DISCLAIMER: I Do Not Own Harry Potter.

=he owns himself=

Grey orbs penetrated his very soul under its scrutiny, searching for a reason to not believe what was just told a moment before. Snape did not move. Couldn't, being a better word. Maybe he should have just kept such an obtruse opinion to himself. It did seem implausible.

The probing greys finally drifted down, Snape reclining into the plush chair, letting out a long, ragged breath. Albus closed his eyes as the Potions Master watched in silence, trying to come back to his surroundings, his mind slightly weakened after Dumbledore bore through him. Legs stretching out, arms falling softly to his sides, Snape controlled his breathing into a normaly, steady rate.

"Severus," the old man's thin lips whispered. It slammed hard into the Snape's chest, reawakening its pounding. Eyes peered over half-moon spectacles. "Drill the boy." An order. "We need to make sure-" Dumbledore's voice faltered, a tongue flitting out to wet dry lips.

That hardly happened and Snape felt his heart rate speed up dramatically, pulse beating against his ears, hands gripping the chair rests as he sat up in his seat. "The boy is hiding something, Severus. Something he is so keen on keeping a secret that he dare not tell even me. Find out what it is, and why," Dumbledore concluded with a flick of his wrist, rising from his seat to retreat to his sanctuary. The Headmaster's Pensieve pulled out from its holding place, Albus immediately placing two hands down on it, shoulders hunching, knuckles whitening from its strain of holding the Pensieve's sides.

"Sir-" Snape rose from his seat.

"Don't dawdle!" The roaring voice paused Snape in his movements, feeling his body jerk upright, black eyes widening. "If I...If you are correct in this assumption, and by all the gods I pray it is not so, I fear it is not just Voldemort we will be dealing with in these ludicrous times." Albus groaned, a curse flying out. "Stupid, idiotic, stubborn boy." The elder placed the tip of his wand to his temple, gently procuring now one of his most feared visions.

Snape stared at the stooped back of his Headmaster, swallowing. This was a first that Albus Dumbledore was ever this furious at his Golden Boy. What in the bloody wizarding world did Harry do?

Albus stared at the pearly white substance swirl and take shape, Harry's face contorted in a rich ecstasy as the boy crucioed Lestrange, Lily standing watch with horror and a powerful, useless urge to dive in and rescue her son from his madnes.

"Let us hope that these silly notions are but fleeting nightmares, my boy. Let us hope." The once almighty Albus Dumbledore looking worn and frayed, a tree about ready to give up its roots and timber to the ground.

Severus swept towards the door and went out, not caring for a glance back at the defeated looking Headmaster. That posture wouldn't do to calm his raging discouragements.

Harry laid dazed in the Common Room, staring blankly at the spitting fire. He had been tackled to the ground during his freedom-finding time by none other than Fred himself, George following suit, belly-flopping on the two of them. The three of them had chatted consistently afterwards, Harry filling them in with everything he had shared with their brother, at times the twins interrupting with a retort or hilarious cut-in.

Fred's alive.

Recapping through lunch, Harry had gone back to staring at Ginny, relishing in her presence. She threw pumpkin juice at his face after the millionth time of telling him to stop his gawking. The love-struck boy only rolled his eyes and muttered, "Tergeo." Big mistake.

"Harry! When did you learn that spell?" Hermione spoke aloud everyone's thoughts in their friend-circle, eyeing the now dried-up Potter.

"You've become the object of fascination everywhere on everything, huh, Harry?" The twins chimed in unison, nudging each other at how their friend was fast becoming a great wizard with such a small spell. Ron shook his head, no doubt thinking Harry was spending too much time with their ginger-haired friend.

Ginny only smiled, which made Harry think he had done the best trick so far, making his wif-err-girlfriend proud of him.

She's still beautiful.

Lost in his thoughts again, the now young Gryffindor rolled onto his back, eyes darting to the ceiling. He had wanted to see Hagrid before heading to the dreaded dungeons, but McGonagall had told him his friend needed to help tend the dragons and the Beaubaton's Headmistress' horses. He scoffed.

Hagrid probably just wanted to spend as much time as possible before his giant girlfriend headed back to her school.

