By the time Dumbledore arrived in the late afternoon, Harry had only read the first three chapters in his new book. Of course, he’d probably read them multiple times each, if one counted all the pages he’d read and then re-read after realizing his wandering thoughts had kept him from actually processing anything. So when he heard the distinct sound of someone outside the door to the kitchen, he closed his book in a hurry. He didn’t see any point in making his lack of reading progress blatantly obvious to the headmaster.

Snape noticed, of course, if his smirk was any indication. But when didn’t the seasoned spy notice everything around him? Harry just hoped he wouldn’t spitefully suggest that Dumbledore give some kind of oral exam on his readings.

“Harry! Good to see you, my boy! And Severus,” Dumbledore nodded cheerfully to the professor upon entering the kitchen, “I see you are working on your lesson plans. Very good, very good.”

Thankfully, Dumbledore and Snape started right in on a discussion of the upcoming year’s Potions curriculum, leaving Harry to enjoy the delay in discussing anything having to do with visions, Voldemort, or Occlumency.

Harry sighed as he watched the professors talking. It wasn’t that he hated Occlumency. He was mainly worried about how Dumbledore would decide to teach him. Would he use the same attack methods that Snape had used? Harry didn’t look forward to having to give up more of his memories, even if he did trust Dumbledore more than he trusted Snape.

And if he let himself admit it, he was kind of apprehensive for another reason. If he failed to learn this time, would Dumbledore come to the same conclusion that Snape had – that Harry was completely, hopelessly inept?

“Shall we retire to the drawing room then, Harry?” Dumbledore’s voice broke into his thoughts, and the older wizard gestured to the door. Harry gave a half-hearted smile before resignedly following him out of the room and into the hallway. The only thing he heard as he left the kitchen was the familiar scratching of Snape’s quill against parchment.

“Sit, Harry, please,” Dumbledore pointed to a chair when they arrived at the drawing room. He sat on the sofa opposite Harry. The table between them was already laid out with two tall glasses and a tray of assorted finger foods. “Upon my arrival, I took the liberty of requesting that Dobby provide us with a few refreshments,” Dumbledore explained at Harry’s curious glance.

“Oh. It…it looks good,” Harry answered. It didn’t look good though, not really. His stomach was starting to knot up. Was Dumbledore going to begin the evening by asking him about the book or by attacking his mind? Neither option sounded too appealing.

“Professor Snape has explained to you that I will be continuing your lessons, I presume?” Dumbledore asked conversationally, helping himself to some of the refreshments.

Harry cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.” Dumbledore reached for his glass and took a sip before continuing. “Now. There are a few things we should discuss first.”

“You mean the visions?” Harry guessed. “The ones from Voldemort? Professor Snape told me you’d want to hear about them.”

“Well, yes - I would like to discuss that with you, though perhaps later, I think.” Dumbledore leveled his gaze at Harry. “I was not previously aware that you had been having visions, Harry.”

Harry looked down at the disappointment in the headmaster’s tone. It was amazing how the headmaster could say what he meant without having to actually say it. Harry knew the headmaster was expressing his displeasure that Harry hadn’t come to him earlier.

“We will discuss the specifics later, then.” the headmaster continued at Harry’s silence. “If you have indeed been having visions from Voldemort, I would like for Professor Snape to be present at your recounting.”

“Why?” asked Harry. He hadn’t thought about it earlier, but now…why did Snape have to be so involved in every detail of his life lately? It was starting to exhaust him, really.

“Professor Snape knows Lord Voldemort extremely well, Harry. I would like for him to hear the details of your visions in case he has additional insight to share.” Dumbledore paused, then continued, “Additionally, Harry, Professor Snape is sharing close quarters with you this summer. Should you have another vision, he will likely be the only one around.”

Harry nodded. That, he unfortunately knew.

“We will revisit this before I leave today,” the headmaster added, “but while we are alone, I want you to give your word to me that should you have another vision from Voldemort, you will immediately inform Professor Snape.”

Harry looked up, dread on his face. “Can’t I just firecall you? Or Remus? Why does it have to be him?”

“Your word, Harry,” Dumbledore pressed intently, “Day or night, I want your word that you will go to him straightaway with any more visions.”

“From Voldemort,” Harry clarified, suddenly thinking of his other dreams. He didn’t know if he could call them visions, exactly…to tell the truth, he had no idea what to call them. But he wasn’t eager to promise the sharing of those, especially as he hadn’t given much of his own waking time to thinking them over.

“Yes, Harry, from Voldemort.” The headmaster gave him a searching look but made no further comment.

Harry nodded again, grudgingly. “Okay, alright. I promise.”

“Excellent. Now, what I wanted to speak with you about –”

“That wasn’t it?”

“No, my dear boy, although we may want to have a discussion sometime about the inappropriateness of interrupting one’s elders.”

