The air in his bedroom was stifling. He rolled over trying in vain to find a position that allowed some fresh air from outside to reach him. Feeling exposed, he pulled the sheets up over his shoulders.

Severus couldn’t sleep.
It had been a week since Potter came to stay with him and the only thing Severus could say for sure was that the boy had not been what he had expected. It annoyed Severus to no end that he couldn’t figure Potter out.

There had been the usual defiance of course.
Severus could have killed the brat for destroying his potion’s ingredients. Not even for one moment had he believed Potter’s pathetic excuses about thinking the sneezewort to be weeds.
No, the little urchin had wanted to test him. To see how far Severus was willing to go. Maybe Potter counted on Severus to mistreat him in some way so that he could go whining to Dumbledore about it.
Well, Severus had controlled his temper even if that had cost him a great effort. He had even explained to Potter the significance of integrating the dead sneezewort plants into the earth.
Not that Potter had listened. Instead, he asked that nonsense about Greek mythology of all things. Severus wasn’t going to be impressed.

Although he had to admit that the boy had done good work apart from the sneezewort.
Severus had expected him to downright refuse working after the first day or Potter’s tendency to turn in shoddy work flaring up. Neither had happened.
What did the boy hope to gain from it?

He didn’t trust Potter inside the house. Therefore, it was only practical that he would work in the garden gaining insight into a hard day’s work. Severus had been sure the spoiled brat had never before been made to pick up after himself.
It had worked, at first. The boy had been more obedient than the professor had ever witnessed him being at school. If Severus hadn’t known him better he would’ve even described Potter as docile.
It was all a ruse of course. Potter was up to something.

In any case, Severus had to revisit his former plan on getting rid of Potter through continual yard work.
He had gambled on Potter begging to return to his relatives after the week of gardening Severus had put him through. If Potter, tired of Severus’ harsh regime, wanted go back to his relatives, Severus could tell Dumbledore exactly that. It would have been the perfect excuse to remove Potter from his couch and return to his peaceful summer of reading, tending to his vegetable garden and having dinner with Ben.

He worried about the boy. There was no sign of life from either him or his mother.
One afternoon, he had gone up the street to see if there was light in the house. He only encountered Felix lounging on the sun-baked wall in front of Number 6.
Severus had the feeling the cat was angry with him. Which was, of course, total nonsense. Cats didn’t have feelings.
Nonetheless, Felix avoided Severus. Sometimes he saw him outside with Potter but every time Severus approached, the red feline disappeared quickly into the undergrowth. Also, the cat never once showed up to be fed even though Severus refilled his bowl every day and set it out on the porch.

Eating was a topic with Potter too.
Severus had been mildly puzzled that Potter hadn’t helped himself to something from the fridge that first day. Without doubt, he waited to be served by Severus. Or he wanted to accuse his oh so mean teacher of starving him.
Well, it wasn’t going to happen. After that first day, Severus made sure the boy ate.

He had slept through the better part of the week, his illness obviously not keen on easing off soon. Severus burned through his entire supply of pepper-up, headache reducers magical and muggle alike and had used two bottles of nasal spray but he was still coughing his lungs out.
As a result, Severus had just stayed in bed trusting Potter to be too afraid of him to pull anything like the destruction of his sneezewort again. He was halfway through the Hitchhiker but currently felt too grouchy with Albus to thank him for the intriguing book.

Severus had tried to contact Dumbledore a few times. If the headmaster had had an answerphone, he would have found several messages from his Potions Master steadily growing more colourful in their enunciation of just how cumbersome it was to accommodate the Potter boy.

As it were, Severus’ Patronus doe seemed to be nothing more to Dumbledore than a little sliver of fog clouding the sun on the tropical beach Severus was sure the headmaster was presently basking at.

Albus would have a lot to answer for when he came back, that much was certain. Severus really looked forward to expound to him exactly how much trouble Potter had been and every misconduct however small that the boy had performed.

