“Honestly, Severus, we really should stop meeting like this. What will the students think?”

The old man’s eyes were twinkling mischievously.

“Albus,” hissed Snape, his hand dangerously tightening on Harry’s neck. “Shut up.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” began Harry, gulping slightly. He coughed once, the soot painfully stuck in his throat. The man gripping his neck appeared as if he were about to finally snap – cauldron waiting to blow at any moment.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Could you please not make Snape any more homicidal than he already is? His hand is attached to my neck.”

Snape snorted, for once not correcting Harry on his lack of respect. “You should listen to the boy, because he makes a very good point. Although, any homicidal tendencies would be directed towards you.”

Well, it had worked the first time. Going through the floo hadn’t been a problem when Snape had shoved him through to Umbridge’s office. The man hadn’t disconnected his touch during that event.

But, apparently, going through the floo separately wasn’t a good idea. In fact, it was downright painful. Harry had thought his insides were going to kill him. Of course, Snape wasn’t in any better condition himself. There was a perpetual grimace on the man’s face that attested to the amount of pain he was in.

Since, even with the attachment part of the spell activating, it also came with a major warning not to separate through magical means of transportation.

Well, who knew?

Probably the senile old man, who just happened to not mention that bit of information. Harry would’ve betted his entire fortune that Dumbledore was purposely holding out on them – and he’d win that bet, too.

“Albus, we have a problem,” said Snape. There was a brief moment where he pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing painfully.

“There seems to be a rash outbreak of those.”

For a moment, it looked like Snape was actually praying to a deity for strength.

“Albus, this boy has Quidditch practice.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore majestically, sitting up a little straighter. “I do believe I was aware of that.”

If Snape wasn’t praying now, Harry sure as heck was. Either Dumbledore was really that obtuse or he had it out for Harry. Instead of letting Voldemort finish the job, Snape was the next best client to do so.

“Albus,” hissed Snape, obviously coming to the end of his patience. “Do try to keep up. Wouldn’t want to show your age, now would you?”

Harry snorted, which he quickly turned into a soft cough. He hadn’t been expecting anything amusing to be said, much less from Snape himself. The hand on his neck squeezed, but it wasn’t threatening.

“As I was saying,” continued Snape, his glare intensifying. “How the devil is this supposed to work? We can only be ten feet apart and the way this boy flies, it’ll be impossible to keep that distance.”

“Well, you can always fly with him, Severus,” said Dumbledore, an amiable smile crossing his wrinkled features.

“Are you suggesting that I can keep up with Potter’s breakneck speeds and death defying stunts?” asked Snape, his eyes lifted into his hairline. “Are you insane? Even if I did manage to keep up with him, there isn’t an allowable degree of mishap. One inch out of the allotted distance and the two of us will plummet to the earth.”

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that at all,” said Dumbledore, that smile becoming a little too blinding now. Somehow, Harry knew what the old man was going to suggest could not be much better than what Snape had first thought.

Harry was right.

“I was suggesting that you and Harry ride the same broom.”

The silence was deafening.

Self preservation kicked in and Harry finally spoke up, “Uhm, Professor, I think the, uh… extra weight will slow me down. So, that’s probably not a good idea. Maybe there’s something else…”

Like getting rid of this spell permanently…

Wait… Did he just suggest that his professor was fat?

“Oh, but that’s easily fixed with a Featherlight Charm,” said Dumbledore, looking positively pleased with his idea.

“Uhm,” began Harry, wracking his brain for another excuse. This had to be the worst idea ever. Snape would kill him. The entire school would laugh at the whole idea. Snape would never live it down – and Harry would be buried in Hagrid’s garden. “Uh, well, Snape would probably be distracting to the other players, so…”

“A Disillusionment Charm would work for that.” Once again, Dumbledore was on the verge of bursting with happiness for his ‘brilliant’ idea.

Desperation was filling Harry’s chest. This was crazy. This old man was really suggesting that they stick Snape to the back of his broom and allow Harry to fly like he normally did. Harry actually pitied Snape, at that point. At the speed Harry was used to when diving for the snitch, it would probably give Snape a coronary.

Ron would probably say, ‘Hop to it, then.’

Through all this, Snape was motionless. His hand was slackened on Harry’s neck. He seemed shocked still by the even suggestion of being on the back of Harry’s broom.

After a few more minutes of the silence, Harry tugged his neck out of the man’s reach. His neck came free and Harry turned to look up at Snape. The man was standing still, his eyes wide with a mixture of angry and shock. It almost looked like the man wasn’t even breathing.

Then, Snape’s expression grew furious. But that wasn’t the most terrifying part of it. No, as the man spoke, he was whispering.

