Chapter 13

On Sunday, Harry did not explain his nightmare to Ron, despite the weird looks he, Sean, Neville, and Dean were giving him. He evaded all questions from Hermione at lunch, using his assignments as an excuse to keep his head down throughout the rest of the day, and then just skipped dinner all together. By that night, they'd figured to stop asking, finally just accepting his silence, and Harry practically drooped in relief.

He retired to bed early again, aware of the eyes that tracked him as he made for the stairs, but stoically continued. He slipped into bed, his homework complete, and he fought to Occlude. He summoned a memory, the same memory he used to summon his first Patronus with Lupin, three years before, the memory that wasn't even real, a quiet and calm conversation with his parents. He was able to bury himself into it and he fell asleep before the others had even ascended the stairs.

The nightmare still came.

Harry was standing before a mirror that looked like the Mirror of Erised. He looked and saw himself surrounded by his friends, but they were crying. He turned around and found he was at a funeral. He approached the open coffin with terror in each step, and the path before him cleared automatically of mourners who instead turned their eyes on him. He could feel the weight of their eyes. He started to run towards the coffin, which seemed to never get nearer. He flat out sprinted until, finally, he came to a sudden stop at the very edge.

It was him, Harry, lying there, pale and still, dressed in his school robes. Nothing seemed the matter with him - no missing limbs, no gashes or burns. It looked like he'd just dropped dead. Or was cursed dead.

Harry looked around. The mourners were gone. The room was large and empty, just him and his dead body, not a soul else. He looked down again at the corpse.

Dead Harry opened his eyes. They were red and slitted.

No, he thought. No, this isn't real, this is a dream. Summon a memory! But he could recall nothing, could not even break away from his own horrifying stare. No, he thought, I can't be!

-SSS-

Harry sat bolt upright in his bed. He did not scream. His lip felt raw and his jaw felt stiff, and he realized he'd been biting his lip to keep from crying out. Good, he thought. Good.

He lay back down but didn't try to sleep. There was no point. The sight of those red slitted eyes looking back from his own dead face was still burned into his brain. He lay there and counted his heartbeats, waiting for morning.

-SSS-

"You look awful," Luna said one afternoon, several days - and nightmares - later, as Harry walked beside her down the hall. Harry raised a tired brow at her bluntness but, used to this particular comment from all quarters by now, he didn't feel inclined to be offended. "I don't think you are sleeping as much as you ought." She continued, keeping pace with him. They were walking down a first-floor corridor, Harry on his way to Transfiguration, and Luna up to Defense.

"Really?" Harry said, disinterestedly.

"I suppose you'd know best, Harry," she continued. "Although, I should hate it if something were to happen to you. You are one of my very dear friends." This pronouncement snapped Harry out of his reverie, and he looked down at the small, chipper, blonde girl as though he'd never seen her before. She turned to look at him, stopping because now they were just a few feet from McGonagall's class.

"Thank you, Luna. You're one of my very good friends too," he asserted.

"Oh, that's alright, Harry," Luna said, continuing in her high pitched, devastatingly genuine lilt, "I know you have very many good friends in the castle, so I should think it's hard to keep track of them all. But I do like you, Harry, very much. I hope you manage to get some sleep soon. It's quite awful to have nightmares."

"How do you know I've been having nightmares?" He asked carefully, trying to silence the automatic defensiveness rising in his voice. She smiled again, clearly not fooled.

"You've done a great many scary things, Harry," she replied. "I think, after that, it is quite impossible to not have nightmares." She paused for a moment. "I had nightmares after the Ministry last year," she continued, in the same airy tones. "Many of them made me wake up crying."

"I'm so sorry, Luna! I had no idea. I – "

"Oh it's alright, Harry. I'm much better now." She looked around at the students beginning to filter through the halls. "I should be going, I think. Good-bye, Harry," she said, and then bounded off down the corridor. Harry stared after her, his mind churning with their odd conversation, and sticking on the bit about her nightmares. Maybe I should ask her how she got over them. Then again, he thought as he made towards the Transfiguration classroom, Luna's got a family, hasn't she? The things that work for her probably won't for me.

