Nothing seems normal anymore, not since you came along. In the span of a moment my world was turned upside down, all because of you and your business card on expensive poster paper.

Everything at work seems false. It's like I don't know these people I've worked with for six year anymore, none of them seem real enough. Except Dean, but that's another story. This one is about you.

I think I've become a bit of a madman. I'm always searching for that cottage that I remember never knowing. I can't find it though. My piece of shite computer searches and searches and searches, everywhere on the internet but it finds nothing. You've gotten the same results too. I know this because you haven't come back. Don't you want to find it? Our cottage by the sea.

I know I want to because I think we had pleasant memories there. It always makes me smile in any event, to think about it. We were happy once, are we happy still? It doesn't feel like it.

When I saw you walking away, back to your London mansion in your expensive, tailored costume, your shoulders seemed sad. They drooped when you walked and your head seemed to hang to your knees. If it's any consolation, I felt the same. We had something once, I'm sure of it. You never see friends sad to part company like that, only lovers. Only lovers are capable of bringing their heart past the ground with their sadness of leaving the other person.

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'Hullo Harry,' Dean leaned over the front desk as Harry tried madly to stop his printer from eating the paper.

Harry looked up and blinked owlishly. He was a skinny man with jet-black hair and emerald green eyes behind coke-bottle spectacles. Harry was pale and prone to a small nervous twitch involving his fingers clicking and cracking of their own accord. He was currently the only male nurse at a private hospital in London proper and had many of the female nurses constantly hanging off of him, hoping for a morsel of attention. Harry fancied men.

'Hullo Dean,' Harry replied.

'Can you smell it?' Dean asked.

This was, in itself and unusual question. If one is talking to another, one usually enquires about the weather or the other person's family. One does not usually ask if the other can smell something as most people have noses and are capable of smelling things without provocation.

Nevertheless, Harry sniffed the air and frowned, 'Cor, what is that?'

Dean chuckled, 'One of the interns lit the matron's kitchen on fire. Seems like you'll be out of coffee for a while there mate. But do drop in, I have that Espresso machine Rachel gave me last Christmas, I'll brew you up a pot.'

With that, Doctor Dean Thomas walked back into his office, shooting Harry a somewhat demonic glare as the sliding door shut. Of course Harry wouldn't go and have a pot of coffee with Dean, he never did. Just as he never attended the staff Christmas parties or went to have a drink with the other matrons after work. No, Harry kept very much to himself.

However, it wasn't the coffee that had caught Harry's attention, it was the fire part. As soon as the four-letter word had been said, Harry's mind had begun to turn.

Immediately, he turned to his computer, ignoring the printer now gorging itself off of paper and typed in an address.

Google popped up and Harry typed in Severus Snape; Thomas & Sanchez. A list of cases that Severus had served on were revealed. Harry clicked on the first one and was rewarded with the answer to his quest. Sitting in size ten Times New Roman at the bottom of the page was the message: For representation, Dr. Snape can be contacted .

'Perfect,' Harry muttered.