The morning Severus had found the boy sleeping with his head on the kitchentable, the big tome his pillow, for example. He had been about to chew the boy up for drooling on and crinkling the pages of his valuable book. Except the troublesome child miraculously had neither dog-eared nor salivated on Severus’ priced book.
Not wanting to let the brat get away scot-free from the incident that was surely just another ploy for attention, Severus had taken him to task rather harshly because of his dirty jumper.

Apart from the eating, the clothes were another matter that just annoyed Severus to no end. Why the boy insisted on wearing these hideous rags only Merlin would know. He hadn’t even changed from the ugly grey sweater he had arrived in, a fact Severus berated him harshly for. Teenagers especially needed a good body hygiene.

When the boy had startled from the book and looked at Severus through sleep-filled eyes, the Potion Master had to suppress a wince. Something undefined but heavy settled in his stomach when he caught sight of Potter’s face. His nose looked… not well. Severus struggled with a bout of guilt eventually banishing it to the same mental abyss usually reserved for his darker memories of his time as Death Eater.

The feeling had surfaced again a few times over the following days. Each time he had dismissed it.
He didn’t want to think about it.
Didn’t want to think about why Potter was at the juvenile shelter to begin with.
Didn’t want to consider the implications.

It was difficult to look at the boys eyes. He wasn’t wearing his glasses again. It made Severus angry. To the boy he said that he had burdened himself finding them where Potter had lost them carelessly and had repaired them so that the idiotic child could at least see what he was doing in Severus’ garden. To himself Severus would have never admitted that it troubled him seeing the green eyes so unveiled and clearly.

Surreptitiously, he had mixed an anti-swelling potion into Potter’s morning cup of tea. Over the edge of his paper, Severus had watched the bruise go down not only on Potter’s nose but on his temple as well. His lip looked less swollen too.
Not that the brat would have noticed or even thanked Severus for it. He tried to ignore the little black pebble settling into his stomach joining the growing pile of stones. Severus hadn’t even bothered with the boy’s injuries when he collected him, certain that the boy had deserved them picking stupid fights at the juvenile shelter. Regrets, regrets.

Sighing, Severus tried to shoo his racing thoughts away and shut up his mind. For a master Occlumens he had a difficult time doing so this evening.
The phone booth at the corner of the street kept ringing.
Severus turned over once more to find a cold spot on his mattress.

Finding his way back hadn’t been difficult. He had hitchhiked before the previous summer when he took a time out from his mother in Durham.
Once he had made his way from the tiny suburb the juvenile shelter was located at and hit upon the next highway north, it had been smooth sailing.
Ben knew all kind of things could happen when hitchhiking but refused to think about it. It might have sounded naïve to other people, but he believed in the goodness of humans. If you were nice, they were nice too.

He hadn’t had to wait long. Fortune smiled upon him as it was rush hour and a kind middle-aged lady stopped her car for him. Talking with her, Ben found out that she had cats and after that they were so engrossed with exchanging funny stories about their respective felines that the woman nearly missed her exit.
After the cat-lady, two lorry drivers had taken Ben along. The first was an easy-going Georgian singing songs in three or more different languages and the second a silent wizened man. Ben felt at ease with both and enjoyed the ride.

When they passed the nameplate of his town, he asked the old trucker to stop. The old man pulled the heavy vehicle over and with a hand raised in silent greeting, he bade Ben farewell.
Ben shouldered his seabag. He loosely planned to spend the night on the beach. His last night in freedom if his mother had any say about it.
The idea had come to him while listening to the Georgian explaining the meaning of one of his songs enthusiastically. Ben had camped on the beach before and it was one of his most treasured memories.

The sky was grey. At least it had stopped raining. Even so, Ben wasn’t going to let a little water stop him from prolonging going back to his mum for a little bit.
He felt a bit guilty about delaying the Harry-problem but he never knew where he stood with his mother. She was a force to be reckoned with drunk and sober. And Mr. Snape, or Severus as the man had revealed on their last encounter, didn’t like to be bothered in the evenings anyway.
Ben could just picture him sitting in his cosy living room, Felix rolled up snuggly in his lap. Was Star Trek on tonight?

