The door to Number 12, Grimmauld Place slammed shut as Severus stormed out of the house.

He hadn't waited for more than a second after the meeting was over to leave. The moment Albus had announced them finished for the night, he'd stood quickly enough to send his chair rocking precariously backwards, and strode away as fast as he could without running. He could feel Albus's eyes on him as he damn-near fled. That stupid, insufferable, foolish —

"Severus, wait," Lupin called, hurrying across the street after him. "Is it Harry? What happened? Is he in danger?"

"Don't follow me!" Severus snarled at him, and turned on the spot without another word, Apparating to the trash-clogged riverbank of Cokeworth.

Lupin, of course, appeared only seconds after.

Ignoring him, Severus climbed the bank and ducked under a torn section of fencing, stalking out into the streets after a brief stop to Transfigure his clothing into something more appropriately Muggle. He was fucking going to kill the boy. He'd given him explicit rules—to the store and back, and only to the store and back. Trusting the idiot had been a mistake. He should have known, should have locked Potter in the house instead of allowing himself to tentatively hope, if only for a millisecond, that he wasn't James Potter in all but name. It was better to have been proven wrong, he thought savagely, cutting through the side of a neat little family home to head into the underbrush of trees behind their yard, weaving his way through brambles and low-hanging branches. Now he wouldn't hold out hope of any difference.

A twig cracked behind him, close enough to give him pause. Spinning round, Severus locked eyes with the wolf, who looked faintly startled where he stood in a patch of poison ivy. "Do—not—follow—me," he ground out, teeth bared. "This is not your concern."

"I'm in charge of Harry's continued well-being as long as he's in your care," Lupin retorted, stepping forward. "This is my concern. What has he done, Severus? Did he leave the house again?"

Severus laughed. It sounded more than a little hysterical. "Leave the house?" he repeated. "Leave the house? He never returned. "

"Where is he now?" the wolf demanded, striding past him. "We need to find him, quickly, before somebody else can."

"He's at the playground, the goddamn fool." There was panic pressing at his chest, suffocating him, rising up and up with each passing second. He'd found—the playground. The playground. What if he found something else? Some remnant of his twenty-year-old friendship with Lily, some proof that she'd existed and had once cared for him when no one in his life ever had and—and what if the boy began asking questions? Dredging up old memories. Demanding details. Demanding answers. Demanding to know why he'd—killed them.

(It hadn't been him who pulled the metaphorical trigger, but he was as much of a murderer as the Dark Lord himself was. It was his fault his fault his fault. He'd delivered that fragment of prophecy. He'd been the one to damn them all, to damn Lily, to damn that baby that now slept on his couch parentless orphaned alone.)

"Severus?" Lupin was barely two feet away now, hand outstretched. "Are you ill?"

"Don't touch me," he gasped, hands coming up to tangle in his hair. A crushing wave of humiliation and self-loathing swept over him. "I will kill you if you touch me."

There was a wariness to the werewolf now, like he'd just discovered a hidden bomb but couldn't quite tell when it was due to explode. "Do you know if Harry has moved yet?" he said after a few tense seconds. "Is he still at the playground?"

"He's not moved." He needed to—to go. Get the boy, get him out of there, get him back to Spinner's End before he could find anything. "He's alone."

"We'll find him, then, and bring him home. Let's keep going."

—

Harry really hadn't meant to make a detour.

He'd been in Tesco, rushing about to gather broccoli, frozen cod, and other odds and ends, when he'd realized for what felt like the first time where exactly he was and who he was around. The people in this town—they knew the area. They knew their neighbors and the locals. That gray-haired man with the cane, there? He might have known his mother when she was young. That woman to his left? She might have been one of his mum's classmates.

Cokeworth was a treasure trove he hadn't even thought to consider, before.

The cod would keep awhile longer, he decided, shifting from foot to foot as he scanned the faces in the store around him, trying to pinpoint a target. He would choose someone…older. Harry couldn't see anyone wanting to move here after their retirement; there were plenty of places to better spend their golden years in. Looking past the derelict squalor of Spinner's End, the neat little houses dotting the roads seemed aimed more towards small families. People like the Dursleys, and ones whose families had either moved on or died, leaving them alone in the house from their prime years.

"Hello," Harry said nervously, as he came to a stop in front of an old woman giving out samples. "Could I have one?"

The bit of chicken was tender, and he took a moment to savor the flavor of it before beginning hesitant small-talk with the woman. Bit by bit, Harry revealed that he was an orphan living with a family friend, and that he'd come to the town in hopes of finding some trace of his parents in his mother's childhood town. The old woman pressed another sample of roast chicken on him.

