Severus Snape looked quite the opposite of pleased when Harry Potter earned himself yet another detention. Of course, Harry looked even less pleased, due to the fact that he was covered in head to toe with slime. It wasn't his fault Malfoy had used a spell to break one of the ingredient jars on the shelf right above his work table.

      "Mr Potter," drawled Snape, arms crossed and drawing himself up to full height so that he towered over the small first year covered from head to toe in Merlin knew what kind of slime. "How is it that you so frequently waste good ingredients? I haven't the slightest idea how you managed to knock that jar off the shelf"-Malfoy smirked in Harry's direction -"but perhaps you can explain to me what happened tonight, seven-o-clock, my office. Don't be late."

     "Yes sir," muttered Harry dejectedly as the slimy purple substance slid down his fringe and dripped onto the dungeon floor. No sooner had he wiped the slime off his glasses than the bell rang.

      "Rotten luck mate," said Ron as they left for their next class.

     "That wasn't fair of him," Hermione sniffed as she followed Harry and Ron up the staircase and to transfiguration. "He knew just as well as anybody that Malfoy went and smashed the jar."

      "Yeah well, Snape's never fair," Ron said, dismissing Hermione's comment with a wave of his hand before turning to Harry. "Sure you don't have time to change?"

      "No, McGonagall will freak if I'm late again," Harry replied, cringing as he recalled Malfoy's last prank on him, which had caused him to be late to transfiguration by twenty minutes. The prank had involved his shoelaces and a very good sticking charm, and ended in him having to be rescued (however much he hated to admit it) by Professor Snape when he found him stuck behind a tapestry. It had been quite mortifying really, with his shoelaces stuck to the floor and pulled so tight he couldn't get his feet out of his shoes. And unfortunately for him, he had not known a cutting charm at that point (he had been sure to learn one soon).

      "I don't think McGonagall will like you sliming up the desks though," Ron said, shaking his head and stepping into the classroom, followed by Hermione and a slightly hesitant Harry.

      "Good morning class," began Professor McGonagall once the bell had rung. She became quickly distracted however by the goo covered student in front of her. "Potter, what on earth is that all over you?"

       "Er, slime?" Harry said, cringing.

      "And why, are you covered in slime?"

       "During potions a jar smashed all over me. I didn't have time to change because you said I couldn't be late again."

       "Go now Mr Potter," sighed McGonagall. "I suppose you can miss a little bit of class."

       "Thank you Ma'am," he said gratefully and slipped out of the classroom as fast as he could.

       As Harry walked through the corridors, silent but for the slosh of his slimy trainers, exhaustion fell upon his shoulders.  Sometime he wondered if he had a sticker on his head that said, "make my life as hard as possible". It was true he had friends here, and that he got more to eat and a nicer place to sleep, but sometimes he still felt like the whole world was up against him. Malfoy was even worse than Dudley, because Malfoy was much cleverer than Dudley ever would be.

     And then there was Snape; he was just a mystery. Harry had long accepted that Snape hated him, though he just didn't know why. Harry shook his head; it didn't matter. People just hated him, and there didn't seem to be any good reason for it. Even so, he got a strange feeling that there was something about Snape's hatred he was missing, like there was a reason, but he just didn't know it. 

  Harry sighed, forcing himself to push his worries aside. There was no sense in dwelling on things he could not change, so he might as well try and relax, and be happy with what he had. So he thought of his friends instead, and how much better it was to be at Hogwarts than at any school his Aunt and Uncle wanted him at. As usual, this shift in attitude did a great deal to cheer him up. 

        ***

        Of course, Harry should have known his cheerful mood wouldn't last long; he did have detention with Snape after all. He was surprised however when he arrived to find that he would not in fact be gutting toads or scrubbing floors. Instead he was to do something different.

     "You will be accompanying me down to the lower dungeons," Snape told Harry as soon as he entered his office, "as one of the dungeons needs to be cleared out for other purposes, and it is currently being used as storage. You are to follow me and do what I say when I say to do it. Understand?"

      "Yes," Harry replied.

      "Yes sir," corrected Snape, and he swept out of the office.

       "Yes sir," Harry muttered, following Snape.

       Harry did his best to keep up with his Professor's blistering pace, but had a difficult time. Professor Snape would occasionally exhale with an impatient huff and slow down, only to speed up round the next corner, black robe whipping out of sight before Harry was even close to rounding the bend.

      It was only after many minutes and many staircases that they reached their destination, or the corridor leading to their destination at least.

      "Blasted weather," Snape said mutinously, surveying the expanse of water in the slightly sunken corridor ahead.

      "Is there always water down here sir?" Harry asked curiously.

      "Occasionally, usually when we have a wet year," Snape replied, sounding slightly irritated.

      Harry frowned a second, and against better judgement asked another question.

        "Why Sir? It doesn't flood in any of the other dungeons."

      "Because Potter," growled Snape, "the charms down here are older and more difficult to keep functional due to the age of this part of the castle. Other portions of the castle have been added on over the years," he added impatiently at Harry's blank expression.  "But I wouldn't expect you to understand ..."

     "Oh," muttered Harry. "Er, how will we get across?"

    "Walk," spat Snape grouchily. And with that he stepped into the submerged area of the corridor, followed closely by Harry. "Step carefully. The floor is slightly uneven."

      Ripples spread out from the dark water where they stepped. The chill of the water seeped through Harry's trainers and over his socks, and the water grew deeper as they went. After a while the water was closing in on Harry's knees, which Professor Snape didn't pay notice too. Harry wondered how much deeper it was going to get, and dearly hoped he wouldn't have to swim. Luckily, the depth levelled out before the water could go too much above Harry's knees. Harry started to quicken his pace, though it was hard with the water so deep. He was keen to reach the other side however, as his legs were getting awfully cold. In his haste he lost his balance, his shoe having come across a ridge on a piece of stone. Harry teetered slightly and was about to fall backwards into the water when Professor Snape grabbed his arm to steady him.

     "Foolish boy," he scolded once Harry had regained his balance. "Did I not tell you to be careful?"

      "Sorry sir."

     Harry lowered his head slightly and continued through the cold water, writhing with anger. He would have gone more slowly if Snape wasn't walking so fast! He scowled.

     "Do not give me that look Potter," warned Snape.

     Harry was on the verge of sticking out his tongue at him but stopped himself just in time. Eleven year olds didn't do that. It was hard to remember sometimes. He'd only been eleven for a little over three months after all. Harry was brought out of his thoughts when he realised the water was now a little beneath his knees and they were only a few feet from the end of the corridor. The stones where the water lay over were still quite sunken in, but the dry portion of the corridor up ahead was not. The dry stones jutted out far from the sunken in area.

     Snape was able to climb easily onto the stones above the sunken ones. Harry however, struggled a fair bit to get up on them. It appeared there had once been a small flight of stairs, but three or four steps had cracked and crumbled into the water, making it rather hard for a rather short eleven year old to climb up.  Professor Snape looked impatiently upon Harry, who had his belly on the higher stones and his feet kicking about a little above the water. He felt utterly ridiculous, and rather hoped Snape wouldn't point out such a fact.

     "For the love of Merlin," Snape scowled, and grabbed the back of Harry's robe roughly, hoisting him up. Harry stumbled a little before regaining his balance.

       "Sorry Sir," Harry panted. Snape merely grunted.

         Harry glanced back upon the watery corridor. Quite suddenly his clothes were no longer wet, and it took him a moment to realise Snape had used magic to dry both their shoes and clothes.

     "Follow me, and do not touch anything unless I tell you to," said Snape and he rounded the corner and tapped a rusty metal door with his wand.

        The hinges protested, but eventually the door that they held so rigidly creaked open to reveal a room, not unlike Snape's classroom, but piled with all manner of curious objects and discarded teaching tools. Harry followed Snape as he wound through the piles of boxes and objects until they reached the front of the room.

      "We will start here, discarding things that are no longer useful," Snape said, looking a little weary as he surveyed the room.

     "What kinds of things are useful here?" Harry wondered aloud.

     "Not a lot," Snape replied dryly. "If it looks like something Binns would like, toss it in the rubbish pile."

      "Yes sir," Harry said, wondering in amazement if Snape had actually just made a joke.

      It was tedious work. Many of the things were strange artifacts or outdated potion ingredients. Snape hinted to Harry that it would be very bad if he smashed one of the jars over himself, as some were likely rotting. For once Harry agreed with Professor Snape. Throughout the dusty and tiring task, Harry had no sense for what time it was, as the only clock in the room was a strange enchanted carriage clock that belched out a cloud of smoke every so often, followed by a loud clunk. Harry doubted it was accurate, so he contented himself with guessing what the strange artefacts or outdated tools in the room were for. So, naturally, it was with some interest when he came upon a tarnished metal ball, about the size of a grapefruit and engraved with tiny runes.  There was a network of cracks across the surface, more accurately described as faint lines, though they did not look like they had come with age. The cracks were definitely deliberate. Harry fingered the worn curiosity, and wondered what it was for. So far a lot of the things in the room had appeared to have a use, but this seemed to be merely an ornament. And yet still, the ball looked as though pieces could come off, the way the lines were arranged.

     "Professor Snape," Harry said slowly, still examining the sphere, "do you know what this is?"

     Snape moved out from behind the workbench where he was sorting through old books and took a glance at the metal object Harry held in his hand.

    "No," he replied curtly. "It looks like rubbish to me."

    "I wonder what these runes say," Harry muttered, eyes alight with curiosity. His tone of voice appeared to have sparked a small amount of curiosity in Snape as well, as he came up behind Harry and looked down upon the metal runes as well.

    Snape scoffed loudly and said, "Potter, those are not runes. See, look"- Snape's spidery finger drifted along the metal-"there's a wizards hat, and a crudely carved owl."

     "Then what's that one?" Harry asked, thumb running over an oddly shaped curl of the metal.

     "Hmm," Snape said, plucking the ball up and squinting. His eyes widened a little bit and narrowed once more. "Unless I'm mistaken, it is ... a knotted rope."

     He handed the metal ball back to Harry, who studied it with rapt fascination. 

    "Why would that be on here?" Harry asked, to nobody in particular.

    "How should I know Potter?" said Professor Snape impatiently, still looking at the strange sphere. "Put it where it belongs."

     Harry made to comply, but his finger caught on a ridge of the object, and with a sudden hiss the fine lines across the sphere opened up and became wide cracks. At the same time a shimmering red powder exploded out from the center, spraying over the runes and covering both people standing near it.

     "Trust you Potter," cried Snape, sounding extremely exasperated as he waved his wand to remove the dust. It didn't work so well, so he resorted to the muggle method and brushed it off his robes by hand. "It appears to be harmless, though I would suggest you brush that off quickly. Assuming you can accomplish that without further mayhem!"      

     "I didn't mean to sir, honest!" he exclaimed, shaking the powder out of his hair.

     "What is done is done, but after this cease to examine the objects and simply toss them in the correct pile," Snape warned, waving his wand. "Luckily the powder was not poisonous,"-he pocketed his wand-"we could have been seriously injured!"

      "Sorry sir ..."    

       CLUNK!

        "Blasted clock!" growled Snape, throwing a spell at it and knocking it off the shelf with a crash and one final clang.  Harry jumped.

         By the time they were done Harry felt almost dead with fatigue. So it was with quite heavy feet and droopy eyes that Harry finally ascended to Gryffindor tower. There were still a few stragglers in the common room, as it was a Friday night. A few people gave Harry sympathetic looks, all of which he ignored, thinking of nothing but his four poster. He fell onto the covers, and soon after into a deep sleep. He did not ponder the strange sphere he and Professor Snape had found, nor the red powder that had gotten all over them. Instead Harry was lost in the fanciful ideas that are dreams, and for once had not a care in the world.

        ***

       It was with a slightly unfortunate turn of events that caused Harry to be travelling to the hospital wing Monday after lunch. For some time he had ignored the growing aches, shivers and tremors he had been feeling since morning, but he could only do so for so long. Harry was feeling so ill that his teeth were chattering one minute and he was sweltering under his robe the next. He soon found out however, that he was not the only person to visit the hospital wing at that moment, as the screens around one of the beds were drawn and Madam Pomfrey could be heard talking to someone. Harry waited quietly for her to come out, and took a slight interest in what he was hearing. He tried not to listen, but it was difficult in such a room that echoed so.

         "You know I have had vanishing sickness already," Snape replied. "I was really sick with it a couple years ago, and you cannot get it more than once. That is a fact Poppy!

      "Hmm ... certainly strange," said Madam Pomfrey. "Whatever you believe Severus, I am positive this is a rare or new kind of vanishing sickness. You exhibit all the symptoms ... and a few new ones."

     "That cannot be possible."

     "Yes it can Severus," replied Madam Pomfrey sternly to the rather irate Professor. "We cannot risk spreading this to the rest of the population."   

     "No, you don't mean-"

     "Yes I do," she said, sounding rather apologetic. "I cannot take the risk Severus; I need to put you into quarantine."

     "I am fine," Snape said crossly.

     "No you aren't. I am going to quarantine you and that is final. At least until we can find out more about this strain of vanishing sickness, if it even is a form of it."

      Harry heard a deep sigh and a slight amount of shuffling and watched as Madam Pomfrey led Professor Snape to a small door at the end of the hospital wing. Harry noticed that Snape looked dreadfully pale, more so than usual. Madam Pomfrey followed him into the room, and came out without him. When she returned to the main area she did a number of spells around the wing, most likely to attempt to eradicate the germs.

     "Mr Potter," she said, having finally noticed him. There were definitely disadvantages to being a first year; you had to speak up often to be noticed, which was something Harry found a little hard sometimes. "What is it that you need?"

     "I think I need a Pepper-Up potion," Harry told her, following Ron's advice. According to Ron a Pepper-Up potion could do wonders when you were sick, though it did make you hiss steam for a while. "I don't feel very good."

     "You do look quite peaky, but before I can give you anything you'll have to tell me your symptoms."

    "Er, I think I have a fever," Harry began. "I'm really cold, and then seconds later I'm hot."

    "Hmm, do you have any aches?" Pomfrey asked gently.

    "Yeah, my arms and back and neck.

    "Oh my, come behind the screen," she said, leading him behind the curtains around a bed.

    "I don't think it's serious, probably a cold or flu," Harry muttered, feeling slightly worried. His comment however, fell on deaf ears as Madam Pomfrey inspected his hands and face.

     "Can you take off your shirt for me?" she requested, feeling his forehead.

     "Yes Ma'am," Harry said, complying.

     "Oh dear," she sighed, examining his chest and stomach.

      "What's wrong?"  he gasped.

     "Spots," Madam Pomfrey said.

            Harry looked down at his chest and was shocked to see that small spots on his chest had disappeared. At the center of each spot you could not see his skin or anything beneath it for that matter. Around the centre of the spot the skin grew gradually less transparent.

     "Dreadful luck. I think you have the rare strain of vanishing sickness I diagnosed not a moment earlier," Madam Pomfrey told him as she shook her head in amazement. "I hope this does not mean it is extremely contagious. Well, I am afraid I will have to quarantine you too Mr Potter."

     "Not... not with Professor Snape?" Harry asked, almost pleading.

     "I'm sorry," Madam Pomfrey said with a sigh.

     Harry frowned, the thought of quarantine not really sinking in just yet. Numbly he let her lead him over to the room. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. Harry wondered if he had caught his illness during detention with Snape. Had Snape looked unusually pale during his detention? Harry pondered this question, thinking perhaps he had come into contact with the illness then, likely from Snape. But how could it be that he and Snape came down with symptoms the very same day, at relatively the same time?

      "Right in here dear," she said kindly to Harry, bringing him out of his thoughts and leading him through the doorway.

     Previous thoughts forgotten, Harry looked with interest at the transparent blue wall that stretched through the opening of the doorway. It looked almost like some sort of bubble. There was another door down a short hallway, this one with a pink bubble stretched to the edges of the door frame. Madam Pomfrey told him it was supposed to sterilize anything coming in or out of the area, and that she hoped it worked effectively for this illness. The cleansing bubbles felt strange on Harry's skin; it was almost as though he were being subjected to a large amount of static electricity. Once through the pink bubble Harry caught sight of a small ward with a fair sized window at the far end. Snape was standing by the window, looking out.

     "Poppy, just let me out," he said, sounding as though he was trying to cover up the chatter of his teeth. "I am fine."

     When Madam Pomfrey did not answer Snape whipped around, and caught sight of Harry, who froze.

     "What is he doing here?" breathed Snape, frozen where he stood and looking positively furious.

     "Mr Potter has come down with the same symptoms you have," Pomfrey said softly, almost as though she were trying to tame a wild animal. "There is no mistaking them, and so you two will have to share the ward for a while."

     "How long ... is a while?"

     "I do not know."

     "Madam Pomfrey," Harry whispered, glancing at Snape, who began to pace mutinously. "I don't think this is such a good idea."

     "I cannot help the situation," she said, showing Harry his bed. "Please, try to get along for the time being. I must contact Albus and St Mungo's."

     "St Mungo's?" Harry asked.

     "The wizarding hospital," Snape supplied, irritated.

     "Oh."

     Madam Pomfrey departed, leaving the both of them alone. Snape sat down on the edge of his bed, looking positively terrifying. He had a look on his face that gave Harry the urge to run. With much caution Harry observed him from the safety of his own bed, and saw that his Professor, like him, was not well at all. Snape's skin looked waxy, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He was shaking as well, but this was certainly not out of anger. With a slight jolt Harry saw that there were a few spots on one of Snape's wrists that had vanished, just like the ones Harry had on his chest and stomach. Fear seeped into Harry. Snape's figure gave a violent shudder, and he grew paler. It was with wide eyes that Harry laid back into his pillows and wondered if this illness had the potential to be lethal. He had forgotten to ask.

      Within a matter of hours both Harry's fever and Snape's seemed to progress, but they did not appear to be normal fevers at all. Poppy for one, could not detect a temperature from either of them by means of magic or muggle methods. She had given them each a potion for fever to no effect. The only things that told anyone they were ill were the tremors, pale faces and invisible spots on their skin. Even more peculiar was that the parts of their clothing covering the invisible spots on their skin grew invisible as well. Madam Pomfrey had noticed that the invisible spots on their robes would reappear if they took them off, and thus figured out that it was not their clothes but the illness. Harry and Snape opted to stay in their own clothes after that, as there were slight risks that the virus couldn't be killed by regular washing, meaning that the hospital pyjamas would become infected and possibly make other students ill. Snape at least had seemed to be happy that he could still flap around menacingly in his black robes for a while, even if spots on the sleeves and chest had disappeared with him.

     By sundown their condition had worsened. Harry, wrapped in a thick blanket, sat in an armchair by the fireplace, shivering and shaking violently while Snape panted by the window, pale cheeks flushed from heat. Not too long ago a few specialists from St Mungos had come in to take a look at them, and all four had left without a clue as to what they had. The healers had decided the only likely possibility was that it was a type of vanishing sickness that they had contracted, and like Madam Pomfrey they could not understand why neither Harry nor Snape were responding to treatment. From what Harry overheard, the entire school was undergoing cleaning and the students were being tested for symptoms. So far no one else had come down with the illness, leaving Harry and Snape alone.

      Midnight struck and neither could sleep; this time it was Harry by the window and Snape shivering under a thick layer of blankets.

     "Sir?" Harry asked suddenly, sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead as he pressed his face up against the cool glass.

      "What P-Potter?" Snape said, teeth chattering.

      "Are we going to get sicker?" asked Harry fearfully, wondering how much worse things could get. Especially seeing as the spots had grown larger, and Harry couldn't see his left shoulder at all.

       "Q-Quite l-l-likely," replied Snape. "Now l-leave m-m-me alone."

       Harry took his outer robe off, the heat bothering him immensely. He wished Madam Pomfrey had been able to get someone to bring him his pyjamas for the night, but the school was in a hullabaloo with all of the cleaning and healers running about testing kids for the illness. Harry would even have been happy for a pair of hospital pyjamas, but Madam Pomfrey still hadn't figured out entirely how the illness was spread, so he was stuck with his school clothes until she could arrange to have some of his pyjamas brought down to him. Not to mention she was quite busy too, and more comfortable clothing was not a high priority at the moment.

      Snape, having ceased shivering and grown hot again, grudgingly joined Harry by the window. The air was cooler there, and Harry moved from the center of the large window so that Snape could put his back to the cool glass too. Like Harry, Snape's hair was sticking to his face with sweat and his breathing was slightly sharper than usual. Harry wished they could open the window, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let them, and so they were left to fight over the cool glass.

        Harry felt rather strange with the moonlight shining through parts of him and onto the floor. The right side of Snape's stomach was quite invisible, and the light shone through him too. Snape looked down at this spot and put his hand to it to make sure he was in fact still there. He was, but still Snape did not look too pleased.

      "How do you get normal vanishing sickness anyways?" Harry asked suddenly.

      "Gross little children like you spread it," Snape drawled, without looking at Harry.

      "Then how come more kids here don't get it?" inquired Harry, not deterred in the least by Snape's insult.

      "Because Potter, it is not a common illness," Snape spat.

      "Then how come you've had it then?" Harry asked, forgetting he had eavesdropped that little piece of information. 

      "And how Potter, do you know this?" Snape hissed.

      "Er, when I got to the hospital wing I heard you tell Madam Pomfrey you'd already had vanishing sickness."

      Snape looked grouchy, but didn't appear to have the energy to get too angry at Harry.

      "The reason why I got vanishing sickness in the first place was because there was an outbreak a couple years ago at the school."

      "How bad was it? Did anyone die?"

      "Lots of people caught it but nobody died. Vanishing sickness isn't a large cause of death these days," Snape told him. "It's not such a problem as it was when potions weren't as advanced and we didn't know as much about such illnesses."

      "Oh, so we can't die from it either?" Harry said, relieved.

     "I won't, but children tend to get picked off pretty easily ..." Snape said casually, walking away from Harry. Harry frowned; he wasn't quite sure if Snape was being serious or just trying to scare him.

      "I'm going to ask Madam Pomfrey about that!" Harry said loudly to Snape, who had gotten back into his bed on account of being chilled. Snape pulled a pillow over his head in response.

            ***

       The clock struck six times, announcing the early morning hour. Harry awoke suddenly, trembling and frightened from a feverish nightmare of his parents' deaths. He sat up, shaking and shivering as the feeling of being hot and cold at the same time washed over him. Harry wiped his eyes on the sheet and looked around the room, which was still dark. His stomach seemed to fall through the bed when he saw Snape, sitting across the room, watching him. Snape continued to stare, but Harry didn't look away. Harry wondered briefly if he had been talking in his sleep, as he had been told many times over the years that he did so, and often woke up in the middle of a conversation with people from his dreams. 

     "Potter," drawled Snape, one eye squinting (the other could not be seen, having vanished along with most of Snape's face). "Are you still there?"

     "Yes sir," Harry replied.

     "Good, I'm having trouble seeing you," Snape said, gesturing for Harry to look down. Sure enough he was almost completely invisible. But so was Snape, though it took a moment for Harry to notice too.

     "Professor," cried Harry suddenly, "the room's fading!"

     "What do you mea-" Snape began, but faltered, and he too began to notice what Harry had.

      Harry jumped up out of the bed, which, like the floor and ceiling and windows, was fading. He ran over to where Snape was, as he was the only thing in the room not fading besides Harry.

     "Where is it all going?" Harry asked, shaking slightly. Snape rose out of his chair and stood beside him as the space around them melted into blackness.

     "I think the better question is where are we going?" Snape said, sounding unnerved. "I think we had better hang onto each other, so as not to be separated."

      Snape grimaced and grabbed onto Harry's arm.

     "Sir, you're not invisible at all now!" Harry cried. Indeed it was true; every part of Snape's black robes could be seen, as well as his face too. Harry had become visible again as well. While they may have grown visible, the room around them continued to fade away.

      "Quiet Potter," hissed Snape. "Do you hear that?"

      Harry nodded, and the whistling roar grew within his ears as lights flashed before their eyes and the world became a blur around them. In seconds the light was gone and darkness pressed in on them once more, and the floor beneath their feet ceased to be there.  A strange wind swirled around them, making the two shiver and grow hot and cold at the same time. And then it stopped. Ground materialized beneath their feet and the vague outlines of darks shapes could be seen. Crickets chirped and stars began to appear from the twisted mess of darkness until everything around them had focused. Far off in the distance the sky was just beginning to grow lighter. They appeared to be in some sort of town square.

     "Where are we?" Harry asked as his eyes adjusted to the moonlit night. "What just happened?"

  Snape didn't reply, but merely looked straight ahead, still gripping Harry's arm tightly.

      "Hey sir, I feel better now!" Harry cried excitedly. "I'm not shivery or anything. I feel normal again!"

     "Shh! Potter we have to get out of here," Snape said urgently, dragging a surprised Harry into the shadows near a building. Harry could hear shouts from far off. The sounds of the shouts mixed in with sounds of the crickets and wind causing the few trees to creak and moan.

      "What's wrong?"

      Silently, Snape grabbed Harry's chin and directed his attention to a dark silhouette in the square. He let go, and Harry took a sharp intake of breath. The tree in the square had a rope hanging from it, tied with a hangman's knot. The shouts in the distance grew louder, and little flickering lights erupted from the nearby hill. Torches.

    "This way Potter!" Snape hissed.

    "Are they after us sir?" Harry asked quietly as he tiptoed after Snape, past simple buildings and down the dusty streets.

    "I don't think so," Snape said. "But they will be if you don't stay quiet and follow me."

     "Where are we sir?" Harry gasped for the second time that night as they crept through the shadows of the little town. The buildings were not very modern at all; many looked like what Harry had seen in old movies about knights.

     Snape did not answer, and merely pulled Harry through the shadows. The shouts grew louder still, and it appeared that the entire town was out. The shadows were disappearing rapidly as the morning light crept up on them. The growing warmth over the cool sting of the night air urged them on, but the shadows were disappearing fast.

       "Quickly Potter," whispered Snape, dragging Harry toward a hill at the edge of the town.

      They slid down the grassy hill, the dew making them lose traction ever so slightly. It was not long before the two reached a vast wood, and ran into it for cover. Long shadows snatched at their heels and whispers from the trees followed them deep into the forest. It wasn't until the sun had broken the surface of the dusky sky that they stopped, the orange glow of the sun languishing among the thick canopy of the ancient trees. Snape surveyed their dimly lit surroundings.

      "Homenum Revelio," he muttered and paused for a few seconds "We are quite alone here."

       The forest dampened the sound, giving the whole place a peaceful, yet almost eerie silence.

      "Did you see those houses sir?" Harry asked, taking a seat on a moss covered boulder.

      "I did Mr Potter."

     "Why did they look so ... medieval?" whispered Harry, the trees casting their spell on him. It was strange, the forest. He did not want to break the silence that fell so heavily here.

      "I dare not answer that," Snape said slowly. "I fear that if I voice my suspicions ... then they will be true."

      "Why Professor?"

      "I do not know," he replied, sounding slightly confused. "Perhaps it is the trees. They feel old. And yet there is a magic here that is young as well, mixed in with the older magical signatures." Professor Snape put a hand up to the bark of one of the great trees, a puzzled expression.

      "How can you feel the magic?" Harry asked.

      "It comes with age," Professor Snape replied softly, the trees seeming to affect him too. "Children are too busy to pay attention to such things. But with age comes patience, and with patience comes wisdom. With wisdom comes awareness, which will help you to realise your surroundings, and thus the magical signatures around you. Even so, there are some who never become observant enough to feel magical signatures."

     Harry was astounded by his Professor's answer, and sat spellbound, watching Snape move among the trees, fingers tracing the bark of each.

     "The young magic grows stronger here," Snape muttered, walking in a wide circle where there were no trees. He hummed thoughtfully a second, staring at the leaves beneath his feet.

      "Potter, come over here," Snape commanded.

      Harry got up from the boulder and hurried over to where Snape was. He looked up at his Professor, wondering what it was he was wanted for.

     "What do you see?" was the question directed at Harry.

     Surprised, Harry looked around the area. He glanced at the leaves below his feet. He did not feel that anything was particularly strange.

      "Er, big leaves?" Harry asked.

     "No," Snape said, crouching down. He motioned for Harry to do the same, and then pointed at something. "A fairy ring."

     "Fairies?" Harry asked, looking at the ring of red mushrooms surrounding them and trying hard not to laugh. "Is that all that this is-"

      "No you idiot," Snape growled, obviously irritated Harry wasn't seeing what he was.  "Fairy rings grow in areas of high magical activity. For one to grow here there has to be a large amount of magic in the air, which means we're close to a magical community. Perhaps then we can get back to Hogwarts."

      "Oh," Harry said as Snape returned to standing. Harry followed suit.

     "What I don't understand is why the magic is coming from this area alone and not from farther off ..." Snape muttered as the tree above them let out a loud groan. "It is almost as if it is coming from und-"

      Harry yelped as a hand was clamped over his mouth. Snape's eyebrows shot up as his mouth was covered too. Snape grabbed for his wand, and quite suddenly the person backed off. Harry was glad because whoever it was had a very strong grip.

     "So you are magical," a woman's voice hissed when she saw Snape's wand. She sounded extremely angry.

     The two whipped around to face a woman who was slightly shorter than Snape, and looked about his age. Her hair was auburn and her eyes a light brown, sparking angrily beneath her wispy bangs. She was dressed strangely, in a simple dress made from a brown material.   

   "Hello," Snape said, still a little surprised as he hastened to stuff his wand back in his robe pocket.

      "You stupid lout! How foolish are you?" she ranted at Snape, right up in his face and obviously trying to keep her voice from carrying. Snape took a step back. "You could have given us all away! Just march up to the square next time and shout it to the heavens, why don't you?"

     "What?" Harry asked, surprised.

      She stared the pair in scrutiny. After a moment she looked as though she had made up her mind that they were not a threat. Her shoulders relaxed, and she uncrossed her arms.

     "Move then," she said sharply, stepping out of the fairy ring and gesturing them to do so too. Snape did not move, and so Harry did not either. "Well, do you want to get us all hanged?"

     With that Snape moved out of the circle to stand beside the strange woman. She glared at him and pulled a wand out of her dress pocket and waved it at the fairy ring. Leaves and earth vanished from within the fairy ring to reveal a round trapdoor. The woman blew her hair out of her eyes and scowled at Snape as she reached and grabbed hold of the heavy metal ring to lift the door up. Snape's eyes lingered on the trapdoor for a second.

    "I can get-"

     "I am perfectly capable," said the woman firmly, giving Snape another glare and gritting her teeth as she lifted up the heavy door and propped it open with a wooden pole. She stepped aside, revealing a steep earthen staircase.

     Harry and Snape stared.

     "Well come on then!" cried the woman, giving a rather bemused looking Snape a push toward the staircase. He began his way down the steep steps, and Harry followed behind. Harry could hear the trapdoor shut above them and the woman muttering a set of spells, presumably to disguise the trapdoor again.

     "Lumos," Snape muttered, the tip of his wand causing light to bounce off the walls of the tunnel. The woman pushed past them and lit her wand as well.

        Harry wondered what was going on, as he was totally confused. He would have liked to have asked Snape again to share his theory, but thought better of it for the moment, as the strange woman was still around. So, Harry contented himself to follow Snape silently, hoping an answer would come his way soon.

      As they travelled along through the dirt passage, Harry noticed that the ground was getting rockier as they went, and was slowly turning to stone. There was a light ahead, coming from a rocky looking hole connected to the earth passage. It appeared to be a cave. Once Harry was closer he could see that it was indeed what he had thought it to be. The woman entered the wide, slouching cavern, Harry following behind Snape, who had to slouch slightly. It was damp inside, and dimly lit by clusters of candles. The light shone off of the large pillars of minerals, slick with dripping water and reaching from floor to ceiling. Despite the grimness of the space, signs of human activity were evident. 

