Chapter 50 What Dreams May Come
When Severus had offered to teach him how to use a sword, Harry hadn't known what to expect. He'd been excited by the prospect - the idea of learning the art of the sword appealed to some primal Gryffindor side to him that he just couldn't suppress. But the lessons had been exciting in more ways than one.
He wasn't certain why Severus had offered to teach him - in many ways it was out of character for Severus to give up his free time for something like this. That Severus would give his time to him meant more to Harry than he could explain - that he would teach him so patiently and give him such words of encouragement was beyond belief. Severus' quiet encouragement filled Harry with a warmth he couldn't quite explain.
His entire life he'd tried very hard to earn the approval of the Dursleys. He'd worked hard in school to bring home good grades, hoping against all odds that just once his aunt or uncle would look at his report card and express some sense of pride in his accomplishments. But far from being pleased, any success on his part was met with disgust if not open hostility. To the Dursleys his accomplishments were a result of his freakishness and were to be suppressed at all costs. Eventually he'd stopped caring.
Or at least he'd thought he'd stopped caring. Severus' approval however soothed some deep pain inside Harry that he hadn't known he felt. And despite the time commitment these lessons would put on him, and the muscles that ached afterwards, Harry would not give them up until Severus himself told him he no longer wished to continue.
But the lessons were more than just exercise, and a strange guilty pleasure burned through Harry's blood when he thought of the other side of things. The first time Severus had put his arms around Harry and touched him, he hadn't known what to think. It took only a few moments to realize that this was just the way of things - that Severus needed to move his body and position his stance so that he could learn the proper exercises. But the constant touches - the hands against his skin, the pressure of Severus' strong body against his own when he'd moved in close - it had played havoc with his senses. He'd been married to a man for over four months, had been sleeping beside him, and had recently begun having rather intense dreams about some faceless male, and it was only now he was beginning to think that he just might actually be gay.
Hermione would tell him he was clueless - or perhaps simply slow and dimwitted. But Harry had very purposely avoided thinking such things - even after all those embarrassing talks with the various people who felt it necessary that he understand the facts of life. He could still remember the sharp, skin-tingling crush he'd had on Cho Chang during his fourth year. And more than once he'd looked at Ginny Weasley and admired her form and face. And while he didn't like Sinistra, he couldn't deny her physical appeal. Beyond that he'd never thought overly long or hard about the directions his desires might take him - certainly had never truly turned his thoughts toward men.
Granted he'd been attracted to Julius Snape - but who wouldn't be, he reasoned. And that had ended so badly, he could hardly count it. Then there was the dream - he still flushed in embarrassment whenever he though about that dream. The first erotic dream he could remember having and it had been with a male form - someone tall and strong, well-built if the muscles he remembered were to be believed. But it had been a dream - and so easily dismissed.
But the way he felt when Severus touched him was not so easily dismissed. The heat that flared through his body, the way his heart leaped and pounded in his chest - he could not reason any of that away. He didn't understand why the heat of another body felt so good against his own, or why he was suddenly so fascinated by the scent of spice that seemed to cling to Severus' skin, or the way his dark hair looked framed against his face. Or why the sight of that normally cruel mouth curving into a soft smile made his heart flip over in his chest?
The sensations left him uneasy, disturbed, unsettled - and yet at the same time he looked forward to those lessons with an eagerness that overwhelmed him. He didn't know what to make of the feelings raging inside him, and didn't want to give them up either.
They fell into a pattern over the course of the next week. Harry would have either Quidditch practice or sword lessons before dinner, and then in the evenings after he finished his homework, he'd work on the translation of Slytherin's books while Severus worked in his lab on the potion for Remus. He wrote to Sirius, told him about everything that had happened, and assured him that for now Remus was safe. The press was still haunting Hogsmeade and Harry feared Sirius might risk discovery for the chance to see Remus for himself. He urged him to stay away, and asked Dumbledore to write to him as well urging the same thing. But still he worried that Sirius would do something foolish.
It was while he working on the translation of Slytherin's books that he became aware of another pattern he and Severus had fallen into. He'd been absorbed in his reading, focusing on the strange words of the small leather bound book, when he realized he was being watched. Looking up from his seat by the fire, he saw Severus leaning casually in the doorway of his laboratory, his dark eyes fixed intently on Harry's form. Harry flushed under the stare. This too had become common - he would find Severus staring at him at odd times, and the look on his face was so intense and introspective he'd grow hot with embarrassment. During the evenings when Severus was working on his potion and found moments of time when he needed to wait for something to boil or cool, he often came and stood in the doorway of the lab to watch Harry while he worked.
