"Why do you hate me so much?" Harry asked, moving the food around on his plate. After the nightmares last night, food really wasn’t appealing. All that blood . . .

Snape didn’t answer, and Harry looked up from playing with his food to see that Snape was diligently ignoring him, causing Harry to get angry. Every time Harry had decided to ignore Snape during the past five days, he would get in trouble. Harry asked him a simple question, and Snape had the nerve to ignore him!

"Well?" Harry asked. "And don’t say it’s because I’m an ‘unsufferable brat’ or whatever you’ve been calling me for the past few days. I’ve been good for the past two days! But really! You’ve hated me even before you met me. Is it because of my father? Or because of my fame? Because I never knew my father, so that’s not really a reason. And I don’t want to be famous. Or is it just because you have to hate everyone?"

Snape put his mug down hard onto the table, glaring hard at the boy sitting across from him. How he had ever agreed to take the boy into him home until the wards were ready!

"You, Potter, are extremely unappreciative and entirely unable to understand how much you are given! You choose to risk your life foolishly despite the fact that everyone has been risking their lives for you to stay alive. You regularly disobey simple rules because you think yourself above them! You react with absolutely no consideration for others! There are many, many wizards who deserve what you have, who would love and appreciate it much more than you are even capable of. With how you act, you don’t deserve any of it," Snape spat at him.

Harry looked at Snape blankly before standing up and walking away, leaving his plate of food uneaten. Snape merely sneered after him, convinced that the brat couldn’t handle being called on his selfish personality.

Four hours later, Harry was laying on the bed he had used for almost a week now, staring at the blank ceiling and hoping that Dumbledore would hurry up and get the wards updated on Privet Drive soon. He didn’t think he could handle being with Snape for much longer.

Was that really how people saw him, though? Those that weren’t so blinded by his fame? Was he really the spoiled brat that Snape pictured him to be? He didn’t want to believe it. He wasn’t anything like his cousin. Or even Malfoy. He did appreciate what he was given. Didn’t he?

The more Harry thought about it, he really wasn’t so sure anymore. He was given a lot. Dumbledore never gave him detention or took of points for being out of the common room after curfew, and he was always risking his life.

Did everyone really risk their lives for him? It was just for the war, right? He really wasn’t that important. There was the prophecy, but that was more Voldemort’s reaction to it than anything, right? Dumbledore didn’t actually expect Harry to be able to kill Voldemort, who was a much more powerful wizard than he was.

Right?

By dinner, Harry had argued himself into an extremely depressive mood, and he didn’t bother going down to eat. It wasn’t as if he was hungry, anyway. Anytime he thought of food, he thought of all those bodies being picked at by the crows . . .

All around him was dark, and the smell of blood was thick in the air. He could make out the Dark Mark above the field he was in, but even that was hard to see.

"Even if you are sulking, Potter, you still are required at meals," a voice said harshly, waking a grateful Harry from his dream. Reality soon fell back down, though, and he realized it was Snape who was talking to him. Closing his eyes once again, Harry willed himself to let everything go. He didn’t realize when Snape started yelling at him again.

". . . again!"

"Everything would be better if I didn’t exist, wouldn’t it?" Harry asked aloud. "If I weren’t alive?"

Snape stopped his ranting when he heard that. Harry, of course, hadn’t noticed.

"Potter, answer me!" Snape shouted for about the fifth time, finally gaining Harry’s attention.

"Huh?" he asked, not bothering to open his eyes yet.

"What did you mean by that?"

"You said I didn’t deserve to live . . ." Harry answered in monotone, and Snape closed his eyes, sighing inwardly.

"That is not what I said. I was merely stating that you take advantage of situations without realizing how much you are given in comparison to others."

"But I don’t," Harry continued. "I’m really not important. Many more people would live if I didn’t," he said, remembering his latest nightmare. "Voldemort wouldn’t be killing people to get to me anymore . . ."

"Do not speak his name! He would find other reasons to kill, then," Severus stated flatly, then stopped to think. "I believe you are in a stage of . . . something. When was the last time you actually ate more than a few bites?"

"I don’t know," Harry answered, wishing Snape would just leave so he didn’t have to worry about it.

"Why haven’t you been eating?"

"Not hungry."

"Why not? You haven’t been eating. You should be hungry."

"Can’t. Dreams . . ."

It then fell together for Snape. Why Potter hadn’t been eating (he thought it was just Potter sulking at first) and why he was currently crying. Possibly even this new, depressed mood that he was going though.