-SSS-

Harry's self-imposed vow of silence with his friends did not escape the notice of his teachers. Or perhaps it was just the dark bags under his eyes. He managed to wave off McGonagall's concern, and Flitwick's, when each of them pulled him aside after class. He assured them he was just struggling with classwork, the stresses of the new term, and Quidditch. He felt fine and he'd catch up on sleep during the weekend.

The weekend, however, came and went, and twice in a row, he woke up screaming. He heard Seamus and Dean plotting to silencio him as he slept, and he almost thought it was a good idea. But he'd have needed someone else to break the curse as he was only just learning to perform wordless incantations and wasn't very good at them. Normally, he'd ask Ron, but Ron was avoiding him, along with Hermione and Ginny. Not entirely out of their own volition, but because Harry had made it very clear that he was not interested in their opinions on his health, and they found it impossible to look at him without wanting to voice their concern. He avoided them, and they avoided him back, and the nightmares continued, growing more and more disturbing.

Nearly a full two weeks into this new set of sleepless nights, Harry found himself in a constant fog. He managed in classes through sheer instinct, but Potions with Snape was disastrous. He lost 20 points for Gryffindor that Thursday because he misread a complex set of instructions and added the highly flammable powdered Jarvey tail too early. The result was a smokey explosion that Snape vanished immediately, with a snarl. Harry kept waiting for Snape to notice how tired he looked, kept waiting to be forced to stay after class one day, and even thought through how that conversation would go. But, though Snape watched him closely during class and caught his eyes when he turned in assignments, he said nothing. When Harry's cauldron exploded on Thursday, he was sure Snape would at the very least give him detention as a pretense to ask what was wrong. When nothing was forthcoming, he just gathered his things, and asked himself why on earth he felt disappointed.

Harry escaped the potion's classroom ahead of everyone else, anxious to avoid the repercussions from his fellow Gryffindors. He now had a free period wherein he was supposed to go study in the library, but he suddenly developed an insatiable craving for fresh air. He sped down the halls and out onto the grounds, near the Quidditch pitch, and kept walking until no one else was in sight. He sat next to a tree, one of several scattered throughout the grounds, sprouting from the lawns before the Dark Forest. It was early afternoon, and he was exhausted. Sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, he rested his head on his folded arms, and breathed in the cool breezes which had swept over the lake and carried its familiar briny scent. He felt himself relax.

"Come for a cry, Potter?" Malfoy's voice sounded suddenly. Harry sprung to his feet, wand in hand, on automatic. Malfoy was approaching from the side, and he too had his wand out, but it was pointing at the ground.

"What do you want, Malfoy," Harry spit with venom. Malfoy stopped about ten paces away, but he seemed unperturbed.

"Just out for a walk, Potter, relax," he rolled his eyes. "I promise, I'm not in the mood for a duel, especially not with you."

"Why not?"

"It would be a waste of my precious time," Malfoy said, an eyebrow raised. He looked Harry up and down. "You look like a stiff breeze might knock you over in a moment." Harry growled, but didn't approach. He knew his reflexes were slow, and he didn't want to start something he couldn't finish. He looked over at Malfoy but the Slytherin was looking over through the trees behind Harry and he seemed to have grown disinterested in the conversation.

"You don't look that great yourself, Malfoy," Harry returned, lowering his wand slowly. In fact, Malfoy looked just as discontented as he was, and just as sleepless. There were purple rings like bruises under his eyes, which, against his otherwise blemishless face, seemed all the more distinct.

"I'm touched you noticed, Potter," he returned, but the words were not as cutting as they should have been.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" Harry asked, growing suspicious. A Malfoy who was not interested in a fight was a Malfoy who had bigger fish to fry. Malfoy responded a smirk which brought a bit of light back into his eyes.

"Enjoy your cry, Potter," he said airily, and then stalked past Harry, who watched, confused, as Malfoy walked purposefully into the Dark Forest. Harry considered for going after him, then realized he was still woefully unprepared to take on any of the hundreds of different species in the wood, each fully capable of killing intruders. He shook his head lightly, instead. If Malfoy wanted to get himself killed, or expelled for that matter, that was his problem.

