It was two days after the tattoo and Harry was feeling better than he had felt for a long time. The nightmares about Sirius had ceased and thanks to an improvement in his occlumency there had been no visions from Voldemort. Harry still grieved but it was manageable, not the all consuming sorrow he had felt earlier. The tattoo helped with that too, blunting the loss by giving him a hint of Sirius’ playful aura when he felt lowest.

After a long day of cleaning stalls, taking the horses for gallops on the downs, and the like the lads cleared out quite quickly. As usual Harry hung back to see if any extra work was available. He was never in a hurry to return to Snape’s cottage even though the man had begun to treat him with more respect. Arthur greeted his inquiry with his usual gusto and said, “There’s always plenty to do here, my boy. How about if you and Kelly take the truck into town and get a load of feed?”

This proposal was heard with no enthusiasm from Kelly, a younger boy who had taken a disliking to Harry. He gave Harry a glare and said, “I’ll get my jacket,” without a trace of good humor. Harry shrugged and headed for the truck. He had made it a policy to keep his distance from all the lads. His friendship was a surefire ticket to getting killed or at least messed up a bit.

To Harry’s surprise Kelly slid into the passenger seat leaving him no choice but to drive. When Harry looked hesitant Kelly spit out, “I’m not old enough yet to drive,” and sat back with his arms crossed. After pondering the controls for a moment Harry pressed the clutch and fired the engine. His obvious confusion over the gear shift seemed to irritate Kelly even further. Once they were moving, albeit slowly, down the narrow road the boy became even more upset when Harry made no attempt to converse.

“I suppose you think I’m beneath you, not worth talking to,” he finally said. Harry looked at him in surprise.

“That’s not at all what I think,” he said bluntly. He returned his eyes to the road and did not elaborate. The boy’s hostility was difficult to take but it worked well with Harry’s strategy of isolation so he bore it without further protest.

The boy continued to seethe, glaring at Harry with his arms crossed and his back stiff. At long last he grew tired of being ignored and said, “I know what you are, you know.” He nodded at Harry’s forearm where the concealed wand holster was strapped. “I can see that.” The seatbelts were all that kept the two from hitting the windshield when Harry slammed on the brakes. The truck slid to a stop and Kelly flinched back when Harry leaned across the seat with his teeth bared in a snarl. The wand the younger boy had indicated was now pressed to his throat.

“Just who are you,” Harry growled.

“I’m nobody, just a squib,” Kelly said quickly. “Well, nearly a squib. I can manage a few spells and the muggle repelling stuff doesn’t work on me but mostly I’m a squib. I’m happy this way, even have a great muggle girl friend.” He stopped and eyed Harry with large, pleading eyes. Harry felt sick and disgusted with himself for scaring the boy.

Pulling the wand away and replacing it in the holster, Harry said, “Then what is your problem with me? You’ve been riding me since day one.”

Kelly put on a brave face. Harry was reminded of what he must have looked like in second year when everyone thought he was the heir of Slytherin. “You must be one of those stuck up pure blood types. My mum told me about you. You treat all the muggles like they’re dirt, like they’re not even human. Makes me sick, it does.”

Harry rested his head against the steering wheel and let out a great sigh. “You couldn’t be further from the truth, Kelly,” he said tiredly. It never ceased to amaze him how much it hurt to be misunderstood. He felt Padfoot wriggling about and smiled despite his aching heart.

“Then why are you such a bastard all the time?” the younger boy asked. Harry snorted and threw the truck into gear.

“I just don’t want to get too close to anyone, that’s all. It’s nothing to do with them being muggles.”

“Why then?” Kelly persisted.

Harry stopped the truck again. He looked the younger boy in the eyes and asked, “How much do you know about those ‘pure blood types’ that treat muggles like dirt?”

The boy’s eyes dropped to his hands. “Mum says they’re real bad wizards,” he whispered. “The worst one you can’t even say his name.” He looked back up at Harry. “Are you one of them, Ian? Mum says they’ll kill me if they find out I’m a squib.”

