Thirty one plus one by Hopeless Wanderer

April the 10th

Dear madam Pomfrey

I’m writing this letter all by myself in my room in The Shell cottage. I think that I had promised to keep in contact with you, so you’re one of the first people I’m writing to. I’m doing fairly okay now, although I really don’t feel any different or miraculously better now that I use that strange potion.

The physical symptoms have stopped, but there are some minor issues that I don’t think this new treatment can solve; I had a vivid hallucination on my first night here, and there were a few times when I felt like I wasn’t completely alert, but it’s fine. At least I’m not blind anymore.

Speaking of Snape, he hasn’t been a total jerk (sorry) these past few days; he has been treating me fair, he /can/ cook, (which completely took me by surprise), and he’s been teaching me how to swim! Isn’t that just great?

You don’t need to worry at all Madam Pomfrey, I promise to look after myself, I’m taking long walks around the beach now to build some strength in my legs, Snape makes sure I have regular meals and I’m trying my hardest to gain some weight… all in all, I think life is good now.

I’m sorry for all the trouble I have given you these past few months, and I hope I can make it up to you someday, but for now, I’m just going to keep writing these letters to cease your worries, because I know, even though you say you don’t care… you really do.

Sincerely yours

Harry.J.Potter

**

After spending a whole week with Potter, Severus was sure that he was getting fairly accustomed to his behavioral patterns. Unlike his previous beliefs, Potter was actually a neat and scheduled person, despite having nothing to do with himself; the black haired teen managed his hours equally between different tasks as if he was living a student’s life.

After the fourth day Severus noticed that Potter woke up at the exact same time every day, and figured it must have been the way his brain was wired, since the brat himself didn’t seem conscious of that fact. Potter was like a glitch filled muggle device, he looked utterly ordinary where appearances counted but from the mental aspect of things… glitches occurred on a daily basis.

The potion master had noticed Potter repeating the same phrase more than once, or accomplishing a task twice; he often caught the boy zoning out or staring at a spot for a stretched period of time. Severus saw all those but never mentioned it to Potter himself, in fears of startling him.

It didn’t disrupt the brat’s routine, and so wasn’t a major issue for the man when he had much more important things to handle.

Supplying Potter’s potions wouldn’t happen on itself, the potion master had to supply fresh batches every two days for the child to take the following mornings on the third day, and to be fair, it was an exhausting task.

All in all, in one week’s time, Potter was fairing much better than he had been doing in /months/, his health and awareness had vastly improved since his treatment had stopped, Severus caught a glint of clarity in Potter’s emerald eyes that seemed impossible to find before.

More than ever, those eyes reminded him of Lily’s eyes, specifically when the boy was particularly angry or frustrated about something, his emerald orbs would gleam and his brows would furrow in a perfect arch. It was the same exact expression Lily had pointed at him more than once when they’ve been friends.
It didn’t torment him as severely as before, but Snape still despised the uncomfortable churning in his stomach when he thought about Lily’s son and his forlorn fate.

With a dejected and heartfelt sigh, the lonely potion master flexed his fingers, his chin propped up with his other hand as he inspected the yellowed page of his journal.

Potter was sprawled on the couch, holding up his old worn cover of ‘Hitchhiker’s guide’ and idly briefing through the pages, Severus knew that the brat wasn’t reading it, his eyes were unfocused. That abominable owl of his was lightly perched on his lap.

Severus glared at the blasted owl maliciously, that damn thing had bitten him /twice/ and had scratched his hands all over when he was trying to load her in the cage, it was blatantly clear that her master’s feelings about the potion master had also been conveyed to her over the years.

“Why is your owl still here?” Snape asked, jostling the lazing boy out of his thoughts.

“Oh, I forgot to write to Madam Pomfrey last night and I was too tired to send all the letters in more than one go.” The boy replied mildly. “I’ll send her tonight.”

“Be sure to let her roam free for a while before you do, she might need to hunt.”

“She really isn’t a messy owl, she hunts and eats outside.” Potter idly answered, rolling his shoulders and reaching a hand to pet the owl’s feathers.

