The sky was still dark the next morning when Severus apparated to a point just outside the wards surrounding the Weasley home. He'd appeared in the midst of a copse of trees shielding the Burrow from the sight of Muggles who lived in the nearby village. He scanned the area for any hint of intruders, already holding his wand aloft.

There were small skittering sounds and Severus remained frozen in place until he was sure it was only some woodland creature scurrying away and not signs of an unwanted visitor. Then he carefully picked his way across the mossy ground to a place where the trees thinned and opened into a small field.

At the edge of the clearing, he paused and waited. There was the barest whisper, "Finite," and suddenly Dumbledore appeared before him, wearing dull-colored brown robes and looking quite exhausted.

"Severus, I was not expecting you for another hour," he murmured.

The Potions professor humphed. "Good thing I came early. You obviously need to rest. Go back to Hogwarts, Albus. Everything will be fine here."

"Thank you, Severus. I know you will keep Harry safe for us." He hesitated. "You will remember you agreed to be kind, for my sake?"

"I did no such thing," Severus' lip curled in distaste at the idea. But seeing Dumbledore's sorrowful expression, he relented. "Very well, I shall refrain from injuring Potter's precious feelings. It's a moot point, anyway. I have no intention of walking up to the brat and wishing him a happy summer. "

Dumbledore just nodded and patted the younger man's arm before spinning lightly and Disapparating, leaving Severus alone. Casting a Disillusioning Charm over himself, he sat down and leaned back against the tree. It was a good spot. He was on a slight hill that afforded him a clear view of the lush field and garden surrounding the Burrow, as well as of the crooked house itself.

The house was dark and there were no signs of anyone else around. It was still very early and Severus expected it would be a couple of hours yet before the Weasleys awoke. He allowed himself to relax, just a tiny bit. Only to straighten again as a movement at the Burrow caught his eye.

Someone slipped out a side door and came across the garden and field. As he came closer, Severus could see that it was Potter himself.

The boy seemed to be heading directly towards him at first and the man started to stand, being very careful not to rustle the twigs or leaves on the ground. What was that blasted child doing? Didn't he know he was near the boundary of the protective wards? Had he somehow seen Dumbledore or Severus while they had been visible?

But then Potter veered off and sat down beside a nearby tree, not facing Severus but sideways from his invisible protector. The Potions professor slowly lowered himself back to the ground and watched the boy through narrowed eyes. What had Potter come out here to do?

Nothing, apparently. Potter just sat silently, hunched over with his elbows on his crossed legs. It was still cool before sunrise, and Severus had brought a cloak to keep warm. But Potter wore only a thin striped shirt and jeans. He didn't seem aware of the chill in the air, though. He just sat with his head bowed, staring sightlessly at the ground.

Potter had always been a scrawny little thing, but he seemed thinner than ever now. His dark hair was messy, as always, and his glasses seemed too big for his peaked face. It made him look younger than his almost-sixteen years.

Severus wondered at the boy's appearance. He'd heard rumors that Potter's relatives weren't always generous, although he doubted those stories. Just another of the brat's bids for sympathy and attention, he was sure. In any case, though, no one could say Molly Weasley skimped on meals. There was no reason for Potter to look half-starved.

Time passed, and Severus kept waiting for the boy to do something. Potter was not the meditative type, and Severus couldn't believe that he'd come out in the early morning darkness to just sit and brood. But apparently he had. Potter didn't move a muscle until almost two hours later when the sun peeked over the horizon and a light came on in an upstairs room at the Burrow.

Then he looked up and Severus couldn't help but note the pain in the boy's expression. Then Potter stood and squared his shoulders before heading back to the house, leaving the Potions professor feeling a mixture of suspicion and bewilderment.

***

Harry opened the side door and slipped inside the comfortable, cluttered kitchen. A moment later Mrs. Weasley came down the stairs wrapped in an old pale blue dressing gown. She jumped at the sight of him.

"Oh, Harry, dear, you gave me a fright. I didn't think anyone else was awake yet." She peered at him in concern and came over to touch his arm gently. "Are you all right?"

He would not cry. He would not let tears come to his eyes or a lump to his throat. They were all trying so hard to cheer him up, and after everything they had done for him, the least he could do was make them think they were succeeding.

