The world was melting around him. The woods, once silent, aside from the chirping of birds and buzzing of insects, was now filled with the ceaseless sound of dripping water. Droplets fell onto his head from the canopy of trees above, almost as if there were a steady, slow rain. His boots crunched the snow below as he followed the trails that crossed through the forest before shooting off into different directions.

The world is melting, he mused. How strange.

In these woods, Harry was not The Boy Who Lived or The Heir of Slytherin or "Boy!" or The Winner of the Triwizard Cup. He was just a wanderer.

The sound of flowing water woke Harry from his musings. The small streams that he would usually walk beside or jump over were now rushing to life. The clay that lay at the bottom of these ravines colored the water a bright orange color that almost appeared red. In contrast to the blanket of white and muted browns and greens, it was a bit unsettling really, however it did not appear out of place to Harry. Gushing crimson water somehow suited a world that was melting.

Images flew to his mind of his own blood, dripping onto the wooden floor of the cupboard or into the grass in the Dursley's backyard.

Stop it, Harry. You don't get to feel sad. You're the reason people are dead. Mum. Dad. Cedric. Sirius. NO!. Stop. Weapons don't feel. You are Harry Potter. Harry Potter does not feel.

As the path that Harry traveled leveled off, he knew that he was close to its' end, a fact that was soon confirmed by a sudden rising that made the back of his calves twinge. Using a hanging tree limb, Harry hoisted himself over the ground above him, no longer surrounded by compacted frozen soil, but now instead by a fluffier snow, which he knew covered a mound of rocks. He had reached the tracks.

To Harry, walking along the eroding railway always evoked a strange and primitive peace. It was an entity that appeared endless and suited to those prone to wandering. Harry had been a wanderer his whole life. It was this truth that Harry pondered as he balanced himself on the steel rail of the track, knowing that he might fall at any given point, due to the thin layer of ice that coated the cold steel. He did not care. Taking the sole of his black boot, Harry broke through the layer before slowly sliding off the layer following his indent. It was in this fashion that Harry walked the tracks for the next hour before realizing that he should turn around and return to his dormitory. He had homework to do and was sure to need a shower as the snow had somehow managed to worm its way through his protective layers, wetting his socks, pants, and thermal shirt in the process. The smell of frozen earth mingled with sweat was not a pleasant one, regardless of how comforting it was.

Four hours after leaving the grounds, Harry could be seen climbing up the snow covered hill that leveled out to reveal the bank of the lake and a canoe laying in the sand. Anyone paying attention on this still evening would see a fifteen year old boy, who looked much closer to twelve, with soggy blue jeans and a black coat; his cheeks and nose dark pink from the cold, and his deep, green eyes staring blankly ahead behind crooked spectacles, brow furrowed in thought. Drops of moisture slid down from the frozen ends of his black hair, which he wiped away absentmindedly as they reached his eyes and blurred his vision. At a glance, one might take in the boy's appearance and think him to have always been around these woods, or some woods, as a hatchet rested holstered on his brown belt, and his flannel shirt collar poked out above his thermal and under his coat.

However, he was not a native and nobody was watching.

Harry walked through the corridor and up the steps that led to his room. Taking off his boots outside and wiggling out of the soggy socks, Harry grabbed a towel and stepped into the bathroom, revealing various stalls containing both showers and toilets. Stepping behind the curtain, Harry turned on the hot water, lathering his soap generously before standing with his eyes closed for the next ten minutes. As the soap pooled at his feet and into the drain, Harry once again pondered his scattered thoughts. The world is melting.

He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Severus Snape watched as the Brat Who Lived made his way back to the castle. He had to admit that the boy had been worrying him. He rarely made meals, never talked back, and was never seen with the Know it All or the Red Headed slob.

Must be missing his mutt.

Pushing aside uncomfortable feelings of concern, Severus got back to grading his papers.

Dumbledore will give him a peptalk and one of those infernal candies. This is not my job.