A woman, presumably one of the village residents, dropped the basket she was holding and ran to them.

Severus, who had been expecting a threat, aborted his movement to grab his wand and swayed slightly for effect instead.

Potter caught on quickly and gave a pitiful cough into his hand. Severus repressed a smirk.

The woman appeared to be in her mid fifties. She reached them and grasped Severus’ shoulder. He leaned into the hand as if he were about to fall over.

“Are you alright? What happened to you two?” She asked when she felt how wet Severus’ clothes were.

“Boat sank,” he said, looking down at Potter woefully.

She began to guide them towards the village that Severus could see in the near distance.“Was there anyone else aboard besides you and your son?” She asked.

Potter gave a sudden, wracking cough, and Severus glared at him, but the woman shook her head with compassion. “Swallowed water, I suppose?”

Potter nodded, face still looking a bit red.

“There was no one else,” Severus shook his head weakly.

“And all your things gone too, by the looks of it.” The woman tsked.

They reached the outlying buildings, and several people saw them and came running.

The woman, who seemed to have taken on the role of both escort and protector, shooed them off. “This way.”

She used her foot to nudge open the door to a small cottage near the edge of the town. Severus kept a wary eye on the villagers, but none of them appeared to pose any threat.

The inside of the cottage was cozy but dry. It had only one room, with a bed in the corner partially concealed behind a privacy screen. The area where they stood was a simple kitchen. A circular table with four chairs around it stood in the center. Another portion of the cottage was dedicated to a sitting area with a couch, two armchairs, and a fireplace.

Potter moved to sit in a kitchen chair before seeming to realize that he was still dripping with water. Instead, he backed up to the center of the floor and appeared to be trying to make as little mess as possible.

Noting this odd behavior for later consideration, which was so unlike how he would have expected the spoiled child to act, Severus turned to the woman. “My name is Samuel Paine. This here is Henry.” He moved to place a hand on Potter’s shoulder. The boy jerked a little bit from the unexpected contact. Severus frowned but didn’t say anything.

“English, by the sound of ye,” the woman said. “I’m Amelia Duncan, but most ‘round here call me Amy. Now, I won’t be asking you too many questions, as I bet you’ve had quite the day.” She moved to a dresser near the bed and pulled out two towels, handing one to each of them.

“I can’t tell you how grateful we are,” Severus said as she started bustling about in the kitchen.

“None of that, now. Everyone here knows that the sea is a fickle mistress. It gives us food and life, but also takes when it has a mind.”

Twenty minutes later, Severus and Potter were sitting at the table, still wrapped up in the towels as Amy plunked twin bowls of soup in front of them.

The door opened and a man entered. Heavy-set with a weathered face, he looked first at the two people hungrily eating, then at Amy.

“What happened?”

Amy gestured at Severus and Potter. “This is Mr. Samuel Paine and his son, Henry. Their boat sank. They managed to get ashore and walked to the village, but everything aboard was lost. They don’t have anywhere to stay. Practically drowned, the poor dears.”

This was a bit more than Severus had said, but he kept silent.

Amy turned to Severus and Potter. “This is my husband, Malcolm.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Paine,” Mr. Duncan said, shaking Severus’ hand.

“Samuel, please.”

“Malcolm, then.”

“Hello, sir,” Potter said in a hoarse voice. Severus didn’t know if he was acting or burned his throat in his eagerness to eat some warm food for a change.

“Glad to see that you’re alright.”

They engaged in a little conversation, but Amy soon ushered her husband out, reminding Severus to rest and make sure “Henry” didn’t catch a cold. “Remember, you’ll find extra clothes in that wardrobe there.”

Once they were gone, Severus returned to his meal to find that Potter was looking at him.

“What?”

“You were being… nice.”

“It is something I can achieve when the need arises.”

The boy looked like he wanted to laugh, but wasn’t sure if he should.

Severus went back to eating, and was slightly surprised when he spoke up again.

“Sir, this seems…” he trailed off when Severus looked at him expectantly, and the older man crossed his arms.

“What?”

“Well… it feels like we’re taking advantage of these people. We didn’t really almost drown, or anything like that.”

Incredulous, Severus looked at Potter and saw that the boy’s bright green eyes reflected genuine worry.

“Spare me from the moralizing of a Gryffindor!” Severus exclaimed to the ceiling, before leveling his gaze to the boy again. “You are being hunted down by a genocidal maniac who wants to brutally murder you, just as he tried to do when he orphaned you as a child. Some might argue,” he said, pointing his spoon at Potter, “that that is worse than an accidental boat sinking where no one, even pretend, died. Do not feel bad about it.”

The boy sighed in exasperation, but the look of gratitude on his face wasn’t missed by the Potions Master. Slightly disconcerted, Severus returned to his food.

The conversational lull gave Severus the opportunity to reflect on earlier events. The boy’s question had brought Potter’s recent behavior to mind, and he frowned slightly.

He had no idea what to make of Potter lately. He’d always been able to attribute the boy’s every look, word, or action to several things he knew about him. At least, things he’d thought he knew about him.