"Something wrong, Severus?" he asked when the man continued staring at him.
His words brought a faint smile to Severus' face, his lips twitching upward. "In English please," he said softly.
"Pardon?" Harry asked in confusion. He vaguely heard the sound of hissing.
The smile on Severus' lips was more pronounced now. "You're not even aware you're doing it, are you?" he asked.
Harry had no clue what he was talking about. He ran his hand through his hair nervously. Sometimes he regretted getting his eyes fixed - he'd never before been able to see the minute shifting of light in a person's eyes so clearly. "Doing what, Severus?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"
"Harry," Severus' eyes were glittering brightly. "You're speaking in Parseltongue. I can't understand you."
Startled, Harry glanced down at the book he'd been translating. Sometimes it was hard for him to remember that this was Parseltongue - it looked just like English to him, sounded like English. The ability to switch back and forth between the two languages was a vague and indefinable thing. He tried to focus intently on the words he was forming with his mouth - forcing himself to think carefully on the pronunciation of each individual words.
"Is this better?" he asked.
Severus nodded. "Much. Is it really so hard for you to tell the difference?"
Harry nodded. "It sounds like English to me. It looks like English on the page." He held up the paper where he'd been writing his translation. "I'm writing it in English, aren't I?" When he'd translated the first book he'd had to stop and redo pages constantly because he'd find himself copying them back down in Parseltongue.
Severus crossed the room and took the paper from him, studying his scrawling handwriting. He'd been using a Muggle pencil to write with so that he could erase as he went along, but his strokes were firm and clear on the page. "Yes," he assured him. "'On how to quicken magick in the sleep of death'," he read out loud. "I thought this was a treatise on Light Magic? This sounds more like Necromancy." Severus frowned down at the book in front of Harry.
"It is Light Magic," Harry quickly assured him - he'd read over this chapter several times before beginning his translation. "It doesn't mean waking someone from the dead - as near as I can figure out he's talking about the Draught of the Living Death, though he doesn't call it that. He talks about a medicinal potion from Ancient Egypt that he calls the Sleeping Death. This chapter is about how to wake someone from that state."
"The Draught of the Living Death has been around for thousands of years," Severus admitted. "But it was considered a Dark Potion because there was no cure for it. Those poisoned with it slept forever. The antidote for it was not invented until 1475 by a Potion Master named Maraka. Are you saying Slytherin knew of an antidote prior to that?"
But Harry shook his head. "Not an antidote, a spell," he explained. "Slytherin said it was possible to use magic to quicken the life inside someone and wake them from this state. It either required a bizarre aligning of forces or a wizard of exceptional power who was in the right place at the right time to perform the spell." Harry grinned up at him feeling suddenly mischievous. "Actually, I think this is where the legend of Snow White came from."
Severus glared down at him, tilting his head in acknowledgement of the jest toward his own family history. "If you suggest that Sirius Black can awaken Remus Lupin with a true loves kiss, I'm going to be ill."
Harry just laughed at the thought. "No," he agreed. "Like I said the aligning of forces required is extremely unlikely. Mostly this chapter talks about how to sense magic - how it's possible to feel the magic of another wizard beneath their skin or in the air around them. Like with Dumbledore sometimes - you know how when he gets angry sometimes you can feel the strength of his magic vibrating in the air around him. Have you ever noticed?"
An odd expression crossed Severus' face at that as he stared down at Harry. "Yes," he finally agreed. "I think I've noticed such a thing a time or two." He handed back the paper to Harry so that he could continue working. He headed back toward his lab.
"Does it bother you?" Harry asked before he could disappear through the door. Severus paused and looked back questioningly. "When I speak Parseltongue - does it bother you?" After the behavior of his classmates during second year he was a bit self-conscious of the ability.
A strange smile twisted Severus' lips and his eyes flashed in the firelight. "No," he laughed softly, seeming amused by something. "Not at all. In fact, I rather like it."
For some reason Harry felt the blood rising in his cheeks at this statement. He was grateful when Severus returned to his lab and left him alone with his book.
