Somewhere in Dover

Day 1:

Warrior circled over an open expanse of a rocky cliff and landed lightly upon the bare rock, his brilliant amber eyes scanning the crashing surf against the shore.  The Channel was not calm today, it frothed and snarled, and the goshawk could feel a drop in the barometric pressure, signaling a cold front and perhaps a storm as well.  Freedom and Hedwig landed next to him, and the red-tailed hawk fluffed up his feathers and said, Feels raw out here today.  And I don't like the look of the water, or the clouds.

He gazed upward, to where a large mass of cumulous clouds were scudding across a dreary gray sky, they had begun to break apart and some of them were looking ominous. 

Yes, there seems to be a storm brewing, Warrior agreed.

We ought to take shelter then, Hedwig suggested sensibly.

Where? This place is nothing but bare rock,  Freedom reported.

Hedwig spun her head halfway around and made a strange amused chuffing noise. So sure of that, are you, fledgling?

Freedom just stared at her, confused. 

I know where we can find shelter. The snowy owl told him.  Follow me.

The two hawks obeyed, for out of them all, the snowy owl was the most wise and experienced at finding hidey holes in strange territory, since a post owl's duty took her everywhere, and sometimes she could not fly in a storm and thus had to be able to find shelter when necessary. 

Hedwig glided smoothly on a thermal down the coastline and towards a small slit in one of the white cliffs.  Here.  A nice cozy ledge where we can perch out of the rain.

Sure enough, about four feet within the cliff was a depression with a medium width lip of rock inside the cliff wall, providing all the birds with a dry place to rest and wait out the coming storm.  No sooner had they perched upon the ledge, the first drops of rain began to fall and the wind to blow.  But underneath the overhang, the three raptors' body heat soon made the ledge warm and cozy.  Hedwig was in between Warrior and Freedom, as she was the largest of them, and she gently draped her wings about the hawks to conserve body heat.

Freedom was grateful for his owl's warmth and yet was shocked that Warrior didn't  object to Hedwig's motion, normally Warrior was not a cuddly type of bird.  But the goshawk did not say anything to the snowy owl, and seemed not to mind the white wing draped about him, though he did not snuggle against the owl the way Freedom did.

Outside the wind picked up, and the waves lashed the rocky cliffs, tossing spray upon them for a good ten or twenty feet.  It began to rain harder, though it did not penetrate the nook Hedwig had found. 

You picked a good spot, Hedwig.  How did you recall this was here? Warrior queried softly.

A post owl friend of mine, Grayfeather, has flown the Channel route often to deliver mail to wizards on the continent, and he showed me once where this was.  I never forget a resting place.  Snowy owl instinct. Hedwig replied, then she began to preen herself, her short golden beak ruffling and picking her breast feathers dexterously, redistributing the oils in them and waterproofing them as well as picking out any dirt or bent feathers.

The two hawks copied her example, for keeping their feathers in good condition was paramount to flightworthy status, and no bird out of its shell would ever neglect its feathers. 

While Freedom preened himself, he thought about the three hour flight they had just completed to get here, the winds had been good, and they had made good time, according to Warrior.  Warrior had refused to allow him to fly at full speed, saying it was not necessary to exhaust himself at the journey' s beginning.

You ought to learn to pace yourself, like a marathon runner, Warrior had told his younger companion, and Hedwig had agreed with that. 

They had hunted earlier, catching a large shrew and a small bevy of quail, which satisfied their hunger and meant they didn't need to hunt again until the morning.  Provided the weather held out, they would depart across the Channel in the morning.  Warrior estimated it would take about two hours to cross over into Normandy, if the winds were against them.  Otherwise they could make the crossing in perhaps forty-five minutes, given the speed of their Animagi forms and Hedwig had been spelled as a post owl to be able to fly faster than a normal owl when necessary.

Even so, the flight could be tricky due to the sea winds, and Warrior wished to get a good night's rest before beginning the flight.  Freedom nibbled inbetween his talons, making sure there was no grit inbetween his toes, which might create sores or infection if not removed promptly. 

Hedwig, finished with her own grooming, turned and began to gently preen Freedom's back and neck, which was an affectionate gesture, and very soothing.  The snowy owl trilled softly, as she would have to her own owlets, and Freedom turned to look at her, startled.

Huh? What are you doing, Hedwig?

The snowy blinked her large eyes and crooned, Relax, fledgling.  You are more weary than I, not being used to flying such a distance. Sleep, little hawk. She resumed her gentle preening.

