Ron knew, without a doubt, that things would be different now. He wasn't fully sure of what exactly had happened, but he knew the gravity of it; Harry had finally broken down. It was, to him, both good and bad. Sometimes, and Ron knew this too, he could be thickheaded, smart when it came to a number of things but completely oblivious with others, but this was clear to him.  No one, not even Hermione, could accuse him of getting it wrong; for once in Ron's life, he was surer about something than even his thick-haired friend.

If it had been he or Hermione trapped in that drawer, they may have panicked but would have been essentially okay; however, Harry had been through more in his short life than anyone, anyone, deserved to be put through and this was just the topping on a long list of situations that should never have happened. But Ron knew, in many ways, that Harry needed this. He was always the strong one, the one who saved everyone else, always in control of the situation. Even if his own destiny was flopping like a fish on the deck of boat, slippery and out of reach and wholly and utterly absurd and irrepressible.

Barefoot, Ron made his way onto the beach, leaving behind him the yellow house, a continuously confusing professor, an infuriatingly brilliant girl, and the very best friend he had ever had: Harry, who had slept through the night and still had yet to wake on his own accord. Ron didn't count the screaming nightmares. He never did.

He liked the feel of the sand in-between his toes. It was hard to walk and took some practice, but the feeling was well worth it and anyway, it was the only way to reach the ocean. He walked some ways down the beach, almost positive that he had left Severus' property border but not exactly caring either way. He needed time to think, time to figure out how he could help Harry.

But he kept coming up empty, an unlucky fisherman who's nets and traps remained untouched, the only fish he caught flopping around, slippery and out of reach and wholly and utterly absurd and irrepressible. So he sat, letting the sea's waves drench his shorts and carve out the sand he sat on. The earth moved, with every wave, away from him. With nothing else to do, Ron wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his head on his knees and didn't move, not for the stirring sand, or for the lure of breakfast, and not even when he heard Hermione calling for him.

Things would be different now. Harry would be different. And though Ron knew it was both a good and bad thing, he still feared the change that this would inevitably bring about.

And just like those fishermen whose livelihoods depended on their catches, Ron gripped the empty nets, the empty traps, and tossed them back out into the sea, his young determination fierce and bold. He would fix Harry. Of that he knew, of that he was wholly and irrepressibly certain.

&&&

Lizzie bumped against Severus' shoulder. With a small grin, she stole his cigarette and stood, he just glanced up at her and lit another, puffing the smoke up to her face. She blew her smoke from her own stolen cig right back at him.

It was past nine and dark. The Long Island air was still and humid and beads of sweat formed at Severus' brow, every few minutes he wiped at them with the back of his hand. With the crickets chirping and the sound of the last gulls of the day periodically crying out, it was the perfect end to a perfect day to anyone else.

But he-and for that matter, Harry-were not ‘anyone else.'

They had been sitting on the steps, facing out to the world, watching as the night drew nearer. In the swing at the other end of the porch, Hermione dozed peacefully; Severus had sent a slight cooling charm in her direction some time ago, though he made no move to cast one for him and Lizzie. In the end of things, he really did believe in Georgie's philosophy about never taking advantage of magic.

With one last pull from the cigarette, Lizzie tossed the butt out toward the street and turned back her lover, the one man she could never tame let alone understand. And for that, she never could stop loving him.

Exhaling and allowing the smoke to filter around them, Severus slowly blinked. She leisurely smiled, "I'm gonna take off for a few days."

"What?" Severus said, hastily standing, "We only just got back together!"

Lizzie walked down the steps and out to the driveway; she ran her hand along the boot of the Camaro. "I know. But you need to relax, take care of that beautiful little green eyed kid, and show his two friends that he will be okay in the end. And you need to figure out what you want, Sev."

"What? What I want? Lizzie?"

"Babe, I mean with us. This has been fun, and I love you and I know that you love me. But I live here and you there." She didn't need to elucidate, Severus knew she was talking about America and England. "Something's gotta give, hon."

