When Severus Snape strode out of the floo at St. Mungo’s he was already angry. After reporting the events of the evening to Albus, who looked rather apprehensive about Harry staying in hospital, he spent several hours reviewing in his mind what had taken place. He had the distinct impression that he had been maneuvered but he could not pinpoint exactly how. The boy’s annoying Gryffindorish manner had not wavered. There were no sly smiles or lowered lids that usually marked a student’s amateurish attempts at subterfuge.

Sleep had been hard to come by as he analyzed the boy’s expressions and responses in an attempt to determine just when then deception had taken place. By the time the sun crested the horizon he was in a dreadful temper from lack of sleep and the niggling feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong.

After a quick breakfast in his rooms, Severus firecalled the hospital. “I shall be arriving momentarily to collect Mr. Longbottom. Please see that he is prepared,” he said in an imperious tone to the witch who took his call. She nodded and with a suppressed yawn promised to be sure the boy was ready. Moments later when he stepped from the fireplace Snape was annoyed to see the witch wearing an expression reminiscent of a second year Hufflepuff caught without her homework done.

Snape stepped up to the desk and said, “Is there a problem?” His bad mood escalated immediately to full fury.

“Um, yes sir. It seems, um, Mr. Longbottom, is um, ...”

“Spit it out, girl,” he hissed.

She was saved by the appearance of a mediwizard who breezed in from one of the treatment areas. He was carrying several charts and began addressing the secretary without even looking up. “Okay,” he said tiredly, “I’ve finished with that nasty splinching in room three,” he threw a chart on her desk to punctuate that statement. “The nosebleed in two turned out to be from using a Weasley’s Skiving Snackbox,” he scribbled on the second chart and flung in on top of the first. He opened the final chart and scrawled a note in it. After signing it with a flourish he said, “And I’ve finished my notes on the Longbottom boy who left AMA. I am outta here.” The last chart joined the other two and he looked up into the scowling visage of Severus Snape. His face paled and he took an involuntary step backward as he looked anxiously at the secretary for help. Her eyes flicked between the two men and she swallowed nervously.

“Professor Snape is here to collect Mr. Longbottom,” she said all in one breath. Snape drew himself up to his full, impressive height and looked down his equally impressive nose at the mediwizard.

“Where is Mr. Longbottom?” he asked in a voice full of tightly restrained fury. His fist clenched spasmodically around the handle of his wand and a muscle jumped in his cheek. He tried to calm himself by envisioning the punishment he would heap upon the boy when he caught him but the image of Potter laughing over duping his evil professor drove him nearly over the edge. When the healer, whose nametag identified him as Percy Clinchwood, merely gaped at him like a stranded fish, Snape went into death eater mode.

“Mr. Clinchwood,” he hissed, “I suggest you produce the boy now before I do something you will deeply regret.” His wand was pointed at the healer’s heart. When the man remained frozen with fear Snape snarled wordlessly and stalked over to the room where Harry had been treated earlier. The door flew open without being touched and he strode inside with the healer trailing in his wake. After scanning the room for anything the boy might have left behind he muttered a summoning charm. Nothing.

“Blast!” Snape spun to face the wizard who cringed. “Is it beyond your admittedly limited capabilities to keep track of one dimwitted, underage boy?” he ranted, his voice escalating in volume as he neared the end of his diatribe. Magic, dark and threatening, swirled about the room like a vengeful harpy. Wand poised at the mediwizard’s heart, Snape glared at the trembling man with slitted eyes and bared teeth as he prepared to vent some of his anger.

“Ah, Severus, there you are.” The calm voice of Professor Dumbledore floated into the room just ahead of the wizard himself. With a look of pure loathing Snape lowered his wand and the circling magic dissipated. Dumbledore caught sight of the mediwizard and said cheerfully, “Mr. Clinchwood! Class of ’86, correct?” The man nodded mutely, his eyes still on Snape’s wand.

