Harry sat on his bed, then stood, then sat again, before Snape entered his room. One glance at the intimidating man in his doorway, however, and he shot back to his feet.

It was weird, this waiting for Snape to come to his room before going to sleep; it was too…parental, for lack of a better word. Harry felt downright awkward, with no clue how he was supposed to act. And, of course, the fact that his scar still hurt and he was still feeling shaky from his vision didn’t help matters.

Thankfully, Snape didn’t tarry by the door. He walked right in and gestured with an impatient wave for Harry to climb into bed. Harry quickly complied, pulling the covers completely up to his chin.

Snape sat stiffly on the foot of the bed, perched as if ready to leave at any moment.

“Clearing the mind is not something one can simply teach,” Snape began without preamble. “It must be consistently put into practice in order for your mind to develop any semblance of discipline. I will endeavor to aid you in the clearing of your mind. Do not mistake this for any concern on my part, Potter. I am agreeing to oversee your practice for tonight only, for the sole sake of the war effort.” His chin rose slightly.

Well, yeah, Harry thought, making no reply. How many times did the man have to insist that he didn’t care about Harry? That usually went without saying, and Harry found it odd that Snape had found it necessary to say so more than once today.

Snape continued, “My observations this past week have led me to believe that your failure to clear your mind prior to sleep is not an isolated issue, and may, in fact, be part of a greater problem.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, not sure whether to be offended or worried. “Greater problem? What do you mean? What problem?”

Snape crossed his arms, relaxing his frame a minute amount, probably because he was approaching more familiar lecturing ground. “From the moment you and I arrived at this location, you have flitted from one activity to another, hardly able to focus on one single thing at a time.”

“That’s not true!” Harry denied automatically, propping himself up onto his elbows. “I can focus!”

“Oh, really?” Snape did look at him then, eyebrows raised. “Your first several days were spent in aimless teenage boredom, as if concentrating on one activity were beyond your comprehension. You have always been easily distracted in Potions class, and that has not changed in your few assignments this summer. Also, allow me to point out your horrendous attempt to study the headmaster’s assigned readings for more than one second at a time. You may examine the results of your failed Occlumency exercises for yourself.”

Harry sat up completely. “I can focus!” he repeated, trying to find some flaw in Snape’s list, but when he paused a little too long, he felt his face heat at Snape’s smug look. “I can focus,” he tried again. “I focused on all those Potions assignments you gave me this week! You can’t blame me for being bored sometimes over all those hours you had me working – I finished, didn’t I? Anyway, everything you listed…it’s all boring.” Harry cringed as soon as he said that and it sounded like he was whining, so he tried a different tack. “I can focus on Quidditch! No matter how many hours I play that game, I never stop looking for the snitch, and I’m always able to avoid the bludgers. And maybe I don’t do so well in Potions because it’s not my favorite subject, but I’m really good at Defense!”

“I see,” Snape leaned back, arranging himself a bit more comfortably on the foot of Harry’s bed.

“You see what?”

Snape pierced Harry with his know-it-all gaze, “I see a teenager who has never learned the fine art of applying himself to occupations which may not entirely engage him.”

“I can –”

“I see,” Snape continued as if Harry hadn’t tried to interrupt him, “a boy who decides much too quickly that an activity is not worth his effort and therefore does not give it enough due attention to discover whether it perhaps may hold a single interesting or useful quality.”

“But I –”

“So you can focus on activities which you genuinely enjoy. Who cannot? That is hardly an accomplishment.” Snape leaned forward to get his point across to Harry. “You will never learn to clear your mind unless you learn to apply yourself utterly and completely to less than enjoyable undertakings.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue again, but he shut it before any words came out. Loathe as he was to admit it, Snape might actually have a point. Ugh. Harry resisted the urge to shudder at conceding the small victory to Snape.

