A shriek almost directly in Severus’ ear brought him abruptly back to awareness. And nearly sent him tumbling out of the tree. “Mr. Potter!” The child didn’t even appear to notice him, curling even tighter into himself and letting out a second earsplitting howl. “Potter!” Apparently both had fallen asleep while the rain was pouring down…and now the brat was trapped in a night terror. Fortunately the rain must have discouraged anything prowling for dinner. “Potter!” He reached out to shake the child. “Wake up!” He remembered what the boy had said previously about the Dark Lord and shook his head. Apparently the brat hadn’t been kidding when he said half the forest would know if he was having one of those dreams…this clearly is no normal nightmare. Another scream, and he gave up on the light shaking he’d been attempting and slapped the child sharply. “Potter, wake up!”

The boy started, eyes jerking open. “S-sorry. Sorry. I d-didn’t mean to wake— Professor?” A shaking hand made a vague swipe at his eyes, only to be thwarted by his glasses. “I…thanks.”

“The Dark Lord was involved in this particular nightmare, I assume?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess they did something he didn’t like—a couple of the Deatheaters. He was really mad. I think one of them is dead.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t recognize her. It’s kind of hard when you all wear masks.”

“I suppose. Short, tall, fat, thin, or hair color, perhaps?”

“Well…kind of medium height but a little heavy. And maybe blonde?”

“Hm.” Melissa Ashcroft, most likely. She’s been a less-than-enthusiastic participant in most of his games since she took the mark. Stupid child, no idea what she was getting into until it was far too late to take it back. “Can you sense him anymore?”

“I can still tell he’s angry, but I’m not…there, anymore. Thanks for waking me up.”

Severus waved away the apology. “I could hardly sleep through it.” The comment ‘you all wear masks’ stood out in his mind. “When, exactly, did you realize that I attended these gatherings?” He’d been curious about that back at Grimmauld Place—Potter had seemed a little surprised to see him there but not as shocked as he should have been.

“I saw the mark last year,” Potter replied after a moment. “When I finally figured out what having it on your arm meant—well, Ron told me actually— I told Dumbledore and he explained what you used to do. And then I saw you there at the meetings after V—after he came back—and sort of figured you were doing the same thing again.”

“Indeed.” While he wasn’t particularly thrilled at the idea of the headmaster revealing his secrets, at least Potter had asked instead of coming after him personally or attempting some ridiculous stunt to ‘reveal’ his secret. And the rest of the Trio knows as well. Wonderful. He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. “That nightmare seemed to be rather violent. Are you all right?”

“I don’t think I really want to try standing up right now,” Potter replied, holding out a hand still wracked with faint tremors. “And I don’t want to go back to sleep. I’ll be okay, though. At least there weren’t any kids there tonight.”

The last was muttered quietly, and Severus suspected that he hadn’t intended the comment to be overheard. Just as well, really—he had no idea what he could say in response. Those images still gave him nightmares on occasion. “We’ll rest here a bit longer, then. Are they normally so bad?”

“It depends. A couple times, right at first, I threw up before I woke up. That was really gross. But I haven’t done that in at least a month. I guess it’s better than it was, except that I can’t stop myself from screaming. When I got back to Hogwarts, Hermione helped me put a charm on my bed to keep from waking up everyone else in the tower…wish I’d had that back at the Dursleys’, and last week Ron got the idea of a spell that dumps water on me every time I start to yell so I don’t stay stuck in the dreams as long. We just set that part up a couple nights ago, but I bet it will work.”

“Do all of your roommates know of your…problem?”

“Ron and Hermione are the only ones who know everything. I mean, the others know I have nightmares, but not who’s featured in them. I think they think I’m still having them about Cedric.”

“Indeed.” Surprisingly wise of him to keep that knowledge to himself, considering the ruckus that had occurred when it had been discovered that the boy was a Parselmouth. Revealing that he occasionally ended up in the Dark Lord’s head when he dreamed would do far more harm than good. Although his reaction to being awakened…. “I take it your relatives did not appreciate being woken in the dead of night?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, and Severus decided not to force the issue. “How long before the tremors will stop?”

“Just give me a couple minutes. I guess it’s time to start walking again?”

“Indeed. Am I correct in assuming you would prefer to skip breakfast this morning?”

Potter paled a bit more at the mention of food. “I don’t want to try putting anything new in my stomach just yet. Just because I’m not throwing up after any nightmare anymore doesn’t mean that I want to risk it. How long do you think we’ll have to walk before we find anyone?”