A spark flew from the fire. Harry turned in time to see another flick out. Then another. Then a quiet thwack as something flew right into Harry's face. He caught the parchment before it hit the floor, rubbing the spot the paper's edge caught between his eyes, just above his glasses. Something fell, plopping softly on the carpeted floor. It was something round and hard covered in yellow wrappings. A lemon drop.

Mouth twitching into a small smile, Harry began reading the neatly scripted note.

Harry-

Do not forget your lessons tonight. Professor Snape will be awaiting your arrival at 7 o'clock sharp. Do not be late. This is for the best.

As usual, no signature was given, but Harry knew who it was from, just by the small gift.

Geez, everyone was on his case about attending these stupid lessons. Honestly, Harry didn't want to go back. He was planning on ditching, but as he rolled the small piece of candy between his fingers, he knew that he couldn't betray the words from the one person he highly respected. Dumbledore sure knew how to get under his skin.

"Damn. And to think I missed him." He did, though, smiling as he ran up the stairs into the boys' dormitory to take a much needed shower.

Dinner ended briefly, Dumbledore announcing the next day that both visiting schools will be departing back to their homes. Hagrid looked forlorn, Hermione positively elated to finally be freed from a certain red-caped Champion, and Ron sighing in despair. Harry stared at his goblet, watching the gold glint in the charmed candlelight floating above their heads.

He looked up, taking in a sharp breath at the scene. Dumbledore had done his magic again. Purple, blue, green, yellow, pink, and white streams floated in tumbles above the floating candles. Stars glistened amongst the waves of colors. The scene looked much like an event what the Muggles called the Aurora Borealis. Harry learned in his fourth year, this year, it was simply the calling of witches and wizards around the world about the Quidditch Cup.

Dinner carried on as usual, Ron stuffing his already crammed mouth, Hermione battering him to stop acting like a pig, Seamus chittering about how awesome it would be to blow up something big and huge. Just go BOOM! Harry smirked sadly. The explosive boy had no idea how close he was to actually doing such a thing.

Nearly Headless Nick sauntered through the table from the end, not caring about who his spirit filtered into, sending shocks and grumbles of cold across the Gryffindor table. He was just passing the Golden Trio before abruptly stopping in front of Harry.

Green eyes looked back with a brow arched, as Harry did a slight nod of his head. "Hey."

They stared at each other a long while before the transparent being clicked an unseen tongue. "Boy," the ghost spoke roughly, "you're teetering on a very much broken bridge. It would do best to go back from where you came from." And off the ethereal form drifted, not pausing to look back, inclining his head, which fearfully wobbled, to other spirits he passed.

Harry stared after him, mouth partly open.

"What was that about?" Ron spoke aloud Harry's own thoughts. He could only give his friend a shrug of his shoulders. The red-head dropped a few more pieces of chicken legs onto his friend's plate. "C'mon, mate. You need to eat more, what with having that greasy git getting into your mind and all."

"Sorry, I don't like stuffing my face like you do, Ron," Harry joked, earning him a sharp jab into his shoulder. He winced. "Yeah. Right. Deserved that."

The dungeons were never going to be a warm place. Never. The torches made shadows dance and crawl along the walls as Harry made his way back to the accursed assignment. Just five more days of this, and he'll be free to do whatever he so desired.

I'll be with Sirius! He kept that thought in his mind. He needed to bring his Occlumency up to par before stepping through those doors, and so decided to focus on his godfather, whom he so desired to see at this point.

The soft clicking of his shoes against the ground made it uneasy in the pressuring silence. His robes whisked, his hair shifted, and even his bones creaking were maximized to a sonorus charm. This wasn't good. Anymore, and he should just very well tell Snape everything himself. No, he needed to gain control.

He stood in front of the doors longer than necessary, wondering if he should knock, or turn tail and run like hell out of the castle, out of the grounds, out of this…place.

No. No giving up. Besides, you wouldn't know how to return, now would you?

Gulping, Harry rapped his knuckles, pausing after three hits to breathe, then pursuing another set of three. Before he could work on his third, the door swung open revealing a bent-over shape on the front desk, quill twitching in its owner's hand. With a quick flick of the man's wrist, eyes never leaving the parchment before them, the door slammed shut behind Harry. The boy jumped at the sound even knowing what is was.