“Oh?” the potion master raised his brow. “Is that another one of her dazzling aptitudes?”

In addition to biting, nibbling and scattering pieces of Potter’s messy hair /everywhere/.

Potter frowned, staring at him with fleeting confusion. “No, she had to learn certain things quickly.” The boy said warily, soothing his hands to smooth the hideously large grey shirt.

Severus tore his gaze away, inwardly musing over the boy’s odd choice in words and discourteous taste in clothing; honestly, one would think a pampered prince like Harry James Potter would know better than to wear over grown rags even for house wear.

The clothes could be for the brat himself, Snape knew of the boy’s significant weight loss due to the illness (so that would solve the strange largeness), and had never seen him without his outer school robes to determine the boy’s awful taste in fashion before, but something just felt /off/ about the way those clothes hung off him.

In the past the potion master had barely seen the boy longer than his potion’s class or usual sightings allowed, to him, Harry James Potter was essentially the precise replica of his father. Be it in appearances or personality, Potter was the same, arrogant, loitering prince that his father had been as a teenager.

That small shred of pity that he had felt for the young man was solely for the fact that he wouldn’t wish that kind of misery and illness on his worst enemy. He was personally familiar with cancer’s unpleasant effects; mixed blood always had the higher chance of transmitting muggle diseases.

Potter as a Half-blood already had the potential to get muggle illnesses, unlike his mother, whom had no reason to deal with cancer as a supposed pure blood, but in the end had perished anyways.

“Can I go out sir?”

Severus raised his head, still thoughtful. “You may go, I’m watching you potter, don’t go far.”

Potter shook Hedwig off his lap, and stood on shaky legs, tucking the book to his chest. His owl let out an indignant shriek at the move. “Thank you sir, come on Hedwig!”

The boy is like a puppy, Severus’s lip turned into a disgusted grimace. No, not a puppy, he drawled as an afterthought, tapping his chin with his forefinger. More like a toddler, Poppy was absolutely right, Potter acted like a toddler, as far as Severus was aware in his fifteen year’s career as a teacher, this wasn’t the way most teenagers acted.

He returned to his journal as Potter ran out of the cottage, the potion master was adamant to spend the whole day studying his notes and indulging in his interests instead of taking care of Potter and his unbearable owl, the brat could manage himself for a day and Severus would keep an eye out anyways.

Seeing as using a wand was dangerous for Potter’s regressing health, Severus had to stifle a sigh and go to the kitchen himself to make a cup of tea himself, it was bad enough that he had to cook three meals a day every day; the man wondered why he had accepted this job in the first place.

‘You suggested it.’ His mind snarled back. True, he hadn’t known that helping James Potter’s dying son on his quest would mean living like a prisoner in magical lockdown; he didn’t let himself ponder on it. Pondering too much about Potters always gave him a headache, on top of making him feel guilty, and enraged.

He was doing the right thing; Severus tried to convince himself as he filled the small kettle. His decision to help Potter was righteous at best and selfish at its worst. The thought of helping the brat was merely a whim at first, but the idea plagued him for days after he caught Potter crying in the infirmary.

He thought about it in class while giving a lecture, he thought about it in the great Hall or at the manual teacher’s meeting, and the notion barely left his mind while he was brewing the brat’s potions. The weight of that damned crumbled roll of parchment varied in his robes, it was at its heaviest when he saw the boy, small, vulnerable and defenseless and at its best when he was harboring a full glass of Firewhisky late after his shift was done.

Snape despised Potter for it at first, the spoiled brat always managed to make trouble for everybody even vaguely involved with his life, his recklessness was what had driven his dogfather to his death and drove the other away, his little army of worshippers were more scarred than experienced Aurors and no one did anything about it, all of these factors made Severus loath Potter for being born … but then he just had to go and have cancer.

Who could hate a dying child? Even Snape wasn’t that cruel.

Words and numbers were tugged right out of Potter’s delirious mouth and etched on the parchment by Granger’s neat scrawl, listed one after the other in an organized line only Granger could muster on an empty parchment.

Severus fiddled with the list for days, brooding in his chair with only a mouthful of mead left in his glass; he inspected every word and request, dissected them as if he was trying to peak into Potter’s soul.