He worked for a while longer, growing sleepy in the heat of the hearth fire. When he yawned the third or fourth time, he decided to rest his head against the back of the couch to sleep for a moment since it was still too early for bed and he wanted to work a while longer. He only meant to rest for a moment, but before he knew it the room faded away completely as the events of the day caught up to him and he slipped off into sleep.
The fluttering of wings caught his attention, and he turned in surprise when a black raven landed on his shoulder. He was standing on a hilltop overlooking a burning city and a second black raven flew through the evening sky overhead. The bird on his shoulder whispered in his ear, urging Harry to walk down the hill and enter the ruins of the city. Frightened, Harry did so, not at all certain he wanted to see what lay ahead.
Strangely he became aware of glowing lines on the ground - spreading out in every direction and disappearing into the far distance as if they went on forever. These lines were like a great spider web that covered the earth; it pulsed with life and Harry took some comfort in its presence for he could feel no sign of life coming from the city beyond.
He did not recognize the city - it might be London, he reasoned. It certainly was large enough. But he had seen so little of London in his life - the Dursleys had never taken him anywhere. Tourist to England who stopped to see the Tower or Big Ben had likely seen more of the city than he ever had, and he wasn't certain he would be able to distinguish any landmarks that would tell him where he was. As it was, the city was burning, fires glowing on the horizon and sending black smoke into the air.
Dread filled him as he approached the outskirts of the city, moving now along a Muggle roadway. There was no movement up ahead - no fighting or screaming, no one attempting to put out the fires. As he drew closer he understood why - there were bodies everywhere, as far as the eye could see. Men, women and children lay dead in the streets, dead in the cars that sat unmoving in the crowded roadways, dead in the houses that went on forever. He was in a Necropolis, the city of the dead. Some terrible thing had happened here, some great evil that Harry had failed to prevent. The horror of it overwhelmed him, left him trembling as he stood there on the glowing spider web that seemed to mock him with its brilliant pulsing life. Was there a spider, he wondered, at the center of all this, or was he the spider surrounded by the dead?
And then movement caught his eye. Dark shadows detached themselves from the ground and slid toward him - creatures with glowing eyes and features that shifted and changed so that one moment they looked reptilian and the next insectoid. But mostly they were just dark, shadows that grabbed hold of his limbs and pulled him away from the burning city. Their touch was pure evil and chilled his flesh, freezing the blood in his veins as he fought to be free of them.
They carried him back up to the hill away from the death and the fire, and there in the fading light of the setting sun, they bound his body to the gnarled limbs of an old oak tree. Ropes cut into his flesh, the rough bark of the tree digging into his skin as they tied him to the oak. When he hung there at last, unable to move, they drew back and laughed. Their voices shook the earth.
"It is ours now," they told him. "No phoenix will rise from these ashes." And then they were gone, disappearing back into the shadows of the land as the sun sank into the darkness.
Alone, Harry hung there on the tree as he stared down at the burning city of the dead. He could feel the life draining from his body, thirst and hunger gnawing at his insides. Blood drained from some unseen wound and he felt something hot dripping from his eyes. The ravens returned, whispering in his ears as they perched on the gnarled branches of his tree, and as Harry listened he opened his mouth and screamed.
Severus had several cauldrons set up throughout his lab, each containing some element of the Lycanthropy potion. He needed to break it down carefully into these separate parts to make certain it was safe at each step. The chance for a cure to Lycanthropy was worth a great risk - but he would not allow that risk to kill Remus Lupin. For Harry's sake, if nothing else, he had to make certain that the potion would do no harm.
As had become his habit, Harry sat in the living room in front of the fire working on his translation while Severus worked in the lab. Normally, he would have left the lab door closed, blocking out all distractions. But he found that he could not bring himself to do so now - did not want to block out the distraction Harry had become. Harry did not realize that while he worked on the translation, he talked to himself in Parseltongue, no doubt reading out loud while he puzzled out the words. The quiet seductive hissing did something decidedly pleasant to Severus' body. Yet another guilty pleasure he was allowing himself, he realized - but he couldn't bring himself to stop.