  Harry realized quite suddenly that they had come upon a group of about twenty people, scattered about the widest part of the cave. Two little children were tossing a strange looking quaffle back and forth while their parents stretched and yawned. A few other people were still sleeping upon straw mats on the floor, covered in blankets.  An elderly woman spotted them and began her way over, carefully stepping over the rocks on the cave floor. While she made her way over, Snape turned to face the woman who had found them in the first place.

     "I'm Severus," Snape said to her, holding his hand out for her to shake.  

     She scoffed and walked away.

     "What's her problem?" Harry muttered, noticing just how annoyed Snape was.

      "Don't mind Evelyn," said the elderly woman wearily, shaking her head. "She's had a rough time lately. Not long ago her friend was ... was caught."

      "Sorry, caught?" Harry asked.

      The older woman looked a little uncomfortable.

      "The witch trials," she said in a low whisper. "Surely you know?"

      "We aren't from around here," Snape interjected. "We've been ... travelling, and just came upon the town not far from here. We caught sight of a rather angry crowd and decided it was a good idea to leave. Evelyn found us by the entrance to your hideout."

       "Yeah," Harry said, slightly glad Snape had answered for him.

     "Oh my, you two must be hungry then," said the woman, looking rather frazzled. "We've been having people show up off and on for a while now, by word of mouth from those we can trust, or just stumbling on the magical signatures. Evelyn's been keeping her eyes out for other magical folk just passing through. I'm Marie by the way. Come along - I'll get you a hot meal."

     "Where are we sir?" Harry whispered to Snape while Marie was ladling porridge into wooden bowls by a magical fire. The others in the cave who had awoken began to migrate toward them, all looking eager for breakfast.

     It took Snape a moment to reply, for he was looking at what appeared to be a journal, which was sitting open on a makeshift table nearby.

     "Not where, but when are we Potter," he replied, knees visibly shaking as he sunk down on a large mineral deposit jutting out from the ground.

      Harry glanced at the date on the journal entry and felt the world spin slightly.

      In an instant things began to make a little more sense; the clothing people wore, the old looking quaffle, the angry crowd and the rope in the square. There were a few things that Harry didn't understand, such as why his illness had completely gone so fast, and most importantly, how they had landed themselves in the year 1612.

      With their bowls of porridge, Harry and Snape sat at the makeshift table in the large, but low ceilinged cave. Not many of the twenty odd people paid much attention to the newcomers, though they sat around the fire and table as well for their breakfasts. It appeared to be a regular occurrence, for new people to just show up. Harry listened intently to the conversations around them. Evelyn appeared to be in the midst of a heated debate with the men.

      "We need to get out of here," she said, waving her spoon at the people nearby. "If we don't go soon McTavish will have strengthened the wards further and put more men on lookout. He already suspects we're hiding in here anyways. The only thing that's stopping him from coming after us is that he can't drive us out without revealing himself. I say we start planning an escape today."

     "It's too dangerous," said one of the younger fellows. "Besides, even if he can't use magic around the muggles we're still in trouble. Have you seen McTavish shoot a bow and arrow? He almost never misses the mark. Even if the arrow just scrapes you going by you'll die of the poison he dips the arrows in!"

     "Which is why I think we need to get to work on an antidote to the poison before we make an escape," said an older man with greying hair.

      "We don't have time!" cried Evelyn desperately, standing up. "Do you know who they took to the square this morning?"

      The cave became silent. The few bleary eyed children looked up with frightened expressions. A little girl still in her nightgown had her arms wrapped tightly around her rag doll.

      "Evelyn," warned Maria, who was glancing at the children.

      "Sorry Mother," she muttered, sitting back down and continuing in a whisperer. "They took a little girl. She was six ... she was Maggie's age."

       Everyone around Evelyn paled; a few put their faces in their hands.

      "How did McTavish get her?" said the younger man, eyes cold as steel.

      "Accidental magic," Evelyn whispered. "He had a lot of witnesses. She didn't even get a proper trail; the town went mad."

      There was a moment or two of silence before Evelyn could continue.

      "My point is that the longer we stay here, the more danger the children are in. We can make it easier for them and their parents to escape by distracting McTavish and his followers. I will help create a diversion, along with any others without children to look out for. We have to go soon."

      "No, we don't," said the grey haired man firmly. "Ellery says he's working on summoning help."

      "Yes, and Ellery also said that he found a nest of glowing purple doxies at the other end of the cave," Evelyn said, lowering her voice. "He's not as sharp as he used to be; he's gotten old. What I'm trying to tell you is that we should take action rather than hope that he is right this time. It isn't just livestock or crops at stake this time, it's our lives. "

     "But if we wait it out it will just-"

     "No John, this isn't going to pass over," she said loudly. "Get it into your head! McTavish has gone completely mad, and you know just as well as I that he will stop at nothing until he has slaughtered the entire magical community!"

      With that she slammed her spoon to the table and disappeared to the other end of the cave, quite likely brooding. Maria in the meantime looked highly embarrassed about her daughter's outburst.

      "If anybody's crazy, I think it's her," said John loudly, earning him a glare for Maria.

      Harry looked at Snape quizzically, wondering what exactly that had been about. Snape looked rather confused too, but also intrigued.

     "You're new," said the young man from earlier, gesturing at Harry and Snape.

     "Yes, we were travelling and stumbled upon this hideout," Snape replied.

     "I'm Kevin," said the young man with a smile.

     "Severus," replied Snape, "and this is Harry."

     "Is he your son?"

     Snape coughed slightly, looking extremely shocked and quite frankly unable to speak.

     "He's my professor," Harry supplied, equally mortified.

     "Sorry," Kevin said lightly. "It's the hair colour."

     "You don't suppose you could fill me in on what is going on?" Snape asked, having recovered from Kevin's assumption. "Who is ... McTavish?"

     "I guess you wouldn't know about him, would you?" grimaced Kevin. "He's not very popular ..."

     "I could tell," Snape said.

     "There are a few things I must say that aren't for young ears," Kevin warned.

     "Leave us alone Potter," Snape said bluntly.

     "But-" Harry spluttered.

     "You don't need to hear the horrors McTavish has committed," said Kevin gently. "Why don't you go say hello to the others?"

     "I guess," Harry muttered.

       On his way across the cave Harry spotted a large stalagmite. It was the perfect width to conceal him. He knew that Snape would never tell him what was going on, and he was a little afraid to talk to the other people in the cave. Making his mind up in an instant he ducked behind the stalagmite and stood stock still as Kevin began to speak.

        "Blaine McTavish is the head witch-hunter in the town these days," Kevin began, his voice drifting over to where Harry was hidden. "The worst part is that he's not a muggle; he's magical like us."

       "Then why is he hunting down magical people?" Snape said quickly.

       "It's a long story, but I will try to shorten it for your sake," Kevin said wearily. "What the muggles in town don't know is that McTavish used to be a big part of the magical community. He was our friend, someone we all looked up to. Until about a year ago, when he turned on us.

      "It all started a little over a year ago when his daughter was kidnapped by a group of dark wizards that Blaine had gotten on the wrong side of. She showed up three days later in McTavish's barn. The dark wizards ... well, t-there was an old rope attached to the rafters ...a-and ..." He didn't appear to be able to finish.

      "How old was his daughter?" Snape asked, sounding every bit as grim as Kevin.

      "Two and a half," Kevin muttered, clearing his throat before continuing. "Kate's murder really got to Blaine. I can just remember him pacing out in his farmyard when I dropped by to see how he was doing. He was muttering like a madman.

        "After a few months he seemed to be getting better, until his wife decided she didn't want to go on living. She drank a slow poison and took a little over a day to die. There was nothing any of us could do but watch, as there wasn't an antidote. Not long after, McTavish snapped for good. The last time Evelyn visited him before he turned on us she said he had drawn all over the walls of the barn with black ink. There were plans and images of his daughter on the walls and pictures of poisons carved into the dirt floor. A couple days later he cleaned himself up and marched into town to tell some of the richer muggles that he had proof of witches and wizards living in the community, and that we were a danger to them all. 

      "The trials started slow, as he couldn't draw too much attention to himself just then. He needed to pretend to build up his skills and methods for witch-hunting. He found out from another witch-hunter down the way that they sometimes used something called ‘pricking' to figure out if someone is magical.  The point is to prick someone with a needle, and if they don't bleed and the cut heals over really quickly they're a witch or wizard. He knew it was a muggle method and it wasn't accurate at all, so he decided to add a trick or two of his own. All he had to do was dip the needle in essence of dittany and then prick the person and it would heal over instantly. That created a lot of stir in the community.

     "Sometimes, to make sure he's not executing everyone that is tried, he brings in a muggle and makes sure they are let off. That way he isn't accused of being one of us. If they suspected that he was one of us, and that was why he was so good at finding real witches and wizards, he would be the one hanged. Because of that he covers his tracks really well. Though I don't think it's because he's afraid to die. I think it's because he doesn't want to be caught before he convicts every witch or wizard in the area. As his whole reason for witch hunting is that he believes that all wizards and witches are guilty for his daughter's death. He's gone completely mad. To him it doesn't matter how many witches or wizards he has to kill off before he finds them. Our biggest problem is that he knows who we are."

     "How come he does not have the people he convicts burned?" Snape asked. "I heard that burnings in Scotland were ... are more popular than hanging."

      "Can you not think of a reason why he would want to see us hanged?"

      "His daughter ..." Snape muttered.

      "Correct," Kevin replied bitterly. "The poison he dips his arrows in is the same poison his wife took too. He's pretty easy to figure out sometimes. It is smart of him though. We still haven't figured out an antidote, and bezoars do not do anything to it for some reason. It's a very difficult poison to make, but it's worth it for McTavish." Kevin sighed heavily. "He's killed too many of us with that poison.

     "We've had to go into hiding because he's gotten too smart. It used to be that we could escape really easily. He's put up enchantments now, making it really hard to escape the area, and he's got men stationed all around the town. McTavish is working on getting men around the forest too, but a lot of the muggles have gone into hiding too and so he's had to call in farmers from around the area. Which is why he is taking so long. It's lucky for us he isn't very good at finding magical signatures, otherwise we would have been found out long ago."

       Harry sneezed suddenly, before he could even try to stop himself. He stood still, holding his breath and hoping that Snape hadn't heard him. He thought he heard Snape mutter something to Kevin, but couldn't make it out from the sound of his pounding heart. He had nowhere to go. Harry yelped when someone grabbed the back his robe and dragged him out from behind the stalagmite. He was face to face with a very angry Snape.

     "Potter," he said, voice dangerously low, hand still grasping tightly to Harry's robe. "What, were you doing? You had better not lie to me either."

      Harry tried to speak but only managed to cough a little.

      "I thought so," Snape said furiously. "Now get out of here. Why don't you go bother that old man instead; he looks bored."

     Snape gave Harry a slight push in the direction of the old man, and Harry walked over to him with legs of jelly. He was amazed he hadn't gotten in more trouble, and was wondering what Snape was planning to do to him later.

         The man looked friendly, sitting calmly on a rock at the end of the cave. Even if he had looked the opposite Harry probably would have talked to him anyways, for fear of feeling Snape's wrath. He figured there were lots of crevices in the cave Snape could somehow trap him in, or something of that nature.

      "He looked mad!" said the old man, laughing merrily. "Eavesdropping eh?"

      Harry looked down at his feet.

      "It isn't a shame to be curious," said the man. "But be careful how you use that curiosity.  The name's Ellery by the way."

       "I'm Harry," said Harry shyly. 

      "Well Harry, why don't you take a seat," replied Ellery. "Where are you from Harry?"

      "Oh, well ..." Harry said, "sort of far away."

      "Hmm, I could tell. Both of you dress quite differently from us. Is he your father?"

      "No," Harry said peavishly.

      "I'm sorry," Ellery apologised. "Who is he then?"

      "My professor," Harry said grumpily.

      "I take it you two don't get along so well then."

      "He's really mean," Harry replied, picking at his sleeve. "And he's bossy and grouchy and never has anything nice to say and always has to stick his nose where it doesn't belong."

       "My, that's a long list of things," said Ellery, deep brown eyes twinkling. "Isn't there anything good about him?"

       "No."

       "Perhaps you should try looking some more," Ellery told Harry. "Maybe you're too busy looking for the bad that you can't find the good."

       "Maybe." Harry frowned.

      "Well, enough talk. Would you like to see my latest invention?"

      "Sure," Harry said curiously.      

       Ellery led him over to a flat rock nearby, where a few tools were spread out.

       "I've finally perfected a device to bring us help," Ellery told Harry, gesturing to a small wooden crate. "It's designed to find someone who is advanced in magic and has the power to help us, and bring them here. It is similar to a portkey, though much more accurate than any I've seen these days."

       "How does it work?" Harry asked as Ellery reached into the crate, which was lined with burlap sacks. He reached into it and pulled something out. Harry couldn't quite see what it was, as it was covered with a dark piece of cloth.

      "There's a magical compound inside it designed to take the holder to our town," he said. "I plan to plant it in a place where wizards and witches go frequently so that we have a greater chance of being helped."

       "How does it bring someone to the town?" Harry asked.

       "It's a rather complicated process," he said vaguely, pulling the cloth off to reveal the object. "But you already know that don't you?"

      Harry stumbled backwards, glancing at the carved piece of metal in Ellery's hands. It was shiny once more, not worn from age at all.  Before Harry was a gleaming metal ball, with cracks built into the sides, quite deliberately. At that moment Harry couldn't help but wonder what he and Snape had gotten themselves into.

          "Potter, if you are telling me a tale I will march you up to that town square right now and hand you a wand!" Snape muttered furiously to Harry after he had been told of Ellery's invention. 

         "I swear sir," Harry said, wide eyed. "He'll show it to you too. Go ask him!"

         Harry watched as Snape marched up to Ellery and asked to see the invention that had supposedly brought them back in time, which Ellery lifted out of the box once more. Snape asked Ellery something Harry didn't quite catch, and Ellery frowned, looking puzzled. Snape looked ready to spit poison, and Harry was quite glad he was far away from him. Harry watched Ellery take a step back as Snape berated him loudly with a long stream of cuss words that Harry though even Uncle Vernon would be proud of. He then stalked back over to Harry, looking murderous.

        "Keep your eyes in your head Potter," Snape growled in response to Harry's shocked stare.

        "Sorry sir," Harry muttered, looking at his feet.

        "And ... don't repeat any of those words," Snape finished gruffly, still panting angrily.

         Harry nodded furiously. "What did you ask him?" Harry inquired.

         "I asked when we will return to our own time," Snape said. "The idiot hasn't a clue when, or even if we will go back. In fact he hasn't even planned any way that we, the supposed saviours, are supposed to help everyone anyways! Disorganized dimwit!"

        "You mean we might be stuck here forever?" gasped Harry, not taking the news well at all. "But I finally have friends!"

        "You didn't have any before Hogwarts?" Snape scoffed, sounding surprised. Harry flushed.

        "Well, there was this one girl but Dudley sort of ..." he mumbled, his voice getting quieter with every word.

         Snape's eyes narrowed. He appeared to be filing the information away for later. Harry figured he was most likely going to pull it out during class to mock him with. Assuming they ever got back, of course.

        "Well Potter, we might as well do something useful. Your education need not suffer while you are away; come here so I can quiz you in Potions."

        Harry suppressed a groan and followed Snape toward the table by the fire.

           Snape spent the better part of an hour throwing questions at Harry. He asked him everything from which ingredients shouldn't be mixed to how the metal type of your cauldron could affect the outcome of a potion. While Harry answered questions, he could not help but notice that Evelyn was sitting nearby and listening to Snape's questions with interest. It was clear she was impressed. In the end Harry was surprised he got at least more than half right, and was quite pleased with himself. Harry thought Snape looked at least less grumpy than usual, so he decided to interpret that as a job well done.

        "Well Potter," Snape said, glancing at his watch with a rather bored expression, "where are you in charms right now?"

        "We're still working with hover charms," Harry replied. "Professor Flitwick said we are going to start levitating books on Monday."

        "Show me your progress," Snape said. "Pull out your wand."

        Thinking it was lucky that he had been wearing his robe when he was transported back in time, Harry thrust his hand down into his right pocket, and then his left.

        "Er, Professor?" Harry said, feeling suddenly sick.

        "What Potter?"

        "My wand is gone," he muttered.

        "What do you mean gone?" Snape spat. "Didn't you have it in your robe when ..."

        "Yes sir," Harry said fearfully, thinking back to when he last had his wand. He was positive he felt the shape of his wand in his pocket when they arrived in the square. He didn't remember feeling it when they stopped in the forest. "I think it fell out of my pocket when we were r-running."

       "Trust you, Potter," Snape said irately. 

       "What should I do?" Harry whispered.

        "If it did indeed fall out of your pocket when we were running," Snape began thoughtfully, "it may not be far from here. It is likely that we will be here a while, so we would do well to go and get it."

        "Isn't it dangerous sir?"

        "Of course it's dangerous," Snape spat. "But I happen to have on good authority that I am skilled enough to evade a few witch-hunters. You, not so much. In a dangerous time like this, even if I can teach you to do a simple hex with that wand you would be much better off than if you were to use your fists. In case you have not noticed Potter, physical strength is not one of your strong points."

         "I can run fast you know," grumbled Harry, slightly cross from Snape's comment on his strength.

         "Yes Potter, but can you outrun a horse?" Snape raised his eyebrow. "I did not think so."

       Harry frowned. He did have a point. "But shouldn't we just find a new wand? I mean, however much I like my wand, is it worth the risk?

       "You are right - how about we just stroll down to Ollivander's to buy a new one?" hissed Snape in a low voice, practically spitting. "Foolish boy. Besides, Potter, the last thing we need is for a wand found in in the middle of a town obsessed with witch-hunting to be traced back to you."

         ***

       "But sir, can't I come?" Harry whispered from where he had been trying to fall asleep.

      "No you may not," Snape replied firmly, keeping his voice down so as not to wake the others. "It is too dangerous. Besides, it may take me a while to find your wand, as it would not be wise for me to use a summoning charm. Not to mention that it would be far harder to sneak around the town with a clumsy little boy following me!"

       Harry opened his mouth to say something but Snape gave him a look that clearly said to go to sleep. With a scowl Harry watched Snape's robe whip around the corner as he exited the cave.

       "I'm not a little boy," complained Harry quietly as he curled up under the blanket on his mat of straw.

         He let out a sigh, which fell upon deaf ears, as all of the occupants of the cave had since fallen asleep. It was quite late; Snape had said there were only a few more hours until sunrise. Regardless of the late hour Harry could not sleep. He felt strange, and out of place here. Everything was so different. 

He felt a pang in his stomach as he thought of Ron and Hermione, safe in their beds at Hogwarts. Though he had only been friends with Hermione for a short while, he had already begun to miss her company when she was not around. He wished that one of them could be here with him, even though he knew it wouldn't be good if they were here too, stuck hereSnape in such a dangerous time.

    The thought of  Snape made Harry grimace, and he couldn't help but think that if he had to choose who to be stuck in the past with, he certainly would not have picked Snape. Snape was just so controlling, and had even taken it upon himself earlier to tell Harry when his bedtime was! Personally, Harry found this infuriating, as he could take care of himself. The Dursleys had never told him when to go to bed; he was just expected to leave them alone and not cause trouble. He had always gone to bed when he was tired, not when someone told him to! This only made Harry more irritated with Snape's insistence for control. He let his restless mind wander on these topics for some time.

        It must have been at least twenty minutes later when Harry sat up suddenly, for he had heard something. It was a slight fluttering noise, coming from across the cave. The sound piqued his interest, and he paused to wonder if a bird had gotten lost in the dark corners. With a slight frown Harry thought of bats, which were most likely the cause of the noise. His brain, wide awake, took it upon itself to fill his mind with all sorts of frightening images of enormous bats, blood dripping from their fangs as they came to feed on the people in the cave. Harry shivered a little, and could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Thinking of bats and creepy crawlies and monsters, it was quite a surprise when Harry saw what was really making the noise. At first Harry thought it was a fairy, but then he noticed the four arms, and that it wasn't nice looking at all. It had beetle-like wings, and beady black eyes. None of these characteristics however, where what drew Harry's attention. It was the fact that it glowed.

        Harry threw the blanket off himself and stood up. The creature was leisurely fluttering through the air to the opposite end of the cave. Harry glanced at all of the sleeping figures around him, and in a fit of curiosity pulled on his shoes, donned his robe and hesitantly began to follow it. The creature bathed the cave in purple-blue light and made the mineral deposits in the cave shimmer slightly where they were damp. The cool air of the cave renewed Harry's energy, and soon he was picking up his pace in order to stay close to the creature. Harry wondered briefly if it had a nest, and he was curious as to whether the eggs would glow too. He decided he would follow it for a while, so that maybe he could see the nest. They soon neared the end of the cave, and reached a little shaft in the rock: a small tunnel that went up out of sight. Harry frowned when the creature began to fly up it, wondering how he was supposed to follow it now. The light illuminated the jagged surface of the shaft, and Harry realised that there were a lot of footholds and handholds. His curiosity got the better of him, and he began to climb. The shaft was not too steep after a few feet, as it was not straight up but angled slightly. Full of energy from his adventure Harry climbed quickly.  It only took a minute to get to the top of the shaft. The creature disappeared suddenly, much to Harry's displeasure. He soon realised however that the creature had flown through a tiny hole in what appeared to be a mass of grasses. Wondering what was on the other side, Harry pushed the grasses aside and poked his head out of the hole.

        Harry grinned, for he was outside. He had found a secret escape! Congratulating himself on his daring, Harry glanced around, pulling his torso out of the hole, his feet firmly perched on a rocky outcrop near the top of the shaft. The creature was gone, but Harry didn't care for he was staring in awe at the crescent moon above. It cast strange shadows in the forested area that Harry found himself in, making the night seem almost surreal. Harry was just about to go back down when something grabbed him by the collar.

      "Hey!" said a deep male voice. "Earl, look at this."

      "Let me go!" Harry cried out fearfully, struggling as he was pulled up onto the ground.

      "You think he's one of them?" said a rather wheezy voice, presumably belonging to Earl.

      "Why else would ‘e be in the woods?" replied the man whose hand still gripped Harry's collar tightly.

      "Take him to McTavish," said a third voice nearby, low and harsh. "He'll sort him out."

      "I don't know, he's kind o' little Bruce," said the man holding Harry by the collar. "Perhaps we should jus' ..."

      "If he's one of them he has to be taken in," warned the man called Bruce as he stepped out of the shadows. Harry thought it would have been more appropriate to call him Brute, as he looked like he could take on a bear.

      The man holding onto Harry hesitated a little, which seemed to infuriate Bruce.

     "I'll take him then," Bruce growled, roughly grabbing Harry's arm.

     "Get off me!" said Harry, wishing so much he had stayed in bed. He was really in for it now.

      "You, Earl," Bruce barked, "follow us at a distance to make sure nobody is on our tail. If someone is ... catch them."

      "Yes sir," muttered Earl.

     "The rest of you keep searching the area. Where there's one, there will be more."

      Bruce dragged Harry along beside him, who tried to resist, but only succeeded in getting himself dragged. Harry aimed a kick at Bruce's shin, which ended in Bruce laughing and Harry wincing with a sore foot.

      "Have to do better than that boy," Bruce told him, effortlessly dragging Harry through the trees.

      Terror clawed at Harry's insides as the shadows nipped at their heels. How would he get out of this one? Where was Snape, and had he found the wand yet? His head raced with questions as he was pulled through the thinning trees and toward the town. Bruce still had a firm hold on Harry, but Harry noticed that the hand gripping the material on his shoulder was quite close to his mouth. Making his mind up in a split second Harry sunk his teeth into the man's hand. Bruce cursed loudly as Harry made a break for it. Just when Harry thought he was clear of Bruce, an arm grabbed around his stomach and pulled him back. Harry let out a yelp as his head crashed into something solid, which Harry realise was Bruce's side.

       "Idiot boy!" growled Bruce, one hand gripping the back of Harry's robe. Bruce was examining his other hand, which was bleeding slightly. "Sharp set of teeth on you ..." he mumbled. "Do that again and you'll regret it!"

        Harry scowled as deeply as possible, meaning to do exactly what he just had again if he got the chance. But time was running out for an escape, and before Harry could find a new way to break free he was being pulled up the hill and to the edge of the town. It was dark, and silent but for the occasional exhale of breath from a horse in one of the few stables. Just before he was pulled into the town, away from the hillside, Harry could have sworn he heard a scuffle a ways down the hill. He immediately thought of Snape, but dismissed the thought. He didn't want to get his hopes too high, just in case they were let down. This only contributed to Harry's feeling of having eaten worms for dinner as he was pulled further and further toward the centre of the town. He was surprised to be pulled toward a house, rather than closer to the square. Bruce brought them both to a halt in front of a door to a small dwelling. Harry watched him raise an enormous fist to the door and rap three times, the sound echoing like thunder through the silent night. There was a slight scuffling noise and a clatter. Footsteps sounded, and stopped at the door.

       "Oy, Blaine!" said Bruce.

       "What do you want?" said a tall man as he opened the door, holding a lantern in one hand and looking positively wretched in his worn nightshirt.

       Harry stared. He had piercing blue eyes, but quite unlike those of Dumbledore's. They were as cold as Harry imagined the Arctic Circle to be, and he felt chilled to the bone just looking at them. So this was Blaine McTavish. Harry quite wished he hadn't gotten the chance to meet him in person.

       "Found this kid down in the forest," Bruce grunted, pulling Harry into the light.

       "Where?" asked McTavish, squinting at Harry.

       "He was in a hole. We had to pull him out. Do you think he's one of them?"

       "Well boy," said McTavish slowly, piercing blue eyes boring into Harry, who squirmed. He didn't seem to care what Bruce had just said. "There are others, aren't there?"

        Harry didn't say anything.

        "Answer me!"

        Harry made to take a step back, but McTavish grabbed a hold of his collar, wrenched him out of Bruce's grasp and pulled him near. They were face to face. McTavish held up his lantern so close to Harry that he could examine the wood frame and metal grate.

       "They're there, aren't they?" McTavish spat, an insane glint in his eyes. "They are, and I will find them all. I will find every single one of your little friends, and I will make sure that they are put in their place ... a mass grave!"

       Harry unknowingly let out a little whimper, thinking of Snape, and of Evelyn and the children, not much younger than he, in the cave. He could feel a deep foreboding inside him, telling him that this man, whose muscular hand was only inches away from his throat, was not to by toyed with. Harry gulped, an inferno of terror slowly spiralling upward through his senses, growing stronger with each word that McTavish spoke.

       "Then boy, I will make sure you are put on top of their bodies, and buried far bene-"

       Suddenly the wooden frame of the lantern splintered and the metal handle detached, sending the lantern crashing to the ground, the candle flickering as it slowly died. Harry's eyes widened. He knew it had been him ... and so did McTavish.

       "Oops," breathed McTavish, his putrid breath washing over Harry, who only just caught a glimpse of the mad smile that McTavish wore before the candle died completely, plunging them into darkness.

     Harry immediately felt that things could not be going worse, and for the second time that night, he wished terribly that he had stayed in bed. He was frozen still, standing in the darkness as McTavish's eyes glinted in the moonlight, staring at him with a look of triumph at having witnessed such an explosion of accidental magic. And indeed, the lantern, which had looked almost new before, now lay at their feet, splintered into an unrecognizable heap of wood, metal, and candle wax. Harry didn't think he could possibly wish that he had stayed in bed more than he already did. Of course, he hadn't counted on seeing Snape dragged down the street toward them, kicking and fighting with the ferocity of a dragon. There were two men dragging Snape. Harry recognized them both from the woods earlier. The one on Snape's right was the man that had caught Harry in the first place (he didn't know his name), the other Harry remembered was called Earl.  Earl looked triumphant, and though he wasn't near as muscular as the other man, he was tall, and held two wands in his hand. The wands were just out of Snape's reach, and he was fighting tooth and nail to get at them. Unfortunately Earl was quite tall, and the other man was strong enough to keep Snape from extending his arms all the way. Harry could not have put into words the dread he felt when as he watched Snape struggle for one of the wands, for without magic there was not a hope to best the two thugs that had a hold of him.

       "He was following Bruce and the kid," said Earl in his wheezy voice, his unpleasant features arranged in a rather smug look. "Sneaky bugger ... barely saw him."

        "Are those ..." McTavish said, eyes sparkling as he caught sight of the wands. Bruce, who had retreated briefly into McTavish's house returned with a lit candle. The light reflected on the shiny wands in Earl's hand. Snape, who had since spied McTavish, stood stock still.

         "We took both wands off o' him," said the rather dim man holding onto Snape. His tangled brown hair extended a great deal further than Snape's own greasy locks.

         "He certainly looks like one of them," McTavish said, squinting. He shoved Harry toward Bruce, who grabbed a hold of him. His hands free one more, McTavish went to examine Snape.

         "Two wands," McTavish said slyly, rubbing his stubble. "Whatever would you need two wands for?" He let out a low laugh.

          Snape did not say a word, but remained still, not moving a muscle. It seemed as though he sensed it better to remain silent, and thus give McTavish little to play off of. Throughout this Snape did not flinch, nor blink. With his impeccable posture, Harry couldn't help but think Snape looked rather impressive, silhouetted against the moonlight with only the slightest trace of candlelight reflecting in the blackness of his eyes.

          "You were following the boy, weren't you?" McTavish said. The question was rhetorical. He appeared to be rambling, thinking out loud and circling Snape and his two captors like a vulture. "What do you want with the boy? Does the other wand belong to him? The evidence is against the both of you. Hmm, I suppose you missed that ... demonstration from the boy?" McTavish gestured to the lantern, yellow teeth shining against the blackness around them.

     At this Snape's eyes flicked toward Harry, who felt faint with fear. It was a minute movement, one that Snape appeared to have made before he could stop himself. But it was enough for McTavish. Harry could see Snape pale ever so slightly, or perhaps it was merely Harry's imagination.

       "Take them to the prison," he ordered, mad smile gone and replaced with a look of utmost loathing. "We will see what the council makes of them."

       "Yes sir," Bruce grunted and started past McTavish's house and further into the little town.

       Just when Harry thought that McTavish was leaving, he spun around and took a hold of the front of Harry's robe as he was pulled away, and Bruce halted for a moment. McTavish had that insane glint to his eyes again as he put his face right at the level of Harry's and said, "I assure you boy, the verdict will be grim." It was with a low laugh that he retreated into the house. He took the candle with him so that the shadows in street around them descended into ebony again, the crescent moon doing little to light their way in the narrow street.

       As they were dragged across the cobbled square Harry caught sight of the large tree at the centre of it. Like he had seen before, the tree had rope dangling from it. Harry wondered for a moment why the town had not built a proper platform, but then in grim realisation he saw that there really was no need. The tree was so tall, and so strong it could easily hold many ropes (in fact there were portions of the bark on the branch that had been worn away, likely by ropes), and there were tall, roughly cut stumps, which looked like they had been brought there for a purpose, at the base of the trunk. Harry shivered when he realised that they were probably to be put beneath the person's feet, only to be kicked out. He hoped that he wouldn't have to stand on one, and judging by the subtle glance that Snape had given the stumps, he hoped the same.

