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Harry Potter and the

Stone of Dreams

– Act 1: Foundations –

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-36- Harry -36-

September 10, 1991

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After being trapped in the hospital wing all day yesterday and with no classes on Thursday mornings, as soon as the mediwitch released him, Harry ended up in Hogwarts library. He settled into a darkish corner. He had no desire to be found this morning. Not after what he'd learned last night from Severus. A large armful of newspapers the librarian had helped him dig out of records was spread out on the table in front of him, most of them dated around October 17, 1981.

Slowly but surely, Harry read through the newspapers. He read accounts of his parents' murder. He read clippings about the Boy Who Lived, which Harry still didn't quite believe was himself. He read about the vanishing of the Dark Lord, You Know Who (whom Harry still didn't know the name of, even after fourteen newspaper articles). He even read found a newspaper that had dedicated eight pages to the benefits (and problems) of a curse scar. In that particular paper, there seemed to be many differing opinions on why Harry had survived, and what the meaning of the lightning bolt shape could be.

The story he'd been told growing up about a car crash slowly unraveled in Harry's head as the proper story took its place. His parents hadn't been drunk and died in a car crash. They'd been murdered while trying to protect him.

Wiping away the tears on his face, Harry picked up the next newspaper. It was printed on light blue paper and titled 'The Quibbler'. Unlike every other paper, the headline wasn't about the Dark Lord or the Boy Who Lived. It was about the continuing search for the illusive crumple-horned snorkack. The article Harry was searching for was buried on page three.

The first thing he saw was the picture. A messy-haired man and a red-haired woman were standing in the picture, smiling and holding a baby. Harry knew who they were even before he read the caption. He ran a finger over the photo before reading the article – which ended up being more an obituary for the Potter family than any real article.

It was quite sad that Harry was learning more about his family from a decade-old newspaper than he'd learned in his whole life.

When lunch came, and with it his second potions lesson of the week, Harry didn't bother moving. He just continued to sit in the dark corner of the library, surrounded by proof of his relative's lies and his parent's bravery. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to face the world, now that he knew why everyone stared at him.

The Boy Who Lived. The celebrity. The most famous eleven year old in all of England.

The footsteps that crossed the library were familiar. Harry looked up from his chair, the article from The Quibbler open in front of him to be read for the fifth time, and found himself staring at a rather irate potions professor.

Harry looked back down. He didn't want to deal the confusion that was Severus Snape – the man who alternately hated him and liked him, depending on the time of the day. He didn't particularly want to hear the rant about missing potions class either.

But the man didn't speak. Eventually Harry had to look up, just to see if the professor was still there.

Severus had his arms crossed over his chest, but was eying the newspapers with a strange look on his face. "You missed class." The words were bland and empty, rather than anger Harry had been expecting.

He felt a little warmth curl through his heart. Severus had said he would try to be nicer and it seemed as though he was going to follow through with it. "I…" Harry hesitated, not sure how to explain. He looked back down at the picture of his parents.

Severus made an impatient noise, but seemed to be willing to wait for Harry to put his thoughts together.

"I never knew what happened to them," he finally spit out. "I… I didn't know how they died." Harry traced a finger over the picture of his parents, feeling lost. "Aunt Petunia wasn't ever going to tell me the truth. She wouldn't even show me a picture of my mother, much less tell me my mother died saving my life."

There was a rustling of paper. Harry glanced up to see that Severus had picked up one of the papers and was scanning the article.

"Everyone stares at me," he commented, looking away. He dug through the pile of newspapers in search of one he hadn't read yet, not wanting to look up at the man.

"You are… famous," Severus finally said, folding up the newspaper and setting it back down on the table. "Perhaps it would be best to try to ignore the worst of it."

Harry shot him a look. "Ignore it?" he asked incredulously, thinking back to how he'd been practically invisible growing up. Few of the students would even meet his gaze for fear of Dudley's retaliation, much less openly stare at him. "How?"

Severus was silent a moment. His eyes were distant, like he was lost in a memory. "Act like you don't care," he said. "If you don't, they won't either."

Harry wasn't sure that was a plan that was going to work, but he generally trusted the man's advice. He sighed and slumped back in his chair. "I can try," he muttered. "Sorry for missing your class."

