"We can talk up there, I guess," Harry said, turning away from Darswaithe to study an imposing gargoyle. "Um, Sugar Babies? Shock Tarts? Baby Ruth?"

"Liquorice," Snape purred as he floated past, ghostlike, his robes streaming behind him.

The gargoyle moved aside, the enchanted staircase beginning to revolve, turning Harry and Darswaithe up and up and around, but when they got to the door at the top, it opened onto a forest scene, the air thick with the scent of pines. The full moon rose high in the sky as a werewolf's plaintive cry echoed off the distant hills.

Darswaithe's kind demeanour vanished utterly, his balding scalp gleaming, his eyes twin fires flaring to life as he leaned down to glare at Harry. "The Dark Mark!" he demanded. "Have you seen it? Is it burning? How is Professor Snape resisting its call? What has that traitor told Bumblebore about the Dark Lord's plans? Tell me, Potter, tell me!"

Clawlike fingers capped by ragged nails dug into Harry's shoulder as the casewizard's face shifted and changed, his eyes glowing red now, his skin thickening, then becoming scaly as his nose flattened into a horrible, snakelike slit . . .

Harry scrambled away, tripping through the grass, hexes flying past him as he cried out, "Draco! Draco!"

But this time, there was no Draco to save him.

Harry ran between the trees, ducking curses, and suddenly found himself before a portrait of a Fat Lady in a lacy pink dress. "Draco!" he yelled, pounding on the painting. "Draco, open up!"

"This is Gryffindor Tower, dear," the Fat Lady said. "Draco isn't here."

"I'm a Gryffindor!" Harry screamed. "Let me in!"

"Password?" she asked, her voice going haughty.

"Liquorice," Snape mouthed from the shadows, just before he faded away.

The word a Portkey all its own, Harry abruptly found himself running through Dumbledore's office again, Darswaithe close behind. Darswaithe again, not Voldemort. Bone-breaking curses exploded all around him, shattering chairs and tables and narrowly missing Fawkes before one caught Harry's foot in a wicked tendril of pain. He fell to the granite floor with a hard thud, but kept crawling, gasping with the agony of shattered bones until yet another curse flew straight at him.

This one severed his spine.

Harry went limp, his arms and legs instantly becoming useless lumps of flesh. All pain vanished, only to be replaced by a nothingness that was all the more horrible, all the more frightening, than any pain could ever be. Immobilized, unable to so much as push up off the floor, the boy saw Darswaithe approaching, his wand pointed straight at Harry's heart.

His wand? Or was it Harry's? Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches long, nice and supple, sparks shooting from the end of it as Harry tried to scream. Before he could so much as draw a breath, though, a spell wrapped itself tightly around his throat and squeezed: "Silencio, Harry Potter."

His screams trapped inside now, his body unresponsive to his own frantic commands, Harry could do nothing as Darswaithe drew closer, and closer, and closer.

The casewizard knelt beside Harry, his lips curled in a cruel smile as he brushed the boy's hair off his forehead, the gesture a parody of the caring one Harry'd had from Snape. "Draco isn't here," Darswaithe crooned, his words an echo of the Fat Lady's. "You didn't think a Malfoy would save you, did you?"

Harry tried to fling a fist into Darswaithe's smirking face, but his arms were pinned by the force of nerves cut adrift. Slack, unresponsive, he couldn't even back away when Darswaithe yanked him up into his arms and strode for the Floo.

They passed a table on the way, and as Darswaithe stalked past it, Harry noiselessly gasped. There it was, the mirror, the mirror Sirius had given him, and it wasn't even broken any longer! If only he could reach out and grab it! Sirius would help him, Sirius would tell him what to do!

Wingardium Leviosa, Harry thought, but of course nothing happened. Spells never worked any longer, not for him.

"The Dark Lord has a present for you," Darswaithe hissed in his ear as he stepped across the hearth. "I understand you do so love needles?"

What reason did he have to worry about needles when the act of flooing itself would be the end of him? He was going to burn alive, like on Samhain. He'd be burnt clear through to ash. He'd be dead. Dead like Cedric, dead like Sirius, and after that, he'd never, ever have a father. Would Snape even miss him?

Sals would, Harry knew.

Sals!

Looking down, his neck the only joint he could really move, Harry spotted Sals in the corner of the fireplace. The smell of past flooings filled the air around him as deep inside his mind, he thought, Oh Sals, what am I going to do? I really need that mirror! Sirius wouldn't let me burn, Sirius would tell me what to do . . .

The mirror, as if sensing his desperation, appeared before his face. Harry mouthed silent words at it, explaining, frantic because Darswaithe was reaching for the Floo powder now, his hand holding an ebony box though Dumbledore kept his in a brass urn, didn't he?

