The boy was clearly lost.

Snape hunched over his work table, staring moodily into the shallow bowl before him. The boy's soul was lost, and he had yet to find any guide home. Shrugging off a slight shiver than ran down his spine, he chanted the incantation that would reveal any pathways between worlds.

The chilly air of the work room settled around his words. Dampness seeped from the stones, misting condensation on the outside of the jars of ingredients scattered about the room. Even though the weather outside spoke of a perfect summer day, the air in the work room was reminiscent of a wet November morning.

The violet liquid in the bowl lay still, offering no indication of a pathway between worlds. The only image revealed by the potion was the narrow reflection of a frowning man.

It was merely routine to search for anything, at this point. Snape sighed, reluctantly admitting that it was not only in the magical realm in which the boy was lost. Harry had been neglecting his own health, not eating, spending so much time alone in his room, staring off into space, no doubt mired in his own thoughts...

A loud thud echoed above him: the singular sound of a bookcase-concealed passageway opening. Feet clattered against the wooden steps leading down to the workroom.

Snape stood, grasping his wand. If Dumbledore had given the password to his work room to that Weasley woman... He was unsure what to protect first. She might try to clear away the burn marks on the table...or the stacks of parchments he had lined up against one wall...or the jars of pickled creatures lined up on a low shelf. Oh bollocks, the jars had a layer of dust on them. He could imagine her cleaning spells now, moving everything out of order...

But no, the feet on the stairs weren't pounding away with a single-minded purpose. They had taken up a skipping staccato.

He only knew one person who skipped down steps, although he certainly hadn't heard that sound for the past few days. He flicked his wand at the shallow bowl, levitating it to a cabinet.

As the bowl settled onto a shelf, the violet liquid inside gave a slight ripple. Although the potion inside was spread thinly, a light glimmered within it from a great depth.

Snape frowned at it, but saw nothing further. He shook his head. Trick of the light.

A flushed teenager galloped down the last of the steps. Rushing headlong across the stone floor, Harry braked himself by throwing his hands up. Palms collided with the work table, causing the glass vials on the surface to tremble.

"Hey," he said, attempting a casual tone through his gasps for air, as if this were the normal way to enter a room.

The boy was a menace.

"Mrs. Weasley wants to know if there's any wizard space--" Harry began.

"Be still," Snape interrupted, circling around the table. Although he was it was certainly a good sign to see the boy up and about again, the breathlessness and flushed face were clear signs of unacceptable behavior. He just needed further proof. Holding the boy still with one hand to his shoulder, Snape brushed his fingers through the boy's hair.

The flyaway strands were hot from remembered sunlight. His fingertips came away tinged with yellow from a dusting of tree pollen.

"You've been climbing," he accused.

"Haven't!" said Harry, but his voice was uncertain. He touched his scalp were Snape's fingers had been, a strange look on his face.

Snape thumbed the pollen off his fingers and slid an empty cauldron towards Harry. "Skele-gro," he ordered. "If I'm going to use up my medical supplies on your inevitable injuries, you may as well make them yourself." He leaned against the table and studied the boy. "What were you saying when you tumbled in here like a drunken chimp?"

"I haven't broken a bone in months," grumbled Harry, but he began pouring ingredients, his movements quick and smooth. "Oh, and wizard space. Mrs. Weasley wants to know if there's any in the kitchen."

"Incendio," said Snape, setting the fire under the cauldron. "Why does that meddlesome woman need to know?"

Harry shrugged as he hooked a stool with one leg and hopped onto it. "Figuring where to put her pots and pans." He gave Snape a sidelong glance. "You haven't finished the sandwich she made."

Snape picked up his half-eaten sandwich and took another bite. It was a rather good sandwich. "My pans should certainly suffice."

"Pan," Harry corrected. "You have one."

"Even so..." He settled on a stool next to Harry, their elbows nearly touching. The boy was quite good at potions, but it couldn't hurt to observe him closely.

Harry smelled of cut grass and freshly turned earth. He was still pale and thin from the days he spent isolated in his room, but he had the glow of a summer afternoon spent outdoors. The black strands parted to reveal a small movement underneath.

