Harry James Potter was used to strange things happening to him. He was used to weeds squirming to get away from him when he went to pull them (a gust of wind perhaps). He was used to finding himself flying through the air to clear a trash can or a fence to get away from Dudley and his friends (also wind). He was used to Dudley somehow always having the most rotten luck just after doing something particularly mean to Harry (like the neighbor's snarling dog devouring Dudley's project for school moments after he punched Harry in the side). Strange was normal for Harry. He was even used to people calling him strange. He never expected that his strangeness would follow him into his dreams until the night that it happened though.

One moment he was dreaming of being out in the hot sun mowing the lawn while he got a sunburn on his back, and the next he was in a strange stone room with a shadowy figure he didn't recognize. At first Harry thought it was going to turn out to be a nightmare, but the figure turned and Harry realized it was just a man, not the grim reaper or some other monster. The man in fact didn't even seem to realize that Harry was there in the corner watching him as he went about some kind of work. What was he doing? Cooking? He was chopping things up and throwing them into a giant black pot over a fire, only whatever it was didn't smell appetizing in the least.

The man was muttering something too, but Harry couldn't hear what it was from all the way over in the corner. He walked forward cautiously, hoping to see what was in the big black pot and to hear what he was saying. All of the words sounded unfamiliar though.

"Powdered gnat head," the man said, pouring a tiny spoonful of gray powder into the boiling concoction. Harry looked up at the man's face. He had a long nose and his hair fell into his eyes. It was black like Harry's, but unlike Harry's hair it was straight. Harry's hair never laid flat.

The man suddenly realized he wasn't alone in the room and startled when he spotted Harry standing only a few feet away.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my lab?"

Harry looked around to see if there was anyone else there.

"Yes you. Students aren't allowed in my lab and it's after curfew!"

"I'm not a student," Harry said. "I mean, I am, but you're not a teacher at my school."

The man narrowed his eyes at him. "And what school would that be?"

"Boxgrove Primary."

"Muggle," the man snorted, and turned away from Harry back to whatever it was he was making.

"What's that?" Harry asked curiously.

"It's not worth my time to explain it to you. You wouldn't understand."

"Is that... muggle?"

"YOU are a Muggle! Now let me be! I have important work to do." He muttered something else under his breath that didn't sound friendly, and Harry caught random bits and pieces that didn't make any sense.

"I'm not a Muggle. I'm Harry."

The man threw something else into the pot as if he were angry with it and then began vigorously chopping something green up.

"What's your name?" Harry asked him. It was certainly turning out to be a strange dream. Harry looked around the dark room and realized the floor and walls were made of stone. There were candles. It almost felt like they were in a castle.

"I'm not talking to you."

"Oh," Harry said, "Ok." He found a stool and sat down, watching the man for the rest of his dream. He didn't understand anything the man was doing, but he watched, interested, and trying to figure it out. The man ignored him and eventually Harry woke up.

Where had he been? A castle? A dungeon? It seemed like something off the telly but Harry couldn't imagine what. Aunt Petunia rapped loudly on his cupboard door and told him to hurry up and dress so he could make breakfast. It was Dudley's birthday today and she wanted him to make something special.

* * *

Harry was back in the room with the black haired man. He wished he could have dreamt of something more pleasant, but anywhere was better than his cupboard under the stairs. He'd had a hard time falling asleep because his face hurt. Uncle Vernon wasn't thrilled that Harry had talked to a snake and had somehow made the glass in the display disappear. Just another one of the weird things that happened to him.

The man was making something again. Harry stared, and wondered why he was wearing all black.

"More ground gnat head this time," the man said. Harry watched curiously as the man poured double the gray powder into the pot a from the night before.

"What's in the pot?" Harry asked, hoping to get some answers this time. He wondered if he'd been drawn back into this dream because he'd thought about it just before bed. That happened to him sometimes.

"You again," the man muttered. He looked up at Harry and then glared. "What happened to your face?"

Harry shrugged. "I can talk to snakes."

"Not a Muggle then."

"I told you my name is Harry."

"So you said."

Harry took his seat on the stool again. He wished he had a couch instead of a stool.

"What's Muggle? Is that what you're putting into the pot?"

"It's a cauldron," the man snapped. "I have no time for questions!"