A face wavered in the mirror, a face he recognised and loved, Sirius' features swimming forth from the land beyond the Veil. Hardened by suffering and yet softened by love, he smiled out at Harry and began to speak, but before he could say a word, his face became ghostly, dissipating into a great swirling fog, and another man's face took its place.

A hooked nose, thin lips twisted into a sneer, dark eyes full of anger as Snape looked out of the mirror, glaring at Harry, and suddenly, Harry could see Sirius behind the other man! But if Snape was in the same place as Sirius, it meant that Snape was dead, too! Had he fallen through the Veil? No, no, that was Sirius. Harry couldn't remember Snape dying, but there he was, trapped in the Great Beyond! And he looked so furious as he glared out at Harry!

Harry tried to scream again, to explain. I didn't know you had died, Severus! It's not like I wanted you to die! It's not my fault, it's not my fault!

But he couldn't scream. He couldn't even call for Draco to help him! He was helpless, helpless to stop any of it--

Except, he wasn't.

He felt his magic lash out, a pulsating wave of wild power that filled his core and exploded outwards to blast the Floo powder away before it could fall to the ground. The shock wave loosened Darswaithe's grip; Harry fell hard to the hearthstones beside Sals, who crawled up over his hip to seek his wrist.

The snake wrapped herself around his wrist, her gold and maroon skin glittering like silver as she changed, becoming a gleaming bracelet he wore like a badge of honour as magic poured from his innermost core.

Darswaithe ran for the door, but it wouldn't open for him. He turned back toward Harry, his narrow face going slack with shock as he saw raw, unleashed power blazing forth from brilliant emerald eyes.

The magic streamed from deep inside Harry like water over a cliff, a raging torrent, enough to drench everything in its path. Wild magic, natural magic. Magic that knew nothing of boundaries; magic not leashed in by spells or incantations.

The stones that formed the walls became liquid and began to drip, the office around him melting, though he was safely ensconced in the Floo--

Darswaithe was all the way across the room, his brown eyes transfixed by terror.

But someone else was beside Harry, right alongside, one hand shaking his shoulder softly, very softly, as though afraid to startle him, as though he was a wild and dangerous animal, one who needed gentling . . .

Harry's eyes snapped open to see Draco so close he could feel the fall of his breath. Gasping, the Gryffindor flung himself into a sitting position, his hands clutching at his throat. His eyes wild, the magic still gushing out through his skin, he had to struggle just to breathe.

"It's all right, Harry," Draco said in a slow, hushed voice. "Just . . . quiet yourself, all right? Before the walls melt completely. Everything's fine, there's no reason to be afraid. You're awake now, the dream is over, it's all going to be all right . . ."

Draco's familiar voice, droning on and on with words of encouragement and calm, became a focal point for Harry. Something he could concentrate on, something to distract him from the waves of fear and fury still pounding through him. Drawing in a replenishing breath, he looked around, seeing in the dim light that the castle was leaking. Was it raining outside? Rivulets of water were running down the surface of every stone. But such strange water . . . the droplets hung for too long, dripping slowly over the granite, actually stopping as he watched.

"Good," Draco breathed. "Good. There you go, it's all over now, nothing's wrong . . ."

Harry didn't know what he was talking about. "What happened?" he croaked.

For some reason, it struck him as amazing that his voice worked. Now why was that?

"You tell me," Draco lightly scoffed, pulling himself up from the floor to sit on the edge of Harry's bed. "What was your nightmare about?"

Nightmare? It was like the outpouring of wild magic had wiped his mind clean. "Oh, did I scream the roof down?" Harry groaned, his voice emerging like a wisp of torn tissue paper.

"You weren't loud, no." Draco's hovered a hand over Harry's forearm, then evidently decided he'd better not touch him, after all. "Anyway, I wasn't asleep. I was just reading, and you . . ."

"What?" Harry asked, drawing his legs close in to his chest and hugging them. Then it came to him. "I fell asleep out on the couch! What am I doing in here?"

Draco shifted away. "You slept straight through dinner. When Severus went to bed he decided you'd be more comfortable in here."

"He . . . carried me?" He wasn't usually a deep sleeper; how could that not have wakened him?

"No, he Mobilicorpused you!" Draco laughed. "Of course he carried you!"

"And . . . what happened?" Harry asked, shrinking himself into a smaller ball as he hugged his legs more tightly. His whole mind was a complete blank.

"You slept for a while longer. Then you called my name a couple of times in a row, so I glanced your way . . ." Draco swallowed. "You were thrashing like a maniac, then all at once you went so still it was really scary. I think I understand now, the phrase silent scream. Anyway, the whole room began to fill with . . . well, magic. I could see it, like the air was getting thick with twisting, coppery tendrils coming from you. They were soaking into the walls to make them gooey. I might have gone for Severus, except I felt like there was no time to lose. I didn't want to come back to find you'd liquefied the whole room."

