By the time the last bird was winging its way back over the horizon, they were ankle-deep in scrolls and packages.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Severus waved his wand to dispel the ward he’d put up and to separate out all the mail. Most of it appeared to be his, but one lone envelope floated its way over to Potter, who grasped hold of it with a look of pathetic eagerness on his face. Severus cringed internally. He knew that feeling. He’d had that feeling when he was young.

He noticed that Potter didn’t mention the fact that he only had one letter, when he’d sent several out. Maybe the tantrum will come later, he mused. If he was really lucky, Potter would still be with either Poppy or the Headmaster when it arrived.

“Come along, Potter,” he said, gathering all his own mail together. “Madam Pomfrey is still waiting for you.”

Albus met them in the entranceway, beaming at them as though he hadn’t seen either of them since the term had ended. “Welcome, my boys!” he greeted them, cheerfully. “At least we know that whoever set that ward isn’t strong enough to overcome Hogwarts.” He reached out and patted the nearest stone wall, lovingly. Severus barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead just sighed.

“That’s as may be, Albus, but we are not remaining here,” he reminded the old wizard. “So if you could find a way of removing the ward before we leave . . . ?”

“I will see what I can do,” Albus said, still smiling. “Perhaps you could visit me in my office once you have delivered Harry into Poppy’s care.”

Severus wished heartily that Albus would not try to disguise his orders as simple requests. “Of course, Headmaster,” he responded, inclining his head in agreement. Looking around for Potter, he beckoned to the boy and made towards the grand staircase.

It took them no time at all to reach the fourth floor. It wasn’t until Severus heard Potter trip that he realised the brat kept turning back to look at the staircases. “Problem, Potter?” he asked.

“Umm, don’t the staircases usually move?” Potter asked, righting himself and then turning to look backwards once again. He then appeared to realise just what he’d said – or hadn’t said, to be more accurate – and hastily swung his head back around to look at Severus. “Um, sir,” he added, a dull flush creeping over his cheekbones.

Severus made a small noise that he would in no way class as a snort. He began moving towards the Hospital Wing again, hearing Potter scramble to keep up behind him. “The staircases don’t move during the summer, Potter,” he tossed over his shoulder. “With only a few staff remaining, there’s no need. Quite a bit of Hogwarts’ magic goes dormant when the castle is not in use.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Potter’s head twisting about, no doubt trying to discern what had changed. He rolled his eyes, but they’d reached the Hospital Wing by now, so he refrained from berating the boy. Instead, he opened one of the double doors, then placed a hand on Potter’s shoulder and pushed him inside.

“Poppy!” he bellowed towards the back of the Infirmary, where the matron had her office. “Sit there, Potter, and do not move,” he added, pointing a finger at one of the beds. Starting to look vaguely worried, Potter hoisted himself up onto the end of it, and sat, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

“Well, really, Severus, it’s about time,” Poppy started as she bustled out of her office. She caught sight of Potter, and smiled. “Hello, Mr Potter.”

“Madam Pomfrey,” Potter murmured, but Poppy was already turning back to Severus. He held up a hand to prevent any explosion that might be forthcoming.

“You said you had a list of potions for me?” he asked. The matron huffed, but grudgingly turned towards her office, waving her wand. A small, tightly-bound scroll floated out of it. Severus plucked it out of mid-air as soon as it got close enough to him. He didn’t bother checking it, but added it to the pile of mail he already had. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Headmaster,” he said.

As he turned and left the Hospital Wing, he could hear Poppy beginning to cluck over Potter like a mother hen. Shaking his head, he strode towards the Headmaster’s office.

During the summer, the Headmaster’s office remained open, with the gargoyle that normally protected it being placed on the outside of the castle, just above the entrance doors. Severus was grateful for that, as it meant he didn’t have to spend ages trying out the name of every blasted candy known to man – or known to Albus – to gain entrance.

Inside the office, Albus was sitting behind his desk, staring glumly at two pieces of parchment, side by side in front of him. He glanced up at Severus’ entrance and brightened slightly. “Alas, the ongoing hunt for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor never gets any easier,” he said, waving a hand for Severus to take the chair in front of his desk.

“You have that many candidates?” Severus asked, lowering himself into the chair gingerly. Albus always preferred deceptive-looking chairs that looked as though they were solid wood, but had the consistency of an overstuffed armchair, leaving the visitor feeling as if the chair was likely to swallow them at any time.