Smiling, Ben drew in a breath of fantastically fresh air. The rain had washed away every grain of dust and left the world pure and new.
Ben watched out for the blinking lantern of the lighthouse not too far away. It soothed him to see it flare up in the distance stamping out the darkness in the same rhythm it had always done.
It might not be a perfect one but Ben was glad to be home.

For a moment, he remained standing on the edge of the street winding itself over the cliffs. Behind the road, meadows spread themselves to the horizon, their spikes catching the last rays of the sun. Ben could see gorse bushes dotting the white rocks like yellow stubble.

Then he cautiously began his slithering descent towards the beach.

Harry stumbled in the dark.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear church bells ringing faintly and a soft whooshing noise steadily came nearer. Harry saw a light flickering up beyond the dark hills.
His foot was killing him. Every one of his steps was accompanied with a squishing noise; his sock was soaked with warm red liquid. He ignored the pain and stumbled on.

Just get away from here! Just get away! he told himself tripping on the crumbly asphalt.
He leaned against a telephone pole to catch his breath.
Where was he going? It was madness.
Never mind! Doesn’t matter! As long as I get away from there- from him.

In the dark, Harry never saw the slanting hill. When his good foot hit nothing but thin air, he fell over tumbling down the round edge towards the stony beach.

Ben carefully made his way down the slope. He had been there enough times to know where to put his feet even in the dusk. The wind gently stroked his face and he rounded a cliff that stuck out towards the sea. The blinking lighthouse disappeared. Under his shoes, the washed out pebbles scrunched in a soothing way.

Nobody was there. Not even stargazing locals could be seen in this summer night.
Ben let his gaze rove over the jagged cliffs in search of an overhang or even a small cave he could kip in. His eyes came to a halt on a peculiar stone formation. It seemed to move albite slowly and stumbling. Curious he quickened his step.
From up close he could identify the thing he had thought to be a stone as a human. A small human, a boy maybe.

“Hello?” Ben called out.
The boy froze. Ben caught up with him.
“Uh, hello? Are you alright?”
The other boy turned around and in the small sliver of light, Ben recognized his face.

“Harry?”
“Ben?”
“What are you doing here?” the two boys chorused.
Ben had to laugh.
“Actually, I live here,” he told Harry who looked at him bewildered.
“Well, not here-here,” Ben pointed to the beach.
He was so relieved to see Harry that he didn’t even question how the other boy had ended up on the rocky beach of Ben’s hometown.

“Are you alright?” Ben repeated his question.
Harry nodded.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Ben. His voice sounded a bit hoarse.
“Wanted to enjoy my last night of freedom,” Ben smiled.
“Last night of freedom?”
“Yup! Want to join me?”

Harry cleared his throat. In a somewhat stronger voice he answered: “That would be nice.”
“Well, come on then.”
Ben lead the way further down the beach where he knew there was a small cove that would protect them from possible rain in the night. Harry followed him with difficulty.
Ben stopped.
What was wrong with his friend? Knowing how tight-lipped the other boy was, he tried a different tactic.

“Actually, here is a good place to rest for a moment,” he flopped down on a patch of soft grass. “You can see the stars better from here.”
Harry sat beside him. He pulled his legs towards himself and wrapped his arms around his knees.

“Are you cold Harry?”
“A bit, it’s okay.”
Ben rummaged in his duffle bag.
“Here, have my jacket.”
When Harry didn’t make a move to take it, Ben carefully wrapped it around the small shoulders of his friend.

Together they looked at the steel-grey sea mirroring the night sky above. The water was timid but some undercurrent was lapping against the small rocks further out, chopping up the smooth sea.

