A cold dread filled Harry's body as the creaky door to 12 Grimmauld Place swung close behind him, immersing them in the unending darkness of the empty house. It had taken them less than a second to step in from the stoop outside but, for some unexplainable reason, it felt as if they had already been there for hours. Perhaps it was the fact that Harry had had no desire to step foot in that place again and that every second spent there was like immense torture; like he was back in the cellar reliving his worst memories. The dread swelled and he quickly turned away from looming shadows now visible at the end of the hall, pressing a steadying hand against the cool rough grain of the door.

"Stay here," Snape growled as he pushed past him impatiently.

Harry needed only a minute to realize being left alone in the silence was far worse than following Snape through the dark abyss.

"Wait," he hissed. He stumbled after Snape, nearly falling headfirst into the man as his foot caught on the torn runner that trailed down the hall. Righting himself, he looked up with wide, fearful eyes, finding it impossible to suppress the emotions running through him.

"Changed your mind,"Snape asked.

There was a mocking tone beneath the surface of those words but Harry ignored it. He was in no frame of mind to be making witty retorts.

Their footsteps, muffled by the dusty rug, was the only sound to be heard as they made their way slowly down the narrow corridor. Harry couldn't help but notice how unnatural the silence felt. It pressed down upon them with a heaviness that was practically crushing. That, coupled with the enveloping darkness, sent Harry's heart into a violent flutter.

They came to the end of the hall where the house branched off in two directions. They could either ascend the stairs to the upper bedrooms or continue on to the dinning room and kitchen; however, for Harry, both choices ended in the same misery. Snape directed his wand towards the stairwell and the bright white light followed, tiny particles of dust dancing in the beam.

"What room would it be in," Snape asked, breaking the silence.

For a brief moment Harry allowed his mind to travel back to that night. He had come down the stairs and found them… found them…

"The second floor," he whispered as he pushed the flooding thoughts back into the corner of his mind where he had sealed them away. He couldn't afford to let them out, not right now.

Snape placed his foot on the bottom step and it let out a low creeeaak as his weight settled on it. A cold trickle of fear rolled down Harry's spine like a drop of icy water. The small hairs on the back of his neck rose to attention but he was determined not to let the fear win.

It was a shock how normal the stairs were as they climbed slowly upwards. He didn't know what he had expected to see; his mind had conjured so many gruesome thoughts that the emptiness was almost just as startling. Nonetheless, he breathed a shallow sigh of relief but it did little to lessen the tight grip on his chest. This had been the last place he had seen them. He stared down at the dingy scuffed floor, unable to draw his attention away.

It wasn't until the darkness had swept over him that he pried his gaze upwards. Snape had moved into the open bedroom at the second floor taking with him the only source of light. Harry scrambled up the remaining steps and leaned against the doorframe as he fought to catch his breath. The old, and new, injuries flared to life and he clutched at his side.

Snape focused the beam of wand light on him for a brief minute, a scowl creasing his narrow brow. He opened his mouth but then chased away whatever he was about to say with a shake of his head. Instead, he began to shuffle around the room, tossing aside clothing carelessly as he searched for the beaded bag they had come for.

Despite his better judgment, Harry made his way over to the moth eaten bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. The springs gave a grown of protest as he settled and a puff of dust billowed upwards, tickling his nose. He ignored it and, instead, picked up a book from the bed-side cabinet.

The leather clad book was heavy in his shaking hands. He set it down on the bed beside him and ran his palm across the cover, whipping away the dirt that was obscuring the golden lettering stitched in the faded black binding.

"Is that," Snape began. He carefully dodged a pile of clothes he had thrown to the floor and came to stand over Harry. He tilted his head to read the title that was now glimmering in the light. "'Secrets of the Darkest Arts'. Here I thought I had miss placed that," he mumbled with a touch of sarcasm.

Harry, however, couldn't hear him over the roar that had filled his ears. There, now standing out in stark contrast, was the jumper Ginny had been wearing on Halloween night. The wand light seemed to be focused on it, giving it an eerily bright glow in the otherwise dim room. His heart clenched and without thinking, without even realizing his hand was moving, he brushed his fingers across the knitted wool.

"Potter."

The voice went unnoticed as his hand gripped the sweater tightly in a firm fist. His chest began to rise and fall rapidly; he wanted to run but it was as if he were frozen in place, fixed in a hypnotic state, staring at the maroon fabric clutched desperately in his white knuckled hand.

"Potter," Snape called more aggressively.