The fearful look in Kelly’s eyes struck Harry like a knife in the heart. “No, I’m not,” he said earnestly. “In fact, they are trying to catch me and I don’t want them to come after any of you just because they see me getting friendly with you. So I’m keeping my distance. Understand?” He clapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

The fear in Kelly’s expression changed to something like the hero worship he used to see in Colin Creevey’s eyes. Not sure if this was an improvement Harry hastened to say, “I’m hiding from them so you can’t tell anyone you’ve recognized me, got it? Not even your Mum.” The boy nodded and the rest of the trip in passed in companionable silence.

After the feed was loaded and they were on the way back Kelly said tentatively, “I’ll be your friend, Ian. I’m not worried about those wizards seeing me.”

Harry felt both warmed and chilled by the boy’s offer. The combination made him slightly sick. He looked over at Kelly and said, “Thanks, that’s really brave of you, mate. Just remember to keep yourself safe if any of them show up. That’s the best thing you can do for me.” He thought for a moment and then continued. “In fact, I’d like to show you where I’m staying. If anything happens to me, I want you to run as fast as you can to this cottage. The man who owns it is a powerful wizard and he’ll keep you safe. Okay?” Kelly nodded and Harry drove by Snape’s house and pointed it out.

After they unloaded the feed Kelly said, “Patrick and Robbie are in a musical group. They’re playing tonight at the Thatch.” His voice trailed off and he left the invitation unspoken. Harry found himself unable to refuse the boy’s hopeful expression and agreed to show up later at the pub.

oOoOoOo

It was seven o’clock and Harry wasn’t back yet. Snape paced in front of the window and wrestled with his anxiety. They had no formal agreement for when the boy would come back each night but he had always been here before this. When eight o’clock arrived without a sign of the brat, he cursed and apparated to the farm. After transfiguring his robes into muggle clothing he approached the house. Arthur answered his knock with a friendly smile. “Professor Snape! How can I help you?” he asked.

“Ian hasn’t returned this evening. Do you have any idea where he could be?”

“Ah, well, some of the lads are in a band and they’ve arranged to play at the Thatch tonight. I believe they convinced young Ian to come along.” He gave Severus a concerned frown. “I hope the boy didn’t worry you.”

Snape said, “It’s not like Ian to be late. He must be spreading his wings a little.”

“He’s a very responsible boy, Mr. Snape. I’m sure he’s not getting into anything too terrible.” Arthur gestured to his sitting room. “Care to join me for some tea? I’m just reviewing some tapes of a few horses I’m considering.”

Dredging up a smile Snape declined. “Thanks but I think I’ll head to the Thatch and make sure he’s okay.”

“I know you’re concerned but please take it easy on the boy. The others have been trying to include him since he started and tonight’s the first time he’s taken them up on it. I may be out of line here but I’d see it as a positive step.” The man positively oozed good intentions and his hopeful expression made Snape have to swallow several times to avoid being sick.

Snape smirked. More of the brat’s blasted Gryffindor influence at work. “I’ll be gentle,” he said sarcastically, making a mental note to continue to avoid becoming a member of the whelp’s nauseating fan club. The idea of wearing an insipid smile every time Potter’s name was mentioned was revolting. Arthur looked a little uneasy but gave him directions to the pub and wished him a good evening.

Snape peered in the window at the Thatch. He immediately spotted Harry at a table with several other boys. The young wizard was seated nearest the wall looking vigilant and wary compared to the rest of the pub’s relaxed patrons. His green gaze took in everything as he leaned back in his chair and sipped a pint. With his long hair, tall boots, and stern expression he reminded Snape of the character Strider from a muggle novel he once read. It was a far cry from his boyish appearance of a few months ago.

If nothing else was accomplished by this farce at least the whelp was making the transition into adulthood. He would need every bit of maturity he could muster in the coming war, Snape thought with an unexpected burst of anger. Shaking off the unwanted emotion, Snape headed for the door.

As Snape entered the pub Harry immediately stood and faced him with his hand on his wand. Snape was surprised at how quickly Potter had picked up on his presence in the crowded pub. The boy’s expression went from apprehensive to relieved in a matter of seconds. He left the table with its startled occupants and met his guardian at the door. “Is something wrong,” he asked as his expression went back to concerned.

It struck Snape as rather sad that that would be the boy’s first reaction upon seeing him but he said, “No, I was merely checking up on you.”