“If only I did; all my problems – or this particular one, at least – would be solved,” Albus said. He gestured at the parchment. “No, this is the curriculum vitae of the only candidate who applied for the post.”

“The only one?” Severus repeated, raising an eyebrow. He’d known that Albus had been finding it harder and harder to find candidates for the role, but hadn’t realised the rumours about it being cursed had spread that widely.

“Mmm,” Albus agreed, then made a little moue of disappointment. “It’s not someone that I would have picked had I a choice, but alas, needs must.”

“Who is it?” asked Severus, trying to bring to mind every person associated with the Dark Arts or the Defence thereof that he knew about.         

“His name is Gilderoy Lockhart,” said Albus, glumly.

“Gilde—” Severus’ mouth fell open. “Lockhart?! The author?!” he demanded, incredulously. Despite the fact Lockhart was a decade older than Severus, Slughorn had been very effusive about the success of one of his ‘Slug Club’, and a small portrait of Lockhart graced the Slytherin common room. Unfortunately for the rest of Slytherin, either Slughorn or Lockhart himself had imbued the painting with a permanent sticking charm, thereby ensuring that every successful generation was treated to the vapid glibness of the poncy git. Severus himself had tried his best to create a potion that would destroy the portrait, but had only managed to burn a small hole in the middle of the canvas, leaving the painted Gilderoy to peer out around the blackened edges of it.

“The very same,” Albus confirmed, heaving a sigh.

“Albus, you cannot hire Lockhart!” Severus protested. “The students won’t learn anything aside from how to style their hair! Merlin, even that dratted pet werewolf of yours would be a better teacher!”

“Hmm, funny you should say that . . .” Albus shuffled the parchment off to the side, avoiding Severus’ gaze.

“What . . . ?” Severus blanched. “Merlin’s beard! Albus, tell me you aren’t planning what I think you are!”

Albus’ eyes were suddenly twinkling at him, and Severus felt the sudden urge to bang his head against Albus’ desk until it all went away. “Planning, Severus? Why, I have no idea what you mean.”

“You mean to bring that mangy, begotten wolf here as a teacher!” Severus pointed his finger at the Headmaster. “You think the Board of Governors will let you get away with that? You think Lucius will let you get away with that?” Severus shook his head. “Much as I don’t like the students, I wouldn’t want to see any of them mauled to death.”

Albus snorted. “Of course the children will be safe,” he said. “You’ll be brewing the Wolfsbane for Remus.”

“I – what?” Severus shook his head. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. I’ll be doing what?”

“Brewing Remus’ Wolfsbane Potion for him,” Albus repeated. “Every month.”

“And I suppose I’ll be getting a pay rise to compensate, too, will I?” asked Severus, dryly.

“Now, Severus, it’s not as though you’d be buying the ingredients out of your own pocket,” said Albus, giving him a disapproving look.

“No, just using up more of my own time,” was the response.

“Well, we have a year to sort things out,” said Albus, in what was supposed to be a soothing manner, but which just infuriated Severus. “Now, about that potion I need . . .”

Harry watched as Snape caught the little scroll and tucked it under his arm with his other parcels. “If you’ll excuse me,” the professor drawled, already turning sharply on his heel. “I have a meeting with the Headmaster.” And with his robes snapping out behind him, Snape stalked out of the Hospital Wing.

“Well, now, Mr Potter,” started Madam Pomfrey, “if you’d just sit back on that bed for me – there we go,” she added as she plumped up the pillows. “– then I can check you over.”

Warily, Harry shuffled himself backwards towards the top of the bed. His letter, still clutched tightly in his hand, rustled as he moved. From the writing, he guessed it was from Neville. He had been so thrilled to receive any mail, but now he wondered why there wasn’t anything from Ron or Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey was suddenly beside him, plucking the letter from his hand, and Harry jumped, startled. “I’ll just put this here, dear,” she said, kindly, laying it on the table beside his bed. “Now, just lie still; it’ll be over before you realise I began.”

Harry resisted the urge to glower at her. Honestly, does she think I’m five or something? he thought, churlishly, as the matron waved her wand in a complicated spiral pattern over him.