Freedom wanted to protest her mothering, he was not a chick after all, but Hedwig's beak was extremely soothing and he felt himself relaxing against her in spite of himself.  Before he knew it, the combination of the shared warmth, grooming, and crooning had made his eyelids droop.  He dozed lightly at first, then gradually slipped into a full sleep.

Hedwig chuckled, then turned to look at her dark companion.  Tired, my friend?

A little, but not enough to require a lullaby, Warrior answered swiftly.

Hedwig's eyes whirled in silent amusement.  Oh? Then the great goshawk has never had a lullaby sung to him?

Warrior clicked his beak in annoyance.  Only when I was a small boy, Hedwig.  Since then, I am more than capable of making myself fall asleep.

Ah.  Well, that is more than the fledgling has ever had. Fear not, my friend, I shall not intrude upon your dignity. The snowy owl hissed softly, cast up a pellet, then settled down for the night, ducking her head into her shoulders and closing her eyes.

After a moment, Warrior followed suit, tucking his head beneath his wing and falling asleep. 

The three slept for several hours before the crack of lightning and boom of thunder awoke them. 

Freedom startled violently and nearly fell off his perch, the crack of thunder making him shudder.

Easy, Freedom, Warrior soothed, not wanting the young hawk to panic and fly out into the storm.  You're not alone.  Relax, fledgling, and sit tight.  The storm shall pass.

Freedom shivered, the ultrasonic booms making him even more nervous, as did the dark, which he detested.  Although, he reflected, it wasn't quite dark beneath the overhang, not with the lightning striking the water a few hundred yards away.  He huddled closer to Hedwig, who began to hum into his ear and preen him gently. He felt ashamed, he was fifteen and still petrified of the dark, like a toddler.  But he could not bring himself to move away from Hedwig. 

Sorry, he meeped, hanging his head.

There is no need to apologize, little hawk, Hedwig chirred.  Everyone is afraid of something.  I myself detest brilliant flashes of light, and almost never fly during thunderstorms.  Once I did so and was nearly blinded and since then I cannot stand bright lights.  She looked over at Warrior.  How about you, Master Grim and Stoic? What is it you fear?

Warrior did not reply for a moment.  Besides failing to keep my charge safe, do you mean? He thought.  At last he said, I will ask that you keep this in confidence. I . . . am afraid of werewolves.

At that, Freedom felt a little better.  So Warrior's secret fear was werewolves.  He wasn't surprised, given what had nearly happened to Snape in the Shrieking Shack.   To distract himself from the dark and the screeching of the wind, Freedom asked, Warrior, do professors at Hogwarts get paid well?

 Why do you ask, Freedom? Plan upon joining the faculty someday? asked Warrior, sounding quite amused.

I've been thinking about it, sir.  Since I got my OWLS.  I liked teaching last term.  So, what do they pay you?

Not nearly enough to put up with all the aggravation caused by you students, Warrior said bluntly.  If you're thinking about going into teaching for money, forget it.  A professor's salary is not conducive to a wealthy lifestyle. The goshawk said honestly.  If anything, we are overworked and underpaid for what we do. 

Why? That's not fair.

And since when has life been fair, apprentice of mine? Educators have never been paid well in the history of the world.  That is just how it is.  The few who do make a halfway decent wage are private tutors.  Magical boarding school teachers . . .are paid a pittance compared to say, your average Ministry official, or an Auror, or a second string Quidditch player.  We work long hours and are responsible for instructing all of you brats and hopefully pounding some useful information into your skulls that will enable you to go out and find a career that satisfies you and will most likely pay more than ours.  Were I to rely solely upon my teaching salary, I'd not be able to retire comfortably.  But I supplement my salary with the creation of potions from the International Potion Master's Institute and also with my hazardous duty pay as a spy for the Order.

Freedom blinked. You mean, you get paid for being a spy? But I thought you had to do it.

I made a promise, yes, but I go above and beyond that sometimes, and therefore I get paid for it.  Warrior replied simply.  I am not altruistic enough to refuse a few extra Galleons. Then he added, more encouragingly, Not to be discouraging, Freedom, but you should consider carefully in your choice of career, knowing all the facts.  Yes, being a professor can be extremely rewarding, but it is not a job for those who wish to make easy money or be lazy or cannot discipline children, or have no love for studying or knowledge of a particular subject.  A mediocre professor is sometimes worse than none at all, so do think about it very carefully. Doing a job you hate is one of the worst forms of torture, as bad as any Cruciatus Curse.

