FIFTEEN.

The dark letters scratched into parchment were hurting his eyes. Severus had always despised grading written work—written nonsense—as it showed most acutely how little the idiots understood of what they were doing. Ordinarily, he would have been able to get through it if he had at his side coffee and a plate of biscuits, the reward for his Sisyphean labour, but it was not to be today. He'd felt too alert and too jumpy even before he'd taken his first sip of the coffee, and when his body seized around itself in a palpitation he needed to visibly shake off, he decided to forego caffeine for the day. Worse yet, there were no biscuits. Harry was sitting at the table opposite, working on his lines in terse silence, and though Severus did not think it appropriate to provide sweet treats in detention, neither did he wish to taunt him with the sight of what he could not have.

With a sigh, he set the essay to the side. He could not focus. A week had passed since the incident—he preferred to refer to is as such in his own mind, because calling it anything else only flared his temper—and yet Severus found himself still plagued by flashes of memory from that infernal afternoon any time he saw darkness descend onto the earth, any time the light struck this way or that and reminded him. It was making him snappish, and it was making him tired. The boy had wisely avoided him during this time, and on the few occasions he happened to run into him in a corridor he was exceedingly polite and happy to report on how he'd been attending class and doing homework and little else. Severus doubted these tales of woe were entirely truthful. Krum's pack were perfectly capable of making their own fun inside the castle, and if the size of the platters he'd once seen being carried to Harry's dorm from the kitchens was anything to go by, they were celebrating their crimes rather than commiserating over the punishment.

Still, Severus was annoyed to have to bother with the lines. He'd promised Harry further punishment—because as opposed to the rest of his little friends, he was possessed of some sense and should have exercised it better, for heaven's sake—but he had promised this in that first flush of anger, the night of the event. A week on, and Severus wanted very much to forget the whole thing. Poring over the sorry business only caused this horrible jumpiness in him, and at this stage he firmly believed he was the one to most suffer from the blasted lines.

He glanced at the letters that he had received today, still open on his desk. Leeni had written him to say she'd returned from another of their pointless trips but that it might have had an actual point to it this time, since she'd come across a potential lead, and what did he know of Albania? This upset Severus, because it reminded him of an additional reason he should have been keeping Harry safely in the castle and away from a potential encounter with Sirius Black. A boy, a werewolf, an old servant. The Dark Lord's return.

Albus had written him to say Severus's substitute did not understand his labelling system and could he please forward instructions on how his Potions cupboard was organised. Severus had been trying since morning to think of a way to tell them both to piss off which would be appropriate for work. Finally, Lamotte of all people had sent him a rambling letter all about Harry and Harry's broom, Durmstrang and how cold he imagined it must be, and some friends of the Malfoys he had staying over, one of whom had apparently gone to school with Severus but would not share any embarrassing stories. Not a peep out of him, the letter complained. Such a shame, dear Severus, that you cannot be here to dine with such loyal friends.

This letter in particular was giving Severus a headache. It had been drafted with the intention to taunt, he was positive, but he could not for the life of him figure out what might have driven Lamotte to write it. His instincts whispered that he should reply, if only to reassure himself Lamotte was acting out some new whimsy and there was nothing more to it. But what would he write? You went to school with me, you ridiculous idiot. You know the worst of my embarrassing stories. Every single word I have ever said to you was an embarrassment.

Forget the letters. He should be working.

He heard the boy fidget in his seat and sigh. He ignored him. He was hardly going to chat with a student in the middle of detention. When he glanced at him, he saw Harry folded halfway over the parchment, looking expressly miserable. As though he did not deserve this, and much worse.

Unfortunately, Severus had failed to think of an appropriately worse punishment that would function at all within the realm of reality, so lines it was. There is a murderer out there determined to kill me, I am in mortal danger any time I take a breath, it's a wonder I can even sleep at night, five-hundred times—but he could hardly make him write that. He'd settled for having the brat copy down the table of contents from the Potion Maker's bible Severus had found in the library. The tome was thick enough that the desk had whined when he had dropped it there, and if the boy needed further incentive to stop trying to give Severus an anxiety disorder, there were a further three books to complete the set.

Days had begun to stretch, and even now there was still daylight. He could have gone out, breathed in the open air, looked into the distance at mountains and skies rather than at the antsy letters in his immediate vision. It would have slowed his heart and it would have rid him of the sour taste on his tongue that came from staying cooped up inside too long—only none of this could be done because he was stuck here watching the boy. Damn him.