Harry uncurled enough to reach a hand out toward the nearest wall. The granite was strangely smooth, as if the whole surface had melted and then reformed. Tracks that almost looked like tears streaked the walls at irregular intervals. Harry touched one, and found it was made of stone. "I did this?"

"Well, I certainly didn't!"

Harry sighed, and tried to get his bearings. "Where's Dudley?"

"On a nice soft bed I transfigured from the couch," Draco explained, shrugging. "He got really upset when you were sleeping like the . . . er, dead . . . so Severus explained you were recuperating from a curse. And that meant we had to tell him the rest, about Darswaithe and all. Your cousin was pretty horrified, and said he wanted me in here with you in case anybody snuck in and tried anything." He paused for a moment. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, all right," Harry lied. The truth was, the details of his nightmare were starting to filter back through his consciousness, and he was far from fine. He began shaking convulsively, and tried to cover it by pulling more blankets around him. Snape in the mirror. Snape, dead.

"I'll get Severus," Draco offered.

Harry shook his head, insisting though chattering teeth, "I'll just go back to sleep." He lay down, curled almost into a fetal position, and clenched his eyes shut, but it didn't help. The shaking was getting so bad that he began to actually feel nauseous. He started biting his own fingers, trying to squelch the sensation.

Draco sighed, sat down again, and this time didn't hesitate to touch Harry, pulling his hand from his mouth and holding onto it when Harry tried to yank it away. "Look, it's pretty clear you're used to just toughing it out. Those awful Muggles would get mad if you woke them up, right? But Harry, you have Severus, now. He's not like them. He'd want to help you with this."

Harry shifted back, as far from Draco as he could get, which wasn't far considering the other boy had a death-grip on his hand. "I don't need help," he insisted.

"You're so screwed up you don't know what you need," Draco answered, the words harsh but the tone far less so. "Whatever's on your mind has to be dealt with, Harry" ---his voice began to rise--- "because until it is, you're a hazard to yourself, me, Severus--hell, probably everybody in the dungeons, period. What if you have another nightmare and turn the place into a furnace? You're talking to Severus, and that's all there is to it!"

With one almighty yank, Harry succeeded in freeing his hand from Draco's grip. "You just want him to see me at my worst so he won't want me any longer!"

"Idiot is about right," Draco muttered, shaking his head. "Severus wants to be your father, Harry. He's not going to think less of you just because you admit for once that you might need one."

"I don't need one!"

"Oh, sure you don't. You're only shaking like a leaf, white as chalk, and practically about to puke. Oh yeah, you're fine. No chance of another nightmare at all."

"Good, then we're in agreement," Harry weakly spat, balling his fists in the covers as though he could stop trembling through sheer willpower.

Draco stood up in one smooth motion that communicated both impatience and disdain. "You can do as you wish," he announced. "But if you won't go to Severus' door on your own--"

"You'll drag me there?" Harry sniped. "I'd like to see you try! What are you going to do, force me with magic? 'Cause I'd take you in a fair fight, not that you've ever fought fair in your life--"

"You are so utterly Gryffindor," Draco scoffed. "No strategy. Why would I fight you when all I have to do is go get Severus myself?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You'll stay out of this, Malfoy."

"Oh, no I won't. And I swear by Merlin's wand, Harry, if I have to be the one to wake up Severus, I'm going to tell him you were scared he wouldn't want you if you went to him yourself!"

"You are so utterly Slytherin!" Harry shouted, swivelling his feet off the bed, deliberately knocking them into Draco's shins. Too bad he wasn't wearing shoes; that way, he might have left bruises. The stones were cold when he stood up, but Harry ignored that to stomp to the door. "Be asleep before I get back," Harry spat, "or at least pretend you are. I've had enough of you for one night."

He went to shut the door, only to find Draco holding it open from the other side. "I'll watch until he opens his door to you," he said, putting a quick end to Harry's idea of just waiting in the dark living room for a while. When Harry made a sort of growling noise, Draco added, "I'm just being a friend."

Harry scowled, but left it at that.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"Harry," Snape said with some surprise as he peered out into the dark hall. He pulled a thick turquoise-coloured night-robe more tightly around him as he glanced up and down the hall. "Is everything all right?"

The sound of another door closing echoed through the dungeon as Harry murmured. "I'm very sorry to disturb your rest, sir." He felt embarrassed beyond belief, though why that should be was anybody's guess. Tremors convulsed his shoulders, more dream-details coming back to him as he stared into Snape's face, lit from behind by the soft light streaming from his bedroom. Snape's face in the mirror, so very angry . . . "I just need a potion, if you don't mind?" Harry gulped. "I've used up all you gave me."