Then, being a Potions Master would mean a better salary than being a professor?

Yes, but in order to do research and create new potions, you need to have financial support and grants and a patron.  It is not cheap, though if you patent a new potion, you can make a substantial amount of Galleons, admitted the goshawk. 

Oh.  Then are you rich?

Warrior snorted.  Hardly.  My Galleons were spent upon more research and ingredients and could only be stretched so far.  Unlike many Masters, I have no true patron and no financial backing to speak of.  I exist solely upon my own merit.

Freedom cocked his head.  How come?

Because few will support a known former Death Eater.  Warrior answered, bitterness tinging his tone.  That single mistake has branded me forever.

But that's stupid! You're not a Death Eater, so who cares what you did as a kid?

They do, obviously.  Warrior ruffled his feathers and sighed.  I have made my peace with it long ago, fledgling, so quit going all Gryffindor indignant on my behalf, it won't change anything.

But Warrior, when Voldemort's dead at last, you can reveal yourself as a spy and then they'll eat their words. 

Will they? Somehow, Freedom, I doubt it.  But that is not important.  I am not cut out to be an elitist rich snob.  I am much more suited to being a borderline broke sarcastic curmudgeon, wouldn't you say?

You're not a curmudgeon, Warrior. Freedom said loyally. But then he ruined the moment by adding wickedly,  A sarcastic grumpy git with a weird sense of humor maybe . . . He screeched as Hedwig nipped him on the head.  Hey! What's up with you, Hedwig?

Hedwig gave him a frosty glare.  Show some respect for your guardian, youngling. You mouth off to him far too much for a youngster, boy or hawk.

So? It's the truth . . .

Nevertheless, it is disrespectful to speak so about a teacher.  After what he has done for you, he has earned the right to be a sarcastic git, by virtue of risk and experience.  Think you are the only one to ever have a teacher with such an attitude?  Well, think again! Most of mine were quite grumpy and had tempers to match, especially those who had been scouts and war correspondents for years, bringing messages covertly.  But I respected them and learned much from them. They were brave and canny and the best fliers, even if sometimes their tongues could strip the feathers from you.  Hedwig scolded. 

I wasn't all that serious, Hedwig.  I was teasing . . .mostly.

Ah, fledgling, it is the mostly part that I worry about.  Then the snowy owl began to preen him again.  Still, you are young, you will learn better.

Freedom shifted, trying to see Warrior.  Are you mad at me, Warrior? I didn't mean to insult you . . .not really . . .I mean, sometimes it's good that you're like that.

Indeed.  But you needn't point that out so boldly, fledgling, the older hawk said, a faint reproving note in his voice.  No matter how true it might be.  You need to develop some tact, Freedom.  Not a Gryffindor or a child's strong suit, but a skill you should try and practice.  Especially when dealing with older wizards.  They can be touchy. 

Freedom nodded.  Okay, I'll try.  Thanks for the tip, sir.

You are welcome.  Now, might I suggest we try and get some sleep?  Dawn will come soon and I would prefer to be well-rested for it.

With that, the goshawk fell asleep again, and after a moment, so did Freedom and Hedwig. 

The storm blew itself out somewhere around five o'clock AM, and the three awoke soon after to a sky that was still overcast and drizzling.

Day 2

Crossing the Channel

The three raptors went out to hunt before attempting the crossing, feasting well on a few nesting seagulls that were unobservant enough not to notice the birds of prey hovering upon their doorstep, so to speak.  Afterwards, they rested a bit and allowed the sky to lighten to a rosy gold before Hedwig said they might as well begin their flight. 

The rain might return at any time now, and I'd prefer it if we weren't en route when it begins again.

Me too. I hate the rain . . .flying in it, I mean. Freedom agreed.

Warrior bobbed his head slightly in agreement, then he spread his wings and launched himself skyward.  Fly in between us, Freedom.  That way if something should happen, one of us can help you, or vice versa.

Okay, the red-tail acquiesced without an argument for once, though he did roll his eyes because he thought himself too old to need a blasted babysitter . . .or was that hawksitter?

The wind was a bit rough, and Freedom found it difficult to stay on course, he was following Hedwig, who was staying a little ways ahead.  They were flying above the first cover of clouds, to avoid being noticed by people in boats or ferries down below.  The red-tail had to cup his wings in order to keep flying straight, allowing the wind passage below him, and he envied Hedwig her soft pinions and her greater flight control. 