       It was even darker in the jail, or at least Harry presumed that was what it was, for it was terribly difficult to see. Besides a little light filtering through the cracks around a doorway across the room, a candle on a desktop was burning extremely low, barely illuminating anything. In the gloom Earl went over to what appeared to be a cabinet of some sort and pulled out new a candle, which he quickly lit off the dying one. As the flame burst to life Harry could see that there were only two cells in the cramped jail. They were not very large, just a few square feet under the size of the smallest bedroom back at the Dursleys'. There was a stone wall in between them, and slightly rusted metal bars across the front of the two. A small grate, also with metal bars, sat at the bottom of the stone wall between. Harry could not see if there was anyone in the other cell. He thought that it was empty, but reconsidered when they pushed both him and Snape into the same cell. Maybe however, they just wanted to keep them together. The metal door clanged shut, finally putting an end to the loud creak that had shivered through the air and made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. Earl grinned as he locked the door with the large skeleton key. The lock slid into place, trapping them and only adding to Harry's fears. To make matters worse, Earl put on a big show of putting their wands away in the cabinet, along with the keys, and shut the door securely.  Bruce, meanwhile had retreated into what Harry thought was an office across the room. Voices could be heard from within it, and soon Bruce emerged, presumably leaving whoever he was talking to in the room

       "Come on Joseph," Bruce said to the man with the tangled brown hair who had helped drag Snape down to the jail. He grunted and followed Bruce out the door at the front of the jail, its oiled hinges as silent as the night outside.

      "You had better not cause any trouble," said Earl, shaking a finger at them threateningly before turning his back to the cells and entering the office. He glared back at them and closed the door, light shining through the cracks on all sides. Shortly after another man came out from the office, deep shadows under his eyes but looking pleased. He left the jail, whistling a broken tune.  

       It appeared that Earl would not be coming out for a while, and so Harry looked around the cell. It was damp, and quite dirty. The gloom seemed to seep into Harry's bones as he glanced up at the small barred window near the top of the cell. Snape, meanwhile, was still standing at the front of the cell. Harry looked over to him, and couldn't quite decide what Snape was thinking. He didn't look angry, or panicked, and he didn't have that look he had worn earlier when he was trying to escape. Quite frankly it baffled Harry, and so he chose to sink down onto the floor and lean against the back wall.

     In the chill Harry put his arms around his legs, and rested his chin on his knees. What were they going to do? Would they return to their present before it was too late? Question after question bombarded Harry, questions that he couldn't even hope to answer. The outlook was bleak, and nothing came to assuage Harry's guilt. He knew that if he hadn't gotten caught, Snape wouldn't have either. It was his fault, and his alone. Maybe the Durselys were right. Maybe he was just a jinx ... a burden ... a liability. Harry wished Snape would just say it if he was such a problem, but still Snape stood by the bars that kept them in and stared, silent and unmoving. Harry wondered why he wasn't getting angry at him or yelling, and his professor's silence only added to the fear, guilt, and worries that were slowly building up inside him until he felt like screaming.

     He was so tired, tired of everything. Tired of being the problem, tired of not knowing what would happen and so very tired of the year 1612. Harry wanted to go home to Hogwarts, but as he sat with the stones and bars closing in on him, he couldn't help but think he might never see it again. He had finally found home, only to have it taken away from him. How fair was that? It was only when Snape glanced over at him that he realised he'd let out a quiet, gasping sob. Snape looked slightly uncomfortable, and he didn't seem to be able to find any words to say to Harry.

      Unable to bear the silence, Harry said shakily, "Sir, what if ... what if they decide..."  But he could say no more. The fear was too strong.

      Snape looked suddenly tired, and almost human as he slid down into a sitting position against a wall perpendicular to the one Harry sat against. Somewhere outside a bird let out a low note, drifting through the barred window above Harry. As it did so Harry let out another little gasp, trying to calm his breathing.

       "Hush. It is not time to worry yet," Snape said almost too softly to be heard.

 If the situation hadn't been so dire Harry might have considered his Professor's tone, and perhaps realised that Snape was actually trying to comfort him. Instead Harry focused on trying to forget where he was. Snape seemed to be lost in thought as well, and so a welcome silence fell, enveloping the two. In their minds, a black cloud hovered overhead, a cloud that would only truly lift when everything was over. Whether it ended with freedom, or a walk to the square, either would bring relief.

Harry had fallen into a restless sleep, filled with unsettling dreams of trees grabbing at him in the darkness and flashes of green light behind the silhouette of a noose. Harry awoke several times in the night, his robes tangled around him and the brightness seemingly burnt into his eyes, the dreaded rope following his gaze. He awoke perhaps three times, and all of those times Snape was awake, his unfaltering gaze trained upon the wall opposite him. Snape had dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked very deep in thought. On the third time Harry awoke, Snape looked over to him.

       "You were calling out Potter ..." Snape said uncomfortably.

       Harry stared down at his feet. "Er, what did I say?" He wondered if he really wanted to know.

       Snape looked as though he didn't expect the question. He turned back to the wall rather mechanically, and replied, "It sounded like ... mother."

       "She was in my dream," Harry muttered, rather confused.  "I don't know what she looks like though, so how can I see her in a dream?"

       "Subconscious memory perhaps," Snape drawled listlessly. "Or perhaps you have merely created an image of her."

      "How can I tell if I just made her up?" Harry whispered, eyes round.

     "Describe her," Snape replied simply after a pause.

Harry looked at him strangely, but began anyway. "She didn't look anything like Aunt Petunia. Her image was kind of fuzzy, so I couldn't see her properly. But she had red hair, and I'm pretty sure her eyes were green too."

        "I think it is a subconscious memory then," Snape said slowly.

        "How did you know? Did you know my mum?"

        Snape hesitated, still examining the stone in the wall opposite. He opened his mouth, and closed it. Harry awaited an answer, but decided by the pained look on his Professor's face that he was fed up and had had enough questions from him already. So, instead of pressing the issue Harry tried to go back to sleep, which was not easy. But, after a long time of lying still, he was just about to drift off. Harry could feel himself being pulled under by deep waves of sleep, and only just heard the words that his professor spoke aloud to himself, clearly not aware of the fact that he was not the only one awake still.

        "She was beautiful," Snape whispered tiredly, "and I never deserved her."        

          Before he could even consider these words, let alone commit them to memory, Harry slipped into a deep slumber, filled with dreams of a soft, comforting voice and laughing green eyes. And unbeknownst to him, Snape soon fell into dreams not so different from his own.

      ***

      Snape paced restlessly, back and forth across the cell until Harry was sure the stone floor had grown smoother beneath his feet. Meanwhile Harry sat equally as restlessly upon the floor, back against the wall, worrying. For McTavish had come in early that morning, and informed them when the trial would take place. According to McTavish the local magistrate (who handled many legal affairs around the town) required their presence that evening, and McTavish had said that they would be going in separately for the court to examine. Snape had argued with McTavish for the both of them to remain together (something Harry found oddly comforting in such days of unfamiliarity), but he did not relent, and merely laughed at the request before putting on his hat and leaving.

       And so they were condemned to wait, the hours seeming to go by in strange increments as the panel of sunlight shifted on the floor and disappeared, the sun rising into the sky only to begin to fall once more. Sometimes the time seemed to have turned to treacle, sticky and slow moving, and at other moments it seemed to have become a waterfall as the minutes tumbled by, bringing them ever closer to the inevitable moment when they would know their fate.

      The stale bread and water in Harry's stomach seemed to do flip flops every time he glanced out the window and saw the light had grown ever so slightly dimmer. Judging by the look on Snape's face, he was in the same predicament. It was almost a relief when McTavish came for them. Almost. He unlocked the door, and with the help of Bruce, tied their hands up and led them across the square to a large wooden building. It didn't quite look like a courthouse, but rather a centre for community gatherings, almost church-like in fact. They were led into an entranceway, which had a scratched wooden bench outside the large double doors, presumably into the main area. Harry could hear people talking through the thin walls, and wondered what would draw such a crowd. McTavish brought him to a halt by the doors.

       "Full tonight," he said to Harry, followed by a low, gravelly laugh as he nodded toward the entrance.

       Harry didn't respond and turned his attention to Snape, who Bruce was dragging along. His professor was resisting as much as possible. Though it was obvious he would not escape, Harry thought it was an attempt to show that he had not given up. Bruce did not take kindly to this, and gave Snape a blow to the stomach. Harry winced as Snape doubled over in pain, strands of his black hair falling over his eyes.

      "Quit struggling or else ..." Bruce hissed dangerously in his ear, beefy hand pressing on the back of Snape's neck briefly before dragging him upright again. Panting, Snape shook his hair out of his face, eyes flickering up to where McTavish stood.

         "Watch this one too while I address the court," McTavish said smoothly before slipping through the doors and closing them behind him.

        Bruce had both of his hands gripping Snape and Harry.

        "They're going to have you hanging by the neck," Bruce spat at Snape, who was still looking extremely defiant.

        "Have you no decency?" Snape growled, glancing over at the worried expression on Harry's face. "There is a child present."

        Harry looked sharply at him, surprised.

        "What does it matter? He's devil's spawn as far as I am concerned. I saw what he did to that lantern!"

        Before Snape could retort McTavish came thundering through the doors, a roguish grin on his face.

        "The court wants the boy first," he said smoothly.

        Once McTavish had taken down both of their names (Snape didn't think there was any point in concealing their identity, as they were in the past) Harry took a deep breath, and Snape, behind him, took one as well. The doors opened, and McTavish dragged Harry down the aisle. Eyes peered at him, and whispers erupted in the hushed silence of the room. Some hissed angrily, others looked frightened. But of all the people in the courtroom, none looked as though they wished him well. Harry was placed at the front of the room, facing a person that Harry thought looked like a judge. There was a large wooden cross fastened to the wall behind him.

       McTavish gave the judge the paper with their names, and he peered down at it with squinting eyes before looking down upon Harry. There were a few other people sitting up at the front of the room as well, and they all stared at Harry in scrutiny. He wished nothing more but to disappear as the crowd behind him whispered. He caught snippets of conversations behind him as the stage whispers floated about the room.

      " - work of the devil!"

      "Nasty little boil who -"

      "-our children deserve safety from -"

      "- no mother or father here? Well it is obvious why if he's a -"

      McTavish retreated from the front and took a seat in a chair to the side, and immediately the room fell silent. The judge, who reminded Harry of a rather stern bird, glanced around the room before speaking.

      "Harry James Potter," he began, reading his name off the sheet in a nasally voice, "You have been brought here under the accusation of witchcraft. Do you deny it?"

       Harry's mind flashed back to the hushed conversation he had had with Snape back in the jail. He breathed in deeply, hearing Snape's voice ring through his head.

      "There are far worse things waiting for us if we tell the truth. These are muggles who don't know what they've gotten into, so you must lie Potter, and stick to your story. It is the only way out, and pleading guilty will not earn us a lesser sentence; this is McTavish's court, and he knows what we are."

      "Yes, I deny it. I am innocent." Harry replied, trying to sound like he was not nervous.

      The crowd roared in outrage, shocking Harry so much he whirled around, feeling like a deer in the headlights. He was horrified at the things the crowd screamed at him.

     "SCUM, DEVIL WORSHIPING SCUM!"

      "SILENCE! THE COURT WILL COME TO ORDER!" cried the judge.

      "GUILTY, GUILTY!"

      "BE DAMNED WITH YOU!"

     The judge pounded with his roughly hewn gavel many times until the people had settled down, but Harry could feel the heat rising in the back of his neck and eyes boring into his skull. It had taken this to realise just how real the danger was, and at once Harry felt as though he might just throw up.

      "Your Honour," McTavish said greasily, "I have evidence, if you will hear my testimony."

      "The court now recognizes Blaine McTavish," said the judge, and Harry was shooed to sit down by Earl, who had been standing nearby just in case Harry made a break for it.

        Harry watched McTavish stand up at the front of the room, a nasty glint in his eye. He had grabbed a package from a bench at the side of the room. It looked to be wrapped up in cloth, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion what it was. A hot, sick feeling crept into Harry's stomach as McTavish began telling the story of how he had been caught. McTavish was at the part where he had a hold of Harry, and, according to him he had been examining him for witch marks, whatever those were. Harry knew what was coming next, and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm and not give anything away. He suddenly wished, unable to help himself, that Snape was sitting next to him. Even having Snape sitting beside him in such a hostile place would have been welcome to Harry as he felt the waves of hatred crash down on him from all directions. At least his professor was fairly predictable. 

      "- something in his eyes, your Honour, I could see it. And then, the lantern in my hand shattered. The lantern was almost new. It was him for sure, and I even saw a little flash behind his eyes just as it broke!"

      Harry repeated in his mind the fact that McTavish didn't have proof over and over in his head, like a mantra. But he felt his last ounce of bravery crumble when he saw once again what McTavish had in his arms. He had forgotten the bundle during the lengthy explanation of what had occurred, and his previous assumptions were correct.

      "WITCHCRAFT!" shouted McTavish, unrolling the bundle and holding up the splintered frame of the lantern above his head, the crowd gasping as they caught sight of the scorch marks on the wood as well.

        Though the marks were not of Harry's doing, the crowd seemed to think that it was not a candle that had scorched the splintered wood frame. The judge squinted at it and whispered something to another old man beside him. Harry wondered if he was part of the jury, but couldn't decide because the court seemed quite different from anything he knew of.

        The judge hammered on his gavel, and with each angry crack upon the wood Harry felt his heart thump wildly beneath his chest, almost as though it were trying to leap out of him and run away. Once silence had restored (or at least Harry supposed it was silent, for he could not hear for the rushing in his ears) McTavish went to have a word with the judge, looking triumphant. The judge nodded to whatever he was told. Harry did not hear, but the judge soon announced it anyways.

      "If the accused could please come forward," he said airily.

      Harry stumbled the few feet to where he was supposed to stand, facing the crowd, and rather felt like he had left his insides back in his seat.

      "You may proceed," the Judge said to McTavish.

      "Gentlemen, you may remember me mentioning that I was looking for a witch mark when the lantern was broken."

      McTavish walked over to Harry, who flinched when a cold hand was put upon his forehead. He felt his heart sink when his hair was lifted up.

      "What, might I ask, is this?" said McTavish. "For those of your far  away, it is a mark that looks like a lightning bolt. Or perhaps, a magic spell flying through the air."

      This time the courtroom was dead silent.

      "Boy, where did you get this mark?" questioned the judge.

      "I-I," Harry stammered. What was he supposed to say? He couldn't go with the modern muggle explanation of having gotten it in a car crash, and he couldn't exactly say he got blasted by a dark wizard as a baby, so he went with the first thing that came into his head. "I f-fell out of a tree."

      "He fell out of a tree," drawled McTavish slowly. "A tree in the forest where you were found, where witches are known to be hiding out?"

      "N-No! Just a tree back home."

      "Where is home?" he replied slyly.

       Harry couldn't say anything for that, knowing that he had dug himself a hole he couldn't quite fill in. He opened his mouth to stammer out an answer, but the judge interrupted.

     "Enough. Prick him McTavish, and then we will all see."

     "P-prick me?" Harry muttered, his confusion falling on deaf ears.

      McTavish went to the side and returned with a little wooden box. He pulled out a long needle, which made Harry shiver. He made quite the show of cleaning it with a wet rag, and Harry suddenly remembered that there was likely essence of dittany on it, like he had heard said earlier. He almost let out a little gasp as his hand was pulled up to McTavish by Earl. The judge leaned forward. Harry tried to resist, though it was pointless, and pulled his hand away, knowing it was rigged. But McTavish yanked his arm toward him painfully. Harry felt his joints groan in protest.

     "Ow, stop it!" Harry cried more loudly than he intended as his arm was yanked again. "Stop it!"

       "Potter!" cried a distant voice, sounding frantic. "If you've hurt him I swear-"

       Harry could hear a shuffle from behind the doors, and realised it was Snape. There was a bang, followed by a thump, and Harry thought he heard a slight moan.

       "Don't hurt him!" Harry said to no one, suddenly scared for Snape.

     "Stay still boy," McTavish growled in his ear, "or I will!"

     Harry froze, eyes stinging as the needle was jabbed into his fingertip, making a small cut which, as Harry had thought, healed instantly because of the dittany. The predictable responses rang through the air, and Harry felt his strength leaving him as each shout rang through the court.

      "WITCH!"

      "DEVIL!"

      "KILL HIM KILL HIM!"

      "HAVE HIS NECK!"

      "KILL HIM!"

      "LET HIM BE HANGED, JUDGE!"

       The oxygen suddenly left Harry's lungs, and he felt the room spinning out of control and the fear threatening to engulf him. Precious little food in his system only contributed to the way his legs shook beneath him and the room swam around him. Screaming faces contorted before him as they danced frighteningly before his vision. The light suddenly seemed dimmer and the floor felt like it had disappeared beneath Harry's feet, and he felt himself falling into blackness, out before he hit the rough wood floor.

When Harry awoke he was being laid down on the bench outside of the courtroom. In a haze, he could see Bruce and McTavish standing nearby, the courtroom door closed. The volume suddenly seemed to go up as Harry registered the fact that Snape was yelling at McTavish with gusto.

      "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM YOU B ..." Snape's shouts fell silent mid sentence when he saw that Harry had opened his eyes.  Suddenly silent and completely ignoring McTavish, he spun around and knelt by the bench, dark eyes narrowed as he inspected Harry.

       "How are you feeling?" he asked.

      "O-Okay I guess," Harry said slightly shakily as Snape moved his bound hands up to feel his forehead.

     "Are you ill? Did they do something to you?"

     "No, and No ," Harry said, clumsily pushing Snape's hand away, suddenly annoyed.

     Snape lowered his voice and asked, "Do you feel in any way like you did before we ... came here?"

     Harry shook his head vigorously, though he felt a little dizzy so he stopped soon.

   "Then what did they do to you?" Snape inquired, frowning.

     "It was the shouting," Harry admitted, trying to sit up, only to have Snape push him back down.

     "Stay here," said Snape sternly. "Lie down a little while, until you feel positively sure you are strong enough to sit up."

     "Fine," sighed Harry tiredly, trying to keep tears at bay as he recalled the things people had been yelling. For a moment he thought he saw his professor's eyes defrost slightly, but couldn't be sure. He was too busy meditating upon this that he almost didn't hear what Snape said next.

     "You don't deserve what they were saying," he muttured, getting up. 

      Before Harry could even feel surprised at Snape's words, McTavish had grabbed Snape's arm and pulled him toward the closed doors. McTavish whispered something to Bruce, who went outside, presumably to do whatever he had been told. Once he had gone McTavish turned to Snape.

     "You're a stubborn one," he said to Snape, who bestowed upon McTavish a look of utmost loathing. "Which is why I have something for you."

       Harry didn't like the tone that McTavish was using and felt a sudden foreboding as he watched McTavish pull a small glass bottle out of his pocket and pull the little cork out.

      "Know what this is?" McTavish said.

      Snape hesitated, looking a little unnerved as he finally said, "I cannot say."

      "It's a little something to get you to talk, make you more likely to confess," McTavish said with a harsh laugh. "It'll put you in the Judge's ... favour."

       With a steely glint to his eye and a crooked grin he grabbed a hold of Snape, forcing him to swallow the contents of the bottle. It was quite the struggle, but McTavish appeared to have a lot of experience, and won. Of course, it didn't help that Snape had his hands tied.

      "Stop!" Harry shouted in shock, finally on his feet and running toward McTavish, though it was too late. He pounded on his back with his tied hands, and McTavish let go of Snape and pushed Harry away easily. Harry tripped and fell to the ground, head throbbing dizzily and heart pounding in his ears. His glasses had fallen off, making his vision fuzzy. Another throb made the floor rock beneath him. He was helped to his feet rather clumsily and roughly brushed off, and though the outline was blurred he could tell it was Snape, which surprised him. His glasses thrust into his hands, and he put them on, though slightly crooked due to his roped hands. Snape looked positively furious, and Harry shrunk away from him.

     "Sit down, and stay there," Snape said, gesturing to the bench.

     "Are you going to be alright?"

    "I'll be fine Potter so stop worrying," he said, blinking rather dazedly and giving his head a light shake. It seemed as though the strange liquid McTavish had given him was doing something.

     Just them Bruce returned, carrying their wands. He gave them to McTavish, who pocketed them. And then Snape was led into the courtroom, and the doors slammed shut behind him, leaving Harry with Bruce.

          "Why aren't they saying what's going to happen to me?" Harry asked Bruce, suddenly wondering why the Judge hadn't called him back in to hear his sentence.

      "McTavish wanted you sentenced together," Bruce grunted, shrugging. "You'll find out at the end. Now be quiet!"

      Harry looked at his feet, wondering why McTavish would want that. Perhaps it was because Snape was caught while trying to find him, and he had two wands. Or perhaps he wanted to make sure neither of them got off. Harry shivered suddenly as he thought of this, and through the thin walls he could hear the court fall silent.

      Harry heard the judge call out Snape's name, his voice very faint. After that it grew too difficult to hear because the judge had obviously lowered his voice. So Harry sat there in numbness, feeling ill with every shout of the crowd and pound of the judge's gavel. Time slipped by as it slowly grew darker outside. As it did so the chilly night began to seep through the cracks in the door and nip at Harry's toes, the wind whistling by.

       It seemed like forever had come and gone, and yet at the same time only seconds when the doors were thrown open and Harry was led up to the front of the room to stand next to Snape. He looked up to his Professor, who didn't look well. With a nagging feeling of worry Harry couldn't help but notice the thin sheen of sweat on Snape's brow and the way his eyes were glassy. He looked downright ill. But Harry's attention was soon brought to the judge, who stood, and began to speak.

     "Based on the evidence heard today," he announced dryly, "Severus Tobias Snape and Harry James Potter have been found guilty of witchcraft, and I hereby declare that they are sentenced to execution by hanging."

       The words rang through Harry's ears, and he felt his knees wobble dangerously. He grabbed a hold of Snape's arm to steady himself, not quite realising what he was doing. Surprisingly Snape did not pull him off, but merely let the both of them be led down the aisle amidst screams from the crowd, which Harry did not hear for the rumbling thunder that had grown inside his brain, a lightning storm of fear electrifying his senses.

       ***

      "Sir," Harry said loudly to Snape, who seemed to have blanked out. Was he too feeling the panic Harry was? Or was it something else that made him appear so vacant?

      "What Potter?" Snape said after a moment, looking up at the ceiling of their cell. A strange look was on his face, and had been for the some twenty minutes since their return to the jail.

      "Are you alright?"

       "You tell me," Snape muttered, eyes widening as he backed against the wall. "Are you seeing those?" He nodded up to the ceiling, swallowing nervously.

       "Seeing what?" Harry asked, confused as he glanced up to see nothing but the wooden roof.

       "Er, this might sound strange," Snape began, back firmly against the wall and sounding more unnerved that Harry had ever heard him before, "but there are ... tiny blue deer ... walking on the ceiling. They have ... er, butterfly wings?"  He shuddered violently, but not from what he was seeing. Whatever McTavish gave him was taking its toll. "Oh Merlin they're flying!" he said rather loudly, ducking suddenly and looking quite crazy. If they had been anywhere else Harry would have been howling with laughter, but at the moment he situation was entirely unfunny.

      "There's nothing there Professor," Harry said faintly, quite distressed by Snape's odd behaviour.

      But Snape did not appear to be responding, he only stood once more, glazed eyes staring in horror at a blank space on the wall.

      "What did they give you?" Harry asked, mostly to himself. He didn't expect an answer.

      "It was the potion that makes you see things," an eerie voice said, drifting into their cell.

     "Who is that?" Harry said, the hairs on the back of his neck sticking up.

     "Over here child," said the voice, this time much softer, and more human.  It sounded like an old woman, her voice weak, and tired. "I am sorry to have surprised you. I ... I have been very ill as of late."

       Harry glanced over to the grate in the wall between the two cells, and saw a wrinkled old hand on the bars of the grate. He glanced over at Snape, who was still not moving, and knelt down to the grate.

     "Hello," Harry whispered rather shyly.

     "Did McTavish give him a potion?" asked the old woman, her face too high up to be seen through the low grate.

      "Yeah," Harry said.

      "Oh dear, he's in for a hard night," said the lady sympathetically, her voice like old parchment. 

     "Why, will he get better?" Harry said frantically, hands on the grate too.

     "Yes, he will," she replied, sounding grave. "But it will get worse before it can get better. He's going to see things, dark things. It's how the potion works ... I'm sorry child."

     "Why won't he answer me?" Harry muttered, at the end of his rope.

     "He's slipping further into waking dreams, or that's what some call them around here."

      "Why did they give the potion to him?" Harry wondered aloud.

      "Hmm, well, the potion usually makes people confess to crimes easier, even if they never did them. It  makes people see things, and hear things too, so a lot of the time confessions are completely made up. McTavish likes to use it on people who are really hard to make talk. It's hard to tell who's under it during the trails too, mostly because for the first little while the effects are not too bad."

        "What's your name?" Harry suddenly asked, wishing for someone to talk to.

      "Jean," said the woman.  

      "I'm Harry," he told her. "Thanks for telling me about the potion."

      "It was the least I could do," she said faintly. She appeared to be losing her voice.

      "How did you get here?" Harry blurted.

     Jean let out a soft breath and said, "My friend was convicted for witchcraft a month back. They put me in here for ‘associating with the devil'" She sighed softly. "And you're here for accidental magic, aren't you?"

      "Yes," Harry said, trying not to break down.

     "Hmm, so I did hear correctly," she said to herself. "Do I want to know what the sentence is?"

     "N-No," whispered Harry.

    "Tell me anyways, maybe you won't feel so afraid if you share it," she suggested gently.

     "They're g-gonna k-k-kill us!" Harry said, starting to shake. "I don't wanna d-die, I don't!" He took a deep shuddering breath.

    "Shh, it isn't so bad," said the woman softly before Harry could continue, working her hands through the gaps in the metal and wrapping them around Harry's, which had been untied after the trial. "Perhaps you will get lucky."

     "Has anyone ever escaped?"

     She hesitated. "Not yet ... but there is a first for everything."

     "T-Thank you," Harry stuttered, tears dripping down his nose without his consent.

     "If you need to talk I am here," Jean said, with a final pat to his hand. "I need to go rest now, keep up my strength."

     "Okay," he whispered back.

     "It was nice meeting you Harry," she said, and Harry could tell she was smiling. "I have the strangest feeling that things might turn out differently for you. Just a little feeling."

      And Harry heard a slight rustle, sounding as though she had lain down. He returned his gaze to Professor Snape, who continued to stare of into the distance, having taken no notice of what had been said a few feet from where he stood.

       Harry blinked hard, trying to keep tears at bay as he examined the shadows on the walls, cast because of the faintly burning candle at the opposite end of the jail. A gust of chilly air extinguished it, plunging the area into darkness. At the moment Harry felt as though the darkness was taking him into its folds and making him one with it, until at long last, like the candle, his fire would go out. He wondered if soon, he too would make the descent into nothing, like the smothered flame. It was a question Harry almost didn't want to know the answer to, so he pushed it away. With a slight hitch of his breath, Harry slid down against the wall and wrapped his arms around himself, the celebratory shouts from the square reaching his ears, each voice like a cold hand upon the back of his neck. And for the first time in his life he prayed.

      ***

       Harry had fallen asleep propped up against the wall, but he had a feeling he couldn't have been asleep for long. The small squares of moonlight had not shifted too greatly upon the floor. At first it wasn't entirely clear what had caused his sudden departure from sleep, but Harry heard once more the noise that had jolted him out of his dreams. It was a low moan, though not too far from a whine. Surprisingly, it had come from Snape. The way in which Snape was sitting frightened Harry terribly. His professor was huddled in a corner, face contorted and fingers digging into the stone of the wall.

     "Sir, are you okay?" Harry called across the cell.

      Once again, Snape did not respond. So Harry took a deep breath, and tried to go back to sleep. After a minute or so of having his eyes closed, Harry snapped them open again.

      "S-Sorry," Snape said with a shudder, his voice low and rasping.

      Harry stared, but Snape did not see him, though his eyes were wide open. The jail was silent once again but for the noises of Snape trying to jam himself further into the corner. Harry watched, feeling a slight jab of pity for Snape. He wondered what he was seeing.

      "Noooo," moaned Snape, his voice ringing strangely off the walls. He dug his fingers into his arms, which he had wrapped around himself. "All ... my ... f-fault."

      Snape let out a fearful gasp and dug his hands into his hair, almost as though trying to rid himself of whatever he was seeing or hearing. His eyes were wide with terror, and he was saying things under his breath. It unnerved Harry, and quite frankly terrified him to see Snape like this. His professor, who was so collected, brave even, was falling apart before his eyes, and looking as afraid as Harry felt.

     "Always, always ..." he said thickly, rocking back and forth where he sat. "STOP IT! P-PLEASE JUST STOP!"

      Harry jumped about a foot at Snape's shouts, and wondered what on earth he was going on about. He didn't have long to ponder it though, as Snape was on the move. Snape gasped and without getting up began to inch himself away from the corner, following the wall opposite Harry until he bumped up against metal bars. He sat, slumped up against them a moment, head down and dark hair obscuring his tortured face.

      "You s-said it was for ever," he whispered to himself brokenly, sounding younger - in fact almost childish - but making absolutely no sense to Harry. "Best friends, you s-said!"

      Snape sat there for a few more moments, but seemed to hear something from behind him, and he turned around, sticking his face up against the bars, hands creeping along the metal.

     "Hello?" he drawled calmly. "Yes, this is me. Get out of my fire, I'm busy. No you cannot borrow my cauldron so bugger off!"   Then he turned his head sharply eyes focusing on something different, suddenly silent.

       Harry looked in the direction Snape was, and predictably, saw nothing. But it was clear that whatever Snape was seeing it was causing him a rather large amount of distress.

     "Why did you come?" he whispered, sounding as though every word was like a knife through his chest. "I thought you never wanted to see me ag ... oh, right. Stupid, scum, coward, yes I am familiar with those terms. Look, Li - WAIT, WAIT! Don't leave, I'm sorry! I haven't got a choice! I'M SORRY! Come back! Don't ... leave me."

     Snape slumped even further down on the floor, his head on his trembling knees, looking defeated. His posture changed slightly after a moment, and he looked up, furious.

          "POTTER!?" he shouted. Harry jumped badly, but after a moment confirmed that Snape still was lost in hallucination. He grew more confused the more Snape said.

       "How could she? What is she thinking ... that - that arrogant ... why would she spend time with ... "  Snape swore a few times, quite colourfully in fact.

     An abrupt change fell about Snape for yet another time that night, and he began to breathe raggedly, looking as though he completely loathed himself.

    "My ... f-fault, all my ... fault! Dead ... gone!" he said in between gasps, hands tugging at his hair again, his previous thoughts forgotten as he reverted to his earlier state. "My only ... my one ..."

     He moaned terribly, an agonizing cry that one can only make when their insides have been turned to anguish in its purest form. Just hearing the terrible sound made Harry want to follow suit.

     "I'LL KILL YOU BLACK!" Snape shouted abruptly, getting shakily to his feet and scrambling across the cell to the other wall, which he ground his fists into and sunk to the floor, gasping with rage.

      He was silent for a long time, but when he finally spoke once more it was much quieter.

       "Your fault Snape. She was r-right, all along. Stupid. Scum. Coward. I am familiar with those terms. I'm f-familiar ..."  He began to shake, curled up in a ball in the corner, eyes scrunched tightly shut. "You s-said ... best friends ... for ever, for always."

        It startled Harry to see a tear creep down his Professor's long nose, which was barely centimetres away from the dirt floor. It made him feel embarrassed to see his Professor in such a state and he felt bad for the way Snape would feel if he ever found out just what he said and did because of the potion. Amidst the sounds of his whirring brain and the wind ripping through the trees outside Harry heard only one last word from Snape before he fell silent for the night. It was in fact a name, which upon hearing ultimately resulted in Harry feeling as though he was falling, regardless of how softly Snape said it.

     "Lily," he breathed.

     At that moment a little bit of dirt on what began as a darkened windowpane was wiped away, and however shakily, Harry began the long journey of understanding the man across from him; a process that would never truly be complete.

