By the time the Evigilo Soporis potion wore off six hours later, Harry had confided that most of Gryffindor House believed Snape was a vampire, that they thought his animagus form was a vampire bat or a crow and that he washed his hair with cooking oil. He'd described his first kiss—with Cho Chang in the Room of Requirement beneath a sprig of mistletoe—in great detail. He'd discussed Norbert the dragon from the moment it hatched on Hagrid's table, sneezing sparks, to its covert night time departure with Charlie Weasley's friends. Snape managed to get in a few more questions about the stolen boomslang skin and Harry had expounded on the feeling of polyjuicing into Goyle and stealing into the Slytherin Common Room. He'd coerced Snape into singing with him—this time they'd sung When I'm Sixty-Four, as Harry wanted to try one of Paul's songs, and Snape claimed the music for that one was the first McCartney had ever written. Harry thought it was a rather sad song, despite its upbeat melody, but rather liked the part about renting a cottage on the Isle of Wight. Then Harry talked of wanting to be an Auror, or a Healer, or a professional Quidditch Player, or a Dragon Keeper, or maybe, someday, a teacher at Hogwarts. Snape groaned audibly and pretended to count on his fingers the years 'til his retirement. Finally, when the feeling in Harry's arm was up past his elbow and the effect of the Evigilo Soporis potion was just beginning to taper off, making Harry's emotions less euphoric and more melancholic, Harry turned to Snape and wistfully asked "Tell me something about my mum."

He watched Snape carefully as his professor noticeably paused, a smile flitting across his tired-again face.

"She was gifted in Potions as well as Charms, but she liked Charms more. Her laugh was infectious. She loved Jane Austen—she had the oldest, most worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. Her favorite color was blue. She loved winter."

Harry continued to stare wide-eyed at Snape, ,mentally packing away all those small offering to retrieve and study later and resolving to learn more about Jane Austen. "Who was her favorite Beatle?" he asked.

"Paul," answered Snape without hesitation. "It was always Paul."

HPSSHPSSHPSS

At 8 p.m. that night, 12 hours after his treatment began that same morning, Harry and Snape once again stood in the living room of the flat in London. Harry had come down rather hard from the Evigilo Soporis potion, ending up in deep sobs that wracked his shoulders. He couldn't explain why he was crying—it had started during an animated discussion of potential Animagus forms (during which Snape had informed Harry that he wasn't an Animagus and if he were his form most definitely would not be a vampire bat, though he rather liked the idea of being a crow), and had gone on to Harry revealing the Patronus work the D.A. had done the previous school year including Cho's Patronus (a swan), Hermione's (an otter) and Ron's (a Jack Russell terrier). The terrier reminded him of dogs, which reminded him of Snuffles which, of course, reminded him of Sirius. And the tears had started. If he closed his eyes tightly enough, he could see Snuffles running on the platform at King's Cross Station, could remember last Christmas at Grimmauld Place, could see Sirius falling slowly through the veil as Remus grabbed him, held him back, kept him from following Sirius. Then somehow he was crying because the Dursleys didn't want him and had made him sleep in a cupboard and he hadn't gotten to go with them to Liverpool to take the Beatles tour, and then because his parents had died and no one had ever told him before what his mother's favorite author was, or her favorite season, or her favorite Beatle.

Madam Pomfrey had moved in to hug and hold him as Snape had looked on, rather helplessly, occasionally patting his back as Harry sobbed "And they took the guitar instead of me…"

But now Harry's face was clear, his right arm occasionally twitching as new nerves connected and fired, and his backpack was packed and slung over his left shoulder. He'd decided to take the book he'd found here, and Snape hadn't objected, but had left the negligee. Snape had threatened to pack it in his trunk with all his new clothes but Harry had given him the evil eye at that suggestion and had threatened to tell the rest of the Gryffindors that Snape sung Beatles songs in the shower and had a tattoo of the Queen Mum on his bicep.

"I will follow you with the trunk," Snape said as he pointed his wand at the fire to ignite it and handed Harry a handful of floo powder.

Harry stumbled out into the sitting room of Shell Cottage a few moments later. It was absolutely dark out so he used the Muggle matches on the mantle to light two of the oil lamps in the room. When Snape appeared a minute later, Harry said "It's raining. I don't think it was raining in London."

"We're not in London," answered Snape, looking out the front windows as lightning flashed across the western sky. "I'd rather be here with rain than in London with sunny skies."

Rain was beating down on the roof as Harry picked up a lamp and made for the porch, dropping his backpack at the bottom of the stairs as he passed them. Snape followed him as Harry put the lamp on the table and sunk immediately into the hammock with a contented sigh.

"I've missed this place," he sighed. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

In answer, Snape picked up the beach blanket from the back of the chair near the door where they'd left it, shook the sand out of it, wadded it up and tossed it across the room to Harry. Harry caught it with both hands—a major accomplishment he thought—and arranged it over himself. It smelled pleasantly of salt and sand and the sea. The hammock creaked as it rocked gently back and forth and Harry watched as Snape turned down the flame on the lamp, leaving just enough wick exposed to throw a slight flicker against the walls.

