So intense, so abrupt was this stab of pain after a morning of peace that Harry cried out and clutched his forehead, stumbling slightly.

Harry’s eyes glazed over. For a moment, he felt a fierce stab of frustration that was not his own, followed by a shaft of cold intent that seemed to lance his heart. His legs gave out under him and he fell to the ground, Snape still clutching his shoulders. 

“Potter!”

“He’s upset,” Harry muttered, cautiously removing his hands as the pain ebbed.

Snape’s eyes instantly flickered to Harry’s scar, and his face shifted from panic—panic? Over Harry?—to horror.

“Who is upset?” he asked, looking Harry directly in the eyes and gripping his shoulders more firmly to make Harry face him more fully.

“Voldemort,” Harry said, wishing fiercely for the serenity of half an hour ago. “He’s frustrated, but now he’s determined to do something.” He grabbed Snape’s forearm and looked at the man with sudden purpose. “He’s going to kill someone.”

“Who? Who is he going to kill?”

“I… don’t know,” Harry said, the intensity draining out of him. He slumped, and Snape let him.

Harry watched the professor from the ground as the man paced back and forth.

“When did you start having these visions, Potter?” Snape stopped and turned to him, face and voice tense.

“It’s… not really a vision… at least, this one wasn’t,” Harry said confusedly. “It’s just a pain in my scar, and a flash of emotion.” He hesitated, then decided to really doom himself. “There was a dream, though.”

“What did you see in this ‘dream’?” Snape asked.

The man’s intensity caught Harry off guard. He related the dream from last night, as well a few other instances of sudden, foreign emotion. When he finished, Snape began pacing again, and Harry tracked his movements nervously with his eyes.

“Why did you tell no one of this?” Snape said angrily, and Harry shrunk back a little despite himself.

“Who? And what was the point?” Harry retorted, slightly ashamed of himself for flinching. It’d been a couple of days since he’d truly feared Snape; traveling together without Snape actually hurting him, despite plenty of incentive and opportunity, had made him feel more annoyed with the man than anything, rather than outright afraid. Still feeling defensive, he added, “I might have told Dumbledore, but he’s been doing a pretty bang-up job of avoiding me like the plague lately.”

Snape stopped looking agitated long enough to roll his eyes. “Yes, because the Headmaster’s every action revolves around you. I’m sure there’s no way he could be busy with other things, such as dealing with the Ministry, Hogwarts, convincing the world of an oncoming war, and preparing for said war. No, he’s just decided to hurt your feelings on a whim.”

Harry, abashed, turned away. He took several of those deep meditation breaths as he looked out over the highlands.

“Come.” Harry looked up to see Snape jerk his head in the direction they’d been traveling. “We must keep going.”

Harry staggered to his feet and walked behind Snape.

They emerged from the valley to find themselves standing on a slight incline. Harry sucked in a breath.

From up ahead, the wind carried towards the two travelers a salty taste in the air. Still a good distance away, the unmistakable sight of the sea glimmered in the sun like a promise. He smiled. Hadn’t Snape said that their destination was a fishing village on the coast? Harry didn’t see any buildings, but if he could see the ocean, they must be getting closer.

Snape spoke up as if reading his thoughts. “When we reach the village, we’ll be able to contact the Order.”

“How?” Harry asked.

“You will remain within whatever quarters we manage to find while I remove myself to a sufficient distance so that the trace isn’t alerted.”

“Why didn’t you just do that in the first place, then?” Harry asked, a spark of irritation coming to life. He could’ve been spared several pointless days of endless walking, practically being bit to death by midges, and Snape’s constant dubious company.

“Potter, if you would stop and think for a moment, you might recall that you have been convicted by one of the highest courts of wizarding laws in this country. You disappeared from the middle of the Ministry without a trace, and everyone is looking for you. The Dark Lord, who we suspect has infiltrated the Ministry in order to orchestrate the entire thing, will also be searching for you. At the Headmaster’s insistence, you and I have been completely out of contact or traceability for a few days until the dust settles and the Order knows who has done what, and what measures we need to be prepared for. The only way to completely protect you, because all of this trouble is directly to protect you, was to cut off all communication.” He pointed at the sea. “When you are finally in a moderately defensible position, then, and only then, am I willing to leave you to your own devices.”

Deflated, Harry turned back to the distant sight of the ocean. “Fine.” He started walking. “Let’s just hurry up and get to the village.”

Snape caught up with him a moment later, and Harry waited for him to take the lead like always, but he didn’t. He walked beside Harry. A quick glance showed that the professor looked exasperated but, more than that, worried.

Harry wondered when he’d ever seen anything but dislike on Snape’s face. Not before these past days of traveling together. He supposed that it was impossible, even for Snape, to have only one emotion for 72 hours, but it was as if he had forgotten the Professor was actually a human being. He’d always seemed so implacable, like a statue that no one could break.

It almost scared Harry to see him looking so… desperate.

“Hurry, Potter,” Snape said, picking up his pace. “The sooner we reach the village, the better for everyone.”

Harry let Snape get a few paces ahead before matching speed. He didn’t like seeing that anxiety on the man’s face. 

“Sir?” he said, much more subdued, “I’m sorry. About the trouble.”