Some of them were rather outlandish; what kind of sixteen year old would want to ‘plan his own funeral’? And then immediately switch to ‘I wish I could talk to animals and hear them back’?

If Severus didn’t know any better, he would have thought this was an elaborate prank that Potter and his goons were pulling off merely for the laugh of it, but the more it seemed like a prank, the more Severus realized just how /sad/ Potter’s list was.

“Why are you really doing this Severus?” Albus had asked when Snape finally yielded and went to his office two weeks ago.

“If you’re asking if I have selfish ulterior motives, your answer is yes. If you’re asking if those motives involve hurting Potter...no they will not.”

Albus had sat down, in a way that it suggested his legs were too tired to bear the weight of the world.

“I never truly believed you to be capable of hurting someone Severus.” the old man had said sadly.

Severus rather doubted that but had felt the need to incline his head to appease the man. “This is only for the sake of your assessment.”

“Am I to assume that those said motives aren’t going to be discussed today?”

The potion master heaved a sigh, reaching into his robes. “Just take a look at this list Albus.”

He set the parchment on the desk; his hand firmly pushing the roll towards the headmaster’s confused face.

“What if I told you that I can get this done by the end of July?”

“That boy is under heavy treatment.” Albus replied almost challengingly, his eyes narrowly examining the list.

“What if I told you that would be the least of his problems?”

Now, the least of Severus’s own problems was finding a way to prove his own bluff. They’ve already been in the shell cottage for ten days, and they were running out of time, and despite all of the rush, Potter still had yet to swim.

Over the course of six days, Potter had learnt next to nothing about floating, he said he felt comfortable in the water, and he could maintain himself without Snape’s help for at least ten seconds, but somehow, the boy always ended up panicking and going under the surface.

Severus had tried to politely ask what the boy’s problem was; even going as far as inquiring if the problem was Potter’s horrid shorts and if he needed a new proper swim trunk, but Potter shook his head every time, looking at the brim of tears before dejectedly trudging his way out of the water and settling on the sand, staring off into space before Severus called him in.

After pouring a cup of hot steaming tea, the potion master tucked his journal under his arm and went to the porch; he felt like he should be checking on Potter by then, the sky was getting cloudy and the potion master did not want Potter even remotely close to the shore if a storm were about to occur.
“Potter.” he called out, motioning the boy out of water, as he settled on the porch’s creaking steps.

Potter’s owl circled around the boy’s head as the child was trying to skip stones in the water. Severus narrowed his eyes, the water was only up to Potter’s ankles, but he looked dry, so at least he had enough sense not to go swimming alone without supervision.

“Potter.” he called out again when the boy refused to turn and sighed irritably.

“Is that boy deaf? Honestly.” The man grumbled and got to his feet.

“I think we should get your ears checked out Potter.” he remarked sarcastically when he was in the boy’s hearing range.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Severus pursed his lips, looking up at the sky. “It’s about to rain; we need to go back inside.”

Potter threw another stone, turning to stare at the spot Severus was staring now. Both teacher and student fell silent for a few seconds, Potter’s eyes wandered to the other side of the beach, mildly admiring their old sand castle. Neither of them saw it necessary to demolish the fragile structure and so it had stayed standing longer than it should have.

Potter occasionally tended to it by adding wet sand to keep it from collapsing or adorning it with new shells, but Severus could see the way Potter’s eyes shadowed every time it did.

The castle they had made that day was somehow turned into a symbol of reminiscence for what had upset the boy in the first place, and instead of destroying it, Potter nurtured the damned symbol. The potion master idly wondered if he should kick it down, when Potter fell asleep one night.

“Can we try something, before we go?” Potter asked, not taking his eyes off the castle.

“It depends on your suggestion.” The older man placated, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt that Potter didn’t mean to mention their retreat to the cottage by /going/. His ears perked with interest as Potter’s silence dragged on.

“I’ve been thinking for a while…I want to try this one last time,” he gestured at the tides passively. “If I could or couldn’t swim by tomorrow, I think we should move on sir.”