      For Harry, morning came quickly. He sat up, for he had slipped onto the dirt floor in the night, having moved from his previous position of leaning up against the wall. The first thing he heard was the soft patter of raindrops on the stone outside. Harry rubbed his blurry eyes and put his glasses on after brushing the dirt off them with his dingy sleeve. The first thing he saw was Snape, leaning up against the damp wall opposite him, eyes unmoving, dead even. A spasm of fear fluttered through Harry.

     "Sir?" Harry asked uncertainly.

    "What?" Snape said heavily after a moment, sounding as though it were a burdensome task to speak.

    "Nothing, I just thought you were ..." Harry mumbled, heart still hammering painfully.

    Snape's eyes made to meet Harry's, but they fell short, and went back to focusing on the damp, dirt floor. Harry waited for a reply to his statement, a reaction even, but realised that Snape was not going to speak. It occurred to Harry that Snape didn't seem to care. He looked like he wished nothing more than to melt into the cold stone wall behind him, into oblivion. It was a way that Harry felt from time to time; often in fact. It was the feeling of a blanket pressing in on your senses, pressing in until everything went numb. Until you felt as though the world could fall in around you, and even then you could not bring yourself to move. He remembered a nurse sending a note home to Aunt Petunia back when he was about nine because the nurse had noticed he was acting strangely. The note said it was because he was depressed, and that Aunt Petunia should take him for counselling. She hadn't, and he was perfectly fine with that. But as he looked at his Professor, he couldn't help but wonder if he was seeing in Snape what the nurse had seen in him. Come to think of it, he'd seen Snape this way before sometimes, just not so intense. There had been a few days in class where Snape stayed at his desk a little more, simply staring at papers, quill forgotten. On those days he didn't take many points, or award a lot either; he just walked around the classroom a little and made sparse, generic comments. Harry wondered why he hadn't seen it before. Maybe Snape was a little more like him than he thought.

      "When did t-they say they were going to ..." Harry began, needing to know for some reason, "well, you know."

     "I do not know," muttered Snape, voice almost inaudible. It rang strangely through the desolate jail.

     And after that nobody spoke, for neither Harry nor Snape was able to part the grim, knowing silence between them. It was inevitable, what lay ahead. Tears were not far from Harry's eyes, for being only at the age of eleven, the realization that he could die hadn't fully sunk in. It was starting to, slowly. He could see that Snape fully understood just what death meant; it was in his eyes, and unlike Harry he was able to believe it. Know that it wasn't a dream, that it wasn't just a horrible nightmare he could wake up from. This was real. This was almost tangible, and it hurt Harry's heart to feel what the future was to bring. He thought it hurt Snape's heart too, however isolated and probably cold it was. Sometimes Harry thought that there had to be a heart, beating, waiting, somewhere beneath the black folds of his Professor's cloak. And if there wasn't, and his Professor's heart really was of stone as the students said, then Harry knew not what could have caused Snape to cry out for his lost best friend. A girl named Lily, whom Harry was almost sure was the very same Lily that he had inherited his eyes from. But he did not dare bring it up to see if he was right.

    How long he sat there, Harry was not sure. The rain, which had ceased for the moment, had made the jail dim and damp, and it was difficult to tell the time of day due to the thick layer of clouds in the grey sky. It appeared that someone in the square had decided to make use of the absence of rain. The sound of hammers and saws rang gaily through the muggy air, along with the voices of cheerful men. The sound held no joy for Harry however, as he had a feeling that whatever was being built was for them. His suspicions were confirmed shortly after they were made, when Earl came in to give them their daily allotment of bread and water.

     "Hear that?" he said, wheezy voice making Harry feel sick. "They're finally building a proper platform so more people don't go on hangin' forever before they die. Just a quick snap and they're done!" With a slight chuckle at the look on Harry's face, Earl slammed the metal door on the cell, turned his back and strode back to the office, keys jangling merrily as though they were mocking the prisoners.

     The food lay untouched.

     By the end of the day they knew when the execution was to take place, and Harry was almost glad they hadn't had any more notice. Early morning, was when the bell would toll for them. Snape had barely moved his head when McTavish came in to tell them, continuing in his state of apathy. The rain had come and gone a few times throughout the evening, and seemed to have decided it wanted to come down again at the moment. Though the air was thick and warm outside, the stone jail was cold, and the rain only helped in making a seemingly eternal chill settle into Harry's bones. But this was all well, for Harry was glad for the distraction, an ache besides the one that had settled in his stomach.

      "Harry, are you there child?" said a soft voice, coming from the grate. Harry scrambled from his position by the window, down along the wall and over to grate in the dividing wall.

     "Hello Jean," Harry said quietly. Snape looked up in interest.                     

     "How are you feeling?" Jean asked, concerned.

     Harry stared at her pale, bony hands upon the grate. "My stomach hurts," he whispered truthfully, hating how shaky his voice sounded.

     "Yes, I imagine it does," she said with a sigh.

     "I wish it would stop raining," Harry told her, taking a glance to his side to see water dripping down from the window, which was really just a hole with bars.

     "It will stop in time."

      "I just hope I get to see the sun before t-they ..."

      "I know," Jean whispered back. "You will."

     "But what if I don't?"

     "When people believe, beautiful things happen. Don't lose hope, for fearing what might happen, only makes you look harder for those things."

      Harry thought for  a moment upon this and said, "Jean?"

     "Yes?"

     "Will I see you again?"

     "There is a possibility I will be seeing you again soon Harry," she completed with difficulty due to a long fit of coughing. When she stopped, she said rather breathlessly, "I hope that that is not to be due to the circumstances, but should McTavish's plans go well, then I think I will meet you where I am going."

     "What do you mean?" Harry asked, a little confused.

     "I am very sick Harry," she supplied gently. "My fate is decided, but yours,"- she coughed once more- "yours remains a mystery."

     "But, I'm supposed to be ... tomorrow morning they're going to ..." Harry spluttered, not fully understanding what she was saying.

     "I am no seer, but something inside me says you are different. Forgive me, if I am giving you false hope, but something, something little ..." she left the sentence dangling in the air, but Harry did not need to hear it completed, for her words warmed him. The knot in his stomach untwisted briefly, just to know that someone believed that he had a chance still. It was comforting, and seemed to diminish some of the chill that had settled into the rooms of the small jail.

      "Whatever should happen," she said, having returned from wandering through her thoughts, "I will never forget you."

      "I won't forget you either," Harry assured her, almost frantically. "I promise that if I escape I'll come back for you!"

      "That is very noble of you," said Jean. For some reason, she sounded sad, as though she knew something Harry didn't. She went into another coughing fit, this time more violent. Her hand shuddered on the grate, and Harry took it to steady her.

     "Maybe you should rest," Harry suggested once she had regained her breath.

    "Yes," she muttered wearily. "Until we meet again Harry."

     "Bye," Harry called softly to her as the noises of her shuffling across the damp floor drifted through the air. He felt a sudden rush of gratitude for her, even if he knew he had to say goodbye so soon. He hoped so very much she would be alright, but in these times, nothing was certain. 

     Harry stood up and moved closer to the bars at the front of the cell. There it was less damp, for the pool of water did not extend so far from the window at the back. Snape seemed to study him a moment, possibly wondering why Harry had moved closer to him. After a minute he seemed to decide it was to escape the dampness, and returned his gaze to the floor. It took Harry a few seconds to realise that his professor was drawing something in the dirt with his finger. He thought it was rather peculiar, and wondered what would possess someone like Snape to do such a thing. He shuffled a little closer, taking pains not to be seen as he moved ever so slowly with his back against the metal bars to see what Snape was drawing.

      It was a deer. A doe in fact, and a decent drawing too.

      "What, Potter?" Snape said tonelessly, continuing to shade in the ears of the doe as Harry peered in interest at what he was doing.

       "Why are you drawing that?" Harry asked, curiosity sparked and worries temporarily forgotten.

      Snape paused in drawing and opened his mouth, but closed it after a second, looking puzzled for an answer. "Because I want to," he said finally, clearly deciding he didn't want to share.

      "Oh come on, it's not like I can go telling everyone what you say now," Harry said scornfully before he could stop himself, thinking of what was to happen tomorrow.

       Something flashed behind Snape's eyes, and whether it was anger or fear Harry was not sure.

      "Do not let me catch you talking that way again," Snape growled.

     This infuriated Harry, and before he knew it he was on his feet.

      "Well it's true!" he cried, having reached the end of his rope. "You haven't been able to us out of here anyway, so I don't see why I can't say it like it is. This is all your fault! If you hadn't made me go down to that stupid dungeon we would never have been here!"

      Harry didn't expect the look on Snape's face. He didn't expect to see so much pain, so much hurt in such dark eyes. All Snape could do was look at the drawing at his feet, both shocking Harry and making him angrier. Snape was supposed to fight back, not just sit there.

     "Yes Potter," Snape muttered softly, taking a hand and erasing his picture from the dirt as Harry gaped at him. "It is my fault ... it always has been."

   And with that Snape got up and walked across the cell, to the cold corner by the window and sank down to the ground, eyes gazing blankly at the dripping water. The look on his face was strange; it was not a look of anger, fear or sadness, and neither of these could possibly have struck as much fear into Harry's belly as what he now saw. The look in Snape's eyes he was very much familiar with, as he had seen it in his own after Dudley stole something from him yet again or when he had been in his cupboard for far too long. It was a look of grim acquiescence, and of defeat. And quite frankly it scared Harry to death to see it on the face of someone as determined and brave as Snape

       Snape's empty eyes made Harry feel hollow, like his insides had disappeared and been left with nothing but a cold, sick feeling. He felt as though he was to blame for it, though he hadn't meant what he said. He never did when he snapped like that. Just words ... nothing more. But they were not just words to Snape; this was quite evident, and it seemed he thought them true. Harry would have given anything for him to fight back, yell at him, take points or give him detention. Not sit there, in the cold, staring so languidly at the rain running down the stones under the window ... looking as though he was ready to walk into the arms of death, welcome them even.

    Harry tried to say that he didn't mean those hurtful words, but his throat closed up for the reason of which they had been said ... what was to be tomorrow morning. And he too sat down, cold, tired, afraid. Maybe Snape didn't have much to live for, but Harry did. Their faces swam before his face; Ron, Hermione. They were his reason to believe. And as he sat there, it occurred that maybe, just maybe, Lily had been Snape's reason.

      ***

   That night dragged on, and yet time seemed to pass extraordinarily quickly, and Harry was powerless to stop it. The rain had tapered off toward the evening, but more clouds rolled it, bringing a sick, hot wind. By what Harry assumed to be midnight, a storm began. Of course, Harry and Snape's real storm began that night in the hospital wing, and it seemed as though the two storms had finally colided in a crash of wind and rain. The thunder shook the ground beneath them, and the lightning illuminated the now unrestrained fear in not only Harry's eyes, but Snape's as well. Sitting across from each other, backs to opposite walls and the window to their sides, Harry saw with each flash the deep brown of Snape's eyes. So uncertain, so different from the cold, closed blackness in which Harry had known back in the classroom. This was not the Snape Harry knew, but he realised that the Snape he knew, was long gone. This one was human, aggressive, and yet strangely protective; gone was the man he did not understand in the least, and here in front of him, in the crashing symphony of the storm, was someone he knew didn't hate him ... but hated the memories in which he brought back. That was the difference that changed Snape in Harry's eyes ever so slightly. He was sure the Potter Snape had talked about in his delirium had been his father. He was positive, for it only made sense, with Snape's ramblings about not knowing what Lily was thinking coupled with what else he had said in his fury.

      A growl of thunder resonated through Harry's chest, highlighting the ever growing pressure within him. Rain splashed angrily over the stones by the window, the wind picking it up and spraying Harry and Snape in the darkness. A howl could be heard in the distance, but not of wolves, or of anything living. It was the wind, screaming in agony much like what Harry's lungs longed to do. The grating noise of the trees near the edge of the square rubbing creaking and groaning in the wind made Harry's teeth ache, and by the pained expression on Snape's face Harry assumed he was experiencing the same thing.

      "Why won't it stop?" Harry said when the thunder had calmed to a low rumble and the wind had taken a break. He couldn't keep his voice from cracking.

     "It will be over by morning," Snape said wearily. "Not comforting in the least of course ..."

     Harry just nodded, knowing what he meant.

      "I'm sorry what I said earlier," Harry said, finally having the nerve to address just what he had said. "I didn't mean it."

      "It still is my fault," Snape replied tonelessly. "You would not know why ... but I am at fault for, for everything."

      "Tell me," pleaded Harry. "I want to know."

      "No. You are too young."

     "What's the point? I'm going to be dead tomorrow!" Harry cried loudly, not caring that he was saying what he had feared to utter. The crashing roar of the storm suddenly made him feel so alive, brave.

       Another flash of lightning illuminated his professor, and he was looking straight at Harry, an odd look on his face Harry couldn't identify. Pain perhaps? Regret?

      "Potter ..." Snape began with a sudden intensity. "Do you know why the Dark Lord went after your parents?"

      "Er ..."

      "He felt threatened," Snape said after a moment, sounding as though he were carefully choosing his words.

     "Oh," muttered Harry, not sure where Snape was going. "Why?"

     "He was given a piece of information," Snape said. "He thought it meant your family ... he thought it meant you were dangerous and might be the one to defeat him when you grew up."

     "Why?"

     "Listen, Potter," Snape said irritably.

     "Yes sir, go on."

    "The person who told him the information ..." Snape sounded very worried all of a sudden, but he cleared his throat and his voice returned to its flat, emotionless tone. "He, he was ... young, reckless ..."-Snape shook his hair out of his face, lightning revealing dark shadows under his eyes-"scared I suppose. Though he wouldn't admit it then. He overheard the information, not really knowing what it meant. The Dark Lord was ecstatic, and then furious ... but not at him. The young man tried to change the Dark Lord's mind, but ..." Snape sounded completely out of his element, and could not keep his voice from faltering slightly. "-but he wasn't much more than a boy, you see ... foolish, and in too deep."

    "Who was it?" Harry said, clueless.

     Harry heard Snape groan slightly.

     "Potter, the man who passed the piece of information that, that killed your mother, and father ... is currently wearing my cloak and shoes and talking to a dimwitted eleven year old who has every right to hate him! Don't you understand now?" His voice had grown louder, and he was almost yelling. "It doesn't matter if I changed sides, it doesn't matter what I've done since because I still did that horrible, stupid thing, and for that ... for that I deserve death! And you ..." His voice softened, but still retained every bit of its bitterness. "you do not. And yet I landed you here in the first place. That, is why I am at fault. That day decided a lot of things, my path as well as yours."

      Harry sat in stunned silence, not knowing what to think. Snape just turned away from him, eyes closed. Anger welled up in Harry, but much of the intensity was gone as quickly as it had come. Snape hadn't know what the information meant. He didn't want his parents dead. For some reason, Harry couldn't help but feel almost sorry for Snape, almost. Harry frowned and opened his mouth, though he wasn't sure what he wanted to say for he was so conflicted.

     "Hate me," Snape croaked. "Go ahead ... I am the reason you don't have parents. My stupid mouth and curiosity; it is all my fault. I lost everything that night Potter, just like you. But I deserved it."

      Lightning ripped through the air as the thunder crashed around them, wind howling, rain hammering upon the ground. And the insides of Harry were very much the same.

      The storm had calmed significantly, and the twisted clouds were now drifting off to the distance, the occasional flash of lightning streaked through the sky, followed by a distant roll of thunder. Harry was lying on the ground by the bars of the jail, upon the driest patch of dirty stone he could find. He was almost asleep, his tired brain still buzzing slightly from Snape's confession. He really wasn't sure what to think. A part of him was so angry and wanted to blame Snape for everything. But another part of him, the one that remembered asking Aunt Petunia why funny people pointed at him before he knew not to bring it up, sort of understood what Snape felt like; It really wasn't too different, and if you didn't really understand a piece of information and you shared I anyway, then Harry wasn't quite sure how it could be all your fault. And while Snape had not been right by following Voldemort,  he had changed in the end, hadn't he?

      Harry's brain hurt from all the thinking, and so he let his mind go blissfully blank. He was unable to keep it this way for long though, for every time he was about to relax he thought about ropes and torches and angry judges. Yet, somehow, in the whirling hurricane of his emotions he was able to fall into a restless sleep.

      He awoke again in the night, for the temperature had dropped as the clouds cleared.  Harry's side was damp from lying on the floor, and he curled up further into a ball. It was strange, for he was in a state of semi consciousness - not quite awake, but not asleep either. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact he had been unable to sleep for a very long time. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were just too heavy, and so he let himself stay, surrounded in cool darkness. It was obviously still very late, but he did not hear the soft snores that he had come to associate with Snape being asleep, however seldom sleep for him seemed to occur.

      Harry let out a small breath, which had a slight rasping quality due to his chattering teeth. He muttered a little bit, slipping into half in dreams, but not quite realising that that was the case. He was at Privet drive, and Aunt Petunia was yelling at him for being slow at getting up, or at least he was pretty sure she was.

     "C-comin' Aun' P'tunia," he said unintelligibly as his chattering teeth and tired lips got in the way of his speech.

      "Quiet," a voice said tiredly, but not unkindly. "Go back to sleep."

      "Snape?" Harry muttered deliriously, teeth crashing together and sounding as loud as cymbals within Harry's ears.

      "Yes. Go to sleep," he said quietly.

      "Yessir," mumbled Harry back. "Promise Aunt Petunia'll go?"

     "I won't let her bother you," Snape muttered back.

     "That's good."

     "Now sleep," was the reply, the sounds of Snape's robes making a soft noise nearby. He thought he felt a hand on his back for a second, but wasn't sure. Quite suddenly Harry wasn't so cold, and his teeth stopped chattering and his nose grew warmer. And so sleep claimed him once more.

      ***

     Harry awoke again, and this time it was morning. The first he noticed was the sound of voices outside the jail. Warm and sleepy, he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. It was clear that Snape was beginning to stir as well, his hair in his face and back up against the bars of the jail. It took a moment or two, but Snape looked up - eyes not quite focused - and stretched. There was a loud crack and Snape winced, rubbing his neck.

        Little slivers of his previous awakening during the night filtered through the fuzz in Harry's head, and it suddenly made sense why he had grown warm and fallen asleep on such a cold night. For looking at Snape, Harry realised he was missing something. It just registered in Harry's brain that he was wrapped in a thick cloak, Snape's cloak in fact. He wasn't entirely sure what to think about that. In some ways he was a little repulsed to be covered in the cloak of the dungeon bat, but he was also glad he wasn't cold, so these things balanced each other out.

      Snape saw Harry watching while he ran his fingers ran over the fabric of the cloak.

     "Dumbledore would have had my neck if you froze during the night," Snape said gruffly as Harry handed the cloak over.

       After a moment Snape seemed to realise how strange his statement was, considering the situation and what was to take place. He turned away from Harry to glance through the bars and across the jail. And that was their last moment of peace together, before they were thrown into the lion's den.

      "It's time," said the harsh voice of McTavish, followed by the loud jangle of the keys.

     In mere seconds the door was thrown open with a loud clang, and Harry found his hands being tied. Snape was dragged out of the cell while Bruce finished tying Harry's hands. He was going quietly, which was strange to Harry. Snape did not go quietly ... but here he was, eyes dead and walking as though he had been trained to. That dark shroud had fallen around Snape once more, the one that had been almost permanent since he took that horrible potion. It clouded his features, made what little light left in his eyes die. A stone settled at the bottom of Harry's stomach as he caught a glimpse of Snape's weary face, glancing back, looking at nothing in particular. His face read easily to Harry, and quite clearly it said, "There's no way out."

      Dragged roughly through the jailhouse doors ... out into the blazing red sunrise that made the tree and newly built platform under it a silhouette to Harry's watering eyes ... through the crowds of people ... Snape's dead eyes ... the shouts ... Harry's pulse so strong, and yet so faint ... up the new wood steps to the platform. And so the final journey was complete. 

     Harry stood - shaking legs and cold hands - upon the clean smelling wood platform as the red sunlight bathed the people below, the people screaming at them. Beside him Snape looked cold, pale, resigned. A raven soared over to the tree, shuffled its feet and stared at them with its beady eyes from where it sat perched upon a low hanging branch nearby.

     A pinched faced man with protuberant eyes mounted the platform and made sure Snape and Harry were facing the nooses before them. Harry felt sick. With a sour look the man pulled the loop in the rope over Snape's head and settled it around his neck. Snape did not flinch. Bruce looked over at Harry from his position on the narrow stairs to the platform. Then the noose was pulled over Harry's head, the thick rope scratching against his pallid skin. Harry flinched, and started to shake.

       He didn't want this ... there were so many things he would never get to do.  He closed his eyes, pictures of his friends rushing by. He wouldn't get to wish Ron a happy twelfth birthday. He wouldn't get to see Hedwig again, or any his friends. He wouldn't have the time to think over what Snape had told him the night before. He wouldn't get to grow up, or have his first Christmas away from the Dursleys and eat turkey until he was so full all he could do was sleep. He certainly wouldn't get to find out what it was like to graduate, and do it with friends too. There wasn't time for that.

      Harry opened his eyes and looked down at his feet, standing so carefully on the trapdoor that would disappear from beneath his feet in mere moments. He looked at Snape, wishing he had an answer for him about what he had said. What could Harry say? He had barely gotten over the shock of it all. But he was still quite sure that Snape did not deserve this death; he did not deserve to die like a criminal. Though he had acted like one at times, maybe he wasn't one through and through, and Harry had only had a little time to see Snape's good side. Little glimpses, here and there. Now he never would. There wasn't time for that.

      Someone down below was reading something up to them, but he couldn't understand a word of it for the terror that had grabbed a hold of him. The man below fell silent, and so did the crowd. Harry saw McTavish standing near a lever. This was it - he was sure of it, and his eyes prickled as the fear spiralled upward in a gripping crescendo. But he would not cry. No matter how much he wanted to. He would not give them the satisfaction.

      He looked over at Snape, and was surprised to see him returning the gaze.

      "I'm sorry ... Harry," he whispered so that not even the pinched faced man could hear.

      With that he turned his head to the red horizon, suddenly straightening up and standing with a courage Harry had never seen before. A fire, blazing in his eyes showed everyone below he was ready. Ready to face death. And then Harry heard a click, and before his vision snaked a streak of black.

    But it was not because the wood had disappeared beneath his feet, but because something had flown onto the platform. It was the raven in fact, its claws outstretched. It landed on the platform, and in an instant before Harry erupted a hooded figure. Flames shot out of the figure's wand and rose to encircle the tree and platform. It was a storm of fury, blocking the crowd or anyone else for that matter from getting to them. McTavish bolted, clothes on fire after the flames shot across the ground near the lever. The fire popped and hissed, and  soon moved to close the barrier, blocking him from returning. Over the roar shouts could be heard, but Harry blocked them out as the he watched Bruce and the pinched faced man fall at the hands of the hooded figure.  Once they lay motionless below (whether they were dead or just unconscious Harry did not know) the figure before them lowered its hood. Evelyn stood in front of them, eyes alive with a blaze not unlike the one that encircled them, a heat radiating from both alike.

       She made quick work of removing the nooses and cutting the ropes on their hands. Snape looked positively shocked, and Harry couldn't blame him. He had obviously accepted their fate long ago. That was not to say Harry was not shocked either, for he felt as though he might have closed his eyes and drifted off in his imagination, and that Evelyn had not really come. If this was the case, he decided, then he didn't want to come back to reality. He returned his attention the  present, for they were free of their bonds, and Evelyn was pushing them off the trapdoors. She raised her arm above her head, hair flying wildly in the air spiralling up from the centre of the firestorm, and performed a cutting motion with her wand. The flames split so that a long passage shot out before them, a wall of fire on each side.

      "Come!" she shouted at them as she thundered down the steps of the platform.

     They followed without hesitation, and sprinted after her for what seemed to be forever. Above the towering flames Harry could see the very tips of the thatched roofs flying by; such speed Harry was sure he had never accomplished without the aid of a broomstick. Shouts followed not far behind them, outside of the roaring barrier, and he ran even faster. Adrenaline was the only thing that kept Harry going, for under any other circumstance his shaky legs would surely have given out long before. He did not question where they had to run, but merely followed until they reached a grassy hillside and the fire suddenly disappeared. Once there Evelyn didn't hesitate for a second. She grabbed a hold of both Snape and Harry, spun on her heel, and beckoned upon blackness until it engulfed them.

According to Snape what Evelyn did was apparate, but Harry really didn't care what it was called; all he knew was that he did not like it. His shaky legs combined with lack of food and water only made the world spin more, and Snape had ended up having to practically drag him through the thicket of trees and to the stone cottage in which Evelyn had entered. It was a quaint little place, and obviously had not been inhabited for a while. It was very small, but nice nonetheless. A wooden partition separated it into two rooms, the other presumably a bedroom. Shortly after Harry was dragged through the door Snape pushed him onto a wooden chair, which sat near a scrubbed wood table. There was a slight amount of dust on it. Snape collapsed into a seat too, facing the large fireplace where an empty pot was hung, and some unlit firewood beneath it. The cottage was dimly lit, but Harry didn't mind that so much. Evelyn had thrown open the wood shutters on the small, square window, allowing light to flood the area, dust shimmering in the beam of morning sun.

Evelyn turned from the window, took one look at the two of them panting around the table and frowned.

"Wait right here," she said before running outside and bringing in a large wooden washtub. She went over to the other side of the wooden partition and Harry heard her set it down.

Snape looked over to Harry, shooting him a look of wonder, much like the one of Harry's face.

"Aguamenti," said Evelyn from the other room, followed by the sound of water hitting the wood basin (or at least Harry assumed it was water). "Calor," Evelyn's voice said once the sound of water stopped. A moment later Harry heard a slight splashing noise, almost as though someone had put their hand in the water.

Evelyn returned to them, wand stuck in her dress pocket and arms crossed. Snape and Harry looked at her expectantly.

"You two are filthy," she said, bestowing upon them a look rather reminiscent of Aunt Petunia when Harry tracked dirt in the house.

Harry looked at Snape. Judging by his expression it hadn't really occurred to him either just how dirty they were. Indeed, there was grime streaked across Snape's face, and Harry felt his own and found it to be in the same predicament.

"While you take your turns I will wash your clothes for you," she said, fingering Harry's grungy sleeve with scrutiny. "You're first." She looked pointedly at Harry.

He frowned, wanting to know the full story behind their rescue. He then said, "But aren't you going to tell us -"

"There will be time for that later," she said, cutting him off. "Go."

"Yes ma'am," Harry muttered, thinking that he would have preferred to find out now rather than later.

"Leave your clothes on the chair by the sheet," she called to him.

"Okay," Harry replied, walking through the doorway cut in the partition and over to where an old bed sheet was hung from one of the wood beams that made up the roof. He went behind it and found the washtub, steaming and full of water. There was a little jar with what looked like brown slime, and a washcloth beside it on floor. Harry supposed it was soap. Two thin towels were folded a little ways away from the tub, one presumably for Snape later. As instructed, once undressed Harry put his clothes upon the little chair outside the screen, and Evelyn soon came in to collect them.

While Harry would have preferred a shower, bathing medieval style was not so bad at all. The soap was odd, but did a good job of getting the dirt to budge. Washing one's hair was a bit of a trick however, as the tub was rather small and required you to scrunch up pretty good to get it clean. Only once Harry was drying his hair off did he realise just how grungy he had been. The water was quite murky with dirt, and in some ways he was almost impressed by how much dirt he had managed to carry with him. He wondered if there had been that much dirt on his clothes. He figured that there couldn't have been too much though, for Evelyn had been very quick about getting his clothes clean, and they were even nice and warm. He wondered how she did it so fast, only to realise she had probably done it by magic. He found much humour in the fact that Evelyn, a woman from the Middle Ages, could get washing done faster than Aunt Petunia and all her modern day conveniences. He loved magic, really.

Feeling clean, and quite frankly very tired, Harry tumbled out of the room and to his previous spot at the table, where Snape was resting his head in his arms (however uncharacteristically Snape-ish of him it was) and making use of the comfortable silence. He was obviously as tired as Harry; after all, it was difficult to sleep with a death sentence hanging over your head, and now that they had been saved Harry was sure Snape was feeling the same amount of relief he was. He turned his attention to Evelyn, who had heard him come in. She took a glance at Snape and reached into her deep pocket. Snape looked up as she walked over and set two objects on the table. Their wands.

"How did you ..." spluttered Snape, looking positively surprised and delighted to see his wand.

"Ravens like to steal things," said Evelyn, flashing a mischievous look at them before going back to the pan she was heating upon a metal rack over the fire.

Snape had a spring in his step when he went to take his turn at washing up, wand tightly enclosed in his hand. Harry took his own and slipped it into his pocket. He was glad to see it again, even if he couldn't do much but a hover charm.

"What are you cooking?" Harry asked curiously as Evelyn flipped something in the pan, the sound of Snape filling the washtub with clean water flooding his ears.

"Salt pork," she said, leaning up against the wall while the meat cooked. "Hungry?"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak with his mouth watering so badly.

"I haven't any bread ... though I don't suppose you would want any more," she said with a slight chuckle.

"No," Harry said quickly, mouth suddenly dry as he began thinking of the stale bread they had been supplied with in the jail. "Just so long as there's water too." Evelyn assured him there was.

While Harry was lost in unpleasant thoughts of old bread, Evelyn left briefly to go get Snape's clothes. She then put them in another smaller washtub full of soapy water by the window, and tapped her wand on the washboard. The clothes started to scrub themselves, and she returned to her thoughts of breakfast.

"I think I've still got some carrots," she said almost to herself, bustling over to a cupboard and glancing into a wooden crate. "Ah yes, still good." She pulled a few out and brushed them off. "All I have for food right now is what's been preserved or stored away in the cupboard. I haven't been home for a while." She brushed her finger on the dusty countertop. "I suppose you have noticed."

"I thought you were trapped down in the cave with the others," Harry said, frowning. "How did you get to us?"

"It's a rather long story, and I think that Severus would want to hear it too," she said.

As Evelyn turned her attention to the washing, Harry couldn't help but be surprised that she remembered Snape's name. However, the feeling of surprise was far outweighed by his impatience to hear the full story. So he was doomed to wait, and it was dreadfully difficult to refrain from pestering Evelyn while she washed and chopped the carrots, and dried Snape's clean robes with a flick of her wand and sent them to the chair with yet another swish of her wrist. Quite naturally, it was a relief when Snape finally emerged, his hair for once looking quite clean. It was slightly shocking really, without all those layers of grease. For once, he looked almost presentable.

Once the two plates had been placed in front of them (Evelyn had eaten earlier) and they began to eat gratefully, she told her story.

"As you may know," she began, paying no attention to the fact that Harry was crunching a carrot loudly, "McTavish has men patrolling through the forest, seeing as he suspects we are hiding out in there somewhere. Luckily for me, I am able to escape fairly easily because I am an animagus - a wizard or witch who can turn into an animal," she added at Harry's blank stare. "I had been flying through the town a few times a day while you two were in the jail, hoping for a chance to rescue you. I tried to sneak into the jail beforehand, but it was closely guarded and I didn't know how I would be able to escape with the both of you."

"Couldn't you have just app ... apprated?" Harry asked between mouthfuls.

"Apparated," Snape corrected him irritably. "There were wards Potter; there was no way for any of us to escape by magic. I tried to apparate a few times while you were sleeping."

"Yes," Evelyn continued, looking mildly annoyed at Snape for taking it upon himself to explain. "McTavish has the entire place bogged down with spells to keep anyone from escaping. It's easy enough for me to get in and out of town alone, but getting away with someone is very difficult."

"Is that why we had to run so far?" said Harry curiously, his plate clean already.

Evelyn nodded. "It is quite a ways to the edge of the wards." She looked out the window, lost in her mind for a moment before returning to them, voice soft. "I've never succeeded in making it before now."

"You tried it before?" Harry asked, missing completely the look that Snape was giving him, clearly saying not to pursue the subject.

