Harry opened his eyes to find himself back in the stone corridor where he had hidden from the Ghanzou. No knife stuck out of his stomach. He was safe at Hogwarts, with no family. Tears threatened to spill out his eyes, but he remembered that Snape, the real Snape who called him names and hated him, was still strung up in the dungeon.

Harry pushed his roiling emotions into the tiniest mental box he possibly could, and pulled himself up to his feet.

“Don’t worry little one, help is coming,” said an old, concerned-looking elf. It was the only portrait in the whole dungeon, but Harry nodded at it gratefully.

“You should sit down and wait in case it comes back,” said the elf.

“No. Snape,” whispered Harry in response. He started to stumble down the hallway towards Snape’s dungeon, gripping the wall to remain upright through the pain and fatigue.

Snape was hung up on the wall like a messed-up Halloween decoration. His wrists were attached to the ceiling, and his chin lolled on his chest. Thick, black sludge worked its way through a hose that was connected to Snape’s wrist. His face was the colour of old scrambled eggs, and thick, red blood drained directly into the mouth of the ghostlike Ghanzou who was looking more and more lifelike as she drank Snape’s blood.

“Snape,” Harry rasped again. He pointed his wand at tube feeding into Snape and yelled “Diffindo!” Snape fell to the ground with a loud dramatic crumble. The Ghanzou screeched and turned to Harry with a wild, angry look. This part of the plan, Harry hadn’t thought through. He raised his wand without a single idea of what spell to use.

“Inducto,” said Professor McGonagall firmly from behind Harry. The Ghanzou exploded into a puff of harmless smoke. Without the goal of having to save Snape’s life, he was overwhelmed by a desperate sadness that zapped his muscles of any strength. He crashed heavily to his knees onto the rubble.

“Potter! Severus,” yelped McGonagall with uncharacteristic anxiety. “Oh, Poppy, good! Severus is unconscious.” There were footsteps crunching over the debris of the classroom and Harry could see Madame Pomfrey kneel by Snape’s hair through the slits in his eyes.

Harry felt in his pocket for the picture he had tried to bring back, but like everything else, it had vanished. In fact, it never had existed at all. He closed his eyes tightly.

“Potter, are you alright?” asked McGonagall, sitting behind him. A hand settled softly on his back.

“Yes,” whispered Harry, using every muscle in his throat to keep his voice from cracking. his hand gripped some of the fallen debris in an attempt to steady his emotions. With a gentleness Harry wouldn’t have credited her with, she pulled his shoulders backwards until he was slumped against her chest. Despite his embarrassment, Harry couldn’t stem the tears streaming down his face. Her arms encircled him firmly.

“Alright, Potter. It’s ok,” she said softly. It wasn’t like being held by his mother or father, but it was real and the speck of compassion felt like a haven in a storm. One of her arms ghosted over him, checking him over for injuries, and he gasped when she touched his broken wrist.

“Oh Potter,”she whispered, rubbing his arm up and down and pulling him tighter to her. He hadn’t realized he was freezing until that moment.

“Poppy,” she called out. His teeth chattered as he continued to sob and he abruptly realized how ridiculous he must look.

“Is Professor Snape ok?” asked Harry, trying not sound like a child.

“He’ll be just fine, dear,” replied Poppy as she fussed over his neck. For a moment, Harry remembered the Snape that had told him he loved him and held him close while he cried and felt a pang of relief.

“Good,” he whispered, wiping a hand over his face to dry his tears.

“Drink this, dear. You’ll feel better soon,” she soothed.

“No!” Potter said emphatically, pushing the vial away. “I don’t wanna dream - I can’t -” The image of his parents’ faces flashed in his head again, and he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head further into McGonagall’s robes, beyond caring about how childish he looked. She brushed a hand through his hair.

“Do you have any Dreamless Sleep,” McGonagall said at almost a whisper. There was the sound of a vial being opened and then McGonagall rubbed his arm again.

“Here, Potter,” said McGonagall gently, “Drink this, it’s Dreamless Sleep. You don’t have to dream.” Reluctantly, Potter took the vial and tossed it down his throat. The last thing he remembered was being pulled close as the world folded into black.

“Absolutely not!” yelled Snape, sounding more irate than Harry had ever heard him. Vaguely, Harry realized he was lying down in a bed covered in a thick blanket. Fingers grazed his shoulder, and for the briefest moment, he thought he might be back at home with his Mom and Dad.

“Severus, you’re going to wake Harry,” McGonagall hissed harshly near Harry’s ear. Not home then. He opened his eyes and saw the bright, white walls of the Hospital Wing.

“Oh, I’m so very concerned. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for that boy,’ replied Snape, the usual rancour in his voice ratcheted up to levels Harry did not believe were possible. There was a vague pain in Harry’s body, as though had just recovered from a bad case of the chills.