Harry flushed, though from Dumbledore’s smiling eyes, he could tell he was being teased, not lectured.

“I want to speak with you about a rather delicate matter,” the headmaster went on, the smile fading from his eyes. “I sent someone to have a little…chat with your relatives.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

“As you left their household so abruptly, I felt it necessary to send someone to explain to them that you were with friends and would not be returning for the remainder of holiday.”

“Oh,” Harry replied simply, recovering from his surprise at the topic. The Dursleys had been the absolute last thing on his mind. He wasn’t sure how he felt about another wizard going to meet them…especially if they had gone out of courtesy. He couldn’t help but add, “I bet they weren’t happy to hear that.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “I was under the impression that all concerned were satisfied with your temporary move.”

“I meant they wouldn’t be happy to hear I was with friends,” Harry explained darkly. “You’d have made them loads happier if you’d told them I was captured by dark wizards or something.”

Dumbledore made no reply to that. He merely sipped from his tall glass. After a moment, he spoke again, calmly. “My representative was not welcomed with open arms, to say the least. However, he was able to relay the message. He also managed to very firmly discuss what would happen if they were to ever attempt to harm you again.”

“Yeah, well, threats never did much good, you know,” Harry felt the need to point out. “Moody threatened them, and it only took them a bit longer to get nasty.” Then he registered Dumbledore’s phrasing, and he felt a chill run through him alongside a horrible rising suspicion. “Wait a minute, you said ‘again.’ I thought I didn’t have to go back there.”

“You will not return this summer. You have fortunately resided there enough time for the blood magic to be renewed. As for next summer…” Dumbledore sighed. “Harry, I cannot make any promises to you in that regard. Depending upon the status of the war and the extent of danger to you, you may very well need to return to the Dursleys for a short time in order to be safe.”

“What?” Harry asked numbly. He couldn’t help a sharp stab of betrayal that shot through his gut. He’d thought…he’d honestly thought that the headmaster had let him stay at Grimmauld Place because he cared about him, because he didn’t want him to be hurt. Maybe even that he cared enough to not want Harry to be unhappy. But now… He stood, the feeling of betrayal giving way to a sudden fury. “When have I ever been safe there? Just a few days ago, you said it wasn’t in my best interests to go back! Professor Snape told you what they were like! Snape, who hates me,” he angrily pointed out, “told you how bad they are!  And now you’re saying, after knowing all that, you’re just going to send me back anyway?”

“Harry, we have an entire year to discuss –”

“RIGHT.” Harry’s voice rose to a shout, though images of the headmaster’s office last year surfaced briefly before he pushed them aside. This was different. This was worse. The combination of betrayal and anger surged through his veins. “BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT WILL REALLY HAPPEN, WON’T IT?  WE’LL DISCUSS, BUT THEN YOU’LL MAKE THE DECISION!  AND THERE WILL BE NOTHING I CAN SAY TO CHANGE IT!”

“Harry, sit down –”

“WHY SHOULD I?”

The answer came from behind an opening drawing room door. “Because you’re yelling down the bloody house, Potter.” Snape peered stiffly through the narrow opening. “What in Merlin’s name – Is everything quite alright, Albus?”

“Yes, Severus,” Dumbledore sighed wearily. “A minor disagreement. We’ll be fine, thank you.”

“Minor?” Harry backed away from Dumbledore. “This isn’t minor! THIS IS MY LIFE!”

“Harry, please sit down.” Dumbledore spoke softly, as if saying it louder might cause him physical pain.

Harry didn’t sit; he remained standing where he was, rage boiling inside him. Just when I’d decided maybe that I could trust him. He clamped his lips firmly together. Dumbledore didn’t want him to yell? Fine. But he wouldn’t do him the courtesy of talking. Let the old man fill the silence.

But Snape broke the silence first, criticism in his voice, “This is the selfsame headmaster you claimed to ‘respect,’ Potter? You clearly have little concept of what that term implies.”

“Severus.” Dumbledore held up a hand to silence Snape, his eyes never straying from Harry’s furious gaze. “Harry has a right to be upset. I only ask that he hear me out.”

Harry kept silent, afraid of what else might come pouring out if he opened his tightly closed lips.

Snape looked from Dumbledore to Harry and back again, then backed out of the room without a word.

Harry couldn’t help what he did next. He didn’t give himself time to think about it, even. He opened those tightly closed lips, not even caring that it was Snape he was calling out to, and said, “He’s sending me back! You saw what the Dursleys are like. Tell him he can’t send me back!”

The retreating professor paused, hand on the doorknob, and fixed puzzled eyes on Harry.

Harry felt like sinking through the floor. He hadn’t meant to sound pleading, and he couldn’t believe he’d just asked Snape, of all people, for help. But…Snape had taken him away from them and somehow convinced Dumbledore to let him stay here. It stood to reason he might be able to keep him from going back again.