"Yes ma'am," he lied. "I'm fine. I just woke up." Knowing it would please her, Harry added. "And I was hungry."

Mrs. Weasley beamed and hugged him quickly. "You have a seat then, dear. Breakfast is coming right up." She bustled over the oven and with a wave of her wand, a basket of eggs flew across the room and began cracking themselves into a frying pan. Harry obediently sat down at the table and a short while later Mrs. Weasley set a plate piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry told her and picked up his fork. He nibbled on a few bites and wondered how he could avoid eating all that food without hurting her feelings. It was delicious, of course, but he just wasn't very hungry. Mrs. Weasley had a hard time accepting that. She hadn't stopped fussing over him since he'd come last week, muttering under her breath about those ‘rotten beasts starving the poor child.'

For once, though, Harry had to admit that the Dursleys weren't to blame. They hadn't exactly been generous with food during the fortnight he'd been at Privet Drive, but they had given him adequate meals. Harry just hadn't been able to eat.

Luckily for him, Arthur Weasley rushed downstairs in a hurry to leave for work then. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny followed him, Ron still in pajamas. In the midst of the noise and confusion, Harry stood up and emptied his plate into the trash. Hermione saw him, but he gave her a fierce look and she sighed and turned away.

To placate her, Harry made sure she saw him pour a cup of juice from the big pitcher on the table and sat back down between Ron and Ginny.

"So, you want to play Quidditch again today?" Ron asked between enormous mouthfuls of food.

"Sure," Harry agreed.

"We could do something else, though, if you'd rather," Ginny offered. She been watching him closely, too, Harry realized, and perhaps had noticed that he was more upset than he wanted the others to know.

"No, really, I want to," he answered, more enthusiastically than before. "I need the practice if I'm going to be on the Gryffindor team again this year. I've hardly been able to play for the last two years."

Truthfully, Harry could care less if he ever played for Gryffindor again. It was funny that Quidditch had once been so important and now it meant nothing to him. How could he care about a game now that Sirius was dead?

Sirius had snuck in once, as Padfoot, to see him play, but Harry had dreamed of the day when his godfather could come freely to the stands and cheer him on. Now that would never happen.

But Ron and Ginny loved the pick-up Quidditch games in the field, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked less worried when Harry was zooming around on a broomstick, as if it were a sure sign that he was feeling better. It was the least he could do for them.

***

So much for peace and quiet, Severus thought dourly as the four teenagers trooped outside and entered the broom shed near the house. Potter, the two youngest Weasleys, and ah, Granger was there, too. Well, he shouldn't be surprised. The Golden Trio was practically joined at the hip. They did everything but breathe for one another.

They came back out of the shed, each carrying a broomstick, and jogged over to the field. Ron Weasley was also holding a rather battered wooden box. He knelt and released a Quaffle ball and a Snitch from it. The balls soared into the air, and the kids took off after them.

In spite of himself, Severus found he was watching them with interest. They seemed to have started off playing boys against girls, with Potter and the Weasley girl as Seekers, and Granger and the Weasley boy trying to shoot the Quaffle through makeshift goals at the ends of the field.

Potter was subdued. He was not going after the Snitch with anything resembling his old verve, but his natural talents as a flyer were still obvious. Of course, he is James Potter's son, Severus thought snidely. The Weasleys were quite good as well, which Severus had noticed at the games last year.

As long as his confidence was intact, Ron was swift and accurate, cheerfully scoring goals for his own team and blocking Granger's efforts with ease. And Ginny Weasley was gifted, Severus had to admit.

He wondered what would happen on the Gryffindor team now that Dumbledore had lifted Potter's Quidditch ban. Would rivalry over the Seeker position drive a wedge between Potter and the Weasley clan? No, that was doubtful. It was much more likely that one of them would simply try out for another spot.

It was interesting to see Granger be the least talented at something. She was an adequate flyer, but she didn't have the speed, agility, and daring that the others had.

Severus wondered if she would become upset, or if the others would become annoyed, at her lack of skill. But no, Granger just laughed at her mistakes, and while the Weasleys teased her a bit, it seemed good-natured. Potter was mostly quiet. He joined in the joking once in a while, but Severus thought his laughter sounded forced.