He shuffled back on his bed so that he was sitting against the headboard. “Okay, fine. So what’s your solution to me clearing my mind, then?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Harry waited another moment, certain he either must have heard wrong or that Snape wasn’t finished. When the man didn’t say another word, Harry simply stared. “What – what do you mean, you’ve no idea? You always have ideas! Unwanted ideas. And opinions and lectures and insults and –”

“I meant exactly what I said, Potter,” Snape interrupted, looking him over in the critical way that Harry knew meant he was currently poring over dozens of possible solutions in his head and testing them for merit. “I’ve no idea how to force you to concentrate when you refuse to do so. No mind can be forced to learn.” Snape paused, then continued, “We shall need to hypothesize until we come to a satisfactory solution.”

“Hypothesize?”

“As you will be pleasantly absent from the Sixth year Potions class, allow me explain a few principles which will be taught to those exemplary students.”

Harry lifted his chin in a show of defiance. “What makes you think I won’t be taking Potions next year?”

“I have recently received and reviewed every fifth year students’ Potions OWLs, Potter. Your grade of “E,” while shockingly higher than I had expected for you to receive, is unacceptable for my advanced Potions classes, and you will therefore not be admitted.”

Harry blinked but recovered from the declaration to defensively utter, “Yeah, well, what makes you think I would have wanted to take it next year, anyway?”

Snape smirked. “Are you counting on your celebrity to win you the post of Auror?”

“Of course not!” he shouted. He lowered his voice to ask suspiciously, “How…how did you know about my wanting to be an Auror?”

“While I do not owe you an explanation, I was, in fact, informed by the headmaster. He occasionally feels it necessary to keep me abreast of your progress via unsolicited information. It is no doubt one more way in which he has attempted to force the two of us to come to an understanding.”

“Um…oh.” The prophecy. Of course. Dumbledore might have given his word to not outright force them to work together, but there he was again, always behind the scenes trying in little ways to make each more tolerant of the other.

In light of that prophecy, Harry felt a nagging thought in the back of his mind telling him that maybe he should try to be more tolerant of Snape. But nagging thoughts were often hard for Harry to follow, mainly because they were nagging against what he really wanted to do…which was to continue to blindly hate the professor.

“Case in point,” Snape’s interrupted his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Your inability to continue this conversation due to your meandering thoughts has proved my point.”

“I was thinking! That requires focus, not the other way around! And there’s no law against it, you know. Everybody’s mind wanders, even yours!”

“You know my mind?” Snape crossed his arms, quirking his eyebrow in mocking amusement. “And not even having mastered Occlumency. Impressive.”

Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh. “So what’s this about Sixth year Potions?”

Thankfully, Snape went on without further jabs. “The NEWT-level Potions curriculum introduces the invention and experimentation of potions, hence my requirement that only the most advanced students be admitted. Students with the tendency to blow up their cauldrons while working from detailed instructions do tend to pose a danger when expected to brew with no instructions whatsoever.” Harry couldn’t help a nod at the thought of Neville working without even the aid of written directions.

“That aside,” Snape continued, “in order to experiment, one must hypothesize. In this way, we must conjecture how best to master the clearing of your mind, then test each method until proved or disproved.”

Harry felt like shaking his head at Snape’s drawn out logic. “So…all that lecturing was just to say that we should make a guess and see if it works.”

“That is the general idea. My explanation was quite more precise, of course.”

“Um, yeah. Of course.”

Snape narrowed his eyes, intelligent enough to know when he was being mocked.

Harry thought better than to let him dwell on it. “So…what’s your first guess?”

“Hypothesis, Potter. Guessing implies a lack of intelligent thought.”

Harry stared at his professor. How could one person be so infuriating, even when they were supposedly trying to help? “Fine. Hypothesis. What is it then?”

“Lie down. We will begin by engaging your senses.”

Harry shuffled down until he was flat on his back again. His fingers fiddled nervously with the sheets. “My senses?”

“Sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste. Surely even you have heard of them,” Snape said snidely. “Most people have a dominant sense. If we can isolate and use your dominant sense as the object of your focus, we may get somewhere.”

“Erm…okay.” It didn’t totally make sense, and he didn’t want to think about how taste might factor into this. Was Snape planning on pouring something gross onto his tongue or something? Ew. Harry didn’t want to dwell on all the ways that Snape could potentially make his life miserable in these few minutes alone.

