"Potter," said a voice, impatient but not harsh. The voice seemed to reach Harry from a long ways away. "Come inside; it looks like it's going to rain."

    Harry blinked, Snape coming into focus standing over him. It took him a moment to realise he must have fallen asleep under the tree. Harry stood up, still tired. He took his time staring up at the clouds, which were a slate grey and hanging low over him. A drop splattered on his forehead, cold and large. Snape, who had paused to look at the clouds as well, got a drop on the end of his long nose. He growled slightly (Yes, because it's the fault of the rain that he has a big nose to catch it all with, Harry thought) and began to stalk across the grass, Harry following close behind. Halfway to the cottage - and quite to both Harry and Snape's surprise - the heavens burst, sending torrents of icy cold water pouring from the skies and drenching Harry quite suddenly. He looked to see Snape with his hands over his head and sprinting back to the shelter of the cottage as rain pounded the ground around them. Harry did the same, but found that his professor was in fact quite speedy, and made it a little while after him.

      While they may have reached the dryness of the cottage, the both of them were soaked to the bone; the rain was very heavy. They stood a moment in the doorway, watching the rain run off the roof and making a hazy curtain of water before them. Harry though, was having a bit of difficulty seeing as his wet hair had fallen over his glasses, dripping. The blurry outline of Snape stood black against the curtain of water outside the door. Harry reached up and tried to move his hair aside a bit, but found it was sticking to his glasses a little, for in its wetness all it did was slide back. However, he could see a little better, and Harry realised that Snape was staring at him. He wore a similar expression of surprise, like Harry's, which showed that he was also in a slight state of shock thanks to the sudden onset and chill of the rain. Like Harry, Snape was soaked, and looked sort of funny with his hair dripping and laying partially over his eyes. Harry imagined he looked rather silly too, for he felt as though he had two little peepholes in his glasses that were not obscured by wet hair; it must have looked ridiculous.

        Perhaps it was the way in which they looked, or the fact that they were suddenly full of energy from the shock of the cold rain, or maybe just because they had survived after all. Whatever the reason, Harry wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly, upon seeing each other's ridiculous hair, both he and Snape started to laugh. Well, Snape chuckled more than laughed, but Harry thought that counted as a laugh because he was usually so stern anyways.

      "Harry, how can you possibly see under that?" Snape said with another small chuckle, reaching forward and carefully lifting Harry's wet fringe off of his damp glasses. Snape's image cleared so that Harry could see him in detail, and watching him, Harry saw that after a second he seemed to realise what he had just done.

       Snape cleared his throat awkwardly. "I suppose we should light a fire," he said, turning away from Harry and going over to the fireplace.

     "Yeah," said Harry, staring in wonder at his professor as he lit a fire with magic. As it roared to life and bathed the dim cottage in warmth, Harry thought he saw a little bit of confusion on Snape's face, as he stood by the dancing flames.

     "Potter," Snape said suddenly and sharply, the look gone so fast Harry entertained the possibility that he had imagined it. "Come here."

     Bewildered and wondering what he had done this time, Harry walked over to the fireplace and to Snape. He was surprised that all Snape did was wave his wand over him, instantly drying his clothes.

     "Thanks sir," Harry said gratefully as Snape dried his own too.

     He merely nodded in response to Harry's words, walking back to his cauldron, which was bubbling overtop a little flame, its stubby  metal legs resting on the table. Harry stared at Snape a moment, pondering him and what he had done and said in the past few minutes. Yes, he decided. There was no doubt about it: Severus Snape was an enigma. Positively weird, in fact.

     Harry sat down in a chair by the wall, for Snape had moved all of them away from the table so as to free up space. Quietly, Harry watched Snape work. Harry didn't think Snape minded so much now that Harry was around, for he stayed quiet and the pattering sound of the rain on the roof was so tranquil in comparison to how it had sounded in the jail that Snape wasn't as on edge. Well, that was what Harry thought at least. So Harry remained quiet, and observed Snape at work.

       Watching Snape brew was certainly something Harry wished he would have gotten to see earlier. He now understood why Snape was so sharp and frustrated with students in class; it was because he was nothing short of brilliant with the same tools and resources Harry and other students fumbled about with. Snape looked at home here, standing over the cauldron, staring in scrutiny. To Harry it was almost like music, for Snape's pauses and stirring were so precise, and had their own rhythm and dynamics. Snape was in the middle of one of his pauses, and after a moment he took a pinch of crushed and dried leaves, residing in a jar nearby. He did not measure, but shifted it slightly between two fingers and a thumb before throwing it into the cauldron with flourish. The result made Harry glad he had a side view of the whole operation and that Snape was not blocking the cauldron. For its contents turned from a muddy brown to a startling light blue, and rings of shimmering steam beginning to rise in puffs from the outside of the cauldron. The light reflected in Snape's eyes, making his figure seem darker, but impressive all the same. The dim room grew hazy from the steam, and Harry could see Snape's outline moving through it, orange light bleeding through the air from the fireplace and adding a surreal quality to the bluish sheen of the room.      

