Dreamland

Dinner was a sombre affair filled with patchy conversation and uncomfortable glances. Harry begged off early and retired to his bedroom. A bone-deep weariness that had nothing to do with the events of the day overcame him; he collapsed on the soft bed and was soon asleep.

The room felt overly warm despite his lack of clothing; thin rivulets of sweat travelled down his temples and bare torso. Harry's arms were stretched high above his head, his muscles tout, his toes barely brushing the luxurious carpet beneath his feet as his body gently swayed.

Harry's heart raced and his cock hardened...his cock always hardened when Lucius smiled at him. Then those pale, cruel fingers were touching him again, and Harry forgot to be scared. They pinched and pulled at his nipples in a slow, lazy rhythm. Harry gasped, groaned, whimpered and almost cried. Lucius' hands never faltered, his gaze never wavered, not even when he pushed the long needle through the delicate skin made all the more sensitive by his ministrations, and Harry screamed.

Harry awoke in a pool of sweat, his chest sore and his heart racing. He shoved the covers aside and ambled to the bathroom.

The splash of cold water against his face, and the bright lights of the room dispelled some of the feeling of dread that still lingered at the edge of Harry's consciousness. He braced himself against the sink and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a glint of silver caught his eye: the rings. Harry grabbed the offending jewellery and threw it inside a drawer before slamming it shut.

Two days later he sat alone in the kitchen, his breakfast untouched on the plate, a cup of tepid tea held between his trembling fingers. A rapid tapping on the widow shattered the quiet. Harry looked up to see a large owl hovering just outside the dusty pane. The owl held a folded piece of parchment in its talons, and Harry rushed to throw the window open. The owl swooped into the room and circled twice before it perched itself on the back of a chair.

The missive was brief:

We have to talk. Meet me at the oak tree across the churchyard, one hour after sunset.

S.S.

Harry absently tossed a piece of toast to the owl and shoved the crumpled parchment into his pocket.

All day he continued to finger the bit of parchment to ascertain it was real, that he hadn't imagined it. There was no point in telling the others where he was going; they would just try to stop him. Or worse, they would follow him. When the sun set, Harry threw a cloak over his shoulders, slipped one of the bottles of pills inside the pocket (just in case) and was about to slip out the back door when he noticed the pair of rings he had hidden in the bathroom sitting on the kitchen counter, in plain sight. Horrified, Harry shoved the rings into his pocket and stepped out into the night.

The churchyard appeared deserted. The massive oak tree loomed across the street, and its outstretched branches cast a shadow that swallowed the light from the nearby streetlamp. Harry dragged his feet to the edge of the shadow and stopped.

"Snape, are you there?" he whispered into the darkness.

There was no answer for the space of a heartbeat, and then Harry saw movement.

"Over here, Potter."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the familiar voice.

"I wasn't sure. They said that you weren't real, that you were dead."

"I assure you I am quite real...and alive."

"What happened at your house? I was..."

"Not here," Snape interrupted.

Harry nodded. They were standing on an open expanse of road in a Muggle neighbourhood, only blocks from his home. Harry felt inexplicably relieved when they reached Snape's home. He took a seat without being asked and accepted the cup of tea that Snape offered him.

"Hermione found me wandering the street just outside our home...I don't remember how I got there," Harry said once they were settled in the study.

"I left you there," Snape stated.

"Why?"

"I thought it was best in your condition until I could better ascertain the situation."

"And have you?"

"Unfortunately, no, but I have a couple of theories. Do you mind drinking this?"

Snape held out a glass phial filled with an innocuous-looking, clear liquid that could have been water, but Harry knew from prior experience there was nothing innocent when it came to Snape and potions.

"What is it, Veritaserum?" he asked uncertainly.

"Nothing so dramatic. It's a simple potion of my own device that will reveal any spells or curses on your person."

Harry was not yet convinced. He eyed the potion warily. "The curse-breakers couldn't find anything."

Snape huffed. "If you don't mind, Mr Potter, I would like to draw my own conclusions."

He thrust the potion into Harry's trembling fingers and frowned. "Potter, you're shaking. Are you cold, or scared?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm just nervous."

Snape furrowed his brow but did not comment.

Harry removed the stopper from the phial and squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of its foul taste. All worthy potions tasted horrible, and this one must have been especially effective. He coughed and sputtered as the liquid slid down his throat.

"Kindly stand up," Snape instructed.

Harry obeyed and tried not to fidget while Snape's wand hovered over his body.

Snape furrowed his brow, tilted his head, raised and lowered his eyebrows, all the while murmuring a spell that Harry could not quite make out. Finally, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Told you," Harry said smugly.

"I fail to see what you have to be so self-satisfied about, Potter. You do realize that this narrows our options significantly and further complicates matters. A curse, I can break; an enemy, I can fight; but I can not fix what I can't understand," Snape ground out.

His brief moment of satisfaction effectively squashed by Snape's logic, Harry lifted teary eyes to the older wizard.

"Now you know how I feel," he muttered.

Snape grunted and turned on his heel. "I didn't say your situation was hopeless, just more complicated than I first anticipated. Follow me."

The stairs creaked loudly under Harry's footsteps as they ascended to the second level, or maybe it just seemed that way because the house was so quiet. They entered a room that Harry deduced could only be Snape's bedroom. His gaze travelled over the dark, heavy curtains, the four-poster bed that looked big enough for Snape to drown in, and the rickety shelves laden with thick books. His eyes settled on an old, wooden cabinet shoved in a corner. Snape opened it and carefully withdrew a heavy Pensieve.