Mrs. Weasley brought out a big pitcher of lemonade and a platter of biscuits in the mid-morning, and the kids flopped to the ground to enjoy their snack. Severus conjured a glass of ice water for himself and sipped it gratefully.

The day had grown warm and he had shed his cloak long ago. The kids were all wearing lightweight Muggle attire, T-shirts and jeans, and the girls had their long hair pulled back in ponytails. Glancing down at his own long-sleeved shirt, Severus reflected wryly that the clothes that were perfectly comfortable in the cool dungeons were not the best choice for sitting outside in the sun all day.

By mid-afternoon, Severus had grown very tired of watching the kids play Quidditch. Didn't they have anything better to do? He knew he should have assigned more summer homework. They switched teams, switched positions, paused for lunch, and then played some more. When the heat of the day finally forced them back inside, he rejoiced.

He had a few hours of peace and quiet then. At dinnertime, Arthur Weasley came home, and Severus reached into an inside pocket of his cloak and pulled out a small bag containing a sandwich. He ate slowly and tried not to imagine the home-cooked meal the family inside was enjoying.

Molly had often cooked dinner after the Order meetings in Grimmauld Place last year, and Severus could remember delicious scents wafting through the kitchen and the comraderie as everyone gathered around the table.

Everyone except him, of course. He had his role as Voldemort's spy to maintain, after all. He couldn't have afforded to get chummy with the others. Even if sometimes he had felt the odd pang, watching them sharing stories and laughing together, putting aside the grim business of fighting a war long enough to enjoy one another's company.

But that was nonsense. He'd never needed anyone except himself, and that wasn't about to change. He certainly would never have wanted to spend one moment of unnecessary time with the crowd that had inhabited the old meeting place-Black and Lupin, and young Potter himself on occasion.

Severus' face hardened as he remembered his old enemies, and he drew his wand. Giving it a vicious wave, he summoned a sudden, fierce blaze of fire that burned the sandwich bag and disappeared, leaving a small pile of ashes at his feet. He put the wand away and glared furiously at the Burrow. Others could weaken themselves with companionship if they wanted. He'd learned long ago he was better off by himself.

Twilight fell, and Potter and his motley crew went out into the garden and began hunting under the bushes for gnomes. Severus rolled his eyes at the silliness as the Weasleys swung the little creatures around before sending them flying over the garden wall. Potter and Granger were more sober, going about the task in a brisk, business-like way.

Afterwards the four sat at an outside table and talked until the stars came out. They were too far away for Severus to make out their conversation, but he did note that Potter was by far the quietest of the bunch. When Molly Weasley poked her head out the door and called for them to come inside, he was first to stand.

Eventually the lights in the Burrow went out, and the night grew late. Severus reached for his cloak and pulled out a flask of Stimulant Elixir. He stood and walked around the field while drinking. It was good to stretch his muscles and he could feel the elixir chasing away his weariness. He would need to be especially alert now, he knew. Most Death Eater attacks occurred at night when the victims were likely to be asleep and have less chance of fighting back.

But the night passed peacefully, and Severus thought gratefully that he'd made it through the first day.

The next three days were carbon copies of the first one. Every morning Potter came out in the stillness before dawn to sit at the edge of the woods and brood. When the Weasley household stirred, he would return and a short while later he and his friends would come outside and spend the better part of the day playing Quidditch. There was no trouble, apart from the mind-numbing boredom, and Severus looked forward to Dumbledore's return.

Just before midnight of the fifth day, Severus heard a soft pop and looked around eagerly, expecting to see the headmaster. Instead Dumbledore's Patronus, a great silver phoenix, glided up to him and spoke, "Severus, I am most sorry, but I've been delayed. It's nothing to worry about, but I'll be a couple more days at least. I do apologize and call on Mundungus if you need to."

The Phoenix vanished as Severus swore under his breath. How dare Albus force him to take on this babysitting job, knowing how much Severus would despise it, and then not even return on time. What could have delayed him?

Anger was replaced with concern as Severus considered the possibility that his mentor could be in danger. Yes, Albus was the greatest wizard of the age, but he was not infallible, and with his injured hand, he was weaker than normal.

But Albus had said there was no reason to worry, and in any case Severus didn't know what he could do anyway. He had no idea where Albus was or what he was doing. The headmaster had been very close-mouthed about this latest project of his.

