That night Harry wandered down to the dungeons in good spirits. His books strapped together by an old belt of Ron’s, seeing as how Harry no longer had a bag now, Harry took the steps two at a time down to the bottom most part of the school. He passed several Slytherins on the way to Snape’s office, and all of them sneered when he only gave them a wide smile.

When he made Snape’s office, Harry tried to wipe the smile from his face, and mostly succeeded before he knocked on the Professor’s door.

“Come,” came the tired voice of the Potions master. Harry pushed the door open and entered, dropping his books on the floor next to the visitor’s chair. Snape was reading something from a mangy book that Harry didn’t recognize, and gave no notice of Harry’s presence other than the original invite to enter.

Harry didn’t care though. He had been mostly Slytherin free for the day, with the exception of the sneer Draco had given him on his way out of the Great Hall that morning. Harry took the next two stacks of papers he was to grade, and settled himself into the visitor’s chair in front of Snape’s desk. He was halfway through the first stack when a folded note appeared between two essays. Harry frowned thinking that a student had accidentally turned in a note to the professor that was meant for a friend. Curious, he unfolded it and almost choked. In ink that nearly looked like blood was written, “I’m coming for you Mr. Potter. You will die in your sleep.” Harry crumpled the note and threw it across the room. Snape looked up from his book and asked, “Problem Mr. Potter?”

Harry shook his head violently, but started when an icy hand touched his shoulder from behind. Harry spun to see the Dark Lord smiling pleasantly down at him. “I am coming,” he said softly, still smiling. “I am coming.” Voldemort had said it in a reassuring way, as if it was supposed to make Harry feel better. Harry looked to Snape for help, but he was reading his book again, seemingly unaware of the Dark Lord standing in his office, tormenting his teacher’s aide.

Harry began to panic. The hand on his shoulder gripped him harder, and shook him. There was no escape!

“Harry!”

Harry sat straight upright, sweat pouring off of him. Ron and the other sixth year boys jumped back, and stood warily by the side of Harry’s four-poster. Ron pulled his hand back cautiously. It had clearly been his hand, and not Voldemort’s that had gripped Harry’s shoulder, and made him panic in the dream.

Harry looked around for a moment, as if to reassure himself that it had only been a dream, and that Voldemort was not there. The other boys watched him carefully, as if he were a time bomb ready to go off in an instant.

“Ok Harry?”

Harry’s head jerked to the right to see who had spoken to him. It was Neville. “What?” he asked, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve.

Neville looked to Ron for help.

“You were dreaming again mate,” Ron said quietly, avoiding Harry’s eyes. Harry nodded, “Yeah… yeah, it was just a dream.” He felt as if he needed to tell himself this over and over to make it true. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

Ron looked at the floor, and then leaned in close to Dean, Seamus, and Neville so that only they could hear. “It’s all right. Go back to bed.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asked.

Ron nodded, and waved them off, thus volunteering himself to take care of their friend by himself. This was the fourth night in row that Harry had been having nightmares in which Voldemort had vowed to come and kill him. Each night Voldemort had decided to kill Harry in a new way. The night before Harry was playing Quidditch in his dream when Madam Hooch had blown her whistle signaling a fowl and motioning Harry and his team to the ground. When Harry had landed, he found that it was Voldemort holding the whistle however. Each of Voldemort’s messages started out the same. “I’m coming for you.” Harry shook his head, tired of thinking of it, and noticed now that Ron was still standing by his bed, looking helpless. The other boys watched curiously from their own beds, and Harry wiped the sweat from his face again.

“Come on,” Ron said quietly. Ron slipped his sneakers on without socks, and donned his robe. Harry didn’t bother with either, but changed completely out of his sweat soaked clothes in to fresh ones, and put his tennis shoes and cloak on, before following Ron out of the dorm and down the stairs to the common room.

Ron seemed content to stop in the common room, but Harry made for the exit to the rest of the castle, wand in hand.

“Where are you going?” Ron asked half-heartedly, unwilling to keep his friend there if he felt the need to leave the confines of the tower.