Snape rose. “We shall begin with the sense of hearing.”

“Hearing? Um…not…um, you’re not really going to…er–”

“No, Potter,” Snape interrupted with a scowl, “I am not going to sing.”

Harry relaxed and couldn’t help his rather loud sigh of relief. At a glare from Snape, he immediately schooled his features. It was hard, though, as the humor of the situation suddenly caught up with him. It was too funny – the idea of Snape singing coupled with the surrealism of the situation. Snape was basically helping Harry go to sleep. Snape.

He imagined the outrageous look Ron would give him if he told him about this.

He didn’t mean to start laughing. He really didn’t. Especially since Snape was already talking, droning on about useless information such as how sounds are processed by the brain. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself, either. It just erupted inside of him until he couldn’t hold it in anymore and it burst out of him. Not light chuckles, either. Real laughter. The side-splitting peals of laughter that one tries to stop but can’t, no matter that the professor had stopped his speech to stare at him with an equal mixture of confusion and disdain.

Which just made Harry laugh harder, until he had to sit up from gasping for air.

“I fail to recognize what is so incredibly hilarious, Potter. You will desist with the tomfoolery immediately!”

Harry tried to talk through what was now a fit of rather embarrassing giggles at Snape’s raised voice, but all he could manage was, “I…can’t…stop!”

Before Harry knew it, Snape was hovered over him, his hand pressed to Harry’s forehead. Harry swatted it away, the unwanted contact helping him to get his giggles under control.

“You feel warm. Are you ill?” Snape asked, confusion and disdain giving way to something nearing, but not quite, concern.

That was unsettling enough to further help Harry to get his outburst under control. It was still hard to talk, though, with gasping for air between lingering giggles. “No…not sick. Just…tired, I guess. It…was all so funny…”

“Apparently,” Snape said dryly, watching him so critically that, once finally under control, Harry just about darted for the door. “I think perhaps that you are rather too tired to continue with this exercise at this time. No doubt this exhaustion has been brought on by your latest vision.”

“No! No, I’m fine, I swear! I…really need to learn to clear my mind, professor. I know that now. I can concentrate, I swear.” Despite his flaming face, he pulled together a pretty decent earnest expression. Really, he could think of nothing he’d like doing less than having Snape teach him to clear his mind. But…he had to do it, because memories of that vision were chasing away any lingering hilarity that moments ago had engulfed him.

Snape watched him for going on a full minute before finally giving in. “Very well. We shall dispense with the background knowledge and proceed to the exercise.”

He took his wand from the pocket of his robes and pointed it at Harry.

Harry shot up, hands in the air. “Whoa! Don’t point that wand at me before telling me what you’re doing!”

Snape lowered his arm a bit, and Harry moved his leg from where it still seemed to be in the wand’s path.

“You will think of a pleasant memory,” ordered Snape without apology. “Focus on that memory until you have blocked out everything save what you hear. Once you have isolated the sound or sounds, you will indicate as such to me, and I shall cast a simple spell to magnify that sound within the room. The tangible noise will hopefully aid you in your efforts to concentrate on that one memory, blocking all else from your conscious mind.”

“Oh. That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Need we discuss the qualifications of a pleasant memory this time, Potter?” Snape asked pointedly.

Harry almost scowled but managed not to as he placed his glasses on the bedside table, then lay back and closed his eyes. “No, sir. I got it.”

Think of a pleasant memory? Well, apparently the cupboard was out. Flying. Yes, flying was the first thing that had popped into his mind last time, so flying it was. He concentrated, imagining himself flying high on his broom above the earth, basking in the warmth of the sun and the chill of the wind.

The wind.

Doing his best to focus, he thought only of the whistle of the wind assaulting his ears. Focus. Focus.

“Okay, I got it.”

He tried to keep focusing on the wind and not on what Snape might be doing with his wand, and a moment later he opened his eyes in amazement when the sound of the wind actually was whistling around his ears. “Wow! That’s brilliant.”

“Brilliant or no, Potter, close your eyes and concentrate on the sound.”

“Oh. Right.”

