In three days, Snape had not improved.

In three days, Hedwig had not returned.

Harry snatched sleep where and when he could, but he hadn't managed more than a few hours at a time. Unable to cast the protective spells and charms that Snape used to keep the zombies away, the best Harry could do was put up an alarm for when anything got near their campsite. It woke him up when a zombie attacked, which was not infrequent, but also gave a false alarm every time any animal bigger than a possum crossed the spell line.

On day seven of the world turning upside down, Harry rose with the sun from an hour's rest and stared northwards with bleary eyes. He scanned the sky—no approaching white dot. He was no longer surprised.

"We need to find shelter," Harry muttered to Snape's limp form. I can't keep doing this. They could wait for Hedwig somewhere else as well. It wouldn't matter if she finally returned with the whole Order if there were nothing to find besides their dead bodies. The trees were simply not enough protection for a longer convalescence, and Snape wasn't getting better. They needed walls, a roof, and more time. The trunks around them were scorched with the marks of Harry's spells.

The D.A. coin burned: right on time. He pulled it out of his pocket and watched the daily roll call.

HRMNIE ALIVE. It changed after a moment to, HARRY

ALIVE he sent back with a smile.

WEALSEYS

ALIVE

PATILS

It continued like that for a long time, for not long enough. Everyone from the original call responded, as did Angelina Johnson, which was new starting the day before. The hard part came when Hermione listed the names of people who should have had coins that had not yet responded. Luna was always last. Luna was always the hardest to see go blank.

After roll call was finished, Harry slipped the coin back into his pocket and focused on the task at hand.

He stuck his wand between his teeth and started to scale a trunk with good footholds. He had climbed enough trees in his time, trying to get away from Dudley during Harry Hunting, that it didn't take him long to get to the top. He had always been lighter than most boys his age and could even sit in some of the thinner branches to get out of Piers' reach, who had usually been sent up after him to flush him out. Piers always stopped when he got to the branches that swayed under his grip, but Harry didn't mind heights and was willing to risk going higher. He poked his head out of the upper canopy now, looking around for something, anything, that could end this nightmare.

There! Against the western skyline, still shrouded in twilight but with dawn inevitably approaching, a thin trail of light grey smoke smeared the gradient of colours.

Smoke meant fire. Fire meant life.

A thin branch slashed a cut across his cheek in his haste to climb down. Warm liquid oozed down his face, but he didn't notice in his rush.

"Professor! Professor!"

No response. Harry knelt at his side, not liking how his face seemed to have sunken in. All the more reason to get him to shelter so Harry could force hot food down his throat. In placing his hands on Snape's shoulders, Harry could feel a slight shaking in the man's limbs.

"Wake up, sir! We're leaving!"

A slight mutter.

"Right," Harry started, releasing him for the moment and turning to pack up their campsite. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to get out of this mess." He wrapped his cloak back around the few things he had taken out when it became clear that their campsite was now semi-permanent, tying it up tight. Then, taking up his broom in his other hand, he approached Snape resolutely.

"I think I was in the hospital wing when they went over carrying passengers in flying class, so we're gonna figure this out on the go." He grabbed Snape's wrists awkwardly and pulled him up in a sitting position, then lunged forward when his head lolled to the side and he almost bashed it into a tree trunk. "GAH! Alright, hold on…" With a great deal of maneuvering, accompanied by much cursing, huffing, and puffing, Harry managed to get both of them on the broom. Snape was in front so Harry could grab him in case he started sliding off, but this left him in the awkward position of not being able to see anything.

"You'll let me know if we almost run into something, right?" he asked the insensible Snape rhetorically, craning his neck around to see as much as he could. It wasn't a whole lot.

They rose wobbly into the air. Harry kept low to the treeline, hoping not to be too noticeable, and aimed for the smoke.

Their path was wandering, as it was hard for Harry to keep in the right direction when he could only see where they were going by sporadically stretching his neck over Snape's shoulder to see. For his part, Snape was slumped forward and completely unconscious. Harry's grip on his arm was the only thing keeping him on the broom at all.

