Before the Dawn – Chapter 6

By jharad17

Disclaimer: Who me? Nah, I'm not responsible for these characters.

Warning for slight language, and references to abuse.

Previously:

As he regarded Harry, some kind of heavy emotion settled in the professor's eyes. Even his voice sounded choked as he said, "One day, you will learn that you are as worthy of receiving aid as anyone else. That you are worthy of others' time and attention. Perhaps I will be the one to teach you."

Harry didn't have it in him to tell Snape how very wrong he was. It was simply one revelation too many that day.

Harry hated portkeys. The first one he had taken - to the Quidditch World Cup - had not been bad, and the second had only been a little traumatic, after a night of Death Eater activity had frightened everyone into fleeing the site of the arena. But the third and fourth trips had honestly scarred him for life. He had yet to determine which had been worse: the portkey away from the Third Task to a graveyard, with an alive Cedric, or the trip back, away from the graveyard, but when he had to drag the dead body of Cedric home with him.

Though Snape had told him - in general terms - where this portkey went, Harry stared at the small, battered cauldron without touching it.

"What is the hold up?" Snape asked, with one of his less mild sneers. "We do not have - as you seem to assume - all day."

Harry's gaze flicked to Snape's face, meeting a dark-eyed scowl. He knew he was being stupid, he knew there would be no graveyard on the other end of this portkey. But knowing wasn't enough to overcome the nausea churning in his gut which threatened to make his meager breakfast come back up.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Calm yourself," he said, dropping his sarcastic tone. "Clear your mind. Recall what we worked on yesterday . . ."

Swallowing his bile, Harry nodded. He was glad that Snape continued to hold his gaze, grounding him. "The mist."

"Correct. Now. Picture your scene, then start counting."

Harry drew a quick picture in his mind of a field with a small, square cottage and one tall tree in it. "One," Harry said softly, willing the mist to start filling his mind's eye. Rising from the ground, it began to cover the tall grasses in the field. With, "Two," the mist expanded, rising further with, "Three." As he had been instructed, he encouraged or . . . allowed the mist to fill every space inside that picture in his mind, dampening sound and draping the house, field and tree in light gray. Slowly but steadily, the world encompassed by that field was muted, as was the noise in Harry's head, the panic that had grown since he had been shown the portkey. "Four," he said as the nausea faded, becoming merely a background sensation. Gray coated each leaf of the tree, each tile on the roof, until everything was shielded by mist. "Five," he concluded, and drew a slow breath. Then he gave Snape a nod.

"Good," Snape said. "Now, put your hand on the cauldron."

With very little hesitation this time, Harry obeyed. This form of limited self-hypnosis, as Snape called it, would not actually leave him open to suggestion, but would just help him overcome his irrational fears so he could do what he wanted (or needed) to do in the first place.

Snape gave him a curt nod. "Haven," he said, and the portkey yanked them away from the sitting room.

Harry kept the gray mist firmly in place as they hurtled through space toward a house in a field, until Snape's calm, low voice said, "Let go now."

When he tore his death grip from the cauldron, Harry stumbled upon hitting the ground, but unlike every other time he had traveled by portkey, he did not fall. Pleasantly surprised, Harry turned to flash a smile at Snape, who was brushing off his hands, as if the cauldron he had held in his hands for almost ten minutes had soiled him in some way.

They had landed in a field. A cottage, not unlike the one Snape had described to Harry so he could picture it in the calming exercise, sat about fifty meters away. A tall beech tree stood to its left, towering over the red, Spanish tiled roof. At nearly 9am, the sun was well up, though hidden by clouds, casting the whole area in gray shadow. The field itself covered at least a half dozen acres and was surrounded by a low, rambling, stone wall.