Harry’s mobile features changed to a puzzled frown as he asked, “Why?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “You are normally in by this time. I was concerned.” Harry continued to look puzzled which Snape found unaccountably annoying. Before the boy could ask why again he said, “It is customary for one’s guardian to be familiar with one’s schedule and become concerned when there is an unexplained deviation.” He watched impatiently as Harry processed this.

“Oh. Sorry, didn’t realize it worked that way. Um, would you like a pint?” Snape eyed him suspiciously but realized that the boy was telling the truth.

“In the future it would be polite to inform me if you will be staying out later than usual.” Harry nodded agreement and Snape relaxed. “I think a pint would be an excellent idea.” Harry nodded again and waved two fingers at the waitress as they sat down. After introducing Snape to the other lads Harry fell silent, leaving the potions master to flounder through an inane conversation with the muggles. During a lull in the conversation Snape bid the boys farewell and rose to leave. Harry went with him, still not saying anything.

Snape pointed out that it would be unsafe to drive after drinking so Harry agreed to walk home with his guardian. They strolled along in silence for a time then Snape spoke. “They seem like a friendly lot,” he said dispassionately.

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

Snape nodded and they walked for a time in silence again. “”Why do you not return their friendship? It does not seem like your normal behavior.” Snape kept his visage neutral but shifted his eyes to peer at Harry and gauge his reaction. The boy kicked at a stone in the road and shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

“They don’t need my friendship,” he said. His voice was cold.

Returning his eyes to the path Snape nodded again. “Why then, do you think they continue to pursue it?” Harry shrugged and kept his eyes on the ground as well.

“I dunno. They’re better off this way,” he declared.

“I must repeat my previous belief that it is their decision, not yours, Harry.” Snape stopped and turned to face his young charge. Harry faced him as well and Snape watched many conflicting emotions cross his face.

“It’s not fair to them,” Harry said forcefully. His unhappiness showed in every line of his body from his slumped shoulders to his scuffling feet.

Gently Snape put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Harry tensed but did not pull away. Counting that as a small victory Snape said, “It is not fair to constantly rebuff them. It is not fair to you either. And who wins when everyone is unhappy?”

Harry huffed. He looked up and Snape could see unshed tears glittering in the boy’s green eyes. “You can’t protect them, Potter. Not from everything. And it hurts everyone when you behave like this.” He was amazed to find himself wanting to physically comfort this boy. The same brat that was the bane of his existence was now weaseling his way into what was left of his emotions. His stomach roiled as he realized he was dangerously close to joining the Potter fan club.

“Don’t,” Harry said roughly. Staving off the inexplicable desire to do more, Snape squeezed the boy’s shoulders and dropped his hands. Together they turned toward the cottage and strode along in silence. Once inside Harry went quickly into his room before Snape could pursue the conversation. He could hear the boy pacing the floor but elected to let him think over what had been said.

In the days that followed Snape noticed some improvement in the boy’s attitude. Breakfast became a time for conversation instead of Harry’s previous routine of bolting his food and leaving without a word. Snape accepted this change without comment as it seemed the young wizard was very uncomfortable about making the overture. His downcast eyes and one sentence responses were irritating but a step in the right direction. Harry surprised Snape by showing up early a few evenings and reading in the library.

Snape arrived home from a staff meeting early one evening to find his charge pacing the parlor. As he stepped from the floo Harry’s anxious eyes raked over him. The boy’s tension was obvious but he said nothing as he looked the potions master up and down, avoiding his eyes. With a curt nod the boy spun and walked stiffly out the back door. Confused, Snape followed him and watched as Harry stopped and stood rigidly, arms crossed and eyes on the horizon.

“Harry?” Snape said softly. “What is wrong?”

The boy remained facing away. Snape could see he was strung as tight as a bow and trembling slightly. After a pause Harry forced out, “Nothing.”

Snape rolled his eyes theatrically and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What is it? You are obviously upset.” Harry shrugged off his hand and stepped away.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside.” He scrubbed at his scar with the heel of his left hand. Snape noticed with surprise that he was clutching his wand in his right. Suddenly losing patience, Snape grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face him.

“What is it?” he repeated, this time louder and with a frown. The boy avoided his eyes but made no further attempt to evade him. “Just tell me and it will be done.”

