A Place In The Sun

by evelia

Perhaps our heart's desires are meant to remain merely that; a dream. What happens when what we have always longed for is finally laid out before us, and will one recognize the difference, between the true and the illusive? Harry gains an unexpected mento

2. Chapter Two

Title: A Place In The Sun
Author: Evelia
Email: kaptainsnot@hotmail.com
Rating: PG13 (rating may go up in future chapters)
Summary: Perhaps our heart's desires are meant to remain merely that; a dream. What happens when what we have always longed for is finally laid out before us, and will one recognize the difference, between the true and the illusive? Harry gains an unexpected mentor, and learns the craft of growing up.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: You know what's coming now, don't you? Get ready...

Forgive me! I loved all your reviews so much, and I did want to continue this, but so many things got in the way...I can't really describe everything that's happened, but let's just say fanfiction, this fanfic in particular, wasn't readily on mind. I'm sorry for the long wait, this fic has probably gone forgotten by my other reviewers, but I promise, next chapters are coming in much sooner. In the long wait I've had time to flesh things out, and am now comfortable in continuing. I'll try harder to supply more updates, I promise.

And as a last little comment, if anyone's interested in beta-reading, please drop me a note, will you? These chapters aren't edited by anyone other than myself, since my beta had to leave my work due to school, and I would greatly appreciate any outside help. Thanks.

Chapter Two

Harry-

Remus and I will be heading to Hogwarts, and so I hope to see you soon, a week at most. It will be a relief to see you again, as I can't help but think I should be with you, by your side, instead of out here looking for possible-allies. Don't worry about me, Dumbledore has already made accommodations. Stay close to Ron and Hermione, Harry. Believe me when I say friendship is the best thing you could have in times like these.

Take care of yourself, I'll see you soon.

Sirius

Harry was smiling fondly, fingers gripping the letter in his hands as if handling a precious stone. He's coming to Hogwarts. A week at the most!

"Harry?" a voice called out. "You in there?"

"Yeah," Harry said happily, unable to contain himself. You shouldn't have to anyway, some corner in his psyche echoed. He ignored it, as was his custom of course. "Come in."

A long, freckly hand pulled at the curtain, a fiery-red head popping inside seconds later. Ron smiled at him, shoving away a pillow in order to sit on the large, four-poster bed. He'd been down helping the twins with their latest experiment, as Harry had refused to help due to Hedwig's unexpected arrival. He had written to Sirius a few times during the summer, and had had quite a time trying to keep the Dursley's from skinning his snowy white owl alive every time she came in waving his replies. It always was worth it though, as his godfather's words seemed to give him the extra push he needed in facing down whatever came next, even if they were just ink on a piece of parchment and not the man himself.

"What's he got to say?" Ron asked, lying down on his back as Harry ran his finger through the thin, silky bristles of his quill. The other simply stopped and handed him the letter, parting his lips to quietly say, "Oh, you know. The usual."

Ron scanned the letter quickly, not wanting to pour over the contents too much. He always felt odd in case the letter was personal, seeing as it wasn't his to read anyway. Once he got to the end, however, friendly etiquette was the furthest thing from his mind. Well, except for what kind of underwear You-Know-Who has underneath his robes, but then, one couldn't really blame him for that. "Bloody hell! This is great news, Harry!" He playfully socked Harry on his shoulder, giving him a lop-sided grin. "What do you suppose those so called 'accommodations' are?"

Harry shrugged. "Who knows? Some secret room here at Hogwarts or somethingI mean, anywhere at Hogwarts will be close enough." The boy never really openly complained about the absence of his godfather, just as he never complained that his parents were dead. It seemed selfish, although sometimes, when he would wake up from a bad dream and muffle terrified words into his pillow, resentment did indeed cross through his mind. He would feel guilty then, as he closed his eyes tight, praying on anything and everything that the dream would not return. Guilty because he knew he was not the only one with troubles and burdens, and that it wasn't by mere want that Sirius was away.

Ron looked over at him for a moment, a contemplative look on his face. "A week at the most," he said, brown eyes glittering in the dim light.

Harry smiled.

"Yeah, a week at the most."