Warrior too found it difficult to fly, but his wings were larger than Freedom's and could catch more air and his bigger body was not buffeted as much by the currents. He managed to stay on course with minimum corrections and also attempted to shield his smaller companion from the worst of the wind. 

About halfway across, the rain shifted and now blew onto them in a sharp summer shower, making it even more difficult to see, though Hedwig assured them her homing instinct could guide them in to land safely.  The snowy owl was a white blur against the deep gray backdrop of the sky.

Freedom flew onward doggedly, keeping his eyes trained upon Hedwig, trying his best to ignore the pelting cold rain and the sharpening wind that buffeted him, praying that they would make it to land before he exhausted himself, for it was hard to fly in a crosswind, and his feathers would not keep him dry forever.

Warrior cursed the sudden gusts of wind and rain that had turned what would have been a forty-five minute flight into something that would probably take at least an hour and a half now.  Bloody rain and bloody summer squalls.  Why couldn't this one stay out at sea until we were safely across, damn it? He flew slightly to the left and below Freedom, the three flying in a classic triangle formation.  Even through the rain, though, Warrior could still make out the faint horizon, where a green stripe cut through the gloom.  The coast of France was up ahead, Warrior told himself.  All they would need to do was to keep going.

Hedwig was more accustomed to flying in such weather and was not as bothered by the wind and rain.  She was worried about her companions, however, and kept glancing over to see how they were doing.  So far the two hawks looked as though they were going to make it, despite the rainy conditions.  The wind, thank the Wind God, was not strong enough to really harm them, and the owl concentrated upon her own flying.

The wind increased and below the waves were rushing and boiling like an over agitated potion in a cauldron, though none of the birds were looking down for more than a brief instant.  An hour passed and then an hour and a half and by the time the wind had slackened somewhat, all three birds were soaked almost to the down beneath their flight feathers and exhausted. 

But they managed to make it to land and as they skimmed over the trees, looking for a suitable spot to rest, Freedom though nothing had ever looked so inviting as the green and brown landscape.  Hedwig circled above the bustling seaport of Calais, and at last found a tall pine with plenty of sheltering branches to rest in.

The three landed and shook off the water, preening swiftly before falling into a bone-numbing sleep, too tired to even celebrate their victory at crossing the English Channel.

* * * * * *

Day Three

Calais, France:

The three travelers didn't awaken until the next morning, and by then Freedom had developed a case of chills and seemed to be running a fever.  However, he said nothing about his condition, as he had been trained to never complain about such things growing up with the Dursleys.  But once he had transformed back to Harry, his state was obvious, and Severus insisted they go into Calais and try and find a place to stay for the day and probably the night as well.  They were still wearing Muggle clothing and Severus was well aware they would be taken for tourists visiting from England. 

"Sev, I'm fine! I just need a Fever Reducer," Harry protested. "I'm not sick, honest.  I've just caught a chill." He muffled his mouth with his hand as he started to cough. His clothes felt damp and sticky.

His guardian frowned down at him and cast a quick Drying Charm.  The boy's clothes steamed as they dried, but even then Harry's cough did not abate.  "That chill could turn into something worse unless you get some rest," he began.

"I just slept all night and all day, Severus," his ward objected, for he detested being sick. 

"Harry, no arguments," Severus said firmly.  "I will not have you contract bronchitis or pneumonia by not taking care of you properly. Now, come on, I'm sure I can find a room for rent and hopefully they speak English here as well as French." Severus's French was terrible, he'd never been formally tutored in it and languages were not taught at Hogwarts, nor had they been at the primary school he'd attended before going away to Scotland.

Do as Professor Snape says, Harry, Hedwig hooted softly, nuzzling her wizard gently, she was perched upon his shoulder.  You don't want to be sick for weeks now do you?

"What about you? You're just going to hang around the bushes or whatever?" Harry grumped, sneezing.  Why did this have to happen now? I hate being sick.

I will be fine, I have been looking after myself for quite some time, Harry. Hedwig told him.  I shall meet up with you again if it is safe for me to find you.  Until then, listen to Severus and get better. Then she gave him a gentle nip on the ear before spreading her wings and flying off across a small field, hunting for mice.

Severus took his protesting charge firmly by the elbow and led him back into the town of Calais, leaving Hedwig to her hunt.

* * * * * *

An hour later, Harry was wearing a set of flannels and tucked into a rather small bed in an inn, which was the least expensive place Severus could find where the proprietor and most of the staff spoke English.  He had managed to purchase a room for two nights, having changed some of his pounds for francs at the local exchange, and now was intent on making his ward get well.

