entrance to the women's' hallway. They would never let Severus through those double doors so he could go knock on Daisy's door.

He'd need a diversion. A distraction. Something to draw the healers closer to the men's hallway, which was far enough away that they wouldn't notice someone slip through that door. A diversion ...

No goats, Professor, they might get wise, Severus could swear he heard Potter saying in his head. However much Severus loathed to admit it, the words Potter had spoken following the goat incident had been valid.

What if I recruited Potter? Get him to knock something over, make a commotion?

No. Stupid. I refuse to sink that low.

Ah, but you considered it, Severus ... you really must have gone mental.

Severus bit down on his tongue slightly, as though he believed that doing this would prevent his thoughts from voicing themselves.

Where are the Weasley twins when you need them? Diversions are their specialty. They flooded a bloody corridor for goodness sakes!

Flood.

FLOOD.

Naturally, there was nobody in the shower during lunch. Everyone was in the dining hall, so nobody would think to knock on the door. Severus made good time, secreted away in the warm, damp room to perform his prank. He was worried for Daisy. He wanted to make sure she was okay, and if she wasn't, he wanted to make her okay. A kind of dizzying desperation filled Severus' chest, a pressure he as sure would only be relieved when he went to see Daisy to confirm she was still getting by. It was a strange feeling, to be so worried over somebody else. And while he knew the healers would be watching over her from time to time, he still felt his stomach twisting. The healers did that for anyone who stayed in their room, but he didn't trust them to know how Daisy was feeling. How could anyone know how it felt to be here, unless they had been committed to Oak Tree as a patient? Severus knew. He knew exactly how it felt.

So he performed his task of mischief as quick as he could, covering the drain with an upside down glass he'd filched from the dining room and then sealing the edges with one of the thin towels from the stack in the cupboard to seal it further. The water wouldn't have time to seep through the towel and under the glass. It would overflow, and the corridor would start to get soaked. Severus twisted the water tap on so that the shower was on full blast. He managed to avoid the stream, and then he crept out of the steaming room. Nobody was looking.

So far so good.

Then, he went out into the main area, and he waited. By the time anyone noticed the water was starting to pool at the mouth of the men's hallway, which was only a few feet from the shower, Severus was ready to act. The water was seeping out from under the double doors. Severus smirked as a few of the healers went running to see what the commotion was about. The others turned their eyes to the spreading water. Then, as though he had done so the entirety of his time here, he walked over to the women's hallway and slid in.

It was empty, everyone either at lunch or in their rooms. The women's hall was exactly the same as the men's hallway, with the doors and their patients' names labelled. Some too were decorated. Severus knew Daisy's room right away, for the door was covered with drawings of pine trees, and a few other little things her roommate probably put up. He stood outside it, fear pumping through his limbs. Knowing he had five minutes or less before people got bored with the flooded shower, Severus knocked.

"Daisy, are you okay?" he called as loud as he dared.

To his relief, the door whipped open in less than five seconds.

Odd. If she was depressed that wouldn't have happened so fast.

"Severus!" Daisy said, shocked, wringing her hands but not looking displeased to see him. In fact, she even seemed rather pleased. She was wearing a pair of cosy flannel pyjamas, looking strange to Severus, who had only seen her in robes.

"Are you alright?" he asked, now feeling completely embarrassed and feeling himself going red now that she was standing before him. "You weren't at breakfast or lunch."

"Oh ..." She looked at her feet. "Oh ... I'm fine, Severus. I just ... coul - er, didn't want to go."

"Are the other women bothering you? I could get them to back off." Sure, making promises now, Severus. Wow, you're pathetic.

I probably could get them to lay off, though.

Girls are bitchier than James Potter, and you couldn't even get him to lay off you. Moron.

Severus dragged himself out of his thoughts, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"They're okay," muttered Daisy. "It's not that. It's not them. I've known some awful women but it isn't them."

Severus glanced over at the double doors at the end of the hallway.

"Listen, Daisy, I can't stay long, I flooded the shower so I could sneak here to see if you were okay so -"

"You flooded the shower to see if I was okay?"

"Er, yeah." Why is she looking at me like that? You'd think I rode in on a horse ...

She smirked. "Are you sure you're a Professor?"

He scoffed. "Funny. And the goat thing was your idea, really. So do not give me all the credit."

She smiled, but shrugged to say that he was right.

"Oh, before I go ... I brought you something," Severus said, pulling the biscuit out of his pocket and putting it in her hands.

Daisy looked down at the chocolate biscuit he'd pressed into her hand. For some reason, she let out a small sob.

"Severus, I can't," she said to him, her face suddenly wracked with pain.

Oh no what did I do - what do I do -

"It's just a biscuit, Daisy," he said, and tears started to run down her cheeks. He stared, baffled and thinking he'd missed something completely. "I thought you'd be hungry. Besides, you look like you could use it."

She sobbed a little harder, shaking her head and muttering something. She had such a strange look on her face. It was like she was in pain, but she was also glad.

"You s-should go or they'll catch you and you'll be in trouble," Daisy said, choking back sobs again. "B-Bye, Severus. T-Thank you."

"O - Okay, take care of yourself," he said numbly. The door closed and he fled the hallway.

He escaped into the main area, the healers none the wiser.

What the hell just happened?

It was only when he was sitting in his and Potter's empty room that it occurred to him that without her robes, wearing just her less loose fitting pyjamas, that Daisy was way skinner than he'd realized. Skinny at a glance, but upon further scrutiny, way too skinny.

But still, who cries when someone brings them a biscuit?

Skinny. Sickly. Skeletal, even.

He thought again of the way she looked when he said he thought she needed the biscuit.

I am so stupid. So stupid.

He spent the rest of the day waiting for his session with Joseph and mulling over his suspicions. Dinner was spent in silence, his head swirling and guilt rising in his chest. Had he done the right thing? How could he have been so foolish? The signs were there. Daisy's hate for meals, her constant skipping of them ... her anxiety around the other girls ...

He'd seen it in some of his Slytherins before. Their thin arms and pale moon eyes, their lack of attendance at meals. He usually just sent a note to Poppy to book them in for a check-up. And sometimes an intervention.

There was a scraping noise. Thin arms and pale moon eyes. Daisy was sitting across from him. There was rice on her plate. Just rice and some carrots. But there was food.

"Thank you for bringing me the biscuit."

Severus smiled, relief pouring through him.

"I'm sorry I freaked out earlier," continued Daisy, turning red. "It's just ... I'm not sure I'm ready for biscuits yet. See ..."

"You don't eat enough, that's why you're here, right?" he said quietly when she fell silent. His voice was calm. Encouraging.

"Yeah," she said, seeming relieved. "It's more complicated, though."

"If either of our problems weren't complicated, neither of us would be here," Severus said sagely, eating a mouthful of rice and steamed vegetables. He had to admit. St. Mungos could cook.

"It started with the girls in my office," admitted Daisy, stirring her rice. "They were awful to me. Stupid stuff. Bitchy stuff. And after a while I got too ... I dunno ... anxious to eat. Then I started to realize that it made me feel better when I didn't. Like I had control? Something like that. So I just started eating less, and then some of the girls started complimenting me, saying I looked good. That was about four years ago, and it sort of started to slowly get worse. After a while it made me nervous to eat at all ... and things were getting worse at work. Then I started fainting so I took time off for my health, and though I knew what the problem was I just couldn't convince myself to eat. Guess I thought that nobody would like me if I gained any weight at all. The girls were so mean to me, and the only thing that seemed to make me forget how terrible their words were was that I was thinner than they were. Something like that. I guess.

"My sister came to see me, because I wasn't returning her calls, and finally she got me sent here. Stayed a month or so in a different ward, you know, so I could get some ... weight on me. Now I'm here. Today I ... I got bad. My roommate was complaining she's fat - and she isn't here for the same thing so she doesn't get what that kind of talk can do. She's heavier than I am, so it sort of sent me into a bit of a ... flashback. Relapse. Whatever you call it."

Severus nodded. "Rough," he muttered, not sure what else to say. It seemed to be enough for Daisy. "Well, that explains the biscuit incident. I was worried I'd done something wrong."

"No," Daisy said with a sad little laugh, her eyes sparkling and damp. "I was just taken aback. You didn't even know about my ... my issues, and you basically told me outright what everyone's been telling me non-stop for ages. That I look like I could use a biscuit."

"Well, you do," said Severus, smiling.

"Thank you, for what you did today," she muttered. "It helped me remember that it isn't just my body, I guess, something my healer says a lot. He says others care about me too, and want me to be healthy. You reminded me of my sister for a moment when you said that thing about the biscuit. I have to eat for the people that care about me, if I can't always do it for me."

He nodded.

"I actually think I can relate to some of that," admitted Severus quietly. "I didn't eat much before I came here either. Still don't. Sometimes it gets hard, but I guess I find it easier to skip eating too. Some days I cannot stomach the idea of food. Usually I am just so ... depressed I cannot eat. Different reasons, but the same result."

He opened his mouth to continue, but he found he couldn't. Daisy nodded, looking relieved to hear his words.

"I guess you're probably wondering why I'm here?" he muttered at last.

Daisy, still chewing thoughtfully on her rice, swallowed.

"You don't have to tell me," she said. "Not if you don't want to."

"I - I think I do want to."

Daisy gave him an encouraging nod.

"I tried to ... I tried ..." he began, his words sticking in his throat. "Well, it's lucky I'm still alive. If that makes sense?"

He had expected her to be shocked. Or shy away from him. Instead, she reached her thin, frail hand over and put it on his.

"Yeah, yeah it does," she told him.

"Hello?" Harry said nervously, leaning against the wall in the corridor, the public phone for the patients' use in his hand. His heart was beating fast. The front desk had called him down to tell him he had a call. There was only one person he'd given this number too.

"Hi Harry," said Hermione. Her voice was trembling.

"Hey, Hermione," he said, not sure what else to say.

"Thanks for telling me what's been going on. I'm glad you told me."

They were silent a second. Harry got the feeling Hermione was searching for words just as much as he was.

"Figured you had to know," muttered Harry at last. "I've missed you guys. Wasn't sure I could keep up the whole summer pretending I was ... at the Dursleys'."

"Have you heard back from Ron yet? You said in your letter you'd written him."

"Nah. I didn't give him the number here. You know, he could use a little instructions on how to use a phone."

Hermione gave a small laugh.

"Yeah, he could. I'll give him a few tips if you want to hear from him. I'm dropping by the Burrow in a few days for a quick visit. They've connected my house to the floo network now. Dumbledore thought it was safer for me to go to the Burrow that way."

"Sure. You can give Ron this number when you see him," said Harry after a moment. "Might be quicker than letters sometimes. Especially given the whole passing method ... can't guarantee anyone from our crowd will be able to take and deliver letters."

"I wanted to hear from you in person, that's why I called," Hermione said. "So, Harry, how are you?"

Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that, and he felt his stomach clench. He wanted to tell Hermione he was okay, but what could he say?

"You don't have to say fine," said Hermione, and her voice was filled with understanding. He knew she didn't really understand what he was going through, or at least he hoped she didn't. But that was okay. She understood enough what he'd been through to share his pain in some way, and that was enough in his opinion.

"Hermione ... things just suck lately," he said honestly, feeling some of the pressure in his chest leave. "I mean really suck."

"Is it bad there?"

"Well, the place is okay, actually," Harry admitted, sinking down into the chair in front of the phone, some of the tingling in his limbs fading away now. "Bit strange, but not bad. I made a friend. He's cool. Never went to Hogwarts though, so you wouldn't know him. I'd tell you more but I think I'm not allowed to mention names."

"That's fine," said Hermione. "I'm glad you have someone to hang out with there."

"Yeah, but I still miss you," Harry said, "and Ron."

Hermione sniffled a little on the other line.

"Harry, if there was a spell I could do, or a potion I could make, I'd spend every second finding a way to do it so you could feel better. I just ... I feel so powerless. I don't know what to do to h-help you!"

"Aw, Hermione, don't cry, I'm fine," Harry said, and he could tell she was trying really hard to be strong so as not to make him feel worse. "Well, not exactly fine, but I will be. Things have gotten a little better. Really. It's just a slow process, is all."

"It's just ... I can't believe I never noticed it. I should have -"

"Don't feel guilty. I was trying not to be noticed. It wasn't your fault."

"I guess, but I just wish there was more I could do."

"You're doing fine, Hermione," Harry said quietly, tracing a figure eight across the white institutional tiles with the end of his trainer.

"C-Can I visit you sometime?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah. Tell Ron when you see him too. I'd love it if you guys visited. Sorry it took me so long to tell you what was going on. It's just ... I was ... worried about how you would react. I didn't want to hurt you. I know you care a lot about me ... and ... I guess that was why I was afraid to say anything. Guess I was scared you would be angry, or disappointed in me."

"Harry," Hermione said, her voice trembling, "it's okay. I'm just glad you told me. Besides, we all have problems. Well ... look at me. I study myself sick."

"Yeah, yeah you do," muttered Harry, surprised that she would admit it.

"And it isn't that I like to study all the time ... I'm just well, terrified I'll fail. You've just never seen me alone near finals. I get panic attacks and everything. Why do you think I hide in the library when I study? So ... so I guess I'm saying Harry ... don't feel guilty that you've got issues. We all have them. I do too."

"You ... you never told me that," Harry said, shocked.

Hermione was silent a second, and he could her gentle breathing on the other line. "No."

"Huh. I thought that I was the only one with, I dunno, problems like that, or something."

"You're not alone, Harry. It's hard to remember that sometimes. If you need reminding, just give me a call, okay?"

"I will," Harry said, feeling relieved.

"I have to go now," said Hermione apologetically. "My mother wants me to go book shopping with her. I promised her ages ago, and I think she's really looking forward to it. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. Thanks for calling."

"You're welcome. I'll call again soon. And when I go over to Ron's in two days I'll see if I can talk to Mrs Weasley about arranging a time for me and Ron to come say hi. I miss you."

"Yeah, I miss you too."

"Bye, Harry. Take care."

"I will. You too, okay?"

She said she would, and then they hung up. Harry leaned against the back of the rickety chair by the phone, and closed his eyes.

He felt different. Good different. Right now, the world didn't seem so big. The ward started to seem smaller. Less important. It was as though he needed outside contact to remind him that his own world existed beyond these neutral coloured walls. For here, inside these walls, existed a different sort of world. A world of listlessness, where people wandered constantly. Some did so purposefully, but most wandered aimlessly, nomads in both their minds and in life, never sure where to stop, and unsure if rest existed anywhere. Harry knew that feeling. That feeling of never being able to just breathe, of the weeks stretching before him in a dull, colourless line that would never end and filled him with nothing but fear and guilt and pain and loss.

Harry felt for the nomads as he walked through the ward and toward the gym to meet Stephen, where they were planning of tossing a quaffle around. Patients sat still as he walked past, silent and staring out windows. Others muttered to themselves, and some looked almost normal until you looked into their eyes and realized that there was nobody present within them. Harry felt for them, felt sorry that their world right now existed only in rooms with charmed windows and no locks. Some days, these people scared him, but today they didn't. He wasn't as frightened that he was going to stay as one of them. It was true that there were times when he was one with them, but today he'd seen a glimpse of somewhere better. Of something better, and he was reminded once again that the world was still moving. That he was a part of it too.

Ron and Hermione were the tethers that held him to the outside, and he was more grateful for them today than he ever had been before. He was never going to stay as one of these people. There would be days where he would stare blankly, but those days were always numbered, limited, if he had others to remind him of the good things. The good things. Love. Friendship. With those two things, he could fight it, push against the white walls until he broke through. Every day if he had to. But he was going to fight it. Fight the scars and the pain and the fear and the guilt. He was going to fight.

As Harry entered the gym, Stephen caught his eye and tossed him a quaffle. Harry raised his hands and caught it

"Who called?" asked Stephen, shoulders stooped and looking downcast. "A friend?"

"One of them," Harry said, grinning and tossing the quaffle to Stephen.

Stephen's eyes lit up, and he smiled back, his brown eyes laughing.

***

Severus spent the day with notepad and paper, isolated in his and Potter's room, thinking. It was empty right now, Potter gone, and the conditions ideal. A cup of tea on the table sat in front of him and all around was pure silence. Still, he resisted his task. His mind refused to settle down and replay everything he knew about child abuse. He didn't like to think about his time as a child, or as a teenager. Nor did he like to think about the situations where he had intervened at Hogwarts during his time as a teacher. But he felt like he needed to do this, however much it pained him to do so. Therefore, it was with an agonizing sort of determination that he paced back and forth, trying to come up with signs that should be taught to the teachers at Hogwarts. Signs that would save the students who were like he had been. Joseph had been encouraging him to do this. But it still wasn't easy.

He and Joseph had already decided the structure of the abuse prevention plan at Hogwarts. They had agreed that the staff should be required to attend a yearly seminar that detailed the warning signs, and how they might look in students. Severus had suggested they make staff more familiar with the protocol in place at Hogwarts and in the Ministry for dealing with abuse. Those rules, regulations, and processes were there already, but usually staff were instructed when the time came for them to know them. Knowing all this beforehand would give them an idea of their options and help them inform children in such situations that required action. In addition to this, Joseph thought it might be a good idea that the students have a physical at the beginning of the school year. Not only would it help give a baseline for the each student's health and allow for better treatment later on if the situation arose, but it would also reveal anyone who was hiding injuries. It was strict, but Severus and Joseph agreed it would go a long way to prevent abuse at Hogwarts. Severus found it a comforting thought.

Severus sighed and sunk into the chair, taking a sip of tea. He shut his eyes, trying not to remember all those times he'd showed up at Hogwarts and set up shop with his cauldron, brewing everything he could manage to heal the bruises and cuts. He'd always had a talent for potions, but he wondered what Dumbledore would think if he knew just how much of Severus' potions skills in those early years were from the hours of illicit practise to heal himself.

"Right ... signs of physical abuse ... let's start with that ..." muttered Severus, putting his quill to the paper.

An image of a little boy being dragged forcefully by his wrist hit Severus' eyes like a tidal wave. He watched the purple and yellow bloom on the wrist, remembering the way that it crept up his arm and circled around his pale skin.

Unexplained bruises.

Professor McGonagall's hand on his shoulder. Fifth year. He could still see the disappointment in her eyes. "My office, Mr Snape."

Flinching when touched. Especially when unexpected.

Eleven years old. Hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had been hovering over him. "Would you like me to contact your parents?" she'd asked. "We do allow parents to visit."

He couldn't remember how he'd managed to say no without giving himself away, but the damage was done. Feverish and terrified, he'd taken ages to fall asleep that night.

Trouble sleeping - child seems fatigued all the time.

Severus shivered slightly, remembering that feverish night in the hospital wing, half-expecting his father to show up. The morning had been worse. His hand was shaking now.

"Stop it," he muttered to himself, scrubbing roughly at his eyes, which were starting to water. He scowled at himself, pressing the quill into the paper again.

Bedwetting - especially after having been previously dry at night

He pushed the memory from his mind and kept on, writing any and all he could think of, the symptoms of other kinds of abuse bleeding into his list.

Poor marks

Trouble concentrating

Low self esteem

Anxiety - irrational fears, etc.

Startles easily

Self-destructive acts - alcohol & drug abuse, cutting, suicide attempts, etc.

Difficulty eating

Authority issues

And the list went on.

After a while, Severus lay back on his bed. It was enough for the day. There were a lot more signs, some specific to one kind of abuse, others that overlapped. So many symptoms. So many it hurt to think of all them. It would take some time to get those down, and he'd have to research sexual abuse. Thank goodness he'd never known that one. Thank goodness. Still, though. He felt sick when he realized how many from the list he knew from personal experience.

He glanced over at Potter's bed. Severus was relieved that the boy hadn't shown yet. He wasn't ready to face anyone right now. He felt weak and shaky after having all those memories pouring back. His brain felt dead, but as he stared at Potter's bed, he had one final thought.

It was unrelated, of course.

He grabbed for the quill and jotted down one last one.

Guilt complex - feels responsible for things they cannot control

Severus frowned, staring at the paper.

Unrelated. Was it?

He glanced back at Potter's bed.

He heard Dumbledore's voice, the memory of a discussion they had had a long time ago filling his head. A request Dumbledore had spoken of. A request from Potter.

Feeling like he was crazier than he thought, Severus moved the quill to start writing in smaller letters on another sheet of paper.

Reluctance to return to family for the summer.

He paused, re-evaluated, then continued.

Poor emotional regulation (Anger, outbursts; self-harm as a side-effect.)

That could stem from all he had to go through with the Dark Lord, though, right?

Authority issues (Umbridge? Myself?)

Brat. Potter's just a brat. Come on.

Independence inappropriate for age (Never asks for help.)

Odd.

Trust issues (Tries to fix every bad situation without asking adults first.)

Severus felt cold, but the room was warm.

Sleep issues? (Nightmares - possibly not all Dark Lord induced? Fatigued - falls asleep in potions.)

Trauma, of course. The Dark Lord could do that to anyone.

Family shows little interest in schooling (No hospital wing visits when injured. No attendance for Tri-Wizard tournament.)

Again, strange.

Eating issues (Eats very little, often looks sick after a few bites at start of term feast - perhaps not from eating candy after all?)

Poor concentration (As seen in occlumency, my class, everywhere ...)

Low self-worth (Sacrifices himself, runs into danger, willing to save others at all costs but surprised when others come after him)

Severus dropped the sheet, but he had a feeling he could write more.

No. It wasn't possible.

But the suspicion was there, and there was no way Severus could forget it now.

The door opened. Potter walked in and started rummaging through one of the drawers in his wardrobe.

Severus didn't say anything, and stared blankly at Potter, who wasn't paying any attention to him. After a moment, however, Potter looked up.

"Are you alright?" said Potter, looking worried as he surveyed Severus from across the room. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I am fine," said Severus, clearing his throat. "Must be the potions they are giving me."

He gave a weak smile, hoping Potter would buy into it. To his surprise, Potter looked amused.

"Yeah, some of those calming draughts can really hit you hard," he said, pulling a book from the drawer and leaving. "See you later."

Severus groaned and lay back on his bed, remembering all the cases he'd dealt with. It was true that in many cases he'd found enough bruises to persecute, something he doubted he'd find with Potter. But even in those you had to get the kid to admit the abuse to really make headway. To get the confession, it never did them much good to interrogate them. You had to get to know them. The plus side about Hogwarts was that he had the time to do that, as well as plenty time left to take action to get them out of the situation before the end of the school year came around.

And here was Potter. Locked up in the same mental ward for the summer. Cut arms and sleeping in the same room, probably carrying the secret Severus never would have considered before now.

Severus swore.

The worst part was that he knew he was right. He always was. And he'd been too stupid to see it, but now the idea was there. The glass had cracked and instead of seeing the reflection of James Potter, it was clear there was someone different behind it. Someone probably just as scared and broken as he had been as a teen. It pissed Severus off royally, not only that he had been wrong, but that Potter wasn't as different from him as he thought. And on top of it, he knew very well that he had to see this through. That he had to keep rubbing his face in the fact that he'd been wrong and Potter had a damn good reason to be a delinquent. He wasn't exactly a brat after all. He just ran off into trouble without a second thought because he didn't trust others to help him so he wouldn't have to do that. Severus didn't like this thought. He really didn't. He would rather have had Potter be a regular brat. Maybe a spoiled brat, even. At least then he wouldn't be an abused brat. Nobody deserved that.

That, and half the trouble was that Severus only ever trusted himself to do the dirty work. Nobody he knew had an understanding of abuse like he did. So there was no doubt in his mind that he was in the best position at the moment to find out what Potter's home life was like. It was the best chance he had, and he'd sworn a long time ago that he would never abandon a student if he thought they needed him, no matter how much he didn't like the kid. Severus knew he didn't have to like Potter, but he knew he could never abandon him. Even now, Severus couldn't quite forget how Slughorn had treated him when he was a student. The man had always just brushed him aside. By taking no interest in him he had done nothing but remind Severus he was worthless, and in doing that Severus suffered in silence, condemned to far more years of abuse than he should have had to endure. He couldn't do that to Potter, or anyone.

Severus sighed.

The worst part of it all was that he knew all of his observation would be pointless if Potter didn't admit that it was happening. And for that to happen, Potter had to trust him first. And that was not going to be easy.

"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 -"

Harry lay in bed, unable to sleep. Snape was snoring softly, asleep before Harry for once, it seemed. He couldn't get the overheard words out of his head. They rang constantly like an urgent call, telling Harry to pick up and listen.

I do not want ...

Do not want to see Potter end up like me.

Like me. Like me.

How? How did Snape not want Harry to end up like him? The thought baffled Harry, and as he lay on his side, staring out the window with its enchanted stars, just visible between the curtain that Snape insisted stayed closed as much as possible, Harry frowned. And then there was that other thing Snape had said ... that sentence that stuck a lump in Harry's throat and struck fear into his heart. Yet in that far back region of his stomach where the fear lay, so too lay relief. Whether Snape was talking about himself when Harry caught onto the second half of the overheard conversation, Harry did not know, but Snape's mention of knowing what it was like for your family not to care had etched itself in Harry's memory. Somehow he didn't think it would be unlikely for Snape to have had a bad family. The man was a mess, whether he tried to hide it or not. The way he was in class suggested he only knew how to rule through fear, rather than respect. The students who didn't like him were intimidated into submission. He worked under no other tactic. Harry had always thought he was just cruel, but now, he couldn't help but wonder if there was another reason.

