By noon the next day, Harry had finished more than half of his book, had written two pages in his journal with the charmed quill from Madam Pomfrey and had watched Londoners go in and out of the pub below for half an hour. He had returned to his entry on trust in the journal and had written about qualities of people he did not trust (like Draco Malfoy and Uncle Vernon) and those of people he did trust (like Hagrid and Professor Snape). He noted, when he finished, that Malfoy's current characteristics closely matched those he would have attributed to Snape only a month ago.

Snape had been left for Hogwarts at 10 o'clock. He needed to be seen by the Ministry officials and to speak with Madam Pomfrey about Harry's appointment at St. Mungo's. Harry suspected he also wanted to speak to Professor Dumbledore about their little experiment last night, but Snape didn't confirm that before he left.

Snape returned at 1 o'clock carrying a basket.

"That irksome house elf Dobby sent this," he said, putting the basket down on the desk in the living room.

"Smells good," said Harry, coming over and opening the basket with his left hand. "Looks like turkey sandwiches. Hey, he sent crisps too—and chocolate cake! I wouldn't call him irksome if I were you." He had pulled out a sandwich and taken a bite and was speaking with his mouth half-full.

"Heathen," muttered Snape, handing him a red and white checked napkin that looked as if it had been stolen from an Italian bistro.

They ate in companionable silence and then Harry stretched out on the couch. He was becoming all too accustomed to an afternoon nap and drifted off with little effort. Although he was in the middle of London, he imagined he could hear the waves pounding outside the windows.

In his dream, he was back at Hogwarts. He, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were in the Gryffindor Common room, sitting on squishy chairs near the fire. Ginny was crammed into a chair with him, tracing the scar on his hand. "I ust o ell li," she said softly, holding his hand up for the others to see. "I think that cream Snape made for Harry is working." She gently kissed the scar and brought Harry's hand to rest against her heart—Harry could feel the sea in the steady beat of it. Ron and Hermione faded into the background as Harry leaned in to kiss Ginny. He was getting closer and closer to her face, focusing on her lips, when she let out a blood-curdling scream and leaped out of the chair. Harry threw out an arm to balance himself and instead thudded heavily into the chair in his Galapagos tortoise Animagus form. He was upside down, short legs flailing, trying to get purchase to turn over. "You almost kissed me with disgusting turtle lips!" shouted Ginny. Then all the Gryffindors were there laughing and cheering. Seamus and Dean turned him over and hefted him onto the floor. "5 sickles for a turtle ride!" "Me! Me!" screamed a group of 1st years. Harry's turtle brain was in panic. I don't know how to change back! He started lumbering across the common room floor toward the fireplace, a Gryffindor first-year straddling his back and hitting him on his shell near his tail yelling "Giddy-up!" Harry's turtle eyes were focused on the fireplace in front of him. If only he could reach the floo powder! If only he were an ostrich, or a giraffe… But Dean was faster than Harry. He grabbed the floo powder, tossed it in the fireplace and yelled "London Zoo!" Seamus and Ron pushed Tortoise Harry into the fire and he was spinning…spinning…spinning….no need to keep his elbows tucked in—his appendages retracted rather nicely into his shell…

He woke with a startled cry as his turtle-body landed, Wizard of Oz flying house fashion, on a sandy beach. When he opened his eyes, however, he was in the flat in London. He raised his left hand to verify that he was, indeed, still in human form.

A Galapagos Tortoise! Where had that come from? Had Dobby put some special sauce on the turkey sandwiches?

He carefully sat up on the sofa. Snape was sitting in the wingback chair sleeping. Maybe Dobby had drugged the sandwiches… Harry stared at Snape for a long moment. He didn't look ill exactly, just vaguely unwell. As Harry observed him, Snape's left hand twitched. He suddenly felt very much like a voyeur and closed his eyes again, trying to recall the details of the strange dream. A giant tortoise! If McGonagall gave any hint that you could determine your Animagus form in prophetic dreams, he was going to abandon the whole idea before he got any further. He stood up and went back to his bedroom to get his journal and when he returned, Snape was awake, blinking against the bright August sunlight shining in through the windows. He watched as Harry sat down on the sofa and placed his charmed quill and journal on the sofa table.