Harry turned to him. “I don’t know. I just… I can’t be here.”

Ron’s shoulders slumped. Harry turned to go, but Ron pulled him back with, “You were nearly screaming this time.”

Harry looked down to his worn wand, and suddenly noticed that it needed a good polish. It didn’t surprise him that he had been shouting. He was horrified. Anger welled in him a little bit that Snape hadn’t helped him in his dream, but then he realized that it was only a dream.

“What did I say?” Harry was curious as to how much of the dream he had revealed in his sleep.

When Ron didn’t say anything, Harry turned around to make sure he was still there. Ron looked up from the floor, and said quietly, “He’s going to kill me.” Ron paused, and Harry thought, that wasn’t so bad to reveal, but then Ron continued, “Dad, why won’t you help me?”

Harry paled noticeably enough that Ron thought he might pass out and stepped forward just to make sure he would catch him if he fell, so he wouldn’t crack his head open on the table next to him.

Harry didn’t pass out, but he did sink into a chair, more defeated than Ron had ever seen him. “Harry?” he asked.

Harry didn’t answer, only looked straight ahead. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t dreamt of his dad. Maybe Ron has misheard him. Maybe James Potter had been in his dream, and he just didn’t remember.

“Harry?” Ron asked again. Harry looked up and shook his head.

“It’s nothing Ron, go back to bed.”

Ron was torn. He couldn’t leave Harry there like that.

There was an awkward moment of silence before Ron finally said, “Harry, if you keep having these dreams, Hermione said she’s going to tell McGonagall.”

Harry’s head snapped up. “Hermione’s going to tell her or you are?”

Ron threw his hand up into the air. “Harry what are we supposed to do? Just lay there and listen to you shout all night? You’re my best friend!”

Harry nodded. “I am. And if you’re mine, you wouldn’t threaten to tell McGonagall.” With this Harry turned, unsure why he was being so difficult with Ron, and opened the portrait hole to exit. From behind him he heard Ron shout, “You live in a room with four other guys! I’m not the only one who hears you all night!” Harry didn’t turn around again though, and kept moving towards the rest of the castle.

Once he was outside of the common room, he realized that he had no place to go. The castle was quiet, and the lack of sound made Harry feel cold and empty all of a sudden. A wave of sickness passed over him as he moved off toward another floor. Voldemort could cause nightmares. Harry was fine with that. He always knew that dear old Voldie was going to try to come and get him again someday… that was prophesy. But shouting out to help for his dad in the middle of the night sent chills up and down Harry’s spine.

Before he could stop himself, Harry reached up and hit himself on the head with a solid fist, trying to make himself stop thinking. If he could stop thinking for just a moment, than maybe he could figure things out. He couldn’t though, and the same old confused feelings came creeping up on him again, bringing with them another wave of nausea.

If he wasn’t careful, somebody was going to tell professor McGonagall that he was having nightmares, and then he would have to go talk to Dumbledore about what was in them. Harry didn’t mind lying to some people like Draco or Lucius, but he hated lying to Dumbledore, and would rather avoid the situation if he could. He knew it wasn’t fair, what he had said to Ron in the common room, because he knew Ron cared about him, but Harry was at a loss about what to do.

Harry looked up when he almost walked into a wall, and realized that while he had been thinking, he had slowly been making his way down to the dungeons. “What-” Angry with himself, and unsure why he was now in the Entrance Hall, Harry spun on his heel and strode quickly up the stairs back towards Gryffindor tower. Only when he was three flights up from the Entrance Hall did he stop and lean against a wall, pale light filtering into the corridor from outside through a small stained glass window above his head.

Harry sighed. And then the answer came to him. It was simple.

By the time Harry had reached Gryffindor common room again, he had made up his mind and had already formulated a plan. Back in the sixth year boy’s dormitory, all the boys were asleep accept for Ron.

As Harry climbed into bed in the darkness, Ron said from his own four-poster, “I’m telling McGonagall if you have any more nightmares.”

There was silence for a long moment before Harry answered his friend. “That’s ok. There won’t be any more nightmares now.” Harry laid down, and beside him he heard Ron sit up in the next bed.