_________________

"Ugh. Can you believe that old wench! First week of school and she already gives us an essay-"

Harry winced. "Three feet on the affects of cross-species transfiguration. You'd think she'd give us a break, seeing as even the text book didn't spare the subject a half page."

They had just finished their last class of the day, and McGonagall had been just as merciless as ever. The fifth year class was certain they now knew how the Head of Gryffindor dealt with stress.

Why, by assigning extra homework, of course.

Ron mumbled his agreement, stuffing his hands deep within his trouser pockets. "I'm telling you Harry. This year's not looking so good, with or without You-Know-Who's return." His voice went quiet as he said those last words, the boy's face the very essence of dread. Anyone else might have thought its cause to be Professor McGonagall's lengthy assignment, but Harry knew better and saw the comment for what it was. He said nothing and merely continued on their walk to the Great Hall, eyes on the cobblestones before them. After all, he couldn't really add anything to that, not without going into things he'd rather not have to think about. Somehow, talking about the inevitable made things so much more real, and this was the last thing Harry wanted.

"Hey, Harry! Ron!" They were both startled out of their silent tread by Hermione's familiar call, whom was running down the stairs to catch up to them. She stopped where they stood waiting and adjusted her bag onto her right shoulder, giving both the boys a somewhat flustered grin. "Lunch?"

Harry nodded. "How was Muggle Studies?" he asked politely, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

Her face immediately brightened, eyes shining brightly as her mouth opened in glee. "Oh, I'm so glad you asked! Professor Donatello gave us a free-subject essay to write, as long as it related to Muggle culture and science, of course. And I've chosen the perfect thesis for my composition, too! I'm so-"

"Excited? Yeah, I gathered as much." Ron's voice managed to sound irritated, disbelieving and amused all at once. "You're frightening, Herm. Simply frightening. In fact-" He grabbed Harry by the shoulders, playfully leading him away a yard or so. "-I think Harry and me should get away right now, least we catch your enthusiasm for worthless homework."

She glared daggers at them both and raised her head high, a gesture that meant she was all but affronted at her friend's silly antics. "I'll have you know, Ronald Weasley, that if anything at all is worthless here, it's your reluctance to accept responsibility." She visibly forced herself to put it aside, although her face still wore a very haughty expression. "Now," she puffed, "are we going to lunch or not?"

Harry smiled fondly, completely at home with Hermione's bickering, Ron's hate of schoolwork, and his own temporary state of indifference. They walked amiably to the Great Hall, quiet at first, then discussing the next Hogsmead weekend. After eating a quick meal, they headed down to the Quidditch pitch and Hermione worked on her "highly involved essay", while the two Gryffindor boys played one-on-one.

Harry let Ron use his Firebolt, while he himself used one of the school's ancient Shooting Stars. They spent an hour racing from one point on the field to another, Harry happy to forget everything with the wind, Ron annoyed and shouting his suspicions that Harry was letting him win. It was only when Hermione threw her book at Ron as he made an (admittedly) daring dive that they decided they'd better turn in. The sky by then was nearing a dark indigo, stars now peaking from above the lavender-tainted clouds. The cool, twilight breeze only made their trip back up Hogwart's steps more enjoyable, that and the small matter that nothing needed to be said between them for the moment. They were happy to simply be.

It had been, Harry later thought, a pretty good day. With or without evil Transfiguration professors.

_________

Headaches, Snape thought, as he downed yet another shot of whiskey, are bloody cumbersome.

Sometimes, when he sat in his office after a very long day, he couldn't believe he had yet to fall over and die. Just die. When his mind would give up, and his body would break, and he would simply fall on his front, never to wake up again. It seemed a curse, at times, that this was not given to him, and yet his pride was too big to do it himself.

Not to mention it'd be quite an ungrateful slap in Dumbledore's face, but this was beside the point.

His head was pounding. Snape had lost count of how many 'F's he had drawn in the past two hours, and while this would usually give him more amusement then distress, that was not so at the moment. The future looked very grim indeed, if sixth year students could not brew a simple healing draught without making it lethal. In fact, the idea that said students were their future Aurors and Ministry Officials made Severus, whom feared a hangover already, fill his glass yet again. Thank Merlin for the Sobrius Serum, he thought, and raised the glass to his lips for the ninth time that night.

