This was supposed to be a fun fic with a road trip theme and a few chapters at most, but that didn't happen, did it? I expect 29 chapters, including the prologue and epilogue. I am close to being done with the writing of it now, but the chapter count might still go one up or down depending on Factors.

This story begins at the end of Harry's first year at Hogwarts. We will swap POVs between the two main characters, but this is still more Severus-centric for sure.

Before we begin, here is your itinerary: we will start off slow and introspective, proceed to adventure our way through a number of European countries, and finally go very cute and very angsty-proper angsty. This is your warning.


TIME LEFT TODAY

Prologue: Hogwarts to Cokeworth

On Friday, Severus oversaw his final exam. It was the third years, too enmeshed in their new adolescence to care about grades and too young for real ambition; they should all have failed, but the school board would have put up a fuss.

On Saturday, he lunched with the Headmaster, who informed him that Severus was going to take a few days off, he just hadn't known it until that moment.

'It's nearly summer,' he told Albus.

'Exactly,' Albus told him. 'There is little left to do but supervise the children, and you've done your fair share of that already, Severus. Go today, take a trip, relax—'

The shut up was implied. Perhaps Severus had been a little—vociferous—about the various frustrations of life on the Hogwarts staff. He'd doubled his time spent patrolling the corridors at night, keenly aware of the added incentive to wander poised by the mysterious restriction on the third floor; he'd hoped to run into Quirrell, too, and did at times, all the better for showing him there were always eyes watching. He'd not slept a full night in Merlin knew how long, and then the heat had made the students lose the last threads of their fraying focus, and it had swollen Severus's legs and shortened his temper, and then, of course, Potter—a whole year of dealing with Potter. Anyone would require a holiday after that.

He didn't go on Saturday. On Sunday, he pulled an all-nighter, marked the last exam paper around six, then slept through the morning. He packed, he ate, he slept again, a full-night's drowse that settled him back into some semblance of normality.

On Monday, he strolled through the castle, soaking in the chill held snug between the thick walls. He considered going outside, but knew he wouldn't be able to enjoy the sun in full view of the student body. He told Minerva that he was leaving and let Madame Pomfrey know where to find him in case of emergencies.

He ran into Potter, too, and his brain stuttered into silence for a beat as he stumbled right back into uncanny valley. He'd been seeing his face around the castle for months now, but every time felt like the first: he'd been secretly hoping for Lily and bitterly anticipating James, and the boy was a startling neither. Close enough to each that he was unmistakeable, distinct enough that he satisfied neither expectation and only gave Severus an odd thrill of unease. But on Monday, he was going on holiday and he'd slept a full night, so he ordered Potter and his entourage to go play outside in a manner that, for him, verged on pleasant. A good deed for a good day.

On Monday afternoon, he went home.

Spinner's End was not a happy place. Spinner's End was the murky sediment on the bottom of a bottle. It was the old can of beans shoved to the back of a cabinet. It was the thing that remained when everything else went away, and it stood unchanged: just as dusty, just as damaged, the wardrobe creaking with woodworms, the mattresses stained and caving, the same smell of old wall and desiccated paint. Severus wasn't in the business of looking for happy. He wanted, at most, peace, and Spinner's End was that: unexpectedly, perversely, always.

For three days, he read, he sketched idly formless things in whimsical purple ink, he looked through old photographs and his mother's recipe journals, and he had coffee on the porch the way his father used to, bundled up in a fleece blanket and trying to spot the morning rats among the bins at number eight. He didn't think about anything. It was, he imagined, the sort of peace the dead felt.

On Thursday, he came back to Hogwarts refreshed.

'So,' Albus greeted him, 'a few things.'

And so, it was revealed to a refreshed Severus that the coward idiot Quirrell, apparently possessed by the Dark Lord, had attempted to—yes, the Dark Lord—had attempted to steal away the Philosopher's Stone and was intercepted by Potter—yes, Potter—Potter, who then promptly killed him—killed—and fell into a coma.

'A coma?' Severus repeated, because he didn't feel particularly ready to touch on anything else.

'Fortunately, it was not terribly serious. He woke up yesterday and he is feeling much stronger. He was well enough, in fact, that he was allowed a visit by Amelia Bones just this morning.'