Harry swiped at his scar again and said, “It’s my scar. It’s been hurting all day. Stabbing me over and over.” The hand holding the wand combed through his hair and Snape noted idly that there was clover entwined in the strands. “I was worried, you know, about what he was doing that he would be stabbing me like that.” The boy took a deep, shuddering breath and stopped.

Starting to get concerned, Snape tried to lead Harry back into the house. The boy jerked away and hissed, “No.” He sucked in a few more breaths and said, “I came home after the last race.” His green eyes slid quickly over Snape’s face without pausing. “You weren’t here. You’re always here. I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know if you needed help.” Ragged breathing punctuated Harry’s staccato sentences.

Snape took a step back from the boy and said, “You needn’t get so concerned about my welfare, Potter. I’m the adult here.” Potter’s anxiety was unnerving and unwanted.

A barking laugh was his response. “It doesn’t work that way, Professor. Don’t you get it?” The boy stared at his feet. “That’s why I can’t do this! You don’t get to choose.”

Suddenly Harry clutched at his scar with both hands, his wand clattering to the ground. Snape grabbed his shoulders but the boy wrenched away with a cry. “Don’t look at me, not in the eyes! Ahh, Merlin, stop it!” he snarled. When the potion master continued to try to face him he struggled away from him and staggered toward the trees. “Don’t do it! I’m a bloody Basilisk – look into my eyes and you die! Even Dumbledore won’t look at me when I’m like this,” he groaned. Knocking the man’s hands away he lurched a couple of steps and waved his hands. “Go back in the house,” he pleaded. He muttered a privacy charm and sunk to his knees.

Snape stepped closer and into the range of the spell. He heard Harry’s voice, higher than normal, repeating frantically, “Gotta clear my mind, clear my mind!” The boy convulsed and screamed, “Clear out, bastard!” then wailed, “Stop!” With both hands pressed to his forehead and his eyes clenched shut the boy presented a pathetic picture. Feeling helpless and afraid, Snape knelt beside Harry and grabbed his shoulders again. Harry twisted his face away, “Go away, he’ll see you,” he moaned.

There was no time to think about what anyone else would do. Grabbing the boy’s chin Snape forced Harry to make eye contact. “It’s like you just said, Mr. Potter. You don’t get to choose.” Maintaining the visual lock he said firmly, “Clear your mind, I’ll help you.” Harry whimpered but tried to comply. The boy’s eyes flashed red for a second but Snape did not back away. “Clear your mind,” he repeated. The boy was sweating profusely and shaking but he rallied. Snape could tell by his steadier breathing that he was succeeding. Suddenly Harry slumped forward, his forehead resting on Snape’s chest.

“He’s gone,” he whispered. They sat there in silent support until Harry’s shoulders stopped shaking. The boy raised his head off Snape’s chest and lifted his eyes to meet his professor’s. Wordless thanks passed between them and together they rose and returned to the cottage.

Harry slumped on the couch and Snape went into the kitchen to prepare some tea. As he carried the pot into the living room he paused in the doorway to look at the boy. Harry was nervously running his fingers through his hair. The act strongly recalled the boy’s father but there was no arrogance in Harry’s actions. Instead it made him look vulnerable and uncertain. The clover that was stuck in his hair came away in his fingers and Harry looked at it bemusedly.

“Why do you have grass in your hair?” Snape asked as he handed Harry his cup. The boy looked blankly at the grass then up at the older wizard.

“What?” Snape patiently repeated his query. “Oh. Um, I had a fall today.” Harry waved his hand vaguely and Severus noticed his ring finger was bent at a rather odd angle. When he pointed this out Harry grunted, “Broken,” as he sipped his tea.

Snape sat back with his own cup and surveyed his charge over the rim. “Doesn’t it hurt?” he asked. Harry gave him another perplexed look.

“I think my finger is the least of my worries.” Snape’s subtly raised brow prompted him to admit, “Yeah, it hurts. Satisfied?”

“And were you planning to come to me for help with it?” Harry frowned.

“There hasn’t exactly been time.” The boy looked at Snape’s bland features and sighed. “Professor, could you help me with this finger please?”

Setting his cup on the table Snape moved onto the couch next to Harry. “Let’s see it.” The boy rolled his eyes but held out the offending digit for inspection. Snape squeezed and prodded the finger, bringing tears to Harry’s eyes but the boy clenched his jaw and did not allow any sounds to pass his lips. Snape resisted the impulse to continue until the boy cried uncle. Instead he flicked his wand and the finger straightened abruptly.

