Good day, readers. This one is a little short. Reviews? Enjoying? Let me know what you think. More to come, keep being patient.

DN

Hunter felt like she was collapsing as she sat in the Great Hall. The Assistant Headmaster had been speaking for nearly an hour already and showed no signs of stopping. It wasn't possible that the students were still paying attention, despite the fact that she was discussing such important information about O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s, the end of term, spring holidays, and everything else. Most students' eyes were either closed or glazed over. McGonagall didn't seem to notice. Even the rest of the staff seemed bored to death. Except Severus. He hadn't bothered to show up for this, either. He seemed to feel now that performing whatever duties his roles demanded was beneath him. Outside his office during their meetings with Winder and Alexander, she rarely saw him even in passing. She knew he was still about, as he kept up teaching. The door to his lab was closed and locked otherwise, but flickering light and the scent of the brewing of unfamiliar potions crept out.

She desperately needed to see the sun, to feel the earth under her feet, to be reconnected. Surely THAT would set things right, help put her on the path back to sanity. The Great Hall, despite its cavernous size and charmed ceiling, was simply no match for simply being outdoors. The sun was up now, the air getting warmer. She found she was utterly unable to tolerate even a moment further of this lecture. She located a door very close behind her and quietly slipped out.

Once in the corridor, she stood with her back against the wall for support and took a few breaths to clear her head. The corridors were so strangely silent and empty, rather like during the holidays. Not a soul stirred. She headed to the back lawn of the castle, towards the lake, where the sun would rise first and the warmth would begin.

Exiting the back door, she turned southeast to face the morning sun that now shone over the mountains, closing her eyes to feel the meager but present warmth on her face. Despite the chill, she removed her shoes and stepped onto the cold, wet grass. She softly sang a song, drawing forth the energy from the earth into her body. Her feet moved in rhythm as she continued, down the slope towards the lake. Unlike Sedona, where energy radiated from the rocks and earth all the time, and in huge quantity in some places, Hogwarts' grounds yielded very little. That notwithstanding, she drew in what she could from the sun and the earth and began to feel the better for it. Not great, not 100%, but some small improvement. Perhaps she'd turned the corner and she could begin to heal now. At the very least, perhaps she might gain enough strength to make it through to the end of the school year and return home to the desert, where surely full recovery awaited her.

The first glint of light had just come over the trees as Harry launched himself out onto the lawn, still eyeing his map. Snape's form was difficult to make out in the thin, wan light. He was moving quickly down the rocky hill, towards the lake. Harry followed as fast as his legs would carry him, slipping over rocks as he struggled to fold the map and tuck it away, having made visual contact with the dark form of the Headmaster, far ahead of him. Why had he not carried the map in his bag today, of all days? Having to go retrieve it had cost him precious time. He drew his wand and cast an Arresto Momentum, then recalled that only worked to slow down objects, not people. He then tried to cast the Immobulus, but he was too far away and not able to cast it well on unstable footing. The effort at spell-casting was slowing him down, and there was no time to lose.

Snape never turned nor slowed, seeming not to notice his pursuer.

Harry continued on down. He was catching up, moving considerably faster than Snape, closing the distance between them. His lungs were burning, his legs on fire, his feet aching from hard steps on the rocks as he moved as quickly as he could ever remember over ground. He'd be there already if he had only thought to get his broom. Even on his old Thunderbolt, he would be faster. The cold air felt renovating, helping cool him as he drove himself on.

Now Snape had reached the pier, his pace still deliberate and unchanging as he proceeded inexorably towards its far end, his footsteps marching down the aged boards carrying through the otherwise silent morning. The water was dark, with a thin crust of ice still covering parts of it. The weak rays of early morning sunlight glinted on its glassy, still surface, but the effect was not inviting. The lake remained gloomy and forbidding. The slimy surface of the rocks on the shore still bore witness to the tentacles that had scarred them through the winter.

Harry had had to slow down, having lost his footing more than once, his ankle now complaining as he continued despite a twist or two. The stones were only becoming more treacherous as he got closer to the water's edge.

He tried to call out, to stop him with his voice, but his lungs' demand for air precluded this. Bending over, choking and coughing, Harry at last kept himself from falling, hands propped on his thighs, head bent in an attempt to gather enough breath enough to shout. Looking up, he immediately drew his wand.