“Without knowing where precisely we are, it is impossible to say.” Hours, days, possibly weeks. He was fairly certain that within a month they should be able to find some sign of human habitation, but he had no desire to be out here that long. And who knew what was happening at Hogwarts. Some of the Order members—not to mention the rest of the wizarding world, assuming Dumbledore had been unable to prevent them from finding out their savior had disappeared—were probably convinced that he’d kidnapped the brat himself and was holding him for the Dark Lord. Whenever we make our reappearance back in London, I believe I will make sure he is walking in front of me. Albus he could count on to support him, along with Minerva, Rubeus, and possibly Alastor with whom he shared a great deal of mutual respect if nothing else. The man took the idea of interrogation to ridiculous heights, but once he'd decided on something he didn't generally waver.  Likely the Weasleys would support him as well. The adults anyway; the youngest two are probably plotting my demise as we speak. The rest of the Order… Black and Lupin were no doubt calling for his blood, and several of the other members hadn’t been shy about questioning his loyalty before. Not all of them, but…well, even he had to admit that circumstances were suspicious. The first-years can confirm that I kept Harry behind after sending them back to their rooms, and his roommates would have noticed that he never returned to the tower that night. Brilliant. And there was Voldemort to deal with as well…how he was going to justify having Potter at his direct mercy—in the middle of nowhere, no less—and not killing him he had no idea. At least at Hogwarts he had the excuse of the wards on the school and the presence of the other professors.

“I think I’m ready to go now,” Potter interrupted his musing. “I don’t suppose they’ve gone?”

Between the downpour last night and the rather rude awakening this morning, the wyrsa had slipped from Severus’ memory. He moved to peer down, and found a black-scaled head looking back up at him. “Unfortunately not.”

“Figures.” Potter began moving along the branches, more slowly than the day before but he seemed steady enough. “Professor?”

Severus had been musing about what the Dark Lord could have requested from Ashcroft and whoever was with her. He frequently punished his followers for being unable to achieve what he wanted, but…their numbers were still limited. To kill one outright, something extreme must have happened. The boy’s voice startled him, and it took a moment to reassure himself of his footing. At which point he leveled a glare at the brat’s back. “What is it, Mr. Potter?”

The boy looked back in surprise, probably at his tone. “I…why don’t we ever get any decent DADA teachers at Hogwarts? I mean…Quirrel was possessed by Voldemort and he still was mostly incompetent, Lockhart was an insult to incompetents, last year was Crouch, Jr. in disguise. This year this Umbridge lady won’t even let us use magic in the class. What are we supposed to learn from that, duck and cover?”

“Theory, I suppose,” Severus replied after a moment. Not that they’ll last a minute in a duel—or battle—if they’ve never had any practical application…this is a new height of stupidity. Damn the Ministry. “If I may ask, what brought on this question?”

The boy nodded down to the wyrsa below. “They’re creepy. I was trying to think of something we learned that might help against them—I know wyrsa eat magic, but there has to be something—and I realized that except for Remus…and the fake Moody, I guess none of the professors actually taught much in that class. We picked up more useful information fighting with the Slytherins.” His shoulders tensed for a moment, obviously realizing to whom he was speaking, but relaxed after a moment when no sarcastic comment was immediately forthcoming.

You started out at something of a disadvantage, Severus couldn’t help thinking. Slytherins were almost exclusively pureblood wizards, most of whom came to Hogwarts with knowledge of at least a few common curses. To say nothing of the children of the Deatheaters currently residing in his house—the majority of them came to the school with a repertoire that rivaled the other houses’ fourth years. At least—I was certainly well beyond that level. “I would tend to agree with that assessment; Albus hasn’t made particularly good choices for the position in the past.”

“Why won’t he give it to you?”

“What makes you think I want it?” He smirked at the startled expression on the boy’s face as he turned back to face him.

“But I thought…Ron said you’d been asking for the position for forever.”

“While I would say that Mr. Weasley is hardly the foremost expert on the subject—on any subject, for that matter—in this case he is correct. I have requested the position several times. Voldemort, and previously several among the Deatheaters, labor under the impression that, as a professor, I would be more useful to their cause if I was teaching Defense. In order to appease them, it must appear that I desire the position also. Albus, who is well aware that I am perfectly content with potions, continues to deny the position on the grounds that the ministry would not accept it. And life continues to my satisfaction.”

“You think they’d let you, if you really wanted it?”