'Potter, I am not going to cut your punishment short just because you decide to fall asleep over the parchment,' he snapped. The boy's forehead was nearly touching the desk now, and he was decidedly not writing.

'I'm not falling asleep.'

There was something not quite right with his voice, and it took Severus a moment to realise he was hearing the threat of tears. Frustration rose in him. He'd taken years off Severus's life, he'd ensured he couldn't go out and enjoy the day, and now he was trying to stir up pity over a set of lines?

'You have no right to sound so heartbroken,' he told him gruffly. 'Notice how none of your friends have been complaining about their punishment. Clearly, they at least are well aware you've got off lightly considering I could have taken this to Karkaroff.'

The boy said nothing and wrote nothing. Severus saw him raising his hand to surreptitiously wipe at a cheek. At this rate, they were going to be here all day.

'Honestly, Potter, you would think I'd whipped you black and blue with the way you're carrying on. Calm down and stop making a production out of—'

A screech of wood on stone as Harry shoved at the desk, overturning the ink bottle onto parchment and book equally, quill striking the floor. He leapt to standing and sprinted out of the Potions lab, taking nothing with him, door slamming shut in his wake.

Severus saw red.

He didn't quite run after him; it would have been ridiculous. But he hastened his steps all the same as he threw himself into pursuit, storming down dim corridors where sunlight drew slanted shapes of dusty windows on the walls, indignation burning tall within him. How dare the boy run out in the middle of detention? How dare he act as though Severus were the monster here, all for making him copy down lines, when it was the boy who had—

At the door to Harry's dorm, he halted. A nasty feeling swirled in his stomach. It tightened his chest. He noticed only now how his hands were fisted painfully at his sides, how his mouth was pursed into a snarl. What was he doing? Had he really just chased after a crying child to force him into seeing through his punishment? Would he slam open the door next, would he drag him back kicking and screaming?

And for what?

He knew the answer to that question. He could sense the conclusion fast-forming in him, a sickening yet satisfying thing: he had made Severus out to be the monster, he had made Severus out to be his own father, and for making him feel this way Severus was going to give the boy his father proper, he was going to show him the real thing, he was going to tell him, see? Not quite the same, is it?

He drew in a breath, gripping at the reins of anger. He wanted to leave now and forget it had ever happened, but more than that he wanted to see Harry and remind himself what was the past and what was now.

When he eased the door open, he saw Harry sat on his bed, legs pulled in close and face buried between his knees. He was sobbing openly now, fingers splayed wide on his legs and digging into bone, a desperate clutch for the control that pain offered.

Clearly something was wrong. Clearly something else must have happened to the boy, or he must have been ill, or in some mood alien to adults but characteristic of children—he was still a child, really, Severus remembered—and Severus had been the proverbial bull in a China shop, never stopping to consider that he was making everything worse.

'I'm sorry,' Harry blubbered. 'I'm sorry, I'll finish it, I promise—'

'There's nothing to finish,' said Severus stupidly. 'You spilled ink over your work.'

'Then—then I'll do it again, I will—'

Severus took a tentative seat on the bed at his side, close enough to hear him properly through the tears and the knees. 'What is wrong?'

'I don't know! I was okay when I came in but then you—when you gave me the lines—'

'Oh please, I will not believe this is about the lines! It's hardly the first time you've been assigned lines as punishment—'

'But it's different!' Harry cried. 'Because—it wasn't like there's me and lots of other people, or it's just some random school punishment, it's not even—I mean, Krum and the others didn't get lines.'

'For Merlin's sake, yes, life isn't always fair—'

Harry's legs unwound like springs and pushed out in front of him. He peered out blue-faced and unable, looking furious about both. 'That's not what I mean. I just mean that—it's like, separate, and—and it just feels so horrible because you—we talked about it and then you were acting like it's all fine but now you're making me—and I just sit there and you're not talking to me and—' he breathed, stuttering, chest heaving, 'I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me, I don't know why I'm so stupid, but it just feels so horrible—'

Severus was not the man for this job. He'd dealt with the boy going into hysterics before, but never to such a degree that he worried genuinely he might pass out if he didn't calm, and never over anything so inconsequential. Or—not since that first summer, Severus thought, not since Harry had been younger. It seemed strange to think that not even two years had passed, and still it struck Severus when he realised he was dealing now with the same child as he had been then.