"And what do these dreams entail?" Snape asked. Harry didn’t answer at first, and Snape was about to catch the boy for not paying attention when he started to speak.

The dreams that Harry told Snape disturbed him to no end. Dead bodies, the sacrificial, suicidal manner to them . . .

Snape cursed Dumbledore for throwing an emotionally disturbed boy at him to take care of.

"Potter, they are nothing but dreams. Merely your subconscious mind incorrectly interpreting situations. I will get you some Dreamless sleep which you may use for the next two nights, but no longer. If often helps to deal with dreams while you are not running on a tired mind to begin with."

And so Harry slept well for the first time in three weeks.

"Can’t I have more dreamless sleep?" Harry asked Snape, who was sitting across the table from him, staring angrily while Harry mixed the foods on his plate with his fork. He didn’t quite understand why Snape was so angry. The man didn’t have to sit there and watch him pretend to eat. He wasn’t hungry, so this was all really pointless, anyway.

"No."

"But I’m not hungry when I have the nightmares," Harry pointed out. Did he just not understand?

"Continuing to take the potion will not help you."

"I can sleep," Harry continued to argue. "And I eat."

"That is not your problem."

"Of course it is!" Harry shouted. "I take the potion, I sleep, I eat fine the next day. It is the problem!"

"You are merely telling yourself that because you don’t wish to face your true problem."

"Which is . . ." Harry spat, pushing his plate away.

"That you are emotionally unstable."

"I am not!" Harry argued.

"Your dreams would suggest otherwise."

Harry had enough. He glared at the man and stood up quickly, knocking over his chair, before he left the room quickly.

He found himself once again staring at the especially boring ceiling of the room, but it wasn’t as if there were any other points in the room that were any better. At least with the ceiling he was laying on his back.

But laying down meant more chance to fall asleep. Harry didn’t want that.

He sat up, setting up the pillow between him and the headboard so it would support his back and set his eyes to stare at the wardrobe that was now in front of him. Who knew that there were so many colors in dark, stained wood? Definitely more interesting than the plain, white ceiling.

Snape didn’t leave him alone very long this time, and Harry scowled at him as he entered the room without knocking. Not that he closed the door. He reminded himself to do so (and lock it) at future times.

Harry ignored Snape as the man stood in the doorway, crossed-armed. It was weird how, when he looked at the wardrobe straight on and squinting his eyes, Snape almost looked like a ghost.

"What are your dreams telling you, Potter?" Snape asked.

"That everything would be better off if I gave myself up," Harry answered flatly. He already told the man that.

"That is not what I am asking. Look at your dream without your emotions tied in. From my view."

"Your view?" Harry asked. Harry tried, barely, and he couldn’t come up with anything. He shrugged. "Same thing."

"Your dreams are pointing out that you feel guilty. They are not saying you are. You need to let go of these selfish feelings."

"I’m not feeling selfish," Harry argued. "How is giving myself up be selfish? I doing it for everyone else."

"No, you wouldn’t be. You would be doing it because you feel guilty. No one is blaming you for any of it. It is in your head."

"You’re calling me mad!" Harry shouted.

"Perhaps you are. Perhaps you need to be committed to the mental ward at St. Mungos."

"You wish. They you’d be rid of me and you could hate me at a distance instead of here in your house. You’d love to be rid of me for good," Harry commented.

"I’d like it if you would behave and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"Hmph," Harry said, angry still.

"Get to sleep. Clear your mind, think good thoughts, and go to sleep," Snape sneered. "I will wake you for dinner."

Snape left and Harry didn’t move, keeping his arms crossed and continued staring at the wardrobe.

Sleep. Yeah, right. Why? To have another nightmare?

Thinking good thoughts might not be so bad. How he wished to go flying. That would make him feel better. He hadn’t been on a broom for so long. Riding on the thestrals just wasn’t the same. Especially since that ride ended so bad . . .

"Huh?" Harry asked, pushing away the covers. How did he get covered, anyway? They reminded him too much of the blood . . .

"I said it is time to eat. Did you sleep well?"

"No," Harry spat.

"Another nightmare then."

Snape prompted Harry to tell him the details. Although reluctant, Harry did, with as much detail as he could. He wanted Snape to understand how horrible the dreams were!

"I see," Snape said afterwards. "What were you thinking about before you fell asleep?"

"Flying," Harry answered. "Flying on brooms and thestrals, and how I want to fly."

"Perhaps later," Snape answered. "Did you clear your mind?"

"I fell asleep," Harry replied.