"Pleasant dreams," said Snape quietly but meaningfully as he left the room. Harry, exhausted from the day and with the Nu-Nerve still completing its work, fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.

The sea pounded outside and the Evigilo Soporis potion, waning but present, coursed through his veins. It was inevitable that tonight would be a night of sea dreams.

This dream, however, had a linear quality to it that Harry clearly remembered when he awoke. He was sitting on the sandy stretch of beach between Shell Cottage and the ocean. Snuffles was running up and down, barking and nipping at the waves kissing the shorelines. A smaller dog, a white and red Jack Russell terrier, ran behind him, jumping at Snuffles' tail. It looked like Snuffles was waving it deliberately, just out of the terrier's reach, teasing the smaller, younger dog with its movement. A sleek otter, a hare, and a horse joined the group at play. The hare ran in and out beneath the horse's legs while the otter splashed in the shallow water with the two dogs. Harry stood up, drawn to the animals, morphing as he did so into Prongs, but Prongs as his father had been, not a wispy smoky Patronus memory of the stag. Snuffles saw the stag and ran back toward him, changing into Sirius mid-run, a younger Sirius with bright eyes, laughing and hugging Prongs' neck. "The ocean is my home now, James," he said as he let go of the stag, "I've come to say goodbye." Prongs dissolved into Harry again as Sirius ran toward the shore, not stopping at the edge but wading out until he was waist deep, robes floating out on the surface of the water beside him, then turning back to wave before striking out seaward with a steady stroke until Harry, looking out through glasses clouded with tears, could barely see him. A dolphin tail flicked where Sirius had last been then disappeared leaving only concentric circles of ripples. Harry was still looking sadly seaward when Neville, walking barefoot in the sand, approached him and stood beside him, standing quietly with Harry as his attention moved back to watch their friends play. "Don't you want to play too?" asked Harry. "I do," said Neville, "but I don't know who I am." Harry turned to him. "You're a mongoose, Neville," he said, with complete confidence. He held out his hands toward Neville and Neville morphed from human to lion to mongoose in two blinks of an eye. The five animals ran off together down the shoreline and a cat appeared, walking gingerly over the sand, changing to Professor McGonagall as it neared him. "Keep your friends close, Harry," she advised, standing beside him and watching the small herd disappear where the shoreline turned, "but know who they are." She pointed down at their feet, where horse, stag, dog, otter, mongoose and hare tracks mixed and melded and a single set of tracks, cloven hooves like Prongs', led off along the shore in the other direction. Harry moved to follow, but a crashing wave pushed water up to and past their feet and the tracks faded, disappearing completely as the water flowed back to the sea. Professor McGonagall's hand on his shoulder stalled him. "It's not time, Harry. Not now. Not yet."

Harry woke, staring at the ceiling of narrow tongue-in-groove boards, disturbed by the dream, but somehow comforted as well. The rain was still falling outside, the sea was still pounding, the night was still dark. He closed his eyes again and though he continued to dream, of magic flying motorcyles and Dudley floating away like Aunt Marge almost had and driving a Muggle taxi through the Forbidden Forest, he didn't remember those when he awoke.

The next day was among the best he'd had that summer. Snape himself slept in until nearly nine. Harry attempted a full English breakfast, minus the black pudding, and Snape obligingly put away juice, eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, beans, mushrooms and a rather weak parboiled tomato. They spent the morning on the beach, reading and collecting the shells the waves had deposited during last night's storm and ate sandwiches and crisps when they were hungry, well after 2 o'clock. Harry's right arm surprised him with occasional jolts and jumps, but it calmed as the day progressed and Snape spent an hour lobbing rocks and shells at him from across the beach so he could practice catching them.

"You know you're helping the enemy, don't you?" asked Harry as he jumped to catch a shell the size of his palm, one which Snape generically called a bivalve.

"Perhaps I'm helping Slytherin by making sure Ms. Weasley doesn't retake the Seeker's position," he said, tossing a round stone toward Harry. "She was rather formidable."

"Hey!" protested Harry. Then a thought struck him. "You know, I brought my broom. It's up in my bedroom. You don't think...?"

Snape gave a very exaggerated sigh and motioned to the cottage. "Go get it. I will go over the extent of the wards when you return."

Harry practically gave a whoop of joy but resisted yelling out loud, feeling like he was 11 instead of 16 as he ran back toward the cottage to get the broom before Snape came to his senses and changed his mind. He pulled the Firebolt from the back of the wardrobe then ran back to the beach, not noticing, as he ran, that his left leg didn't ache or cramp or weaken.

"Eager, aren't we?" asked Snape as Harry practically skidded to a halt in front of him.

Harry smiled and pushed the hair back from his eyes as Snape took out his wand and did a sweeping, circular motion with it.