'Why was Amelia Bones here?'

'Well, I removed Quirrell's body into the Forbidden Forest so the acromantulas might take care of it, hoping to keep the whole affair under wraps. You see, without a body, there should be no need for the Ministry to become involved. Unfortunately, some students ventured out for a night-time adventure of their own and found the corpse; clearly, my dear Severus, your insistence on patrolling the corridors after hours was entirely appropriate—'

'She was here to interrogate Potter?'

'She was,' Albus answered leisurely. 'I let Harry know that although he has done nothing wrong in defending himself, certain details of the event should remain between us.'

'The Dark Lord.'

'Yes. I do not think many will readily believe such a tale—I encouraged Harry to say he'd injured Professor Quirrell, but lost consciousness before he saw what happened to him. An easy thing to imagine, that some dark being in the forest had taken revenge on the man when, weakened, he returned for more unicorn blood, and that it burnt his face clear off—to believe a boy did so with his bare hands is a significantly harder feat.'

'Bones bought it, then?'

Albus smiled. 'I underestimated Harry's honesty. In the end, he would not exonerate himself, nor would he hide the truth of Voldemort's survival from the world. He told everything as it transpired.'

He pushed a copy of the morning's Prophet across the desk. Severus flipped it over with controlled anger, not wanting to earn himself chastisement but wanting very much to let the Headmaster know he was pissed. 'I cannot believe—'

The headline read, Harry Potter Spells Demise for the Wizarding World? Juvenile Murderer Claims You-Know-Who's Return.

'As you can imagine, this complicates the situation,' Albus said calmly.

'I—Headmaster, this is—surely they are not going to press charges? No matter what nonsense the child spews and whether they believe it, they cannot claim that he wilfully murdered an adult wizard—'

'I think they would find that a hard position to defend,' Albus admitted, 'though not impossible if we consider the circumstances. A supernaturally gifted Harry Potter—you can well imagine how that narrative can develop? Harry's guilt is beside the point here. I worry that Cornelius is prone to following public opinion, and in this case, he might follow it straight into disaster. The Prophet is now wondering whether a boy who is able to kill a grown man with his bare hands needs special handling; and if that boy is telling tales that cannot be true, well. I have already heard rumours from our friends at the Ministry that Cornelius wants to take him into custody. He might not know of the prophecy as we do, and he might not fear Voldemort's return, but he is clever enough to recognize Harry as an asset. And he is an asset we cannot afford to lose, Severus.'

Severus had been having a perfectly pleasant holiday. This was a cosmic reminder never to do such a thing again.

'Can't you bring them the stone?' he tried, dry-throated. 'Surely that counts as evidence of something—'

'Ah, well,' Albus sighed, with good humour. 'I'm afraid I helped the Flammels destroy the stone yesterday morning.'

Severus stood up.

'Is this funny to you?' he spat, knowing immediately he was crossing a line but helpless against it. 'Is this a joke to you, Headmaster?'

'It is not. It is an extremely unfortunate situation for which I bear a great deal of responsibility, and I am not confident which way forward is best. But for the sake of my old nerves, I prefer to find some humour in it. Will you allow me that?'

Severus crossed his arms over his chest, as if to shield himself from the rebuttal. 'Of course,' he replied smoothly. Albus's forehead creased: he didn't like feeling like Severus was managing him. Good.

'Let's not argue, Severus,' he said. 'Not now.'

'As you wish.'

'Severus.'

Severus said nothing. For a moment, they remained in this silence, Severus pulled straight as a rod, Albus hunched over his own frustration. Then, the tension began to seep away. They'd reached this quiet impasse before, over and again, and had never found a way to resolve it.

'What do you need me to do?' Severus asked finally.

Albus considered him. He knocked twice on the desk with a long finger, as if to reassure himself of what he was about to say before saying it.

'I need you to take him and run,' he said.


A few notes on canon: Severus's backstory remains largely consistent with canon, but since I'm doing a lot of gap-filling, it will veer off here and there, especially with regards to Lily. I am also playing fast and loose with how magic works, so do expect some differences there.

Thank you for reading. I hope you'll tune back in for the first chapter on Wednesday! I aim to update every Wednesday and Saturday.