Perhaps fear was the only kind of respect that Snape had ever known. Perhaps he had feared his own family, as Harry (however much he hated to admit it) feared his own. Thankfully, however, Harry had seen other good examples of leadership, and learned from them. But if Snape hadn't ... if Snape had been terrorized by his family just as Harry had (and given the overheard words, it was the only scenario Harry could think of that fit all of what he had overheard), then his teaching style and overall approach to people made sense. It was a piece of the puzzle, and startling though it was, it fit well with all the other clues. Abused, though. Snape? So rigid ... strong, dominating. But hiding behind all of it ... maybe there was a history Harry hadn't ever suspected.

... don't want to see Potter end up ... (Like me. But how, Professor?)

The thought pervaded his senses once again. It was the water seeping through the cracks in the rock face, and it hit Harry's heart, cold and unexpected. The rock face was beginning to crumble at those words, those words that could mean any number of things. Bitter. Jaded. Cruel. Maybe Snape didn't want Harry to become like that. But Harry had a sense that it wasn't just that that Snape had meant. It breaks you, he had said, after all.

Harry was pretty sure Snape meant that whatever had happened in his childhood (those moments, those horrible, nameless series of events that made Snape who he was ... bitter, jaded, cruel) had had a large part in bringing him here. To Oak Tree. But why was Snape here?

Anxious thought after anxious thought bombarded Harry, and he felt the gripping arms of fear on his chest, squeezing his breath from his lungs. Snape was onto him. Somehow, some way, Snape suspected something about Harry's home life. And he was worried it would break Harry.

Because he knew from experience?

If Snape suspected Harry's home life was bad, Harry could not help but feel that it really must be.

Furthermore, what was Harry supposed to be trying to avoid? How could he make sure he didn't end up like Snape, if he still didn't really know how or why he had ended up here? How could he knew what he had to avoid becoming, if he didn't know what Snape had referred to?

He lay awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling. Thinking.

What if it is too late? What if I have already failed?

***

After a long time, Harry got up. Snape was still sleeping, and the rest of the ward was nearly empty. It was still a long time before breakfast, and Harry sat down in the dining area. A few healers were bustling about, preparing the ward for the day. They said their morning greetings, asking Harry how he was, as per usual. He said fine every time, and his years of convincing people that he was definitely paid off. They did not notice the troublesome thoughts stirring beneath the surface.

Harry couldn't get rid of the thought that he had failed, somehow. That if Snape had started to suspect that the Dursleys weren't good to Harry, then he'd messed up. That was rule number one, always. Don't tell. Never tell. The cupboard is a secret. Everything is a secret. If anyone asks you got a bicycle for Christmas ... some video tapes ... a toy race car ...

I'll be in my room, pretending I don't exist.

Don't exist.

What does Snape know what does he know what if he finds out what if he find out about the cupboard what if he doesn't understand and he actually he knew I was listening so he's hoping that I'll confide in him and then he's going to tell everyone everyone everyone will know I can't - I can't. Everyone will know I fought off Voldemort but can't fight Vernon.

The recollection that the contract wouldn't let Snape tell anyone outside of Oak Tree without Harry's consent wasn't something Harry recalled at the moment. His head was spinning and he was scared and his arms were burning and he couldn't take it.

All he wanted was to hurt himself, because he deserved it for letting his facade slide, for thinking he could relax and not fear someone finding out.

Mechanically, he got up out of his chair.

Make it stop please just stop this stop this pain -

His hands were clenched tightly and his eyes were starting to feel like they were going to bug out and his chest had become a vacuum, no air no air no air no air -

"What should you do next time you feel like hurting yourself?"

I don't know, Richard I don't know -

Talk to someone, don't be alone, don't be alone talk talk talk talk

Harry stood before the phone in the hallway, the area empty and the buttons staring him in the face.

Hermione's number. Hermione's number.

He typed it in with numb fingers, and he picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Um, is Hermione there?"

Stupid idea it's too early she's asleep you're a terrible friend for waking her you don't deserve her help -

"Oh, this must be Harry," said an older, vaguely familiar female voice on the line. Hermione's mother.

"Yeah," Harry said, his voice shaking. A breath.

"I'll go get her for you. Just a mo'"

"Er, thanks, Mrs Granger."

"Anytime, Harry."

He heard the phone set down for the time being.

Thank you. Thank you.

"Hi, Harry," said a tired sounding voice on the other line. "You're awake early. Something on your mind?"

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" muttered Harry. Stupid stupid stupid. "I'll call back -"

"Wait - it's fine, Harry," said Hermione on the other line, obviously having heard the shuffling of the receiver in Harry's nervous hand. "I told my parents to get me if you call. No matter when."

"No ... no matter when?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Well, yes," said Hermione as though it was obvious.

"Oh. Erm, thanks."

"No problem. That's what friends are for. So, what's on your mind?"

Harry sighed weightily, sinking down into the chair by the phone.

"Kind of hard to explain. I don't know. I just need to talk to someone."

"Hard to explain, yeah, I get you on that," said Hermione. Then, adding in a rather disgruntled way, "words never quite seem to be enough when it comes to emotions."

"Yeah, one area where books kind of fail, huh?"

She sniffed haughtily and gave a resigned yes.

"So, um, what's been happening around your house lately?" Harry asked, seeking distraction.

Hermione, adept as she was, caught on.

"Oh, nothing much of interest," she said, the sound of pots being moved in the background bleeding through from her end. "I planted a garden though. Dad thought it would be fun. Normally they're so busy because they work so much, Dentists, you know ... but this year they thought, well, why not? So we planted beans, and carrots, and ..."

Harry listened, feeling his heartbeat slow down as Hermione chattered on about the garden, glad that he could give her advice on weeding due to his many years of experience himself. It was like he had dipped into the forgotten well of information inside of him, the things that he had learned without realizing it, and like lifeblood it started to circulate as he told her the best way to prune vine type plants. It brought his body back to earth, he could start to feel his fingers and toes coming back to life, and the painful rubber band around his chest loosened as the lifeblood from the well circulated, reminding him of who he was and that he still held some semblance of control if he could remember that wild bluebells grew from tubers and if you wanted to get them out of a flower bed you had to dig those up too.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind him that he had some control, and so when he said goodbye to Hermione after thirty minutes of aimless chatter and the promise of a visit soon, the world was the right size again. The floor didn't seem too far away and the light that was shed was no longer too harsh.

It was with care that Harry approached the rest of the day. Lunch had arrived, and he had yet to see Stephen. Although Stephen's family was visiting today, so there was that to take into account. Harry thought that perhaps he really had meant to stay away from Harry. It made Harry feel rather forgotten as he stared morosely at the slice of processed meat on his stale bread. He hated to say it, but the sandwiches at lunch here never failed to be terrible. Today he couldn't even make the best of it and feel lucky it wasn't as bad as what the Dursleys used to feed him (or not feed him), because every time he thought of the Dursleys he had the sudden desire to puke.

He had caught Snape observing him from across the room early that morning, knowing very well that his swift departure from the room when he awoke had drawn Snape's attention. He really didn't like to think of what Snape might say in class someday if he knew what Harry's home life was like. Assuming Snape went back to teaching, of course, but Harry supposed it would be just his luck if Snape did. Snape, a few tables over, was glancing every so often again, and Harry could feel the prickling sensation of his eyes on the back of his neck.

Harry was startled out of his thoughts by Stephen sinking down across from him, sandwichless and looking grim.

"Hiya Harry," he said, his face wan and pale, a dark clay pot clenched in his hands, which only succeeded in making them appear more ghost-like. The pot looked to be handmade. Harry didn't remember clay pots being a craft project. He supposed Stephen must have made it before Harry arrived at Oak Tree.

"Parents come yet?" Harry asked, glad for an excuse to distract himself from Snape's unwelcome surveillance.

"This afternoon," said Stephen, setting the pot on the table and staring down at it. The glaze was painted on well, although it did show the slight wobble of a beginner's hands on the pottery wheel. "Thought Dad might like this. He grows his own mint. For tea. Hoped it might mend things between us a little. Y'know."

"I bet he'll like it," Harry said.

"Hope so," muttered Stephen.

"Hey, can I sit with you guys?" asked Kyle, one of the other teens.

"Sure," Harry said, having played ground Quidditch a few times with Kyle. He had been sitting with them on occasion.

"Catch the match between the Tornadoes and the Wasps on the wireless yesterday?" asked Kyle, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth nearly whole.

"Yeah, it was good," Harry said, eager to discuss the match, which he had tuned in for some time in the main room yesterday evening. It had been fun to listen to. He'd been trying to get his mind off of the overheard conversation between Snape and Daisy, and had dropped in to listen to the game with a few people. Somehow listening to Quidditch on the wireless seemed like such a novelty to Harry, despite being used to sports events on television. Summers with the Dursleys made him really appreciate those little things that others from wizarding families shrugged off as no big deal.

Harry and Kyle started to rehash the match. The knot of worry in his chest over the events of the past day or so melted away as Harry talked of Quidditch. It was only when Kyle had gone that Harry noticed the empty seat across from him. Stephen, in his silence, had gone without his notice. The only evidence that he had even been there was the pot, forgotten on the table.

... mends things between us a little ...

"Damn ..." muttered Harry, staring at the pot.

He snatched it off the table, and ran for Stephen's room, hoping that he was still in there before going off to see his parents.

Harry knocked on the door, surprised that the rainbow lettered sign that has Stephen's name on it to mark the door had disappeared.

Right ... gay pride flags ... rainbow. Last thing he'd want his father to see although they'll be in the visiting room so why bother?

Harry felt a sudden dropping of his stomach. Stephen actually felt he had to get rid of a sign with the colours of the rainbow. How terrible would that be, hiding from your own father ... so afraid of him visiting you had to take it down even though he wouldn't even be in your room?

"Oh, thank goodness, Stephen, your pot, you forgot it," Harry said holding up the pot triumphantly as the door began to open.

His smile slipped when he saw a man, lined face, dark curls like Stephens, and a frown upon his features.

Harry froze. Past him, he could see Stephen standing by his bed, evidently finished showing his mother some of the projects he had lining his bedside table.

Oh. Sign ... gone ... shit. He must have had something to show them in his room. Damn - piss - shit -

"Stephen, who is this?" said the man curtly.

"Oh ... er, someone I know," said Stephen, coming over to grab the pot from Harry. He took it, not looking at Harry.

"A ... friend?" said Stephen's father, narrowing his eyes.

"Er, I should go," Harry said, sensing the tension and suddenly feeling sick.

Stephen's father gave a meaningful look at his wife, who looked slightly uncomfortable, although for what reason it was unknown. While Stephen's father was looking away, Stephen stared at Harry.

"I told you to stay away," hissed Stephen icily under his breath so nobody else could hear. "Go."

Harry, trembling suddenly, backed out of the door.

"Stephen," said the father. "How do you know this boy? I thought we agreed to no funny business -"

"Dad, he's just a friend, I swear -"

The door snapped shut, and the argument in its alarming beginnings ceased to be heard by Harry.

I've done it now I've done it I really messed this up all my fault Stephen said not to now he hates me he hates me

I hate me look what I did to him now his dad's mad and what kind of dad says that - but it's my fault I started it -

What did I do what did I ... how could I ... nobody wants you not loved not wanted not loved hated hated screw-up screw-up just like Sirius (you let him down too didn't you) screw-up screw-up!

Harry ran, and he didn't care that he was breaking the rules by running. He fell down on his bed and his heart pounded and he knew he'd really done it this time because the look on Stephen's face had been one of pure loathing and Harry hadn't known his parents would be there seeing Stephen's room (I swear I swear I didn't know) and how could he possibly fix this? Stephen's words had been pure venom (and I thought you were my friend, Stephen, that's not what friends do).

I told you to stay away stay away I told you I told you. GO

He'd tried so hard today. He'd done so well. He'd called Hermione, hadn't he? He'd called Hermione and then he'd been better but now he was a screw-up and Snape knew all about the Dursleys and he probably agreed with them and what was he going to do?

***

The clock ticked slowly on the wall, one thirty-two slowly bleeding into one thirty-three.

"I think ... Potter's home life is ... undesirable," Severus said.

"And what has brought this idea on?" asked Joseph, unwrapping a stick of bubble-gum and putting it in his mouth. Severus had seen him do this often. He wondered if he was trying to quit something, but he thought better than to ask.

"I was in the process of making that list for our Hogwarts Abuse Action Plan, of signs seen in children who have been abused," Severus said with a frown. "Potter, not long ago, had a bad day ... and he had a sort of relapse. Black had been in the paper, and I followed Potter back to our room and found him hurting himself. It was not new to me, exactly. I have seen children do that before."

Severus stared off at nothing for some time, feeling that strange, twisting sensation in his gut that he usually got upon thinking of the students he had seen over the years ... starving themselves, cutting themselves, abusing substances. He hated seeing that. Hated it. Contrary to popular belief he did care about his students. He did want them to have what he hadn't. Safety, stability. And have the coping skills he had lacked. Still lacked.

Joseph waited, sensing Severus would continue. He was right again in his silence, as he usually happened to be. Severus liked that he didn't talk much, or ask too many questions. He let Severus bounce his thoughts around.

"Potter looked so alone. And he was so shocked that I helped him. I think ... he thought I would be mad ... or that he was not deserving of help. It was not the normal kind of low self-esteem I have seen in students, however. This was more ... fearful. Like he expected harm versus help. I know that look. I know it ... I understand that feeling. It is obvious when you see it on the face of another.

"And Black - Potter was so incredibly attached to the man. Yet he has hardly seen him in the past two years, as Black was on the run. They have mostly just written letters. Despite how little they really knew each other, Potter worshipped the man. He ran into the bloody Ministry of Magic to save him, the Dark Lord be damned. Potter is a rash Gryffindor, but he was so frightened of losing Black that he was willing - albeit with some convincing I am told - to let his friends walk into such a dangerous situation. I have never much liked Potter, but I know that he will do anything to protect his friends. He went alone in his first year to face the Dark Lord then. Why not this time?

"No. I think that - although he probably does not believe this - I think that whether he wants to admit it or not he had to make a choice. He chose Black at that moment, willing to gamble both his own life and the lives of his friends in that split second because he couldn't handle losing Black. And they hardly had gotten time to really get to know each other.

"That is the mark of desperation. Of starvation for care ... love. To go to such lengths to save Black knowing that he himself would probably die, Potter showed his hand.

"His relatives are not invested in his life. That is what I believe, and it has obviously taken its toll on Potter."

Joseph was quiet a moment. "Interesting. You have obviously been thinking deeply about this. So, you are worried for him?"

Severus let out a weighty breath, but nodded slightly, however grudgingly. They were silent a moment.

"You know what bothers me most, about all of this?" Severus said suddenly, the thought that had been eating at him for some time now coming to the surface.

"What?"

"I ... I am almost ... glad to find out Potter's home life is not the best. No. Not glad ... relieved, maybe?"

"Why?" Joseph asked, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward.

Severus suddenly felt shaky, and he clenched his hands together tightly, his heart beating faster. "Because ... that means I have purpose."

"Purpose in helping Potter?"

Severus nodded.

"Tell me about that."

Severus took a deep breath, then began shakily, "I ... I have come to see that I live not for myself ... but for the fight. Purpose, I suppose, whatever you like to call it. As a child I lived to prove my father wrong ... prove that I was better than he was ... that I would succeed in school and show him I was smarter. The n in school I lived to spite James Potter and his little gang. I fought to keep going every day to show them they couldn't beat me. Then ... then ... I joined the Death Eaters. Stupid ... but I needed a cause. A purpose. Somehow I convinced myself that being a Death Eater would give me one. But it did not, and I made the worst mistake of my life and then Lily died. She had been my best friend once upon a time, and I loved her. More than anyone. And she was dead.

"You know, I thought about it then. Killing myself. I was close."

"What stopped you?" said Joseph.

"Another fight," Severus said, shaking his head slightly. "Another battle for me to win. Dumbledore asked me to turn spy. To avenge Lily and pay for my wrongs. Protect her son. And then ... that fight ended when I was discovered as a spy. The rest of the Order was watching out for Potter. I became obsolete. Useless. Purposeless. My war was done."

"And so without a fight, you felt like you had nothing," said Joseph.

"Yes," muttered Severus. "And I've been trying to find purpose again, and it's been ... it's been ... really hard. But, now that I think Potter might not be what I thought, that Potter's family might be mistreating him ... I feel ... better. Sort of. It is horrible. But I now that I have someone to fight for, I feel better." Severus took a shuddering breath, looking up from his feet to meet Joseph's eyes, wanting to know the truth. "Does that ... make me a bad person?"

"Severus," said Joseph, "feeling relief that there is some way you can find purpose does not make you a bad person. Do you wish you could fix Potter's situation?"

"Well, yes, of course, he is Lily's son, and no child deserves to be hated by their family, not even James Potter -"

"So you do not want him to be abused."

"No, if I could fix it I would, in a heartbeat."

"I think, Severus, you are experiencing relief that you have found a reason to keep going. Motivation of any kind at this point is good. That small bit of purpose you see may not be a happy fight to lead, but it is still a reason to keep going. I believe this is a big step for you. You have identified a goal. You wish to help your student, and protect him as you were once asked to. There is no shame in feeling relieved about having found a reason to stay. I think this is good."

Severus nodded, feeling the tension in his spine melt away.

***

Harry lay on his bed, holding his arms tightly around his chest. He'd kicked his shoes off and he was lying as still as possible. The guilt was starting to subside now, his arms tucked safely around him as he stared out the window. He couldn't stop the tears, but he didn't try. He let them come, and the scratch on his cheek stung as they ran over it. He rolled over to his other side, hoping the cut on his cheek wouldn't sting as bad if it was facing up. He stared at Snape's empty bed. What does he know what did he find out why does he suspect ...

Harry his shut his eyes tightly, even more aware of the cut on his cheek.

I was doing so well doing so well I called Hermione this morning I did and I felt better for a while

Now look

Failure

Screw-up

You knew you were shaky today so why did you have to mess up and make Stephen hate you?

Just had to mess it up didn't you? Freak.

He shut his heavy eyes, the room spinning slightly as exhaustion washed over him. He shut his eyes.

***

The minutes ticked by quicker now, and they finished the session with Joseph agreeing to go talk to Richard, Harry's healer, to ask if he had any suspicions of abuse. And as Severus walked down the halls of the ward, he felt his feet on the ground properly for the first time in a long time. He had agreed to help Potter. He was going to find a way to get Potter to speak of what was going on. Something was going on. It was just a matter of getting Potter to be willing to admit to it and take action with those who could help.

It was three-o-clock when he stopped back at his room to grab his notebook. He was hoping to keep working on the workshop curriculum to be taught to Professors for the Hogwarts Abuse Action Plan.

He found Potter, eyes closed and breathing deep. Severus froze in the doorway, staring. He closed the door as silently as he could, and the boy didn't stir. Grateful, Severus went into the narrow space between his and Potter's beds to get to the bedside table with his notebook.

He glanced at Potter.

Tears.

Wait. Tears?

Potter's face was streaked with tear stains. Severus sighed slightly. There was a new cut on Potter's cheek. What happened? The boy did not stir, but continued to breathe deep, rolling breaths. Severus glanced around the room. The blanket had fallen off the bed, probably kicked off by Potter. It was cooler today.

Severus hesitated, studying Potter. After a moment he picked up the blanket, unfolded it, and carefully lay it over Potter.

The boy did not move an inch, and Severus left the room, notebook under his arm.

Once he was out in the sitting room, he pulled out his self-inking quill and scribbled a few lines in his notebook, just for thinking purposes.

Step one - gain Potter's trust.

He smirked slightly.

And Potter will be thinking right now that I believed he was a sleep.

He hated getting caught being nice, but sacrifices had to be made if he was to get Potter to spill his secrets.

Besides. Harry Potter would have had to spend a lot more time faking sleep to fool Severus Snape.

Harry lay, stunned in bed, his eyes wide open the second Snape left the room.

"Holy shit," Harry said through numb lips.

Snape just ...

Harry felt the weight of the blanket over him as he lay on his side, staring at the door.

Does he pity me?

He knows about the Dursleys. He pities me.

No, that's paranoid. It's not pity. Maybe it's understanding. Maybe he really does care.

Stupid, Potter. When has he ever cared about you?

In his dizzy thoughts, Harry vaguely remembered Snape jumping in front of he, Ron, and Hermione when Lupin transformed into a werewolf back in third year.

Maybe. He's just got a dumb way of showing it.

Harry sighed, confused to his very toes. It was strange to think this was the second time that he could remember being tucked in. Sort of. The first time had been by Molly Weasley, after the Triwizard Tournament and she'd come to the Hospital wing.

Who knew the second time would be by Snape.

"This place really is crazy," muttered Harry.

Among those confused feelings, a stranger feeling was creeping up on Harry. It took him some time to realize what feeling it was, for it had been a very long time since he had felt it. It was a feeling of warmth, the kind you feel in your chest that swells outward and makes you sort of want to cry. But not bad crying. Good crying.

Harry had been terrified that Snape was going to make fun of him, or make some comment under his breath because Harry knew very well that there were tear stains on his face still. He hadn't had time to wipe them away. He'd only had time to pretend to be sleeping.

The relief broke over Harry in a wave, and he felt like he could breathe at last.

He didn't know how much Snape knew about the Dursleys, or had guessed, but somehow, now, it didn't seem so frightening that he did know. What could he do in here? He couldn't tell unless Harry was willing to divulge it, given the contract. And Richard hadn't said anything about going to Dumbledore or someone to fix it. He'd just listened, and helped Harry work out some of the issues that came from it. But still, Harry hadn't said much about what went on at the Dursleys. He'd brushed over the stickier things. At this point he was focusing mostly on how he felt about losing Sirius.

Harry frowned. Then there was Stephen. What was he going to do?

Doesn't matter.

Harry shut his eyes tight, and pulled the blanket a little tighter. He gripped the worn fabric, focusing on the way it felt resting on him.

***

Severus tapped his foot, annoyed. The bloody Auror was hogging the letter writing table in the corner. It had all the stationary and paper, and right now Severus was unable to get some paper. He needed to write a quick note to Dumbledore, requesting a meeting.

The codes were there, the ones he knew from years of practising secrecy. They had started working again. They had started working because Severus had a mission now. Potter needed him again (wasn't that always what he had lived for before, however much he hated to admit it?). And with this purpose, came a strange sort of clarity Severus had lacked as of late. Before his mind had been a dust storm. Thousands of tiny grains of sand swirling around until they made him dizzy, his thoughts unable to focus. All of those grains might have been important, but he could never focus on just one to see. Sometimes they clumped together, but they were still separate, and slid on one another in a panicked haze. Now, since he had given himself this mission, since he had realized Potter wasn't quite what he had seemed, his mind had turned to the sharp crystal it had once been.

Well, almost.

It was more a bunch of crystals, but at least some of them were solid, and there consisted a portion of his mind that could stand alone and work together, away from the storm and focus long enough so he could do what he needed. So the codes were working, and a fever had taken over him. The only way to sweat it out and stop the burning, shaking urgency inside was for him to mail Dumbledore. He was ready now. He needed to meet now. The plan was going well. All the details weren't there, but enough were to figure something out.

Not about me now. Not about me now. Albus, Potter slipped through the cracks (just like I did just like I did but you don't need to hear about me hear about Potter) see what happens when you are blinded see what happens when you don't have a plan - the plan - the plan to save save save isn't that my job save

Save

This will save Potter.

This will save him (Who? Who, is it Potter who is being saved or is it -) I promise this will save ( - not just him is it -) Albus listen, please (- also me?)

Severus cleared his swirling, impossible thoughts, the fire fanned and roaring.

Unfortunately this restless, sudden energy came with a rush of irritation at the Auror, who despite having left Severus along after the shoving incident in the halls, had taken as many chances as he could to shoot irritated glares at Severus. The hogging of the writing supplies and table was equally irritating, and thus Severus felt no shame in bending over the Auror's shoulder to read his letter.

"You can even bring the dog to visit. Just drop by. Trust me, it will be great ..." Severus began reading aloud, feeling highly obnoxious and quite pleased with himself.

"Oy! What the bloody hell is your problem?" the Auror said loudly, flipping over his paper and turning as red as a beet the moment he realized what Severus was doing.

Severus replied through gritted teeth, scowling deeply, "I. Need. Parchment. And you have been here for thirty minutes already. If you would move for five seconds, I could take some parchment. Do we understand each other?"

"Fine," the Auror said, looking strangely unnerved. "Just piss off, will you?"

"Gladly," Severus hissed, snatching his parchment and an ink bottle and stalking off to find a corner where he could write without being disturbed.

He wondered who the Auror was writing to. It was a surprise to him that the Auror hadn't been more volatile toward him, but perhaps he had simply been out of his element due to the nature of the letter. If Severus was any kinder a man, he might have felt pity over reading some of it. Those were the words of a pleading man. Whoever he was pleading to come, it was obviously not the first attempt.

Severus didn't care. He had a letter to write. He bent low over the paper, scribbling furiously, his hands dancing over the paper as the code flowed as it used to.

