“Harry.”

The voice beat against his mind, quiet and insistent. Even deeply asleep, Harry flinched.

“Harry.”

The unconscious boy buried his face deeper into his pillow in an effort to drown out the sound.

“Harry!”

Harry sat bolt upright, breathing as if he had just finished a hundred metre sprint. He knew that voice as well as his own.

Possibly because it almost was.

Heart pounding, Harry threw off the covers. His feet found his slippers and his arms found the sleeves of his dressing gown without conscious thought. All that mattered was that voice in the dark.

The mirror at the end of his bed was dark and silent, even after he touched trembling fingers to it and whispered a name into the dark.

Confused, Harry carefully looking about the darkened room. He knew – he knew – that voice hadn’t been his imagination again. He’d heard it coming from somewhere.

“Shadow?” he called again, louder.

And then, just when he was about to give up and go back to bed, he heard it.

“Harry.”

It was faint, far away, but it immediately made his slowing heart speed up once more.

Carefully, he opened the door to his room and crept out; he hoped he wouldn’t disturb anyone who would ask questions about what he was up to at three in the morning.

“Okay, Shadow,” he breathed, “keep talking.” Concentrating as hard as he could, he pulled a golden thread from his magical core and cupped it in his hand. “Show me where to find him,” he ordered.

The little ball of light gave a lurch – Harry’s heart echoed its movement – but after a moment of being certain he was going to accidently explode the dungeons, the light wobbled upwards and floated in front of his nose. He took a step towards it, and watched, awed, as it slowly started moving towards the door.

Hmm, not the most subtle way to travel. Harry caught himself quietly praying that Filch would not be about that night as the light led him into the corridor outside Snape’s office. If anyone catches me, Dad is going to kill me… But, I have to know. I HAVE to. There’s no way, even if it’s the slimmest chance, that I wouldn’t take it.

The light had paused with him, floating silently above his head. Swallowing roughly, Harry glanced around, and then nodded to it. “Okay, keep going.” He followed again on silently slippered feet, shivering a little as the chill of the castle began to seep into his bones.

Everything was silent. Apparently this late at night – or early in the morning – even Filch and Mrs Norris went to bed. Not even the ghosts were drifting about. It should have reassured Harry, but all it did was make the eeriness of his trip so much worse. The corridors he was creeping through almost reminded him of the endless maze he had run through the day before. Every low, guttering torch made him jump, making him think the Fiendfyre had somehow followed him back to Hogwarts…

Apparently he’d thought he was alone a little too soon. Just as he and his guide approached the stairs leading up to the Entrance Hall, footsteps echoed up ahead. Harry froze and looked around him. He had just passed the midpoint of a long, straight corridor and no convenient hiding places were anywhere in sight.

The footsteps grew louder. In desperation, he flattened himself against the wall and hissed at the light, “Hide us!”

He screwed his eyes shut, fully expecting to be discovered at any moment, and cursing himself for being in too much of a hurry for his Invisibility Cloak, not that that would do much good with the light.

Faint warmth settled around him, contrasting sharply with the cold stone behind him. Surprised, Harry opened his eyes and stared in wonder at the shimmering magic blanketing his whole body. It slowly darkened from a light gold into a colour more attuned to the rest of the corridor. Experimentally, he lifted his hand up in front of his eyes. As he moved, the darkness slid off it like water. Harry wrapped the offending arm around his middle and waited until the camouflage had spread over it again. Apparently he couldn’t move with it, but if he just stayed very still, whoever was coming might just miss him…

Someone’s feet descended the steps leading the Entrance Hall…

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when the footsteps’ owner came into his line of sight. It was just a First Year completing a dare. The small boy looked as jumpy as Harry felt and – Harry resisted the urge to punch the air as the kid’s eyes swept right over the spot where he was standing – he obviously couldn’t see Harry at all.