"Excellent timing, Mr. Potter," said Snape. He gave very little indication that he had been asleep moments before. "The Headmaster will be here in several hours—you are to accompany him on an errand this evening—a fool's errand, if you ask me—but an important one nonetheless. Until then, we will piece together the last bits of your first sea dream. You said you have listed the symbolic elements?"

"Uh…yeah…yes, I mean. Here in my journal." Harry began to page through, aware that Snape was watching the pages as they turned. He was distracted—too curious about his errand with the Headmaster to pay attention when he stopped turning when the book was open to the header FEAR and yesterday's date. "Where am I going—with the Headmaster, I mean?"

"Hmph," grunted Snape, staring unapologetically at the journal. "The Headmaster is taking you to visit a former Hogwarts Professor—Horace Slughorn. He taught Potions while I was at Hogwarts. He's been retired as long as you've been alive."

"Why am I going, then?" asked Harry. "What am I supposed to do? Impress him with my potions skills?"

Snape rolled his eyes. Harry grinned, imagining himself slicing night crawlers into perfectly equal segments, measuring exactly 12 grams and adding them to a potion, stirring counter-clockwise with a glass rod.

"You, Mr. Potter, are the bait," responded Snape. "Slughorn 'collects' celebrities. Thus far, he has resisted the Headmaster's efforts to contact him about coming out of retirement for a year or two. So, the Headmaster plans to dangle some attractive bait out in front of him to seal the deal."

Harry turned this over in his head.

"Was he planning on telling me any of this?"

Snape scoffed. "Use your brain, Potter."

"I should be all bent out of shape about this, shouldn't I?" said Harry, considering the matter again. "But…" He trailed off, not sure how to voice his thoughts.

"But…?"

"But it would be helping you out, right? You can't teach defense unless we get a new Potions Professor. You want that position, don't you?"

Snape didn't answer immediately. He appeared to be trying to formulate an answer.

"I mean, everyone says it. They say that you ask for it every year, and every year Dumbledore turns you down."

"And you believe this?"

"Well…no…" Harry paused. Snape was staring at him, hard, dark eyes intense. "OK, yeah, I did believe it. Just assumed it was true. Guess it made sense to me."

"Made sense that a Potions Master would want to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Well if you don't, why is Dumbledore bothering to look for a new Potions Professor? Why isn't he looking for a new Defense teacher?"

"Mr. Potter, you do have a brain under that mop of hair and thick skull. I have seen ample evidence of it over the past days. Now use it. Perhaps it is not I that wants the position."

"But why would Dumbledore….Oh." Voldemort. Voldemort wanted Snape to become the DADA professor. The palpable knowledge of that made Harry's guts twist uncomfortably. Why would Voldemort want Snape in that position? To corrupt the minds of underage wizards? To give them a taste of the Dark Arts—as Moody had done during fourth year when he had demonstrated all three of the Unforgiveables and had actually cast Imperio on the students to see if they could resist the curse? Maybe he was actually testing to see which were the most weak-willed, the ones that could be made to do his Dark Lord's bidding.

Then another thought struck Harry. That position was cursed. No teacher had managed to hold it for more than a year since Harry started at Hogwarts. If Dumbledore was letting Snape have the position this year, he knew something…something was going to happen. This must be a pivotal year somehow.

Snape was sitting back in his chair, hands steepled in front of him, elbows resting on his knees.

"Now, your dream?"

Harry knew to let the matter go. Snape, by way of short half-conversations, was slowly giving Harry more information than he'd ever managed to get out of Dumbledore. He'd find out more later, ask a leading question or two over dinner or before bed when they were reading or practicing Occlumency. He sighed and opened his journal.

"The first thing is I have is my broom—turning into a piece of driftwood," he began.

"The broom goes along with flying," said Snape. "What does flying represent to you?"

"Freedom and escape," answered Harry. "It's not just the freedom of defying gravity—it's being able to escape reality for a while, not worrying about…everything."

"In Muggle psychology, flying, well, being in control while flying, represents power, being able to control one's own circumstances. While Muggles of course cannot fly, I believe the symbolism is the same—there are many elements in your life you cannot control, but when you are flying, you are free of those restrictions. You have the control."

