Surreality

By Perse

Chapter 9

oOo

The weekend came, a time when it was easy for him to avoid people. Especially with the decree that he not yet be allowed back on his broom, an order that's origin he couldn't specifically pin down. Whomever it had been dealt from, it was in place until Dumbledore himself removed it. Meanwhile, McGonagall still reinstated him, new captain Ron declared him Seeker, and the team simply practiced without him.

He and Snape continued their nightly ritual of occlusion. And the dreams stayed away.

It would seem that the longer he had been without them, the better he should have adjusted. But it wasn't working that way. Instead, it was like withdrawal from some powerful drug. He got worse…moodier, more likely to go to pieces at any moment, more withdrawn from his friends. He knew it was bad when he found himself wishing Malfoy would happen by so they could have a good row, perhaps curse each other into serious pain. Physical pain he could handle.

He'd dealt with emotional pain all his life. But now, he'd had two very different sources showing him that things could be different. One being the dreams, the other being Snape. When it seemed both were unattainable, he couldn't seem to cope.

Snape…he was beginning to think Snape was just beyond understanding. There were several moments when the Potions Master showed what Harry almost labeled as compassion. Nothing near the scale of the comfort he'd offered that first morning, but little things like a softer tone and civil conversations. They had an Occlumency session which, for the first time, Harry would not have called a low point of his life. There was no taunting, and Snape had actually prepared him before he cast the spell. All of this added up to a softer side of Severus Snape that Harry would have bet his life did not exist a month ago.

And yet, the old Snape was always just around the corner, and there was little warning before Harry was abruptly dealing with him again. Then he would feel as if he was hated again, an unwanted burden in the man's way only because Dumbledore had decreed it.

Harry took to shutting himself in a corner of the library, sitting alone near the Dark Forest, or simply skulking about the dungeons. He was burying himself in, of all things, his schoolwork. At this rate, his grades would soon rival Hermione's. Dobby was bringing him more food than he could eat, making it possible to avoid the Great Hall. He spent the weekend like this, ignoring anyone he happened to come across and having actual conversations with only Dobby and Snape.

He was surprised that Ron and Hermione hadn't come busting down the doors to Snape's quarters yet—until Dobby let slip that he'd been talking to them on the sly. Still, he doubted Dobby was able to convince them of much more than the fact that he was eating and still alive. But Ron was busy, of course, with Quidditch—perhaps too busy for a best friend who was avoiding him anyway.

Inevitably, Monday rolled around again. He had breakfast in the dungeon, ignoring Snape's odd glances, but was forced to venture out for classes.

He was in the hallway, passing by the Room of Requirement, when he was abruptly grabbed by two pairs of hands and manhandled into the room.

"Hey!" he complained, even once he saw who it was.

Hermione threw her arms around him and hugged him hard, making his breath escape in a soft "oof."

She pulled away, saying, "That's for being all right," and then preceded to smack him in the arm, "and that's for making us worry!"

"Ow!" he complained, rubbing at the now sore spot.

Then Ron was plucking at his wrists, moving the sleeves of the robe so he could see the skin. "Er…what are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Just checking," Ron muttered, backing off a bit.

Harry stared at him. "What, you think I've been chained up in the dungeons or something?"

Ron exchanged a glance with Hermione, who was giving him an exasperated look. "The thought might have occurred to me," he confessed in a mumble. Then, louder, he added, "I kind of expected you to show up at the field and watch, even if you couldn't actually play. I figured you'd have missed Quidditch."

It was then Harry's turn to shrug uncomfortably and mumble. "I was catching up with my schoolwork. And maybe getting ahead a bit."

Ron stared at him incredulously. Hermione looked as if she couldn't decide whether to be pleased by this information or more concerned because of it. She shook it off and gestured around the room. "Look, Harry, the others have been asking when we might start meetings again. We told them we'd have to check with you."

The DA…he hadn't even thought of the DA. "I don't know, Hermione. Look…you could lead it. You'd be good at it. You should start back without me."

"Mate, the point is…we don't want to start without you. We want you to come back." And Harry got the distinct impression that he wasn't just referring to coming back to the DA. They wanted him to come back to them, to act as if things were normal again.

But he just wasn't sure if he could. "I can't right now…unless you want Snape to know all about them." It had seemed like a good excuse; belatedly he realized he'd made it sound as if Snape was blatantly perusing all of his thoughts. He shook his head and, before he could dig himself in any deeper, said, "We're going to be late for class. We can talk about this later, all right?"

And he pushed past them, and walked out.

But they didn't discuss it later, at least not that day. Dobby had become rather accustomed to providing Harry with his meals, and he popped in just before lunch and dinner, making a trek to the Great Hall once again unnecessary. Harry ate outside, with Dobby for company, and established a vibe for anyone who might come near that said quite clearly, 'Leave me alone.'