It was odd, the sound of the wind whistling throughout the room, but not the feel of it. Still, he tried to focus.

Flying. Quidditch. Wind.

Flying. Quidditch. Wind.

Blocking out all else, Harry didn’t even get excited when it started to work, so caught up was he in his memory. As he slowly started to drift off to sleep, he even forgot about Snape’s presence as he focused on the wind and only the wind.

Slowly, ever slowly, he heard the freedom of the whistling wind calm his nerves and soothe his fears. He flew on his broom in the depths of his mind, alternately enjoying the freedom of flight and chasing a glorious golden snitch.

Ha! The feeling of triumph ran through him as he closed his fist around a snitch and raised his arm in the air.

He looked down, expecting the uproarious sounds of an exhilarated crowd. But there was no crowd.

It was Hogwarts. In ruins. Death. His friends.

His dream.

“No!” Harry awoke with a start and shot straight up in bed, gasping for breath.

“Potter?” A body was coming closer to him, and Harry frantically shuffled away. It stopped. “Was it a vision?”

Harry looked up into Snape’s blurry face, blinking as the images faded into the real world of his bedroom and his professor.

“Wha…what?”

“A vision, Potter,” Snape repeated, more urgently now. He sat next to Harry, grasping his shoulders before he could back away again, dark eyes watching him intently. “Did you just receive a vision from the Dark Lord?”

Voldemort? Harry shook his head. “No. Um, no. Just normal…dream stuff,” he explained lamely, allowing a final shudder at the horrible memory before forcefully shoving it from his mind. It was hard to do, but he gave it all he had. “Was…was I asleep for very long?”

Snape didn’t answer right away, just continued to search Harry’s eyes until he felt about ready to sink into the bed and never face the man again. Harry dropped his eyes to the blanket still covering his legs and grasped a corner with his hand – anything to distract him from one more humiliation involving nightmares and Snape.

“Only just,” Snape finally answered. “No more had you appeared to fall asleep than you awoke quite abruptly. You are certain it was not a vision?”

Harry shook his head. “I guess that…um, that hypothesis didn’t work so well,” he offered, shrugging away from Snape’s hold.

Snape removed his hands from Harry but remained seated. “So it would appear,” he answered simply. “We will move on to the sense of touch.”

“So, um…I guess I’m supposed to imagine the feel of wind this time, instead of the sound, huh?”

“No. I am beginning to see the problem inherent in using your memories as a focus for your mind.”

“Well, before you try to say I picked a dud of a memory this time, I swear I picked a good one! I love flying.”

“I have seen you play Quidditch, Potter. I do not doubt the truth in that statement. However, this is the second time you have used a seemingly positive memory with negative results. The first time I gather you were simply unsuccessful; this time it led directly to a nightmare.”

“Yeah, so…what’s that supposed to mean, then?”

“It would be a reasonable deduction that your positive memories are too closely linked with your negative memories…of which you seem to have quite a few,” Snape added quietly, studying Harry oddly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under the probing gaze. “Oh.” What could he possibly say to that? It didn’t take a genius who knew even Harry’s past few years to figure that out. Well, it wasn’t that Harry had bad memories all the time. No, in fact, he had loads of happy memories with his friends and at school. But…even thoughts of friends and school were enough to bring his worries to the surface again.

He swallowed, hard, at another thought of his vision…of his friends’ bodies on Hogwarts’ burned grounds.

“Lie back,” Snape ordered. “We will try something different.”

Harry obeyed, too tired to put up a fight.

Snape cleared his throat and reached out a hand, holding it just above Harry’s chest. “I am going to lay my hand over your heart, Potter,” he warned. “Do us both the favor of not expecting me to curse you this time. A temporary allowance of trust will be helpful, if not expected.”

He waited for Harry’s wary nod before placing his hand on Harry’s chest. Harry was at least glad that this time he moved slowly, giving Harry a chance to anticipate his movements. But still…he couldn’t help it; he flinched when Snape touched him.

Snape ignored Harry’s obvious unease to delve right into his next lesson. “Touch is concrete. It is tangible. It relies less on memory and more on your immediate perceptions.”

