Previously:

Harry had shut his eyes long ago, and the sun felt great on his face, as if it was the only light in the world and he was finally being allowed to sense it. He could feel, like he had back at Topsham Manor, the magical energy trailing behind him which could only be Snape, and for a moment, he was surprised that the professor was still trying to keep up with him.

Higher and higher he went, until the air was cold again, and he started to acknowledge that he would never, truly, reach the sun, no matter how far or fast he flew. Neither could he escape everything on the ground. Sirius was gone, yes. And Cedric and his parents, too. So was what little had remained of his innocence, at the hands of Voldemort and Malfoy. But he was still alive, despite everything. And though he longed, desperately, to feel loved, like he knew Sirius had loved him, like he knew his parents had, he knew that just wasn't meant to be, for him. He was meant to kill Voldemort, so other people could be happy and loved.

So other people could be safe.

Like Snape, who had saved him time and time again.

At the split second he came to this realization, a ripple splashed over him from Snape's magical signature, right before it vanished, like fog in a high wind. Harry's heart plummeted into his stomach, and he banked immediately to the left, pulling the broom around so abruptly that he almost blacked out from the force of it. He kicked the broom into a speed it had rarely if ever been pushed to, as he sought out Snape's magic again.

He darted through clouds on his way back down, and the dampness chilled him, but not as much as knowing he'd sent his professor to his death. Droplets clung to his glasses, and he wiped them with the back of his arm, peering down at the ground, so far below. He couldn't see anything.

He couldn't feel anything either.

He'd been blind at the manor when he felt other signatures, like Malfoy's and even Voldemort's. Maybe he couldn't feel, if he could see. . . . Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and reached out, questing. There! Just on the edge of perception, and quite far away, was the free-falling body of his professor. Keeping his eyes closed, he turned slightly and angled in that direction, setting his trajectory to align with where Snape would have fallen to, by the time Harry reached him.

Snape's arms were outstretched, as if he was imitating a bird, but he was falling like a stone. Harry darted underneath him. Arms braced to catch, he still wasn't prepared for the slam of dead weight that hit him. His broom jiggered sideways, almost dumping them both. Steering with his knees, Harry clung to the professor as they made their descent.

The professor's face was pure white, except for his blue lips, and Harry was not certain if he was alive or dead. He flew flat out, straight to the castle, bypassing the pitch entirely. When he reached the castle doors, he hauled Snape off the broom and staggered under the sudden weight. Though Harry had never been a weakling, really, this summer had really taken a toll on him, and he could barely hold Snape up. How was he going to carry him up several flights of stairs to the infirmary?

If only he had his wand!

But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, as Aunt Petunia used to say, so he did what he could, manhandling the professor into the entrance hall and toward the stairs. The professors heels dragged along the floor, as Harry hefted him, arms wrapped around Snape's chest from behind, and his own hands clasped together. Each step up wrenched something in Harry's shoulder that he'd pulled in the initial catch, up in the air, but Harry ignored the pain and kept going.

One foot, up one step, then a hard tug to bring the professor up, along with his other foot, then the first foot again. They made slow progress, but when Harry was almost half way up the first flight of stairs, his foot slipped on one of the tricky steps and he fell on his bottom. The two of them slid down half a dozen steps like they were on a toboggan.

Harry could have cried in frustration. He couldn't even tell if Snape was breathing or not. His face still seemed to have no color. He was going to die -- if he wasn't dead already -- and it was all Harry's fault! He'd been so stupid! So oblivious. So completely selfish.

Rage and shame warred inside him and as he struggled to his feet again. His limbs trembled and his chest heaved with hard won breaths. He would not let Snape die! He wouldn't! Growling low in his throat, he gritted his teeth and pulled hard once more with all this strength. The professor soared into the air and hovered there, as if held by a Leviosa. Harry gaped at him, then grabbed at the professor's cloak and, at a run, dragged him, now airborne, to the infirmary.

Coming out the door as Harry shoved his way in was Professor Lupin, who stared at Snape as if seeing a ghost. "What the . . .?"

