-------- DM --------

“Dobby?” Draco commanded, his voice sharp and brusque. There was a soft pop and the Malfoy family house elf appeared. He looked a strange sight in the middle of the richly adorned dining room, his grey rags sweeping the marble floor. Two large blue eyes blinked up at Draco and a genuine smile crossed his usually solemn face. Draco had to admit that despite everything, it was nice to see Dobby again with his goofy smile and chirpy voice.

“Yes, Master Draco?” Dobby made a low bow, his long nose nearly touching the floor.

“Inform me when Father and Mother return home.” Draco commanded. Dobby looked up at him solemnly, his eyes watering with a very familiar expression of pity.

“They is already here, Master.” Draco swallowed his disappointment. He had tried to find his parents for days but, as usual, they were nowhere to be found. They went to work, to fashionable parties he was too young to attend and when home, they were frequently locked up in their apartments, deaf to everyone but each other. Draco has been here three days but he only saw his father once, when he scolded him for using the priceless Gorgoroth Potion. Draco had been hoping to catch them today as soon as they returned from the Northington Ball but it was too late. They were probably occupied by now.

“Where is Father?” Draco asked hopefully. They’ve probably just arrived. Surely, they wouldn’t mind being disturbed. Not for long, of course, Father was a busy man and he didn’t have time to idle about like a silly Weasel but maybe just for a few minutes.

“In his study, sir. He said that he is not to be disturbed.” Of course he has. Draco thought, dejectedly. He never wants to be disturbed.

“And what about Mother?” Draco tried again. His mother was less busy, surely she had a few minutes to spare.

“She is with company, sir.” Draco felt his hopes rush out of him suddenly. His shoulders slumped and he sighed into the silent room. Another day spent alone and yet this time, he had been so sure of meeting them. He had had the perfect plan. He thought they would be at the Northington Ball at least until seven o’clock. At seven, Draco was going to sit on the main staircase, directly in front of the door. That way, when they came home, they would definitely see him and talk to him. It was the perfect plan. How had it gone wrong? It was still five o’clock. How can they be home already? It was so unfair! He had waited all day for this moment.

“I is sorry, sir. Mistress Malfoy is just meeting with one girl. I is sure that she’s free soon.” Draco started. He had completely forgotten that Dobby was still here. The house elf had seen his face fall, he had seen the sadness and disappointment in his face. Father always said never to let your vulnerable feelings show in front of the servants. In front of your inferiors you must always appear strong and undefeated. Otherwise, they will lose their awe of you and get strange ideas into their heads. Draco flushed a deep pink. Damn it, why was he always screwing up! No wonder Father never had time for him. He had to become stronger and fiercer, more like his father. Draco straightened himself up and commanded in his coldest tones.

“As usual, you’ve been completely useless. Get out of my sight.” Dobby’s face fell. He looked up at Draco and his big blue eyes watered. They seemed to stare at him reproachfully.

“Yes, master.” He whispered before disappearing with a soft pop. Draco was left in the empty room with only his thoughts for company.

I shouldn't have done that. Draco thought guiltily. For some reason, Dobby was fond of Draco. He was the only one in this house who didn't mind spending time with him. He doesn't deserve to be treated like that. There’d been so much hurt in those expressive blue eyes of his. And what had Dobby done to deserve it? Nothing but answer his questions. Maybe he should apologize. Draco opened his mouth and almost called him back but he stopped himself just in time.

Was he just about to apologize to a house elf? What the hell is the matter with him? House elves aren't human! They can't feel or understand like us. Father says that house elves are not much better than animals. They don't have much knowledge and understanding in their tiny brains. Draco was just being silly. The house elf had probably already forgotten what he said. They don't have thoughts, only an inborn instinct to serve their betters.

Shaking his head, Draco picked up his fork again. The silver utensil felt heavy and cold in his hands. His dinner had already gotten cold but he didn't mind. It's not like he had much of an appetite anyway. He toyed with his food, moving the lumps of meat around in the murky brown sauce. The clink the cutlery and the plate was the only sound in the entire house. It was so quiet. Draco didn't like it.

He wished for the thousandth time that he was at Uncle Severus' place. No matter how busy Uncle Severus was, they always shared meals together. He would talk about his latest potions project and Draco would listen attentively, soaking in all the information. Of course, Uncle Severus was not as successful or as prestigious as his parents. He didn't have much money and he lived in someone else's house but despite everything, Uncle Severus was there for Draco. He always made time for him, teaching him how to brew potions, listening to how his day went. Merlin, what would he not give to be there right now, beside his godfather.

But no, now even Uncle Severus would not have time for him. What would he do with Draco when he could have Harry Potter, the myth, the legend, the celebrity! Potter was probably having dinner now, smiling and laughing with his godfather. How dare he! How dare he come into Uncle Severus' life and take him away! Uncle Severus was his, he has always been his. Father and Mother were never to be found. Draco would spend hours chasing after them in vain but in the end, it didn't matter so much because Uncle Severus was always there. But now, now Potter is there and he is here, alone. Damn Potter and his bright smiles and his habit of always doing the right thing! Perfect Potter. Draco stabbed a piece of lamb so hard his knife hit the plate with a clang.

You know what, Potter? I'm better than you. You're just a half-blood with an ugly scar. I'm a pureblood and a Malfoy. Everyone knows my family name and fear it. Father is an important man, a close friend of the minister of magic himself and Mother is the Head of the unspeakables. The blood of ancient wizarding families runs in his veins. Potter is nothing compared to him, nothing at all! In time, his godfather will see that and return to him, he has to! He's not going to lose Uncle Severus to him, a Gryffindor and James Potter's son!

Draco stood up and straightened his robes. They were emerald green silk with black snakes curled around the borders. They were not a simple product out of Madame Malkins’. Oh no, these were of the finest quality, imported from Paris. His mother had left these for him before she went for work yesterday. Potter didn't have anything like this. No. Neither he nor any of his insanely large group of friends had any taste or good breeding, not like his family. Then why would Draco care that Potter has so many friends? He didn't. Draco sneered at the dining table as if it had mortally injured him. With a stately flourish of his robes, Draco spun around and strode out of the dining room.

