"For the love of god, Potter, stop pacing around the damn room."  Snape was flicking through a tourist map of the city that he'd gotten at the airport, marking off certain spots with his wand.  Harry was walking back and forth between his bed and the bathroom.

"When are we leaving?"  Harry asked suddenly, scratching the back of his neck.   Snape gave him an odd look.

"Saturday evening."  Snape held his wand above the Amstel canal. "There is an open air market on Saturday morning we are going to."

The look of relief on Harry's face was not missed.

"Even though you got what you wanted from Ms. Benson?"  Harry had sat on the bed and was now swinging his legs enthusiastically.

"Yes. Do you not have any other way to burn off that ridiculous energy?"

"I had a good nap." Harry shrugged.  "Do you think the stars will be out tonight?"

"I have no idea."  Snape replied, flipping through the guidebook that had been given to them from the front desk.

"Isn't it weird how some people live from hotel to hotel to hotel? It's like they have no permanent home."  Harry was lying back now, smacking his palms against the bedspread. Snape gritted his teeth.

"For some the word means nothing more than where they rest their head."  There was a small flash of light and Harry suddenly found a Rubik's cube sitting beside him.

"No more questions until you solve that."  Snape stated, with a glare that was completely wasted as Potter had already picked up the toy to start fiddling with it.

--

On Friday morning Snape surprised Harry by taking him on one of the guided boat tours through the city.  Sitting uncomfortably in the bench seats, Snape looked out the windows with slight interest at the buildings and landmarks being pointed out to them.  He was dressed in a nice pair of grey slacks and a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. The Dark Mark was covered with a medical wrap, and he rested his arm on the bag from Waterstones' bookstore by his side.  They'd stopped there on their way to the boats, Snape sending Harry to the comic book section before he asked the shopkeeper for assistance.  He was pleased with how impassive he'd kept his face when he'd inquired about books dealing with reoccurring nightmares, but was curious as to why he'd blushed, blushed of all things instead of scowled, when he was pointed toward the parenting section of the store.

The ride lasted for about an hour, and was rather peaceful when one ignored the multilingual speeches about the different landmarks. Harry was rather subdued as he tried to not be interested in the sights from the boat and Snape kept his smirk mostly hidden to allow Potter his proper sulk.  They'd gotten into a row that morning over disguises, Potter being of the opinion that since the mission was successful, he should be allowed to change back to a fifteen year old.

Snape had calmly started to tick off the names of wizards who were out to capture or harm Potter, the odds of that happening when he was so far away from his blood wards, and the percentage of people in the Wizarding part of Amsterdam that would recognize him.  The numbers were fabricated, but Harry didn't know that and Snape, regardless of how well Potter had played his part, refused to be disobeyed.

Unfortunately, before Snape could finish his calculated speech on why he knew best, Harry had stormed off to the washroom to take a shower, leaving Snape to wonder when the brat had become less afraid of him.

Now though, as their lunch was delivered to their table at the small café, he noticed that Harry was acting more reserved than defiant. Almost as if he were protecting himself from something unpleasant to come. 

"To accomplishment."  Snape held up his glass of water in a small toast.  He watched as Potter's head snapped up and a moment of unguarded happiness lit up his eyes.

"So, I did well on the mission?"  Harry was playing with his fork and staring over Snape's shoulder, an annoying habit that he had when he was nervous.

"You were...passable." Snape said after a moment's consideration. He did not bother to hide the little quirk of his lips when Potter's eyes focused on him.

"Do you think you might tell Dumbledore that? You know, in case there are any others..." Harry trailed off, his cheeks blushing, and his eyes oddly wet.  Snape did not believe he could be fighting tears.

"Headmaster Dumbledore." Snape corrected automatically.  "And I would have thought you'd want to rush back to spend the rest of the summer with your friends, Potter."

"I guess. But helping you with this made me feel a bit useful towards the war, if you know what I mean."  Harry tried to shrug nonchalantly.

"I suppose." Snape pondered, pausing from his lunch and putting aside his cutlery. 

"The last time I tried to help, Sirius was killed. This time I did something right." Harry pushed his plate forward, appetite long gone.

Snape studied the boy in front of him. Physically a six year old, but the voice and the mannerisms were much older, and he more practiced at keeping himself together than he should have been.

"You're still grieving."  Snape said, his tone rather soft compared to his usual. "The Dark Lord has bent the will of many weaker wizards; he would have lured you to the ministry one way or another."

It was Snape's roundabout way of saying Sirius' death was not his fault, but Harry gritted his teeth anyway. After half a year of Snape telling him that he was useless at occlumency, Harry couldn't help but feel that falling for the trap had brought about his godfather's death.