“What do you mean?”

Harry put his hands behind his head. “Don’t worry about it Ron.”

The next morning before breakfast, Harry walked calmly down to Professor Snape’s office, and knocked on the open door. Snape looked up, seeming perplexed, and also slightly rushed, as though he had been hurrying around trying to make it to breakfast before it ended.

“Yes?”

Harry lowered his hand from where it had been raised to knock on the heavy wooden door.

“I can’t grade papers for you any more Professor,” he told him plainly.

Snape frowned. Harry had rehearsed this for twenty minutes until he had fallen asleep again last night, and then again when he woke up.

“Why?” the Potions Master asked simply, setting the book he had been holding down on his desk.

Harry shrugged, and said, “I just can’t.” With this he turned and left. His plan wasn’t going to work if he was asked any questions. Now all he had to do, Harry thought to himself, was avoid the man for the rest of his life. It had seemed an easier solution to his problems the night before, but realizing that he still had Potions class with the man for another seven months before he had a choice not to take Potions anymore put a damper on his hopes.

Harry skipped breakfast and headed to the upper levels of the castle to wait for Transfiguration to start instead.

In his office, Severus Snape sat down heavily behind his desk, suddenly uncaring about making breakfast in time. He had come to realize in the last month and a half that Harry was more complex than most people, but just how complex he got the feeling that he would never know. Across the room he espied the stack of papers waiting to be graded, and found himself unwilling to grade them himself, or find another student to do the job.

And the way Potter had come in so calmly and told him that he wouldn’t do it anymore. Snape shook his head, knowing it an odd way for Harry to act. The boy who’s emotions always seemed to be on an roller coaster ride from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other, but never settling on calm.

In Transfiguration Harry took pages of notes, trying to keep his mind off of his nightmares and the lost job. Ron eyed him cautiously as he had the night before, but Hermione seemed unaware of the events that had transpired, and tried to keep up with Harry on note taking.

That night, Harry went to bed early and quietly put a silencing charm on his four-poster, along with the curtains on all of the other sixth year boy’s beds, knowing that if he had another nightmare, no one would hear him. Just before he pulled his maroon drapes closed though, Ron stepped into the dorm, and closed the door. His eyes met with Harry’s and Ron said, “I didn’t tell Hermione.”

Harry nodded. “I noticed.”

Silence passed between them in a very pregnant pause, and then Ron continued, “And I’m not telling McGonagall either.”

Harry’s attention was drawn back to his friend from where his eyes had been looking at the floor.

“You’re a good friend Ron. Don’t forget it.” He closed the curtains then, and didn’t know if Ron had left or not because of the silencing charm. He had made it through most of the day without a thought to Snape or the dreams, and hoped that tonight he would not dream of Snape or Voldemort.

Harry lay in bed for hours before he drifted off to sleep, and was sure that the other boys that inhabited the room had already gone to bed.

That night Harry walked through the woods, Voldemort riding an enormous snake behind him, and Snape’s voice coming from somewhere in the background chanting, “There’s nowhere to hide. He comes like wind cutting through the wood. There’s nowhere to hide.” Harry began to run, but the snake and Voldemort only came faster behind him. Harry found himself suddenly in a clearing with a wooden structure erected in the middle. A single rope hung from a beam of wood at the top, a loop on the end. “He comes,” Snape said quietly in Harry’s ear, no longer in the background, but right beside him now.

“No,” Harry heard himself say, but his arms were paralyzed, and Snape was leading him to the gallows, standing him on top of a barrel, putting the noose around Harry’s neck, and all the while chanting, “he comes, he comes.”

Harry stumbled out of bed, tears in his eyes as he tore at the collar of his shirt, feeling choked even though the top buttons of the pajama shirt were undone. Why wouldn’t the dreams leave him alone? Harry sobbed once, and Ron was at his side in the dark, kneeling on the floor with him.

“Harry?” There was a shake in Ron’s voice, uncertain and scared.

Harry kept undoing buttons on the shirt until they were all undone and he yanked it the rest of the way off. He could almost feel the rope around his neck still.