Back. I am back - see I was never broken in the first place I can still do it .

He was going to meet with Dumbledore. Severus didn't have concrete proof yet, but he did have the groundwork, and a proposal had to be made.

It was the day before the meeting with Dumbledore. Potter was moping. Severus hadn't asked what was going on, but he suspected the boy had been in a row with his friend. Stephen, or whatever it was.

Daisy had been busy. She'd been telephoning a contact somewhere far away. She was going to be leaving soon, and would be staying with them for some time.

Don't think about it don't think about it

Potter was lying in bed. Silent. Severus glanced over at him, then away again.

Severus sighed quietly from where he was playing solitaire at the little table. He too wasn't feeling his best. He'd sent the letter to Dumbledore. A clarifying light had shone on the path he was to take. His purpose. And now Dumbledore was coming. He should have been relieved. Yet, somehow, that blinding moment of clarity had left, and he felt fuzzy and dull. It was like going from a bright room and being forced to adjust to the night outside.

How could he ever hope to get closer to Potter? Close. Like he wanted that. Well, more like ... how could he hope to get close enough to see the truth? He wasn't sure how well he wanted to know Potter, nor sure how much he cared, but the boy wasn't what he had believed.

He didn't understand how he could find a purpose, and yet have trouble wanting to be around to fulfil the purpose he had so desperately sought. It was light the idea of a fight appealed to him, but once he got into the ring, he forgot why he cared about fighting in the first place. Wasn't it easier just to let the black curtains rain down ... let the world fall to darkness, and the sun sink below the horizon?

He could be lying in bed. He felt like lying in bed. The cards weren't making sense in front of him because his eyes had gotten too tired to focus. Tired even though he had gotten eight hours of sleep the previous night. A different tired, he supposed. Oh, he saw the cards. He could see the spades and clubs and hearts (broken broken broken -) but they didn't matter. Not right now.

Solitaire. God, wasn't that it? Wasn't that his life? One everlasting card game with himself, every other player having dropped from the game and left him at an empty table.

"You have more cuts," muttered Severus at last, moving a single card with the tip of his finger.

Potter didn't answer, but rolled over.

"Fine. But I still see them. And contrary to popular belief, I do care how you got them."

There was a derisive snort.

"Ah, yes. I would expect nothing less. There is the Harry Potter everyone knows and loves."

"And how would you know?"

"How would I know any different?" Severus said simply, forcing himself to play clever. Forcing the words to come slithering out of his dull lips. Just like always. "I know only what you show me of yourself."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I do not know you. You are right. For once" Severus flipped a card over, sliding it into place dully.

Potter stared, clearly annoyed.

"So, show me the real Potter. If you're so bothered by my impression of who you are."

Potter snorted again.

"Nobody gives a damn about the real Harry Potter," Potter spat automatically, shutting his mouth tightly following his comment, almost as though he regretted it.

Severus raised his eyebrows.

"What about your relatives? No doubt they fawn over you more than anyone."

"Piss off," Potter said.

"Do I detect a note of bitterness?"

"Maybe," muttered Potter to the wall.

"Good."

"What?"

"Your Aunt was a right bitch and it's nice to know somebody else resents her."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Potter sat up in bed like he'd been electrocuted. Severus pushed his cards away, and reached for a piece of the stack of paper he kept handy, beginning to fold himself a paper crane, having grown bored of cards. His fingers did it nimbly, a habit he'd learned during his stay.

His heart raced. He'd planned to slide that comment in. Now Potter would know Severus was familiar with his family. But this needed to be revealed if he wanted information. First rule of spying. You want information, you have to offer up some first. Something that seems big, but won't dig your grave.

"Petunia ... you just called my Aunt Petunia a bitch, right? Or am I hearing things?" Potter said, his face breaking out into a grin for the first time.

"Yes, you heard correctly," Severus said, smirking slightly.

"But ... how do you know her?"

"We grew up near each other. I was friends with your mother."

Potter's eyes grew wide.

"My mother was friends with ... you?"

"Watch it," Severus warned, hearing the emphasis on the final word.

"Sorry ... I just ... I never guessed ..."

"No. Of course you didn't. People never guess those things. Personal things. Why do you think all these patients are here? Too many people assumed. Whether they assumed they were okay until things weren't, or they assumed other things. Assumptions. Dangerous things."

"You assumed I was my father."

There was ice in Potter's voice.

Severus paused for a second in folding, then resumed.

"I did," he said quietly. "And I was wrong. You are not your father."

"Good," Potter said, although his answer was shaky, as though it frightened him slightly. Frightened him to know that his dreaded Professor saw him differently.

Potter frowned, sinking back against his pillow, tracing the bandages covering the cuts on his arms.

"I assumed Stephen would want the gift he made for his parents, after he forgot it." Potter's eyes were sparkling now, and he paused a moment. Severus was silent, letting him go on. "So I went and knocked on his door, even though he said he didn't want me to meet his parents because he was worried his dad would freak out and think I was his boyfriend or something stupid. Stephen's gay, but don't tell anyone. So now he's mad at me, but I just wanted to help."

"And so you punished yourself," Severus said simply.

"Er ... yeah, I guess," muttered Potter.

Severus frowned. Punishing ... punishment ... self-delivered. Are we that different?

"Punishing yourself. Bad habit to get into."

Potter looked up, keying into the tone that meant something more was under the surface of Severus' words. Potter was silent a long time, as though waiting to elaborate. At last, the words he had obviously been holding in for a long time came out.

"Sir ... what was my mother like?"

"What was Lily like?"

"Yeah. I ... I hardly know anything about her."

"Petunia hasn't talked about her?" Severus asked, hoping that Potter would give something away.

"No ... she ... she won't. I asked to see pictures once, and she didn't have any either. You know ... things get lost. Maybe she finds it hard to talk about her."

Lost. Sure. File that one away.

"Er ... alright then," Severus said, unsure of where to begin but sensing that this was a good door to open. Potter would trust a friend of his mother's. However long ago.

Before he could get a word in, there was a knock on the door.

"All the patients are supposed to come out into the main area," said one of the trainee healers. "There's a surprise visit from someone."

Severus wasn't budging an inch, and neither was Potter, but the healer gave them a glare that said things would not go their way if they refused.

"Fine," grumbled Severus. "This can wait for later, I suppose, Potter."

Potter got up reluctantly, the shock of having discovered Severus' friendship with Lily having seemed to have knocked him out of his poor mood for enough to allow him to do something productive.

The two of them shuffled out of the room under the watchful eye of the healer.

"Trust me, you won't want to miss this," the healer said eagerly, looking as though Christmas had come early.

Severus followed the healer, refusing to admit to himself that he was actually a little bit curious. Overwhelming his curiosity, however, was irritation. He thought he had finally been making some progress with Potter. If he had gotten the chance to say a few words about Lily, then perhaps Potter would have started to believe him to be trustworthy. Sure, he had seen that memory in the pensive where Severus called Lily a mudblood, but Severus could explain that. It was a deep regret, and he hoped somehow that that would be enough of an offering for information in return. Give a little, get a lot. That was always the hope in spying. How was this any different? Potter didn't know a thing about Severus' suspicions. Severus was confident that Potter hadn't even begun to guess what Severus had been up to as of late.

They entered the sitting area.

"Hi Daisy," Severus said brightly, sitting down next to her with more enthusiasm than he'd meant to show. "How's your friend on the outside?"

One the outside ... what is this, prison? No ... we are the prison ... our minds ... Severus clenched his fists slightly, forcing himself out of his thoughts so he could hear Daisy's reply.

"Oh, she's good," Daisy said, glancing around the circle of chairs that had been set up with interest. "She's happy to let me come and stay for a little while before I'm back on my feet."

Daisy looked pale. Wan.

There were other patients sitting down across the circle now. Severus noted that Potter was sitting miserably a few chairs over. He felt guilty for a second, not sitting next to Potter when the boy was so clearly troubled. That, and Stephen, Potter's friend, was so clearly avoiding his pleading gaze. But Potter would think it odd if he sat next to him. Besides, he wanted to talk to Daisy. He turned back to her. She looked worse for wear today, and it worried him.

"Something is bothering you," Severus said to Daisy quietly.

She shook her head.

Severus raised an eyebrow. Still, Daisy did not speak.

"You and I both know something is on your mind," Severus said. "It is obvious."

"It doesn't matter," said Daisy, shaking her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Probably should, though. Most problems don't just disappear on their own."

"I don't want to talk about it," Daisy said sharply. "Conversation closed. The last thing I need is for someone to butt in and tell me how to run my life, okay?"

Severus fell silent, eyes downcast.

So that's how her conversation went. Some friend.

Daisy looked away, her cheeks slightly red, her eyes filled with tears. Her gaze sideways at Severus was almost accusing. He couldn't think of what he'd done wrong. He just asked. That was all. Did she want him to keep asking?

Women, he thought darkly. Expect you to just understand and don't even bother to explain what's wrong.

Daisy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Severus glanced around the room awkwardly, not sure what to do or say. He was about to open his mouth to apologize when somebody else joined the circle.

"Um, looks like my roommate Shelley came after all," said Daisy quickly. "I better go sit with her - I sort of promised if she came I would. See you later."

She fled before Severus could get a word in, and he was left, annoyed, and having no more than an idea about what the outburst had come from. He was unable to spend long dwelling on it though, for one of the healers went to the middle of the circle to announce that they had a wonderful surprise for everyone.

Severus snorted derisively, which earned him a chiding look from the healer.

"One of your fellow residents contacted a friend, and he has come for a visit. With him, he brought a therapy dog. It's been trained to be very calm and quiet, and it absolutely loves to be petted and talked to. We thought we would get everyone down here, so everyone can take turns meeting Samuel the therapy dog."

Severus turned behind him to see who had brought the dog, noting the gazes that were trained behind him. To his surprise, it was the Auror. So that was what that letter had been about. Beside him was another man, whom Severus assumed was the dog's handler, as he had a leash in his hand. A sleek, well cared for golden retriever was on the end of the leash. He had a bright yellow harness on him, and he was wagging his tail pleasantly, his wide dark eyes looking around the room curiously.

The Auror took a seat, giving his friend a thumbs up. His friend, whose hands were ink stained and willowy, grinned. His eyes snapped over to Severus, his eyes widening for a moment. Severus scowled slightly, but the man would have had to sign a contract of confidentiality so it did not matter if he was surprised or not. It wouldn't get out that Severus was here anyway.

To his immense surprise, the dog and the handler came to him first. Samuel was a very friendly dog, and he grinned up at Severus so hard he sneezed, wagging his tail all the while. Samuel glanced up at his handler, grinning at him as well almost as though he was saying "look, I found a friend!"

"Oh fine," Severus said to the dog, reaching out to scratch his ears. He smiled slightly, something he hadn't meant to do but couldn't conceal. The dog showed off his teeth in a grin that was so human Severus had the urge to laugh.

"That's Samuel - always likes to smile," said the handler with a chuckle. "Don't you buddy?"

The dog looked up at him very seriously, as though wondering what was so amusing. Some of the patient chuckled.

The dog worked his way around the circle, and the handler chatted a bit with the patients. Most were quiet, wanting only to pet Samuel, muttering the occasional word to him that others could not hear. Severus noted that the handler kept the dog with Potter a little while longer than most. Potter really seemed to like the dog, but at a distance it was obvious he was starting to choke up. Severus held his breath, praying Potter would hold on, because he knew the boy would never forgive himself if he cried in front of others. Thankfully, the handler moved on, and Potter fled the scene soon after.

It wasn't much of a surprise, considering Black's animagus form.

Severus crept from the sitting area. He'd given Potter a good ten minutes to get it out of his system, and then he followed him.

He sunk down on his own bed, Potter sitting on the edge of the other bed, staring out the window with his back to Severus.

"Sometimes it feels like it will never stop hurting, doesn't it?" Severus said quietly.

Potter reached an arm up and scrubbed his eyes slightly. He did not turn to look at Severus.

"Who did you lose?" Potter asked after a moment, much to Severus' surprise.

"Everyone, almost," Severus said simply.

Potter turned around, curiosity getting the better of him. He seemed to deem that Severus was telling the truth. There were patches under his eyes again from crying.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Potter whispered, his eyes welling up again.

"You will not lose everyone," Severus said quietly, unable to meet Potter's eyes now that they looked so very much like Lily's when she had been sad. "The people I lost ... many of them ... it was my fault."

"Sirius is my fault."

Severus frowned. "You truly believe that, don't you?"

Potter shrugged.

"You are wrong. Have I ever hesitated in telling you when you are wrong?"

"Well ... no." Potter's lip quivered.

"Thus, it was not your fault."

Potter sniffled slightly.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

Potter was looking out the window again.

"I ... I'm glad I'm not here alone."

Severus understood. He heard the words Potter implied.

I'm glad you're here, Professor.

Severus paused, thinking hard. Thinking of what this room would mean with anyone else here. Of what he would be doing if he didn't have someone to watch out for. Of what he'd be thinking. Maybe it was selfish ... maybe it wasn't. Maybe he just needed to live for others. He didn't know, but he did know one thing.

"Me too," he said at last.

Harry hated to admit it, but he was actually having fun. Neither he nor Snape felt like going out. Harry had wondered why Snape was staying in the room for some time, until Snape finally confessed to him over a game of cards that Daisy had snapped at him, and he really had no idea why.

"Women," Snape had said.

Harry had snorted with laughter, hastily explaining that he had reminded him of Ron whenever Hermione did something emotional and confusing.

"Well, I suppose some conversation with her friend did not go well, but that doesn't give her a right to get mad at me," Snape continued irritably, laying down his hand and accepting the stack of chocolate frog cards Harry had lost.

Technically they were all Snape's in the first place, as the few staff at Hogwarts, who were on good enough terms with Snape to know what had happened, pitched a gift basket together for him. It had arrived in the mail earlier that day, addressed to a pseudonym Snape recognized. Harry had spent part of the afternoon following the pet therapy session laughing as Snape systematically released the chocolate frogs into the corridor on a lark, as neither of the two had wanted the chocolate. It had caused plenty of confusion, and had one of the Trainee Healers running ragged trying to catch them.

Later, out of boredom, they had decided to start up a game of poker to decide who got the cards. Neither really gave a damn who got them. Harry just liked the idea of gambling under the healers' noses, and Snape too seemed to like this as well.

Getting along was a very strange thing to Harry, but he supposed that considering the incident with Stephen's parents and Daisy's snappy mood, they would have to find somebody else to spend time with or die of boredom. Or worse, attend activities that neither of them felt like going to. So far, Harry was surprised they hadn't killed each other. It wasn't half bad.

Despite the surprising ease of the conversation with Snape, Harry still wished he knew what to say to Stephen, who so far was still avoiding Harry. Harry felt awful about the whole thing, but he reminded himself that people in a mental ward were bound to be a bit pissy and temperamental from time to time, something Snape had pointed out to him earlier. Surprisingly, that comment above all else had helped Harry's mood the most.

"I just realized ... I'm skiving with my Professor," muttered Harry. "I mean, technically we are supposed to go to activities."

"At least we have a good excuse," Snape muttered.

"Er ... what excuse?" Harry asked, amused. "Poker?"

"Not too bright, are you?" Snape drawled. "Obviously, Potter, we are completely ..." - he lay down three chocolate frog cards to begin the betting - "mental."

Harry snorted with laughter, staring down at his hand. Terrible again. Oh well - he'd just have to bluff his way through this round. He glanced up at Snape, and to his amazement there was a dim twinkle in Snape's eye, not unlike that of Dumbledore's, although much less noticeable.

Time passed. The card game deteriorated when Harry ran out of chocolate frog cards. Winning in poker against a spy was damned near impossible. Snape said he could keep the cards anyway, though, to Harry's shock.

"I haven't any use for them, and no doubt you haven't got that big of a collection," said Snape with a shrug. "Living with muggles and all."

The day ended with them lying on their beds and eating the evening snack that had been set out in the dining area (Harry had gone on a reconnaissance mission to get it). It was roommate night, so no evening activities were scheduled. The idea was for the snack to be brought back to your room so you could get to know your roommate. Harry found that pretty funny considering that was what he and Snape had basically been doing all day, weirdly enough. They kitchen had made some sort of spicy dip for vegetables, and Harry munched happily on his carrots.

"I feel ... kind of normal," Harry said thoughtfully through a mouthful of carrot.

"How is this normal?" Snape asked as he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed another carrot. "It's like a slumber party for nut cases."

Harry snorted, choking on a bit of carrot. After a moment, he recovered and said, "Well, it isn't normal, but it sort of feels ... okay. I mean, I feel okay. I don't know ... do you get what I mean?"

Snape frowned for a moment. He nodded.

"Never thought I would be on the same page as you, Potter," he muttered to himself.

Harry frowned after a minute. "Why is making friends so hard?"

"What?" Snape asked, clearly confused at the abrupt change of subject.

"Sorry ... it's just ... I wish Stephen would quit acting like an idiot. Sure, I guess I messed up but it's not my fault his parents are the way they are. At first I felt really guilty, but I was just trying to help. He's being a moron about the whole thing." Harry sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't go try and make up after all. Probably better without him."

Snape frowned for a moment.

"Everyone can be morons from time to time," said Snape thoughtfully. Snape sighed slightly. "If I were you ..."

"There's a weird statement if I've ever heard," Harry said, amused.

Snape glared at Harry, "If I were you, I think I would go talk to him."

"What?" Harry said, surprised.

Severus Snape, least agreeable and forgiving man on earth ... and he suggests I go try and make up with someone?

"Potter, I'm the kind of person that would overreact and act stupid like Stephen, so I sort of see it from his point of view too," said Snape slowly. "The trouble is, to him, he doesn't feel like he's acting stupid, I bet. Even if he is being unfair. Some of the best friendships are lost because one person doesn't realize that their problems aren't known to the other. They think it is obvious to the other why they are acting in that manner. But the matter of fact here is that you do not know what Stephen's father has done in the past when he's disapproved of his son's choices. And he obviously does disapprove of Stephen's choices. So, considering he was assuming that you were someone more than a friend to Stephen, you do not know what kind of reaction that could have triggered in Stephen's father. Is Stephen being stubborn and obstinate? Yes. But perhaps if you just talk to him, you can find out why he is stubborn and obstinate, and hopefully work this whole fiasco out. If not, then at least you tried and can lay it to rest."

Harry stared.

Snape's eyes had grown dim again, and he looked away from Harry.

"I was stubborn and stupid, and that was why I lost your mother as a friend," he said after a long moment of consideration. "I made the mistake of thinking she understood my motives for some things. I didn't tell her what really mattered about my past. It does not excuse my behaviour, however, in joining the Death Eaters. But if I hadn't kept quiet about everything that was going on with me, perhaps I wouldn't have felt the need to join after all. Stephen's stubborn behaviour seems similar ... I think. Less dark, of course. But don't give up on him as a friend just yet. Give him a chance to explain. Then make your decision. Whatever it may be."

"Why did you join the Death Eaters?" Harry whispered.

Snape looked at Harry for a second. He seemed like he was trying to force himself to say it, but he fell silent.

At last, he shook his head, looking disappointed with himself.

"We should sleep," muttered Snape.

"Sorry - it was a really personal question," Harry said quietly.

Snape shook his head again, dismissing Harry's apology.

In silence, they brushed their teeth, and Harry felt just how strange it was that this was normal now.

As they took turns rinsing their toothbrushes, the silence was broken, but not by Harry.

"I got my nose broken when I was fourteen," Snape said, his words coming out slowly and deliberately, like he was forcing them. Harry looked over at Snape in surprise, not sure what he was getting at. "That is why it is crooked."

"Why didn't you get it healed?" Harry said, confused as to why Snape would mention it at all, or how it related to anything.

The words came out hesitantly, as they had been doing since Snape began to speak.

"It got broken over the summer," he muttered, staring into the mirror, his skin pale. "There was no point in getting it fixed. It would have gotten broken the next summer too."

Harry nodded, feeling the blood drain from his own face. Snape fled the bathroom before Harry could speak, which was just as well because Harry didn't know what to say. All he could think of were his own summers. His own family ... his own hell. And when Harry finally left the bathroom as well the lights were off and Snape was in bed.

Harry lay down in his own bed, noting the absence of Snape's quiet snores.

Harry saw it now. The first true piece of insight as to why Snape was here. The part of Snape that had gotten him here. He didn't know what the specifics were, but a brick had fallen, and behind it was a glimpse of something dark. Something painful, and most of all, it was a glimpse at someone human.

***

Severus lay awake a long time, terrified. The hint was out. Potter would fill in the blanks. He didn't need more than that.

Potter had finally drifted to sleep, but this knowledge that Potter could not say anything back did not lull Severus into slumber as well. For, now, it was up to Potter to reciprocate. Give a little, get a lot. That was what Severus was hoping. He had a feeling Potter had kept whatever had been going on at his relatives' home very secret. Silence did not disperse into nothingness. Silence created a wall, and when that wall broke, emotions hot like fire spilt out.

That was what Severus had learned here. He'd done some serious talking with the healers. He'd only really grazed the surface of his own childhood, and it had been like pulling glass from deep within his side. Maybe Potter had said something to his healer, Richard. However painful that would be, Severus hoped so, for the first thing to do tomorrow when Dumbledore visited was to tell him to speak with Richard about the matter to see what he knew. Severus was willing to bet Potter had at the very least let something slip. Nothing had been done yet, obviously. It was very possible Richard knew something about what was going on, but was waiting for Harry to be stronger to deal with the repercussions of bringing it to the light.

Severus sighed deeply.

This wasn't going to be easy. At last, he let sleep fall over him.

Dreams surrounded him. It was an awful world howling winds, a fearful and single wailing voice crying out in the midst of them. The sun burned low on the horizon and sand whipped through what became a vast, burning desert. Daisy's hair rippled through the sand in the wind, disappearing before he could call out for her to wait for him.

The heat of the sun ignited the dry, brushy plants along the desert bluffs. The smoke was choking, and Severus' eyes watered. He fell to his knees. Someone was screaming even louder now in the distance with harsh, terrified tones. They filled him with fear, though he knew not why.

As though no time had passed at all, Severus awoke in his bed, sweat drenching him. Groggily, he looked around, his ears ringing from the memory of the screams.

Only it wasn't a memory. They were still there. The screaming was an alarm, and Severus smelled smoke.

Harry awoke with a sharp cry, seeing Snape across from him already out of bed.

"Fire, Potter, come on!" he said.

"Sir, what if it's Death Eaters?" Harry gasped, terror gripping him tightly.

"We cannot afford to think like that now," Snape said, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him to the door. Harry came quickly, his heart beating fast.

He watched as Snape pressed his hand against the door and felt the handle.

"Alright," he said. "Follow me, Potter, and stay low. Do you hear me?"

Harry, feeling like he was going to puke, simply nodded.

Snape slowly turned the handle and opened the door a crack. There was no fire in sight, but smoke filled the corridor. Dim yellowish bulbs of emergency light hung in the corridors, having burst into existence presumably the moment the alarm sounded. Water was pouring down into the corridor seemingly from thin air, a spell also triggered by the alarm. Smoke still rolled through the corridor.

"Sir, this doesn't feel right," Harry said over the roar. "What if this is just to get us outside?"

Snape grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him down the corridor.

"Well, we cannot stay here," he said to Harry. Other doors were now opening in the corridor, patients pouring out. They were shunted with the crowd along the fire evacuation route.

Bent double in the smoky air, Harry stumbled through the hall. It got thicker as they left the men's hallway and turned left, away from the sitting area. The crowd was headed for the courtyard doors. Harry squinted, trying to see if Stephen was among them. So far, he did not see him. Worry filled his stomach like acid.

He wondered if this fire was caused by the same person that had lit the children and teen ward on fire. Was it an accident? Or was it arson?

Harry coughed violently.

"Hang in there, Potter, almost there," Snape reassured him in his teaching voice.

Harry's knees smarted painfully as they hit ground. Someone had shoved him from behind by accident. It was the Auror, much to his annoyance.

"Hey, watch it!" Harry called after him, for the Auror was still pushing and shoving his way through the crowd.

Snape looked behind them, alarm written on his face.

"What?" Harry asked, his voice mostly drowned out by the noise of the crowd and still wailing alarm

Snape shook his head, a look on his face that clearly said, later.

There was a bright, white light out in the courtyard despite it being night. An emergency beacon must have been lit, for the open door to outside glowed like the entryway to life. Harry took a deep, rattling breath as he was pushed out into the open. The fresh air met Harry's like rebirth, the heat disappearing and the cold night air pressing in on his lungs as fresh water would feel in a desert.

There were a number of healers who were organizing the evacuation. Windows into the courtyard poured frothing smoke, and in the furthest corner from the burning portion of the building, they stood, waving patients toward them. Someone was checking off patients as they went. It was the trainee healer who handed out potions. He nodded toward Snape and Harry.

Harry looked around, his eyes scanning the building and trying to see any flames, but so far, he saw none.

"This way please!" said a female healer Harry didn't recognize. She must have been on the night shifts.

Harry had to grab Snape's arm this time. He was staring over at the Auror, who had an odd smile on his face.

"Come on, sir," Harry said, his heart thrumming quickly in his temple, dizziness from the smoke causing a small headache to blossom behind his eyes.

They went to the female healer calling all the patients to her, and lined up.

