It was the second task again, but the stands were completely empty. Harry sat at the edge of the platform on the shore, his feet resting in the shallows of the Black Lake as he gazed out across the water. Silence reigned, except for a slight buzzing to his right.
Suddenly there was a sustained yell, and a writhing mass toppled from an upper level of the platform above him into a deeper part of the lake. When the form submerged underwater, the yelling abruptly ceased.
Harry sat forward slightly, mildly interested in this development. Little waves lapped against his shins from the impact, until a dark form rose out of the water.
It was Snape, and he was struggling against something else. He had a fearsome scowl on his face, but he glanced over at Harry and flashed a quick, dangerous smile.
"Sometimes, one needs to see oneself fighting their demons and winning."
The figure that Snape was fighting to hold underwater popped up briefly. It was Voldemort. He was gasping for air and kicking at Snape, who merely scowled again and pushed down harder on the dark wizard's shoulders. Voldemort caught sight of Harry and started speaking to him in-between dunks under the water.
"Hello, Harry, blub blub blub I see that y- gurgle found someone new gloop gloop to die for you."
Snape lost his grip on Voldemort, who surged farther up out of the water and wrapped his hands around Snape's neck.
"Snape's too mean to die," Harry said lightly. As if to prove Harry's point, Snape struck out and flattened what little remained of Voldemort's nose with the heel of his hand. Voldemort faltered, and Snape resumed his efforts to drown him with renewed vigor.
The buzzing to Harry's right came closer, and he glanced over to see a minuscule Dumbledore riding on a bumblebee. The bee landed on Harry's shoulder, and Dumbledore looked up at him and smiled.
"What do you see?"
Harry looked back at the brawling wizards. "I think Snape tackled Voldemort into the lake," he said, then tilted his head slightly. "Or maybe it was the other way around. Now Snape's trying to drown Voldemort."
"Hmm," Dumbledore said, sounding highly amused. "Excellent observation, my boy. However, it does not answer my question. What do you see?"
Harry was forcefully reminded of Snape's questions about deeper meanings during Occlumency lessons. He glanced at Dumbledore, trying to raise an eyebrow like Snape could.
"Did you teach Snape Occlumency?" He asked suspiciously. Dumbledore only smiled, so Harry turned his eyes back to the fight before him and pondered.
"I see Snape fighting his demons."
"Voldemort has hurt only Professor Snape, has he?"
Harry pursed his lips slightly. "I guess he's fighting my demons, too."
Dumbledore smiled serenely. "He has helped you a great deal with your past, as well."
Snape flicked wet hair out of his eyes and adjusted his grip on the back of Voldemort's head, bearing down with a kind of inexhaustible determination. Harry blew out a long breath. "He's fighting, and he's winning."
"Winning? Hm, perhaps. He hasn't won yet."
Voldemort flung a handful of lake weeds into Snape's face and used the momentary distraction to stagger a few feet away and draw himself up to his full height.
"He can't win it by himself," Harry realized.
Dumbledore beamed at Harry and whispered to his bumblebee mount, which took flight just as Harry stood and pulled off his shirt. When the combatants in the water started for each other again, he hurled himself at Voldemort and took him out at the knees.
The two of them fell below the surface, but one strong hand grasped Harry's shoulder and pulled him up. It was Snape, and together they held down the wildly thrashing Voldemort.
"Sometimes, you need help fighting your demons," Snape acknowledged, with only a little bad grace.
"You pulled me up," Harry said. "Out of the water."
"I'll always pull you up," Snape said.
Voldemort stopped twitching. Snape, worried that it was a ploy, narrowed his eyes. Before either of them could check, however, the giant squid came up and dragged the body to depths unknown.
"That's that, then," Snape said, sounding highly satisfied, and not in the least bothered by what had just taken place.
Harry felt that he ought to be concerned at his own lack of horror, but found that he didn't really care. "Good riddance."
He and Snape then started playing water polo with an inflated Death Eater mask, the eyes crossed out with a Muggle sharpie into two cartoonish Xs. The rest of the Order flew by on their own insect mounts, and Tonks came by on a big dragonfly to say, "Wotcher, Harry?" as the mask sailed high, high up into the sky…
Harry sat up abruptly, breathing heavily. "That was weird."
Snape flipped the page of his journal unconcernedly. "How did it go?"
"I realized I was dreaming, but I never gained control over it. I got… distracted." In truth, he had been too curious about how the events would unfold to think about gaining the lucid dream state. "I didn't land in the memories I Occluded, either."
Snape took a sip of tea. "You lost focus at the last moment, then. Not unexpected, and not a problem. Simply try again."
Harry shook his head and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Snape sat in his armchair by the fire, turned slightly so he could have a better view of Harry as he tried the new exercise.
The best way to purposely induce a lucid dream upon command, Snape had said, was to immerse oneself in the Occluded memories of whatever subject one wanted to dream about. Harry, having gone down his Quidditch memory-tunnel as he drifted off and then dreamed about the Black Lake, had clearly not succeeded. "I need a moment."
