“We’ll be sorry to see you go, of course,” Amy said, chopping carrots with practiced ease. “But I’m also glad.”

“You must be looking forward to having your house to yourselves again,” Severus acknowledged, lifting another potato to peel. He had volunteered to help with dinner, as it was their last night in the village before leaving.

“That’s not it,” she shook her head. “You’ve been running.”

Severus dropped his knife. “I beg your pardon?” He asked, immediately calculating in his mind how long it would take the Ministry to find them if he Obliviated her.

“From your past,” she said, setting down her work and turning to him. “When you came here, you said you’d bought a small boat and had taken it out by yourselves. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, the schoolteacher from Essex and his son? You were running from what happened.”

Oh. She was referencing the death of his late beloved wife. “Perhaps,” he said blandly, going back to his potatoes. They had decided to tell the people from the village that Severus’ old friend had come looking for them after their abrupt departure from Essex, as they had left without “tying up some loose ends.”

“No ‘perhaps’ about it. You didn’t need to stay here, but you did. If your old colleague hadn’t come to find you, would you have ever gone back?”

“Likely not,” Severus replied grumpily, dumping the now-peeled potatoes in a pot of water.

There was a pause as they worked together in silence. Eventually, she spoke in a softer tone. “When my daughter and her husband died, I couldn’t imagine ever going back out on the sea. I could barely stand to go to the beach. It was a year before Malcolm could convince me to leave the village. We went to the island, and I clutched his shoulder the whole ferry ride there.” She took the herring filets—herring. Their last night in the village, and it had to be herring?—to the sink to drain. “I’d never before been scared of the ocean. Why would I be? I grew up alongside it. The accident changed that.

“I think, when something bad happens in our lives, things that used to be easy, that we never had to think twice about before doing, become impossibly hard. Sometimes that can be something as basic as going home.” She gave him a look. “Running will never make it easier. You need to go back there, if only to face what happened. That way, if you ever return—which I hope you will, Samuel—it’ll be because you want to be here, not because you don’t want to be somewhere else.”

Severus stared at her, committing her words to memory. “That is very wise,” he said, thinking that she could give Dumbledore a run for his money. She definitely got to the point more quickly.

“Trust me,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “You’ll be glad to have missed a winter up here.”

Severus, who had survived several Scottish winters from the comfort of a magical castle and still found them miserable, heartily agreed.

“I can’t believe you’re just leaving like that,” Callum said again.

“Yeah, me neither,” Harry said morosely. “We’re not sure where we’ll be living, but my mum’s sister offered to take us in after she died. Dad doesn’t really like her, but you can write us at that address. If we're not staying there, she can still forward it to us." The idea of Aunt Petunia kindly offering to take anyone in was laughable, but he did have an aunt on that side (who had taken him in, albeit reluctantly), and Snape insisted that the best lies were the ones closest to the truth.

"Really? Ace."

Harry scribbled the address Snape had given him, something about a place called Spinner's End, down on two pieces of scrap paper and handed one to each of them.

"Thanks," Mary said, slipping it into a pocket.

The three of them were standing on the shore, watching the sun set.

"That's where we fought the werewolf," Callum said, nodding his head at a spot farther down the beach.

"Are you ever coming back?” Mary asked.

Harry thought about everything waiting for him back in his old life. His friends, his enemies. Schoolwork. The war. The Dursleys. The only way he’d ever have a chance to come back here was if he came back on his own after he turned seventeen, an age that seemed harder and harder to survive to as things kept getting worse. “Yeah,” he said instead, hoping it would be true.

“Good,” she said, knowing that he wasn’t sure but pretending as well.

“Maybe you can come back next summer,” Callum suggested.

“Maybe,” Harry lied lamely.

“We’ll see each other then,” Callum also lied.

So the three of them stood there, lying to themselves and each other as the sun sank past the horizon.

Harry went to his last bagpipe lesson that morning with a heavy heart. He’d been tossing and turning all night, but hadn’t been willing to cancel his very last lesson.

McAuliffe stopped playing when Harry came into sight, waiting patiently as he approached. His shoes crunching in the frost, Harry walked up to him.

“I heard you’re leaving,” McAuliffe said.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

McAuliffe didn’t say any more, only handing over the bagpipes. Harry settled the drones on his shoulder and started the warm-ups. At first, his heart wasn’t into it, but the bagpipes aren’t the kind of instrument you can play half-heartedly, and his mood improved throughout the lesson. By the end, he was even smiling.

“You did well,” McAuliffe said gruffly, patting his shoulder. “You’re definitely getting better.”