Dumbledore’s voice cut through the awkward moment, weariness shining through in every syllable, “Harry, I am not suggesting that you return anytime soon. I am not even saying that you ever will. I simply need for you to be prepared for the possibility that you may not be safe anywhere else.”

Harry gave voice then to what was really bothering him – something that bothered him a dozen times more than the Dursleys themselves ever could. After all, he could deal with the Dursleys. He hated them, but he could get through whatever they decided to do to him. What he couldn’t deal with was knowing that Dumbledore didn’t care how hard it was for him to do so. “I know that you know now! You know they don’t let me eat all the time and how my uncle gets when he’s angry and that they treat me like a house-elf, all things you claim not to have known before! How can you say I’d be safe? You even admitted less than a week ago that it wasn’t the best place for me! And now you’re going back on it!”

“I did not say for certain that you will –”

“Fine! You said maybe I’ll go back! Don’t you see? It doesn’t make a difference if you’ve decided for sure! The fact that you’re even considering it –” Harry broke off, a wave of hurt preventing him from continuing without yelling or, Merlin forbid, crying. He took a deep breath.

“I am to understand this…altercation is over a suggestion to return Mr. Potter to his relatives’ home,” Snape stated, not asking, as it was clear that was the case.

Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You may as well enter, Severus, as Harry has made it clear you are not an unwelcome participant in this conversation.”

Snape accepted the invitation, fully stepping into the room, and closed the door behind him. Just as well, thought Harry. An open, unguarded door was too tempting an escape.

The man stood just inside the room and stiffly crossed his arms over his chest. Harry couldn’t tell by Snape’s expressionless face what he thought of the situation. He just counted himself fortunate that his professor hadn’t yet insisted that the headmaster send him back right away due to his insolence.

Harry quickly rummaged through his mind for something, some way to make Dumbledore understand how horrible it was to contemplate going back to the Dursleys ever again after finally feeling reassured that he was done with them once and for all. Anything…

“They kept me in a cupboard,” he burst out impulsively, then almost clamped his hands over his mouth. Oh god. Why hadn’t he given it more thought before blurting out something so humiliating?

“Pardon?” Snape was the one who asked; Dumbledore hadn’t said anything for several seconds and looked rather exhausted.

Harry took a steadying breath. Well…he may as well finish what he started. He rushed to explain before he could change his mind, “Before I got my Hogwarts letter, I lived in the cupboard under the stairs. I wasn’t allowed a bedroom, and they locked me in, sometimes for days at a time, and they didn’t always give me food when they did, either, and I only got Dudley’s second bedroom when they thought wizards might find out, and –”

“Harry…Harry, my child,” interrupted Dumbledore, who had risen during Harry’s rambling to walk over to him. He reached out a hand, and Harry flinched, jumping back from the contact. He glared at the headmaster as he edged further away, toward the door, though it was hard to glare what with trying to keep his fraying emotions from showing.

“You can’t send me back there,” Harry whispered, still backing away, “not because of the Dursleys, but because of you and me. Now you know how much they hate me. If you send me back, I’ll know that all you care about is my role in this bloody war. I’ll know you don’t care a flip about me.”

As angry as he was, as soon as those words left Harry’s mouth, he felt a deep pang of regret. The feeling worsened as he witnessed Dumbledore’s face seeming to age before his eyes. He was even almost sure he detected a touch of grief in the wizard’s eyes.

A throat cleared immediately behind Harry, and he jumped, spinning around. In his inching away from Dumbledore, he’d very nearly backed into Snape. The dark man loomed above him, perhaps more intimidating right then because of Harry’s overwrought state. The Potions professor’s mask of indifference was still in place, but as he met Harry’s eyes, Harry saw a flicker of some  unidentifiable emotion. He started to back away from him too before he realized that would just bring him closer to Dumbledore, so he simply pivoted to face the headmaster, deciding at that moment he preferred close proximity even to Snape than to Dumbledore.

“Harry…” Dumbledore said hesitantly, “I…am so sorry for all that you have been through. It was never my intention for you to be hurt such as you were. I knew it was not ideal, that is true…but you are correct; I now possess more information than I did. And, as we would all do well to remember, with more knowledge comes greater responsibility.”

Harry couldn’t have interrupted if he’d wanted to. As angry as he’d just been, he now felt deflated at the pain in Dumbledore’s eyes, and at knowing that he’d caused it with his sharp words. He finally just listened.

“You are under the misunderstanding, Harry, that I underestimate that responsibility. Please believe me when I state that should circumstances necessitate your return to the Dursleys’ home, you would not go as unprotected as you have in past years.”

Harry regarded him silently for a moment. “What do you mean?” he asked with a tinge of skepticism.

Dumbledore gestured to the chair. “Now that I believe you may listen, I think we might all prefer to be more comfortable.”