A rough shake to the shoulder pulled Harry back to the present and he found his face wet with tears that were spilling from behind his fogged glasses. He dropped the jumper as if it were a snake poised to strike and buried his face into the palm of his hand. He drew in several steadying breaths through flared nostrils until he could feel his heart rate slowing.

"I'm fine," he murmured but there was no mistaking the pain in those words.

"Here."

A smooth handle was pressed into his other hand and he opened his eyes to see his wand now resting there. Warmth seemed to spread up his arm but whether it was the reassuring sight of something so familiar, or actual magic he did not know.

"Let's get out of here," Snape said as he picked up the old book and placed it into the beaded bag he had found. It disappeared out of sight despite being nearly twice the size of the bag. He tucked it away inside his trouser pockets and then looked down at Harry, extending a hand to help him up from the mattress.

Harry took the offer without a second thought. He was desperate to leave now and if that meant cooperating with someone he hated, so be it. Snape hoisted him to his feet and then turned and led the way back to the stairs without a word.

It was well past mid-day by the time they returned to camp and the bright sun was bearing down from above the gently swaying tree tops. The rays of light bent through the branches casting long dancing shadows upon the forest floor. The frosty morning seemed almost impossible now in the afternoon heat.

Harry gritted his teeth as they came to an abrupt stop. A sharp, radiating pain, like fire, rose up his back causing his vision to swim. He staggered but a firm hand around his bicep steadied him. Jerking his arm free, he turned and began to walk away from the man standing beside him, embarrassment and anger bubbling inside him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Harry didn't answer. He was already halfway down the small embankment, weaving blindly through the trees. Briers pulled at his clothes and more than once a low hanging limb caught him sharply on the cheek but he continued on. It wasn't until his feet reached the soft earth of the river bank that he came to a stop, his vision now clouded by tears.

Down here the sun blanketed the ground in warm light, it's rays unhindered in the treeless field. It glimmered off the gently rolling water which babbled peacefully against the stoney bottom. It was peaceful.

Without thinking, Harry sat down on the smooth silt that had washed up along the edge of the river last night and let the grief consume him. The thoughts he had locked away in that dark corner of his mind burst forth but he didn't try to stop them, not this time. He sobbed openly, his body shaking with the force, as he allowed himself to truly grieve for the first time. It was not just for the friends he had lost or their families even, but for everything that had happened since Professor Dumbledore's death. The fear and anxiety and hurt that had been building for nearly a year gushed out like water from a broken dam.

He had no idea how long he wept for there on the river bank outside of Cokeworth. At some point his tears had ceased and he sat staring at the rippling current, his shoulder bobbing every once in while with a stuttered breath. In truth, he felt better, like a heavy weight had been lifted from him. It still hurt to think about them but instead of a sharp pain, it now felt like a dull ache, like touching an old wound. He doubted he would ever be whole again but this, this he could live with.

Taking in a deep breath of sweet spring air, he layed back against the wet eroded rocks and let his eyes close. It's fine, he told himself as a cool breeze brushed his face. He could feel his conscious slipping; sleep was now calling him gently. I'm going to be fine.

Are you though?

The question rose somewhere in the back of his muddled mind and he pondered it for a minute. In the midst of this newfound contentment, where was the doubt coming from?

How can you be so sure of your safety?

A prickle of anxiety coursed through him but it didn't last long. He was barley aware of the river trickling nearby but it was enough to sooth his nerves. If there was danger Snape...

But can you trust him, the voice whispered.

Yes, he could. Despite his all consuming hatred for the man, he truly believed he could trust Snape. After all, he had been the one to save him and even get his wand back.

Where are you, Harry?

Harry sat up with a jolt. His heart was hammering wildly in his throat and he quickly swiveled his head around as if searching for someone. His wide eyes scanned the tree line but he found nothing. He was alone.

He scrambled to his feet, sending silt scattering into the water with tiny splashes. Despite the sun still shining overhead, he felt a shadow creep over him. He could not shake the feeling of being watched.

Where are you, the voice echoed in his mind and the feeling of unease spread. He felt exposed. Quickly, he darted back up the hill into the safety of the shaded forest and then turned to look back at the river. The field beyond was just as empty as when he had arrived but the strange feeling remained.

Furrowing his brow, Harry decided to return to the tent. It was just the lingering unease from earlier he told himself but he thought it best not to mention it to Snape. The last thing he needed was more questions. He was more than ready to put this behind him.