"Er, yes ... my friend was caught," she said rather shakily. "The fire ... I couldn't keep it going ..."

"What happened then?" Harry said, wondering.

"It does not matter," she said bitterly before changing the subject. "I also had a reason for saving you, aside from the wish to keep innocent people alive."

"I thought that there was more to it," Snape said slyly.

"We need an antidote to the poison McTavish uses on his arrows," she said cautiously, hands still trembling. "Half of us have been ... well, you see, he's such a good shot." She took a deep breath. "A man who lives just outside Bridgewater was recently able to develop the antidote, but it would be too suspicious for him to send over large quantities of it, and our last owl was taken out by McTavish shortly after the both of you were caught. I think he knows something is going on ..."

"So," Snape drawled, looking unsurprised, "you want me to make one."

"You wouldn't have to start from the beginning," she said quickly. "The old man sent me the recipe, which he's tested with great success. We need someone who is good enough with potions to brew us a stock of it. I overheard you talking about potions back in the cave, and from what you were saying I think you should be able to make it."

"Might I see the recipe?" Snape inquired after a moment.

Evelyn then did something very peculiar. She took off her shoe and pulled off her stocking, thrust her hand down into it and pulled out a piece of parchment, dusted it off and handed to Snape, who took it gingerly. He looked upon it with mild distaste before unfolding it.

"I had to keep it in a place they wouldn't search if I was caught," Evelyn said apologetically as she put her stocking and shoe back on.

Snape did not reply, but had his nose a few inches from the paper, dark eyes darting back and forth rapidly. He nodded very slightly.

"I assume you have all these ingredients?" he asked, without looking up.

"Yes," she said. "I've got supplies for use as well, should you choose to help. It should only take a few days to brew at the most, which is lucky for us."

Snape set the paper down, clearly thinking deeply.

"I can hardly say no, can I?" he said, looking across the table at her while Harry peered down at the ingredient list curiously. He then added rather softly, "You saved both of our lives."

"So, you'll do it?" Evelyn said hopefully.

"I will," Snape replied, slapping Harry's hand away from the parchment, eyes still making contact with Evelyn. "But I do not know how long the boy and I will be staying. I am afraid that such a thing is dependent on variables I cannot control."

"Thank you," she said breathlessly, not paying too much attention to Snape's last statement. "If you can do this, then so many lives will be saved."

So it was decided. Snape and Harry were to stay at Evelyn's cottage so that Snape could brew the antidote, for it was too dangerous to attempt to return to the cave. Quite frankly, Harry was glad not to return there anyways. After digging out the ingredients and supplies that had been hidden beneath a cleverly disguised trapdoor in the cupboard, Evelyn left them for the day on a mission back to the cave to spread the news. This left Harry with nothing but Snape's company, and he obviously wanted to be alone to work.

"Get out from underfoot," Snape barked as he set up the cauldron. "Go outside."

"And do what?" Harry asked, a little baffled. He couldn't exactly explore very far, lest someone recognize him.

"Whatever young boys do," replied Snape irritably, sounding very slightly bewildered. "Climb trees ... er, eat bugs."

"Fine," Harry said, rolling his eyes and wondering if Snape had ever been his age anyway.

     He then wandered out into the cool sunshine. The birds were singing happily and the leaves on the trees were already a deep gold and flecked with red. Every so often the occasional leaf worked its way loose and drifted to the ground. As a leaf fluttered in front of Harry's eyes, he couldn't help but think it a little strange, because before they had gone back in time winter was close and the leaves had already fallen. Yet here, the time seemed to be just a little behind, and the leaves were only beginning to turn on most trees. Harry didn't mind this so much though, for the leaves were pretty and the days somehow still held that lingering warmth of summer. It was quite pleasant in all honesty. He flopped down on the grass, tired and content to just lie there, beneath the waving branches of the tree.

After a few minutes Harry turned over on his belly, and lo and behold there was a wee little snail, sliming along on a rock just in front of him. Watching with interest, Harry prodded it lightly with his finger, and it curled up into its shell. He grinned. Funny how something as little of a snail now seemed so positively wonderful after a close scrape with death. Of course, he always found snails sort of cool anyways, and this one had some neat shades of brown twisted through its shell. The slimy little body of the snail began to come out again, and the little stalks poked up and moved this way and that. Carefully so as not to hurt or startle it too badly, Harry picked the snail up and set it in his hand, resisting the urge to laugh slightly as it tickled its way across his palm. He got up, suddenly wanting to share with someone this quirky little display of life.

He strode into the cottage, hoping to find Snape, and find him he did.

"Back outside Potter," Snape said, pointing to the door without looking up from where he was working.

"I just wanted to ..." Harry began, but closed his mouth. He wasn't really sure what he had been thinking, imagining that Snape might find the snail interesting. Such a thing may seem extraordinary to some, but to Snape it would surely seem positively ordinary, uninteresting even.

"What is that in your hand?" Snape said sharply, pausing from cutting roots and staring down at Harry's grubby palm.

"A snail," mumbled Harry.

"Articulate, Potter."

Harry looked at Snape exasperatedly, "A snail." Obviously¸ he added in his head.

"Get it out of here or it is in the potion," said Snape coolly. "And don't get slime anywhere, especially not on my work space."

"Yes sir" Harry said rather childishly and stalked outside.

Snape looked as though he was about to say something but thought better of it, shook his head, and went back to cutting roots.

Who did Snape think he was anyway? Who was he to tell Harry what to do! Scoffing for even thinking in the first place to go show Snape the snail, Harry set it in a nice patch of moss. Looking for something to be angry about, Harry thought back to Snape's confession. It was all Snape's fault, everything. He didn't have parents because of him. So what if he didn't know that the information would make Voldemort think of them! Who cared if he switched sides? Well, supposedly anyways. Who cared if he had done everything he could to keep Harry safe the past week! Harry frowned. His argument against Snape really wasn't going so well. So he was back to where he started, face scrunched in thought and leaning up against the tree as he pondered once more what to think about Snape. He looked around the side of the tree, catching sight of the door, still open. He expected to see Snape working, but was surprised to see him staring in the direction of him. Snape looked gloomy, puzzled perhaps. Harry wasn't sure, but didn't take his time looking to find out. He whipped his head back around the tree and slumped down against it, thinking that Snape sure did act differently out of school.

And through his head rang Snape's voice, angry, pained, borderline hysterical. "It doesn't matter if I changed sides, it doesn't matter what I've done since because I still did that horrible, stupid thing, and for that ... for that deserve death!"

"No he doesn't," Harry said quietly to himself, firmly, knowing in his heart that was true. If he had learnt anything being stuck in the past with his professor, it was that Severus Snape did not quite deserve death; especially after all he had done to help Harry. Perhaps, just like Harry, all he really needed was a little understanding, even if he was a bit bitter and sarcastic. And yet Snape had still been the one to bring, while unknowingly, the piece of information that brought the hammer down on the lives of Harry's parents. How does one go about forgiving that? Harry asked himself. He felt very conflicted. He didn't hate Snape anymore, and he had come to even feel fairly safe in his presence in the last few days, but could he ever look at him the same again? No, he couldn't, Harry realised. But he could judge Snape now, for what he was today, and not for what he was yesterday. This suddenly brought his mind back to a girl from his primary school, of whom he had shared a short friendship with before she moved away. Her name was Alice, and she used to be really mean to him just like the rest of his class, like Dudley. Then, things changed. She got to know him one day when they were both in the nurse's office ill and waiting to be picked up. That was how they became friends, however slowly. He ended up liking her a lot, and admired her for her bravery, seeing as nobody had the guts to treat him well with Dudley around. He never would have had the chance at having her as a friend - however brief of a time it was before her departure - if he hadn't judged her not by how she used to be, but what she changed into. It was a profound lesson that he had learned quite early, something that some people never would come to understand. But Harry, did, and remembering his experience with Alice, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe the situation with Snape wasn't so different. Though Harry doubted they would ever be friends, he thought perhaps that he might gain an ally, for Snape had been helpful throughout the days they had been trapped in the past. Perhaps Harry needed to show Snape the same grace he had shown Alice and in turn, might give Snape the chance to see that Harry wasn't what he thought he was.

Harry's mind was brought back to Snape's comment on what he had done to rectify his mistake, and how it did not make a difference. But those things did matter, that and the way in which Snape had tried to act since. He had kept Harry as safe as he could, had he not? Changing sides wasn't nothing either. It mattered too. So, hesitantly, Harry resolved to give Snape a chance, despite of what he had done, even if he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to completely forgive him. And quite suddenly, he felt a thousand pounds lighter, knowing that he wasn't going to condemn Snape for his mistake. For, sometimes in doing that one only ends up aggravating the wound that was created from the misstep in the first place.

As he let his mind cool down after such a serious bout of thinking, Harry suddenly felt the desire to, in time, tell Snape that the way in which he changed mattered, just like Alice; though he wasn't all that ready to say it, mainly because he didn't quite know how. It had to be when Snape's mind wasn't elsewhere, when he would have time to listen to what Harry had to say. Snape couldn't go on thinking he deserved death for his mistake, and though he was not innocent, Harry didn't think he deserved that fate. And of all people, thought Harry, I should know best. They were my family. He just hoped he had made the right decision.

     "Potter," said a voice, impatient but not harsh. The voice seemed to reach Harry from a long ways away. "Come inside; it looks like it's going to rain."

    Harry blinked, Snape coming into focus standing over him. It took him a moment to realise he must have fallen asleep under the tree. Harry stood up, still tired. He took his time staring up at the clouds, which were a slate grey and hanging low over him. A drop splattered on his forehead, cold and large. Snape, who had paused to look at the clouds as well, got a drop on the end of his long nose. He growled slightly (Yes, because it's the fault of the rain that he has a big nose to catch it all with, Harry thought) and began to stalk across the grass, Harry following close behind. Halfway to the cottage - and quite to both Harry and Snape's surprise - the heavens burst, sending torrents of icy cold water pouring from the skies and drenching Harry quite suddenly. He looked to see Snape with his hands over his head and sprinting back to the shelter of the cottage as rain pounded the ground around them. Harry did the same, but found that his professor was in fact quite speedy, and made it a little while after him.

      While they may have reached the dryness of the cottage, the both of them were soaked to the bone; the rain was very heavy. They stood a moment in the doorway, watching the rain run off the roof and making a hazy curtain of water before them. Harry though, was having a bit of difficulty seeing as his wet hair had fallen over his glasses, dripping. The blurry outline of Snape stood black against the curtain of water outside the door. Harry reached up and tried to move his hair aside a bit, but found it was sticking to his glasses a little, for in its wetness all it did was slide back. However, he could see a little better, and Harry realised that Snape was staring at him. He wore a similar expression of surprise, like Harry's, which showed that he was also in a slight state of shock thanks to the sudden onset and chill of the rain. Like Harry, Snape was soaked, and looked sort of funny with his hair dripping and laying partially over his eyes. Harry imagined he looked rather silly too, for he felt as though he had two little peepholes in his glasses that were not obscured by wet hair; it must have looked ridiculous.

        Perhaps it was the way in which they looked, or the fact that they were suddenly full of energy from the shock of the cold rain, or maybe just because they had survived after all. Whatever the reason, Harry wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly, upon seeing each other's ridiculous hair, both he and Snape started to laugh. Well, Snape chuckled more than laughed, but Harry thought that counted as a laugh because he was usually so stern anyways.

      "Harry, how can you possibly see under that?" Snape said with another small chuckle, reaching forward and carefully lifting Harry's wet fringe off of his damp glasses. Snape's image cleared so that Harry could see him in detail, and watching him, Harry saw that after a second he seemed to realise what he had just done.

       Snape cleared his throat awkwardly. "I suppose we should light a fire," he said, turning away from Harry and going over to the fireplace.

     "Yeah," said Harry, staring in wonder at his professor as he lit a fire with magic. As it roared to life and bathed the dim cottage in warmth, Harry thought he saw a little bit of confusion on Snape's face, as he stood by the dancing flames.

     "Potter," Snape said suddenly and sharply, the look gone so fast Harry entertained the possibility that he had imagined it. "Come here."

     Bewildered and wondering what he had done this time, Harry walked over to the fireplace and to Snape. He was surprised that all Snape did was wave his wand over him, instantly drying his clothes.

     "Thanks sir," Harry said gratefully as Snape dried his own too.

     He merely nodded in response to Harry's words, walking back to his cauldron, which was bubbling overtop a little flame, its stubby  metal legs resting on the table. Harry stared at Snape a moment, pondering him and what he had done and said in the past few minutes. Yes, he decided. There was no doubt about it: Severus Snape was an enigma. Positively weird, in fact.

     Harry sat down in a chair by the wall, for Snape had moved all of them away from the table so as to free up space. Quietly, Harry watched Snape work. Harry didn't think Snape minded so much now that Harry was around, for he stayed quiet and the pattering sound of the rain on the roof was so tranquil in comparison to how it had sounded in the jail that Snape wasn't as on edge. Well, that was what Harry thought at least. So Harry remained quiet, and observed Snape at work.

       Watching Snape brew was certainly something Harry wished he would have gotten to see earlier. He now understood why Snape was so sharp and frustrated with students in class; it was because he was nothing short of brilliant with the same tools and resources Harry and other students fumbled about with. Snape looked at home here, standing over the cauldron, staring in scrutiny. To Harry it was almost like music, for Snape's pauses and stirring were so precise, and had their own rhythm and dynamics. Snape was in the middle of one of his pauses, and after a moment he took a pinch of crushed and dried leaves, residing in a jar nearby. He did not measure, but shifted it slightly between two fingers and a thumb before throwing it into the cauldron with flourish. The result made Harry glad he had a side view of the whole operation and that Snape was not blocking the cauldron. For its contents turned from a muddy brown to a startling light blue, and rings of shimmering steam beginning to rise in puffs from the outside of the cauldron. The light reflected in Snape's eyes, making his figure seem darker, but impressive all the same. The dim room grew hazy from the steam, and Harry could see Snape's outline moving through it, orange light bleeding through the air from the fireplace and adding a surreal quality to the bluish sheen of the room.      

     All the while that Harry sat, watching Snape move effortlessly from stage to stage of the potion, he could think of nothing but how much he wished he could do the very same thing. It was an art, brewing, something that Harry had never quite understood in class. But here, watching Snape work with such ease, and with almost a kind of grace that he had never seen before, Harry finally understood it. He understood why Snape called wand waving foolish, for there was a kind of raw energy and beauty of a potion in the making ... when a master was at work. Snape truly was one.

       Taking delight in what was before him, Harry suddenly thought of Hermione, wishing she could see this display. He could picture her beside him, muttering the steps and gasping with the changing colours of the potion. He felt a pang in his chest at the thought of her, and with the thought of Hermione came the thought of Ron, further intensifying the ache. He missed his friends so much. He hoped that they didn't think he had forgotten about them.

      While thinking about forgotten things, Harry suddenly felt as though there was something he was missing. He frowned, thinking hard. After a moment of trying to recall, it just didn't come to him. He thought that it couldn't have been too important though. So he went back to watching Snape work on the potion, mesmerised as sparks encased within bubbles began to rise from the surface of the potion, trapped like fireflies. They made the steam glitter as they drifted dreamily across the room.

       ***

      It was quite some time before Evelyn came back, and by then the rain had stopped, though the sky was still a dull grey. She swept into the room, hair rather messy from the wind.

      "Hello," she greeted the two. Snape looked up briefly from his potion. "Everyone is relieved to hear that the antidote is on the way. How is it coming?"

      "Quite well," Snape said simply. "One last ingredient and then it can be left to simmer for a few days."

      Evelyn looked very pleased at this news and took off her cloak and hung it on a small peg by the door. Snape returned his thoughts to the potion while Harry busied himself with trying to remember what it was he had forgotten.

     "Something's happening in town," Evelyn said to Snape, sounding uneasy. "I flew through on my way to the cave, and it just felt ... restless."

    "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Snape drawled in response, voice muffled slightly because his nose was so close to the delicate roots he was slicing. Evelyn seemed to be unsure still, but dismissed it. Instead she contented herself with looking at Snape rather strangely.

     "Why do you insist on having your nose so close to the table when you work?" she asked rather bluntly, but in a rather amused manner. "You might cut it."

     Snape looked up, scowling quite heavily. Harry was just about bursting with silent laughter, especially because Evelyn was standing with her hands on her hips and looking at Snape as though he was crazy.

     "I can't see all that well," he said sharply before bending down once again to cut the roots. "My eyes get tired if I work too long." 

      "You could always get glasses," Harry said.

      "I know a few wizards who are quite skilled in making them," Evelyn said. "Why don't you get some made?"

      "I have gotten by just fine without them all these years," he snapped, still meticulously slicing roots. "Besides, I would look absolutely ridiculous."

      "You are the weirdest man I have ever met," Evelyn said thoughtfully as she threw a kettle over the fire with a shake of her head. "Well ... except maybe Ellery."

      "Charmed," Snape drawled as scooped up the roots and carefully dropped them into the potion. A small snicker escaped Harry.

         Snape turned around to look at Harry, who was still trying not to laugh out loud.

         "Go play in traffic or something Potter," he said rather haughtily.

    That did it, Harry couldn't contain himself, and he laughed until he fell off his chair. Snape looked positively bewildered, which only made it funnier. It was only when Evelyn went out to pick some vegetables from the garden was Harry able to catch his breath. As he did so, he suddenly remembered just what he had been trying to recall.

      "Evelyn," he said, gasping as he ran out of the cottage and out to her. "You didn't see if that old woman is still in the jail, did you? Her name was Jean."

     "Hmm," she said thoughtfully, picking the mud off a potato. "Was she there while you two were?"

      "Yeah," Harry asked. "She was so sure that we would get out, and she was right! You don't suppose there would be any way to rescue her, would there?"

      "Harry," said Evelyn, voice gentle. "When I snuck into the jail to get your wands while you two were being led out, the other cell was empty."

      "Did they let her go?" Harry asked hopefully. "She was sick, I bet they ... they ..." He couldn't say anymore, for the look on Evelyn's face said it all. "N-no," he said shakily, backing away.

     "There was no way I could have helped her, I'm sorry," Evelyn said, her voice coming from far away.

        But Harry didn't hear her for he was running, though he wasn't sure where he was going. Outside was too cold, and he couldn't go far and so he found himself sprinting back into the cottage, throwing off his shoes and flying past Snape and into the other room of the cottage. He heard Snape calling after him, and Evelyn running into the cottage too. But nobody followed him into the other room, where he had thrown himself onto the blankets folded on the floor, which were to be moved out by the fireplace for Snape and him to sleep on later. Harry hid his face in one of the small pillows, dusty sweet from the feathers, and let the tears run down his cheeks, the soft quilts beneath his belly cradling him gently.

     Snape's voice carried into the room, sounding angry. "What did you say to him?" he said to Evelyn.

     "He asked what happened to the old woman in the jail," Evelyn sighed. "I said that I didn't see her when I went to steal back your wands ... I'm sorry." 

     "Oh ... I saw her being carried out during the night," Snape said finally, his voice quieter, calmer. "I didn't say anything ... I didn't want to upset him, especially with everything that had happened already."

    "I'm sorry," Evelyn said again. "Perhaps I should have said something different ..."

    "What could you have done? Lied to him?" Snape asked gloomily. "Death is a part of life. It is difficult thing to come to terms with ... but every person on this earth needs to do so. Harry, though young, is no exception."

     "Should I ..."

     "No," said Snape, though not unkindly, "let him be a while."

     If there was anything else to be heard, Harry would not have listened anyways. He had barely even made sense of what he had heard, for he was too busy thinking of the last thing he said to Jean. He had told her that he would come back for her. He had told her that he wouldn't forget her. And yet he had forgotten about her. He hadn't really said goodbye the day they were being led out to the square. Of course, by then she had been ... gone, if what Snape had said was true. He wished he could have gotten a chance to save her. She had been so kind to him, and made things almost bearable in the jail, knowing that there was someone besides Snape to talk to. Even if she had only said a few little things to him, she had made it so much less frightening. It made Harry so angry at McTavish - and all of his stupid followers - that they had been mean enough to keep a sick old lady like Jean there. It wasn't fair. For some odd reason though, he felt as though there had to have been more he could have done for her. Something he could have done to have delayed her passing so as to save her. A tiny piece of him knew this was silly, but a greater portion believed it. He started to shake a little, thinking of how cold it had been in that jail.

    How long he lay there, Harry could not be sure. But after a while the acute pain had receded to an empty ache, and he couldn't cry anymore, or even move it seemed. He couldn't even feel ashamed for having cried. Sound flitted through his clouded thoughts; the fire being stoked, pots, pans. Evelyn was starting on supper. Harry didn't care though, as he wasn't hungry anyways. He let his mind go blank again, and he let his body sink into the softness of the folded quilts and just existed. Harry was so lost in the nothingness of it all that he didn't even hear Snape creep into the room and sink down against the wall. It usually would have startled Harry when someone whom he did not know was there began to speak, but within the miasma of numbness that his mind had fallen into, he couldn't even feel surprised.

      "How are you feeling?" Snape asked, sounding out of his element.

      "Go away," Harry mumbled, not raising his head from the soft pillow.

      "No," said Snape firmly.  "You know this isn't your fault."   

      Harry did not reply.

      "You couldn't have done anything to save her," he said quietly, rephrasing his earlier statement.

      Harry thought he heard Snape sigh slightly.

     "I know how you feel," Snape said suddenly, obviously trying a new tactic.

     Harry put the pillow over his head.

     "Hey," said Snape, pulling the pillow off. "I'm talking."

    Harry stuck his face into one of the quilts instead, and Snape ploughed on, clearly unfazed by Harry's childish behaviour.

      "You aren't the only one who has had someone they know die," he told Harry. "Professor Dumbledore is one of two surviving members of his family, Professor McGonagall's husband died in the war, both of my parents are dead ... it is a sad fact of life."

     "Why does it hurt so bad? Even when you can't remember them?"

     Snape paused a moment after Harry's statement, and Harry thought he had figured out that he wasn't talking about Jean.

      "I think it is wondering what could have been," said Snape, sounding in every way to Harry as though there was a little more behind his comment than he let on. Snape fell silent for a few seconds before adding hesitantly, "You miss them still, don't you?"

      Harry nodded a little, not looking up.  "Sometimes I think I dream about them," he whispered into the quilt. Harry heard a sigh, almost inaudible, but most certainly not from his imagination.

     "You should come and eat something soon," Snape said suddenly, changing the subject. "Dinner is almost finished."

     Harry lifted his eyes briefly to see Snape getting up and leaving the room. He felt a pang of sadness for Snape, for he understood just then why he had left. He was still sure it was entirely his fault that Harry didn't have parents. But he never would have thrown that curse at them. Harry was positive now, and he was angry at himself for missing his chance to tell Snape that it wasn't all his fault. It was his chance and he missed it because he had been too wrapped up in his sadness to realise it until it was too late. Wondering when he would get another, Harry rolled over, staring up at the beams making up the roof. Numbness washed over him again. At least, in all his sadness and aching, Jean was in a better place than he was. That was little bit comforting.

       Harry rolled onto his side and looked at the empty spot where Snape had sat, and wondered what had possessed him to come in and talk to him. Harry appreciated it, especially because Harry could tell it was hard for Snape to know what to say. Pep talks weren't really his thing. After Snape's talk, despite the numbness that had settled in Harry's chest, he felt a little bit better. Perhaps, the best thing that Snape could have said in the end, was that Harry wasn't alone. That having lost someone, was something almost everyone had in common. That it was something that he and Harry shared too.

    Late that night Harry laid wrapped up in his quilt in front of the fire, the embers glowing a deep red, chasing away the darkness. The quiet bubble of the potion on the table across the room was all that could be heard besides Snape's soft snores. Harry rubbed his sleepy eyes, and glanced at Snape's slumbering form. Like Harry, he was lying with his side to the fire. Their heads were close to one another, and as Harry laid on his belly he watched Snape sleep, merely because it was so odd for his professor to be asleep while he was awake. Usually Snape seemed to be awake whenever Harry was in the night, leading Harry to believe that he really didn't sleep much. But tonight it was Harry unable to sleep. So, he had been quietly observing Snape, having gotten bored of staring at the dying embers of the fire. It was rather strange, to see Snape fast asleep. For sometimes it was hard for Harry to imagine any one of his professors doing anything remotely human, like sleeping. And yet Snape was, and as Harry observed him, one thing he noticed was that Snape always slept on his side, whereas he slept on his back or front. The lines on Snape's forehead refused to relax as well. Harry wondered why he was so tense all the time.

     Thinking back to what Snape had said earlier in the day, Harry wondered if part of the reason as to why Snape was so uptight and frowned all the time was because his parents were dead. He didn't have anyone to spend Christmas with, or family to write to. Harry supposed it was possible for Snape to have a sibling, but for some reason he did not think this was the case. He had come to think this much earlier than tonight, when Hermione had taken him (she had been extremely excited) to a section in the library, which had large albums of pictures from previous graduating classes of Hogwarts. Hermione had found Harry's parents' pictures, much to Harry's delight. But they had found Snape's too. Ron had found this particularly amusing, as he had found it positively hilarious that Snape had a rather unsightly zit on the end of his nose. Dismissing that thought and thinking back on looking through the albums, Harry didn't think there were any other Snapes anywhere near his professor's picture. This led him to believe that perhaps, Snape was alone now. It would explain a lot. His impatience for the mail in the morning would be one thing (Harry could not count the times he had seen Snape scowl heavily as someone next to him got a letter). Snape scowled quite darkly as well at all of the lovingly decorated packages filled with cookies or little things sure to delight their recipients. Harry had always thought that it irritated Snape to see children spoiled. But now he was not so sure. Mind racing wildly in his insomnia, Harry took a moment to wonder if Snape might just be jealous. Even Professor McGonagall sometimes got a package or two from her sister. It was common knowledge at school that McGonagall's sister restored old books and sometimes sent ones she thought Professor McGonagall would like. And it certainly was quite ordinary to find Professor McGonagall with her nose in a dusty tome at the front of the classroom while she waited for the class to arrive. With a sigh Harry glanced at Snape again, wondering if he too knew what it was like to watch letters and little boxes and cheerful owls swooping down upon your friends and wish so very much that one could land in front of you, only knowing that there is no chance of that. Perhaps it was the night air or the fogginess of his sleep deprived brain, but Harry had the strangest feeling that, like himself, Snape knew exactly that feeling. And knew it all too well.

     Harry turned his gaze toward the red embers, twinkling in the dark. He sighed slightly, thinking of all the letters he could have gotten this year if his parents were still alive. Thinking of all the things he missed growing up with the Dursleys. Harry wondered why they treated him so badly, simply because he was different. Even those who cared for him, quite a large number of them, were gone now ... his parents, Jean, all of his family. Hermione and Ron were far away from him now, and so was Hagrid, and he might not even see them again for all he knew. In his fatigue Harry felt this loss much more deeply, for he was unable to keep the walls and barriers that were constructed during the day from tumbling to the ground. His energy was concentrated on staying awake now, not keeping himself from breaking. Suddenly, he let out a shuddering sigh and his eyes began to swim. For there was one thought that had penetrated deep into his soul, and had been slowly worming its way there for a long time. Something that had been the growing trend for many years.

     "How come everyone that loves me has to disappear?" he whispered to himself as he drifted into oblivion, completely unaware that Snape's snores had now been absent for quite some time.

      ***

      When morning came Harry awoke to see Snape peering over the cauldron on the table, checking to see how it was coming along. In the blur of colours Harry could not quite see whether or not the potion was doing well, or badly. So Harry put his glasses on, and his eyes were met with a good sign. Snape actually looked pleased a moment, before seeing Harry was awake. Well, perhaps it wasn't the fact that Harry had woken up but the fact that a large spider was now crawling across the table. At least Harry hoped that was the reason for Snape's expression of distaste. It was immediately made clear that it was the spider, much to Harry's relief, when Snape raised a hand to smack it. Harry felt a sudden pang for the spider as it was crushed with a loud thwack.

    "Breakfast is served," Snape drawled, picking up the flattened spider by the leg and examining it.

     "You don't really eat spiders for breakfast ..." Harry said doubtfully.

    "Whoever said I was going to eat it?" said Snape, an eyebrow raised. He had a funny look in his eyes.

      "W-What do you mean?" stuttered Harry as Snape's lip twitched.

     It was then that Harry realised, oddly enough, that Snape was trying not to laugh.

    "And you actually believed me," Snape said lightly, rolling his eyes and tossing the spider in the fire, where it sizzled slightly.

    "I did not," Harry said indignantly, forgetting his surprise over Snape making a joke.

    "Whatever you say Potter."  And with a flick of his wand Harry's quilt was folded and sent back the corner in the other room. Harry stared at Snape for a rather long time, until he realised he was being rude. He got stranger every day.

       ***

    "I'm sorry about Jean," said Evelyn as Harry helped her in the garden.

      Harry just nodded, not trusting himself to speak still. He appreciated what Evelyn had to say, for it was nice to know that someone cared. He had never known anyone to die, besides his parents anyways. Though, their deaths had always seemed so distant, and far away. He could only mourn what might have been, rather than mourning the sadness that comes from knowing someone and then having them taken away from you. He did not remember his parents, and only knew stories of what Hagrid and others told him. Harry shook his head a little, and refused to go over again and again in his head what he had been thinking of the past little while. Instead, he worked even harder, trying to forget that quiet ache in the back of his mind.

      Harry pulled up another turnip and put it on the pile to be taken in for storage in the house. All the while the aroma of the bread baking for dinner drifted out into the garden as the sun grew lower in the sky. The scent mixed with the heavy perfume of fallen leaves and crisp autumn air. It was extremely peaceful, out in the garden with all of the fresh air. Harry probably would have helped Evelyn even if he didn't think he ought to do so to thank her for letting him stay in her cottage and eat her food.  Evelyn seemed to appreciate the help, and was quite impressed at how handy Harry was in the garden, which made Harry feel quite pleased with himself. Unfortunately, the peace and enjoyment of gardening was something Harry should have known couldn't last for too long.

    "Do you hear that?"  Harry asked warily, sure he heard a faint cry from somewhere past the trees.

     "Hear what?" Evelyn asked, standing up and wiping the sweat off her forehead as she tossed another plump turnip in the pile by the edge of the garden.

     "I just thought I -" Harry fell silent, for he heard a rustle in the tall grass just beyond the garden. "Evelyn," he said softly, "something is in there."

      She snapped her head in the direction Harry pointed to, and she slowly reached for her wand. Harry suddenly wished Snape was outside with them, for an extra wand would be helpful. His heart pounded as the rustling grew louder, but in end the thing nearing the carrot patch was nothing to fear.  A little girl had stumbled through Evelyn's wards. Somehow the girl had been able to get in, without knowing that she had used any magic. She collapsed in the carrot patch in front of Harry, holding out in her trembling hand a hastily scrawled note and handed it to Evelyn, who was speechless.

           Snape had come rushing outside, hearing the quiet cries the little girl was now making. The note slipped out of Evelyn's hand and fluttered to her feet. The blood drained out of her face, and she made to take a step back but stumbled and fell. A bewildered Snape caught her on the way to the ground. She didn't move in his arms as he supported her, a look of horror on her face, contrasting greatly with the look of confusion upon Snape's. Harry, in compliance to Snape's pointed stare, picked up the note and read it aloud, his voice trembling.

      "He's found us. All but Maggie captured. Help us."

     McTavish had gotten into the cave. The only one to escape imprisonment, was little Maggie, her pale, tear streaked face peeking out from among the carrot tops. The crimson stain upon the shoulder of her dress shone brightly as she sobbed incoherently about the attack.       

         And that was how the second storm began.