"Elizabeth Beatrice--"

"Oh, stop with the full name shit," she said, turning towards him and crossing her arms. "How much are you willing to give, Sevvy? Because I'm willing to give everything."

"I would too. Give everything, I mean."

She gave him a soft smile, "Good. Then that means I have to pack."

"I'm sorry?"

With a fluttery laugh, Lizzie started walking backward toward the curb, "Always wanted to see what was so great about Hogwarts anyway." Severus' jaw dropped and she threw her head back and laughed. "Think they're ready for me?"

Finally, Severus smiled, wide and sweet, "Baby doll, I'm not even ready for you."

"Good." With a wink and a crack, she was gone.

"'Bout time." Hermione mumbled and Severus' neck snapped around to face her.

"Ahem?" Severus said, putting his hands on his hips and mock glaring at the young witch whose eyes were barely open.

Hermione just shrugged and turned over, using her arm as a pillow. "Just saying."

"Brat." With a flick of his wand, the swing gave a lurch and swung forward and back sharply, Hermione gave a squeak and clamored to hold onto the back. But as soon as the laugh left Severus' mouth, he stopped and looked up to the window to Harry's room. "Dammit."

Hermione followed his gaze. "Think he's still asleep?"

"I don't know."

"He'll be okay."

Severus gave her an appraising look, "You seem sure."

"I know Harry." With a small and tight smile, the young witch stood and stretched.

‘She really is very pretty,' Severus thought. With her brains and her natural loveliness, Hermione Granger would make one hell of a wife one day. Fiercely protective, loyal, kind, and logical. His thoughts strayed to the boy he thought to be sleeping upstairs and then to the red-head who had sought solitude for that whole day; Severus knew it would be one of the two of them and though he hoped it would be Harry simply because the boy needed someone strong like her, he knew that Ron had just as good of a chance. And whichever teen ended up with her would be lucky. Damn lucky. He just hoped it wouldn't rip the two boys apart.

"He is rather resilient, isn't he?" Severus finally said.

Hermione nodded, "I wish I could have half the courage he has sometimes, but..."

"But what?"

"He only has so much because of everything he's been though and I know that Ron and I have stood right next to him through some of it, it's still different. It wasn't directly related to us. It was like we were just along for the ride. And to think, I think...Well...I want his courage but I don't want his life. I know that sounds absolutely horrid but--"

Severus cut her off, "It doesn't sound horrid at all. I read a quote, years ago, I can't even remember who said it, but it's: ‘You can't be brave if you've only had good things happen to you.' Or something along those lines. And Miss Granger, you do have a lot of courage. You've stuck by Harry though everything. Even when it could have cost you your own life. And that says something right there. It says something huge."

She gave him a shy smile, "Thank you, sir."

He liked the fact that she didn't try to deny it, that she didn't try for that false humility. She took the compliment for what it was and accepted it.

"So," he said, "how do we go about fixing that Potter kid?"

"By teaching him that imperfection is beautiful and that the cracks are what make us unique and that this is just another day and another story and that he is NOT that ghost. That he didn't end up like him and that's what matters in the end. That it's not what makes him similar but what makes him different."

Severus agreed with everything she had said but took pause at the last statement. "That sounded practiced, like you or someone else said it before."

"That's because it has been said."

"And?"

"Some secrets are meant to be kept."

"Touché, Miss Granger, touché." Severus paused, "So how many cracks does he have?"

"Quite a few. But he wouldn't be Harry if he didn't have them. "

"Ah," Severus smiled, "he is quite a character, isn't he?"

Hermione snorted, "You have no idea. You know, Ron can make me laugh but a good chunk of the time I'm just infuriated with him over something stupid, but Harry? I can be in the worst mood and he can just make me roll with laughter. He's very witty. His humor is more subtle than that of, say, the Weasley twins, but it's good."

"'Laughter is the best medicine.'"

"You're just a plethora of quotes today!"

Severus laughed, "I try."

"Maybe that's the key though: Get him laughing; then fix it."