Harry took an unconscious step back.

"There's something I want you to see," Snape explained.

He produced a small bottle from the pocket of his robes and carefully poured the silvery contents into the Pensieve. When the vial was empty, he motioned for Harry to go ahead.

"Whose memories are they?" Harry asked.

"They are mine," Snape responded.

"Then I want you to watch them with me...in case I have any questions."

Snape's eyes flickered to a spot near the ceiling. "Very well," he said after a moment.

Harry leaned over the Pensieve and found himself in an unfamiliar room. Piano music was playing, and Lucius Malfoy sat on a chair across from Snape. Harry's eyes narrowed when he caught sight of himself sitting at the piano.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"Three nights ago. Does any of it look familiar?" Snape said from beside him.

Harry shook his head. "Wait! The music, I think. I've heard it before, but can't remember where."

"I did some research at the Muggle library; it's the third movement of Chopin's Sonata No. 2 – the Funeral March. Does that particular piece hold any significance to you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know anything about classical music; I don't even know how to play the piano."

Harry could see that Lucius and the Snape in the memory were talking, and he focused his attention on them.

"I didn't know you owned a piano, Lucius," Snape was saying.

"I ran into him one night a little over three months ago, at a club in Muggle London."

What Lucius had been doing one night in a Muggle neighbourhood was left unsaid, but the blonde wizard derived great pleasure from telling Snape the story of his chance encounter with Harry Potter, particularly the part about Harry pretending to be a Muggle named Richard and claiming not to know Lucius, or have any understanding of magic or the Wizarding world.

"He is quite convincing...and delightful, I must say," Lucius concluded.

Snape leaned forward in his chair. "Don't threaten me, Lucius. He's your son's age for God's sake!" he hissed.

Harry's gut tightened and the bitter taste of bile filled his mouth. "It's not what you think!" Harry said, but he couldn't push away the images in his dream...the dream of Lucius and the rings.

It was just a dream... But if the rings were real, did that mean it was a memory and not a dream? Warmth suffused Harry's face. How much had Snape seen? He was suddenly very aware of Snape's presence next to him, and he regretted having asked the wizard to join him.

"Richard!"

Lucius' commanding voice pulled Harry out of his reverie. "Who's Richard?" he asked.

"Richard is you," Snape said. "Watch."

Harry watched the image of himself leave the piano and walk to stand next to Lucius. He shuddered when the blonde wizard's arm snaked around 'Richard's' waist and pulled him down on his lap.

"I don't want to see anymore," he begged.

"Just a little bit more," Snape assured him.

Lucius' voice drifted to him as if from a great distance.

"Is that what's bothering you, Severus, or do I detect a hint of jealousy?" Lucius stared into Snape's eyes and his lips twisted into a grin that made Harry's stomach recoil. "You know I can be a very generous man."

Harry wanted to look away, but he was mesmerised by Lucius' pale hand travelling over the young man's all-too-familiar midriff...Harry's midriff. The hand travelled downward and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

"I'm going to be sick," Harry whispered, a moment before the room spun around him and he found himself suddenly on the floor of Snape's bedroom.

He emptied the measly contents of his stomach on the thick carpet. He retched until the muscles of his abdomen ached and his throat contracted into spasms that gave way to sobs. He remained on his knees, unwilling to look up and face the other wizard he knew was somewhere in the room.

The fear of not knowing had been replaced by an even greater fear...knowing. He wanted to be mad: raving, certifiable, irrefutably insane, if it would only make the memory of what he had just witnessed go away. Some things were best forgotten.

"Drink this," Snape said softly from above him.

Harry took the offered glass and brought it to his lip, not caring what it contained. "Is this just water?" he asked after he had tasted it.

"You sound disappointed, Mr Potter. Were you hoping for something else?" Snape drawled.

Poison, Harry thought. Poison would have been a most welcome offering at that moment. He sank against the cabinet and kept his eyes fixed on the intricate pattern of the wallpaper.

"What else did you see?" a morbid sense of curiosity forced him to ask.

"Nothing, I left shortly after that and waited outside the manor until early morning, when you exited. I took you home by Side-Apparation."

"I can't go back there," Harry said.

"It's not my plan that you should return to Malfoy Manor," Snape said softly, misunderstanding Harry's meaning.

"There too, but I meant home. I can't go home... I can't face Ginny."

"Understandable," Snape said after a while. "Perhaps it would be best if you remained somewhere safe..."

Harry's eyes snapped to meet Snape's. "I'm not going back to hospital either," he hissed.

Snape's features remained impassive. "I meant here, Mr Potter. Now that I have a better understanding of your condition, I can take better measures against you leaving the house without my noticing."

"Oh," Harry said.

The truth was there was nowhere else for him to go. Nowhere Harry could escape to get away from himself, not even inside his own mind.

He allowed Snape to help him to his feet and lead him to the bed.

"I don't keep many potions in store these days, but I can offer you a mild sedative."

"Dreamless Sleep?" Harry asked.

Snape's lips contorted into a bitter sneer. "That I always have on hand."

Harry had removed his shoes and settled under the covers by the time Snape returned with the potion.

"Drink this and get some rest; I have a lot of work to do," he said as he handed Harry the small flask.

Harry drank the liquid uncomplainingly, although he did grimace at the taste.

"I feel safe here," Harry whispered as his eyes drifted shut and was surprised to find that he meant it.

"Then you truly are mad," Harry thought he heard Snape mutter as the wizard extinguished the lights and left the room, softly closing the door behind him.