The corridor was thankfully empty when the Seventh-Year Boy Who Lived peered around the corner. In years past, it would have been Malfoy, or Snape, or Filch, for whom he watched, if only to avoid them. This year it was Ginny Weasley. They'd had what Hermione called a whirlwind affair for all of a month at the end of last term, and the girl was relentless to pick up where they'd supposedly left off, since Harry hadn't returned to the Burrow this past summer. Harry hated hiding from her, but he also hated the idea of patiently explaining that she was way too much for him. For one thing, if he did the second, Ron would come down on his head like a sack of bricks.

The simple fact was, he didn't want to spend the rest of his life being her hero. He… well, put lightly, he wanted to be allowed to fail. He had dozens of fans just as madly in love with his feats of greatness, he didn't want his girlfriend to be one of them; he wanted to be able to look foolish, instead of infallible. He wanted someone who saw his flaws, and, rather than gloss over them as the papers and love letters so often did, he wanted someone who embraced them as a part of who he was. Ginny claimed to like his flaws, but he doubted her sincerity, since she kept trying to fix him. He'd grown out his hair the slightest bit over the summer, trying to get rid of the rag-doll look that made him his father's twin, and she'd complained the moment she'd seen it. She'd actually tried pouting to get him to change it back. Hermione, though, had been quick to tell him he looked as distinguished as he'd secretly felt. Not for the first time, Harry wondered why he couldn't find someone more like Hermione. Not Hermione, Merlin forbid, no, but someone like her. A girl with Hermione's intelligence and perceptiveness, but with more passion. He loved the girl, she was his best friend, but he loved her enough to acknowledge her flaws. She was an amazing witch, but her abilities had one distinct cap: she couldn't imagine greater. For that matter, neither could anyone else Harry knew. Everyone around him seemed too sure of themselves, and only took everything at face value. Harry wanted someone who could… well, someone who could see past the end of their nose, someone with utter confidence. Nearly a month into term, Harry was starting to think he might have to look outside of Hogwarts if he wanted to find a girl like that.

It seemed stupid and selfish, to think of love when there was a war on, but he couldn't help it. Voldemort and his goons had gone to ground, after the debacle last year. Harry thanked whatever gods there were that the idiot had thought hiding his Horcruxes behind a blood magic barrier and a pool of inferi was a good idea. Dumbledore had admitted that Harry himself carried one, and they were still working on a solution for that, but the rest were thankfully destroyed. Even Nagini, who'd been left as a living guard for the Horcruxes, had perished in the Fiend Fyre that Dumbledore had unleashed. Harry wouldn't admit it aloud, could barely muster the will to admit it to himself, but he was so hung up on finding the right girl because he was terrified. So far, the only solution to his Horcrux was his death, and there was no guarantee that he could come back from that. It had been hell, reviving Dumbledore, even with Snape's potions to jumpstart his heart, and Harry worried that the dark magic of the Horcrux would prove… permanently fatal. Concentrating on finding love and going to classes, forcing himself to think and act like a normal teenager, was the only thing that was keeping him sane.

There was a sound behind him in the corridor, and Harry swung around, certain it was the scrape of school flats on the stone floors. It was only a piece of parchment, skidding along the corridor, caught in one of the castle's ceaseless drafts. Harry breathed in relief, chuckling lightly at himself. He was jumpy. He had good reason. Never mind the war, Ginny Weasley was fucking nutters. She'd started stalking him, snapping pictures and reciting bad poetry, about a week ago. That was why he was here. McGonagall had told him that he should take his concerns to Dumbledore, when he'd first noticed this unhealthy behavior. When he'd slipped off to the boy's lav between classes earlier and found her hiding in one of the stalls with a camera (curse Colin Creevey for gifting her one), he'd realized nothing he or McGonagall said was going to deter her. Their Head of House had even spoken to Ginny a few days ago and had sent for intervention from the Weasley matriarch and patriarch. Molly had, apparently, failed to see the gravity of the situation, and hadn't even bothered to send her daughter a letter. McGonagall had offered to bring his concerns to Dumbledore herself, when he'd gone to her again once classes ended, but Harry had wanted to be the one to take it that far, if it had to be done. As he neared the man's tower office, he was starting to wish he'd let McGonagall handle this. It felt wrong, to be going to the Headmaster for something like this, felt weird to involve him when there weren't lives at stake.