The statement honestly took the potion master by surprise; he didn’t know that Potter was as frustrated with himself as Snape was with him. The dubious conclusion drove him into thinking that Potter was only /suggesting/ what he did, because he’d seen how his refusal to stay in the water annoyed Severus.
Severus took in a deep breath and held it in his chest, his pupils subconsciously relaxing as the last bit of sun was hidden behind gigantic grey fluff of clouds.

“Potter,” the man paused for effect, his glare bearing into Potter’s vivid emerald eyes. “You needn’t worry about time,” he cut off the boy, his mouth was open to protest. “The sole purpose of /this/ is that you get to grant your wishes in their own respective order.”

Potter wasn’t wrong about his cautiousness, but nor was he right; the whole purpose of stopping his treatments was to improve the quality of his life, not the quantity, and that applied to their mission. If things were supposed to be muddled up with hasty, hurried skimming then it wasn’t even worth it from the start.
As much as he couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he wanted Potter to have fun while doing this, he wanted the child to truly get to experience what he possibly couldn’t have in a hospital. There was no point in hurrying this along.

The boy nodded, as if it was obvious. “Exactly, I can always come back here; I can still learn how to swim after I’ve done everything else, I’m getting bored here,” he admitted ashamedly.

“The sea is still beautiful and I had a wonderful time… but I think we should go sir.” The wind picked up as he said this and Severus suppressed a sneer.
How could he drill the concept into Potter’s head without having to admitting that they might run out of time? He didn’t want to frighten the child.

“You can swim Potter,” he snapped out instead, startling Potter. “And we’re staying here until you properly let yourself learn.”

Harry’s eyes rounded and his mouth fell open. “How did you know I was…?”

Snape rolled his eyes, uncrossing his arms with a huff. “Yes, I’ve noticed it.” He said as if it was obvious. “Something is on your mind Potter, something that only triggers when you’re about to take a step forward,” he gestured at the castle and then back at the boy, sternly staring down at him. “And trust me when I say this; I will not let you move a muscle out of water before you tell me what it is.”

“It’s nothing.” Potter wrung the hem of his ridiculous shirt with one hand.

“It’s clearly potent enough to get you riled up.” small drops of water fell down on his face, Severus scowled. “We need to go inside.”

Potter held out his free hand, looking at the small droplets of rain exasperatedly. “Yeah, we do.”

Crazy as it might have seemed, a brilliant idea passed the potions master’s mind. “Tell me Potter,” he said suddenly. “How do you feel about eating out tonight?” Potter raised his eyebrows and stared back.

“Out like here on the beach?”

“No,” Severus gritted out. “Out in a nice restaurant or pub in the nearest town, I passed one when I was getting your owl.” He explained briefly. The black haired boy looked puzzled for a moment.

“How far away am I from any sort of civilization?” he wondered out loud.

“I’d try and not get offended by that comment, Potter,” the man rebuked dryly, but he had to admit there was some form of sense in Potter’s off hand offensive comment; there was only so much one could tolerate by spending ten solid days with the same person with nothing pressing to do.

Potter’s loss of awareness might have helped him a little in the regards of growing boredom, but Severus was feeling like the frustration could drive him up the wall if it dragged on any longer.

“Sorry sir.”

Snape waved him off. “But the nearest town is about half an hour away with the car.” Potter’s eyes rounded behind his glasses at the mention of the rental car still in their possession.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you need to socialize more anyways.” Severus finished.

The boy winced. “Oh no, have I been talking to myself?” Severus contained his wariness with a stoic, deadpan expression. Could it possibly go that far? He suppressed a shudder at the thought of Potter talking to himself and expecting a reply.

“I’d rather not answer that,” he replied vaguely. “Go and get ready, it will start raining soon.”

The boy dropped the remaining stones in the water and quickly tiptoed back to where Severus was standing, his eyes narrowed. “We’re going out in the rain?”
The potion master resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the brat. “We’d be in a car, so don’t worry about the storm. And Potter?”

“Sir?”

“For Merlin’s sake, wear something a little more presentable.”