A few minutes later, Draco was outside the window of his father's study. He was on his brand new broom, a Nimbus 2001. His robes flapped in the wind like a large flag, threatening to unbalance him. They weren't exactly designed for flying. He gripped the handle of his broom tight and held it steady against the fierce wind. He hovered in front of the topmost window of the North Tower, gazing longingly through it.

There he was, Draco's father. He was sitting on an armchair by the fire, a glass of wine in one hand and his walking stick in the other. His two dogs sat at his feet, their heads resting on their paws. From time to time, their tails would flutter into the air and their eyelids would twitch. Father looked wonderful. Anyone looking at him, couldn't doubt the power and strength he possessed. His spine was ramrod straight and his eyes flickered with intelligence and cunning. No man was like him. No one had his taste, his wisdom, his knowledge of the world. Draco was proud to be called his son.

But sometimes he wished that his father would look at him, truly look at him and talk to him. It has been over a year since the last time they truly spent any time together. Father was always so busy. But what about now? He didn't look busy. Surely he wouldn't mind if Draco dropped by just to greet him. Draco flew a little closer, gathering courage to knock on the window. But he was afraid. Not of his father's anger. Lucius Malfoy never yelled at his son but sometimes he was so cold and distant, as if Draco was nothing but a distant acquaintance. Draco hated that above everything else, being treated so formally, so distantly, as if they weren't related at all. Oh Father, can't you see that all I want is to please you, to listen to your words and learn how to grow up and become just like you.

Seizing his courage, Draco floated closer to the window and gently rapped on the glass. At first his father started and looked around him in confusion. Then, he turned towards the window and their identical grey eyes met. In that instant, Father's brow cleared. A bright smile shone through his angular face.

Merlin, he's happy to see me. He's actually happy to see me! Draco's big smile nearly split his face in two. There he is. He's actually walking over to the window. This is it! He'll open the window and I'll go in and sit beside him. He'll talk to me, he'll tell me all about his work and about how he put all his subordinates in their places. Draco will listen to every word, he'll absorb it all and remember.

There was a dull click as Father opened the latch. Immediately the wind stormed into the study, upsetting the papers on his desk and whipping his long hair all over his face.

"Good afternoon, Father." Draco greeted him happily. Finally, after days of waiting and hoping his father was finally in front of him.

"Good afternoon, Draco. I trust that you're having a pleasant flight." Father stated with a stiff nod of the head. The smile had vanished from his face. Now, his expression looked distant and uninterested. Draco felt his hopes flutter worriedly.

"Yes, Father. It is a little windy but I enjoy the challenge." His father responded with another brief nod. The dogs were starting to wake up, they stretched their limbs and started snipping at each other playfully. A moment of silence descended between them, a silence Draco didn't know how to break.

"Well, Draco. I'll leave you to enjoy your flight." Father stated after a few seconds. He stepped back and made to close the latch. No, not yet Father, Draco wanted to plead. I've barely seen you all year. I can't stand to be alone anymore. My beloved uncle is no longer talking to me!

"Wait, Father! I'm a little tired. Can I come in and rest on one of your armchairs?"

"I'm a little busy at the moment, Draco. I'm sure the living room will be a more comfortable place for resting."

"It'll be just for a moment." Oh come on, Father. I'm not asking for much. Just a few minutes of your time. Surely you can spare that much.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Draco. Good day." And with that, his father closed the window with a snap. That's it. The conversation was over. All Draco's hopes vanished in a flutter. He sighed. He really should be used to it by now. Why did his father always have to dismiss him? Draco watched avidly as his father returned to his seat by the fire and coolly sipped his wine without a care in the world.

Draco knew the problem of course. He was not good enough for his father. Father is not like other simple, mindless men, content with anything. He wanted and demanded only the best. Draco had to earn his attention. He needed to be stronger, fiercer and smarter. In short, he had to become the best, just like his father. Then and only then will Father pay attention to him.

One dog, a grey haired wolfhound with white paws, put his muzzle on Father's knee. Absentmindedly, he began to pet the dog, gently stroking his head. Draco watched him, wishing that he could sit there beside his father, listening to his wise words but not just yet, not until he earned it. With a sigh, Draco turned his broom around and flew away. The wind roared around him angrily trying to knock him off course but he was a seasoned flier. He had practiced for days on end hoping to get into Quidditch team and win his house the Quidditch Cup. Then, Father would be proud of him.

But not Mother, of course. While Father would be impressed by Quidditch wins and climbing in his school's social circle, Mother would only be impressed with academic achievement. She was the best student of her year, getting O's in all her exams and passing the O.W.L.s and the N.E.W.T.'s with impressive scores. For a while, Draco had earned her praise by being the best student of his year. Then, he came to Hogwarts and Granger had outsmarted him. No matter how much Draco tried, Granger would always win. No one could beat her and now, instead of being impressed with him, Mother was always asking after Granger. What is she like? She is good in all her classes? Which class is she best at? The few moments that Mother gives him are all spent in asking about Granger! If only he could beat her. If only he could outshine everyone else and show his parents that he is truly their son, just as smart, just as strong as they are.

Draco flew in spirals, getting closer and closer to the ground. He was flying over Mother’s favorite garden. Black and red roses grew in thick shrubs all along the walk, thick flowers poking out of a network of thorns. Maybe Mother would he here with her guest. Sometimes she liked to show her garden of rare flowers to her friends. Of course, Draco wouldn't dream of disturbing them. Mother would never permit that but perhaps he can catch a glimpse of her before going to bed. He had to be content with that for today.

There they were. Draco heard the distant hum of voices, nearly drowned out by the wind. It was coming from far ahead of him. Quickly, Draco bent forward, urging his broom to go faster. There was a whoosh of air and then, he was gone. He zoomed through the air, like a knife cutting through butter. This broom was a really excellent make, almost twice as fast as his old Cleansweep brand. Within seconds he saw them, the unmistakable figure of his mother walking along the gravel pathway, her raven feather cloak rising around her like wings. The second figure was much smaller, only coming a little higher than Mother's waist. Mother had one arm around her shoulders and she was talking to her earnestly.