The headmaster turned back to Snape and said, “Not much to be done here, Severus. Let’s go back to Hogwarts and see what we can do about locating the boy, shall we?” Still glowering at the healer, Snape followed Dumbledore to the public floos and from there to the school.

oOoOoOoOo

Their agreement stretched into several weeks as Sean taught Harry to care for the horses and to ride. The retired military man maintained a small training business, boarded a few horses, and kept some rental hacks for the tourists. Harry took to riding as quickly as he had to flying and within days he was exercising the boarders horses and leading rides for the less intrepid tourists. Sean seemed pleased with his progress and after a week he had Harry helping with the jump training on his young hunter prospects.

Harry enjoyed the feeling of belonging and contributing. He worked hard and did extra maintenance projects around the farm as well. The barn and surrounding fences gleamed with new paint and the yard was nicely groomed. As promised Harry began to fill out from the regular meals and hard work. His hands, grown soft from a year without Quidditch, grew calloused and his shoulders broadened. He lost his schoolboy pallor from hours of riding in the sun. Karen offered to cut his hair but he decided to keep it long, enjoying the feel of it blowing when he rode his motorbike.

Life on the small farm felt like a dream come true to Harry. Sean’s gentle demeanor allowed Harry to relax and, with the help of the occlumency manual and the hard work, he was able to sleep better than he had in years. For the nights when he was still plagued by nightmares Harry kept the privacy disc under his cot so no one would hear his screams. When thoughts of Sirius or Voldemort threatened to undermine his façade he firmly pushed them aside, refusing to deal with them.

Harry woke early each morning to the sounds of the horses stamping outside the barn, eager for their feed. After nearly a month at the stable the routine was well established. He would ruffle the fur of his favorite barn cat and stretch luxuriously in imitation of the feline. After sliding down the ladder from the loft he would let the horses into their stalls and feed them before heading to the house to break his own fast. He and Sean would discuss the plans for the day and help Karen with the crossword puzzle. It was, quite simply, paradise.

It was a promising day in early July when the wheels fell off. Harry rose early as usual and padded around the loft in his pajama bottoms. He was barely awake until he opened the foe glass. A hiss of alarm skated across his teeth as he saw a shadowy form in its previously blank field. Suddenly fully alert, he staggered to the ladder and practically fell down it in his haste. He hit the ground running and rushed past the nickering horses. Horrifying images of death eaters attacking this idyllic farm that had allowed him to experience a true home pushed into his brain, stifling any coherent thought. Sean saw Harry’s terrified flight across the yard and leapt up from his coffee to intercept him before he could reach his motorbike.

“What’s happened, boy?” he asked as he gripped Harry’s forearms.

“I’ve got to go,” Harry gasped. “It’s not safe, not safe for you, for me to be here. I was so selfish, so stupid!” He brushed roughly at his eyes with his shoulder before looking at Sean with reddened eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said brokenly.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

In the short time Sean had known the boy he had never seen him look afraid. Even when old Misty decided to stand on her hind legs and give him a close up look at her belly the boy had merely sidestepped the flailing hooves and waited for gravity to bring the horse back down. Jumping over some pretty nasty obstacles had seemed to evoke a sort of determined concentration but never fear. To see him so unnerved was frightening to say the least. The thing that really made his guts clench was the inescapable feeling that the boy wasn’t worried about himself so much as for Sean. The way his eyes searched Sean’s for forgiveness made him feel sick with dread

Sean took hold of his emotions and roughly suppressed the panic that was trying to overcome him. He gripped the boy tightly and gave a little shake. When the boy’s eyes caught his he released him. “Now, you’re not even dressed boy. Go back to the loft and get your clothes on. Gather your things and I’ll meet you back here in five minutes time.” He saw the beginnings of an argument gathering on the boy’s lips and said firmly, “Go. Five minutes won’t matter.” Some sanity seemed to return to the boy’s eyes and he nodded and ran back toward the barn. With a sigh Sean turned back to the house.