Wand in hand, as it had been since he first presented the portkey to Harry, Snape nodded brusquely and strode off toward the house. Harry drew his own wand and trotted after him. Merlin, Snape's strides were long. As they neared the little house, Harry was able to take in more of the details. The tiled roof was angled sharply enough that, if there were a second story, it would be very difficult to stand up straight in, except in the very center. Weather beaten shingles covered the exterior of the cottage, coloring it a speckled gray. Two wooden steps led up to a heavy looking door, painted red.

"Where are we?" Harry asked. It was warmer here, despite the lack of direct sunlight, than at Hogwarts, and the countryside - fields in every direction, the distant ones dotted with sheep, and with those little rock walls carving them up in no discernible patterns - did not bring Scotland to mind. Or not Hogsmeade, at any rate.

Snape shook his head quickly, refusing to answer. Despite his words earlier that morning, about how safe this location was, his gaze whisked back and forth around them, as if he expected Death Eaters to jump out and hex them from behind one of the large stones in their field.

His hyper-awareness was making Harry rather anxious, but he did not say as much, just keeping the mist up in his mind, so he would not panic.

Finally, they reached the door. Snape swiped his wand across it in an X formation, muttered a few syllables in a low voice, then turned his sharp gaze on Harry. "Place your palm on the door and repeat after me."

"Yes, sir." Harry laid his palm flat on the old, worn wood, and after Snape told him what to say, in what sounded almost like Welsh, repeated his words. A warm tingle traveled up his arm from the contact point with the wood, moving swiftly to his chest where it bloomed like a white, hot rose. He sucked in a breath, though there was no real pain, as the heat engulfed him fully: legs, both arms, torso, and his face felt like it was on fire. "Wow," he managed after a moment. "Those're some wards."

"Indeed." Snape gave him a tiny smile. The tension seemed to visibly drain out of the professor, just as the heat in Harry's body subsided. He opened the door without even looking 'round again.

They must have actually been in some danger as they crossed the field, Harry realized. But now, after activating the wards . . . "Are we safe now?"

"We are." Snape pushed the door open wider and stepped inside the cottage. Apparently, he decided that it was safe enough, too, to give details on their location, as he continued, "And we are in Devonshire."

"Oh. Thanks." Harry slipped his wand into his pocket as he followed the professor again. Just inside the door, Harry stopped short and gaped at the interior of the cottage. He should have guessed, honestly. He knew about wizard's space, such as inside the Weasleys' tent at the Quidditch World Cup. Even so, he had not expected to find such a thing in this little cottage in the middle of nowhere.

The room where he now stood was large enough to store galoshes or Wellingtons and outdoor gear for a dozen people - though it currently held none - as well as having a rack for brooms, two benches that doubled as storage chests, and two other doors that led farther inside. From the exterior, this one room should have taken up half the cottage, but it obviously did not, as through one door, Harry could see part of a large living room with several stuffed chairs, a sofa and a wide stone fireplace. The wood beam ceiling appeared to stretch far higher than his original view of the roof would have suggested possible. The other door was shut.

Harry sank onto one of the benches and removed his wet trainers, which had gotten rather soggy while tromping through the dewy field. As they were also damp, his socks came off, too. In the meantime, Snape had swung his outer cloak off and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall before going into the living room. Harry copied him and hung his cloak next to Snape's.

Barefoot now, Harry traipsed into the living room, after Snape. But Snape had apparently gone straight through, as he was nowhere in sight. Harry looked around before trying to find him again. The room, despite being rather large, was cozy: the sofa and two comfortable looking chairs were done in dark browns and tan and each had an afghan as well as throw pillows in burgundy and navy blue. A small table sat between two windows that looked over the field they had just crossed, with a pot of fresh wildflowers on its pale blue tablecloth, but all the other walls were covered with dark walnut bookshelves, which were crammed with books. Hermione would love this, was Harry's first thought. A fire flickered warmly in the hearth, which the sofa and chairs all faced, while sitting on a thick braided rug that covered much of the floor.