Draco frowned. A child? That was the company Mother was keeping? That was definitely odd. Mother was not overly fond of children. All her friends were important people from the ministry, people with power. What was Mother doing here, walking around the garden with a child? Here the path was flanked by a line of tall trees. Draco went into the the thicket to hide from view and moved forwards softly, making sure not to be heard. When he came closer he caught a glimpse of a bushy head and an all too familiar voice talking non stop.

"...and I've considered becoming a healer too. I know it's hard and I know that I have to train for years but I think I can manage it." It was Granger! It was Hermione Granger, the number one student of the year, the pet of every teacher. She is here, walking in his gardens with Mother's arm around her. What is the meaning of this! Mother can't even spare a moment for him and yet here she is casually chatting with a... with that... What the hell is going on!

"Of course you can manage it. You are, after all, highly intelligent, you can manage to become anything you want." Mother was smiling down at that Know-it-all bookworm, actually smiling! And did she just compliment her? Mother is very hard to please, she never compliments anyone, not even Draco! And now this witch is here and getting all these compliments without even blinking. What the hell?! Look at her! Granger is practically preening, like an overstuffed peacock!

"I researched the topic and I found out that to become a healer, one must be apprenticed to a Master. Of course, that worries me a bit. How will I be able to find a Master to train me?" Granger prattled on, her bushy hair jumping in all directions. Mother is listening to her intently, hanging onto her every word.

"I could train you." Mother stated earnestly. Draco came to an abrupt halt. What? Did he just understand this right? Is his mother volunteering, actually volunteering to train Granger? But that's not... She's his... What?!

"You? But I thought that you are an Unspeakable."

"I am but I am also a Healing Mistress. I cannot precisely tell you what my project as an unspeakable is but it has to do with Healing." Mother took Granger's hand in both of hers and looked at her adoringly.

"Hermione, I know that you are very talented girl. I only wish to give you the chance to shine. I know that you don't think much of me or my husband and you are quite right. Neither one of us are perfect but we want to help you. All I'm asking is for you to let us." Draco wished he could just undo what he has just heard and seen. He wished he could lock himself up in his room and forget how tenderly Mother is talking to this girl, a mere stranger and a mudblood at that. This was too bizarre. It was unreal.

It was getting late but the two of them kept on talking. They talked and talked, about her grades, about her classes, about the future, about anything and everything while Draco listened on. How many times had Mother listened to him like this? How long is it since Mother was interested in anything he did? Draco was starting to feel sick. First, Potter took away Uncle Severus and now Granger is taking away Mother. Merlin, he hated these stupid Gryffindors! They're like parasites, creeping into everything and ruining lives.
-------- HP --------

Harry’s high energy state lasted for days afterwards. He simply could not sit still. He wanted to do things and go places. He never truly appreciated how amazingly colorful the world was until now. He spent hours outside, staring at the sky and at the strange plants growing in clumps and hedges all around the house. He was noticing details that he had never noticed before. How his polished broomstick handle gleamed under the sun, how the leaves seemed to blink like stars when a fierce wind blew through the branches. All in all, this past week has been the best one all summer. Snape had been amazing. Their Defense Against the Dark Arts Lessons had restarted but since Snape wasn’t being such a git, Harry was actually enjoying it. He was learning so many new spells! And in the afternoons, they had played Quidditch. Once, Snape had even taken him to the nearby town for ice cream. With only a minimum of grumbling Snape had been persuaded to spend entire days with him. There were no arguments, no tears and especially, no Malfoys. Draco has vanished and now it was only Harry and Snape getting along better than they had ever done before.

Harry smiled as he took a bite out of his chocolate frog. It crunched under his teeth and a vanilla cream poured into his mouth. It was simply delicious. Harry wondered whether wizards used spells to make their food. It tasted so much better than muggle ones. Everything was sharper in the wizarding world, as if every object was designed to heighten the senses.

Harry was sitting on a bench outside. The house towered over him, tall and menacing as ever. During his sightless days, he had forgotten just how intimidating this place looked. The pointed towers and boarded windows, the black and grey wallpaper and the grotesque creatures curled around the bannisters. Harry didn’t know why but something about this house made him uncomfortable. That is one of the reasons why he had chosen to spend so much time outside. He had even convinced Snape to hold their lessons in one of the unused gardens where the chirping birds and the rustling grass were a refreshing sight. He could laugh and be light hearted around the gardens, without the grey walls of the house closing in around him.

But today was different. He wouldn’t be playing Quidditch or having magic lessons in the open air. No. Snape has positively refused to spend another day outside. He claimed that if he soaked up anymore sunshine, his skin would boil. Harry smiled at the thought. Had that man always been so over dramatic?

Harry had suggested a tour of the house and Snape had been very happy to agree, anything to stay cooped up indoors. Honestly, why did Snape hate the sunshine so much. Harry had to practically drag him outside. Well, today Snape had finally won.

“Mr. Potter.” Snape’s voice spoke so suddenly that Harry jumped and dropped his chocolate frog. Snape was standing behind him with a very smug look on his face.

“Do you always have to do that?” Harry growled trying his best to look irritated.

“And what exactly do I do?”

“You always sneak up on me! Honestly, do you float above the ground or something.”

“Perhaps. If you haven’t noticed, I’m rather adept at the art of frightening children.” Snape crossed his arms across his chest and lifted his chin proudly. Harry couldn’t help but smile up at the man. Slytherins, who understood them?

“I think you’re losing your touch, Professor. I’m not frightened of you.”

