DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All writings are strictly fan-based. [Derp]
TOO MUCH
"Harry, you can't do this."
"Watch me!"
Matching emerald eyes did as he said with pain and frustration at not being able to do anything but watch the young boy run and snatch his falling godfather, before the ghastly tendrils of the Veil could reach out to the animagus. The ghost image of Lily frowned, displeased that her son succeeded in saving another life.
Their bodies rolled onto the ground and down the stairs, toppling over each other step after step. They grunted with each bump, but Harry held on tight. They finally stopped, and before Bellatrix could blast another killing curse, Harry rounded up and bellowed with every ounce of his strength, "CRUCIO!"
He meant it, every syllable. To his horror, and amusement, the while-haired murderer's eyes widened in both shock and agony, the black mass crumpling to the ground to writhe and jerk about, groans reaching from deep within her throat.
He held his wand amazingly steady at the form, a sneer creeping onto his thin lips. Harry cocked his head to the side while the body lifted and plopped on the ground, back arching, neck craning, green eyes positively mesmerized by the scene. The scar began to prickle, a rather nice sensation it seemed to the Boy-Who-Lived.
"AAAAAHHHH!" Oh, how lovely that voice thrummed into his skin. "AAAaahh~! St-st-st-st…p" Yes, beg! Beg, you pathetic bitch! "Stop-pl-" The insane woman's vocals were growing weaker. Tears began to well in those black orbs.
This excited Harry more. He jabbed his wand in the air, relishing in the newly high-pitched screams ricocheting off the walls. He took slow steps towards her, all too aware of the eyes staring at the pair.
"Harry. Stop." It was Lily's voice again, close to his ear. An ethereal presence pushed up behind him, cold.
He spun around, wand raising to that God-forsaken spirit, green eyes glinting with a menace not his own. "Don't," he snarled at the ghostly form, wand trembling. "Don't. You. Dare." His mother didn't flinch, those eyes never swaying, never changing their suffering expression. This only enraged her son.
"Stop staring at me like that!" He flew his arms around. "I'm saving people here!" He held his wand under her chin, the tip just entering into her see-through throat. "I'm saving people who shouldn't have died in this stupid war." He took a step towards his mother wand still in place, now so close to her he could feel the chill brush against his and through his scalp.
"They don't deserve to die." A whisper just bordering on losing hope. He was doing something right.
Right?
"You died for me. Now," Harry paused, green orbs mimicking the countenance of his mother's. "I'm going to use this life you gave me and protect them all, save them all…die…" His voice hitched, and that was when he heard a rustle behind him.
He whirled all too late, seeing the murderous glare pierce straight in his soul from a now standing Bellatrix Lestrange, her wand pointed at him.
"Avada…kedavra," she rolled the curse off her lips akin to a simple lullaby verse, mouth twitching into a perfect shy smile as if she had done something so fascinating as the green light smashed into the Golden Boy's chest, and he flew far, farther, up the stairs while opaque coils slithered about his body and dragged him into hell.
Harry felt his back slam against something hard sending a sharp pain up his spine. The sounds of glass tinkled behind him, but nothing crashed.
Good. Don't need the git to yell at me for something being broken. As if on cue, a growl came from a distance in front of him.
"Explain, Potter." Harry swallowed, throat parched. His glasses were lopsided on his face, sweat drenching his shirt and hair. His bum felt as if it had met with enough surfaces for the night. Actually, from the screaming aches all around his body, he could do with just sitting here for the rest of the night.
"Answer, Potter," the drastic drawl the man possessed made Harry realize how much he missed it. He only shook his head in response, eyes still close while his head lolled side to side against the cabinet he fell onto. Tears and that heart-wrenching scene that replayed from one of dreams the night before was taking a toll on him, not mentioning the hour long occlumency lessons he won himself earlier than expected.
During his interrogation with Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office the same night they revealed the real Mad-Eye Moody and taken care of the imposter, the older man had started to scrutinize him like never before. The conversation paused when Dumbledore asked, "How did you know all of this, Harry?"
The green-eyed teen could only purse his lips and keep his attention to the floorboards under his feet. He shook his head feeling sweat drip off his forehead. Whether it was from the actions before or the analysis he was undergoing, Harry could only do his best to not show signs of nervousness. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape were the worst people to lie to. It was as if they could read your inner thoughts without the use of Legilimency.
