There was never good news in the paper anymore; Severus didn't even know why he kept reading it. He supposed it was habit. He was like that sometimes, so used to doing something that it didn't matter that he knew he should change the way he went about whatever it was. Habit was a funny thing to him; it was easy and familiar, like his hands. But no, that wasn't right, was it? His hands often had new stains on them, new scars, new wrinkles. Maybe it wasn't the look of his hands that parodied habit, maybe it was the use of his hands. The muscles knew what to do; they knew just how much pressure to use if he needed to squeeze out thirteen drops from an olive, or which way to move if he needed to precisely cut up the leg of a bat for a potion.  Yes. That was it. Habit was just like the use of his hands. You didn't even have to think about what you did, it just happened. Like breathing. Like walking. Like surviving. It became instinctual.

                And that was how he justified his continual readings of the Daily Prophet. It was how he justified a lot of things in his life. It was so easy to explain away the discrepancies rather than fix them. He was Severus Snape; it was just who he was.

                The soup he had been eating was long gone and his tea was slowly growing cold when someone sat down across from him. The coffee shop in downtown London was often full and busy, the seats filling up quickly; Severus was used to someone seating themselves at his table for lack of anywhere else. And habit dictated that he should just continue reading and ignore the muggle across from him, just as he was sure the person was ignoring him.

                Habit really did get him into trouble sometimes.

                "Your tea is cold."

                Severus paused at the voice. It was familiar. Slowly, he dipped the paper, letting the corner fall forward to reveal his face.

                "You should warm it up." The voice continued, the hand that belonged to its owner moving away from feeling the cup, "Nobody is watching. Well, except for me. But we all know that I don't count."

                The habitual sneer fell into place on Severus' face. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, Potter?"  This wasn't how his day was supposed to go! He was supposed to wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast, brew, have lunch at the café (alone, mind you!), then finish out the day with a good book and some dinner. He would go to sleep at midnight and wake at 7 the next day. Round two. Rinse and repeat. Wax on. Wax off.

                The boy across from him tilted his head. "That's not my name. Not right now anyway."

                "Excuse me?" Severus snapped, annoyed.

                "I don't want to be Harry Potter right now. Today I want to be someone different. It's the summer, you know, I don't have to be Harry Potter in the summer. Usually, I'm just ‘Boy.' But I don't like that."

                "Potter, go home, you're not supposed to leave the wards." But Harry just looked away from him, studying the menu above the counter.

                "I'm not Potter, either. I like to be Harry, just Harry mind you, but not right now. Right now, I want to be someone totally different."

                Despite his annoyance, Severus' interest was piqued. This was certainly new. Part of him scoffed and wanted to get up and find a new café, but that would disrupt things too much. Either or, his day was altered and ruined. It didn't matter if he stayed or left now, Potter had changed his schedule. His appearance burst the routine bubble that Severus had been quite comfortable in. He liked the way things were; they were familiar and easy, but try as he might, he couldn't deny the small prick of relief that heaved inside of him; he didn't used to be so boring. Consistency gave familiarity and safety but it didn't hand out pleasure like a bartender doled out beers.

                Across from him, Harry continued: "Sometimes, it's good to change, you know? Even if it's only for a little bit. Today I want to be someone different, like I said, right? How about Sam. Yeah, I like that. Today I'm Sam. I can go back to being Harry tomorrow."  Sam smiled.

                "You still look like Potter to me." Severus grunted.

                "I never wanted to be Potter, you know. I thought I said that? Well kind of, I suppose. Potter and Harry Potter are pretty much the same."

                At this point, Severus had given up all pretense of being miffed. This was a side to Potter he had never seen and, if he was honest to himself (which, let's face it, he never was), he rather liked it. "Then who is Harry Potter?"

                "The Boy Wonder. I don't very much like him. I like Harry better."

                "There's a difference?"

                "Of course."

                Severus snorted and went back to his paper, "I don't see a difference."

                "You wouldn't."