That night, he made his way to the dungeon for detention, arriving early as had become his custom.

When he arrived, Snape was curt but civil, assigning him to help with preparation of materials for the next day's classes. Harry stood beside him at the long table in the front of the classroom, extracting seeds from a plant that would have been considered too hazardous for the first-years to touch.

They worked in silence for a long while, with only Snape's instructions to him breaking it. Eventually, Snape spoke up with an abrupt, "So—to hear the other students talk, you have become even less pleasant to be around than I am."

Harry stared at him in surprise for a moment before he frowned. "I think I resent that."

"As do I," Snape returned dryly.

"Well, its not as if I'm hateful to them," he said pointedly.

"Because you're too busy for them—doing what exactly? Wishing this world didn't exist? Finding them utterly unworthy of your time?"

That wasn't really true, the reason was much deeper, but he wasn't in the mood to probe at it. So he shot back, "Maybe. I have more important things to concentrate on, don't I? Like saving them all?"

"Oh, yes. Your importance is unrivalled. Then, by all means, you should feel free to make yourself a great burden for everyone around you as you work on saving them." Snape leaned closer, eyes flashing with anger. "Your arrogance is astonishing—even if expected."

Harry stood still then, watching Snape, seething in silence and stinging more than usual from the old jibe at his father…and the statement before it.

This just wasn't fair. Cutting off the dreams had made a void deep in Harry and left him feeling horribly vulnerable emotionally. Snape was the only person he was having any significant contact with.

And the Professor was offering him something, something he wanted desperately and needed. Or rather, at times it seemed he was offering it. But then he would pull it away again and be the harsh, unyielding man Harry had known since first year.

If this were happening only in front of others, he could perhaps understand it. Their private lessons had been a secret from the start, for Snape had appearances to keep. But as this little scene was exemplifying, it occurred in private as well. It was as if Snape was grudgingly doing his duty, managing to come off almost as if he cared, but occasionally letting the act slip.

Harry hated the seesawing emotions. On one hand he was softening towards Snape, wanting that relationship and almost willing to take it. He liked the softer side he'd been seeing. But every time Snape gave him cause to doubt that it was at all sincere, he hated the man all the more for taunting him like this.

That thought in mind, he tightened his jaw and accused, "This is fun for you, isn't it? A front row seat to watch me fall apart. To even urge it along a bit. Does it make you feel better? Does it help you even the score with a dead man?"

Snape looked a bit surprised by the outburst. "Your father has nothing to do with this."

"My father has everything to do with this! From moment one, everything about us has revolved around him. You can't tell me that watching me fall doesn't feel like watching him fall. And you can't tell me you haven't wanted that for twenty years!"

The surprise was gone, the anger fully in place again. "As you so astutely pointed out, he is dead. He is not here, and has no place in this discussion! And that is the biggest of your many problems, Potter. You need to bury him and your mother, and Black."

The last name was said with a horribly distasteful sneer. The scene conjured a sudden flash of memory for Harry. An image of the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, of Snape taunting Sirius.

Hatred flared—a gaping black hole inside of him threatening to swallow him whole.

He was so angry that he couldn't speak for a moment. When he finally did, it was calm and quiet and cold as ice. "Maybe I will. Maybe you could show me how. You are supposed to be teaching me to get through this, right? Please, give me some advice on burying the past."

He didn't wait for the inevitable explosion. And he didn't think about the punishment he would get for shirking detention. He simply turned, and he walked out.

That blind anger carried him up from the dungeons and out of the castle. The sky was beginning to darken as the sun descended. He hadn't even consciously decided where he was going, so it was a bit of a surprise that he found himself staring up at the Whomping Willow.

His vision was blurring, so he scrubbed angrily at his wet face before cautiously moving closer. A couple of close dodges and dives later and he was into the passageway.

Then, he knew exactly where he was going and why. There was only one place in the immediate area of Hogwarts where he felt really close to Sirius and his father. The place where he knew they'd played and been happy when they were his age. The place where he'd finally met Sirius and learned the truth.

He reached the Shrieking Shack and climbed the stairs, entering the room. He remembered the scene in here vividly. He walked to the spot where Sirius had lay on the ground as Harry pointed his wand at him. The same spot where Remus had pulled him to his feet and hugged him, giving Sirius his first taste of friendship in twelve long years.

He sat down on that spot, caressing the wood as he remembered how confused they'd been. How much hatred had been in him, how much he'd wanted to hurt Sirius...

He shut his eyes, shook his head, and bit his bottom lip. Bury them, Snape said. How was he supposed to do that? That wasn't fair to them. They had died for him, all three of them. He owed them something more, something beyond just laying them to rest and moving on.