Harry lingered for a moment but could not manage to find the little pocket of peace he'd settled into before Malfoy's appearance. He gave up and headed back to the castle, taking the long way round, just to delay having to go back inside.

It was, therefore, with some surprise that he found Snape standing at the top of the steps, apparently waiting for him.

Harry cocked his head to the side in confusion as he mounted the stairs and nodded at Professor McGonagall, who stood beside the Potions Master, matching his grim expression.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, not so much a greeting as an acknowledgement of his existence.

"Harry," McGonagall said, sounding a bit more openly concerned. She stepped forward, put a finger under Harry's chin, frowned when Harry flinched, and looked into his eyes. "Professor Snape and I have just been discussing you and your…condition."

"And what condition would that be, ma'am?" Harry asked, his voice monotone. McGonagall's tightening mouth confirmed that it had come across as quite cheeky and over the line.

"You look like a specter, Mr. Potter, and we are just about at the end of our ropes with tolerance." Harry stole a glance at Snape, wondered when Snape had ever been 'tolerant' to begin with, and then looked back at his Head of House, chiding himself to behave. McGonagall and Snape stepped further into the shadows on the edge of the stone staircase and Harry went with them, avoiding the eye contact of the one or two students trailing in and out of the castle every couple of minutes, usually engrossed in their own conversations and automatically giving the teachers a wide berth.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall started again, "we have spoken at length in the past with you and with the headmaster on the topic of your health. We had hoped that by this point in the semester, you would have been well on your way to recovery. That, however, does not appear to be the case."

"It's not like I'm doing this on purpose, Professor," Harry whispered back a bit desperately. "I just can't sleep."

"We know that, Harry," McGonagall said with a small compassionate smile temporarily easing the concern on her face. "But, Harry, you must consider the other options you have."

"I don't want to talk about it, not with anyone," Harry shot back quickly. McGonagall's face hardened again as she regarded him.

"We come directly from the headmaster's office, Potter," Snape intoned, finally entering the conversation. "Having expressed our concerns – " Harry raised an eyebrow at 'our' – " and having also anticipated your repeated refusal to seek help of your own volition, Professor Dumbledore has decreed that you are to spend every free period after Potions on Tuesdays and Thursdays with me until such a time that your health has improved."

"But Professor that's mental!"

"5 points from Gryffindor for your tone, boy," Snape growled. "I personally consider it to be a very lenient decision given how much free time you would have if he simply revoked your Quidditch privileges." The latter clearly had been said to rile Harry, or to shock him, but Harry was beyond listening. He was spiraling. He felt the walls of the castle closing in around him, and his emotions, unstable from the lack of sleep, violently agitated his simmering anger to the surface. He wanted to hit Snape, to hit that stupid nonchalant expression off his face. Instead, he had the sense to turn and run. Or he tried to.

Before he got down even one step, Snape grabbed his arm and swung him back around, and then grabbed him by the shoulder as well. Harry fought against the hold for a moment, and then fought unsuccessfully against the angry tears that dropped directly to the floor from his bowed face.

"Minerva, alert the headmaster I will be taking charge of Potter for the next hour or so, and alert his friends as well, before they start harassing everyone with questions."

"What are you going to do, Severus?" she asked quietly.

"That remains to be determined. Come, Potter. Don't make me stun you." But the fight had left Harry as quickly as it had come. He remained with his head bowed, his shoulders slumped, and when Snape began to walk, releasing the grip on his arm, Harry didn't pull away.

They traveled down many winding stone corridors within the dungeon, but Harry knew where they were going, instinctively. He glanced at Snape's office door as they passed it, remembering just the month before how he'd been the one to beg Snape for help. Now, evidently they'd all gotten tired of waiting for him to make the first move.

Upon entering Snape's personal chambers, Snape walked him up to the couch and indicated he should sit down. Harry did so gratefully and recalled he liked this couch better than the one in the Common Room in the Tower because it was far less lumpy. He leaned his head back, resting his eyes. When he heard a vial being set on the coffee table, he did not stir.