Snape glanced at him over his shoulder, and this time Harry could not place the expression on his face at all.

“Yes, well, none of us want to see you dead.” Then he began walking even faster, as if half-ashamed of saying something not insulting to Harry.

Harry hid a smile and started jogging.

“In the water.”

“What?”

“Our plan for entering the village is to look as though we lost our boat at sea.”

“Why?” Harry was baffled. “How come we can’t just go in? Won’t we just bring more attention to ourselves?”

“It’s a village of less than forty people. Everyone will no doubt be talking about us only a few hours after we arrive, no matter how subtle we are. We have no luggage, and no reason to be here. We’ve been walking for several days in the same clothes. Unless you want everyone to think we escaped the penitentiary, we will create a thorough cover story for ourselves.”

“By taking a swim?”

“By staggering down the main road like we just swam for our lives.”

He waded out into the water. Harry reluctantly followed.

He remembered the second task, but there was only a slight comparison. Then, he’d been worried about Ron, and hundreds of people had been watching and probably hoping he’d die, and he hadn’t even known if the gillyweed would work.

Now, he could feel the salt water of the ocean lap against his feet where he stood at the water’s edge, feet bare, the sand warm against his toes. It was evening, and the sun was beginning to set into the highlands behind them. He watched Snape as the man walked farther out into the water. When he turned to look at Harry, the sun reflected off of his pale face, but Harry’s own expression was in shadow.

“What is it?” Snape asked.

Harry cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

It was beautiful. The world around him, in this moment, was beautiful.

Harry took one step into the surf, winced at the cold, then took another, then kept walking until he was submerged to the middle of his chest. Snape took a deep breath, then dove underwater. Harry watched him do a few dolphin kicks below the surface before he came up for air, flipping his drenched hair back and out of his face.

He waded back to where Harry stood, shivering in the unexpectedly cold water.

“Fully soaked,” Snape reminded him.

Harry looked at him mutinously, wrapping his arms around himself and trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

He should have been prepared. First of all, the smile that spread across Snape’s face was never one that boded well for any student. Second, the man wasn’t exactly going to relent after having made up his mind. Third, why else would Snape have suddenly dove back underwater?

When a hand wrapped around his ankle, Harry only had time to inhale a quick lungful of air and squeeze his eyes shut before finding himself completely submerged in the water.

He emerged again, spluttering, to hear the last sound he’d ever expected to hear. 

Snape was laughing. Not even a sarcastic bark or a snigger, but a full-voiced laugh that had the man throwing back his head.

Caught more off-guard than when he’d been pulled under, Harry looked at him askance. Then, if a smile of its own made its way onto his face… well, there was no around besides Snape anyways.

Then the moment was over, and Snape was walking back toward shore. Harry followed, wiping water away from his eyes and gasping aloud when the wind hit his wet clothes.

“I guess you don’t have a couple of towels stashed away in your Mary Poppins bag?”

“Unfortunately not. We are, however, only a ten minute walk from the village.”

As they put their shoes back on and started walking down the beach, Harry practiced his exhausted shuffle.

“As for our aliases, I will be Samuel Paine from Essex, and you are my nephew Henry—”

“Sir, I’d rather not be uncle and nephew.” Even the thought of calling Snape “uncle” left a sour taste in his mouth. Anything that brought Vernon Dursley to mind…

“Why not? I assure you, Mr. Potter, that I will not be posing as your personal butler.” Snape’s voice was terse and colder than how he had spoken to him for a few days, and Harry realized that he’d offended the man by giving the impression that he didn’t want to act related to Snape.

Embarrassed and frustrated by his own fears and inability to express himself properly, Harry flushed and said, “No, that’s not what I meant at all!”

Snape only raised an eyebrow, so Harry stuttered, “It’s just— I don’t have the best— my uncle, he’s— we don’t really, er, get on…” Harry stopped, face beet red, and tried again. “I’d just rather not pretend you were my uncle, because my uncle wouldn’t…” Wouldn’t what? Wouldn’t have even bothered to save his life, much less go through the trouble that Snape had for days? Wouldn’t have healed his wrists? Wouldn’t have shown him a way to deal with his nightmares? Wouldn’t have pulled him underwater, not out of malice or to humiliate him, but in a simple moment of surprisingly lighthearted fun? Wouldn’t have worried about his strange connection to Voldemort, even if it was because of his role in the war? “He wouldn’t have done everything you have,” Harry finished lamely, looking down at his shoes.

He knew that Snape was studying him, so he resolutely watched his feet as they walked along the beach.

When the man finally spoke, he sounded mild. Too mild.

“What would your uncle have done, Potter?”

Ah, there was Snape’s talent for asking whatever question Harry least wanted to answer.

“Well…” Harry cleared his throat. Then cleared it again. What was he supposed to say? “Well, Uncle Vernon, you know, he’s not magical, so.”

“You once again blow me away with your eloquence.”

Harry scowled. Why was Snape even asking? What did he care? What did it matter? “He wouldn’t have been able to get me out of there—” ha, as if he’d try, and not cheer when Harry was found guilty… “—so it’s kind of a moot point.”

Snape clearly wanted to ask more questions, but at that moment, there was a scream from up ahead.