"These portkeys will take you to our evacuation area," she said quickly, "four patients at a time please."

"Harry!" called a panicked voice, and to his relief, Harry saw Stephen standing nearby.

"Am I glad to see you - come join us," Harry said, waving urgently, forgetting his anger with Stephen's behaviour for the moment.

Stephen came over with his roommate, and together, the four of them grabbed a hold of the cardboard box stamped with a fire symbol.

The world disappeared, and reappeared at the end of a swirling mass of colour. Their new surroundings bloomed a black flower before Harry's eyes. It was mostly dark, and at first there seemed to be no movement. Then, the globes of light were raised into the sky, illuminating the scene. Already the empty field was swarming with emergency personnel and healers. Blankets were being handed out, first aid tents set up, and someone was counting patients. Another helper came to get their portkey.

The portkey collected, Harry stared at Stephen for a moment, not sure what to say. Snape was observing the area again, not paying attention to them in a highly deliberate manner.

"I'm going to go get us some blankets, or something," Stephen's roommate said rather nervously, sensing the tension. He disappeared into the hubbub.

"I am an idiot, okay?" Stephen said at last.

"Yeah," said Harry coldly. "I want to hear why, though."

Stephen was silent for a moment, a time during which all could be heard was the panicked sound of patients arriving by portkey and discussing what had happened.

"I know you were just trying to help, and stuff, bringing me that pot I made for my parents," Stephen said at last, eyes downcast. "I mean, how could you know I was showing my parents my room and they weren't in the visiting area ... but ... well, I guess I was just mad, is all. It's just ... father, he freaked."

"I bet," muttered Harry, eyes downcast as well now as he noticed the devastated look on Stephen's face.

"Er, before that, they were considering sending me to Hogwarts for my sixth year. Then, as soon as he figured out you would be going back, and he thought you were ... well, you know. More than a friend, he said that there was no way he would let me go."

"Oh, that's horrid," Harry said, stricken. "I had no idea - that's awful ..."

"That was part of why we were meeting," said Stephen, eyes welling up slightly, "Joseph wanted to have a word with them, because he also thinks it would be good for me to go to school away from home."

"Any chance left that they will let you?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Dunno, but Joseph is gonna help me work on it," said Stephen with a bittersweet smile, wiping his eyes hastily on his sleeve. "Listen, what with all this ... with the fire and everything, considering someone could have gotten hurt," - Stephen took a deep breath - "I sort of realized how stupid it is of me to get mad at you for how my dad acts. It isn't your fault he acted like that. It's his, because he's a judgemental idiot. That's kind of a blunter way of saying what Joseph's been talking to me about. I'm sorry I was ignoring you."

Harry glanced over at Snape, who had obviously heard the whole exchange. He wasn't looking in Harry's direction, but Harry thought for a moment about the conversation they had had earlier.

Hear the story. Then draw judgement.

"Apology accepted," Harry said quietly after a moment of consideration. He smiled slightly.

Tentatively, Stephen smiled back. A real smile.

"I better go find Josh," said Stephen, glancing over his shoulder to see where is roommate went. "Let him know he can come back."

"See you later, then," Harry said.

A healer came over and handed him a blanket, which he wrapped over his pyjamas. Snape accepted one too.

"I wonder how the fire started," Harry asked Snape.

Before Snape could reply there was a blinding flash, and the clicking of a shutter.

***

The sound made Severus' blood curdle. His vision was still adjusting. He searched for whoever had taken the photo, the crowd swimming before him as panic flooded his veins and Potter stared blankly ahead in horror.

Then he saw it. A golden retriever on the outskirts of the field. The retriever became a man. In the dim light, at that distance, Severus could not make out who it was. The man disapparated before he could get a better look. Potter, still looking close by for the source of the flash, didn't see him.

Blood pounded in Severus' skull. Fear and anger banged like a drum in his ears, and suddenly, it all clicked.

It was like the camera was exploding over and over behind Severus' eyes as the images, the moments that led to this rang clear.

Just come and visit, you can even bring the dog (the letter the Auror's letter, remember?)

This is Samuel (A dog, a dog, of course he didn't sign the confidentiality agreement he's a dog but he isn't, Samuel how could you?)

Fire in the youth ward - an accident but nonetheless headline news with pictures of the evacuation, at a distance, no patients shown for confidentiality because someone had to sign an agreement (and who in there would make news anyway?) to come and take a photo of the scene and confirm the children got out safe for the papers ... dispel rumours ...

Samuel - Samuel, a man all along

And that man knew where, he knew because some reporter knew and whether it was him or not who came last time someone knew where this place was. It was just an evacuation point after all, hardly ever used, tough to secure heavily, at least permanently.

The Auror ... I saw him (you saw him, Severus) coming running from the wrong direction - I saw you I saw you - running from the sitting room and not the men's hallway like everyone else -

Why would you be running from there, why -

Every instinct left in him from spying, every piece of deductive reasoning imparted upon him had led to this moment. It all added up. It wasn't Death Eaters, but it was planned. It was meant to look like another accident. After all, they'd moved some patients into this ward but it wasn't the person who started the first fire, whoever they were. This was no accident ... this ... this wasn't revenge this was money, greed ... this was -

"Arson," breathed Severus. He felt dizzy and cold, like shock was starting to set in. It probably was.

"Sir?" Potter said, pale and ghostly and looking younger than he was. "Arson? Maybe but, Sir, did someone just take our picture ... what if -"

In that brief second, Potter's words dropped off the earth. Severus saw him, and he was still wearing that smirk.

"YOU!" Severus yelled, diving for the Auror and grabbing him by the front of the robes. Patients scattered, and then stopped to stare.

"There's going to be something in the headlines tomorrow, right?" Severus spat in the Auror's face.

"Unhand me," said the Auror far too calmly for his usual demeanour. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"YOU DID THIS! YOU STARTED THE FIRE JUST FOR A PICTURE! You lousy, conniving, money-hungry bastard! How much is the Prophet going to give you for the story, and the picture included? Huh? HOW MUCH?"

As he got the last word out, Severus took a swing at the Auror. He got him on the jaw, hard. The Auror did not make a sound, wiping the blood off his lip, fury written on his face. For a moment there was only the rustling commotion of the emergency workers finally cottoning on to the argument, the noise from the other patients dying down.

The Auror snarled, staring at Severus, who was getting ready to throw another punch. In his fury, Severus didn't move fast enough, and the punch that caught him in the stomach had him doubled over and staring at the dark, dew covered grass.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" came a familiar yell.

"Potter - no!" Severus gasped, looking up just in time to see Potter throw himself at the Auror and start hitting anything he could reach.

But the Auror was rearing and angry now. Potter never saw it coming, and the backhand to his face came faster than any hex Severus knew.

Potter crashed to the ground head first with a nasty thud, leaving him moaning in the grass. But, before Severus could get up, a group of healers and emergency workers were pulling the Auror away, and lifting him to his feet. He didn't hear the scolding he got, or the questions as to what had happened. They must have needed a few people to detain him, as no healers came immediately to him or Harry.

Severus didn't say a word. Despair spiralled deep inside his chest, shooting through his stomach and making him feel sick.

The story would already be typed and ready for the Prophet this morning. The presses were probably just waiting for the photograph for the big story, and then they would start them so the copies would be done in time for delivery at dawn. Even if you charged into the Ministry before they printed it, the story would get out somehow. The conniving bastard was probably already there now. There would be no stopping them once they got the presses going. The press never listened. Not even to Dumbledore.

The picture would be added in, and everyone would know that he'd had a breakdown.

And Potter, whispered a little voice.

Potter too. They both would be in the photo.

***

Potter didn't seem to understand it all, what that picture would mean. He was obviously bothered, and worried of where the photograph might surface, but Potter mentioned that it was a good thing there was nothing easily identifiable in their surroundings. It was just a field, so there couldn't be too much harm done, right?

Severus didn't really think that he got that it would go with an article, and he definitely hadn't put the pieces together regarding the Auror and the dog, but Severus didn't have the heart to tell Potter the nature of his suspicions when the he was looking so tired and sick. Another wave of healers had come once the Auror had been hauled away, and had a word with Severus and taken care of Potter. Severus didn't bother to tell them anything. They would just label him delusional or paranoid. Until it hit the newspaper stands. After that the only thing to be done would be to press charges, but that would only draw attention.

Either way, the healers said Potter had a concussion. He was looking morosely over at Severus every so often, and sitting on a bench conjured for him by the first aid tent.

Hospital workers and emergency workers were trying to sort out who would go where. The fire damage wasn't too bad. Almost everyone's things could be returned, but the fire was enough to shut down the ward for a good week. The youth ward wasn't ready yet, as that fire had been much worse. Another temporary ward would be opened, but due to short notice, it would have less stringent security measures.

"You did not have to do that," said Severus quietly, sinking down beside Potter on the bench and leaning back. Potter had a hand-shaped bruise coming in fast on his cheek.

"Yes I did," Potter said stiffly.

Severus glanced sideways. "What do you mean?"

"Friends don't let each other get beat up," Potter spat. "And I hate that Auror."

"Friends?" Severus said slowly, eyebrows raised.

Potter turned red.

Severus wasn't sure what to say. He smiled instead, and looked at his feet. It was enough to set Potter at ease, however.

"How is your head?" Severus asked.

But Potter wasn't paying attention. Instead, he was staring off at something a ways away.

***

"Sir, what's Dumbledore doing here?" Harry asked, making out the tall, white haired figure of the headmaster off in the distance. At least he thought it was him. His vision was blurring a little.

Snape sighed.

"We cannot go to the temporary ward. It has too little security. Therefore ..."

Harry swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure if it was dread at not knowing where he would be going, or something else.

Snape's lip curled a little as Dumbledore spotted them and began to walk toward them. He looked like he had a score to settle.

Right, he was supposed to visit Snape tomorrow. Bad timing. Must have been an important conversation.

"We must go, now," said Dumbledore.

"Never one for small talk," Snape muttered under his breath. Harry sniggered a little, but stopped quickly as he felt ill.

"My contacts informed me of the fire as soon as they could. We must leave."

"What is your favourite kind of jam?" Snape asked in a monotone voice, clearly annoyed.

Harry looked sideways at him, wondering what the hell that was about.

"Raspberry," said Dumbledore.

"Well, that is our cue, Potter," said Snape grudgingly. "I have news besides that I wanted to discuss with you earlier, Albus, and you definitely are not going to like it. It does require an explanation longer than we have time for now, however. It must wait ... unfortunately."

"I have contacted your healers - you two will be coming with me to a secure location," said Dumbledore. "They have contacted the right people, and you two are now free to leave with me. That is why it took me a few minutes to arrive. Come."

Harry stood up, and promptly threw up on the hem of Dumbledore's robes.

Snape looked amused, taking note of the way Dumbledore's eye twitched slightly. Snape did at least have the good grace to look sympathetic. Although Harry felt the sympathetic look wasn't aimed at Dumbledore, but rather at him, to his surprise.

"We cannot apparate," drawled Snape, arms crossed, nodding to Harry. "Concussion." Dumbledore gave him a questioning gaze. "All news to come."

Dumbledore waved his wand to vanish the mess and dismissed Harry's stuttering apologies while a healer came over with an anti-nausea potion.

Dumbledore frowned. "No matter," he said quietly. "I have the Order surrounding this place. We will walk, then. Thankfully, we are not far. And I have Harry's cloak. We need something a little more powerful than disillusionment charms, so you two will have to share.

Harry stumbled forward dizzily.

"Potter, you are going to kill yourself," said Snape, sounding rather pitying. "Come here.

Harry, confused stopped.

"That potion is going to make him very tired soon, so he had best lay down for a while," the healer said to Dumbledore, conjuring a small pillow on the bench.

"Well, then no bloody choice," Snape said once the healer had gone. "I said, come here, Potter."

"Sorry?" Harry said, his words slurring as Snape grabbed him.

Snape was picking him up. To carry him.

WHAT?

"Cloak, Albus," said Snape, sounding disgruntled. "Stop struggling, you stupid proud Gryffindor, it's for your own good. Right, and puke on me and I will kill you."

The cloak was dropped over top them, and a disillusionment charm placed on their heads for good measure, lest their feet show.

The fabric descended over them, and Harry's vision faded to blackness as Snape fell in step behind Dumbledore, the unsettling feeling that he knew just where they were going lying on his chest like a weight.

Ron Weasley sat in front of the muggle telephone in the garage. His father had set it up years ago. He'd wanted to send a letter, but it didn't feel right. It had been some time since he got Harry's, and he imagined it had taken a few days for the letter to get to him. His father had gotten it at the last meeting with the Order. Ron had wanted to write back for ages, but he just didn't know what to say.

Ron felt like a total scum. Why was he taking so long? He'd been standing here for ten minutes already.

Hermione had sent him a number in her last letter. It was early in the morning. The paper hadn't even arrived yet at the Burrow, and he really wasn't sure if Harry would be awake. He thought there was a good chance though. Harry was an early riser during the summer thanks to his awful relatives. He never had gotten into the habit of sleeping in. Ron hoped that this would be the case, today.

Ron yawned, tired. He had wanted to get to the telephone at a time when nobody would bother him. Fred and George didn't know where Harry was, nor did any of the others except his parents.

Come on ... don't be a coward ...

"Don't yell through the receiver this time, phones don't need you to be that loud," he muttered to himself. "Just be cool. He's your best friend still."

And that was the problem. Harry was his best friend, and Ron was terrified something he said would set Harry off. Ron knew he had a tendency to cause others pain. He'd ditched Harry all their fourth year just about, and it still sickened him thinking about it. He'd been so stupid, and so unreasonable. Sometimes he didn't quite know why he did things. And the worst thought of all, was the question that had been floating in his mind for some time - a terrible thought. What if he'd caused Harry's breakdown? What if it was his fault?

Ron sunk down on a milk crate, his face in his hands.

But he had to call. A letter would take too long now. He had to call.

It took all of his Gryffindor courage, but he got to his feet and picked up the phone. His fingers like lead, he dialled the number.

"Pick up, please pick up ..."

***

In the far reaches of the smoky ward, a telephone rang. It echoed eerily in the deserted hallway, no hand reaching for the phone to answer.

***

Morning came in a dizzy blur for Harry. He vaguely remembered Snape picking him up and carrying him. His pyjamas smelled like smoke still, and he couldn't figure out where he was.

Harry moved slightly, his head still hurting, but feeling much better than it had the previous night.

"Here, take this," said a voice.

"'Fessor Dumbledore?" muttered Harry, opening his eyes from where he lay.

"Yes - the potion is for your headache," said Dumbledore quietly. He looked sad. Harry did as he said, and he took the potion.

"Where's Snape?" Harry asked, confused and rummaging around for his glasses. Someone had taken them off.

"Your healers have agreed to come to you for sessions for the next little while," said Dumbledore. "He is with Joseph now. Richard will be here a little later to visit with you, Harry. I'm afraid he has a few other clients to see as well. The fire hit everyone quite hard."

Harry realized that Dumbledore was holding Harry's glasses out to him. Without his glasses, Harry could make out the depth of the wrinkles on his face, the sadness in his eyes. Everything else was blurry. He took his glasses from Dumbledore.

The smell of the building was familiar. Harry's heart sped up. He was almost afraid to put his glasses on. Dumbledore's face was a warning of what was to come, for the sadness and worry etched in his features was a sign that truly worried Harry.

Cautiously, he put them on.

An ancient tapestry came into view. The moth eaten carpets and sofa that Harry lay on sharpened.

Harry shut his eyes tightly.

"No," he whispered.

It was childish, but he wouldn't open his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks.

"I am so sorry, Harry," said Dumbledore hoarsely, sounding like he was ready to cry too, to Harry's amazement. "It is the only place secure enough."

Harry rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.

No, no, it can't be. Sirius ... Sirius ... just like you, look at me, trapped in this place trapped in this Hell why did you leave me how could I have done this to you I trapped you in death I trapped you - or did I free you is death an escape maybe but

That's not what I'm supposed to think about no don't - I'd never be serious just wondering is death an escape or is it a punishment ... which is it? Which is it Sirius I need to know I did this to you -

****

Severus felt like he hadn't slept in months, and the world seemed to move in reverse as Joseph flipped a page on his clipboard.

"The newspaper is going to come out with it," muttered Severus. "Everyone will know about me."

"And how will that change things?"

"It's going to change everything," Severus said, sinking down in the threadbare chair. "Dumbledore might not let me have my job back."

"Has he said anything about that?" said Joseph calmly.

"No," said Severus, "but I know he's thinking it. Parents won't want ... someone who ... someone like me to teach their children."

"Hmm. Just for a moment, Severus, I'd like you to think of a time when Dumbledore defended you instead. When it would have made more sense not to."

Severus frowned.

Bastard. Of course he knows that. Everyone knows that.

"H-He didn't have to even hire me, in the first place," Severus whispered, refusing to look at Joseph, because he could feel the edges of his eyes prickling. "But he did."

"I bet that made people talk."

Severus nodded.

"Put your trust back in him, and I think Dumbledore will surprise you," said Joseph. "He does not tend to care whether people talk or not. Oftentimes gossip is hateful and unwarranted anyway."

Joseph went silent, and Severus felt emotion well up inside him, like a column of hot magma pushing up against his throat.

"I could never trust people," said Severus. "Even as a child."

"Why not?"

Severus picked at the sleeve of his dressing gown. He shrugged.

Joseph waited, patient.

"I'd listen to my parents yell every night," Severus explained suddenly. "And my father would yell at me every night when he got drunk. And then sometimes, he'd try to make up, and say that I meant something to him. The second I thought it was going to be okay, that he'd changed, he'd come home again and he'd ... he'd do the usual ... push me into walls and stuff. Tell me to get the fuck out of his way. Go get lost. You know."

"How did that feel?"

"Horrible," said Severus, breathless. "But ... you know what was worse?"

"What?"

Severus rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble on it, trying to calm his racing heart. Trying to push away the feelings.

Don't feel don't show it never feel never -

"I ... I remember lying in bed when I was about ten," Severus said, his voice shaking, his legs feeling numb. "And ... and I just remember thinking I, I don't know, thinking that I wouldn't make it."

"Wouldn't make it - how so?"

"I just ... I don't know if I thought I would ... die, but I guess I kind of did," Severus said, trying to understand it, trying to understand those horrible nights lying awake in bed, the rare silence when his father was at the pub permeating the air. "I just, I got the sense I wouldn't live long. I didn't think I would be the one to do it, but I thought that somewhere, someday soon, something would happen to me. Maybe get hit by a car, or something. I - I don't know. But I could never picture it. I just ... it was like a sixth sense. A feeling. More than a feeling, it was a fact I just knew."

"And then you didn't die," said Joseph quietly.

"No ..." Severus said. "I didn't. You know ... sometimes it scares me, just how ... already dead I was, as a child, you know?"

Joseph nodded.

"Sometimes ... sometimes as a little kid would wish I could fall asleep, and never wake up. I didn't think of it as dying, really, I just thought ... I wish I could fall into dreams. Live there forever, away from here. Or just close my eyes and see black and not think, like what happens at first when you sleep, before the dreams or nightmares.

"How fucked is that?" Severus said, hands in the pockets of his dressing gown, slouching in his chair and looking off into the distance. "It's ... it's f-fucked."

He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve.

"It was a natural reaction to a terrible environment," said Joseph. "But I'm so sorry you had to go through that. No child should have to feel that way."

Severus sniffled slightly.

"You know what?" Severus said. He paused, thinking.

"What?"

"I think that's why I joined the Death Eaters," whispered Severus. "I didn't believe in The Dark Lord. Not really. I guess, maybe, I hoped that I just ... wouldn't make it. Well, a lot of it was that I was ... scared of my father, and Lucius Malfoy was one of the first people who sort of took me under their wing. He said I didn't have to put up with arseholes like my father - I told him once, a little about what it was like at my house. I was older then, sixteen. He sent me letters after he finished school. He was fifteen when I started, but he was like an older brother for a while. We visited sometimes in Hogsmeade. He'd come by when I got to go on school excursions there.

"And then when I started spying, I never thought I'd survive that either."

"So when you finished spying ..." Joseph began, pausing so that Severus might interject.

"Couldn't see any other end," muttered Severus.

Joseph nodded, his forehead creased, a troubled expression on his face. "That must have been a hard realization, that you'd been hoping all along to die."

"It was," Severus said, feeling oddly relieved to finally say it aloud. "I'd never stopped to think about it, really. Until I was in the hospital wing."

"Naturally, your survival would have brought those thoughts to mind. I am glad you have chosen to share them."

Silence fell for a minute, and Severus' head felt like a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions. Despair fell from above, and a question he'd spent so many nights asking himself forced its way from his mouth.

"How the hell do you recover from that, though?" Severus asked, his words bitter, dull sounding, "I've spent almost my entire life wishing I hadn't been born. Even as a child. How can you even ... how can you even being to ... I don't know ... go on?"

He shook his head.

"Find purpose," said Joseph. "The greatest challenge there is. Everyone needs a purpose, it's what we all strive for in the end. I think for you, a good piece of advice would be to live for others for a while. Once you have proved to yourself someone needs you, you can start to live for yourself as well. It worked for me, years ago."

"What?" Severus said, surprised.

"You heard me," Joseph said.

Severus looked at him, stunned. For the first time, the person in the chair became human, not just a Healer. It took him a moment to realize it, but the sensation growing in his chest was trust. That was one of the first personal comments Joseph had made. Severus found he liked him more for it.

"I can see you have been helping Potter out," said Joseph. "That's good. It will help, I think."

"It ... it is," said Severus. "I feel well, like you said, needed."

"I think you're the type who has to live for others first, too," said Joseph. "Keep working on that relationship in the next little while. You two have a great deal in common, I think. Is there anything else you need to discuss?"

Severus rubbed his eyes.

"I'm exhausted," he said.

"Alright," said Joseph. "I think we'll end there then. Contact me by fire if you need me. I will be here tomorrow as well."

Severus left soon after, deciding he might as well go see if Dumbledore was still around. Surprisingly enough, he was not. There was a note in the kitchen from Dumbledore, though, saying that he had gone to quickly meet with a few Order members to discuss round the clock guards for Grimmauld Place.

No surprises there ...

The clock struck eight AM. Severus was glad he had gotten a chance to talk with Joseph so early this morning. He hadn't been able to sleep much anyway.

Severus went into the sitting room to make sure Potter was still there. The boy was asleep Severus went over to the sofa. The pillow was damp, and there were tear tracks still on Potter's face. Perhaps it was his fatigued state, but the sight struck him harder than anything like it had before.

He sunk down to sit on the edge of the sofa, resting by Potter's side. Potter's hair was sticking up again. Hesitantly, Severus reached forward to flatten a strand of Potter's hair. Potter didn't move, and the hair didn't stay in place. Potter let out a small, weighty sigh, and Severus removed his hand quickly. Luckily, he did not wake up.

Severus remained there, sitting on the edge of the sofa next to the sleeping Potter. He looked around the room, taking in the horrible, dreary decor.

He sighed, and got up carefully. He fetched the blanket that had fallen on the floor, and covered Potter up.

"I wish I could do more ..." muttered Severus to himself. "But I guess we are stuck here."

As he did so, Severus heard the door open, and Dumbledore call out a hello. He left to go meet him, leaving Harry peacefully sleeping.

Harry.

To his surprise, Dumbledore was already waiting in the kitchen for him. He mustn't have wasted any time, for he already had conjured a cup of coffee, which he pushed toward Severus. Severus took the cup and sunk down at the table.

"Albus?" Severus said, alarm going through his chest. "Is something wrong?"

"I am sorry, Severus," muttered Albus. "I tried."

It was only then that Severus saw the newspaper in his hand, rolled tightly. Dumbledore unrolled it and placed it on the table

POTTER AND SNAPE, MENTAL CASES!

Potter's breakdown and Severus Snape's attempted suicide revealed

Severus froze, his heart seemingly ceasing in beating.

Potter will know now.

Everyone knows.

Everyone.

****

Harry was jolted out of sleep by a clattering sound, like a dish being dropped. He shot up on the couch faster than he could process where the sound had come from, which in a moment, he came to realize had been the kitchen. He got up, put his glasses on, and left to go looking for the source.

The source was a coffee cup, which had fallen to the kitchen floor with a clatter, leaving a line of coffee on the floor. But that was not what drew Harry's eyes. Snape was at the table, his face buried in his arms. Dumbledore stood before the table, a newspaper spread out across it. Weak in the knees, Harry collapsed into the chair next to Snape.

"Harry, it's going to be alright," Dumbledore said quietly, but Harry could only stare at the headline. It diffused through his brain slowly, each word sinking in at a different time, jumbled and making no sense at first.

Suicide. Suicide.

Attempted Suicide.

That's why you're here, sir, that's why you ...

No ... no, wait, Potter's breakdown ...

Breakdown Breakdown BREAKDOWN

Harry's head swam, and his eyes welled up, and his stomach clenched.

They know, they all know they know

The picture below the headline, of Harry and Snape, exhausted in the field with St. Mungo's and emergency workers all around. The picture, that picture. The picture that never should have been taken. The fire that never should have started, and only now did Harry realize it couldn't have been an accident, that this was planned. Snape had known last night. He'd known. That was why he had looked so sick ...