“Yeeee!” Harry hissed. “That was worse than the breaking.” He waved his hand and grimaced. Snape smirked and went back to his own chair.

oOoOoOo

Days later Harry arrived at the track with the feeling it was not going to go well. Mounted on Arthur’s mare, Godiva, he waited nervously for his instructions. He looked down into Robbie’s familiar face. “Alright there, Ian?”

“Yeah, thanks Robbie.”

Robbie gave him a smile and a brotherly tap on the leg. “Safe trip,” he said and stepped away. Robbie’s concern gave Harry a warm feeling of belonging closely followed by guilt for the way he had treated the boy. He hadn’t thought any of the boys cared about his attitude but after his discussions with Kelly and Snape he realized that was wrong. Being nobody’s friend was turning out to be more difficult than it seemed. He wondered how many of the boys thought he was being elitist instead of merely invisible as he had intended.

Pushing those thoughts aside he concentrated on the upcoming race. The mare was nicely trained and Harry knew her well. The thrill of racing energized him like nothing else except Quidditch. As the race began he laughed aloud and felt Sirius bounding along in time with Godiva’s pounding hooves. They jumped around fast and clean and brought home a victory. Arthur was pleased and the young wizard blushed as the trainer heaped on the praise. It felt good that these people appreciated him for his own merits, not because of his scar. Their trust made his deceit trouble him even more than before the race.

. Things went downhill as the weather deteriorated. He picked up a couple of rides from other trainers after finishing his duties with Arthur. Rain bit at his cheeks during his next ride and the horse slipped on the wet turf at the fifth fence, sending Harry tumbling hard into the base of the jump. A hoof caught him fiercely in the shoulder blade as he fell and added to his misery. He trudged back to the stabling area where he listened to the trainer explain what happened to the owner. The regulation slap on the back jarred his bruised shoulder but he clenched his teeth and smiled.

The next race was no fun at all with the rain and sore shoulder but with some artful riding he managed to bring the flagging horse home a respectable fifth. The trainer grunted and handed him his pay envelope without comment. Harry gritted his teeth to hold back a surly retort. Limping back to the changing room he grabbed his kit and stalked off to his motorcycle. The thought of returning to Snape’s cozy cottage was most welcoming and he decided to do just that instead of lingering at the track.

The wet ride home seemed to take longer than usual. The sting of the rain was amplified by his speed and by the time he reached the cottage he was thoroughly miserable. He parked the bike and hobbled up the steps to the front door. A hint of dark magic subtly tainted the air but, anticipating a comforting mug of hot chocolate, he walked straight in without knocking or announcing his presence. It was hard to say who was more shocked: Harry, Snape, or the deatheater who was sipping firewhiskey by the fireplace.

Moments later Harry knelt beside the still form of professor Snape. “Oh please, don’t be dead,” he keened. With hesitant movements he touched the man’s face. He felt warm and alive, not like the already cooling McNair. Breathing a sigh of intense relief he stood and staggered over to the fireplace. The small pot of floo powder tipped over and spilled across the mantel as his shaking fingers brushed against it. He scraped together a handful and tossed it into the flames. “Professor Dumbledore’s office,” he said unsteadily

On his knees before the flames, Harry was sharply reminded of the last time he had spoken through the floo like this. Images of Sirius at Grimmauld place washed over him but he fought them back, concentrating on the task at hand. He thrust his face into the blaze and called out, “Professor Dumbledore?”

His relief at seeing the headmaster was so great he almost fell back out of the fireplace. Instead he took a careful breath, mindful of the soot, and said, “Please sir, Professor Snape is hurt and needs you to come right away.”

Dumbledore stood immediately and made his way toward the fire. “Step back from the floo my boy,” he said calmly. “I shall be through directly.”

The thought of facing the headmaster sent Harry into a panic. Lurching to his feet he fought a wave of dizziness and staggered out the front door. Like a shining patronus in the swirling sea of his emotions, the bike waited in the front yard. No longer conscious of the cold and rain, he mounted the bike and kicked the starter. Mercifully it caught on the first try and without a backward glance he was away.