**

Potter ended up wearing the red hoodie and his jeans, and Snape was left wondering whether the brat simply didn’t care about his appearances and should be told to do so, on a regular basis, or he simply didn’t know how. The clothes he was wearing then, certainly fit him better than the ones he wore at the cottage, but they still seemed to be big on him.

The potion master was beyond caring.

“I like this place.” Potter commented under the pouring rain, wiping the rain droplets off his glasses with his hands. Needless to say, Snape knew that the glasses would stain as soon as they were dry.

He pushed the boy in the pub with a careful hand. Ignoring the loud bell chime ringing as they entered.

“If you would get moving.”

Potter grasped his hand in a death grip when Severus started to move towards the tables and pulled him the other way. “Can we seat on one of the stools? Please?!”

“Why?”

“You said I need to socialize more, we can talk to people better that way, and I think you were right sir, I’ve almost forgotten how to talk to other people.”

“Potter you don’t necessarily have to /talk/ to other people tonight.”

Severus yielded nonetheless, he ushered the boy to the stools with a firm hand clasped on his bony shoulder, if it was his choice, the potion master probably would have chosen the furthest and the most isolated seat he could find, but alas Potter and his cheeriness drove them both to seats at the middle, with two fishers (still in their gear) settled on their rights and an old man on their left.

Potter almost floated to the seats with a cheesy grin, looking as if he couldn’t believe he was being let near people to talk to.
Severus rolled his eyes at the boy’s antiques and shed his black overcoat.

“Potter.” he called the boy quietly. “Do I need remind you of what is appropriate to bring up with certain kind of people in a conversation?”

Harry’s eyes lightened with realization and he quickly shook his head, his messy hair tousling.

“No sir.” He muttered back, and went ahead, while eyeing the fisher braided hair woman with a ting of suspicion. “I understand sir.”

The pub wasn’t big or spacious, but the small place was handled neatly, the storm whizzed outside, Potter despite his previous distress seemed more than at ease to settle on his stool and look around with wide curious eyes.

There were about ten small tables overall and a long line of stools aligned the bar; the pub was lit with soft lights that Potter was definitely enjoying, and behind the bar, a creaky door led to the kitchen. Very few tables were occupied but the sound of mindless chatter filled the small room.

Severus settled on Potter’s right, next to the old man with dentures who was loudly munching on his Shepherd’s fritters.

Potter’s hands were clasped together between his jean clad knees, the boy threw a quick smile at Snape’s blank stare and surveyed the barman; a short pudgy man with hard features, and a nearly bald head, who was conversing with one of the fishers about the shortage of ‘cod’ this season.

Severus effortlessly tuned them all out.

Potter’s voice suddenly rang out in the midst of their conversation.

“I’m sorry, excuse me sir…” the boy disrupted the men confidently, his voice shrill with nerves.

Severus hid his raised eyebrow by rubbing his temple.

“Yeah? Oh so’ry! Did ya wanna orde’ something lad?”

Potter’s grin faltered for a moment. He looked unsure of what to say. “I do actually, but that’s not…” he trailed off for a moment. “What’s a cod?”

“Nasty type of fish, they are.” The fisherman cut in smoothly, staring at Potter over his nose.

“Why is there a shortage?”

The fisher went into a heated monologue about those cods, the bartender, obviously seeing that he had no place there turned to Severus with a nod.

“Ya wanna orde’ somethin’ sir?” he asked in a thick accent. Severus nodded at Potter, who was seating wide eyed at the fishermen talking.

“I’m with the boy,” he informed the bartender. “Is there a special meal on offer tonight?”

The pudgy man shrugged. “We have the usual; shepher’s pie and black puddin’… Rob can manage another plate of fritters…” he trailed off, briefly staring at the old man still munching on the same fritter.

“Shepherd’s pie is fine.” Severus settled.

“Shepher’ pie it is.”

The fisher that was occupying Potter, titled his head. “I haven’t seen you around boy? Are you new here?” he asked the teenage boy.

Potter squirmed in his seat uncomfortably “Sort of, I don’t think we’ll be staying for long though.”

The fisher rubbed a hand on his rough looking stubble.

“You staying in Marian’s motel?” the fisherwoman interjected, leaning on her elbows to listen in.