"That is the extent of the wards," said Snape. "Stay within them at all times and do not go higher than the roof of the cottage. Harry did a circle with his eyes, taking in the glimmering walls of wards, forty meters wide and out to sea at least the length of a Quidditch pitch. He mounted his broom, realizing he hadn't been on it for months and months, but feeling at home nonetheless. He kicked off and was gone.

Out and back, around and down, up and through. He did laps around the house, rolls out over the ocean, dives where his toes skimmed the water and then the sand. And always he would see Snape, sitting on the beach blanket that had served as Harry's cover last night, not even making a pretense of reading the book he'd brought with him as he watched Harry. One time, briefly, Harry thought it would be just perfect if Ron were there to fly with him but then he flew over Snape, less than a meter over his head and Snape reached up his hand as if to grab the broom and Harry reached down and brushed Snape's fingertips with his own.

Wanted.

Perhaps loved. But even as the thought briefly flitted through his brain, he stuffed it back down, inside a cocoon of water, deep within a protective membrane where light and sound could not penetrate.

This was enough. He could not, should not, ask for more.

HPSSHPSSHPSS

They had another fire that night, though Snape had to cast a drying charm on the still rain-soaked driftwood. Snape let him drink all the Butterbeers he wanted as he himself sipped on a glass of scotch he had poured from an old and dusty bottle he'd brought out of his bedroom upstairs.

"We will return to Hogwarts tomorrow," said Snape during a lull in the conversation. They had been talking about Harry's dream and Snape had taken a curious interest in Neville and the mongoose, telling Harry that the mongoose was famous as a snake killer and was known to even fight cobras. Harry wondered at that and thought that perhaps the mongoose was an appropriate symbol for a loyal Gryffindor.

"After Minerva takes you to Hogsmeade on Wednesday, your friends are scheduled to visit you for a day or two."

"At Hogwarts?" asked Harry. "I'm not going to the Burrow?"

"No, they will come to Hogwarts," answered Snape without further explanation, but Harry knew that Hogwarts was safer and worried that the Burrow might be at risk whether or not he was there.

"And what after that?" Harry asked. Today's what…the 20th?"

"Today is August 19th," answered Severus. "Monday. I have one more week of holiday—professors are required to be at Hogwarts by the 26th to prepare for the coming school year. I will have more to get ready this year than usual, as I'm teaching a new subject, and the previous few Defense instructors didn't leave me with a wealth of useable lesson plans."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Lockhart once gave us a quiz with 54 questions—all about himself. I couldn't remember if his favorite color was lilac or periwinkle. I'd get that one right about you though, wouldn't I?

"Would you?" Snape answered. "What's my favorite color then?"

"You expect me to say black, don't you?" said Harry, taking the last swig of his fourth Butterbeer.

"You tell me," answered Snape, grinning behind his glass of scotch.

"It's green," said Harry. "It's nearly the only color you wear besides white and black.

"I'll have to remember to leave that question off my first quiz so as not to give you an unfair advantage," said Snape, lifting an eyebrow and taking another sip of scotch.

"So you have next weekend free?" asked Harry after they'd sat quietly for a few moments more.

Snape looked over at him, curious. "Yes. I do. What did you have in mind?"

Harry fiddled with his now empty bottle of Butterbeer. "Nothing, really. We could come here again, perhaps."

"Perhaps," answered Snape. "I will discuss it with your guardian."

Harry half-smiled. "She won't want me to go meet the family or anything, will she?"

Snape snorted. "I sincerely hope you are spared that experience. Minerva's daughters and daughter-in-law would consider it quite a coup to land you for one of their girls. Fortunately, Minerva's late husband was French and both daughters and their families are still on the continent—the grandchildren are at Beaubatons."

Snape stood then, resting his half-full glass of scotch in the sand. He looked out toward the ocean then reached into his trouser pocket for his wand and swept it wide, casting a wordless spell that hung fairy lights in the warm air over the cool water. The rolling waves seemed to reach for the lights, not quite touching them, but making them waiver and dance.

"Fancy a swim?" he asked Harry. He was pulling off his trousers and Harry saw, to his surprise, that Snape wore his swimming shorts underneath. Not waiting for Harry, he shucked his shirt then waded out into the water. When he was waist-deep, he dived under and came up several meters farther out, shaking his long hair out of his eyes.

"Yeah," said Harry, standing up and pulling off his t-shirt. "I do."

And he thought that evening that he'd never get tired of the feeling of the cool ocean water against his skin, of the way the sounds were muffled underwater, of the buoyancy of both his body and his spirit.

He'd changed over the summer. He recognized the growth, the healing, the u-turn in his perspective, the fledgling feelings of trust and hope. And watching Snape do a lazy crawl stroke across the water, flipping to float on his back and watch the stars, he wondered if he had changed as well, or if this Snape had always been there, but trapped within a dungeon, bright eyes hiding behind a curtain of lanky black hair.