    It took at least fifteen minutes and a strong cup of tea to get Evelyn back to her normal self, well close to it at least. In the space of that fifteen minutes, in Harry's opinion, many interesting things had happened. Harry thought that the most interesting thing had been how Snape reacted. It had merely been interesting to see how he handled things. For one thing, Snape led Evelyn inside and made her sit the table, and instructed Harry to make her a cup of tea. This, of course hadn't been too extraordinary, but much to Harry's surprise when he turned around after setting the kettle over the fire, Snape walked through the door with the little girl, Maggie, in his arms. She had her head on his shoulder and was staring with wide eyes at Harry. It was strange to see such a cute little girl in such close proximity to someone who generally had a well patrolled personal bubble and quite often looked like a freakish ghost. All the while that he spent minding the tea, Harry watched Snape. He sat Maggie down on a chair. Kneeling, he then worked on cleaning and healing the scratch on her shoulder. Much to Harry's bewilderment Snape had been thoughtful enough to talk to her a little bit so as to distract her from the sting of the potion on her shoulder as he cleaned it. Harry supposed that Snape had felt he needed to do something about the wound himself, as Evelyn was still in a state of shock. Either way, it was just plain wierd to see Snape act so human, but then again he hadn't been so strict since they had arrived, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if Snape just really, really hated teaching. 

     Only after Snape had led the exhausted little girl into Evelyn's room to have a nap did Evelyn perk up.

      "What am I going to do?" she asked softly as Harry refilled her cup and took the empty chair next to hers.

      "What are we going to do," Snape said, correcting her firmly. Harry looked up in surprise, having previously thought that Snape had used up all his kindness for the next decade or so.

     Evelyn's slightly red eyes flicked across the room to where Snape stood, leaning against the wall by the window. "Y-You'll help?" she whispered, sounding as though she didn't dare believe she wasn't alone.

     Snape inclined his head to confirm his previous statement.

    "Thank you," Evelyn said, soft voice almost getting lost in the muffled silence of the cottage.

     "First, I think," Snape began, taking charge once he realised that Evelyn was at a loss, "we shall need some information on what McTavish has planned for his captives."

     "Yes," said Evelyn hurriedly, "yes, I had better do some digging. I will be back in a few hours. Wish me luck." The last statement was almost a plea, to which nobody responded to in the heavy atmosphere.

      "Be careful," warned Snape as Evelyn pulled on her cloak.

      She nodded, lowering the hood over her head as she did so. "Take care of Maggie, will you?"

      Snape responded with another nod, and with that she took a leap out of the door, black cloak swirling around her as she erupted into the form of a raven, her cloak replaced with a glossy covering of feathers. Through the window Harry and Snape watched her flying away from the property, until she could not be seen.

     "The potion still needs another four or five days at least," Snape said almost to himself as he tore himself from the window, and instead rested his gaze upon the steaming cauldron. "I pray we don't need it ..."

      Harry looked up a Snape, wondering if the fear and foreboding he was feeling inside was showing in his eyes. Snape briefly put his hand on Harry's shoulder before going over the the cauldron to examine the potion more closely, leaving Harry to watch another dimension of his once hated professor fall within his mind. Perhaps there was something about Snape he was missing, for the man he had seen today had far more a capacity for kindness than the one he had thought he knew.

      ***

      Evelyn returned when darkness had fallen like a thick blanket across the cottage. She was pale and weary from the cards that had been dealt out that day. She practically fell into the chair at the table, not even taking her cloak off. Snape set supper before her so that she could eat (Harry had been petrified to eat the soup Snape had made to go with the bread Evelyn had baked, but was shocked to find that his professor actually could cook fairly well). Evelyn quietly sipped the soup, her eyes wide in the dim room. Only once she had finished her soup, did she speak. More colour had returned to her cheeks, but she still looked vaguely ill.

     "Mass execution," she said shakily, trying not to fall apart. "That's what he's doing. All of them, in the square, about midday, the day after next."

     "How?" Snape said, barely concealing a deep look of shock on his face.

    "He's going to poison them." She looked away, trying to hide the tears in her eyes as she scoffed bitterly at the whole thing. Snape looked away so she could inconspicuously wipe her eyes before continuing. "Each and every man, woman and c-child, will be given a cup of poison and told to  drink, lest they wish to have an arrow through them!" she hissed, sounding as though she was restraining from yelling as she shook like a leaf in her chair.

     Snape put a hand on his face, letting it slowly slide back to the table top.  He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows knitted. "What are we to do?" he muttered, sounding almost as though he were questioning if there was anything they really could do. The question remained unanswered for a long time, until Evelyn shook her head, eyes shut tight.

     "I don't know," she whispered. "But we had best decide quickly."

      And so began a long night of planning.

Half past two, and Snape was pacing the kitchen floor, running his hand over the scruffy face. His eyes were wild with thought and his hair was almost as messy as Harry's because it had been run through so many times with his hand. Harry's eyes tracked Snape's pacing, back, forth, back and forth ...

      "If we do fly in with thestrals, we should be fairly difficult to spot, save by McTavish," Snape's voice, rough from use, said. "The muggles won't be a problem; they cannot see them anyways. But how the hell will we get ... let's see,"- he began to rapidly tick off numbers on his fingers-"thirty people at the most... two to a thestral ... that would be about fifteen thestrals.  How the hell are we going to get that many thestrals anywhere near the square without McTavish seeing? Assuming we can even get fifteen?"

     "No no, I would be the only one really close the square, waiting to give you a signal," said Evelyn, "the signal would be for you to fly in with the thestrals so that we could get all of the people out. Before that you would be hidden behind the hills nearby."

     "Right.  Though I must say," Snape said, pausing in pacing and looking mildly embarrassed. "I am absolute rubbish at flying.  Would it not work better if I were to give the signal?"

     "Perhaps," Evelyn muttered thoughtfully. "I can do either, though you must be absolutely sure to call me over at the best possible moment. The main problem would be disguise ... I have my animagus form, but what should we do for you? You aren't exactly easy to disguise. I know I'd recognize that beak of yours anywhere!" She laughed a little, looking at his long nose.

    Snape scowled heavily, but admitted that she did have a point.

    "We could do a disillusionment charm," suggested Evelyn. Harry hadn't a clue what that was, but didn't dare ask because both Snape and Evelyn seemed to have forgotten that he should have been in bed hours ago (he couldn't believe his luck). Sitting on a chair in a dark corner certainly had its advantages.

    "I don't think that would work too well. The square and streets around it are going to be very busy ... someone might bump into me."

    "If only we had Polyjuice potion ..." she said. "It's sort of risky though ... being a fairly new recipe. Hasn't quite been perfected yet."

     "There isn't time anyways," he muttered.

      "I suppose we could just alter your appearance. The problem with that one though is that they can still be recognized if they look hard enough."

      "But they will be looking for you, not me," Snape pointed out, rubbing the stubble on his chin once more.

     "Alright, we'll do that then," Evelyn confirmed before changing the topic. "What are we doing with Harry?"

     "I'm making him stay here," Snape said sharply. "This is not something a little boy should be present for."  Harry was very close to objecting at the word little, but managed to keep silent.

     "We might need a third person though," she said, rather worried. "Of course, then we would need to figure out what to do with Maggie ..."

     "What would we need a third person for?" Snape asked suddenly.

     "Somebody's got to ... no, on second thought I think you're right. It would be better to leave him here with Maggie."

     "My only concern is whether or not it is safe here ... if a little girl can get through the wards ..."

      "I reset them earlier," said Evelyn. "They should be good. She only got through thanks to a very large burst of accidental magic because she was so afraid."

     "Can't McTavish get through if he wants to?" asked Snape.

    "Maybe," admitted Evelyn, "but I don't think he even knows where I live. Besides, he will be busy in the square, and he's always been better at setting wards than making them fall."

    "Good points," Snape muttered. "Are there any other wizards or witches that have gone to his side to help?"

     Harry pinched himself; he was getting a little bit tired. He then looked over to Evelyn, listening to what she had to say.

     "No," said Evelyn. "Well, Jacob disappeared some time ago, but I don't think he joined McTavish. He was going stir crazy from the cave and just left. Still haven't heard from him actually. But I don't think he would help McTavish. It's possible McTavish has found some other magical people sympathetic to ‘the cause', but I doubt it."

      "I suppose I am merely worrying too much," Snape muttered. "I assume everyone rescued will rendezvous back here?"

       "Yes. It's fairly close to town and will at least hold McTavish back for a few hours, until everyone can figure out where they are going." Evelyn caressed the tabletop slightly with her hand. "I don't think I will be able to return after it all," she sighed. "Won't be safe."

     "Harry and I will need to go fairly soon too," said Snape, the line between his eyebrows creasing slightly. Harry paused to wonder when he had gone from Potter, to Harry in Snape's mind. It was odd, because before Snape only ever used his first name if he was hurt or something really bad happened. This was just in passing, as though he didn't even realise it. Harry glanced back at him. Snape had stopped pacing, and begun to frown. "I'm sorry the potion is not yet complete." 

     Harry shook his head a little, clearing the fuzz in his brain.

    "It isn't your fault," she replied. "You did all you could. Thank you, Severus."

    Evelyn looked over to Snape, who caught her gaze. They stared at each other a few moments, and Harry wasn't really sure what they were trying to say. He thought he saw fear, and worry in their eyes, but also something else. A silent thank you, perhaps? Harry wasn't entirely sure, but wasn't given any more time to contemplate it as Snape began talking again, the night growing later still.

     The low sound of Snape's voice reverberated softly throughout the room, and after a few words Harry stopped understanding them, for his mind had become even fuzzier.  He sat on his chair trying desperately to keep up with the conversation, but found that he was just too tired. In a daze he let the words float through his ears, having given up trying to understand them. Snape and Evelyn's voices took on a kind of music as it grew later and Harry grew more tired. More than once he jerked awake, on the verge of falling off his chair. He had been dangerously close the last time. Harry centred himself in his chair once more, determined this time to stay awake.

       Harry knew he hadn't been successful the moment he was awoken by a loud bang, and found himself on the floor beside his chair.

    Snape cursed under his breath, looking mad that he hadn't noticed Harry in the dark corner. "You know much better than this," he scolded as he bent down to where Harry sat dazed on the floor. "You should have gone to bed."

      "Sorry Aun' Petunia," Harry muttered automatically, still in shock from the fall. "Won' do it again ..."

     "My name is not Petunia," said Snape, rolling his eyes, leaving Harry to gulp and wonder briefly if he had really just called Snape that. "If my mother had given me that title I would have jumped off a bridge long ago."

     Harry blinked. He giggled almost deliriously at the thought of Snape being named after a flower. 

     "To bed with you," Snape announced. Upon seeing Harry was a little too out of it he helped him get to his feet and gave him a nudge in the right direction.

     "Okay," Harry said agreeably. Harry then walked rather unstably toward the other side of the room. He almost fell, his eyes blurry from tiredness, but was steadied suddenly. It took a very long second to realise that Snape was prodding him again to direct him there slowly.

      Snape left moment, and went into the other room, returning with a soft bundle in his arms. Swaying slightly where he stood, Harry watched in his stupor as Snape spread a quilt on the floor in the corner near the fire and set a pillow at one end. Snape proceeded to point at the quilt sternly. The grouchiness of his gesture didn't faze Harry at all, for he then yawned enormously and fell rather ungracefully down onto the quilt, and was asleep before he could take his glasses off or fold the blanket over to cover himself. He would awake to find both things done, Snape asleep a few feet from himself.

     The morning was a rather quiet affair for Harry. While Snape and Evelyn were rehashing the plan and figuring out details, he had been sent outside to keep Maggie entertained. Other than the fact that he didn't get to hear the final plan, Harry didn't mind so much, as Maggie was a pleasant little girl and in Harry's opinion, was quite sweet in fact.

      "I'll be the store keeper and you can come in and trade for things," said Maggie, smiling broadly now that she had figured out that Harry was very fun to play with. "The door is beside that rock by the cottage and the front of the shop is here." She stood at the front of the shop, which was really just a patch of mossy earth in between a tall tree and a stump.

      "Hello," said Harry, coming through the ‘door' and browsing the make believe shelves. He was actually enjoying himself a lot, as he was never allowed to join the imaginary games of the children his age when he was in primary school. He'd had games of his own, but they were never quite the same.

     "Is there anythin' you're looking for today sir?" asked Maggie, resting her elbow on the counter (a large stump).

      Thinking upon her question, Harry suddenly had an idea. He glanced over to the window to make sure nobody was watching them, and then he began.

     "Yes," said Harry in a deep voice, puffing out his chest and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He swooped over to Maggie at the counter. "I'm looking for a cauldron, and some worms to make my students pickle in detention."

       "Oh!" said Maggie, eyes wide. "Are you a schoolmaster sir?"

     "A Professor, actually," said Harry in the same deep voice. "My students are dreadfully stupid. It's a good thing I like Malfoy, or he would be failing, the dunderhead." Harry refrained from snickering.

      "What silly students," said Maggie, shaking her head.  "I have some cauldrons and worms for you. What will you trade for them?"

      Harry began to pace back and forth in thought, barely holding back a smirk as he ran his hand through his hair. "I have a few jars of frog guts and a bag of hands."

      "Hands, sir?" Maggie said, bewildered. Harry had hoped she would ask that.

     "Yes, after writing so many lines in detention, my students usually lose the hand they write with. It's a small price to pay for good behaviour. I assure you the hands have been kept fresh in my office, and are excellent for potions."

     "Alright then," Maggie said happily. "I'll take the bag of hands and jars of frog guts as trade for a cauldron and worms." She handed over the imaginary items and Harry handed his over. "Is that all sir?"

     "Yes," Harry said curtly.

      "Good day sir," waved Maggie.

     Harry turned over to the door to the imaginary shop, and caught sight of the real door to the cottage. He froze, and felt his stomach drop to his toes, for he realised he had only checked to see if someone was looking through the window. Of course, he really hadn't expected that someone would be standing in the open door. Harry frantically told himself that chances were that Snape had only just moved to stand in the doorway. He might not have heard anything at all.

     "Interesting, Potter," Snape drawled as Evelyn was dying of silent laughter behind him. "Or should I say ... Professor?"

      Harry felt like he was going to faint.    

"I assure you that I do not keep a bag of students' hands in my office Potter," Snape said dryly as he fingered his wand in his hand. "Although, if you would like to begin such a ... tradition, then be my guest."

     Harry felt his legs go to jelly as Snape let out a low laugh and turned around to go back into the cottage, leaving Harry to gulp like a fish and consider his luck.  He really couldn't believe he was still standing. He had fully expected Snape to hex him all the way across medieval Scotland and back again. Mind you, Snape's last statement had been pretty terrifying. Harry was sure that there was a threat lurking in there. With a hand (thankfully attached) on his heart Harry sat down on the rock nearby, making a mental note not to get detention with Snape anytime soon.

     "Ooh, now you be the shopkeeper Harry!" said Maggie, completely oblivious to what just took place.

      ***

    For some odd reason, Snape really didn't seem too angry over Harry's little venture into acting. Snape hadn't said a word since earlier. Harry really wasn't sure how to take this, and wondered if Snape wasn't saying anything purely owing to the fact that  it messed with Harry's head. Whatever the reason, Harry was mildly jumpy throughout the rest of the day, especially seeing as he was used to get what he deserved quickly. This was one of the main contributing factors to his worry that Snape was taking him somewhere to kill him when he made Harry accompany him in the endeavour of attracting thestrals. Harry really didn't know what this meant, but as Evelyn was busy making supper Snape would otherwise be going alone. So, though rather worriedly, Harry said he would come along. He was rather curious as to what attracting thestrals would require them to do. He hoped this wasn't some sort of revenge plot of Snape's.

      "You haven't got any fresh meat we can take with us, have you?" Snape asked Evelyn rather hopefully as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

      "Sorry," said Evelyn apologetically. "I only have a few pieces of dried fish left. You'll have to improvise."

      "Alright then," Snape said, grimacing slightly. "Come on Potter, we need to be back within the hour."

        So a rather bewildered Harry followed Snape down a slope at the back of the cottage, and over to a little path that led into some trees. They walked a little ways until they reached a clearing. Snape stopped suddenly, and Harry, looking down at his feet so he wouldn't trip over the gnarled roots, bumped straight into him and sat down hard on the ground.

       "Sorry sir," Harry spluttered, straightening his glasses.

       "No, no, I should have warned you," Snape said absent mindedly as he surveyed the area. Consequently, he did not see the odd look Harry gave him, which was owing to the fact that he had been expecting Snape to yell at him. "Ah yes, this is as far as we can go."

     "Why sir?" Harry asked, moving to peer around Snape's side and seeing nothing blocking their way.

     "Because Evelyn says the wards end past that brook over there." Snape pointed at the thin stream of water, flowing a few feet down from them, cutting across the ground horizontally. It cackled merrily at them as it danced over and around smooth, moss covered rocks.

     Snape then began to survey the area, walking in a wide circle through the trees.

     "This will do," he stated simply.

      "So, how do we attract thestrals?"

     "They come at the scent of blood."

      "B-Blood?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling as though he knew the reason he had been brought along. "I d-don't think ..." Dumbledore would approve of this! Harry finished the thought in his head, for his mouth was unable to move any more. He hid his hands behind his back, wanting them to stay attached. Aunt Petunia's frying pan was one thing, but this had to be breaking a law somewhere. 

      "It is fine," Snape said, looking for once completely and utterly confused, "really Potter." Harry watched as Snape drew his wand and flexed his left hand as he surveyed the small shrub to the left of him and Harry.

     "I'm sorry sir about the game earlier!" Harry spat out quickly as Snape turned to face him. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything,"- Snape raised his wand, a strange look on his face -" it was just  a little fun, honest! Don't do it please! I don't really think you keep hands in your - "

   "Calm down," Snape said, looking at Harry as though he had grown two heads. "Well if it bothers you so much, then look away for Merlin's sake!"

   "I -" spluttered Harry. "Wait, what?"

    There was a flash of light, and a second later a large gash appeared on Snape's hand, oozing blood onto his palm. Snape held back a wince, but let it bleed a few seconds and then wiped the blood on the leaves of a small shrub nearby. The leaves were quite red.

     Harry let out a long "Ooohh" and fell silent.

    "What did you think I was going to do?" Snape inquired, healing his hand with a wave of his wand, the shrub still dripping crimson beside him.

     "I thought you ... you ..."

     "I see," Snape said, rolling his eyes. Harry thought that though he seemed annoyed, there was something deeper going on inside his professor than irritation. "You thought I was going to cut you as a punishment for your little display earlier. Is that it?"

     Harry nodded meekly.

    "Do you really think I would do that sort of thing?" asked Snape in disbelief.

     Harry didn't move. But yes, yes he did.

    "Oh Merlin, you do."

     Harry couldn't bear to look at Snape, so he looked at his feet. Besides, his eyes showed everything, and Snape had figured that out, quite obviously.

     "Why would you even think I would hurt you like that?"

      A shrug was the only response Snape got.

     "Or is it not just me? Do you expect other adults to hurt you?" Snape said slyly. 

Harry looked up in surprised before he could stop himself, eyes wide. He quickly changed his expression to one of defiance, the one he usually gave someone if he was trying to guard his emotions. But the damage was done. Snape studied him a moment. He looked like he was about to say something, but he was distracted.

    "Come over here," Snape whispered suddenly, his thought clearly forgotten. "A Thestral is coming." He nodded his head toward something behind Harry. Harry followed Snape, who was walked little ways from the bloody shrub, then backed away to watch the thestral.

    "Where is it?" Harry asked, thinking that Snape had lost it completely.

     "Damn," muttered Snape. "I forgot ... you cannot see them."

     "Why not?"

     "You must witness death, in order to see thestrals," Snape said heavily. "You should be thankful you cannot see them."

     Harry remained silent. He had surely seen his parents killed when he was a baby, at least he thought, but luckily the only thing he remembered was a flash of green light. He was glad he could not remember seeing them die.

     "Watch the leaves of the shrub," Snape told Harry before adding that two more thestrals were approaching from the left.

      Harry concentrated on the shrub, with its leaves covered in blood. After a minute he realised that, oddly enough, the leaves seemed to shiver, and that he blood was slowly disappearing off of some of them.

     "There are four of them now," Snape said as a twig snapped behind them.

     "S-Sir?" Harry asked as hot air whooshed over his neck. "Do you feel that?"

     "Feel what?" Snape said. The hot air stopped, and Harry wondered if he imagined it, until Snape jumped badly beside him.

     A thestral must have been near, for it had begun to lick the dried blood on Snape's hand. Harry watched in amazement as Snape's pale skin was exposed once more, as the scarlet was washed away by something he could not see. Snape lifted his other hand slowly, and it looked in every way to Harry as though he were stroking the air in front of him. Harry heard another whoosh as Snape moved his hand away, and his hair began to move slightly.

    "Bugger off," said Snape irritably. "Go on, get out of my hair you silly thing. Here, have some more blood." He lifted his hand and immediately his hair stopped moving, and the blood resumed in its disappearance. "Close your mouth Potter, you look ridiculous."

     Harry obeyed the order, having not realised that his mouth had been hanging open.

       "Here Potter," Snape said, grabbing Harry's hand and guiding it toward the thestral. "There, now you have something to do besides gape like an idiot."

     Much to his surprise, his hand did not meet air, but something solid. Harry felt a bony head, but it was surprisingly soft, and rather leathery. It had a very wispy mane, just little strands here and there. A mouth nuzzled Harry's hair, and exhaled a noisy breath of air on him, which smelled rather unpleasantly of blood. However peculiar and slightly frightening it was for an invisible creature's breath to smell like blood, Harry was willing to overlook that small detail because it was at least fairly friendly. Though, he still couldn't quite get over the fact that the whole situation was so utterly bizarre. After all it is a very strange experience when your eyes see nothing in front of you while your hands tell you that there was in fact something there. It made Harry's head hurt to contemplate what was going on, so he stopped thinking about it.

       About twenty minutes later and a little bit more blood from Snape, they had attracted fourteen thestrals, which certainly was very good considering the amount of blood they had at their disposal. The calm and agreeable thestrals didn't seem to mind in the least when Snape took two conjured ropes and looped each of them loosely around a group of seven thestrals.

     "We are very fortunate that these thestrals are so docile," muttered Snape as he handed one of the ropes (which looked to Harry as though it was floating along behind him) to Harry. "Some variations of the species are quite irritable, and thankfully most of those live in more tropical regions."

    Harry merely nodded in agreement and set to the task of leading his seven thestrals through the trees and to the cottage along with Snape and his seven. Thinking upon Snape's statement of them being fortunate, he couldn't help but think how fortunate he was that Snape had momentarily forgotten about the odd situation that had transpired when they began their task. Not wanting to bother himself with such worrisome thoughts, Harry preferred to think of how interesting the current situation was. After all, he thought it rather fantastical to have the rope floating along behind him, seemingly moving of its own accord on the few occasions that a thestral decided to wander slightly. Though he did not see them, Harry could feel the creatures, so very much alive as the vibrations from their movements travelled up the rope and into his hands. He soon forgot his troubles, and forgotten for a time they would remain.

     Once they reached the cottage Evelyn lead them down a hill to a little pasture, where she said her horse had once lived. She had had to give him away when McTavish began to persecute witches and wizards, for she could not just leave him when she went into hiding. They untied the thestrals, and put them in the pasture while Evelyn ran up the hill to grab something. She returned with a large string of dead birds she had caught while they were gone.

     "How did you catch that many?" Snape asked curiously as he threw them one by one into the pasture for the thestrals.

     "Summoning charm," said Evelyn a little guiltily. "They didn't really have a chance ... but we have to make sure the thestrals stay."

    "You're sure they won't fly away on us?"

    "Oh, the thestrals around here are pretty content if you feed them once." Evelyn waved her hand to dismiss his concern as Snape threw the last bird into the pasture. "They'll stick around as long as you provide for them. I'll catch a few more birds for tomorrow and they'll be perfectly happy to help us rescue everyone."

     "Make sure to tell them what we are doing first," Snape advised before starting up the hill to the cottage, Harry still standing by the fence and taking a moment to realise that he was walking away.

    "Why would you tell them?" asked Harry breathlessly when he caught up to Snape. He glanced back at Evelyn as she began to talk to the thestrals.

     "Thestrals are very intelligent creatures, and the ones living around settlements are often able to understand basic human speech. Most are quite willing to help if you are kind enough to inform them."

     "Cool," Harry said in awe.

     "Yes, ‘cool' indeed," Snape said with a slight chuckle, much to Harry's surprise.

       Once inside, Evelyn began supper. She had been delayed in doing so, as she had been busy catching the birds for the thestrals. Harry was really hungry and rather wished supper would cook faster, though Evelyn was still chopping potatoes. Curious, he walked over to a pot resting on the edge of the table, and saw something weird looking soaking in water within it.

     "What is that?" Harry asked, looking at the strange, brownish things in the pot.

     "Dried fish," said Evelyn. "I have been soaking it."

     "Oh," said Harry, not sure what to think of this. He glanced over at Snape, who scowled and walked out the door. Not particularly interested in where he was going, Harry sat down at the table, rather bored. After about five minutes, Evelyn looked over to him, sitting forlorn at the table.

     "Why don't you go outside?" she suggested gently as she threw the potatoes into a pot. "Dinner will be a while."

    "Okay," Harry said, and did just that.

     Harry could hear Maggie running and laughing around the side of the house furthest from the door. He didn't feel like playing with her, so he wandered a little ways, thinking he might just walk around a while. He didn't expect to find anything interesting on his little walk, but as he went down the same slope that he had taken with Snape to go lure the thestrals, he saw something mildly interesting. He was surprised to see Snape crouched behind a log, watching something intently over the top of it. Harry walked over, curious as to what his professor was doing. He was a few feet away from Snape when he spoke.

    "Professor Sn-"

   "Shh, Potter!" said Snape hurriedly, his wand arm resting on the top of the log. He gestured for Harry to crouch too, a look on his face suggesting that he couldn't believe his luck.

     "What is it?" Harry mouthed once he too was behind the log.

    "Dinner," Snape said, lip curled into a rather frightening grin.

    Harry's eyes followed where Snape's wand was pointing, and saw a fluffy rabbit, chewing serenely on the clover not far away.

    "But -" Harry began, only to be shushed.

     In horror Harry watched Snape aim, and before he could further object Snape flicked his wrist and a jet of red light shot at the rabbit. It looked up just as the spell hit it, and tumbled back over its hind legs, its pale belly to the dim sky.

    Harry rushed over to the rabbit, eyes wide. Its chubby little cheeks were still full of clover, and its mouth was gaping open, pink tongue lolling out for all to see. Harry could feel his knees trembling as he looked at the poor thing.

    "Got it!" Snape said triumphantly, staring down at it as well, though with an entirely different expression.

   "Is it ... is it?" Harry asked, horrified.

   "Dead?"

   Harry nodded.

    "Not yet," said Snape as he picked it up. "I stunned it. It is far too dangerous to fire a killing curse around here, might hit someone. But a quick twist of the neck should do it."

    "Why would you though?" Harry asked. "Evelyn's got dried fish for dinner."

    "I hate fish Potter," Snape said with passion as he surveyed the rabbit in his hands. It twitched.

    "But it's so fluffy!" Harry said faintly, his gaze also upon the stunned rabbit in Snape's grasp.

     "Yes, and tasty."  Snape had an oddly glazed look on his face for a moment or two. He returned to earth at the expression of horror on Harry's face.

     "Fish isn't so bad, and that rabbit deserves to live!"

     "First off ... yes, yes it is," Snape said with the same amount of seriousness that Hermione possessed when professing the importance of studying, "and second, life isn't fair."

      Snape made to break the rabbit's neck, but hesitated. He looked to Harry's devastated expression and then to the rabbit, with its tongue lolling and its cheeks puffed up with clover. He scowled so heavily and suddenly that Harry took a step back in alarm. Then, much to his surprise, Snape roughly stuffed the twitching rabbit into Harry's arms.

    "Fine," he spat venomously. "You are so much like your mother it hurts." He then spun on his heel and stalked back to the cottage, muttering all the way about how stupid fluffy little animals were and why on earth everyone had to think they were so damned cute. He didn't appear to realise that he had confirmed he actually had known Lily.

     Harry set the rabbit on the ground, and watched it from afar as it began to move again. It looked surprised then startled. It looked around, and seeing and hearing nothing resumed chewing the clover. Harry glanced toward the little hill where Snape had disappeared beyond, and couldn't help but grin when he thought of the comment Snape had made just before he stormed off. Harry had the strangest feeling that wherever his mother was, she was laughing right now.

       ***

    Evelyn and Snape rose at the crack of dawn to ready themselves for the rescue. Harry chose to get up to observe the action. He sat at the table eating his bread and jam, watching Snape sketch out their final routes on the roughly drawn map that Evelyn created earlier. With bright ink they had highlighted areas where McTavish was likely to have lookouts, and the best possible places that they would be able to hide the thestrals and still have quick access to the square. There were three possible places for the Evelyn and the thestrals, and if all went well they be located by the place that Snape had scrawled a large A on. Evelyn made Harry look at the map for a while to make sure he understood it and knew their rough whereabouts should he need to find them, though she said that in all likelihood he would be fine staying behind with little Maggie.  Harry watched as the squiggling line outlining their route from the square grew on the parchment under Snape's careful hand, curving and winding so that it avoided open areas on the map, and instead wove around forested places.

    "Why not just go straight?" asked Harry after swallowing his last bite of bread and jam.

    "Three reasons Potter," Snape began, head bent low over the parchment and his quill gliding this way and that. "One: our destination will be harder to ascertain. Two: we will be less likely to be shot by arrows or spells. Three: this route - along with the backup ones - will help us to stay unnoticed by passers-by below. Must I really continue to explain this?" he added slightly exasperatedly without looking up.

      "No sir," Harry said.

     "That was rhetorical."

      "Er, rhetorical?"

      "In this context it refers to a question that does not require an answer and is asked to prove a point or to add emphasis," said Snape irritably as he dipped his quill back in the ink. "And here is a non-rhetorical question for you: Don't you have someone else to bother?"

     "No," scowled Harry.

     "Go outside then."

     "I don't really-"

     "That was an order, not a suggestion," said Snape dryly as he capped the ink and tapped the map with his wand, two identical copies appearing next to the original. He folded one and handed it to Harry to keep just in case.

     Harry tore his gaze away from the map and began his way to the door, quite miffed at Snape's irritating ways.

     "Hang on Harry," said Evelyn as she made sure Maggie's buttons were all done up on her dress, "can you help Maggie into her shoes so she can go out too?"

     "Sure," Harry said as Maggie practically bounced over to Harry, her hair still sticking up from sleeping.

     "Hi Harry!" she said as she stuffed her feet into her shoes. Harry helped her with the buckles and let her follow him out into the morning light.

     "Stay close to the house Maggie!" called Evelyn from the house.

     "Uh huh," said Maggie as she ran over to the other side of the house.

     Harry contented himself with flopping down on the grass and listening to the birds saying good morning. It was quite peaceful for a while, but the calmness was disturbed not ten minutes later when Harry heard a sound quite different from chirping and twittering. It took him a moment to identify it, but he soon realised it was the clip clop of a horse's hooves. It was certainly going fast. He realised quite suddenly that Maggie was silent, and just then Harry thought he heard the horse halt. A sudden gripping fear pierced Harry as he leapt up and ran to the other side of the house. The patch of grass Maggie usually played tea in was empty, and she was nowhere to be seen. There was a rustling sound far off in the belt of trees and bushes that bordered the yard.

     "Maggie, where are you?" called Harry, worried. Silence answered him, which was broken after a moment by a slight jangle, which he thought came from the metal pieces on the horse' reigns.

     "Maggie!" he called loudly as the clip clopping of the horse' hooves resumed, and the panic in him grew even more.