Harry was still shivering, so Severus warmed up the sheets with a quick spell, before casting a quick diagnostic and discovering that the boy had picked up a lung infection due to his flying in the storm, was exhausted, and running a very high 38.9 (103 F) fever.  He huddled under the covers, coughing.

Severus studied his ward for a moment before summoning his potions from his pack.  Harry's hair was mussed, as usual, sticking up like a hedgehog's, and his face was flushed and his green eyes glassy.  He looked like nothing so much as a little boy, angry because he had to stay in bed instead of playing outside.

Severus removed the vial of Fever Reducer from his potions kit and shook it to mix the contents.  Then he uncorked the vial and handed it to Harry.  "Here, take your medicine and don't give me an argument."

The boy flashed him a rather irritable glance, muttered, "I hate being sick and I hate taking potions," then took the vial of green potion and downed it in two swallows.  Then he grimaced. "Sev, can I have some water? That tastes awful."

"Yes." Severus had purchased a large bottle of spring water for that reason and now he poured some in one of their mugs and handed it to Harry.

Harry gulped the water eagerly, until Severus admonished him to slow down and said, "You have two more drafts to take, one to clear up that infection in your lungs and another to quiet that cough so you can sleep."

Harry sighed, he was really feeling horrid now, all stuffy and his chest was aching every time he breathed and coughed.  "'Kay, Sev.  Where are they?"

"Right here." The Potions Master handed him the Cough Elixir first, and Harry swallowed that one obediently, it tasted kind of like cherries. 

The Lung Decongestion Draft was utterly vile, and Harry gagged twice before he finally managed to get it down by holding his nose and swallowing rapidly. "Ugh! That was so gross! Now I feel like I'm going to puke."

"Wash the taste away with water," Severus advised.

Harry did, wiping his mouth after with a handkerchief and asking, "Why does it have to be so thick and nasty tasting, like swamp water?"

"The thick consistency is so it can coat your throat better to soothe it and as for the taste, most medicinal potions use ingredients that are extracts from bitter or sour tasting plants, but they are the most effective.  You know that, Harry. Now lie down and try to sleep."

Harry slid down onto the pillow, but the bed was not good quality, the mattress was thin and lumpy and poked him a bit.  Still, he'd slept on worse, and knew not to whine.  He could feel the potions start to work already, breaking up the congestion in his chest. 

Severus pulled over a chair and took out a book and began to peruse it leisurely, obviously determined to remain beside Harry until he was better. 

The man's protective attitude confused the boy, for he was not used to such concern from any adult.  Before, whenever he had been sick, he had to take care of himself and often had managed to do chores while being so sick he could barely keep his eyes open.  Yet somehow he had always managed to get well.  Thus he felt compelled to apologize for being so much trouble.  "I'm sorry, Severus, for being such a . . .problem.  I don't mean to delay our trip, I'll try and get better as quickly as I can."

Severus looked up from his book.  "Harry, why are you apologizing for something you can't help? It's not your fault you became ill.  And there is no set timetable for us to reach the forest, so you are not delaying anything."

"I am too, you're just being nice and not saying so," he argued.

"Wrong.  Rest assured, if you were dawdling, I would say something.  But being sick is not something you can control and the most important thing right now is for you to get better." He reached out and felt Harry's forehead with the back of his hand.  "Still warm. Turn over and get some rest," he ordered gruffly, pulling off the boy's glasses. 

Harry obeyed, muttering another, "Sorry," under his breath.

Or at least he thought it was under his breath until Severus exclaimed, "Will you quit bloody apologizing? Why do you feel so guilty that you're sick?  People fall ill all the time."

"I know but . . .when I was little, my aunt and uncle used to say that I was nothing but a worthless brat and they didn't want to waste any time or money on me, and whenever I was sick, they just . . .complained and said I was a burden . . .and once . . ." Harry trailed off and coughed softly.

"And once?"

"Once Uncle Vernon said that if I were a dog . . .he'd . . .take me out back and put a bullet in my brain, then he wouldn't have to waste money on medicine for me." Harry finished.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Severus's voice was a low rasp of fury.

Harry peeked up at his guardian and shivered involuntarily.

Severus's hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists and two spots stood out on his cheeks as testament to the rage that possessed him.  But his eyes were the worst, black coals that burned with a terrible anger. 