Harry thought he was being awful rude. It was his dream after all. Didn't he have the right to ask questions in his own dreams? Once he dreamt of riding a flying motorbike with a big man with lots of hair. That man had let him ask all the questions he wanted. Apparently he worked for Santa and was allowed to use the Motorbike to do important things since Santa was busy with his sleigh.

Harry got off his stool and walked to the cauldron to look into it. He wanted to reach in. It was bubbling but it felt cool despite being cooked over a flame.

"Don't touch it!" the man hissed, and Harry pulled his hand back.

"What is it?"

"It will eat your flesh at this stage!" He walked around the cauldron, grabbed Harry's wrist (which also hurt consequently), ignored Harry's grimace, and dragged him to the far corner of the room. He pulled out a stick, said a funny word, and Harry's stool suddenly flew over to him. He seemed weird like Harry was.

"Sit there. Do not move. Do not talk to me. Do not talk to yourself. I have little time for such nonsense."

Harry sat on the stool and pulled his wrist back to himself to cradle it. It hurt. The man looked down at it, sneered, and then left Harry alone to go back to his work. Maybe he was some sort of mad scientist.

When Harry woke, his wrist and face still hurt. Aunt Petunia didn't call him out of his cupboard this morning. In fact, she'd told him to stay put. She gave him a piece of toast with jam on it and later let him out to use the bathroom, but he otherwise spent the day in his cupboard with little to no contact aside from his aunt bringing him an apple at lunch and another piece of toast at dinner.

* * *

The man with black hair growled in frustration. He stared at Harry with his hands on his hips. He wasn't happy that Harry was back again.

"Why do you plague me?"

"What's that mean?"

"You are a nuisance."

"Yeah."

"At least my subconscious agrees with itself," grouched the man.

Harry looked around. They weren't in the room with the cauldron anymore. They were out in the moonlight in the crisp night air. Harry quite liked being out after having been in his cupboard all day.

"Where's that stuff?" Harry asked.

"In my lab."

"What is it?"

"A potion. For a wizard you know very little."

Harry frowned as he followed the man across a vast lawn area. "A wizard? I'm not a wizard. There's no such thing as magic."

The man muttered about himself going crazy if he'd concocted a companion like Harry to visit him in his dreams.

"I have never met a Muggle who could speak to snakes," the man said.

"The snake liked it," Harry commented, "but I didn't." Who would when there was a severe punishment waiting for him at home afterwards.

"What is your name?" the man asked. Harry thought that was odd since he'd already told him. Maybe he was a forgetful mad scientist.

"Harry."

"Harry what?"

"Harry Potter," he said. The man stopped walking and turned abruptly to look at him. He moved forward quickly, startling Harry, and lifted the fringe of his bangs up to reveal his scar.

"Wonderful," Severus said, though he said it in a way that made Harry think he didn't think it was so wonderful. "Now I know I am going crazy."

"Why?"

He glared at him. "The last person in the world I want to dream about is Harry Bloody Potter. It'll be bad enough I'll be stuck with him for 7 years when he gets to school."

"What school?" Harry asked. "Why 7 years?"

"Hogwarts Potter!" the man shouted. He pointed behind Harry and Harry turned in the darkness and saw a castle silhouetted by the moon's glow. There were lights coming out of some of the upper windows. It looked big.

"I've never heard of that before," he said. He was wary of the angry man before him. Where were they going anyway?

"Just- stay here," the man told him. He began walking. Harry wanted to obey, he really did, but he felt compelled to follow the man. In fact, his feet started walking of their own accord after him.

"I told you to leave me alone," the man said, but Harry felt it was unfair to be punished for something he couldn't help.

"Weird things like this happen to me all the time," Harry said, trying to keep his eyes on the man when he was busy looking at the ground. It was better not to meet someone's eyes when they were angry, but he had to know when the blows would come so he could prepare for them.

The man ignored him for the rest of the night. He had a sack with him and was picking what looked like weeds to Harry and putting them in it. He didn't want Harry to help or talk, or do anything other than stand as far back as he was able and be quiet. Harry watched him for some time but eventually sat down and began playing with his shoelaces and then a stick, and then a leaf. It was ok, he thought, because he was used to keeping himself occupied.

* * *

"For pitty sake Potter!"

"What did I do?"

"You exist. That is what you've done."

Harry stared at him. He couldn't help but existing. He'd always ‘existed', hadn't he? He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Studying. Leave me be."