Calm down, Harry. C'mon, mate, you know how to do this. Calm the fuck down.

Snape continued his relentless scribbling, head rising briefly to look at the boy and gesture with a nod to a seat in front of the desk, then diving back into his work. Harry obliged, sliding into the chair with unease, the creaking of its hinges being annoyingly loud. Snape made no notice of it.

Harry took this time to twiddle his thumbs and engrossed hismself to bring his shields up. He knew how to do it, that's why Snape had not infiltrated his mind until Harry had found himself to the point of exhaustion. He could not let that happen tonight.

"Potter." Black eyes moved around the desk, hands reaching out to stack up the stray parchments littered across the table. Harry turned to the professor. "I have noticed your sudden interest in a red head recently." He set them into two piles, hitting the edges into a neat bundle, then placing them to the side. "Could this have anything to do with that 'dream' I saw last night?"

Snape straightened himself, hands coming to front of him, left relaxing on right. He stared at Harry, green eyes never deterring. The bastard brought that up and now all his concentrating just crashed. He was being tried. So be it, two can play that game.

After a long while, he spoke. "Sir," Harry mocked the cool snide voice of his professor's. Snape caught it, eyes narrowing. Harry continued, orbs glittering behind spectacles. "Are we going to be staring at each other all night, or are we going to prevent Voldemort from intruding my mind?"

A sneer crawled its way onto Snape's lips, the man rising up in a cascade of black robes, and whirled around, the tails of his robes swishing with a whisper across the cold floor, striding to the end of the room where a door appeared. Harry followed, a snort playing out his nose. He looked up to find that his professor heard it.

"In, Potter." The git's tone had gone darker. Shit. I forgot how mad he can get.

He made his way past Snape who held the door open, finding himself once again in the small, claustrophobic space. Well, it wasn't too bad, just not enough room to get flung about in.

"Sit." Harry did as he was told, wiggling himself into the uncomfortable seat that had been up righted since his last visit, eyes anywhere but on the man before him. He had to admit, he was damn nervous.

It's because you have secrets now, secrets you can't afford losing.

Clearing his throat, gripping the sides of the chair, he flickered his eyes up to Snape's who stood watching him, wand already twisting between his thin, white fingertips. The scowl had not left his structured appearance. They stared, greens into blacks, blacks into greens, the agonizing sound of the pads of fingers brushing against black wood slithered through the silence.

Then, the wand was pointed at him and with no delay, Snape's slow whisper of the spell slammed Harry into the back of the chair, dangerously balancing on two feet.

He was on the floor again, panting, wheezing, sweating, unfocused, glasses strewn somewhere across the ground. He had flailed at one point in this two hour escapade while the constant dreams of Ginny dead in his arms replayed over and over, Snape being witness each and every bloody time. Harry scrambled across the cold floor, frantic fingers finding what they wanted, and he shoved his glasses back on.

"Potter. I cannot help but wonder," his professor began walking around him in slow, steady circles, a mock smile in place. His voice tuned low and taunting, begging the boy to give up already. "That these dreams of yours are very…compliant to your wishes of the future." He stopped behind Harry, gazing at the Gryffindor's unruly mess of rug hair.

So like him.

He grimaced, rolling his distaste of the look-alike in front of him over his tongue. "I have watched you stare at her like some kind of love sick puppy, groveling at her every move. That look of yours is not becoming of such a grandeur Golden Boy such as yourself." He laughed through his nose, mouth twitching upward as the boy spun around with enraged eyes.

So easy to play with.

But, those eyes, they gleamed with something more than just anger. No, Severus could see deeper beyond that as the boy's shoulders lifted and fell with controlled defense. He watched as Harry spoke, seething through each syllable. "I am NOT some love sick puppy." Harry pulled his lips into a Slytherinish sneer. "You should know that, Snape. You loved my mother after all."

Snape froze, eyes wide. Harry knew he was throwing a cheap shot at the guy, but this was the only way he could see of getting his ass out of this room and ensuring his secrets, and stopping that God awful pain of remembering. And, Snape scorned his love for Ginny. That was a low blow. He was driven to tear the man to pieces, kind of low blow.