Severus's lips tightened. His eyes narrowed slightly. "You are not excused from doing the work. I expect a completed essay like the rest of your classmates, on time." The man pulled a roll of parchment out of his pocket. "Your previous essay. Your spelling is atrocious." Then he pulled out a slip of paper. "And your new assignment."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking the offered items and glancing at the slip of paper. "Undetectable poisons?" His mouth dropped open. "But that's not until third year!"

"Then you should get busy," Severus commented darkly.

"It's not fair," Harry scowled, but added a quick, "Sir," when Severus's eyes flattened.

Severus held perfectly still for a long few seconds, his eyes snapping with anger. "It would only be not fair," the man finally said, his voice bland but with a hint of strain to it, "if I didn't think you could do it."

Harry shrank back slightly in his chair with a frown. "Oh."

"I have been informed," Severus continued, obviously forcing himself to not cross his arms over his chest, "that you enjoy my class."

Harry shrugged.

"Eloquent," Severus commented. "You also appear to have considerable talent for the subject." The man's eyes were sharp and probing. Harry looked away. "Please make every effort to be in class when you are so scheduled."

"I will, Sir," Harry said. "Sorry."

Harry heard Severus's footsteps as the man turned to walk away. He sighed softly, starting to grab the newspapers and put them back into a pile. He put the light blue Quibbler on the very top, wishing he could read it again. But he was supposed to be in classes, and if the teachers were going to keep tracking him down like this, he probably should go. He could always check out the newspaper again later.

Gathering up the newspapers carefully, Harry put his backpack on his back and started towards the front desk. He paused when it came into view, spotting Severus chatting with the librarian. Unwilling to run into the man for a second time in this short a time span, Harry held back, mostly hidden in the long rows of books.

When the man finally turned and left, Harry hurried up to the front counter and set the papers down. "Thank you," he told the librarian.

She eyed him. "You'll want to wash your face before you go to class," she commented as she picked up the pile of newspapers. She sorted through them, counting softly. When she got to The Quibbler, she hesitated. "I don't even know why I keep copies of this," she muttered. "Nobody ever reads them." She plucked the light blue colored paper out of the stack and held it out. "If you'd like it-"

Harry had taken it before the words were completely out of her mouth. "Yeah," he whispered. "I would, thanks."

Madam Pince eyed him for a long moment. "Off with you, then."

Harry smiled slightly, edging away from the desk and then heading towards the doors as quickly as he figured he could get away with. He didn't want the sharp-looking librarian to change her mind. As soon as he was out in the hallway, Harry flipped through the newspaper to page three, looking down at the picture of his parents. The only picture of his family he'd ever seen, and now it was his.

He grinned, carefully folding up the newspaper and hurrying back to the Gryffindor dorms. He needed to find a safe place to store the photo, even if it meant being late to Transfiguration.

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...

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-37- Severus -37-

September 13, 1991

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Severus settled down at the staff table on Sunday, watching the students mill around, waiting for breakfast to appear. He had a strong cup of tea with him.

"You look more stressed this year than usual," Minerva commented.

Severus scowled, wishing he could slump down in his chair and cross his arms as an answer like many of his students would. "It is going to be a long year," he replied, sipping at his tea. And an expensive year, if he continued to go through tea like he had the past two weeks.

Minerva hummed, a little smile on her face. "I heard you talked with Harry the other day. He seems much happier."

Severus didn't bother to reply to that. He instead fixed his gaze on his Slytherin students, trying to locate something he could go down and fix. Unable to find anything, Severus turned his eyes on the Gryffindor table. If nothing else, the Weasley twins had to be up to something.

His eyes landed on Potter. The boy was talking to his friends, apparently attempting to ignore the stares of the people around him. There was only the occasional sharp look over his shoulder. Breakfast's arrival proved to be a distraction from the stares, however, and Potter dug into his breakfast – after having downed two potions that had appeared with his food.

The owl post arrived. Severus eyed the birds as they swooped down to deliver notes and messages. One of the birds – a rather regal looking thing – settled in front of Severus. He knew who the letter was from before he'd finished untying it from the owl's leg. Feeding the bird a bit of bacon, Severus unfolded the letter and scanned it.

Most of Lucius Malfoy's letter was chatter about his son, Draco. Apparently the child was enjoying his classes, but Lucius had concerns when it came to History of Magic. Draco was not a fan of the class and would require some addition attention on his grade.