“Look Harry!” Ben pointed towards the sky. The blankets of clouds had torn open revealing merrily blinking stars.
“You know Orion?”
Ben could feel Harry shift beside him and counted it as a nod.
“People from the desert believed Orion the great hunter had a dog. See the three stars in a row there? That’s his belt.”
Harry shuddered. Ben attributed it to the cold air drifting in from the sea and gently rubbed Harry’s back to warm him up.

“So that’s South-East roughly. Follow Orion’s belt to the left. You see the bright star there? That’s Sirius.”

“Sir- Sirius?”
“Yes. The Dog Star. Brightest star in the night sky. If you look close enough, you can see the constellation. It’s called Big Dog.”
Harry looked at him questioningly.
“What?” Ben grinned. “Always have been interested in astronomy.”
“I thought you didn’t like reading,” Harry asked through chattering teeth.
“My grandfather showed me,” Ben swallowed. “When he was still alive.”
“He died?”
“Yes,” Ben answered quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered back.
Ben smiled. “Don’t be. That was a long time ago.”

It was silent for a while. The ocean was licking at the pebbles of the beach silently.

“Do you ever get used to it?” a small voice asked. Ben looked at Harry.
“No,” he answered truthfully. “But it gets better.”
Under his hand still cycling Harry’s back for warmth the small body of the other boy shook.
Ben glanced at Harry worriedly. Slowly he wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“My- my godfather,” Harry began in a stumbling voice. “He died last month.”
Ben remained silent and just skidded closer to Harry.
“His- his name was- Sirius.”
Ben felt something clenching at his heart and wrapped Harry into a full embrace. Slowly the smaller boy returned the gesture, his hands coming up step by step before resting on Ben’s back.

“A nice name”, Ben said after a while.
“It is- I mean- was. He- he was nice.”
“Did you live with him, before- I mean, before this summer?”
“No. Always wanted to though.”
“But you couldn’t?”
“No.”

“What’s wrong with your foot?” Ben changed the topic to his original field of interest.
“No- nothing!”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Ben looked at Harry sceptically.
“Come on, let me see it.”
“No!” Harry insisted vehemently.

But Ben ignored him. He bent forward and gently took Harry’s foot in his hands before the stubborn boy could object.
“Harry!” exclaimed Ben. “You’re injured.”

“’s not that bad,” Harry mumbled even as he flinched upon the soft contact Ben made with his foot.
“Not that bad? It’s bleeding!”
Harry wrenched his foot out of Ben’s hand sucking in a harsh breath.
“It’s none of your business,” he cried angrily.
He could feel Ben staring at him through the dark.
“Leave me alone.”
“No.”
“What do you care?” Harry continued, his voice growing louder. Ben could only hear panic in it.
Again he remained silent.
“GO AWAY!” yelled Harry, his voice echoing from the cliffs.

Ben stood up and shouldered his seabag. He looked out toward the ocean. He could see a tiny sliver of light colouring the faraway waterline. He turned around and crossed his arms.

“No!”
“Ben! I said go away!”
“NO!”
“You’re- Go away! I hate you!”

“You don’t,” Ben said matter-of-factly.
Angrily, Harry stood up. He swayed. Ben rushed to stabilize him.
“No!” Harry cried and pushed Ben with all his might.
Ben only stumbled back a few paces and was back at Harry’s side in seconds.

“Don’t…” Harry whispered.
Ben listened but wrapped Harry’s arm around his shoulder nonetheless.
“Harry,” he begun with that earnest tone Harry had heard him use when speaking to Lewy and his gang the first day at the shelter.
“Harry, listen. I only want to help.”
Harry swallowed against the lump quickly rising in his throat.
“You can’t help me.”

He could feel hot tears in the corner of his eyes. His foot was hurting as if burning hot acid had been poured on it. His leg was slowly going numb. It was over. Everything was over.

“You can’t go on like this,” he heard Ben’s voice.
It sounded strangely far away as if someone had stuffed cotton inside his ears.
Then his vision went black and he knew no more.