"Yes, I know about you and how much you loved my mother. Lily Evans. The woman who gave me these eyes!" Harry stood up then, challenging Snape, pointing a finger to his emerald glare. "My eyes! Haha! How does it feel, seeing me wear your requited love's most beautiful asset in the form of my father's?" He raged, throwing his hands up, calling Snape to defend himself. The latter could only gape in disbelief in stunned silence, wand twitching in his hands.

Harry kept on, finger pointing to the Potion Master's chest, eyes riveting with malice . "You blame me for loving Ginny like some puppy? Well," he threw his head back and laughed scornfully. "At least she's fucking alive, seeing as you STILL FUCKING LOVE MY MOTHER WHO'S DEAD! DEAD, SNAPE, DEAD! GINERVA ISN'T, AND SHE WILL NEVER BE SO LONG AS I'M ALIVE!"

With that, Harry shoved his way past Snape, eyes already near to spilling out their water. He was not counting on a firm hand to grip his wrist and twist him back around, forcefully dragging Harry to face that abominable look, the look of sheer malevolence and repute, loathing and reproachful.

Wide-eyed and slacked, a hot breath grazed Harry's cheeks, brushing at a strand of hair plastered to his forehead. He did not see the hand rising. He did not hear the words forming on the man's lips. All he could read was a fathomless darkness behind those obsidian orbs, driving him to the ends of Merlin only knew. And then, he was screaming, not because of physical pain, but because for the upteenth time that night, Ginny was dead in his arms.

Harry turned the gold band countless of times on his finger, his throat no longer able to swallow. He had just watched his heart, soul, and life slowly descend into the ground before concrete pallets covered her coffined form.

Dead.

He stared at the freshly made grave, the scents of gardenias and lilies mixed with the cold aroma of…

Dead.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had taken the children, wanting Harry to have some time alone, and Harry happily accepted, not wanting his sons and daughter to see him like this. To see him weak and unbearably useless. He knelt down, knees meeting pavement, and reached out to run his fingertips along the elegantly crafted gravestone letters spelling

Here Sleeps

GINERVA "GINNY" MOLLY POTTER

Beloved Mother, Daughter, Sister, and Wife

August 11, 1981 - December 15, 2007

"We won't forget your bat-bogey hexes!"

Harry laughed, choking on a sob as his fingertips danced on the quote. James had wanted that the most seeing Ginerva would always hex him a good one whenever he picked on Albus. It was, without a doubt, a loving memory of a son to his mother.

Wisps of clouds overshadowed and the scene changed, morphing into a vast landscape. Harry was holding his newly pronounced wife amongst endless rows of sunflowers, gardenias, lilies, and a multitude of wildflowers in a large field of green, the sun high above them, akin to their restless hearts and spirited bodies.

Harry broadly grinned as Ginerva swirled around, the white fitting dress of her bridal circling her frame, beckoning the tall reeds and flowers into her dance, her red hair whirling in a blur of color. Her husband stood transfixed at the sight, unbelieving that this most angelic creature was now his, had given herself to him…till death do them apart. An ache resided in his chest at that word. Perhaps he should have kept that stone.

Blazing brown eyes took him in and she reached out for him, wanting her love to hold her, need her, catch her, love her, and Harry saw no point in arguing against that.

The chapter closed, another wispy grey form banishing the couple to put in place a loudly pronounced cry of a baby, screeching from its birth.

Another flash, and Harry was reaching over a small crib, tickling his newborn son. A soft voice came from behind him. Turning around, he saw his wife leaning against the doorframe, drenched in sweat. No doubt she had just gotten back from Quidditch practice. No matter. The sweat just amplified her already seducing form.

Ginny caught Harry's roaming eyes and walked slowly up to him, arms enveloping them securely around a toned waist. "Like what you see?" she purred, licking her lips.