Harry shrank back and cringed, until the man whispered, "Foolish child, I am not angry at you.  I am angry that you had to endure such . . .people . . .and their treatment for so long.  Albus had better have settled with them good, otherwise I shall pay them a little visit and leave them with a lesson they will not soon forget! How old were you when he said that, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Five or six, I think."

"Five or six," Severus repeated, feeling sickened.  "They ought to be brought up on charges and put away for life.  Or dropped off a cliff." His mouth tightened.  Even I never was told such cruel things, bad as my childhood was, I still had my mother to take care of me when I was sick and to shield me somewhat from my asinine bastard father.  But not Harry.  Albus told me he had Arabella Fig watching the house, but she never actually went in there to see what went on, or looked beyond the end of her nose. The Potions Master thought scathingly.  He recalled Harry admitting that the neighbors used to see him doing gardening work all the time about the property, but never questioned it.  Fools, not to notice that the boy was being treated more like a slave than a relation.  What had Arabella been watching, her cats snoozing or running about high on catnip instead of learning the truth about Harry Potter and his relatives?   Dumbledore should have come and checked up on the boy himself as well, instead of assuming that the ties of blood would be enough to make a loving family.

Harry found he was somewhat comforted by his mentor, despite the man's black scowl that could have stripped all the fat from Uncle Vernon's beefy frame in two seconds flat.  True, Severus was terrifying when he was furious, but not when the fury was on one's own behalf, like now.  Harry was suddenly very very glad he was not a Dursley.  He turned over on his side and tried to sleep. 

He was just beginning to drift away into that half-awake state between dreams and reality when he felt a light touch on his hair and lean fingers combing through it gently. He smiled lopsidedly, his face half-buried in the pillow, and closed his eyes then. 

"Sleep, my Freedom." A silky voice floated through the air, reassuring him that all would be well. 

Nothing will hurt me so long as Severus is here.  Nothing ever.

An instant later he was asleep.

Severus remained gently running his fingers through Harry's hair for an instant longer before drawing away, tucking the covers up around the skinny shoulders and then settling back down in the chair he had vacated.  He picked up his book but found he had lost interest in reading about nightblooming flowers and such.

He was seething that the miserable Muggles had been allowed to get away with such despicable treatment for so long, and he sincerely hoped that Albus had shown them the error of their ways, because if not, he would make sure they learned their lesson, and he was not going to be gentle about it.  Telling the boy if he were a dog, he'd take him out and shoot him! That sodding great lump of suet! I ought to boil him in his own fat, like a pig! It's a miracle the child survived as long as he did there, without proper food or medical care.  When he became sick before, his magic must have acted to cure him.  It's the only explanation how he could have lived through such neglect. 

And as Severus knew from experience, neglect was sometimes worse than if someone were beating on you every day.  At least a beating required interaction between two people, and some kind of acknowledgement of your existence, even if it bloody hurt like hell.  But will neglect made you feel as if you were invisible, not even alive, and like you didn't matter at all.  Oh, yes, Severus knew, for that was how his father had treated him after Eileen had died and he had discovered that his son was not willing to be his punching bag anymore.  Once Severus had stood up and threatened to hex his father's hands off, and used an Illusion Charm as an impetus, Tobias had resorted to pretending Severus didn't exist, and never acknowledged his son's presence.  Strangely enough, that had hurt more than his father's fists, though Severus had never really sat down and analyzed his feelings during that time, to this day he still felt the sharp pangs of rejection from the man who should have loved and protected him.

But that will not be the case now.  Not now, while I have legal custody of you, Harry James Potter.  That much I can and will vow.  Those days are done and shall never return, this I promise with all that I am.

He closed his eyes and began to do meditative breathing to bring his anger back under control.  After five minutes he opened them and began to read, though he did look up every once in awhile to make sure Harry was sleeping peacefully.

* * * * * *

   The potions wore off sometime in the evening, and Harry woke feeling achy, hot, and congested, though not as bad as before he had taken the potions.  He looked over at the chair next to his bed and found it empty, to his surprise.  But then he glanced across the room to the other bed and saw Severus sleeping there.  Harry decided he didn't need to wake the professor and hopped out of bed to go use the bathroom.  But when he returned, he found Severus awake and waiting with the next round of potions.

"You're awake? But you were asleep just a minute ago!" exclaimed Harry. 

"I'm a very light sleeper.  Back to bed, Mr. Potter." Severus pointed and waited until Harry had complied before asking, "How do you feel?"

"The truth?"

"Of course.  I won't be able to treat you properly unless you are honest with me."