The boy returned with his pack and a determined expression. Before Sean could speak he said, “I’ll do what I can to lead them away from here but, Sean,” and here he gripped the older man’s hand to emphasize the importance of what he was about to say. “If anyone shows up asking about me you must tell them the truth. Don’t lie to try to protect me. It won’t help me and they’ll hurt you for lying.” Again the green eyes searched his in a bid for absolution. “I’m so sorry, Sean. You’ve been brilliant.”

Feeling choked up with the emotion he saw in the boy he said, “Now don’t go apologizing to me, boy. I knew you were in some kind of trouble when I took you in, didn’t I?” He managed a smile at the boy’s incredulous expression. It hadn’t been hard to spot. After years of tending to horses that had been abused by their former owners he immediately recognized the signs in the boy.

The first time he had clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder the boy had tensed up and pulled away faster than a skittish two year old. It had taken patience but gradually the boy had gotten used to contact and eventually even returned some of his fatherly affection. It hadn’t been hard to like the youngster either. A hard worker, fast learner, and always quick with a smile or prank, the boy had brought a sense of fun back to the farm that hadn’t been there since his own boy had died.

Sean pressed a few pounds he had scraped together into Harry’s hands and held his own hands up, refusing to take the money back. “Karen and I have enjoyed having you and if we get a bit of trouble for it we’ll consider it worth the cost,” he said earnestly. He was shocked when the boy grabbed him in a rough hug then released him just as quickly.

“I’ll see to it that nothing happens to either of you,” the boy promised in a voice husky with suppressed emotion. Then he spun around and in a moment he was gone. Sean stood and watched his retreat, hoping that the boy wouldn’t do anything too rash. The look in his eye at the end had been full of danger. It was a look he had seen before on men who were about to go into battle. The impatient stamping of hungry horses brought him back from his musings and he turned away and headed for the barn.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry sped along in the early morning chill. The wind whipped his hair and dried the tears he couldn’t seem to stop. Terror gripped him as he imagined what would happen to the helpless muggles if the death eaters chose to interrogate them. When the noon heat penetrated his emotional haze he pulled the bike over to the berm and took stock of the situation.

“Okay, Potter,” he muttered. “What are you going to do about this?” He considered turning himself into the Order and asking them to help protect Sean and Karen. “I can hear it now, ‘They will be fine, Potter. Don’t worry.’ Then, ‘Oops! Sorry, guess they weren’t safe after all. Oh well, just muggles you know. Well, let’s carry on then.’ That won’t work,” he said quickly. He ruthlessly discarded all plans involving the help of any other wizards. With a grimace he said, “Guess that leaves you, Potter, as usual. You and your ‘saving people thing.’” He smiled bleakly and turned back toward the farm.

As Harry drew within a few kilometers of the farm he pulled over again. After a quick glance at the foe glass he skirted the village to the south. Patiently he crisscrossed the area, zeroing in on the location of the death eater slowly materializing in the foe glass. As the image gradually cleared he realized it was Wormtail. Red rage filled him for several moments before he regained control of his emotions.

“Okay. This is for Sirius. And for Sean.” He drew in a calming breath. “And for me.” He stashed the bike near some trees and continued stalking the traitor. As he searched he layered calm determination over his seething hatred of Petigrew so that by the time the turncoat surfaced Harry’s face was a mask of quiet resolve. A plan had formed of it’s own volition in Harry’s head. All he needed was the strength to carry it out.

Peter was sitting before a small cottage preparing a pipe. The wizard’s robes were tattered and his face looked thin and haggard. His dirty hands trembled as he filled the bowl then lit it with his wand. Harry felt a twinge of pity as he considered what the man’s life must be like as a servant of Voldemort. Having observed Voldemort’s dealings with his minions Harry could well imagine what caused Peter’s worn appearance. The image of Peter laughing with his father in photographs came into Harry’s mind but he squashed his unwanted sentimentality with the memory of his parent’s pleas for mercy as Voldemort killed them.

Harry quickly pulled a quill and parchment from his bag. With a steady hand he drafted a message detailing who Peter was and warning them of his animagus abilities. After signing his name he stood and began to creep closer to the cottage. A large, rounded stone shone dull white in the moonlight. He hefted it, checked its weight in his hand then slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.