Another moment passed, and the boy spooked at something, turning and sprinting back up the stairs. Harry allowed himself to breathe again.

A little kick of excitement started in his gut; his magic had always worked best in close proximity to Shadow, maybe this meant…

After a whispered command to the warmth around him, he willed it back into his guide and hurried on his way. As if sensing his urgency, the little light sped up.

Up into the Entrance Hall, careful, careful, and out through the big double doors, don’t let the hinges squeak. And then Harry’s slippers were crunching on freshly fallen snow as he strode out into the grounds. Within seconds he was soaked and freezing. But it didn’t matter; what on earth would matter more than finding his lost family once again? If he was quick, surely a little cold wouldn’t matter?

He chanced a glance back up at the darkened castle. It was already becoming lost in the gloom, but Harry wondered if anyone taking a peek through the shutters would see his wisp-o-the-wisp light and figure out what it was. Or would they simply think the late hour and the faint sheen of the moonlight had tricked them?

The camber of the ground changed under his feet and he almost slipped and fell. Now there was ice under the covering of snow.

Steadying himself, Harry looked about and found himself standing near the edge of the frozen Lake. Here, the light seemed to pause, before it slowly sank down to knee level and moved out over the treacherous surface.

For the first time, Harry began to wonder if maybe coming out in the middle of a winter night – completely on his own with nothing but his dressing gown and slippers to protect him – was a good idea. Again, the image of Fiendfyre flickered in the back of his mind, but Harry ruthlessly squashed it. He had to be brave; he was a Gryffindor and Shadow needed him. Taking a deep breath, he began to test the strength of the ice and, finding it sound, took a cautious step out.

It held.

Soon, one step was followed by another, and then another. Already it seemed like the shore was a very long way away. He tried not to think about what was swimming underneath his feet.

By now his legs were shaking badly; a combination of fear, adrenaline and placing his feet lightly were taking their toll. He badly wanted to sit down for just five minutes, ten minutes, maybe just to lie down all together and go to sleep. He was so cold he was almost warm.

The light had slowed and stopped, hovering just two metres off to his left, where the ice had a funny transparent sheen.

I have to be brave.

Painfully slowly, he lowered himself to his belly and dragged himself the last couple of metres by his fingertips. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the ice now seemed frighteningly thin.

The moment he reached the right spot, the light blinked off, leaving him rigid in the pitch black, eyes fixed on the dark surface beneath. Harry could hear nothing above the roaring of blood in his ears.

Then, the moon came out from behind a cloud and Harry could see. The boy beneath him was not a reflection.

For Harry was not the one with his mouth stretching into the syllables of his own name again and again. Harry was not the one pressing his hands against the ice in greeting.

That was Shadow.

“Shadow!”

Harry didn’t even register he was shouting until his voice echoed back to him off the mountains.

Already the other boy was beginning to fade away; Harry’s own reflection flickering in to replace it. Almost as if he was drowning.

“No, no, no.”

Without thinking, Harry scrambled to his hands and knees, wildly looking about himself in an attempt to find a way to reach his twin.

There was a low, creaking groan, and there was barely time for Harry to register Shadow’s look of horror before the world was swallowed by cold and darkness.

oooOOOooo

Severus was never one of those people who could close their eyes and sleep the night through. Most of the time, a good night’s sleep was a rare gift, so when he found himself pulled from a deep sleep in the early hours of the morning, it was a normal enough occurrence that it did not concern him.

He lay there for a moment, thinking how good it was to be back in his own bed in Hogwarts after months of sleeping rough in the middle of London. He let out a quiet sigh as his back protested; apparently his body – regardless of the comfy mattress – had decided it was time to get up and walk about a bit. Wearily, he pulled on his robes and stretched. No point in trying to get back to sleep now; he’d just toss and turn for the remainder of the night. He’d have to train himself out of only sleeping for a couple of hours another time.

