MINDSCAPE - The Healing Journey by chrmisha
Summary: When an Occlumency lesson goes wrong, Snape learns more about Harry’s past than he ever wanted to—and it changes everything. But change doesn’t come easily, especially for two who have spent five years loathing each other’s very existence. Can Snape and Harry come to a mutual understanding of sorts to defeat their greatest enemy—themselves? Spring of 5th year, A/U. Completely written and posted in chapter installments.
Categories: Healer Snape, Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Hermione, Original Character
Snape Flavour: Snape is Angry, Canon Snape, Snape Comforts, Snape is Kind, Snape is Stern
Genres: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Injured!Harry, Snape-meets-Dursleys
Takes Place: 5th Year
Warnings: Abusive Dursleys, Physical Punishment Spanking, Neglect, Rape, Romance/Het, Torture, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 40 Completed: Yes Word count: 98424 Read: 234387 Published: 26 May 2017 Updated: 31 Oct 2017
Chapter 38 by chrmisha
Author's Notes:
A/N: This was originally posted as an outtake called “Just a Dream.” By popular demand, I’ve included it as a regular chapter in this story. It might be a little out of character, so keep that in mind.

Harry walked the hallowed halls of Hogwarts in search of something he’d never had. Never would have. For it was too late now. He was too sullied; too broken. Still, he couldn’t stop the sliver of hope that shone in his heart. It was only desperation and adrenaline that drove him now. The one last morsel of his fate he controlled--his own actions, as crazy and demented as they surely were. He knew his sanity was hanging by a thread. If only he could have this one chance, his heart’s truest desire--however fleeting, however illusory--maybe, just maybe, it would be enough. And on that slim branch he placed his heart, waiting for it to be broken, hoping it wouldn’t be.

Secure under his invisibility cloak, he checked the time once more. Eleven pm. It wasn’t that late. He hoped the man would still be awake. He hoped the man wasn’t alone. It was a Friday night after all. He hoped they were together. But he’d spent his life hoping and wishing for a plethora of things that never came true. Why should tonight be any different? Because he needed it to be, he thought, grasping at the fragile strands of his sanity. He needed this more than the air he breathed. If it didn’t work out—if he wasn’t there, if she wasn’t there, if the answer was no—he knew, to the depths of his soul that he wouldn’t make it. He’d end up in St. Mungo’s beside Neville’s parents—and would that be so bad after all? he wondered idly.

He made his way down the stone steps, feeling the dampness seep into his skin. On one hand, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. On the other, what choice did he have? The door was locked, as he knew it would be. He placed his palm to the door, heard the lock click, and entered, closing and locking the door behind him. Lumos. He followed his wand’s light to the other door, the door to the inner sanctuary; his hoped-for refuge. He knocked. Once. Twice, a little louder. Three times, hard. But there was no response. Was this, then, his answer? A resounding NO? His tears increased as he leaned his forehead against the hard wooden door. And then it, too, clicked open, and he stepped forward into a deserted sitting room, the light from the fire dim but welcoming. The door closed and locked behind him. At least the door was on his side, he thought. Earl Grey sauntered up to him, meowing plaintively. Harry bent to pick her up, stroking her as he looked around the sitting room. He saw two wine glasses—a good sign. And on the mantel, a new picture. A moving photograph of Snape and Covey, wearing the dress robes they wore that night that they had invited Harry to dinner. Snape stood behind Covey, looking straight ahead, his hand on her shoulder. Snape seemed to be fighting off a smirk. Covey sat in front of him, prim and proper, save for the blue tips of her spiky blond hair and the absolutely devilish smile on her face. She looked back adoringly at Snape, who pursed his lips, before she burst out laughing, which made the corner of Snape’s mouth twitch. After which, they went back to sitting like a proper witch and wizard in a family portrait. The scene repeated over and over again. It was enduring. And it was agonizing. It was all Harry had ever wanted.

Harry set the cat down on the sofa and made his way to the bedroom door, which was closed. He knocked. He’d never been inside before, only seen it in passing when he’d stayed with them, and only once then—after he’d regained his vision. Were they in there now? Sleeping? Doing something more than sleeping? He leaned his ear against the door and heard nothing. Slowly, he turned the knob and stepped inside. Was this suicide? he wondered. Would it be so bad if it was?