     "I'm right here!" said Maggie grumpily, walking out from some bushes nearby and making Harry jump. Funny, Harry had thought he heard the rustling noise at least a couple of feet from there.

     "Evelyn told you to stay close to the house, and not go wandering," Harry scolded. "Why didn't you come right away?"

    "I didn't hear you," said Maggie resentfully.

    "What's wrong?" called Evelyn as she ran over to them, looking worried. "I thought I heard ..."

     "A horse?" Harry asked.

    "No, you yelling for Maggie," said Evelyn. "Why, was there a horse?"

    "Yeah," said Harry. "It just galloped by."

    "Oh, that's nothing really to worry about," said Evelyn as Snape came to join them as well, looking annoyed. "We get a few people passing to go to the next town over. The road isn't far from here, the sound probably carried."

     "It sounded pretty loud though," said Harry hesitantly.

    "I wouldn't worry about it. Is everything alright otherwise?"

    "Yeah, I just couldn't find Maggie for a moment, but she was just playing in the trees," Harry told Evelyn.

    "Maggie, play closer to the house now, okay?" said Evelyn.

   "I want to come inside instead," Maggie said, wining a little.

   "No you cannot, we're busy," said Evelyn. "You can stay out and play with Harry."

   Maggie scowled as Snape and Evelyn rounded the corner to go back into the house. 

    Harry looked over to her, wondering why she was so grumpy, as he had only known her to be quiet and well mannered. Oh well, everyone had off days. Harry watched Maggie closely after that, though he wasn't told he had to. He thought he should. He noticed that she really wanted to go inside, as she made a few excuses to do so, though quite unsuccessfully as Evelyn thwarted all of her plans and marched her back out.

     "Why don't we play the game we did yesterday?" Harry suggested.

    "Which one?" Maggie said, rather uninterested as she glanced over at the door.

    "You know, the one where you run the shop," Harry said, a little confused for they had only played one game. "I come in and trade things."

    "Oh, that one. No, I don't want to."

    "Er, alright." Harry was a little disappointed actually, for he had had fun the other day playing with Maggie, but right now she seemed rather unwilling to do anything but get inside the house. 

           ***

      It was almost time for the rescue mission to get underway, and Harry was helping Snape lead the thestrals up the hill. It was the first chance in a rather long time that Harry got to be alone with Snape, when he was in a good mood that is. Harry recognized this immediately as his chance. He had been working himself up for it all day, for he had decided that it was now or never, with Snape and Evelyn going on a dangerous rescue mission and all. He was going to tell Snape that he had forgiven him for passing on that piece of information so many years ago. Harry felt he needed to tell Snape, not just for him, but so that maybe Snape wouldn't feel so guilty, or be so convinced that he deserved to die for it. It had been a bit frightening back in the prison when Snape had been telling Harry that death was the price he thought he should pay for his mistake, regardless of what he had done since. The look in his eyes was so sure, and so positive that Harry was the only innocent one that was to be taken to the platform.

     "Sir?" Harry asked, a little nervous. No, very nervous, especially because he knew he did not have much time. 

    "What?" Snape asked as they walked up the hill together, the thestrals trailing along behind them. Evelyn was waiting by the house, and Harry could see her head at the top of the hill, her brown hair waving in the wind.

     "Can I tell you something?" Harry asked as they drew nearer still, wishing he didn't sound so scared.

     "Do you need to tell me now, exactly?" Snape said, though not unkindly as he checked his watch. "There isn't much time."

    "Well," Harry said hesitantly.

     "Come on Severus," called Evelyn hurriedly, who was pacing. They increased their speed as they reached the house.

    "I'm sorry Potter but it will have to wait for after," said Snape, sounding rushed as Evelyn sped toward the gate in the fence that enclosed the little property, the two of them close behind her.

     "Okay, I guess," Harry said, not feeling brave enough to say that he was worried he might not get to tell him if he didn't say it now. Some Gryffindor he was.

They had reached where Evelyn was standing, waving her wand in complicated patterns, her brow furrowed.

     "Is something wrong?" asked Harry a little gloomily.

    "The wards are acting a little funny," said Evelyn, frowning. "They are weaker than before."

     "Wards do lose strength over time," supplied Snape, who was now leaning casually up against the fence, the two ropes attached to the thestrals in his hands.  

     "Yes, but I just redid them after Maggie showed up ... well, perhaps I didn't do them as well as I thought."

    "You were awfully worried about everyone when you did them," Harry piped up.

     "You're probably right," said Evelyn, shaking her head before doing a few more charms to update the wards. "It's a good thing I checked."

     "Be careful," said Harry, Maggie staring at the floating ropes Snape held onto. 

    "What are those?" she asked curiously, pointing.

    "Thestrals," said Snape. "They're a bit like horses. They're invisible to most people."

    "Oh!" said Maggie, finding that extremely interesting. Her eyes were wide, and she had a slight smile on her face.

      "You two stay here," Evelyn warned, finishing up the charms on the wards.

       "Preferably inside with the window and door shut," Snape added hastily. "Don't let anybody see you, and don't leave unless there is an emergency. If something happens" - he looked to Harry - "you know the places we are likely to be." Harry barely held back a laugh, as Snape's words reminded him of the time that Aunt Petunia had gone to get milk and left him and Dudley alone for the first time. She had said something very similar.

    "Yes sir," Harry replied as Snape shut the gate.

     And with that the two of them set off. Evelyn turned into a raven, speeding through the air and diving into the trees up ahead where the wards ended.

     "Wait!" Harry called suddenly to Snape before he could stop himself.

       Snape spun around, and looked at him as though he were trying to figure out what Harry was thinking. Harry suddenly lost his nerve.

       "Good luck," he called miserably to Snape, who nodded, still giving Harry (who was mentally kicking himself for not saying what he wanted to) the same calculating look.

   And with that Snape gave a leap and swung himself up onto the thestral at the front of the group. It broke out into a run, the rope with the others trailing bizarrely along. As the trees swallowed them and the sound of the thestrals' footfalls faded, Harry couldn't help but feel as though something was wrong with the whole thing; that something had been overlooked and was lurking nearby, ready to pounce. And he was more right than he, Evelyn, or Snape could possibly know.

It had been a while since Snape and Evelyn left, and Harry was getting bored of being cooped up in the house. He sat waiting for the water to boil for tea, staring at the shutters on the window. The shutters were blocking the view as they had been told to stay unseen. It was rather like being at the Dursleys' actually, remaining hidden. Harry heard a rustling noise, and saw with curiosity that Maggie had pulled a crumpled piece of parchment out of the pocket of her dress. She smoothed it on the table. Either not realising or not caring that Harry was watching her, she lowered her head so her lips were very close to the parchment.

     "They're coming by thestral," she whispered to it, her voice barely audible. To Harry's surprise the words appeared on the parchment. She then reached down to where her stockings were, and pulled from one of them a wand.

    "Hey!" Harry said, pulling the strange wand from her grasp. "You can't have a wand Maggie!"

    "I will not be thwarted by a child!" she screeched, reaching for the wand.

    "What?"

    "Oh, you haven't figured it out yet, have you?" she said with a cold laugh. Harry was positively bewildered. "I'm not really that wretched little girl you daft idiot! She was captured and taken to the square this morning to be poisoned with the others, she shouldn't have wandered off."

   "W-Who are you?" Harry asked as the Maggie lookalike twitched slightly as though she were in slight pain.

    "Well you're just in time to see!" she said with another cold laugh. Harry backed up as something began to happen.

     Maggie's face screwed up in pain, and as she stepped away from the table, she began to change. She grew taller, her dress growing with her as she stretched upwards toward the ceiling, her childish face turning to one of many scars, her curly hair shortening. This continued until a tall, dark haired man stood before Harry, still wearing the dress. Harry was too shocked to be amused however, and taking advantage of this state,  the man grabbed for the wand, and wrenched it out of Harry's grasp with a loud cackle. He waved it and suddenly the childish dress that had stretched upwards with him turned to black robes. His contorted scarred face loomed over Harry in the dim light from the fireplace.

    "Good thing I charmed that dress to change as I returned to my true form," he said, crooked teeth in grin. "Polyjuice potion boy. Wasn't even supposed to be released by the Potioneer's Society until next year, until it was stolen by a friend of mine that is. Now the recipe is all over the market!"

     "Oh," said Harry numbly, trying discreetly to reach for his wand. He knew he had to keep him talking as this wasn't so different from trying to keep Uncle Vernon from throwing him in his cupboard. Well, this was more dangerous of course. "Who are you?"

    "Jacob," said the man as he shot a spell at the door to lock it. "All of the others in the cave thought I ran off to save myself, but hah! I fooled ‘em didn't I? I'm with McTavish these days. There are three of us now that want all other magical people gone. Imagine the possibilities if we are the only wizards in the world? But such musings can wait. He knows your where your little cave hideout is. Hah! Of course, you know that already. But now, thanks to me he knows where this one is too."

     Harry felt suddenly faint, knowing that he needed to warn Snape and Evelyn, for they had planned to rendezvous here with the escapees.

    "Now, all I need to do is tap this parchment and McTavish will know how they are coming." He brandished his wand menacingly. "Of course, I want to have a little more information written down before I send it ... so hand over the map boy!" Jacob grew nearer to Harry, his grey eyes flashing dangerously. "I want to know which way they are coming from."

    "What map?" Harry asked, stalling for time and completely aware that he map in question was in his pocket. That was all the time he needed to finish getting his wand out of his other pocket unnoticed. He had it drawn under the table now. But for the life of him he could not think of a thing to do. So far at school he had learned how to turn a button into a needle, and levitate objects a little smaller and lighter than a book. Both did not seem very useful in going up against the man towering over Harry.

     "The map that man gave you earlier, the one that shows where they are going and their escape plan," said Jacob impatiently. "I know you have it boy!"

     Harry flinched at the volume of Jacob's voice, and the room rang oddly in its silence after. Suddenly he heard a slight sputtering noise. The kettle! The water was almost at a boil. An idea came to his mind.

     "I put the map in the cupboard over there," Harry bluffed, mentally preparing himself for what he was to do.

    "I didn't see-"

    "I was really careful about it."

     "Stay right there boy," warned Jacob as he went slowly over to the cupboard.

       He seemed to think it was some sort of trap, and was treating the cupboard as though something might spring from it unexpectedly. This was all well for Harry, for as soon as Jacob's back was turned Harry raised his wand and whispered the incantation, concentrating more than he ever had before. The kettle rattled slightly, and Harry held his breath as it cleared the hook and began to float over to Jacob, who was moving things around noisily in the cupboard. It was almost there.

    "I don't see it," hissed Jacob, still searching.

    "By the dried fish," Harry said as the kettle moved further to hover above Jacob's head. Hoping this would work, Harry yanked his wand away from the direction of the kettle.

     In slow motion the kettle seemed to fall, and as it did so it tipped. The boiling water cascaded over Jacob, who screamed terribly and fell to the floor, the heavy kettle falling upon his head. Harry, who was quite shocked, didn't have time to feel guilty. He rushed over to the fireplace and grabbed a heavy saucepan, sprinted the short distance to Jacob, who was lying stunned on the floor. After a second of hesitation he hit him across the head. Harry winced, and with a clang and dull thump the man's head hit the floor. Harry grabbed Jacob's wand and stuffed it in his pocket. Knowing he had little time, he grabbed for the parchment on the table and tossed it into the fire. The door sprung open magically for him and he was out of it and running before the parchment could even begin to burn.

     Harry ran down to the gate and out into the trees that Evelyn and Snape had disappeared through. Once in the cover of the trees, Harry pulled out the map. It wasn't too far to the place where Evelyn would be with the thestrals, and judging by the fact that the sun wasn't quite at its highest point in the sky, he had a little bit of time. Going west, Harry jogged as quickly as he could. The day was cool at least, and so he was not too hot as he ran through the trees. He would walk a ways, and then jog for a while. It was certainly a good thing he was in shape, for between all the years of running from Dudley's gang and more recently Malfoy's cronies at Hogwarts, he could make pretty good time.

     At last Harry knew he had reached the halfway point when he came to a small creek. A muddy footprint that Harry recognized as Evelyn's was on the other side. Harry was glad she had missed this one when erasing her tracks, because he knew for sure now this was the right way. Without even bothering to try to find an easier place to cross, Harry splashed through the water and onto the other side, his robes dripping and well past his knees. But he did not care. He was so close.

     It seemed like forever until he finally saw the outskirts of town. As quietly as possible he navigated the tree line around the hill. He glanced at the sun, and according to its position it was almost noon. Midday. He quickened his pace, throwing caution to the wind as he tried to find Evelyn. He didn't think he was going the right way, and was about to turn back to search in the other direction when he heard a loud whoosh by his ear. It sounded like it came from a thestral. He looked to his right and saw Evelyn in her raven form perched in a tree, the floating ropes that held the thestrals together tied around the trunk. Harry was very happy with the thestral that had decided to breathe on him.

    "Evelyn!" Harry hissed frantically.

      Harry heard a slight squawk come from her, and she fluttered down to where he was, shifting to her human form a ways from the ground. Her feet landed with a soft thump on the mossy forest floor.

   "What is it Harry?" she whispered, a look of terror in her eyes. "Where's Maggie?"

    "She was kidnapped and taken to the square earlier today," Harry gasped, still trying to catch his breath. Evelyn put a hand to her mouth. "Jacob used Polyjuice Potion to pretend to be her and he said that McTavish knows where your cottage is because he told him! We can't go back because they know. I stopped Jacob from sending a message to McTavish that said we were planning on using thestrals to rescue everyone."

     "That traitor!" she said, trying with difficulty to keep her voice down. "Well nothing to be done now. Good work Harry, but are you alright?"

    "Yeah."

    "The wards, that was why they were weakened," she muttered eyes suddenly wide in realisation. "The person riding the horse, the one you said went by, must have put them back up to make sure we weren't aware someone had gotten in. That was why all the spells weren't in place, they didn't know them all! I wonder who it was. I don't think it was McTavish ..."

    "Why wouldn't McTavish come and capture you and Snape if they thought you might be planning something and Jacob knew how to find us?"

   Evelyn looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, it would be easier to let us come to them, would in not be?"

    Harry nodded.

   "It's almost time now," said Evelyn, glancing at the sun. She set to work untying the thestrals, motioning Harry to help. Once they were untethered, she began to speak to them. "We need your help to rescue some people held in the town square over that hill. When you are flying over it, you will land in the middle of the people held captive. They will look scared, and dirty compared to the onlookers. They will probably be holding some sort of cup or bowl full of a poison. You must let them get onto you and fly them wherever they tell you to go. You will have at least two passengers, probably more. It will be dangerous and you might need to dodge arrows."

     It was slightly absurd to see Evelyn talking to a crowd of invisible things, for she looked to be talking to herself. However, some of what she said must have reached her invisible audience, for Harry heard a nickering sound coming from the thestral nearest him, which had taken an interest in his hair a moment earlier.

    "Good," said Evelyn. "Harry, you will be riding one and I will be flying in under the disguise of my animagus form."

    "Er, how do I get on if its invisible?" Harry asked, feeling around for a thestral.

    "I'll help you," Evelyn said.

She came over to him and put his hand on one of the thestrals. She then gave him a leg up.   It was strange sitting on something you couldn't see, and quite frankly Harry couldn't imagine how much stranger it was going to be to fly like this.

    Evelyn strode over to the front of the group of thestrals and pulled at a string hanging around her neck, lifting up to her eyes what looked to be an ordinary stone attached to it. Harry didn't want to distract her so he didn't ask what it was. In a moment however, he got his answer, for the stone began to emit a pulsating green glow.

    "That's the signal," she said shakily. "Fly!"

    With that last word she leapt into the air and became a raven, seconds before gravity could take its toll. As she soared up into the air Harry felt his thestral begin to rise, and around him the sound of flapping wings erupted. The sun, high in the sky blinded Harry as they emerged from the canopy of yellows and reds. As his eyes adjusted he saw their destination, and his heart began to hammer in his chest. This was it. Flying low over the tree line, they pressed on, moving ever closer to the battle that loomed before them.

The town below Harry and Evelyn grew closer, the shrunken buildings around the square seeming insignificant to the vastness of the beasts that were flapping through the air, one of which supporting Harry. One part of Harry thought that it was great fun to be floating seemingly unsupported by anything. However, another part of him, unsurprisingly, was making it rather difficult to keep from putting his hands over his eyes and pray for it all to be over. Though Harry did not have long to ponder this interesting conflict within himself, for the tiny square below him was growing larger and larger as they spiralled down, down, down.

As they descended Harry thought he saw Snape, skulking alone by a little house that bordered the square. The people growing larger and larger, Harry saw the crowd that had gathered to see the prisoners poisoned. The crowd filled the area around the square. Many stood at a distance, leaning up against houses. All of them appeared to be watching the group of people in the middle of the square. Young and old were standing there in the very centre of the square, each holding a cup or bowl full of the same murky, burgundy liquid that McTavish had in a large tin bucket at his feet. He was handing out bowls and cups to those who did not have, and Harry felt a sudden pang of fear for the imprisoned, who were standing there, waiting to be told to drink to their deaths. Men with bows and arrows stood on the outskirts of the square, ready to strike should anyone resist. McTavish himself had his bow upon his back, a strange looking quiver of arrows at the ready. Harry realised that the large metal cup that was fastened to the bottom edge of the wicker tube was probably full of poison, as Evelyn had mentioned. He hoped those arrows would not hit anyone, and that the poison in the cups that the prisoners held would remain in there. But most of all he hoped that this mission would be a success. He did not have much time to hope, for any moment McTavish was bound to see them, soaring in as they grew ever closer. And notice them he did.

Harry's heart skipped a beat as McTavish dropped the last bowl with a clank that was lost with the wind in Harry's ears. McTavish backed away and shouted something to the people assisting him. He let out a loud roar and yanked his bow over his shoulder and strung an arrow quicker than lightning. The archers assisting him could not see the thestrals to aim at, for they were muggles. All they could likely see was Harry, but were likely frightened by the fact that he appeared to be floating. However, McTavish could see the thestrals, and also recognized Evelyn as the leader having now seen her animagus form a number of times. An arrow narrowly missed her as she swooped down, cawing. She returned to her human form, and just as Snape sprinted out into the square, fire erupted from Evelyn's wand, effectively circling the square and cutting off all others, including McTavish. This time the ring of fire was much larger than the one that had encircled the tree in the square, and was not as thick due to the vastness of it. Evelyn stood at the centre, panting heavily and spinning the fire with magic as though it were an enormous, molten glass ring.  All around Harry prisoners were crying out for their families, their cups of poison clattering to the ground and staining the stones red. Thestrals stampeded around Harry, going to the aid of people calling for them. He stayed upon his thestral as it wove around the square, avoiding other thestrals and people running.

"SEVERUS, WE CAN'T GO BACK, HE KNOWS!" Evelyn shouted over to Snape.

Harry's eyes located him quickly. Snape had heard her, and immediately returned to doing all he could to help. Harry watched him. Snape was handing children to their parents high up on thestrals and shouting instructions to everyone he could find. Tearing his gaze from him, Harry then looked back over to Evelyn, who had sweat pouring down her brow as she fought to keep the fire going. Suddenly, with a dull whooshing noise the fire flickered and died. Some of the thestrals had begun to spring into the air, for a few of the freed had already found their families and a thestral. Many still scurried around as the townspeople closed in to take advantage of the missing barrier. McTavish was the first forward with his bow. Evelyn, who had fallen to her knees, was unable to do anything, for she was too exhausted. Snape leapt into action, and with a sweeping motion of his wand he set the grass at the edges of the square ablaze, holding back the throbbing mass of angry people just beyond the cobbled stones as another group shot into the air by thestral. The roofs of the houses met the same fate as the grass, and in seconds hot ash and sparks began to rain down onto the mob as well.

While Snape was busy holding back the mob, shooting spells and jets of fire, McTavish had drawn his bow. Harry felt a gust of wind to his right as yet another thestral took off with its passengers. The rush of wind made Harry close his eyes for a thick cloud of dust had been picked up with the thestral, which mingled with the smoke, still pouring off the roofs like a ghostly waterfall. Through the air rang the clatter of hooves and shouts of people trying to find each other, but a whizzing noise suddenly punctured them all and Harry heard a terrible scream like none other. Harry's first thought was of Evelyn, but then his felt a shudder beneath him. Dust receding slightly, Harry's thestral slammed to the stone, an arrow protruding from its side. It screamed dreadfully as Harry crashed to the ground beside it. In the smoky haze, Snape was suddenly there. He seemed surprised to see Harry, but appeared to understand that something had happened to make him leave the house and find Evelyn, and so he did not question it. It was also likely that he saw that this was not the time for questions. Either way, Harry did not have much time to ponder it while he was dragged to his feet, only moments before Evelyn, a few paces away, shakily got to hers.

"Can't you help it?" Harry asked over the terrible sound of the beast's cries. The smoke made his eyes run, and the sound that wrought through the air made his heart quake.

"The arrow's poisoned," Snape yelled. "I cannot help it."

"Just make it stop!"

In a second the thestral was silent, and Harry did not know what Snape had done, for he had not had the heart to watch. Instead his eyes were trained on Evelyn, and he watched in horror as McTavish reached for another arrow, his gaze too on Evelyn. But he wasn't quick enough. Chest heaving with fatigue she raised her wand, and a jet of green light shot from it. McTavish's bow fell to the ground with a clatter as he dove out of the way, barely escaping. In his haste he narrowly missed the wall of fire that had grown of its own accord since being started by Snape. It was devouring the trees and buildings on the edge of the square as the townspeople tried to beat it down from the other side with wet sacks, the escapees forgotten as they strived to save their town as it rapidly caught fire.  Snape managed to grab a hold of another thestral and threw Harry onto it as the square continued to empty out, the air thick with smoke. Evelyn chased after McTavish, who was running to take refuge behind the hanging platform, for the fire had now spread to all sides. This of course was all very well for those wishing to escape.

Because of the chaos of fighting the fire, none of the townspeople were watching the fight taking place, and that was when McTavish pulled out his wand. He shot a powerful blast of light at Evelyn, and Harry watched, entranced atop his thestral as her wand soared through the air and she was knocked to the ground by the force of the spell. At the same time Snape had fired a burst of green light at McTavish. He was forced to leap out of the way to avoid it, once again narrowly escaping being its victim. As he did so his foot caught on one of the roots belonging to the large tree above the platform, and his wand went flying out of his hand, rolling across the square. Snape dove for Evelyn's wand nearby, which McTavish had been unable to catch. Evelyn picked herself up off the ground once more as McTavish frantically scrabbled for his wand. The hoof of the thestral that was carrying the last group of people off slammed to the stone as it leapt into the air, leaving the wand in pieces. With a roar McTavish frantically dashed for his bow a little ways away. Before Snape could catch up to Evelyn to give her her wand, she was after him. As she ran she reached down and pulled a short knife from a sheath strapped to her leg. McTavish reached down for the bow, but before he could draw it Evelyn had whipped the knife through the air. Time seemed to slow for Harry as he watched the spinning blade eating up the distance between Evelyn and McTavish. With a cry of pain it met its target, and sunk into McTavish's chest, right where Harry thought his cold heart must be. He fell to his knees, a look of shock on his face. The hit would most certainly be fatal.

"GO!" Evelyn's voice cried to Snape, cracking with exhaustion.

Snape threw her wand to her, and she caught it before turning to a raven. Snape ran down the square to where Harry was and leapt up onto the thestral behind him. He dug his heel into its flank; it reared and began to gallop across the square. Harry looked forward and to his right as it did so, and saw with alarm that McTavish was still on his knees, his bow now drawn. Blood dribbled down his chin as the bow followed them shakily while they raced along the square, all the while drawing nearer to where he was positioned to the right of them. Harry tapped the thestral's side to with his heels to make it go faster, but it was going all out. Knowing there was nothing to do but outrun the danger, he felt the wings of the thestral spread and begin to beat frantically as it endeavoured for flight. The rush of the wind and the sound of Snape swearing profusely behind him filled Harry's ears as the thestral launched up into the air. McTavish released the arrow, and seconds later they turned so that their backs were to him and the square, racing ever on into the deep blue sky.

Evelyn let out a loud celebratory caw as the town shrunk behind them. She flipped her wings joyfully.

"We made it!" Snape cried, sounding more excited and relived than Harry had ever heard him before. "I-I don't believe it ... everyone escaped!"

Nobody seemed to notice that Harry was slowly slipping off the thestral.

Potter, we made ... Potter?" Snape started to realise that something was wrong, and his tone changed drastically. "Evelyn we need to land. Now," he said, sounding far away to Harry, and suddenly scared, presumably because he had finally caught sight of the arrow protruding from the upper part of Harry's right arm. Blood was soaking steadily from the black material of Harry's robes, and he could feel the warmth spreading down his arm amidst the haze of pain.

The thestral began to descend. In a daze Harry could feel Snape's arm gripping him tightly to keep him from sliding off the thestral as they careened downward. Moments later they crashed through the canopy of the trees, red and golden leaves falling around them as they thundered to the ground. Harry's vision was blurred from the sharp pain in his shoulder, and he was vaguely aware of Snape pulling him off the thestral and setting him down against a tree.

"Get it out fast!" Evelyn said, having landed nearby. "Wash the wound too. We have to get as much poison out of it as possible. You might as well heal the wound once you do that, no sense in him losing a lot of blood too. It will only speed up the process if he does. Trust me, we tried not healing the wound in earlier cases ..."

"This will hurt Potter." There was no hesitation in Snape's voice.

"Jus' do it," Harry said, voice slurred from pain.

Snape took a hold of the arrow and pulled. Harry gave a loud yell, unable to help himself as blackness gathered at the corner of his eyes, only to recede once more as the pain lessened.

"Aguamenti," Snape said, having tossed the bloody arrow aside. Harry felt a cold stream of water spray the wound. Snape then waved his wand above the gash and a thin film of skin formed over it. The pain lessened significantly.

"Tie off the wound, it might keep it from spreading," Evelyn said.

"Actually that has been proven to do nothing to help," Snape said. "I know a fair bit about healing you know."

"But how can you be sure?"

"It's complicated," Snape said in a rush, and Harry knew precisely what he meant ... new knowledge that wasn't known in medieval times. "How long until ..." Snape sounded very uneasy.

"He got a full dose. It's a slow poison so it takes a full day under the best circumstances. But ... there will be no helping him after about the ninth hour. No antidote can work that well."

"But the antidote back at the cottage isn't ready for two days at least."

"You'll have to go to the maker," Evelyn said. "The man that sent me the recipe, he says he has a stock of it. But that's about an eight hour ride if you go extremely fast ..."

"Apparate then," Snape said hurriedly.

"I ... I've never been further than my cottage," Evelyn said, suddenly tearful. "I've never seen it. I just know what he's told me if I ever need to get there."

"What do you mean?" Snape asked shakily. Harry felt even sicker.

"I c-can't apparate if I‘ve never been there before."

Snape said sharply, "Not even halfway?"

"I've never been past my cottage," she repeated softly. "I only know the road to his house. It's just on the outskirts of Bridgewater; it's the next town over. I've never taken the road before. It's always been a little too late ... and I haven't had a chance yet to go myself to get the antidote from him. Nobody friendly has a horse anymore and it's too dangerous on foot."

Snape sighed very heavily as he looked to the sun. It had passed the midway mark, and had begun its descent.

"Which way?" he said.

"Past the cottage and over the stream where you caught the thestrals. From then it's straight on. After that travel left on the path located down the hill and across the road," she told him, sounding as though she had memorised it word for word. "Keep to that road and turn right at the old mill, then go straight for the rest of the way until you see a house on your right by a pond."

Snape pulled from his pocket a quill and some ink, and told her to write the directions down on the back of his map, which did not extend past the cottage much to Harry's dismay.

"This will be a rough trip," Snape said quietly as he helped Harry onto the thestral again. "We will go by land. The thestral will tire far too quickly if we fly."

"What if we don't ..." Harry whispered suddenly, clutching the thestral's wispy mane as he looked to Snape, standing beside him.

"Then we don't. But damn it I will try," Snape said sharply, swinging himself up onto the thestral as Evelyn handed him the hastily scrawled directions. "I believe this is goodbye then, Evelyn."

"Thank you, and good luck," she said, nodding her head. Harry could tell that she wanted to say more, but knew there was no time.

With no more hesitation they were off, crashing through the trees, hooves thundering beneath them. Thus began the longest journey Harry had ever known.

      The thestral whipped through the trees, the two people astride it with their hair flying back as the wind tossed everything behind them. The stamina of the thestral was far more impressive than that of any horse, for this creature was one of magic. It thundered through streams and over rocks until Harry and Snape were well past the cottage. It was amazing how fast the thestral was able to navigate the terrain, but Harry feared it would not be quick enough, for even though he tried so very hard to keep his eyes to the light he could feel himself being dragged further into the poison's clutches. It caressed his veins, and made his whole body ache. Dizziness washed over Harry as he began to feel an irresistible chill pulling over him, and yet minutes later that chill had turned to a burning pain and any contact Harry made with the thestral, or Snape sitting behind him made his skin sear with heat.

        They raced the sun as it fell further in the sky, slipping steadily downward through a haze of colour as they journeyed on through woods and across creeks. How long had it been was a question Harry did not dare ask. Still, Snape urged the thestral on and kept his arm tight around Harry, who with the falling sun felt himself slipping further away into nothing. Slow, but sure. Trees blurred at the edge of the path, whether because of their speed or the poison, Harry did not know. Although, he did notice that as time went on they seemed to blur further, until he was not quite sure he could recall a moment when they had not looked like the paint pallet of a madman. As they jolted along through a land of twisted colour Harry began to ache, and this ache grew slowly like a cancer as it spread from his arm to his entire body, until each thump of the thestral's hooves made him dizzy with pain. No words were spoken, for there was no time to be wasted. And so, still they pressed on, neither acknowledging that quiet illness called fear, as it spread through their hearts while the light began to disappear. Alongside the sun fell their hope.

      Out of the trees they burst, over hills and through fields. The sunset blazed in all its glory until it was extinguished. Nobody spoke of the fact that they should have passed the old mill that Evelyn had mentioned many miles and hours go. Harry barely registered this anyways, for further he fell into the grasp of darkness. And dark was the sky, the stars unseen for the thick blanket of cloud that had enveloped the stars above, slowly creeping up behind them as the sun languished among the pines ahead.

        Long ago Harry had begun to tingle all over, and now the cramps grew worse and made him feel dizzy and sick. The thestral heaved beneath them, its body hot and sweaty. It was only a matter of time until it was unable to go any further. Harry himself could not stay upright on his own anymore, and he slumped back onto the strong body behind him, of which Harry was barely aware of the slight trembling that ran through it. So dark grew the night that they could barely see three feet in front of them; it was hard enough to see themselves, and Harry almost felt as though he had disappeared as well in the darkness as it slowly sapped the life from him.

     The moon shone ever so slightly through the clouds as it rose higher into the sky, shedding a scant amount of light upon the surroundings. Within his foggy mind Harry really and truly realised that they should have been there long ago. He tried to ask how much further, but his words came out garbled, though Snape seemed to understand.

      "I don't know," he replied in Harry's ear. "Over the hill ... just keep looking over the hill. It will be there."

      Harry didn't like the sound of Snape's voice.

      The thestral was sweaty and slipping beneath them. Harry could hear it panting and grunting with every step. Surely it could not go on?

       Numbly Harry turned his thoughts to the hill, and watched for their destination, for the outskirts of the next town. But they went over that hill, and the next, and the next. The grimness of the situation grew further as the sand in the hourglass slowly ran out. Nobody could truly say just how long it had been.

      The clouds around the moon twisted strangely in Harry's eyes as Snape struggled to keep him from slipping off the thestral. Suddenly, in the dim light of the moon behind the thin clouds, Harry saw a faint outline below him. Blackness was moving beneath him, sweat and froth streaking its leathery skin.

