Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 34

“Sir,” Harry said, standing in front of Snape’s desk, bent at the waist, hands on his knees. “I get it. I feel you trying to break though and I can keep you out of my thoughts most of the time, but that’s when I’m conscious,” Harry protested, still panting from the exertion of fighting off the man‘s mental attacks.

“It is the same thing, Mr. Potter,” Snape said impatiently.

“No, it’s not,” Harry objected, standing upright at last. “When I am sleeping, Volde—He-who-must-not-be-named accesses the link between us through my dreams. How am I supposed to fight him off when I‘m asleep?”

“The same way you do here,” Snape replied.

Harry shook his head. “Here I am aware of what you are trying to do. And even if you came upon me when I wasn’t expecting it, I’d still be fully aware of what was happening. I’d feel you trying to get inside my head. But when I’m sleeping, I dream, but I don’t know I’m dreaming.” Harry scratched his head, trying to explain. “It feels different. Here, I feel you trying to break into my head. But in my dreams, it’s as if…”

“As if what?”

And then it hit Harry. “It’s like when I pulled you into my memories,” Harry breathed. “It’s not him trying to break into my mind, it’s him pulling me into his!”

Snape looked at Harry with a strange expression on his face.

“Like last night,” Harry said. “I dreamed of the Department of Ministries again.” Snape looked angry and Harry raised a hand to forestall the reprimand. “I know, I know, I’m not supposed to let him do that, but it happens anyway. And it’s more than that, it’s like he wants something, wants to show me something, wants me to find something…”

“Mr. Potter,” Snape hissed. “We are here to teach you to turn these visions off! They are dangerous. Don’t you realize that the Dark Lord could plant all sorts of visions in your mind? He could try and trick you into leaving the safety of this castle.”

“I know,” Harry moaned. “But can you control your dreams?” Harry challenged.

“You are lacking discipline,” Snape snapped.

“Maybe I’m lacking a good teacher,” Potter muttered beneath his breath.

“What did you say?” Snape asked, looking livid.

“I said,” Harry replied, knowing he was skating on thin ice, “maybe I’m just like Kreacher.“ Harry shrugged. “You know, wondering around in the dark, collecting odd bits of things but unable to put them all together.”

Snape pursed his lips, looking skeptical.

Harry forged ahead. “I’ve tried cleaning my mind and strengthening my shields before I go to bed, but a dream doesn’t feel like an invasion. What I need is a way to figure out when I’m in a dream so I can wake myself up.”

“Hmm. You never do things the easy way.” Snape began pacing. “If your shields are strong, I should not be able to put a vision in your head. So let’s try that.”

“Okay,” Harry said, beginning to feel nervous. Occlumency was uncomfortable enough. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see whatever images Snape chose to try and shove into his mind.

“On the count of three, then. One, two, Legilimens.”

Harry staggered, wanting to protest. Snape had cheated, and he wasn’t ready. Already a strand of images was cascading into Harry’s mind. He saw himself through Snape’s eyes, a tiny, dark-haired child, fresh off the boats with Hagrid, dwarfed by the half-giant’s immense size. Then he was in the Great Hall, pallid and frightened, his bottom lip caught in his teeth as he waited to be sorted. Then he was on a broom in a Quidditch match, by far the smallest player, zooming around the pitch in search of the Snitch. Then he was fighting to hold on to said broom, being hurled this way and that, an invisible force trying to unseat him. ’Not an invisible force,’ Harry’s mind interjected. ’Quirrell, Voldemort’s minion.’ And with that, Harry pushed Snape’s vision out of his head. He felt sick and dizzy, and altogether too winded.

“That was atrocious, Potter,” Snape said, raising his wand from Harry. “You weren’t even trying.”

“That was much more difficult,” Harry replied, ignoring Snape’s criticism. “It wasn’t unpleasant, or even foreign. It was sort of interesting.”

“Potter!” Snape said in exasperation. “You have the focus of a flobberworm!”

“That’s just it,” Harry said. “It wasn’t aversive, which made it much more difficult for me to block. It was only when Quirrell reminded me of Vol— of You-know-who that I was able to break away.” Harry wiped his sweaty brow. “I need a trigger,” Harry said.

“A trigger,” Snape repeated deadpan.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “something that makes me realize that what I’m seeing isn’t real or interesting. Or that I shouldn’t be seeing it.” Harry shook his head. “It’s hard to explain.” Looking back at Snape, Harry said, “When I showed you my memories, could you have blocked them?”

Snape paused, seeming to consider his response. “I assume so,” Snape said.

“Can I try?” Harry asked. “To show you a vision? Then maybe you can explain to me exactly how you block it.”

“Very well,” Snape said.

Harry paused, thinking of what to show the man. Then it came to him. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Snape merely raised an eyebrow.

