Surreality

By Perse

Chapter 8

oOo

Harry awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. He was worried for a moment before the events of the day before came rushing back. Then he lay still in a bit of shock, glancing around Snape's spare room, his mind racing.

He'd had no dreams. The occlusion had apparently warded them off. He tried to convince himself that the act of emptying his mind had simply lessened his own subconscious ability to dream. He wasn't sure that made sense, but he still wasn't ready to admit that these were from Voldemort.

Because he still wanted them so very badly.

He felt bereft. He had trouble finding words for the feeling, but finally decided that his soul felt empty. He hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on the dreams. With the panicky feelings encroaching on him now, he was beginning to think that they had been the only thing keeping him sane.

Had he been in his own bed, he probably would have felt the urge to close the curtains, burrow under the covers, and hide away from the world. But he wasn't in his own bed. So, instead, he felt the need to run.

He tried to get up, but he forgot the rather crucial step of pushing back the covers. He got tangled up and managed only to go toppling to the floor.

He whimpered slightly as his injuries made themselves known. The combination of the pain and having his limbs trapped in the covers only increased his panic. His heart was trip-hammering and he was finding it difficult to breathe.

"Potter?"

He jerked his head up. Snape was standing in the now open doorway, studying him and drawing conclusions about the scene.

"Do you make a habit of tumbling out of bed?"

Harry didn't dignify that with an answer. It was infuriating that the man just kept standing there, making no effort to help—especially since the blanket seemed intent on holding him prisoner. Harry struggled harder, even as he found himself getting dizzy from his short, shallow breathing.

"Potter?" There was something different about the tone now, though Harry didn't bother trying to identify it. The next thing he knew, Snape had knelt in front of him and grasped his shoulders.

Harry jerked backwards, slamming his back painfully into the bed. The pain was blinding for a moment—but it did bring him back to his senses.

Snape hadn't let go. "Breathe," he commanded. "Slow, deep breaths."

Harry stared at the man, focused on the hooked nose, and tried to do as he was told.

Eventually, he was able to catch his breath. As his breathing deepened, his heart rate began to slow.

Snape, meanwhile, had begun disentangling him from the blanket. "I wasn't aware that you suffered from panic attacks."

"I don't," Harry denied automatically.

"Then you do a marvelous impression of one," Snape shot back dryly, finally winning the battle with the blanket and standing.

Harry stood as well, slowly, analyzing what had just happened. He felt bleary now, as if the world was fuzzy. But he could think more clearly now than he had been a moment ago. Then, it had been like something else was in control. Not something external, like possession by Voldemort, but something internal, like…pure panic.

"Panic attacks. Terrific. That's just what I need," he said aloud.

Snape gave him a measuring look. "Can I assume that the occlumency worked? That that is why you are in this state?"

"Yes," he said shortly. He glanced at Snape, then quickly looked away before he could really read the man's expression. "I should get dressed," he announced awkwardly, then made for the bathroom.

He was trembling slightly as changed into his clothes and robe and splashed water on his face. The panic had receded, but it hadn't abandoned him entirely. His chest felt tight, emotions he didn't want to feel choking him.

He left the bathroom and headed directly for the door. Snape had other plans, however, and placed himself between Harry and escape.

"What?" he demanded, completely forgoing any semblance of respect.

Snape's face tightened. "We must talk."

"No, we mustn't. I need to get out of here."

"You need a great many things Potter, but that is not one of them. You must let me help you, so that…"

"So that Voldemort can't get to me. I know. Because I have to save the world," Harry mocked, an alarming amount of cynicism in his voice. "Maybe I don't think the world is worth saving anymore."

"I'm not sure it ever was, Mr. Potter. Nevertheless, do you really wish Voldemort to have it?"

The retort froze on his tongue and Harry went completely still for a moment, because it was the first time he'd ever heard Snape speak the dreaded name aloud.

Snape pressed the advantage that Harry's shock provided him. "Perhaps you don't care that he murdered your parents. Perhaps you don't mind if he goes on to murder your friends."

