They arrived back to the hotel and once across the door Snape finally let go of Harry's arm.  Snape spun around and warded the door shut, which Harry watched with fearful eyes, though he didn't move.  His mind was screaming at him to run, hide under the bed, lock himself in the bathroom or do something equally as stupid, but his limbs were betraying him. 

"It wasn't what you think!" Harry blurted, feeling the urge to say something in the silence. He'd worked himself up on the walk back and his nerves were tingling.

"And what exactly was it then, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, in a dangerously low voice. He'd crossed his arms and leaned towards Harry, making Harry press back against the wall.

"I just wanted fresh air. Can't the Boy Who Lived have a bit of fun?"  Harry glared back, but was scrunching his hands against his side. The only thought that was spurning his courage was his belief that Dumbledore would not allow Snape to kill him.  Not yet anyway.  It was then that Harry remembered he was wearing Snape's jacket, just as Snape grabbed hold of the lapels.

"Fresh air." He repeated, voice starting to rise. "You're in Amsterdam, alone, far away from your little friends and protection, and you decide to go for a jaunt in the Red Light District.  Can you not listen to directions once, Potter? I told you to STAY HERE!"

Snape shook him on the last words, and Harry got caught up in the moment. His nervous energy flushed forward and he started shouting without thought.

 "I wanted out! You can't keep people locked up, and why do you care anyway? You've always hated me!"

Harry tried to slap the hands away from his jacket, but Snape wasn't letting go.

"I've kept you alive since you were eleven. I'll be damned if I fail now." Snape snarled, and started hauling Harry toward the table and chairs.

"Let me go, you git!" Harry grunted, trying to wrestle himself out of Snape's grasp.  He was caught off kilter when Snape stopped, turned him a little, and landed a sharp smack to his bum.

"What the fu..." Harry managed to gasp out before the second smack followed directly after.  Snape delivered three more in rapid concession, punctuating them with the words ‘you will pay attention.'

Harry, however, was momentarily stunned and felt confused as his anger quickly left him. What had just happened? And who did Snape think he was making such a big deal out of it; Sirius wouldn't have cared if Harry had gone!  Sirius probably would have cheered Harry on.

"St...stop! What do you think you're doing?" Harry ground out, blinking his eyes owlishly when he realized that they were becoming wet.

Snape had already stopped though, and turned to sit on the chair. He pulled Harry forward, keeping a strong grip on Harry's arms, making him stand directly in front of Snape and look down to meet his professor's eyes.

I'm getting your attention, is what I'm doing."  Snape said, and Harry could tell he was trying to control his temper. Whatever reason he had done it for, Snape certainly had Harry's attention now.

"It was just a walk and some stu...stupid magazines." Harry stuttered; his backside felt a small twinge and Harry still couldn't believe Snape had actually spanked him.

Snape's lips tightened and he was muttering something that Harry thought sounded like cursing in another language.

"It's not what you did Potter, it's why you did it. You performed well on the mission this week, and I trusted you to stay here." Snape lectured in an irritated tone, keeping his dark eyes locked on Harry's green ones.  "Do you have any idea what you put me through tonight?"

Oh. Damn. Harry watched as Snape ran his hand through his hair in agitation and then Harry's stomach plummeted. All his anger was gone now; he'd thought detentions from the man were painful at school, but it was noting compared to knowing he'd finally earned Snape's trust and then lost it.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you." Harry replied, keeping his head down and trying to look anywhere but at Snape.  He'd been ready for a shouting match when they'd walked through the door, and could deal with that.  A rational conversation with Severus Snape was nothing Harry was prepared for.

"Embarrassment was the least of my problems." Snape growled and kept his hands tight on Harry's arms, not hurting him, but preventing him from backing away. Harry felt rather uncomfortable standing so close to Snape, and his eyes were still slightly watery.

"Where did I go tonight?" Snape asked, making Harry feel worse. He'd seen Molly Weasley lecture Ron and his brothers before, but Harry never understood why they hated Mrs. Weasley's ‘I was worried' speech until now.

"To a death eater meeting."  Harry said, rather meekly. How exactly had Snape made him go from a defiant almost-adult to feeling like a small child being scolded? No wonder Dumbledore had made Snape head of house.