Then, Harry dared to break the protocol Snape had imposed on him, and revealed his full name along with Lily Potter's maiden name. And the woman bloomed.

"Those eyes," she'd murmured, looking him up and down as though truly seeing him for the first time. Her arthritic fingers clasped at his upper arm and her eyes practically sparkled. "Why, those eyes—I'd recognize them anywhere, I would. The Evans girls. I watched them grow up, you see, along with that boy from across the river."

Yeah, Harry thought dazedly, as he was showered with more information on Lily Potter than he'd ever received in his life, and a feeling that was more grief than joy rose in him. Yeah, Cokeworth was definitely a treasure trove.

Snape had been best friends with his mum. That much was absolutely certain. That he'd never said anything—that he'd never once brought her up—was enough to leave Harry shaking with helpless anger. He'd known his mum. Hell, Lupin and Sirius had known his mum, but at least they hadn't been her best friend. Snape was the ultimate treasure trove—and he refused to be discovered. Damn greasy bat…

Harry stormed down the sidewalk back towards the river, sucking the last of the flavor out of the third bit of chicken the old woman had secreted to him, and struggled to wrap his mind around the fact that anyone had ever seriously liked Snape, let alone called him their friend. Snape. The greasy git of the dungeons. Snape, Potions professor, with the nasty hair and even nastier personality, whose bark was preferred to his bite. His mum had liked him? She'd wanted to be around him, had enjoyed seeing his great, ugly face? Had he even treated her properly?

Maybe she'd only been humoring him as kids. Maybe she'd felt pity for him. It would make sense. No one could actually like Snape.

He fought the urge to kick something. Chest heaving like he'd run a mile, Harry looked around and wiped sweat out of his stinging eyes. The cool dimness of the store had been so far from the wet heat sucking at his skin and clothes. Shade—he needed shade, or else he'd end up getting heat stroke. The cod would survive a bit longer. He would only take a short break.

The playground he came to smelled strongly of fresh mulch; better than smelling his own sweat. Harry sat heavily at the bottom of the slide. A tall tree crested over him from behind, and the leaves shook in the minute breeze, sending dapples of fading sunlight quivering across the ground. He closed his eyes and pulled at his t-shirt in an attempt to get air flowing between it and his chest.

That awful Snape boy.

Aunt Petunia hadn't been lying, after all. It was like when he was eleven, and she'd had her great outburst over his mum leaving for Hogwarts like he had been. And…and next summer, if Snape didn't agree to stop being such a bloody git and tell him about his mother, could he maybe coax another revealing outburst from her? What sorts of things would she say if he asked about Snape? The old woman at Tesco had been incredibly brief—the boy from Spinner's End, never saw one without the other until one day the boy was nowhere to be found outside of the shadier bits of town—and it hadn't been enough. Nothing anyone could tell him about his mum's past could ever be enough.

The cod was probably past the point of return, Harry lamented as he looked down at the grocery bag on the ground next to him.

And so was he, he realized, jolting to his feet as Snape suddenly appeared in front of him, as though he were some demon that had been summoned. Lupin, behind him, looked relieved, but Snape seemed as though he was ready to cast the Killing Curse.

"Er—" Harry said by way of explanation.

"What are you doing here?" Snape demanded through clenched teeth. "Did you not hear my orders? Do you have cotton stuffed into your damn ears? Well? Answer me, boy!"

Righteous indignation overtook him in an instant. "It's just a playground," he retorted, struggling to keep his voice level, though the pitch rose and fell wildly. "I wasn't out causing trouble. I just went to sit down and take a break. I'm not—I'm not throwing rocks at cars, or beating up kids, or—" His fists were clenched and he'd taken a step forward, though he couldn't quite remember when he'd done so. "I've been locked up for months. No news, no nothing, just—just locked up, and—"

"Have you not thought to consider there being a reason for that, Potter? Can nothing penetrate your thick skull? Oh, well, I suppose I might have to reword that." Snape's teeth were bared in a silent snarl, exposing his cramped, yellow teeth. "I have been able to break into your thoughts and memories with absurd ease. So tell me, Potter—why is it, in a head so simple to unlock, that basic orders cannot filter through?"

"I just—"

"'You look just like your father.' I'm sure you've heard this before. What they've delicately not told you, I'm afraid, is that you are also alike in personality—and James Potter was an arrogant, entitled toddler no more capable of making rational choices than you yourself are."

"Severus—"

"Don't talk about my father!" Harry swung about to kick at the slide as hard as he could, sending his bones and the slide rattling. "It's not my fault he stole my mum from you, or something! It's not my fault he—"

But Snape already looked like he'd sucked the wind straight out of his sails. Harry trailed off, baffled and more than a little furious. Snape had gone stock still; he looked entirely too pale, more than the norm.