Harry shook his head, but couldn't speak. He felt tendrils of anger, but he didn't seem to have the mental strength to support the emotion. He could practically feel carefully constructed walls starting to crack under pressure. He tried to turn away.

But Snape didn't allow it. He grasped him by the arm and spun him back. "If Black were standing here, what would he say? He gave his life for you, for this fight. Would you tell him that he died for nothing? Don't you think he'd be disappointed in you? Would he call you a failure?"

"Damn you!" Harry yelled. He turned away, and this time Snape let him. After a moment he managed a quieter, "Damn it all," through encroaching sobs.

A few minutes passed, in which Harry choked back his tears between gulps for air. He wanted to run out of there, away from Snape. But something unidentifiable made him stay.

And, after those few long minutes, he was startled when a tentative hand touched his shoulder.

"But Black isn't here, and that is the problem." Snape's voice was lower now, softer somehow. "You cannot allow all this anger and sorrow to build up any longer. The Dark Lord is able to prey on you now because you have closed yourself off from reality. If you continue to do so, you will be lost."

Harry didn't respond, still fighting his emotions.

"Potter…you need to let yourself grieve," Snape said quietly.

Harry shook his head again spasmodically. He couldn't; it hurt too much. He would fall apart, break into a million pieces, and no one would be able to put him back together again. He was convinced that there was no one left in this reality capable of that.

Behind him, Snape sighed. He grabbed Harry by the arm and spun him around again. Harry tensed, half expecting to be slapped or simply yelled at.

Instead, incredibly, he was pulled into a rough embrace.

Harry stiffened and tried to pull away. Snape was rigid, completely unaccustomed to this and even more put off by Harry's reaction. But he was also strong and he did not give up easily. He pulled Harry back and held him in place, a hand cupped around each shoulder.

It was awkward, and painfully obvious that they were both uncomfortable.

But Harry had needed this for so long…

His chest was beginning to ache with the effort to hold back his grief. It wasn't that he forgot who was holding him. It was just that other things became more important. A solid, breathing body supported him. The hands slowly eased their grip on his shoulders, arms cautiously wrapping around him. Eventually, a hand tentatively came up to stroke his head, ever so lightly. And suddenly it didn't matter so much that it was Snape. What mattered was the tangible comfort being offered.

It was too much for Harry's tenuous control. The dam broke completely, and he found himself sobbing into the dark robes of the Potions Master.

He cried for his parents, and a life that could never be. He cried for Sirius, and the life his godfather should have led, and the relationship that he should have had with him. He cried for Cedric Diggory, who'd never even had a chance to live.

Most of all, he cried for the utter unfairness of a world that conspired for all of this to take place.

He fisted his hands in the dark robes, needing to hold onto something to keep from drowning. Then he lost himself in the cathartic tears, forgetting where he was entirely.

Long minutes later as he finally began to calm, he found that it was different here in reality. There was the feel of fabric under his cheek. There was the feel of slightly rough, cool fingers grazing his neck as they stroked his hair. There was the sound of a heartbeat under his ear.

All the affection in the dreams didn't come with the sensory experiences. He had thought it was satisfying his emotional needs. But this was different. This was…real.

Harry's tears slowed and eventually stopped. But he didn't try to move. On one hand, he didn't want to move. There was no telling how long it would be before he had a chance to be held like this again, if ever. On the other hand, this was a bit mortifying. He had no idea how he was supposed to deal with Snape after this.

Snape didn't make any move to extract him from the embrace, either. Perhaps neither of them much knew what to do with this. It was somehow much easier not to move than to face each other and the awkwardness that would undoubtedly set in.

But eventually, the situation got to be too much for Harry. He convinced himself that nothing good could come from this. This was Snape, after all. Come the next Potions class, the man would undoubtedly be degrading him again. He'd hated Harry from the moment he laid eyes on him—probably even longer. And, Harry reminded himself, Snape was only doing this on Dumbledore's orders.

Abruptly he let go of his fistfuls of robe and stepped back. Snape released him. Harry didn't bother to look up, not wanting to see the look on his face. "I should get to breakfast," he said shortly in way of explanation, then turned and fled the room.

oOo

Harry was on autopilot as he made his way into the Great Hall. He didn't really take note of the people around him, he simply made his way to their normal seats and nodded a good morning to his friends as he took the empty seat beside Ron and across from Hermione.