"Look at me, Potter."

Harry looked up and really took in Snape's face.  The anger was still there, but Harry saw that there were lines around his eyes and mouth that showed some of the stress that was emanating from his body.  Snape looked tired, annoyed, and at the end of his rope, but Harry also saw the tiniest sign of relief in the older man's expression, which confused him.  It also explained some of the guilt Harry was feeling; it looked almost like Snape had stalked around Amsterdam for a while trying to find Harry.

"I did not."  Snape said after a moment, somehow knowing what Harry had concluded. "I daresay that would have been easier on me.  That watch you wear has spells on it that let me know when you are in danger, so instead I was sitting in a meeting room, filled with thirty death eaters and the Dark Lord when the silent alarm alerted me that you left the hotel room."

Oh. Harry gulped and sniffed quietly.  Of course Snape would have a way to track Harry while he was gone.

"As you know Potter, the Dark Lord is skilled in legilimency."  Snape continued, his voice not smug as it normally would have been in class.  "So I sat there, wondering whether you'd left the room on your own accord or had been taken, where you had gone, if you were safe, and how to keep these thoughts from him," Snape finished, not breaking eye contact.

The tears started again; Harry couldn't help it this time. It sounded almost like Snape cared.

"Stop."  Harry whispered, closing his eyes.  He had been in trouble before; at the Dursley's he'd been locked up, swatted as a child, been kept without food, and forced to do chores. He'd felt sorry at the time, but he'd never before regretted doing something like he did now.

"Tell me why you left, Potter." Snape was relentless, and his cold tone demanded an answer.  Harry wished he would yell irrationally instead.

"I just wanted to..." Harry started, but he was interrupted when a box of tissue was shoved toward him.

"You wanted to go out, and your nasty teacher locked you in your room."   Snape deadpanned. Harry, in a moment of clarity, kept his first reaction to the statement to himself.

"Yeah."  Harry shifted on his foot, wanting to sit down, but Snape kept him where he was. It was odd to be looking down at his teacher, and Harry felt a bit off balanced, as if he was disrespecting the man.

"Not good enough. Why did you want to go out?"

"I just did. You were gone and we're leaving soon and I just thought..." Harry let himself trail off, almost in hope that Snape would fill in the blanks.  He didn't.

"Tell me the exact thing that went through your mind when you decided to leave."  Snape looked like he was perfectly fine with keeping Harry standing there all night until he got his answers.

"I thought that the queen's head on the coin wasn't a very detailed picture compared to ours."  Harry blurted out, keeping his gaze on Snape's knees.  The man would probably be furious if he knew that Harry had been thinking about Sirius' adventures before going.

"You flipped a coin." The way that Snape was almost grinding his teeth told Harry that he'd better think of another answer as fast as possible.  Remembering the taste of the mustard on his tongue, and the fact that Snape was probably already going to kill him, Harry went for the truth.

"I was thinking about Sirius. And that person you mentioned before, the one who had a year to live." 

Snape stiffened at this - he'd not expected that answer.  Harry took a breath and continued, after all, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"I thought that since this is probably my only time I'll ever go to Amsterdam, that I should experience it.  I really haven't done much and that prophecy is rather, well, blunt."

Snape took a few minutes to study Harry, releasing one arm to hold up Harry's chin with his hand. 

"Potter, if it kills me this summer, you will learn that your actions have consequences, and that your life is worth something."  Snape stood up and steered Harry toward the bathroom.

"I know it is.  I have to defeat Voldemort." Harry grumbled, feeling sorry for himself.

"Don't be ridiculous." Snape scoffed, wetting a towel that was sitting by the sink and wiping Harry's face with it.  "If that were the sole purpose of your life I would have dragged you to him already to get it over with."

Harry's heart stopped cold and he stared with an open mouth at Snape.  The guilty feeling was instantly forgotten and he measured his teacher's unreadable face. This couldn't be though, Dumbledore trusted Snape.

"Relax, you idiot." Snape handed him a toothbrush and put the cloth down.  He made eye contact, but Harry never felt the invading touch of legilimency. 