"So I'm doomed to be the victim then? I'm terrible at occlumency, which you've told me many times. It's my fault he was there, my fault he risked his life, my fault he paid for it."  Tears were starting to fall, and Harry swiped them angrily with his sleeve.

"Stupid kid's body. And of course I'm still grieving! I finally had a godfather I was getting to know and then in just one minute he was gone! No warnings, no goodbyes, just gone."  Harry rasped out the last bit and snatched the handkerchief Snape was holding out. It had been a long time since Harry had cried in public and he was frustrated that he couldn't control it now.  He didn't notice that Snape seemed unsurprised about the outburst.

Snape leaned forward and spoke in a low tone, one that chilled Harry to his spine. It wasn't fully the voice, but also the pained expression on Snape's face.

"So instead of just enjoying your happiness up until the moment he died, you would rather have known a year beforehand that he was going to die, and that there was nothing you could do to stop it?"

There was resignation in Snape's eyes, and Harry shifted in his seat as he processed the look and realized Snape was not speaking hypothetically.

"Who..." Harry started, but was cut off when Snape gruffly waved his hand.

"Never mind and finish your lunch. You'll need more muscle for the next mission and you look like a little runt right now."

Snape pulled open a De Telegraaf newspaper that had been left on the chair beside him and tried to ignore the fact that making Potter's lost puppy look go away made him feel slightly better as well.

Harry sat quietly and tried to eat the rest of his sandwich, as he thought about how many people Snape knew, which was quite a lot, and how many Snape would actually be disturbed about their impending death, which was startling few.   The rest of lunch was eaten mechanically, and Harry thought about what he'd next get to do on their second mission to forget the unpleasantness that his original thoughts had implied.

--

The summons came at eight pm, just after Harry and Snape had returned to the hotel room after dinner.  Snape had been considering going for a walk in the warm evening, but when his arm started to give it's ten minute warning burn, all pleasant ideas were abandoned and Snape jumped into his emergency mode.

Harry sat on the bed looking a bit bewildered as Snape moved carefully around the room, placing a few wards silently on the windows and pulling a small bundle of vials from his suitcase. He tossed one at Harry, who caught it at the last moment out of reflex more than intent.

"Take it, and give me your watch." 

Harry took off the old watch Snape had first given him in Stockport and handed it over, before popping the cork off the vial.

"What is this?"  He asked, nervous now at how high strung Snape seemed to be.

"Antidote. You can protect yourself better when you're bigger."  Snape was not looking at him, but instead fiddling with something on the watch and pointing his wand at it.

"Can you make certain parts bigger than they were before?" Harry asked with a skittish attempt at a grin, kicking himself mentally. Stupid nervous habit.

Snape looked up and stared at him.

"Potter, don't be vulgar."  The watch was handed back and Snape enlarged Harry's clothes just in time for him to grow back to his normal size.

 "If the watch face turns red, press the knob at the side of the watch three times. It is a portkey to a safe location where I can find you. I will be back as soon as possible; stay in the hotel room. There is fifty euros on the table there that you can order yourself food with.  Do not hesitate to use magic if you need it."

Snape looked over Harry, who was rolling his own wand in his hand and staring around the room.  Snape's speech, and the fact that he seemed to be genuinely concerned about Harry's safety, unnerved Harry a bit further.

"Potter."  Harry gave Snape a smile that the elder took to mean ‘I'll be fine.'

Snape nodded and pulled his traveling cloak on. Four minutes to apparate to the Dark Lord before he sent the official summons.

"Don't stay up too late, and dream before bed." And with a crack, Snape was gone.

--

Harry paced around the hotel room, looking at the clock. How stupid.  Snape had left just half an hour ago for the meeting, and Harry wanted out. Out of the tiny hotel room, out of the hotel, out to walk around without Snape constantly reminding him he was a target.  He wanted out, but another part of him was scolding himself for wanting to break Snape's very valid order for him to stay inside.

And what was it with Snape always telling him to daydream before falling asleep? Granted, since he'd started doing that he'd not had a nightmare every night, but it was still a bit strange to have Snape telling him to do that. As if the man were even capable of pleasant daydreams.

Harry flopped on the bed and muttered darkly toward the ceiling. This was worse than living at the Dursleys - at least his escape from there was justified.  But here...he was in Amsterdam of all places. The city of sin!  And just like Hogwarts, the overwhelming urge to explore his surroundings was calling at him, but now he had some small guilty conscious nagging him to stay inside.

