Proof of Life

Night Terrors



The cell was dark. His hands were chained behind his back, making leaning against the stone wall awkward to the point of being painful. He shifted slightly, and when he heard someone's footsteps, brought his knees to his chest, curling into himself. He didn't bother opening his eyes.



People were standing over him. Someone was saying something. The words were not registering with him.



A hand grabbed his hair, and yanked, pulling him up into a standing position. He stood, with his head bowed, swaying on his feet.



Somehow, a small part of him was refusing to believe this was real. He was certain that there was more to life. Didn't he just see Harry? Didn't he just speak to Lovegood? Wasn't there some other Ravenclaw, Edgecombe, and Draco – and that little girl, a child with dark hair, and enormous green eyes, that looked just like -



“What? Were you dreaming of escaping again?” Macnair taunted him lazily. “Did you dream of Harry Potter, rushing to your rescue?”



He shook his head, trying to gain his bearings. No, that hadn't been a delusion. That had been real, it must have been -



When Macnair backhanded him, Severus stumbled backwards, slamming against the wall.



“It'd serve you well to stop dreaming,” the man said, his enormous hand reaching to wipe the blood trickling from Severus' lips. “There's no way out. Nobody remembers you except us. You belong here. With us. You belong to us. All of us.”



He swallowed hard, trying to remember something else – something other than this cell – and couldn't. For a fleeting moment, it seemed that there might be something other than this – but those memories faded, dissolved without a trace.



“Where do you belong?” Macnair demanded, his hand pressing against Severus' neck.



“Here,” Severus said wearily. “I – belong here.”



For a brief second, he dared to believe that he'd appeased his tormentors, but his response only elicited a round of angry laughter. Then someone's hand was in his hair again, someone was pushing him down, forcing him into a kneeling position again, and someone else's hand was on his face, prying his mouth wide open...



He screamed at the top of his lungs, struggling, and falling, falling -



until he sat up abruptly, gasping for air. It took him a long minute to realize that he was sitting in a bed, rather than on a stone floor, that he was wearing a familiar, long nightshirt... his heartbeat began to slow down, if only slightly, until something long brushed against his face. His hand trembled as he lifted it to touch his head. His hair was long again – why? Hadn't it been cut short upon his rescue? But there it was, unmistakably long – did that mean that...



He screamed again, bolted to his feet, stumbled aimlessly across the room, and a moment later fell into something – or someone.



“Shh,” Harry said, holding him up, his arms wrapped around him. “It's all right. We're home.”



“Home,” Severus repeated in mindless, disbelieving wonder. “Home?”



Harry's arms tightened around him, and for a few long minutes they stood together, locked in embrace, with Severus' head bowed, his cheek pressing against Harry's flushed neck, and Harry's left hand stroking Severus on the back, back and forth. When his panic finally receded, Severus allowed himself a deep sigh of relief, that he breathed out into Harry's shoulder... Harry's warm, bare shoulder.



Severus shifted slightly, and slowly withdrew from Harry's grip, noticing that Harry had rushed to his aid wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and holding nothing but a wand in his hand. Severus winced slightly, realizing belatedly how inappropriately intimate the friendly embrace had turned out. Harry intercepted his gaze, smiled sheepishly and flicked his wand.



“Accio shirt and glasses,” Harry muttered, and the two items arrived, resting in his hand. He put his glasses on, and threw the shirt on. “Sorry,” Harry said. “I – never mind. I'm going to have some tea. Would you like some?”



Severus nodded mutely and followed Harry downstairs.



~ * ~



When they reached the kitchen, Harry turned the cooker on, boiled the water, and made tea for both of them. By the time he handed the cup of tea to Severus, the man had regained control of himself and was staring at Harry with a faint, barely noticeable smirk.



“What?” Harry mumbled, taking a sip of his tea.



“That was a very dramatic entrance, Mr. Potter,” Severus said dryly. “You seem to specialize in those.”



Harry sighed. “I guess I overreacted. Frankly... my first thought was that somehow the Death Eaters had bypassed the house wards, and...”



“You rushed to my rescue, without even taking the time to adorn yourself in scarlet and gold.” To Harry's immense relief, Severus' voice was now practically dripping with sarcasm. “How wonderfully heroic.”