"I think I deserve to get in your N.E.W.T. class after all this, don't you?" he muttered, correcting their course after they had turned so far right that he didn't even need to look around Snape to see the smoke.

As they approached nearer, Harry found himself checking over Snape's shoulder more and more often. He was cautiously optimistic about what they might find.

CRACK!

Harry jerked the broom downwards so fast that Snape completely lifted off of it. Cursing and wildly trying to both keep Snape on the broom and get the broom to the ground and safety, they careened nauseatingly. Finally all three of them (Harry, Snape, and the Firebolt) tumbled onto the grass.

CRACK!

Harry didn't feel any gunshot wounds. He rushed over to his professor, who had been shaken partially awake (seemingly against his will) when he forcefully slammed into the ground.

"Are you alright?"

"No, I am not bloody alright!" he hissed, raising a feeble hand to block the light from his squinting eyes. As it was less than an hour after dawn, Harry found this a bit dramatic. Still, he was ecstatic to see Snape in a more coherent frame of mind than he had been in for some time.

"I mean, were you shot?"

This roused him somewhat. Harry wondered if he was really as ill as his condition seemed to imply over the past few days, or if he just pretended he couldn't hear Harry's regular attempts to wake him up on principle. "Shot? Who is shooting?"

"I don't know!"

Snape tried to get up, but couldn't. He still struggled in vain for a few moments before Harry brought over his Firebolt.

"I am not getting back on that thing to be shot out of the sky like a pheasant."

"It's just for you to sit on, I'll walk and pull it along with me. You won't get more than four feet off the ground, I promise."

Snape narrowed his watering eyes at him and gave a sneer. "I do not require your assistance."

"Yeah, you can yell at me all you want when we get to safety."

"How is going towards the shooting safety?" Snape groused as he reluctantly climbed onto the broom. As soon as he was on, he clutched it with white knuckles, as if he felt like he was going to fall off at any moment. Considering how much even this little effort seemed to take out of him, Harry wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"I'll wave a white flag or something." As he spoke, Harry transfigured a leaf into a white flag. Holding it up and waving it back and forth with one hand, he grabbed the broom's handle with his other and began tugging Snape along behind him like a kid pulling someone in a red wagon.

"I resent this," Snape muttered.

"You're welcome," Harry rolled his eyes.

Another CRACK! rocketed through the air, and both winced.

"At least put up a shield, for pity's sake." His words were starting to slur together.

"Aright, yeah, good idea." Harry did, and then they kept going. "Does a protego even work against non-magic projectiles like a bullet?"

No response came, and he checked behind him just in time to watch Snape's eyes roll back into his head as he tilted sideways off the broom. Harry leapt forward to catch him but was a little too late. He winced as Snape hit the ground for a second time that day, then made a snap decision. Harry laid the Firebolt next to him, checked in all directions for nearby zombies, turned, and started running.

The cracks and the smoke were definitely coming from the same direction. As he approached, the trees thinned out until disappearing finally into a lawn. Beyond that lawn lay a house with a porch, and on that porch sat the source of the shots.

A middle-aged woman with close-cropped hair was tilted back on the two rear legs of her chair, one ankle propped up on the porch rail. On this outstretched leg was balanced a rifle that she had clearly been using to shoot the zombies that now lay as corpses on the ground. In the other hand, she held a half-eaten apple. As Harry watched, she took a bite of it while aiming the rifle in his direction.

Harry frantically started waving the white flag, but–

CRACK!

Harry flinched violently before realising that he was still alive, not bleeding, and feeling no pain from any wound. He looked around and saw a new zombie sprawled out on the grass a few feet behind him. Oh.

Heart still pounding, his mission came back to him as the shock wore off and he ran up to the house and woman.

"Please," he begged, "I need your help."

"How long have you two been on the road?" Leslie asked.

"Since day one," Harry sighed, wrapping his hands tighter around the mug.

