Thanks again for reviewing :) Sorry for the confusion. I'm no good at writing humor, at least no more than a few sentences. Depressing and violent are about all I can do. Haven't read it but I'll look out for it. Not a chance of me becoming a therapist, I'd be incredibly crap at it. Pay can't be worse than what I'm getting at the moment (most weeks I'm €30 or €40 under my rent). I don't think we have Polar Ice in Ireland or I would try it. But finally some foods I recognize :) … (the fruits) but I just can't remember, are kumquats tiny oranges or those little fruits that look like paper lanterns?
Sorry this is so short, next part should be longer.
July 31st.
Hogwarts.
Fudge had been hesitant at first to admit the mistake. But he did, eventually. As a result of that Sirus was now lying on a infirmary bed. It had been decided that while everyone still thought him a psychopathic murdered it would be better if he were not sent to Saint Mungo's. So Poppy Pomphrey had once again been called to care for him.
All of that Snape could understand perfectly. The one thing he was unsure about was why he was currently standing outside the infirmary doors.
It was well after midnight. The entire school was dark and empty. The other teachers had all left for the summer. This was his favorite part of the year. He preferred to be alone.
'So what are you doing here?'
He was just going for a walk. That was it. Before he tried again to sleep. He hadn't meant to come here especially.
He wore heavy dark robes that covered everything from the chin down. He could feel the fabric against the skin of his arms, against the hundreds of pale scars that ran, perfectly parallel, from wrist to shoulder.
A hand raised to rest against the door, pushing it open a crack against the objection of the brain. Two dark eyes looked into the room.
Black was lying very still beneath a starched white sheet. He looked dead, long dead, like a skeleton. Serverus turned to leave. At that moment Sirus opened his eyes. Liquid brown. Dogs eyes. Covering pain, confusion, hurt. Covering a hundred thousand silent screams. Then they drifted shut and he was asleep.