It was a short few sentences near the end that caught Severus's eye. An inquiry about the Boy Who Lived. Draco must had written home saying that the boy was having trouble fitting in with his classmates. Lucius thought that perhaps the child was in need of a proper mentor – and he, a pureblood of a Noble and Ancient House similar to that of the Potter line, was offering his services.

Severus quietly folded the letter and placed it into his pocket. The odds of such a mentorship were zero. The headmaster would have to be cold and buried before he would allow anyone like Lucius anywhere near his precious Potter, mentorship or otherwise. Quite frankly, it was one of the times Severus completely agreed with the old man. However, the idea of a mentor was not entirely without merit.

Not that it could - or would - ever be a task for him take on. He would have to make sure that even the idea of a mentorship wasn't traced back to him. He picked up his tea again and took a sip, contemplating the thought.

Finishing his tea, Severus stood and stalked down the long rows tables. He paused by the Weasley twins just long enough to confiscate a vial of something – he wasn't entirely sure what it was, but from the pouts, it was something worth taking – and sent a glare in the direction of the brat.

The child chanced to look up right at that moment. Their eyes met as the boy sent a little wave with his fingers, just like the ghost always did.

Severus scowled and stalked a little faster. He would have been perfectly content to spend the next seven years despising the little Potter-clone. If only the boy didn't look so much like that blasted ghost. If only Severus hadn't been the one to find him in the library, finding out the child had little knowledge of who he was. If only the boy didn't have an impossible knack for potions and an actual interest in the subject. If only the boy could just act like his father for a few minutes, rather than like his mother – or a spirit he could never have met. Because Severus was starting to forget why it was he was supposed to hate the child.

And that was Potter's fault. Working up a head of frustration over the child's oddness, Severus stormed out of the Great Hall, down the main steps, and out the front doors of the school. A few of the older students standing on the sidewalk scattered when he approached.

Taking a left, Severus headed towards a small shack on the outskirts of the main grounds. He was most of the way there before he heard the sound of Hagrid's dog barking. Narrowing his eyes, Severus stalked up to the front door and knocked.

The half-giant pulled the door open, holding back a large dog with one hand. "P'fessor Snape," Hagrid greeted. "Wasn't expecting you."

"Obviously," Severus said.

"Did yer need something?"

Severus eyed the inside of the cabin, then flicked his gaze back to Hagrid. "Perhaps you could step outside and we could talk a moment. The Headmaster has a… favor to ask."

The man brightened. "Fang… stay," the man commanded, slamming the door shut behind him and stretching in the morning sunshine. "What can I do 'im for?"

"You were the one to deliver Potter's letter."

"Aye," the half-giant agreed. "Bloody relatives, though."

Severus frowned at another mention of the boy's relations, crossing his arms over his chest. "Have you spoken to him since the start of school?"

Hagrid shook his head. "I invited him for tea the other day, but he didn't come. Said he was busy."

"The boy is struggling," Severus said. "He has never been exposed to the wizarding world before…"

"Seemed okay with it when I brought him around," Hagrid cut in. "Even knew where Diagon Alley was."

Severus gritted his teeth. "In any case, the headmaster believes he is in need of a mentor."

Hagrid blinked. "Who do he got in mind?"

"Someone the boy seems to trust and can confide in. An adult, preferably not a teacher." Severus stared at the man, willing him to make the jump in logic without Severus actually having to ask. It was enough that he was out here bringing the topic up. "Someone the headmaster would trust."

"Aye," Hagrid agreed, rubbing his nose. "There ain't many of them around."

There was a pause. Severus let out a sigh. Did he really need to lead people around by the nose? "Potter seems to enjoy potions ingredients. Perhaps if someone could take him out into the forest to search for things - it would be a good start to a mentorship-"

"I know the forest better then the back of my hand," Hagrid cut in proudly. Then he blinked and thought. "Ya know, I could be Harry's mentor."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "You? Do you think you could get Potter to actually talk to you?"

Hagrid puffed up his chest. "I can be stickier than a moss-covered batsnare if I need to be."

"Good," Severus said, looking away towards the school. "How about a trial run. Two weeks."

