Five: Ghent to Amsterdam

They stayed in Ghent for three nights, each one longer than the last. Severus's lungs urged him to go on. His thoughts, quiet during the day, awoke with dusk and procured for him images of pursuits and Aurors and Lucius Malfoy's hand laid gently on Potter's head. In the evenings, he left the windows thrown wide open and pulled the shutters to help against the heat, so the sounds of nightlife drifted in easily from the river bank below, and robbed Severus of sleep until he'd exhausted himself with planning for contingencies.

At least he had Potter taken care of. Hetzel's sister came each morning to take him on a walk and wore him out well enough that he didn't complain over being made to lie down and watch TV during the afternoons. Severus had fully expected the boy to grow bored of the old woman's company and dump her a day in, but the pair of them seemed to get on just fine. He supposed he hadn't known either of his grandmothers as a child and had never experienced the benefits of that dynamic.

It didn't matter either way, not as long as their getting along meant they stayed out of his hair, and they had, largely, safe for an incident that first morning when Potter expressed suddenly a pressing need for being shown how one made scrambled eggs, right then and there as Severus was trying to have his morning coffee. He did catch a peek of how the Hetzel woman turned on the bloody hob, so he couldn't be too annoyed about that, either.

Today, finally, they would move on: Severus had gone down to the bus station in the morning and got them two tickets to Amsterdam for a coach departing at quarter past two, which would get them there in good time to find a place to sleep for the night. Taught by experience, he was planning on spending a few days in the city before moving on to Berlin. If slowing down would save him having to deal with more sick children, he could sacrifice a few nights of sleep.

At quarter to one, the door burst open and the merry pair waltzed in, chuckling openly until their eyes caught on Severus's glare and they fell into a morose silence. Having that effect on people without even trying: an enviable natural talent indeed.

'Eat quickly and pack,' he told the boy, pushing the plate toward him. 'We're leaving in less than an hour.'

Ever since he'd been stupid enough to bring a child with a sick stomach to a restaurant of all places, he'd tried to keep it simple and made toast and eggs and cooked oatmeal. The Dark Lord's youngest-ever Potions Master, Dumbledore's most trusted spy, now promoted to Golden Boy's personal chef.

Potter eyed the sandwiches with an unvoiced sigh. Severus braced himself for an argument.

'We just had waffles, for our goodbye,' Hetzel's sister spoke up. 'You must have real waffles at least one time when you're in Belgium, or you're not allowed leave, right Harry?'

Potter murmured his assent without looking at either of them.

'So, we're very full,' she added unnecessarily.

'I imagine. Well, what are you waiting for, Potter? There are some foil bags in the kitchen somewhere, wrap these up and bring them along for later.'

The boy eyed him with blatant suspicion, though what it was he suspected Severus of, he wouldn't have tried to guess. He disappeared into the kitchen then to do as he was told. He did quite a bit of that, actually, ever since they'd left Hogwarts—Severus dreaded the moment when the novelty of the experience wore off and the brat returned to his usual self.

He escaped onto the balcony after, knowing the two of them would start chattering away the moment he was out of earshot. He spent much of his time out here, watching the passers-by. The sun struck powerfully, and Severus allowed himself the indulgence of rolling up his sleeves, which he could not normally do: the Dark Mark had been designed precisely so that no glamours could conceal it, and any Death Eater had to ultimately resign themselves to being a little too hot in the summer months.

It reminded him of that summer after his fifth year at Hogwarts. The summer of the heat wave. The summer of storms. The summer when Lily wouldn't speak to him. It had happed just after the OWLs: he had told her he was sick of her treating him like a pet, she had told him he was an idiot, they'd argued, James Potter and his gang made a fool of him, and she'd protected him, and Severus had called her a mudblood. All in all, it hadn't been very different from their usual routine; except for that one word, at the end.