Harry looked at Dumbledore. He felt like he'd been crushed beneath a boot, like his heart had stopped and his body would shut down any second for the sheer disappointment.

You failed me. You were supposed to protect me ... you failed me

Harry's eyes welled up. But he didn't cry. Not yet.

The final crack to his fortress of the glass, the final blow that made him break down, came from Snape.

Snape started to cry. Muffled, heart wrenching sobs into his arms. And then Harry was crying too, and he didn't know how to stop. So there they sat, the two of them breaking to pieces like they'd done too many times before, Dumbledore watching over and stumbling for words, saying that he was going to do what he could to fix it. That it would all work out, that they would still be allowed back at Hogwarts when they were ready, their places waiting.

But none of it mattered, and Harry only cried harder, because he finally understood something else. The headline had finally made him understand he wasn't alone. Sure, he'd been very certain Snape wasn't just in hiding, but this was real now. The word suicide burned across his mind, and his heart ached not only for himself but for Snape.

They were in this together now, or maybe they had been from the start. It had all gotten confused to Harry, and he tried to think of how this was going to be okay, but he couldn't. He couldn't think of a single way to fix it, so he stopped trying to, just for a moment. He gave himself permission to just grieve. And right then, if just for one night, he would let himself fall apart in the kitchen with Snape, because if he had learned anything at Oak Tree, it was better to fall apart with someone else than to fall apart alone.

Severus' head felt foggy and thick. His eyes were puffy from his breakdown earlier in the kitchen. The image of the paper swam before his eyes over and over again. He wished he could make the words go away. His heart skipped a few beats every so often, like something was knocking on the inside of his chest, trying to get out. Endless thoughts ran through his head. He tried to remember how his healer told him not to stop the thoughts, but to change them. Deal with them and quiet them rather than force them away. Severus shut his eyes tightly, the dizzying spiral in his head making the room distort with his panic. Everyone knew now. Everyone.

It's the end there's no way to fix this no way can I live with this no way I can keep going -

Yes you can.

But it's easier to give in. Easier.

I know. I know. Keep going anyway. Keep breathing

Everyone everyone knows they all know I'm -

Slow down. Take a breath.

Just breathe (can I do that) I think I can do that.

Breathe, Sev.

Breathe.

The world spun a little less, and Severus opened his eyes.

Better a little better now time to distract.

Severus glanced around the rather dreary bedroom at Grimmauld Place. It was very quiet here, especially after Oak Tree. Dumbledore had gone now for the day. Dobby the house elf would be dropping in and out for the next little while.

Albus had explained that Kreacher the house elf was Potter's now. Potter had made him go to Hogwarts, and as 12 Grimmauld Place was now Potter's house and the house had been checked over by the Order, technically, they were safe to stay there. Severus folded his clothes, placing them in the wardrobe upstairs. He had taken a random room on Dumbledore's suggestion. It still bore the reminders of the last summer, two beds put into a once far too spacious room by the Order, a stray candy wrapper on one of the bedspreads, left from one of the Weasley children most likely.

Grimmauld Place would be safe, Dumbledore said. To help make sure of this, when Richard had come for his session with Potter, he'd stayed after for a little while to ready the house. A collective decision had been made between Dumbledore, Richard, and Joseph that Severus and Harry were doing well enough that daily sessions and Dobby's monitoring would be enough. They were cleared to live for a while on their own, which in the end Richard had said might work out to be the best thing, as it would give them some sense of independence and confidence before returning to working and school. The agreement was that he and Potter would look after each other as well, make note of any odd behaviour in the other, and mention any observations during sessions. Dobby would be dropping by a few times a day with food, and occasionally make his presence known to say hello and get a visual on how Severus and Potter were doing. It would be just the two of them for the most part, however.

Of course, that wasn't to say there weren't precautions. Lots of rooms were blocked off with magic, the ones that had too many dangerous things in them. The knives in the kitchen had been charmed so they were impossible to be used as a weapon against oneself or others. All manner of protective spells had been placed on the house, both protection from intruders, and from themselves. Magical windows, wide and warm had been added into some of the rooms as well to lighten the mood. Richard had done an amazing job of brightening the house and changing the decor in places, but it was still number twelve, Grimmauld place. There was no changing that. Sure, it was more secure. But it was still Grimmauld Place, the house of awful memories. Severus hated it for all the times he had to show up and talk about what the Dark Lord was doing. Potter hated it for his Godfather.

Severus rubbed his tired eyes, continuing to fold his clothes and stack them neatly. The door was open. There was nobody to disturb them anyway. Severus already missed Daisy, and he wished he'd gotten a chance to say goodbye to her. The last he'd seen her she'd been grumpy about some conversation with her friend. She was due to be gone from Oak Tree soon. He wondered how she was. Severus wanted to send her a letter, but he was hesitant. He didn't know where to send it. Besides, what would he say?

Sorry I disappeared off the face of the earth?

What if she was still angry with him for prying at why she was in a bad mood? He shook his head. He just didn't know. Women confused him in general, even ones he considered friends.

There was a smooth, sliding noise. Severus looked up from the wardrobe. Potter had leaned against the door frame and was in the process of sliding slowly, morosely to the floor.

"Hi," Potter said quietly.

"How is the unpacking going?" Severus asked, feeling a little bit awkward, remembering the breakdown they'd both had in the kitchen that morning. Neither of them had said a word about it. It seemed to be an unspoken agreement of sorts.

Potter shrugged.

"Rooms are too big here," Potter said, his words hardly rising above the swishing sound of Severus folding shirts.

"They are oddly spacious, after Oak Tree," Severus added, not cluing in as he began to pick lint off of a black jumper of his. Silence fell for a little while.

"Sir?"

"Mhmm," Severus said, his focus still on the lint, his eyes narrowed at his sweater in irritation.

"Can ... can we share a room?" Potter asked, sounding as though he expected to be executed. "Like at Oak Tree? It's, well... it's too quiet. I - I'll understand if you want the space. But, it's just empty here, is all ..."

Severus paused, looking over to where Potter was sitting, arms around his legs and leaning against the door frame.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. Then, the answer came. And to his surprise, it was an honest one.

"This room, or another?" asked Severus.

Potter's chest lost the tension it had been carrying, and he let out a long, slow breath.

"This one's fine," Potter said.

"Get your things, then," said Severus.

Potter got to his feet, trying to conceal the relief on his face.

"Oh, and Potter?" Severus called as the boy ran from the room to go get his trunk.

"Yes?" Potter said, his voice floating into the room from the hallway.

"I get the bed by the window this time!" Severus shouted after him.

Potter laughed. It echoed in the quiet halls, and for a moment, the place did not seem so lonely to Severus.

***

"Okay, I have to admit, having a shower that locks is kind of nice," Potter said, taking a bite of his sandwich as they sat down for lunch, which Dobby had brought minutes earlier.

"Agreed," said Severus. "Can't count the times someone barged in on me by accident. Not pleasant."

"It's weird, though," Potter said, chewing thoughtfully. "I kind of miss Oak Tree. Is that weird?"

"No," said Severus slowly. "It ... wasn't all bad. I miss the garden."

"And Daisy?" Potter asked, getting a mischievous smile.

"What does that mean?"

"I dunno," said Potter, shrugging, still smirking.

"Are you insinuating that -"

"Aw come on, Daisy was pretty, wasn't she?" said Potter, shrugging.

"I suppose," said Severus stiffly, unable to admit to Potter he was right. Daisy was pretty. But that wasn't the only reason he liked her company. It was merely nice to talk to someone his age that he didn't have to act sane around. It was a relief.

Only the clink of glasses against the wood table and the sound of spoons in soup bowls filled the room for a minute or two.

"I do miss her," said Severus at last.

"So write to her," said Potter, adding a few more carrots to his place. "What's the worst that happens? If she doesn't respond at least you can say you tried."

"She was giving me the cold shoulder, last I checked," said Severus, sighing. "That feels like years ago now."

"What was up with her?"

"I think one of her friends was being rather harsh, but that is just a guess," said Severus, frowning, trying to recall the details. "I asked her how she was after she talked on the telephone with someone, and she wouldn't say. So I said she might feel better if she talked about whatever was bothering her. She got defensive, saying it was none of my business. That she didn't need someone to tell her how to run her life. That sort of thing."

"Write her anyway," said Potter. "I think you should. Really."

"But she was trying to push me away," Severus said, nonplussed. "She didn't want me interfering."

"No, you don't get it," Potter said, a kind of seriousness he had lacked before filling his words. He was staring into his soup as though the future was written in it. He frowned. Severus got the feeling he was trying very hard to figure out how to say what was on his mind.

"So explain it then," said Severus, annoyed.

"Erm .. I don't know Daisy, and maybe you're right that she wants you to leave her alone," Potter said, stirring his soup. "But, it's just ... when something's bothering me, I do this thing, and I don't really mean to, but ... I don't know. It's stupid."

"You brought it up," said Severus. "I am sure it isn't stupid."

"Well, sometimes, I get this thing where if I'm upset, I push people away. Because I'm used to nobody caring, or people getting made fun for talking about what's bothering me. Just how I ... how I grew up. So, when someone asks if I'm alright, more often than not, I shut them out."

"So, you think Daisy's worried I'll make fun of her?" said Severus, filing away Potter's comment on growing up for later. Now was not the time to bring that up. But it would be soon. Severus was certain of that.

"Not exactly," Potter said. "With me ... a lot of the time I just tell people to piss off if they ask how I'm feeling. It's stupid, I know, but I usually panic or I don't know how to tell them that I'm not alright. So, when I say piss off, I really ... sort of say that in the hopes that they'll care enough about me to be stubborn and not piss off. Make sense?"

Severus frowned, looking at the way Potter's eyes had widened behind his glasses, the way his hand trembled with the spoon in his grasp.

Are you okay, Sev?

Fine. Lily, really, I'm fine. Just ... please, leave me be for a little while.

"I ... I think I understand," said Severus. He scoffed slightly, looking up from the table, his eyes flickering toward Potter's for a moment. "I do that too, sometimes. Guess I did not look at Daisy's reaction that way."

Potter nodded.

"I think you should write Daisy," Potter said after a lengthy silence.

"I will," said Severus. "I think I will."

***

The parchment was given to him by Dumbledore, laced with charms so only the recipient could read its true contents. It wasn't fool proof, so he couldn't say too much, but it was a start. The parchment had been sitting, forlorn on the counter top since Dumbledore had left it there the previous night. He spread it out before him in the dining room, the room silent, abandoned. The letter came slowly, but after a long time it was finished.

The letter started with this:

Dear Daisy,

You have probably figured out why I was unable to stay long. I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye. I wanted to, but the circumstances didn't allow it. I wish they had.

Severus frowned a moment, scribbling out a sentence or two here and there that followed. He unrolled the parchment further, and deciding it was finished, reread the rest of the letter.

I'm also sorry if I upset you the other day, asking about what was bothering you. I should not have pried, but I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Which is part of why I'm writing this letter. You don't have to tell me any details, but I want to know: Are you alright? Between the events the other day, and everything else going on because of your upcoming move home, I've been worried about you. And do not feel guilty about that. I miss you. You're my friend. Friends worry about each other. That is what they do.

My roommate is doing alright. I'm still working on getting him to open up a little about what we discussed. It is hard. I have to force myself to say anything about myself. With him, you have to give a little to get a little. He's harder to crack than some people I've come across at my evening job, and that really is saying something. On top of it all, the only one who can help fix the situation for my roommate has been so busy. We were supposed to meet, but now he's proving evasive again. I don't think he means to be. He's just got too much on his plate. Still, it is getting on my nerves.

I wish I could write more, but you know what relatives are like. Always peering over your shoulder, and the like. Hopefully we can speak more soon. I may have to abandon letters and find another way to talk with you, just for the sake of a bit of privacy from family.

Best of wishes,

Severus signed it with an illegible scribble, just for the sake of appearance. No doubt Daisy would know who the letter came from. He regretted having to make it so impersonal, but he had been warned by Dumbledore that St. Mungo's would be paying more attention to their mail, worried after the second fire of the summer and the leak by the Daily Prophet. The second fire had scored a small article in the back of the Prophet, and so far it was proven that it was not started by the same person as the first. The whole thing seemed to suggest foul play to Severus.

He had told Dumbledore his theory that it was the Auror who started it, as it seemed pretty certain that it was he who orchestrated the leak to the paper. Dumbledore had assured him that he was procuring a number of trustworthy Order affiliates to make a case for a law suit. St. Mungo's itself was trying to find a way to prepare a suit, but the trouble was, the Auror technically had not violated his contract. He invited a friend, who brought the supposed therapy dog. The Auror may have known he was an animagus, but you were allowed to invite visitors, and it was with the knowledge that they would see the place, and find out who lived there. You could not legally obliviate people who came to visit. That was why the binding contracts of confidentiality were handed out to every visitor. There was a case to be made, though, and it was only a matter until one surfaced from either, or both parties.

But Severus did not care about any lawsuit. He did not give a damn if one of such nature was won, or lost.

Words were daggers. You could take them back, pull them away and destroy them, but their damage remained, always. No method existed to erase an idea that was planted on the scale of the one in the Prophet. Lawsuit or not, the idea would grow, and the thorns would thrive, roses for those who sowed the seed, daggers and thorns for those who were sacrificed to grow them. Severus knew this well.

Severus folded his letter, sighing slightly as he slid it in an envelope and sealed it. He rubbed his tired eyes for a moment, his face reflecting in the silver goblet on the dining room table. Bloodshot eyes. Unshaven face. He looked more like Tobias every day.

Tobias.

Words are daggers.

You taught me that, Father.

Ron lay in bed, staring at the low ceiling in his room. His stomach burned from lack of sleep, and his face was lined with worry. His mother was crying downstairs, and the newspaper had been stuffed away out of sight. It had arrived shortly after Ron's call failed to reach anyone. He guessed he knew why now. He wished he'd stayed in bed longer. Not because he was upset he tried to call Harry and it had been a waste of time, but because he wished he didn't have to know what had been printed in the paper. He should have slept in. Then he could be oblivious, like Ginny, still sleeping upstairs.

Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. He got up and he went downstairs, creeping into the kitchen.

"Mum?" he asked quietly, and she hastily wiped her eyes on her apron. She was in the middle of baking cookies. It was nine am.

That's what Mum did when everything went wrong. She baked.

"Yes, dear?" she said, turning around and giving him a watery smile.

"Can I visit Harry soon?" he asked. "I mean, can you talk to Dumbledore and see if I can?"

His mother nodded, her eyes welling up, but no words came from her lips. Then, to Ron's surprise she leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. She held him tightly to her, and Ron returned the embrace. His chin rested on her head now. He'd grown the past year. The acidic feeling in his stomach left for a moment, and he took a deep breath. She smelled like spices and flowers, just like always. He closed his eyes, and let her tell him that everything would be okay. He missed the days when he could fully believe that, but it was nice to hear it anyway.

He wondered how Harry got by, with nobody to tell him that.

***

Severus walked into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He was taking a break from doing a potions themed crossword puzzle. Joseph had given him a whole book with them. Severus had acted fairly aloof upon the presentation of it, but in reality, he was quite pleased by it.

The kitchen appeared empty, until he heard a crunching noise.

"Potter, are you in here?" he asked, unnerved. As he spoke the crunching sound stopped abruptly.

Where is your wand when you need it ...

The noise had sounded as though it was coming from under the table. Hesitantly, Severus lowered himself down to peer beneath it. What he saw surprised him greatly. It also forced him to suppress a small laugh.

Potter was sitting up against one of the table legs, a knitted throw wrapped over his shoulders and a carrot in his grasp. On his lap sat a large book, which had diagrams of Quidditch pitches. Potter looked like an owl caught in a beam of wand light.

"Potter, what are you doing?" Severus asked, suppressing amusement with difficulty.

"Reading ... and eating," Potter said, frozen, the carrot hovering an inch from his mouth.

"Under the table."

"Erm. Yeah."

"Why?" His question was not rude, but curious. Severus brushed some of his long hair out of his eyes, which had gotten in the way do to the angle he was bent over at.

"It's ... er ... it -" Potter stumbled over words.

"Feels safe?"

Potter stared. "Yeah."

"Naturally," Severus said, nodding. "Carry on." He made to stand up, but Potter stopped him.

"Sir, wait -"

Severus bent over again, peering with scrutiny at Potter. "What now, Potter?"

"How ... how did you know that's what I meant?"

Severus felt his limbs stiffen, and for a moment, he and Potter just stared at each other.

Remember remember what Joseph said this is good this friendship relationship whatever you call it don't back away don't be a coward, give a little get a little come on Severus why are tables safe? One more thing to add to the argument to Dumbledore.

Despite the fact that he really wanted to flee the room at the thought of this question, Severus spoke.

"My parents used to fight a lot," Severus said, and it was like the words were coming from someone else's lips, someone else's heart and somehow he didn't feel the cold stone kitchen floor and the world around him seemed wrong and his heart was throbbing - stop it just stop it heart you're going to waste away before I can live you'll waste all your beats stop it - and Potter, for a moment, just stared. "My ... my father drank too. So, the table ..." Severus let his words drop off, and his eyes flickered around the room.

"Oh," Potter said, eyes downcast. "Sorry to hear."

Severus nodded - stop that heart stop it stop it slow down slow down but what about you Potter come on, ask him Severus just ask he won't tell you unless you ask you're seeing Dumbledore any day -

Then, the silence ended, and to Severus' amazement, it wasn't his voice that broke it. It was Potter's.

"My relatives," said Potter, his words so quiet Severus almost missed them, "they didn't like me underfoot when I was little."

Severus scowled. "Petunia hated having me around too. Called me a freak a lot."

Harry snorted bitterly. "Sounds like her."

Harry. Severus brushed his hair out of his eyes once more. And again, he could not help but ask who this boy was. How could you have thought you knew him, Snape?

"I imagine she is quite awful to live with," Severus said dismally, frowning. Potter had heard him, but he seemed to not wish to elaborate on that. After a moment, however, Potter spoke.

"Sir, you know how you said a while ago that you were friends with my mum?"

Severus' mouth was dry, so he could only nod.

"What was she like? You never really got a chance to answer last time I asked."

Severus looked up, catching Potter's eyes for a moment before looking away. "A lot like you, actually. She was noble, and brave. A little hot-headed. You come by it honestly, really."

Harry smiled. "Will you tell me some stories about her, sometime?"

Hand leaning on the table, his head just below the surface, he observed Potter for a moment. Sitting there, the book in his lap and blanket over his shoulders, wide green eyes behind glasses. It was the strangest expression he had seen on Potter's face in all the time he had known the boy. Or at least, he had never seen it directed toward him before. It took Severus a moment to realize that it was hope.

"Yes," Severus said, and he let himself smile slightly, something he wasn't in the habit of doing. Potters' response was silent, but the look on his face told it all, and for a second, Severus saw neither Lily nor James, but Harry. "I still have some old photos of her and I as children. I'll dig them out and show you when I can get them from Hogwarts."

Severus left Potter to resume reading under the table. He forgot his cup of tea altogether, as well as the crossword puzzle.

***

To Harry's surprise Professor Dumbledore slid out of the fire at quarter to two, ash in his beard. Harry looked up from the craft supplies he had strewn about the sitting room. Richard had left a box of supplies and books, and one of the books had instructions on how to make a Quidditch pitch and figurines, as well as spells on how to make the players fly and listen to commands.

"Ah, good to see you are keeping busy, my boy," Dumbledore said. "I received a letter from Molly the other day. She said that Ron would like to visit sometime, and as I was on my way over today, I thought I would check if you would like him to come by today."

"Yeah, that would be great," Harry said, putting the cap on the glue.

"Excellent; I shall confirm it with Molly then," said Dumbledore. Harry waited patiently while Dumbledore put his head through the fire. When he emerged, he beamed. "Young Mr Weasley will be over soon. Now, I have some business to attend to. You wouldn't happen to know where Severus is, would you?"

"Reading in the library, I think," Harry said, returning to gluing tiny bits of straw on the model of the Firebolt he was making.

Dumbledore's soft footsteps could be heard going upstairs. As they died down, the sound of the fire roaring met Harry's ears. For a moment, he was afraid to look up. How would Ron act? He hadn't written back since Harry sent the letter. What if he was angry, or disappointed, or thought Harry was weak?

"Hey," said Ron.

Harry looked up. Ron had his hands in his pocket, and his head ducked slightly. They stared at each other for a moment. Ron grinned, and then Harry felt his own smile emerge.

"Hey," said Harry.

"Sorry I didn't write back," muttered Ron, looking sheepish. "It's just ... nothing looked right on paper."

"You're forgiven," Harry said, shrugging, but not losing his smile.

For a moment, there was a silence.

"What are you making?" Ron asked.

"Sit down, and I'll show you," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Grinning, Ron threw himself down on the sofa, and Harry proceeded to pull out the box of tiny Quidditch players he'd been making out of paper, little broomsticks of sticks and straw to go along. Ron seemed quite impressed, examining every inch of the players carefully.

"Richard's going to help me charm them so they fly too," said Harry. "Or I'll do it when I get to school. Depends when I get back to school."

"Who's Richard?" Ron asked curiously, examining a broom Harry had made.

Harry paused, fidgeting.

"Boyfriend?" Ron smirked, glancing sideways at Harry.

"Ron!" Harry spat. "I am not gay!"

Ron let out a peal of laughter, to Harry's amazement. "I know you're straight. I'm just being an arse."

Harry shook his head, but he couldn't help but laugh a bit. The joke set him at ease, somehow. "Nah ... he's a Mind Healer."

"Sounds like a cool guy," Ron said without missing a beat, still examining the broomstick. Harry paused for a moment, thinking.

"Think so?"

"Yeah, anyone comes up with this stuff is awesome," Ron said, gesturing to spread of Quidditch figurines all across the coffee table.

"He is cool," Harry said. "I like him."

"Do projects help, with well, things?" Ron asked, although this time his words were hesitant.

"Keeps me distracted, I guess," Harry said with a shrug. "Makes things easier to have something to work on."

Ron nodded.

"Did you see the Prophet?" muttered Harry, crumpling a small bit of construction paper between his fingers until it was a tiny ball.

Ron scoffed. He proceed to call the Daily Prophet some exceedingly rude names, to Harry's delight. It was obvious he'd been waiting for Harry to bring it up so he could rant a little.

"Dumbledore's trying to figure out a law suit," said Harry.

"He better be." Ron looked mutinous, and Harry felt his chest warm slightly. "If he doesn't I'll find a way to sue their saggy -" Ron's words dropped off, like he was too annoyed to even continue.

Harry laughed. "Thanks, Ron."

"No problem."

"Trouble is, I'm not sure how much I want him to," Harry said. "I mean, wouldn't it create more trouble than it's worth?"

"Well, those bastards have to pay for what they did," Ron said. "How did it get out anyway? If you don't mind me asking?"

Harry was surprised there had been no word of Snape yet from Ron. He imagined that it must have been creating a lot of strain in Ron not to ask about that. Harry got the sense that Ron thought better to.

"Nah, I don't mind," said Harry, shaking his head. So he began, telling Ron all about the Auror, and his friends. How the dog didn't have to sign a confidentiality agreement, how technically the Auror hadn't told anyone about who was there, just invited people, which was perfectly legal under the agreement, as all people who came in had to sign agreements the bases were supposed to be covered in that respect. So for the moment he was untouchable. Even if he probably orchestrated it.

"So Snape said today that Dumbledore's trying to get a suit against the reporter who was in his animagus form," said Harry dismally. "Apparently he's unregistered, so that's a huge fine, right there. And if we convict him of using it for a crime, he might have to serve time somewhere. So if Dumbledore gets our testimonies and can get them so they're valid in court we might get him. Then if we can get him on that, we might be able to nail his friend too, who signed the agreement. Then through them, maybe, we can tie the Auror to it."

"But, you'll have to testify for that," Ron said, frowning.

"Yeah, except who's going to believe me - I was in a mental ward," Harry admitted.

"But you aren't crazy," Ron said, and the frankness with which he spoke reminded Harry just why Ron was his friend. "It's called stress. Doubt what you're going through means hallucinating, right?"

Harry frowned. "Yeah, no hallucinations."

"So what you saw has to be correct, and yes, it'll suck, but I think you should testify if it will help the case," said Ron. "Show everyone they can't mess with you. But it's your choice. I'll be behind you either way."

"Thanks," muttered Harry.

They fell silent a moment.

"What's living with Snape like?" Ron asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I knew you'd ask that."

"Sorry, just got to make sure he isn't messing with you," said Ron sheepishly.

"We get along, weirdly enough," said Harry. "He's actually good company sometimes."

Ron seemed to sense not to press the subject, although by the way Ron's mouth grew thin not unlike McGonagall's, Harry could tell Ron was having trouble processing the idea. Instead of continuing the subject, however, Ron fished around in his pocket for something. "Exploding snap?"

"Sure." Harry grinned. "Kitchen table's clear."

They were just finishing the first game (in which Harry had royally trounced Ron) when Snape came it, his nose in a book.

"Potter," he said amicably. "What is the cause of the racket?"

"Exploding snap, sir," said Ron, as Harry was in the middle of chewing one of the biscuits Dobby had brought by.