“Hmm. Perhaps I should do better to sharpen my skills.” Snape’s lips twitched. Then, he spun around sharply and started walking towards the house. His cloak seemed to float in the air, framing his dark figure. “Come along, Mr. Potter. We had best get started. This house is rather expansive and it will take quite a long time to explore it.” With one last glances at the pointed gables of the house, Harry rushed to catch up to his professor. Despite his uneasiness around the house, he was curious to know what was hidden behind those mysterious looking doors.
Snape climbed up the steps to the house with Harry at his heels. As soon as they entered, the darkness crept up on them. As the door snapped shut, Harry’s eyes, used to the glare of the sunshine, couldn’t see a single thing. He distinguished the vague outlines of the mildly glowing yellow globes but it was not enough.

“Have you ever thought of opening the windows, professor?” For a second there was silence. Did Snape even hear him? Maybe he had already moved on to another room, his eyes seeing even in the darkness. But a heartbeat later, Harry heard a tired sigh.

“Very well, Mr. Potter. I shall open the blinds but only a fraction.” There was a swish of a wand and with a loud snap, a window to Harry’s right opened slowly. White sunlight poured in through the gap, falling like a laser beam onto the gleaming marble floor. The room was still dark but now, Harry could distinguish the outline of the objects around him. A broad staircase led up to the second floor where his bedroom was found. It was a simple black staircase polished to a shine but two horned demons protruded from the bannister, staring at Harry with twisted expressions and mouths open wide. Above his head, a large chandelier swung. It had dozens of candle holders but instead of candles, the yellow globes that Harry had seen all around the house floated above them. To his left was the door that led to the dining room and the kitchens while to his right there was another door. Harry had never been there before. Maybe it led down to the dungeons.

“What do you wish to see first, Mr. Potter? There is a library but I doubt that you’ll be too interested in that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Merely that a miracle would be needed to make you sit still long enough to appreciate the wisdom stored within centuries worth of books.”

“Geez. You’re a bigger book worm than Hermione.” Snape wisely decided to ignore the comment.

“This floor contains the kitchens, the floo room and a few bedrooms. The second floor houses mostly bedrooms and empty offices. The floor directly below this one contains the indoor gardens. The one you stumbled across is but one of a large set of rooms. There are forests, lakes, desert dunes and other such settings.”

“That actually sounds really cool, sir.”

“So I take it that you want to visit the underground level first.” Well, they did sound interesting but there were so many other things that Harry needed to know first. He wanted to know about Snape and where he spent most of his days. Where was his bedroom, his potions labs? How do you keep from getting lost in this labyrinth of a house. Harry wondered whether there was a map of the house somewhere. Maybe if he’d follow Snape carefully, paying attention to the twists and turns, he could make his own mental map.

“Well, I’d first like to see where your bedroom and your potion labs are, sir.”

It was no use. They had walked for five minutes and Harry was already completely lost. They had climbed a few staircases and turned this way and that. Harry had absolutely no idea where they were. Every corridor seemed exactly identical to the one before. The same set of cramped doors and never ending grey walls. Harry had tried to remember the turns. Left. Right. Two lefts. Climb a flight of stairs and walk to the end of the corridor. Enter the big door and turn to the left. Walk past four sets of doors and turn to the left again. Or was it to the right? No, they didn’t turn. They had kept walking in a straight line taking the middle turn. But that didn’t sound right either. They had climbed another set of stairs somewhere in the middle.

Urgh. This is just frustrating! What the hell is wrong with this place? Harry would swear that the house was deliberately trying to mock him!

“Professor Snape?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Where the hell are we?” Snape turned around and arched his eyebrow at Harry. He was looking at him as if he had completely lost his mind.

“We are in my house, Mr. Potter. Where else did you think we were? Diagon Alley?”

“I meant, in what part of the house are we in? What floor is this? How on earth’s name am I ever going to remember how to find your rooms again?” Snape looked puzzled. He had stopped walking and he stood staring down at Harry. It was a narrow corridor, the walls on either side were pressing down on them. Harry felt as if he was being squeezed through a rubber tube. The thought made him claustrophobic. He felt a rush of longing for fresh air again, the desire to see the endless plains of grass swaying beneath his feet.

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Potter? Why would you need to remember anything? The house merely shows you where you need to go.” Harry took a moment to absorb Snape’s words. They still made zero sense to him.

“Huh?”

“You merely have to think about your destination and the blue glow will lead you where you need to go.” Snape stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Well, it damn well wasn’t obvious to Harry! So, there was some kind of magic mixed into this place. He had to perform some sort of spell to get around.

“Have you ever thought of telling me this a little sooner, sir. Maybe when I moved in?”

“I thought that you already knew. The first day I spent in this house, I thought about food and the blue glow simply appeared, leading me to the kitchens.”

“Well, I didn’t see any blue glow! I was completely lost in this nightmare house for weeks.”

“Are you telling me, Mr. Potter, that in all the time you’ve been here, you have never seen the blue path?”

“No!” Snape’s eyes widened and he looked down at Harry in complete shock. “Maybe I have to concentrate harder. You know, like casting spells. I have to focus on the goal and summon my magic.”

“No, Mr. Potter. The enchanted path is not the result of an individual’s magic. It is a spell woven into the foundation of the house. You do not have to consciously summon it. The moment you need to find a place, the path will appear. I had assumed that that is the case with you as well. I do not know why you cannot see it.”

“This house hates me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Potter. A house does not have feeling.”

“Yes, it does! Its like… Its like this house doesn’t want to show me its secrets. It’s trying to crush me and drive me out.”

“Calm down, Mr. Potter. There is no need for so much melodrama. I am sure that there is a simpler explanation for all this. We just need to find it. I’ll look into the matter and in a few days, I’ll fix it.” Harry sighed. He supposed Snape was right. Maybe there was something wrong with the spells around the house, a small malfunction that can easily be fixed. He just needed to be patient.

“So there is magic in this house, sir.”

“There is magic inside every wizarding house, Mr. Potter. Protection spells, detection spells and hundreds of other spells are woven into the foundation when a wizarding house is built. Otherwise, thieves and murderers can simply apparate into people’s living rooms and cause havoc.” Harry supposed that made sense. They started walking again. Soon they came out of the narrow corridor and entered a large circular room. Snake sculptures crept up the walls. Their black scales shimmered in the lights. Harry could swear that they were breathing. He could see their bodies contracting and expanding in a steady rhythm. Harry gulped and looked away. There were four identical wooden doors all around him. Who knows how many long and endless passages were hidden behind those doors.

