Disclaimer: Huh? Oh...No, their not mine. Yes, I know I've been spending a lot of time with them, but they really aren't mine. The "Put a stopper in death..." dialogue is taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcercer's Stone, by J.K. Rowling. However the recollection of the event is more in keeping with what happened in the film.

Authors Notes: Thanks for your continued support. Keep those cards and letters coming! Your reviews are worth their weight in Galleons. There is a bit of a twisted nightmare sequence in this chapter. It is in bold italics just after the first few paragraphs. It involves, Tobias Snape, Severus, Harry, Voldemort, a paddle, and the Cruciatus curse. If such offends, please join us again in chapter 25.

excessivelyperky rocks hard! I couldn't do it without you. Well... maybe I could, but it wouldn't be nearly as good or fun.

This chapter is mostly about Harry and Severus again. The action should start to move forward next chapter.

Enjoy

Chapter 24

The Nightmare

After sharing so openly of his childhood memories with Potter, it was not surprising that Severus should dream of his father that night. He dreamt about one of the many childhood memories that he kept close to the surface of his consciousness. His main reason for keeping such painful memories so near was that the Dark Lord enjoyed viewing them. Keeping his conscious mind full of images and angry thoughts of the mistreatments of his youth was a strategy Severus had developed early on during his training with the Headmaster. It was amazingly effective, and kept the Dark Lord well entertained to believe his bitter, petty servant was so troubled by the events of his youth that they continually haunted him. This method had the unfortunate side effect of actually making Severus bitter and petty. He forced himself to develop the habit of replaying images of himself being physically, emotionally, and verbally abused at the hands of his parents, classmates, and the Headmaster himself. Severus had conditioned himself to downplay any feelings of actual loathing. The Dark Lord had used that feeling against him all those years ago when he murdered the young man's parents. However, Severus always kept a low fire of anger about these memories burning just at the surface of his mind, and his snake like master coiled up and basked in its warmth. Severus also salted his consciousness with images of himself ill-treating Potter. While the Dark Lord enjoyed these very much as well, his favorites remained memories of Severus receiving cruel, painful thrashings at the hands of an angry Tobias. The carefully crafted landscape of Severus' mind had always kept the Dark Lord from feeling the need to probe further. He reveled in the images of darkness and cruelty always so close to the surface.

That night Severus' dream began with the familiar memory of a beating. It stood out as one of the Dark Lord's favorites because it was a bit of a battle of wills between father and son.

Eleven year old Severus bent humiliatingly over the scarred wooden surface of his father's desk and stoically refused to cry. Tobias grew angrier and more brutal in his efforts with a formidable wooden paddle in an attempt to force tears from the child. As the beating continued, Severus turned his head and dared to stare at the man with a look of such pure undiluted hatred that Tobias became almost fearful in his determination to break the boy. The stand-off would end minutes later, as the contest always did, with young Severus the clear loser. But this time, in this dream, as Severus continued to glare, it became not his father's eyes he stared into, but his own. And the child on the business end of the paddle suddenly became Harry Potter. Severus became enraged at Potter for having invaded his common, predictable dream, and he prepared to apply the paddle in earnest.

It was eleven year old Potter, a scrawny little first year. When the boy looked up at Severus it was not with hatred, but a sort of repentant confusion. It was with an unspoken promise to do better if he could only puzzle out what made the man so angry. The child's expression took Severus' breath away, though it only increased his desire to be unkind to him. He desperately tried to rationalize his need to punish the boy. Then his mind lit upon a reason. It had started with the child's arrogance that first day of Potions. The insolent little brat could hardly be bothered to pay attention to the opening lecture and instead scribbled inattentively on his parchment. That was the reason, Severus determined illogically, and he delivered a particularly cruel blow. The boy didn't complain outright, though he looked disheartened, and he finally turned his face away.

Puzzling over the fact that the brat refused to cry, Severus became acutely aware of the child's tiny stature. However, this realization did nothing to quell his determination, and infuriated him all the more. How dare the boy be so small, he thought irrationally. How dare he look so vulnerable? How dare he show up in Severus' dream looking like some undernourished urchin? As though in an effort to appease the man, Potter's form changed again, and he became older and a bit taller. But instead of looking less vulnerable, the boy managed to look more so. Severus took in the sight of sixteen year old Potter, dressed as he had been when he came to rescue Draco. This version of Potter met his eyes as well. While the gaze was a tad more defiant, there was still that open sadness, a willingness to set things right, if Severus would only explain what he had done wrong. Snape glared menacingly at the boy's pale skin against the dark surface of the desk. He sneered at the oversized pajama trousers, which hung indecently low on Potter's skinny backside, as though they were a personal affront. The boy was doing it on purpose, this charade of vulnerability. He would teach the pity seeking little ragamuffin a lesson. Severus raised the paddle high, intent on blistering the skinny teenaged backside.