“I have no doubt that he could override them if he so desired.” Severus shook his head. After all, he did it once before to have me appointed as a professor in any capacity. “And with regards to his unfortunate choice of professors…quite frankly his selection is rather limited. I know for a fact that Lockhart was the only one who applied that year—discounting myself, of course. No one wants a position cursed to last only a year.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.” In truth, he’d toyed in the past with the idea of taking the position, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that the position was cursed might have done it. He knew the Dark Arts well enough, certainly—what anyone thought they were doing teaching defense without understanding what it was that they were defending against he’d never understood—and counter-curses and the like were still areas he researched in when the occasion presented itself. And not just as a means to defeat the Dark Lord. Not to mention the fact that the children were more likely to pay attention in that class…it had an air of excitement to it that mixing ingredients in a cauldron didn’t. I don’t have any desire to leave Hogwarts in the near future, however. Potions is enough. “Now, as to your ridiculous idea of coming up with some spell that will convince the wyrsa to leave—”

“It was just a thought!”

“Throwing fruit had more merit.” To be fair, that had been a rather amusing few minutes yesterday before the rain began.

“Maybe they’ll go away if we get close to a settlement,” Potter offered.

“We can only hope.” If they didn’t, well…we can use muggle transportation to move down the river or out of the jungle, until we are beyond their range. Brazil certainly isn’t devoid of magic so they must patrol a limited territory. “What has Professor Umbridge discussed in her classes?”

“Um…understanding the principles behind defensive magic, learning to recognize situations where we can use it, and…what was the third? Oh, ‘placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.’ Which we definitely haven’t done. Hermione tried to ask her what good it would be if we never practiced, but she didn’t give much of an answer except ‘Do you expect to be attacked in this class?’ I tried to ask about using it in the real world, but…”

“I assume she said something along the lines about a school not being the real world? She said something similar in one of the staff meetings.” And had been summarily insulted when Minerva pointed out that Hogwarts was intended to prepare them for entry into the real world and if they all used the bounds she described they were doing the equivalent of painting targets on their students and asking the Dark Lord to tea. Umbridge, of course, had repeated the minister’s assurances that Dark Lord hadn’t returned and Potter was lying. This had lead to a shouting match with Hagrid who didn’t take kindly to people saying unpleasant things about the boy and Albus dismissing the meeting before proceedings could degenerate further. Unfortunately, without taking an open stand against the ministry there was nothing the headmaster could do to force her to change her lesson plans, and he didn’t seem inclined to show his hand just yet.

“Yeah, that’s what she said,” Potter agreed. “Does she think we’re going to live at Hogwarts forever?”

I think she doesn’t think, she just repeats whatever Fudge says. Of course, he couldn’t in good conscience say that to a student, but… “I believe the parrots in this area of the world are much more appealing.”

The boy looked back at him, eyes widening as the words penetrated. “P-parrots…” The laughter that followed seemed to dispel the tension that had remained in his face even after the nightmares were over. “That’s brilliant.”

Severus felt his lips twitching as well…it hadn’t been a particularly good joke, but as stress relief it would serve. “Keep moving, Harry.”

“All ri—wait.” He stopped, mid-stride, and turned back again. “Did you just call me Harry?”

“No, of course not.” Damnit, I did, didn’t I? What in Merlin’s name was I thinking? “Just keep moving.”

The boy turned back around and there was a suspicious-sounding noise. “I’m moving, I’m moving.”

That brat had best not be laughing at me. “We need to cover more ground today; the rain kept us back.”

“Can I throw more fruit at the wyrsa?”

“Potter, as amusing as that was, I hardly think it is going to do more than annoy them.”

“Hey, you said it had merit!”

“I said it had more merit than trying to find magic to use against them. Which, if you’ve listened to anything I said in the past days—unlikely, I’ll grant—is hardly critical acclaim.” He sighed. I suppose it can’t do any harm, and I don’t feel like dealing with a sulking child. “Toss the fruit, if it pleases you, but do not slow us down.”

The boy nodded at that, continuing along at a fairly good pace and halting only on occasion to restock his arms with a supply of new fruit. The wyrsa were following less closely now…more than a few sporting bits of rotten fruit spotting their fur. They seemed rather displeased with the situation. He reached over the boy’s shoulder, taking a few of the things for himself. His arms were longer, after all. And imagining them as Black does wonders for my aim.

“Professor?”

I suppose more than two hours of silence is too much to ask for. “What?”

“What happens if we don’t find anyone soon?”

“We keep walking, I suppose. The continent is hardly deserted; we are bound to run into someone at some point.”

“What about a signal fire? I saw that in a movie once.”

“Mr. Potter, it may have escaped your notice, but we are currently up a tree. I have no idea what this movie is you are speaking of, but I think we can safely assume that the situations are not parallel.”

“I guess not. And trying to make a sign on a kite is probably not a good idea either?”

