What a sad state of affairs it was if Sirius Black had higher hopes in a conversation with Severus Snape than -- literally anyone else on the planet. This one was certainly going better than the last one though. For whatever that was worth.
His grip on his own hands tightened -- it'd been almost ten years and he still didn't like to hear it, didn't like picturing the outcome of that night and the carnage that had happened in it.
It hadn't been a good plan. Obviously. But it had been no fault of Black's or the Potter's which was... more than Snape could have said a week ago. "I--" he paused, uncertain how to word what was on his mind, or perhaps just warring with how to say it to the man in front of him. "-should have known better, than to assume what anyone else said on the matter was correct."