Harry lay still, barely breathing, the hand like a dead weight on his chest.

“Close your eyes and concentrate on the feel of my hand.”

Sure. Easy enough. Not like Harry could concentrate on anything else. He really, really wanted this – whatever this was – over with. Now.

“Breathe in. Breathe out. Think of nothing else.”

In. Out. Breathe. All the usual involuntary things he didn’t usually have a problem doing. He shifted, but the weirdness of the situation didn’t get any less weird. He opened his eyes and shoved the hand away, sitting up. “Okay, it isn’t working. Maybe we should move on to taste, now?”

Snape shoved him back down. “This is not my idea of an appealing evening spent either, Mr. Potter. Now, close your eyes. Concentrate.”

Concentrate. Yeah, right. He couldn’t. Several moments passed, and try as he might, Harry couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that Severus Snape’s hand was within gripping distance of his heart and within choking distance of his neck.

How was he possibly expected to sleep, knowing that?

The only thing that kept him from getting right back up again was the knowledge that Snape wouldn’t let him get away with it.

In. Out. Breathe. Try as he might, he couldn’t block all his other senses from operating in overdrive in his attempt to think of anything but how close Snape was to him while his eyes were closed.

A stair creaked somewhere in the house. Did Mrs. Black’s portrait hear that? Wait. Harry didn’t remember hearing a word from her portrait since they arrived. Was it still here? There were plenty of times they had to have been loud enough to…

Snape’s hand shifted. Oh. Right. Concentrate. Breathe in. Out.

There was a familiar scent in the air. Harry couldn’t place it. An earthy scent, such as he might smell in Herbology class. It was mixed with something…cloves, maybe? And other smells – potions ingredients? A hint of lilac…

It came to him that it must be Snape. But with Harry’s eyes closed, it didn’t smell like “horrible Potions professor.” It smelled…well, strangely like the long ago escape from a nightmare.

He knew why the smell was familiar – it had been the first thing to assail his senses when he’d been rescued from his death-filled nightmare back at the Dursleys. And it smelled like a presence he’d nearly forgotten – a presence that had spoken softly to him once within a dream.

With his eyes closed, it somehow smelled of comfort and protection. It smelled like safety.

He barely noticed when he began to drift off. He didn’t notice when the weighty hand was removed from his chest. All he knew as his breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep was that with each breath he took, the scent of safety stayed by his side.

It didn’t leave until long after he had fallen asleep.

Harry felt the heat on his face first. It was a pleasant heat, like that of the sun on a warm summer day. He sniffed the air, smiling when the scents of freshly cut grass and popsicles entered his nostrils. Sure enough, he opened his eyes to an expanse of green grass bordering a shimmering blue lake. As he watched, adults and children alike strolled and played and sat under a sky which was the beautiful blue color that makes one believe nothing could ever be wrong with the world.

Harry felt his heart drop. One would think nothing could be wrong, but he knew better. Everything that could go wrong would, no matter the color of the sky. Everything always did.

“Harry!”

Harry started, turning toward a voice that was familiar but that he couldn’t quite place. It took him a moment to locate its source. A woman was walking along the shore of the lake, a hat hiding his view of her face, and she had a small, raven-haired little girl in tow. They walked past Harry as if they hadn’t seen him.

“Harry!” she called again happily, just in time for Harry to swivel to see her greeting an older version of himself. “Somebody’s been missing you.”

As Harry watched, his older self laughed and reached for the little girl, throwing her up in the air amid squeals of delight before catching her and holding her close.

“More, Daddy!” called the little girl through her giggles.

Harry froze and couldn’t hear anything over the rushing in his ears. Daddy? Him? Daddy?

He looked around. This was a dream. And it was very, very real. So the only question was…where was Other Harry?

“Right here,” came a voice to his left. Other Harry was a few paces away, lying on his back, eyes closed. “And you thought that I would only bring you visions of horror,” he commented with a smile, basking in the warmth of the sun.

“Horror is relative,” Harry retorted. “What is this? I’m not a dad! I’m not ready to be a dad!”