"Of course I don't mind." Snape leaned down a bit as he incanted a Lumos to the side of Harry's face. "Painless Sleep, then? Madam Pomfrey thought your bones had healed quite nicely."

"Dreamless Sleep," Harry reluctantly acknowledged. "Draco woke me up from a nightmare."

Snape frowned. "I didn't hear anything."

The walk across the cold floor had left Harry's left foot aching strangely, healed or no, but that was nothing to the awful feeling that twisted inside him as he remembered what he'd done to the room that used to be Snape's private library. "Um . . . right," he said. "I'll just go back to sleep; I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"You misunderstand," Snape asserted, opening his door wider. "Come in."

"In," Harry doubtfully repeated. The Fat Lady hadn't wanted to let him in . . . "That's all right, I can stay out here while you get my potion."

"In, Harry," Snape insisted, raising his eyebrows as the boy crossed the threshold. "Your feet must be freezing; the warming-stone spells fade off at night. Go sit on my bed and wait."

Perched on the very end of it, Harry nervously smoothed his hands across the rumpled velvet bedcover. He knew an insane urge to ask why it was a deep midnight blue instead of the more expected green, but shelved the question as just too stupid. It probably only came to mind because he was trying so hard not to think about his nightmare.

When Snape returned, he spelled the lights brighter and pulled a chair up close to the bed, then took Harry's left foot onto his lap and poured a warming potion over the skin. Heat soaked straight through it to ease the ache in his bones, and the feeling only got better as his teacher massaged the potion into every joint. "How's that?"

"Good," Harry nodded, feeling his eyes drooping with exhaustion. He wasn't trembling now; more than likely, reaction to the nightmare had burnt itself out, leaving nothing but lethargy. Or maybe it had only been the cold making him shake so much. Yeah, the cold, that was it. It was mid-December, after all. "Thank you, sir."

"Shall I do the other one?"

"That one doesn't hurt," Harry admitted, pulling his feet off his teacher's legs.

"Very well." Stoppering the small amber bottle, Snape pointed his wand at his open bedroom door. "Accio Harry's socks!"

Harry heard the muffled thud of a trunk closing, then the creak of a door before a pair of thick maroon woollens came flying into Snape's hands. "Thank you, sir," Harry said again, bending over to put them on.

Snape waited until Harry had straightened to say, "As for Dreamless Sleep, I'm afraid I can't provide you any more tonight."

Shuffling back marginally, Harry sighed. "You're out, too?"

"No, but I already gave you a full dose earlier, in case your experience with Darswaithe led to repercussions."

Snape had anticipated he'd have a nightmare? Harry didn't much like that idea. Was he really such a weakling? Instead of smoothing the coverlet, Harry started twisting his hands into it, his voice strained when he objected, "I don't remember any potion."

"You were . . . 'out like a light,' is the Muggle phrase your cousin used."

"How could I take the potion if I was that out of it?"

"Do you doubt my word?"

Harry shrugged and looked away. "Well, you're the one always going on about cunning and misdirection, aren't you?"

"Answer me." Snape's tone brooked no disobedience.

"No," Harry slowly admitted. "I don't doubt your word." A deep sigh lifted and collapsed his chest. "Well, if regular Dreamless Sleep didn't work, can you brew a stronger version for me?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You haven't had much regular potion since Samhain. That particular one was already five times normal strength."

Harry rubbed his temples, glancing up hopefully. "Maybe you could double it again?"

"I don't think that's wise."

Harry hadn't wanted to tell him, but at that, he figured he'd better. "Well, you have to do something, Professor, because now I'm back to unleashing wild magic in my sleep."

Snape leaned forward to pat a hand against Harry's knee. "Tell me about your dream, then."

Harry awkwardly moved out of range. "Not too much to tell. You know dreams, they're full of stuff that doesn't make much sense . . . Basically though, Darswaithe had got me, and Draco wasn't around to help. There was nothing I could do but release my powers, so I did that. I felt the magic flood out of me, and . . ." His voice fell to a whisper. "Uh, let's just say there aren't any windows to break, down here."

As if realizing the boy needed more room, Snape leaned back and folded his hands into his lap. "Did the wild magic wake Draco up, then? I suspect I would have have heard if you were screaming."

"He cast Silencio on me."

Snape's brows drew together. "Draco cursed you?"

"No, Darswaithe. In the dream." Harry shook his head. "I'm not explaining very well. In the dream, I was er . . . sort of paralyzed, I think, and after the spell, I couldn't even scream. I guess I was sort of acting it out." Harry bit his lip, only then realizing that Draco had seen him in a truly awful state. Wasn't that embarrassing. "He said . . . Draco, I mean, that I was just laying there pouring out magic. He woke me up before it got too bad, I guess."