Harry looked around. The man was at a desk in what seemed like his house, but it had the same stone floor and walls as the other room with the cauldron. In this room there was a couch, Harry was pleased to find out, and a warm fire, and a bookshelf full of books.

"Do not sit there!" the man snapped when Harry tried to sit on the couch. He stiffened and waited for instructions.

"There," the man pointed, and Harry went to sit in a hard wooden chair, looking longingly at the couch. He would have liked to have gone to sleep on it if he weren't already asleep. It would be nice to know the softness of falling asleep on a couch instead of his cot for once.

The man turned his back to Harry to continue studying, or whatever he was doing, and after an hour, when Harry's rear end was feeling sore from sitting on the chair, he got up slowly and tiptoed to the couch. He hoped it didn't creak when he sat down, and was pleased to find that it didn't. The man hadn't turned around in over an hour. Harry laid down on the couch, but found that he couldn't fall asleep. Instead he gazed into the fire and let himself be mesmerized by the way the flames danced.

"I told you not to sit there," the man said several hours later. He seemed more wary and tired than angry however.

"The chair hurt to sit in," Harry said.

The man huffed and walked into another room, and again Harry felt compelled to follow, so he got up and followed him into a small kitchen. The man was making coffee.

"Can I have something?" Harry asked, but the man ignored him. Harry's stomach grumbled a few minutes later and the man grumbled before pulling open a cupboard and throwing a bag of biscuits at Harry. Harry didn't catch them. The man left the room and Harry picked up the biscuits and took them back to the comfortable brown couch. The man ignored Harry like he usually did while he did his work.

* * *

"Why is your shirt ripped?" the man asked. He didn't snap at Harry about being there this time.

Harry shrugged. He never told people why his clothes ended up ripped or how he ended up with bruises. He knew better than to tell.

"You have new bruises as well."

Harry reached up to the side of his face. The old bruises still hurt from the evening after Dudley's birthday at the zoo. He wished his injuries wouldn't follow him into his dreams. It was awkward having a man there staring at him and questioning him about them.

"I asked you a question."

"I asked you lots of questions you didn't answer," said Harry. "Do you have more biscuits I can have?"

"No."

Harry sat down on the couch again. "You live in a nice house," Harry said.

"It is not a house."

"Oh. Well it's nice."

The man gave a hmph. Then he surprised Harry by sitting down on the couch across from him with a book.

After several minutes, Harry asked, "What's your name?" The man had refused to answer before, but Harry figured he really ought to know if he was going to continue dreaming about him.

"Severus Snape."

"Hi Severus."

"Do not call me that."

Harry blinked and stared at him. "What am I supposed to call you?"

"Sir."

"Oh. Uncle Vernon likes to be called that too. Sorry sir."

Severus sighed and tried to go back to his reading.

Harry laid back on the couch, but he grimaced because his shoulder hurt. When he looked back at Severus, he found the man looking at him.

"Sorry sir, I won't make any more noise. I promise."

"That much is doubtful. I cannot get any work done with you around." He stood up and walked into the kitchen, but before Harry could get up and follow him, the man came back and Harry lay back again on the couch, grimacing again as he did so.

Severus sat on the coffee table between the two couches and opened up a jar of white goop. He put some on his fingers and reached forward towards Harry's face, but Harry shrank away from him.

"It will heal your bruises."

"What is it?" Harry asked. "Is that the stuff you put on bandaids?"

"Bruise balm. Now sit still."

Harry stiffened as the cold cream made contact with the swollen new bruise on the side of his face and his black eye, and then his shoulder near where his shirt was ripped, but the pain was gone a few moments after the goop made contact and Harry relaxed, letting the couch envelope him.

"Well?"

"Sir?"

"Did it help?"

"Yes."

"Good," the man grouched, "now perhaps I can have some peace so I can work."

Harry fell asleep on the couch with the fire keeping him warm. He only woke occasionally to the sound of the man turning a page in his book.

When he woke, Harry felt well rested, but was disappointed to find that he still had all of his bruises, and that they were still painful.

* * *

"I healed you last night." Harry just stared at the man. They were back in the room with the cauldron, and the man was staring at his bruises again. "You are a mystery Potter."

Harry didn't know how he was a mystery, and didn't ask. He was achy because of the bruises but also because he'd spent the day out in the sun mowing the grass, washing uncle Vernon's car, and pulling weeds. He had a sunburn to prove it. Severus seemed like he was in a talking mood tonight however and decided to tell Harry about just how mysterious he was.

