Snape turned, scanning every shrub, every bush in the vicinity. If the boy was playing a childish prank on him, he’d –

“Harry! Come back at once!”

Fang whined again, ducking down as if he wanted to melt into the ground. The dog’s tail was tucked so firmly between his legs that it was barely visible.

“Mr. Potter, if you’re laboring under the assumption that you are being funny, you will-”

He broke off. There had been a sound apart from the dog’s whining, and Snape could not pretend that he had not heard it.

Keening. Keening like that of an injured animal, coming from somewhere above his head.

Snape looked up, and there he was. Sitting on the branch of an oak tree, eyes closed, his trainers dangling ten feet over the ground. And there was that noise, coming from the boy’s half-open mouth and at the same time from everywhere around them, and from within Snape’s own mind.

“Harry!”

The boy’s eyes snapped open, and they were white and empty, as Snape had known they would be.

Severus! the voice mocked him, imitating his concern. Dear Severus. Well met, my friend.

Snape’s fingers closed around his wand, and he looked into those white eyes, those eyes he’d seen red with insanity and bloodthirst. “Harry,” he said. “Look at me.”

I am looking at you, Severus. And I can see more than you know. The boy is nothing, Severus. A shell. It is I who gave him a reprieve, I who talk through him, act through him. Without me, this body would be nothing but dust and bones.

The thing smiled, distorting the child’s face into a spasmodic grimace. Then it pushed itself off the branch and dropped like a stone, landing hard on the path below. Snape saw Harry’s leg impact with a root, heard the sharp crack as the bone broke, but the thing didn’t even flinch. It rose, claw-like hands outstretched, a trickle of blood making its way down from Harry’s nose and past his lips.

One chance, Severus. Lord Voldemort is merciful. One last chance to do as you swore you would, all those years ago. You do not want to break your promise, do you?

“No, I do not.” Snape stepped forward and grabbed Harry’s shoulder, ignoring the blistering pain in his hand and the enraged shriek from the thing. “Harry, listen to me! Listen to me! Look at me.”

Suddenly the white eyes closed and snapped open again, now green and wild with pain and terror.

“Pro-professor…”

“Stay with me, Harry. Do not-”

“Protelo!”

A loud crack ripped the silence, and Harry’s shoulder was torn from Snape’s grip as the boy was blasted back and fell hard onto the ground. Snape turned. Dumbledore was standing on the path behind him, surrounded by that aura of power that seemed to pulse with raw magic.

“Albus, don’t!” Snape stepped forward, trying to shield Harry. “He was speaking to me-”

“Step aside, Severus!” Dumbledore raised his wand again.

“Albus, listen!”

Yes, Dumbledore, listen.

Snape turned around. The thing had clambered back to its feet, standing on the broken leg as if it could not feel the pain. Blood was dripping down from its nose, and it was smiling, a horrible, twisted smile.

You cannot harm me, old man. I am getting stronger. You can feel it, can you not?

“You are fooling yourself, Tom. What you have is an illusion of strength, an illusion of life-”

Illusion? the thing shrieked, and suddenly it was rushing forward, its face contorted with insane rage. It pushed Snape aside without so much as a flick of its wrist and went for Dumbledore, directly at his outstretched wand.

“Protelo inimicum!”

The force of the spell shook the ground, and Snape lost his balance, stumbling backwards. Harry’s body was flung back again, but this time he did not hit the ground. There was a flash of blinding light, a shriek of both triumph and malice, and then Harry was gone, so suddenly as if he’d disapparated.

Dumbledore lowered his wand. “Severus, are you-”

“Where is he, Albus?”

“Not far,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I can sense Him…”

“The boy, Albus! Where is the boy? I don’t give a bloody damn about the Dark Lord!”

Dumbledore looked at him with a mixture of sadness and something else, something Snape refused to recognize as affection. “My boy, at the moment, Harry follows wherever Tom chooses to go. And Tom, I believe, has only one destination in mind.”

Snape stared at him. “The Stone.”

“Yes. I had thought Protelo would keep him at bay, but it seems that Tom has found a way around it. And now…”

“-he’ll take the Stone.” Come back to life. Create a body, or even worse, take the one already at his disposal. Kill-

“Not if we reach him first.” Dumbledore held out an arm, a silent request for Snape to hold onto it. “If you would, Severus…”

Snape asked no questions. He reached out for Dumbledore’ arm, and as soon as his fingers had closed around the old man’s wrist, they were gone without so much as a sound, the only sign of their departure a few dry leaves that swirled up from the ground.

Fang, who had been watching from behind a tree, whined uncertainly and then shook himself, setting off in a trot towards Hagrid’s cabin.