Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK 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. Respects to Third Eye Blind for song lyrics of Motorcycle Drive By, it is not used for profit.
ANs: I got a little chapter happy. Literally. I started working on one chapter and then it started to become two chapters, and I'm going to finish the third one later. I decided to pursue this plot bunny, since it's been chasing me EVERYWHERE since I've captured it.
I've also written a fic called Of Fog and Field which has crucial info on how Harry is able to time-travel in this fic. It's really odd, but mostly that's the premise for it. That takes place during Goblet of Fire. The rest of the fic is after Order of the Phoenix, just to make clear.
I'm so tired, this chapter is just SO long and it's early morning. Expect by tomorrow, hopefully that I'll write the next chapter. The third chapter (handwritten) is just driving me crazy. It's just so...long. lol
This song is just...it screams "Harry!" to me after what happened in Order of the Phoenix. It does. The song, in itself reminds me of Harry in its own fashion, even if it talks about love rather than death, but these lines just struck home to me, and for this fic, somehow. Download it, it's lovely too. It just screams Harry with its emotionality, and when it gets to the middle and the guy screams (not in a bad way and not in a pleasurable way either...) it was just "Harry".
I don't know where Sev and Harry are going with this, whether it's friendship or more, but I'll have to see how it works.
Also, the spacing was worked out so you can tell what is the dream and what isn't so sorry if the horizontal rulers are bugging you, I tried. It was the only think that is working now since FF.NET has this quickedit thingy...x.X
I'm in desperate need for a beta. If you want to beta, just email me. My info is on the author page, so yeah. AIM, YIM or email is fine. :) Thanks!
Enjoy the fic.
"...I've never been so alone
And I've never been so alive..."
Third Eye Blind, Motorcycle Drive By
Harry was never a stranger to dreams. Dreams were the cousins of nightmares; ones who had acquainted Harry with their distinct features, their presence all too familiar for his liking.
As related as they were, these dreams were not nightmares, though the information inside them could indeed scare someone. Most dreams, in the end, came out with a truth—happy or not so happy, depending on the person—in the end.
These were the kinds of dreams Harry did not remember for a long time, though he was no stranger. These were in fact, dreams he had wholeheartedly witnessed, but they erased themselves in his mind; unknowingly, it seemed. How odd the timing was, it was almost as if they had a mind of their own...
But tonight, Harry would remember.
It had been a typical summer night at the Dursleys, after dark, after midnight, when everyone in the house would have been sleeping.
Not Harry Potter.
Harry, whose sight was always nowadays accompanied with clammy sheets and tight-gripping hands, would appear distressed; tossing and turning, with a high-strung expression on his face.
It would be like last summer, replaying the worst events in his mind. In this case, it was not the death of Cedric, but the death of his own godfather, Sirius Black.
Sirius, who understood how he felt, was the only man who cared for Harry before getting killed. He was always there for the best interests of Harry, a supportive man, even when he did not know the answers himself.
The only man Harry truly loved and lost in such a short amount of time.
And Harry would replay the event, in the Department of Mysteries, where the veil was located. He would be witnessing him cackling and taunting at his own cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, telling her, "Come on, you can do better than that!"
As if on cue, there would be two jets of light: the first one red, and the other one, too quick and too far to tell. But he would watch Sirius' body tumble into a graceful arc, into the veil...and in his mind, Harry could feel the magnitude of his own screams, just as loud as that day, calling for Sirius; feeling the weight of Lupin holding him down.
But it seemed Harry had screamed too much, feeling the energy used for shouting making him dizzy; his vision was blurring and he was overwhelmed with pain. Before he saw black, he could feel himself losing consciousness; almost as if forgetting it all.
Harry looked around, blinking, as his vision returned and everything was bright and clear again. He felt his eyes squint, using his hand to block the sun to adjust to seeing correctly. It looked like the Hogwarts grounds, but...it was empty.
Harry removed his hand, taking in the view of the Hogwarts lake; bright blue, and crisp, the skies above them clear with white cirrus clouds. Everything seemed to be in vivid, rich color. The silence was calm and soothing, making him smile.
As he surveyed the ground, he spotted someone in the shade of the tree. With his curiosity getting the better of him, Harry walked toward the boy, seeing distinct features as he grew closer.
Who was he? Why was he the only one there? What was he doing?