When Harry had asked him earlier if he'd ever sensed the magic in the air around Dumbledore, he'd nearly laughed out loud. The boy was clueless! Did he not know that his own magic was becoming more and more noticeable the older he got? Severus was growing addicted to the sensation of touching that magic beneath Harry's skin during their sword lessons. Nighttime was the worst, when Harry slept beside him in the bed and it was all he could do to keep himself from pulling him into his arms. Harry seemed to respond positively to his touch during their lessons, and when Severus complimented him the boy all but glowed with pleasure; but to date he had done nothing that would indicate to Severus that he wanted anything more from him.
More and more he found himself studying his own features in the bathroom mirror as he dressed in the morning, trying to find something favorable in his face that might appeal to a young Gryffindor. Harry had found Julius attractive, and save for their coloring, Severus had little else in common with his brother. Even his past lovers had admitted to him that his most attractive feature was his voice. No one would ever write poetry about his face.
He thought darkly about the smug look on Charlie Weasley's face when he showed up for breakfast in the mornings, and the look of smirking satisfaction in Draco's eyes every time he glanced at the red-haired man. And he thought about obnoxious, fourteen-year-old Hufflepuffs doing unthinkable things to each other in the Room of Requirement - Hufflepuffs for Merlin's sake!
At least, he told himself, Sirius Black was not getting more action than he was. And then a thought occurred to him and he frowned. Black was in the Winter Lands, surrounded by grateful, nubile young witches and wizard who were eager to show their appreciation, and without his wolf jealously guarding his actions, who was to say he was not enjoying himself fully? He grumbled under his breath in irritation - Gryffindors! He hated the lot of them!
Removing his cauldrons from the heat, he set them aside to cool while he set up his Wizarding microscope so that he could test all their reactions and see if they conformed to Slytherin's notes. The sound of screaming in the next room sent his heart plunging, and he grabbed his wand as he abandoned everything to race to Harry's side.
A glance around the living room revealed nothing dangerous, and he focused all his attention on Harry. The boy had fallen asleep, his books and pencil falling from his lap, and without his Dreamless Sleep Draught, he was caught in some nightmare, screaming as he fought to escape his dark visions. Reaching his side Severus caught hold of Harry's shoulders, shaking him urgently. "Harry!" he called, hoping the sound of his voice would snap the boy out of his vision. "Wake up!"
Harry came awake with a start, his eyes flying open. One look into those terrified green orbs told Severus all he needed to know. He pulled Harry into his arms the way he'd seen Black do the night he'd found him in the library - the way he had that night in the Winter Lands when he'd awakened in the middle of the night. Harry's hands clutched at him, and he buried his face against Severus' chest, not sobbing, but screaming as if fighting off equal parts rage and terror. Severus, not knowing what else to do, just held him tightly, stroking his back while he tried to murmur soothing words to the boy. His own heart was racing, terrified by whatever it was the boy might have just seen. He had little doubt now that these were visions that haunted him - not simply dreams. Albus' reaction to the story of the ravens had confirmed as much to him.
Eventually the boy calmed and stopped screaming, but he did not release Severus. Rather he simply turned his head so that his ear was pressed against Severus' chest, listening to his heart beating. He looked almost catatonic, much like he had that night in Black's arms, and Severus was loathed to disturb him, even to find out what he might have seen.
Raising his wand, he summoned a house elf. Like always, it was Dobby who answered the call; since he'd married Harry, Dobby had been waiting on them exclusively, seeming unwilling to allow anyone else the privilege. The little elf wrung his hands in distress when he saw the state Harry was in.
"Harry's had a bad dream," he told the elf. "Go ask Dumbledore to come down here."
The little elf nodded his head and then vanished a moment later. Harry gave no response that he'd even heard the exchange, content just to lie with his head against Severus' chest, his eyes staring at nothing. Severus ran his fingers slowly through the boy's hair. Worried gnawed at him; he was terrible at giving comfort, had no experience doing so. But there was no one else here for the boy.
A moment later, Dobby reappeared, bearing a tray with steaming hot chocolate and a dozen different types of biscuits. "Chocolate is good," the little elf told Severus as he set the tray on the small coffee table near the couch. "Chocolate will helps. Dumbledore is coming."
"Thank you," Severus nodded, expecting the elf to vanish then. But to his surprise, Dobby reached out and gently stroked Harry's shoulder as if carefully petting a frightened kitten.