Harry groaned, but before he could react, a cry erupted from the crib. Looking down, they noticed their son kicking his legs and fisting the air, eyes welded shut under an unruly mass of light brown tufts. Ginny pulled from her husband and leaned over, picking up the swaddled infant and hoisting him into her chest where she cooed and hummed to the boy. Their son quieted at once, his tiny hands gripping a stray strand of red. Harry watched, dazed, loving, hardly noticing he was holding his breath. So…beautiful…

"STOP!" the Boy-Who-Lived rose his hands, body trembling, voice cracking, eyes straining behind lopsided frames to hold the water it so threatened to release, shirt completely drench of his perspiration. "Stop… God, please…stop.." He begged, desperate for the memories to disappear along with that wretched black form standing above him. He was breaking, and Snape knew it. How he fucking hated that.

Harry scrambled backwards as Snape took a step towards him, slamming into the all too familiar potions cabinet, the wind being forced out from his lungs at the impact, pain slicing through his spinal column. He didn't care. He didn't want that fucking git to be within an inch of him, or even a mile. But, in this room, he didn't have much of a choice, or the strength.

He kept his eyes on the booted feet which paused at his frantic desperation, and cursed at himself for being this vulnerable. He closed his eyes, controlling the best he could of his rabid breathing rhythms.

Calm. Get calm, fucktard. Stay calm. Calm…

Silence.

Dead silence.

Then a sound of robes.

Snapping his eyes open, Harry found himself staring straight into cold, black orbs mere inches away. He slammed himself backwards again, knees coming up to his chest, palms at his sides flat on the ground, poised to rise fast if the need came. "Don't," he whispered, pleading.

He wasn't quick enough. "Legilimens." Harry swore within that millisecond before being wrenched back into his memories, Snape sounded defeated, but the thought was gone just as quick as it came.

Flash!

Sirius was laughing, head thrown back amidst the ongoing battle raging around them. "Get em', James!" He cried, roaring curse after hex towards the dark cladded lot. Harry turned to his godfather, a small smile of pity and recognition to Sirius' mention of his father lightly gracing his features.

The animagus turned to him then, grinning madly despite the commotion about them. It was picture perfect; dark eyes alight, teeth showing in a magnificent joyous shout, provoking Lestrange of her aiming capabilities.

And it all ended there, a red spark hitting him square in the chest from the person he was taunting, eyes wide with surprise. Ghostly tendrils from the arch behind him cradled him into their arms as he fell back, dark eyes locked with greens which could only watch in mute horror.

Flash!

Remus' and Tonk's bodies lay unmoving, fingers entwined with the other's. It would seem to almost any other onlooker that they were simply sleeping the day away amongst rubble and falling bricks.

Flash!

George screamed, gripping his look-alike's head into his lap, crying openly with feverish attempts to call his twin back from the dead. Mother and father held onto their howling son, sister and youngest brother holding each other, the others standing, heads bowed, hands covering their faces, trembling.

Flash!

Colin Creevey lay with eyes wide open, wand inches from his outstretched hand, body sprawled. His camera peeked out from its hiding place within his robes.

Flash!

Harry wrenched forward, hands catching him at his shoudlers. He was blubbering, sniveling, groping the offending arms to let him go. "Don't.. no more, Merlin, God, no more! NO MORE!"

He felt the hands shake him roughly, but he pushed against the body that was too close for comfort, his back pressed harshly against the cabinet. "Go away! Leave me the fuck alone!"

"Language, Potter!" Snape roared, bringing the boy halfway back to his senses. Pleading, sorrowful green eyes peered up behind a disheveled mop of hair and frames. Snape grabbed with amazing reflexes at a hand that almost reached into its pocket, no doubt, for its wand. "Don't…even think about it," he growled menacingly.

Harry shrunk, now two of his hands captured in a vice grip above his head held by a single potions professor's clutch. He had half the mind to spit in that deceitful man's face, but stopped any train of thoughts as the older man's wand came to tap at his cheek. His eyes narrowed hatefully at it.

"You, Mr. Potter, are hiding something. Something that I will find out very soon." Harry groaned, back arching.

"No more. Please, I'll tell you. I'll bloody tell you! Just don't..don't…" Snape did not listen. Even as his eyes, for a brief moment, held pity and shame, he quickly recovered and released the final thread.

"Legilimens."