Once dressed, he slipped out into the main room. A few hours of walking the cold corridors should convince his head to wake up enough to be ready to teach. Maybe he’d even have time to start on the backlog of Potions needed for the Infirmary; Lupin could brew, certainly, but he couldn’t brew quickly.

The sight of Harry’s door stopped him in his tracks. Should he check on his son? Make sure he was not suffering nightmares from the day he had had? Or should he avoid opening the door and not risk disturbing the boy?

Feeling like a fool, he stood outside the door for a couple of minutes, trying to listen in…

Internally cursing himself, he stepped away and forced himself to begin his rounds. Doubtless the boy was fast asleep; if Harry was having a nightmare, Severus would have heard him by now. The only concession he allowed himself was to turn at the last moment and place a light monitoring charm on the door. At least that way, he’d know if the boy needed him.

The dungeons were colder than usual, so Severus forwent lingering in the subterranean levels. Checking his Slytherins were settled was a must, but after that it was with relief when he ascended the staircases leading to the higher levels of the Castle.

The corridors he walked along were silent and deserted, though he did hear some muttered gossip about insolent little boys wandering the school after dark from the portraits he passed. It seemed like the first years were being dared to go down and knock on his door in the dead of night again. That vampire rumour was beginning to get a little old.

Deciding to be careful that the little brats had indeed run back off to bed again, he circled the same floor again, double-checking darkened nooks and crannies. He was just about to give it up – not even Homenum Revelio uncovered anything – and head back to prepare for lessons when a flicker of light caught his eye.

Disbelieving, he walked over to the window and peered through the glass at what looked very much like a small figure crossing over the newly-fallen snow towards the Lake. Some faint light flickered above their head, making their progress glaring evident in the dead of night.

Severus cursed. He’d better go and retrieve the little idiot before they froze to death; the figure was too small to be a member of staff and too large to be mistaken for Flitwick. It had to be a student. Unfortunately.

Severus hurried down the nearest staircase, robe flowing darkly behind him. This child was going to get detention whether they were sleepwalking or not!

When he finally made it outside – boots squeaking over the snow – he saw something that made his heart jump into his mouth. The child was actually walking on the frozen Lake. Only the cold of late December and January made the ice thick enough to support the skaters who ventured out upon it. November was far too soon. If he didn’t hurry, the child would surely fall in, and if that was the case, the poor creature would be dead before he could even reach it.

He was sprinting before he could even register it. No point shouting now; startling the child would only cause them to jump and any sudden movements on that ice…

Severus forced himself to run even faster, boots now slipping and skidding; almost pitching him onto the ground. The icy air burned his lungs and the only things running through his head now were prayers that he was going to be in time. Before Harry – before the truth about Harry – he would have done his best to save the student, been guilt-ridden if he failed, but now, newly equipped with the perspective of a parent… Well, he could barely imagine the agony the parents of this child would go through if he failed.

Finally he found himself brought up short at the shore of the Lake, legs shaking and turning numb. Pausing for half a second, he gasped out the Patronus charm and breathed in relief as the doe galloped towards the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey.

He knelt down and murmured a spell, pointing his wand at the ground. There was no point accidently killing himself and the cretin he was trying to rescue. For an agonising moment, nothing happened.

Then, the ground he stood upon shifted and thickened. Slowly thicker ice spread over the shoreline and onto the Lake. A safe path two feet wide stretched out from Severus’ feet, creeping further and further out over the Lake’s surface.

Shaking from the amount the spell was draining him, Severus carefully strode forward. The ice-bridge continued to grow at a slow walking pace and Severus walked as close to its crest as he dared. Up ahead he saw the child lie down flat on their stomach – smart brat. Maybe they’d finally realised the danger.

The drain of the spell and his careful steps made Severus’ vision grey at the edges a little. Believing the child to be somewhat safer for the moment, he briefly stopped the spell and stood still, breathing through his nose. He turned and checked the ice-bridge behind him – thankfully, it was holding strong.