"Poor, Master Harry," Dobby said sadly. "So hards is it to face the great sleep. Such weights on his head to be facing He-Who-Would-Walk-Alone."
Severus startled at the creature's words, staring at him in shock. "What?" he whispered. He'd never heard an elf say such a thing. "Don't you mean He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
Dobby looked at him with large watery eyes, his ears perked upward. "Elves is knowing a different name," the creature said. "Elves is knowing Professor Snape must not leave Harry Potter. Dobby is not leaving Harry Potter. Not for all the clothes in the world." An instant later, the creature was gone.
Disturbed on so many levels, Severus tightened his arms around Harry, wishing suddenly that he could just shut out the world and keep everyone at bay. He'd known from the start that there were forces amassing against the boy, but he had never felt it so keenly as now. How was he supposed to protect the boy when he could not even keep his dreams from harming him? What possible power did he have to stand against such things?
He heard the door to his quarters open a moment later, and turned his head to nod at the Headmaster as he slipped inside. Albus frowned as he approached, sinking down into the chair beside the couch. "Another dream?" he asked softly.
Severus nodded, and reached out to lift the mug of hot chocolate from the tray. He held it to Harry's lips, urging the boy to drink. The scent of the chocolate seemed to rouse Harry finally, and he drank slowly, finally releasing his death-grip on Severus' robes so that he could take hold of the mug for himself. Some life seeped back into his eyes, and Severus breathed a sigh of relief at the sight.
"Harry?" Albus called softly.
Harry looked surprised to see the headmaster and blinked at his surroundings uncertainly. He closed his eyes briefly shuddering at some memory, before taking another deep sip of his hot chocolate. "I had another dream," he told them, his voice shaking. "Like the last one with the city of the dead, and the spider web. And the ravens."
Severus heart clenched at hearing that the ravens has reappeared in his dream. Now more than ever he was certain it had something to do with the Eye of Odin. He could tell by the frown on Albus' face that he too was disturbed.
"Could you tell what city it was, Harry?" Albus asked.
But Harry shook his head. "Maybe it was London. I don't know. I didn't recognize it. It was on fire, and everyone in it was dead."
"You saw the bodies?" Albus asked, and Harry nodded in response. "What killed them?"
Harry frowned at that, staring thoughtfully at the steam rising from his mug of chocolate. "I don't know," he admitted. "There were no marks on their bodies. They were just dead."
"And the spider web?"
"Glowing beams of light on the ground spreading out in all directions like a giant web," Harry described, shaking his head as if bewildered.
"Could be ley lines," Albus suggested, glancing at Severus who nodded in agreement.
"Ley lines?" Harry asked.
"Lines of force in the earth through which energy flows," Severus explained.
Harry nodded as if that sounded accurate. "Maybe," he agreed. "But they don't seem to have any bearing on the dream. They don't do anything in the dream. They're just there. There were creatures there this time as well. Monsters, shadows."
"Dementors?" Albus suggested.
"No," Harry shook his head. "Something else. Something worse. They said the phoenix would not rise from these ashes. I felt as if the sun would never rise again."
"And the ravens, Harry," Albus pressed. "Did they speak to you? Do you remember what they said?"
The boy looked up at him then, his face open and sad. "It's not words," he explained. "It's secrets. But I don't remember them. I think in the dream I understand what they're saying, but I don't remember it now." He sighed and touched his forehead, pressing his fingers against his scar. "My head hurts."
Albus gave Severus a look and he nodded in understanding, taking Harry's mug from his hands and pulling the boy to his feet. "Let's get you to bed, Harry," he urged. "You'll feel better in the morning."
Harry did not protest as Severus led him to their bedroom. He used his wand to transfigure his clothes into pajamas. As Harry climbed into bed, Severus reached into the nightstand and removed one of his potion vials of Dreamless Sleep Draught. He lifted it to Harry's lips and held it while the boy drank it down. Then he sat and waited with Harry for the potion to take effect, watching closely as he grew drowsy under the effects.
"Severus," the boy murmured as his eyelids grew heavy, closing against his will.
"Yes, Harry?"
"It sounds like music," Harry said, already drifting off.
Music? Severus frowned. "What does, Harry?" he asked. "What sounds like music?"
A faint smile touched the boy's lips. "Your heartbeat," he whispered, and then was gone, lost beneath the soothing power of the potion.