"I don't want any more potions, Professor," he said to the ceiling.

"Then it's time you learned that you will not always get what you want in life," came the reply. Harry opened his eyes to glare at Snape, who was sitting in the same leather chair as before.

"I know that perfectly well, sir," Harry hissed. "What makes you think you can do this, anyway?" At Snape's inquisitive eyebrow, Harry gestured at the room. "Drag me to your quarters and force potions down my throat. You have no right, even if Dumbledore said it's ok." Snape looked at him, his expression blank, before he drew his wand, ignored Harry's automatic flinch, and summoned a crystal decanter from the kitchen. It was filled with amber liquid. Snape placed it on the table beside the little vial he'd placed there earlier, conjured a glass, and poured himself a drink before sitting back comfortably in his chair. When he turned back to Harry, he wore the same flat expression.

"I have every right, Potter," he said into the heavy silence. "I am one of your guardians."

Harry stared at him for a long moment, his jaw slightly ajar, his mind racing. He recalled the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore just before he'd been released from the Hospital Wing, where the headmaster had told Harry that his guardianship had passed to Hogwarts School and, by proxy, the headmaster himself, as well as a select number of teachers. He met Snape's eyes, which were void of any identifiable emotion, and then broke away, staring unseeing at the fireplace, feeling like the world was unraveling around him.

He didn't react when Snape stood up and moved to sit beside him on the couch. The professor grabbed one of Harry's hands, which was bunched in the fabric of his robes, and pried the fingers open. He closed them again around the crystal glass, still full, which he helped Harry bring to his lips.

"Sip it," Snape instructed quietly. Still in a daze, Harry obeyed. The hot liquor burned his throat as it went down, and he coughed violently for a second, but then brought the cup up again anyway. It slid down a little easier. Snape took the cup away while Harry leaned his head back again onto the cushions of the couch, eyes closed.

"What was that?" Harry asked, his voice gravely and raw.

"Firewhiskey," Snape answered. He had not moved from Harry's side.

"It's good."

"I'll buy you a bottle, Potter, if you manage to survive long enough to see 17," Snape said dryly, drawing a strange smile on Harry's lips which were still facing the ceiling.

"Are you really my guardian?" Harry heard himself ask.

"Yes," Snape responded curtly. "Drink this. You'll feel better." The vial was placed in his hand. This time, Harry popped off the cork and downed it without protest.

He blinked as the bubbling liquid slid down his throat and then as heat seemed to race through his veins, bringing life back into his every extremity. He sat up a little more solidly on the couch.

"It's called "Liquid Rest" or "Dormies solution," Snape said, informationally, answering Harry's unasked question.

"Wow," Harry replied. "That's fantastic."

"Indeed. However, Potter, that is your first and last experience with it. You will never again, in my presence, consume such a potion." At Harry's fallen face, he continued, "It is highly restricted and considered unsuitable for regular use. I only allowed you at this time because I need your full attention and I don't have the time to wait for you to catch up on sleep, as I had over the summer." Snape returned to his previous seat and Harry, now feeling significantly more focused, traced him with his eyes. He even had the good sense to be nervous.

"Do you recall," Snape started, airily, "the conversation we shared with the Headmaster the night before you first slept in my quarters?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Oh?" Snape asked, "Why, then, 4 weeks into the semester, do we find ourselves in exactly the same predicament?" Harry flushed and looked away. "You were given explicit instructions about what you were supposed to do after you mastered the tools I taught you, precisely to prevent this from repeating itself." Harry scratched the back of his head and re-examined the memory. It was dim, now, but what he did recall did not say anything about what to do when the Occlusion stopped working, only that it likely would. He shrugged with a wince. Snape's eyes were narrowed.

"Then perhaps I should call the headmaster in to remind you."

"No!" Harry said, jumping to his feet, a little breathlessly. "No, don't call him."

"Why not?"

"Because," Harry said sharply.

"A very eloquent response."

