Harry Potter 1. Prologue

A/N: None of the characters are mine. The settings are not mine. Sorry I previously forgot the disclaimer.

Prologue:

Emptiness. Sight beyond a four foot radius was impossible. Not a sound penetrated the still night, heightening his excitement. The tall man took a few more steps, decided he'd found the correct spot, and then took one last glance into the inky darkness. Gathering his long, billowy cloak about him, he turned abruptly on the spot and was gone.

Meanwhile, at Godric's Hollow, streetlamps poured light upon the sidewalks every ten feet or so, and sounds of life resonated from every corner of the town. In one particular home, so much love and joy existed that everyone who visited the family left as part of the family. On this night, Lily and James Potter, after a futile attempt at putting their son, Harry, to bed, found themselves dancing to a song called "In the Mood," which was playing on the radio. Harry, completely engrossed by the source of the music, swayed and cooed affectionately to the beat of the song. As it were, none of the occupants of the house were aware of the man peering through the front window at them.

'Good,' he thought. 'They're all together. All the easier for me.' The stranger lingered a bit longer by the window, then strode to the front door. Unable to contain his excitement any longer, he pulled his wand from his pocket, thought 'Bombarda Maxima,' and watched with pure delight as the door flew from its hinges and smashed into tiny slivers. The scream from the front room piqued his pleasure, and he strode gracefully toward the source of the noise, his wand still drawn, his eyes glowing bright blood red. When he entered the front room, she spied his first victim. 'Being the man of the house, James should be the first to defend it,' he thought to himself. It was too easy. He pointed his wand, said "Avada Kedavra," and watched with a jovial grin as James dropped to the floor like a wet blanket. 'Lily next,' he thought, 'for she will fight for her son.' Soon, she too lay lifeless on the floor next to her husband. 'Ah. Finally I get to have a little fun,' he said, aloud this time. His sadistic pleasure had surmounted, and as he stood with his wand to Harry's forehead, he was suddenly aware that the song on the radio had changed to Mozart's Clarinet Concerto. He became aggravated, as this was hardly a song to stimulate murder, and so he took his aim at the radio and meant for it to explode. Instead, it simply disappeared, as did he. Through all this, Harry never flinched, for though the radio had disappeared, his blessed music had not. There ended—or so we thought—the life and reign of Lord Voldemort, and here is where our story begins.


	2. Turn Down the Volume

Turn down the Volume:

A whole summer had rolled away, and still Harry could not figure out what was going on in his head. He had vague memories of when his parents died, and something deep down told him the answers were there, in the details of that night's terrors. The problem was, every time he even touched one of his friends' letters, his head swam with a unique tune, the kind that came and went faster than a person died from the killing curse. The more he thought about it, though, the more sure he became that he was simply imagining it.

Today, however, was different. As it was September 1, he now found himself standing in King's Cross, his head positively swarming with millions of random snippets of melodies, each one different. He tried to ignore it and boarded the Hogwarts Express, determined to find Ron and Hermione and figure out what was happening to him. Half-way through the train, Harry found Ron on Prefect duty and dragged him into an empty compartment. Once they were alone Harry began his explanation, but he ceased almost immediately because he was so entranced by the music playing on the train.

"Do you hear that music, Ron?" He asked tentatively, not wanting to sound stupid.

"What music, Harry? I don't hear anything, and the train never plays music. You're probably just hearing things, mate," Ron replied, a little thrown off by Harry's strange question.

*CRASH* "There you two are! Ron, you're supposed to be making your rounds! Prefect Duty? Hello, Harry. Alright summer?" Hermione managed in one breath.

But Harry hardly heard the exchange in words and merely grunted in response to Hermione's question. A new melody had joined the first upon Hermione's arrival and still neither she nor Ron seemed to hear it. When harry asked them, they both answered in the negative. Still stranger is that when they left, so did the strange, sweet harmony that neither of them heard.

Upon the arrival at Hogwarts, Harry had managed to convince himself that eh was insane. 'Hearing music no one else does, and only around other people. I must be daft!' he thought to himself. However, when he walked into the Great hall, his head was swimming with the full weight of at least a thousand melodies, all crashing together, sending his brain into overdrive. Then, above all the others, he heard an altogether different tune, one so sweet it make his heart soar. He tried to focus in on it, but became overwhelmed, and right before he blacked out, he screamed "Can't I turn down the volume?" and then he fell victim to the empty darkness of unconsciousness.

About five hours later he awoke to the gentle three-count rhythm of a waltz. Reaching for his glasses, he fought off the strong impulse to take hold of the darkness threatening to swallow him again. Looking around, he realized from the familiar rows of beds that he was in the Hospital Wing.

"Oh good, you're awake. How do you feel, dear?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"Um…I'm a little sore, actually. What's wrong with me?" Harry learned long ago that it was usually best to be honest in the Hospital Wing.

"OH, it's just a bit of stress, dear. Nothing too serious. If you don't mind my asking, what's troubling you so much?"

"It's nothing. Madam Pomfrey, can you turn off the music, please? It's really bothering me, and it's spiking my headache again."

"But, Mr. Potter, I'm not playing any music at all. I had better check to see if you hit your head when you fell." She sounded a bit concerned, but figured it was something she could handle.

"No, please listen. It started yesterday on the train. Ron and Hermione seemed to be emitting music, and then when they went to make their rounds, it left with them. Then, when I entered the Great Hall, there were too many melodies, and they all clashed, and I couldn't handle it all, and it overwhelmed me and I passed out." He didn't mention the one individual melody that appealed to him so strongly because, for some reason, that was incredibly personal.