Snape's squinted suspiciously and reached across the small space between them. Diving a hand into the nest of hair again, he searched until something brittle moved between his fingers.

"Aha!" he said, pulling out a tiny, wriggling shape. He held the black insect in front of Harry's face. "A bark beetle. Found only in trees."

Harry grimaced and patted down his hair. "Er...how did that get in there?"

"How, indeed?"

The boy shrugged, hunching over the potion. "There was this oak by the river...but it was only 20 feet high. That barely counts!"

"Imp. I should charm your feet to weigh fifty pounds each."

A sly smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth. "So I can stomp down trees instead of climb them? That could be fun. Though it might cause problems when I help Mrs. Weasley move in her things."

Snape flicked the beetle into the air and banished it. "Perhaps your hands as well..." He frowned. "Things? You mean pots and pans?"

"Half a mo." Harry counted under his breath as he stirred. "Pots, pans, extra clothes, more food...she figures she can transfigure the rest. Turn the sofa into a bed..."

"Bed?" Snape stood, leaning over the boy. "How long is she intending to stay?"

"Not too long. Just for the next month or so..."

"Month?"

"She says she wants to lavish us with care."

"Why can't she lavish those children of hers?" growled Snape. "I can think of a few Weasleys that could do with a good, solid lavishing."

Harry watched the bubbling potion carefully as he added his last ingredient. "They're busy. Going to the Quidditch World Cup," he said.

Snape stared glumly at a burn mark on the work table. Off to see the Cup, while he and Harry were stuck with lectures on proper nutrition and hygiene.

Harry tapped his stirrer against the side of the cauldron to shake off the excess potion. "You know, Ron did mention that they had two extra tickets. D'you think we could convince them to invite us along?"

"Possibly..." Snape paused, a little alarm bell going off in the back of his head. The same alarm that went off whenever one of his Slytherins tried to convince him to alter a an exam mark. When had Harry ever referred to Quidditch with such neutral disinterest? The boy was so enamored with the sport, he practically gasped the word. Snape smelled a rat. And not the one pickled and stored on a nearby shelf.

"Then again," said Snape, smoothly switching gears, "I wouldn't want to impose."

Harry's whole body drooped, and the grey, blank face that Snape had seen for the past few days reappeared. "Oh."

Snape felt a twinge in his stomach. The boy's good cheer was clearly hanging by a thread. Watching the boy slowly descend into depression was not something Snape wanted to experience again.

And it was the Quidditch World Cup.

"But I imagine you can smooth over any imposition," Snape continued.

Harry leapt off the stool and collided with Snape in a bear hug. "Absolutely! It'll be brilliant!"

Snape stood frozen, wrapped by strong, wiry arms. He recovered after a moment, slowly extricating himself. "Yes...well...behave yourself while we're there. Or I'll tell Molly about that beetle in your hair."

Harry let go and clapped his hands protectively over his scalp. "Don't you dare! I saw her fingering a comb when I got near her earlier. She wants to comb me." He hopped onto the bottom step. "I'll go tell Ron."

"You mean ask him." Snape lifted an eyebrow. "For an invitation to join them?"

"Er...right." With a sheepish look, Harry backed toward the stairs.

Snape stopped him with a raised hand. "Tell me...was Mrs. Weasley really transfiguring a bed?"

"Yes! Although...that may have been so that I have something larger to sleep on. She said she likes to apparate to the comfort of her own home at night." He shrugged, his fingers dancing nervously on the banister.

Snape shook his head. "Well? Go on, before I decide whether to hex you or ground you for your impudence."

With the flash of a grin, the boy rushed off.

Snape turned back to the work table, and sent the ingredients bobbing back to their shelves, smiling in satisfaction. Despite Molly's interfering, he was the one who managed to lift the boy's spirits. It wasn't until he caught himself humming under his breath that he stopped, wondering at his strange mood, and began to feel a bit lost, himself.