When Harry was within a few meters of the cottage’s front steps he revealed himself. “So, Peter, we meet again,” he said as he pointed his wand at Peter’s heart.

Petegrew stood quickly, dropping the pipe. “H-H-Harry!” he bleated.

Harry’s mask like expression curled into a snarl. “Don’t you ever use my name, traitor!” He mastered himself quickly and said, “Let’s go inside.” Indicating the door with a terse nod he stepped behind Petegrew and jabbed his wand viciously into his neck as they entered the cottage together. “Over by the fireplace. Now.”

Before Peter could formulate a plan Harry hit him in the back of the head with the stone. Using a bit of wire scavenged from the muggle floor lamp he lashed the man’s hands together behind his back. He quickly stuffed the parchment in Peter’s front pocket and grabbed the floo powder. “Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office,” he called as he threw in the powder then forced Petegrew’s limp body in after it. As the death eater disappeared in a rush of green flames Harry spun and raced out the front door. He knew he had only seconds before the place was lousy with aurors.

The bike fired on the first try and he leaned low over the handlebars as the sound of apparating warned him that the ministry had arrived. He heard the shouted curses over the roar of the engine and felt the sizzle of spells around him. A hasty shield charm blocked most of them but it was the speed of the bike that saved him.

For hours he fled, turning randomly in a frantic effort to put distance between him and the aurors. As the sun neared the horizon he stopped, exhausted and emotionally drained. A few hexes had partially penetrated his shield and he ached all over from the damage they had wrought on his body.

After pulling the bike into the trees he set up his tent well back from the road. Collapsing into his cot he finally allowed the suppressed emotions to come forth. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as the anger and fear overcame him. Waves of horror had him trembling as he allowed himself to contemplate what could have happened had Peter been able to turn the tables. His stomach heaved when he pictured the bloody wound he had inflicted on the man.

Feeling more alone and vulnerable than he had ever been in his life he cowered, wishing with all his heart for the company of his friends. Mercifully, fatigue soon pulled him from his misery into the calming darkness of sleep. He managed a few hours of rest before Voldemort’s anger seeped into his head and he was jerked awake by another nightmare.

oOoOoOoOo

Mr. Weasley stumbled from the floo looking highly distressed. The table was full as all who were staying at headquarters were sitting down to dinner. “Arthur! You’re home,” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. A closer look at her husband prompted her to ask, “What’s wrong, dear?”

Mr. Weasley sat at his customary place at the head of the table and ran his fingers through his thinning red hair. As everyone eyed him apprehensively he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a blast. Hesitantly he began to speak. “It’s...” He paused and drew a crumpled parchment from his pocket. Handing it to Ron he said, “Do you recognize this handwriting, son?”

Ron took the proffered parchment and immediately said, “Looks like Harry’s scrawl. Where’d you...” His voice trailed off as he read the letter. His face paled and his voice shook as he asked, “Is this true?”

Mr. Weasley nodded and addressed the rest of the table. “Today Peter Petegrew came through the floo into Shacklebolt’s office. He was unconcious and bound and that note was in his pocket.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “Kinglsey and several others traced his path back through the floo but they were unable to stop the boy.”

Hermione, who had read the letter and was looking as pale as Ron, spoke up. “Is Harry alright? How did they try to stop him?”

“They tried to hex him,” Mr. Weasley said heavily. “He generated a shield that seemed to stop everything they threw at him so I suppose he is alright. Unless he uses magic again we can’t track him.” Molly let out a sob and walked out daubing at her eyes.

Severus stood and without a word he apparated out of the room. Tonks looked at the space he had formerly occupied then back at Mr. Weasley. “What’s gotten into him?” she asked.

He shrugged tiredly. “Who can say with Severus. Perhaps he is checking with some of the DE to see what he can find out about the boy.” Arthur began to tuck into his dinner and the others followed suit. “Luckily it was Kingsley who found the note. He’ll keep Harry’s involvement out of the auror’s reports and hopefully out of the Prophet.” The only sound was the clinking of silverware against the china as the others mulled over this latest information and silently prayed for Harry’s safe return.