After warming himself briefly in front of the fire, curling his toes into the soft rug, Harry crossed to the far door, which he assumed Snape had gone through, and ended up in a short hallway with several more doors. Harry went through the only open one, into a bright, airy kitchen. A row of windows, along one wall above the sink and several counters for food preparation, let in as much light as was possible. Numerous cabinets took up the rest of the walls, except where there were two other doors. A heavy wooden table, large enough to seat a dozen, sat in the middle of the room, but did not make the kitchen feel small. Both other doors were open, and Harry recognized one as heading back to the entry hall. The other led to a descending set of stairs.

Seconds later, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and almost before Harry had his wand out, Snape appeared, coming up out of what was apparently a basement. When he reached the top of the stairs, and re-entered the kitchen, he closed the door behind him.

"What's down there?"

"My potion lab," Snape told him, lips pursed. "Do not go down there without me."

Harry gave him a tiny smile. "Still don't trust me, huh?"

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "While you have proven yourself capable of not causing complete destruction whilst under supervision, I hesitate to allow you free rein around volatile substances." His tone was matter of fact, but Harry caught a glimmer of humor in his eyes. Without that hint, he might have actually been annoyed by the implication that he was still so incompetent.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, smirking. "Wouldn't want me accidentally leaving fresh ashwinder eggs next to an erumpent horn or anything. Might blow this nice house up."

Snape smirked back. "Indeed. Have you seen to your room yet?"

"No, sir." Harry considered the layout of the house, then gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. "They're off the hallway?"

With a nod, Snape said, "Mine is closest to the kitchen."

"And the potion lab, by happy coincidence," Harry said. Snape snorted, as Harry continued, "So by simple elimination, assuming the third door is for the loo, the other is mine. . . ." He broke off, frowning. "Sir?"

Snape had begun going through the cabinets, including one that looked like it held refrigerator goods, like milk, checking their supplies, and grunted in reply.

"Where are the other bedrooms?"

This time, Snape lifted his gaze from the drawer he had pulled open and glanced at Harry. "Hmm?"

"Well, unless each of those bedrooms sleeps six or so . . . I mean, I figure there's enough room at this table for twelve, same as the entry hall. Either people who stay here have loads of dinner-only guests, or the bedrooms are dormitories?"

Giving Harry a rare smile, as if he had figured out the mysteries of the universe, Snape slid the drawer closed. "Actually, Dormenhause adjusts for the number of people inhabiting it. Additional bedrooms insinuate themselves into that hallway when needed, and I believe additional furniture is magically added to the sitting room as well."

"Brilliant!" Harry retraced his steps to the hallway, then grinned back at Snape as he pushed open the middle door, which proved to be the loo, with one sink, one toilet, and one tub with a shower attachment. "I'd hope the house would insinuate another bathroom or two, too. 'Specially if a bunch of Fifth Year girls were staying."

Another snort sounded from the kitchen, and Harry grinned again and opened the last door in this hallway, the one closest to the living room. Inside was a well appointed bedroom, with a bed large enough to sleep three comfortably, hung with navy outer curtains and sheer inner curtains of sky blue. A wardrobe sat next to a roll top desk with all sorts of intriguing little drawers and nooks, and there was even a padded chair, also in dark blue fabric, in front of a small, currently cold, fireplace.

A tall window next to the desk, with a window seat containing several large decorative pillows, let in the midmorning light, and Harry crossed to it to peer outside at what must have been the "back yard." More fields.

He settled into the window seat, leaning back into the pillows. He was a million miles from nowhere. Alone - except for Snape - in this house. With no one to bother him - except Snape - or accuse him of being a coward for not leaving his room, and lots of peace and quiet. Maybe it would be okay here. Even if it did mean Snape had to give up teaching to take care of him.

Harry frowned, remembering the overheard snip of conversation between Snape and Madam Pomfrey. Not only did Snape give up teaching, but also whatever other strings Dumbledore had attached to his permission. He wondered what those strings amounted to. And really, he thought, there was only one way to find out.