* * *

"Three cheers for Ireland!" squawked a drunken wizard, stumbling through a campfire. The hem of his robe smoked as he landed against Snape. "I won thirty Galleons on Ireland, and I want to cele--celeb--have fun," he finished, his pointed hat tilting precariously to the side. "Let me buy you a drink, friend," he slurred. "Oh, barkeep," he called, beckoning to a nearby tent pole.

The tent pole ignored him. Snape put out the smoke twisting its way up the robe and pushed the man aside. He wound his way through the glow of campfires, searching. It was late at night, but the glow from campfires, lanterns, and frequent fireworks overhead kept the swarms of celebrating witches and wizards in clear view.

Near a the dark shadow of a small tree he caught a half-moon flash of light, one that came from the glint of firelight off spectacles.

Snape pursued it, winding through a gaggle of wizards who were singing Ireland's national anthem at the top of their lungs. He ducked under a teetering banner that was flashing the winning score.

Among the off-key singing and crack of fireworks were the shouts of two identical voices that he'd learned to associate with impending disasters:

"I'm sure we can turn this into a charm. We just need to get the movements down..."

"Watch it!" said the other voice. "You've got your foot in my ear!"

Snape pushed aside a tent in flashing green and came upon a much abused tree in the middle of the campsite. Streamers and other and debris hung from it, as did a tangle of freckled arms and legs. The Weasley twins dangled from the branches, twisting their bodies like banners in the wind.

Harry stood nearby, holding casting light with his wand, his expression halfway between amused and annoyed.

Snape stared.

Three pairs of green eyes blinked back at him.

Finally George Weasley cleared his throat. "Thought a few climbing lessons might come in handy."

Fred Weasley grinned, attempting to stuff something in his pocket--a task made more difficult in an upside-down position. "Purely for academic interest, of course."

Snape strode over to them, levitating them both out of the trees, keeping them upside-down. Then he flicked his wand up and down, alternately shaking each one like salt and pepper pots.

Out of Fred's pockets fell a series of paper-wrapped sweets. "Oi!" said Fred, flailing his freckled arms about.

Lowering the twins slowly, Snape then dropped them the last few feet onto the ground. They bounced slightly on their bums and tumbled over each other as they came to a rest on a grassy patch below the tree.

A red sweet rolled to a stop near his black boots. Snape plucked it from the grass and examined it carefully.

"That's ours!" shouted George, struggling to stand and teetering over onto his side.

Snape turned the sweet over to read the writing on the wrapper:

Trapped in the infirmary from one of our skiving snacks? Escape out the window with this climbing charm!

"And the reason I should not give you both detentions is...?" he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Teachers can't give detentions over the summer," he said.

"In this case, I shall find a way." Snape pocketed the sweet.

"You can't confiscate, either!" protested George.

"Not without a parent's permission, no. Perhaps we should return to the Burrow and discuss this with your mother?"

The twins grumbled as they dusted themselves off and stalked away.

Snape turned toward Harry. "You shouldn't encourage them. In anything. And sneaking out of bed--"

Harry ran for the tree, his momentum getting his feet halfway up the trunk before he had to reach for a branch. He twisted, landing neatly on a curve in a thick lower limb. "Wasn't sneaking. Mr. Weasley said we could stay up. It was fun. Educational. Want to have a go?" He patted the branch that supported him. "I bet I can teach anyone."

Severus stepped back from the tree. "I think never."

The boy turned and rested in the crook of the tree, his fingers laced behind his head as though he were lolling about on soft pillows. The golden light from nearby campfires cast a glow around him. "S'not difficult. Just takes practice. And calluses."

Severus shifted uneasily.

"Oh," said Harry. He pulled himself upright and ran a hand through his hair. "My dad used to be afraid of heights, too."

"I am not afraid of heights," retorted Snape. "I simply see no reason for both of us to risk our necks senselessly."

"That's what my dad used to say. Still, whenever he got too far off the ground, he got a little...twitchy."

"It is merely distance. One cannot be afraid of distance."

Harry's swinging feet stilled as he stared through the branches at the sky beyond, a familiar longing look flitting across his features. "I dunno about that."

A sharp scream of terror punctured the celebratory rumble around them.

