Disclaimer: Nope.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm really glad you all liked that chapter with Snape and Draco.
Yes, indeed, Snape definitely does have his work cut out for him. And I'm glad you liked my portrayal of Draco. He's difficult to write because I don't see him changing that quickly - growing up with the ideology he learned, it's going to be very difficult for him to change his entire mindset. But I do want to make it clear that his experiences this year have started him down the path towards change.
Now, this chapter is kind of unusual, and you'll see why. I hope you enjoy it.
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Harry was drifting.
He was in a place he couldn't quite describe, but it was one where he wanted to stay. He was outdoors - most of the time, it was beautiful, sunny weather, and that was why he didn't want to leave. There were times when it occasionally got stormy, the rain soaking him as the wind tossed him about. Whenever that happened, though, if Harry drifted a bit further ... he could find a place where it was sunny again.
He heard voices a lot, voices of people he knew he cared about, which made the drifting much more peaceful and allowed him to feel calmer. Most of the time, he couldn't put names to the voices. All he knew was that the people he cared for most in the world were beside him, and that was all that mattered.
Sometimes, other emotions would break through the peacefulness, the calmness. There were times when an odd sensation would grip him, especially when he heard one word all the time. "Harry." Three voices, in particular, kept saying that word over and over again. "Harry. Harry. Harry."
He also heard the names Ron, Hermione, and Neville a lot, when it sounded like the voices were addressing each other. Along with the name Harry, all four words sounded so ... familiar. There were times when Harry thought he could grasp onto what those words meant to him, but then they would flicker, and he would float away again, lost in the sensation of calmness that would fall over him.
The feeling of being buffeted by strong winds would come, though, when he heard certain ... other voices. There was one that showed up more often than Harry would have liked. The voice sounded wise and old, but it agitated Harry in a way he couldn't quite explain. He had a strange feeling that once upon a time, that voice meant trust, salvation, relief, and mysteries solved. Now, however, he wanted nothing more than to get away from it.
There was another voice that was quite unfamiliar to Harry. This one sounded professional and businesslike, but Harry didn't mind it. When he could discern any words at all, this voice was telling others to be patient, to give Harry time, that if they rushed him, it would take longer for him to wake up. Harry couldn't quite decipher what the male voice was talking about - all he knew was that he appreciated the advice that was being given.
It was the final voice, though, that surrounded Harry on all sides, the one voice that broke through any semblance of calm and made him feel so many different emotions that he thought he was drowning. It was like being thrown into the ocean without any kind of life preserver, being surrounded by choppy waves that only got stronger the more he tried to swim to shore.
And it hadn't been that long ago that he actually felt a presence within the place he was drifting, and he'd never felt that before. The voices had always seemed far above him, but someone had broken through - the very person that had made Harry feel surrounded.
When the presence had appeared, little flickers of memories floated past Harry. He saw himself in a dark, cramped cupboard with spiders infesting it. He was in a stifling, much-too-clean kitchen, vacuuming the floor while a fat, beefy man bellowed at him to work faster. An equally fat, laughing oaf of a boy was standing beside Harry, shoveling biscuits into his mouth as he smirked nastily at him.
Harry tried to drift further out, but he couldn't escape the memories. He recognized the presence - it was someone he had thought of as an enemy for a long, long time. Now, he knew better - but the presence still brought out many different feelings in him.
Sensations suddenly bombarded him, submerging him far beneath the surface. He suddenly felt suffocated as the presence continued to bring up unpleasant memories. Desperately, he tried to remember exactly who this presence was, and what kind of impact he had on his life. Memories of a voice floated past him, fragments of sentences that he tried to cling onto.
"Harry Potter, our new ... celebrity."
"Ah, Potter. ... I see you are willing to receive an even worse grade in Potions. ... I did not think that even you would be so blindingly foolish as to work with Longbottom. ..."
"... I apologize for not Transfiguring any pyjamas for you last night. ..."
"Potter ... you are not doing yourself any favors by simply picking at your food. ..."
"... And no, I don't expect you to suddenly trust me. I'd be a fool if I expected anything of the sort. ..."