He was jolted out of his thoughts – because he was in no way descending into a sulk like the five year old he’d just thought of – by the soft lights flashing over him, ranging from green to orange to a pale blue.  And then, with a sound between a pop and a sizzle, they all winked out at once.

“Good,” said Madam Pomfrey, briskly. “Perhaps a little anaemic, but we can soon sort that.” A little bottle came flying out of her office even as she spoke, and she neatly caught it and handed it to Harry. “Drink up, Mr Potter,” she ordered. 

Eyeing it warily – it had the kind of purple colour that indicated it would taste of grapes, but with potions you could never rely on things like that – Harry took a breath, closed his eyes, and downed the potion in one go. His eyes instantly shot open in surprise. It did actually taste of grapes. However, it also seemed to be clinging to the inside of his throat.

“Here.” A glass half-filled with water appeared in front of his face. Harry took it gratefully and drank half of it at once. Madam Pomfrey smiled down at him, amused. “Well, physically, Mr Potter, you appear to have healed nicely,” she said, tucking her wand away up one of her sleeves. She then peered intently at him. “How have you been sleeping lately?”

“Um . . . okay?” Harry guessed. He dearly hoped she wasn’t going to try and make him talk about what had happened with Quirrell and the Stone.

“No nightmares?” the matron pressed.

Harry shook his head, taking a sip of his water to avoid her gaze. It was bad enough that Snape was trying to make him talk them out, without Madam Pomfrey doing it, too. Don’t they realise that I don’t want to talk about it? Harry thought.

“If you say so, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, but she sounded doubtful, as though she didn’t fully believe him. Which was fine – because she shouldn’t. “In that case, then, you are free to leave.”

Placing the glass on the bedside table and collecting Neville’s letter in the same movement, Harry slid off the bed and hastened towards the Hospital Wing doors. He didn’t want to give Madam Pomfrey the chance to change her mind.

Once outside the Hospital Wing, though, he had no idea where to go. He didn’t even know if there were areas where he couldn’t go. Although it was probably a safe bet that he wouldn’t be able to get into the Gryffindor dormitory.

He could possibly try the library, but one – he didn’t know if Madam Pince stayed at Hogwarts over the summer or if she was gone already, and two – he was not Hermione, who would live in the library if you let her.

The dungeons? . . . Harry snorted, shaking his head at himself.

Since he didn’t fancy trekking all the way up to the top of the Astronomy Tower, that just left the Quidditch pitch. Harry sighed as he began making his way down the staircases to the ground floor. Once outside, he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and glanced around. The castle grounds appeared to be empty. Harry couldn’t even see Hagrid.

The trip to the Quidditch pitch seemed an awful lot longer when he knew he wasn’t going to be flying at the end of it. Perhaps it was a good thing Madam Hooch wasn’t here right now, Harry thought as he trudged towards the stands. If he’d been able to succumb to the temptation to go flying on an old school broom, Snape would likely have him in detention until his great-grandchildren were in school. Instead, he’d just have to make do with the soft breeze that was occasionally brushing past him.

Picking out what looked like a comfy spot – which happened to be in the Ravenclaw section – Harry looked up at the sky for a long moment. It had finally occurred to him that since all those post owls had found them, Hedwig should have appeared, too. But there was no sign of his Snowy.

Sighing, he dropped his gaze to Neville’s letter and tore it open. Hi, Harry! it read. Wow, thanks for writing! I was really surprised to get your owl—

Harry winced, guiltily. Writing to Neville had really been a very distant second-best. But for Neville . . . He hadn’t quite realised, but Neville’s family life had to be as lonely as Harry’s own. Sure, he had family who wanted him, but he also had an elderly grandmother and great-uncle who probably weren’t able – if they were even inclined – to play with Neville. Given how shy the young boy was, Harry didn’t think he had many friends his own age at home. It had been obvious that most of the pureblood children in their year at least knew of most of the others – Ron and Malfoy’s bickering sprang to mind – but nobody seemed to pay much attention to Neville. He was probably desperately lonely.

Resolving that next year he’d make more of an effort to talk with Neville, Harry turned back to his letter. There’s not much to do around here, so I’ve been spending a lot of time in my Gran’s greenhouses—

Severus finally escaped from Albus’ office with a potion recipe tucked into a pocket in his robes and a headache brewing in his skull. Sometimes I think I should put in for hazard pay, dealing with Albus, Severus thought, striding towards the entrance to the dungeons. This would be the perfect time to do a bit of checking on his stores.