"Remus! Help me get him inside," Harry pleaded.

But Remus didn't look at him or say anything, just turned back around and called, "Poppy! Come quick!" and Harry remembered the spell Snape had put on him when they first went outside.

Madam Pomfrey supposedly knew about him, though, so she should be able to see him and hear him. "Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled. "It's Professor Snape, he's hurt!"

The Matron charged out of her office and over to them. "Let him go, Mr. Potter," she said, and used her wand to hover Snape over to one of the many empty beds and lower him into it. Her wand was already making passes over Snape's body, and she didn't look at Harry when she said, "What happened?"

"He fell. We were flying, and I didn't realize he was following, and we went too high and he fell. I'm sorry! Is he dead? Will he be all right?"

At the same time, Remus said, "I don't know. Wait, what did you say first? Is Harry here?"

"Not now, Remus," Madam Pomfrey said. "The professor is still alive, if barely. Go on, both of you. I'll take it from here." With that, she pulled a curtain around Snape's bed and Harry couldn't see him anymore.

Harry staggered back against the wall. Snape was still alive. He hadn't killed him. Madam Pomfrey would help him; she had to. His heart felt like a hummingbird was trapped in his chest, fluttering madly, and he knew if he didn't sit down in the next few seconds, he was going to throw up, from pure relief. He slid down the wall, putting his head between his knees and waited for the nausea to pass.

In front of him, Remus was still looking around with a bemused expression. "Harry? Do you have your cloak on? I can't see you."

Harry had no idea how long the spell lasted, and no idea how he could let Remus know he was there, with it still in effect, so he just sat, and waited, and after a few minutes, Remus sat down too, except on a chair he Accio'd from across the ward.

"I don't know if you're still here, Harry," Remus said quietly. "But if you are, and you're afraid for me to see you, I wish you wouldn't be. I'm so glad you're okay. That you're safe. I've been trying to see you for days," here he laughed harshly, an almost anguished sound to Harry's ears, "but Dumbledore refused to tell me where you are."

Remus stared at his hands. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I failed you."

Harry's head came up and, although he knew Remus couldn't hear him, said, "No. You never did!"

"I should have been there for you after James and Lily died. I should have checked on you, and made sure you were being well cared for. They . . . the Ministry wouldn't have let me take you, not with my . . . condition," another horrible, self-deprecating laugh, "but I should have tried, just the same."

"It wasn't your fault, Remus! None of it!"

"I wish . . . I want to be there for you now, Harry. I wish you knew how much I care about you. How proud I am of you, and how strong you are. I'm just sorry I have never been there for you, like your parents would have wanted. They would have been proud of you, too. I know they would.

"No, they wouldn't, Harry thought. Not when he'd almost killed a professor. Not when he had killed Sirius.

Remus lapsed into silence, and Harry was glad of it; he wasn't sure he could take any more gross mischaracterizations. They waited, and waited, and finally, Remus looked over at him in shock, stumbling off his chair. "Harry!"

"Hi, Remus." Harry tensed up when it looked like Remus might want to hug him, but the former professor stopped at the last minute.

"Are you . . . how are you, Harry?"

"Tired," he admitted. "You?"

Remus laughed softly and settled down beside him on the floor. He didn't touch Harry, though, and stayed almost a foot away, so that was good. Harry didn't think he could explain to Remus if he suddenly started shrieking in the middle of the infirmary. "As well as can be expected, when I've been so worried for you. Where have you been?"

Harry gestured at the curtain, where Madam Pomfrey was still tending the professor. "With Professor Snape."

"What?! I know you were both captured together, Harry, but is that really the best place for you? I mean, he's--"

"He's been helping me, Remus. He . . . he knows what happened there, and he's been helping me." The nausea was back, and Harry swallowed it down. He was not going to get sick all over Remus.

"What did happen?" Remus asked softly. "You can tell me anything."

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Not now, or not with me?"

"Both. I'm sorry, Remus. I just--"

"It's okay, Harry. Really." Remus' words were comforting, but he sounded sad, and kind of disappointed.