As the answer to that was self-evident—even to a Gryffindor—he didn’t bother giving it. Not that Potter seemed to expect a response. They continued walking, Potter offering another comment or question every fifteen or twenty minutes that didn’t seem to require answers, until Severus was forced to say something or be driven mad. “Do you plan to continue with this inane chattering for the entire day? You clearly don’t require my input for these discourses; could you possibly try imagining them and saving me a headache?”

“You could always answer,” Potter pointed out. “Then it would be a conversation.”

“And pray tell why I would want to hold a conversation with you?”

“Because it’s boring to keep walking here and not saying anything.”

Boring. Wonderful. “You’ve managed fairly well the last few days, could you not simply continue in that vein?” Isn’t he supposed to be afraid of me? Intimidated, at the very least? The last think I need is my students thinking I wish to speak to them outside of class. “Very well, recite the five most common uses for the leaves of the snapping marshweed.”

“Professor!”

“You have OWLs this year, Mr. Potter, and if you truly wish to become and Auror you will need NEWT level potions. Which you will not be getting into without a score of Outstanding, and I assure you that at this moment your scores are barely above Acceptable. Now, the five most common uses?”

Apparently the boy was honestly bored…he seemed to be considering the question. “Um…it’s in burn salve—burn salve for acid burns, not normal fires. And in strengthening potions…. Um…can I have a hint?”

“A hint? The examiners are hardly going to provide hints, Mr. Potter. Any third year should be able to answer this question.”

“It’s not exam time yet, Professor, and that was two years ago!”

Two years and he remembers nothing. Merlin help us all if he does become an Auror. “Very well, then. You should be well familiar with one of the other uses; Madame Pomfrey has dosed you more than once.”

“It’s not in skel-e-grow,” Potter said after a moment, frowning. “And I don’t think it’s in dreamless sleep…blood replenishing potion?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling.”

“Two uses to go. And then tell me how they’re prepared for each.” He smirked at the look on Potter’s face as he glanced back in disbelief. “I assure you that the answer is not written anywhere on my person.”

“Um…”

Quizzing the brat had the advantage of not only halting Potter’s mindless chatter but also giving Severus the opportunity to work off some of the stress he was feeling in the best way he knew how. His comments didn’t seem to be doing the job of cowing Potter as effectively as usual, but at least the boy wasn’t trying to involve him in any more conversations. He realized that Potter had finished reciting the safety precautions required in the mixing of dragonflame repellent—well, the four of the necessary seven that he recalled, anyway—and glanced up at the sky. “It appears to be mid-afternoon. We’ll stop at the next convenient spot and have lunch.”

“Great. Did I get them all?”

“No, using only the safety precautions you describe your repellent will eat through the bottom of your cauldron in the second stage, shoot sparks in the fourth, and precisely how do you plan on adding nightshade to a liquid with an andros root base without first adding fennel to neutralize the poisonous emissions? Have you ever bothered to pay attention in my class, or is it only when Longbottom makes potentially fatal mistakes that you bother to listen to anything?”

“Fennel’s not a safety precaution, it’s an ingredient!”

“It has no effect on the potion, either as a reactive or a base ingredient. The only contribution it makes is neutralizing the gas, and since with an adequate filtering system or mask you can mix the repellent without it, it is classed as a safety precaution.”

“That’s a nasty trick,” Potter muttered.

“Regardless of how you view it, it is a common OWL question.” A smirk threatened to turn into a smile as the boy flung one of his figs particularly hard at the still-trailing wyrsa. “What causes the emission of gas when andros root and nightshade are mixed?”

When they finally stopped to eat, Potter managed to keep his mouth full for almost the entire time…an attempt, Severus supposed, to avoid answering any more questions. Which he was perfectly fine with him, in truth. The time with they boy hadn’t been as nerve-wracking as he would have expected, but having another person around continuously was a new experience for him. What he really wanted was several hours alone, but he would accept silence as a pale substitute. Eventually, however, they did have to stop eating. “Can we talk about something else this afternoon?”

Merlin’s beard, someone must hate me. Obviously my feeling that the boy would be willing to forgo more conversation after this morning was premature. “What, precisely, would we talk about?”

“You know lots of DADA stuff…maybe you could quiz me on spells instead?”

If I wasn’t certain it would doom me forever to a trail of wyrsa followers, I think I would be tempted to practice on you right now. But quizzing him is preferable to the boy selecting random topics to expound upon. “All right then, Mr. Potter, if I was to attack you with a three-pronged lancing attack how would you…Mr. Potter, if I am going to spend my time assisting you with this, the least you could do is pay attention.”