Dumbledore had pressured all of the staff into cramming their students' heads with as much as they could this year, and Snape could have sworn the old man had shot him a quick but meaningful look as he said this. It was no secret that the Potions Master spent half the class terrifying the young scholars, whether it was by sampling so-called poisons or merely by his very presence. In Snape's opinion, it really was all their fault. If they had half the brains they should, if they had one third the wits they were entitled to, those brats would know when to keep their filthy mouths shut. It was, after all, their impudence that made Snape want to wring their necks, therefore sparking a deliciously fun game nicknamed (by the fifth year Slytherins) How Wet Can Neville Get? Not as clever as Snape would have liked from his own House, but it certainly wasn't without its truth.

Snape did not stop his reprimands and he did not cease to tongue-lash the idiots when they played pranks in his class. He did, however, give them more material to study.

The vermin, of course, were as ungrateful as ever.

It was amidst these thoughts that he heard a knock at his door. Two knocks, light and immediate, one after the other. He knew whom they pertained to, and knew too well he should answer the call. But, by Merlin, why this late he couldn't even harbor a guess.

"Enter," he called, raising one eyebrow at the young man who walked in, a silent question deep inside the gesture.

"Professor," Draco Malfoy greeted, voice filled with a respect very few ever heard. "A letter for you was sent along with my usual mail, and thought I should deliver it as soon as it was received." He slipped one thin hand inside his pocket, pulling out an envelope with the Malfoy Crest.

"How considerate of you, Mister Malfoy." He reached out and grasped the thin parcel that now lay on his desk, making sure to keep his gaze firmly on the boy.

The Slytherin smirked, a pale shadow of his Father's cruel sneer. "You're quite welcome, Sir." He turned on his heel, and with one last nod, left through his chamber's door. Snape waited until the door snapped shut to open the seal, standing up and walking off into the next room.

In his youth, Severus Snape had been obsessed with letters. He enjoyed their ability to open one's mind to speak freely, at times unlike a person's tongue. Writing letters to himself, to his future self that is, had been something of a habit. A memoir of his thoughts to a boy who perhaps, being days older, had forgotten the petty ordeals all together. He would sometimes take out these letters and read them by the fire when he didn't know what else to do. They held so much truth to him, and yetthey didn't. The letters had truths within the emotions expressed by means of a sharp-edged quill, yet all together, these emotions were as foreign and confused to him now as they were when he wrote them.

Time had taught him to mistrust of words on paper, for pretensions without a face was a dangerous game indeed. Opening the one in his hands now, this idea was so clear in his mind he could have sworn on its smell.

Severus,

Meet me at Fragmier's the night of the 16th, at eleven's hour. The Dark Lord needs something done, and risks can no longer be taken to ensure they are rightfully brought through.

Do not be late, and make sure your absence is not noticed.

L.M.

This didn't come as much of a surprise; it was the fact that Draco was the one to bring it to him that put his nerves on end. Snape was not blind and knew as much as anyone else that Draco had been raised to take Lucius' place in the fold. However, he had always had hope the young man would find another way, a different path, and indeed, he still did. Despite this, that he was relaying messages between those thought to serve Voldemort, son of one of them or not, meant one of two things. Either Lucius had suddenly found his heir trustworthy, or it didn't matter whether or not said son read the message.

Snape was willing to bet it was the latter, meaning Draco was close, painfully close, to being initiated.

This, of course, brought some light upon Malfoy Sr.'s dry message. The time for recruiting had once again come, and this time, those who wished to bear the mark upon their arm had more in store for them than they would have dreamed possible.

Oh, the joy of ignorance, Snape thought, as he downed his last shot.
____________

The. It's a word used before singular and plural nouns, and phrases that denote particular persons or things. A word used to sometimes announce uniqueness as well as importance, or declare something prominent and/or outstanding.

It was also the only part of his essay Harry had written, and he had been sitting at his desk for the past half hour.

Concentrate, Harry! His mind shouted, not for the first time. It was as if there stood a wall between his conscience and his ability to follow it, a sort of barrier, and one he was trying uselessly to break.