And so, he lied. "Dreams, sir," eyes glued to his shoelaces. They were starting to fringe. "I've been getting a lot of nightmares lately."
The Headmaster only nodded over his half-moon spectacles and whispered something to Faux who Harry had just realized was there, perched on its stand. He smiled, a feeling of nostalgia washing over him. It seemed that Harry would be getting a lot of those. The bird took off, soaring through the window.
Silence.
Harry cleared his throat, moving his gaze anywhere but to the man in front of him. Finally, what seemed more than the fifteen minutes that they had actually sat in the quietness, green eyes flicked up to meet instantaneously with grey orbs. He didn't move. Moving would mean defeat.
Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again, a spark sent straight into Harry's senses.
Shit. He knows. He smirked inwardly. The old coot was still as perceptive as ever.
Bang! Harry jumped, swiveling his eyes to the door behind him, his heart immediately dropping a good ways down his stomach. Shit. Onyx orbs shot down to look at emeralds briefly before rising to meet grey. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
Harry spun in his chair to turn back to Dumbledore, brows furrowed. Faux had somehow made his way back onto his perch without his noticing. His eyes narrowed at the beast. It had gone to grab the damn Potions Master. This could only mean one thing…
"Professor Snape, I would like you to take care of our young Potter here. You know what we've been going on about?" He stood from behind his desk, moonlit eyes staring hard into Snape's. A silent understanding passed between them and Snape nodded, striding across the room and grabbing Harry by the elbow, yanking him off the chair. The Gryffindor stumbled after the taller form, wincing at the pressure holding his elbow.
"Ow! What-?"
"Shut up, Potter," the older man growled. "Do not talk until I tell you to."
Harry tried his best to keep up with the guy, faltering at times but caught just on cue by Snape stopping and using his back as a brace, then proceeding forward quite suddenly, causing Harry to have so little time to recollect himself and falling over again. The black form only snarled at him once of how clumsy he was, but didn't slow.
Down the stairs they went, into the corridors, and farther down where Harry knew was the dungeons. He laughed inwardly. Only a day ago he walked this same path, but for a different reason. His heart reminisced sadly, then realizing the man he had cried for was dragging him harshly by the elbow.
At least he's not wearing those damn billowing robes. I'd be tripping over them at a constant rate!
Once inside Snape's quarters, which Harry remembered only during his Occlumency lessons with Snape in the past, this past's future, the older male whipped around and conjured multiple charms, most Harry recognized as silencers and guards. After a few minutes, with his back to the boy, Snape inhaled a breath and turned around to meet the boy.
Harry frowned at how well the man could be doing such sudden movements with fluid motions. He was never that…elegant. Snape saw the frown as something else, a smirk curving at the edges of his mouth. "Despite what you think, Potter, I as well do not take joy in being in the company of the likes of you." Harry turned his attention elsewhere.
And now, here he was on the nice, cool floor, brain lacking in thoughts as they spilled themselves almost freely with each thrust of the older male's wand.
I wasn't supposed to be doing this until next year. What the fuck…
What if he had disrupted some kind of time continuum thing that Ron's father had talked about before. Even Muggles feared messing with time. Something about "things happen for a reason." Oh, well, Harry was about to fuck it up even more.
"Potter!" Harry jumped from his sprawled position on the ground, eyes snapping open. Snape had somehow strolled across the big space between them and now squatted in front of him, eyes ignited with a flashing curiosity. The professor's hands rotated his thin, black wand. Everything about the guy was black.
Potter sat up higher against the potions cabinet, quickly adjusting his glasses, not wanting to meet inky gaze that was most definitely staring at him. For the past hour he had done his damn best to force Snape out of his mind. It wouldn't do to have the guy seeing his future 'past'. How ironic. Past seeing the future already been done.
"I-I don't know, Professor," the boy stammered, pushing himself to think of something, anything. "They're just dreams." Which was true. That vision was just that, a vision. It hadn't happened….yet. He was pretty sure that wasn't good enough for the man, though, and chanced a glance up, regretting it immediately. Black eyes were searching his face. He fought to remain calm, breathing in small intervals.