It helped to remember. The traumatised child desperate for attention from two summers past had been easier to manage than this traumatised child-not-child desperate for Merlin knew what—so Severus, feeling ridiculous and praying he was not reading the whole thing horribly wrong, said nothing and simply grabbed at him, shoving the boy close to his chest and forcing his shoulders still with an arm lock.

It took Harry no time at all to understand what was happening or to express his opinion on it, because seconds later Severus felt the boy's hands fisting in his robes, yanking him close and secure. Thank Merlin. If the boy had shoved him away, Severus was sure he could never look him in the eye again.

After some time, the crying eased a little. Severus said, 'Alright. This is what we'll do.' He did not know what to do but thought perhaps he would think of something as he spoke. 'No wonder you are emotionally overwrought when you've been holed up in your dorm for days. Your brain is clearly not equipped to handle a week of going to lessons and causing no trouble. Here is what we'll do. We will go down to my chambers and we will make tea, and then we will take the tea on a walk. Have you been up on the battlements?'

Harry sniffed. 'But I'm not supposed to leave the castle,' he whispered.

'The battlements are part of the castle,' Severus said, though if the boy had had the temerity to make that argument half an hour ago, he would have made it very clear to him what the difference was between the letter and the spirit of the law. 'Technically.'

Harry snorted, then immediately drew in another choked breath. More tears on Severus's already soaked shirt. The boy gave a groan of frustration and buried himself halfway under Severus's arm.

'Hopefully that will either calm you down or simply render you too cold to cry. That is the plan.'

'Okay,' Harry mumbled. 'And then when we get back, I'll do the lines?'

'No,' Severus said immediately. There was no way under the sun that he was ever making the boy do lines after this, not today or this year or possibly for the rest of his life. 'No more lines.'

'What?' He sounded positively panicked. 'No, no, I have to do them! You can't just cancel it halfway through because I'm crying!'

'Yes, I can,' Severus snapped. 'Where did you get the idea that you can tell me what I can and cannot do, Potter? Shut up.'

Harry stilled. Then, his head emerged from his hiding spot. It was dirty with tears and snot, but only red now instead of blue. 'Did you tell me to shut up?' he asked incredulously, mouth quirking up. 'That's not very nice, is it?'

'Well, I'm not very nice,' Severus said. He did not appreciate the look the boy was giving him. 'Come, then.'

The battlements rose at some distance from the castle in an irregular semi-oval shape. They were sectioned up by six gatehouses, two of which guarded not a gate but instead a damaged wall.

'It's something to do with Grindelwald,' Harry said as they traversed the walkway suspended in the air over the crumpled stone. Severus wondered whether it was the mysterious forces governing architectural integrity that kept it from falling, or only simple magic. 'Someone fought him here or something, that's why they're keeping the wall like that instead of fixing it. We were talking about it in History of Magic.'

'Interesting how when you bother to attend class, you seem to occasionally learn something. Could those two be connected, I wonder?'

Harry kicked a pellet out of his way. It fell into the abyss below them, drilling a perfect circle into the thick pocket of snow. 'That's anecdotal evidence,' he said. 'Can I finish your chocolate bar?'

Severus gave up the bar without argument. It was chocolate fondant covered with chocolate covered with almonds. He'd realised two bites in that he wouldn't be able to finish it without falling into a sugar coma. 'We must fuel this extraordinary brain of yours,' he said, 'if we want it to remember more facts about people fighting somewhere or something.'

The boy laughed. He'd stopped crying sometime between making tea and expressing his outrage at finding that Severus had helped himself to a substantial portion of the muggle sweets he and his criminal friends had smuggled into the school.

Severus was suddenly quite pleased with how the day had turned. The sun, drawing ever so slowly toward the horizon, cast everything in a golden light. The temperature had risen to just under ten degrees below zero today, which for Durmstrang was positively mild, and the cure for Harry's distress had revealed itself to be a no to lines and a yes to sweets. Severus could not see how he'd ever thought the boy was complicated.

'Can I ask you something?' Something wet fell from the skies, striking Severus on the nose. Snowflakes, wet and fast-melting, arms stuck finically together. 'But promise you won't take it the wrong way?'

Severus batted at the boy's hair, shaking free the snowflakes he'd caught there. He hated how wet March was. 'Either ask me or don't,' he huffed. 'I am not negotiating a contract first.'