Thinking back over their conversation at lunch, however, made Harry change his mind a little.  Sirius had not known a moment before the end had come that his time was up. Sirius had lived for the moment, and from what Harry had heard of the adventures, had enjoyed most of the life he'd had outside of captivity.   What if this was to be Harry's last summer? What if this was his only time coming to Amsterdam?  Harry definitely didn't want his only memories of the place to be as seen through the perspective of a six year old.  And besides, only Snape and Dumbledore knew Harry was in Amsterdam, so the chances of anyone in the muggle world recognizing him were probably very slim.

Whomever Snape had been referring to at lunch as well, the person who'd been told he was going to die soon, would surely want to make the best of whatever time he had left.  Harry swallowed hard as he tried not to think of the prophecy and the fact that it was between him and one of the most powerful evil wizards in a few centuries to see who would come out alive.

Harry was not a betting man, but he didn't need to flip a coin to guess how that would come out.  However, speaking of coins...

Twenty minutes later and sixty flips of the twenty-eurocent piece that was sitting on the dresser, and Harry had his decision.  The Dutch Queen's portrait (which Harry thought looked a bit squarish and lacking of detail) had landed up thirty eight times, which meant he was going out.  Harry ignored the small heavy feeling in his stomach and stood up.  Snape hadn't come back yet, and considering he'd told Harry to go to bed early, he probably wouldn't be back for quite a while.

Looking around the room, Harry's eyes settled on the room service menu.  Snape had told him he could order something from room service.  That was certainly nice of Snape, Harry thought with a grin. Perhaps the Slytherin had been spending too much time with the Gryffindor, to be that nice.  Harry flipped through the menu, and found a small slice of apple pie that he could order, with some fresh juice. That would work.  Harry placed the order, and looked around the room to see what else he needed.

With wand and wallet stuffed into his jeans, Harry was fighting an internal debate as he waited for the room service to arrive. It wasn't cold enough to require a jacket, but Harry needed to look older than 15, and Snape's muggle jacket was just sitting there on the chair. To wear it or not...Harry's cheeks tinged slightly red when he imagined playing dress up and walking around in his professor's clothes, but then again, it would complete his image and he was vaguely aware of having worn an old nightshirt of Snape's the first night when he was so very drunk in Stockport.

Shaking that particular memory out of his head, Harry jumped when an impatient knock sounded at the door.  Grabbing the jacket and twisting it on, Harry also took some money and opened the door.  The attendant brought Harry's order in, and only looked vaguely surprised when Harry followed him to the door.

"Forgot something, chemist's."  Harry muttered with a forced blush.  The attendant merely shrugged, and accepted Harry's tip.  Harry followed him out the door and locked it securely behind him. No matter what spell Snape had put on the door, by going out with the attendant, Harry figured that Snape would never know that Harry had left for a bit.

At least, that's what he very much hoped.  Harry did up Snape's jacket, ignoring the pang of guilt he felt when he smelled the anise lingering on the jacket.  The night was rather warm, and people were milling about on the street in front of the hotel, laughing and talking loudly to one another.  Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and set off, looking determinedly like he belonged and was not one to be bothered.  Avoiding the errant teenagers cycling on the street, Harry headed up Kalverstraat towards the Dam, and towards the one area he was very eager to explore.

Ten minutes later, after a very brisk walk, Harry entered the Red Light District.

Harry sauntered up Oudezijds Voorburgwal, one of the main streets in the Red Light district that he'd remembered quickly glancing at the street sign for when Snape had whipped them through there earlier in the day.  At night it was completely different. Nearing 8 pm already, the streets were full of rowdy drunken tourists, mostly British Harry noted with a sour look on his face.  Pubs were full of lively and shouting people, and the sickly sweet smell of cannabis permeated through the air as he passed by the coffee shops. Harry walked with a brisk pace, not wanting to be caught by going too slow, and not wanted to get second-hand stoned.

He did, however, stop into a brightly lit smart shop that looked rather clean and open.  Neville had told Harry all about the muggle uses of mushrooms to create hallucinogenic dreams, and while he was a bit wary of what sort of horrors his mind could dredge up, it was interesting to see the varied types the muggles had cultivated. There was even a small menu with listed effects from each different kind of mushroom on it. Harry left the shop without purchasing anything, but feeling a bit less naïve.  He smiled down at the tattoo that had reappeared on his arm, and then walked with his head held a bit higher.  He was right to come out tonight; the Boy Who Lived Sheltered was finally getting out and seeing life outside the box.  Harry ignored the uneasiness he felt as he tried to keep constant vigilance toward everything going on around him.

He walked towards the old church, and found himself staring at the windows again, the red street lamps much more obvious in the fading light of day.  The women were dressed even more provocatively than before, some topless, and Harry clenched his teeth together to keep his jaw shut.  He must have kept his eyes on one set of windows too long, however, because the rather bored looking woman in a bright pink thong suddenly shouted to him.