"Then I feel bloody awful.  But better than before.  Does that make any sense?"

"Actually, it does, in a strange way." Severus ran his wand over him.  "You still have a fever.  But the congestion in your lungs is better." He handed Harry the next round of potions.

Harry made a disgusted face, but managed to take them all, even the dreaded Decongestion one.  After he had drunk his water, he looked at his mentor and said, "Thanks for everything, Severus."

The professor looked uncomfortable. "There is no need to thank me, Harry.  I am just doing what any good guardian or parent would do."

"Maybe, but . . .you're the first one who's ever done anything like this for me and I just . . .want you to know that I . . .appreciate it."  Harry said awkwardly.  

Severus gave a short nod, not wanting to get all maudlin about something he saw as a basic duty of any caregiver. "Would you like some soup? I think you ought to eat and then sleep."

So Harry had some of Twixie's delicious creamy chicken and wild rice soup and crackers, then went willingly back to sleep, since he was now tired. 

As the first stars of evening came out, there was a soft hooting outside the small casement window.  Severus went to the window and opened it to admit Hedwig, who flew immediately to her wizard and perched upon the headboard.  Severus nearly smiled, recalling Freedom doing the same thing when he was recovering from the Cruciatus Curse. 

"He woke a little while ago and ate and took some more potions," Severus informed the owl, who was looking at him questioningly.  "He should be well by tomorrow at the earliest, and we'll fly a bit slower after this for a few days, let him regain his strength."

Hedwig dipped her head in acknowledgement, then tucked her head and fell asleep, leaving Severus to eat his supper and then return to sleep as well.  

* * * * * * *

During the night, Harry's fever spiked, despite the Fever Reeducer already in his system, and he woke Severus from a sound sleep with his whimpering and thrashing about.  The Potions Master was on his feet in two seconds, and at Harry's side in one.  He did not need a diagnostic spell to tell him what was happening, however, he could see quite plainly that his ward's fever was dangerously high. 

Hedwig made a soft cry of distress and stared worriedly down at her chosen wizard.

"I know.  He needs an Extra Strength Fever Reducer and a cool bath," Severus told Hedwig matter-of-factly. 

He removed the vial of potion from his kit and proceeded to spell the potion directly into Harry's stomach.  That done, he conjured a rather large metal bathtub and filled it with cool water using a Water Calling Charm.  Harry was still whimpering and fighting some formless inner phantom when Severus banished his pajamas and picked him up and lowered him into the tub.

In his delirium, Harry struggled, but Severus held him firmly, saying softly yet authoritatively, "Harry, be still! It's Severus, you've got a bad fever, now relax and let me help you. Lie here in the water until I tell you to get up.  Lie still!"

Trained to obey an authoritative tone since babyhood, even subconsciously, Harry quit struggling and went still as Snape had commanded.  His head lolled back against Severus's chest, and Snape carefully removed his hands from Harry's shoulders and propped himself up behind the boy, mentally ticking off the fifteen minutes Harry needed to spend in the cool water.

Harry's eyes opened, but he wasn't really seeing anything, his mind was still back within the realm of dreams.  "Cold . . .so cold . . .don't leave me outside, Aunt ‘Tunia . . .it's snowing . . ." his voice was shrill, like the voice of a small boy, and Severus knew he was reliving parts of his life with the Dursleys.  "I'll be good . . ."

"Hush, child.  It's all right.  You're not outside, you're with me," his guardian murmured into one ear.  "You're safe with me, but you must stay in the water for a while longer."

"Why?"

"It'll help take away your fever."

"I'm not bad?"

"No, not at all."

He smiled a bit then.  "I didn't break Dudley's plastic snow shovel, he did that when he hit me with it.  It broke apart when it hit my shoulder."

"I would imagine it would," Severus responded in that calm tone, though inside he was snarling imprecations upon the Dursleys unto the tenth generation. 

"Then he knocked me down and put snow down my shirt and pants, and it was so cold . . .so cold . . .Please, Aunt let me in . . .I don't want to be a st-statistic . . .Please . . ."

As Harry continued to beg for Petunia to let him inside, Severus swore silently and whispered reassurances into his ward's ear, calming the frightened child somewhat.  When the fifteen minutes had gone by, he removed Harry from the water, dried him with a flick of a wand, re-dressed him, and gave him a second dose of the Extra Strength Fever Reducer before tucking him back in bed. 