"... You, Potter, are nothing more than a self-centered, entitled, ungrateful, spoiled brat, just like your father before you. ..."
"... You deserve to live, Potter. I will hear no more talk of wishing that your death would occur. ..."
"... Has it ever occurred to you, Potter, that you don't know everything? You and your little friends ... your actions that day were almost catastrophic ... you were playing hero, Potter, and it was entirely needless. ..."
Why was it that there was a smell associated with that last memory as well? The stench of burning flesh floated past him, and he shuddered. Why could he hear screaming, too?
It wasn't long until the presence retreated, and Harry was glad for it. Layers of spite, hatred, anger, comfort, security, salvation, and confusion - all contradictory emotions - surrounded him whenever he thought about that presence, especially when he kept seeing an image that showed up much more than the fragments of sentences did.
It was the memory of a silver doe, her beauty so bright in the darkness that it hurt Harry's eyes. She was the true definition of purity. She had been Harry's salvation, saving him from a fate worse than death, a fate Harry had almost ... wanted.
The problem was, every time Harry truly thought about this, he would only be able to hang onto the image for several seconds before everything went dark. It was like he would disappear into oblivion, not even feeling the drifting sensation anymore. Then, he'd come to awareness, and he'd feel the warm weather around him once again - that was, until the next time he remembered the silver doe.
Time was a strange thing. Harry knew he had been drifting for quite a long stretch, but didn't know how long it had been. Everything had fallen into a pattern. It was like he was living in a world of nothing but emotions, without a single concrete thing around him. It was like treading water, unable to touch the bottom. But it wasn't cold or hot - it just ... was.
But what he did know was that he didn't want to stop drifting and return to solid land. Because if he did, he'd have to face ... he shied away from the thought. He couldn't leave this place, because to touch anything concrete would mean having to come to terms with things better left forgotten.
Sometimes, he felt so tranquil that he thought he was drifting through water. Mermaids. How that word suddenly came to him was anybody's guess. He saw an image of that same fat, smirking boy sitting down on a sofa, scowling as he changed the channel on a large device. The screen had been showing this ... creature who lived in the water. "I hate this film," the boy sneered as he pressed a button and the image disappeared.
A feeling of envy permeated Harry's being - that creature was so lucky. It lived in the water and never had to breach the surface. No wonder that foul boy despised that film - he was the antithesis of everything Harry wanted to be.
Suddenly, Harry felt that same presence again, and two completely different emotions filled him - dread and security. Unable to deal with the influx of emotions, he attempted to drift away from it, but once again, just like the last time, it didn't work. It felt like he couldn't move any farther.
And again, just like before, memories flickered past him, but they were different ones this time. He saw himself, a young boy of five, as he sat in a classroom. It was the first day of the new school year, and the girl sitting next to him smiled at him as she introduced herself. "Hello. My name is Cindy. What's yours?"
"Harry." the boy said shyly. It was a name he only really ever heard at school. His Aunt Petunia had glowered at him as she practically snarled, "It's an ugly, common name. Well - it's not much of a surprise, is it? It was given to you by foul, disgusting parents."
But Harry rather liked his name - he honestly wished he could hear it more often. At home, he was usually referred to as either "freak", "whelp", or "boy". Being called "Harry" gave him an identity.
Cindy had smiled even wider. "That's my dad's name," she said excitedly.
For the first time in a long while, Harry felt hope blossom to life inside him. Maybe this girl would be different from all the others. Maybe Dudley's antics wouldn't make her stay away.
It was only hours later that Harry packed up his things at the end of the day, his face calm but his emotions in turmoil. Cindy was just like all the others, after all. She'd chosen a seat far away from him for afternoon lessons. "Dudley told me about all the mean things you do," she informed him, her head held high. "Stay away from me, Harry. I don't want to be friends with a meanie like you."
It was the same, every time. Dudley told people that Harry was a bully, who did and said horrible things to others. In later years, if anyone tried to befriend Harry, he'd beat them up. Whatever the tactic, it hurt Harry all the same, because he was always alone.
There had been times when he'd tried to plead his case - tried to tell people that Dudley was the bully and that he was lying about Harry, but nobody listened. Every year got progressively darker for Harry as his world grew bleaker and lonelier.
