Rubbish.

The next couple of weeks saw the gulf between Harry and his guardian widening, as the boy spent most of his time in his bedroom and Snape was busy working in his office on a paper concerning the side-effects of long-term Polyjuice use. Harry ate alone most nights, and found his appetite waning, his mind still trapped in the void that Voldemort's death had left in his life. He found himself returning again and again to the poem by William Blake, wondering if he would end up like Tom Riddle, letting hatred become the center of his life until he eventually did turn out to be the next Dark Lord.


He was losing weight and nightmares had made him afraid to fall asleep, every time he closed his eyes he saw an endless parade of people who had died in the war, as well as the faces of those he was afraid he might eventually end up killing if he allowed his own poisoned tree to continue growing. He made sure never to leave his room without casting the proper masking spells so that Snape wouldn't see how haggard his appearance was becoming. Thankfully, he rarely saw him, so he didn't often have to fake an upbeat attitude. Harry knew he would eventually die if he didn't start taking better care of himself, but the idea held no fear for him. After all, he was supposed to be dead and Snape would probably be glad to be rid of him, at least then he could return to Hogwarts and the job he'd wanted for so long.


Harry woke in the middle of the night from a dream in which he was standing over Hermione, casting Crucio on her and laughing. He swallowed a scream and huddled into his bed, choking back sobs, wishing he were brave enough to simply use Snape's fireplace to Floo to the Ministry of Magic and turn himself in. Every time he really concidered the idea, he remembered watching the Dementors suck Sirius' soul from him and couldn't bring himself to do it. He finally managed to fight off another attack of despair and climbed out of bed, thirsty and wanting a butterbeer, hoping it would let him sleep even for a few hours without nightmares. He left his room, figuring it was late enough that Snape would already be asleep and thus choosing to leave off casting his glamours to hide his wretched state.


He shuffled blindly into the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of butterbeer, plucking out the cork to take a long swallow, nearly choking when he heard the cool, bland voice coming from the living room. "So, you've finally decided to leave your room, Mr. Potter." Harry swiveled and squinted into the dark, swallowing hard and hoping the deep shadows would hide the dark circles under his eyes and his gauntness. "I was thirsty." Snape flicked his wand at the fireplace and then studied his ward in the sudden light from the fire, arching a brow with a deep frown. "You look ghastly, Harry. Have you been eating or sleeping at all?" Harry rolled his shoulders, ducking his head and peering into the neck of his bottle. "Of course. Besides, what do you care how I look? It's not like anyone sees me anyway."


Snape's scowl deepened further and he pointed to one of the hard armchairs. "Sit. A disregard for one's personal appearance indicates self-loathing, Mr. Potter. Not only that, but I would wager you have been starving yourself and getting almost no sleep whatsoever. Are you really so determined to kill yourself in the slowest way possible?" Harry shuffled over and sat in the chair, wincing at Snape's words and tone, rolling the bottle between his hands. "What does it matter? I told you, there's no reason for me to be alive anymore and besides, if I'm gone you can go back to living your life. Not to mention, if I'm dead there's no way I can become the next Voldemort." He winced as he revealed his fears, but lifted his head and stared defiantly at his guardian. "Don't pretend you care."


Severus growled and leaned forward. "You are really the most selfish boy I have ever had the misfortune of knowing, Mr. Potter. Sitting there whining about how you want to die, because there's no reason for you to be alive, when so many people have done so much to make sure that you would live. This self-pity has got to stop, because I will not tolerate it. You think that you might end up becoming the next Dark Lord? Well, this sort of behavior is the perfect way to ensure just that. Desiring death is no different than being so afraid of it that you are willing to do anything to avoid it. Either way you will hurt others with your selfishness."


Harry blinked and stared at Snape, shocked by the vehemence of his outburst. "And furthermore, Mr. Potter, I would never pretend to care about anyone. Least of all an immature brat like you. Despite my better judgement, I do care, as much as I have tried to avoid it. And for that very reason, I am going to help you." He rose and pointed his wand at Harry, glaring at him intently. Harry flinched and then closed his eyes, waiting patiently to hear the Killing Curse fall from his guardian's lips, craving it. "Claustrum Spiritus!" Harry felt a queer chill squeezing him suddenly, from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes, it pressed so close he was afraid he would suffocate, and then it seemed to sink in and drain some indefinable something from his flesh. He shivered violently and then went still as he felt the cold burning in the center of his chest for a moment before it faded utterly, leaving him feeling bereft. "Wh...What was that?"


Snape lowered his wand, settling back into his chair and watching Harry. "That was a magic-binding spell. You will no longer be able to use your wand, or the Floo Network, nor your broom. As of this moment, you are, in effect, a Muggle and will remain as such until I deem it safe for you to have your powers back." Harry's eyes widened and he lept to his feet, hurling his half-full bottle of butterbeer at Snape's head, snarling. "What the bloody hell did you do that for?" Snape casually flicked his wand, sending the bottle and it's contents into the roaring fire, then settled his gaze back on his ward.