Snape looked at him for a beat, then nodded and returned his attention to the journal. Harry stood and walked to the kitchen, preparing his own cup of tea as he pondered the dream.
It had been… a little dark. One might even say grim. Forcefully holding some under water until they drowned… nothing worse than other dreams he'd had, sure. Still, he felt slightly uneasy as he started the kettle to boil.
"You said your first lucid dream was drowning Voldemort," Harry said, hoping for some clarity about his own dream.
"Yes."
Harry wrapped his arms around himself and leaned against the counter. "Why did you pick the pool? Why not your classroom, or something else? Why kill Voldemort there?"
Snape tossed another log onto the fire and settled back into his chair. "It was after I had become a spy, and before the first war ended. Working as a double agent, I never knew when I might be found out, when I would be killed. It left me feeling powerless. Defenseless. There's something about swimming… the feel of the water rushing past, the burn in your muscles as you push yourself to the limit. It gives you a sense of control and self-command. Since I intended to dream about fighting against the thing that made me feel powerless, a place that always made me feel strong was a natural setting."
Harry didn't respond for a while, pouring himself a cup of tea when the kettle began to whistle. He wrapped his hands around the comforting warmth and carried it to the sitting area. Snape watched him as he settled into a corner of the sofa, bringing his feet up and pulling a blanket over. When he spoke, it was quiet and introspective. "I wanted to dream about Quidditch. When I gained control, I was going to fly away from Hogwarts and over the Highlands."
"Why that in particular? Simply because you love Quidditch, or for a deeper reason?"
Harry took a sip of the tea, wincing as it burned his tongue. “Because when I fly, I feel free.”
Snape grew very still in his armchair. “Do you feel trapped now?”
Harry shrugged. “Not here, in the village.” He frowned. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember the danger here. It seems so safe, but it’s not. Back… there,” he meant the wizarding world, “everyone expects me to be their hero. To fight their battles. And Voldemort won’t leave me alone. I’m always stuck fighting him. Don’t get me wrong! I want to fight him. He killed my parents, and he needs to be stopped. But even if I didn’t want to fight him, I know that I wouldn’t have a choice anyways.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Running away isn’t a choice.” He felt a twinge, as sometimes he considered their hiding out in the village as running away.
“No,” Snape agreed. “But how you go into the fight is a choice.”
“You mean like how I chose not to hate Voldemort when I Occluded my memories.”
“Yes.”
Harry took another sip of tea, finding it only slightly cooler. “Still.”
“Still,” Snape echoed.
They sat in peace for a while, until Harry asked, “Who taught you Occlumency?”
Snape shrugged. “I studied it from books when I was younger, doing the exercises for breathing and focus. My mother knew Occlumency as well, so she taught me how to build shields to protect my thoughts from intrusion. I had a natural talent for the mental arts, as well as controlling my emotions.” He grimaced. “My temper is the one thing that often slips past my shields. After I turned spy, the Headmaster taught me a lot more, such as studying symbolism in the mind. He was the one who introduced me to lucid dreaming. I also learned Legilimency from him.”
Harry paid rapt attention. Snape seemed to be in a rare, forthcoming mood. Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard him mention his mother before. He was tempted to ask more, but settled for a nod.
“So, if you did not lucid dream about flying, what did you dream about?”
Harry looked at him, remembering the man’s dangerous smile as he tried to drown Voldemort in the dream. “Nothing important,” he lied. He had a feeling there was a lot of important symbolism in what he dreamed, but didn’t want to talk about it.
If Snape knew he wasn’t being honest, he didn’t say anything. Harry gathered up the blanket in his arms and moved to sit on the floor in front of the fire. Snape returned to his journal, and Harry sipped at his tea as he stared into the flames.
Was he capable of killing Voldemort? Not magically or anything like that, but could he bring himself to end a life?
Voldemort killed Cedric. He killed your parents. He killed that old man.
Did he deserve to die? Yeah, probably. Harry just didn’t know if he wanted to do it. It wasn’t likely to be up to him, anyways. What chance did he stand against Voldemort? Harry didn’t need to worry about the ethics of killing Voldemort, because he wasn’t going to get the chance. Not personally, at least. There were other ways of fighting than facing off wand-to-wand during a battle.
He glanced at the Art of War, but felt too comfortable to get up and study it. Instead, promising to himself he’d get back to reading it tomorrow, he stretched out to lay on his side in front of the fire.
He woke up partially as Snape picked him up, blanket and all.
“You can’t sleep on the floor,” the man said as he carried Harry to his bed.
“ ‘m no’ old,” he yawned. “I’d be fine.”
Snape snorted. “Go to sleep.” He lowered Harry onto the mattress. Harry curled up on his side, scrunching up his face at the now cold sheets. A hand might have brushed his hair, but he wasn’t sure in the fog of sleep.
He dreamed again, but it wasn’t anything too deep. Nothing about Voldemort, Quidditch, or freedom. Instead, he was walking through a safer part of the forbidden forest with Buckbeak in the evening, the golden light trickling through the green leaves in bright beams that left spotted sunshine on the mossy ground.
The End.