Harry's heart ached for it, but he couldn't talk about what had happened in Topsham. Not now. Maybe never. But if he ever did, it was going to be with someone who knew, someone he trusted to understand and not pretend that everything was just peachy, and who'd let him rant and cry and everything else he needed. Someone like Snape.

---

The first thing Severus said upon waking was, "Harry!"

Poppy was there a moment later, her bustling and businesslike air putting him somewhat at ease. "He's fine, Severus. How he managed to cart you up here is anyone's guess. The boy's just skin and bones, haven't you been feeding him? But he'll be glad to know you've pulled through again."

She thrust a potion in his face, and he batted it away, though the enormity of his relief made him feel faint. He'd been sure the boy was dead. For all his precautions and all his monitoring, he was sure Harry had killed himself, and it would have been all Severus' fault. "I'm fine, woman. Put that away!"

"Well," Poppy sniffed. "You must be feeling better if you're surly already. But I'm not releasing you from the infirmary till we've got you completely warmed up. Now drink!"

With an aggravated sigh, Severus took the bottle of Pepper-up potion and gulped it down. The familiar warmth surged through him, and steam blasted out his ears. Once he had his breath back, he growled, "Satisfied?"

"I don't know why I bother," the medi-witch complained. "Between you and Mr. Potter, I don't know which of you is harder to manage when you've ended up in my care."

"Potter," Severus told her.

"Nah. It's Professor Snape," Potter said, peeking his head around the corner of the curtain.

Severus snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling almost giddy, a completely unnatural feeling for him, seeing the boy unharmed. Maybe he was having a heart attack? "I should say not. I am a model priso -- rather, patient. You, on the other hand, are incorrigible."

"Incorri-what?" The boy came fully around the curtain, frowning now.

"Have you never met a dictionary, Potter? I should be glad to introduce you, if not."

"Ha. Very ha." The boy smiled a little. "I mean, very ha, sir."

Severus sighed and waved his hand at the curtain. "Do you mind? I would like to make my escape from here as soon as possible, but I'd rather have a bit of privacy for dressing."

"Oh! Sorry, sir." Red-faced, the boy made an about turn and fled the cubicle.

Severus raised his eyebrows at Poppy, and with another disdainful sniff, she vacated the area as well. He dressed slowly, as despite the Pepper-up and whatever else Poppy had force fed him, he was exhausted. But soon enough, he was ready to push aside the curtain and face the world -- or at least, this small portion of it -- again.

Harry was lingering just on the other side of the enclosure, and down near the double doors leading to the outside corridor was Lupin. Severus cast a sneer the werewolf's way, but his heart wasn't in it. Nothing like a near death experience to make certain truths quite clear. And one of them was that life was too short to put too much energy into maintaining old feuds.

"Come along, Harry," he said as he made his way toward the double doors and freedom.

Harry gaped at him for a moment, but then did as he was told, and followed Severus out of the hospital wing.

"See you later then, Harry?" Lupin said as they passed him by.

"Er, yeah, Remus. Okay." But the boy's shoulders twitched up as he said it, and Severus knew he was uncomfortable with the idea of being in anyone's presence. Well, that would come with time, like everything else. Time they were running out of, unfortunately. Classes would start up again in less than four weeks, and Harry needed to be ready to face other students by then.

They walked down to the dungeon in silence. Severus hesitated briefly at the warded entrance to his quarters. Harry had never come in this way, at least not consciously, and he wasn't altogether sure he wanted the boy to know the password. But . . . well, if Harry was going to be here till September 1st, he probably should know how to get inside.

"Give me your hand," he said, and Harry looked at him askance. "I'm not going to bite it. The door needs to recognize you, and you'll need to put your hands on a particular spot for it to do so. Unless you fancy lingering about in the hallway whenever I'm not available to let you in?"

"No, sir! I mean, yes, sir." Harry held out his hand.