"Ten nights Potter. Ten nights you show up here. This is my crafted dream. I crafted it to show me books, potions, ingredients. I need time to figure out this potion, yet you show up, uncrafted, taking my time away."

Harry tried to count back. He supposed it was ten nights since Dudley's birthday. The man pulled out his stick again (if he was a wizard, then was that a wand?) and said a crazy word. The jar of white goop appeared out of thin air in front of him. Harry didn't flinch this time as the man came over to him and began smearing the white substance on his face and shoulder, though it was more difficult this time since Harry's shirt wasn't ripped. He had put on a different one before bed tonight.

"Well?"

"It's better," Harry said. "Thank you sir."

Harry went to his corner, dragging his stool over with him and sat down on it. The man watched him silently as Harry climbed up on it and then sat very still.

"How did you get those bruises?"

Harry shrugged.

"I like people to answer me in my own dream Potter."

"What's a Muggle?"

Severus sneered.

"A non-magical person. Now answer my questions."

"I can talk to snakes," Harry repeated himself from the first time he'd been asked the question.

"Irritating brat," the man snapped, and set to work chopping up things and throwing them into the cauldron, starting with only half a spoonful of ground gnat heads this time.

* * *

Severus was ready for him tonight. He should be after so many nights of dreaming the same thing in a row. Every night he went to sleep and woke in his dream, ready to research and concoct his latest creation, and every night Potter appeared, bruised and hungry.

"Come here," he told the boy who had just appeared later than normal. He had bags under his eyes and looked tired. The boy obeyed and came straight to him. Severus handed him an apple and as the boy ate he spread bruise balm, sunburn lotion, and pain reliever over the child's battered body. He didn't know why he dreamt of a bruised and bloodied Harry Potter night after night. The real Harry Potter was somewhere out in the world sleeping peacefully in his bed. He was wearing fine pajamas Severus was sure, and dreaming of ways to get into trouble. Severus dreaded the day the real boy came to school with a racing broom and a gaggle of fans. This dream Harry Potter wasn't so bad though. He usually followed directions, though he often refused to answer questions, and usually sat quietly and kept himself occupied or slept. If Severus had to spend twenty minutes at the start of every night healing and feeding the mysterious dream apparition so he could get some work done, it was fine with him. And the ghost of Harry Potter seemed to appreciate it. He was sure the real brat who lived would never appreciate anything anybody did for him.

He asked the boy again why he was bruised, and when the boy didn't answer he told the boy to lay down on the couch and he did as he was told and went straight to sleep. Severus covered him with a blanket and then went to sit at his desk to work. Seventeen nights he'd been visited by Potter. He sighed. He only had two weeks left until the start of the term. Then he'd have to return to a normal sleep schedule instead of constructed dreams. He wouldn't have time to finish working on the potion then.

* * *

Severus stared at Harry on the floor. The boy wasn't moving. There was blood on his face and he was lying at an odd angle.

"Potter?" His chest rose and fell, but he didn't respond. He'd never appeared on the floor before.

Severus knelt next to him and tried to rouse him, but couldn't. He rolled him onto his back and was surprised to find a Hogwarts letter clutched to his chest. The envelope was crinkled. Severus pulled it away from the boy's grasp and scrutinized the address. ‘Harry Potter, 4 Privet Drive, The Cupboard Under The Stairs.'

He lifted the boy and put him on the couch and then opened the jars he had ready and began applying medicines. He used his wand to clean the blood from Harry's face. It seemed like it had come mostly from his nose and a cut on the inside of his lip. Harry didn't stir after Severus was done, or for the remainder of the night. Severus didn't get any work done. Instead he sat on the couch opposite the raven haired child and watched him sleep, disturbed that his dreams had taken on such a grim trend.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Harry James Potter fretted over his appearance in the mirror in the upstairs bathroom. If he tugged at the collar of his shirt he could cover up the bruise that came partway up his neck, but it looked weird. Maybe his new robes would cover that up. They covered up most of everything else. He'd been on the mend since Hagrid had delivered his letter to Hogwarts (just like in his dream! There was a real Hogwarts!). Every night in his dreams Severus healed him, but in real life healing didn't happen as fast. He was still stiff and sore two weeks after the incident, though thankfully his uncle had mostly left him alone in the last two weeks. Harry flattened his bangs over his scar and the bruise on his forehead. It mostly covered it, and if he kept flattening his hair, maybe no one else would notice. He was supposed to get on the train today and he desperately wanted to make some real friends. He didn't want people to think that he was the kind of guy that got into fights alot. He didn't want people to think he was like Dudley, though Dudley rarely ended up on the bad end of a fight.