                When Severus lowered his paper this time, he was surprised to see a completely different person sitting across from him. It was Harry Potter, of course, but he was different. It wasn't an obvious change at all. It was the way he held himself, the way he stared at the menu with an aloofness nestled on his hands, which he laid, on the table, casually on top of one another.

                This was Sam.

                "Then enlighten me."

                "Why should I? You will always only see Harry Potter. You will never see Harry. Hell, sometimes I can't even see Harry. He's a bit lost, that one. Has no idea which way to turn sometimes."  Sam turned again to face Severus. "Hold on a mo,' won't you? I'm going to order something to eat." He stood and made his way up to the counter and Severus sat frozen, wondering how this was even happening. When he returned, it was with a platter of tuna salad and egg salad and a Grande Caramel Latte with skim. He tucked into his food, chewing thoughtfully. "We don't always have to be what people want us to be," he said in between bites. "And we don't always have to make people be what we want them to be." Sam paused, taking a sip of his latte. "I didn't want you to be normal, but here you are, sitting in a café, reading the paper, eating soup, and letting your tea grow cold."

                "What did you want me to be?"

                "A bastard. Which you probably still are." Severus bit his tongue. "I wanted you to eat alone in your dark quarters; I wanted you to always look angry and disgruntled. I don't want you looking bored, sitting at the window seat in muggle London. But that's just it, isn't it? What other people think doesn't matter."

                Severus was almost proud, "You're pretty smart when you try to be."

                "I know I am. But that Harry fellow, he hasn't got a clue, has he? He's so lost in what he's supposed to be that he misplaced who he really is. It's a hard one, I'll tell you, having to choose between who you are and who they want you to be."

                This game was confusing Severus. He and Potter had never gotten along. He always disliked the boy, so why the hell was he sitting across from him and interrupting his lunch? Why was he telling his most hated professor about the inner workings of himself?

                Because this isn't Harry Potter, a voice inside him spoke. This was Sam. And Sam had no problem saying what needed to be said.

                "You're still not supposed to be here, you're supposed to stay inside the wards."

                "I'm supposed to do a lot of things, aren't I? You are too, you know." Picking up a piece of lettuce, Sam ripped it in half and ate one of the halves. "But what did I just say? You can't always do what you're supposed to. No one got anywhere in life by always doing only what they should do. Life is fluid, yeah? It's supposed to move."

                "It still follows a path." Severus said, finally folding up his paper and placing it on the empty chair next to him.

                "That may be so, but you forget:  water moves to fill the shape of whatever it's in, yes, but it's not all one dimension. It goes deeper, scrapes the bottom, tumbles, picks up silt, keeps going. It loses what it holds, grabs some more, and runs deeper still."

                "It can be shallow as well."

                "Yeah, but there is still a top, middle, and a bottom; it's just not as obvious."

                Severus chewed on that thought, "Maybe so, but you can't drown in a puddle."

                "Can't you?" Sam said, leaning forward, "A puddle can still soil the bottoms of your trousers. It can still alter your day."

                The older man huffed, "You just said that the water was us, people, humans, whatever, now you're saying that we tread the puddles? You're not making any sense, Potter!"

                "Ah, so I'm back to being Potter now? I thought I told you, I don't want to be Potter today; today I'm Sam." He picked up his fork again, "And it can be both. One person can ruin another's day, you know, just like a puddle. Look at what I'm doing to you."

                Severus rubbed his hands over his face. "First life is water, then we are water, then it's both. If this is how your brain works now, I never want to see a single essay from you this upcoming school year."

                "You won't see my essays."

                "That's right, you're SAM."

                "Now you're getting it!" Sam grinned and took another sip of his coffee.

                "You shouldn't drink that; it'll stunt your growth."

                "Not really growing much, am I?" Sam said.

                Severus took a sip of his cold tea. "What are you doing here, Potter? Stop this game."  The boy across from him made no move to answer. He just broke open a cracker and spooned some of the egg salad onto it. He hummed appreciatively as he chewed. "How old are you?" Severus snapped, annoyed that Potter was ignoring him.