     All the while that Harry sat, watching Snape move effortlessly from stage to stage of the potion, he could think of nothing but how much he wished he could do the very same thing. It was an art, brewing, something that Harry had never quite understood in class. But here, watching Snape work with such ease, and with almost a kind of grace that he had never seen before, Harry finally understood it. He understood why Snape called wand waving foolish, for there was a kind of raw energy and beauty of a potion in the making ... when a master was at work. Snape truly was one.

       Taking delight in what was before him, Harry suddenly thought of Hermione, wishing she could see this display. He could picture her beside him, muttering the steps and gasping with the changing colours of the potion. He felt a pang in his chest at the thought of her, and with the thought of Hermione came the thought of Ron, further intensifying the ache. He missed his friends so much. He hoped that they didn't think he had forgotten about them.

      While thinking about forgotten things, Harry suddenly felt as though there was something he was missing. He frowned, thinking hard. After a moment of trying to recall, it just didn't come to him. He thought that it couldn't have been too important though. So he went back to watching Snape work on the potion, mesmerised as sparks encased within bubbles began to rise from the surface of the potion, trapped like fireflies. They made the steam glitter as they drifted dreamily across the room.

       ***

      It was quite some time before Evelyn came back, and by then the rain had stopped, though the sky was still a dull grey. She swept into the room, hair rather messy from the wind.

      "Hello," she greeted the two. Snape looked up briefly from his potion. "Everyone is relieved to hear that the antidote is on the way. How is it coming?"

      "Quite well," Snape said simply. "One last ingredient and then it can be left to simmer for a few days."

      Evelyn looked very pleased at this news and took off her cloak and hung it on a small peg by the door. Snape returned his thoughts to the potion while Harry busied himself with trying to remember what it was he had forgotten.

     "Something's happening in town," Evelyn said to Snape, sounding uneasy. "I flew through on my way to the cave, and it just felt ... restless."

    "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Snape drawled in response, voice muffled slightly because his nose was so close to the delicate roots he was slicing. Evelyn seemed to be unsure still, but dismissed it. Instead she contented herself with looking at Snape rather strangely.

     "Why do you insist on having your nose so close to the table when you work?" she asked rather bluntly, but in a rather amused manner. "You might cut it."

     Snape looked up, scowling quite heavily. Harry was just about bursting with silent laughter, especially because Evelyn was standing with her hands on her hips and looking at Snape as though he was crazy.

     "I can't see all that well," he said sharply before bending down once again to cut the roots. "My eyes get tired if I work too long." 

      "You could always get glasses," Harry said.

      "I know a few wizards who are quite skilled in making them," Evelyn said. "Why don't you get some made?"

      "I have gotten by just fine without them all these years," he snapped, still meticulously slicing roots. "Besides, I would look absolutely ridiculous."

      "You are the weirdest man I have ever met," Evelyn said thoughtfully as she threw a kettle over the fire with a shake of her head. "Well ... except maybe Ellery."

      "Charmed," Snape drawled as scooped up the roots and carefully dropped them into the potion. A small snicker escaped Harry.

         Snape turned around to look at Harry, who was still trying not to laugh out loud.

         "Go play in traffic or something Potter," he said rather haughtily.

    That did it, Harry couldn't contain himself, and he laughed until he fell off his chair. Snape looked positively bewildered, which only made it funnier. It was only when Evelyn went out to pick some vegetables from the garden was Harry able to catch his breath. As he did so, he suddenly remembered just what he had been trying to recall.

      "Evelyn," he said, gasping as he ran out of the cottage and out to her. "You didn't see if that old woman is still in the jail, did you? Her name was Jean."

     "Hmm," she said thoughtfully, picking the mud off a potato. "Was she there while you two were?"

      "Yeah," Harry asked. "She was so sure that we would get out, and she was right! You don't suppose there would be any way to rescue her, would there?"

      "Harry," said Evelyn, voice gentle. "When I snuck into the jail to get your wands while you two were being led out, the other cell was empty."

      "Did they let her go?" Harry asked hopefully. "She was sick, I bet they ... they ..." He couldn't say anymore, for the look on Evelyn's face said it all. "N-no," he said shakily, backing away.

     "There was no way I could have helped her, I'm sorry," Evelyn said, her voice coming from far away.

        But Harry didn't hear her for he was running, though he wasn't sure where he was going. Outside was too cold, and he couldn't go far and so he found himself sprinting back into the cottage, throwing off his shoes and flying past Snape and into the other room of the cottage. He heard Snape calling after him, and Evelyn running into the cottage too. But nobody followed him into the other room, where he had thrown himself onto the blankets folded on the floor, which were to be moved out by the fireplace for Snape and him to sleep on later. Harry hid his face in one of the small pillows, dusty sweet from the feathers, and let the tears run down his cheeks, the soft quilts beneath his belly cradling him gently.