He opened his eyes and stared around the room. He could almost imagine a werewolf and a big black dog locked in a playful wrestling match in the corner, could practically envision a mighty stag prancing in the doorway.

Having these dreams, being so happy in them—it felt like keeping them alive. Cutting them off—well, that felt like killing them all over again.

He didn't notice when the first sob came, wasn't really even aware of them until breathing became difficult. Then he curled in on himself in a futile attempt to stop the pain. He shifted until he was lying in a fetal ball on the floor, and cried. It hurt, and he wanted it to stop, and he didn't even realize that he was crying himself into a weary sleep.

Occlusion never even crossed his mind.

oOo

Harry woke crying.

A horrible sense of loss and fear swept over him, drowning him, making it impossible for him to stop the tears.

He pushed himself out of bed and stumbled into the hall, entirely forgetting his glasses until he nearly tripped down the bottom half of the stairs. Holding onto the banister for dear life he managed to right himself, but the noise drew attention. Lily appeared at the base of the staircase, a fuzzy red-headed shape immediately holding out her arms. "Harry, what happened? What's wrong?"

He didn't answer, just propelled himself into her arms and continued to cry.

She held him urgently, calling out to his Dad and Sirius, who were in the next room. He was dimly aware that they had joined them and seemed as worried as she was.

"Harry, son," James insinuated himself close, in Harry's line of vision. "Talk to us. What happened?"

"I had a nightmare…and you…were all…dead…it was so real," he finally choked out.

His mother coaxed him to the couch, and then sat down beside him, his father on the other side. Sirius crouched in front of him, his weight supported by the coffee table. All three looked at him with concern and love as they reached to comfort him.

"Hey, kiddo, what's with this fear lately, huh?" James asked.

"I don't know," he choked out between sobs.

"You aren't having visions, are you?" Sirius asked with a mock seriousness.

"Sirius," Lily said with some exasperation.

"No," Harry replied brokenly. "Just feelings. And a regular old nightmare."

"Hey…" Sirius got his attention again and held up a hand. "I solemnly swear, we will never be separated from you. At least not until you're grown up and sick of us," he added with a smile.

"That'll never happen!" Harry exclaimed, horrified by the thought.

"Easy, Harry." Sirius reached to squeeze his hand. "I was joking. And even if that were to happen, you know us. We're never going away."

Harry shook his head in denial. "I want to be a kid and believe that you have the power to back that up, but…you can't promise that. That's not the way life works."

They exchanged a look he was familiar with, the Our-baby's-growing-up look. The his father shifted closer, pulling him to lean against him and bringing a hand up to gently pet his head. He answered seriously, "You're right. But Harry, even if the unthinkable were to happen and all three of us were taken from this life…well, even then, we could still be together."

"What do you mean? How?"

"There is life beyond this, you know," James said seriously, still stroking his hair lightly. "All you would have to do is follow us."

"You mean…" Harry let the sentence trail off, his stomach squirming slightly. But they were all looking at him with such love in their eyes, and it didn't seem as scary as the prospect of being without them. "And we could be together?" he asked softly.

"Forever."

He finally smiled through his tears.

oOo

Harry snapped awake, sitting up before his eyes were even open. His heart pounded at the content of the dream, and he felt vaguely queasy. His mind raced as the realization hit him with the impact of a truck.

They had been right all along. Voldemort really was the author of these dreams.

He knew, abruptly, that he wasn't safe and shouldn't be alone.

He rose and looked out the window, trying to determine the time. Colors lit the horizon of the darkening sky, so he couldn't have been too long. Except…the colors were in the wrong direction. That was the sunrise, not the sunset. He'd been there all night.

And an unexpected little thought insinuated itself into his turmoil—Snape would be looking for him.

He stumbled out of the room, down the stairs, and into the passageway. As he made his way, his mind raced to put the pieces together. He thought back over all of the dreams.

The first few had been innocent enough, drawing a pretty picture of a safe, normal family life. Drawing him in.

Once the normalcy had been established, there had been a definite theme—he was lonely or afraid of losing them, and they always assured him that he would never be alone. Three times he'd had a variation of that—the birthday dream, the hospital dream with his Dad, and the hospital wing with Sirius.

And then there'd been the little one, the one with his parents and the stars and—an association of getting home with the top of the astronomy tower. Oh, he felt sick.

He had to admit, Voldemort was good. There'd been a slow, emotionally charged buildup to the ultimate goal. He hadn't seen it coming.

He stumbled up the slight incline to the opening beneath the Willow and prepared himself to prod the knob on the tree trunk before he was beaten to a bloody pulp by branches. It took him a moment to realize that the tree was strangely still and silent.

He poked his head out and squinted in the dim morning light; stared up into a pale, hard face.

"Potter."

Ooh. Snape was pissed.

"Professor," he managed to croak out, as if this were some normal encounter in a hallway.