"Maybe he doesn't need fixing, just some patching up. Maybe the situation needs fixing."

Hermione thought for a long time on that one. "Maybe we need to go back to that asylum."

Severus nodded, "Maybe we do."

&&&

He had heard voices out on the front deck. Severus, Hermione, Lizzie. Either Ron was being uncharacteristically quiet or he wasn't there. It was a sweet lull of conversation, the words mumbled, unable to be understood, but sweet sounding. Familiar. Comforting. Harry found that he didn't like full silence. It was too much like living with the Dursleys or being trapped in the morgue.

But the voices of those he adored was a medicine for him, soothing, like chamomile tea or sweet coffee and Harry rolled over to his side in the bedroom of a pretty yellow house that fit just as well with his professor as Severus himself actually fit at Hogwarts.

That was something Harry was learning though: Not everything fit and sometimes it was better that way.

He pulled the blankets up higher, tugging them until he could tuck his arm under his chin and use the comforter and his hand as a pillow. The window was open, thrown wide and letting in the orange sunset.

Now that he thought about it, Harry felt somewhat ashamed of how he had reacted the night before. He had given up all hope, resolved himself to dying in that box; it wasn't right. He should have just chilled out, kept hope, and waited. Severus would never have left him there. He had nothing to worry about and yet he had completely lost all sense of himself.

If this was how he reacted to some bloody ghost, how would he react to facing Voldemort? The taste of panic rose in Harry's throat. He couldn't do this, there was no way.

The covers flipped back and Harry pushed himself out of bed. Sometime during the night, Severus had coaxed Harry out of his clothing and into a pair of pajama pants and a white tee-shirt; Harry had a vague memory of it. There were flashes of Severus pulling the clean cotton shirt over his head and the murmurs of comforting words, but the act in completion was lost from Harry's mind. He was thankful though for the care shown to him and with his feet bare, he slipped down the stairs unnoticed and into the backyard.

Harry did not like silence, but he was sure as hell good at it.

The gate at the end of the property stood open and Harry brushed through it swiftly, managing the path through the small hilt of trees and up through the dunes and down onto the beginnings of the beach. Sea grass fluttered through the sand and dispersed as the land sloped down to the water, disappearing completely about 100 yards from the shore and making way for the loose and soft sand that skidded and moved under his feet. Harry followed the sand to the water, barely noting the tracks made earlier from Ron.

Off in the distance, he could see a lighthouse swinging its light in circles, the aid and glory to a captain trying to navigate his way in the dark or in a storm, fear crippling his judgment: Where was land? Would he crash? Can he find the dock and make it safely? And Harry wondered who his lighthouse was.

But the answer was simple, wasn't it? He had two sturdy buildings on the shore he so desperately wanted, their lights pulsing ceaselessly through the night, guiding him, helping him, keeping him company when he was out at sea all alone.

The sun was gone over the horizon, rising for someone else across the world and leaving darkness behind. But the lighthouse stayed constant and Harry appreciated its vigor just as he appreciated his friends, his constants: Ron and Hermione.

A noise to his left drew Harry's attention and for a moment he was seized with an inexplicable fear. A figure approached him from down the beach and Harry felt his body contort with tenseness at the memory of another figure, another place, and a box meant for the dead.

"Oi, Harry! You all right, mate?"

It was Ron. Harry let himself relax, "For the mo'." Ron sat down next to him, his shorts sopping wet, Harry made a face. "Did you fall in?" he lightly teased.

"I fancied a swim but didn't actually want to go into the water."

Harry laughed softly, "What are you doing here anyway? Not worrying about me, are you? I'm fine, you know."

"Like bloody hell, you are."Harry shot him a glare. "Don't look at me like that, mate. I know you too well. You were practically catatonic last night, scared the bleeding hell out of me and Hermione."

"I'm sorry." Harry said, "I overreacted."

"Damn it, Harry, you did not!"

"Well, that was an expected reaction." Harry snorted to the incredulous look he was gifted from Ron.