The revolving staircase grated, stone on stone, as someone descended, just as Harry was approaching the guardian gargoyle. The stone monster leapt aside as Snape stepped off the staircase and into the corridor. Harry's spine straightened, the muscles in his back coiling. He hated being short all the time, but he hated it most when he was standing in front of this man, looking up the solid six inches to the black gaze. Snape stood tall and proud, sneering down at him.

"Potter, what are you doing here?"

Harry sighed heavily through his nose. He really didn't want Snape, of all people, to know he was afraid of a girl. "I've been sent for the Headmaster," He said tersely, praying Snape wouldn't pry.

The Potions Master grunted, and Harry's sharp green eyes saw what wasn't there. Thin shoulders vaguely hunched, a ring of pain around the man's eyes, his gaunt cheeks a pasty white, rather than parchment yellow. All was not well with the Bat of Hogwarts' dungeons.

"The Headmaster has been called away from the school, it would seem," Snape growled stiffly. He shifted around the Gryffindor, and Harry noticed that he defensively drew his left arm over his stomach.

"Sir," Harry spoke without thinking. "Are you alright?"

Snape snarled over his shoulder. "Return to your dorm, Mister Potter. It is nearly curfew."

Harry frowned, staring after the Potions Master as the man walked away. Clarity hit him like a slap to the face. His left arm. He hadn't been subconsciously protecting his stomach, as Harry had first thought, he'd been subconsciously hiding his Dark Mark. It hurt when Voldemort summoned his followers, and Snape was still a spy, a damned good one. Harry felt like a heel and began to follow the Potions Master at a distance. It was stupid. It really was near curfew, and it wasn't like he could follow him all the way to Voldemort, but something dark and forbidding, deep inside him, urged him on. Something told him that the day's dealings weren't done, and Harry knew enough by now to trust his gut. Trelawney could keep her cryptic visions and indecipherable tea leaves, Harry knew, whether Hermione and McGonagall liked it or not, that Seeing wasn't relegated to perfumes and rituals. Sometimes, it was just a gut feeling, and he was having one now. Like the first swallow of ice-cold water on a hot summer day, when your stomach clenches in agony and your nerves sing in pain and ecstasy all at once.

As they reached the Forbidden Forest, Harry wondered at his sheer dumb luck, and actually had to think back to reassure himself that he had not, in fact, taken Felix Felicis. Neither of them had been stopped, nor even noticed, by the very, very few students they'd come across. Harry had waited for some friend, acquaintance, or fan to call out to him and blow his cover, but it was as if he were invisible. No one had so much as acknowledged him. He'd been sure it was coming, as they moved across the great lawn towards the forest. There'd been nowhere to hide, and he'd held his breath, waiting for one person to call out, drawing Snape's attention to what was going on behind him. It hadn't happened, and Harry slipped from tree to tree now, following the man along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, no further in than he and Hermione had been with Buckbeak.

The sinking sun bathed the forest in its warmth, and Harry silently followed the forbidding silhouette. Eventually, the man came to a clearing and paused. Harry peered from behind a tree, not daring to get any closer. He could make out, just barely, as the man raised his left arm and slid his sleeve up. Against the backdrop of sunlight through the trees, Harry could see the slight crease of pain in the stony brow. Then, Snape touched his wand to his left wrist and he was gone. Harry turned back to the school. He could just glimpse it, much farther than he'd thought. They had to be beyond the gates, at this point. He took a step forward, intending to head back and wait somewhere at the school, but a feeling like ice down his spine made him pause. He looked back at the clearing. It… it wouldn't hurt to wait here, just in case. He made an about-face and entered the clearing. Off to one side was a small stump. Harry smirked, shrugging his cloak more securely around his shoulders. He cast a warming charm and sat upon the stump. This would do quite nicely, and he even still had his school things to occupy him as he waited.