Find the path forward. The words stood out in Snape's mind as he strode from the dusty storage room in his chambers, up the stairs and toward the front gates of the castle.

Students were milling to and fro, gleefully carting their battered trunks. Promises to keep in touch over the summer echoed in the corridors. The sea of young bodies bubbled and churned in complete chaos.

Snape strode down the corridor towards the students.

The sea parted.

In the middle of the newly empty channel stood a lone first-year. He had his back to Snape, wiping at a jam stain on his robes.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the obstruction.

Another first-year reached out and grabbed the boy's arm. The child let out a yelp as he was yanked out of the way.

Snape swept by without uttering a word. He allowed himself a slight smile of satisfaction. The first-years were quite well trained by the end of term.

At the castle gates, students were boarding the carriages bound for the Hogwarts Express.

Snape watched them warily. Normally he was content to spend the last day of term alone in his chambers, relieved to be away from the shouts and the clomping feet. But he had grown impatient waiting for a summons from Dumbledore. And beyond that...something had drawn him outside.

He heard the pleasant rumble of the headmaster's voice and turned his head.

Dumbledore was standing with his back to Snape. The headmaster moved slightly, and got a view of who he was talking to: Harry.

Snape started, taking an involuntary step backward. Then he cursed himself for such a visceral reaction. The boy had an uncanny ability to manipulate him into displaying his emotions. And not simply anger, but emotions from deep, raw places in which he didn't care to dwell. The sooner the boy went back to his own world, the better. With that in mind, he approached Dumbledore and the boy slowly.

Harry was standing between the headmaster and the sandy stones of the castle wall. His head was down and his arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, in stark contrast to the happy students milling about. As Snape approached he heard a snippet of their conversation.

"You don't need to go to the trouble," Harry was telling the headmaster. "I don't see the point, now that-" He stopped abruptly when he saw Snape.

Snape eyed the two of them. "What are the two of you discussing?"

"Nothing," Harry said promptly. There was a flash of anticipation in the boy's eyes, but it was gone quickly. "Hermione told me you never see the carriages off, but I thought...I mean, is there a reason you're here? Did you need to see me about something?" he asked.

Snape's throat felt strangely dry. After that first detention, the chattering, playful Potter had disappeared. He had been replaced by a boy who spoke only when spoken to, with answers so short they verged on churlishness. But he let it go, all too grateful for the blessed silence. And yet, Snape still caught him staring, a wishful light in his eyes. A light that was still flickering when the boy asked his question.

It was that kernel of hopefulness that galled Snape. He was not taking the boy in for the summer. The idea was absurd. Potter was clearly trying to make him feel guilty over something that was not Snape's responsibility. He was not having it. "My comings and goings are no concern of yours."

"Right," muttered Harry, casting his eyes back toward the ground. "Just professor and student."

Dumbledore looked at Snape, as if he expected him something of him.

A vague desperation stabbed at Snape, but he couldn't discern the cause. He thrust a hand into his pocket to hide the clenching of his fist. His fingers closed around a small, round potion ingredient that felt cool and comforting in his hand.

The boy still had his arms wrapped around himself. Dumbledore was looking back and forth between the two of them.

Snape felt as though he had been put on the spot. He cleared his throat. "Would you...like more fruit?"

The boy glared at him. "No, I don't want any bloody fruit!"

His reluctance to reprimand the boy evaporated. "Potter..."

Harry held himself rigid. "There's just the three of us here. No need to call me that."

"Harry," Dumbledore chided. "There's nothing wrong with the name Potter."

"It's not my name," said Harry. He looked at Snape. "Why won't you call me by my name?"

Snape was sweating. He was sure the boy was responsible. Snape brushed at his robes awkwardly. "It is time I bid you farewell."

Harry grunted. "You once..." he stopped, shaking his head. "That is, my dad once told me that farewell was a blessing to travelers. To be safe. You know, to fare well."

Snape sighed impatiently. "Is there a reason you are critiquing my every utterance?"

"I just don't want you to say things to me you don't mean."

Snape clenched his jaw. "Fine. Leave."

Harry studied him. "You can't be that different from him. You can't be."

"You'll miss your carriage," said Snape.

"My dad once told me that the hardest and best thing he ever did was to start a family. To let himself love us, and to let himself be-"

"It is too late!" exploded Snape. "It is too late for me to...to..." He took a shuddering breath, and let it out slowly. "It is...late. You should go."

Harry looked at him sadly. Then he turned and left.

"The boy's quite perceptive about matters of the heart," said Dumbledore.