"Therefore, you didn’t. I believe if you clear your mind, it will help you with your dreams."

"Oh, shove off," Harry said and Harry jumped as Snape stepped towards him.

"You will eat now . . . everything, and we will discuss what I believe your dreams are saying at a later time. When I know more."

Harry glared at Snape as he got off the bed, his shoes still on. He knew he had to eat now or Snape would find a way to force the food down his throat. He just hoped he could keep it down.

"Can I go outside?" Harry asked quickly, taking a small bite of his potatoes.

"It is raining," Snape answered flatly.

"Yeah, I know . . . but I’ll only stay under the . . . what’s that thing called? The thing next to the garden?" Harry rebutted, messing up by not remembering what it was called. Snape told him (several times) what it was, but, although he had been sleeping a little better now, he just couldn’t remember. If Harry learned anything in the past week, it was that Snape hated to repeat himself.

Snape just gave him a glare, not answering to the request or the question. Harry hated when the man did that. If he didn’t want to answer a question, he would just stop the conversation and pretend that Harry didn’t exist. Of course, during the times that Harry didn’t want to speak, he was always forced to. Especially when it came to Snape’s interpretations of the dreams.

It wasn’t that what Snape talked about didn’t make sense (it did, mostly), but Harry really had trouble believing that understanding them would stop his nightmares. It did help that Snape went into more detail on how to clear his mind (mostly), but it didn’t help that Harry forgot nearly every other day and when he did remember, his mind always got ‘uncleared’ by the time he actually fell asleep.

"So, can I?" Harry asked, not letting this go like he did most topics. He hadn’t been outside since his second day here, when he went out to the garden without Snape’s permission.

"You will bring one of your old text books out with you to read. One that you haven’t gone through already," Snape answered, and Harry outwardly groaned. Snape had made Harry read through many of his old school books within the past six days, and he would ask questions to make sure Harry really did read. He really did hate it.

"Fine," Harry relented after a few minutes of thinking about it, standing up to go find a book so he could go outside, hoping that Snape wouldn’t realize that he only ate three bites of his food. Snape didn’t say anything, but Harry swore he could feel the man’s eyes burning into his back. The evil git.

Grabbing his Potions book (it was either that, History of Magic, or Divination), Harry grabbed his cloak so he could protect himself and the book for the short distance it was to the . . . whatever it was called and headed for the back door of the small house.

When he left the house, it felt so good to be outside that he just stood in the rain for a minute, not bothering to make a progress toward his ultimate goal.

"Get yourself to the gazebo!" Snape yelled from window on the second floor and Harry turned to glare at him. Or tried to, anyway. He couldn’t see Snape from his position on the ground.

But he knew what it was called now. Gazebo. Gazebo. He was going to have to remember that. It was such a strange word.

When Harry got to the gazebo (honestly, who would name something that?), he sat down on one of the swings, laughing once again at how strange it was for Snape to have a swing. Snape had told him, several times, that it came with the house, but Harry still found it funny. He’d have to tell Ron that once he got back to Hogwarts. Imagine, Snape sitting on a swing on a warm, sunny day, in his black robes and with a potions book.

Harry sighed. The two images really didn’t work together very well.

One chapter into the book, Harry was bored. The rain sounded so soothing it was annoying, especially when he was trying to concentrate on the book in his lap. The addition of porcupine quills did absolutely nothing to hold his attention . . .

"Potter!" Harry heard, waking up with a jump and dropping his book to the wood floor of the gazebo. Realizing that Snape wasn’t any sort of dark shape, for the most part anyway, he relaxed a little and picked up the abused book.

"You were sent out here to read, not to sleep. I suppose you did not even clear your mind before taking your nap," Snape continued.

"I wasn’t expecting to fall asleep!" Harry argued. "The rain kind of put me to sleep."

"Then you will go inside, and you can be happy that you just wasted your time outside sleeping. It is dinner time anyway."

"I’m really not hungry," he replied.

"You have no choice in the matter, as you have only a total of five bites of food today," the Potions professor spat, starting to walk away.

"No, I mean I’m really not hungry," Harry emphasized, trying to avoid any dry heaves. It was still raining, and, although it was light out and it was perfectly clear that the rain was nothing but water, he couldn’t help but image it being dark red blood falling from the sky. It didn’t help much at all that Snape looked like one of the dark shapes out of the corner of his eyes. "I think I’m going to sick up."

"I will give you a stomach calming potion, because you will eat. I baby sit you enough as it is, I don’t have any want to have to feed you by hand when you get so weak from the lack of food that you are unable to make it to the table yourself."