"Because I just don't want him involved, alright?" Harry tried again. Snape eyed him more closely. Harry knew he was weighing his options. Harry would be doing the same, but he knew he had no options. He had experience. If he bolted for the door, Snape would lock him in. If he refused to answer, Snape would use Legilimency. He was at Snape's mercy, and he was quite certain there was not enough there for him to bank on. "Please, sir. Just…don't." Snape made a decision.

"Sit down, Potter," he said, nodding at the couch. He watched Harry as he settled back down slowly, cautiously, and then settled back more comfortably himself. His face contained not so much anger or even resentment as much as resignation.

"As you are unwilling to consult the headmaster on this issue, and as none of the other teachers have managed to obtain your trust, for reasons I cannot fathom, I shall endeavor once again to pierce your overwhelmingly complex psyche. I should not have to add that I have better uses of my time." He rolled his eyes. Harry squirmed under the guilt the man was laying on heavily, but there was so much of that already present on his soul, he did not feel it for long.

"I will start by reminding you of that conversation you have so clearly forgotten," Snape said. "We warned you quite explicitly that the methods we were going to teach were only meant to be temporary. You, likewise, assured us that you understood this and, furthermore, promised that you would, when the semester started, sit down with one or more of your trusted little friends and explain the…difficulties you faced, and the trauma you experienced. Only then, would you be successful in overcoming the onslaught of nightmares which accost you nightly and rob you of rest. Do you recall it now?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"Have you, then, spoken with your friends on these matters?" Harry bit his lip. He thought of Hermione, of Ron, of Ginny, of even Luna, who asked, even begged him to tell them what was wrong, but he wouldn't. Not about Malfoy Manor and not about what he'd heard in Dumbledore's office. He shook his head, looking at his hands.

"Why not?"

"I don't know, sir," Harry replied softly. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Do you realize, Potter," Snape growled quietly, a menacing rumble, "how close you are again to death?" Harry looked up and met his eyes. He was the intensity of the gaze. It was not anger, now, or annoyance. It was desperation.

"I would warrant a guess, Potter, that there are hundreds of people on this earth who would jump in front of a curse for you, who would die to save you here, now, in this very moment. And yet you sit there, torturing yourself because you cannot incline yourself to open up to even one of them. How can this be?"

"Did you?" Harry returned quietly. At Snape's silence, he looked up, and reclaimed the black gaze, his own face setting into steel. "Did you open up to anyone about any of the millions of times you were crucio'd as a Death Eater? Did you sit down and tell someone how it felt to be in so much pain that that you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, that you felt your heart was about to burst, or your brain was about to pour out of your ears? I know you've felt that way. I saw you. I heard you cry out and it was the most gut-wrenching sound I've ever heard. Did you let anyone help you after that, Professor?" Harry vaguely noted that angry tears were streaming down his face, but he wiped them away without breaking eye contact with Snape, who had flushed a little as Harry spoke.

Silence fell, thick and tense again until, finally, Snape answered, "Do you truly have so little ambition, Potter, that you would strive to be like me?"

Harry drew back. Snape looked away and planted his elbows on the arms of his chair so his fingers could rub heavily at his temples, as though trying to stave off a migraine. Harry tensed, knowing from experience that an insulted Snape was usually worse than an agitated one, but the other man made no move towards him. A log on the fire cracked and toppled suddenly, emitting a shower of red sparks. Somewhere nearby, water was dripping onto the cold stone floor. Snape shifting in his chair, the quiet rustling of his robes on the flag stones, brought Harry's attention back to the room's other occupant.

"This cannot go on, Potter," Snape said quietly, almost a whisper.

"I know," Harry admitted, not looking at him. "I just…I can't tell my friends what happened. I want to, and I know they want to know but, every time I open my mouth, this huge knot in my gut just pulses. It's like I can't breathe, and I just want to run and hide." Harry stopped his rambling by physically biting down on his tongue. He gripped his cloak in his fist and squeezed it, desiring quite intensely to bury himself in a hole underground.

"What happened, Potter?" Snape asked suddenly. Harry turned back to him. "For two weeks you seemed to be doing fairly well. I assumed, during that time, that you'd been able to tell your friends something and were slowly healing, perhaps, but then from one day to the next something changed. What was it?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not supposed to tell you." Snape bristled.