“Professor, has magic been used to make the inside of this house bigger?”

“Certainly. No one truly knows how big the interior is. Perhaps it is endless. There are as many rooms as one needs.”

“But, sir, if magic can expand any space then why can’t the Weasleys expand the Burrow so that they had as much room as they want.”

“Magic is not as simple as that, Mr. Potter.” They took the first door to the left. It opened up to an identical grey corridor but thankfully, this one was wider. Harry glanced around at the black doors all around him. He wondered what they were used for. Who had made this place so big? Why would any family need so many rooms?

“It takes a considerable amount of magical power to expand space.” Snape continued with his explanation. He seemed in his element, sprouting off knowledge as if he was a walking textbook. He sounded a bit like Hermione actually. “Hundreds of wizards must work together to summon enough magical power to expand the dimensions of time or space. An individual family does not have such a supply of magical power. Not even the Malfoys, despite all their wealth and influence, are capable of expanding their home.”

“But then how did this place get so big?” Snape’s steps were silent but Harry’s footsteps echoed down the corridor, making the air around them fill with odd tapping sounds.

“This mansion is no ordinary one. It was not built by a single family. It is a government sanctioned building and, like all government buildings, hundreds of employees have been used to cast spells on it.”

“So the government just built this place and gave it to you?”

“Hardly. This place was built centuries ago, even before the statute of secrecy was put in place. It was originally intended to be a sanctuary for the mentally challenged. For a while it served this purpose but over the course of the last century, newer, more cheerful places were built for such people and this place was abandoned. One of the biggest patrons who sanctioned this building was a Dumbledore so now, the headmaster owns this place and he has agreed to let me stay here for the time being.” Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Their long shadows danced in the grey tiles in front of them.

“Wait a second. So this place was once an insanity asylum?”

“Well, if you want to put it in such indelicate terms, then yes.” Was it only Harry’s imagination or had this place suddenly grown darker and more oppressive? Harry could almost picture it in his mind, hundreds of people walking around these corridors, their dazed eyes expressionless, their mouths mumbling an incoherent string of words. Harry would picture red rimmed eyes wide with madness and humorless laughter. He gulped. He had sensed all along that this place had a sad history. There was something about this house that was different, as if the grey walls had soaked the misery of the people who had been locked up in here.

“Once I saw a bedroom with barred windows. There were scratches all over the walls and around the window, as if someone was trying to escape.”

“Ah, yes, I do remember. It was one of the things you accused me of in that letter of yours. I presume that you thought I had imprisoned people in this house. Well, at least to that charge, I can declare my innocence. I don’t know who was trapped in that room. It was probably a mad patient who had been locked in.” Harry nodded. He was getting a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He could imagine it so easily. Trapped in a small space with nothing to do to while away the endless hours. Sometimes the silence was enough to drive a person mad. Maybe they had started to count in their heads, just for something to do. Maybe they had even hummed to themselves, anything to break the silence. Harry had tried that once, when he was locked up in his cupboard. That had only made his relatives madder. His uncle had pounded on the door telling him to shut the hell up. The sad thing was, that even his uncle’s hurtful words were welcome, anything was better than the silence and the absolute darkness. It was like being buried alive.

“Mr. Potter?” There was no window in the cupboard. It was impossible to know what time of the day it was. At least, when his relatives were home, they made noise. Dudley whining that his life was unfair, his uncle complaining about his colleagues, his aunt gossiping about the neighbors. Of course he couldn’t really hear their conversation. All he heard were muffled sounds but that was better than nothing. Harry, sitting cramped in his cupboard would soak up the sounds, shaping them in his mind into imaginary conversations.

“Mr. Potter, are you alright?” It was much worse when no one was home. When Dudley had gone to school and his uncle had gone to work. His aunt would sometimes go outside to hang out with her friends. Other times, she would go upstairs to read in her room. She always closed the light in the corridor and Harry was left in darkness. He got frightened then, really frightened. He would bang on the door and demand to be let out. He would scream that he didn’t do anything wrong. But there was nobody left to hear him, only the…

“Harry!” Harry felt hands grip his shoulders and shake him mildly. He blinked in confusion for a second, caught between his memories and the present. When his mind finally focused, he saw that Snape was crouched in front of him, his black eyes worriedly scanning his face. He felt the thin fingers on his shoulders gripping him tight, holding him onto reality. Harry felt the panic that had started to build up inside him slip away unnoticed. It was alright. Everything was alright. His professor was here. Harry smiled and put his arms around Snape’s neck.

“I’m okay, Professor. Sorry I scared you.” Snape didn’t look convinced. His mouth was pinched into a tight line and his eyes kept flicking back and forth rapidly, scanning Harry’s features.

“Perhaps you ought to sit down. We can defer this tour until…”

“No, no, professor! I can continue. Really, I’m fine.” Harry gave his professor a brief hug. It was nice to feel hands around his waist, squeezing him back. Sometimes Harry needed that, to feel that his new guardian was real and not a figment of the fantasies he created for himself while locked up in his cupboard. Snape still looked doubtful but he stood up slowly.

“I called you multiple times but there was no response. You looked rather strange, standing there with a glazed expression, swaying on your feet as if about to faint. Perhaps a delayed side effect of the potion is taking effect.” A cold hand was placed on his forehead, searching for a temperature. Merlin, Snape really could be overprotective like a mother hen clucking after its young. If you thought about it, he was a bit like Mrs. Weasley with her endless fussing. Harry stifled a laugh.

“It’s nothing like that. I was just caught up in a memory.”

“It must have been a rather powerful one to produce such an effect.” Oh yes, it was very powerful. So powerful that it wouldn’t let him go. Sometimes Harry still woke up in the middle of the night thinking that he’s still locked up in his cupboard. He could actually feel the walls closing in around him.