His older self kissed the woman, put an arm around her shoulder, and the three strolled away as if without a care in the world.

“And I’m not married or whatever, either!”

Other Harry opened an eye to squint up at Harry. “No, I should say not. You will notice that you are quite a bit older than sixteen here. There is no reason to believe that you will be forced to enter into the horrors of domestic bliss at this young point in your life.”

Harry crossed his arms. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

“Yes, very much so,” answered Other Harry, rising to a sitting position. He was smiling, clearly enjoying this vision much more than the others in which Harry had found himself.

Harry’s heart sank as he thought aloud, “If you’re here…if I’m having a vision, then…clearing my mind didn’t work, did it?”

“It worked,” Other Harry said pleasantly. “I can tell. It is easier for me to reach you when your mind is free from distraction. I had an amazingly easy time of it tonight.”

“Oh. Um, alright then.” Well. That answered Harry’s questions about whether the usual rules applied to his own subconscious.

Other Harry gestured toward the retreating family, a silent bid for Harry to watch. Harry did, though he was lost as to the significance of this dream. If this was another future, it obviously couldn’t be a certain one, if a different possible future had involved his imminent death. But still, he watched, if for no other reason than to get to the point where he could ask some of his latest questions.

The small family stopped near a group of people, and Harry saw more than a few redheads throughout the group. He stepped a bit closer and made out Ron and a few of his brothers. Then he saw Neville and Luna and several of their classmates. He saw many more faces that he recognized, and several that he didn’t. And the children! There were children running around everywhere, playing with the little dark-haired girl who had called Harry “Daddy.” She obviously knew them well.

The next thing Harry noticed about all of them was that they looked so happy. They seemed carefree, as if they were out for a day of fun without the worry of attack or capture. Without the worry of war.

“This is a vision of what life will be like if we win the war,” Harry said, “isn’t it?”

Other Harry nodded, still smiling. “To be more accurate, it is one scene in that life. There will always be struggles and strife in this world…but this day…it’s nice, isn’t it? A life without the immediate threat of war. Wouldn’t you like that for your children?”

Harry sat in thought after another glance at the joyous gathering. “I…yeah, I mean, sure. But…well, I guess I haven’t thought about it much. I’m not old enough. And with the war and Voldemort hunting me and all, I guess I figure…I might not live long enough to have my own family.”

“It is possible, Harry - a life with loved ones and no war. It may not mean much to you at this time. You are, after all, more than slightly preoccupied with thoughts of adolescence and defeating Lord Voldemort, both grueling tasks apart from each other. But if the time comes for you to live - truly live - it would do you good to remember that this is possible.”

“So who is she?” Harry craned his neck.

“Who?”

“You know exactly who! The woman! I guess she must be my future wife, then, right? Well? Who is she?”

Other Harry grinned. “She will be the love of your life. It may not be prudent for you to know more at this particular moment in time.”

Harry scowled but didn’t pry further. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. He refocused his attention on Other Harry. “So I told Dumbledore and Snape about these visions…”

Other Harry nodded, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“I…um, I believe you now. About seeing the future and all. Snape said to still be careful, so don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes or anything, but…okay, so now that I know you know the future, can’t you just tell me how the war is going to end? Instead of giving me all of these possible endings?”

“I wish that I could, but I cannot. It is as I explained before, Harry. Some futures are certain; some are possibilities. I cannot predict which possibility will occur unless it is revealed to me. I can, however, see the paths which lead to each future and will do my best to guide you to the correct one.”

“Guide me, huh? Okay, so what first?”

Other Harry chuckled. “This is not a to-do list, Harry. There is no step one and step two. There are merely a few facts of which you need to be aware.”

Harry stifled a barrage of questions, endeavoring to be patient while Other Harry settled himself back on the grass and began to share his facts. “The future I revealed to you in our first meeting was a vision of loss. This future which you find yourself in now is a vision of triumph. One will happen if you lose the war; the other will happen if you win.”

“And the vision of the basement? Of me being captured? What about that one?”

“That, Harry, is the turning point of this war.”