"Cruccccio!" The Dark Lord suddenly cursed in a hissing sing song from somewhere near by. Severus fell writhing to the ground, even as the wooden paddle clattered noisily beside him.

Shuttered red eyes peered from the snake like visage as Voldemort beckoned with a thin pale hand. "Sssuch a sssweet boy you are, Harry," the evil wizard hissed silkily. He approached the boy and gently pulled him to stand upright. "Why doessss he alwayssss hurt you ssso?"

"I'm all right," Harry complained in shaky voice, "He only whacked me once."

"Only becaussse I sstopped him, Harry. I promissse to protect you. Crucccio!" The Dark Lord cursed Severus again, and the man spasmed so hard his torso bounced against the floor.

"Come, ssweet child, " the Dark Lord murmured softly, in stark contrast to the cruelly uttered curse. "I will not allow him to harm you thisss way," Voldemort pledged, placing a long fingered hand on the boy's thin shoulder. He pulled Harry away a pace, and moved his skeletal hand to the side of Potter's face. Voldemort pulled Harry's head to his thin pale lips and pressed a kiss to the boy's temple.

Severus watched in horrified fascination from his position on the floor.

"Perhapsss you would enjoy punishing him, Harry? " The Dark Lord questioned seductively and pressed his wand into the boy's hand . "He certainly enjoysssss punishing you," he whispered sibilantly into the boy's ear.

The Potions Master watched entranced, as the Dark Lord engulfed the boy's smaller hand in his larger one. He and The-Boy-Who-Lived cast the Cruciatus together. As their combined magic careened forth from the single wand, Severus Snape howled.

Snape sprang violently awake, cursing himself for having failed to brew a nightmare potion the day before. He berated himself and wondered if he had screamed aloud. He would brew the potion now. The Potions Master gained his feet unsteadily and slipped on his robe and slippers as he made his way out the door. His first thought was that he must have awakened Potter, as he watched the boy, dressed as he had been in the dream, stumble from his room and stagger drunkenly toward the toilet. The boy never made it, and after three precarious steps fell to his knees and retched pathetically on the hallway flooring.

Severus approached quickly, and he Scourgified the mess before helping the boy to his feet.

"Are you unwell?" He asked with a sternness that did not quite mask his concern.

"No, I had..." this time the boy made it to the toilet, but only just. He emptied the contents of his stomach in two more pitiful waves.

Severus pressed one cool hand to the boy's forehead as he helped him to the sink to rinse his mouth. The boy was not feverish that he could detect, but shook violently under his touch. Harry rinsed his mouth. He splashed water on his face and took the towel Severus handed him. But instead of drying his face and damp hair, the boy wet the towel, applied soap, and began to vigorously scrub his face just at the temple, then he moved to his ear. In turn he became obsessed with scrubbing the back of his right hand raw.

Severus watched with quiet confusion and then dawning realization as the boy seemed in danger of rubbing off his skin.

"Stop it!" He commanded abruptly, securing both of the boy's hands in one of his own. With a flick of his wand he removed the soapy residue from Potter's face and hand and the angry redness that had been left in its wake. "You had a nightmare?" Severus asked carefully.

"Yes," the boy acknowledged shakily. He looked down to where Snape held his hands in his own and shuddered. "Only it wasn't a nightmare at first," Harry tried to explain. "No. That's not right. It was a nightmare, but I didn't realize it was from him till it was..." he shook his head as though to clear it. "But as soon as I did, I pushed him out. I Occluded. Should have done it before bed. I know," Harry admitted.

"Yes, you should have," Severus agreed, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. "See to it you do so in future," he scolded, releasing Harry's hands, only just realizing he was still holding them.

Severus wondered if it was possible that they had the same dream. He tried to dismiss the notion as he realized he was terrified find out.

"I had a nightmare also," Snape admitted, trying to sound casual. "I believe the Cruciatus brought it on. What was yours about?" he asked, fearful of the answer.