Harry didn’t move.

Dumbledore sat anyway, returning to his seat on the sofa and helping himself to a long drink from his glass. “Severus?” he addressed Snape, offering him a seat on the other end of the sofa.

Harry watched the professor walk over to the proffered seat, deliberating over whether to take the olive branch or to remain standing as a show of defiance. With all his shakiness, his legs were feeling pretty tired.

Snape sat on the sofa, sitting up straight…business-like, Harry thought, like he wasn’t looking to get too comfortable. Harry looked away quickly as Snape raised his head to catch Harry staring at him.

“Sit, Potter,” Snape ordered. “Your anger toward the headmaster is no excuse for impudence.”

Harry’s anger resurfaced, and he opened his mouth to tell Snape just where he could put his “impudence,” but when he took in the man’s face, his words didn’t come. Snape wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t sneering either, and he wasn’t looking down his nose at Harry. He just looked…normal. Not normal for Snape, but…well, almost normal for a teacher who’d just heard a student say he’d been raised in a cupboard. He looked…unsettled.

Harry felt unsettled, too. So, pride or no, he found himself walking over to sit in the chair. He sank into it and crossed his arms and cleared his throat. “What do you mean?” he asked again, eyes on the unappetizing platter of food arranged between himself and his professors.

“Several thoughts have entered my mind,” Dumbledore began slowly, “although I had generally planned to discuss specifics with you as the school year progressed. I…thought perhaps you might have some suggestions as to a way we might ensure that you remained safe with your relatives.”

“What ideas have you already thought of?” Harry asked, ready to make Dumbledore prove he wasn’t coming up with this on the fly.

Dumbledore rose to the occasion. “One idea I had was to send you to them with a house guest to keep an eye on the situation. A friend, perhaps. An of age and armed friend, of course, so as to allow for proper protection.”

“A friend,” repeated Harry. He frowned. It might work. But would that friend have to see the same embarrassing things that Snape had seen? “Yeah, that makes sense…” Harry conceded, thinking it through as he spoke, not looking either of his professors in the eye, “but it wouldn’t make them hate me any less. Um…like finding Professor Snape in the house…see, it kind of just made Uncle Vernon angrier.”

Dumbledore looked to Snape, then. “Your opinion, Severus?”

Snape thought for a moment before answering, his features carefully schooled. Harry couldn’t help wondering if he was wishing he weren’t here. He felt another rush of embarrassment at knowing that the professor was here because Harry had practically begged him to be.

“I concur with Mr. Potter’s assessment,” Snape finally responded. Harry looked up quickly. Had Snape just agreed with him? “His uncle, in particular, does not seem able to comprehend the art of civility or rationality in regard to his nephew, predominantly in the face of a perceived threat. A wizard guardian may serve to keep the physical abuse at bay, but I expect it would merely aggravate the situation were the guardian to let Mr. Potter out of their sight.”

Harry relaxed a bit into his chair. He supposed anything Snape said shouldn’t make him feel relieved, but it did. Despicable Potions professor or no, he seemed to already have a basic understanding of Vernon Dursley – which helped when Dumbledore was more likely to listen to a fellow professor than a student. For the first time, Harry was kind of glad he’d asked Snape to stay.

Dumbledore nodded sadly in response to Snape’s words. “A second option would be to have a wizard check in periodically, but if, as you say, a full-time wizard would be akin to stirring up a horntail’s nest, I expect that would not be the best option either.” Dumbledore leaned forward then, searching Harry’s eyes. “As I explained before, we have the entire school year to discuss. We do not have to decide anything anytime soon. I do, however, hope that I have been able to convince you that should you ever need to return, Harry, I would not allow you to do so without some recourse available to you. You understand now, Harry, that I am not approaching the situation haphazardly without concern for your welfare…don’t you?”

Dumbledore was practically pleading for Harry to understand, and Harry found himself nodding…half from exhaustion after arguing and half because he was starting to understand. It didn’t make him happy, but knowing that Dumbledore at least had thought about the need for some kind of additional provision or protection for Harry lessened the feeling of betrayal that had taken root in his heart.

“Before we proceed to another topic, Harry,” Dumbledore began hesitantly, “I would like to ask you if there is anything else about your life at the Dursleys that we might possibly need to know about.”

Harry shook his head automatically before Dumbledore had finished speaking. “No, sir.”

“You are quite certain?”

“Nothing else, sir,” Harry answered without meeting his eyes.

Dumbledore paused as if considering his next words. “Harry…I did not know the degree to which the Dursleys mistreated you. In years past I have seen a boy not quite so loved or as well cared for as he should have been. And I now know what Professor Snape was able to recount from his own observations. But this…this is the first time you have personally confided an instance of their abuse to me.” He paused to take in Harry’s now rigid form and averted eyes. “Considering all of this, it seems logical for me to assume that there may be more that you have not yet shared.”