"On whose authority, may I ask?"

"Professor Dumbledore's." Snape stared back at him for a moment and then he stood up to pace the length of the room.

"Am I to understand, Potter," he said, stopping before the fireplace, "that Professor Dumbledore has instructed you to keep silent on a topic which has, itself, added to your suffering and nightmares?" Harry raised a brow at the tone and then nodded.

Snape continued pacing, expression now oscillating between outrage and curiosity.

"He told you explicitly that you were unable to relate these events to anyone?" Snape asked, stopping this time near the entrance to the hallway which led to the various other rooms in his quarters, his hands joined behind his back, his face calculating.

"He told me it was information vital to the war and should be kept top secret."

"Hmmm," Snape said, gears still spinning, his eyes distant. "I must think on this, Potter." He looked down at Harry, glancing over his gaunt face and the dark bags under his eyes. "You, however, cannot go on as you are." Harry didn't have the heart to argue. Even though the potion had restored his strength, he could very well imagine how hard he would crash once it wore off. "I believe another little stint in my quarters will be necessary," Snape continued, with a hint of apology in his voice.

"I thought you said the Occluding wouldn't really work anymore, Professor?" Harry said, curiously.

"It will not. I have something else in mind, however, which will require a similar atmosphere of privacy and, likely, a couple more sleepless nights for me," he groused lightly.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said. "I really am." Snape was silent for a long moment as he considered the boy with the bowed head and nervous hands.

"I know," he replied, simply. "I will expect you here at my office at 8 o'clock on Saturday morning. Bring your schoolworks, and supplies. I believe, to keep suspicions low, the headmaster may arrange for you to take a holiday away from Hogwarts this weekend, allowing you and I the freedom to figure out whether my solutions are fully effective."

"But what about the Tuesday and Thursdays, sir?" Harry asked, remembering their earlier conversation. "You said the headmaster was expecting me to keep coming down to your office."

"Until such a time as you are in full health again, yes, Potter, you are still to come down during your free periods. Do not think," he added with a touch of a smirk, "that you will be spared from any discomfort by coming to me instead of going to your friends. We will be discussing your nightmares, frequently. What remains to be determined is if that's all we're going to do, and whether it will begin to help you quickly enough." Harry, who had grown paler as Snape spoke, looked up sharply at this last bit.

"What if it doesn't help?"

"It must. If it does not, it will be taken out of our hands. Legally, we will be required to check you into St. Mungos for alternative treatment."

"No! I won't go," Harry growled, launching to his feet again, blood singing as it rushed through his veins. Before he could act on the desire to flee, however, Snape was also on his feet and coincidentally, blocking his path to the exit, unless Harry wanted to vault over the low coffee table. Snape took advantage of Harry's indecision and stepped forward close enough to put a hand on his trembling shoulder, which Harry flinched from but allowed, owing to the intense look in Snape's eyes.

"Potter, there isn't a soul in this school who cares about you who wants you to go to St. Mungos. You must know that," Snape said, voice low. "You will neither be safe there, nor comfortable, and I doubt such methods will even be fully effective for someone such as yourself. That is why the headmaster is willing to allow you to try so many alternatives first. You must try to have a little faith in your leaders and elders."

"I am trying," Harry said a little desperately, and then bit his lip. "I really am trying, sir." He did not add that there were very few adults in his life who had proven themselves worthy of his trust to begin with.

"Very well, Potter. Then we can anticipate success, eventually." Snape said, releasing him. Harry subconsciously rubbed at his shoulder where Snape had been gripping him.

"You may inform your closest friends," Snape added, sinking back down into his chair, "About our plans. It would in fact be prudent. However, please only a select few. Those whom you can fully trust to keep the secret."

Harry nodded, already trying to figure out how he would explain to his friends why seeing Snape regularly outside of class, of all people, might help his sleep problems.

"Dismissed, Potter. I have a pile of dismal potions to grade and a stack of parchment to bathe in red ink."

"Right, sir. Have fun then, Professor," he said, and then darted out of the room before Snape could decide just to curse him outright instead.