He whirled, gesturing sharply for Harry to join him. The crowds of revelers had thinned, many streaming away from the source of the scream. The two prowled slowly through the campsite. Snape saw them first when they moved past a cluster of tents.

Black robes. Masks.

Behind him, Harry sucked in a breath. "Death Eaters."

Snape pushed Harry behind him, out of their line of sight. He moved carefully backward, no sudden movements, nothing to draw attention toward them. It seemed as though Harry's ragged panting was too loud, his skin catching every flicker of the firelight, announcing his presence to any who cared to pay attention. Snape didn't draw a deep breath until they were several hundred yards away. He glanced at Harry curiously, then. "You can recognize Death Eaters?"

Harry made a vague gesture, shadows hiding his eyes. "Dad showed me once. When he was trying to explain. He keeps his hidden under wards. In the back--"

"--of my wardrobe. Yes." Even though he couldn't see the robe and mask under the wards, he could feel them, every time he opened that wardrobe door.

"Harry!"

Hermione Granger dashed towards them, frazzled hair flying around her. Behind her followed Ron Weasley and the twins. Hermione gasped to a stop. "We've been looking for you. Mr. Weasley's gone to get reinforcements. They say there are-" she froze as another scream split the night. "We need to get out of here." She grabbed Harry's hand and pulled, only to stop short. "Sir?"

Snape realized he was gripping Harry's shoulder, holding him close to his side. Slowly he released his grip and met the boy's eyes. "Go with them. Keep to the forest."

Ron Weasley looked curiously at him. "You're going to...fight them?"

Snape heard the unspoken doubt in the young voice, and ignored it, turning to Harry. "I need to observe. Go."

Harry's mouth turned downward, but he nodded, falling in step with the small group as they headed towards the woods. His red and yellow Muggle shirt was a bright flag among the dark milling figures.

Snape watched his small form moving further and further away until long after he was swallowed by the crowd. Then he cleared his thoughts and moved against the flow of the fleeing witches and wizards.

The white of the Death Eater masks were etched sharply against their dark hoods as they strode through the campsite. They were laughing, walking shoulder to shoulder, comrades.

He wasn't surprised that he hadn't been invited to join in their activities. Even when he had been loyal to the Dark Lord's cause, he had been seen as an outsider. His years working for Dumbledore only caused the others to look on him with more suspicion. But he was not envious of the closeness they shared.

It was a lie.

Death Eaters tore through the camp, playing their macabre games with the Muggle family floating helplessly before them. The Muggle woman struggled to keep her dignity as she was held upside down with the flick of a wand and a mocking incantation.

Snape's gut twisted as he followed, watching from the shadows. He pressed the pads of his fingertips into the smooth ebony of his wand. You're a coward if you don't stop them. But that thought was chased by another: you're a fool if you do. If you are seen defending Muggles...He pushed the roiling thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand. Identifying most of his former comrades from their movements and their magic, he mentally tallied who was present, and who was not.

Distracted, he did not realize he'd lost his cover until a moment too late. He came into a space free of tents and debris, to the side of the Death Eaters. One glance to the left by any of them, and he would be seen.

But they did not glance to the left. A virulent, green glow emanated from above. The group looked up as a ghostly snake and skull appeared overhead. The Dark Mark floated in the night sky, smothering the stars.

With a yelp, a masked figure tore away from the group and fled. The rest of the Death Eaters scattered in his wake, scurrying into the shadows.

Snape stood rooted to the spot, a coldness crawling down his spine. The faded Mark on his arm burned, and he clutched at it through his robes.

Once, he had thought that symbol had meant closeness, pulling them all together from any distance, a shared vision. But the illusion shattered, thirteen years ago, with one name on the Dark Lord's lips: Harry Potter.

With that thought, he turned and headed toward the forest.

* * *

"Lumos."

The tip of Snape's wand glowed faintly green under the night sky. The green light undulated, a sign that the serpent above him was moving, curling its way through the mouth of the skull.

Snape resisted the urge to look at it again.

A witch hurried past him, her bare feet squelching in the wet grass. Her hands worried the hem of her sleeve. She turned red-rimmed eyes toward the Dark Mark hovering in the sky as she passed, and shouted, "Ian! Ian, where are you?"