"Hurry up and get out here," his aunt shouted from the other side of the door, and Harry flattened his bangs and tugged up his shirt collar one more time before coming out of the bathroom. This was a new start, he could feel it.

Harry did end up making a new friend on the train it turned out. His name was Ron and Harry ended up using the story he didn't like to his advantage. Ron had seen the bruises and Harry lied and told him he got into a fight with his cousin. Ron seemed to understand however and told him about fights he got into with his five older brothers. Harry had grinned practically the entire trip to Hogwarts, listening as Ron told him all kinds of interesting details about magic and Hogwarts and the different houses.

Harry also made new friends when he was sorted into Gryffindor. People seemed to know who he was already without him introducing himself, and after he sat down at Gryffindor when the hat had called his name, Ron's older brothers and several other kids wanted to know all about him. He was liking this new start to life without Dudley and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

"Look, Snape's staring at us," Ron's older brother Fred said.

"What?" Harry asked. Fred pointed to the Head table where all the teachers sat and Harry looked up. There was a man with long black hair and a thin nose staring at them. He looked exactly like the man from Harry's dreams.

"What's his name?" Harry asked. His throat felt tight. He knew it was odd that he'd dreamt of Hogwarts before getting his letter, but of a Professor that was a real person too?

"Severus Snape," George said. "Real git. He hates everyone except Slytherins. He's the Slytherin head of house."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked.

"He takes care of all the people in Slytherin. McGonagall is our head of house. She's the one who ran the sorting."

Harry's eyes left Snape's face for a few moments to find Professor McGonagall, but then went back to Snape. He was glaring at them and Harry couldn't be sure if he was glaring at their group, their table, or just Harry. He turned back to the table and tried to listen to what people were saying about a game called Quidditch. It was so strange. He wondered if the real life Severus Snape was anything like the dream Snape, and if he'd perhaps met him before or seen him on the street somewhere while shopping with his aunt. That was a rational explanation for why he'd appeared in Harry's dreams, wasn't it? As for the castle, Harry must have just known he was magic and his dreams were letting him know it.

As the feast ended, a Prefect came down the table to round up the first year Gryffindors. "Follow me and I'll show you to our common room," she said. "Get in line and make sure not to get lost. It's a big castle."

Harry got in line behind Ron, who chattered excitedly about what the dorms must be like, and followed the others out of the Great Hall. When they were out in the Entrance Hall however, a hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him out of line and out of the way of the throng of students that were leaving to go back to their houses. Harry looked up and found himself right in front of Severus Snape. He met his eyes but remained silent, suddenly afraid. Had he done something wrong already?

Severus didn't say anything until the crowd had cleared out and they were alone.

"Potter."

"Sir?" he asked.

"I noticed you already have a crowd of fans."

"Sir?"

"Fanatics Potter. People who throw themselves blindly at your fame and fortune, not really caring to see the pompous, stuck up, spoiled brat in front of their noses."

Harry swallowed. Subconsciously he reached up to flatten his bangs over his bruise, but the man reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him from completing the gesture.

"Oh, it's too late to cover up the scar now Potter. The hysteria over the Boy-Who-Lived has already begun." Severus used his wand to lift up the fringe of hair but stopped and stared at what he saw. Harry held his breath. He had to have been staring at the bruise. The story he'd told Ron at the forefront of his mind, Harry began to sputter out the same tale, only it came out twisted and with different details.

"I got into a fight with neighbor kids," he said, casting his mind around for anything he could say to explain away the bruises at all. "I won. I like getting into fights." Then his aunt and uncle's lies started spilling from his mouth, because it was all he could think to say. "I'm pretty rotten. I wasn't supposed to come here. I was supposed to go to St. Brutus' Home for Incurably Criminal Boys."

The man just stared at him as he jabbered on, and eventually Harry closed his mouth.

"Come with me Potter."

