He was hungry. Hunger, it spread across his bowels and was strong it nearly made him break down. Since yesterday morning, he ate hardly anything. He spent that few coins he had on a piece of bread but someone stole it while he fell asleep for a few hours. He hated it. He hated his lack of sight, hated that he wasn't able to find a safe place to stay the night, that he couldn't tell if something is sneaking to him without noise. His instincts that have always been unwavering and reliable disappeared soon after he went blind. Weariness, uncertainty, fear, hunger and cold exhausted him completely and he had no strength to get to his house on Spinner's End.

His wand was broken and he had no money for a new one. Knowing he had his own house with everything he needed made him feel somehow frustrated. If he still had the house, of course. He wasn't in touch with the wizards' world and after his first unsuccessful attempt, he hasn't tried it again. No one cared for him. Actually, the only one he trusted was killed by him. He hoped that he'd die, too. That wish, however, remained unfulfilled and he hasn't found the courage to finish it himself.

Without further thinking, his feet led him on a known path to the cold metal lamp where he sat down on a woefully thin blanket that he pulled out of a shabby pouch in which he kept his most valuable possessions. A box of matches, a candle that could warm his hands. A tinny cup, cutlery (he refused to eat like an animal although he felt exactly like that), two pieces of clothes that were so tattered it wouldn't make any difference wearing them in this kind of weather. A piece of soap that he'd like to use but in such cold weather couldn't imagine to step into the river and wash his clothes. Even though he thought about death all the time, this seemed like a suicide he didn't want to choose. And then there was that one warm scarf in his pouch.

He didn't believe the man would come, although he desperately hoped so. His voice so comforting and vivid, it filled his soul with warmth, tenderly slid to his ears and made him shiver. When he talked to him the day before, it was... nice. He longed to hear his voice again, it was like something familiar came back to him and brought him to another time, when the world still had only one dark side. He enjoyed that feeling. And wanted to experience it again. At the same time, he feared that he saw him in such a pathetic state.

He was shivering from exhaustion, his stomach growling with hunger and his fever kept getting even higher. He started coughing, so he didn't hear quiet hesitating steps approaching him so he jerked when he heard a voice above himself. The voice. His voice. His heart that was beating frantically from the cough stopped for a while before it calmed down its beat. He slowly raised his head and relaxed his hands that were holding his stomach until now. He straightened up.

"I'm glad you're here," said Harry and kneeled next to the man on the ground so he didn't have to look at him from above. He frowned when he didn't see the scarf he gave him yesterday. In the cup in front of him was shining only one lonely penny. He looked around, no one was interested in them, so he pulled a blanket from a magically enlarged pocket and sat on it. "I brought you something. Give me your hand."

The man shook his head. "No."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "I don't intend to cut it off, don't worry."

"I don't want you to get dirty," he explained quietly and Harry couldn't fail to notice the trace of bitterness. "I don't understand why you're helping me. I didn't ask for it. I can't pay you back. But... if you really want to give me something, put it next to the cup. I don't want you to touch me."

"Of course," Harry smiled a little. "I wouldn't want to disrupt your personal space. I just wanted to help." He put the things in front of himself before he gave them to him. "It's cough syrup. Every bottle means a dose for one day. I suppose it wouldn't be easy for you to measure them off from the big bottle." They made a little jingling noise as he put them on the ground. "I didn't mean to offend you anyhow," he said quickly to the man's sudden tension.

"I see." He took one of them and hissed. He knew them so perfectly he had no trouble wondering where they came from and once again regretted his lack of sight. Something in him started wondering if he could have ever met that man sitting next to him before. And his heart suddenly started beating nervously. If the man really were a wizard, he prayed to heaven he didn't recognise him. He curled up even more and resisted the temptation to immediately smell the content of the bottle.

"Here's hot tea and medicine for the fever. It came already, am I right? Take two pills a day, ideally once in the morning and then in the evening." A little bag with white pills and a flask ended up next to the bottles. "And I was thinking..." Harry blushed and ran his fingers through hair. "Are you hungry?"

"No." A sharp tone lost its meaning in the very moment the words echoed through the air, followed by a loud growl in his stomach.

"Okay. Well, if you got hungry later..." He sighed for himself before handing him three sandwiches with ham and cheese. He had no idea what he'd appreciate the most but kept thinking that in his situation, he probably didn't have any thoughts for something in particular. And what irritated him wildly was his reckless behaviour, letting himself get killed perhaps, just because of his useless pride.

"Why?" he hoarsed and had to keep himself from lounging out for the food. He didn't get him and it made him nervous. Despite that, he couldn't turn down his offer twice. His hunger was too significant.

"I don't know," Harry answered and thought about it before sitting more comfortably. "Maybe it's professional deformation. Maybe you're interesting to me. I don't know."

"I don't have anything I could give you," he tried to object. He was angry at himself, for being too miserable to keep himself in control. He wanted to send him off, to stop catching the glimpse of hope for a better life. He has already prepared for death. So why did that young man insisted on giving him another chance for life? So that he could feel better for a few days and then have it even worse after?