Harry was shaking his head again. “No, sir,” he repeated, images of swinging frying pans and present-less birthdays and Harry-hunting running through his head. He was sorely wishing he’d kept his mouth shut about the cupboard. It had seemed so necessary in that split second to make Dumbledore understand how much the Dursleys hated him…but now he felt like sinking into his chair in humiliation.

“I do think perhaps you should speak with someone, Harry, even if you refuse to confide in me.”

“Why?” Harry wasn’t being impertinent. He looked up in genuine confusion. What good would it do to talk about something that had already happened? He knew his relatives hated him, but he also knew he didn’t deserve anything they’d done or said. “I’m not a head case, professor,” he felt the need to point out. “I don’t need therapy or anything. I’m fine.”

Dumbledore gave him a searching look, which Harry didn’t avoid this time. Maybe if Harry looked right at him, he’d believe that Harry really was okay.

Dumbledore finally nodded, though his eyes still held sadness. “On to another topic, perhaps?”

Harry nodded, relieved.

“I do think that perhaps our discussion about Occlumency lessons will need to be postponed. I had thought to complete an exercise that would require much more concentration than either of us possesses at this moment. So,” Dumbledore continued, “why don’t you begin tonight on your own by trying out the first three exercises in chapter five?”

Harry nodded, trying to look like he knew what the headmaster was talking about, seeing as he hadn’t gotten past chapter three.

He made a point not to look at Snape right then, not really caring to find out for himself if the man was smirking, sneering, or sporting an all-knowing look.

“Very good,” Dumbledore nodded. “Now. As Professor Snape is here with us, perhaps we should proceed with a discussion of your visions?” He paused, and Harry got the feeling he was trying to proceed slowly, maybe to calm the still tense mood of the room. He questioned gently, “How many visions have you had from Voldemort since the beginning of holiday, Harry?

Harry thought a minute, shifting gears into this new, though not much safer, topic of conversation. “Um…four? Three at the Dursleys, one since I got here.”

Dumbledore motioned for him to elaborate.

“Well, okay…I had one the first week of summer. He was torturing someone…” Harry swallowed. “…a Muggle-born, I think. The next one wasn’t really clear – he was happy about something, that’s all I know. He was congratulating one of his Death Eaters, but I couldn’t tell who it was. The, um, third was the morning Professor Snape showed up and I saw Voldemort torturing him and his escape. And…the fourth was a few nights ago, when he realized I wasn’t at the Dursleys anymore.”

He waited for the lecturing to begin again about how he should have told them all about his visions before, but thankfully, the lectures didn’t come. Of course, he’d been scolded by both professors already; maybe they figured the message didn’t need repeating. For whatever the reason, Dumbledore only proceeded to ask questions about his visions, Snape cutting in occasionally to clarify.

Did he recognize the Muggle-born Voldemort was torturing?

No.

Did he recognize anything about the Death Eater he was congratulating?

No.

Did he recognize Snape in his third vision?

No…not until he showed up at the Dursleys.

What was the Dark Lord’s emotional state at the time?

Exhilarated. Happy. Happy again, then angry. Then really angry.

And so it continued, until Harry felt properly worn out by the questions and he could tell that Snape, at least, was visibly frustrated by how little he could tell them from his visions. Well, Harry figured, it wasn’t like any of them were very long – they were just little snippets, really.

And it was kind of confusing Harry…shouldn’t they be happy he hadn’t had longer, more detailed visions? It was something they were striving to control by forcing him to learn Occlumency, after all…wasn’t it?

When he voiced as much, Dumbledore rushed to assure him, “Of course we want you to learn to control this connection, Harry. Ideally, you would have nothing to share with us today. However, as your control has not increased and you are having these visions, there is no sense in ignoring them. Do not misunderstand this, Harry,” he stressed, meeting Harry’s eyes, “Learning to control this connection is infinitely more important than gleaning information from Lord Voldemort’s mind, particularly as he has proven himself able to send you false visions from time to time.”

Harry nodded in understanding. When he thought of that one false vision that ended Sirius’ life and changed his own, he couldn’t argue with the headmaster’s logic.

“I must admit to being puzzled by one thing more, Harry. Professor Snape explained to me this morning that he woke you from a rather alarming nightmare whilst at your relatives’ home.” Dumbledore watched him closely. “You did not reference that night in the summary of your visions…”

Harry felt heat climbing up his neck. “No, sir. It was just a, um…dream.”

“You’re sure?” he pressed.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“If I might inquire…” Snape cut in. “The state Mr. Potter was in prior to waking would suggest no ordinary dream. As a matter of fact, in light of his refusal to notify anyone of his other visions, I find it hard to believe that this one was in no way related to his connection with the Dark Lord.”