Harry watched as he turned and stalked off, but not being in a dream, he didn't feel compelled to follow him. He felt compelled to run. He wished he knew his way around the castle because then he could run up to his new dorm and be with his new dorm mates. He had a feeling his new friend Ron would help to hide him from this man that he somehow knew, but didn't know.

Making a decision, Harry darted towards the stairs, hoping he could find his way to Gryffindor, but the man had longer legs and seemed to be faster. He cut Harry off before he got more than a few steps up towards the next floor. Harry felt panicky.

Snape stared down at him. "I gave you instructions Potter. And unlike dreams, this is the real world and I expect you to follow them." He pointed back down towards an archway in the Entrance Hall and Harry went back down the steps and then followed Professor Snape. What was going on? Had he said something about a dream?

He was lead through several corridors and it was apparent they were in the dungeons. Then he was lead through a door into a familiar room. A room from his dreams with a soft brown couch.

"Sit," the man ordered, and Harry moved on automatic to the couch like he had most nights in his dreams. How was any of this real? The man disappeared through a door to what Harry somehow knew was the kitchen, and then returned with several bottles of medicine.

He sat on the coffee table as he had in Harry's dreams, unscrewed the lid to the bruise balm, and then reached forward to put some on the bruise on Harry's forehead. Harry flinched back.

"We have done this for over a month Potter, sit still."

"Sir? I don't under-"

"In our dreams Potter!" the man snapped. He didn't seem happy. Harry closed his mouth. The dreams had been real? How- he was afraid to ask. He was afraid that this man really knew his secrets.

He closed his eyes and let the man take care of his injuries, including the nasty lump on the back of his head that the man had treated for two weeks in his dream. It was tender and it hurt for him to touch while he was applying the balm. When he was finished he screwed the lid back on the several jars and then stared at Harry.

"How Potter?" His voice was quiet and serious.

"I don't know sir. I swear I don't know how you got into my dreams!"

"Not the dreams," he said, voice stern. "How did you get injured?"

Harry bit his lip. He'd avoided telling him all of those nights. He'd always refused to answer the question. Maybe this wasn't real life at all, Harry suddenly worried. Maybe he hadn't gotten a letter to Hogwarts, hadn't ridden the train, and wasn't really here. Was he still in a dream, back in his cot under the stairs? "I can speak to snakes."

"I don't want lies!" he snapped, and Harry jumped at his raised voice, suddenly afraid he was going to be struck. The man's shoulder's slumped and he sat back a little further on the coffee table to give Harry space.

Harry looked down and fidgeted with his hands. The man had healed him all month. He guessed he had no choice but to tell him now or else he'd never let him leave up to Gryffindor tower. The man wanted answers. All Harry wanted to do was go to bed on the soft couch.

"I-" his bottom lip trembled. "I can speak to snakes," he repeated. "Uncle Vernon got really mad when I did it at the zoo."

"He gave you the black eye?"

Harry nodded.

"And the rest of the injuries?"

"I'm weird. I always make weird things happen."

"Accidental magic Potter. No reason to harm a child. There is never a reason."

Harry continued to stare at his hands and fidget with them.

Then Severus surprised Harry by changing the subject. "I did not end up in your dreams, you somehow ended up in mine." Harry looked up at him and Severus continued. "Constructed dreams. A spell and potion combination allow a wizard to live out a pre-planned dream. In this case I was using my dreams to gain more time to study a particular potion. I do not know how our minds connected to allow you into my dreams. Especially considering we had never met."

Harry rubbed his face with both hands. He still felt panicky and was struggling to push the feeling back down. Someone knew. Someone had known for a month about him! "Can I go to my dorm now?" Harry asked in a voice so quiet that Severus barely heard him.

"I will take you up there, but we will make a stop on the way."

Harry stood up, wanting to run from this place. It wasn't fair. Not really. This was supposed to be his new start. No one was supposed to know about him here. No one was supposed to know what a troublemaker he was, and that he always needed to be punished. No one would like him now.

Severus led the way out of the room and out of the dungeons, and Harry followed quietly, though he still had the urge to run. Was there some other school he could enroll at? A school where no one knew anything about him?

Several floors above the dungeons, the Professor Fred had said was the Gryffindor head of house came around a corner wearing a worried look. As soon as she spotted Harry and Severus though, relief swept over her face.

"There you are Harry! Severus, where did you find him? He got separated from the other first years. I've been looking for the last thirty minutes!"