Forgetting about the book, Harry ran inside, trying to get away from the rain. Right now, he didn’t care if he had to eat. As long as he got out of the rain.

"Why did my dad and Sirius hate you so much?" Harry asked, trying his best to get out of eating; the nightmare last night was especially disturbing.

"You are to start reading the charms book that placed on your desk this morning," Snape replied, blatantly ignoring him. "It is the same book that Professor Flitwick has been using for the past eight years. Perhaps if you read ahead, you might actually do decent in your classes this year."

"I do decent!" Harry complained, then scowled at Snape for changing the subject so easily. "And why did they hate you? Was it because you were a Slytherin? Or was it for reason like Malfoy and I hate each other?"

Snape once again took to ignoring Harry, but Harry was determined not to let this go now. It wasn’t just because he didn’t want to eat, he honestly wanted to know why Snape and his father (and his father’s friends) hated each other so much.

"Malfoy was a prat from the beginning. He sprouted out bad words about muggleborn to a complete stranger, me, and then had the nerve to ask whether my parents were wizards or not. And then he insulted Ron and his family – the first people besides Hagrid who was nice to me for years – then threatened me when I said I’d rather stay away from people like him. Is it something like that?"

As Snape continued to ignore him, Harry moved the food around on his plate again, tempted to make Snape angry so he could storm away from the table and go to his room, but he decided against that for two reasons. One, an angry Snape was never a good thing, and two, the prospect of reading more school texts wasn’t very exciting. He would just have to get the information out of Snape some other way, like the man got information out of him so much.

"Black was cruel to me for years before Hogwarts," Snape actually said, angrily of course, while Harry was thinking of what to say next. "As you’ve met his mother’s portrait, I will leave it to you to deduce why."

Harry thought, confused for a second. That still didn’t make much sense.

"Aren’t you a pureblood?" Harry asked curiously. He always assumed so. Ex-Death Eater, a Slytherin . . . it all pointed to pureblood.

"No. Half blood." Irritation rang heavily in Snape’s voice.

"Oh," Harry said, pushing his chair back to leave. That would mean that before Hogwarts, Sirius had a ‘thing’ against anyone but purebloods.

"You will not leave until you finish everything on your plate," Snape said flatly.

"You don’t need to force me to eat like some little kid," Harry complained, sitting down hard and glaring at the man in front of him.

"Obviously, I do. Now eat. And after you are done, you are to read on the sofa in the sitting room."

"Why?"

"Because almost every time I leave to read on your own, you fall asleep. Perhaps if you exhaust yourself, along with clearing your mind before you sleep, you will not have your nightmares."

"Exhaust myself by reading? Yeah, I’ll fall asleep because of boredom!"

"After you read through chapter 7 of the book, which should take you approximately three hours, you will go outside and walk around the outer edge of the yard while I garden, which should expel the extra energy in you. Then you will eat dinner, which I expect you to eat quite a bit because you would have walked for three hours by then, and then you will finish the charms book. I will quiz you before you go to bed."

"Outside?" Harry asked while trying to comprehend what Snape had just told him. "Wait, you planned my day for me? And you expect me to walk for three hours straight?"

"You may run or jog also, if you wish."

"Yeah, but just walk? That would be worse than reading all day!" Harry complained.

"I have thought of that. I have several muggle recordings of muggle novels that you may sort through and pick to listen to while you walk."

"And you want me to read an entire book today?" Harry continued asking.

"Yes."

"Fine," Harry spat and stood up quickly, not liking having his day scheduled like a kid in primary school. Leaving without finishing his meal, Harry went to his room, grabbed the annoying charms book from the desk, and walked haughtily down the stairs to the sitting room, sitting down on the ugly couch soon before Snape walked in and sat in his usual chair, which Harry knew from experience was much more comfortable.

It wasn’t long before Harry started drifting off, despite the pokiness of the couch and Snape in the chair across from him . . .

"Potter! Wake up!" Harry woke the voice speaking and a hand shaking him.

"Eeeh," he whimpered.

"You were screaming," Snape continued when he realized that Harry was awake. "Was this one worse than your others? You have never screamed before."

"I killed ‘em," Harry said, refusing to uncurl himself.

"Killed who?" Snape asked softly, causing Harry to pay attention. Since when did Snape talk softly like that?

"Someone. One of them."

"A Death Eater?" Snape asked, and Harry shook his head as well as he could in his current position.