“They’re gone, Professor.”

“What?”

“The wyrsa. They’re gone.”

Severus glanced below them, and sure enough there was no sign of their black-scaled pursuers. “Perhaps they’re simply hiding in the underbrush. Do not suggest trying a spell to find out.”

“But why would they be hiding now when they haven’t bothered any other time?”

“Do I look like an expert on the thought processes of dangerous exotic beasts? We will remain in the trees until we can be certain that they are gone. Now, did you hear my question?”

“You’re going to hit me with a three-pronged lancing attack,” Potter replied.

Severus smirked. “I’ll certainly admit I’m temped.”

“Professor!” The brat looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be offended… the open mouth look with no sound coming out was rather amusing. “Hey, you just smiled!”

“Excuse me? I did no such thing. Start walking.” He hadn’t, had he? First his mind skips and he uses the brat’s name, now he allows a student to see a smile…. That does it; I’m going to have to kill him just to keep my reputation. “If I were to hit you with such an attack, what type of shield would you use?”

“Whirlwind block,” he responded promptly. “Catch all three prongs and twist them, and while you’re trying to pull them back or release them I’ve got time to send something else after you.”

“And if it was a burning blast?”

“Reflector.”

“Why a reflector and not a deflector?”

“Cause I might deflect it into something behind me and start a fire that blocks my retreat, and if I reflect it right, it should come right back at you and then you have to deal with it.”

“If you were facing two opponents, how would you begin your attack?”

“Try and find a position where they won’t be able to split up and circle behind me, and then dis…”

The afternoon’s quizzing went considerably more quickly than the morning’s…obviously the brat honestly isn’t as inept in defense as he is in potions. “You’ve managed to learn all of this just from fighting with my house?”

“Some of it, yeah. And some from Remus, like I said.” He shrugged. “It’s fun to learn, and it’s easier for me than most stuff.” He grinned. “I think it’s the only thing at Hogwarts that I’m better at than Hermione and Ron.”

“What about Quidditch?”

“I’m good at flying fast, but Ron is the one who can see all the strategies and figure out the different plays. You should see him play chess. If I played anything but seeker I’d just be flying in circles for the whole game trying to figure out what was going on. What did you play?”

“Excuse me?” The idea of the youngest Weasley boy, of all people, being able to follow complicated strategies had startled him into missing the boy’s question. Then again, Potter’s opinion of strategy isn’t necessarily sound.

“Well, you refereed a match once, so you must have played Quidditch sometime. What did you play?”

“Keeper.”

“Were you any good?”

Visions of a tall, skinny snob with messy black hair speeding towards him, crossed with those of an equally dark-haired lunatic with a beater’s bat grinning evilly filled his mind for a moment, and then the images broke off. About the time that the bludger drove his head into the side of the lower ring, as he recalled. “Acceptable.” For a moment when the boy turned back to look at him he saw the two black messy-haired boys side by side…James had been considerably taller and heavier—why he’d become a chaser rather than a seeker after his third year—his face narrower, and the eyes in no way matched. Not so much like his father after all, perhaps. Although he does enjoy the company of that mutt and the werewolf. Lost in though, he nearly knocked the boy off the branch when the child halted abruptly in front of him. “Mr. Potter?”

“Look at that. Aren’t they pretty?”

Potter took a step and nearly missed the branch…Severus’ hand jerking him back by his shoulder was the only thing that saved him from a fall to his death. “Mr. Potter, what are you ta—” He peered past the boy and saw a writhing white shape below. It was so fluid, a continuous knot…he felt his muscles relaxing and leaned toward it. So smooth…he could just make out the individual shapes, thin bod—His foot slid off the branch and he began to fall. As soon as he lost sight of the creatures his mind snapped back into focus, and flailing arms were able to find purchase on the branch. Hanging on with his arms, both legs over the edge, he glanced up and realized that no help would come from that quarter. Potter still stood above, rocking gently as he stared at the creatures below, and Severus just hoped that he wouldn’t attempt to walk off the branch again. He was certainly in no position to stop a rapid descent. The first white wyrsa spotted in two hundred years and it just had to be by us. He brought up his legs, trying to find purchase to level himself back up onto the branch—his arms had decent purchase, but he wouldn’t be able to haul himself back up without a foothold or help. “Mr. Potter! Potter! Listen to me, you have to close your eyes! Harry, can you hear me?” He received no response, and Potter seemed to be looking rather too longingly at the ground below. “Harry, so help me if you even think about moving I’ll have you preparing Bubotuber for me until your children come to Hogwarts!”