"Enough of this," he muttered. Harry closed his book, rolled up his long-dried parchment and bottled his ink pot, hoping he'd still catch Ron and Hermione before they left dinner. He'd stayed back, fighting off their insisting remarks about his health. This isn't about my health, he had said. I'm too far behind.

In a way, this really was true. Harry had let his assignments fly by him like fall leaves, wasting his time thinking, or rather, trying with all his might not to think at all. This, however, was a school, and in a school, thinking was usually part of the equation. Harry, on the other hand, felt he had more important things to do. Such as mope around and do nothing.

He threw his knapsack onto the bed, for a moment only slightly cross at having missed.

Maybe Snape's right, he though suddenly. Maybe I do think myself above the rules.

While the problems with his sleep had been diminished thanks to Snape's potion, he still couldn't help but feelfeel what? Weary? Sick? Trapped? Yes, he constantly felt crushed, as if a heavy weight were pushing him down, as if the Hogwarts ceilings were quite suddenly excruciatingly low. He was trapped, but the worst thing was he didn't know by what.

He tried to tell himself he was being stupid. Of course I don't feel alright, after all, War isn't supposed to be fun. Especially not when you're the not-so-secret weapon, and have been all your life.

However, deep down inside he knew it wasn't just the War. It wasn't just Voldemort, it was something else

Something much bigger.

He sprinted into the closest lit hallway, immensely perturbed at the lack of light. "You feel it too," he murmured to the castle walls "don't you?" He ran faster, going down the main corridor and not meeting anyone. When he finally saw Ron and Hermione, eating lunch with a group of friends, relief swelled through his chest like an opening fist.

If only he knew what he was running from. If only he could see his predator's eyes.

He was trapped, and didn't know by what.

_____________________________

There are five things Draco Malfoy hates over anything else in the world. This surprisingly short list did not, of course, include many specific people. In fact, he tried to keep them vague and general, seeing as number three was hypocrisy anyway.

Number one on his inventory was Gryffindors. They are the vilest of creatures, he often thought, and the most repulsive thing about them is how they fail to see themselves for what they are. They stick their heads into situations too big for them and have bravery so fierce and overpowering, they often act without thought or cause. To make matters worse, they had this sense ofnobility, that smelled of pompousness so strong and so disgusting, Draco felt mad just thinking about it.

They think they're so much better then us. Not only that, but they have the extraordinary ability to make others believe that they are as well.

Sometimes, when in his most sardonic of moments, he would step away from himself and contemplate the irony which was Gryffindor. This was the home of the brave, those with courage bright as fire within them, and yet in Draco's eyes, bravery in its purest form was nowhere to be found in his rival house. The most courageous trait was to be honest about one's self, which was the hardest thing to do. It was brave, to be able to look in the mirror, and know the flaws that run inside that soul of yours, or admit to doing wrong. However, you really don't see that much, do you? He thought. Not even in the house of the brave.

Number two was, unsurprisingly, Dumbledore.

Don't they see it? He would sometimes think. The way he pulls his strings and puppeteers them alllike some grand master play. They're all his toys!

In Draco's opinion, Dumbledore was just as guilty as the Dark Lord. The only difference being that Voldemort believed in a worthy cause, one which his followers believed in and trusted. However, Dumbledore did not have his motives laid before him, and his followers simply thought themselves correct and virtuous within their own freedom and independence, not realizing every person, big and weak, played a part in the Headmaster's plan.

Blind. All lead by one insufferable coot, who couldn't even get one good Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, when there was a more than qualified man right underneath his old, crooked nose.

Then again, Draco thought, he'd be a more than qualified anything.

Three, as said earlier, was hypocrites. They absolutely made his blood boil. Take the staff, for example. Draco and the other mortals get in trouble for breaking silly, fickle rules, and Potter goes out there, risks his life and those of his friends, brakes a hundred rules and more, then ends up with an award, hundred points each and whatnot. That Dumbledore and his deluded, do-gooding group of professors were the biggest bunch of hypocrites Draco had ever seen, especially in relation to Slytherin House.