"I had him the entire time," Severus said, and Harry could see the question in her eyes.

"What for? Surely he can't have gotten into trouble already."

"No. We had unfinished business. Business we are going to speak to Albus about presently."

"It's nearly nine Severus, surely-"

"It cannot wait," he said. He motioned with his hand for her to lead the way to the Headmaster's office since it was clear she wasn't just going to let him take Harry and leave.

A few steps further down the hall and they came to a stone gargoyle. Severus said, "Mint bubblegum," and the gargoyle sprang to life, startling Harry and stepped aside to reveal a moving staircase in the wall. Severus stepped onto it and then Professor McGonagall motioned for Harry to go next, so he followed with her bringing up the rear.

Severus opened a door at the top and lead them into a circular office filled with more interesting things than Harry could take in. He was tired, and despite the bruise balm he still ached, and really just wanted to go to bed.

"Severus, Minerva... and Harry," the aging Headmaster said with surprise when he spotted Harry. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this late evening visit?" He looked to McGonagall for answers but she only raised her hands to say she would like to know as well.

"It is my duty to report when students have been mistreated," Severus said. Harry looked down away from the trinkets and stared at his shoes, face turning red. He could feel the eyes of the others in the room staring at him. "I have just treated Harry for several injuries."

"Harry came to you and told you he was injured?" Minerva asked, wondering why he'd picked Severus to tell. When had he even had time to tell him?

"I was aware of the injuries for the past month." The room was quiet following his proclamation. Instead of asking questions they just waited for him to explain.

"I have been using constructed dreams over the past month to have more time to research a potion. Unexpectedly, Harry began to turn up in these dreams. I believed that my mind was simply overworked and stressed about the upcoming term and was manifesting elements into the dreams that I had not constructed. Each night he appeared in my dreams with new bruises or injuries and asking for something to eat. I do not know how, but somehow he was sharing these dreams. Whatever state he went to sleep in was how he appeared in the dreams each night. I pulled him out of the line on his way to Gryffindor with the other first years. When I saw the bruise on his forehead, the same one I'd been seeing for the last two weeks in my dreams, I realized that somehow the things I'd seen were real."

"Harry?" the Headmaster said, but when Harry didn't look up or say anything, Severus reached forward and lifted up Harry's bangs to show where the bruise was now healing thanks to the bruise balm. Harry didn't flinch back from the man touching his hair.

"He has a lump the size of a Snitch on the back of his head. In the past month I've observed him with blood on his face, a split lip, a black eye, bruises on his neck, shoulders, wrists, and arms. When I asked him tonight how he'd become injured he indicated his family."

There was silence for a few moments, but finally the Headmaster sighed and sat down in the chair behind his desk. "I must apologize to you Harry." Harry finally looked up. The Headmaster's eyes looked sad. "It was I who placed you with your mother's relatives. I believed it was the best place for you and that you would be kept safe there. Minerva, could you please give us a few minutes? I will send Harry down to the bottom of the stairs shortly."

Professor McGonagall gave Harry a sad look and then left the office.

"Severus, you have come for more than to report the injuries. You want to know if I know how and why you've managed to share these dreams."

"Yes."

"Constructed dreams are complicated things. A mixture of lucid dreaming and magic. They aren't often used because they're difficult to achieve. They're not taught about because they're beyond the level of ability for most. I have studied them in detail however."

Severus and Harry just stared at him, waiting for him to get around to the answer.

"Occasionally constructed dreams can be shared, though I have never read about them spanning such great distances before. Generally both parties have knowledge that they'll be participating in the dream before it occurs and are in the same household. The only instances I know of constructed dreams being shared is between parents and their children."

Harry looked up at Severus. What did that mean? Parents and their children? Harry's parents were dead. Everyone knew that.

"You don't deny that it is a possibility Severus?" Albus asked after long moments of silence. Severus was staring at the wall over the Headmaster's head.

"It- is a possibility." Harry noted how rigid he was standing and also that he was refusing to look at him. He was uncomfortable with the silence, and unsure about what was going on.

"I told you Mr. Potter." Harry jumped and looked around for the voice of the hat that had sorted him into Gryffindor a couple of hours before. The frayed thing was sitting on a shelf on the wall behind the Headmaster's desk. "I told you you should go to Slytherin."

"I thought you were lying!" Harry said defensively to the hat, wondering if anyone else could hear it speak or if it was only him and he had just shouted out loud for nothing.