"Because, you can hardly become the next Dark Lord without magical powers and this way you can't do something foolish like kill yourself or turn yourself in to the Minister of Magic. In your current state, you will be unable to step beyond the fence around my property, so don't even think you can run away on foot either. You are officially grounded." Harry blinked in surprise, then fell back into the chair, closing his eyes. "Why didn't you just kill me?" Snape frowned, shaking his head. "I have no intentions of allowing you to kill yourself. For that reason, we will be eating meals together, and you will sleep in my room from now on, so that I can be assured you are getting the proper amount of rest."


"In...your room?" Harry stared at his guardian, sure that he hadn't heard him correctly, but his stomach dropped as he saw Snape nod. "Yes, I will alter the house so that our rooms are combined into one, as I have no intentions of letting you share my bed. While I am doing that, you will have the dinner you failed to eat earlier, then you will go to bed." He pointed his wand at the kitchen table and a plate of food appeared there, along with a glass of milk, then he turned and headed into the back of the house to make the necessary alterations. Harry watched him go with a stunned expression on his face, then pushed out of the chair and headed for the kitchen, feeling even less like eating than he had an hour before. However, he sat and forced himself to clean his plate and drink every drop of milk, hoping if he complied with his guardian's wishes he would get his magic back as soon as possible.


He felt a queer sort of trepidation at the thought of sharing a room with Snape, but headed back toward the bedroom after putting his dishes away. When he stepped into Snape's room, it was twice as large as before, the draped portrait was gone and two indentical beds now occupied the space. He glanced toward the bathroom, hearing the sound of running water, then climbed into his bed and curled up beneath the covers, pretending to sleep. He heard the sound of Snape's steps as he returned to the bedroom, then sensed him standing over his bed, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, flinching when he felt long fingers brush a lock of hair from his brow. "I know you are angry with me, Harry, but I promise you that this is for your own good." Harry jerked his head away with a snort, and rolled over to turn his back to Snape, muttering. "Whatever."


Snape sighed and extinguished the lights before climbing into his own bed, hoping he was doing the right thing, not sure what else he could have done.


Harry walked slowly through the halls of some dark, dank castle, hearing haunting cries and moans rising from behind the closed doors that lined each wall. He paid no attention to the sounds, knowing that the door he wanted was further on, deeper in the unfamiliar castle, waiting for him. He turned his head and caught sight of a huge, glossy black tree in a massive courtyard, bright ruby red apples shining within foliage that glistened like beetle carapaces. He licked his lips, the fruit prompting his mouth to water, and making his stomach rumble loudly. He pressed his face to the window and spied a robed figure walking across the sickly yellow grass, heading for the large tree. "No!" Harry struck the window, glaring and hissing as the form reached up one pale hand and plucked a blood-red apple from a low branch. "That's my fruit!" Raging at the figure and slamming his fists harder and harder against the glass, until blood flew and sparkled in the air, but it was no use. The figure turned and tilted it's head back to look up at Harry, the hood sliding back to reveal the white face within. Snape flashed a mocking smile at Harry and lifted the apple to take a bite, no sooner done than the fruit fell from his hand, swiftly going dark and rotted as it rolled across the grass. Snape's eyes widened and then he too began to rot, flesh turning grey, then green and finally black, body crumpling down to end up sprawled beneath the tree. Harry's poisoned tree.


He woke with a gasp, thrashing wildly against the feel of arms around him, screaming. "Let me go!" Snape only tightened his grip, ducking the fists that came lashing out at his face and murmured softly. "Harry, stop. Shh....It was just a dream." At the sound of his guardian's voice Harry stopped fighting and collapsed weakly into his arms, turning his face to press it again Snape's chest, sobbing softly. "I'm sorry....I'm so sorry." Severus hugged Harry tighter and bent his head to nuzzle his hair, murmuring soft words of comfort as he let the boy weep against his chest, finding it easier to be kind in the pitch darkness of the room.


Finally Harry drew his head back and lifted a hand to brush the tears from his face, hitching in a watery breath. "You ate the fruit from my tree. I hated you for taking it, and then....then you..." He hiccuped and whimpered, arms going around Snape to hug him tightly, reassuring himself of his solidity and reality, trembling. "Harry, it was only a nightmare. I'm not going to die." Snape spoke gently and stroked a hand through Harry's hair, fingers trailing down to caress cool fingertips against the nape of his neck. "I-I'm scared that my anger will make me hurt you, Severus. What if I do end up evil?" Harry leaned into the tender touch, letting it soothe his frayed nerves, grateful for the lack of light that made it easier to be so vulnerable to his former enemy.


"Harry, I will help you excise your demons and uproot your tree, but it won't be easy and at times you will hate me. Some of the things I have to do will seem cruel, and certainly painful, but I was once in your position and someone I loved helped me eradicate my own poisoned tree. Will you trust me to help you with yours?" Harry listened silently, relaxing his grip and leaning back, studying the face of his guardian, barely able to see him in the dark room. "Yes. Please, Severus, help me." Snape nodded and hugged Harry close for a moment, then released him and stood, moving confidently through the dark to remove a bottle of potion from his night stand, returning to hand it to Harry. "Drink this. It is Morpheus Draught, and will ensure that you have no more dreams tonight. Tomorrow we will start work on helping you to relinquish your hate."