“You really think?”

McAuliffe nodded.

As the lesson was over, Harry started to take off the bagpipes and hand them back, but McAuliffe stopped him. “You’d better keep them.”

Harry looked at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“They’re yours, now. Keep them.”

Harry was nearly speechless with gratitude. He hugged the bagpipes to his chest. “Thank you.”

“Iona Docherty might puncture them if I keep playing at 5:30 in the morning.” He smiled at Harry, though his eyes were sad. “Probably best for everyone. You continue practicing, you hear me? I don’t care what anyone says about it. You practice every day, and when you do, remember me and old Bill Millin.”

“I will,” Harry vowed solemnly.

When he arrived home, Snape did a double take when he saw Harry with the bagpipes.

“He gave them to me,” Harry said in awe.

“Dear Merlin,” Snape groaned.

“I can’t say I’ll be sorry to see them go,” Amy said, entering the parlor with Malcolm.

“You’re off soon, then?” Malcolm asked.

“The first ferry leaves at seven,” Severus said. “We will head down now. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Goodbye,” Amy said, giving Harry a hug. Snape shook hands with the both of them, and they left to start heading down to the beach. They carried no bags; they owned nothing. Even the clothes they wore were the ones they had on when the fire happened. Harry was glad that he’d had on the red hoodie Snape bought him. Out of all of the clothes he’d gotten at the village, that was the gift he had loved most.

“It’s a shame about those textbooks,” Harry said as they walked down the street, thinking of all the homework he’d completed, now burned to ash. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to redo most of it.

Snape narrowed his eyes at him. “Harry? Is that you?”

“Ha, ha,” Harry said. “It’s just, we’re leaving with even less than we came with.”

Snape put his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

They reached the beach. They had already arranged for the tickets the day before, so they boarded the ferry directly. It was still dark out, and the ocean reflected the last of the stars.

Snape tapped Harry’s arm to get his attention. He looked over and saw a light on the beach. It was an electric lantern, held by Callum. He waved at them.

Another lantern bobbed over from farther down the beach. It was Francis, with his arm around Diana.

As the crew prepared to set off, more people gathered to see them off. Allan, Snape’s boss, and his sister, the ANP. Jack Duncan and his wife joined Callum. Mary and her little sister. McAuliffe. Iona. Even Malcolm and Amy, although they’d said their goodbyes at the house. Harry waved at them all, leaning partially over the rail as if physically needing to be back with them. Snape raised his hand, not waving, but in a farewell gesture.

The ferry set off, until the illuminated faces were too far to make out. As the village grew smaller, the only thing they could see of it in the dark was the small gathering of lights in the distance.

“I can’t believe it’s just over,” Harry said hollowly.

Snape didn’t respond. There was no comfort to give.

The ferry docked after what seemed like an eternity. Harry and Snape got off, said goodbye to the captain and crew, and entered the city.

They didn’t have much money left, but there was enough to get to where they were going by muggle transportation. Still, despite never resting between stops, it was evening by the time they finally reached London.

A black cab took them to a street a couple blocks away from Grimmauld place. Harry and Snape walked the rest of the way.

On the front step of Headquarters, Snape knocked on the door. A screeching could be heard from inside. It was Sirius’ mum’s portrait.

It abruptly ceased, and the door flew open.

Sirius stood there, staring at them with absolute shock. “Harry?”

“Are you going to let us in, Black, or will I be forced to commit the not so unthinkable act of hexing you out of the way?” Snape asked.

Sirius instantly turned on him, but Harry hurriedly said, “Sirius! It’s good to see you!”

Sirius blinked at him, still struggling to keep up. He asked, “Are those bagpipes?” in the tone of someone who had not meant to say it.

“Yup,” Harry said. “Can we come in?”

“Of course,” Sirius said, although he glared at Snape when they stepped through.

“Who is it?” a voice called from the kitchen.

“See for yourself,” Sirius said, a grin beginning to spread across his face as the surprise wore off. He showed Harry into the kitchen, the cut in front of Snape as he followed. With a snarl on his face, Snape followed Sirius into the kitchen.

Harry stood awkwardly as at least a dozen eyes turned to him. They had arrived during an Order meeting.

“Harry!” A dozen voices cried.

“Is it really Potter?” Moody asked suspiciously. “Boy, what’s your patronus?”

“Of course it is Potter,” Snape said scathingly.

All eyes turned to him. Some were surprised but relieved, others clearly suspicious. Harry was thrown off at hearing his last name from Snape after becoming used to being “Harry”.