"'ow long 'as 'e been ill?" asked the other woman, emerging from the room where they'd put Snape. Harry leapt to his feet and rushed inside to make sure, with his own eyes, that Snape really was still alive.

He lay on the bed, eyes closed. He looked less pale than he usually did, and the colour that had returned to his face was a normal human one. No green or grey tinge. He just can't be turning. He was still occasionally muttering, but since he'd been doing that this whole time, it didn't alarm Harry too much.

"I guess around four days," he answered belatedly when the long-haired second woman followed him in. "That's when he started, you know, sniffling and looking weird. The next day he was really weak and just kept sleeping."

"I see. Well, 'is vitals are good. I got 'im to eat a little."

Harry nodded mutely.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Harry."

"'Arry. And your dad?"

He flushed. "He's not my dad."

"Really? I'm surprised, I can see a resemblance."

"Take that back… right now," came a weak voice from the bed. Harry stepped forward, thinking he had awoken again, but Snape was still out of it.

"Severus," Harry told the woman, annoyed and knowing Snape would hate it if these random muggles called him by his first name.

"'Ow unusual."

Harry turned back to the woman. Leslie had come over and was leaning in the doorway next to her. "Thank you so much for helping us. What have you done for him?"

"I got 'im to eat some soup and drink some water. 'E's running a bit of a fever."

"Megan's a vet," Leslie smirked.

Harry tried not to let his face show the sudden doubt that overtook him—a vet?—and wasn't sure he succeeded after both women laughed.

He realised that he barely knew anything about these two women who were helping him. There hadn't been time for introductions at first, and then he'd been too numb afterwards to respond to most of Leslie's attempts at conversation. Leslie was a stocky woman with short blond hair and a nose piercing. Megan was a good head taller, slim and with long auburn hair that was starting to fade to brown. Both were middle-aged and looked kind.

"Sorry. Yeah, I'm Harry, and this is my teacher. We've been on the run since this whole thing went to pieces."

"Teacher, huh?" Leslie said, leaving the doorway and heading back into the kitchen. Harry and Megan followed her out, Megan softly shutting Snape's door behind her. "Like I told you, I'm Leslie. Megan's my partner." She stopped then and looked at him challengingly, as if waiting to see what his reaction would be to this. Harry just shrugged, unbothered. She continued, "Our property here is an orchard, so we have plenty of food for the season. Feel free to stay here as long as you need until your teacher is better. He's in our only spare room, but you can sleep on the couch."

His body suddenly reminded him that he hadn't gotten much sleep since Snape got sick. Without another word, he flopped face-first down on the couch he could see through the doorway to the living room. Megan huffed a laugh and blew out the candles illuminating the room. So electricity is gone now, then.

The two women disappeared into another room, and Harry worried for a moment about who was going to keep watch during the night until he remembered that they were all inside a well-boarded up structure with four actual honest-to-Merlin walls and even a roof.

His sleep was long and rejuvenating.

"They trusted you in their kitchen?"

Harry whirled around, splattering grease on the floor from the spatula he still held in one hand. "You're not supposed to be up!"

"I am perfectly fine," Snape said stiffly as he collapsed into a chair at the table.

"Sure," Harry said doubtfully. His eyes roved over Snape's form anxiously, looking for any signs of a relapse.

"We're staying with two women and you're acting like more of a mother hen than either of them."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Les asked sweetly, walking into the room. As she still held her rifle in one hand, Snape cleared his throat and shook his head. Harry smirked and went back to the skillet.

"For your information, Professor, I made last night's dinner."

"Surely not," Snape said derisively, looking at Leslie for confirmation. She rolled her eyes indulgently and nodded.

"Kid knows his way around a kitchen. Megan can't cook to save her life–"

"Now see 'ere-!" came a distant shout from the depths of the house.

"–and I'm a little busy," she hefted the rifle before setting it down and leaning it against the wall near the door, "so be grateful you're getting a cooked meal at all."

"As long as it was not poisoned," Snape muttered.