"Oh, I don't need two whole weeks," Hagrid said. "I'll have him out here talking to me by sunset."

"I'm sure you will, "Severus muttered. "I will leave you to it, then." Stepping away from the small cabin, Severus headed back towards the school, sending glares towards anyone who dared cross his path.

There. The lingering Potter issue was dealt with. Now the child could go back to being normal and staying out of his life, except for the one ninety minute class and one sixty minute class every week for the next several years.

And, possibly, Evan would start showing up again. Severus really was trying to be nice. Oddly, he was finding it easier than he ever expected.

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...

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-38- Harry -38-

September 26, 1991

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Harry was sitting in his bed with the curtains drawn, staring at his toes. It had been an odd couple of days. Severus had been almost polite in class lately. Hagrid had bordered on annoying until Harry had agreed to come down every other day for a 'chat'. It wasn't until Hagrid started to talk a bit about his parents at the end of each 'chat' that Harry had started to come down voluntarily instead of being chased. Hagrid really was good at listening, even though Harry refused to explain about his odd relationship with Severus.

Between doses of Hagrid's good humor, Harry's growing ability to ignore the people around him, Severus's more pleasant demeanor towards him, and probably the mediwitch's potions (Harry had tracked down what they were – mostly anti-anxiety, although one every morning with breakfast was a nutrient potion and one near supper was to facilitate sleep), Harry was actually starting to feel like he was settling into Hogwarts.

He could hear the snores from the other beds. Ron was the loudest. Seamus was a close second, but Ron's had a strange whistle to it that made it carry. Everyone else was fast asleep.

Harry was still deciding whether or not to sleep. Quite honestly, he missed chatting with Severus. He missed curling up by the fire and listening to the man read stories, or even just random potion books. Mostly, though, he missed having someone to talk to about the problems he was having.

With how much Severus hated Harry Potter, he couldn't imagine telling the man who he was. Not knowing how to handle it, Harry had taken to simply wandering the hallways, completely avoiding the issue all together. He'd even found a new secret passage near the second floor girl's lavatory, although it was partially collapsed and smelled like a sewer.

But tonight… Harry had seen the man at supper. He'd looked stressed and pale, much more so than in previous years. Harry couldn't help but wonder if maybe that had something to do with him.

He curled and uncurled his toes a few times before crawling under the covers of his bed. Closing his eyes, Harry thought about the warm dungeon quarters he'd spent so much time in, dreaming as a child.

And then, there he was. Evan looked around, searching for Severus. He walked through walls and doors until he found the man, asleep at his desk in his office. Evan snorted to himself and sat down on the floor, not knowing how to wake the man.

He sat there for a while before a thought struck him. Searching through his robes, Evan found his wand, still with him during his dreams. "Neat," he said silently, twirling the transparent wood in his fingers. He eyed the stack of vials on Severus's desk. "I can do this," Evan breathed, unable to hear himself speak. Bringing up the wand, focusing his entire attention on the vials, Harry swished his wand, flicked the end, and silently said, "Wingardium leviosa!"

Nothing.

Frowning, Evan took a step closer and tried again. "Wingardium leviosa!" with a more powerful swish and flick. The vials rattled just a tiny bit.

Pleased with the little bit of movement, Evan focused his entire attention on one of the vials. He pictured it rising into the air and hovering there, like some ghostly being was holding it hostage. "Wingardium leviosa!"

The vial didn't exactly float, but it did move just enough to cause a cascade of vials onto Severus's desk. Several rolled to the floor. As Severus jerked awake, eyes wide and wand drawn, Evan held his wand behind his back.

Severus stared at him, obviously only half awake. Evan smiled slightly and waved.

"Did you have to do that?" Severus muttered. He yawned and rubbed a hand over his face.

"You promised the exorcist would come if I let you sleep at your desk again," Evan signed, sneaking his wand into a pocket.

That was when Severus woke up enough to actually blink at him. "How did you do that?"

"I'm attending a magic school," Evan signed with an eye roll. "I'm learning magic."

"Ghosts can't do magic," Severus muttered, rubbing his neck and getting to his feet. "I need to not sleep at my desk."

"I thought we decided I wasn't a ghost."

Severus sighed. "I will rephrase. Dead children can't do magic."

Evan tapped his toe on the ground, then followed Severus out of the office and towards his quarters. "Are you sure I'm dead?"