"Hey boy! It's fifty euros for a fu..."

But Harry spun on his feet and walked quickly around the other side of the church, face burning. Perhaps it had been a stupid idea to come here at night.  Harry kept his eyes lowered, walking towards the edge of the District, back towards the Damrak.  The smell of fresh greasy chips invaded his nose, and Harry could see that this street was more for the tourists, lots of pubs spotted up and down the street, plus a few souvenir shops and sex shops.  The sex shops had Harry's attention, and he forgot momentarily about his urge to flee back to the hotel room. Instead, other fifteen-year-old urges popped to the forefront of his mind, and Harry remembered his mission.  He was a man, out on the town and he was going to have fun.  Before long, Harry found himself slipping into a shop that had bright fluorescent lights at the door, and a surprising amount of leather hanging from the ceiling.

The shop was narrow and had some booths for viewing, Harry speculated for a second before pretending they didn't exist. He moved to the back of the shop, where he'd spotted some magazines behind a huge wall of multi-coloured toys.  Though he felt like sneaking over, Harry knew he had to keep up appearances and so walked with purpose, as if going to a muggle sex shop was something he did once a month, as regular as paying rent or buying groceries.  He carelessly gave his ID to the clerk when requested, and with a small smile carried on to the magazines.  He thanked whatever god made the lights in the store tinged red, because he was sure his blush covered his whole face.

Harry scanned the multitude of magazines, skipping over the rather detailed fetish ones in favour of the regular and he supposed somewhat duller straight ones.  Half listening to the conversation at the counter where one man was loudly debating the quality of silicone in a rather vulgar looking sex toy - damn if the Dutch weren't ridiculously progressive - Harry finally found a magazine that looked like it would suit his purposes, well enough that merely flipping through it had made his trousers tight already.

Selecting another issue of the same series, Harry took a deep steadying breath and turned around, ready to march up to the cash register. He took one step forward, only to run into one black solid wall of very angry Severus Snape.

"Fuck."  Harry whispered, colour and blood leaving his face and pooling rapidly at his feet. He almost dropped the magazines, but a very painful grip had seized his right arm and Harry found himself frozen.

"You better have not." Snape growled, squeezing Harry's arm tighter and wrenching the magazines out of his hand. He shoved them back on the shelf before pulling Harry forward, heading for the exit. The shopkeeper was watching them carefully, wary of the confrontation.

"I...I can explain."  Harry mumbled, unable to look away from the angry black eyes that were glaring at him. Snape looked absolutely livid, and it was a look Harry never wanted to be on the receiving end of again.

The shopkeeper heard this and spoke over the man who was now talking about industrial grade silicone.

"You! You okay with that man?" 

Harry could tell that the shopkeeper was concerned, but it was only partially for him. Though he'd seen Harry's ID when Harry first walked in, potential minors in the store caused a lot of problems, as did people starting fights.

"Yeah. Fine, He's my..." Harry tried to sound nonchalant, but his knees were shaking and he knew it was a long walk back to the hotel room.

The man took one look at Harry's guilty and anxious face, to Snape's look of murderous calm.

"Ah, your dad. Stupid boy."  The man waved his hand dismissively and returned to the loud customer.  Snape dragged Harry out of the shop and they walked through the crowd in absolute silence.   The grip on his arm never lessened, in fact, Snape was using it to steer Harry and Harry knew that come morning his arm would have an impressive bruise in the shape of Snape's hand. He didn't say a word about it however, nor did he try to slow down his walk to prolong their arrival at the hotel, because somehow Harry knew that scrubbing cauldrons or windows would be the least of his punishment.

Snape, for his part, was completely silent as they marched back, to the point that Harry wasn't even sure if the man was fully breathing. Really, Harry wasn't sure how the night could get much worse, which was ironic considering how merely two hours earlier he thought it'd be the best night of his life.  Alone in Amsterdam, able to explore the dirtier side of the city, not needing to be the perfect innocent Boy Who Lived. Though he had to admit, it had been a little nerve wracking walking by himself through the drunken and debauched crowds, avoiding things he thought he saw in the shadows in the alleys.  At least for their walk back, people were giving the Boy Who Lived and the Evil Dungeon Bat a wide berth.

Harry wanted to snicker at that, but he valued his life for a little longer. He then cursed himself for feeling safer in the city with an angry Snape walking beside him.  He figured that Snape was walking him back to the hotel room instead of apparating, in order to give himself time to cool off.

Harry used the rest of the time to think of the best logical explanation for his very stupid idea of leaving the protection of the hotel room alone, and gulped when he saw the front door to the NH Hotel appear.

Time was up.