Harry slouched, one leg slung over the arm of a couch in the library of the Black Manor, that he had inherited after Sirius' death.
He was holding a glass of brandy loosely in his hand, gazing up at the ceiling. Severus stood in the doorway observing the young man, boy really, who was expected to kill the Dark Lord. Pity, he thought, that the boy was so naïve. He'd never been able to stand it, in the boy and also James Potter. It was part of the reason he despised the boys father, who when alive had been optimistic to the point of stupidity. Who had fully expected to survive … undamaged, he supposed was the correct word.
"You may as well come in professor." Harry's low voice murmured, startling Severus who had believed he had gone unnoticed. He moved, gliding silently to a couch opposite the one the boy lazed in.
"Drink, Professor?" Severus paused at the emptiness in the boys voice. He glanced at the boy, who tilted his head in question at his professors silence.
"Fine Potter." He couldn't help but startle at the sight of a glass appearing in midair without a twitch from the boy. Cold laughter filled the air as the glass filled.
"You didn't really think I was going to get up did you? Much easier to use magic."
The glass floated to Severus who took it out of midair and sipped it. He observed the boy who was obviously more than he seemed. Obviously he had missed something about the boy. He wondered how he could have missed this. This quiet emptiness that seemed to fill the boy. The library was quiet except for the occasional clink of their glasses.
The boy was silent still staring at the ceiling lost in thoughts or memories. "You may ask if you wish."
Severus thought for a moment after the boy spoke.
"Do you expect to survive?"
The boy's low laughter again filled the room.
"No."