It turned out he was only dangerously low on two ingredients; boomslang skin and jarvey fur. Satisfied, Severus made a mental reminder to himself to order more of both when he sent in the order for the school’s needs.

Digging out the scroll from Poppy, he began collecting jars. Nothing she wanted was overly complicated, he thought, scanning the list. If he was lucky, he could be out of here in three hours.

As it turned out, it only took him two. Pleasantly surprised, he delivered the vials to Poppy through the Floo, and then turned his attention to finding Potter.

He was just setting foot outside of the main doors when it occurred to him that he hadn’t asked Albus about any of the Potters’ things. Scowling, Severus debated with himself. Did he really want to go back and interact with Albus again today?

No, I do not, he eventually decided, and gave a brisk nod to himself. He’d either send an owl to Albus later, or discuss it in person some other time. After all, Potter had done without anything this far; a few more days wouldn’t hurt him.

Scanning the grounds, he realised he couldn’t see Potter anywhere. Now where’s the brat got to? he thought.

“Hello, Professor,” said a voice to his right.

“Hagrid,” Severus replied, nodding politely to the half-giant. He wasn’t exactly close with the groundskeeper, but he had nothing against the man. Indeed, Hagrid’s fascination with large and dangerous creatures had netted him valuable potions ingredients several times in the past, and for much cheaper than he would have gotten anywhere else. “Have you seen Potter recently?”

“Harry?” Hagrid asked, his brows rising into his hairline. “No, sorry, Professor. I didn’t realise he was here. Isn’t he supposed to be livin’ with his aunt?”

“Not anymore,” was all Severus replied. He had no wish to repeat the whole saga for Hagrid. “Any ideas whereabouts I might find Mr Potter?”

Hagrid scratched his chin through his beard, thoughtfully. “Could always try the Quidditch pitch,” he suggested.

“Thank you, Hagrid.” With a nod, Severus moved down the steps and began walking towards the pitch.

“Any time, Professor!” the groundskeeper called after him.

It took a while for Severus to spot Potter in the Quidditch stands – he’d half expected Potter to have scrounged a broom from somewhere and be doing death defying acrobatics in the air on it. Instead, Potter was lying on his stomach on one of the benches in the Ravenclaw section, scribbling intermittently on a piece of parchment, with long pauses in between as he seemed to think deeply.

Idly, Severus wondered if that hurt Potter.

Disinclined to shout – or climb the stands, either – Severus cast a quick spell on his throat. “Come along, Potter,” he said, his voice coming from the air beside Potter. “Time we should be going.”

He was gratified to see the boy jump, and then peer wildly around him, before noticing Severus on the ground some distance away. Scrambling to gather all his things, Potter then raced pell-mell down the stands as Severus removed his spell from his voice-box.

“What was that, sir?” he asked, as he arrived panting at Severus’ side. “That was wicked!”

“It’s a spell of my own invention,” said Severus. That was not pride he was feeling, he tried to assure himself. Just smugness. He carefully did not tell Potter he’d developed it specifically so he could harangue people at a distance as they walked away from him without having to strain his voice. He glanced down at the items bundled in Potter’s arms. “I hope you’ve got everything, since if you leave something behind now, you’ll have to wait until the term starts to collect it.”

“Uh . . .” Potter hastily double-checked everything he was holding. Severus rolled his eyes. “Yes, sir,” the boy said, finally. “I have everything.”

“Good. Come along, then.” Severus placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and pushed him towards the school gates. Once outside, he firmed his grip, and without another word, they apparated away.

The white speck that had been growing bigger in the sky as it approached reached the place where man and boy had been mere seconds after they vacated it. Landing awkwardly on top of one of the gate’s winged-boar guardians, the Snowy owl let out a screech that was full of forlorn frustration. As soon as she’d felt the barrier separating her from her boy dissolve, she had snatched up the letter the bushy-haired girl had been trying to send to her boy, and had flown as fast as her wings could flap towards him.

And now her boy was gone again. She could feel that slippery barrier returning, her sense of her boy diminishing rapidly.

With a heart-felt screech that echoed through the air, Hedwig took to the air again, her speed much slower than on the journey here. It appeared she had no choice but to return to the bushy-haired girl and hope that she had another chance to get back to her boy.