                "Who, me? I'm older than Harry, I think."

                Severus got it. "All right, Sam, what are you doing here? No games."

                Sam looked up and smiled, glad to see that though his professor said that he didn't want a game, he was still playing along. "I'm here because I like to ride on the trains into London. Gives me a sense of direction. Then I walk. Today I walked here and saw you."

                "A sense of direction?"

                "We all need one, you know. Harry does, you do, Ron does, Hermione does, Dumbledore does. Sam does, too."

                Severus nodded, agreeing. "Sam isn't real though."

                "He is to me."

                "And that's all that matters?"

                "At least to me."

                Severus grunted his answer and they sat in silence for a few minutes, Sam eating and Severus finally casting that warming charm on his tea. After Sam had scraped his plate clean, he placed his fork down, washed the last bit of food down with another drink from his latte and said, "All right then, out with it."

                "Out with what?" Severus glared, his annoyance rising again.

                "What it is you want to ask me."

                Severus looked out the window, crossing his arms over his chest. True, he had something to ask the boy, he actually had a lot to ask the boy. Harry Potter or not, this whole encounter was unnerving. This wasn't how he expected the boy to act; this wasn't the Harry Potter he knew.

                But that was the point wasn't it?

                So, he turned back to the boy sitting across from him, conceding to the rules, playing the game just like he was wanted to. "What's the difference between Harry and Sam?"

                Sam gave him an appraising look, judging him, figuring out his motive. Apparently it was what he wanted, so he spoke, "Harry is lost. He's afraid. He knows that he's just a pawn in some massively overused and clichéd chess game. He gets it, so he tries to be exactly what it is that everyone else wants. He hides the fact that he's really just some abused little freak, not a hero. He hides the fact that he doesn't really know anything useful. Now, Sam?  Sam is something. He's strong, he's smart. Sam looks at his relatives and laughs at them. He's not afraid of anything, not even relinquishing such secrets to someone who hates him. Sam knows that Life is calling him and he's willing and ready to answer."

                "Life is calling? Calling for what?"

                "To live, of course. Sam does what Harry is too afraid to do. Sam rides around on trains, he eats lunch with someone who didn't want him. Sam lives, Harry just survives."

                "And what keeps Harry from living as well?" Severus asked.

                Sam leaned forward again, this time whispering, "The prophecy."

                Severus froze. So the boy knew. It made sense now that he thought about it, after what happened at the Department of Mysteries only a month before hand, he figured that Albus would finally tell the boy, but still, it was like his own secret was being exposed. "Why," Severus swallowed, "why would that stop him?"

                "Because Harry is going to die."

                "And...and Sam?" Severus didn't like this game anymore.

                "Sam will never die. Not to you, not to me, not to this café. Sam will always live. He's immortal; he's what Harry wishes he could be."

                Severus couldn't look at him any longer. He had to turn away, look elsewhere, at the anonymity of the rest of the café.  "Just stop it, would you?" Harry Potter wasn't supposed to make him feel like this.

                "I can't stop, the train's going, Snape, it already left the station. I'm just a passenger on this ride."

                Severus looked back over at him, "Who are you now?" Something changed, the way the boy held himself was different. Sam was confident but this stance was now slumped, tired.

                Across from him, the younger wizard looked out of the window. "I'm Harry. Just Harry."

                "Where's Sam?"

                "He had to catch a train."

                Severus tilted his head, "And you?"

                "Weren't you listening? I'm already on the train."

                Swallowing, Severus said, "You were abused?"

                "Yeah."

                "Why did you never say anything?"

                Harry blinked, "Because people don't know how to listen."

                Severus knew who Harry was referring to. He also knew that at some point throughout the duration of the conversation, Potter had become Harry. "I'm listening now."

                "I know."

                "You don't have to, you know. You can get off the train anytime you want. You can be like Sam if you really wanted to."

                Harry shrugged. "I could. And you could break all of your habits, too."