"He should have summoned me."

Harry cleared his throat. "Uh, he was sort of concerned that if he left to do that, the walls might . . . um . . .collapse."

Snape's head snapped up, his eyes piercing as he demanded, "Explain that."

Harry hid his face in his hands, his voice muffled as he admitted, "I melted them. The walls, I mean. I am so completely sorry, sir. I really, really am." He peeked between his fingers to see how Snape was taking it.

His teacher stared at him for a long moment, then appeared to deliberately relax. "Well. You can't have done too much damage, I don't think. If Draco was in danger, I trust you'd have mentioned it?"

"I think it was just the surface layer of the stones," Harry sighed. Realizing how childish he must look trying to hide behind his hands, he managed to straighten up, only to begin nervously swinging his legs. "Anyway, the walls aren't craggy any longer. More like . . . obsidian, I guess, only grey instead of black. I'm really, really sorry," he repeated.

"Can you live with it?"

"Sir?"

"Harry," Snape chided. "Did you think I was going to adopt you and not offer you a place to live?"

"Oh, God," Harry thickly groaned, which all by itself showed how unravelled he was becoming. He might throw phrases like that around in the summer, but he tried his best to avoid Muggle oaths while he was at Hogwarts, even if Merlin didn't rise so spontaneously to his tongue as it did to Ron's. "That's incredibly nice of you," he went on, anxious to cause no offence. "Really, it is--"

"It's no such thing. What sort of parent would begrudge you a room?" Snape narrowed his eyes, his gaze patiently seeking out Harry's. "Ah, but I think I know the answer to that. Your expectations are positively abysmal. Nonexistent, in fact."

"Yeah," Harry acknowledged, pain he'd repressed his whole life trying to rise up and choke him. He didn't know what to do with the feeling except make light of it. "Well, at least it won't be hard for you to earn an Exceeds Expectations."

Snape didn't let him dwell on that. "I spoke to the headmaster a few hours ago." He changed the subject. "Darswaithe has been purged of Imperio but is still in the Aurors' custody. Miss Thistlethorne has been cleared of all suspicion. She'll be back here tomorrow to finish our interviews."

"So soon?" He'd spent days wanting it all to be over, but now he thought he'd rather put everything off, or just cancel it altogether, and that, despite the fact that he did want a father. The only thing he was truly sure of was that Draco was right: he was a complete mess.

"Normally, we'd have to wait for another casewizard to be assigned." Snape explained. "In the circumstances, they've decided that our application can be reviewed by Thistlethorne alone."

"I don't trust her," Harry said, his whole body tense. "Really, after that, I'm not inclined to trust anyone. Constant vigilance, right? So while I'm sure the Aurors know what they're doing--"

"I'm not," Snape darkly asserted. "I speak from experience. Half of them are sadists, and a good portion of the rest are idiots."

Harry nodded, ignoring for the moment the fact that he planned to join the ranks Snape held in such contempt. "So you'll understand I don't want to be alone with her, no matter what Family Services claims their normal procedures are. What if the Aurors missed something, or she gets put under Imperius between now and tomorrow?"

"You don't have to be alone with her," Snape assured him. "I'm sure Albus would be willing to sit in on your interview. Or Minerva."

"You sit in on it," Harry insisted. "I don't want anyone else here hearing my private thoughts on things."

Snape gave him a doubtful look. "Are you certain you want me to?"

Harry thought about that. "I guess it's sort of like your letting me read your answers on those questionnaires, you know? That was good. I feel like I know you a little better, now."

Doubtful became incredulous. "You didn't notice I was more intent on furthering my agenda than on providing open, honest answers?"

"I was reading between the lines. You'll have to do the same when you listen to me, I suppose."

"For me to listen to your private interview is specifically against their stated policies," Snape remarked. "You're supposed to feel unconstrained so that you can speak with absolute freedom about whatever you wish to share."

"Yeah, right, like I'm going to bare my soul to a total stranger," Harry scoffed. "I'd end up reading about myself in the Prophet. But say, there's an idea. If she objects to you staying for my interview, I'll threaten to give Rita Skeeter an exclusive all about how Wizard Family Services tried to assassinate the Boy Who Lived--"

"She's hardly likely to respond to us favourably if you issue threats. No doubt she'll think it's my influence making you so ruthless." Snape's voice took on a sardonic cast. "On his own, the Boy Who Lived couldn't possibly be anything but sweetness and light."

"Or mentally unbalanced," Harry added, thinking of all the Prophet had printed the previous year. "I guess we don't want to add anything to that part of my reputation. So . . . how about we play on her being an overemotional Hufflepuff? If she tries to make you leave, I'll burst out into tears and say I'm scared and you're the only one who makes me feel safe."

"She might see that as over dependence."