He had apologised and then apologised again, and though she hadn't accepted, he'd been convinced that by the time they were back in Cokeworth for the summer everything would be back to normal. They were always more themselves in Cokeworth, a freer and less restrained version of them, and the conflicts and tensions carried over from the wizarding world faded into the background the moment they stepped foot onto the faded grass on that lonely hill behind Spinner's End. What else was she going to do all summer anyway? Hang out with Petunia? Please.

And yet, she did not relent. She didn't come to the hill. She pretended not to be home when he knocked on her door, or she sent Petunia to scare him away. When they ran into each other in High Street, she pushed her chin up and looked right through him with an absent smile, as if he weren't there; and when he spoke, she acted as if it had been the wind.

He had, perhaps, been a little in love with her before then, in some unrealised, innocent, childish way. But that summer, when he saw through what he'd believed of her and glimpsed for the first time that self-indulgent cruelty, that moral arrogance, the blind self-righteousness: that had been the first time he'd looked at her and thought, how horrible you are, and, I love you.

'Mr Snape. Is it time for you to go, maybe?'

She had startled him. Standing in the doorway to the balcony, watching him with a calculating eye, she looked just like her brother: old and severe and timelessly vibrant.

'Yes,' he said, because it had been time to leave a few minutes ago, actually, and he'd missed it completely.

They still made it to the station in good time. The bus was stunk up with people and petrol, and Severus had to edge the window open and breathe through the creak to keep nausea at bay. Potter contented himself with bobbing his head absent-mindedly to the tune from the driver's radio, and with watching Severus out of the corner of his eye in a manner that was distinctly unsettling.

About two hours in, they drove into Meer, and when Severus spotted the first sign directing toward border control, he stood and made his way to the driver's booth. Quietly and with significant aid of the universal language of gesture, he explained he was travelling with a sick child and they needed to urgently stop at the nearest petrol station.

He breathed easier once his feet were back on solid ground. Potter looked unimpressed.

'I'm not sick anymore,' he informed him.

'I am aware,' Severus said, then realised he might be spared further whining if he explained. 'It would be difficult to avoid border control if we stayed on the coach, and we don't have the necessary visas. It's a manageable distance from here, so we'll go by foot and cross the border under the cloak. We'll catch another bus once we're on the other side.'

Severus sincerely hoped it wouldn't occur to the boy to learn from this. He hardly wished to improve his skills in sneaking about.

'Let's go then. Do you need the facilities first?'

'I'm allowed?'

Severus told himself it wouldn't do to strangle Lily's child over a single piece of cheek. The boy had James Potter's genes after all. He could not be held fully accountable: he'd been doomed from birth.

'I have no interest in your attempts at humour, Potter. Trust me, I am well aware that I am your last choice for travel companion, but I believe I have been entirely fair in the few demands I have made on your behaviour—'

'You're not my last choice,' the boy said. 'I mean, if I had to travel with Voldemort, he'd probably try to kill me. You just like, yell.'

'Do not say his name,' Severus chastised, but with little heat: if the boy had to be insolent, he supposed at least he might be funny while doing it.

'Can I really go to the loo? I thought maybe we were in a hurry or something.'

Severus just shook at him to go, feeling a little out of step.

He watched the boy zap off toward the station, like he was being chased down by a horde of wolves. Lily had never rushed. One time, they'd been folded on the sofa at the Evanses, and Severus asked Lily to fetch the tea he'd forgotten on the counter. She slunk to the floor to crawl there in slow-motion, like she was fighting through her dying breaths. He had eventually grown impatient and got up to get the tea himself.

'When you want something done, do it yourself,' she cited seriously. 'A little life lesson for you, my sweet summer child.'

She then laughed for a solid minute, as if what she'd said had been the greatest joke ever told.

'You're horrible,' he told her.

'Aww, I love you too,' she said, and then laughed more.


Thank you for reading!

A bigger chapter coming on Saturday: some adorableness, an unexpected meeting, and plenty of trouble ahead.

And a thank you to the guest reviewer from Nov 29th - I'm glad you like it! ;)