For the next several days, Harry walked with Snape, rather than behind him. Soon, he began to talk of inconsequential things. He would speak of the weather one day, a movie he'd watched the next, and his studies the next. All in an attempt to get the man to at least acknowledge him. Each time, he would have to look to reassure himself that it really was the notorious Potions Master he was talking at, and would break off when he thought himself well-convinced. He did not dream of Snape again in this time, and the man never seemed to notice his presence. Until one day, he did.

Harry returned to the park and immediately sought out Snape. He spotted him all the way across the vast lawn, and jogged the distance, falling into step beside him. With no real forethought, he began to talk as soon as he'd matched the familiar stride.

"I'm thinking of teaching Hermione how to cook," He announced. A glance told him Snape was paying him no mind. He continued as if the man had responded. "She says she likes taking after her father, Jack, in this regard, but I don't buy it. She offers to cook too much, and looks too crestfallen when someone tells her 'no', no matter how nicely me or her mother, Violet, say it. I think she really wishes she could cook like her mum, who could've gone professional in my opinion. I'm not as good as all that, but I am a dab hand at it, and it would give us something to do besides practicing wandless magic every day."

It took a moment for Harry to notice that Snape was slowly drawing ahead. He sped up to match this new pace. A grin he couldn't stop split across his face at finally gaining some reaction from the stoic Potions master.

"Of course, the trouble is offering the lessons without offending her," Harry admitted.

Snape sped up again, and Harry matched him. He got what he thought to be the hint, though, and left off chattering. It was only a moment before Snape started to draw ahead of him again, and Harry sped up a third time. His shorter legs worked like the devil to maintain the new speed, but as soon as he drew even, Snape sped up again. Harry, knowing he would have to jog to keep up now, let the man go. The game was lost for the day. Another nightmare followed.

The next day, Snape continued to speed-walk, never losing his composure, until Harry would have to jog to keep up, and again the Gryffindor gave it up as lost. Again Snape's supposedly imminent doom consumed his night. Harry was beginning to sense a pattern to the dreams, but the glimmer of thought remained but an ember in his mind.

When Snape tried again the following day to out-walk Harry, the stubborn Gryffindor broke into a light jog to keep up. Snape, poised and proper as he was, did not seem prepared to break into a jog of his own. They remained even until Harry broke off to complete his real workout, satisfied that he had proven to himself Snape was indeed there. For three days Harry let himself believe Snape had given up trying to outpace him.

As the summer sun beat down on the third week of the holiday, the pattern changed again. Snape broke into his own jog to draw ahead. Harry jogged a little faster to stay beside him. Again, Snape sped up in his jog, and Harry pushed himself into a light sprint. Soon, Snape was sprinting as well, and Harry was having to push his own legs to keep up. The need for oxygen became too much, and Harry slowed to a stop, frustrated. Giving up for the day, he jogged off the path to the exercise yard, where he could work off his anger properly. He dreamt of Snape that night and the two next, following Snape's continued attempts to outpace him.

-Break-

On the fourth day, Harry spoke again. In a way, it was almost cathartic to speak to the man, as if he were writing in a journal (something he generally avoided since Second Year). He caught up to Snape on the concrete track.

"I've been dreaming about you," Harry said conversationally as soon as he fell into step beside the man.

Snape didn't acknowledge this startling admission except to quicken his steps.

"Weird dreams that I don't know what to do with," Harry continued as if Snape had asked. He broke into a jog. "I don't mean to alarm you, but you die a lot in these dreams."

Harry was almost running by now, and Snape was barely into a jog. Still, Harry persisted, though he was too winded to maintain the one-sided conversation. This was assuming, of course, that he'd even known where he would go from there. He hadn't even told Hermione about his nightmares, but something had compelled him to spill it here. Snape continued to speed into a slightly faster jog, and now Harry was running. He pushed himself to keep up until his legs could go no faster. Snape was fairly sprinting by the time Harry started to fall back. Harry slowed as the man darted steadily ahead. He couldn't keep up, and Snape knew it.

This new trend would last for another week. Harry would push himself to stay even to Snape until his lungs burned like fire and the stitch in his side made him want to scream. Every day, the Potions Master would pull ahead. He never looked at Harry, never acknowledged he was there, and he never slowed or stopped…until one day, he did.