“It’s just another memory of the Dursleys. When you told me about these people locked up in their rooms, it reminded me of them.” Snape nodded understandingly. Maybe he did understand. Dumbledore probably thought that locking him up was a good punishment too.

“I have heard rumors of your ill treatment at the hands of the Dursley. I’m ashamed to say that at the time, I merely thought that you were fishing for attention just like…” Snape suddenly broke off, sensing that he was entering into dangerous territory. Harry was glad. If Snape insulted his father again, Harry would have to defend him and that will surely result in an argument. They’ve been so peaceful this entire week, it would be a shame to start yelling at each other now.

“What I am attempting to say is that I know how you feel. I know what it is to be betrayed by those who are supposed to take care of you. If you are in need of someone to talk to, I am here. I hope you know that.” Harry nodded solemnly. He has never talked about the Dursleys with anyone, not even with Ron and Hermione. He didn’t want to be pitied and he definitely didn’t want to appear weak and defenseless. But with Snape it would be different. He would understand. Maybe some other time, he really will take Snape up on his offer.

They started walking down the corridor again. Both of them were silent, absorbed in their own thoughts. They were taking countless twists and turns but Harry wasn’t even trying to keep up this time. He simply followed behind Snape, hardly looking at where he was going. He couldn’t get the image of the insane people out of his mind. He kept thinking about them, about what it must’ve been like to spiral slowly down into madness without being able to do a damn thing about it. They must’ve walked along these gloomy halls hundreds of times, the grotesque gargoyles leering down at them.

As they passed down a corridor, Harry paused for a second outside one of the doors. It was identical to all the others, the same featureless black door and silver handle. It must be another bedroom. Guided by an impulse, Harry twisted the handle and pushed the door open. The door swayed slowly inwards to reveal a very simple bedroom. There were no shelves, no trunks, not even a chair to rest in. The only window was narrow like the slit of a snake’s eye and even that was barred with iron. In the very center of the room, there was a small bed. It was just the right size to fit a child several years younger than Harry. Fitted to the four bedposts were four chains of rusted iron. They were just the right length to close over the ankles and wrists of the child sleeping on the bed, trapping them in place.

Harry felt it again, the sudden flash of panic, the sense that the air was too thick to enter his lungs. His breath was coming out in short gasps. Air, he needed air. He felt a familiar hand squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. Harry leant backwards, feeling the solid presence behind him. He felt his anxiety lessen.

“Who could live in a room like this, Professor?” A name had been scratched onto the wooden headboard. The letters were crude and barely legible. Emily Jane, it read. A girl. A little girl had been chained to this bed. “Who could do something like this? How cruel can a person get?”

“Sometimes it is necessary.” Snape whispered so quietly that Harry almost didn’t catch his words. Harry turned around to face his guardian suddenly.

“What! How can you say that? No one deserved to be chained down like this, especially not a kid.” Harry yelled angrily.

“Have you ever met an insane person, Mr. Potter?”

“No but…”

“Then you do not know what it is like. Yes, a lot of them are quite harmless but there are others who are not. There are those whose minds have been warped and twisted so much that they have turned into little more than ravenous beasts, eager for violence. Sometimes restraining them is the only way to keep them from harming themselves or each other.” Harry was shocked by the passion in Snape’s usually cool voice. It was like the time in the reptile room when Snape had been talking about his mother, his eyes burning with an intensity that was almost frightening. “Would you rather let the person fly into a fit of passion clawing at their own skin until blood poured down their bodies? No, restraining them is the only choice available. It is not pleasant, not to the poor mentally ill patient and certainly not to be the person who has to do it despite how repulsive he finds it. I would thank you not to judge what you cannot understand, Potter. And believe me there is much you can’t understand with that substandard brain of yours.” Harry blinked up at his guardian. He was shocked at the anger in Snape’s voice and the way his chest moved up and down as if he was about to explode. Snape hadn’t had one of his sudden fits of anger in a long time. Harry didn’t know what to say. It was obvious that Snape had personal experience with a dangerous insane person. He didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and making Snape even angrier. Instead he waited in silence until Snape’s breath evened out and his eyes lost their fierce glimmer. In a few seconds, Snape was his usual self again. He looked highly uncomfortable and ashamed of himself.

“Mr. Potter, I…” Snape started to say but Harry cut him off.

“”It’s okay, Professor. I’m sorry I upset you.”

“I apologize, Harry. I did not mean to insult you. I just…”

“I know, sir. Don’t worry about it.” Harry patted his back reassuringly. Normally, that kind of comment would piss him off but now he understood Snape a bit better. There was so much pain in his past, sometimes it threatened to overwhelm him. It had nothing to do with Harry. “Come on, we have the rest of the house to go over.”

“After showing you my rooms, I can take you to the library. It has a large holographic map of the house. It can help you find your way until I learn how to fix the spell.”

“That sounds great.”

-------- HP --------

Harry was uncomfortable. He squirmed in his bed. His body felt weird, as if gritty sand had gotten into his pajamas and was rubbing against his skin. Harry groaned and turned on his side. The bed felt strange under him, rough and uncomfortable. That's odd, Harry thought vaguely, his mind groggy with sleep.

The wind roared wildly in his ears, messing his hair and tugging at his cloths. Damn. I must've left the window open again. I should get up and close it. Maybe in five more minutes. Harry reached blindly for his blanket, his hands groping all around him. Instead of the familiar softness of cloth, his fingers closed something different. It felt like soil or dirt, something fine.

What the hell? Harry thought, suddenly returning to his senses. Did he fall asleep in the garden? Slowly, he became aware of other sounds, sounds that definitely did not belong to a bedroom. An odd whispering was all around him, as if a crowd of people were muttered under their breaths. And the wind. It was loud, insistent, even violent. It shrieked like an old woman who was being stabbed to death again and again.