While Harry got himself settled, Severus continued cataloguing the supplies in the safe house. There was enough food to last the two of them till Yule, if they were frugal, but he hoped not to be here nearly that long. But he had to be prepared for that eventuality. Harry was really and truly injured, and not just psychologically, which would be plenty for any one person to deal with all by itself. But when, two days ago, he and Poppy had tallied up the damage the boy's uncle, as well as the Dark Lord, had dealt him, Severus had been shocked and outraged. Perhaps even more so than Harry himself.

In fact, so far, Harry seemed to be taking the news very well. Too well, from Severus' perspective. The boy should be shouting, railing about the unfairness of it all. Yet, he thought, shaking his head as he closed another cupboard, who knew more about the unfairness of life than Harry? Marked by the Dark Lord at the tender age of fifteen months because of a prophecy he had nothing to do with, hunted by that same maniac years later, abused and used by various teachers and Headmasters, for his entire Hogwarts career, and then all of the exhausting, traumatic events of this last summer. . . . What was a bit of brain damage from strangulation on top of all that?

Severus went through another cabinet, finding various dry goods, including some small shell pasta he pulled out to add to a minestrone soup for dinner. He had already laid out potatoes to peel later, as well as celery, onions, and tomatoes to dice, and some fresh basil and parsley that wanted chopping. Still considering what he had learned and what he needed to do to help Harry, he half-filled a pot with water and added several handfuls of northern beans from the cupboard to soak. They were kept in stasis, not quite dry, so he did not have to soak them overnight, but merely for a few hours.

He set the pot on the cooker. Some of this safe house was set up with wizarding conveniences - like the cabinets, charmed to keep their food fresh and/or cold, and the several housekeeping charms which would free them from the necessity of sweeping or doing laundry - but much of it was not. Anything they wanted to cook had to be done the Muggle way, for instance, and for security reasons, especially after the disaster that was Kreacher, there was no House Elf in attendance.

Turning from the cooker, Severus glanced at the hallway, and the door to Harry's room, which was not quite closed. He sighed softly and brought a hand up to his forehead, to rub away the tension there. When he had first learned of the extent of the damage that blasted Muggle had done to Harry, Severus had first been so angry he could hardly see straight. But then he recalled all the times that he had mocked the boy, humiliated him and taunted him. Over and over, through five years of classes, through that horror of Occlumency training, Severus had called him an idiot and shouted at him that he hadn't a brain in his head, that he couldn't think things through to save his life . . . and now, to learn he had been right, in a way, but through no fault of the boy's, was a real kick in the gut.

Harry could have applied himself to his studies till the dragons returned to Britain, but he would not have done any better. No matter how much Severus criticized him.

And Occlumency. Severus damned himself six ways from Sunday for that debacle. This summer, in the couple weeks before school started, their training in Occlumency had gone so well that Severus had thought, rather uncharitably, that perhaps the boy just needed the death of his dogfather to really focus on the training. Giving him a book to work from hadn't hurt either - except for the dismal failure of using stone to hide his emotions. But Severus realized, after speaking with Poppy, that it was far more likely none of those things had mattered. No. Harry had previously been incapable of learning to Occlude himself because of the damage to his brain.

But, now that some of those injuries were coated with the magical . . . lesions, Harry was better able to control those mental functions which included the study of Occlumency. Severus should have recognized the signs earlier, right after Harry Legilimized the Headmaster, in fact. He hadn't, however. And he had not realized for five years that the boy was trying hard in his classes, but that he had quite literally been unable to process information, or retain it, or control his impulses as well as the other children. Severus was not at all comforted by the fact that no one else - not even Minerva, whose job it had nominally been - had noticed either.

They had all failed him in this, too.

So, they would stay in Dormenhause as long as they needed to. As long as Harry needed them to.

"Sir? Professor?"