"Harry!" Snape called.

He was drowned out by other voices. Families had gotten scattered. Fear and confusion had escalated to terror and chaos. Parents everywhere were calling out for their children.

Harry couldn't possibly hear him.

Severus felt a terrible constriction in his chest. He needed to find the boy now. He rolled his wand between his fingers and thumb, and thought back to the Patronus that he and Harry had summoned together at Godric's Hollow. He remembered the sense of protection, of connection, and came to a decision.

Closing his eyes, he fell back into his memories, trusted and true, of sunny childhood days, and the shining figure of one red-headed girl. The images and feelings flowed from a place he kept carefully hidden: clasped hands, whispered secrets, helpless giggles. He could feel the magic building within him.

But something shifted, like a lens suddenly snapping into focus. New memories were right there for the taking, had been there just out of sight. Images of a thin, bespectacled boy emerged from the deep. He knew every nuance of that face now; Harry grinning, frowning in concentration, or looking up at him, filled with a light that glowed with the infinite power of the sun.

Something cracked inside him, shattering to pieces. Light filled him, poured through him, out of him. And he understood the connection, one fragile soul touching another; he knew it as well as he knew the thrum of magic in his veins, the beating of his heart.

"Patronum Duos," he whispered.

A silver strand unwound from his wand, curling around the tree trunks in the forest, probing into the darkness within. Shadows bled in its wake.

Something reached deep inside him and pulled. Suddenly Harry felt close enough to touch. He stumbled forward, following the rope of light, and trying to recover from the feeling of being turned inside out.

The light guided his way through the shadows, gradually becoming brighter. Through the trailing branches of a willow it spun and grew, until it solidified into a silver doe. She stood by a magnificent oak tree, her head tilted upward.

He stepped closer, and reached out towards the clear light. Centimeters away, but he pulled his hand back, deep into his robes. Something in those eyes stopped him.

Deep, ageless eyes that were filled with an inexplicable sorrow.

In a blink, she vanished.

Casting Lumos again, he craned his neck backward to look up into the branches.

Five pairs of dangling legs greeted him. The Weasley twins were swinging their feet and grinning; Miss Granger was yanking at a twig that had gotten snarled in her hair; Ron Weasley had his hands wrapped tightly around a branch in front of him as he leaned forward. "Sir," said Ron, "I think you should take a look at Harry."

But Snape already had his gaze trained on the boy.

Harry sat comfortably, but was gasping for breath. His face was pale and his arms and legs trembled. His eyes were unfocused, as though seeing something far away. "I just saw the world split in two," he whispered hoarsely.

Amidst the turmoil roiling through his heart, a new fear blossomed in Severus.

* * *

Harry recovered. Severus didn't.

He had escorted the other children as quickly as possible back to Arthur Weasley. They had all looked pale and tired, but that hadn't stopped the man and his children from peppering him with questions.

Snape could only shake his head, insisting that he and Harry must leave.

Finally Arthur shushed them and sent them to gather their things. He smiled weakly at Snape. "I won't feel safe until my children are in bed behind warded walls," he said.

Snape looked into those tired eyes and realized he now knew how the man felt. His voice left him, and he turned away, holding Harry close, and apparated to Hogwarts.

Poppy hadn't been able to do anything for Harry. But the boy regained his color and strength quickly. Snape set up a bed for him in his quarters and sat nearby as the boy rested, doing his best to talk of inconsequential things. It was in the small hours of the night that Harry lapsed into silence. Snape thought him asleep when he heard a quiet whisper:

"What's wrong with me?"

A weakness entered Snape's limbs, but he kept his voice firm. "Nothing to worry about. I'll find a cure."

"I know you will." And with that, the boy turned over, nestling into the sheets.

Snape listened to the sounds of Harry's breathing, until the boy was fast asleep. Then he touched the fingers curled softly on the mattress. He ran his fingertips along the callused surface of the curved palm, like a blind man searching for answers. He rose and stalked to his own room to pace away the remaining night.

He knew no cure would be forthcoming.

