A month later, it was Christmas. The castle was filled to the brim with cheer, and Harry dared not stay within it as he recalled too clearly the Christmas from his dream, the one he had spent with Severus. Unfortunately, as in his dream, Sirius had gone off to Merlin-knew-where, so he wasn't allowed to return to Grimmauld with only Remus to watch him. Dumbledore said, as he explained this very patiently, that the full moon was to occur on the Holiday, and it just wouldn't be safe for him, even with the potion. Harry struggled not to argue that the potion had been more than enough for the Headmaster's peace of mind when that same werewolf had been in a school full of children. It wouldn't matter, whatever he argued. He had no one to fight on his side this time.
Instead, Harry had taken to the sky every day. Immediately following breakfast, he would fly until the sky began to darken; only occasionally did he take refuge on the Astronomy Tower, or in a clearing in the Forbidden Forest where the Thestrals generally gathered. In these private, secret places, he would practice the spells he had learned in the night. Something no one knew was that he had begun taking his father's cloak to the Restricted Section. There, he took it upon himself to learn weirder and weirder magicks. He had even discovered Dumbledore's strange ability to detect him even under his Invisibility Cloak. It wasn't him Dumbledore had seen, but his magic. Harry practiced this often, and by Christmas he was able to detect other people's magic almost instantly.
He'd also begun acting foolishly. More than normal, in any case. Sometimes, when he grew bored with flight, he would fly as high as he could go and then simply tuck his wings in. He would let himself tumble towards the ground, always falling just a little bit farther, wondering how far he could fall before his wings wouldn't catch him. It wasn't like diving. In a dive, he was aimed at the ground perfectly, and at an angle, so he had only to open his wings and let the wind carry him away. But when he fell, there was no control. He tumbled head over feet for the first hundred feet or so before he could straighten out. Every now and again, he would even let himself tumble further, wondering just how far he had to fall before his velocity kept him from regaining his life-saving balance.
Harry was doing just such a maneuver when he was caught. He'd just pulled out of his tumble, his wings carrying him mere feet above the snowy grounds of Hogwarts, when Snape appeared on the school broom he and Hooch used to referee Quidditch matches. Snape didn't have to yell for him to land, they both knew that that was what he wanted. Harry seriously considered flying away, pretending he hadn't seen the man at all, but he couldn't stay in the air forever. He would have to land eventually, and, always assuming Snape didn't follow him until he did land, the man would catch him then, and probably be twice as angry.
With a sigh that the rushing wind ripped from his mouth, Harry turned towards the lake and landed on it's frozen bank. Snape followed not far behind, and when he landed his scowl had not changed. He marched over to Harry angrily, and the fire in his eyes was such that Harry wondered if the man might not hit him.
"What are you thinking, Potter? Are you aiming for a broken neck?"
Harry flinched, but he didn't answer as Snape came to a stop a mere foot from him. He swallowed the flash of desire that struck at his heart like lightning. The man was damned gorgeous when he was angry.
"Have you nothing to say in your defense?" Snape demanded.
Harry remained silent, staring at the toes of his paws as his claws slipped out to scratch nervously at the gravel he stood on. Why couldn't Snape just let him alone?
Snape moved closer, and gripped Harry's chin in his hand. It wasn't hard, wasn't bruising, but nor was it a kind gesture. He snarled into Harry's face. "If I catch you doing something so reckless again, I will personally supervise the detentions you'll be serving every night until the Leaving Feast. Am I understood, Mister Potter?"
Harry swallowed thickly as emotions warred in his heart. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to stretch up the few inches that stood between them. On the other, he wanted to cry for the cruel and clinical feel of Snape's fingers on his jaw. In the end, the tears won, as Snape's eyes flickered over his face angrily. They welled up in Harry's stark emeralds before he could stop them, and stung harshly before rolling down his cheeks. The surprise in Snape's eyes was unmistakable. Taking the opportunity presented, Harry wrenched free of Severus' hard grasp and took off into the air, his wings beating desperately towards the one place he felt truly safe. He landed on the Astronomy Tower, and there, as he sat on the edge of his two-fold world, he wept.