He turned back towards his task and his heart froze.

The light above the child’s head had winked out; indeed he could now not see a thing where the child had formerly been. This sudden darkness, this cession of magic, all pointed towards one terrible thing.

Forcing his magic to its limits, Severus rushed towards the last place he’d seen light, trusting his feet to land on the thick ice-bridge and not the treacherous sheen of the frozen Lake.

And then, the moon came out from behind a cloud, revealing a boy with long hair lying still not ten metres ahead. Severus gasped with relief and slowed, thinking them to be almost safe, when…

“Shadow!”

Afterwards, Severus wondered if that moment qualified for one of the worst of his life: the realisation that the faceless boy was Harry.

He was running again before he even thought about it; but even his accelerated speed and magic was not enough to stop the inevitable cracking of the ice – the moment he’d been waiting for and dreading.

Severus reached the hole in the ice just as Harry’s head slipped beneath the surface. Ironically, the surface he now crashed to his knees on was perfectly solid and safe due to his spell. If he’d been just a second faster…

Without thinking, he plunged his left arm into the bone-chilling water, chest pressed flat against the ice, hand grasping, grasping.

Please.

Please.

And then… His hand encountered something soft, and he gripped it tightly and pulled with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. Harry’s head surfaced, the boy gasping and flailing in Severus’ grasp, but alive.

Severus hauled himself to knees, using the extra leverage to drag Harry clear of the frozen water and into his arms.

“Harry, Harry.” His hand was patting the child’s face seemingly of its own accord. Merlin, the boy was still in his nightclothes. “Harry!”

Harry’s eyelids fluttered and he coughed up water before abruptly going still.

Severus felt like he was suffering his tenth heart attack of the night. Shaking fingers felt Harry’s thready pulse and rapidly cooling skin, and despite his already exhausted state, he found the strength to hoist the boy to his chest and to start jogging back towards the Castle.

In that moment, the knowledge was stark in his mind: he’d do anything, achieve anything, for the boy’s sake, if he would just be OK.

A small group of people were waiting on the shore. In the faint light of Dumbledore’s wand, he could make out Madam Pomfrey, Minerva and Hagrid shifting anxiously, waiting for his return. Briefly he wondered what on Earth his Patronus had garbled to bring them all out here.

Thankfully, when he reached them they didn’t try to hinder him with questions. Minerva cast a spell which caused Harry to lighten in his leaden arms. Albus motioned Hagrid to take Severus’ arm and help him along before tipping some of his own magic into Severus’ depleted magical core, giving him a brief boost of energy. However, the only person Severus had eyes for was Poppy as she worked a series of complicated spells over Harry’s prone form.

He was beyond grateful that nobody tried to take the boy from him. Maybe that meant he was going to be alright?

The rest of the journey to the Hospital Wing was a blur. If questioned, Severus would not have been able to relate how he’d arrived there.

The next clear moment he was aware of was sitting on a hospital bed, holding a now-dry Harry while Madam Pomfrey carefully fed the unconscious boy one potion after another. Albus hand was on his shoulder, but there was no sign Minerva or Hagrid.

“There we go.” Madam Pomfrey dusted her hands together as she straightened up, frowning down at her patient. “Nothing more I can do for either of you. You’ll both stay overnight for observation of course. Hypothermia can be tricky, but I can’t imagine for a moment that you or Harry won’t be fine in the morning.”

Severus blinked stupidly at her, getting the feeling that he should have something to say in response to that, but the only thing echoing in his head was that Harry would be fine.

Poppy’s expression softened. “Go to sleep, Severus.”

And then, Albus’ hands were pushing him down; arranging Harry comfortably next to him. Severus briefly thought about protesting, of insisting he go to prepare for morning classes, but the thought of letting Harry go just yet made his arms tighten. He was so very tired…

The last thing he heard as he drifted off was Albus’ gentle, “Sleep well, my boys.”