Snape was dreaming. His mind was replaying the stunning evening he’d had—a wonderful dinner at King Solomon’s restaurant on High Street, an after-dinner drink in his quarters, and Covey in his bed, in his arms. The feeling of her body straddling his as they made love. The sound of her pleasure; the feeling of his. Stretching out bonelessly afterwards, gathering her to him, feeling her heart beat against his chest as she feel asleep, a smile on her face. A smile on his. Bliss. Undeserved unfettered bliss. Then the dream shifted, changed, to something more unknowable. Something that felt off. Something that prickled at the edge of his consciousness. The feeling of being watched. He slipped into awareness, opening his eyes to see an apparition standing at the foot of the bed, glowing with untamed magic, luminescent tears shimmering on the forlorn face.

“Potter,” he gasped, rocketing up in bed.

The apparition moved, shifted, but only slightly. The magical aura dimmed and deepened, the tears continued to flow, but all else was silence.

“Harry?” Covey said, waking from sleep herself. “What is it, love?”

“Please,” Harry said, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t get up. I’m sorry to wake you.”

But Snape was already getting up, the covers held tight to his waist. He summoned his sleep pants, dressing quickly under the sheets before slipping out from under them. He glanced at Covey, who had the covers pulled to her chin.

“Potter,” Snape hissed. “We aren’t decent. Give us a moment to get dressed.”

Harry turned and hung his head. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Snape glanced at Covey, who looked just as confused as he felt. With a wave of his wand, Snape erected a dressing screen and summoned Covey’s nightgown, throwing it to her in one smooth movement.

“Mr. Potter, what’s wrong? Why are you here?” Snape asked, half annoyed, half concerned, as he pulled a shirt over his head.

Covey, now dressed, screen vanished, came to stand on the other side of the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder. Harry’s magical aura pulsed, then seemed to collapse in on itself. Snape frowned.

“Sit down before you fall down,” Snape commanded.

The boy sat on the edge of the bed, Covey and Snape sitting on either side of him.

“I remember,” the boy said, dropping his head into his hands. “I remember everything.”

Snape glanced at Covey over Harry’s bowed head, her look of confusion mirroring his own.

“Go on, Harry,” Covey said.

“I was shaving,” Harry choked out. “And I nicked myself. Nothing major. I went to wipe away the blood and it was like the floodgates opened. Everything rushed back at me.” The boy gasped. “Everything,” he whispered hoarsely.

The boy began trembling in earnest. “The beatings, the burnings, the whippings, the starvation, the bullying, the name calling… everything…”

Covey took Harry’s hand in hers, squeezing it.

“I can’t do this,” Harry said. His shoulders hunched in defeat. “It’s too much. All I ever wanted was a… was a family.” Harry shuddered. “All I ever wanted was to be loved. To be cherished. Like a child should be.” Harry shook his head. “But that is not my destiny,” he said in a hollow voice. “I was destined to be murdered—first by Voldemort, then by the Dursleys.” Harry’s voice caught. “And they both still want me dead.”

“Harry…” Covey said.

“I just…” Harry interrupted. “This once, just once, I just…need…”

Snape glanced at Covey again. He wondered if she felt as out of depth as he did.

“What is it you need, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked.

The teen cringed. “Please, call me Harry. Just Harry. Just for tonight. Please.”

“All right,” Snape said. “What is it that you need, Harry?”

The boy seemed to crumple in on himself. The flow of tears increased.

“It’s crazy. It’s stupid. I’m too old. But I… just this once… if I could have this… to hold on to… to remember, just this once… maybe it will be enough. Maybe it will give me the strength I need to go on… to end this. End him.”

Harry grabbed at his hair, pulling it. “I’m losing my mind,” he muttered.

Snape was inclined to agree. “Mr. Po—Harry, you have to give us a little more to go on,” he said.

“I just… can you… I know it’s insane… but… can you… just once… just for one night… can you… pretend… to be… to be… my mum and dad?”

Snape felt the floor drop out from under him.

“You want me to be James Potter?”

Harry flinched as if he’d been hit. “No, it doesn’t matter who you are, just that you could be… could pretend to be… my dad… you could still be you…” Harry buried his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid. Of course you wouldn’t want me for a son… I just wanted to feel… just once… what it would be like to be… to be loved…. like a son… I…”

Harry started to get up, but both Covey and Snape forced him back down with a hand on each shoulder.