Abruptly, Harry sat up and opened his eyes, his hand automatically reaching for the glasses on his nightstand. But there was no nightstand. There was no blanket or bed. There wasn't even a room. Harry was sitting in the middle of a desert. Sand as white as fresh snow was everywhere, extending for miles and miles all around him. Wherever he looked there was only sand. The wind, despotic and powerful, ripped away fistfuls of sand and threw them up into the air forming thick clouds. Patterns of dunes dotted the landscape but the wind didn't let them lie still. They moved and shifted like the body of a serpent slithering along the ground.

I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming. Harry thought, fighting against the wind to stand up. But no dream had ever felt like this, so real, so vivid. Harry could see the grains of sand as they poured out of his sleeves and scattered onto the floor. He could feel the wind dragging him forwards and backwards and sideways, not leaving him alone for a single second. Why am I here? Why am I dreaming of a desert I've never seen before? Harry thought, wishing he would wake up soon. This place was starting to exhaust him.

"Harry!" A muffled voice was shouting, trying to be heard above the shrieking of the wind. Who was that? Harry looked all around him but he couldn't see anyone, only a whiteness that moved and shifted restlessly. Maybe he had been mistaken. Maybe it was only the voice of the wind playing tricks on his mind. But no, there it was again. Someone was definitely calling him.

"Professor? Is that you?" Harry shouted back but his voice was lost amidst the loud shrieking. What an odd dream! Harry thought, trying to move in the general direction of the voice. It called to him again and again, beckoning him forward. It was hard to walk. The wind kept trying to push him down and subdue him. Sand was in his eyes and mouth, it scratched at its skin. His feet sank into the ground, getting half buried. Every step was a huge effort. He didn't know how long he struggled in that barren desert but finally, after what felt like hours, he reached the source of the voice. Just a few meters in front of him was the figure of a tall man.

"Professor?" Harry asked timidly but as he came closer he realized that this was not his guardian. No, this man was more muscular than his skeletal professor. His hair was much shorter and a robe of crimson flapped around him. He was standing stock still as if the wind and the sand were not affecting him at all. Instantly, Harry got the impression that this was a very dangerous man to cross. Fearfully, Harry took another step forward. With a whoosh, the clouds of sand around him cleared and Harry finally saw the man's face. It was a mirror image of his own, only the man's features were more mature and the scar was absent from his forehead.

Dad. Harry smiled softly, finally understanding what he was seeing. He was dreaming of his father again. He hasn’t done that in a while, not since coming to live with Snape. Harry stepped forwards, eager to be as close to his father as he could. But something was different this time. Harry could sense it. This was not like the other dreams where his father was only a vague outline, a mixture of random shapes pasted together. The man standing in front of him was so much more detailed, more… solid.

Harry stared, taking in everything. His father had a youthful face, he looked much younger than Snape. Maybe this was because his forehead was smooth, untainted by worry and anxiety. A broad grin crossed his face, showing a set of gleaming white teeth. His eyes were big and chocolate brown and right now, they were sparkling with happiness. There was so much life in them and they gazed at Harry with undisguised affection. Harry smiled happily back. Merlin, this was wonderful. This was the best dream he’d ever had.

His father was dressed in an odd outfit. The cloak around his shoulder was red, a red as dark as wine. A lion was emblazed onto it. As the robe fluttered in the wind, Harry could catch glimpses of this lion. It was a dirty yellow color and it was harsh and threatening, its jaws open, showing a set of dagger sharp teeth. Under his robes, his father wore a shirt of golden chainmail. The hundreds of gold rings glistened in the sun, making a pretty impressive sight. To complete the outfit, he wore long black boots and a black belt with a wand holster visible on the side. The wooden handle of a wand poked out of it. He looked like a valorous knight who had come out of an ancient fairytale, ready to battle evil and save the world. Dear Merlin, he looked so strong, so powerful. Harry could stare at him for hours.

“Well, kiddo? Here I am.” Dad spread his arms wide as if embracing the entire world. His voice was loud and booming, the voice of a great leader. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” Harry could only nod. He felt as if something was lodged in his throat, trapping his voice inside him. How can this be? How can the man standing in front of him look so real?

Harry took another step closer. He stretched out his right hand, reaching towards his father’s arm. But his fingers did not touch him. They passed through with only a mild resistance. His father threw his head back and laughed. The sound was so loud, Harry jumped backwards, startled.

“No, Harry. I’m not alive. Not yet.” His father said, a trace of laughter still lingering in his voice. There was a moment of silence. Father and son stared at each other, absorbing every detail avidly.

“Merlin, how you’ve grown, kiddo.” His father reached out, as if to ruffle his son’s hair but again, his fingers brushed past Harry. “Last time I saw you, you were just a little thing. I could pick you up and throw you into the air. Damn, how you laughed! You just squealed and shook your chubby fists like a little drunk puppet. I guess you don’t remember that, do you?” Harry shook his head slowly as if afraid that any harsh movements will make this dream disappear like a soap bubble popping in the air.

“Don’t you remember me at all?”

“A bit.” Harry stated softly. Finally he had found his voice again, it sounded strange even to his own ears. The wind was still shrieking madly around them but his father seemed to understand him anyway. He didn’t seem to be a part of this desert world. “I don’t remember your face. I’ve seen you in pictures but it’s not the same.” His father nodded solemnly.

“But I remember your voice and your laugh sometimes. You always laughed.” As if to prove his theory, his father laughed again. And yes, it did feel familiar to Harry like something he had always known but momentarily forgotten.

“Oh, Dad.” He whispered, choking up. He felt tears gathering at the edge of his eyes. “I wish you were real!”

“But I am real, kiddo.” His father said, looking him right in the eye and just for a moment, Harry almost believed him. “Well, technically I don’t have a body yet but that doesn’t mean I’m not real. It’s still me.”

“What’re you trying to say, Dad? That you’re a ghost?”

“Not exactly. To be a ghost, you have to be dead but, technically, I’m not dead anymore. I’m a spirit stuck between life and death.” Harry just looked at him with a confused expression.