* * *

The next day, the sun was shining on the Hogwarts grounds as if the long night before had never happened. Snape did his best to keep that feeling afloat, resting beneath a birch tree and digging his hands into the cool grass. He pulled an orange out of a brown paper bag. On the outside of the bag was scrawled, "Daily Care Package! Use it! -Molly Weasley." Snape banished the bag and began peeling the orange, never taking his eyes off one of the stone walls of Hogwarts a few yards away.

On that wall clung a dark-haired boy in Muggle clothes. His trainers dug into the grey stones, his arm reaching up for another handhold. Snape had never really observed him this long as he climbed. He wasn't simply boundless energy-he was focused determination.

He heard a soft chuckle behind him. Dumbledore stood near the birch tree, smiling. "It's been a long time since I've seen you enjoying the grounds, Severus."

Standing up quickly, Snape brushed at his robes impatiently. "I was not expecting you back so soon."

"I could hardly ignore your owl." Dumbledore glanced at the boy, who was carefully adjusting his footing on the stone face. "His recent troubles haven't affected his agility, I see."

Snape growled. "At the Quidditch World Cup, I forbade him from climbing trees. And Quidditch banner poles. And the support struts of the bleachers."

"I see," said Dumbledore, amusement hiding in the corners of his eyes. "And did that manage to...ah...ground him?"

"Hardly. It's as if I forbade him to breathe. "Now I just set cushioning spells under him." Snape's mouth twitched. "Insolent child."

"He's looking well, despite his brushes with gravity."

Snape grunted. "Blame that horrible woman you sent to my house."

"Ah yes, Molly. It appears that she did quite well with both of you. You're looking much more...well, forgive me Severus, but until now you always had the look of a tree in winter."

"Don't speak to me of trees," Snape grumbled. He studied the movements of the boy on the wall.

A stone under Harry's foot crumbled. The boy slipped, his hands scrabbling for purchase. Pebbles rained down as he pressed his body against the wall to slow his descent.

Snape whipped his wand out and began an incantation, hissing the chant quickly as he felt the protective magic build inside him.

But Harry had slowed his descent. His feet found toeholds, and he stopped for a moment. Then, with a little shake of his head, he was moving upward again.

Snape let his hand drop, the incantation unfinished.

Dumbledore raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I thought you said you set a cushioning spell?"

"I did," said Snape. He fiddled with his wand for a moment before pocketing it. "Knowing the boy, he'd find a way to get himself killed despite protective spells."

"Spells?"

"Just a few. I can't leave his safety to a mere cushioning spell. And I can't be expected to watch him constantly."

"No, no one expected that," murmured Dumbledore. The headmaster scratched at his beard. "Perhaps someone other than Molly is responsible for you looking so...well tended? I must say, I haven't seen you looking like this since your fourth year at Hogwarts. I'm sure you remember the time you were attacked by that stray Bludger and a certain young Gryffindor came to see you at the infirmary every day..."

Snape was getting an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I didn't ask you here to talk about my health."

"No, of course not." All traces of amusement left Dumbledore's face. "When did Harry say it started?"

"The end of the World Cup. He said-" Snape caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

A body was falling from the wall, arms and legs splayed out in the air. Harry curled his body into a compact shape as it encountered the cushioning spell. He bounced upward and threw his arms and legs out on the rebound, as though playing on an invisible trampoline.

Snape had run toward him at the first sight of the fall, and came to a halt just in front of the cushioning shield. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Falling," replied Harry. "Never tried the walls of Hogwarts before. Bit tricky." He bounced up and down on the invisible shield. "Landing was fun, though." The boy looked up at the wall. "I bet I could get further on another go."

Snape felt his heart pound faster. "Since you're unable to keep your balance, you'll do nothing of the sort. I've had enough of watching you fall from heights for one day. Do you wish me to forbid climbing again? There are spells that will stop you from scaling so much as a footstool."

The boy paled. "Sorry, Sir. I had another one of those visions, and it threw me off."

Snape nodded, a rawness filling his throat.

"They've been coming more often?" inquired the headmaster.