"There! Your fever is starting to go down," Severus said, pleased and relieved.  He went to sit again in the chair nearby, only to discover that Harry had a death grip on his wrist and he could not move.  "Harry . . .Potter . . .for the love of Merlin . . ."

"Don't go . . .Please . . ."

That stopped him from trying to withdraw his wrist and made him sit on the edge of the bed instead.  "Oh, very well.  I shall stay, never fear," he grumbled, but the words were mere bluster, Harry's plea had caught him fast, like a fly in amber, and he could no more force the boy to relinquish his wrist than he could cut off his own arm. 

Severus Snape, sarcastic dungeon bat, stayed beside his ward all the rest of the night till the dawn, when Harry's fever broke at last, and only then did he manage to get Harry to pry his fingers off and seek his own bed.

"Keep watch, Hedwig," he mumbled before tumbling headlong into sleep's gray realm.

* * * * * *

Day Four

Leaving Calais:

 By the next morning, Harry was feeling very chipper, compared to the horrid mess he had been yesterday.  But Severus insisted he rest a full day before they set out again, and no amount of arguing could change his mind.  He brought Harry fresh croissants with sweet butter and strawberry jam for breakfast, and fresh crusty French bread, baguettes the locals called them, spread with brie cheese and smoked ham for lunch plus sweet grapes and melon.  Everything was delicious. 

"I have a surprise for you for dinner," Severus said as they ate lunch, munching upon a grape and sipping the local version of a champagne spritzer. 

"Like what?"

"A specialty dish they make here which I have eaten before," answered his mentor.  "This may be the only time we will be eating like this for a good long time, so I figured we might as well eat some of the local cuisine."

"What is it?"

"You'll find out when you eat it," Snape said mysteriously. 

"What's all the mystery?"

"You'll see."

They went to a small local restaurant, and Severus ordered for them in French.  Harry, whose only bit of French consisted of "bonjour" and "no parle vou Francais" didn't catch a word of what his mentor said and so was still stumped when the dinner arrived. 

It smelled heavenly though.  There was a fresh salad plus more warm baguettes and the main course was spaghetti with some kind of heavenly garlic butter sauce and shrimp and some kind of odd-looking shells over it.  Harry inhaled and he began to salivate like Pavlov's dog.

"Oh, man, Sev, what is this? It smells great!"

"It does, doesn't it?" Severus said with a smirk.  "Turn that shell over and stick the tiny fork inside it and get out the meat inside of it," he said demonstrating with his own meal.  Then he popped the meat into his mouth and chewed appreciatively.  "Delicious."

Harry followed suit, and found that his mentor was correct.  The meat inside the spiral shells was delicious, tasting of garlic, butter, and similar to steak in an odd way.  "This is some kind of shellfish, right?" Harry guessed, eating another smothered in spaghetti. 

Severus did not answer, he was too busy enjoying his own dinner. 

After they had finished the meal, and Severus had ordered coffee for himself and a hot cocoa and some kind of chocolate torte for Harry, his ward raised an eyebrow, and said, "Okay, Sev.  Tell me, just what was I eating for dinner? I recognized the shrimp and the spaghetti, but what kind of seafood was in the shells there?"

"It wasn't seafood.  It was escargot." Severus replied.

"Escargot? What the hell's that?"

"Are you sure you wish to know?"

"Yeah. C'mon, Severus! The suspense is giving me indigestion."

Severus gave in then.  "Escargot is a local dish, Harry.   They're not seafood, they're snails."

"Snails? I was eating snails?"

"Yes.  And you liked them," Severus reminded him swiftly, hoping the boy wasn't going to vomit up his supper. 

But Harry was not fazed.  "Oh. They didn't taste gross.  They were really good." He looked up at his teacher and flashed him a Snape smirk.  "You thought I'd be totally sickened, didn't you?"

"Most people are."

Harry snickered.  "You forgot, Mr. Brilliance, that as Freedom I eat raw rabbit and bugs and stuff.  So what's a snail dipped in garlic and butter? Least it's cooked."

And for once, Severus Snape had nothing to say.

Later on that night, Freedom, Warrior, and Hedwig left the French seaport and flew onward across southern France, heading towards Italy, and from there they would cross over into Bulgaria and thence into Romania, home of the famous Transylvania vampire, Dracula, and also the legendary Forest of the Night, where the next Horcrux was hidden. 

It would take them five days to reach their goal, and within the forest a great secret would be revealed, but unbeknownst to them, old enemies were stirring, and they were not of a mind to let the hunting hawks go unchallenged.