"Take the syrup, you'll feel better. And eat something. That'll be enough for me." He started to get up slowly for he was sure the blind man will not do any of these while he's sitting next to him. "Tomorrow you'll tell me if it helped." Then he got serious. "You really should get somewhere warmer."

"Don't even bother tomorrow. You won't find me here." Please, come, even if you should only walk past me.

"I'll be a bit late. I've got a long shift." He stopped after two steps. "Can I have your name?"

"It's not important," Severus mumbled.

"Perhaps tomorrow, then."

"Thank you," he whispered into the sound of more and more distant steps. He shifted into a more comfortable position and leaned on something soft. Amazed, he felt a blanket under his fingers. One lonely tear fell down from his dirty band. So he still had some tears left.

***

He poured himself whiskey just as he came home. A fireplace activated itself with his presence and nice warm flames lit up the whole room. He looked into them as he sat down on a couch in the living room and started wondering.

Why?

He didn't put on another light, the world outside the window was already dark but he didn't need more. The flames gently licked the wood that never disappeared and brightened modern light furniture, drawing moving shadows on the walls and reflected in thoughtful emerald eyes.

Why?

He didn't know. He couldn't find an answer to that question. He had no idea what made him help that dirty man, what made him care. He had never done anything like that before, it must have been related to some kind of need to save someone. He smirked, remembering Snape and his contemptuous face. He would quickly let him know what an idiot he is. But he didn't feel that way. Who knows why he felt like it was a good thing to do. Maybe a crazy one, too, but definitely a good one. He felt the need to do more, bring him somewhere warm, make sure he has somewhere to go to at least get better and live at least some kind of normal life.

That was on his mind while he fought Voldemort. That everyone could live a happy life. That wizards and muggles could live in peace, without fear. But that man probably wasn't scared. He was just so fatalistic, even though he tried so hard and wasn't very successful to hide it. He sighed and drank the rest of whiskey in his glass, called himself a bottle and poured another one. He drank another two before falling asleep on his couch, thinking about the man's eyes covered with a band.

***

He ate the first bread so quickly he didn't even notice how it tasted. What he noticed was how every single bite filled his empty stomach with a warm calming stroke. He enjoyed the second one. He blissfully chewed and enjoyed every flavour that despite its simplicity tasted better than the most luxurious dish from Hogwarts' elves. Who would have thought that one day his exquisite taste will be so keen about something so plain? He couldn't resist and laughed at himself. How low he got? At the very bottom? Perhaps. Or maybe he was still headed there. Those little gestures from that young man kept him from falling from the cliff he was hanging from. And Severus couldn't decide if he should be thankful or hate the man for it.

He wasn't used to believing in illusion. Every one of his steps was very carefully calculated and planned so that he had the most benefits out of everything. At least that was what everyone thought, except for one person. Actually, except for two, he corrected himself. But Albus was dead, he himself killed him on his own request and become even more hated than before. No one knows what he had to do to keep the children at Hogwarts safe from the worst. Only Potter was the second one, to whom he in expectancy of his own death presented his thoughts, and who was Merlin-knows-where. If he could only guess that he will survive the snake's bite, he probably wouldn't have revealed them to him. Perhaps he would have only given him the information, that he is one of the Horcruxes.

But in that very moment, when death was knocking on his door and opening its soothing arms, sentiment got the better of him. He wanted only one soul to exist, that would know the truth. How ironic that he had to survive and end up even worse than when the Lord tortured him before death? He was prepared for it then and couldn't hate the life of an outcast even more. The longer he lived, the more he became aware he welcomed death at ease. But there was still a little glimpse of will to live left, just a tiny light of hope that kept him from staying in the street when it started to rain.

From memory and thorough step-counting he finally got to his place where he usually stayed the night, under some kind of porch of an abandoned house. He found it by accident and was still surprised that no one kicked him out yet. Only sometimes he woke up to find out he was robbed. He sat down on a musty mattress that he kept there and with almost holy respect pulled out his new sweet smelling blanket from his bag. It was so warm. He immediately recognized the warming spell, it was very weak. Just enough for any muggle to think it was just an attribute of material. His suspicion grew even more. He wrapped himself in the blanket and decided to examine the rest of the gifts.

The tea smelled after lemon and herbs, its taste so strong and after he thoroughly smelled it, he simply enjoyed its warmth that spread through him for a while. He remembered that feeling from summer but that was disgustingly hot that only made him sweat so much. He didn't recognise the pills but decided to, maybe foolishly, trust him and swallowed one. If he were to die, then so be it. Still, he refused to believe that the young man wanted him dead.

Thenhe grabbed one of the bottles, one of those his students used to bring him withtheir samples of potions so he could grade them. His hands were shaking, notbecause of cold this time. He forbade himself to think of anything sentimental.When he opened the bottle and smelled it, he couldn't resist though. Plantain,sage, fairy's breath, dragon's heart. Improved version of potion for cough,probably mixed with some kind of pick-me-up and a potion to ease the pain. Nowonder. It really was a wizard. He decided to never come back there.