"I…I've been locked up," Harry tried, but the words were met with silence. "I—Professor Lupin, I just don't…"

"Where did you hear that?" Snape asked quietly. "Who told you such an absurd thing?"

A quiet Snape was a dangerous Snape. Now quite alarmed, he looked around to Lupin, who slowly approached Harry and put a hand carefully on his shoulder. "A woman at the store. She told me about my mum."

"What did you tell her? Did you blow your cover?"

And just like that—Snape was in a full rage again.

"Were you friends with my mum?" Harry demanded, instead of responding.

"That is not the point, Potter! The point is that you have exposed yourself, leaving yourself open to discovery. You have outdone yourself in the breadth of your never-ending impulsivity and stupidity! You—"

"Severus," Lupin said sharply, and proceeded to then cut off Snape's instantaneous 'do not interrupt me' to continue, "it's getting very late, and these groceries will not keep if they're left out for much longer. I think you've made your point quite clear. Harry, you need to follow the orders set for you. Severus had trusted you to do as you were told, and you decided to put yourself in danger by making it more difficult to find you and bring you back to the house. I never want to see you laugh at James and Lily's sacrifice the way you have tonight. There is no telling what might have happened."

"But he—" Harry protested, face flushing. He felt sick to his stomach.

"We can discuss this later, once our tempers have cooled. Severus," Remus said, glancing at the silently fuming Potions Master and leaning down to pick up the discarded groceries. "Lead the way."

Thoroughly chastened, Harry followed along at a trudge, digging his fingers into his palms and fighting to calm down. How had they found him? He wondered sullenly, glaring at Snape through his eyelashes. He certainly hadn't told anyone where he was going.

"I think we can salvage the fish," Lupin was saying to Snape, who didn't respond. "I've already put in stasis, but the damage was done…if you cook it immediately after returning, it should be just fine."

They crossed the river and headed into the run-down half of Cokeworth, Snape leading the way. Professor Lupin became very quiet until they finally passed into the dusty house on Spinner's End and shut the door firmly behind them. The shadows dancing on the walls from the candle chandelier seemed vaguely surreal. Harry shivered as Remus cast a Cooling Charm. Snape disappeared into the kitchen and returned barely a minute later with what looked to be a Calming Draught, which he downed in one go without preamble. Then he hurled the empty vial into the fireplace.

"Godric and Jesus!" Lupin shouted, leaping backwards to shield Harry at the sound of shattering glass. "What the hell—"

Snape seized a small ceramic pot off the fireplace and threw that, too, where it burst into pieces upon hitting the floor. He was reaching for three glass figurines when Lupin jumped straight over the back of the sofa and grabbed his outstretched arm. "Do not fucking touch me, werewolf!" Snape snarled, wrenching his arm up and slamming his back into the mantle with enough force to look as if it had hurt.

"Harry is right here, goddammit! If you can't control your temper, Severus, I'm going to have to take him away for the night and contact Albus to tell—"

"Then tell him! The fireplace is right here, Lupin! Call Albus and tell him what a terrible fucking decision this had been!"

"I can't, because it's all over the bloody floor, and—are you bleeding?" Lupin said quite suddenly, looking positively alarmed.

"What?" said Snape breathlessly, but Harry, where he'd pressed himself against the far wall, could now see it too. There was a stain spreading over his Potions professor's shoulder, darkening the fabric of his Muggle jacket. "We are in no way discussing that right now, wolf. We're talking about Potter and his inability to follow orders properly. The Floo powder is on the mantle, there—or, no…I just threw it onto the floor."

The Calming Draught had apparently taken control by force. Snape blinked hard and swayed a little. Lupin shook his head and grabbed the man, shoving him into the armchair by the hidden staircase. "How high was the strength of that Calming Draught you just took?"

"I took two," Snape snapped, without his usual fire, "and they were both at regular strength. Let go of me."

"Absolutely not. If you've overdosed yourself, you bloody, pompous idiot…"

"Er…Should I call Dumbledore?" Harry asked, inching forward a little. "Or should I start cooking the fish?"

"Severus has destroyed the Floo powder, so you only have one option from that. Harry, I'll join you in cooking in just a moment. And then we'll see about sleeping arrangements. Leaving the two of you alone tonight is not an option." Lupin ran a hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. "I'll be staying the night."

"You'll what?" Snape said, sitting up too quickly, if the hasty grab for the arm of his chair was any indication.

"Harry, to the kitchen if you will. I'll be right there to begin making tea." Professor Lupin looked grimly between the two of them. "We have a lot to discuss."