"Hmm." Harry frowned, then. "Um, speaking of over dependence, though . . . Listen, it is really thoughtful of you to give up your library for me, and I can hardly say how much I appreciate it. But you know, I was thinking . . . Actually, I was sort of hoping that, er . . . when my magic is back under control, and I wasn't in any danger, or not any more than usual, I mean . . ." Harry remembered his dream, the Fat Lady not wanting to let him in, and shuddered. "Can't I go back to live in Gryffindor?"

Snape crossed one knee over another and rested his hands on the armrests of the brocade chair. Harry thought he looked entirely relaxed, which struck him as unfair since he felt like nothing but one huge knot of tension.

"What would make you think I have any other intention?"

Harry swallowed with relief. "Well, you saying it's my room, for starters."

"Don't your friends have rooms at their parents' homes? That doesn't constrain them from boarding in Gryffindor for the school year."

"Yeah . . ." Harry acknowledged, glancing back and then away. "It just seems strange to me. I mean, Ron can hardly go back and forth to the Burrow every day, but if I had a room here . . . I guess I thought you'd expect me to use it." He flushed, feeling like he'd stuck his foot in his mouth or something.

"You're welcome down here at any time," Snape assured him. "But I don't expect you to leave the Tower. Your friends are very important to you, as you took great pains to point out to me, not too long ago."

"Yeah, but when I did, you got all bent out of shape."

"I became appropriately concerned about your failure to appreciate the danger you were in," Snape corrected, his voice a tad acerbic. "Until your magic is back under your control, you'll have to continue living with me. Afterwards, I thought your room here would be something you'd use during holidays. I trust you don't wish to stay in the Tower once all the other Gryffindors have gone home for the summer?"

"I don't think so, no," Harry murmured. "You know, after Uncle Vernon died it dawned on me that I'd never have to go to Privet Drive again, but I didn't really think about where I would go. I guess I wondered if the headmaster would let me stay at the Burrow, maybe." He waited, aware that after the adoption, decisions like that would be up to Snape, but his teacher didn't volunteer anything. Harry was aware he should probably stop there--it was a long time until summer--but some shred of unease about the future had him blurting, "I mean, you probably don't want me hanging around all summer long."

"I don't see why not," Snape mildly returned. "I am, after all, going to considerable effort and expense to make you my son."

It was nice to be wanted, Harry thought, though he felt a little bad about the expense bit. It had never even dawned on him that Wizard Family Services would charge for their their services. That just showed how naïve he was when it came to the whole wizarding world. He didn't know how anything worked. "I have money," he heard himself offer. "Is it really expensive, arranging an adoption? Can I help?"

"Would you like to fund your own Christmas present, too?" Snape scathed. "No, of course you can't help!"

"But I have scads of money, sir. I'd really like to--"

"What I'd like," Snape interrupted, "is for you to put your key away somewhere safe and not touch it again until you're grown and out on your own. I can provide for you perfectly well, Harry. Do you even realise that I'm supposed to?"

Harry thought better than to offer again, though he did wonder if Snape's refusal had something to do with his teacher somehow not wanting to take money from James Potter.

Snape waved a hand as though to start over. "Enough of that. Let's discuss your dream."

Harry crossed his legs on the bed and resisted an urge to hug himself. He wasn't a little child. So he'd had a bad dream, so what? He had them all the time. "I know what you're going to say. Same stuff McGonagall blathered off the one time I went to her in the middle of the night. Voldemort's been trying to kill me for years, big effing surprise. There's no need for me to get so upset about it. I should just relax because I'm safe while at Hogwarts, the staff would never allow anything to happen to me, etc. etc. etc."

"I'm disappointed in Minerva," Snape remarked. "A sense of false security is hardly what you need."

"Yeah. What I need is a potion. I guess it'll be all right, having a Potions Master for a . . . um, adult taking care of me."

Snape gave nothing away as he looked at Harry through half-closed eyes. "You do realise that there are problems potions won't solve?"

"What sort of Potions Master are you?" Harry weakly joked, then realised it wasn't funny. Snape was serious, and beyond that, he was right. "Yes, I realise that," he acknowledged. "I don't want to talk through my dream though. I mean, not any more than I have already."

"I need you to answer one question," Snape informed him, his tone serious.

"All right!" Harry snapped. "You were in it, all right? You were in the mirror with Sirius and I thought you'd died, and even if I'm not too swift with dream interpretation, it'd be hard to miss the implications of an image like that! Never mind that Sirius didn't have his mirror when he fell through the Veil, and so couldn't possibly show up in my own. Besides, mine's broken, so enough said!"

Snape's eyes bored into him. "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."