Potter lost his grip on the conversation, stuttering. “Uh, no. we have…”

“We have a private property near this village.” Severus cut in, inwardly sneering at the fishers.

The woman’s brows shot up, she looked skeptical. “A private property? I don’t know about that… the only private property I’m aware of is the shack in east coast line down, and that’s for Henry Miler.”

“We’re not staying for long.” Potter repeated with a wince.

“Well, welcome anyways.” She said to Snape. “There are lots of places to explore with your son here in Porlock.”

Potter froze, and so did Severus. “I’m not…He’s not…” Potter stuttered somewhat lamely.

“He’s not my son.” Severus snapped rudely, the side of his lip turning down in distaste. What a nosy woman, he thought, sneering inwardly.
The fishers both exchanged confused looks.

“Are you sure? You two really look alike.” The fisherman said as if Severus couldn’t be sure if Potter was his son or not.

The potion master glared at them coldly, while Potter pursed his lips to smother a smile.

“Yes, I am sure that this boy isn’t my son.”

“Oh.” The woman turned to her food with a shrug at her partner. Snape didn’t offer any further explanations, and the bartender came with their meals pretty soon after the awkward silence was dragging on. The two fishers wrapped up their meal quicker than Potter could bear his gatherings and ordered two beers. Both hunched over the table.

“Her’ ya go sir. Two Shepher’ pies.” The plates were slid across the wooden island with two napkins.

“Thanks.” Potter said quietly, still side glancing at those people.

“You just scared them away, that was very rude.” He muttered furiously.

Severus dug into his food, staring ahead, and completely content with ignoring Potter’s indignant face.

“So much for socializing.” He grumbled.

“Eat your meal Potter.”

The sound of chatter and rain pattering the windows accompanied their dinner, Potter’s eyes were roaming everywhere but his plate, there weren’t many people left but Snape cold see a swarm of young men making their way into the pub.

He finished up his pie and patiently waited for Potter to stop brooding, he could tell that the boy was overwhelmed by the very few people he encountered after being in near isolation for months, but he also couldn’t place the boy’s overreaction to Snape shooting those nosy dunderheads down.

“Are you finished?” he finally asked when he noticed potter scrapping his fork on the plate.”

“Yes, but can we stay?” his eyes remained on the busy bartender.

“Why would we stay here? Is there something you need?”

Potter screwed his face in a frown. “No,” he forcefully said. “I just wanna seat here for a while. We don’t have anywhere to be, do we?”

Snape was seriously beginning to regret bringing Potter out of the cottage in the first place, but it was either sitting in the crowded pub and ignoring him or dragging him back to the deathly silent cottage and ignoring him.

“It’s going to get crowded soon.” He warned the boy.

Potter nodded. “Yeah, it’s okay.” His tone was strangely blank.

Severus’s scowl deepened. “This is a pub, and it’s getting crowded, people start getting drunk.” As if on cue, they both watched the bartender calling the young man to retrieve the tray of brimming beers, a loud cheer went off somewhere behind them.

Potter’s eyes lingered on the ginger man who had the tray. “I wanted to get drunk; it’s on the list, isn’t it?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the potion master closed his eyes. He knew exactly where this was coming from; Potter being scared to run out of time. He didn’t have the time to deal with a breakdown in a crowded pub. “Potter, if you think there is even the slightest possibility that /they/ let you drink by some miracle, or that I let you drink in the first place, and then drag your drunken butt back to the cottage, you are sourly mistaken. One wish at a time, either you get the hang of swimming or we stay here until you do.”

Potter’s eyes darkened behind his stained glasses. “Shouldn’t this be my choice?”

“No one is getting drunk tonight Potter,” Snape commanded firmly. “You heard that? We’re going. Hurry along.”

He stood and took his overcoat from the stool, Potter still sat on his, his head hung down.

“If it’s on the list then I have every right to.” He stated the obvious accusingly.

Snape wore his overcoat with a grimace and nudged the boy’s shoulder, glaring at the lightning bolt shaped scar. “I don’t care if it’s written on your forehead.” Potter gave a vicious stare and jerked back with so much force that the stool nearly fell over. “Don’t cause a scene here Potter or I’d swear there would be no outing again.” he warned the brat.