“Severus, please, let’s be reasonable. You’ve just had an enormous shock,” said Dumbledore, waking Harry up further. Not fulling thinking the action through, Harry propped himself up on his shoulders and craned his neck to look up at the scene. Snape was wearing a grey nightshirt and his long, hairy, thin legs ended in thick, white socks. It would have been funny, but not even spidery legs and a nightshirt could make Snape look anything less than terrifying. Especially not when he was wearing the expression of pure loathing that he was currently was. He pushed past Dumbledore, in a furious rampage.

“Severus -” called Dumbledore, sounding genuinely concerned. Snape slowed only to look at Harry. There had been many times Snape had looked after Harry with rage or hatred, but nothing compared to the white fury currently painted on Snape’s face. A blue vein throbbed madly at his temple, and for a moment Harry was legitimately afraid the man was going to lunge at him. Then, the look was gone, and Snape’s face was completely impassive. He turned away from Harry and stalked out of the hospital wing without a backwards glance.

“He’s angry,” Harry whispered to McGonagall as they watched him stalk out. McGonagall’s lips thinned, and she turned back to Harry with a reassuring half-smile.

“Don’t worry about Professor Snape, Potter. He just needs some time to calm down,” she said.

“Minerva, I wonder if I may have a word with Harry,” asked Dumbledore, looking at Harry over the foot of his bed with a gentle twinkle.

“Of course,” McGonagall said getting to her feet and brushing off her robes. She turned back to look at Harry and he saw a glimmer of something kind and warm in her stern eyes. She brushed his shoulder gently with the tips of her fingers again, then walked away from his bed. It was oddly lonely now that she was gone. Dumbledore slipped into her spare seat.

“Harry, you have had quite the Christmas break,” Dumbledore said softly. His twinkling eyes were kind, but penetrating as he observed Harry over his glasses. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Trying to keep his voice steady, and tears out of his eyes, he muttered through the explanation of the flickering ghost in the doorway, the perfect world he had fallen into, Snape’s family. His voice cracked as he recalled the look of horror and concern on his parent’s faces after he had stabbed himself.

“Did it  - was any of it real?” Harry asked, a little hopefully. Maybe he really did get to see his parents in some wonderful alternate dimension. He was not sure if that would make it better or worse, but at least the words, the love he had felt, the acceptance, would all have been real.

Dumbledore sighed and looked at Harry carefully over his glasses.

“Yes…and no,” he said enigmatically. “The Ghangzou’s gift is its ability to show true alternate realities, incredible creatures. Should your parents have survived that night so many years ago, that is the life you would have experienced. So in a way it’s real. But the entire time you were still sitting in the corner of the dungeon, and your parents, of course, remained at rest. So too, it is not real. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, forcing down any emotion.

“But Professor Snape, he wasn’t confused at all. He was so certain,” Harry asked, more to distract himself from his emotions than because he was interested. Dumbledore started nodding half-way through the statement, anticipating Harry’s question. “But I suppose that is because we had different visions? I mean, Professor Snape would have only been in my vision because I - I was thinking that he was in danger, right?” Dumbledore looked at Harry for a long moment, as though he was debating with himself.

“You were only touched by the Ghangzou, when she wrapped her fingers around her throat, she was able to transfer only a small amount of her venom. Your visions were incomplete because she was unable to fully poison you. Professor Snape, on the other hand, had high doses of venom and blood loss,” Dumbledore said. Harry blinked hard, trying to take it all in.

“He’ll be alright though? Won’t he, sir?” Harry asked, not knowing why he suddenly felt such a strong feeling of concern. Dumbledore looked at him seriously for a moment, then nodded.

“Professor Snape has endured worse pain, both physical and psychological,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “I am quite sure he’ll make a full recovery.”

It was weird to think of Snape having hurt feelings, having feelings at all actually. Harry kind of imagined Snape to be this asexual blob that did not eat, drink or love. Imagining him depressed in the dungeon made Harry feeling oddly curious.

“As for your second question, I firmly believe, you and Professor Snape shared that same vision,” said Dumbledore said quietly after a moment. Harry frowned at that.

“But sir, if the Ghangzou shows us our biggest wish or regret or whatever, why would Snape be having the same fantasy as me?” Harry asked, starting to feel a little foolish.

“Pure coincidence. You both have the same wish,” Dumbledore said, Harry’s head began to swim again.

“But, sir, why would my parent’s surviving be Professor Snape’s biggest wish?” Harry asked in confusion. There was an almost impish twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes as he looked down at Harry.

“Our deepest desires and most painful regrets are highly personal matters, Harry. That information has to come from Professor Snape himself, not from me,” Dumbledore said sagely, getting to his feet. This answer was not good enough for Harry.

“But sir, how could he hate me so much here, if he…” Harry trailed off. The only adjective that was appropriate to describe how the Ghangzou Snape felt about him was love, but Harry didn’t dare use it. “Only one thing changed.”

“One thing can change a man profoundly, Harry,” Dumbledore said, the twinkle in his eye a little lower. “Get some rest, you’ve had a long day.”

It was long past time for Severus to be asleep. The students were in bed, and night had fallen outside the window of his dungeon, making the entire room gloomy and black. Still, he could not face returning to his bare apartment, not when he could imagine it so clearly in his head, warm and well-decorated with Pauline and Michael.