Harry sighed. He watched Severus spell an invisible cover for them, the air going thick above their heads. 'It's just that I still don't really know why I lost it like that earlier. But—there was something you said that sort of made it worse.'

Severus kept determinedly walking. He was fairly sure much of what he'd said had made it worse. He tried not to look at him as he gave a nod.

'I know you didn't mean it like that or anything, but could you maybe not—when you said the thing about, uh—'

'Oh, spit it out, Potter.'

'About whipping me black and blue,' Harry said on a single exhale. 'I know it was just, uhm, to illustrate your point or whatever—'

'Yes,' Severus said through gritted teeth. 'A common figure of speech.'

Harry glanced up at him, frowning, but pressed on, 'It's just that it made it sound sort of like you wanted to—to do that and I know it wasn't but it sort of—sort of sounded like a threat. So, I don't know. It was a little scary and—not scary but it made it sound like you didn't—like you hated me a little or something. I'm not sure.'

Something in Severus wanted to tell Harry it hadn't been a figure of speech at all. He wanted to tell him it had been real, that such threats were not idle, that there were children in the world who would have heard him say so and known to hide—but of course Harry knew all that. It simply wasn't his world. And here he was, coming to Severus to ask him—the audacity of such a thing!—to ask him not for mercy from beatings, but from the very mention of them.

'I will attempt to avoid using such language in the future,' he said tightly. 'Though I hope you are bright enough to realise it was neither a threat nor an expression of hatred.'

'No, I know,' said Harry quickly. He stepped a little closer, and in the next moment Severus found his elbow encircled by two twiggy arms, like a strange embrace. 'Can I ask you something else?'

Severus wasn't sure how many more of these questions he could take. Already his heart was beating wildly in his chest. 'Fine.'

'Why don't you like my friends? I mean Krum and Inna and the others?'

'I seem to recall being extremely lenient with your friends—'

'Yeah, I know, but that was only for me,' Harry said without pause. 'I'm just asking because I'm curious and—there are some things that bother me, too. So, I wanted to know if maybe they're the same as the things you don't like, or at least, like, get a second opinion.'

This was interesting. 'What is it that bothers you?'

Harry thought about it. 'I'm not sure,' he admitted. 'Just—some of the things they say, or how they say them, I don't know. And it's like—like, I think Durmstrang is really cool. The whole place, the basements with the plants and the library, the Quidditch pitch, the dogsleds and the bears and the sea serpent we've seen and the light festival—and everything—but it makes me so angry when I think that I couldn't ever show any of it to Ron and Hermione because Hermione could never come here. And it's like they don't even think about that, like they don't realise there's something really wrong. I guess maybe because they don't know any muggleborns.'

'It isn't as simple as knowing muggleborns,' Severus said. 'I assure you that many of my schoolmates who went on to join the Dark Lord had shared a desk with a muggleborn. I knew plenty of muggleborns myself.'

'That's true.' Harry frowned. 'I thought if they knew them that would change it, but I guess it's not that simple. Argh—why is everything so complicated?'

Severus snorted. 'Such wisdom at such a young age.'

'Why did you do it?'

'Why did I do what?'

'Why did you become a Death Eater even though you were friends with my mum?'

Severus's step faltered. He stopped, leaning into a crenel and peering out at the winter horizon. The gaps were beginning to show: the first spots of a thaw were appearing, of a softening, of snow getting sparser and of ground showing through.

Harry hovered at his side, waiting.

'I don't know,' Severus said finally. 'There were many reasons, but I can no longer understand why they added together to that conclusion. Too much has changed since then and even in my own memories of the time I see myself as though I were a stranger. His inner workings are unknown to me.'

He took a swig of the tea. It burned his lungs.

'When I was young,' he said after a beat, 'there was a group of older students who showed an interest in me. They were children from wealthy, established pureblood families, and they took for granted everything that was not possible for me to have at the time. Your Quentin Lamotte was among them. I became obsessed with garnering their attention, or better yet, their admiration. It was not that I didn't have friends. I did. I was friends with your mother. It was not friendship I yearned for, it was guidance. I wanted someone to show me what I should aspire to, how to tell what mattered more and what mattered less. My parents were neither capable nor willing to play that role.'

He broke, wondering quite how much detail he wished to go into. Not much, he decided. Not today.