Snape's eyes flashed, and he came closer to grab hold of one of Harry's elbows and force him completely out of the passageway. "I don't suppose that in your stupidity it occurred to you that leaving the grounds might put you in great danger? Especially alone? The entire staff is looking for you!"

There was something to be said for the fact that Snape had been heading towards the passageway. He had figured it out, where apparently no one else had.

But Harry couldn't dwell on that right then. He also couldn't answer. Now that he had a vague sense of safety back, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach grew to overwhelming nausea. Abruptly he pulled his arm free and pushed past Snape, barely making it to a nearby bush before he threw up. He knelt there, retching, bringing up what little was in his stomach and then suffering dry heaves.

He heard a pop, then saw a blaze of green light shoot over his head. A signal, he assumed, to the other Professors that he had been found in one piece.

Then he dimly realized that Snape had followed him as he heard, "Are you ill?" A cold hand was pressed against his forehead, presumably checking for fever. It felt good, not only for the coolness but because it was actual, physical touch. He leaned into it.

"He wants me to kill myself," he said softly, and it was as if the words were coming from a great distance. He was vaguely aware that Snape had looked at him sharply and was now studying him intently. He continued, "He thinks he can make me kill myself. That's what this has all been leading up to. Everything…all the promises that they'd never leave me, getting me to feel so comfortable there, planting the suggestion of jumping from the astronomy tower to get home…"

"Potter, you're babbling," Snape snapped, an urgency in his voice as he gripped Harry by the shoulders and turned him around.

Harry swallowed convulsively, and tried to calm down enough to explain. "I went to the Shrieking Shack…I guess you figured that out. Anyway, I fell asleep."

Snape looked at him severely. "You didn't occlude your mind, did you?"

"No," he confessed softly. "But if its any consolation, I believe you now. I believe they're from Voldemort."

Snape studied him with dark eyes, gesturing for him to go on.

Harry swallowed hard, then said, "I dreamed that I had a nightmare they were all dead—a nightmare of my real life, I guess. But when I woke, and they comforted me …things got strange. My father said we could always be together, if not in life then…" he broke off, swallowing hard. At last he whispered, "And I wanted that…"

Snape shifted from his knees to sit on the ground directly in front of him, looking at him with something suspiciously like concern. "And now?"

"Now?" Actually, he hadn't gotten much past shock yet. He thought for a few minutes. "Is that what it would be like? I mean…do you think I'll get to be with them when I die?"

Snape drew back a bit, gazing at him seriously. He considered his answer and then said, "Perhaps. There is no way for any of the living to be certain what may happen after death."

Then he stood with surprising grace, and held a hand down to him. "Come," he instructed simply.

Harry looked at him quizzically, but accepted the hand up and followed him back into the castle. Snape didn't say a word as they made their way towards the Great Hall, and Harry kept the silence as well.

They met McGonagall a bit inside the entrance, a look of relief displayed on her features. "Mr. Potter. Good to see you in one piece."

He nodded to her and tried to smile. She didn't dwell, and neither did Firenze when they encountered him a few moments later. There seemed to be some unspoken understanding that he was in Snape's charge, even with his own head of house.

Snape led him to the great doors. As he opened them a crack, Harry finally spoke. "It's a bit early for breakfast, isn't it?"

"Perhaps, but as we searched the castle for you we had to contain the other students. We didn't know what danger we might be facing."

Harry hung his head slightly, feeling guilty now. It surprised him that he hadn't been feeling it before, and he realized that Snape's concern had mostly left him with a warm feeling insinuating itself into that void he'd been feeling for days.

He was shaky with that realization, and it didn't help when Snape reached back and caught him around the shoulders, pulling him in close to the man's side so he could look into the room. He gave in and let himself relax as Snape spoke, "If indeed your parents and Black are waiting for you beyond the veil, they will wait. They will be there; they have no need for you to hurry. But they," he motioned towards Harry's group of friends at the Gryffindor table, "are here. And they all care for you as well, even if they do not quite compare to your parents and Black. And they do need you, here and now."

Harry was looking not only at his friends, but at everyone in the crowded hall. "I know," he whispered. And he did know. It was the weight of the wizarding world, on his shoulders.

It made him feel that he had to live, even if it didn't make him feel that much better about it.

Then, Ron turned and spotted him. He elbowed Hermione, who broke into a wide smile. Then they were both up, hurrying towards him.

Snape gave him a slight push. "Go. We can discuss your punishment for making me run around Hogwarts like an idiot later."

If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn that was teasing. He glanced back at Snape, who wore his normal serious expression. There was something perhaps a bit softer in his eyes, though. He offered the man a crooked, uncertain half-grin before he abruptly had his arms full of Hermione, and Ron was pounding him on the back as the entire Gryffindor table jumped up and moved towards them.

oOo

tbc