"I'VE GOT IT!" Megan screamed in glee.

Harry hastily turned down the heat as all the kitchen's occupants hurried towards the sound. He stopped only to heft a struggling Snape to his feet, ducking the indignant slap this earned him and following Leslie to the den where Megan was dancing to herself celebratorily. On the table in front of her, a radio was spitting out crackling but clearly intelligible words. Snape appeared in the doorway just as Leslie was hushing them all so they could listen.

"…reliable, but they have found little evidence to substantiate the claims. There have been struggles to identify a singular ground zero, suggesting the plague may have sprung up at roughly the same time in multiple different locations. Investigations are underway to find a connection between the seemingly random sites. Further research is underway, but the scientific community has warned that it is incredibly difficult to find a way to safely study the zombies themselves."

"Ha!" Harry whisper-shouted at Snape. "I told you they're called–"

"Shh!" Everyone cut him off.

A new voice chimed in on the radio, signalling a fresh segment. "This just in: government officials have ruled that incoming aid from international sources is deemed a violation of the recent lockdown on the borders of almost every country in western Europe. This comes as a devastating blow to many who were depending on our allies' military strength to clear the heavy concentration of infected in congested areas like London and Birmingham.

"After days of debate, strict barriers have also been put up to isolate England from Wales and Scotland as well, areas that are also facing a rapid spread of zombies. Critics are calling this move a rash choice of division in a time when unity is paramount. Those who sponsored this decision argue that creating and enforcing the separation allows national governments to focus on securing their own local security. While all governments involved have sworn to maintain the centuries-old alliance that forms the United Kingdom, many fear this step is a precursor to future devolvement of the current political state.

"To discuss these concerns, we've brought a special guest on air today. Many alarmists–"

"We're not alarmists!" another voice protested hotly, the sound crackling from the unexpected increase in volume.

"Alright, if I wanted to hear people arguing, I'd have visited my parents," Leslie said dismissively, leaving the room. "Sounds like there's not going to be much more of interest from that quarter any time soon. Closing the borders? What were they thinking?" Her voice faded away as she walked off.

Megan reached out to the radio again, fiddling with the dials and trying to find a different station. Snape and Harry stared at each other, Harry anxious and Snape pensive.

"What are we gonna do?" Harry asked softly. Their whole plan was to walk to Scotland, as Harry's broom would never work for a long-term travel method and apparition was impossible.

Snape's eyes trailed away to rest on the radio again, brow deeply furrowed. "I… will have to consider."

While Megan continued to work on the radio, the two wizards left the room as well. Snape's room had become a kind of meeting-place for them, a spot where they went to discuss more delicate matters and make plans.

"Can we use magic to get past the barrier?" Harry asked.

"Assuming it is not enforced with spellwork, yes."

"Enforced with magic? Why would muggles use magic to–"

"We have heard no news of the Ministry of Magic since this disaster began. It is entirely possible they have decided to enforce the muggle government's decision to isolate England from Scotland and Wales as well, for reasons of their own."

"We've got to try, though, don't we? We just have to get to Hogwarts."

Snape didn't respond, looking deep in thought. Harry sighed and looked around the room in an attempt to hide his nervousness.

They had been there for four days. Snape had fully woken up on the second and was starting to get out of bed hours later. Megan tried to get him to take his recovery more slowly, but Snape was stubborn and really did seem to be bouncing back quickly. Harry would bet anything that he wanted to get back on the road as soon as possible. He only hoped the professor wouldn't decide to leave him here where it was safe and go off without him when that time came.

"While I was ill," Snape began, surprising Harry. He had never before initiated a conversation about his time spent dependent on Harry's ability to keep them both alive. "Did you ever get a response from the Headmaster?"

Harry shook his head, mood lowering even further at the reminder of his still-missing owl. It had now been ten days since they sent her off; he was beginning to grow really afraid that he might never see her again.

The thought of those few turbulent days in the wild made another subject come to mind. "Professor? What did you mean when you said 'of course'?"