'I suppose I see some of the same qualities in Viktor Krum's friends that I saw then in Lamotte's.'

'Okay.' Harry hesitated. 'But I'm not going to become a Death Eater. That wouldn't really make sense.'

'My father was a muggle, my mother had married a muggle and my best friend was a muggleborn,' Severus spat. 'Do you think it made sense for me?'

'Well, no—'

'I am not saying you are going to become a Death Eater, Harry. But I understand that a lack of adults you trust can cause one to seek validation at any expense, and I know at least that it often results in changing yourself in ways you will regret. If I thought it was inevitable, I would not have saved your friends from Karkaroff's wrath—but that does not mean I am not concerned about the risk.'

Harry seemed to mull that over for a while, silent. The sunlight was growing pink now, dipping lower behind the distant mouths of the mountain ridge.

'I'm sorry you didn't have any adults you could trust,' Harry said. 'And I get what you mean. I think sometimes I do things just because I want someone to like me, but I don't think that I would do anything too different from what I know is—I just mean, it's not the same for me like it was for you, because I've got you. And you're loads better at being a role model than Krum or Blom or anyone like that. I mean, they're great, but they're pretty stupid sometimes.'

A choked laugh escaped Severus's lips. His throat felt impossibly tight. He didn't quite understand how it was he could still breathe.

'Also, it bothers me that Krum won't let me fly his Firebolt,' added the boy, apparently unaware of the state he'd brought on in Severus. 'I know I've not asked, but he knows about how I had to give mine back and it feels like it should be pretty obvious that I'd like him to offer, you know?'

Severus hummed to signal he was listening. He was not sure what would come out of his mouth if he tried to speak.

'Do you want to see something cool?' asked Harry suddenly. 'I only figured out how to do it yesterday with Lisa—I mean, professor Vernyhora—but I think it should work fine.'

Severus nodded sharply.

'Alright, watch,' Harry ordered, though he gave no indication whatsoever as to where Severus should be looking.

Suddenly, Severus felt a heat in his ankles first and then in his feet, sliding down his body and across the stone of the battlement, and when he peered down at the distant ground the other side, he saw the ice there crack and fracture with this heat, and something whirred and bulged in that fracture, and then—

A geyser erupted from the ground, hot water jetting high as the battlement's edge and higher still, a fountain of heat among a land of ice. When the hot water met the cool air, it turned into steam that blew into their faces, hot and thick and delicious to breathe. The knot in Severus's throat unwound, his lungs expanded, his face went wet but warm in the spray—and when he opened the eyes he had closed reflexively against the surprise, he saw in the cloud of water droplets the line of a rainbow, suspended perfectly amid motion.

'Do you like it?' Harry asked. His voice struck Severus as forcefully light.

'Yes.' Severus swallowed. He glared at the rainbow, gathering strength. 'You were right about wanting to practise natural magic when you spoke to me back in autumn. It was a good instinct.'

He felt the boy staring. 'But you said—'

'I know what I said,' Severus bit out. 'I was mistaken. As I have told you before, you have your own mind. In this case, you should use it to understand that even those who care for you do not have all the right answers.'

Harry hesitated. 'I don't think you're supposed to tell me I shouldn't listen to you.'

'That is not remotely what I said. You are to listen to me and there is no should about it, Mr Potter. But it would not be wise to recommend that you do so and not extend the same courtesy to yourself.'

He still would not risk looking at Harry, so he felt only the heat of him leaning in. Blindly, he drew an arm around his shoulders. He had thought for so long that once he had admitted to this fault, he would regret it.

But with Harry's chin jutting into his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, he couldn't bring himself to regret very much at all.

I've fallen a little behind on posting here, so I'll be uploading multiple chapters today!

A couple of quick review replies:

Sanmari - I have to say I've never considered it at all! I'm curious what you see when you imagine the scenario, though!

Bettina - thank you for all your comments, on both this fic and on Time! Have you ridden a dog sled before, or does your insight knowledge come from research only? ;) In response to a previous comment, saying that we've not had visas in Europe since the 50s is looking at Europe through rose-tinted glasses, I'm afraid! There might have been individual agreements between countries, but certainly no Europe-wide treaty. I mean, Europe was split into two "enemy" camps until the 1980s! And while Schengen was signed in the 80s, I believe, only very few countries originally signed it, and it took many years for it to be implemented on a bigger scale. Even now, there are European countries that might require visas from European citizens in select cases.