“Do you know where we are, Harry? This crappy, boring place we’re in. It’s called limbo. It’s where the souls of the dead come before moving on to the afterlife. If you listen carefully you can hear the souls whispering.” Harry looked around him. His father was right. Underneath the shrill voice of the wind, he could hear an odd jumble of sounds. A soft, confused whispering of thousands of voices. It was all around him, like the scuttling of tiny beetles. Harry peered closely at a cloud of sand that was rising up to his left, was it only his imagination or could he really see the outline of a shape within that sand cloud, like the flickering shadow of a woman? “Sometimes, living people like you can come to this place in their dreams and visit their loved ones for one final time before they move on forever.”

“But if that true, what’re you doing here? You’ve been dead for a long time.” Harry asked, looking all around him, trying to find some other shapes hidden in the sand. Sometimes, he could see them. A flicker of light, a shifting shadow, an outline drawn in the sand. Was it really true? Were there dead people here?

“Didn’t Dumbledore tell you, Harry?” His father asked.

“Tell me what?”

“He’s trying to bring me back to life.” Harry blinked up at his father. His mind was a blank. He couldn’t take this information in. It brushed past him like a insubstantial cloud. “He has a expert necromancer working for him night and day, trying to bring back members of the order of the phoenix who had died in the first wizarding war. He has found the answer, Harry! He has found a way to defeat death, the ultimate enemy!”

“What… How…?” What is going on? Is it possible that this actually isn’t an ordinary dream? Is this really his father’s spirit standing in front of him?

“I don’t understand the specifics, kiddo. I was never the academic one but this is what I know. A while ago, I woke up in this weird place just like you did. The last thing I remembered was rushing at Voldemort, trying to protect you and your mother. I remember the flash of green light and nothing more. For a long time, I can’t exactly say how long, the sun doesn’t set here, I just wondered through this desert, trying to find something, anything that’ll help me understand what was going on. I knew I was dead but I didn’t really expect death to be this...lonely. I just kept on walking, driven by a hope that I’ll find someone soon. And one day, I did. Out of the blue, Dumbledore just popped in front of me. He told me all these things. He told me that I’d been dead for more than ten years but now, it was time for me to return to the land of the living. Let me tell, that was quite a big shock!” His father shook his head and laughed softly.

“Anyway, he told me that a combination of spells and potions had been cast over my body. This caused my spirit to be retracted from the afterlife and it has landed me here in limbo. Now, apparently, I have to wait in this bloody place until his pet necromancer pours a few more potions down my throat and brings me back to life.” To say that Harry was shocked would be an understatement.

“Merlin, if that’s real, Snape’s going to be pissed!” The words slipped out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop himself. The effect was instantaneous. His father’s smile vanished. His features distorted into an expression of pure hatred.

“Ah yes, Dumbledore told me that you’re living with that bastard now.” His father spat out the words through clenched teeth. His hand automatically went to his wand handle, ready to whip it out and start hexing furiously.

“He’s not that bad and....” Harry started but his father interrupted him angrily.

“Not that bad? How the hell can you say that? He’s a Slytherin, an evil snake! He and those like him are the ones polluting our world, bringing evil into our peaceful land! They are a virus that must be eliminated.” His father was shouting loudly now, every word booming like the thud of a drum. Harry stepped back, slightly frightened by this burst of sudden anger. Wow. It looked like his dad and Snape had one thing in common. They both had pretty frightening mood swings. “What the hell was Dumbledore thinking! How can he leave you in that house filled with Slytherins! They’re all watching you, waiting for the right moment to attack.”

“You’re wrong, Dad. There’s only me and Snape living in that house and he’s harmless. If you get to know him then…”

“Is that what he told you, kiddo? That lying filthy bastard! Listen, Harry, while I was here, I managed to talk with some of the souls and you know what I found out? Snape has converted the West Wing of Widow’s Flight, that creepy house you’re living in, into a snake den. A whole host of Slytherins are living there now, hiding from the law. Criminals, murderers and thieves, the lot of them!”

“But that’s not true, Dad. I’ve been living there for weeks and I haven’t seen anyone.”

“Of course you haven’t! Slytherins are cunning, they know how to hide, but trust me, you’re in grave danger. There are loads of people living in that house and all of them want you dead. You have to get out! You have to get out now!”

“But… I ....” Something weird was happening. His father’s figure was blurring, like an inkblot slowly dispersing in cold water. The color in him was fading. Even his voice was becoming distant as if he was slowly moving away from him.

“Damnt it! Our times up!” The wind has suddenly quieted down. Harry could no longer feel the grains of sand under his feet. The white around him was fading into a dull grey.

“Dad!” Harry shouted but no sound came out of his mouth. He rushed forwards and tried to grab onto his father’s cloak but his body wasn’t responding to him. His father was nothing but a smudge now, his shape hardly distinguishable.

“Remember what I told you, Harry.” Dad’s voice floated to him from some distant plain. It was an urgent whisper. “You must get out! Go to Dumbledore and tell him…” The voice trailed away and Harry was surrounded by a vast empty blackness. He felt a rush of air around him as if he was falling from a great distance. Harry clawed into the darkness, trying to find something to hold onto.

With a sudden jolt, Harry woke up in his own bed. He was panting hard and the blankets were twisted around him, trapping him in place. Quickly, Harry grabbed his glasses from his nightstand and jammed them on. He almost expected his father’s spirit to have followed him here but there was no one. He was alone in his own bedroom. The familiar objects were all around him. There was his broom, sitting quietly in a corner beside his open trunk. His school robes messily poured out of it, slipping halfway onto the floor. There was his cupboard and his desk filled with textbooks. The only things moving in the room were the sky blue curtains. The window was half open and the wind slipped in, fluttered the delicate folds of the curtains.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. Harry thought, trying to calm down his frantically beating heart. His father was dead. There was no magic that could bring back the dead. What he saw couldn’t have been real. It was only his overactive imagination at work. He had heard what he hoped to hear, that’s all.

But no matter how much he reasoned, doubt began to creep into his mind. What if it was real? What if his father really was coming back?