He noticed the boy was immersed in a book. Harry smirked, reminded of Hermione's own antics.
He sat down next to the boy, who was sharply focused on the book. As he leaned over, he noticed it wasn't just any old book, it was a sketchbook! Harry watched as the boy placed lines in distinct places; making shapes on a two-dimensional plane. It looked pretty realistic to him.
Harry gazed and watched the boy; his face was so undeniably relaxed that he looked extremely young and innocent.
As Harry tried to find something appropriate to say on his drawing, the boy looked up, finally out of his own world.
Shock was temporarily on his face as the boy's eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?" he spat venomously. "What are you doing here?"
Keeling back, Harry's defenses kicked in as he remembered that very familiar tone in the boy's speech.
It all made sense now. He took in the black hair and eyes, that damn familiar ugly nose, and the innocent expression was gone. Here, was hatred Harry had fondly remembered all too well.
Snape.
Harry blinked, for a moment, remembering this wasn't really Snape. At least, Snape in his time. He looked to be at least his age, so he couldn't go and take off points or give detention.
Besides, if it was Harry's dream, he could do whatever he wanted, right? At least, he could change the outcome. It wasn't Voldemort messing with his mind, transplanting false images, or visions from Voldemort doing treacherous things.
Harry's anger fell within him as he reasoned things out. He breathed in and sighed.
He would become friendly, instead.
Harry pointed his finger to the sketch, pinpointing to a specific line. "You know, right over there," he gestured to it again, "you made it a little too straight looking. Looks unnatural, you know?"
Snape looked at him, trying to search for some ulterior motive within all this. He had found none.
Looking back from the book to the image in front of him, he calculated, "Perhaps you're right..." His voice still had an edge to it. The line soon turned into something more realistic as he fell back into his relaxed state.
After awhile, Snape turned to Harry, examining him. Harry could feel it too; it was the feeling he associated with his fame. That one look that seemed to ask, "Is that scar really the scar?" But in this case, it asked a different question.
Snape's face eventually left that guarded expression, opening up a little.
He moved his face closer, "So, you're who helped me the other day, weren't you?"
Harry blinked in confusion. When did this happen? Had he really helped Snape in another dream he had? Was this even a dream? It was oddly bizarre... He mentally shrugged, going along with the charade.
He feigned his words. "Yeah, they weren't nice, were they?" Words tumbled out, unknowingly. "Stupid gits, really."
Harry didn't know where he got that from. Who were the evil gits? What precisely happened anyway? His curiosity was dying to know.
Snape smirked back, as if in an approving stance. He apparently liked Harry's answer.
"Yeah, they were stupid. I'll get them though." His face was schooled in a determined look.
"They hexed me again, and they'll pay for it. Especially that damn Potter..."
His eyes were swirling with anger. "He hexed me again while I was off guard. I'll teach him not to mess with me..."
Harry drank every word in, filling the missing blanks. He, apparently, had helped Snape, after his father hexed Snape. That was quite lovely, he thought dryly. His father was truly being a git, yet again. He sighed.
As if to lighten up moods, Snape offered, "Do you mind if I sketch you?"
Harry was surprised. Was he good enough to be Snape's sketching model? It was something new, he could tell all that much. He shrugged, going along with it.
"Sure, I guess..."
Harry kept looking out in front of him, watching Snape's movements become graceful lines on the parchment paper. He was impressed by the hand control, the skill, the coordination. The action itself seemed even more entrancing than him imagining Snape over a cauldron, brewing a potion.
He wondered what Snape had more talent in: Art or Potions. He didn't dare ask, seeing as Harry was fixed on the idea that Snape was more of an artist than a Potions Master.
Several minutes passed by and he could feel himself fall into ease as well. Snape—out of all the people—was not bothering to interrogate about him, or how he was feeling, or what dreams he had witnessed, nothing. He was just sketching Harry as if he was some local student he managed to ask a random question. Harry felt better, more at ease with himself, feeling like himself for once.
As more details flew onto the paper, Snape broke the silence, continuing to draw while creating conversation. "What's your name?"
His voice was genuine, not in some weird suspicious paranoid tone. Harry smiled a little. "My name's Harry. You?"
The other teenager glanced up at Harry before returning to the paper. "My name's Snape...Severus Snape."
