There was a cold, clear pale blue sky, and, small below, the daffodils blew on the hillside under dry-stone walls and bare trees not yet in bud. Severus's broom picked up speed and he heard a whoop as his son sped up from below him. He turned tightly and dove, Harry joining and they spiralled tighter and tighter around one another as the ground rushed up towards them, daring each other to hold on that second longer – and broke off together and swung up again, laughing. Severus caught Harry's merry, green eyes and grinned, feeling a rush of pride in his son, nearly grown now, strong, fast, brave and so astonishingly good-hearted.
'Let's go again, Dad!' and they were going up again – no snitch, just racing and diving for the sheer feel of the air on their faces. Severus loved flying, whether on broom or as the hawk that he had learnt to become, but it was his son who had taught him the joy and purity of speed and the dance of the sky.
Severus peeled off first this time, with not quite the recklessness of youth that Harry showed. Severus had come to watch some of Harry's Quidditch games and had been in terror at some moments. None this year, of course – Harry had been dreadfully disappointed about that, and for all that the Triwizard Tournament was a major international contest, there was only one event a term. Hardly worth cancelling Quidditch over.
'Time to stop, Harry,' warned Severus.
'Aww, Daaad!'
All right, thought Severus, amused. Maybe he still has a bit of a way to go before being fully grown. 'Look.' He pointed. 'Pa's coming home.'
Down below, a figure was approaching their gate. Harry grinned – 'Race you!' – and swooped swiftly down towards the ground. Severus followed, smiling as the man below turned and shaded his eyes against the sky at the two riders bearing down on him.
Harry reached him first, naturally, and circled his broom around him before pulling up sharp in front of him, leaping gracefully to the ground. Severus could hear the man laugh as he broke his stride to avoid bumping into Harry, who grabbed him for a hug and received a tousle to his hair in response.
And now Severus was landing too, tipping his broomstick up to stop as his feet touched the damp grass. He couldn't help smiling at both of them.
'Hello, Sirius.'
'Hey, darling,' smiled Sirius, reaching for him, arm still on Harry's shoulder. Severus slipped in close beside him, and Sirius' arm twined around his waist as he tilted his face up for a kiss. Severus leaned down in a familiar warmth and affection, brushing his lips briefly against his husband's…
Severus woke up.
—o0o—
He wanted to scrub his brain, he truly did. A hot shower would have to suffice.
For the length of that dream, he had been married to Sirius Black – Black, of all people! – and bloody Potter was his son. He had truly loved both of them. And he could still remember what that felt like, the surge of belonging as he leaned in to kiss him…
Ugh.
Severus sat down alone to a breakfast of eggs and toast. He wanted nothing more than to forget the whole thing. Him, father to that hateful brat? Husband of… oh god.
And yet… for the length of that dream, he was happy.
Happier than he ever remembered being in real life. Even the times he had spent with Lily – back when she was alive, back before she turned away from him, before he betrayed her – he had always felt unsure, knowing himself unworthy, deep down. No surprise she had rejected him in the end. It was no more than he deserved.
But this. He had felt warm, confident in the love of his family.
As if Severus could ever have a family. Especially those two.
He pulled on his outer robe and stepped out of his chambers. He needed to get those images out of his head. Kissing Sirius Black. Ugh. The man who had almost killed him, who had made his life hell throughout his time at Hogwarts, who had –
– not betrayed Lily to her death, that had turned out to be Pettigrew; at least, Albus believed that, though Severus wouldn't have put it past Black, and still wasn't at all sure Albus hadn't been fooled by his desire to see the best of people –
… and not that it would have come to that if Severus hadn't betrayed her first…
He needed to clear his thoughts.
At least it was the Easter holidays. No classes to prepare for. He could normally expect some peace and quiet. Though this year half the castle had stayed, along with the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang crowds.
Down a flight of steps. Into the main corridor.
Potter was still hanging around, of course. That brat never seemed to let him in peace. Didn't he have a home to go to?
Running footsteps behind him. Speak of the devil…
'Potter! No running in the corridors!'
A glare from behind those damnable glasses as Potter, dressed for flying, broomstick over his shoulder, transitioned into a fast walk, defiantly just one notch short of running. Heading for the west door and the Quidditch pitch. Potter was going out flying, no doubt to risk his neck in more foolhardy daredevil stunts.
Like the ones he'd enjoyed in his dream.
Severus hadn't flown in years. He missed it, he realised. The last time was when he refereed that match a couple of years ago. And then he'd been looking out for trouble, looking out for Potter, so he couldn't enjoy it. It had actually been quite a stressful experience.
Of course he couldn't just go out for a jaunt. It wouldn't fit his image. Greasy bat of the dungeons, Death Eater marking time, awaiting his Dark Lord's return. Which could be soon now, if Albus could not find a way to stop it. The Mark was getting steadily darker. The loyal Death Eater had to be the only face he showed, so he could pick up his place in their ranks, reporting everything to Albus. No frivolities, no slackening. His penance, and better than he deserved.
Still, it would be nice to be able go out on a broomstick sometimes.
That was what was making him happy in the dream. The flying. Nothing to do with Potter or Black. That was it. Yes.
Severus woke up.
—o0o—
He lay in bed for a moment, listening to slightly raspy breathing. He couldn't help it; he rolled over, draping his arm over the bare flesh beside him, which moved at his touch, ribs expanding and expelling in a sigh. Sirius rolled towards him, mumbling sleepily, and Severus clung tightly to him.
'…what, dear?' Sirius whispered, throat clogged from sleep. 'Nightmare?'
'Not exactly,' confessed Severus softly, breathing the warm smell of him. 'Just… deeply unpleasant.'
Sirius simply held Severus close, letting him burrow into him and press his head against his chest.
'I dreamt… I dreamt I hated you, like I did back before… but worse. And I hated Harry too, and he wasn't my son, and I was truly vile to him, all the time… as if I'd never got over James or –'
'Hush…'
'And I was spying again and you were – on the run I think, and I blamed you for James and Lily, and…'
'It's over. I'm here now.'
There was silence for a while, Sirius's arm resting over Severus's shoulder.
'You know the worst thing? I was so alone, and so miserable, constantly miserable. Hating everyone and everything…'
'Just a dream, Sev. You have both of us.'
'I know. Just a dream.' He snuggled in – Sirius gave a little hum of contentment – and closed his eyes. 'I'm glad,' he yawned. 'I would hate to live like that.'
Severus woke up.