Oh yeah . . . Harry could have kicked himself. Instead, he ended up wrapping his arms around himself anyway, and rocking back and forth on the bed. Like a basket case, he thought with some amount of disgust, not that knowing he looked completely mental was going to stop him from looking that way. "It doesn't matter," he muttered, staring down at his socks.

Snape was silent for a long moment, then pressed, "Harry?"

The boy just shook his head.

"All right," Snape conceded, shrugging. "That wasn't what I needed to know."

That had Harry glancing up. "No? What, then?"

Snape laid a hand on his bent knee; that time, Harry didn't shift away. "Was it a seer dream?"

"No," Harry said, his tone short. When Snape seemed to want more, he detailed, "Those always have a past-then-future pattern, with this sort of whirling in between. And they don't have weird images like casewizards changing into Voldemort or snakes becoming bracelets or headmaster's doors opening into the forest. This dream was just a nightmare, honest."

His teacher nodded. "You must tell me if you have another seer dream, Harry. It's important."

"I will . . . Listen, I'll tell you if anything in my dreams starts to really bother me. Promise, I will. But for tonight, can't you just help me out? I don't want another nightmare, Professor."

Sighing slightly, Snape informed him, "More Dreamless Sleep isn't advisable. As I see it, your choices are to sleep without aid, or try the potion I make to help me deal with my own nightmares."

Reaching behind him, Snape drew out a small vial from a drawer. He handed it to Harry, who held it up and tilted it back and forth to study the thick, brackish fluid within. "Looks like used motor oil. What do you call it, Sleeping Sludge?"

"Truthful Dreams."

Harry dropped the vial into his palm. "Something tells me it won't stop my nightmares."

"It's not designed to."

"Then what good is it?"

"It has a number of uses," Snape murmured, passing a hand over his eyes as though he really didn't know where to begin. "As the name suggests, it focuses your dreams on factual rather than imaginative matters. It takes whatever experience is uppermost in your mind, and shows you absolute truth."

"You lost me," Harry admitted.

Snape paused to think. "You'd be surprised how much information your mind takes in about an event, Harry. Truthful Dreams will unlock your subconscious memories, bringing them out into the light of full awareness. I developed the potion to help me recall Death Eater meetings with greater accuracy, so that I could give the Order reports that were more highly detailed."

"Wouldn't a pensieve do just as well?"

"A pensieve shows me what I know I remember. The Potion shows me what I remember, but didn't know."

"I get it," Harry ventured, looking down the viscous dark fluid. "But Professor, why would I even want this? It sounds like it was useful for you, what with spying and all, but it makes nightmares worse, doesn't it? By making them more real?"

Snape flushed slightly. "I had to put in an emotional dampening agent for just that reason. It lets you see quite dispassionately all the truth there is to know. Even when you are awake again, and remembering your dreams, you'll be able to distance yourself from them. After you take Truthful Dreams, your nightmares won't trouble you nearly so much as before, awake or asleep." He shrugged, high colour still dotting his cheekbones.

Harry was flushing too, but not with the slight embarrassment that seemed to be affecting Snape. The boy's reaction was anger. "It numbs nightmares? It helps you accept them and move on! Why didn't you think to offer this to me before?"

"Because you'd been having seer dreams," Snape snapped, sitting up straighter in his chair. "The potion hadn't been tested in such a case, and I do not experiment on students, not even on bloody irritating Gryffindors!"

That certainly took the wind out of Harry's sails. "Oh. Right. I guess that would be a problem. Sorry."

Snape stared at him, then gave a tiny shake of his head. "Don't be. I suppose it was a reasonable thing for you to wonder. At any rate, you haven't had a seer dream since before Samhain, so I see no problem if you wish to try Truthful Dreams, now."

"Will it stop my wild magic from lashing out?"

"Probably. You'll see the past with less emotion; therefore, you'll have less cause to panic."

Harry nodded. He didn't exactly want to remember his nightmares even better, but if the potion helped him accept them and move on, it might be worth it. "All right," he agreed, standing up. "Is this a single dose vial?"

"Sit down," Snape directed. "You can't take it unsupervised the first time; you might be allergic to Purple Loosestrife. You'll have to sleep here tonight so I can observe you."

Harry hesitated. "Um . . . well, not to put you out or anything, but you could drag a chair into my room, couldn't you?"

"If we wake up Draco, he'll talk to me all night and keep you up."

"So? Cast Morpheus on him. Or me."

"I don't ply magic unless it's the best solution, Harry. You'll sleep here. End of discussion."

"What happened to negotiation?"

"I told you, sometimes you'd have to accept my decisions, did I not? It really is becoming more and more apparent to me that you have no idea how to be somebody's child."

"Yeah? Well I'm not your child yet, am I?" Harry challenged. "And besides, what makes you think you know so much about being somebody's parent? You're as new to this as I am!"

"True," Snape acknowledged. "I suppose we will have to learn by experience, you and I."