"Ah, a Weasley, I should have known," said Snape, setting his book off to the side. Harry had to shift his chair to catch the title. It said: A Wizard's Guide to Muggle Law. Where he got it, Harry had no idea. It definitely wasn't from the Black's library.

"I thought you were talking with Dumbledore," said Harry curiously, dealing another round of cards out.

"I am. However, for once he decided to listen to me and has his head in the fireplace at this current juncture, consulting someone. Of course in order to do that, first he had to pull his head out of his ar-" Snape glanced at Ron for a moment, frowned, then let his words drop off.

"You didn't hear that, Weasley," he said, snatching up his book and leaving the room with a glass of water.

"What the hell kind of discussion are they having?" Ron let out a laugh, seeming utterly giddy at the thought that Snape had nearly sworn in front of him.

"No idea," Harry said.

Muggle law.

No ... no I forgot - what if he's telling Dumbledore - what if he's trying to tell him what he thinks is going on? Remember, you remember don't you, Harry? Snape and Daisy on the bench ages ago talking about it, talking about how Snape was worried, how he got it finally how the pieces clicked that everything wasn't okay at home for Harry how he'd been blinded to it before -

That's it that's why he's been trying so hard to talk with Dumbledore - they aren't talking the Auror suit they're talking about another kind of justice. No, no what will I say what will I say -

"Your turn, Harry," Ron said, oblivious to the cascade of fear that had flooded Harry's limbs and made his eye stop seeing the cards in front of him.

"Oh, right."

Ron won the second game of exploding snap, and after that he said he had best be getting home for supper. He said he'd come by another time if Harry wanted, and Harry said yes.

Ron left with a grin and a wave, his red hair standing out starkly in the green flames created by the floo powder.

Harry sat down on the sofa, staring at the little players on the Quidditch pitch, arranged with care and all in formation, like they were waiting for a game to start and the strategy to begin.

He lay back, staring at the cobwebby ceiling of Grimmauld place.

Harry really didn't know why, but he felt like he was falling. He wished he could understand why he sometimes felt like this, how out of nowhere it was like the world had decided to fall apart. He was glad Ron had come, but the good didn't cancel the bad that so suddenly welled up inside him.

Maybe it was the idea of what Snape was probably talking about with Dumbledore. Maybe it was being in this house, and knowing that the Black family tapestry was behind the gold and red wall mural that it had been disguised as by Richard. Maybe it was just the cracks built into Harry's foundation. Maybe he was just broken. Defective.

Was that it? Was he just defective? Was that why these fits of sadness fell on him with heavy drops, like a summer storm that came out of nowhere? Harry examined the scars on his arms, and he traced the angry red marks like they were maps that would lead him to an answer.

His skin burned and he wanted the pain and the blood and the way his arm burned fire red and his heart stopped hurting he wanted it and he hated how sick he was to want that because it wasn't something you should want and he could admit that now he could admit he needed to stop that he had a problem. Harry's heart was bursting and he couldn't think and he wondered if Dumbledore had finished his meeting with Snape or if he was still here but right now that didn't matter (what caused this, Richard said there were triggers but what brought this feeling on Harry didn't know, not yet). He needed distraction. He had to stop this feeling and there was no getting away from it but to get away from himself, from being alone to not alone, where someone could say I get it I know and Snape did get it sort of, he did he tried to kill himself after all (he really had, the paper said and did you see the way he reacted to that headline I've never seen him look like that -)

Harry wrapped his arms around his chest and he made himself get up from the sofa. He ran to the door, and he rubbed his eyes on his sleeve as he did so.

"Professor Snape?" he asked, the rooms sliding by as he searched. "Where are you?"

The fire burned inside, and Harry's eyes smarted, and rooms went by again and again. Then, at last, he saw the grey socked feet propped up in one of the side rooms, the library book stacked at by the armchair and the empty room without Dumbledore (the clock struck seven) and when Snape looked up from his book in surprise Harry felt the cool rain starting to lower the flames.

"Are you alright?" said Snape.

And maybe Snape saw it, the animal look in Harry's eyes, the arms crossed by his chest, the white fingertips, and the damp sleeves.

"You haven't hurt yourself, have you?"

The question was a surprise to Harry. Snape's words were quiet, not angry. Just there.

Harry shook his head, leaning against the door frame. Snape looked relieved.

"Well ... sit down. You're making me anxious." Snape's words were gruff, but Harry knew this was his way of saying it was going to be okay.

Snape pointed to the lumpy sofa, which was devoid of books. Harry threw himself onto it, curling up and putting his head on one of the worn-out pillows.

Snape looked up from his book again. "Did something happen?"

"No." Harry stared into the fire. "Just feel ... I dunno."

Snape sighed slightly, but it wasn't an exasperated sigh. It was more an appreciative sound, like he knew exactly what Harry meant.

To Harry's surprise, a soft weight hit him in the feet. Snape had thrown a frayed denim quilt at him, folded and thick.

Harry stared for a second, but Snape was reading again.

He grabbed the quilt and pulled it over himself. It was heavy, but comforting. He tangled his hands up in it, keeping them tightly in place, and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Mhm," Snape replied.

They remained that way a long time, the quiet sound of Snape turning pages filling the room.

Severus stood before the mirror, brushing his teeth with a grim sort of satisfaction. The conversation he'd had earlier in the day with Dumbledore was running through his head like a movie reel.

He'd given the facts. He'd told Albus every piece of evidence Potter had displayed that pointed to a bad home life. Severus told him about the conversation with Potter under the table earlier that day. He mentioned Potter's grief over Black, how a night he thought he'd heard Potter crying. The boy hadn't been awake, but Severus had heard a quiet mutter, a soft apology addressed to Black. He tried to explain to Dumbledore as best he could that the thought Potter was taking Black's death so hard was that he had no other parental support. In reality, he and Black hadn't gotten a lot of time to get close at all, and yet they had managed despite huge distance and barriers between them.

Potter didn't know he'd been overheard the other night. But then again, Potter didn't know how much Severus had noticed.

The whole thing warranted investigation, but when it came down to it, Severus could only cite a few concrete examples, hoping Dumbledore would believe him. The rest was that feeling, that deep seated sense of knowing that he'd cultivated years ago.

"How can you be sure, Severus?" Albus had asked. "How can you be so sure Harry's being abused at home?"

That was the part that Severus couldn't stop remembering, that question, that awful question.

I know, Albus. I just know. How, do you ask? How?

Severus spat forcefully into the sink, scowling. He'd only said one sentence in reply.

"Because you never noticed that I was."

Albus had cried. Severus still couldn't get over that part. Albus had actually cried after Severus said that. Because Severus never said a word about it, not once. It was what Severus had kept silent all these years, what he never dared to mention but what coloured every interaction, that underlying anger that nobody had ever noticed what he was going home to as a boy. That he'd been invisible and all these teachers, now colleagues, had looked straight through it. After Albus' reaction, he wondered if it wasn't because they didn't care, but because they just didn't know what to look for. Or maybe Severus' acting skills were better than he thought.

Severus shook his head, examining his pale reflection in the mirror.

It hadn't been long after that that Dumbledore went to go talk with Amelia Bones to ask about getting a warrant for use of Veritaserum on Harry's relatives. Amelia was a good woman, and had the influence to get it discreetly, without interference from the press.

Albus returned briefly some time later and he told Severus he got the warrant. Tomorrow he would be back to let Severus know how it went.

Severus put his toothbrush in the cup by the sink, and went to his and Potter's room. Potter was sitting in bed, reading a book. Severus threw himself on his own bed, and gave a great sigh as he sunk down into it.

"Tired much?" Potter said, amused.

"You have no idea," Severus said, exhaustion making his words slow and drawn out.

Potter put his book on the side table.

"I can get the light then?"

Severus didn't make a noise of protest, so Potter got up and flicked the switch.

Severus pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind, and feel asleep nearly instantly.

***

Harry awoke sometime in the night, unsure of what the cause of his alertness was. It took him time to realize that Snape was moving around restlessly. Harry could hear the rustling of the sheets. Snape made a sharp grunting noise. In the moonlight from the window, Harry sat up in bed, glancing across the room. There was a sheen of sweat on his face.

Harry wondered what Snape was dreaming about. The man frequently tossed and turned, but this time seemed different. He'd heard Snape mutter something about "the Dark Lord" a few times in his sleep before, but the reaction overall this time. It was not the same. Snape's breathing was heavier, and he kept making an odd, whistling gasp, like he was ... afraid.

Quietly, Harry slid out of bed, standing on the wood floor and wondering if he should wake Snape. His Professor was twisting the sheets in his fists.

Snape let out an odd noise that sounded almost like "please". His brows furrowed.

He seemed to go still, however, and Harry relaxed as well, relieved, and went back over to his own bed. Harry lay down, and closed his eyes. What he heard next drifted eerily across the room, too clear to be mistaken.

"Dad - no -"

Harry sat up again, staring, his stomach clenching over what he had just heard. Snape was tossing again in his bed, but showed no awareness that Harry was watching him. Just terror.

"No -d-don' -" Snape let out another one of his whistling breaths. He shifted again, kicking slightly with one of his feet, the covers sliding.

Frozen, Harry watched, Snape's words running on loop in his head.

Then, with seemingly no warning, Snape sat bolt upright in bed, a loud, gasping breath catching in his chest. Harry didn't have time to lie down and pretend to be sleeping. Snape caught sight of Harry, his eyes widening further. His breaths came in muffled wheezes. He looked away from Harry, shame in his eyes. Snape was shaking from head to foot, and he seemed to be trying to stop but couldn't.

"Are ... are you alright?" Harry asked, not knowing what else to say but knowing he couldn't stay silent.

Snape took a shuddering breath, but nodded. "It's nothing," he muttered, his words hardly reaching Harry.

Harry wanted to say more, find some way to make Snape feel better. But no words came to him.

"I can't sleep," Harry said at last. "Do you want to play cards?"

Snape gave a shaky laugh, sounding more out of relief than anything. "Sure."

Relief flooding through his own veins, Harry grabbed the stack of cards from his bedside table, turned the light on, and threw a pillow down on the floor. He grabbed the blanket from his bed and wrapped it around his shoulders, and sat on the pillow.

"Exploding Snap?" Harry asked.

Snape slid from his bed, sitting on a pillow like Harry and dragging his own blanket off his bed to stay warm. It was like some sort of absurd slumber party. "Isn't that a bit loud for three in the morning?" Snape asked, amused.

"Not like we've got anyone to wake up here."

"Deal me in."

Harry grinned, shuffled the cards a bit, then threw a card toward Snape.

***

"That is quite a lot of yawning you are doing, Severus," said Joseph amicably after Severus interrupted his version of the meeting with Dumbledore the previous day to yawn for at least the tenth time in fifteen minutes. "Where you up late?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"I could not sleep." Joseph waited patiently for Severus to elaborate. "Nightmare. You know. The usual."

"Do you think that revealing to Dumbledore that you were abused as a child acted as a trigger for that?"

"Probably," said Severus, rolling his eyes. "Didn't sleep much after it, anyway, which is why I keep yawning."

"You had difficulty falling asleep after the nightmare?"

"Actually, Potter and I started playing cards," said Severus. "I probably wouldn't have fallen back asleep anyway."

"Did he wake up when you did?"

Severus twisted his hands in his lap, looking down at them. "I think he heard me. I know he heard me, actually."

"Does that worry you?"

"Not ... not as much as I might have thought it would," said Severus, frowning. "I guess ... Potter didn't really try to pry. He just pulled out a deck of cards and said he couldn't sleep either."

"Clever boy," said Joseph, smiling. "Did the cards help?"

"Yes, they did. We did a lot of talking. Everything but ... the nightmare. But ... that was good. Wasn't a moment I needed to talk about it. I just sort of needed to relax, and I think maybe Potter got that."

***

"And how did that make you feel, Harry, hearing Professor Snape having a nightmare?" asked Richard.

"Strange ..." Harry said, turning one of his homemade Quidditch figurines over and over in his hands. "I mean ... it was just ... I don't know. I'm not sure if he'd want me to say."

"Whatever is said here will not leave the room. I will keep it confidential, as always."

"Well, he stared talking about his dad, like, in his sleep," muttered Harry. He glanced up at Richard, who was sitting in a chair across from the coffee table, Harry's Quidditch pitch between them.

"In what way?"

"I ... he didn't say anything specific, but the way it sounded, I don't think it was good. You know, he said to me the other day when I was sitting under the table and reading - oh, I do that sometimes, cause it feel safe, right? Well, Snape guessed why I was sitting there. He asked me if it was because it felt safe. So I asked him how he knew that."

"Did he answer?" Richard asked, curious, leaning forward slightly.

"He did," Harry said.

"You sound surprised."

"I just ... I'm surprised he trusted me. He never would have trusted me with something like that before."

"Things change. You two have been through a great deal together. What did he say?"

"He said that his parents used to fight a lot. I just ... I get the feeling there's more, you know? And the way he sounded when he had that nightmare ... something awful must have happened."

"Does that change the way you see him?"

"A little, yeah. I kind of get how hard it is to you know, be normal, or nice to people, when all you've ever known is hate, you know? Kind of explains why he's such an angry teacher. It doesn't excuse it, but it kind of explains it."

***

Severus yawned widely again as he sunk down at the kitchen table to eat lunch with Potter. They'd both had morning sessions, and now that they were over, they were free to have a bite to eat.

Potter slurped his soup rather noisily, but Severus was so glad to see that the boy finally had an appetite that he didn't mind.

"Something came in the mail for you," said Harry, shoving a paper covered tube over at Severus.

Curious, Severus slit the tube open, and out slid a rolled up copy of a magazine.

"But I didn't sign up for Potions Monthly," said Severus, puzzled. "My subscription lapsed ages ago."

He flipped it open, and then let his spoon fall with a clatter.

"What is it sir?"

Severus stared at the magazine, open on the table. Then, he burst out laughing, great, rolling peals of laughter. He managed to stifle it to ask Potter what he saw, holding up the magazine. It felt good to laugh. Really good.

"Um, a table of contents?"

"Oh, that genius woman," he muttered to himself, chuckling, reading the first page of the magazine, which looked entirely different to him. "Daisy enchanted it. She's made a fake subscription to Potions Monthly and made it so it looks like a regular magazine to anyone else. But she's written the response to my last letter so that I can see it. "

"But why?"

"In case someone intercepts our mail," said Severus. "Why do you think nobody was supposed to send you letters with sensitive information from Grimmauld place even over the previous summer?"

Potter shrugged, and Severus lowered his gaze to read the letter at last.

Dear Severus

I hope you like my method of reaching you. It is good to hear from you, and I most definitely forgive you for disappearing like that. Given the circumstances (and what they wrote in the paper) I understand. It's simply awful what they wrote in the Prophet! I was so angry. Please tell me you are finding a way to file a law suit? Who was the rat? Do you know?

I am sorry I was so distant the last time we spoke. Thank you for the concern, as well. You see, what happened was I'd been speaking over the phone with a friend (she is muggle born) and she was very insensitive. She told me to "snap out of it" and that I need to just open my eyes and realize that being thin isn't as important as being healthy. You know how people can get if they've never experienced something first hand. I know she meant well, but she obviously didn't understand that my issues with eating have been more of a control thing than an "I'm fat" thing. I'd been planning on staying with her a little while following my release (I am out now, hooray!) but that fell through on the day I called. I told her I couldn't stay with her if she was going to speak like that without taking the time to truly understand. That's why I was so sharp with you that day. I am very sorry I acted that way, but I hope you understand somewhat, and know that it wasn't you.

So, that fell through, but luckily I have a cousin in London who is happy to share a flat for a while. The healers think it is not good for me to stay with someone for the first little while, just to give me that extra support, as well as incentive to keep eating. We did not get along too well when we were young, but so far we are actually having a fun time. Sheila is actually wonderful company now, though the five year age different felt like twenty years when we were young, and she was so superior I just hated her. Goodness we used to fight! Now that we are both older we have a lot of fun together.

I've been doing some office work somewhere besides the Ministry. That place holds too many poor memories for me, what with my husband having worked there before he died, and the people I worked with there too. But it's a nice little business I am at now - a potions owl order company, which is how I got the idea to send you a "subscription" to Potions Monthly.

I am glad you wrote. We really must stay in contact. I consider you a friend, and it would be nice to continue to visit with every so often over tea.

All the best,

Daisy

P.S. have you figured things out with Harry? I worry about him. Say hello for me, won't you?"

Also, we may have to keep letters infrequent for a while, just to avoid suspicion, unless we can find another way to send things through a similar method. I fear that enchanting a simple letter rather than a magazine will still yield scrutiny by any party intercepting it.

Severus smiled, and closed the magazine. "Daisy says hello, by the way."

"How is she?" Potter asked.

"Doing well, it sounds. How was your session with Richard?"

"Good. He enchanted some of my Quidditch figurines."

"I may have to see that," said Severus.

Potter's face lit up with a grin. Severus held back a smile, and put his soup bowl in the sink to wash later.

"Lead the way," he said, and Potter practically ran from the room, talking all about all the different games he'd be able to play with Weasley when the whole thing was finished, and how he hoped Dumbledore would help him figure out how to bring the whole thing to Hogwarts, seeing as it was a bit too big to fit through the fireplace floo.

Severus made a mental note of that.

"Let me go too," Severus said to Albus as they stood around the kitchen table. "I want to go."

"The ministry is not even letting me go," said Albus, looking tired from his morning at the Ministry. "Amelia Bones is going to question the Dursleys. She has the jurisdiction to use the veritaserum. It is only considered legal evidence if the questioning is done by a Ministry official, with the approval of the Ministry. You know that."

"It is still asinine," Severus growled, pacing rapidly in the kitchen, wishing that he was wearing his robes rather than the t-shirt and jeans he had on at the moment. His robes flared nicely when he paced, and they made him feel intimidating. Whereas right now he felt strangely diminished from his usual grandeur, wearing the old Warlocke Crew t-shirt he'd gotten at a concert when he was seventeen. He hadn't been keeping up with laundry, really. The worst part was all he had to do was toss it in the laundry room and Dobby the House elf would do it like at Hogwarts (both his healer and Potter's healer decided the small responsibility would be good for them). But lately both he and Potter hadn't cared much about keeping their shared room clean. Neither really seemed to give a damn whether there was laundry on the floor.

Severus supposed that Richard and Joseph did make a point, that it was the little things that got out of hand when you weren't coping that well, but this wasn't so much do with coping right now, but more so from laziness. He and Potter had been doing almost nothing but play cards. After staying up all night with Potter playing cards that first time, they'd relaxed a bit more around each other. Knowing that Potter had the sense not to interrogate him about nightmares had allowed Severus to settle somewhat in his presence. And it had been a long time since he got to properly relax and not have to be a teacher all the time.

Although it was true he had always been bad at keeping up with simple tasks, like laundry. Of course, the house elves at Hogwarts meant he didn't have to, exactly.

Stupid healers.

"When will we know if we are right about Potter's family?"

"Tomorrow," said Albus.

"Is she going to question Potter?"

"She may. But she cannot do so with veritaserum, as he is too young, if that is what you mean."

"I know that," Severus snapped, still pacing. Veritaserum was not an approved substance to be used on those below the legal age for drinking in the wizarding world, as it was uncertain whether or not it had an effect on developing brains.

"Well, considering the number of times you've threatened students with it -"

"They do not need to know it is an empty threat," said Severus, rolling his eyes. He stopped pacing, and picked at a thread on the hem of his ratty old shirt. "I just wish I could do more right now."

"As do I ... as do I."

***

"So, are they a good band?" Harry asked, pointing out Snape's t-shirt as they played cards in the sitting room later that evening.

"Bloody excellent," said Snape, picking up a card, his words muffled slightly as he chewed on a toothpick he'd procured somewhere.

"I haven't heard about many wizard bands," Harry said. "Just the Weird Sisters."

"Not much different than muggle bands, really," Snape said thoughtfully. "Way cooler shows, though. Magical special effects and everything."

"When did you go see these guys?" Harry gestured to the shirt.

"The shirt I got at their concert in‘77," said Snape. "But I got to go see them once before that, when I was fifteen."

There was a gleam in Snape's eye, like he was hiding something.

"You look mischievous," said Harry under his breath. "Care to share?"

"Only if you promise not to tell any students."

"You have so much dirt on me now I wouldn't dare," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Snape chuckled darkly, a sure sign he agreed. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes a second time. Snape could be so melodramatic sometimes.

"The concert was in November," said Snape, pulling the toothpick out of his mouth and grinning widely.

"You snuck out of school?" Harry said, awestruck.

"Me and your mother, actually. Would you believe it was her idea?"

"What? I thought she was really straight-laced. Everyone says so."

"Not all the time," said Snape, shrugging and putting the toothpick back in his teeth so he could play his hand. "Warlocke Crew was one of her favourite bands. Kind of like the wizarding version of ... oh what's the name ... Queen. Best comparison I can think of, at least. Anyway, so Lily wanted to go because not only was it Warlocke Crew, but their opener was Coven, an all-girls rock outfit. Great musicians."

"What, did you have a poster of them in your dorm?" Harry said, snorting slightly as he noted the tone in Snape's voice.

"Come on, everyone did," said Snape airily, but his ears had gone a little red. "Anyway, so Lily had some money left over from her summer job -"

"Where did she work?" Harry asked, surprised. It was strange to think of his mother as just a normal teenager at one time.

Snape frowned for a moment, thinking hard, then he smiled fondly. "The drive in movie theatre - it was a huge deal in Cokeworth, to the muggles at least." Snape shuffled through his hand for a moment, and finished laying down his cards.

"Right, so Mum had money left from her job ..."

Snape pulled out his toothpick again, and balanced it on his water glass for later. "First I guess I should mention everyone at school had heard about this concert, but there was a school-wide ban on tickets. If you were found with them, or found leaving the castle to go, automatic detention for a week. At least a dozen people already had their tickets confiscated by the night of the concert - including Black and your father, might I add.

"Anyway, that night Lily told me to meet her in the library to study, and out of her bloody charms text she pulls these two tickets. I was shocked - I was poor as dirt as a kid, and I mean, the tickets were pretty pricey for a teenager. Lily just said to forget it." Snape shook his head slightly, as though the memory still surprised him.

"So how did you get out of the castle?" asked Harry in awe.

"Lily said she'd been following Potter, your father. She was a prefect, and she had been trying to catch him in the act of charming paintings to swear as students passed, which everyone knew he was behind despite him not being caught. She saw him disappear behind a mirror. Turns out there was a secret passage."

"Oh yeah, that one's collapsed now."

"I know, I checked when you were running off to Hogsmeade in third year," Snape said sternly, his Professor-like demeanour suddenly appearing and contrasting greatly with the faded t-shirt and ripped blue-jeans.

"So you guys took it out of the school then?" Harry asked changing the subject quickly, and Snape nodded.

"We did. We were out until one in the morning." Snape laughed suddenly, to Harry's surprise. "Your mother fell asleep in class the next day, but she was a prefect so nobody suspected her. They just thought she was up late studying." He gave another deep, rolling laugh at the thought, a sound Harry was unused to hearing often.

"I wish I could have known her," Harry said quietly. "She sounds like fun."

"She was ... and ... she deserved a better friend than me, really. You saw in the pensive - I was an idiot at that age. Still am, probably."

Snape looked suddenly downcast to Harry, who studied him as he shuffled the cards for the next round. There was something guilty in his look, and Harry had an odd feeling it went deeper than just what Harry had seen in the pensive accidentally.

"I don't think you're an idiot," Harry mumbled, eyes fixed on his cards.

Snape, surprised, looked up at Harry.

"Er, thanks," Snape added.

Somehow, though, despite Snape's words, Harry got the sense that what he had said was all wrong. Snape's eyes were downcast. Snape opened his mouth once, then closed it, shaking his head slightly.

The subject was changed quickly, but Harry could not help but wonder what it was that Snape had stopped himself saying.

***

"I think I have to tell Potter," said Severus the next day, pacing nervously before Joseph in one of the side rooms of Grimmauld place. "About me being the one to ... to tell the Dark Lord about the prophecy."

Severus ran a hand through his hair.

"It is really bothering you, isn't it?"

"Well I hardly slept at all last night, if that's what you mean," mumbled Severus, sinking tiredly into a chair.

"Can you think of what brought this feeling on?"

"Potter said that I'm not an idiot," said Severus, letting out a laugh that in its bitterness, sounded more akin to a sob.

"And was it you who made the statement, that you are an idiot?"

"Yes."

"Alright. So he defended you. And now you want to tell him of your involvement with the prophecy. What from this altercation do you think made you want to tell him, now, of all times?"

Severus spluttered slightly, shrugging and slumping back into the chair.

Joseph waited.

Severus hated when he did that.

"Well ..." Severus said half-heartedly, just to fill the silence. "I guess ... maybe I think Potter is wrong? Maybe I think I am really an idiot?"

Joseph hummed appreciatively of Severus' statements. "A good inference. Do you think that you might still be punishing yourself for what you did?"

"How do you mean?"

"You clearly still feel a great deal of guilt over the prophecy, as you've stated before. So are you unwilling to accept Potter's statement because you feel you don't deserve to be defended by him due to the prophecy?"

Severs nodded slightly.

"Do you think one decision really can define us?"