"You don't expect to live after meeting Voldemort." It was a statement posed as a question, and Harry answered it by shaking his head.  He needed no time to think about the answer, as it had been on his mind since the night in the cemetery when Cedric died.

Snape regarded him with a calculating look, before spinning on his heels and leaving the room.  "I will change that.  Be ready for bed in ten minutes."  Harry stared at the door in bemusement.  Were a few swats and a stern talking to all the punishment he was going to get?  Considering it was Snape, Harry thought he was getting off rather easily. Then again, the horrible feeling he'd gotten at Snape's utter disappointment in Harry for leaving the room was something he didn't want to experience a second time.

 When Harry emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, he found Snape sitting at the desk by the window, scribbling a note quickly in the margin of a book. It was one Harry had seen Snape pick up at Waterstones', but Harry had no idea what the book was about as Snape had kept it rather hidden.  He dropped his clothes on top of his suitcase and moved to the bed, closest to the wall away from Snape.

"As my first desire was to strangle you upon sight, we will be discussing your punishment once back in England. For now, rest assured that you will not be leaving my side any time soon, and will be writing me an essay on the consequences of your actions and what you think you are worth."

Harry nodded silently to this, and stared down at the bed.

"What now, Potter?" Snape said at Harry's hesitation.  He still looked annoyed from earlier, but Harry figured most of the frustration had been taken out on the walk back to the hotel and the lecture.

"Can I still help you on that second mission?"  Harry asked, trying to keep he hope out of his voice.

"We will see," Snape finally answered as Harry climbed into bed. "You are grounded at the moment. There will be no going to the Burrow, but I am undecided on the mission"

Harry took that to mean it was a privilege he could earn back by acting responsible and doing what he was told.  He settled into bed feeling a tiny bit better.

Harry was surprised to feel the sheets warm, and to find a strange object beneath the covers.  Harry lifted back the covers enough to see a small cloth covered bag of what felt like kidney beans, heated up so the bag was warm to Harry's touch.  It felt good against his stomach, and Harry curled up on his side, hugging it. Had Snape put it there?  The man had to have, since Harry knew no one else had been in the hotel room since they'd gotten back.

Snape walked over to the bed and turned out the light by the bedside table. He held out his hand for Harry's glasses, placing them on the table beside Harry's wand.

"The watch told you where I was?"  Harry didn't turn away from the wall, as he was having difficulties not yawning. He was tired from night out, tired from the crying, and tired from his guilt.

 "Yes. I am well aware of your nighttime wandering habits, Potter. I have four different ways to track you at all times."  Snape responded, taking back the jacket Harry had worn and draping it neatly over a chair.

"Sirius wouldn't have cared if I'd gone."  Harry was mumbling more to himself, but Snape heard him anyway.

"He never did care for the well being of others." Snape's tone was flat and unemotional.  There was no sneer in his voice, and Harry hugged the beanbag tighter as he thought about what Snape had said, and remembered what he saw in Snape's pensieve.

Snape was right. Sirius would not have cared much about any danger, and he probably wouldn't have bothered to put tracking spells on Harry.

"Listen to me and repeat what I say."  Snape spoke, his voice carrying softly over the bed and catching his attention. "Harry James Potter is not invincible."  The ‘you must therefore take care of yourself' was implicit.

Harry turned and took in the blurry figure that stood beside him.  He opened his mouth and in one sentence dispelled all the rumours and gossip surrounding his status as the Boy who Lived. 

"Harry James Potter is not invincible."

Snape nodded and moved Harry's shoes to the end of the bed, so Harry wouldn't trip on them if he went to the washroom in the middle of the night.  

"Neither is Elliot Snape."  Harry mumbled, his eyes closed and his body warm from the beanbag.

Snape paused as he folded down the covers of his own bed.

"No."

Harry yawned and let himself slip into a daydream. The room was warm, the bed was very soft, he could hear people talking through the cracked open window, and the sound of Snape flipping through a book in the bed beside him lulled Harry's mind into a very comfortable zone.  His bottom didn't hurt really, but it felt more a residual warm ache than a sting, and the hot beanbag against his belly was counteracting it.

"I'm still in trouble, aren't I?"  Harry asked sleepily, pulling the blanket up under his chin.  He didn't know Snape was watching him from the other bed.