Dumbledore's body fell back in the vast darkness, arms splayed, white strands obscuring wrinkles and pain. Snape stood, arm out, wand pointed as the body disappeared over the edge. Lestrange cackled gleefully, applauding the absolute wondrous display of death.

Flash!

Ginny lay in his arms, cold, unmoving, dead. Her glazed stare at the stars never faltering.

Flash!

Snape's blood spilled onto his hands, warm liquid ghosting his right arm as it traveled down his elbow, plopping onto his jeans. He watched as the man kept his eyes on him, a phial catching the falling tears of memories.

He pulled away, corking it, staring at the swirling translucent substance before a hand gripped the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. "Look…at…me…" Emeralds flickered up to meet obsidians, a moment passed, Harry never letting his eyes fall away from the Potions Master. Those dark eyes revealed something Harry never before saw in all his life with this man:

longing and love.

And it was gone, hand dropping, dead.

"NOOOOOO!" Snape was shoved out of the boy's mind forcefully, and painfully. He held his head between his hands, gathering all the scenes he just witnessed into an understanding. He was on his bum, air raggedly coursing through his mouth and into his lungs where they were much needed.

There was a sound, hiccupping, gasps, wheezes, and Snape looked up to see the boy curled into a cocoon, arms protectively clinging to his shoulders, glasses askew, eyes screwed shut, body rising and falling in dry heaves.

My, God, Snape had driven the boy mad, mad enough to cry in front of even his hated professor. Harry rocked himself on the floor, screaming, hollering, wanting the nightmares to stop, and Snape made no move to comfort him, just sat there, on knee up, his other leg crooked underneath. He leaned forward on one hand, fingers spread across the floor, his other resting neatly on his up righted knee, wand lightly held between two fingers.

Snape watched and watched what seemed to be hours on end, but a simple five minutes, before erecting himself from the floor and squatting in front of the shaking Gryffindor. The boy still rocked himself, glasses barely on his face now, sputtering inaudible noises, eyes, face and hair damp with wetness.

Cursing himself, Snape reached and gently touched the boy's head. Harry flung his eyes open, breath hitching. Snape pursed his lips, brows furrowed. Haunting emeralds searched him, before thin lips parted, beseeching, choking. "I-I…I don't want anyone to die. No one…N-no one should die…" Thick brows came together in agony. "No one, professor. Not even you." His last sentence came in a soft, desperate whisper.

Teardrops fell freely down the young boy's face, eyes deceiving his real age. All the misery, emptiness, the feeling of being left alone in this fucked up world reflecting in that emerald gaze which held fast to inky blacks. Snape could not find himself to reply, worse, even speak. His voice left when his eyes became trapped.

Harry shuddered, finally turning his sights to the floor, a fist coming up to bump his glasses back into place, nose sniffling loudly. He spoke in a hoarse whisper. "I'd like to go back to my room, please." Another sniff. "We've been at it for hours. My brain's all mushed."

"Your mind is not the only thing that has been raddled, Potter," Snape answered tersely, lips pulled back, eyes locked onto the hunched form. "Be that as it may, you are permitted to leave. Go, before I change my mind I decide to interrogate you here and now, with or without your consent."

Harry glanced up to his potion's professor, eyes revealing a certain thankfulness. Snape snorted, standing back up and turning on his heel. With a rustle of clothing and rummaging behind him, the boy ran past him.

"You are to come back here the same time, Potter! No tardiness will be tolerated despite your obscene actions tonight!" Snape shouted at the retreating form which had already gone out the door before he ended. He heard his classroom doors slam shut, and Snape finally collapsed onto the desk, hands splayed across the counter, head bowed, eyes shuttering close, an exasperated sigh blowing in the air.

Inwardly, deep within the recesses of his mind, Snape wanted Potter to be late tomorrow night. Better yet, not come at all. How did you face a person who just witnessed you dying, be it nightmare or no, and found yourself pleading to that said person to look into their eyes only because they mirrored your lost love?

Dumbledore better be able to explain all of this, because for once in his life, Snape didn't know what the fuck to do.

So. Uhm. Yeah. Uhm. Reviews? Hehe~ D;