“I don’t get how it can be. I was unconscious; I couldn’t do anything. How can I change the course of the war in a moment when I’m paralyzed? Or do I need to avoid capture? Is that it? Wait, can I? You said it was a certainty. Can one ever escape a certainty?”

“Harry,” his other self began slowly, as if delaying what he was about to say, “in our previous meeting, I explained to you that the outcome of the war depended upon you escaping from capture. I did not dare explain one more important fact until you had the chance to see the truth in these visions. Harry, the truth is…the war hinges on more than merely your escape. It depends also upon your capture. You see, it is not merely a certainty…it is a necessity. You…must be captured.”

Both were silent for a moment as Harry processed the unexpected declaration.

“You…you’re joking, right? I definitely do not need to be captured by Voldemort, thank you very much.”

“You must be captured, or Voldemort will win. His plan is flawed, Harry. He will gain strength, yes, but in order for you to be able to defeat him, he must be allowed that strength.”

“What!” Harry leapt to his feet, horrified now that he saw Other Harry was completely serious. “You’re trying to get me to believe the only way I can win is to give up and for Voldemort to become some all-powerful wizard? Snape was right! You are from Voldemort!”

“Harry, listen –”

“No! Let me out of here! Go away and make me wake up!”

“It will happen soon, Harry! I could not keep this information from you any longer. You must be ready!”

“Well, I don’t understand, okay? If you want me to trust you so much, then tell me! Tell me how this will change the war exactly! How does making Voldemort the strongest wizard who ever lived improve my chances of defeating him?”

“If I explain all that I know, things will not happen as they should–”

“You sound like Dumbledore!”

“Perhaps.”

“Now you sound like Snape!”

Other Harry scanned the crowd of laughing people below. Sadness was in his eyes as he looked back to Harry. “This is the moment when you must decide, Harry. Voldemort will continue to hunt you until he has gained what he set out to do. I have seen the future,” he stressed fervently. “You believe that now. Even now, hearing what I have to say, I know that you believe it. Listen to me, Harry. Voldemort will capture you. If you allow events to play out on his terms, you will have no hope of escape. The war will be lost. This,” he swept his arms over the happy scene below, “will never be.”

“I don’t believe you,” Harry whispered, knowing even as he said it that he did believe. He didn’t want to trust this vision of himself, but he was compelled by something as unbelievingly strong as had once compelled him to catch a fluttering golden snitch.

He believed because deep down in his heart he knew it was true.

“If...” Harry licked his suddenly parched lips and crossed his shaking hands over his chest. “If I’ve got to go about being Voldemort’s prisoner on my own terms, um…well, what exactly are my own terms?”

“There is only one person capable of delivering you from Voldemort. Now is the time to decide if you trust him enough to place your life in his hands.”

Harry didn’t have to ask. They both knew who he was talking about. “And the time to decide if, by extension, I trust him with the outcome of the war. That is what it comes down to, doesn’t it?”

Other Harry nodded, his sorrowful gaze enough to tell Harry how sorry he was at having to lay this burden on Harry’s shoulders. “I informed you of the existence of the other prophecy for a reason, Harry. Having all of the facts...well, it seemed an important fact in this instance.”

Harry’s throat had gone dry, and he couldn’t even manage a nod. So here it was. The awful truth. Could he really, truly trust Snape with his life? With the war? Snape?

Sure, the Potions professor hadn’t proved to be as horrible a house-mate as Harry had initially dreaded. He had helped him, even, with homework and with clearing his mind. It was something that he was doing because of the war, but still…

He had comforted Harry. Reluctantly, sure, but…reluctance or no, Harry had felt comforted. And then there was Sirius’ mirror…

“Is there anything else I need to know?” Harry asked woodenly.

“That is all.”

Harry nodded his acceptance, and a moment later, Other Harry had vanished.

Harry knew by now the nature of these visions. He blinked his eyes and tried to wake, just in case it worked. It didn’t.

It was odd, this feeling that he was awake but not actually being awake, and Harry could not figure out why, since he knew he was dreaming, it was always so difficult to leave these dreams.