"Well...you were in it," the boy began shakily and Snape pressed his eyes closed. "You and your dad, I think, at first. Then it turned into you and me. You were...being...cruel," the boy settled on a description, while the Potions Master tried to control his breathing. "We weren't talking exactly, but I was trying to find out why you were angry, so I could...I dunno...fix it. But you wanted to stay mad or something and wouldn't tell me," Harry took a deep breath. "I thought it was an ordinary nightmare at this point...well maybe not ordinary," he amended.. "But then..."

"The Dark Lord arrived," Snape supplied letting out a deep breath.

"Yes," Harry agreed in fearful confusion. "Then he...he and I..."

"Put me under the Cruciatus," Snape reported.

Harry stared open mouthed for a moment.

"Ask me what my nightmare was about, Potter?" Snape suggested, recovering some of his snide tone.

"What does it mean, do you reckon?" Harry asked in an uncertain voice. "Does he know?"

"No idea," Snape replied, more calmly than he felt. "But just as you should have Occluded--and will in future," he gave Harry a warning glance, "I should have brewed nightmare potion yesterday. Nightmares are always a factor when held under the Cruciatus for any length," Snape explained. "That and insanity," the man quipped snidely.

"Yeah, but if he sent the nightmare," Harry complained, "and if he sent it to both of us, what does that mean?"

"As I said, Potter, I have no idea," Snape said pointedly. "However," he began in a milder tone, "We don't know if he sent it to both of us. There are several possibilities. We will discuss them while you assist me with the nightmare potion. Go put on your housecoat and slippers." Snape ordered as he swept into the hallway.

"Haven't got any," Harry admitted with a shrug.

"Well go put on something," Snape commanded impatiently. "You'll be surrounded by fire and potentially dangerous chemicals. And potion or no, I am certain I'll have another nightmare if I have to look at your gaunt little arse for the next hour," he chided, indicating the boy's bare torso.

Though he said it in snide jest, Snape was deadly serious. Potter was dressed exactly as he had been in the nightmare and it was disquieting to see him looking so vulnerable in the ridiculously oversized trousers and their too-thin fabric. After years of being underfed by the Muggles, the slightly built sixteen year old could easily be mistaken for a younger wizard. The thought of how badly he had wanted to be cruel to the child in the nightmare made his stomach sicken slightly. The thought of what the Dark Lord had been able to compel the boy to do as a result of that cruelty, sickened him further.

"Did those pants ever fit you, Potter?" Snape wanted to know, giving the boy a good looking over.

"No sir," the boy admitted as he hitched them up more tightly and made his way to his room.

888

Harry joined Snape in the Potions lab a few moments later fully dressed in a sweat shirt, jeans, and trainers. When he arrived, Snape was rubbing a cloudy gel-like substance into his dark, shoulder length hair. Harry watched as the man's hair suddenly hung heavily around his thin face. It actually looked more wet than oily, Harry decided, and realized it hadn't looked like that in a while.

"What's that?" Harry asked as he indicated the tub of gel.

"Fire retardant potion," Snape replied casually. "Certainly crucial when you're working with dunderheads like Longbottom, but never a bad idea when brewing potions. Use some if you like," the man offered giving his hands a quick wash and drying them with a handy towel.

Harry touched a finger to the bouncy surface; it was cold yet somehow dry to the touch. When he gave the tub a sniff, he detected the distinct smell of apples.

"No thanks," the boy said, feeling a bit like he had just solved a mystery.

He watched for a few more moments as the Potions Master assembled ingredients.

"Oh, this is the Nochebuena potion," Harry realized after a bit. "I've been wanting to brew this actually," he admitted enthusiastically.

Snape gave him hard curious look from across the room.

"Well, only 'cuz..." Harry began uncertainly. "It keeps out the nightmares, but not the regular dreams and lets you wake up lots easier than dreamless sleep potion," Harry explained.

Snape's expression hardened further.

"Get over here and chop these," he ordered seeming angry all of a sudden.

Geez, Harry thought as he moved to obey. One minute the guy's holding my head while I puke my guts out. Next minute he acts like he might add me to one of the cauldrons.

"Unfortunately this potion does not call for the blood of scrawny teenagers," Snape answered him aloud. "Now, get your shields up," he ordered. "Have you learned nothing from tonight's adventure?"

