The ghosts of Ireland were nothing like the loud, obnoxious, tangible ghosts Severus Snape had grown accustomed to. The ghosts of Ireland, of this expanse of field and hill and broken, aimless stone walls, were in the fields themselves. In the wind, in the stones of the walls. In the air. In his lungs as he drew in the cold, sharp breath of winter. He could turn in a circle as slowly as he wanted, scan as thoroughly as his keen eyes could, but he wouldn't see another living soul. That didn't stop him from realizing that people were there.

Seamus had explained it to him once, a sort of bedtime story. "When people die, they aren't given a choice. They vanish entirely or they return as ghosts. The ones at Hogwarts are stuck there because...well. I don't know why. I never understood any of that. But these ghosts I understand. I understand Ireland. This country...they died for this country. They died out of starving for not wanting to leave. Through famine and war they stayed and worked and died. This is all they ever had, and all they cared for."

Snape interrupted then and said something snide about the 800-years-of-oppression lecture he was afraid this was becoming.

Seamus smiled and fell quiet.

But the child was right. The air reaked of history. The random stone walls that interrupted the stretches of green going up and down the hills were testament to the famine and hopelessness that these people had known. Every inch of this turf was haunted, but not with malevolence. They haunted because they couldn't stand to leave. They were linked. They were home. Where could they find a better heaven than this?

That sort of peace was something he had never known himself. It was a good bit of the reason why he was close to being content here.

The rest of the reason was brought to mind by the soft padding of bare feet in grass behind him. Seamus was still a distance away, but sound carried in the silence there in a way Snape had only ever experienced before when locked in his laboratories, listening for the shift of vapors that meant a potion was ready to turn.

"Severus." The voice, thick with Ireland itself, came from a distance. Seamus knew better than to ever approach Snape without making his presence known: the instincts of a Death Eater weren't pleasant, for Death Eater or victim alike.

Snape glanced back just to note he had heard.

Moments later Seamus was a presence at his side. Silence fell again, and for a long time they stood. Snape breathed in and out through his mouth, letting himself enjoy the awakening sensation of ice cold air in his lungs.

"You've made a decision?"

Snape made a low noise of response.

"Good."

A hand, warn and light, appeared at Snape's back, and slid slowly around his waist. Pressure against his side as Seamus pulled himself close. Warmth blocking the wind from that side. The novelty of it all was still something Snape had trouble with.

Seamus didn't press him. Snape would tell him when he was ready, and Seamus was content with that.

He turned to look down at the boy. His hand moved of its own volition and took a proprietary place on Seamus's shoulder. The boy smelled of grass, faintly of sweat. His hair was disheveled even more than usual in the cold wind. His face was relaxed and peaceful as he gazed out at the land.

Eventually, when Snape didn't avert his gaze, Seamus looked to him. Eyes a color green that could have been pulled from the grass itself met his, and a smile softened his features even more. "You made the right choice," he said.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Don't you want to know what the choice is first?"

Seamus smiled and pulled himself closer. "Believe it or not, I've rather grown to trust you."

Snape snorted. "Foolish."

"Always."

"I'm going."

"I thought as much." Those odd green eyes seemed to dig into Snape with the quiet, unassuming concern that almost hid the amount of intensity behind that concern. "You're feeling better?"

Snape shrugged. His arm throbbed under his sleeve.

"How long ago...?"

"Less than two hours." The taste was still in his mouth.

Seamus nodded, satisfied.

"And yours?"

"Minutes ago. I found the goblet by the fire." A tired smile. "Thanks." And as Snape knew he would he changed the subject. "I expect we'll go soon. Tonight? Or tomorrow?" Seamus drew in a breath and looked out at the horizon. "I'll miss this. "

Snape didn't bother to agree. They both knew how he felt. "Whatever decision is reached should take days at the most. They were idiots for bringing him in alive. The boy should have killed him when he had the chance. A trait he shares with the Dark Lord himself."

Ego, Snape knew. The Dark Lord never killed Potter because he was too busy bragging about his plans. Potter had brought the Dark Lord in alive no doubt to gloat over being the victor. But while the Dark Lord lived there was no victor, and damn Potter for not having realized that.

Damn them all, really. Just like old times.

He sighed. "Days. I will give them a matter of days. Of course should they prove themselves unwilling to listen, as they always were, it may be less."

"They'll listen." Seamus spoke with the faith of one who had no idea. "Why shouldn't they? You know more than they ever will about this."

"That's logic," Snape said. "If they operated on logic more than feelings, I might never have left in the first place."

"Then I'm very glad they're illogical beasts."

A laugh emerged, notable in its lack of sarcastic bite. Snape squeezed at the shoulder beneath his hand.

Seamus looked up at him. His expression was utterly open. Snape doubted Seamus could lie if he tried, but he also doubted the idea of trying ever really occured to the child.

"It will be nice to see Hogwarts again." Seamus hesitated, proving Snape's thoughts right by displaying every emotion that ran through him as he spoke. The splash of regret about what might have been, the uncertainty, even a touch of resentment. All which Snape understood clearly.

"One week," Snape said. "Then we'll be back."

Seamus smiled. He didn't believe it.

Snape wasn't sure he did, either.