Which is why Snape treats Slytherins the way he does, he knew. Because if no one else took their side, ever, than at least one man would do so, always.

Fourth was his Father. Draco loved his Father, just as any child, deep down inside, loved theirs. However, sometimes it was hard for that love to be evident in him; it was difficult to see the good within. And this was, Draco thought, not surprising, seeing as he did not love his Father for who he was, but merely, for what his Father saw in him.

Malfoys reeked of power, wealth and confidence. Every Malfoy Heir was expected to be the best, and every Malfoy Father had to ensure that said Heir would be the best. Although Draco too had confidence, sometimes it was only his Father's cold, hard stare that kept him going, much more than his Mother's gifts ever would. He needed to know his Father knew he would be a good Heir, and this was shown to him every time Lucius raised his walking-stick, or every time he left Draco with a problem on his own. He knows I can do it myself, Draco thought, and he's the only one.

However, sometimes Draco couldn't see the confidence behind his Father's actions, and could only see the cruelty in his Father's eyes or tone of voice. Later, he would think a situation over and over, running perfectly-memorized dialogue in his mind. He would then realize his Father had been right. His Father had been right in punishing him, however horrible it had seemed, and he would always be right in doing so. He had almost willingly deserved it.

And this, in the end, was what he hated. Not his Father, but the fact that Lucius was the only man that could make Draco feel guilt.

The last thing Draco disliked he would never admit to anyone, for it could mean the difference between taking his Father's place and being disowned. At least, in his opinion. Draco hated to serve another person's bidding, and wished to only serve his own.

He couldn't really tell whether or not this was important, and yet he always felt a rising urge to never let Father know. Sometimes he wondered if this was bad, seeing as he was expected to serve, actually serve, the Dark Lord. However, this brought him to yet another consistent wonder.

Why was his Father, who seemed to have all that he wanted, a Death Eater?

He was sure most people could give him loads of answers, but Draco was also sure they wouldn't answer a thing. While it was true that Muggles and Mudbloods did nothing but sully the Magical society, kissing another's feet was a whole different matter.

Draco hoped he might quell his nerves and doubts and shove them deep down inside for the ever coming initiation. He'd been waiting for this day for so long nowmemories of his Father's ballroom, of the guests in black and women who wore their hair in tight, elegant knots, their faces stark white as they smiled at something tasteful and snarky their husbands had said. He had sat there, between his Mother and a woman he hardly knew, watching as Lucius stole the others from their light, watched as he took absolute control and spoke with a distinctly cold charm, the way the winter night air can be both pleasing and deadly. Draco, scantly old enough to stand, had known what every person in that room, minus himself, was.

And the slight boy, with his Father's pointed gaze and platinum, blonde hair, had also known that some day, he would be one too.

So why was he having these thoughts of precarious distrust, when he had been preparing himself for this since those midnight balls back when he was a mere toddler?

Because, deep down inside, Draco Malfoy wanted something better.
__________

Everything's white, everything has always been white. Will always be white.

I am flying. I am floating. I am nothing.

Where am I?

There's a flash of red. Blood, thick and dark, is covering everything, tainting the purity with its sin. The storm is coming, he knows. The storm has been coming for a very long time.

And there, above him, is a man of white, and the storm of blood does not touch him. He is everything. I close my eyes.

________________

Harry let out a small moan, rising from the floor with one great shudder. What the Hell? The floor? Next to where he had been sleeping were his shoes, and a small blanket had been tucked beneath and around him. Blinking, he realized his glasses had been taken off.

He heard footsteps.

Harry couldn't see a thing.

A ray of yellow light broke through the doorway, covering him with minimal warmth. He couldn't make out any details, but he now recognized where he was. The common room.

"Oh, Harry! You're awake!" this from a disheveled Hermione, who now placed something cold yet comforting on his nose. My glasses, Harry thought with a sigh.

"Why am I?"

"on the floor?" She smiled, lighting the room with a muttered charm. "You knocked out, don't you remember? Oh, that Georgeor Fred, I don't quite remember-"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, voice irate and spiteful. Waking up on the hard floor of the Gryffindor common room was not his idea of a good morning, not to mention the nightmare that had awakened him. Didn't take the potion, he thought mournfully. "And what time is it?"