"Like a mouse amongst a nest of snakes, Potter." Snape answered, settling back against pillows and releasing muscles that had been tense since the watch had first alerted him.

--

Harry woke up the next morning feeling horribly embarrassed about the night before.  Snape was already awake and moving around the room, and Harry kept his eyes closed as he tried to fake rolling in his sleep, and pulling the covers up over his head.

Apparently Snape saw through his movements though, as seconds later the whole top sheet was yanked from the bed and Harry saw Snape standing with his arms crossed at the end of the bed.   A small vial was in one of his hands, and after a moment Harry held out his own hand to take it.  Snape regarded him with a stern glare, and passed the potion.

"Head hurt from crying?"  Snape said in an even voice, watching Harry take the correct dosage.

"No." Harry answered in a quiet tone, turning back on his side and huddling up as the potion took effect.

Snape watched as the short and thin teenager that he'd known for five years shrunk down to a tiny and even shorter child.  The black shaggy hair was a bit longer, long enough to cover the infamous scar on his forehead, and the green eyes looked a bit lighter.  The body was undersized, and Snape knew from Harry's growth pattern over the years that it had not been caused by genetics. 

Harry shivered and hugged himself a little, swallowing back something as his six-year-old feelings took dominance once again in his body.  Snape turned around to allow Harry time to his thoughts, and folded up his list of ingredients that he wanted to purchase at the market. A sarcastic and combative Potter irked him to no end, but he didn't like this resigned version either.  It only confirmed his theory that the disobedience had very little to do with Snape himself.

"Stop sulking, Elliot." Snape said, using the name on purpose. "This is the last day in Amsterdam and I will not be dragging a petulant child with me through the city. We will deal with your punishment back in England."

Snape gave Harry a pointed look, and did not react when Harry smiled a tiny smile.

--

The man who owned De Gouden Sleutel, which was a dingy little café on the Amstel just past Muntplein, was a rather simple man who enjoyed his beer strong, his food greasy, and his routine to flow smoothly.  The café drew very little interest from most who passed through it, with its one dusty table and mismatched chairs that stood under the one window by the door.  An old menu on the table still had prices in Dutch Guilders instead of Euros, though Dirk only accepted galleons in exchange for anything ordered.  The problem of mismatched prices had never come up though, and Dirk was quite happy to spend his days watching muggles bustle by his window, waving wizards through to De Kromweg with a slight nod.

Dirk's routine was jarred slightly by the two wizards that entered early in the morning that Saturday, the taller menacing one wearing his dark robes with an air of confidence that did not cross the line into snobbiness. The little one, who looked to be five or six, had a shaved head, brilliant hazel eyes, and a t shirt with some sort of fluorescent puppet on it, had actually waved at Dirk as they passed through.

The coffee seemed a bit more aromatic this morning, and Dirk spelled the alley door to allow them passage.  He even gave a small wave back at the boy, before returning his gaze to his window.

--

Just like he had on his eleventh birthday, Harry felt overwhelmed with giddiness as they entered De Kromweg.  Snape had mentioned that it meant Crooked Way or something like that, but Harry didn't care about translations at the moment. He closed his eyes as Snape laid a hand on his collar to keep him close, and took a deep breath.

It smelled different than Diagon Alley, but not unpleasant.  There was a mixture of damp earth and fresh bulbs coming from the flower stalls at the market to his right and just up ahead Harry could hear shouts from a group of wizards in aprons that were tossing fish and haggling with customers.   Harry instinctively latched his hand onto the edge of the pocket of Snape's robe, and followed him with wide eyes through the streets.

Most of the shops were similar to the ones back home, except the names were foreign to him and the fashions slightly different. Harry saw a stall that sold magical pets and supplies for them, resisting the urge to stop by the tank of snakes and see if parseltongue had a Dutch variant.  Snape stopped at the stall next to this and pulled out a list of things to buy; the stall looked like a mixture between a produce market and a garden center.  Harry stood still and watched around him, smiling at three boys who ran past their group shouting at each other, ice cream cones in hand with ice cream that changed colours every few seconds.  An ice cream would be a nice treat on such a hot day.