"Oh, sorry," Harry replied and quickly Occluded. "Is that what made you mad?" he asked as he walled off the memories of the nightmare using the technique Snape had showed him earlier.

Instead of answering, Snape indicated the orange leaves of the first ingredient.

"One quarter inch wide, three quarters of an inch in length," he instructed sternly.

Harry nodded his head, and began to measure the thick pulpy leaves against the ruled surface of the work table. Perhaps Snape was just slipping into his Potions persona, Harry thought, reasonably. The guy always seemed angry during potions. Snape was proving to be a complicated person to figure out. Well, Harry would just work quietly and carefully and do what he was told. That should make it easier on both of them. Harry had been enjoying potions quite a bit and had taken ample opportunity to practice during the summer. Thinking of that reminded him of A Healers Guide to Medicinal Magic. Imagine there being that many potions you could brew without a cauldron. Harry couldn't wait till he got a chance to dive into that book.

"Since when did you come to take such an interest in potions, Potter?" Snape inquired, making Harry start slightly.

The boy was careful not to let it affect the preparation of his leaves as he wondered if he had let his Occlumency shields slip again. They seemed to be intact, and Snape had not yelled. He surely would have done at having to warn Harry twice in such a short span of time. Harry weighed his response as he carefully pushed aside a pile of chopped ingredients and began on a new orange leaf. He'd read about this potion and remembered it required the leaves to be added one at a time.

"I've always thought potions were interesting, Professor," Harry decided to admit.

Snape snorted audibly. "That certainly would not have been obvious from your performance in my class," he opined.

"Well, it is hard to enjoy them with someone glaring at you all the time and threatening you with poison," Harry observed, then braced himself for Snape's response.

"Hmm," was all he said as he scooped up Harry's ingredients against the flat wide blade of a knife and placed them in the cauldron. He raised an eyebrow at the carefully sectioned leaves. "The isis next. Half an inch. Diagonally. Sectioned just the same," he instructed mildly, pointing with his knife to the table of blue leaves.

"I actually thought I'd love Potions that very first day," Harry admitted, emboldened by the fact that Snape no longer seemed angry.

Snape made a doubtful nose and quirked his eyebrow.

"No, really," Harry rushed to assure him, as he began to chop the isis. "It was ruddy brilliant for about five minutes."

"Oh, I don't recall that," Snape replied in doubtful amusement.

Harry stopped chopping for a moment, and then, with a cheeky smile, began again.

"There will be no silly wand waving in here," Harry said sternly in a fair impression of Snape. Then he pointed at the Potions Master with his knife, while affecting a dramatic sneer. "I don't really expect you to understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron, with its shimmering fumes," the boy continued in silky imitation." Bewitching the mind ensnaring the senses, I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death---."

Snape's eyes had grown wide as Harry continued the monologue. Harry waited, not sure if he would be hexed, but certain it would be worth it. Suddenly the Potions Master let out a barking laugh. Harry didn't join in, but grinned from ear to ear as he continued to chop the isis innocently.

"Yep," Harry said when Snape's laughter began to subside. "I was all set to worship you up to that point.

"Oh, indeed?" Snape chuckled doubtfully.

"Well maybe not quite," Harry agreed. "But you had to bugger it up with all those bloody questions. Powdered root of what? Infusion of which?" Harry asked with a comically dumb expression.

"Enough, Potter. And mind your language," Snape ordered, plainly trying to rein in his amusement.

Harry couldn't resist going the last mile. "Clearly," he intoned with an arched eyebrow. "Fame isn't everything."

"That will do, boy," Snape said, chuckling out right again.

"Yes, sir," the boy agreed sweetly. "But how was I supposed to know all that stuff?" Harry complained. "Being raised by Muggles and all?"

"Miss Granger seemed to have quite a bit of information," the man pointed out.

Harry took a moment to think on that fact. Hermione had obviously been studying before classes began. But how was I to have known to do that? And where was I supposed to have done it, on the train?

"Don't think so hard Potter; you will surely injure yourself," Snape quipped snidely, when Harry suddenly grew quiet.

"Would you have liked me better if I had known all that stuff?" Harry asked suddenly.

"No, Potter," Snape said plainly. "I am quite certain I would have loathed you more," he admitted without apology. "I only asked you those questions because I saw you scribbling furiously and thought you were not paying attention."

"Oh," Harry said in mild surprise. "I was writing down what you said," he explained.