Harry snickered quietly. “Easy now,” he said with a wry smile. “Save some insults for breakfast.”



To Harry's surprise, all hint at humour left Severus' face, and instead, it acquired a stern, slightly haunted expression.



“I... apologize, Potter,” Severus said with obvious reluctance. “I didn't mean to belittle your attempt to... render aid. And I certainly didn't intend to wake you up in the middle of the night.”



Harry winced at the clear note of self-recrimination in Severus' voice. “It's all right,” he said softly. “And please, don't apologize. I can't count the number of times we woke you up in the middle of the night back at Hogwarts.”



“That's different,” Severus said stubbornly, clearly intending to take as much blame as humanly possible in this instance.



“Yes, it is,” Harry said quickly, not wanting to give Severus a chance to blame himself further, or start apologizing again. “I don't have to go to work tomorrow, and teach a complex and dangerous subject to a school-full of stubborn, reckless students; nor do I have to spend the afternoon and evening expecting to be summoned by the Dark Lord.”



Severus smiled ruefully and uncertainly. “I'm surprised to hear you say that. I never thought you'd... understand.”



Harry noticed that the man's hands shook slightly when he cradled his mug of tea, lifting it to his lips.



“I've had seven years to rethink some things,” Harry said softly.



“Hmm.”



For a few minutes they simply sat together in a comfortable silence, until Harry finally dared to breach it.



“What was the dream like?” Harry asked quietly.



Severus shrugged, apparently in an attempt to feign indifference. “It's not important.”



Harry nodded slightly, debating the wisdom of arguing this particular point.



“Sometimes, it can be helpful to talk about this sort of thing,” Harry said finally, making his words come out as neutral as he could.



For a second or two, Severus stared at him with a positively murderous expression on his face, and Harry braced himself for verbal slaughter. However, somehow, Severus managed to hold himself back from saying whatever unkind things were running through his mind.



“Thank you, Potter,” Severus said simply, “but that's not necessary. I assure you, this won't happen again.”



Harry smiled a little. “Well, like I said, you don't need to worry about waking me up in the middle of the night. I don't mind... that's what friends are for, right?”



Severus looked clearly uncomfortable. “Even friendships have their limits,” he said stiffly, obviously troubled and unsettled.



“Sure,” Harry said quietly, “but this isn't one of them. Shall I tell you how many times I firecalled Ron in the middle of the night and woke him up, just to talk, because I had a nightmare and couldn't shake it off?”



Severus snorted derisively and looked away.



“I'm an Occlumens,” he repeated stubbornly. “I'm in control of my own mind. I know how to reorganize my thoughts, and manage my own dreams. I won't wake you again.”



Having several years of advanced Occlumency training under his belt, Harry knew all too well that Severus was either dissembling, or putting entirely too much pressure on himself – but didn't think that arguing about it right this moment was a good idea.



“All right,” Harry said simply. “Well, if you change your mind, my door is always open to you. Don't hesitate to wake me if you need me. Please?”



This time, Severus didn't dignify his reassurances with an answer. He finished his tea in silence, avoiding looking at Harry altogether.



“Thank you for the tea,” he said stiffly, standing up and placing the empty mug in the sink.



“Sure,” Harry said softly.



Severus turned around and headed towards the kitchen door. Harry watched him silently, not sure if he should say anything else to get through to the intolerably obstinate man who was apparently intending to wade through his personal hell on his own.



As if sensing Harry staring at him, Severus turned around abruptly and met his gaze.



“Had nightmares after the war, did you?” Severus asked in an odd tone of voice, that carried no sympathy, but no accusation either. If anything, Severus seemed to be comparing himself to Harry, as if one's mental health was some sort of contest to be won.



Harry nodded mutely.



“What about?” Severus demanded.



Harry swallowed hard, feeling very much put on the spot and cornered, but seeing no graceful way out of answering the question.



“I dreamed about you,” Harry said quietly. “Dying in the Shrieking Shack... and that I didn't do anything.”



He must have said entirely too much, because Severus turned away from him and left the kitchen without looking back.



To Be Continued...