Harry stayed silent, however, not daring to ask Snape for one. He didn't really deserve it, and he'd told himself to be on his best behaviour today. Nothing could fix his stupidity for the night before, but perhaps it would alleviate some of his shame for disappointing Snape. The man had hinted that Harry was going to take part in his next mission, and perhaps if Harry were at his best, Snape would still let him go.  He'd told himself he wouldn't speak a word unless spoken to, and so far Snape had seemed to appreciate the silence as they'd walked through the crowds.

When Snape was done with the merchant, he silently cupped his hand to the side of Harry's head and gently turned them both to continue down the street. It felt weird to have Snape's hand against him, but Harry figured that was probably from the lack of hair. There had been a twenty minute row that morning over the disguise Snape had planned for Harry, the hair spelled into a very short shaved cut, dirty brown fuzz remaining to match with hazel brown eyes.  The scar had been hidden by muggle makeup, something Harry hadn't been too pleased about, and Harry had refused to speak to Snape for a while, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, as Snape had transfigured him a perfectly fitted Fraggle Rock t shirt.

At least it was a stationary picture on the t-shirt, and not a moving one, Harry thought as they entered a shop called Kleis en Gijs Apotheek.

Snape made quick work of visiting the apothecary to check for ingredients he couldn't get in England or Scotland.  Harry amused himself by staring across the street at the store called Koninklijk Zwerkbal, laughing at the sign on the wall. Quidditch was apparently zwerkbal in Dutch, and Harry rolled the word on his tongue as he tried to pronounce it properly.

"Elliot, come here."  Snape was standing at the counter, and from the looks of his impatience, had been for more than a few minutes.  Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and walked towards the other side of the shop, running his fingers along the shelves as he went.  Snape tapped his foot a few times as he spoke to the cashier, but Harry walked carefully over.  He resisted the childish urges of the deaging potion; Harry refused to run in a shop full of disgusting ingredients in breakable jars.

Harry stopped at the edge of one shelf, idly touching one small jar of powdered griffin claw as Snape bartered with the cashier. He stared back out the window and stopped listening to Snape, instead focusing on a teenager outside the shop who looked his regular age.  The boy was tall and gangly, dressed in a rock band t-shirt and low hung jeans, his messy hair scattered atop his head with what looked like muggle gel.  He was leaning against the doorway to Koninklijk Zwerkbal, arms crossed and a bored look on his face.

Harry picked up the jar of powder and held tight to it as he watched an older man, the spitting image of the teen, walk up and start talking.  The boy had such a look of contempt on his face at whatever the man was saying - Harry almost shook the jar as he flinched - and after a minute of listening to the man who pretended to be oblivious to the attitude, the boy shouldered his father away and stalked off in another direction. Not even a single look back, but Harry saw the resignation in the older man's reflection.

For a second their eyes met through the glass, and Harry felt a pang of empathy.  Sirius would probably be that patient with him too, even with that attitude.  The man yelled something at his son, but through the window Harry couldn't hear it.  Instead, his stomach lurched violently as he realized he couldn't hear Sirius' voice in his head either.

Sirius wouldn't get the chance to be that patient with him. Sirius was gone, and Harry couldn't remember what his voice sounded like.  Sirius would never take him to Amsterdam, never get annoyed with him for breaking rules, and never say he did well at something.  Harry couldn't hear his voice, but he remembered how Sirius used to smile.

His vision unfocused, and Harry dropped the jar in his hand, not flinching when it smashed on the floor by his feet. His knees felt weak, and he slid down to the floor, his hands automatically putting themselves out to prevent a face plant.

Harry didn't feel the shards of glass cutting his palms, but he did feel a cold hand on his forehead, and a steady arm wrapped around his middle.  He was pulled off the floor and against a strong chest, the hand not moving from his forehead as tears fell from his eyes, but no sound came from him.  Harry's vision was blurred, and he was glad he couldn't see out the window anymore. His hearing was fuzzy as well, but he didn't care about that either.

Snape saw the whiteness in Harry's face and knew shock wouldn't be far off in the little body. He silently lifted Harry and stood up, following the cashier to a small back room kitchen behind the counter.  It was a large enough room, and the man left Snape there to go clean up the spilled glass and powder. 