After watching him for several minutes, Harry noticed he was not in that relaxed face, but in a determined look.
Speak of the devil! Harry watched as he eventually fell into relaxation, so immersed in whatever he was doing. It was such determination and happiness that he was in awe of. It was the thought of a single-minded goal being achieved in the purest sense; it was wonderful to witness, and it was even sweeter when success made happiness bloom.
While he was in awe, he wondered why Snape was being so open. Did he really trust him?
Almost as if questioning Harry's mind, Snape said hesitantly, "You know...you remind me of someone when I was small..." His voice had been tiny and nearly inaudible. If it weren't so silent, Harry would not have heard it at all.
Snape didn't know what to think. Why in hell did he trust Harry? Hell, why was he saying this stuff to him? This guy was only a stranger; someone he knew because he helped him the other day. He didn't even know him that well. Besides, it was creepy enough that he looked like the lovechild of Lily Evans and James Potter. Ugh.
Harry raised an eyebrow as he cautiously asked, "What do you mean, exactly...?"
How could it be? How in the blazing hells did someone manage to look like him in Snape's childhood, of all places? Did he just randomly do some spell to go to the past and befriend him when he was young? Or was he only fooling himself? Because the thought was crazy and impossible! If Ron were here, he would say, "Bloody hell, Harry! Are you off your rocker now?!"
Snape's voice brought him back to reality. It was as if he was speaking from a far off place, remembering...reminiscing... "He had hair like yours, eyes just as green...and that was his name too..."
Almost as if it were too good an opportunity to pass up, with pleading eyes, he asked, "Maybe you are him...?"
What was he begging him to be? A childhood friend he never was? Or was he? Harry didn't know, but he didn't want to disappoint Snape. It was a shame, the guy was acting a little more his own age. It was quite a nice change.
He tried to snap out of it. This was incredibly bizarre. He was becoming instant friends with Snape, and now he's convinced that he was his long lost childhood friend. That was definitely weirder than being off "his rocker"...a lot more.
Snape shook his head, eyes downcast, "No...He's gone now." He sighed, as if sure of it. Harry couldn't feel anymore sad for him.
As if to change the topic, he said, "I'm finished. Want a look?"
Harry leaned over to get a clearer view of the picture. It was a new experience for him. He was happy for once, content and comfortable in his own skin. He was truly, him.
Harry grinned, "Wow...that does look like me, huh? You're really good you know..." He laughed happily, as Snape pointed out various places where he felt like it was a mistake or some other. Harry could see, yes, part of his ear was slightly messed up, but could be fixed by adding another line. In some parts, Harry had to disagree completely.
"But you see here," he pointed, "it looks much more natural looking instead of if you drew it that way. Besides, it's not the end of the world." Harry was enjoying unleashing his artistic side.
Harry could feel himself smirking as he convinced he was right for once, and to Snape no less! And Snape wasn't trying to kick his ass for it either. It felt nice and strange at the same time.
After awhile, it came back to the silence. The peaceful salve to their own heady pasts and pains, fixing things that needed to be righted.
Harry felt Snape's eyes on him, as if trying to figure out how his brain worked. Harry stared back, falling victim to the deep deep black of his eyes...and how everything seemed to have been fading...
It seemed Harry had been light as he felt himself hover back into the heaviness of his own body. He opened his eyes, only to find himself staring at the window without his glasses, the silhouette of the bars on the window reminding him of where he was.
It was still dark out, so the Dursleys were probably sleeping.
Harry sat up in bed, as he stretched his arms out, yawning. Had that really been a dream? It seemed longer than an hour, yet, it seemed only a few minutes may have gone by.
Harry got out of bed, placing his glasses on as he walked toward the window. Why was Snape being happy with smiles giving Harry peace of mind? Why was everything going differently? Harry had been nice, and under the snarkiness, Snape wasn't anymore than a heavily troubled guy who could have a normal life like Harry wanted.
He tried to reason with himself. He was definitely losing his mind. Harry was too tired to think about it all.
Gazing up at the moon, it beamed on him, with its crescent shape. It was only a matter of time... An unexpected yawn reached his lips as he stretched again, this time walking back to his bed.
Hopping back in, Harry took off his glasses and finally snuggled under the sheets.
For the first night that summer, Sirius' death did not taunt him that night.