Perhaps it was because Snape was the focus of his thoughts moments before, or perhaps it was his earlier dreamlike realization that Snape had been the presence to help him from his last two visions that caused him to think of the man now. He tried a few more times to wake, to no avail, then sighed and sat up on the grass in his dream and called as loudly as he dared, “Snape!”

He listened. Nothing. Could he hear anything outside his dream? He was new at this. He knew he was in his room asleep, but he didn’t know if anything he said could be heard or if he was just yelling in his dream inside his head.

He tried again. “PROFESSOR SNAPE!”

Nothing.

He sighed. It was just as well. It was a rather nice day in his dream. There really was no urgency to escape as had been the case with his first two visions, was there?

No sooner had he decided to lie back and enjoy the scenery indefinitely when he heard the sound of a door and footsteps. He looked around. There was no door anywhere near the lake.

“What part of call the house-elf is so difficult to grasp, Potter?” came a tired voice from somewhere above him. But there wasn’t anyone above him.

Oh, yeah. Dream. Professor Snape. Right. Now that he was there, Harry was realizing the difficulty in separating elements of his dream from reality.

“Professor?” he tried, still not sure if he was speaking aloud or in his dream.

“Finally, at a more respectable volume.”

Harry frowned. Why was Snape being so snarky? It wasn’t like Harry knew how loud he could be heard, was it? Oh, wait. It was Snape. He was always snarky. Well, alright, then.

“Potter?” The professor’s voice was more alert now. No, not alert. More like on guard.

“I know it’s a dream,” Harry tried to speak to the waking Snape. “Are you real? Or a part of the dream?”

When his statement was met with silence, Harry sighed. It wasn’t real.

But Snape’s voice came again, closer and softer this time, “Where are you this time, Harry?”

Harry frowned again, confusion overcoming his momentary relief at being answered. Since when did Snape call him Harry? He slumped back in the grass. So much for thinking he knew what was what. The Snape voice he thought was real was just another dream. He plucked a blade of grass and tossed it aside.

“Harry? Did you hear me?” came the soft Snape voice of his dream within a dream. “Where are you?”

“Go away,” grumbled Harry. “You’re just another dream. So go ‘way.”

“I am not a dream. You are in the dream, remember?”

“I’m not as dumb as that. Snape doesn’t call me ‘Harry.’ Go ‘way. You’re not real.”

There was a pause, surprisingly followed by a chuckle and a dry, “No, Potter. I do not call you Harry. My mistake.”

Harry lifted his face. The sun was still shining down on it, and he thought momentarily about what it would be like never to wake. It was nice here. Why had he been in a hurry to escape it?

No. He shook his head. He couldn’t live in dreams. Not when the real world was counting on him. “Please…if you’re real, help me to wake up.”

“Here,” Snape’s voice came as a hand touched his chin. “Drink this.”

“No!” Harry jerked from the hand as quickly as he could. “I need to wake, not sleep! The vision can’t wait!”

Snape’s voice had lost its mirthful edge when next he spoke. “A vision? What was in the vision, Harry?”

Harry frowned. There it was – that name again. His, but the sound was all wrong.

“Potter,” Snape tried again, “tell me.”

“Need to wake up,” Harry repeated. How many times did he have to say it?

Before he could think of another way to get his point across, he felt his upper body lifted and pressed to something warm and breathing.

“Focus, Potter. Focus on the waking world. Focus on the touch.”

A heart was beating next to his cheek. It was a familiar place, and the more he felt it the more a familiar scent filled his nostrils.

The moment he woke he knew it. Snape was holding him against his chest, as he had done once before when waking Harry from a nightmare. Harry had been screaming then, but he hadn’t screamed this time.

He felt safe like he hadn’t felt in a long time, and the oddest thing of all was that now he was awake, he couldn’t pretend to himself that someone other than his enemy was the one holding him. Or that he was unaware that he’d held on a few moments longer than he’d had to.

He breathed deeply of the scent of potions and safety before pushing himself away from its comforting arms.

He looked his professor in the eyes. “He…I saw the future again. We need to get Dumbledore. Now.”