“It wasn’t!” Harry insisted before Dumbledore could respond. “I’d know, wouldn’t I? My scar didn’t hurt – it didn’t even twinge. It was just a really bad nightmare! But…I’m okay now, and we really should just, um, move on.” He hoped they would take the hint. Images of his nightmare were starting to swim before his eyes, and he really, really didn’t want to relive something so horrible ever again.

But then, when had Snape ever taken a hint when Harry wanted him to?

“Potter,” Snape began, his lecturing-professor voice perfectly in place, “I am fully aware that you are under the assumption that you are capable of judging what is relevant to this war. Allow me to correct that assumption: you are not. By withholding any and all information from us of your visions, you have already demonstrated that you are lacking in that department. As such, you will allow the headmaster and myself to judge what may or may not be significant.”

Harry glared, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was already tired from arguing about the Dursleys and then relaying his other visions, and all he worried about right then was how he could possibly get out of talking about his strange new dreams.

However, judging by the stubborn set of Snape’s jaw, he figured he’d be more likely to get out of a detention with Filch than out of this conversation.

Harry sighed as he realized his own tiredness was working in Snape’s favor. He was simply too tired to fight. The only thing more exhausting than having to read a thick book about a subject you couldn’t care a flip about was having to relay, in detail, every dream you’d had since school let out. It was downright embarrassing, too.

“Fine,” he ducked his head and wearily sank into his chair. “What do you want to know?” All he could hope was that it wouldn’t take too long.

“Simply tell us your dream,” Dumbledore urged gently. “Start at the beginning, please.”

Harry took a moment to collect his thoughts. He truly hadn’t thought about the dream very much at all. Other than the most horrifying images, which swam before his eyes even now, the rest was almost a blur. “I, um…I remember chasing after a snitch. I’m not sure how long I chased it, but I think it’s what led me to Hogwarts. No, Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade first.” He swallowed, and he paused to brace himself before explaining the horrors he’d never forget.

He must have paused a little too long, because Dumbledore urged, “Go on, Harry. What happened next in your dream?”

Harry shifted. His chair was starting to feel uncomfortable. “I saw...people. They were all dead. And there were ruins, like the town had been burnt to the ground.” He hurried on before he could be consumed by the images and the memory of the smoke. “And I saw Hogwarts, too. It was gone, just like Hogsmeade. And I saw my friends –” He stopped, horrified when he heard his voice crack on that last word. He cleared his throat and continued right away to cover it up, refusing to detail exactly what he had seen and smelled. “I think I was dreaming that we lost the war…and that Voldemort had won.”

“And that is when you woke Professor Snape,” Dumbledore prodded gently.

Harry flushed at remembering. Well, at least Dumbledore had had the grace not to point out Harry’s terrified screaming.

“Yeah…” Harry answered, though he hesitated, his face forming into a frown. Wasn’t he forgetting something? Something else…someone else…

He actually felt his own eyes light up in remembrance as something came rushing back to him. “No! No, that wasn’t it. There was another me there, too. I was looking down at Hogwarts, and this…myself…I flew up to me and started talking.”

“Merlin preserve us,” Snape inserted dryly, “two Potters. A nightmare indeed. Little wonder it was upsetting.”

“Yeah, well, there wasn’t any Snape, so it was a lot better than it could have been,” Harry shot back. He guessed he wasn’t ever too tired to get his hackles up by the thoroughly irritating man.

“Professor Snape, Mr. Potter,” Snape answered neutrally. “Even in your dreams, you would do well to remember those pesky little things called manners and respect.”

“Yeah, well, seeing as how you’re just as nasty in dreams as you are in the real world, forgive me if I don’t think you deserve it.”

But Snape ignored the blatant rudeness to mockingly raise his eyebrows. “Why, Potter. You do dream of me? How…touching.”

Harry felt his face redden. Dumbledore finally stepped in. “Harry. Your dream…?” he reminded patiently.

Harry was a little surprised, actually, to see that the headmaster didn’t look all that bothered by his rather rude exchange with Snape. In fact, Harry could almost swear that somewhere in the back of Dumbledore’s deep blue eyes, he looked…pleased. Harry shook his head. He didn’t have the slightest guess what Dumbledore could possible have found to be happy about.

Forcing his mind back to the topic at hand, he continued as best he could. “The other me…um, he said he was a part of me, that he could…well, that he could see the future.” He watched his professors carefully for reactions. He needed to know what they thought of that claim. He needed to know, because parts of last night’s dream were starting to come back to him as well…and the main thing he was remembering was that it had been so incredibly real.

He saw something in Snape’s eyes flicker at mention of the future, but nothing else showed in the two men’s expressions. He continued, barely noticing as his own voice dropped to a whisper. “He said that Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, all…that…happened because I had failed to defeat Voldemort.”