The book hadn't quite mentioned that children in grief would have a certain snapping point where they'd realize their family member was gone, but Harry wasn't a normal child and Snape had experienced enough loss to know that every person didn't follow the same exact steps while mourning.

Snape put Harry on the counter, sitting him down and putting one finger under his chin. Snape easily lifted Harry's head, and made eye contact with the sad brown eyes.  Snape could see the despair in them, and understand it very clearly.  He'd seen that broken look before, on his own face in a memory of the night he'd learned Lily had died, the night he'd been destroyed.  Dumbledore had caught him, kept him safe at the school and helped put part of him back together.  Snape didn't know how to do sympathy though, so he hoped that Potter's Gryffindor bravery could hold the boy a little longer as he tried to drop the sarcastic and uncaring personality he'd ingrained to himself.

"Elliot, I need to clean your hands."  Snape spoke in a calm voice, and Harry watched his every move as the larger nimble fingers took Harry's right hand into their own, gently fishing the glass out with his wand.  "You saw something outside, was it the man by the quidditch store?"

Harry didn't nod, but he didn't shake his head either.  Instead, a few more tears dropped down his cheeks, and he shivered.  Snape whispered a cleaning spell, healing the palm, and then moved onto Harry's left hand.  The touch was soft, and Harry felt that it was unraveling him more than the realization that Sirius was really gone.

More glass was taken out of his skin, and the cleansing spell was done.  The cuts were small enough that they healed without needing bandages, though instead of spelling away the blood, Snape wet a paper towel and started to gently clean Harry's fingers.

Harry watched him, his shoulder length hair falling forward and covering his face partially as he leaned over Harry's hands.  The touch was very light, not one that Harry had ever imagined the potions master capable of.  Especially not after the spanking he'd received just the night before, a thought that made him shake his head slowly.  Snape hated him, but here he was, for the past seven days, taking care of Harry and putting up with his foolishness. Just like the man outside.

"The boy pushed him away."  Harry whispered, his eyes staring down at his lap.

"The teenager?"  Snape asked, rolling up the towel and vanishing it.  He held up Harry's glasses, and spelled them clean.

"Yes."  Harry was amazed that Snape had said nothing about his breakdown in the middle of a store. Surely the Gryffindor golden boy wasn't allowed a breakdown.  Harry glanced up quickly and didn't see any malice in Snape's eyes, which caught him quite off guard.  Was Snape actually concerned about Harry?

Harry played with his hands and continued his explanation.

"He just shrugged his dad off. Like he'd always be there."    Harry knew he sounded pathetic, but the tightness in his chest was almost too much to keep him from sobbing. He'd felt loneliness before; he could clearly remember actually being six years old and forgotten in the rain outside a store after Aunt Petunia had finished her shopping and gone home.  Loneliness Harry could handle. Longing was a different story.

Light pressure suddenly started circling Harry's shoulders, where Snape had moved his hands and gave a small squeeze.  Harry melted a little under the touch, and the tears nearly started back up again.

"You think the teenager is unappreciative."  Snape held his handkerchief out as Harry sniffed, and didn't grimace when Harry blew his nose.

"Some days I wish I hadn't met the Weasleys." Harry stated, in a random sentence that Snape was only able to follow from years of practice with the headmaster's ramblings.  

"I can't miss what I never had."

Snape took a sharp breath at that, and gave Harry a small upturn of his lips. 

"Perhaps we should lighten the day a little, then."  In a move that Harry wasn't expecting, but very much appreciated, Snape lifted him easily up and held Harry to his chest , crossing his arms under Harry's bum.  Harry rested his own arms loosely around Snape's shoulders, and rested his head in the crook of Snape's neck.

"A new definition for you, Elliot."  Snape commented as they walked up the street towards the Dutch Ministerie van Toverkunst office building and public Floo.    "Home is where they understand you."

Harry smiled at that and grinned as they stopped at a souvenir stand along the way, where he pointed out a ridiculously bright orange crown with spinning windmills on it and a mooing cow for the headmaster.    Snape shrunk the hat to fit in his pocket with the rest of their luggage, betting Harry three galleons that the Headmaster would not wear it at that year's opening feast.