“There is no way, under any circumstances,” said Snape, his voice absolutely terrifying, “that I will strap myself on Potter’s broomstick and go for a joyride with him – and there is nothing you can say that will convince me!”

***

“S–so… the spell’s broken?” asked Ron, looking tentatively around Harry. There was no Snape in sight. The red headed boy seemed relieved by this. He smiled and clapped Harry on the back. “Bet you’re glad to be rid of the greasy git, eh?”

Harry winced, tucking in the side of his bottom lip beneath his teeth. He unconsciously tugged at the fringe above his scar. “Mmm, Ron… Spell’s not broken.”

“Eh? But I don’t see Snape anywhere. Where—”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin!” snapped Snape, still remaining hidden by the disillusionment charm that he had placed upon himself. Ron jumped a good six inches in the air, scrambling backwards as his head darted from side to side in the vain effort to locate the source of the severe voice. “Do keep your voluble chattering to a low roar, will you, Weasley! That ridiculous spell is not broken, and if you do not want detention for the rest of your natural born life nor the loss of a considerable amount of house points, I suggest you proceed with this idiotic game you call a sport, so we can get on with our lives!”

There was an audible huff of air. Yeah, no. Snape wasn’t bitter. Not at all.

Sure.

Ron’s mouth was open in horror. He stared at Harry for a long moment, before he rasped out, “Geez, mate, way to warn a guy.” There was only a shrug from Harry in response. It wasn’t his fault that Ron had a big mouth.

Not that Harry was really open to talking about what was going to happen during practice.

“Harry, how’re you gonna fly when you’re stuck to Snape?” asked Ron, coming up to Harry and whispering in a low voice. There was a growl, which came from the direction of Snape – the man had perfect hearing, it seemed.

Harry looked upward, trying to avoid Ron’s gaze. Then, his eyes slid to the side. “Uhm, er… He’s gonna fly with me… on my broom.”

Ron’s face was downright comical – if it hadn’t been just as disturbing to Harry as it was to his friend.

“Are you mad, mate?!”

“Mr. Weasley,” hissed Snape; the tone sending chills down Harry’s back. “The Headmaster himself has suggested this solution.” Oh, yeah, it was more than apparent that Snape wasn’t pleased with this. “Every concern and precaution has been taken into consideration. It would be most wise on your part to shut up.”

Ron looked around again, trying to look for the source of the voice. It was useless, of course. Then, he grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him away slightly, obviously trying to put distance between them and Snape. Finally, when Harry felt the distance was pushing it, he pulled away.

“Ron, we can’t go any further! Are you trying to get me killed?”

“Oh, right…” said Ron, looking sheepish. His expression turned serious. “Look, Harry, are you really gonna do this? I mean, you could get bowled over by a bludger. If that happened, Snape’d go down with you. Fred and George would be dead cause of that; Snape would kill them!”

Harry felt his eyebrow twitch.

“And what about me?” asked Harry, his tone sardonic; folding his arms and giving Ron a raised eyebrow. The other boy nodded vigorously.

“Well, yeah, that’s a given, too. I mean, Snape would—”

“Ron,” snapped Harry. “I’m not going to get bowled over by a bludger! The only time I was ever in danger of that was when Dobby thought it smart to protect me – and even then, I dodged it pretty good.”

“Well, you still broke your arm,” said Ron, gesturing as if this was the right answer.

“That’s because I was trying to catch the snitch!”

“What do you think you’ll be doing during practice?”

There was an exasperated sigh as Harry put a hand to his forehead. “Ron, just worry about keeping the quaffle out of your goalposts and I’ll worry about the snitch.”

And Snape…

“And whatever you do, Ron, don’t mention one word about Snape to the others,” said Harry, giving the other boy a pleading look. “They’ll be too nervous if they know Snape is here.”

Ron looked reluctant, but he nodded.

The two of them fell into silence, which was a blessing. For the first time, Harry dreaded the start of practice. He clutched his Firebolt, his hands going white from the pressure. There was little relief when the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Quidditch pitch.

Harry ended up tuning out most of Katie Bell’s speech about the Quidditch cup and the like. The way she looked at him made it more than clear that she was still mad at him for missing tryouts a week ago.

Hey, it was Umbridge – there was nothing to be done in that case. It wasn’t his fault, after all.

When the call to mount up was sent out, the anxiety inside Harry’s chest rose considerably. He slowly prepared his broom to mount, glancing around nervously for Snape – but the man was still invisible.

“Sir?” whispered Harry.

“Just hurry up, Potter,” snapped Snape, keeping his voice low. Harry nodded and swung his leg over his broom. He waited for a few moments, gripping the broom’s handle so hard, his hands were trembling.