Severus turned from where he had been looking out over the fields behind the house. Harry stood in the doorway, feet still bare as they had been since they arrived - did he have no slippers? - and nibbling on his lower lip. Dark purple, almost black, circles of skin made his eyes look bruised, and his face was thinner than Severus had seen it in several weeks. His arms, bony and pale, stuck out of a red tee-shirt, and Severus could see how tiny - almost frail- his wrists had become. They would do something about Harry's lack of appetite, too, while they were here. And work on rebuilding his muscles, as well. "Yes?"

"I was wondering . . ." He gaze slid away, as it did when he was not sure of the reception his question would receive.

"Just ask," Severus said. "What is it you want to know?"

With a tiny nod, Harry said, "Well, when Madam Pomfrey asked if you'd gotten time off to come here with me, you said you had, but there were strings attached. I was wondering . . ." He swallowed again, as if his mouth was bone dry. Had Severus really instilled such fear in him that he hesitated so much to ask anything? Stupid question, Severus derided himself; of course he had.

"What those strings were?" he provided, rescuing the boy from his aimless flailing about.

Harry nodded, looking back for a mere instant to catch his gaze.

"I could say they are none of your concern."

Harry nodded again. "I, um . . . You're right, 'course. I mean, I was just curious. It's just you . . . you seemed upset about it, and I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to, er, make it less onerous for you to be here."

"Less onerous, eh?" Severus almost smiled.

"Yeah, you know, wearing. Hermione always said helping me and Ron with homework was onerous. Like a burden."

"And you do not wish to be a burden to me." He was not surprised by the information about Miss Granger, but was surprised to have heard the word 'onerous' come out of Potter's mouth. Perhaps his vocabulary would improve, along with his reasoning skills, and his ability to Occlude.

"No. I don't, sir. I mean, you've done so much, even, you know, being my guardian and all, and I-"

"Harry, stop." Severus sighed. "I know this is difficult for you to understand, and not-" he held up a hand, to keep the boy from saying something about his brain damage, " not because you are unable to reason it out on your own, all right?" He waited until Harry gave him a tight nod. "Good. I suspect I will say this again, but let me say it now for your benefit. I came here, with you, because I wanted to. Because I believe I can help you. Because you need me to be here for you, right now."

Harry's shoulders hitched up, and he looked away. "But I'm okay! I mean, yeah, getting over that anti-sleep spell will be hard, but I can get over it on my own. I've always-"

Severus interrupted him. "You've always done things like this, gotten over things, on your own because you haven't had anyone who could help you, previously. Anyone who would help. But that has changed. I am here for you."

For a brief moment, seeing the look of shock morph into one of remembered pain on Harry's face, Severus was sure the boy would let some of his grief go, would weep long and hard, and get rid of some of the tension riding him for the last couple weeks. And his eyes were watery when he glanced back at Severus for just a second, but then he just shook his head and gazed down at his feet. "'Kay."

"Good," Severus said, his own voice sounding rough, so he cleared his throat. "Have you settled into your room?"

A tiny nod. "Yes, sir."

"Then we shall begin with some exercises, to work on your muscles." Poppy had given him several books detailing how he could best work to overcome the damage done by Cruciatus overload, which Harry had undergone on their last night at Topsham. "Change into running pants, and put on some socks, unless you've some house slippers. Meet me downstairs in five minutes."

Harry frowned. "In the lab?"

"There is space for exercising, as well. A separate room."

"Oh. Okay."

When Harry headed back to his room, to change out of his Muggle jeans, Severus went to the basement to wait for him. Later, they would work on a potion - and Severus had to admit that when he was not carping at the boy, Harry did passably well in Potions - that would induce dreaming in a normally awake person. After dinner, they would try it out. Hopefully, it would induce dreams in Harry.

And perhaps, if he was feeling generous, he would tell Harry about some of those strings Albus insisted he take up. He was sure the boy would be pleased.

A/N: Thanks to all who read and review! Next chapter will have potions and soup and maybe even strings!