Severus Snape was badly out of breath, glad that he had reached the solid planks of the dock before his legs gave out. The assembly had provided a perfect opportunity to do what needed to be done outside the prying of others. Everything was finally at the ready.

Minerva was fully ready to assume the Headmastership of the school, as she had been for many years.

Morgan Hunter would be an excellent Potions Mistress, with Hypatia Alexander as her junior colleague. Hypatia would, no doubt, be displeased to discover that her position would be the secondary one, as Snape had not been specific about her rank within the Potions faculty. But he would not be there to experience her blistering temper, thankfully. Morgan would be fine, with her impressive defensive skills.

Aurora Sinistra would be Head of Slytherin House, a novel role for her, but one that she would grow into. She'd hardly be maternal like Minerva or Pomona Sprout, but that wasn't necessary to be effective. He wondered if she would move down to the dungeons, or simply visit her student charges.

And Bill Weasley. Now that Harry's college acceptances had been received and Snape's signature was affixed to vouch for his ability to pay, there really wasn't anything more the boy needed from a godfather. Nothing that Bill couldn't handle ably. Though it did occur to him that he might be forced to evaluate his godson's marrying his sister. An unusual situation, but hardly cause for alarm.

It was all arranged, his exit would be seamless. Every niche filled, no role left empty, no reason to persist any longer.

The time was now, he'd waited long enough, tried enough, lived long enough. His body bore the familiar ache of abuse once again, his heart filled with a familiar heaviness, his soul steeped in familiar determination. He would never even feel the water. He reached into his pocket as he continued down the pier, his hand wrapping around the cold crystal. He drew it out, removing the cap easily with one hand, raising the brown, foul-smelling liquid to his lips.

So soon, release would be his.

The vial flew from his hands before he heard a voice shouting "Accio Vial." He had a pursuer. But he had planned for this. Nothing would stop him from achieving his goal. In two more steps, he'd withdrawn the second vial. Two more steps, the cap withdrawn, one more step, to his mouth.

A second "Accio Vial." The sound of footsteps far back on the pier, too far to reach him. A third vial, in one step, cap off in one, and to his mouth.

Harry was running again. Two vials in his hands with Merlin-knows-what in them, tossed aside. Out of breath again, choking on his words. How many vials had Snape brought? He was reaching for another. Harry was too far away, he couldn't speak, his wand wouldn't cast a spell on its own, despite his pointing it directly at the dark robes. No, no, no. He had to get there, had to stop him, no.

His thoughts slowed to a crawl. He could sense every muscle in his body, moving with one another, some in pain, some still working fine, pulling his bone, tugging at tendons and ligaments, his cartilage bearing the impact of each step across the hard stones, the impact rattling up through his bones. Every air sac in his lungs was an individual one, each crying out for more. He even felt each hair on his head, waving in different directions from running and the movement of air off the surface of the lake.

He felt his body beginning to lose form, each intersection losing separateness, synapses gone, everything blending together, nothing separating his eyes, his mind, and his body. His wand pulled him off his feet, somewhat like apparating, or using the floo network when the system wasn't working well. He wasn't sure where his feet were, nor his legs for that matter. His shoulder was ready to pop from its socket, bearing the weight of his body behind it as though he were hanging from one arm, only sideways. He was flying towards Snape, he was going to reach him. If he didn't have to stop to vomit first.

Severus Snape could smell the brown liquid as the vial passed under his nose, now like an old friend after having simmered and brewed for the last month. He was surprised Harry was being so persistent, but he had two more vials in reserve, just in case he caught his breath. He gave one final thought to escape, then opened his mouth.

Harry aimed for the hand holding the vial, his wand followed by every cell in his body, focused on that one point, like when he was chasing the Snitch. This time, he missed. Instead, he struck the Headmaster squarely in his back at full speed. Harry heard the sound of cracking, felt his entire body both regaining a solid state and colliding at full speed into another solid body. Was the sound his bones, Snape's bones, his wand, the vial, the boards of the pier, all of those things, or something else? There was no time to think. Nor to change direction. Time was no longer proceeding at a crawl, but seemed to have fast-forwarded to this moment. Both of them tumbled over the edge and into the water.