“What's happening?” Harry gasped.
“Isn’t it obvious, Potter, he is having a nightmare.” Snape snapped, wiping the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, with an handkerchief.
“HE?” Harry questioned, the heat in the room was making him feel irritated. “You meant you, right?”
“Focus, Potter.” Snape said.
Harry took a shuddering breath in an effort to get a grip on the flood of emotions he was feeling, that weren't even his own. He glanced at Snape, he was doing the same thing. Harry watched as his chest heaved with each breath. He seemed to be having as much luck as Harry was.
Harry looked at younger Snape, the boy was lying on the bed, his face pressed in a pillow, hands clutching at the sheets under him. He was mumbling in his sleep. The globe wasn't showing what the boy was dreaming about, but it couldn't be anything good, if the fear and despair that he could feel was anything to go by.
Harry took another deep breath. Okay, focus. All he had to do was think about the Mirror of Erised.
Okay, think… think , it was dark that day…
Just like Snape’s room, that he was seeing for the first time. He couldn't believe that he was in the dour man's childhood bedroom. Harry looked at the boy on the bed, his face was flushed, there were beads of sweat on his forehead. The room felt stuffy, he wished he could open the window.
The boy turned so that he was lying on his back instead of his stomach. The boy was getting frantic, kicking his legs, his mumbles turning into quiet sobs.
Harry jerked his head away from the boy. Okay, Mirror of Erised. He had to think about his parents. Harry cursed under his breath when his mind kept drifting back to the boy on the bed. How had he done it the first time? It wasn't working!
From the bed young Snape made a keening sound. Harry's eyes followed the source of the sound without any conscious thought. Damn it! What was the boy dreaming about?!
Focus Harry! Don't let it get to you! He scolded himself. But all he could think about was the absolute terror he was feeling. His chest heaved, legs wobbled, and hands trembled on their own accord.
He closed his eyes, if he couldn’t see the boy, he wouldn't be distracted. He tried to recall the expression on his parents face. They were looking back at him through the mirror. Their hands gripping his shoulder.
He opened his eyes, it wasn't working. He wasn't feeling the warmth in his chest, he wasn't filed with hope like he had been the last time for a split second.
What was different about last time, when he had changed the memory?
The boy's whimpers were filling the small room. Harry looked at him. Then he glanced at Snape, the man's eyes were flickering between the bed and the door. His right hand was somewhere in the folds of his robes. Harry frowned, why was Snape looking for his wand? The boy was just having a nightmare. Not that Snape could help the boy if he was being attacked or something.
He startled when he heard a ear splitting scream from the bed. The boy was now sitting up, sheets pooled around his waist. He was covering his mouth with both hands. Despite the heat in the small, poorly ventilated bedroom, Harry felt a chill run through his body, like he could sense the danger that was coming towards him.. for him… no…. for the boy.
That's when he heard the staggering footsteps. The door burst open. Harry couldn't help the small yelp that left his mouth, which was soon echoed by the boy. He heard the ruffling of sheets as the boy tried to scramble away from the long haired man.
The man leapt at the boy. For someone who smelled like a brewery he sure could move fast. He pressed a hand on the boy's mouth, pushing him against the headboard.
“What are you doing? You will wake your mother!” the man whispered harshly, pushing the boy harder.
After a while he removed his hands off the boy and went around the bed towards a cupboard. He rummaged through the cupboard, pulling the cupboard's content out and throwing them on the floor. Then he moved towards the dresser by the bed. Harry watched as the man opened and closed the drawers loudly, throwing things on the ground, he didn't seem worried about waking his wife anymore.
“Where is it?” he shouted in frustration, turning around to the boy.
“What… I…. I..” the boy stammered, unable to string words together, while his father continued to destroy his room.
His father ran his fingers through his own hair and pulled at it in agitation. Then suddenly he staggered towards the bed, and got on his knees and peered under the bed. He reached his hand under the bed and pulled out a piggy bank. He turned around without getting up and smashed the piggy bank on the floor, covering the floor with broken ceramic and pennies. He collected the pennies off the ground and staggered out the door, without looking back at his son who was pressed against the headboard with fear.
Harry cast a look around the small bedroom, the cupboard doors were open, one of the drawer from the dressing table was lying on the floor along with clothes, books, broken piggy bank, quills, pieces of paper and parchments. Even the boy's wand was thrown on the ground like a useless piece of wood.
Then suddenly it was over and they were back in present.
Chapter 8