“I can’t do this,” Harry intoned again. “I just thought… maybe… if I could just pretend… just not be hated for… well… for existing… if I could have parents I could go to… who would love me, comfort me…”

Harry’s tears broke into heart-wrenching sobs.

Snape looked helplessly at Covey.

“Harry, how can we help ye? What is it ye were hopin’ fer?” Covey asked.

“I… it’s insane… I know… but I was just… I wanted…” Harry took a deep breath and then forced the words out in a rush, before he lost his nerve. “I wanted to pretend that you were my mum and dad. I wanted to sleep between you, like a cherished child after a bad dream.”

Harry shook his head.

Snape glanced over at Covey, feeling startled by the childlike admission. Covey looked terribly sad. Her eyes seemed to ask his permission. He looked down at the boy sobbing brokenly between them, Snape’s hand still on his shoulder. He shrugged as if to say, “Well, it can’t hurt.” Covey smiled approvingly at him.

Snape squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Come on… son.” Snape shivered. “Come to bed.”

The boy beside him stilled. “You mean it?”

“Yes,” Snape murmured. “Come on now.”

Harry looked up at Snape in sheer wonder. Snape had to look away from the raw emotion he saw in the boy‘s eyes. It was too much.

“Out of your robe, then. You have pajamas on underneath, yes?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded and carefully removed his robe, folding it and setting it aside.

Covey crawled back into bed, beckoning Harry in after. For a moment, Harry just stared, looking lost. “I didn’t think… I was sure you’d say no… I…”

“Harry,” Covey said. “Ye are never too old fer a little comfort, aye?”

Harry glanced at Snape. Snape nodded.

Tears still streaming down his face, Harry crawled into bed, curling into the fetal position facing Covey. Earl Grey jumped in after the boy, wiggling his way up against Harry’s chest, purring loudly.

Seeing Covey, Harry, and his cat, all curled up in bed, made Snape’s heart yearn for things he’d long ago given up on. He shook his head, firmly shutting that part of himself away, as he waved his wand to make the bed large enough for all of them. Then, he climbed in as well. This was damn strange, he thought. He looked over at Covey, who was stroking Pott—Harry’s disheveled black hair and whispering soothing words to the boy. Harry seemed to melt into her touch, sobbing quietly as he did so.

Snape instinctively raised his hand to rub the boy’s back, paused at the impulse, shrugged, and did it anyway. The boy’s sobs increased.

“You’re safe,” Snape found himself saying. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Harry cried harder.

Snape realized that in all the time he’d known Potter—Harry, he corrected himself—through all of the healings and all the of pain and memories, the boy had never cried in front of him while awake. Sure, there’d been tears on his face when he was being healed, but he wasn’t conscious then. The teen had been lost in his own mindscape. Not present and pleading for help.

And if Snape was honest with himself, he understood. How many times had he wished for a father who wasn’t an abusive drunk, a mother who had the strength to whisk him away some place where they could be together, just the two of them, without the constant threat of violence. How many times had he wished for just this—parents he could go to when he needed a solid place to land, a hand of comfort, a word of reassurance? He hadn’t had it, either. How much courage had it taken for Harry to admit this? To come to them? He must have been beyond desperate. He must have been on the edge of breaking.

“Harry,” he found himself saying. “It’ll be all right. We’re here for you.” He paused before adding, “Son.”

Snape rolled toward Harry, toward Covey, and reached across to the witch in his bed. She took his hand and, together, they rested their clasped hands on Harry’s trembling shoulder.

“Sleep now, child,“ Snape said. “It will be all right.“

Slowly, the boy’s sobs dwindled to an occasional hiccup.

After a long while, and just before the teen slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber, Snape heard a whispered, “Thank you.”

Snape closed his eyes, releasing a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. What had they all expected? This child, for he was still a child, to withstand the torment of a lifetime of abuse and torture, and the onslaught of the Dark Lord as well? It was a wonder the boy hadn’t broken before then. He squeezed Covey’s hand and she squeezed back.

“Sleep is the best healer,” Covey whispered into the darkness between them. “He’ll be better in the mornin’, aye?”

“I presume so,” Snape said. “We best get some sleep as well.”

“Aye,” Covey replied, yawning. “G’night, Sevvie.“

“Night, love,” he whispered, giving her hand one more squeeze before he, too, drifted off to sleep.

The End.


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