Severus sighed and rested his head in his hands. He was very tired. The Stimulant Elixir helped, but it was not a permanent substitute for sleep, and he had not rested for almost five days now. He had not wanted to call Mundungus Fletcher. Potter's safety was a crucial matter and he had expected Albus or perhaps Minerva to take over again by this point.

But they had not and Severus had to admit that he couldn't keep going much longer without some sleep. Reluctantly he pulled out own wand, cast his own Patronus, and sent it to Mundungus Fletcher's flat on Knockturn Alley.

A small mousy man in threadbare robes appeared quickly. Thankfully, he must have been at home and not out. "Need anything, Snape?"

Severus glared and Fletcher amended, "Um, Professor Snape."

"No, Fletcher. I thought my Patronus was lonely and sent it off to visit its friends," Severus drawled. Honestly, how could some people be so thick!

Rolling his eyes, he continued. "I must rest, and you'll have to take over here for a time."

Fletcher's eyes darted around the forest nervously. "But what if the Death-Eaters come? What if-"

His fingers were positively itching to draw his wand and send some minor little hex, or at the very least a Silencing Charm, towards the little rat. But that would not be conducive to getting some much needed sleep, so Severus restrained himself and said calmly, "In that case, you Apparate to safety and send a message to me at Hogwarts. Even you should be able to follow those simple directions, correct?"

"But what if-"

"There have been no signs of trouble," Severus interrupted firmly. He needed to get out of here before he completely lost his temper and did something he would regret. Or that Dumbledore would regret, at least.

Without waiting for any more of Fletcher's pathetic arguments, he spun and Disapparated back to the point just outside the wards at the castle.

***

Harry leaned back against the tree-his tree, he was beginning to think of it-and looked up at the dusky sky. The sun would rise soon, but for now stars still shone in the early morning darkness.

He noticed a particularly bright one and his heart shattered. Sirius. The Dog Star. Where are you now?

Harry blinked tears away and looked back down at the ground. Everyone said it would get better with time. But it wasn't. Sometimes it seemed like it was getting worse. Like his grief was some ferocious wild animal that would not stop until it had ripped him completely apart.

Sirius wouldn't want him to feel this way. Harry knew that. Sirius would want him to remember the good times they'd had (But there were so few good times and they should have had so many more!). Sirius would want Harry to honor his memory by going on with life and carrying on the fight against Voldemort.

But Harry was so tired of fighting. And it was so hopeless anyway. How could he possibly win against the greatest Dark wizard in centuries? He was just a kid, and he wasn't even a particularly strong wizard. Hermione was far more clever than he was. And the Death Eaters had almost killed her too, back at the Department of Mysteries last spring.

The Death Eaters had almost killed all of them. Hermione Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, himself-any one of them could have been killed, and probably would have been, if the Order hadn't shown up in time to save them. At the cost of Sirius's life.

And it was all his fault. And it would have been his fault if anyone else had died, too. He had been so stupid. No, he corrected himself. He had been stupid and arrogant, just like Snape was always saying. The Potions professor was right about him after all.

He'd refused to listen to warnings or reasonings. He'd been so sure that he was right, that Sirius was in danger and that no one would help him. And he'd almost gotten them all killed.

Harry realized that tears were sliding down his cheeks after all, and he brushed them away, looking down at the Burrow as he did so. Why weren't the Weasleys angry with him? They should be. He was always putting them in danger. One day one of them was going to die because of him and then they would hate him. But they wouldn't hate him as much as he would hate himself.

He needed to start distancing himself from them, and from Hermione, too. He was a marked man, but his friends shouldn't have to bear that burden with him. He needed to contact Dumbledore and ask to go somewhere else for the rest of the summer, even if it was back to the Dursleys. It was a small price to pay for his friends' safety.

"Stupify!" A harsh whisper broke the silence and suddenly Harry was frozen. Unable to move or speak, he could hear the terrified beating of his heart as several shadowy forms in robes, hoods, and masks slipped out from behind nearby trees and made their way to him.

One crouched beside him and roughly grabbed his hair. Her triumphant laugh was tinged with maniacal glee. "Come along nicely now, baby Potter. The Dark Lord has invited you to a celebration."