     Snape's voice carried into the room, sounding angry. "What did you say to him?" he said to Evelyn.

     "He asked what happened to the old woman in the jail," Evelyn sighed. "I said that I didn't see her when I went to steal back your wands ... I'm sorry." 

     "Oh ... I saw her being carried out during the night," Snape said finally, his voice quieter, calmer. "I didn't say anything ... I didn't want to upset him, especially with everything that had happened already."

    "I'm sorry," Evelyn said again. "Perhaps I should have said something different ..."

    "What could you have done? Lied to him?" Snape asked gloomily. "Death is a part of life. It is difficult thing to come to terms with ... but every person on this earth needs to do so. Harry, though young, is no exception."

     "Should I ..."

     "No," said Snape, though not unkindly, "let him be a while."

     If there was anything else to be heard, Harry would not have listened anyways. He had barely even made sense of what he had heard, for he was too busy thinking of the last thing he said to Jean. He had told her that he would come back for her. He had told her that he wouldn't forget her. And yet he had forgotten about her. He hadn't really said goodbye the day they were being led out to the square. Of course, by then she had been ... gone, if what Snape had said was true. He wished he could have gotten a chance to save her. She had been so kind to him, and made things almost bearable in the jail, knowing that there was someone besides Snape to talk to. Even if she had only said a few little things to him, she had made it so much less frightening. It made Harry so angry at McTavish - and all of his stupid followers - that they had been mean enough to keep a sick old lady like Jean there. It wasn't fair. For some odd reason though, he felt as though there had to have been more he could have done for her. Something he could have done to have delayed her passing so as to save her. A tiny piece of him knew this was silly, but a greater portion believed it. He started to shake a little, thinking of how cold it had been in that jail.

    How long he lay there, Harry could not be sure. But after a while the acute pain had receded to an empty ache, and he couldn't cry anymore, or even move it seemed. He couldn't even feel ashamed for having cried. Sound flitted through his clouded thoughts; the fire being stoked, pots, pans. Evelyn was starting on supper. Harry didn't care though, as he wasn't hungry anyways. He let his mind go blank again, and he let his body sink into the softness of the folded quilts and just existed. Harry was so lost in the nothingness of it all that he didn't even hear Snape creep into the room and sink down against the wall. It usually would have startled Harry when someone whom he did not know was there began to speak, but within the miasma of numbness that his mind had fallen into, he couldn't even feel surprised.

      "How are you feeling?" Snape asked, sounding out of his element.

      "Go away," Harry mumbled, not raising his head from the soft pillow.

      "No," said Snape firmly.  "You know this isn't your fault."   

      Harry did not reply.

      "You couldn't have done anything to save her," he said quietly, rephrasing his earlier statement.

      Harry thought he heard Snape sigh slightly.

     "I know how you feel," Snape said suddenly, obviously trying a new tactic.

     Harry put the pillow over his head.

     "Hey," said Snape, pulling the pillow off. "I'm talking."

    Harry stuck his face into one of the quilts instead, and Snape ploughed on, clearly unfazed by Harry's childish behaviour.

      "You aren't the only one who has had someone they know die," he told Harry. "Professor Dumbledore is one of two surviving members of his family, Professor McGonagall's husband died in the war, both of my parents are dead ... it is a sad fact of life."

     "Why does it hurt so bad? Even when you can't remember them?"

     Snape paused a moment after Harry's statement, and Harry thought he had figured out that he wasn't talking about Jean.

      "I think it is wondering what could have been," said Snape, sounding in every way to Harry as though there was a little more behind his comment than he let on. Snape fell silent for a few seconds before adding hesitantly, "You miss them still, don't you?"

      Harry nodded a little, not looking up.  "Sometimes I think I dream about them," he whispered into the quilt. Harry heard a sigh, almost inaudible, but most certainly not from his imagination.

     "You should come and eat something soon," Snape said suddenly, changing the subject. "Dinner is almost finished."

     Harry lifted his eyes briefly to see Snape getting up and leaving the room. He felt a pang of sadness for Snape, for he understood just then why he had left. He was still sure it was entirely his fault that Harry didn't have parents. But he never would have thrown that curse at them. Harry was positive now, and he was angry at himself for missing his chance to tell Snape that it wasn't all his fault. It was his chance and he missed it because he had been too wrapped up in his sadness to realise it until it was too late. Wondering when he would get another, Harry rolled over, staring up at the beams making up the roof. Numbness washed over him again. At least, in all his sadness and aching, Jean was in a better place than he was. That was little bit comforting.

       Harry rolled onto his side and looked at the empty spot where Snape had sat, and wondered what had possessed him to come in and talk to him. Harry appreciated it, especially because Harry could tell it was hard for Snape to know what to say. Pep talks weren't really his thing. After Snape's talk, despite the numbness that had settled in Harry's chest, he felt a little bit better. Perhaps, the best thing that Snape could have said in the end, was that Harry wasn't alone. That having lost someone, was something almost everyone had in common. That it was something that he and Harry shared too.