“Where have you been, Professor?” Charlie asked, a hint of wariness in his tone.

“I was protecting the Boy-Who-Lived, Weasley. Where do you all suppose I have been?” he asked the room at large, his voice barely controlled. It was clear from the way he asked it that he knew exactly where they thought he’d been: at Voldemort’s side.

Once, Harry would have thought that Snape was just being nasty. Now, he could tell that the man was defensive.

“We feared you were dead, Severus,” Molly Weasley said softly. Snape turned to her, and his tense posture didn’t loosen, but his voice was a bit more calm when he spoke.

“No. Dumbledore gave me the duty of seeing that Potter remained out of Ministry custody.”

“Why did you come back now?” Kingsley asked.

“It was time,” Snape said cryptically.

“It might be a good thing you’re here now,” Tonks said. “Something’s come up.”

Snape drew out a chair and sat down.

“Wait a minute!” Sirius exclaimed. “You’re not just going to let him back in like that, are you? The filthy spy was probably sent here by Voldemort himself.”

“No, he wasn’t!” Harry exclaimed. “He wasn’t lying. He helped me escape after the trial, and we’ve been in hiding for months.” This speech had the desired effect of deflating the argument brewing between the two old enemies, but also caused all of the attention in the room to turn back to him.

“Where were you two, Harry?”

“Don’t answer that!” Moody said. “Better keep it a secret.”

Harry was glad not to have to answer. Remus was supposed to have said that the attempt to befriend the wizard in Scotland had failed, without mentioning that it was them who had been there. Some might make the connection between Remus’ visit and their return, but they had decided to say as little as possible about the full situation. Harry looked at Remus, who gave him a smile. “It’s good to see you again, Harry.”

“You too, Remus,” Harry said.

“If we’re having a meeting, Harry has to leave,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I’m sorry, dear.”

Harry felt an old, familiar anger rising up inside of him; he caught Snape’s eye, and the man shook his head slightly. Harry bit his lip to keep the retort inside, simply nodding and turning to leave. He missed the significant looks that passed between several of the adults at the mini-exchange and walked out.

He went upstairs to the room he’d been sharing with Ron in August, setting down his bagpipes with relief and rubbing his shoulder. He looked around the room, catching sight of his trunk and immediately hurrying over. He opened the lid, looking at the contents with a sense of joy. Yes, there were things he hated about his life, but there was also so much good as well. He pulled out the broom servicing kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday and sat on the bed, smiling.

He spent the next half hour going through every single item in his trunk, each one bringing to mind a thousand memories.

He found some things that needed to be thrown away, as well; empty chocolate frog cards, an old Gryffindor tie that was hopelessly stained with gravy from a food fight with Ron, broken quills. He began throwing items back in afterwards, grinning when he thought of how Snape would react if he saw the haphazard organization.

There was a knock at the door. It was Sirius.

“Hey, pup,” he said, coming in when Harry grinned at him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay. Really,” he said at Sirius’ doubtful look.

“Staying with old Snivellus for months… I can’t imagine it.”

“He’s not that bad,” Harry said, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking down at his hands.

Sirius sat next to him. “You can tell me, you know. I’d curse him for you,” he said.

“I know you would,” Harry said, half-smiling. “But you don’t need to.”

Sirius looked physically incapable of believing that Snape wasn’t in every way reprehensible, but settled on, “If you say so. I came up to say that Molly’s made a big dinner for everybody to follow the meeting.”

Harry jumped eagerly up. “Mrs. Weasley made dinner?” In this world, there were three things he loved more than anything else: his friends, quidditch, and Mrs. Weasley’s cooking. “What are we waiting for?”

He sprinted out the door. Sirius laughed and followed closely behind.

They burst into the kitchen, panting and grinning. Snape looked over at him curiously.

“Dinner,” he said by way of explanation.

Snape rolled his eyes with exaggeration. Harry took a seat at the table across from him, with Sirius on one side and Tonks on the other.

Mrs. Weasley used her wand to float over several different dishes. Harry’s first instinct was panic, as it had been drilled into him about how magic could not be cast near him without alerting the trace, until he remembered that the Fidelius charm would block any Ministry devices or spells.

As a plate of steaming baguettes was set on the table nearby, his mouth actually began to water. He waited eagerly for her to bring over the massive pot on the stove. After setting down several other side dishes, she did.

He fought to keep from bouncing in his seat like a four year old. What kind of stew was it? Chicken? Beef?

The pot was placed on the table, and he leaned forward with great anticipation before looking up and meeting Snape’s gaze in horror.

It was fish.