Chapter Two: September 6th
Harry dreamed on Thursday night.
He dreamt that a young Severus was brought before Voldemort to be initiated into the Death Eaters.
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He could feel the sickness nestling in his belly, as he realized that no matter his choices, he would be, and would be seen to be, bound to a creature more loathsome and truly evil than any ravening beast. He also knew that he had to keep those 'traitorous' thoughts hidden as deeply inside as possible. No one knew the true extent of Voldemort's powers and he didn't at all want to take any chances. He knew, too, that he'd have to perform horrendous acts in order to prove his 'loyalty'. Even the thought that what he was really proving was his loyalty to the Light didn't help. But there was no turning back. There never had been. Purely by being born a son of his family, he had been given these two choices at this moment – join Voldemort or die. The Headmaster and Lily had changed this choice as much as possible, but the thought of it was still so intolerable. He couldn't do it.
He had to. It was too late to change his mind now.
He was brought to his knees in front of Voldemort, an innocent prisoner dragged in front of an usurper king to receive the undeserved sentence of execution.
"Look at me." It was a command he could not help but obey.
Severus could feel Voldemort's gaze, a knife stabbing in through his eyes, somehow felt it sliding off a wall a few layers in. Voldemort blinked once, deliberately, leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers in front of his lips.
"Very interesting," was all he said despite the unexpected turn of events, then he gestured to the man standing behind his chair, cloaked and masked like all the others except Severus.
As the men holding Severus bent him forward until his forehead touched the single step up to Voldemort's chair, the new man jerked Severus' left arm upwards and in front of him, sweeping the sleeve of his robe back to expose it. It hurt, but not a fraction as much as it did a moment later, when a tap of a wand against his bared forearm and a soft phrase made him convulse, the pain sheeting through him like the time he'd spilled acid over his hand. The one and only time he'd allowed his arrogance to let him forgo basic safety wards.
He was allowed the barest of moments to indulge himself in a whimper of agony – he had no breath for more. Then he was brought roughly upright and pushed to his place in the circle, a cloak and mask handed to him. He shrugged them on quickly, became anonymous within the circle. Now, he was one of them. He heard not a word of what went on during the rest of that meeting. He was too busy cradling his pain close to his chest, doing all he could to prevent another sound from escaping. His father had been very clear on what the penalty for that would be. The threat of a punishment that would make branding with the Dark Mark 'seem like the merest of bee-stings' was suddenly a far greater deterrent than it had been mere hours ago.
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Harry woke in the early-morning darkness, half-expecting when he tentatively raised his arm before him to see a fresh, livid, brand. He suddenly felt a whole lot more admiration for Snape…or at least Severus, the man who he'd seen in the dream. The man his mother had loved. The man he could be learning to love.
He almost managed to convince himself that he'd not had that thought as he forced himself to sleep again.
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Severus dreamed on Thursday night.
He dreamt that an older Harry was saying goodbye.
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They stood in front of a door he recognized, the one that led out from his quarters, close but not quite touching. Stood like friends, like partners. Like lovers.
"It's almost time." They reached for other in unison, fitted together with assurance that spoke of how well they knew each other's bodies. Severus noted, abstractly, the changes. The dream-Harry was slightly taller than the boy was now, but still a good head shorter than Severus. He was thinner, and held himself with a unique mix of confidence and wariness. His eyes still showed too much of his thoughts. Love and regret pooled deep in them, looking for a way to overflow. His mouth opened, but he just shook his head minutely and closed it again. Severus knew that there was nothing to say. Everything that could be had been already. All that was left now was this –final – touch.
They leaned together with the ease of long practice, a thousand kisses. Harry's lips brushed against his, familiar, loved, addictive. A touch he knew so well, a touch he craved more than anything before or since.
Severus broke away first, said nothing.
"Goodbye, love. I'll see you on the other side. I love you."
No. It wasn't possible. His heart could not be breaking. It had broken years ago, when Lily had married James, had melted into a puddle and flowed out through the pores of his skin, leaving him with nothing but a mechanical pump for his blood where his capacity for the better emotions had been. His heart could not be breaking, because he had none. Even if he did, it certainly would not break because Harry Potter, bane of his existence – Harry, his lover, his beloved – was leaving. Was going to die.
"I…" Like the last time, with her, he couldn't say it.
"It's okay." Harry's smile was understanding but couldn't hide a trace of bitterness. Severus knew that it wasn't the first time he had been unable to say it. And that it most definitely wasn't 'okay'. It had not been on those other occasions and certainly was not now.
Harry pulled the door open, slipped his invisibility cloak around him in a practiced motion. The door swung shut, as if a ghost's intangible hand had closed it. Soon that would be all his Harry was. That thought was the last straw.
Severus slumped to the floor, his back against the door, and a single tear escaped. I love you…
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He awoke in the early-morning darkness, the track of a tear cool against his cheek. Resentment flared inside him. He had not asked for this, not for Lily's bizarre idea of protection, not for the loss of the control that had grown so valuable to him, not for the return of emotions he no longer needed. He wanted no part of it.
He almost managed to convince himself that he found nothing attractive in the dream-Harry's touch and his readily expressed love as he forced himself to sleep again.