Would a spoiled brat traverse across difficult terrain, by foot, for days on end, making zero complaint? Would an attention-seeking quidditch star hide his injuries as if they were a matter of no importance? Would a thoughtless child with no regard to the consequences of his actions have constant nightmares about something that wasn’t even his fault?

Severus was disturbed by this train of thought. If the boy was none of these things, then the older man knew absolutely nothing at all about him.

Nothing.

Unaware of Severus’ reverie, Potter asked, “If today’s August…” he appeared to count in his head, “15th, then how long are we going to stay here? Until school starts?”

“Perhaps,” Severus said, frowning slightly. He’d thought the boy would be eager to get as far from him as possible, but his face didn’t say so now. More unsettling, Severus found that he himself didn’t dread the prospect of a slightly extended stay. Another thing to reflect on later. “Probably not.” His role as a spy meant that he could be called away at any moment, and it wasn’t wise to leave Potter unprotected, even for a few hours.

“Oh.” Potter looked down into his soup.

“I’d have thought you would be eager to return to your friends.” Severus said slowly.

Potter didn’t look up. “I am! It’s just…” he trailed off in confusion, then squared his shoulders. “No. You’re right. I do want to go back to Grimmauld Place.” He stood and carried his bowl to the sink, where he began to clean it.

Severus watched his back, eyes narrowed in thought. “You know that secrecy is the only weapon we have here.”

The boy nodded his head, not turning around.

“Potter.”

The boy sighed. “I know. The past few days just… haven’t been as awful as I might have expected.”

Severus didn’t respond. He didn’t exactly know how. He did, however, understand what Potter didn’t know how to say.

They lapsed into silence after that, and half an hour later both had gone to bed, exhausted by the day’s events. Potter quietly took the couch, and Severus slept on the bed.

Three hours of sleep. Three hours before Severus was awoken by the sounds he was rapidly coming to expect: Potter in the throes of some fresh nighttime horror. He rose from bed and blearily rubbed his eyes as he staggered to the couch.

“Potter.”

The boy whimpered, a sound strangely humbling coming from the boy who had stood up to him with blazing eyes and a disrespectful tongue time after time in class. Severus cautiously gripped his arm, having recently learned from experience that the child did not respond well to unexpected contact.

“It’s only a dream.”

That worked about as well as it usually did. Sighing, Severus knelt on the floor beside the couch and grabbed both of the boy’s shoulders. “Potter. Wake up.”

“Cedric…”

Severus could barely make out the name, but when he did, he bowed his head for a moment. No doubt the boy had forgotten to meditate before falling asleep. Severus shook his shoulders a few times. “Potter. Harry!”

This seemed to have an effect where nothing else would. The boy’s eyes flew open with a gasp, staring unseeing at the ceiling, and a hand clutched the front of Severus’ borrowed shirt.

“Pott—Harry. It’s alright. It was only a dream.”

Green eyes met black, filled with such pain that Severus’ heart clenched.

“Every night, he dies again in my dreams,” the boy said, anguished voice barely audible as he hunched in on himself, releasing Severus’ shirt and wrapping his arms around his thin chest.

Merlin. He seemed so young. In a flash of painful clarity, Severus fully realized for the first time that, no matter what else he might be, Harry Potter was only a child.

“I know,” Severus said softly.

It was hard to tell in the gloom, but he thought he could detect a blush spread across the boy’s face as he determinedly looked anywhere but at Severus. He realized that the boy was probably embarrassed, so the man stood to return to bed.

Before he left, however, some instinct made him hesitate. Unsure of himself, as it had been years since he’d physically comforted anyone, he laid a hand on Potter’s shoulder. Predictably, the boy stiffened; but, just as Severus was going to pull away, he relaxed. Severus stood there for a moment, feeling the tension drain out of the skinny shoulder.

Then a quiet sob came from the young teen. Severus might have doubted his own ears if he hadn’t felt the shoulder under his hand heave with the movement of it.

Sweet Circe. Anyone could have done a better job at this than Severus.

Still, long-repressed memories of crying alone in his bedroom at Spinner’s End as a child had him rounding the couch again to sit next to Potter, who had covered his hand with a sleeve and was trying to muffle the sounds. Why was he trying so hard to silence himself?

Severus said nothing, self-conscious and unsure of what to do. All he could remember from his own childhood was not wanting to be so alone.

The Gryffindor didn’t seem to be picky about comforts. He sniffled into his sleeve a few more times before slumping backwards, energy spent.

They sat side-by-side on the couch, staring off into the dark, not speaking, for a long time.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Severus asked tiredly, although he was beginning to fear he might already know the answer.

“For waking you.”

“Do not trouble yourself over it.” Severus clasped his hands together, looking down at his knees. “Are you alright?”

He felt, rather than saw, the teen’s nod.

“You might try the meditation techniques I showed you,” Severus reminded him.

“I forgot.” The self-reproach in Potter’s voice silenced the sarcastic response that immediately leapt to Severus’ lips.

“Then now is your chance to try it. You really should get back to sleep. Tomorrow may be a very long day.”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus silently sighed. Where was the quick-mouthed student that always had a clever answer ready? This subdued, reserved child was not the person Severus had known for years. He stood. “Goodnight, Potter.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”