"Clearly," Snape intoned, arching an eyebrow. "Chop." He ordered, indicating the last leaf of isis.

"Oh," Harry said, having lost focus for a moment. "Sorry.

888

"So, what are some of the possible reasons that you and I would have the same dream, Potter?" Snape asked as he turned down the flame to let the potion simmer.

Harry looked a bit surprised to be asked his opinion and took a moment to form his answer.

"Well, if we agree with the premise the nightmare was from Voldemort, it tells us he has recovered somewhat," Harry began. "That's important to know, I think, though it wasn't your question."

"True," Snape admitted. "But a good point none the less," he inclined his head to indicate that the boy should continue.

He listened as Potter outlined his surprisingly well-organized thoughts on the various possibilities. They included Voldemort having sent the nightmare to Harry, and Snape having inadvertently picked it up via the Occlumency pathway. A less pleasant option was that Voldemort knew that Snape was a traitor, and had sent the nightmare as a threat to both he and Potter.

The boy did have an adequate mind, Snape admitted grudgingly. It had been evident, not for the first time, when reading the essay he composed in a mere few hours. Not to mention that he continued to surprise Snape with his knowledge of potions. Imagine the boy recognizing Nochebuena potion, Snape thought, trying to quell his irritation. Has Potter always possessed something resembling intelligence, and I refused to notice, or has the boy not bothered to use it before now? Snape decided both were probably true as he weighed Potter's responses to his query regarding the nightmare, and turned off the potion to let it cool. The boy is still brash and impertinent to be sure, but perhaps not a complete dunderhead, Snape conceded.

"There is also the very slight possibility that the nightmares weren't from Voldemort at all, and they're some sort of symbolic warnings. And maybe we both had them because of the link.

"Warnings in what way?" Snape wanted to know.

"Well I can only speak to what it seemed to represent for me," Harry admitted self consciously. "I guess your...treatment," he said as he stumbled over the word and turned a bit red, "of me represents your cruelty and my lack of understanding of it. And the bit with Voldemort..." here he paused and cleared his throat. "shows how easy it would be to try to seek revenge for such things and wind up being his puppet."

"That is an important thing to keep in mind no matter where the dream came from," Snape agreed as he bottled the last of the potion. "Why might Voldemort send you such a dream?" He asked as though it were a bit of a test.

Potter answered after a few moments thought. "To entice me to seek revenge, so he can make me his puppet, and defeat me?"

Snape inclined an eyebrow to indicate he approved of the answer and handed a bottle to Harry. "One for you, and one for me," he said palming a bottle and putting the other eight on the shelf.

"What are you going to do if he summons you tonight?" Harry wanted to know.

"As you pointed out, with surprising aptness, I might add, the Nochebuena potion does not interfere with one's ability to be awakened," Snape pointed out.

"No, I meant..." Harry began.

"I am well aware of what you meant, Potter," Snape interrupted sternly, curtailing further inquiries on the subject.

As they made there way back to their respective bedrooms Snape stopped him.

"Sometime tomorrow, after the Weasley funeral and before bed," Snape began. "I'd like a foot and a half on how this potion would have changed if we had used the talgfar weed instead of the isis."

"Am I being punished again, sir?" the boy asked distressed. "I was just joking with that impression. Really. I didn't mean anything..."

"You are being challenged, Potter," Snape interrupted to correct the boy. "And I am quite certain I should have begun it long ago. Good night, Mr. Potter," the Potions Master said as he made his way to his room.

888

After entering his room, Harry took a moment to bask in the backhanded compliment. Before he gulped the potion and turned in, the young man summoned Dobby. He told the elf to inform him if Snape was summoned during the night. Dobby assured Harry he could assist if Snape was punished by the Evil Snake Wizard. He had done so a few times over the course of the summer.

Hope you enjoyed it. Don't forget to review.

Chapter 25

The Family Tree

The twins called them, Boggarts in a Box. When they tossed one in front of an unsuspecting Percy, an angry faced Molly Weasley suddenly appeared before him, and the young man scampered upstairs in fear. Just as the figure seemed about to speak, Fred canceled the spell with a flick of his wand and a laugh that sounded a bit forced.

"Obscuro," he chuckled, and the angry Boggart Molly disappeared.

"Would it have spoken? Harry wanted to know.

"Boy, would it!" George affirmed with a wink.