"There is only one avenue that I wish to discuss when it comes to Potter," Snape growled.

The headmaster sighed. "And what have you discovered about Harry's chances of returning to his world?"

Snape pressed his lips together and stared bleakly forward.

Dumbledore nodded. "I feared as much. I was hoping we would be able to return Harry before the term ended, but..." He gestured toward the carriages. "You can find no connection at all between the worlds?"

Snape shook his head. "Whatever brought him here has closed and disappeared." He hesitated. "I did find one passage that recounted such an event." He handed the headmaster a copy of the passage. He'd already memorized it:

A weary traveler fell in the forest

And when he woke, the trees were known, yet not

Reflections of another wood

And so the traveler wandered

Lost in the familiar

And then he saw

The path forward was the path back

The guide needed was closer than close

She guided him down the path

But the first step taken was his alone

"Rather vague, isn't it?" Dumbledore murmured.

Snape nodded. "I've been driven nearly mad by the number of record keepers who were frustrated poets." He rubbed at his temples. "I'll do further research over the summer, of course." He hated to ask, but the need was inevitable. "You can summon the boy to Hogwarts, should I need to examine him further?"

"I'm afraid not," said Dumbledore. A smile danced across the old man's lips. "Fumigation."

Snape took a moment to process that. "Fumigation. At Hogwarts. For what?"

"Wrackspurts."

"Wrackspurts," repeated Snape.

"One of the younger students told me about them. Apparently they can infest the brain and induce fuzzy thinking."

"I see. Have you been infested, then?" asked Snape.

Dumbledore hitched an eyebrow.

"I only ask out of concern, Headmaster," said Snape.

"Hmm. Well, in any case, the school will be closed for several weeks over the summer."

"Then where am I supposed to perform examinations of the boy?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Dumbledore fingered his beard thoughtfully. "He only needs to spend a short time at the Dursleys to maintain the protective wards, you know."

"Don't start up again." Snape looked toward the carriages to see Harry staring at him. The boy caught his eye and glanced away.

"He's different from the other one," said Snape. "There is anger, but also...anxiety."

"More empathic." said Dumbledore. "He's taken on his father's worries."

Snape wondered about the man he would have become but for a twist of chance. How could any man with his name capture the look in those green eyes? As a child, he had searched desperately for such a lifeline. But now...

The carriages creaked into motion. The headmaster gave a final wave to the departing students. Harry sat hunched, staring hungrily back at the school.

"That passage brings up an interesting point," said Dumbledore. "A lost soul needs a guide."

Snape breathed deeply as the line of carriages curled out of sight. He didn't want to identify the reason for the constriction in his chest. "He wants the impossible."

"You underestimate yourself."

Snape blew out a soft snort.

"You excel at deftly spotting the worst people are capable of. It has made you an invaluable asset to me in the coming war." Dumbledore turned toward Snape, his face lined with concern. "But you can be blinded when it comes to seeing the best that people are capable of. Perhaps that is something on which to reflect."

Snape shrugged uncomfortably. He felt like a student who was expected to answer a difficult question correctly. "I've noted that the boy has some good qualities."

"But you do not reflect on them. Nor consider what they mean for his potential." Dumbledore clasped his hands in front of him and leaned back, tilting his face toward the sun. "However, I was not, in fact, referring to Harry with my suggestion."

Snape grunted, the light dawning. "You meant self-reflection."

The headmaster hummed a small, satisfied noise. "It's a superb place to start."

With a gentle pat on the back, Dumbledore reentered the castle. Snape remained outside He heard the whistle of the Hogwarts Express. A puff of steam rose into the sky in the direction of Hogsmeade Station. The students would soon be on their way home.

His thoughts wandered to the house at Spinner's End. If he had to deal with the boy there, then so be it. It would be purely for diagnostic research, and the information he gathered would allow him to be rid of the child that much sooner. He felt an easing of the tightness in his chest and nodded, reassured that this was the correct decision.

The rumbling of the Hogwarts Express grew fainter until it faded into the hills. Soon, it was impossible to hear the distant engine over the chirping of the birds and the whisper of the warm summer breeze.

It was only when there were no more students on which to focus that he was reminded how misplaced he was at Hogwarts: a lone dark figure squinting balefully at the empty, sun-soaked grounds. And yet, no matter how ill-suited he was for his role here, he couldn't bear the thought of being anywhere else.

He turned on his heel and treaded into the dim light of the castle, to prepare for the long months of the summer holidays. His mind visualized a dark-haired boy in a train compartment, and he found himself turning over those words again: find the path forward.