He frown and pushed the thought away, scratching at his forehead as he did so. He added a little more holly to the cauldron and watching the bubbles pop and boil, mentally chastising himself. He had promised never to think of that bizarre world again.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said softly from the entrance of the dungeon. Severus’ back stiffened, he had been so deep in thought that he missed the sounds of Dumbledore’s footsteps.

“You should be off your feet,” said Dumbledore when Severus refused to acknowledge him. Severus knew that gentle, understanding tone well. He had heard it in his worst, mostly embarrassingly emotional moments and had no desire to hear it now.

“Severus, it’s 11:30. You’ve had a long, trying day. I’m afraid if you don’t sit down you will make me exceedingly anxious,” continued Dumbledore. Severus’ mouth tightened. There were times where Dumbledore’s seemingly oblivious attempts at developing a ‘bond’ or ‘friendship’ with Severus were accepted, welcomed even. Severus had even gotten used to sharing the odd cup of tea and long conversation and reluctantly considered Dumbledore to be a sort of mentor. Right now though, all Severus wanted was to be left alone.

“I’m fine,” he said curtly. Dumbledore didn’t insist, but he also didn’t leave, and after a few moments of silence, a kettle started to whistle.

“Come have some tea, Severus,” said Dumbledore in that same tone. Severus tried not think about how the kettle sounded exactly the same as when his fake wife made him fake cups of tea before bed in their fake little home.

“Not hungry,” Severus responded acerbically, adding a sprig of holly to the cauldron.

“You have to eat, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “Humour me.” Severus ran a hand through his hair and sighed. When Dumbledore got like this, resistance was futile.

“Do you at least have anything stronger?” Severus grumbled as he collapsed grumpily into the chair across from Dumbledore. It was a student’s chair and though Dumbledore looked as wise and at ease at ever, Severus felt childish and awkward squeezing into it.  Surprisingly, Dumbledore swirled his wand and bottle of Ogden’s Firewhiskey materialized on the desk. He poured Severus a healthy glass, and they drank in silence for a moment. They drank another drink, then another. Severus’ favourite roast beef sandwiches arrived on the table and, without realizing it, he started to munch on one.

“Harry is doing alright,” said Dumbledore casually. “Terribly shook up of course.” Severus stiffened and put down his sandwich. That boy was truly the bane of his existence. Pure loathing was easy enough to carry on with, but when he had looked at Harry in the hospital wing he had felt something else.

Thankfully, the memories he had of a young Harry had faded quickly with detoxing the poison. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to remove the thoughts and feelings he had when he had actually lived through his time in Dreamland. He had cared for that boy, all of James and Lily’s children in fact, with all of his heart. With a sigh he closed his eyes and willed those thoughts away.

“He told me all about where you were,” Dumbledore said softly.

“I don’t want to speak about it,” said Severus firmly. He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t go down that path again. “The Ghanzou was clearly defective, or I got sucked into Potter’s fantasy somehow. Did Potter tell you he called me Uncle Sev?” asked Severus with a snort. If Severus wasn’t so inebriated, he would have noticed a dangerous twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye.

“Really, you don’t think the Ghanzou showed you how your life really would have turned out had you been able to save Lily and James that night?” Severus gulped the rest of his whiskey and couldn’t quite hold back a harsh laugh.

“Ghanzou venom provides notoriously accurate visions, Severus” said Dumbledore softly. Severus shrugged putting the glass down. There was a long moment of semi-comfortable silence.

“I just don’t understand how I would have become that man,” admitted Severus quietly. He had fallen asleep reading picture books to his tiny, intelligent son. There was a woman he loved in his bed every night. That woman wasn’t Lily, but still he loved her, loved her more if that was possible. When he had hugged and kissed Lily over Christmas, it felt like how he imagined people felt when they saw a much beloved sibling. It was the same love he felt for James Potter which was so outrageous that Severus couldn’t even think of it. It was all too bizarre.

“Usually, I find Ghanzou to be unhelpful,” admitted Dumbledore after a few moments, pouring some more whiskey into his cup. “What-ifs, but-fors, regrets, they are painful and ultimately, we can’t do anything about them.” Severus nodded absently drinking more firewhiskey.

“As anything in life, there are exceptions to this rule,” Dumbledore said. Severus continued to nod along. Vaguely, he realized that Dumbledore’s words were having trouble sinking through his head. Owlishly, he blinked up at the man.

“Did you drug me?” he asked in harsh accusation, scrambling to his feet. Dumbledore’s expression did not change, he simply held out a small vial of liquid gold potion. Distilled Ghangzou venom, exactly what the Ministry used with criminals. His knees buckled, and with surprising vitality and strength, Dumbledore jumped to his feet and caught him under the armpits, lowering him into the chair.

“Ten years I have watched you condemn yourself to a life of pain, loneliness and misery, I think it’s time you see another way,” Dumbledore said. Severus was already too far gone to protest, he could barely scowl as the drug pulled him under.