This seemed to rouse him. "What?"

"When yo–the charms broke, and all those zombies came at us that night. I was fighting off several when you looked at me and said 'of course' like you'd just realised something."

"I had, something that made several things from the past abundantly clear."

Harry waited, expecting more. Snape scowled.

"It is how you get your kicks, is it not? A sort of twisted dependence."

"What are you talking about?"

"The thrill, Potter, the thrill! You feed off of it like some sort of danger leech."

"Are you… are you saying I have some sort of adrenaline addiction?"

"It would certainly explain why I have had to save your life so many times."

The thought had never even crossed his mind before, but as Snape said it now, he realised it was completely true. Still, he argued. "Half of those things had nothing to do with me wanting to get in danger, they just happened to me."

"First year, you learn the Philosopher's Stone is in danger of being stolen by a murderous dark wizard and decide to chase after him with a broad repertoire of about three useful spells. Second year, you take a teacher who only remembered his own name because he'd signed it so many times to the chamber of secrets where a deadly basilisk resided. Third year, your wand and a fellow student were dragged off by a wild animal and you go chasing after it with dementors loose on the grounds instead of finding a teacher. That was after sneaking into Hogsmeade for fun with a known mass murder out for your blood. Fourth year, you decided to go above and beyond the call of duty in each and every task of the tournament you oh-so-adamantly did not want to participate in when it was entirely within your control to simply sit on the sidelines and do nothing until the time ran out. Did you even bother to imagine what your professors might think when a scrawny, underaged wizard under their care jumped on a broom to play cat and mouse with a dragon?"

"You are so rude," Harry began with an incredulous smile, not quite sure how to react to that.

"Fifth year," Snape continued, speaking over him and eyes glinting, "the department of mysteries. I believe I do not need to further elaborate."

"Okay, I get it." Harry tried to ignore the painful ache the thought of Sirius and that fateful night caused. His reckless actions there had certainly caused a lot of damage.

"I thought you were just stupid, or worse, an over-confident and attention seeking brat–"

"Yeah, I kinda picked up on that."

"–but now, I am beginning to think there was more to it. That you, on some level, wanted, needed, the rush of adrenaline that comes with putting your life at risk." His look was now all-too knowing, if somewhat accusatory, and Harry couldn't hold his gaze. He stared down at his shoes, reeling about this new revelation about himself.

"And why does that make you so mad?" he asked, trying to divert the conversation away from himself.

"Because it is a lot harder to keep someone alive when they are constantly putting themselves at risk."

"Why do you even care if I survive?" he'd wondered about it more than once. Not just retrospectively, but also about why Snape had been so anxious to get to Harry when the ritual went wrong.

Something shifted in Snape's face. "I am a professor, it is my duty to ensure the safety of my students. I knew you were only protected by muggles."

"Then how come I don't see you dodging zombies to get Hermione from her parents' house? Why just me?"

"You are the saviour of the light, are you not? I doubted your ability to survive when left to yourself in such conditions." He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. Harry had the feeling that he was being assessed. "I would not have expected you to be so successful in keeping us alive when I was… out of commission."

"Maybe I'm not as incompetent as you always assumed," Harry said quietly.

Snape pursed his lips but didn't immediately make a snappish comeback. Instead he slowly folded his arms. "Would you be willing to learn how to cast the notice-me-not charms and protective wards for yourself."

"Yes! I mean, yes, sir."

Snape nodded slowly. A clock on the wall slowly ticked. Harry tried not to fidget.

"I think we should wait until the situation has settled somewhat before we attempt sneaking across the border to Scotland." He finally broke the silence.

"Are we gonna wait here, then?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape said slowly, deliberately, an indecipherable look on his face. "We are going to investigate the ritual site first."

A/N: Despite the evidence stacked against me, this is not actually meant to be a commentary on the current political climate of the United States, nor is it in any way related. I've had this plotted out for over a year by now, and the border closing is simply meant to be a plot device to change our traveller's trajectory in a different direction.