Back in his chambers, he saw that Lily had prepared his nightly potion. On his bedside table rested a beaker of translucent silver fluid. It had been drawn and altered from the pensive, silver fountain below on the ground floor. The potion would make Albus drowsy at first, and then, if Lily had brewed it correctly, he would replay a pleasant memory as he dreamt. There had been one occasion when Lily had brewed the potion correctly. Whether it was by accident or design, Albus had never been able to find out, though Lily, to this day, had protested her innocence. The result was a bad memory played out instead of a pleasant one, and he had woken in the night in a cold sweat shouting in fear or agony. For this reason, each time he put the phial to his lips, it was with some measure of apprehension. He drank the potion anyway and fell into a restful sleep.