                Severus jolted; his eyes betrayed his thoughts as they flittered over to the Daily Prophet on the chair next to him. "But we won't. Neither of us."

                Again, Harry shrugged, "Not everyone can be like Sam."

                "But you said before, you said you didn't want to be Harry Potter right now and you weren't!" Severus said, hitting the table in emphasis.

                "You can't run from who you are."

                "Dammit, Harry! You just got through telling me that life is fluid, that people don't have to always be and do what they're supposed to!"

                "And you just admitted that you wouldn't transform, either. Let's face it, Snape; we may not like who or what we are, but that's still not enough motive for us to get up and change. Tomorrow, you'll go back to your boring life and I'll go weed the garden and hide in my room in hopes that my uncle will forget I'm alive. And come September, you'll still treat me like crap and I'll still give you cheek and the world will go on around us and that's it. Life is calling, Snape, it's calling for both of us, but we won't answer, will we?"

                "How old are you, Harry? And don't tell me you're younger than Sam."

                "I'm sixteen."

                "Are you?"

                "Physically, yes. Emotionally, I'm ancient."

                Outside, in the hot heat of summer, an old man dressed up in a ratty American Civil War uniform perched himself on the bench by the bus stop. His beard was long and his face was dirty; he was homeless. Severus and Harry watched as he pulled a sign from his rusted shopping cart. ‘I might be homeless, but I still know where I am.'  Harry was the first to look away.

                Severus studied the man on the bench and after he had his fill, studied the boy across from him. "We can change."

                "No, we can't."

                "Bring Sam back."

                Harry sighed, "I told you, he's gone."

                "No, he's not. Sam is Harry. Harry is Sam. Make your own destiny, Mr. Potter. Prophecies, they're little, they don't hold that much water." Severus held his hands open, palms up, "And our hands, they don't hold much at all, do they?" He wiggled his fingers. "They water falls through. But our hands can hold a basin, can't they? They can hold up what holds the water."

                "But you said..."

                "The hell with what I SAID, Harry, listen to what I'm SAYING. We've both already changed, haven't we? No, shut up, don't answer, I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that we haven't. But we have. Look at us, just look! Where is the hate, Harry?" Harry swallowed, but didn't interrupt. "Let Harry Potter be a channel for Sam. Hold the basin, Harry."

                "And you?"

                "I'll do it too. I have my own Sam somewhere in me as well. Life is calling, Harry, I think it's time that we both answer."

                "There's a war going on out there, though." Harry said, looking out of the window again and at the homeless man. It was too much to see him standing there, he had to look down.

                Severus shrugged, "There always is."

                "Sam isn't afraid, Sam knows that life is fluid, he's okay with it, and he likes it and uses it to his advantage."

                Severus smiled, "Sam is a smart fellow. He knows that, sometimes, it's good to change."

                Harry glanced up at Severus through the fringe of his bangs. He laid his hands face down on the table and looked at them. "Hold the basin," he muttered, turning his palms upwards and wiggling his fingers. "I can do that."

                "Of course you can."

                But Harry had to close his eyes, something had occurred to him and it was wholly frightening. "What if I drop the basin and it breaks? What then?"

                Severus felt his throat constrict. He didn't know how to respond to that; he didn't have all the answers. Though he often acted like it, Severus really didn't know jack squat.

                The door to the café opened, the bells on top jingling as he fought for something to say, something meaningful, something that would give Harry a sense of direction, something pretty sounding, like the bells on an opening door.

                But he had nothing, so he sputtered for a moment, choking on the beginnings of several words, all of which would never convey what needed to be said. And with a hard swallow, he floundered and gave up. "I don't know."

                Harry nodded, his face showing his disappointment. He was still lost and his hands turned over, his palms smothered by the tabletop. He stood.

                "Harry, I'm sorry, I don't have all the answers."

                But Harry only gathered up his garbage. "I have a train to catch." He slowly walked from the table, leaving Severus sitting there with nothing but his discarded Daily Prophet for company.

                Outside, a train whistled in the distance.