His thoughts were still back in the dungeons. Had he really just taken comfort in Snape's arms?

It took him a few moments to realize that Ron and Hermione were both staring at him.

He glanced between them, noting the obvious concern. "What?" he asked self-consciously.

"You've been crying," Hermione said, and it was a statement rather than a question.

It hadn't occurred to him that it would be that obvious. Now he flushed, looking down and instinctively bringing a hand to his face.

A hand touched his shoulder, prompting him to look back up. "What did he do to you?" Ron demanded in a whisper, barely contained fury in his voice.

Harry stared at him, not comprehending. It took him a moment to realize that they had assumed Snape had hurt him.

And really, just yesterday, he probably would have assumed the same thing.

"No, its not like that. He didn't hurt me or anything," he assured, then looked down again. He really had no desire to explain this.

"They pulled you out of the tower, away from us. You spent the night in Snape's quarters. And now you're so upset. What are we supposed to think?" Ron managed to keep his voice low, but his anger and worry were evident.

"Harry…" Hermione was gazing at him seriously as she leaned across the table. "Tell us what happened?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. The occlumency worked; I didn't have any dreams last night."

"Is that what's upset you?" Hermione prodded gently.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, but it was a sign that his friends recognized as an affirmative.

"Mate…what exactly is in these dreams?"

He had resisted telling them so that the dreams would be a special, private thing. There was really no point in keeping that secret any longer. Harry swallowed convulsively, then said, "My parents, mostly. Sirius sometimes. They're nothing special really, just…little snippets of everyday life. The way it could have been." He laughed slightly, but it was a humorless, ugly sound. "The way it could never be. Little tastes of things I have never and will never have."

He could practically taste the bitterness in his voice. He didn't look up at his friends; didn't want to see pity.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione reached to take his hand. "No wonder you prefer that to the real world."

"Yeah…wow. That's a good plan. I never would have expected You-Know-Who to…"

Harry shot him a sharp glance, and he shut up. Ron had never been good with words. In fact, they tended to get him into trouble. Now, he forewent speaking and simply slid a hand across Harry's shoulder to squeeze his neck gently.

Harry shivered slightly, feeling the tears prick again. The hand remained, a solid, comforting warmth kneading his neck slightly. The hand that held his squeezed.

Harry shut his eyes tightly. He wanted comfort, wanted it so badly. The sheer force of that want terrified him. He wondered how long that had been going on in his subconscious.

He'd known this would happen. He'd allowed himself to crack, and now he was broken and bleeding and he would never be able to heal.

He sensed that he was being watched. He glanced up to the teacher's table, and his gaze met Snape's.

He couldn't read the older man's expression. It was disconcerting.

With a bit of effort, he looked away. Abruptly he stood, pulling his hand away from Hermione and twisting away from Ron's touch. "I have to go…somewhere else," he finished lamely, and took off.

"Harry!" Ron bellowed behind him.

He didn't look back.

oOo

Harry had had a very long day.

About two minutes after he'd left the Great Hall, Dobby had popped in beside him. And Dobby hadn't left his side since. He liked Dobby, really he did. But he knew perfectly well why the elf was there. He didn't even bother to ask who had ordered him to stick to Harry like glue.

If there was one thing Dobby was good at, it was purposefully, incessantly making his presence known. There would be no napping, accidental or otherwise, while Dobby was around.

The positive side to having Dobby around was that it was easier to ignore everyone else. No one tried to strike up a serious conversation with a lively house elf no more than a foot away.

Harry had spent the day avoiding Ron and Hermione, who would not have been put off so easily. He had cut the classes he shared with them and refused to go into the Great Hall for lunch or dinner. As a result, he was tired, hungry, and a bit depressed.

To cap it all off, he had to serve his first of the week's worth of detention tonight.

He'd actually shown up in the dungeon classroom early, of his own free will. He didn't pause to examine his motivation for that too closely. Dobby, of course, had accompanied him and would undoubtedly be staying until Snape showed up.