Thankfully the pub was crowded enough that no one noticed Potter’s little stunt.

Harry wrenched his arm away, and took his glasses off. “We could just as easily multitask!” he yelled. “I cannot spend two weeks learning how to /float/ while I have a bloody /deadline/ hanging over my head.”

Severus glowered, lowering himself to the boy’s height. “And whose fault is that?” he scoffed. “It’s yours; you don’t / let/ yourself learn. That’s why it’s taking you two weeks.” He replied when Potter remained silent.

“It’s not my fault that I cannot learn, just as it’s not my Fault that I’m here in the first place.” He retorted.

Severus paused, he could see potter breathing heavily with rage but couldn’t quit place the reason behind it. Potter was fine just an hour ago,
“What is this really about?” he inquired from the boy softly. Potter’s eyes narrowed and his face closed off.

Turning in his seat, the raven haired boy clasped his hands together in a tight knot. “Nothing. It’s about nothing.”

Severus knew that this wasn’t the appropriate place to start a talk with Potter but the boy was obviously upset, for whatever reason, and somehow it all had to do with his inability to learn swimming. He needed to get to the bottom of this or Potter would string up another excuse if he didn’t do it right then.
Sighing, he sat back in his stool and leant closer to Potter.

“Potter, tell me now, what is this really about?” he asked patiently, the boy shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I can help.” The potion master insisted.

“No you cannot.” Potter’s voice broke. “It’s about you. Everything’s wrong and it’s because of you!” the boy crammed the water stained glasses on his face irritatingly. “You shouldn’t be here, when Sirius isn’t, or Remus isn’t.” Harry’s voice wavered, and Severus could physically see the struggle going on in Potter’s mind. “I shouldn’t be here, why should I waste my time in the middle of nowhere trying to do the /one thing/ that could have taken me two days to learn if you were /them/ instead of being you?”

Potter rubbed his face. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does Potter.” and as crazy as it was, it really did make sense.

Potter’s thoughts and assumptions about his journey were not the ones he originally had in mind, in his head; he would get to spend his last few months and possibly moments with a loved one, and not someone as distant and as alien as him.

Potter had no one like that to relate to; Black foolishly got himself killed and Lupin was off somewhere walloping in grief. The child wanted that stable authority, he wanted mentors to guide him through trivial acts such as learning how to swim or stay with him when things went from bad to worst.

And for whatever reason, Potter seemed like he had only came to that realization just then, and hadn’t thought of it before.

“This is pointless!” tears filled his eyes, but they didn’t spill. Potter was trying hard to keep demeanor. “I could get drunk right now or I could go on for months without it. What difference does it make?!” the boy ranted in a hushed voice, as if afraid someone will over hear them with all of the noise.

“So this is about Black and Lupin.” Snape voiced his realization.

A single tear slipped from Potter’s eye and the boy hastily wiped it away, his face screwing in a self-loathing frown. Severus sort of related to the boy, and knew that his need of an outlet shouldn’t happen in a crowded muggle pub of all places.

He started quietly, putting a tentative hand on Potter’s shoulder. “If this is about Black or Lupin…”

“No!” the boy exclaimed. “This is about me. I hate myself,” he spat out. “And I hate this! All my life Dudley gloated about how /wonderful/ swimming is! And it isn’t! It isn’t fun. I thought it was, I yearend for it all my life! And it isn’t as fun!”

Another loud cheer erupted behind them, Potter looked crestfallen. Throwing a look of utter envy and jealously at the group of young people.
“Let’s go into the car Potter.” the potion master ordered quietly.

“I don’t want to.” Potter answered solemnly.

“Let’s go into the car.”

Severus helped the child stand, he put some money on the stool and made note to drop in the following morning to talk with the bartender before maneuvering the raven haired boy teen through the crowd and out in the light drizzling. The pouring had died down, and had left only a bit of rain and chilly air behind its haste, which was good enough for both teacher and student as they hurriedly made their way to the other side of the street.

“We have a lot to talk about Potter.”