"Just one of them who were walking around. They were screaming, then they stopped. I didn’t want them to stop because of the hum, so I hit one with an arrow and they started to scream again."

"And you started to scream afterwards?" Snape asked, and Harry gave a small nod.

"The hum was worse than the screaming, and I didn’t want it to be the only noise . . ."

"Perhaps you should go for your walk now," Snape said, pulling Harry to his feet and leading him to where he kept the books-on-tape for him to listen to.

"I didn’t have a nightmare last night," Harry said, gobbling his food down. "Or, at least I don’t think so. I think I had a dream, but I don’t really remember it." He took another few bites before looking at Snape. Snape, like during most meals, ignored him, opting to stare down his food rather than converse with Harry. "I think what we’ve been doing has been working, although I think I could read less. I’m running out of books for next school year."

"I do not fear you running out of books to read. I have plenty," Snape answered, and Harry sighed. Books, books, books. It was beginning to be so annoying. Well, not really beginning to. More like way past.

"Fine," Harry replied. "What book is it today?" he asked rudely, dropping his fork on the table. He was sick of reading.

"Potter," Snape said quietly, dangerous. "I have told you before, you will behave. You are given freedom all morning. And what do you do with that time? You sit and stare into the fire."

Harry was about to start yelling, but he was able to stop himself in time to actually think. As much as he didn’t want to admit it (he refused to, actually), Snape had a point. He started eating again, this time at a slower pace and ignoring the smirk that now appeared on the man’s face.

"What book am I reading today?" Harry asked again, this time actually wanting to know.

"I was thinking about letting you choose today, but because of your little outburst, I think I will postpone that a day. You will be reading the advanced potions text."

"Potions? But you said that you ‘highly doubt’ that I’d make it into your 6th year class. Why would I . . ."

"In the unlikely chance that you did receive an O on your Potions O.W.L., I will not have you blowing up the classroom. The potions that are worked with in the class take understanding, not just following instructions, which you have enough trouble with . . ." Snape trailed off, and Harry inwardly groaned. "Tomorrow, we will begin basic potion preparation," Snape finished. "Make sure that you have read though the book entirely, as you will be learning techniques from there."

Harry didn’t reply, just ate until he was full, then pushed his plate away.

"Where’s the book?" Harry asked, deciding not to fight on the matter. No matter what, Snape would win some way or other.

"It should be in the pile of books next to the sofa," Snape answered, and Harry got up and headed for the sitting room and sorted through the seven books on the table until he came to the Potions books.

"Another day reading," Harry complained to himself, deciding to read on the couch, even though it wasn’t very comfortable. He fixed that slightly by piling a few blankets on it, so it fit him perfectly now. At least he was given a choice on where to read, now. Snape seemed to be getting nicer as the days went on.

A chapter into the book, Harry was glad that it wasn’t just filled with potions, but information on how they worked and such. It he had to just read a bunch of potion recipes, Harry was sure he would have gone crazy. Not that what he was reading was really that much more interesting. If a bezoar worked to counter most poisons, why bother figuring out how to figure out how to make an antidote for those poisons, especially if the person could die before you could figure it out . . .

Unless, of course, there wasn’t a bezoar available (Harry vowed to keep one with him and all times now, especially after a conversation he and Snape had a few days ago about how there might be children of Death Eaters who might have orders to hurt certain people . . .), or if the bezoar didn’t work, they would have to figure an antidote out anyway . . .

"Can you ever read without falling asleep?" Snape asked, waking Harry up, and it took him a few minutes before he realized what Snape had said.

"I didn’t fall asleep yesterday," Harry argued, then sighed, thinking about his dream. He didn’t think it was a nightmare. Sure, it was kind of weird, and a little scary, but it was nothing like his nightmares during previous nights and naps. This was the only one he remembered that didn’t involve the outright death of someone or pools of blood.

"Nightmare?" Snape asked shortly, and Harry shook his head.

"Weird dream, but not nightmare. I saved him," he said, outwardly proud of that fact.

"I see," Snape replied, sitting in his chair. "Continue reading. You have a couple hours of reading before walking yet. We will discuss your . . . dream before bed."

Harry shot the Potions master a smirk before picking up the book that was laying in his lap. He could sleep once again without having a nightmare that caused him to sick up or loose his appetite! As much as he didn’t want to continue reading the potions book, it was a lot easier to read it in a good mood. Even Snape and his stupid potions weren’t about to get him out of that good mood.

Harry smiled when he noticed Snape roll his eyes at his childish behavior. He didn’t care. He could sleep!