Currently, the elf was chattering about Winky and her butterbeer addiction. Harry had his head in his hands and was staring blankly at the front wall.

When he heard the door open, he actually felt a shock of happiness. It was fleeting, however, once he turned and saw who it was.

He rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands again. "Malfoy," he said tonelessly.

"Potter," came the returning sneer. "Enjoying your punishment, I see."

He turned back, looking pointedly at the pink streak that didn't seem to have faded a bit. "Enjoying it more now. Thanks for reminding me that it was worth it."

Draco came closer, giving Dobby a similar pointed look. "Your choice in company is certainly fitting. Is this the only friend you have left?"

Dobby shrank back, clearly afraid. Harry had forgotten for a moment that Dobby had once been little more than a mistreated slave to the Malfoys. The elf's reaction now angered Harry all the more.

"You're one to talk, Malfoy. Come back when you have even one real friend, and we can have this conversation."

He meant it to sting, and he knew it would bring anger. Sure enough, Draco's eyes narrowed. "I'm not the one with the habit of running out of the Great Hall, away from everyone."

Harry was not in the mood to go through this with Malfoy. "What did your friends think of your new hairstyle?" Harry prodded. "Because mine thought it was great."

That did it. Draco pulled his wand out with a sneer, and Harry followed suit. They raised them in unison, pointing them steadily at each other.

They were interrupted by a high-pitched, inhuman squeal. Dobby thrust himself between them, long arms wrapped over his head for protection. He had his eyes squeezed shut.

Lucky for Dobby, Snape chose that moment to walk in. Both of their wands disappeared from sight in an instant. Harry winced slightly as he poked himself hard by thrusting his behind his back. Snape paused, taking in the scene, then slowly continued making his way towards them.

"Boys." Snape's gaze slid between them, suspiciously. Finding them together did generally precede disaster of some sort. Though he had nothing to feel guilty about, Harry looked away.

"I needed to speak with you, Professor," Draco said sweetly and respectfully. Harry rolled his eyes.

Snape nodded. "Give me a moment," he intoned, then snapped and gestured in a way that apparently signaled that he wanted to speak with Dobby. The house elf hastened to follow Snape towards the chalkboard, casting nervous looks back at Draco.

Harry and Draco took to casting each other malevolent looks as Snape had a low conversation with the servant. Snape seemed angry with the elf over something.

Dobby's voice was not near as low as Snape's. "But Dobby was not supposed to leave Harry Potter, sir—not for anything! Dobby takes his assignments very seriously, sir!"

Draco snickered. "Is this what you've come to, Potter? Having my rejected servants baby-sitting you?"

Harry responded softly, so Snape would not overhear. "For your information, Dobby was not rejected. Your father was actually very upset about losing him. Dobby and I simply outsmarted him."

He was then reminded that Draco could move surprisingly fast, as the end of the wand was in his face in three seconds flat. "Don't talk about my father," the blonde hissed coldly.

There was a pop that was Dobby leaving, and then Snape turned back to them. Draco backed off immediately, but there was no way Snape hadn't seen what was happening. He strode back to them, gazed at them for a few seconds, then said simply, "Draco, you needed something?"

Draco, not Mr. Malfoy, Harry noted. And he didn't call him on the behavior, of course. Angrily, Harry thought that Snape could probably catch Draco casting an unforgivable and still not call him on it.

Draco cast a contemptuous look Harry's way. "Can I speak with you alone, Professor?"

"Certainly. Potter, you're going to be cleaning the cauldrons for me." He paused, opening a cabinet. Harry stared at the cleaning supplies. "By hand," Snape concluded. "You'd best get started; I expect it will take you all night." He held out a hand and demanded, "Wand."

Harry handed it over. Snape snatched it away from him, then turned on his heel and walked away with his Slytherin. Harry stared after him for a moment, at a bit of a loss. Then Draco sneered at him, and he turned to the cauldrons with a sigh of resignation.

He'd known it would happen. He'd known that this morning, whatever it was, would not actually have changed anything.