"Harry, some bloody ghost locked you in that muggle more...glue? Morgan...More....That blasted box! Whatever it is. I would have flipped a lid too!"

"Morgue, Ron. It was a morgue cold chamber, to keep bodies fresh."

"That's bleeding disgusting. Look, mate, I know you always want to be the hero or whatever, but sometimes shit gets bolloxed up. It happens. Professor Snape told us about the ghost, about what you said. I get it, Harry, I really do. You had every right to freak out."

"No, I didn't. I lost all hope; I was ready to die in there. Why would I think that, Ron?" The worst part, Ron noted, was that the crap spilling from Harry's mouth, well, his friend actually believed it! "I should have known that Sev would come for me! I shouldn't have given up that easily, I should have been calm, I should have took a deep breath and just waited."

"Harry, mate, I love you, yeah? You're my best friend, like a brother, a non-red-headed brother." Harry snorted at Ron's words. "But sometimes, you're a right idiot. Do you know that?"

"Thanks for the boost in confidence." Harry said with a roll of eyes, "I appreciate it."

"S'what I'm here for!" Lightly, Ron bumped Harry's shoulder, smiling softly at his friend. When he was gifted with a pure and genuine smile from Harry in return, Ron felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

The fisherman had reeled in his nets and they were loaded with fish.

Somewhere around midnight, the two friends finally made their way back to the house. With their bare feet dotted with the glittery Long Island sand, they stepped through the pathway and up and into the backdoor. Ron, famished, pulled food from the refrigerator almost immediately. When he offered some to Harry, the young teen shook his head in the negative and shied away from the light from the cold box. Instead, he brushed his feet off on the welcome mat and toed his way through the house and onto the front porch.

Silently, he stepped forward, quietly closing the door behind him and turning to face the halo of smoke around Severus.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Severus' head snapped around, "Harry!"

"'Mione go to bed? I heard her out here before."

Standing, Severus pulled Harry into a hug. When he pulled back he said, "Yeah, a while ago. And Lizzie went home for a bit. Just us for the mo', pal."

Harry nodded and moved to sit on the top step; Severus sat next to him. "Ron's inside now, I think he was on the beach all day."

"I wondered where he had gone off too."

"He's worried about me."

Severus smiled, "We all are."

"I'm fine."

"You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair." Severus said after he caught and made sure to hold Harry's gaze. "A Chinese proverb. If there's one thing you're good at, it's moving on." Harry looked down. "But you do harp on things. You gnaw on ideas until they have festered into infected sores in your mind."

"That's a nice image."

"Pretty, right? I try." He paused, "Harry, listen. At the end of the day, life is life, no matter how you roll it. That's just the way life is. Things happen."

Harry just shrugged, unable to look up.

"Listen, you little shit," Severus said, trying to pull a grin from the kid, "Sometimes it's all right to not be okay. You know that right?"

Harry sighed, "Sev, come on. This is me we're talking about here. Harry Bloody Potter. I'm not allowed to not be okay."

"That's a load of crap. Last I checked you were still a human being."

"I'm the Great Hope of wizarding kind."

Severus snorted, "This from the kid who almost swallowed a snitch his first year."

Finally, Harry gave a chuckle. "Yeah, well, needed salt." It was a lame attempt at humor, but Severus was glad for it.

"Come on, I want to show you something." Standing, Severus held his hand out. Harry regarded it warily, not sure what the older man was up to. He looked up to Severus' face and held his eyes. With a soft nod, he raised his right hand and allowed it to be firmly clasped into the bigger, rougher, and wiser hand of his professor. Severus smiled and jerked his head toward the side of the house where the garage was. When he moved, Harry followed and with a grunt. Severus threw open the garage door and walked over to the white tarp that covered something, the same something had asked about days earlier but was told that it would have to wait.

"There's a level of freedom, Harry, which cannot be obtained by waving a wand, or flying a broom, or any of that stuff. It can only be had by throwing everything to the wind and just going." With an apologetic smiled, he continued, "I believe your Godfather had one as well." Harry stepped closer, his throat constricting in memory, already beginning to guess what was under the tarp, but still, the flourish with which Severus flipped the tarp back could not have had a greater effect.