Snape leveled himself to equal Potter's. His voice came out in its famous sarcastic jeer. "Really, now?" A sneer crept its way onto the teacher's lips. "Dreams, Potter?"
Yup. He ain't backing down.
"Ones that involve saving your beastly godfather?" Snape continued. "And the woman…?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange." Harry inputted. The other froze, brow twitching.
Oh. Right. I'm not supposed to know her, yet.
"Read about her," he hurriedly added before Snape could ask. "In some newspaper clipping or something." He waved his hand in the air, trying to make it believable. Snape still didn't give in. Instead, he leaned forward on his toes, their noses just an inch apart, Harry finding himself holding his breath at the proximity. He should've been flabbergasted and flown himself farther back against the cabinet, but he didn't move, just stared back at the man with determination. Gryffindor stubbornness and all.
Snape spoke, every word syllabized with a certain… malice? It pierced Harry's chest like a thousand needles. "Your mother gives you advice. Whether in spirit or mind, it would do good to listen when she speaks, since you take mostly after your father." His eyes burned with a passion not so enthusiastic. His usual snarl turning into a beast like motive, breath hot against Harry's cheeks. "Why is she telling you to stop? What is it that you have to stop, Potter? These are NOT your normal dreams."
Slytherin's Head of House moved so close their noses actually touched. Harry's heart plummeted, all masking of keeping his nervousness down gone in that instance. "If they can even be called….dreams…" He let out the last word in an almost inaudible whisper, still filled with spite.
The Gryffindor boy rose himself higher yet in his sitting position to break the closeness from their noses, planting his back fully against the cabinet. Dammit! If the bloody git hadn't died, or would die later in his future, he wouldn't be this would be throwing insults and like at this greasy-haired potions freak.
But he loves your mother. Still in love, he corrected, those dark eyes betraying no emotion, though that small spark from speaking of Lily still lingered however faint it was.
Harry scowled. This man before him loved his mother for so long, and is still not willing to let her go. Even after she married his father, the man who bullied the git for the longest. Even after she died…for him, Harry bloody Potter, the son of James fucking Potter. Not that Harry didn't love his father, just didn't agree much with the guy's past and how he acted like such an ass. All this thinking made him oblivious to what came next.
"Legilimens," a baritone whisper blew across Harry's temples fogging his glasses, erupting his thought train, memories flooding harsh into his vision.
No! I wasn't ready! No, wait!
"Harry! You're home early!" Red hair bounced through the doorway and ran all the way out to meet with her husband, jumping into his arms and wrapping her arms lovingly around him. Her red lips turned up into a blissful smile. Harry returned it with pleasure. Looking behind her, two boys bounded out of the door, shrieking. Wait, no, one was shrieking. The shorter boy was running away with fright from the taller brother who held something in his hands.
Harry knew what it was and rushed to his youngest son eagerly, shouting out angrily, "James! Don't you dare!"
"POTTER! Are we having daydreams about family at this day and age?" Snape's voice rammed hard into Harry's ears as his head lolled off to the side having used the last of his strength to push the man out. He swallowed bile and dry air.
"Dreams, sir. Just dreams." He was weakening. Anymore and he was about to lose his secrets. Earlier, he would have thought that everything in his recent past was just a passing dream, and he hadn't defeated Voldemort, that he was still a student in Hogwarts. Being in the past was making things much too complicated to keep up with.
A jerk of his chin to look up only increased the onslaught of dizzyness shrouding his mind. He hardly had the strength to open his eyes, so didn't. Warm breath grazed against his face, clouding his glasses, that same damnable voice that was once a feel of joy to find it alive was fast becoming irritating.
"Potter! Loot at me when I talk to you! These are not dreams! Do not fool me, boy! LEGILIMENS!"
No…not yet…
"Cedric! Cedric, my boy! Ooooh, my poor boy. No! Cedric, my son! That's my son!"
Harry didn't budge from the boy, gripping it close, hoping against hope that his life could somehow revive his new-found friend. He cried with the father, hands and muffled voices trying to pry him from the dead body, but he held firm.
"No!" he croaked, waving one arm around. "No! NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!" And back he went to cradling the now becoming cold form. Grief, torment, confusion, resentment….and agony swept through his entire being, sobs racking his body uncontrollably.