Severus took it and pressed the boy's thumb and forefinger onto two nearly invisible indentations. "Serpentia extremitas," he murmured, and the door warmed to the new person's touch. "Now you'll be allowed to enter," he told Harry. "Just press those two spots again and say the password. Clear?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Give it a try."

Harry startled but pressed the two spots and mumbled his way through the Latin -- Merlin, his accent was atrocious! -- and the door swung inwards, revealing the sitting room once more.

"Tea?" Severus asked as the door shut on its own behind them. They were going to have to talk, and he'd found the boy did better if he had something in his hands that he could focus on.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Well aware of the routine, Harry collapsed onto the couch, looking tense already.

Severus suppressed a sigh and went about making tea for them. He glanced at the boy while he set up a tray, and wondered what was going on in that knobbly head of his. More self-recriminations, he was sure.

Back in the sitting room, he waited while the boy adjusted his tea with sugar and cream, waited for him to blow on the drink a bit, waited till the boy took a tentative sip and then finally met his gaze.

"Well," Severus said. "That was an adventure I don't care to repeat."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry blurted. "I didn't realize you . . . I didn't know your broom . . . I'm sorry I almost killed you."

"I daresay. That wouldn't look good on your transcript at all."

Harry gaped at him again. This was getting old. "Did you . . . are you joking?"

"Naturally. I would hope that your transcript would be the least of your concerns in the event of my untimely demise."

"Yes, sir! I didn't mean to put you in danger, I just . . ."

"You just what, Harry?" he asked softly. "What were you doing, going up like that?"

The boy stared at his teacup with an intensity Severus seldom saw in him, ever. "I'm just so cold, Professor. Everything feels . . . I feel like I'm in a dungeon. His dungeon, and I can never get warm. I just wanted to feel warm again."

"I see." He took a sip of his own tea, letting it sit in his mouth a moment before swallowing. "You do realize, of course, that the higher you go, the thinner the air, and thus, the colder it becomes."

Twin blotches of red appeared on the boy's cheeks. "Yes, sir. I know. Or, I knew that, but it . . . it didn't seem real, not until I felt you fall away."

Severus frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know, exactly. Just, when I was blind, and we were there, I could tell where other wizards were, from their magical . . . signature, I guess. That's what I've been calling it. It's how I knew where to aim when we were trying to escape."

"And how you knew when I'd awoken, later," Severus said softly.

"Yes."

Severus waited, but it seemed the boy was not ready to go on about Topsham, yet. "And so today . . ."

"Today, I felt you following me, but it wasn't till I realized that you'd stopped that I figured it out. About the sun, I mean, and not being able to touch it, really." Harry turned the cup around in his hands. "It was weird, what I was feeling. But then, once you were gone . . . I was just afraid."

"Afraid that you'd killed me."

Harry nodded, but remained silent.

"Well. I bear at least part of the responsibility for that," Severus admitted. When the boy looked at him in shock, he waved his hand lightly. "We hadn't set any limits for you in the vertical plane. I should have done so, to avoid any confusion. I shall rectify that oversight before we fly again, I assure you."

The boy's mouth moved, not unlike a large fish. "Are . . . are you serious? I almost killed you, and all you say is that you should have told me not to?"

"Not exactly. I should have told you not to go above a thousand meters, for instance. Then there would have been a rule that you would have broken, and we could deal with the consequences of that. This," he waved his hand again, "was merely a miscommunication."

"Aren't you going to send me away?" Harry's emotions were splayed all over his face; he'd never make an Occlumens this way. They'd have to work on that. "To St. Mungo's?"

"Have you broken any of our rules?"

"N-no, sir."

"Well, then, why should I send you away?"

Harry shook his head, as if trying to wrap his mind around a difficult concept. "Because I almost killed you!"

"But you didn't. And, in fact, I believe Madam Pomfrey, for one, is under the impression that you saved my life. So." He inclined his head. "Thank you."

A bark of a laugh escaped the boy's throat, and he looked torn between laughing more, or perhaps bursting into tears. Severus prepared to Reparo something, if need be. "I will never understand you, Professor," Harry said at last.

"Good," Severus replied. It would never do to be predictable.