Severus stopped with his hand on the door to his quarters. He gazed at Evan for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. "Are you going to explain that comment if I ask?"

Evan stopped, thought, and then shook his head.

A pensive frown appeared on Severus's face before he opened the door and walked in. "I don't like your sudden thing for secrets."

Evan shrugged, feeling a swell of guilt in his stomach. But whenever he pictured telling the man that he was Harry Potter, the hated celebrity of the school, Evan couldn't imagine it going well.

Severus made himself a cup of tea, then settled into his chair. Evan stood by the door, feeling somewhat out of place after avoiding the man for nearly two weeks.

"Sit," came the annoyed command, accompanied by a finger pointing towards the rug by the fire.

Evan didn't move. He waited until Severus shot him a glance, and then signed, "Are you mad at me?"

Severus set down his cup on the side table and leaned forwards, elbows on his knees. "I dislike you keeping secrets from me," the man said after a moment. "However I am not mad at you."

"You keep lots of secrets," Evan said.

"When I need to," Severus said with a sigh. "But not all secrets are meant to be kept."

Evan shrugged, looking down at his toes.

"Sit." After a moment, the man added, "Please."

Evan sighed and slowly walked across the room to settle down in his spot next to the fire. He stared into the fire, unwilling to look at the man, convinced Severus would pick at the secret Evan was trying to keep.

"How have your classes been?"

Startled by the change in conversation, Evan glanced over at him. "Fine," he signed.

The man arched an eyebrow and sipped at his tea. "You are performing adequately in potions?"

With a silent snort, Evan nodded. "I'll probably get moved up a year."

"You would be a unique student," Severus mussed. "You've been attending my classes for years." His eyes sharpened. "You aren't causing too many problems for your professors."

It wasn't a question, but Evan nodded anyways.

"Good." The man settled back in his chair with a smug look on his face. "Which house were you sorted into?"

Evan looked down at his fingers. He knew how much Severus disliked his particular house. He didn't know how to answer.

There was a loud sigh. "If you're determined to not talk to me, why did you come?"

"I missed you," Evan admitted.

There was silence for so long that Evan looked up to see the man studying him closely. "I'm not going to play this game," the man said finally, shaking his head. There was a defeated, tired note to his voice. "I'm not your father-"

"Gryffindor," Evan signed, not wanting to listen to the man's spiel.

There was a pause. Then a sour, "I'm not your father, Evan. You are under no obligation to answer my questions."

Evan scowled, watching the fire dance.

"If you think that I hadn't known which house you would be sorted into, you are sorely mistaken. Besides the fact that you're wearing your school robes."

Evan shot a glare in Severus's direction in time to see the man subtly frown and take a sip of his tea.

"But I'm not going to play this guessing game. Your secrets are yours to keep, I have no say in that, but if you're planning on keeping your entire life a secret from me, you should stop coming by."

Feeling chastened, Evan dropped onto his back and put his hands behind his head. Eventually he signed a quiet, "Sorry."

Severus hummed darkly.

Evan knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to talk about the classes he was taking. About his most recent run-in with Malfoy – the boy wanted to do some sort of duel. About how Transfiguration was turning in to his worst class (if you didn't count History of Magic, which nobody seemed to do) since he didn't understand the theory McGonagall was spouting. And that the only girl in his house who seemed to understand was too bratty to explain it to the rest of them.

But he didn't say any of it. He just lay there, watching the fire crackle. There was something soothing about lying in this room.

"Good night, Evan."

Sitting up, startled, Evan watched Severus rinse his cup into the sink and vanish down the short hallway to his bedroom. After the door shut, Evan signed a, "Good night."

Frustrated, he kicked at the wall. His foot went right through. A few more kicks followed, none of them having any more affect that a slight tingling feeling in his leg.

Getting up, Evan stalked out of the room and up through the maze of the castle, settling down on the edge of the astronomy tower. His feet dangled over the edge. Staring up at the stars, Evan wondered what would happen to him if he were to jump over the edge.

Resting his arms on one of the gargoyles around the edge, Evan sighed. The clouds moved slowly overhead. By the time the moon had risen high in the sky, Evan had curled up on the top of the astronomy tower and had fallen asleep.

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...

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To be continued...