The memory flickered out, and Harry was once again lost within the haze, although the presence was still there. While that memory had been playing before Harry's eyes, he had been fully alert. He had remembered who - and what - he was, but the moment the memory vanished, he had let it all go again. All that remained was a sense of ... knowing that he was hiding away from something that seemed to be right on the edge of his vision. This had happened the last time the presence was here, too.
Discomfort. That was another feeling that was associated with this presence, because it was making Harry remember things he didn't want to. It was trying to bring Harry out of hiding when he didn't want to come out. Didn't it understand that there was a tornado above this place? A storm was raging not far from here, a storm that Harry was afraid would destroy him if he ventured out into it. It had already tried to hit him multiple times whenever that old, wise man talked. And this ... presence wanted him to brave its winds and its floodwaters? It wasn't fair. It was ... cruel.
"Potter."
For the first time, Harry felt that the presence was speaking directly to him. It had stopped rifling through his memories and was trying to burrow its way in deeper, trying to find him in the haze. "Potter."
Harry didn't answer. He didn't want anything to do with it. If he could just drift a little farther, it would go away, right? It wouldn't persist if it was ignored, right?
Apparently, Harry was wrong. "Potter." The voice sounded stern now. "I know you're there. You can't hide from me."
Go away, Snape, Harry thought, not understanding where the name had come from. Go back to your dungeons.
Dungeons? thought Harry in confusion. How do I know he has anything to do with dungeons?
"No, Potter. I'm not going to go away. You are a Gryffindor, are you not?" The baritone voice dug its way into him like a needle, disturbing any tranquility Harry could still feel. "Where is your courage?"
For some reason, Harry felt stung by that. He thought over the words, and they definitely held some kind of meaning for him. I'm tired, Professor, he found himself thinking. I'm so tired.
The presence let out an audible sigh, and it suddenly materialized beside him. For the first time, Harry could see what it looked like.
It was a man, a very familiar one. Black, greasy hair. A hooked nose. Black eyes. Harry almost expected a sneer, too - but it wasn't there. In fact, the ... man looked just as uncomfortable as Harry felt - it was as though this was uncharted territory for him, too.
What are you doing here, Snape? Harry thought, as a strange kind of alertness began to return to him. Where are we?
"This is your mind, Potter," Severus Snape said. His voice was a low murmur. "I did not expect it to take this form."
What did you expect? A Quidditch pitch? Words and phrases that were so familiar to Harry suddenly appeared in front of him, like he had never forgotten them at all. Just like my father - I know, I know.
"Do not be obtuse, Potter." Snape's tone was impatient, but there was something lurking behind it. Was it ... was it guilt?
The discomfort spread through Harry, and all he wanted to do was forget again. Why do you have to take over everything, even my mind? He knew he sounded petulant and whiny, but couldn't bring himself to care.
"Because you are causing worry and distress, Potter, and you cannot stay here," Snape said quietly. "It is unhealthy to wallow the way you are doing. And, once again, I am the one that has been assigned to save you from yourself."
A stab of guilt broke through anything else Harry was feeling. Do you think this is the way I wanted things to end up? he asked as the wind seemed to become stronger around him.
"It does not matter, Potter. This is the end result, and it is your job to weather the storm," Snape replied, sounding rather uncompromising.
I don't want to. You can't make me, Harry thought, just the idea of trying to fight through the tornado exhausting him. As had happened so often whenever the image of the silver doe came to him, Harry could feel his grip on consciousness slipping. He could barely feel the wind anymore.
"Oh, no, you don't, Potter." Was that honestly worry he heard in Snape's voice? "You will come back here, and we will have a proper discussion about this."
Harry tried to think something back at Snape, but exhaustion was taking over. He began to sink into the embrace as the darkness pulled him under, and it was extremely comforting.
The last thing he heard was Snape sighing again. "I will return, Potter." His tone was one of certainty. "And you will see reason. That, I can promise."
And then, the darkness completely submerged him, and he let it envelop him in its open arms, mercifully granting him the rest he longed for.