“Harry…” Dumbledore waited until Harry looked up to meet his eyes, then continued, “You have had to bear a mighty burden – something much too large for one so young. I am very sorry for that. Naturally, this anxiety…and your need to protect your loved ones…has poured over into your dreams.”

Harry nodded, his heart not really in it. Yes, that was the logical explanation. Much more logical than believing he really did have some kind of Other Harry who brought him dreams of the future. But…something inside Harry – something he had been ignoring – kind of didn’t like the logical explanation. Something inside him was starting to wonder if they could really be as real as they seemed.

What? Real visions of the future? He may as well check himself into St. Mungo’s in the morning, he thought as he shook the absurd thoughts out of his head.

“…nothing to do with Lord Voldemort, Severus.” Harry registered that Dumbledore had already been speaking to Snape, and he quickly focused on paying attention as the headmaster continued, “The dream really does seem straightforward in nature, clearly Harry’s way of dealing with the stress of the wizarding world’s expectations of him.”

“I disagree,” argued Snape vehemently. “Visions of the future? This is precisely the way the Dark Lord would choose to confuse our efforts! Convincing Potter, dream by dream, that he is capable of accurately seeing future events unfold is well and good, assuming one doesn’t mind feeding into his arrogance. However, the moment Potter truly begins to believe in these visions, the Dark Lord will strike. Perhaps he will send a vision in order to force our efforts into a certain direction, or perhaps he intends only to drive Potter insane, leaving us with a muddled boy all the more easy to capture and control!”

“Visions?” was Dumbledore’s only response to Snape’s tirade. “Harry has only relayed the one. He has hardly been developing a pattern. This is the only dream such as this that you have had, is it not, Harry?”

He directed the last question back to Harry, who had been listening to Snape’s words with a growing sense of dread. Could it really be Voldemort? He hadn’t thought… His scar hadn’t hurt…

“Harry?”

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips, then croaked, “N-no, professor. I had one kind of like it last night. He…my other self, he was back. And he told me a lot more…”

Dumbledore and Snape looked much too serious for Harry’s comfort as the former urged him to explain his most recent dream.

He averted his eyes, trying to get it all out in one go. “I was in a basement. It was dark, and I was there…another me, I mean. But not the ‘other me.’ It was another ‘other me.’” He took a deep breath. This was going to be harder than he thought. Before one of the no-doubt confused professors could question or before Snape could comment on yet a third nightmarish Potter, he tried again. “Okay, so I was sitting there, in the dark, and I was cold, and my other self – the one from my other dream – showed up. He started talking to me, and he told me to explore the basement, and when I did, I saw…another me…only, this me was a prisoner. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t awake. He was breathing, but just staring, not seeing…” Harry shuddered.

“Severus?” Dumbledore questioned quietly before Harry could continue. Harry didn’t understand what he was asking until Snape answered.

“The description is in accord with the expected effects of the potion I brewed for the Dark Lord,” Snape confirmed, his face impassive. 

“So…” Harry continued, a little shaky, “then Other Harry and I started talking. Oh, I guess I kept thinking of him as ‘Other Harry.’ So, um…he told me that…” Harry scrunched up his face, trying to remember exactly what he had said. It was only the night before… And then he remembered. He was surprised at how well he remembered, actually. “He told me that seeing the future was tricky – that Hogsmeade and Hogwarts from my other dream were only possibilities that would happen if we lost the war, but that me being in that basement, that…that Voldemort was going to capture me and get my blood, and it couldn’t be prevented.”

Harry realized as he waited for his professors to speak that he had started shivering. He held his arms tightly across his chest to ward off the chill, but it didn’t help. It wouldn’t, he supposed. The chill wasn’t in the air; it was coming from inside himself.

“Was there anything else, Harry?”

“Um…” He racked his brain for anything else in answer to the headmaster. Like last time, he knew there was more…but he had to think before he could remember. “Well, um…I guess I should tell you how real it was… I mean, I knew while I was there – both dreams – that it was a dream. I knew before I woke up that it wasn’t real, but…it was like I was physically there. I could see and hear and feel and even smell…everything. It…it was just so real,” he repeated, almost plaintively.

He raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore’s, needing to see that he understood. It just seemed very important right then that the headmaster understand how real it was.

Dumbledore nodded, then merely asked, “Was there more in the dream?”

“I asked the other me for proof,” Harry offered. “He said he was real, and I told him I needed proof.”

“And did he give you proof, Harry?”

“No.” Harry was surprised that he felt let down. He wasn’t supposed to…it was a dream. It wasn’t supposed to be real. “He just handed me a snitch and told me to trust and something about instincts, and then he left. That’s all.”

The room was silent for several seconds as Harry waited for one of the professors to speak.

Snape broke the silence. “Albus, surely you now see the danger we are presented with if Potter continues to have these dreams, particularly if they have anything whatsoever to do with the Dark Lord. The boy is obviously tending toward believing in them.”

