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.