"I don't know. I think I have spent my whole life trying to make up for it though, so I guess, that decision has defined me." Severus picked at a thread on the armchair he sat in. "I ... I think that was sort of what got me up on the tower, you know? I was ... I wasn't able to make up for my mistake with the prophecy, as I lost my ability to continue to redeem myself because I was no longer in the Dark Lord's service. I'd been discovered, so I guess I thought I had ... well, failed at everything."

"Good ideas, Severus. I think you are on the right track with that."

"I mean, my only purpose for a long time was to make up for what I'd done. I guess I just have to find purpose again, find a way to do good, and keep redeeming myself if I want to avoid being up on that ledge again."

"But is that any way to live, Severus? Constantly searching for a way to pay for past mistakes?"

"Not exactly ..."

"What about forgiveness? What if we worked to find a way for you to forgive yourself for that mistake?"

"That would be good," Severus said quietly. "But how?"

Joseph looked to Severus, that horribly patient look on his face, much to Severus' chagrin. It was the silent question of "What do you think, Severus?"

"I think that if Potter forgave me ... I could. Because ... because the more I get to know Potter ... the more I feel like I've wronged him, if that makes sense."

"Maybe that is why you distanced yourself from him, all these years," said Joseph quietly.

"I ... well, it was more than just my grudge against James Potter ... so yes."

"I think it is essential for you to understand that Harry may not react well if you tell him. Regardless of whether or not it was your fault that You Know Who suspected Harry's family, he may be upset."

"I know."

"Do you think you can withstand rejection from him, if he knows?"

Severus frowned. "I ... I hope I can ... but what if I ... I cannot?"

"I believe that you can if you choose to," said Joseph. He hummed thoughtfully. "I think it is safe to say that right now, you must decide between two roads. The first, is silence. You will have to continue to live with your secret, which as you've found, has affected you greatly, and may even come out to Potter by some other means. The second road yields two possibilities. The best would be that Harry forgives you for your mistake. The risk is that he blames you, or is angry with you, and refuses to forgive you.

"What you must decide Severus, is whether or not the risk of the second road is better than living with the secret forever."

Severus frowned, thinking. "I will need a while to decide."

"That is the answer I was hoping for, Severus," said Joseph quietly. "I would like you to inform me if you make a decision, and then we will work together to decide what to do from there, alright?"

Severus nodded.

Joseph left after that, and Severus sat before the charmed windows in the sitting room, looking out on a landscape of yellowing fields. Autumn was approaching. Summer was soon ending, and Severus could see the two roads before him, forked and each leading somewhere out of sight. And in that moment, it felt like this was the only place he ever could have arrived at. Which decision was the right one, though? It would be a little like jumping if he took the second road, for there would be no turning back. There would be no arm to drag him back to safety. Just falling, and then the ground. And if he did make that decision - if he did tell Potter what he'd done all those years ago, there was no guarantee of a safe landing.

But did he want to take that risk? Was silence a price he was willing to play for not taking it?

Severus shook his head, and watched the clouds drift lazily through the charmed sky, searching through them as though he expected to see an answer.

Harry didn't understand why Snape and Dumbledore looked so pale as they came into the sitting room, both appearing as though they had news. He had been kneeling in front of the coffee table and working on his Quidditch figurines while he ate the homemade chocolate Ron had sent him in the mail. The moment he saw them come in, he stopped chewing abruptly.

"May we sit?" asked Dumbledore, nodding to the sofa across from Harry and the table. Harry swallowed painfully, nodding in the process.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked in a voice that felt too small. "Am I in trouble?"

Snape sighed slightly, to Harry's surprise.

"I had suspicions about your family's treatment of you," Snape confessed, looking slightly guilty. "I shared them with Dumbledore - only because I was worried. We were able to get a friend from the Ministry to look into it quietly."

Harry stood up suddenly, bumping the table slightly as he did so.

"Harry, I am so sorry -" croaked Dumbledore. "Had I realized how bad it was, I never would have sent you back."

"Yeah, well, you didn't realize," said Harry coldly, the words coming out before he could stop them. A moment ago he had been terrified, and now here he was, cold and aloof. He was hiding from them, and he knew it.

"Amelia Bones looked into it, and while she didn't share details, she did say there was grounds for a case," said Snape quickly. "We don't have to know those details if you don't want us to. As it is, it is unlikely you will return to the Dursleys' home."

"Just ... just like that?" Harry said, shocked.

"Well, both your aunt and uncle were given Veritaserum in separate spaces," Dumbledore replied, "and their answers matched perfectly. Arabella Fig also agreed to be questioned, and what little she knew of it also corresponded to the stories given by your relatives. All were tested for traces of memory altering charms, and it was a negative for all three. Under Ministry policy that is enough grounds to remove you from their care."

"However, there's something else that is required," said Snape, looking annoyed with Dumbledore, as though he wished he would have mentioned this part as well. "Amelia Bones has requested to speak with you about your family."

Harry felt his stomach drop through the floor. "No. No, I won't."

"Harry, this will give weight to the case," said Dumbledore. "It will be difficult to guarantee one hundred percent that you won't be sent back there unless you can corroborate some of the evidence."

"I don't care - I won't tell some stranger about my childhood."

"What if you told someone you knew?" Snape asked quietly. Dumbledore looked at him quickly, curious.

"Tell, tell you?" Harry said.

Snape paused slightly, but after a moment of hesitation said, "If you wanted to."

"So, I'd tell you, then you'd tell Amelia Bones?"

Snape nodded minutely. "If it would be easier for you."

Harry stood there, trembling slightly. Dumbledore seemed afraid to speak as he looked at the two, Harry's answer hanging in the air.

"You could also tell your healer, Richard," said Severus quickly.

Harry chewed his lip slightly, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers. "I'd rather tell you."

"Alright, I'll get Amelia to make up a list of things she has to know," said Dumbledore. "You are sure of this, Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Alright. Severus, you would have to provide the memory afterwards."

"I know, Albus."

Harry stood awkwardly before Dumbledore and Snape. Nobody seemed to know what to say.

"I shall go no, then, to speak with Amelia," said Dumbledore.

Dumbledore got up and headed for the door of the sitting room. He looked over his shoulder once, back at Harry. It was with alarm that Harry noticed there were tears in his eyes.

Harry sunk down onto the carpet, placing his arms on the coffee table.

"I am sorry I had to breach your trust," said Snape quietly. "But knowing what I did -"

"It's okay," Harry said quietly, resting his chin on the table as well, his eyes filling with tears against his will. "I'm not mad. It's just ... nobody ever took me serious like this, before."

"I know. Nobody took me serious at your age either."

Snape got up slowly, avoiding Harry's gaze. He slouched out of the room, and Harry was left there, sitting in shock. He closed his eyes, and pressed his face into his arms.

He remembered thinking he would cry if someone ever found out, although he was never sure if it would be because of relief or because his secret had been found. Right now, though, his eyes were dry again. Instead, an emptiness rose up in him. An emptiness created by a simple question.

Why had nobody ever noticed until now?

A few tears began to run down his cheeks at last, and they were of grief. Grief over the fact that he was sixteen now, and that all of this was coming fifteen years later than it should have. And those fifteen years were lost forever to the Dursleys. Yet, in all of his grief, Harry could not help but wonder how Snape had felt, losing all seventeen years to his father's abuse. And more, because as Harry knew too well, when you left a bad home, even for a magical place like Hogwarts, it stayed with you.

***

Severus felt a twisting motion in his gut as he sat with a mug of tea cupped in his hands. When he'd suggested that Potter try telling someone else, he'd meant Potter's healer. And then Potter had looked so amazed, so thankful as he spoke aloud that he thought Severus had suggested he become Harry's confidant. He couldn't believe Potter would rather tell him. He was touched, actually, not that he'd let on that he was. He didn't mind being the one for Potter to tell, but he had not even considered that the boy would want to. And now, despite how touched he was, every time he thought of it, his stomach hurt, and the prophecy echoed through his head like some sort of death song.

How could he let Potter trust him right now, when he was hiding such a terrible secret? He was sure that once Potter knew - and he was starting to see that he'd never be able to rest until he told Potter - he'd never trust him again. Severus ran his hand through his hair. He swallowed thickly, and took a sip of his tea, though it didn't appeal to him at all right now. The peppermint tasted bitter and vile in his mouth as he reminded himself that if this was the only way to get Potter to open up, then this was what had to be done. In the end, whether or not he decided to tell Potter about the prophecy, whether or not Potter chose to hate him for it, the boy had to get out of that house. He had to find a safe place to live. If that meant allowing Potter to trust him now, and hate him later, then so be it if it meant the boy would be safe at last.

Severus told himself that this should have been enough for him, that the knowledge that he was saving Lily's son should have made all of this inconsequential to him. He felt like he should be glad to do whatever was best for the boy, even if he knew it would hurt himself. But right now, all he could think about was how terrible it would be to lose this fragile, spider-thread of a connection between them. He'd never really had someone to care for, like this. There was something else too, a kind of openness and camaraderie between them, formed perhaps by such a terrible situation. Severus didn't want to lose the only person who he really felt understood what he had been feeling this summer. There was something so comforting in knowing that Potter, despite how Severus had treated him previously, was willing to overlook that and didn't shun Severus for attempting suicide. In fact, Potter seemed to trust him more now because he knew that they both came from bad places. But if he never told Potter the prophecy, if he hid that from him, there was even less a chance that Potter would forgive him when he inevitably found out.

He would have to tell Potter, and he could see it now. But this was not the time. First, he was going to help change Potter's fate. Then, he was going to give his fate to Potter, and tell him. And Severus was going to take whatever reaction he got, and not let it kill him. He wasn't going to let that prophecy kill him. Not this time.

Harry had found the attic of Grimmauld Place. Ordinarily he wouldn't have stopped to explore it. But today was the day he was supposed to tell Snape about growing up at the Dursleys', so that it could be passed onto Amelia Bones for his case. So far, he hadn't worked up the courage to go downstairs. He'd missed breakfast altogether, opting instead to wander aimlessly through the house avoiding Snape, who was presumably downstairs waiting.

Harry had avoided Sirius' room, feeling that he wasn't quite ready to go there. And when he'd explored every other gloomy room he possibly could it was beginning to look like he would either have to brave going in there, stay here in perpetual boredom, or go downstairs. He knew there was no way he would go into Sirius' room just yet, and so it had been looking like he might just have to suffer endless boredom. That was, until the solution had arrived in the form of the trapdoor in the ceiling. Harry had almost missed it in the gloom, but sure enough, it existed, and a rope had been hanging down within reach would allow him entrance to the attic. Harry had remembered with a pang that Sirius had assumed Kreacher to be hiding up there for so long.

He stood now in the dusty expanse that was the attic, which bore evidence of recent cleaning, most likely by Mrs Weasley. There were a few recently disturbed piles, re-covered with washed sheets. Harry looked around at the heaps, cleared of dark artefacts, and felt a sharp sense of relief that he would be able to spend hours up here with ample distraction.

The photo album he unearthed from a seemingly innocuous, non-Sirius related pile of objects surprised him more than he cared to admit. At first Harry's breath was stolen when he saw his own face peering up at him from the black and white moving photograph, until he realized it was not him at all. It was in fact James Potter at perhaps sixteen, and the page beside it held a photo of both Sirius and James. Both looked impossibly young, and alive in a way Harry had never seen either of them before.

Even after getting over the shock, Harry still felt like he'd received a knife to the stomach. Here, trapped beneath the surface of the shining paper veil that bridged the past and present, rested Sirius. Picture after picture of a carefree teenager painted the pages. And then came the very last picture. Before this, Harry had thought he was going to be able to keep it together. But not now. For here was Sirius, an unlit cigar in his teeth and James hovering over him anxiously as a tiny baby waved grasping fingers up at his beaming Godfather.

***

It was nearly lunchtime and Severus had not seen hide nor hair of Potter. Though no alarms had gone off in the house to alert him of disaster, he was still worried that Potter was doing more than just avoiding having to talk about his home life. Luckily, however, despite Potter's lengthy disappearance, it did not take overly long to locate him. The ladder up to the attic had been pulled down. Severus crept cautiously upward, worry festering in his gut. What might Potter be doing up here?

Severus felt his breath catch in his throat when he hear Potter crying. It wasn't nearly as muffled as Severus thought it would be had Potter known he was here. Severus panicked internally, afraid to say anything to embarrass the boy, but also afraid to say nothing. Potter seemed to realize he wasn't alone after a moment or two, however, ending Severus' dilemma. Harry's crying slowed, and he rubbed his eyes forcefully.

"I was going to live with him," Harry said, his words shaking. "He said he was going to get me out of there."

Severus sat down next to Potter, the panic he'd always felt with emotional first-years setting in. He didn't know what to do. So he took a leap of faith, and trusted his gut instinct. He placed a hand on Potter's shoulder, hoping it would be enough.

Potter let out a gasping breath, and Severus flinched slightly, but something told him to keep his hand there. Potter's shaking slowed down, and Severus felt relief cascade over him, knowing he had done the right thing.

"They never loved me, really," Potter said softly. "The Dursleys, I mean."

Severus gently took his hand away, pulling the photo album a little closer so he could see it. He looked down at the photograph Potter had his eyes fixed on, of Black holding him on the day of his birth. Potter was looking at it tearfully.

"How could you tell?" Severus asked gently, hoping his question would not frighten Potter into silence. It was in fact, just the opposite.

Potter gave a bitter laugh. "That's just the problem," he said. He took a deep breath, like he was getting ready to say something important. "I couldn't tell at first. I didn't understand. I ... I thought love had to be earned, that Dudley had just figured out how to do it and I hadn't. I thought if I did chores or favours around the house they wouldn't make me sleep in the cupboard like always. That maybe Aunt Petunia would put my pictures on the fridge if I made them better than Dudley's. Except that only made it worse."

It was like the cork had been pulled from the bottom of the washtub, and all the dirty water was spilling out. Severus sensed it was better to remain silent, and just nod his head as Harry talked.

"I remember drawing a picture of her when I was six, maybe," Potter continued. "She made me peel potatoes until my hands were nearly raw because she was mad I would even try to draw her as ugly as I did.

"Then, it occurred to me one day that Dudley never got hit for spilling a glass of juice, that he got h-hugs if he cried, even if he was pretending. I ... I think I was eight when I realized I could never make them love me. I was at Mrs Figg's. It was Dudley's birthday, but I wasn't allowed to go. I was used to it. Then Mrs Figg started to tell me about her kitten, Tibbles, and how she had hid a piece of fish from her dinner in a box of hand-knitted tea towels Mrs Figg's sister had mailed her.

"Mrs Figg had to throw them all away because the fish rotted and ruined them. I asked her where she sent Tibbles, or if she locked her up." Harry was trying very hard not to cry now, and Severus waited patiently while he took a few deep breaths. "Mrs Figg l-looked at me like I was something else, I'll tell you. And she .... she said, ‘Harry, I won't send her away. She's just a baby cat, a kitten, and she didn't know better. And I love her. I love all my kitties, naughty or nice. That's what love means. To love someone even when they're bad.'" Harry paused, and Severus didn't know what to say, his words failing him. So he waited.

"That was when I knew they didn't love me," Harry finished hoarsely. "That was when I knew."

"I ... I am sorry," Severus muttered.

Potter just shrugged, seeming as though he didn't know what to say. Or maybe he just knew there was nothing left to say.

"I am sorry, Harry, but I have to ask," Severus began at last. "Amelia Bones gave me a few things I should make sure I ask you. I ... what I need you to say outright is ... is what kinds of abuse you suffered from them."

"Like, verbal abuse and stuff?" Harry asked, looking pale.

"Yes. But that, and neglect, I think we can determine occurred by what you've said already. What we still need to be absolutely sure of are physical abuse ... and sexual abuse. Those ones. They have to know for your case."

Potter seemed to be struggling internally, but he didn't appear to be making any progress on the front. Severus took a breath. He knew this memory would have to be viewed by Amelia and a few others, but there would be no sense in sharing this talk through the pensive if Potter didn't open up. So Severus forced his panic aside, and he tried a new tactic.

"My father came home drunk a lot," began Severus quietly. "I know you know that already. I've told you ... but what I haven't said is that it made him ... impatient." Potter looked up from the photo album, puzzled, but his attention caught. "When I was six I was playing in the sitting room, and I was being loud. Too loud, I guess. My father lost his temper and tried to drag me upstairs. He pulled me so hard he dislocated my shoulder." Severus rubbed his hands together, unable to meet Potter's eyes now, his own feeling oddly watery. "Things like that were very common place in my house. My father always blamed anything on accidents. But it was ... it was physical abuse, really."

Harry was looking at him hard, his eyes full of an emotion that seemed out of place. It occurred to Severus at last that it was not pity, as he was used to seeing. It was in fact, understanding.

"My uncle ... when he got mad, he'd throw stuff at me" Harry said quietly, looking over at the old things piled in the attic, the white sheets covering them like burial shrouds. Harry studied a shape that looked like a rocking-horse, studying the shadows in the fabric as he continued. "He never threw stuff at Dudley, or Aunt Petunia. Just ... just me. I had to stay home on picture day once, because I had a bruise on my cheek from a bar of soap. I broke the hand mirror in the bathroom, and he got mad ... and ... well, threw the soap at me."

"I bet that hurt."

Harry's eyes flickered upward at Severus'. He seemed surprised by the comment. "Yeah. Yeah it did."

"How old were you?"

"Seven, I think?"

Severus nodded, and for a few seconds he and Harry just sat in silence, understanding unfolding between them. It was a comfortable silence, and only now - in the middle of this dusty old attic, in circumstances he'd never imagined - was it that Severus realized just how much of a comrade he'd gained in Harry Potter.

"Harry?" Severus cringed at the way his voice sounded, hoarse and fearful. He hated to ask the question, but it was necessary.

"Mhm?"

"Did you ever experience .... sexual abuse?"

There was only silence in the attic for a long while, and Severus could feel his insides curdle with fear. Harry's eyes were filled with tears.

"No," whispered Harry at last.

"Please, Harry, look at me, and repeat what you said."

Harry looked up, and repeated the single, simple word, and Severus felt relief seep over him. He could see the truth in Potter's eyes.

"Thank Merlin," Severus said, feeling almost dizzy with relief.

"Could have been a lot worse, huh?"

Severus felt a strange sense of loss at Harry's statement. At the way he looked so relieved, so optimistic, and glad. Like he'd been lucky. Severus felt his throat tighten, and ache. Because that was the worst part. He felt it too. Good fortune for not having had that extra dimension of abuse.

It didn't seem right to feel optimistic about that. Blessed, even. But somehow, looking at each other, it was clear they both felt that way.

"I think that's enough," Severus said quietly, knowing only a few statements would be enough to corroborate the Dursleys' veritaserum confessions. "Want to go downstairs? I'll make you hot chocolate ... if you'd like. There's some scones too."

Harry smiled, wiping his eyes. "Yeah. Thanks, I'd love that."

Severus waited patiently as Harry closed the photo album on the picture of his Godfather. "You'll be safe up here," Severus heard him mutter.

     Harry then tore his eyes from the photo album, fixing them instead on Severus. Severus was going to put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and then, before he could tell himself he wasn't worthy, he placed his arm around Harry's shoulder instead. It had been one of those leaps of faith; one of those moments he trusted his instinct. To his relief, Harry leaned into him. The tension in Harry's shoulders melted, and he let Severus him lead out of the attic and into the hallways, so brightly lit in comparison to that dusty room full of things from the past.

It was the day after the discussion in the attic that Severus decided he had to finally tell Potter about his involvement in the Prophecy.

He should have told Joseph he was going to, he knew, but for some reason the idea of telling anyone else he was planning on doing something so frightening made his stomach twist into an unrecognizable knot. Perhaps it was because in telling someone else he would feel he had an obligation to do it, and that he could not back out. And if Severus got cold feet at the last second he knew he would feel so sick with shame he would hardly be able to look Joseph in the eye. He knew it was silly, but it sure didn't feel that way.

Severus was awake all night, listening to Potter snore. And then, seemingly as though someone had enchanted a time turner to go forward instead of backward, the morning dawned. Exhausted, stomach full of acid from not sleeping all night, Severus stared wide-eyed at the kitchen wall.

It was ten o clock when Potter came down for breakfast, and Severus' coffee had grown cold, sitting untouched before him. He'd been flipping endlessly through the faux copy of Potions Monthly Daisy had sent him, reading her letter over a hundred times and more, wishing she had sent a more recent one. They would be able to mail each other more once at Hogwarts, but given that Grimmauld Place was probably being watched by the Dark Lord's cronies, things were at a bit of a standstill. Potter had been complaining the other day too about how he could hardly write his friend from Oak Tree.

"Did you sleep at all?" said Potter, alarmed as he sat across from Severus. "You look terrible."

"Not really," muttered Severus, taking a sip of his cold coffee in a vain attempt to look normal.

"Why not?" Worry was forming a gentle crease on Harry's young forehead.

Severus could feel his heart thrumming erratically beneath his pyjama top, the cold coffee tasting sickly on his tongue. He looked up at Harry with bloodshot eyes.

He's going to hate you he's going to leave just like Lily - just like Mother wanted to - just like Dumbledore did when you were tortured - pure luck we found you - pure luck pure luck - left to die left to die, die die die -

"Severus?"

He blinked. Potter - no, Harry - registered in his line of vision again. The thoughts slowed, and then stopped.

"Have you ever ... ever done something so bad you've never been able to ... forgive yourself?"

Harry seemed concerned at first, and then he looked down at the table.  "Sirius."

Severus swallowed. His eyes flickered up to Harry's, and for a moment they just looked at each other, both lost.

Come on, Severus. Just say it.

"I ... I did something awful, Harry," Severus began, his voice shaking. He had to look away, unable to meet Harry's eyes. Lily's eyes. "And I should have told you from the start ... before we ..."

"Became friends," finished Harry.

Severus could feel his eyes welling up with tears.

Buck up - no son of Tobias Snape's will be a crier.

Shut up, Dad.

Pansy. Girly boy. Weak.

SHUT. UP. You're the weak one, old man. Shut up.

Severus looked away, and wiped his eyes quickly. To his relief, Potter didn't say anything. "The prophecy," Severus continued, feeling like he was trying to speak past a lump of charcoal in his throat.

Two roads two roads too late always too late - if I could take it back if I could have just - if I could have just fallen -  why was I saved why was I spared I deserve death, to die, to rot. Lily -

"I'm so sorry," Severus said hoarsely, and now he was on his feet and turning his back on Potter, leaning on the counter top.

"About what? Sir, you're scaring me," Harry said, his voice shaking.

Severus took a deep breath. "It was me. I overheard it, the prophecy, and I told the Dark Lord - I - I d-didn't know what it meant." Weak - no son of Tobias - "I was sure it couldn't be Lily but a-as soon as I heard I went to Dumbledore and changed sides but you have to understand I only joined because - b-because of my father - I didn't know what to do, how to get away I -"

"Severus, slow down," Harry said. He sounded faint, dizzy almost. But there was a firmness in his voice that Severus had never heard. It reminded him of Lily.

"I'm the reason you don't have parents." Severus heard the words before he realized he'd said them, and the voice that had come from himself frightened him. "It's the worst thing I've ever done."

 There was only silence.

Severus kept his back to Harry, unable to turn and see the expression on his face. It felt like a thousand years had passed, but in reality it was only seconds.

"I forgive you."

Severus froze.

"I forgive you, Severus. Really." Harry's voice was shaking, like he was crying.

Severus turned around slowly, feeling his legs going weak beneath him. He sunk into the chair. Potter's eyes were wet, and he scrubbed at them fiercely.

"What - why?" Severus asked faintly.

Harry gave a shaky shrug. "'Cause if Sirius was here ... it's what I would want him to do."

"But - but do you honestly - forgive me for what I did?"

"Yes. I do. I mean, look at us." To Severus' surprise, Potter rolled back his sleeves, and placed his arms on the table. Potter wiped his eyes again. The scars showed visibly. "Wasn't guilt what got us here?"

Severus didn't know how to respond, and every word he knew caught in his throat. He rolled back his left sleeve, and he placed his arm on the table, the scarred remains of the Dark Mark facing upward. They left their arms there, the scars in the open, side by side.

"That ... that was why I jumped. The guilt, I mean."

What Severus thought at first was Potter flinching, turned out to be something different entirely. Harry placed his arm against Severus', wrapping his hand around Severus' forearm. Severus wrapped a hand around Potter's.

"Thank you," muttered Severus, having to look away, his vision blurring, "for forgiving me."

"Thanks for telling me Sirius wasn't my fault, this summer."

Severus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

 They pulled their arms away. For a second they just stared hesitantly at each other, neither seeming to be able to believe what had just happened. And then Potter fled the room, wiping his eyes, and leaving Severus in silence.

Severus found him later, lying with the photo album on his bed, sleeping. He lifted the covers at the end of the bed, and lay them over top of him.

He had a feeling Harry would be doing a lot of thinking in the next few days. It would have been a shock, and a bad one at that. He didn't really expect Harry to get over it completely for a while. He looked down at the sleeping boy, his face pressed against the page of photos, Lily waving up at the ceiling, smiling brightly.

"Lily ... Harry is very much your son," Severus muttered, turning away and walking quietly from the room, unable to believe that a sixteen year old boy had been selfless enough to forgive the man that had placed such burden on his young shoulders.