“I am not!” Harry automatically denied.

Both professors ignored Harry’s denial. Actually, they ignored Harry altogether, to his complete annoyance.

“Perhaps, Severus, but what good can possibly come of convincing Harry that he will be captured?”

“How many times have we not understood the Dark Lord’s methods until he has completed his plans? Knowledge of what he hopes to attain through this is not what concerns me at this juncture. We already know that nothing he is planning can be good. Stopping him is all that matters.”

“And what do you suggest we do? Dose Harry with a pint of dreamless sleep potion nightly?” Dumbledore’s tone clearly expressed the ludicrousness of that possibility.

“Of course not! A potions addict is hardly what Potter needs to become on top of his other failings! What he needs is to become adept at Occlumency, to block out these visions immediately.”

Harry piped up, curiosity winning out over his annoyance at his professors. A question had arisen – a question he couldn’t help but ask… “What if...I mean, just what if these are real? I’m not saying I believe they are!” Harry rushed to say at Snape’s I-told-you-so look. “I, um…just wondered…if they were real, and this erm…Other Harry really is a part of myself…like an inner voice or something…well, just if it were true…would Occlumency work against myself?”

As soon as he’d asked the question and was faced with two staring professors, he wished he’d just kept his mouth shut. The concern in Dumbledore’s eyes was only overshadowed by Snape’s look of urgency. Apparently he’d just proved to them that their theories were right – that Harry was in danger of falling for Voldemort’s newest set of tricks.

He sank into his chair. “Are we done yet?” he asked wearily, just wanting it to be over.

Thankfully, Dumbledore agreed. “Yes, Harry. I think that we have exhausted ourselves quite enough for one day. Professor Snape and I, of course, will need to speak more about the situation and devise a proper solution. You, however, have done quite well. Thank you, Harry.”

Harry just nodded.

“I could do with a spot of pudding, actually. Couldn’t you both?” Dumbledore inquired, purposely lighter in tone.

“No,” was Snape’s short response, but mere seconds later, they nonetheless found themselves with plates of sugar plum pudding in their hands

Snape quickly placed his onto the table, untouched.

“Compliments of Mrs. Weasley,” Dumbledore explained, eyes starting to twinkle. “I find it quite delicious, don’t you, Harry?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied obediently as he took a bite. Mmm, it was good. He remembered, then, that Mrs. Weasley had sent him some along with Ron’s birthday present. He’d forgotten about it, and he’d never eaten it. He wrinkled his nose at realizing that it must still be in his trunk. Ew… Well, at least the most likely spoiled dessert was in a closed container.

Fortunately, it didn’t spoil his appetite. The pudding was too good for that, he thought as he took another bite. And it was nice to have something pleasant to focus on after so much seriousness.

Snape, on the other hand, looked about to lose whatever contents he had in his stomach, and Harry wondered what the man had against dessert, anyway. He’d turned down chocolate cake at Harry’s “birthday party,” and now pudding? Harry shrugged. Well, his loss, really. But Harry couldn’t help wondering what the man would consider a decent dessert. Hmm…he probably ate weird potions ingredients late at night in his lab. Yeah, Harry decided, feeling a bit happier at having something funny to imagine about Snape. That must be what made him so greasy and git-like: too many late night puffer-fish snacks.

Ugh. Still, Harry grinned a little as he reached for a glass.

Dumbledore winked at his smile, his own eyes twinkling. “Sugar plums, Harry. It’s all about the sugar plums!” He then raised his glass in a mock toast and drank the few sips he had left.

“Sugar plums?” Harry repeated dumbly, grin leaving his face as suddenly as it had appeared. Dumbledore’s words repeated in his head, over and over and over. Sugar plums. It’s all about the sugar plums. Harry felt his heart begin to pound in his chest as a memory came back to him. They were the very words he had heard Dumbledore say in the golden snitch in his dream back at the Dursleys! Meaningless words, really, but it was the whole scene – the way Dumbledore had winked, his facial expressions, even the mock toast – everything was how he had seen it in the dream.

Everything.

He’d forgotten, but now he remembered it with startling clarity.

Harry felt like the world was getting fuzzy or moving in slow motion. It had to be a coincidence…right? It was such a mundane comment. He couldn’t possibly have really seen the future!

…right?

He couldn’t talk, his mind racing too fast to keep up with. He focused on the two men, listening but not really hearing what was being said, as Dumbledore goaded Snape into eating the dessert.

And then Snape opened his mouth to speak, and Harry heard a second set of familiar words as if in slow motion: “I’d prefer moldy cabbages boiled in beetle stew.” And Snape brushed his hair away from his face, crossing his arms in a silent refusal to touch Mrs. Weasley’s concoction.

Harry’s glass slipped through his hands, breaking on the edge of the table before crashing to the floor.

He’d seen the future...

He’d actually seen the future.