"You're big on that," Harry scoffed. "Learn by experience . . . You know, I bet I'd know more about potion-making by now if you'd ever tried demonstrating a new potion before you make us brew it and possibly blow ourselves to Mars!"

"And this is relevant to the current topic of sleeping arrangements, how?" Snape snidely inquired.

It wasn't really. It was just a distraction, and Harry knew it. He said, though, "You might lay off, that's all. You said it yourself: I've never been anybody's child before, not really, so how about you let me actually have some experience to learn by before you expect me to just have this all down pat? I mean, come on! I'm not even adopted yet!"

"Point taken," Snape calmly conceded, though his lip was still twisted. "Now, about the Truthful Dreams. I need you to decide if you wish to take it."

Taking it meant sleeping in Snape's bed, and possibly remembering more than he'd care to about Samhain. Or Darswaithe. Or Lucius Malfoy. Or Voldemort, Cedric, Sirius . . . the list was pretty much endless. But not taking it might mean wild magic. What if Draco wasn't as quick to wake him, next time? What if he did light the castle on fire, or something?

That raised another issue in his mind.

"If I say no," Harry ruefully realised, "you're going to insist I sleep here anyway, aren't you? Because you're worried another nightmare tonight might make me lose control, again."

Snape merely inclined his head.

"Oh, all right, fine," Harry decided. "So I do drink the entire vial, right?" He broke the wax seal and pulled out the stopper.

"Yes. Ah, Harry. Do you really wish to sleep in your clothes?"

"I already was," Harry pointed out, and then felt bad. He hadn't meant to complain, and rushed to cover it with, "Anyway, I thought we didn't want to wake up Draco."

"At times, magic is the best solution," Snape murmured, levelling his wand at the open doorway. "Accio Harry's pyjamas!" He tossed them to the boy, then incanted something at the wall. A door appeared. "Go change in my bathroom."

"Is it as fabulous as Slytherin legend says?" Harry joked, pulling open the door. "Oh, I guess it is. Nice tub. Not as many taps as in the Gryffindor Prefects' bathroom, but still, nothing to sneeze at. Well, not unless Sneezing Syrup comes pouring out of one of them--"

"You have an important interview tomorrow," Snape observed, "and your sleep has already been disrupted once. I suggest you stop chattering inanities and get to bed."

Harry glanced back at him. "If you sit up all night watching me, you won't be at your best, either."

"I, however, am well used to going days without sleep."

"I guess you would be, what with Voldemort and all," Harry realised. "All right." Once he was in the bathroom with the door closed, it didn't take him two minutes to wash his face and change into the pyjamas. The prospect of going out there in them and climbing into Snape's rumpled bed really bothered him. The whole situation was too . . . well, parental, maybe. Or maybe the problem was that he was really the wrong age to be doing something like that. If he was four years old, it'd be all right, but sixteen? On the other hand, there was that wild magic to consider. It was only prudent for somebody to watch him and make sure the potion really did repress it. For all that though, he felt really bad about turning Snape out of his bed, even if his teacher was being perfectly agreeable.

When Harry emerged from the bathroom, he began to feel a little bit better. The bed was made up for him, which made sliding in somehow feel less . . . personal, and what was more, Snape wasn't even watching him fold the covers down and get in. He was at a desk, writing something on a long scroll.

Decorum, Harry sensed. Right. He should have remembered that Snape knew all about it. He slid into the bed and arranged the pillows how he liked, then with a glance at Snape, uncorked the vial again and drank the Truthful Sleep Potion. Ugh. As thick as honey it was, but the flavour was more what you might expect from swamp muck. Or worse. Two swallows and it was done, but downing that second swallow took almost as much willpower as Harry had.

Snape came to sit beside him, a glass of water in his hand. Harry took it gratefully, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Feeling a bit unnerved, he lay down in the bed and closed his eyes. Moments after that, he was asleep and dreaming, but not of Samhain, or Darswaithe, or Lucius Malfoy. For all his nightmare before, those weren't really what was most on his mind now. Something else was. Something he thought he'd never have.

More to the point, something he'd thought he'd never had.

A real family.

He had been part of one . . . a long, long time ago. He knew that, but he'd never been able to remember it. Truthful Dreams changed all that for Harry, opening up to his sleeping mind images he'd absorbed during his first year of life.

He saw his mother's face peering down at him, her mouth making cooing noises as her arms rocked him back and forth. He heard his father clapping with delight when he toddled forward on uncertain feet. He saw them both, smiling, tucking covers around him in his crib as they put him to sleep.

Truthful Dreams . . . and the truth he learned was one he'd longed for ever since he'd realised that children weren't supposed to live in cupboards:

Once upon a time, Harry Potter had been dearly, tenderly loved.