“Harry, I don’t know what to do unless you tell me,” Ron said quietly, afraid to wake the other boys if they were not already awake and listening in their beds. Ron didn’t know that Harry had also put silencing charms on their drapes as well. Ron had been the only one to leave his drapes open that night.

Harry looked at him, sweat on his face and chest again, and a tear rolling down his face. “Don’t do anything Ron, please, just… don’t tell anybody.”

Ron nodded. “Whatever you want mate. Just… tell me what to do. Tell me something.”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t do anything.”

* * *

Harry swallowed hard the next morning as he sat at Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, not hungry for anything that he saw there. The sick feeling from the night before hadn’t left after he had tried to go back to sleep and failed miserably. Ron looked just as tired as Harry, and Hermione eyed them both as she chewed her toast.

“What has gotten into the two of you?” she leaned in from across the table and asked. “Harry you’ve got bags under your eyes, and Ron, I haven’t heard you this quiet since your mum caught us-”

“Hermione!” Ron looked up and cut her off sharply.

“Kissing,” Hermione finished even quieter. Ron glared at her and shook his head.

“Nothing’s going on Hermione,” Harry said quietly, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Well it doesn’t look like nothing,” Hermione said, setting her toast down. “Have you been having more nightmares?”

Harry shook his head and swallowed hard again. “I’m just tired is all Hermione. It’s nothing,” he repeated.

Ron glanced sideways at him, and didn’t say anything else.

Harry took notes halfheartedly all day, and didn’t look up at Professor Snape at all during potions. Harry was thankful that he wasn’t called on, and that Snape hadn’t tried to get a further explanation out of him as to why he wasn’t grading papers anymore, because Harry didn’t think he could look the man in the eye and keep it together any more. Not after night after night of dreams of Voldemort trying to kill him and Snape helping.

Still not hungry, Harry skipped dinner, and opted to walk around the castle aimlessly instead. Near the charms classroom, Professor McGonagall stepped out of her office and spotted Harry.

“Mr. Potter,” she said sharply, getting Harry’s attention. He looked up and stopped walking, but didn’t say anything.

She waited, and when he didn’t walk over to her, she came to him instead. “Mr. Potter, it has come to my attention that you aren’t sleeping well at night, is this true?”

A lump rose in Harry’s throat, and anger built in his stomach, making it feel as if a small fire had been lit there. So Ron had told her after all. Even after he promised not to. As if to confirm this, Ron stepped down the corridor at that exact moment, from the same direction that McGonagall had come.

“You!” Harry shouted at him, uncaring if McGonagall heard. “What a rotten friend!”

“Me!?” Ron was angry now too. “What kind of friend tells his friend not to tell that he’s having nightmares where he’s being murdered!” Harry reached for his wand, but couldn’t find it. It wasn’t in his back pocket where he usually kept it, and this with a lack of sleep and the feeling of betrayal by his best friend unsettled him further.

“Some best friend you turned out to be, if you even knew the meaning!” Footsteps sounded quickly from the corridor behind Harry, and just as Harry launched himself at Ron, a strong pair of arms caught him from behind.

Ron cursed, but nobody seemed to notice. McGonagall had stepped in between the two boys now and was facing Ron so as to keep him from launching at Harry as he seemed ready to do also.

“Stop it! Both of you!” she shouted to make herself heard over the continued curses and threats being exchanged between the two boys. When both Harry and Ron ignored her, and Ron had his wand out and aimed at the struggling Harry, she said quickly, “Severus, take him out of here! Quickly!”

Harry was forcefully turned around and moved down the corridor, still cursing the most rotten friend he had ever made. Snape didn’t say anything, only stayed behind Harry incase he tried to make a break for it to make it back to Ron. Harry made no such attempt though, and by the time they had reached Snape’s office in the dungeons, Harry had worked himself into a quiet sort of submission.

Snape closed the door quickly behind Harry, and moved around to sit on the edge of his desk so that Harry was facing him. Harry looked at the ground and tried to turn away, quickly wiping his sleeve across his eyes, but Severus grabbed his shoulders and brought him around to face him again.