He pulled out the cleaning supplies and gazed unhappily into the first cauldron. Apparently the first-years had been using them. Something Harry preferred not to identify was caked on the sides. He was going to have to scrape at it.

As he began to work, his attention drifted back towards the pair near the door. This seemed like something more than a question about an assignment. Harry knew that Draco had known Snape since he was little, that Lucius had been good friends with the Potions Master. For Draco, Snape had always been a very different man than he was with any of the other students. All of the Slytherins received better treatment than the other houses, but Draco stood out even amongst them.

He watched as Snape put his hand on Draco's shoulder. The blond visibly relaxed at the touch, leaning against the older man a bit. Snape gave him a comforting pat before steering him towards the door.

Harry jerked his head back around with a firm snap. He was absolutely not jealous of Draco Malfoy. Especially not of Malfoy's relationship with Professor Snape. Because if that were the case, then he had hit rock bottom.

He was seriously beginning to wonder if he was finally cracking up. Maybe he should check into St. Mungo's now and save them all a lot of trouble.

Snape stepped out of the classroom with Draco. Harry began scraping the side of the cauldron with an almost violent vigor.

There was a pop beside him, but Harry didn't pause his movements as he cast an annoyed glance at Dobby. The house elf was holding a plate piled high with food. "Dobby has brought you dinner, sir."

"I'm sorry Dobby, but I'm supposed to be cleaning. I don't think Professor Snape will like it much if I'm eating instead."

"But Professor Snape told me to bring it to you, Harry Potter, sir."

Harry stopped scraping then, and stared. "He did?"

"Oh, yes. He was quite angry that Harry Potter had not eaten all day."

"That's what he was upset with you about?" Harry asked, not quite believing it.

"Take the plate, Mr. Potter," a deep voice interrupted them. Harry spun, staring at Snape in confusion. "Come sit down and eat."

Dobby thrust the plate into Harry's hands, then bowed and disapparated with a pop.

Harry looked from the food to the Professor. "The cauldrons aren't clean yet," he finally said.

"I am aware of that. I am also aware that in your zest to avoid everyone you have not eaten anything since yesterday. Come sit down and eat."

Slowly, warily, Harry did as he was told. He wasn't at all sure what to make of Snape anymore. He settled, picked up his fork, and began to eat, all the while keeping an eye on his teacher.

After a moment he asked a bit snidely, "Did you fix Malfoy's crisis?"

"That is none of your concern. And don't talk with your mouth full."

Harry found himself staring once more, mouth open.

Snape gave him a disgusted look. "And don't do that, for Merlin's sake. Didn't anyone ever teach you any manners?"

Harry snapped his jaw shut, more confused that ever. He had been having some very odd moments with Snape lately. He had started to get the impression that perhaps the man didn't hate him quite as completely as he had thought. But then, with Malfoy…

He kept eating, though later he wouldn't be able to recall exactly what he had eaten. He watched curiously as Snape returned his wand, placing it on the table in front of him. Then the Potions Master went to the cauldrons and began spelling them, cleaning them himself.

Harry finished the food as Snape was moving to the last cauldron. He finally dared to speak up. "I thought that was my job."

Snape barely spared him a glance. "It is late, and you are in need of more undisturbed sleep."

He almost tested his luck and said what he was thinking: But this is supposed to be punishment. But then, perhaps this was punishment. He didn't like being so confused. He didn't like much of anything he'd been feeling lately.

In fact, the only time he'd felt normal all day was when he'd been pointing a wand at Draco Malfoy.

Apart from that, he had continued to feel as if he were slowly coming apart at the seems.

He didn't say this, though. He didn't say anything.

He disposed of the plate, Snape finished with the cauldrons, and then he obediently followed Snape from the classroom back to his quarters. There, they pretty much repeated the routine of the night before. Harry changed and climbed into bed. Snape sat with him, encouraging him to occlude his mind.

Harry was grateful for the dark. He focused on nothing, and somehow found that appropriate.

Silent tears slid down his cheeks, born of the emptiness inside him.

As he drifted off, he barely felt a cool pair of fingers brushing the moisture away.

oOo

tbc