Harry didn't know much about them, he'd only ridden in Sirius' when he was baby. But it was unmistakable. A motorcycle. The same one Georgie had told him about those long weeks before, the one he said that Severus had built from the ground up. It was simple in color, the silver metals and the black accents, the shining handlebars and the gleaming engine.

"Life is intangible Harry. The world we live in grips onto you because YOU are able to be touched. They can see you, feel you. What they don't understand is that not everything good and great is solid. And you ARE great, Harry. You will see that someday." He ran his hand along the seat. "But hope is not something that can be grabbed. You feel it, yes, but you can't take hold of it. It, Harry, is impalpable. It doesn't exist like most of things in this world; you can't go to a store and buy it. You can't make it. Go and get dressed. Jeans and trainers. Hurry up; I want to show you something."

Harry, having been quiet throughout the whole thing, nodded once and dashed inside to tug on blue denims and a white t-shirt. After slipping his sneakers on, he turned the light off in his room and, as he was descending the stairs, he heard it. The start of the engine. He paused at the bottom, just listening.

"You okay?" It was Ron; he stood in the dim light of the living room, the TV on in the background, playing some old muggle movie.

"Doing research on muggles?"

Ron laughed softly, "Yeah, you could say that. Found this channel with all old movies on it. It's fascinating; it's beautiful. Wizards could never capture something like that. It's magical but it has nothing to do with spells. I don't understand how some of our world can just...disregard these things."

"People see what they want to see, Ron."

"But are you? You know. Okay?"

Stepping forward, Harry wrapped Ron in a tight hug. "I will be."

Ron never gave himself up to be the emotional sort, but something clicked that night. Something sure as hell did change. They were finally growing up. And he knew that he could lose Harry at any point, but damn, did it feel good to just hold onto him at that moment. To breathe him in and know that Harry would be okay and that no matter what happened, he would always be his little brother.

"I love you too, you know." Harry whispered, not letting go just yet. "Outside, when you said you loved me, well, I do too. I never had a family, Ron, but if I did, I'd want you in it."

"I already am, you prat."

Harry laughed and pulled back. "You're crying!"

"Shut up, don't tell Hermione."

"Promise."

"God, what a summer this has been."

Harry grinned, "Who would have thought we'd end up with that evil bat, Snape."

"Snape? Who's he? I only know old Sevvy out there."

"He's not old, yet!"

Ron snorted, "Yeah, and I'm the queen of England."

"Really? Jolly good to meet you, your majesty!"

Laughing loudly, Ron curtsied. "Now go, Severus has that thing, that mote-cycle thingy roaring out there."

"How did you...?"

The redhead shrugged, "What can I say, I'm nosey."

Harry chuckled softly, "Of course." With one last smile, he disappeared out the door.

Severus had coasted down to the street, kicked the stand up, and was waiting. "Climb on behind me," he said over the engine, "watch those pipes down there, there you go! Hold on tight."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, wrapping his arms around Severus' middle.

"Freedom comes in many forms; you three had a type of it for a while driving around in that beat up old car. This is another. Cars are one thing," he said while kicking the stand up, "But this is different. You never feel the wind like you do on a bike."

"We're going to feel the wind?"

Severus turned slightly to look at him, "We're going to take what's impalpable and make it real. Hold on tight!" he repeated, revving the engine and speeding off. Magic kept them safe but if was Muggle technology that set them free.

Hours later, when they stood at the end of the boardwalk at Captree Island, Harry slowly let go of everything. Life is life and what will be, as they say, will be. He let the wind dance around him but not once did he try to grab it, because wind, like hope, could never be trapped in fists or boxes kept under the bed.

"Let it come," he said to himself, "I am as ready as I will ever be. Bring it."

It was that time of the morning, when the night meets the day, when, though the sun was rising in the sky, the lighthouses stayed lit-their beams pulsing through the early daybreak, guiding ships home.