“Are you on, sir?” asked Harry in a low whisper, glancing nervously at his teammates. They didn’t seem to notice anything weird and Ron was purposely not looking at him, for which Harry was grateful. This was awkward enough without being gawked at on top of it.

“Yes, Potter,” hissed Snape. “Just hurry it up. The faster we get this over with, the faster I can get off this blasted stick of death.”

Harry hesitated, biting his lower lip again. “Are you… Are you holding on?”

“That better not be a suggestion to hold onto you.”

Harry remained silent as he scratched his scalp. He just shook his head, not wanting to answer to that. He sort of was suggesting that, not that he wanted the man touching him. How else was Snape supposed to stay on the broom? How the heck was Harry going to fly when he was way too worried about bucking Snape off?

But there wasn’t much time to worry more about it. At Katie’s shout, the snitch was released from its box. The small winged ball zoomed through the air, flicking back and forth at top speeds.

Suddenly, all thoughts about Snape left Harry’s mind. A rush of delight filled his heart as he sped upward into the air, the wind whipping against his face. Without his knowledge, the wind stole a grunt from behind. There was only one thing on Harry’s mind now. The snitch hadn’t disappeared from his sight and he wasn’t about to let it go. He stopped worrying about his invisible, weightless passenger and focused his everything on catching that snitch.

Eventually, he did lose sight of the snitch, but it was within ten minutes that he finally caught it. As he held the flittering, golden ball his hand, he felt an intense amount of satisfaction. This was something he could do. Studying was always difficult for him, for multiple reasons. But this… Quidditch was something he was actually good at.

He hadn’t realized that much of his flying had included quite a bit of daring tactics – since it came second nature to him. Not to mention, the speed had been at breakneck records.

Thus, he was reminded of his passenger when something leaned against his back.

“Potter,” said Snape, his voice hoarse. “Land. Now.”

Alarmed, Harry flew down to the edge of the Quidditch pitch. His feet landed on the ground, just as Snape’s weight fully pressed against him. There were shouts from the other players, but they were ignored. It felt like Snape was slumping off the broom.

“Professor!” cried Harry, trying to keep the man from falling completely. The disillusionment charm faded away as Snape pulled his wand down from his head. The man’s weight seemed to be righted with it. Harry could feel the man sagging forward, the tall man at his true weight now. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong! Chaos flooded around him as the other members of the team landed near him.

There were horrified gasps from the Gryffindor team.

“Blimey, Harry,” said George, sounding breathlessly shocked; his eyes wide.

“That rumor that you’re stuck to Snape was actually true,” said Fred, as the twins shared a unified glance. Then, there was an unnatural gleam that entered their eyes. Ron smacked at Fred’s shoulder, giving them a warning glare. He shook his head.

“No kidding,” muttered Harry, his voice somewhat hoarse as he tried to keep Snape on his feet. The man’s weight was heavy. He wished that the Featherweight charm was still in effect. His teammates could only watch helplessly. Harry glanced over at the man.

Oh, dear. Professor Snape looked like he was gonna blow chunks.

The man pulled his weight from off Harry and leaned against a nearby Quidditch post. Snape took deep breaths, letting the air out slowly, while ignoring everyone around him – well, that was better than shouting and dishing out detentions like Dumbledore gave out lemon drops. Harry turned to his teammates and motioned frantically, silently shooing them away.

They took the hint.

Everyone mounted their brooms and flew into the air, leaving the two of them on the ground. His teammates hovered in the air, however; watching them carefully. There were heated whispers among them. Ron was the only one who hesitated, but Harry shooed him away while shaking his head. Finally, Ron mounted his broom and flew upward. He stayed near, until he relented to Harry’s motions to get away.

The less targets around, the better.

Harry turned back to Snape. The man was making a visible effort not to sick up. Who knew that Snape got nauseous while flying? But that wasn’t right. The man had refereed during his third year, hadn’t he? So, what made him sick?

As a bludger flew above their heads, one which was quickly batted away by one of the Weasley twins, what little color had been in Snape’s face faded away completely.

“Professor, you look, uhm… not well,” said Harry, biting his lip again nervously.

“I assume you meant green, didn’t you, Potter?” snapped Snape, but without his usual venom. He grimaced and placed a hand over his mouth. The man’s pale skin went even more so, with just a touch of green within his cheeks. Yup, the man had gotten airsick.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—”

Snape waved him quiet. There was another long moment and the green color seemed to intensify. The man held out his arm.

“Just… assist me to my quarters, if you please. I believe your practice will have to be cut short.”

It took a long minute, before Harry realized Snape had actually asked him for help – the man had even said please! Stumbling stupidly a moment later, Harry came to the man’s side and threw the man’s arm around his shoulders. Snape leaned against him and they started back to the castle.