“Where are we going?”

“A small fishing village on the coast. It may not be up to your standards, but it’ll have to make do until the situation has been stabilized.”

Harry suppressed a grimace. They’d come to the crest of a tall hill about half an hour ago, and he’d been able to see for miles. There’d been no sign of the ocean.

He’d finally gotten Snape to admit that they were traversing a stretch of the Scottish Highlands. He’d gotten the impression that the man was familiar with the area because he’d come to collect potions ingredients, but none of the nearby vegetation seemed like something they’d used in class. He knew better than to mention it, however. He could imagine Snape’s response now… Potter, I would expect even a student of your minimal cranial capacity to recognize the Flumdinger Berrysplash in the wild. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. I have seen your test grades. 

Harry smirked, unseen from where he walked a few feet behind the Potions Master, and amused himself by imagining the most ridiculous potion ingredient names he could come up with.

They took minimal rests; Snape seemed anxious to keep up a swift pace despite seeing no one all day. They didn’t stop for the day until the sky had darkened too much to see the ground properly.

“We can’t have a fire,” Snape said shortly, settling on the ground with his back against a boulder.

Harry nodded, unsurprised, as he also sat down on a mossy patch of ground.

Snape seemed to study Harry for a moment, then brought out the impossible pouch. He removed a pendant strung on a length of chord and handed it to him without a word.

Harry accepted it, bringing it close to his face to make out what it was in the rapidly deepening gloom. It was a flower wrought in silver, although he couldn’t tell which kind in the poor light. A faint glow seemed to emanate from it, and he could feel the buzz of magic in his hand as he held it.

“What is it?” he asked, looking up at Snape. The man’s face was oddly guarded, and when he spoke, his tone had an usual quality of reserve.

“A charmed object. It is intended to make those around it untraceable by magical means. I have one as well.”

“Does it work on the Trace?” Harry asked, sitting up eagerly.

“No,” Snape said with regret. “It prevents people from casting tracking spells on you. It should also shield you from any attempted scrying.”

Harry didn’t know much about scrying, but nodded anyways and slipped the pendant over his head. He tucked the charm into his shirt.

Dinner was half a block of cheese and some fruit. Harry detected the scent of preservation charms but didn’t comment. It was better than no food at all.

After he’d finished eating, Snape had wrapped himself in his robes like some large bird in its wings and laid down, his back to Harry. “You take first watch. Wake me in four hours,” he said curtly.

Harry didn’t have any trouble staying awake. Despite the long day of walking, his head was spinning with questions and worry.

Was Dumbledore in trouble? Harry had been mad at the man-in fact, he still was-but he didn’t want him to get in trouble on Harry’s behalf. There was also Mr. Weasley, who had been the one to bring him in and was surely under suspicion of getting him out again. His disappearance was probably all over the Prophet by now. Were Ron and Hermione worried? Did anyone else in the Order know that he was with Snape, or was that kept secret even from them? Were they even aware that he was safe?

Harry glanced at Snape’s back. The Professor’s customary snarky attitude, which was usually so unbearable, had somehow helped him stay calm. If Snape could still take the time to be a prat, things couldn’t be too awful.

Without anything else to distract him, Harry became more consciously aware of the stinging in his wrists. The rising moon cast a pale light on the wounds, and he noted that they didn’t look any better than they had earlier.

Harry didn’t have the exact time, but remembered enough from Astronomy class to make a close estimate of when four hours had passed based on the moon’s position. He hesitated, unsure how to wake the Professor, but Snape sat up at his first tentative whisper. He must be a light sleeper.

“I see we’re still alive,” he said. “Did you see anything?”

“No,” Harry said, not mentioning the time he’d nearly jumped out of his skin when he’d heard a screech that turned out to just be a bat flying overhead.

“Good. Now rest. I can barely stand you when you have enough sleep.”

If he was trying to get a rise out of Harry, it didn’t work. He merely stretched out on the moss, yawning into his hand to cover his eye roll.

He fell asleep after a few minutes, listening to Snape’s steady breathing as he scanned the countryside.

His dreams shifted, changing from one unsettling scene to the next until the night seemed a blur of unease and half-defined anxieties. He knew instantly, however, when the true nightmare began.

“Kill the spare.”

Cedric collapsed. Harry fell to his knees beside him, feeling his pulse, frantic. When he realized that he was truly, irrevocably dead, he held onto Cedric’s arm in a death grip. Wormtail approached and tried to pull him away, but his hands seemed glued to Cedric. He was shouting without knowing what words came out of his mouth, and Wormtail was shouting too, and then the rat-like hands around his shoulders became long and slender, and it was Snape trying to pull him away.

“Potter.”

Harry’s whole body trembled. “I can’t let go,” he gasped, now himself trying to pull away from Cedric, but unable to do so. Cedric’s open, glassy eyes seemed to stare at him in reproach. “I can’t let go!” His voice was becoming more frantic, and Snape shook him slightly.

“Potter!”

Harry’s eyes flew open to meet Snape’s obsidian black gaze, and he realized he was gasping for breath. As soon as he saw that Harry was awake, Snape let go of his shoulders and moved away.

Harry stared up at the sky, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. The stars were gone, and early morning light was starting to creep along the horizon. A few birds were singing close by.

“Care to mention what that was about?” Snape asked, tone neutral.

“No, I bloody well don’t!” Harry snapped, sitting up and cradling his head in his hands as the memory of the dream faded slightly. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to Snape, who was still waiting for an answer. “It was Cedric.”

He waited for the sarcastic comment, the sneer, the judgment in Snape’s voice when he said something like “and the wizarding world puts their fate in your hands? We’re doomed”, but none of it came. The man merely looked at him for a few minutes, then pulled out the pouch of food. 

As the professor started rummaging through it, Harry felt oddly deflated. He didn’t know what he was waiting for. Comfort? An acknowledgement?

Snape only handed him breakfast. Harry ate it without thought to its taste or freshness. Cedric’s dead eyes were still looking at him in his mind. I can’t let go. Well, wasn’t that the truth?

Snape broke him out of his reverie. “I’d intended to start later, but since you’re up, we will leave now.” His voice was still in that neutral tone, and Harry found himself wishing he would revert to his usual contempt.

They stood. Harry suppressed a wince as his leg muscles ached from yesterday’s exertions. He kept his lips pressed tightly together, however, unwilling to give Snape yet another reason to judge him.

Stupid, stupid. Why hadn’t he been able to keep quiet? Sure, Snape was awake, but he might not have noticed Harry’s distress if he’d just been able to keep silent. Oh, who am I kidding? The man notices everything.

It was much more pleasant to walk in the cool of the early morning than in the afternoon heat, and Harry’s legs stretched out as they began moving. He found his mood improving despite the man walking ahead of him, and by the time the sun had fully risen, he’d managed to push the nightmare out of his mind.