"I'm a hat," it said. "What cause would I have to lie? I told you you would have a family in Slytherin."

Severus looked down at Harry and Harry looked up at him, suddenly feeling guilty, but not knowing why. "I- I-"

"It is late," Albus said. "Perhaps you should turn in for tonight Harry. There will be plenty of time for you to speak to Professor Snape. All year in fact."

Harry looked at the Headmaster, and then at the man who had been healing him all month. He had black hair like him, and Harry thought that maybe the shape of their faces were alike, at least a little. Could this really be his father?

"Good night Harry. Professor McGonagall is waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you."

Harry looked at the Headmaster again and then gave a little nod. With one last look of awe up at the Potions Professor, he opened the door and went down the stairs.

"Well Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"He said to go to my dorm," Harry said, and she nodded.

"When you get in, there should still be some older students awake in the common room. They'll tell you which one is your dorm. I suggest you go to bed right away so you won't wake up late tomorrow. Classes start in the morning."

"Yes, maam," Harry said as they began walking. They only made it a couple of corridors over when they heard footsteps coming up behind them and Severus appeared.

"I will take him to Gryffindor Minerva," Severus said.

"He's in my charge."

"I am- aware. I have something further I need to speak to Mr. Potter about." At a look she gave him he said, "I promise I will not keep him for more than a few moments and will send him directly to bed."

"Very well Severus." She turned to Harry. "Good night Harry. I will see you in class tomorrow."

"Good night Professor."

When she was out of earshot and around the corner, they continued walking through the darkened corridors. Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to speak or not though, so he didn't. Finally they came to a dead end corridor with a portrait of a very round woman.

"This is the Entrance to Gryffindor," Severus said. "The password is Puddlemere United."

"Ok," Harry said. He took a step towards the portrait but suddenly a hand touched his shoulder and he turned, startled.

"When your mother married James Potter and cut ties with me, I assumed you were his son. If I had known you were- my son, I never would have let you live with those Muggles."

Harry stared up into his eyes. "How can I be your son?" he asked quietly. "My whole life aunt Petunia said my parents were drunks who died in a car crash. None of this is real. It's not," he insisted at the look on Severus' face. "This is just another dream. I'm not really here at all. I'm going to wake up in the morning just like I always do, and be right back there with them."

"It is not a dream."

"How am I gonna believe that?"

"When you wake up in the morning, you will be here. You will go to breakfast, and classes. After dinner I will wait for you in the Entrance Hall, and then we can talk. Then you will know it's not a dream."

Harry wanted to call him a liar, but didn't. He walked to the portrait hole, said the password, and the painting swung open to reveal a short low ceilinged corridor. He stepped inside but then turned again and looked at Severus Snape. "I hope so," he said, and then disappeared inside, leaving him there in the corridor. Harry looked around the large room he came into and found Ron there waiting for him.

"Harry! Did you get lost?"

"I ended up in the dungeons," Harry said. "Professor Snape found me and brought me up."

"And you didn't get in trouble?" George asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Come on, I saved you the best bed. It's by the window!" Ron ran off up a spiraling set of stairs and Harry followed.

As he lay in bed that night, he desperately hoped that this was not a dream. He wanted more than anything to wake up in this room. To find that the morning brought with it time with his new friends and time in this strange castle. He hoped it brought with it a father as well.

* * *

Harry had woken in the Gryffindor dorms. Like Severus had said. He'd gone to classes and meals. And as promised Severus Snape was waiting for Harry after dinner in the Entrance Hall.

"What's he doing?" Ron asked as he and Harry came out of the Great Hall and spotted Snape across the Entrance Hall by the entrance to the dungeons. He was looking at Harry.

"Waiting for me," Harry said.

"Why? Did you get detention?"

"No," Harry said, hope suddenly filling him like it had never filled him before.

"Then why?"

"Because," said Harry. "He's my dad."

"But Harry, he can't be." Harry wasn't listening though. He was walking across the Entrance Hall to his father. Ron watched as Harry stopped in front of the Potions Professor and stared up into his eyes, and then as the two disappeared through the entrance to the dungeons.

Hope not bound,
Not found,
Just realized in a dream
that could never be my reality,
but still holding me together
long enough to escape reality,
so that I would not completely disappear unseen,
unwanted and alone,
Found, I live in a dream