Harry nodded. "They get stronger each time. It comes up from the ground, but no one else feels it--"

The sound of roaring water filled Snape's ears. "Yes, all right," he said, desperate to end the discussion. "Go wash up for supper."

The boy gaped at him. "It's the middle of the afternoon!"

Snape glanced up to see the sun still shining brightly overhead. He wasn't one to lose his sense of time. Gathering his senses, he tried to smooth over the error. "Then go wash up and study, so I don't have to worry about you falling on your head and incurring further brain damage."

"But I finished my summer studying, and classes don't start until-"

"Footstool," warned Snape.

Harry eyed him. "You said we could explore later. Said we could do a scavenger hunt..."

Snape glanced sidelong at the headmaster, who had a horrible knowing smile on his face. "I said nothing of the sort! I said I needed potions ingredients. You are the one who must turn everything into some sort of...into something..."

"I believe the word you're searching for," murmured Dumbledore, "is fun."

Gryffindors! He'd had enough of Gryffindors! But the green eyes in front of him weren't amused. They were assessing, determined, focused. Exactly how they looked when Harry had set his sights on something to be scaled.

A tree, Dumbledore had called him. He felt very much the tree now.

Harry's eyes were all innocence now. "I suppose," the boy began, "if you don't want to, I could just--"

Snape waved a hand to cut him off. "Spare me your machinations. We'll have an outing later, if you must." He eyed him suspiciously. "You're certain the Sorting Hat wished to put you in Gryffindor?"

Grinning, Harry hopped off the cushion of air. "I'm certain that's what I've claimed." He walked backwards toward the front entrance, still beaming a smile at Snape. "I'll get the list for the scavenger hunt." Turning, he dashed off.

"Call it that one more time and you'll spend the rest of the summer in the dungeons.  And if I catch you climbing one thing out of my sight--" Snape shouted, but the boy was already out of earshot.

"No need to be so harsh with him," said Dumbledore. "His remaining time here is short."

Snape felt that he was the one who had fallen several stories toward the earth. "He's not aware of that yet. He doesn't recognize the symptoms, but I do." Harry was being pulled back to his own world. The sensation of moving earth was a sign the pathway is blocked. Snape shook his head. "It's not the world that's being split in two. It's Harry. Part of him is pulled there, part is held here."

Dumbledore nodded. "It's a tug of war he won't survive. This blockage holding him here must be removed." He gazed at Snape solemnly. "I suspect this has something to do with your previous attempt to send him back to his home."

Snape frowned, gazing absently at a cluster of vines trailing up the stone wall. "At Godric's Hollow, I established a connection with him. To use my thoughts, my will, to give him the initial push toward his world, but circumstances..." He paused, remembering the silver light, the doe, the magic that poured from him. "Circumstances may have made the connection stronger than I intended."

Steady blue eyes watched him carefully. "And now it is your will that is keeping him here."

He hunched over his folded arms, glancing furtively at the headmaster. "Perhaps the connection is too strong," he said slowly. "This force that's calling his soul back may be the weaker one. We should focus on cutting that off at its source, stopping the pull from the other world-"

"Severus." His name was spoken with much kindness and much sorrow. It was an echo of other conversations throughout the years. Other losses.

And Snape knew the argument was lost. He straightened, facing the headmaster. "I merely thought...for his own wellbeing..."

A hand fell on his shoulder. "You must let him go, if he is to return safely."

Snape leaned into the firm hold of the headmaster. A long silence passed between them. Then Snape pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose and pulled away. "I will keep you informed of the boy's condition." He moved away from Dumbledore, towards the castle. "If you'll excuse me..."

"Of course, Severus," said Dumbledore, a small smile playing across his face. "It's a beautiful afternoon. Enjoy your time with Harry on the grounds. Such sunlight does not last forever, and we should feel its warmth while we can."

Snape nodded numbly, not trusting his voice. He couldn't bring himself to tell the Dumbledore the truth. A truth that cut cleanly through him, a truth he'd known ever since Lily's death, so many years ago. And his magic, his will, his concern for the boy's safety would not change that one, simple truth:

He couldn't let go. He didn't know how.