"So the broom turning into driftwood…?" asked Harry.

"You tell me," said Snape.

"I don't know—loss of control? Being stuck on the ground and having to face my problems?"

Snape's expression said he had gotten it right. Harry smiled and looked at his journal.

"The stone," he said after reviewing his list. "I reached into the water for the stone—the Philosopher's Stone. But when I picked it up out of the water it melted and left the snitch in my hand."

"The Stone only now, leave the snitch," directed Snape.

"I think the fact that it melts when I bring it out of the water and put it in my hand is probably most important," suggested Harry. "I don't know…I picked it up because it was glittery but when I got it in the light maybe it wasn't everything I thought it was…"

"Impressive," commented Snape, looking pleased. "And you were left with the snitch."

Harry smiled broadly. "The snitch is the end. It ends the hunt and means you've won—succeeded in your quest." He smiled again. He could almost feel the fluttering of the tiny golden wings in his palm.

"You've missed your calling, Mr. Potter. So, at what have you succeeded?"

Harry puzzled that one a moment. "Perhaps letting the stone go?"

Snape nodded. "Perhaps."

"The next part is when the snitch opens and the reborn Phoenix comes out."

This time Snape gave it a go. "So, if the snitch is the end—success—than what the snitch contains is…?"

"The prize." Harry smiled. "But a Phoenix reborn? On a pile of ashes?"

"The Phoenix is the symbol of immortality, Harry," supplied Snape, quietly.

"But the stone…"

"An artifice. Man-made. It failed for Voldemort and ultimately for Flamel as well."

"OK—so the prize of the fight won is immortality. But the ashes…"

"Quite the opposite. Not so much death but what remains of a life ended." Snape paused. "The Catholics use ashes made from incinerating palm fronds in their Ash Wednesday services—the first day of the Lenten Season. They make the sign of the cross on one's forehead with ashes and say 'Remember man that you are dust and unto dust you will return.' It is to remind the faithful of their own mortality."

Harry looked thoughtful. "The baby phoenix dropped a tear into the water. That's where the minnows turned into memories and the Pensieve appeared. The thing I remember most is how the memories still looked like minnows, flicking their tails around."

"Memories are living things," mused Snape. He stood suddenly and walked over to the window, looking down onto the street below. Harry waited.

"The last part," said Snape at last, turning toward Harry again. "The feather."

"Gryffindor's sword," said Harry. "The same one Fawkes gave me, in the Sorting Hat, down in the Chamber of Secrets. I guess that's the connection—the phoenix's feather turning into Gryffindor's sword. Does it mean anything that it was underwater?"

Snape was eying him very steadily.

"Some dreams," he began, "are meant to work out our troubles in life. Our subconscious mind plays with our worries and fears and hopes when we can't control it fully, while we are sleeping. Other dreams magnify our fears and troubles. But this…this has all the markings of a very rare type of dream—a prophetic dream. Do you understand what that means?" He looked up at Harry. Harry had paled.

"Do not be afraid of it, Harry," said Snape. "Embrace it instead. I did not expect this from you, but going into this fight, we need all the ammunition we can muster. You must keep your eyes open—you must look for these symbols appearing in your life. And we must discuss this fully with the Headmaster. I think…I think there are pieces of this dream he must be made aware of."

Harry nodded. He felt vaguely like Professor Trelawny. He felt uncomfortable, like a fraud. His discomfiture must have been evident to Professor Snape.

"What is troubling you?"

"The whole idea of a prophetic dream, I guess. I've already got the prophesy hanging over my head…and now a prophetic dream. I'm certainly not a prophet." He laughed. "The savior comes after the prophets, right?"

Snape shook his head. "I think you misunderstand. A prophetic dream does not predict the future, Harry. It gives you tools…ideas…to make the desired future a reality."

Harry considered this a moment and saw the wisdom in it. Then something else occurred to him.

"I had another dream…while I was napping a little while ago."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "Really? Do you believe it to be prophetic as well?"

Harry laughed. "I hope not. Turtles don't have a special significance, do they?"

Snape stared at Harry, eyes wide. "You had a dream about turtles?"

"Actually, I was the turtle. Is that important?"

Snape put his head in his hands and sighed.