“Harry,” he said forcefully, but Harry wouldn’t look up. Snape gave the boy a small shake, and commanded again, “Harry Potter, look at me.”

Harry’s head snapped up at the command. He was in a lot of trouble he knew, and knew that not cooperating was not going to make things any better. Maybe he would just get five detentions right now if he did what he was told instead of ten.

Snape sighed when Harry looked up at him and met his eyes. There was a type of hurt there that Snape wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with. Dumbledore was much better suited to these types of situations, and yet here Harry stood in his office, angry and hurt, and quietly waiting for him to say something.

Severus let go of Harry’s shoulders now that he was looking at him, and not trying to escape through the door. He did not know what to say, or where to begin. Searching the boy’s eyes in hopes of a place to start, and finding none, he asked quietly, “Why do you not wish to grade papers for my class anymore?”

Harry frowned. He was just caught fighting loudly with his best friend, and had to be bodily removed from the situation by a Professor, and all Snape wanted to know was why he wasn’t willing to grade papers anymore? Harry wished that the answer to that question wasn’t tied in with the reason he and Ron were fighting, because he didn’t want to think about or answer either question.

Harry shrugged, and wondered if it would be a sufficient enough answer for the Potions Master, although he had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t.

Snape rubbed his temple for a moment, as if hoping that he could massage the right words to say out of his mind. “Mr. Potter,” he said calmly, “I know that you do not like me, but over the last couple of months I had begun to think that you might have begun to consider me worthy of speaking to.” He paused again, and then finished, “In any case, you just denounced your best friend, and had to be dragged away from the situation before one of you killed the other. Seeing as how you still go to this school, and I am a staff member at this school, you are accountable to me, and will answer my question.”

Harry felt in his left front pocket and found the wand that he had so desperately wanted to curse Ron with earlier. He pulled it out and tossed it lightly on the desk, where it rolled to a stop just before the other edge. “Why don’t you take it then. Boot me out and then maybe he won’t care about killing me anymore, and I won’t have to deal with Ron, or Draco, or Cho or any of them!”

“Mr. Potter, while you and Mr. Weasley seemed quite content on beating each other to a pulp a few moments ago, I highly doubt that he desperately wants to kill you.”

Harry shook his head and sank into the visitor’s chair behind him. “Ron doesn’t want to kill me.”

Snape eyed him curiously for a moment. “Might I enquire as to who does then?” Of course he knew the obvious answer, but he had to be certain of it.

Harry shook his head and Severus sighed again. Already having given up his wand, Severus could not threaten the boy with expulsion from the school. Deciding to tackle the problem from a different angel, he said calmly, “Harry, Mr. Weasley is receiving the same interrogation several floors above us by Professor McGonagall, and most likely the Headmaster. If you do not wish to give me any answers, they will appear knocking at my door momentarily in any case.”

Harry bit his tongue trying to keep himself from bursting out in tears or shouting again. He didn’t realize it, but both of his hands were shaking as he gripped the armrests of the visitor’s chair.

“Voldemort,” he said quietly, a shake in his voice familiar to the one Ron had had the night before when Harry had woken from his most recent nightmare.

Snape waited quietly for Harry to continue. “He comes chasing after me every night in my sleep. He appears suddenly from behind me and whispers in my ear the different ways he wants to murder me. And every night, he whispers, “I’m coming for you, I’m coming for you.” Harry paused, and Snape thought he was done divulging information, but Harry finished with, “Last night he chased me through the woods, and you appeared by my side. You’re there in a lot of dreams. But you never help. Last night you slipped a noose around my neck before I woke up.”

Severus frowned. That would certainly explain the boy’s unwillingness to sit in his office and grade papers for any amount of time anymore. He looked up and tried to catch Harry’s eyes again to no avail.

“You have not been practicing Occlumency?” It was more of a statement of fact than a question.

Harry didn’t answer, and just let his head hang limply where it had been before, so that he could observe his knees from where he sat. Severus took his silence as confirmation of lack of practice and sighed.

“We will need to begin anew then. Look at me Mr. Potter.”