Finally, he was gripped at the elbow and yanked to a standing position. The world spun immediately around him, a strong grip on him keeping him upright. "C'mon, Potter. I got you." They were words from someone trustworthy. Someone he could rely on. Someone who helped him get through this nasty business of this fucked up staged Triwizard crap. Who the fuck invented it anyway?
"C'mon, Potter! Walk. I got you. I got you."
Big arms held him fast to a body, and he clung for dear life, still crying out in anguish and regret. Why did everything he did fuck up? He knew who it was that was helping him, and gave in willingly to be guided to possibly safety, away from all the screams and prying eyes of others.
They went up stairs and the imaged blurred, memories floundering about until it focused out in Mad-Eye Moody's quarters. Harry was staring wide-eyed at Professor Moody who had suddenly gone bonkers. How did he know they were at a graveyard? Mad-eye was now peering at him with a certain relish, and it sent a shudder through Harry's bones. Then the oddest thing happened, a tongue flickered out, snake-like, from out of Moody's mouth. He jarred in his seat, nearly feeling himself topple backwards, but catching it in time.
Professor Moody grabbed the arms of the chair and leaned in, hot breath whisking against Harry's forehead. Blue eyes darted upwards, eyes re-alighting with a hunger, then they met with startled emeralds. "How was it?" Harry bunched his brows. "How was it like, to be in the presence of the Dark Lord?" There. That tongue thing again. Where had Harry seen it before?
The scene shifted again, this time with him off the chair and standing, staring at the now fully revealed Barty Crouch Junior, tongue flicking away. Snape was glaring daggers at the seated form who stared right back with a laughing vengeance. And then Harry was being shipped off, no doubt to Dumbledore's office.
Harry relapsed against the cabinet, full-blown exhausted of everything. He breathed in much needed air, wheezing as he did so. The world spun so much more menacingly than before, heart ramming hard against its cage, sweat dripping out of every pore in his body. He couldn't move, daren't move.
There was a pressing silence, and with his eyes closed, Harry could probably fall asleep. Almost, actually, before his chin was grabbed in a vice grip. "Open. Your. Eyes." Harry obliged, but with a forced effort. Sleep, he just wanted to sleep. There was just too many emotions flooding inside of him, choking his way of breathing right.
Snape watched the lids open slowly, straining to do such a simple task. He had worn the boy thin, and for good reason. He brought his voice down low, intimidating and slow, "What. Was. That. Potter."
The foolish, stubborn, idiotic boy only shook his head making Snape fight back the urge to whap the kid in the head. "Potter!" A grimace formed on Harry's face, eyes averting to the side of the Potion Master's face. That dunderhead was definitely hiding something, and he was going to find out.
His wand hand risen again from his lap before a screech sounded across the room. Snape spun in place, his coattails dragging on the ground while he still squatted. His knees protested slightly. Fawkes fluttered in, perching himself on the desk. He pursed his lips. Snape whipped back around, grabbed the boy by the scruff of his clothing and all but picked him up from the ground, landing him on his feet.
Harry wobbled unsteadily, both hands coming out to hold onto Snape's hand for a steady recovery. The hand didn't move away, thankfully. "Go back to your dormitory. We will continue this later, Potter." A pause. Then a shove to the entrance. "Get going, you bile prat!" Another shove, landing him out the door.
As soon as Harry was able to catch his bearings, a loud thunderous sound echoed from behind him, most likely the old git slamming the door. He teetered, still completely drained of the necessary energy to make it out of the lab, but he somehow had made it.
It took forever and a day before Harry tipped himself into the familiar beddings and four-poster bed un aware of the spectacles still perched on his nose, now askew on his face. He hadn't remembered the password, though luckily enough Minerva was just coming about to check on him. She hastily gave him the silly phrase and ushered him inside, completely aghast at the sight of him probably. He did feel like a right mess.
Normally, in his past days after Ginny's death, no matter how sleep deprived he was, his ever-reeling mind kept him awake. Though, now, even after going through as much as he had today, thoughts were defeated by a quick dark blanket thrown over them.
A-N: I'm sorry that this has taken forever, but I was really stuck on how to come across this scene. It's done, though! Yay~
+Is now sleep-deprived and goes to curl in bed+