Tonks broke the silence with a snort. When the others looked at her for clarification she said, “Well, my boss, Auror Forthwraite, told me what happened at St. Mungo’s when Severus showed up to fetch Harry.” She paused dramatically to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “I guess he went ballistic when they informed him that Harry had left in the night. Nearly hexed the poor secretary who gave him the news.” She snickered a little and said, “I almost hope he doesn’t find Harry. He’ll probably use an Unforgivable before the poor kid has a chance to say anything.” Her mirth was soon extinguished when she saw that the others did not share her sense of humor.

As soon as dinner was over Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand and dragged him upstairs to talk. As soon as they settled on Ron’s bed Hermione began to talk excitedly. “What do you think, Ron? How did he escape? Where could he be?”

Ron held up his hands to stop the flow of questions. “I don’t know, Hermione. Maybe he flew on his firebolt.”

“No, they’d be able to trace him if he was flying, Ron.”

Ron wrinkled his brow. “How would they be able to trace him if he flew?”

“It’s the wizard’s magic that powers the broom.” When Ron still looked confused she elaborated. “Just like the ministry can trace underage magic they can trace anyone’s magic if they want to.” Ron nodded to indicate that he understood that. “So a muggle can’t fly on a broom, right? So you can trace that magic you’re using to fly.”

“I never thought of that,” Ron admitted.

“I wonder if that’s part of why Harry flies so well. Because his magic is so strong, I mean,” Hermione mused.

Ron rolled his eyes and scowled.

“I can’t believe you’re actually jealous, Ron,” Hermione said. “Honestly! Would you want to trade places with him? At least you and I have some say in our futures, some choice. Harry is stuck...just stuck. It’s no wonder he’s run off.” She trailed off, waving her hands distractedly from her position on her back on the bed.

Ron stared at her a few moments before speaking. “So that’s how you see it? Like Harry’s on a one way street?” He frowned and leaned against the headboard. “I always figured he asked for it, brought it on himself a lot of the time.” His voice grew softer, contemplative. “But when you really look at it, he’s had no choice most of the time.”

Rising up on her elbows Hermione looked at him sadly and said, “Yeah. That’s how I see it.”

Ron gazed distractedly at the window then caught his breath in a gasp. Hermione looked at him sharply. “What is it, Ron?”

His lips curved into a wicked smile as his eyes remained on the window. “I think I know how our ‘Seeker friend’ is evading everyone.” He gave Hermione a sly look. “Take a look at that window, ‘Mione.” Hermione rolled over to look at the indicated window. Her sharp intake of breath made Ron’s smile deepen. “Looks like Harry left us his calling card.”

“How can you be sure that’s Harry’s doing?” she asked.

“When we write out Quidditch strategy we use symbols, different ones for each position. That circle with the wings indicates the seeker, see?” Hermione nodded. “Well, we were kidding around one day and Harry says, ‘I’ll fix this up so you’ll know it’s me,’ and he drew a lightning bolt on it. Just like the one on the window there.”

“So how does that tell you how Harry is getting around?”

Ron gave her a superior look, obviously pleased to be the one to have figured something out for once. “Harry and I always figured that Sirius’ motorbike had to be here at Grimmauld Place. I’m betting he came here, probably the night he escaped from St. Mungos, and took the bike.” He smiled fondly as he gazed at the sketch. “Couldn’t resist a prank, the prat.”

“So why come all the way to your window but not come in and speak to you?”

“Well, if your theory about his reasons for running is correct then he wouldn’t have wanted to ‘endanger’ me by revealing himself, would he?” Ron twisted his lips into a scowl. “I’ll going to give him such a thumping when we catch up with him,” he growled. Unable to maintain his displeasure Ron broke into a grin. “Bet he was laughing like a lunatic when he left that there. The twins are definitely affecting him.” Ron held out his hand and drew Hermione up next to him in a comfortable embrace as they basked in the momentary relief afforded by this ‘message’ from their missing friend.