Truthfully, however, Severus suspected Harry hadn't completely forgiven him. He hadn't expected him to, and besides, what human being could do so immediately? But Harry had realized the importance of it, knowing full well the weight of guilt. It was this realization, that Harry James Potter had selflessly pushed away his own hurt to save someone else, that Severus exactly why Dumbledore so adored the boy.

He'd started to see it before. He'd even been sure his opinion had changed regarding the boy, but now? Severus owed Harry Potter his life. Thus, more than ever, he would do everything he could do to save Harry. And the first way that Harry Potter needed saving right now, was in finding a home.

The whole idea was crazy. Mental, really, and Potter would have to be to say yes. But Severus felt that a floo call to Dumbledore was in order anyway. This was one jump he wouldn't be ashamed of making. Even if nobody took his arm, and he went crashing to the ground.

***

Harry woke up to find that someone had covered him up. Logically, it had to have been Severus. He wiped his eyes, which were still puffy from tears.

He felt muddled. Like he didn't know which way was up, and which was down. He was glad he'd forgiven Severus. But he was afraid he hadn't meant it. Harry didn't know exactly how he felt about all of it. It had been such a terrible, awful surprise. Ever since Harry had realized that Snape must have jumped because of losing his position as a spy, he figured there had to be more to the story. More at stake. The Prophecy was the final piece of the puzzle, and it made sense. That didn't mean Harry liked it.

Harry felt a little lighter though, reminding himself that he hadn't pushed Severus away. He didn't think he could have done that, not after seeing how tortured Severus was over the whole thing. And to think, that moment was nearly sixteen years ago. And it still kept Snape up at night. He shook his head slightly. He closed the photo album, lying back on his bed and staring at the moth-eaten canopy of his bed. Snape's seemed strangely empty on the other side of the room.

Harry was glad to find that this new piece of news didn't change the good memories of the summer. He considered all the nights he and Severus had stayed up playing cards, and the silly pranks they'd pulled with the chocolate frogs back at Oak Tree. Harry thought of the things they'd shared with each other, and the terrible things they'd gone through. And the summer was ending so soon. September was only days away. If he had asked himself at the start of the summer if he trusted Snape, the answer would be a resolute no. And yet, now, even after finding out about the Prophecy, Harry felt like he still did trust Severus.

Although, maybe he didn't quite trust him as much as he had before he found out about the Prophecy. Logically, he knew that he had no reason to distrust Severus now. The Severus he'd gotten to know over the summer was the same Severus he knew now. But still, Harry felt a little shaken by the whole ordeal.

Harry thought of how he came to trust Severus in the first place. Trust was strange. You had to place a little trust in someone before you really trusted them, in order to build more trust. It was like an investment. If they didn't squander the first bit of trust you gave them, you gave them more. And then it just grew.

Yes, he would give Severus his trust again. And he had a feeling that Snape wouldn't squander it. He'd keep it, and he'd let it grow. That was what Harry hoped, and despite the confusion bubbling inside him, he felt like he had good reason to be hopeful.

It was in silence that Harry and Snape packed up their things, shuffling around their room rather awkwardly. Harry couldn't believe how much he and Snape's stuff had spread out throughout Grimmauld Place in the few short weeks they'd been there. He was relieved to find that despite the knowledge Snape had shared the other day, of his involvement with the prophecy, the act of packing was smoothing some of the ripples between them. They had been a little bit formal all day, but since they had started sorting through their stuff to take back to Hogwarts, they had begun to relax.

"Are these your socks, or mine?" Severus said, bewildered as he examined a pair of black socks he'd found under his bed. "The blue one is yours ..."

Harry took the blue sock, and examined the black ones. "Search me. Like it really matters, though. Pretty sure we wore each other's socks by accident enough by now."

"True," Severus said, shrugging and lobbing the socks into the suitcase at the end of his bed. "Mine now."

Harry sunk back down on his own bed. "Can't believe we go back in the morning," he said miserably. "You're sure I'm not allowed to apparate with you instead of going by the train with everyone?"

"Very sure, unfortunately. Concussions aren't to be toyed with."

"I'm not even sure I want to go back."

Severus sighed, nudging a pile of books he'd finally collected from all over the house. "Actually, on the subject - I talked to Dumbledore this morning. He dropped by to tell me the paperwork is through."

"What did they say?"

"You do not have to return to the Dursleys after this school year. You will be allowed to go live with someone else."

"No fucking way," Harry said breathlessly.

"Language," Snape warned. "But yes, it is the truth."

"How does that have to do with going back to Hogwarts though?" Harry asked, mostly because he was afraid he'd wake up if he stopped talking, and find out all of this was a dream.

"Well ... I made a - a proposal to Dumbledore about your new living situation." Why did Snape sound so scared? It wasn't like him at all. "If ... if you agreed, we would go to the Dursleys and collect the rest of your things tomorrow and get them to sign custody over. We would have to wait a few days to take the train to Hogwarts - so we would be late going back, but in that case I would go on the train with you. Amelia Bones said she would be able to meet us at the Dursleys to be a witness, and get things in order."

"Who were you thinking I would live with? The Weasleys?" Harry felt his heart fluttering slightly, fear, and anticipation toying with him.

Snape ran a hand through his hair, looking rather twitchy. "Actually ... I thought perhaps - given how well we've gotten to know each other this summer - perhaps you wanted to come and spend your summers with ... me? I would be made your guardian if that was the case. You've only got a year until you're seventeen, anyway, and Dumbledore and Amelia think it ... it can be done. If you want."

Harry was silent.

Snape compulsively straightened the books again. "My healer agrees it could work too, if that helps. In case you were worried I would try to ... off myself again. I am here to stay. I ... am sure of that now." Snape's shoulders seemed to relax at this last statement, although tension still remained as Harry considered the offer.

Somehow, the decision wasn't hard. Maybe it should have been, but after all he'd been through this summer with Snape, the answer came out before he had time to think. "Yes. My answer is yes."

Snape's eyebrows rose so high Harry was worried they were going to fly off his head. "Really?"

"Our socks are already hopelessly mixed together, so why not?" Harry said, letting out a breathy laugh. To his vast surprise, Severus laughed too, and his eyes lit up with delight.

"I will floo call Dumbledore, then," he said, still sounding a little stunned. "You ... you are sure?"

"Are you?"

"Of course."

"Good. Me too."

For a second they just stood around awkwardly, smiling sheepishly, and then Snape fled from the room to go and call Dumbledore.

***

Everything that followed seemed like a dream.

Harry still wasn't allowed to apparate or use the fireplace floo due to his concussion a little while back. That was fine by him, as both made him dizzy enough to puke even when he didn't suffer from vertigo if he bent over a few too many times to pick up a pack of cards.

Dumbledore showed up, hilariously enough, in a run-down old car and in disguise. Under the cover of Harry's invisiblity cloak, Harry and Snape ran down the steps and into it, where Dumbledore made sure to open the rear door under the pretense of grabbing a tissue box from the back seat.

 Dumbledore's disguise would throw off the Death Eaters, with any luck, for even though Harry knew quite well that it was the Headmaster in the front seat, the old woman in the flowing dress looked nothing like him. Once inside the car, with its enchanted windows, Dumbledore removed the enchantments, returning him to his usual self, dressed in a plum coloured suit Harry had never seen before. Harry held back a laugh, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"You do not have a driver's license," hissed Snape the moment the doors were shut. Dumbledore looked oddly pleased.

"No, but you do. I made it this far, did I not?"

"You can drive, sir?" Harry asked Snape.

"Obviously," Snape muttered. "I admit it has been a while, however."

There was a bit of awkward shuffling as Snape crawled up to the front seat and swapped with Dumbledore, who was surprisingly limber in taking the passenger seat.

"Key's in the ignition, Severus," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Don't forget the parking brake."

"Bite me," Snape mumbled so softly Harry almost thought he imagined it.

"What was that, my boy?" Dumbledore asked Severus, cupping his ear slightly.

Snape shoulder-checked, and at the same time grinned rather roguishly at Harry in the backseat. "Nothing, Albus."

He looked pretty cool, Harry had to admit, when he slid on the pair of sunglasses sitting on the dash. Dressed in muggle clothes that looked far showier than what he'd worn around Grimmauld place, Harry had the distinct impression Snape had actually been trying for a certain look.

The leather jacket was the biggest surprise, but Harry could not deny that it looked awesome. He suspected Snape had something up his sleeve, and the jacket was part of it, but what it was, he couldn't be sure.

 Snape slapped on the radio, and pulled away from Grimmauld place. There was only a little bit of grumpy muttering in traffic on his part, but overall, the trip went smoothly.

***

Pulling up into Petunia's driveway made Severus glow with delight. The image of the boat-like old junker sitting next to the Dursleys' pristine vehicle and shining house was sure to send Petunia off her rocker. And then the sight of him showing up - well, goodness knew how she'd react. Perhaps she would end up in a psychiatric institution herself. The leather jacket was just for her, really. The amount of complaining she had done even in their teens about "hooligans" and their horrible dress sense was a sure sign that it would drive her round the bend. The sight of Severus, and Dumbledore with his lurid plum coloured suit, would be the icing on the cake.

Potter seemed to be trying to hold back a laugh as Severus leaned casually against the brick, arms crossed and shades low. Smirking slightly, Severus rang the doorbell. Dumbledore glanced sideways at Severus.

This was going to make his year. 

***

To Harry's amazement, Aunt Petunia took one look at Snape, and actually screamed. It took about four minutes for Snape to stop howling with laughter (even with Dumbledore's admonishment) and about five minutes of Harry pounding on the door to get her to open it again Dumbledore, after a great deal of coaxing, somehow managed to talk their way into the kitchen.

Amelia arrived a few minutes later, dressed smartly and lip twitching at the sight of Snape, who had his boots up on the kitchen table and was glaring at Petunia. Petunia did not acknowledge the fact that Ameilia had let herself in, and instead stood staring at Snape, a kitchen rag in her fist and eyes bulging out of her head.

"It looks like we are all here," said Ameilia a moment later when Uncle Vernon entered, still in his work clothes and speechless for once in his life. She set down the papers, unfazed by the snorting noise Vernon was now making. "Shall we get started?"

"I should think so," drawled Snape. "What do you think, Tuney?"

Harry stared. Snape, dead serious, took his feet off the table, pulled out a pen, calmly unscrewed the cap, and nudged it toward Petunia, who twitched. Snape smiled warmly.

Dumbledore pursed his lips.

Overall, it was a surprise to Harry that they made it out alive, and in less than fifteen minutes, signed papers in hand.

Snape waved to the neighbours cheerfully, who stared as the strange trio climbed back into the run-down car.

"That was the worst example of guardianship I have ever seen," Dumbledore said sharply, picking up his newspaper.

"Well, Petunia's always been -" began Snape.

To Harry's amazement, Dumbledore hit Snape over the back of the head with the paper. "By you, you overgrown teenager."

Snape spluttered.

"Boots on the table, really?" Dumbledore continued, exasperated. "You had best grow up before next summer. Harry needs a proper example."

Snape seemed rather cowed.

Harry held the copy of the papers Amelia had let him keep. He folded them up, and put them in his pocket, smiling happily as Snape and Dumbledore bickered quietly in the front seat. This would be one to tell Ron and Hermione.

The letter Harry finished to Stephen contained nearly everything from the point that he'd left Oak Tree, saying everything he hadn't been able to in the brief message he'd sent earlier. With all of the difficulties with the prophet, Harry hadn't even considered that there was a better way to get mail out to him. That evening, Harry talked to Richard, who, sure enough, agreed to send the more detailed letter to Stephen, who apparently had been released too now.

Harry felt vaguely guilty after Richard left, mostly because he totally forgot Stephen was due to get out soon too. He should have found a way to contact Stephen properly sooner, but being in Grimmauld Place had taken so much out of him. Somehow it had only been two weeks that they had been at Grimmauld, but it felt like years. And tomorrow morning they would be going back already. The Hogwarts express would be making a return journey to London to pick up some Hippogriffs, and then go to Hogsmeade. They would be going with it.

Severus was in a session with his healer still, so Harry wandered the house aimlessly. His heart felt full, and heavy. Part of it was joy creating the fullness, but sadness was part of it too.  It felt oddly like the end of an era, leaving Grimmauld Place, where he had seen the most of Sirius, and yet, departing from the house would be a relief. It was time to move on from this old place, lay memories of Sirius down with the memories of this summer.

With the prospect of leaving came the reminder of where Harry was going. The thought of returning to Hogwarts was terrifying, but it had to be done. Harry and Severus hardly spoke that evening, this same terror having fallen upon them both. The card game fell apart quickly, and the sleepless sounds of the two of them shifting in their beds filled the night.

Even with a whole night of imagining it, the station the next morning looked strange and empty. The train, even emptier. The whole morning on the train, he and Severus were quiet. Hardly any words to say after a summer like the one they'd experienced. So they ate their lunch in silence, only the sound of Snape flipping through the ragged Potions Monthly copy Daisy had sent.

At last, as if in a dream, the train arrived. The sun was setting out the windows, and Harry's eyes flicked nervously at Severus.

"We are going to be alright," Severus said to Harry as the train screeched and wailed, settling into the station with much hesitation.

It wasn't quite clear to Harry for whose sake Severus said it. Maybe for both of them. Snape shoved aside the paper cranes he had been folding, getting up from his seat. He lifted Harry's suitcase down for him, and then got his own. Harry stood in the corridor of the train, watching as Snape paused with his suitcase in hand, glancing down at those paper cranes, white, tender wings sprawled out on the seat. As if waking from a dream, Severus turned from them, leaving them there in the train car to ride back to London.

"Let us go, Harry," Snape said gently.

***

Severus was surprised by the flurry of movement when they got off the train, and he drew his wand in a flash, just in case. To his vast surprise, the man who had rushed forward was not a threat. It was instead, Remus Lupin. The half-moon was just rising, and instead of the devilish gleam in his eye Severus had often imagined, Remus' eyes simply twinkled.

"Harry," he said, and Severus dropped his wand.

"Sorry, Lupin. Can't be too careful."

Lupin simply smiled, as though he was holding back a comment on Severus' actions. Severus couldn't bring himself to care. Potter had already ran straight into Lupin, and had his arms around him.

"Thank you, Remus," Severus heard Harry mutter.

"You are welcome."

It was plain to see that Potter wanted to say more, emotion welling up in his eyes as he shuffled awkwardly back to his suitcase. It had been Remus who had brought him to Oak Tree after all, having gone to fetch him from the Dursleys'.

"What are you doing here?" Severus asked, although in a casual tone, and not a cruel one.

Lupin smiled happily. "I offered to see you two up to the castle tonight."

"You look terrible," Severus added, frowning.

"I've been working for the Order," Lupin said with a grimace. "Dumbledore's idea. That was why I could not visit, Harry, and I am sorry."

"I understand," Harry said, looking unconcerned.

Somehow that statement hurt Severus' stomach. Never once had he heard the boy complain that Lupin had not come to see him, although sometimes he suspected that Harry wished he would. It was just in his eyes when he talked of the wolf in passing.

Lupin's smile faltered too at Harry's words, but he took Harry's suitcase, and began to walk down the road with them. They walked in silence for a while, along the wooded road to the castle gates.

"How are you, Severus?" Lupin asked, in a voice that would have been casual under any other circumstances.

"Better."

"Good to hear." Lupin ran a hand through his hair, his steps slowing so that he was walking beside Severus instead of Harry. "I have been meaning to say thank you for brewing the wolfsbane for me as long as you did. It has been a great help."

"I will resume brewing it the moment I have the ingredients."

"That's alright - you really don't have to -"

"I am doing so whether you protest or not," Severus said rather impatiently. "It is a thank you."

"For what?"

"For getting Harry this summer."

Harry whirled around, staring. He nearly stopped walking, but with Severus and Lupin approaching quickly, he jerked slightly and kept going, staring straight ahead in a position that seemed to indicate he was trying to look like he wasn't eavesdropping. Severus knew quite well he was.

"Oh," was all Lupin could seem to say, which suited Severus just fine.

  By then they had reached a carriage, waiting at the gates for them. Severus' eyes flicked to the thestral, whose breath was creating great clouds in the cool, fall air.

"I had best get going," Lupin said to Harry as he lifted Harry's suitcase up into the carriage. "It is good to see you are doing well. Do not hesitate to send me a letter, about anything. Thankfully Dumbledore has me doing a less covert job after this, so I can keep in touch."

Severus stood around awkwardly as Lupin gave Harry another hug. He got up into the carriage, and grabbed Harry's hand to help him up once Lupin had gone.

***

The Great Hall doors loomed before them, closed. Harry swallowed hard. The roar of the school having dinner was leaking through the wood. Severus, beside him, had halted.

"I guess this is it," Snape said, and this time, his voice was shaking.

"I never ... never thought this would be how the summer ended," Harry said, stalling for time.

Severus wiped his hands on his robes, nodding and taking in a breath. "I suppose ... it is the start of a new year now."

"Yeah ... I guess, huh?"

"Some might make it hard for us, coming back," Severus said, glancing down at Harry. "You know that, right?"

"I know. And, Severus?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks ... for ... for everything. All that you've done ..."

"I admit it was a pleasure being proved wrong, Mr. Potter."

 Harry straightened his robes slightly, feeling his face go red. He smiled, though. "Er ... I think I'm ready to go in now."

"Yes ... it is time," Severus said with a sigh. Still, neither of them moved.

 "On three?" Harry suggested.

Severus swallowed, but he nodded. "One," he began quietly, as if to himself.

"Two -"

"Three."

Both Harry and Severus pushed, and the doors swung open. The Great Hall fell silent. Eyes fixed on them. And then, Harry and Severus began to walk through the hall. Together.

The first full day back had been long. At the start of it, morning had arrived harsh and bright in Harry's dormitory. All day, Ron and Hermione had been wonderful, only speaking of his summer when he brought it up. The others, not so much. The evening now seemed like a dark, denizen of the deep, rearing its ugly head in the form of the crowd in the common room. The muttering and the stares were nearly unbearable, and Harry was frustrated beyond belief that he'd gotten himself into this. So he fled to his dormitory. The summer, so terrible, and yet so wonderful, had faded to nothing but shame.

He didn't want to think this way. He knew that everything that had happened was important, whether it had been easy or not. Harry had learned so much, and he'd built long term relationships he hadn't had before. He now had an ongoing connection with Richard, his healer. He'd found a guardian in Severus, and a friend in Stephen. Even Daisy would probably show up from time to time given her friendship with Severus. Harry's existing friendships with Ron and Hermione had been strengthened too. He'd learned to lean on them, instead of always fending for himself. Overall, he'd gained a lot.

Still, despite all of this, he felt just plain stupid. Right now he felt that if he'd just hidden all his problems, things would be easier. Hogwarts had always been home, but right now, it seemed almost unbearable. It wasn't like anyone was being mean. It was more like he was a zoo animal, being peered at and tiptoed around as though he were prone to biting.

Harry collapsed on his bed, tears prickling at his eyes and anger at himself pressing so hard into his chest that it was getting hard to breath. He recognized the warning signs, and he knew deep down his thoughts were irrational. That he shouldn't feel shame for what happened. So, in a fit of restlessness, he dove for the small suitcase he'd brought from Grimmauld Place and ripped it open, meaning to unpack as a distraction. What he saw, lying folded on his things, made the world grind to a stuttering, blissful halt.

Even though he had not packed it, the denim quilt from Grimmauld Place was pressed neatly in with his things. There was a note, tucked into one of the worn blue jean pockets. He recognized the handwriting, and with shaking hands, he read it.

You know where I am if you need me, but I thought this would help on bad days. We are both going to have them. It is what we do with them that matters.

Take care,

Severus

Harry set the note down on his bed gently, and with the world still silent around him, he lifted the blanket out of the suitcase. Severus must have slipped it in there last night, when he wasn't looking.

 He remembered the way Severus had thrown the quilt at him, so gruff and yet comforting on the day Harry had crept into the sitting room, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his old ways. Severus had hardly spoken, but Harry remembered the way he'd looked. He remembered the understanding. The lack of judgement.

Harry wrapped the frayed quilt around his shaking shoulders, cold water pouring through his limbs, quenching the fire, and erasing the shame. He sunk down in his bed.

"It's what we do with ‘em that matters," he muttered into the quilt, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

It was the lesson some spent their whole lives learning, and even then, some never did. But it was worth it. Harry was sure of that now. Wrapped up in the quilt, remembering all the bad days he and Severus had gotten through, he had a sneaking suspicion that he had unknowingly helped Severus learn this lesson too. In fact, he was sure of it, and Harry smiled in spite of himself.

After all, he'd had crazier ideas, hadn't he?

***

Severus was hard at work the evening after his first classes, restocking his desk drawers with new quills and fresh ink. He rummaged through old papers, cleaning up the mess that he'd let accumulate during the awful days following his release from the hospital wing. He sipped a glass of brandy quietly, a rare treat. The old record player he'd enchanted long ago hummed away, playing familiar muggle tunes he remembered Lily putting on in her bedroom in those old days, back when they were still fourteen and so full of life.

Somehow the songs brought him back to that vigour, and he caught himself smiling as he shuffled through old marked assignments, humming along mindlessly. Then, his hand brushed across something, obviously replaced some time ago, sitting in the wrong drawer of his desk. The silver gleamed, the monogrammed S.S. on the letter opener shining brightly up at him. He glanced down at it, a strange longing crawling over his skin again, like it had at the start of the summer when Dumbledore had found it in his pocket that horrible night.

The song on the record player came to a close, leaving only crackling silence, and then nothing.

With a huff he slammed the drawer, and went over to the crate on his chair to find a new record, fingers shaking. He rubbed his hand along his ribs, closing his eyes.

***

He arrived at Dumbledore's office at eight-o-clock the same evening, his leather briefcase in one hand and a tired sigh on his lips.

"Enter," Dumbledore said.

Severus took a cautious step into the room. Like an anxious schoolboy he stood shaking at the threshold, staring at Dumbledore behind the desk.

"Come in, my boy, don't be shy," Dumbledore said with a broad smile, warmth in his eyes.

It was the first thing he'd said to Severus as a student, the very first time he'd come by Dumbledore's office with a request. As Severus sunk down into the chair opposite Dumbledore, he thought of that time all those years ago, when he had come to ask if he could be allowed into the advanced potions club, even though he wasn't quite old enough. The answer had been yes. For the longest time it had been the only moment Severus was sure Dumbledore believed in him, before he grew embittered by ignored bullying reports, and unnoticed bruises.

"Here are my plans," Severus said, thrusting a thick folder of files at Dumbledore. "For the Abuse Seminar."

"Ah, excellent," Albus said, peering through his half-moon glasses and flipping through the papers. "We have it scheduled for the staff on September 10th. Did you still want to speak? Joseph, as I am sure he's mentioned, will be doing a segment on the psychology often seen in the abused. While you need not mention your own childhood experiences, I think it would be very helpful to the staff if you would go through the signs most often seen in students here."

"Of course."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes rather sad. "Thank you, Severus, for suggesting this. We should have been doing this a long time ago. I suppose ... I was behind the times ... too optimistic, before. Abuse is an ugly truth."

Severus nodded, unable to speak.

"How was your first day back?" Albus continued.

"Strange," Severus said, picking at the wood on Dumbledore's desk, something Albus thankfully ignored. "It seems everyone knows what happened this summer. The students were oddly well behaved. I am not sure if I should be offended or grateful for their obedience."

"I suspect they mean well," Albus said quietly. "And Harry?"

"I have only seen him at a distance, since last night. He is coming by for tea tomorrow, but he looks to be doing alright. A little anxious, perhaps. Understandable."

The rest of the visit passed in trivialities. Little was said about the summer, and when Severus stood up to leave, Albus did so as well.

For a second, Severus hesitated, and then he pulled the box out of his briefcase, and set it on the table for Dumbledore. Severus wiped his sweaty hands on his robes.

"What is this?" Albus asked.

"A gift. For you."

Albus looked aghast, but in a good way. He untied the ribbon on top - black, salvaged from a set of quills.

The open box revealed the letter opener, lying still in a nest of fabric. Albus didn't speak, his eyes full of tears. Severus made to step away and leave, but before he knew it Albus had come around the side of his desk, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Before all this, Severus would have resisted. Pushed Albus away, even. But now, he didn't. Instead, Severus wrapped his arms around Albus too, and pressed his eyes into his shoulder, trembling silently.

There were no words to say, but that was alright. The gesture was all they needed.

And maybe that was all Severus had needed in the first place. A reminder that someone was there. That there was still someone who would hold him if he fell, no matter how far, no matter how hard. Maybe that had been all Potter had needed too.

Whatever the answer, Severus really wasn't sure how he'd made it through the summer. How he had ended up with so much after losing everything. But as he crept through the dark Hogwarts halls that night, thinking of lemon drops, and denim quilts, scars, and letter openers, he realized that maybe it was the darkest nights that brought the strongest flame. And yes, there would be days when it was a battle. When nothing seemed to be going right. Severus knew very well there could easily come a time when he dreamt of the tower and wanted more than anything to fall like a shooting star, burn up in the atmosphere - leave nothing behind.

But now, at least, he knew one important thing he hadn't that night. Severus knew now that it was never too late. That no matter how hard it was, there were ways to survive, and that going a little mental wasn't the end of everything. Sometimes, the fall was just a beginning.