Hermione seemed only slightly put-off by his piqued response, and quickly checked her watch. "Eight-thirty. Everyone's come and gone, so you're lucky you didn't get trampled on. Not to mention that it's a Saturday." She took the blanket from him and folded it into a small, neat square, dropping it onto the nearest couch. "So, I take it you don't remember eating the twin's latest invention, Drop Dead Lollies." Her voice was deadpan.

Harry shook his head, frowning.

"Well, it's not exactly surprisingyou took quite a nasty fall. We all thought you'd been poisoned!" She shook off a shudder, suddenly glaring at the door to the boy's dormitory. "That is, until Ron and his brothers burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, all the while trying to pick you up."

Harry felt a blush rise in his cheeks, and imagined he had put on quite a show. "Did I go to the Infirmary? I mean, what happened?"

"WellFred and George assured us it was only temporary, a tiny dash of wormwood and nothing more, so we thought we'd simply let you sleep it off. You'd seemed kind of tired anyway, and not wanting to wake you up, we gave you a blanket and left you to stay the night here." She gave him a reluctant grin. "As for if anything else happenedwell, if you mean you waking up delirious and giving away precious and embarrassing secrets, no. You didn't even snore"

Harry had gotten on his feet and was now running his hands through his tangled, dreadfully wild hair. Only half his mind was listening to her, conscious to the fact that she had not stopped talking. However, he barely noticed, his mind filled with images of a man made of white light, and rain of blood falling around him.

Where am I?

I am flying. I am floating.

I am nothing.

He opened his eyes, only then realizing he'd had them closed.

"Harry? Are you alright?" He looked over at her, a feeling of hopelessness overcoming his senses.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm fine." It was then that Harry wondered why he felt like he was lying, when he couldn't have said what was wrong either way.

tbc.

Replies to all my lovely reviewers:

WittchWay: I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for reviewing! Captain-Emily: Killed it by not updating 'till now, but I thank you for your praise anyway, it made this young author smile. FawkesnFlame and Moony:-laughs-, I'm pleased my fanfic could bring out such a response, thank you! Hannah: You, darling, made me blush. What is this rubbish about me writing instead of Rowling? -smiles- Thank you for your praise, being on someone's favorite author's list is simply surreal. Jinxy: I'm still not quite sure if it shall be HP/SS. That's my favorite ship of all time, and I would be only too pleased to make it take that route. However, it wasn't what I had originally planned, so I shall have to think about it. Thank you for reviewing, and for the rec. T.a.g2: A bit late, aren't it? -grins- I'm really glad you reviewed my work, and that you were able to enjoy it. I hope you're still around for the rest! Makota: I simply adore you for reviewing. I was aiming for what your praised me for, and therefore seeing your comment made it all worth it. Thank you. Dramaqueen: Heh, I'm glad you like the summary. I agree that they have similarities, although I certainly hope they aren't too alike. Kiri: Voices of all types, yes. You shall be seeing much more of that in the coming chapters. Thanks for the review! Askadi: I give you my heartfelt graditude, really, thanks. Emily Snape: I love being able to see images clearly while reading, so your review made me glad I'm able to bring that to my works as well. Thanks. Kateri1: Well, there's more for you, finally. Hope you enjoy! Kimmy: Thanks much, I'm sorry for the ridiculous wait. Andromeda Night: Wee, Siri, thank you! -grins- Took me long enough, I know. Aniwda: Thanks a mil, I love writing Snape, and so more of his deliciously snarky mind is in this chapter. Thank you for reviewing! Jess the Great: -smiles- Well...I did oblige, even if it has been more than half a year. Thank you for the review; I love that movie, btw. Kissme: Heh, well, thank you. And...do I know you from ezboards? I'm curious as to how you know me as crimson weeper. Either way, thanks. Blotstop: Hehe, I'm so glad you liked it, IST. While there wasn't be any HP-SS interaction in this chapter, there is more than enough of them both. Sorry it took so long, I'm really happy another Snapist liked it.

Update coming very soon. Thanks for sticking around, and please, review!

-evelia