“Three, two, one, Legilimens,” Harry said. It was the first time he’d actually cast the spell. The other times, he’d simply invited Snape into his memories, or sometimes forced them on him. But this felt like power, seductive and rich. And very dangerous. He pushed an image of himself speaking to the snake at the zoo, and the snake responding in return, the glass falling away, and the snake slithering out, causing a mass panic as it went. He still felt the surge of power that linked him to Snape and was wondering why Snape hadn’t blocked him yet, when he was suddenly thrown back, as if by an invisible hand.

Snape looked shaken. “You set a boa constrictor loose on the public?” Snape asked.

“Well, not on purpose,” Harry replied, half-smiling, but he suspected Snape was more unnerved by Harry speaking Parseltongue than by the snake itself. “Why didn’t you block me sooner?”

“Because I was intrigued,” Snape replied.

“Exactly!” Harry said. “And that’s the problem. I’m intrigued in the dreams. There is not a signal of danger telling me to break away, to get out.” Shoving his hands in his pocket, Harry repeated his thought, “I need a signal. A trigger. Something to distract me in the moment.”

“That’s not normally how it works,” Snape said.

“But you said yourself that I’m not normal,” Harry returned.

Snape snorted. “That you are not, Mr. Potter. Normal hardly seems to apply to you or anything around you.”

“Including you?” Harry said cheekily.

“Don’t push your luck,” Snape said, but Harry just smiled at him.

“Muggles have all sorts of ways to test if you’re dreaming—like if you can’t see your hands, you’re dreaming. Or if you can’t find a clock. Or if you can’t find anything with writing on it. Or if you read something written, but then the words change. Or if you don’t see your reflection in a mirror.” Harry frowned. “But you have to realize, at least on some level, that you ARE dreaming before you can even try to test any of those things.”

“I think you are making it too complicated,” Snape observed.

“Am I?” Harry responded. “How did you push me out when you decided to?”

“I simply slammed my shields into place, thereby disallowing you access to my mindscape.”

“Mindscape,” Harry repeated. “Dreamscape… mindscape… it’s all related,” he mused.

“What are you babbling about now, Potter?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’s like I know something, remember something, but it’s just beyond my reach.” Harry bent down to tie his shoe, still ruminating on what it was that was escaping him. “Let me get back to you on that,” he muttered absently.


Harry alternatively pondered, or tried to distract himself from thinking about, that thing that teetered on the edge of his consciousness. He returned to the Gryffindor common room to find Ron and Hermione sitting in chairs by the fire.

“How’d it go, mate?” Ron asked.

“Fine,” Harry replied, pensive and distracted.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“It’s just,” Harry said, scratching his head, “there’s something I can’t quite remember, but I think it’s important.” Harry shook his head. “Anyway, what have you two been up to?”

“The usual,” Ron said, waving his Astronomy chart at Harry.

Absently, Harry rubbed at his scar.

“Is it hurting again?” Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. “It aches almost all the time, now that he’s back.”

Hermione frowned.

“Hey, do either of you know when you’re dreaming?” When his two friends looked puzzled, he added, “I mean, when you are in the middle of a dream, do you ever think ‘Hey, I’m dreaming!’”

“Nah,” said Ron. “I never know until I wake up.”

“Sometimes,” Hermione said. “Although usually when that happens, I wake up as soon as I realize it’s a dream.”

“That’s what I need to do,” Harry proclaimed. “I need to realize I’m dreaming and wake up. How can I do that?”

“No idea, mate,” Ron said, stretching his long legs before slouching in the chair. “I’m tired.”

“Well,” Hermione said, “I know they’ve done research on that in the Muggle world. I’m not sure if it’s the same for witches and wizards, but in the Muggle world they say you should look for inconsistencies—like the house you grew up is suddenly ten times larger than normal.”

“Yeah, but it’s like I told Snape,” Harry said. “You have to realize, on some level, that you ARE dreaming, before any of that stuff can help you.”

“True,” Hermione said.

“I need a trigger,” Harry said. “Something that will instantly alert me that I’m in a dream.”

“Why, what’s up?” Ron said.

Harry looked around to make sure no one was too close, then leaned in conspiratorially. His friends leaned in as well. “Voldemort is invading my dreams. And, unlike Occlumency lessons with Snape, I am not consciously awake and aware enough to push him out.” Harry glanced around once more. “Plus,” he added, “it’s different in a dream. It’s not like Voldemort is trying to break into my mind, as much as he’s inviting me into his.”

Hermione looked frightened.

Ron said, “That’s sick, mate.”

“I know,” Harry said. “It’s like he shows me the things he wants me to see, and he makes me want to see them too. So I don’t even realize it’s happening, especially because I’m asleep. Snape says I just need to close my mind, but I can’t do that while I’m sleeping,” Harry finished, feeling frustrated.

Hermione looked thoughtful. “Close your mind, a trigger.” Hermione looked up at Harry. “Maybe you don’t need a trigger to wake yourself up when you are dreaming as much as you need a trigger to close your mind when you are dreaming.”

Ron snorted. “That’s about as clear as a crystal ball, Hermione.”

Ignoring Ron’s barb, Harry said, “But it all comes down to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe not,” said Hermione.


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