     "I see it," Harry said thickly, his voice sounding strange to him and quite frankly he himself barely understood what his clumsy lips said.

     "See what?" Snape said after a moment, his voice hopeful.  "The next town?"

     "Thestr'l," mumbled Harry with difficulty as he awkwardly moved his hand to feel the hot skin of the animal. He heard his words properly formed in his head, but they would not come out properly. "Though' you had t' see someone die."

      Snape was quiet a moment, and all that could be heard was the sound of hooves slamming to the ground, though to Harry they sounded distant.

      Harry felt Snape's chest rumble behind him when he finally said, "Do not think about it, Harry."

     "'m I dying?"

     "Shh," was the soft whisper he heard in response, his fuzzy brain not quite able to understand why he felt that it was so odd for the voice to be so gentle.

     He was slipping away, and as the thestral below them - exhausted, ready to collapse - grew clearer the surroundings around it grew dimmer. Being so disconnected from reality, Harry barely felt the splash of the water as they crossed a shallow river, and he did not feel the pain as the thestral finally crumpled beneath them and they tumbled into the water below. He was vaguely aware of the coolness washing over him as his back ground into the rocks beneath him. Harry felt himself lifted out of the water, for Snape would not make the thestral go further, and it would not have gotten far anyways.

     "I don't know where we are," Snape said softly to the limp boy he carried and set down upon the bank. Harry did not respond, for he was seeing strange things - mist and shapes moving within it - and barely felt as though he were physically there anymore, for the aches had been replaced with numbness.

     "C'n you hear ‘em?" Harry croaked, stirring feebly as Snape sunk down in the grass next to him. There were people around them talking, soft voices ringing through the air. He thought they sounded familiar.

       "No," Snape whispered, "I cannot hear them."

      It was terribly dark, and they could barely see each other. The thestral was only just an outline in the water, for what little light that reached out from behind the clouds was able to find it. The creature heaved laboriously and panted, the water flowing around the spot where it lay in the river.

     "We must keep going," Snape said.

       Harry asked how long it had been, but it came out funny. Snape understood anyways.

     "I can only guess ... it would likely be better if you didn't - "

     "Tellm'," was what Harry's statement sounded like, though he was trying to ask Snape the words tell me.

        Snape looked over to him, his outline barely visible in the blackness, and so Harry could barely see him. He wondered fleetingly if this was not only due to darkness. Harry shivered violently as the thestral got up from the river and fell upon the bank, breath turning to fog in the  cool night air. It was the clearest thing in Harry's field of view. He got a sick feeling at this realization, and he could hear its gasps for breath just as clearly, though all other sound around him was dampened.

     "Ten hours at least," Snape muttered. "It's remarkable you're still conscious."

     Harry didn't quite understand what Snape said, and could only feel the sense of foreboding that number gave him, for a reason he could not recall. His mind was way too foggy. He wheezed a little, lips trying to say something.

      "I forgive you, for what you did," he said with difficulty, not completely sure why he said it but something deep inside him telling him this was the time to say it, and that he needed to.

       Snape looked alarmed as Harry let out another wheezing splutter, what little light the moon had cast vanishing as the clouds grew thicker. A sharp fiery pain went through Harry's spine, and then a second later it felt as though he were drenched in ice water. He gasped again. It was hard to draw breath. A cold shudder went through him as a tear snuck down his cheek. He hoped it was not seen in the darkness. His cold hands ached dully, and though he had very little feeling left, his right hand grew warmer. It took him a moment to realise that another hand had hesitantly wrapped around his, and yet another second to realise whom it belonged to. It was a simple gesture, but Harry did not feel as terribly alone as he had before.

      A few seconds passed before anyone spoke, though these seconds felt like hours.

     "I will not give up here," Snape said with conviction as the thestral let out another loud breath feet away as it rested. He pulled Harry's limp and aching body into a sitting position. Harry's head lolled back and his heart ached with the bleakness of it all.

     "No," Harry said strongly. He coughed. He did not want to go on. He didn't really fear death, for he was sure that wherever he ended up he would be in less pain, and going on would only bring false hope. "'s too late." Surely death could not hurt so much as the hunger pains he had felt in the past?

      "It's never too late Potter," growled Snape, and Harry felt himself rise from the ground as blackness overcame him.

      There was a rushing, roaring noise growing at the edges of Harry's brain. Everything was black. He was able to think sluggishly, so he knew he was not unconscious. He wondered how he could still see Snape amongst the nothing. If he were unconscious he would not have bee able to see him. The roar grew louder, and Harry didn't think anymore as lights flashed before his eyes, creating a crazy quilt of dark and light around them. Snape looked alarmed, and in a second the blackness grew softer and Harry felt another splash as they fell into a cold mass of water not much higher than Harry's knees would be should he have been standing. The jolt of landing made Snape's knees buckle with the added weight in his arms. Harry vaguely recognized his professor swearing as he was lifted out of the water, and then Snape began to run. The water sloshed loudly, but Harry was having difficulty making sense of the swirling shapes around him. The sound of water disappeared, and Harry thought they were rising and Snape's footsteps echoed strangely. Darkness pulled over his senses like a thick blanket, and then it was suddenly light again.

     "Hold on Harry," said a breathless voice above him as yet another wave of ebony overtook him. Light and dark; dark and light. All the while the musty air rushed by. They were going upwards again. Harry could hear Snape's breath coming in sharp gasps as they journeyed on. The air seemed strangely stale and dry for a forest, or at least that was what Harry thought fleetingly. Still they pressed on. Dark and light; light and dark. That was how things proceeded until Harry knew no more, for the darkness had beckoned him into its folds and taken him. He did not think; he did not feel. But he was most certainly not gone.

       Blackness, and the sound of shouting and running somehow reaching him. That was all that there was, and finally something cold being poured down his throat, and then no sound at all.

      He fell past a blackness that seemed to go forever. It began and lifted in a measure of time that simultaneously dragged to the ends of the earth and felt like a blink of an eye, and then suddenly Aunt Petunia was there and very angry with him again. She had told him to weed the garden, and once again a few bits of dirt from his clothes had fallen onto her spotless floor. This sort of thing would not happen if she thought to give him a clothes brush or something to beat all the dirt off, or even just give him a moment to shake the dirt away before ordering him inside to do something else. He made to dodge her soapy frying pan as usual, but was distracted by someone who did not belong in the kitchen, wearing black robes and steadily watching him.  The frying pan collided with the back of Harry's head as it had done on more than one occasion when he was not quick enough. Harry saw stars and his head pounded. He hissed in pain, but his breath caught in his dry throat and he began to cough. His vision blacked out as the room spiralled in around him. But he could hear a voice.

      "Drink this," said the voice as he was pulled through the wall of black. The same black robed figure was there beside him now, Harry's swirling vision blurring the face and room so hopelessly that his slow brain wasn't able to make any connections.

     Harry felt a glass on his lips and took a deep gulp, the liquid turning out to be water. He blinked, his head pounding and making him wish to fall back through the oblivion he had passed through to get where he was, the place so far from this one so full of light.  And through it he did fall.

      "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" screamed a woman's voice.

      His head was still pounding when he had made the journey in and out of the oblivion again, his heart pounding erratically and eyes still blind from the green light that had pushed him through the darkness and into the same strange place he laid so still. The woman's voice rang in his ears and he shivered in a cold sweat. Harry came to realise he was lying down.  It was dark this time, so very dark and completely unlike the brightness he had known earlier. He grew warmer as something heavy was put overtop him, weighing down the softness that covered him. In warmth he descended once more. 

        So many times he fell into the dark, but so many times he awoke. In and out, in and out as he traversed a nightmarish dreamscape filled with the green light and horrifying creatures with too many eyes and too many legs. It was not a nice place to be. But each time he was pulled from the nightmare - through the darkness and into the soft place where he laid - that same voice that had spoken earlier, different from the one screaming, was there to tell him that he couldn't give up, that he would be alright in time. He was made to swallow strange, slimy liquids that tasted awful but made his journey into the place that had now grown light once more easier each time. Until, eventually, his eyes cleared so he could see as he did normally without glasses, and in the light he stayed, able to concentrate on his surroundings.

      Harry's head did not pain him so very much now, though the shower of crimson light pouring through the windows made his eyes ache. The light flowed onto the face of someone sitting in a chair beside the bed that Harry laid in. His face was tense, and dark shadows could be seen beneath his eyes and upon his unshaven face as he slept. Harry's brain began to catch up to his eyes and he made sense of the figure. It was quite obviously Snape, and Harry only then began to connect the far away voice to the image as his tired brain stoked the fire of information that was slowly catching. Harry shifted slightly under the thick layer of blankets, the movement making him feel as though he had survived the worst beating of his life; it was so much worse than anything Dudley and his gang could dish out when they actually caught Harry. Every bit of him ached, even parts of him he didn't know could hurt. Snape did not look much better than Harry imagined he himself looked, for it appeared as though he had not slept in a very long time. As though on cue, while Harry (with his fuzzy, aching eyes and heavy eyelids) surveyed Snape, he jolted awake with a slight intake of breath. His eyes were wide, and he looked surprised.

     "'Lo," Harry said scratchily.

     "Welcome back," Snape said breathlessly, looking relieved as he sat up straight and ran his hand through his hair. Harry blinked in the light. He wasn't sure if the sun was setting or rising.

      "Are we at Hogwarts?" whispered Harry as his waking eyes took in the surroundings that looked so very much like the main area of the hospital wing. He hoped he was not merely seeing things.

      Surprisingly, Snape actually smiled, though it only succeeded in making him look more exhausted. "Yes, we are."

     Harry grinned dazedly, even though he ached everywhere and it was hard to smile due to the fatigue that seemed to permeate every part of him, all the way down to his very bones. "How?"

    "I'm not sure," was the muttered reply. "I suppose we had done what the invention brought us there for, and the magic of it sent us back ... It brought us into the corridors leading to the old dungeons. You are lucky that the antidote is stocked here in the school, so we were able to administer it without further delay."  Snape sounded as though he felt much luckier than even Harry was feeling now.

     "Mm." Harry rubbed his eyes a bit, not remembering a whole lot of what had happened anyways, and so he could only think of being back at Hogwarts. "'S good to be home."

     "Yes, it is," was Snape's eventual reply. He sounded sincere, but a little blue for some reason, and as though he was deep in thought. He seemed to be contemplating Harry as well. "Home." he stated quietly.

     Harry didn't say anything else, and so Snape ran to get Madam Pomfrey, who was absolutely beside herself that Harry had awoken. Madam Pomfrey seemed to have been thinking that there hadn't been a lot of hope, or at least Harry thought that was the case. She herself looked just as tired as Snape, and her normally tidy hair was tangled slightly. She busied herself at once. Harry was patient (even though he wished to be irritable) and let Madam Pomfrey rush over and get him to drink some potions. She then ordered him to stay in bed and sleep. The last of course, he was happy to do. Though he had very little energy he still snickered when Madam Pomfrey ordered Snape to do the same. Unlike Harry, Snape was not amused and scowled heavily, and probably would have stayed if it were not for the fact that Madam Pomfrey threatened to drag him to bed herself. He stalked off just as Harry was falling back to sleep, glancing back once before shutting the hospital wing doors with considerable force. Harry thought he heard a rather impressive curse float under the doors as well as he drifted off and Snape's footsteps began to die away. Harry couldn't help but think that if he had a knut for every time he had heard Snape curse over the past few days he would be rich.

        Quiet in the wing restored, Harry floated down into a peaceful sleep, so different from the blackness of the constant nightmare he had been wandering through for so long during the fight for his life. He did not pause to ask Madam Pomfrey how long he had been out of it. He didn't even think to wonder how near to death he had been. Indeed, close he had been. But just how close, only Snape and Madam Pomfrey knew, and neither Harry nor Dumbledore  knew that both shook upon the decision to never let that piece of information reach their ears.     

     It was going to take Harry a very long time to recover. He had already been in the hospital wing for about five days and he wasn't even close to being released. Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey refused to let Hermione and Ron visit because he wasn't quite well enough yet. Harry was irritated by this, for he did have the energy to listen and talk, even if it hurt like fire to move. But he was by no means quarantined, for though it was true that Madam Pomfrey was not allowing him to do anything or have his friends come by, for some reason she did at least allow one person to visit. Harry didn't mind so much who it was, for the only emotion he seemed to be able to feel was surprise over the fact that Snape actually took the time to visit him. Harry thought it was strange indeed, and he really wasn't sure why he would do such a thing. He didn't delude himself into believing Snape actually enjoyed his company, for Snape was a bit of a solitary creature, and through watching and observing him Harry had come to the conclusion that Snape preferred to end conversations as quickly as possible and therefore keep the act of listening to other people's thoughts to a minimum. Harry didn't find this peculiar in the least, for he himself often felt nervous around people and preferred not to converse for too long (and to tell the truth sometimes it drove him very nearly mad when people listed all their problems and were entirely convinced they were greater than his problems, which was often quite an absurd thing to think). By the end of Snape's first visit however, whatever Harry had known previously of Snape's wish to say and hear as little as possible was thrown out the window, for quite suddenly it seemed as though he was trying to get Harry to talk as much as possible rather than shut up as fast as possible. It was a strange experience; that was certain.

    Snape's sudden wish to listen and actually talk to him confused Harry to no end, until it occurred to him that Snape was trying to figure something out. He was trying to get a picture of what life was like at the Dursleys'. It had taken some time for Harry to see a connection, for Snape was wickedly good at finding out information without letting on what he was doing and he only occasionally threw in a question that was relevant to what he wished to find. Harry had only spotted the connections to his home life because it was precisely the thing he hoped Snape would not find out about. And, once he did find out the pattern, it was then, lying in bed after the third visit from Snape that he recalled the day that they had gone to lure thestrals. He moaned before he could stop himself, which sent Madam Pomfrey dashing over to him in worry. Once he had assured her he was completely fine (regardless of the displeased noise he had made) Harry, with his rapidly beating heart, thought about what had happened when they had been procuring the blood to lure the thestrals. It was a moment when Snape got a glimpse through the window into Harry's deep seated mistrust of adults. Yes, he had been absolutely sure Snape, who had been angry with him at the time, was going to cut him for the bait. It did not occur to him that Snape might be different from the Dursleys. It was not difficult to believe that as intimidating a man as Snape would try to hurt him (though Harry now felt he had been jumping to conclusions in this department), due to the fact that Uncle Vernon often tossed him into the cupboard, grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck or on occasion smacked him over the head rather hard to get his attention. It was simply the way it was at the Dursleys', and sometimes Harry forgot that not everybody was like them and did not remember to remind himself what he should really expect around authority figures. Even Aunt Petunia joined in on occasion with her dreaded frying pan. Do something they don't like, and you get hurt for it (physical or emotionally; it really depended). Simple. It never occurred to Harry that Snape would be appalled that Harry readily believed that an adult would hurt him for something as little as impersonating them for a laugh during a game (Harry had thought it dreadfully fun at the time, even if little Maggie didn't get the joke).

       His thoughts returned to thestrals, and recalling the horrified look on Snape's face when he had figured out just what Harry thought he was going to do, Harry couldn't help but wonder if the way the Dursleys treated him was worse than he had always thought. He had a bit of a sunny side up approach to things, as he had no choice but to look for the good when life was so fraught with bad. That was how he often tried to see the Dursleys, and though it was hard sometimes, he still attempted to chase some of the dark clouds away. After all, it wasn't as though they were trying to hurt him too bad. He had a roof over his head, didn't he? Sure, he was not given enough food all the time, but that was only when he didn't finish all the chores Uncle Vernon gave him or he mouthed off. Other than that he got pretty good meals. There was his cupboard too, but they didn't lock him in there anymore, so he didn't quite see what the problem was. Sure he didn't like it there (in fact he really didn't like it), but it wasn't as though he had to live there full time anymore. Besides, Harry was a firm believer that there is no use in complaining, for it only makes a situation more miserable.

         Harry then ventured into the endeavour of trying to recall all he had said in the last few visits with Snape, but had a difficult time remembering how much he had let slip. The main problem in Harry's opinion was that he had been horribly bored, and had nothing to do but talk to Snape. He wondered if this had not been part of his professor's plan. Although, Harry also wondered if his sudden willingness to talk had something to do with the pain potions he was on, which sometimes made him feel a little funny. Whether it was one of these possibilities or both, the two ideas certainly made sense, and he was sure he had talked more than he normally would have. But that didn't matter, because the next time Snape asked him anything relating to the Dursleys, he would be ready.

     ***

     The next day, as Harry predicted, Snape came. With him, he brought a chess board. Wincing slightly in pain, Harry rolled onto his side and stared at the pieces. He hoped that this meant there would be less talking.

     "Ever played wizard's chess Potter?" Snape asked, setting the pieces on the board from his seat by Harry's bed.

     "Yes, Ron taught me," Harry said.

    "Quite a lot different from Muggle chess, isn't it?"

    "I'd never played chess before I came to Hogwarts," Harry told him truthfully.

    "Really? Never got the chance, I suppose?" Snape seemed rather surprised.

    "No, well ... there was chess club at primary but Dudley already thought I was a bit of a ..." Harry died off suddenly, realising what Snape was doing again. "So, I'm the white pieces then?"

     "Yes, which means you get first move."

    Harry instructed on of his pawns to move forward.

   The game proceeded, and after a little while Harry actually thought he might be able to give Snape a run for his money, much to his delight. All the while the two talked about many things, none really pertaining to anything they were doing. Harry thought that perhaps Snape had given up trying to unearth information. Right now they were talking about pets, for instance.

    "I believe the snowy owl belongs to you?" asked Snape absentmindedly as he surveyed the pieces in a rather bored manner. "I've seen it flying around on occasion."

    "Yes, her name is Hedwig," Harry replied, waiting for Snape to make his move.

     "She's seems very friendly," he said, still serenely looking at the board. "It is often difficult to get an owl to be so sociable. Have you had other pets before her?"

     "No, she's my first."

    "Yes, I cannot imagine your Aunt likes animals much," Snape muttered just before he made his move. "Knight to G five."

     "Wait, how do you ..." Harry asked as his pieces were swept off the board. Smash, clunk, clang; they were knocked out one by one. Harry looked up in shock to find Snape looking straight at him from across the wasteland of floored pieces. There was strange glint in his eyes and it looked as though he were trying to hold back a smile. It then occurred to Harry that Snape had been going easy on him, and that he had most definitely underestimated his Professor.    

      Harry contemplated what Snape had said as he made his next move.

     "How do you know Aunt Petunia doesn't like animals?" Harry asked suspiciously as his castle moved across the board. He didn't realise that his king was unprotected.

     "We grew up not far from each other," Snape said, eyes on the board.

      "Really? So you did know my mum then?"

    "Yes ... we were friends when we were young. She was much kinder than your aunt was to me," Snape muttered. "Check."

    Harry scrambled to find a way to protect his king.

    "I never got along with Petunia," Snape said quite distastefully after Harry made his move, "especially after she walloped me over the head with a frying pan when Lily and I were in the kitchen trying to sneak some freshly baked biscuits (not that that she wasn't there to do the same thing, but try telling that to her frying pan)."

    Harry winced in sympathy as Snape prepared to make his move.

    "Stings quite sharply, doesn't it?" Snape said absent mindedly in response to the look on Harry's face.

    "Yeah, it does," Harry agreed sincerely as Snape looked up.

    "Checkmate," Snape said softly just as Harry realised he had given himself away.

    "I mean, I can imagine it hurts ... you know?" Harry said weakly, seeing the look on Snape's face.

      Okay, so apparently frying pans to the head weren't all that normal. Well, he knew that, but sometimes it was easier to think that way. Convincing yourself it was  normal made it less tempting to tell someone, which in Harry's experience, only made things worse. 

    "Potter, I've known things are not right at your relatives for a while now," Snape said in a hushed voice, staring at Harry intensely. "But if you would only tell me to what degree things aren't right, perhaps I can help. I know what Petunia is like, and I should not have let Albus send you to live with her or her dratted husband. I also knew your mother, and she would never forgive me for knowing something was wrong and not acting on it."

     "The frying pan thing, I mean, it only happens once in a while," Harry muttered, going red as he tried to backtrack.

     "For what?"

    "You know ... stuff."

    "Explain to me."

    Harry tried to look Snape in the eye, but couldn't. "Not having chores done ... mouthing off. Doing something freaky ... accidental magic that is. That sort of stuff. But I only get it if I don't duck, which isn't often at all."

    "Does she do the same to your cousin ... Dudley, was it?" Snape said, ploughing on.

    Harry laughed bitterly and shook his head. "Not to her poor Diddykins."

    "What's your Uncle like?" Snape asked curiously. Beneath the calm demeanor Harry could see something terrible stirring in his eyes when he looked up. It frightened him, and so he looked away again. He could tell though, somehow, that the anger was not at him.

     "He's not much different," Harry sighed, not really sure what kept him talking. Perhaps it was because he hadn't told anyone these things, and some things you can't keep in forever. Maybe it was time for the walls to come down. "He doesn't like frying pans so much though. But if I do accidental magic or make Dudley mad he sometimes gives me a cuff to the head or locks ... Well, they don't do that anymore, so I don't see why it matters."

     "Tell me," Snape said.

    "No, it's not ... maybe I deserved it sometimes," muttered Harry, feeling muddled.

    "I have come to see there are very few things you have deserved over the years," Snape muttered under his breath, "my biased treatment of you included."

       Harry looked up, surprised, but then returned his gaze to his hands. "They used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs, I used to have to sleep there too," he whispered, suddenly afraid. Of what, he did not know. "And you've more than made up for being mean to me at the start of the year. You've been really fair since."

     "I really wish to kill Petunia now," Snape growled, not quite hearing the rest of what Harry had to say.

     "Please don't," Harry said quickly, eyes widening at the look of fury on Snape's face and the white of his knuckles on the chair arms. "She's right mean, but she still doesn't deserve to be murdered. None of them do. I mean, they haven't exactly starved me and they gave me clothes, even if they are Dudley's old ones and pretty baggy."

     "Everyone has a right to a full stomach and proper clothing, and you are no exception. Unfortunately not everyone gets that." Snape frowned, looking slightly far away.

     Silence stretched between them, and Harry had the strangest feeling Snape knew, like himself, precisely what it was like to be deprived of those things.

     "Well, that's enough for today I suppose," Snape said, finally breaking the silence and standing up, glancing over to Madam Pomfrey as he did so, "Poppy looks ready to toss me out already."

     "Goodbye sir," Harry said. "Er ... you won't make fun of me in class about ... about anything the Dursleys have done, will you?"

    "No, I will not. Get some rest, you're far from recovered." Snape turned on his heel, chessboard and bag of pieces under one arm. He turned back after a moment's hesitation however, and said quietly, "Thank you for trusting me, Harry."

   Harry nodded, and sunk into his pillows, closing his eyes. He didn't have the energy to watch Snape go, not knowing where he was going, not really caring. He glanced briefly at the potion Madam Pomfrey gave him, only to gulp it down. Then, he thought about what had happened. For someone who had just spilled their deepest secret, he felt strangely relaxed. It could have been the potion, but something inside told Harry otherwise. For getting off his chest what he had just shared was rather like pulling a large splinter from his foot. It had been painful, and a even little frightening to do so, but now that sharp object was not constantly jabbing him at the worst moments, threatening to make him cry out without warning when it was jarred. It made him less confused too, for he was able to believe Snape's statement about him not deserving to be treated that way. It had been like that so long that Harry sometimes wondered, sometimes got lost in the pain. But he didn't feel confused, or lost anymore. He felt ... okay. Then he went from okay to tired, and from tired to dreaming. And these dreams brought peace.

       It was Harry's last day in the hospital wing, and he was extremely anxious to get out. Hermione and Ron had come to visit him earlier, but said they had to leave a little while before he was to be released. Ron had muttered something about needing to do homework, but due to the fact that the twins had come by for a visit the other day and casually asked Harry what his favourite desserts were, Harry strongly suspected there were plans to have a welcome back party for him.

      Sitting upon his bed and flipping through Quidditch through the Ages, Harry was surprised to find he had another visitor. Professor Dumbledore, upon being let into the wing by Madam Pomfrey, swept over, his starry purple robe swishing softly in the silent room. Harry wondered why Madam Pomfrey was holding back a smile, but soon forgot about it when Dumbledore sat down in the chair by his bed, which had been so often occupied by Snape during his stay.

    "Hello Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, eyes twinkling. "How are you?"

    "Good sir," Harry replied, shutting his book. "And you?"

    "Quite alright, I should say. Now, I do believe you wish to leave this place as soon as possible, so therefore, I suppose I should inform you of why I have come."

   Harry looked at him intently.

 "It has come to my attention that your aunt and uncle are not as apt as I believed in caring for you. I paid a visit to them, and I was not pleased with what I found." He sighed. "Forgive me, Harry, for this is my fault."

    "How, sir?"

    "I was the one who placed you with them, shortly after your parents were killed. I believed it to be the best place for you because of the ancient magic that protected you." Dumbledore paused, the twinkle in his eye gone. "You see, when your mother died to save you, her love for you became the best protection you could ever have. Her blood, which flows in your veins, keeps this deep magic alive, the magic that saved you as a baby. So, when I placed you under the care of her sister, we were able to place very powerful enchantments around Privet Drive because she too was a blood relative of your mother's. It was a mistake, I admit now. I am sorry Harry, but I only wished to keep you safe. I never thought the ones you would need to be protected from were them."

    "I forgive you sir," Harry said, seeing just how deeply troubled Dumbledore was. "It's not so bad."

    "You are a very brave boy Harry," said Dumbledore. "But, if you choose, I can make arrangements for you to live somewhere else. The new location would not be quite as difficult to penetrate, but still quite secure."

    "So, I wouldn't have to go back to Dursleys'?" Harry asked hopefully. He couldn't believe what Dumbledore had said.

    "No," he replied, still looking a little sad.

    "Where would I go?"

    "Molly Weasley said immediately that she and Arthur would be happy to take you in, if you agreed of course."

    "Wouldn't it too be expensive though?" Harry asked anxiously. "I mean, Ron hasn't got a lot already and I wouldn't want to ..."

    "That would not matter," said Dumbledore. "Your aunt and uncle were getting monthly payments from Gringotts, and that would be transferred over to Molly and Arthur. It was a fund set up by your parents, and it is more than enough to feed and clothe you."

    "But the Dursleys always complained about how expensive I was to keep," Harry said, shocked. "That was why I got Dudley's old clothes."

     "Is that so?" said Dumbledore, his eyes suddenly looking much darker than the light blue they usually were.

     "So, I can live with Ron?" Harry asked hopefully. He hadn't met Arthur Weasley, but he had met Molly briefly, and he liked her. He had heard a lot about them too. Besides, they could not possibly be worse than the Dursleys.

    "Yes," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Molly and Arthur have discussed it with all of their children and they are ecstatic. I take it you would like - "

    "Yes," Harry said immediately, cutting Dumbledore off, who chuckled.

   "Alright then," he said. "I shall send Molly and Arthur a letter."

   "Thank you sir," Harry said.

    "Oh, you do not need to thank me," said Dumbledore. "If you have any questions come and find me."

    "Yes sir."

        ***

     It was with an extraordinarily light heart that Harry left the hospital wing, a clean bill of health. The halls were empty as he walked along, almost everyone having returned to their common rooms after dinner. Dumbledore's statement about Harry not needing to thank him got Harry thinking. He was right. There was someone Harry needed to thank. So, instead of going straight to the common room where there was sure to be a whole host of people awaiting his arrival, he found himself making the trek down to the dungeons. He knocked upon Snape's office door, but after minute of standing there, nobody had answered. Disappointed, Harry began his way to Gryffindor tower, thinking he would need to come another day.

    When Harry arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, Ron was waiting beside it.

     "Did anyone else visit after us?" Ron asked curiously.

    "Yeah, Dumbledore," Harry replied, knowing exactly what Ron was doing.

    "Really? What did he have to say?"

    "You know exactly what he told me," Harry said with a slight laugh.

    "So, what do you think?" said Ron, looking hopefully.

    "I said yes." Harry grinned a little nervously.

    Ron clapped Harry on the back and grinned back, setting Harry at ease. Ron was happy about it. "Well, everyone's waiting, so I'd better let you in," he said before turning to the Fat Lady and saying the password, which Harry didn't know as it had been changed a while ago.

    They were greeted by a swarm of people, but Harry only had eyes for the Weasleys present. With a grin Ron nodded toward Fred, George and Percy. Fred and George high fived and Percy came over to enthusiastically shake Harry's hand. Harry then caught sight of Hermione, who was beaming. Nobody else seemed aware of the silent conversation that had taken place between the six people. But Harry knew, and as pumpkin pasties were passed around he couldn't be happier.

     It wasn't until much later that Harry and Ron went upstairs to go to bed. Ron of course, fell asleep instantly, but Harry was still enjoying the moment too much to sleep. He made to go sit by the window by his bed, but was surprised to see Hedwig sitting on the bedside table. She hooted softly and held up her leg, which had a tiny scroll attached. Harry untied it and she gave him an affectionate nip before flying out the window. The scroll still rolled tightly in his hand, Harry watched her fly off. After a moment he was surprised to see that something had erupted out of the darkness on the edge of the forest. It had appeared so suddenly, glowing brightly like no animal Harry had ever seen, and yet it looked in every way a doe. It appeared to be looking straight at him. The two stared at each other for a moment before it bounded gracefully into the forest, stopping a few feet in, for Harry could still see the light that it gave off, the trees black silhouettes. He could have sworn he saw something else stir in the trees, but before he could get a closer look the light disappeared. He watched the spot for a moment or two, astonished. He had never seen anything like it. She had been beautiful, and Harry would have been content to watch her forever if she had stayed. Yet in some ways he was glad he did not know where she had come from and disappeared to, for sometimes that ruins the magic of it all. 

       Only after a moment or two of staring at the forest in wonder did Harry remember the scroll in his hand, so he tore his gaze away from the window and sat upon his bed. He unrolled it, and the writing on the parchment was very familiar. He had seen it so very many times upon his potions essays.

      You're welcome, Potter.

   That was all it said, but Harry understood it. There was no need for a thank you, because Snape already knew how grateful he was. Besides, Snape was not the kind of person who looked to be thanked; he operated silently, and often secretly. Not being noticed was what he preferred. And quite frankly, Harry thought the shadows suited Snape well. It had taken Harry time to see it, but by no means did that darkness fill Snape's soul. Yet, he seemed to be the kind of person that was forever locked in a battle between kindness and darkness, and both sometimes shone through.

     Harry climbed into his four-poster, glad to be in his own bed again. He glanced over to Ron, who was snoring loudly. Harry grinned, feeling like the luckiest boy in the world because he was going to be part of a family. He didn't feel the slightest bit scared, because Fred, George, and Ron treated him that way already. Even Percy accepted him, however pompous he could be. A funny realization had struck Harry as he was contemplating just how he had gotten where he was now. He burst out laughing before he could stop himself.

    "What's so funny?" Ron asked, sounding groggy and quite frankly a little annoyed at being woken up.

    "I just realised," Harry said as he tried to stop laughing. "It's all Malfoy's fault! It's because of him that I get to live with you. He'd be so mad if he found out!"

    "You've lost me Harry," Ron said, sounding as though he thought Harry had gone loony.

    "Don't you remember? He was the one that got me in trouble in the first place; he was the reason I had to do detention. If I hadn't gotten detention I wouldn't have gone back in time and I never would have gotten to live with you. Imagine his face if he found out he made my life easier!"

     Ron started to laugh too, which set Harry off again. They woke everybody up, and after a chorus of "shut up" and a few pillows being thrown at them, they quieted down. Though quiet, both were still shaking with silent laughter. They were just sorry that Malfoy could never know just what he did.