Snape looked at Harry in the eye. The eyes Harry knew were his mother's. The eyes that Snape had looked into so eagerly when he told Harry's mother
the extraordinary powers she possessed was because she was a witch. Snape placed a flask full of silvery substance into Harry's hand. Harry reached out to grasp it, but then Severus Snape's all-knowing face disappeared. Harry was left blinking, feeling confused, at his own hand streched out in front of him, the only light coming from that of the stars outside.
It had been nearly a year since the great war. Harry had turned 18 and was in training to become an Auror after taking a course at the Ministry of Magic. He had been living at the Burrow with the people he knew so well. He felt safe now, but nothing could ease his pain that stubbornly refused to go away. The pain from the loved ones he had lost tore at his heart. He couldn't do anything but wait for time's healing hands to help him. To make it better.
Harry turned on his side to try and get back to sleep. He was used to the dreams now, but he was desperate for them to go away. Focusing on the people he cared for he felt more relaxed. His friends were his sanity. Ron, Hermione and especially Ginny.