Mme. Pomfrey's reaction was anything what Harry expected. She was suddenly muttering nervously, saying something about a harmonipath, before bustling over to the fireplace and summoning Professor Snape.


	3. What Now?

What now?:

"Yes? What is it? I had just gone to bed when you called." Snape sounded annoyed, and for good measure. In his haste, he and neglected his billowy black robes and, instead, came in silky black boxers, his hair tied away from his face, and his chest bare.

'There it is again,' thought Harry, 'that melody. But…No way! Not Snape. Nothing this beautiful could possibly come from that slimy git!' Yet, the more he thought about it, and the longer he looked at the Head of Slytherin House, the more delight he found in him. 'What does this mean?'

"Sorry…What's going on? And what's a harmonipath?" Harry tried to act calm despite his raging nerves.

"Harmonipath? Who's a harmonipath? Explain, please." Severus looked from the mediwitch to the boy, a demanding expression playing across his face.

"Well, Severus, I have reason to believe that Mr. Potter, here, is. He has all the symptoms," Mme Pomfrey said with an edge of nervous excitement in her voice.

"Tell me then, Mr. Potter. What do you hear right now? Do not lie to me, boy, unless you want to continue with these headaches." Professor Snape practically spat the words at him; still harry could tell that his potions professor would do anything, even stomach his distaste for Harry-to understand Harry's condition.

Setting aside his desire to ask about Snape's interest, he answered the question, once again half-honestly, not wanting to give Snape any reason to suspect his thoughts.

"Well, I hear a waltz-like tune, almost in the Mozart style, and a melody that mimics the style of the Twisted Sisters. Um, can someone please tell me what's going on?"

Having hated him for so long, Severus had come to understand Harry's temperament, and knew that the boy was getting frustrated. Not wanting a shouting match just now, he decided he had best tell Harry what was happening.

"Well, Potter, it seems you're a harmonipath. I assume you know what an empath is? The only difference is that we hear music, rather than feel emotions. I-"

"Excuse me…we, Professor?"

"Really Potter. You are indeed the quickest student Hogwarts has seen these many years. Why else would Poppy have called me, and not Minerva?"

"But how, Sn-Professor? How do we get this way?" Harry stopped himself from being rude because he knew if he wanted answers, he needed to be respectful.

"Well, Harry, Severus, I had hoped you could help one another figure it out. You're both bright. However, that's going to have to wait. Harry's got to be hungry." Mme Pomfrey was eager to get Harry out of the Hospital Wing so she could get some sleep; Severus saw this and shocked both Harry and her by offering to take Harry back to his private rooms and feed him.

"Maybe we could discuss this more in-depth over a bowl of French Onion soup? Besides, I was too busy trying to tame my House after you passed out; I had no chance for dinner."

"What an excellent idea, Severus! The more time you spend together, the quicker you two will figure this out. Until then, Mr. Potter, take it easy. Enjoy your dinner." At that, Mme Pomfrey shooed them both from the Hospital Wing.


	4. Dinner for Two

Dinner for Two

The walk to Snape's rooms was the most awkward ten minutes either of them had ever experienced. Neither spoke; each had so many questions about the other in his head but lacked the motivation to ask them. Thus the tension in the air grew thick, and Harry's confusion escaladed with it.

When they finally reached Severus' quarters, Harry finally managed to voice his most irksome question.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Severus turned to look Harry in the eyes, and then simply asked, "Do you not already know?"

"Sorry, no." The look Harry's face bore was a mix of confusion and shame—shame because, yet again, he had failed to meet his professor's standards.

"Then I shall not tell you. You shall simply have to find out for yourself." The conversation ended there; Snape reeled back around, opened the door, and led Harry into his lounging area.

Once inside, Severus drew his wand, conjured a table and chairs, and summoned a House Elf, from whom he requested Onion Soup and biscuits from the kitchen. When the soup came, Harry decided that now was as good a time to break the silence as ever.

"I lied to you. About the music I hear around you." Relieved to have finally said what was on his mind and anxious to receive the professor's reaction, Harry stared pointedly across the table at Snape, watching his expression carefully. Much to his disappointment, the professor nearly choked on his soup, startled, no doubt, by the boy's blatant honesty. Swallowing hard, Severus managed to recover from his previous reaction.

After a deep breath, he plainly said "I know." The words were simple, short and to the point, but left Harry completely bamboozled.

"…..?"

"Honestly, Harry. I don't know why the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor. Perhaps Slytherin, for withholding details for personal gain. Or maybe Hufflepuff, for your total lack of wit…"

Upon seeing the hurt on Harry's face, Severus cut out of his previous sentence abruptly and smiled at the boy.

"It was a joke, Mr. Potter."

Choosing to brush the whole incident off, for he was still vexed by other matters, Harry returned to the previous conversation.

"How could you possibly know? I've been closing my mind to you since last year. There's no way you could've seen my thoughts. I would've known."

Showing his true colors as the Slytherin Head of House, Severus had done all he could to avoid breeching this particular topic until he thought he was ready, but he hadn't taken into account whether Harry would ask about it.

"No, Po-Harry, I did not use occlumency against you. Indeed, your mind is well protected against it. No, I discovered it through my own music."

"Your own…but Professor, how does that work? The melodies I hear simply represent the personality of the individual and my feelings….toward….him."

Blushing profusely, Harry realized the weight of what he had just said in comparison to Severus' words and had to retrieve his jaw from the table

"You?....I…we—we share a bond, don't we, Sir?"

"Yes, Harry, and a special one at that. I have a feeling we're going to grow very close this year."

"Yes, I think we will." Harry was too deep in thought to say anything more.

"Well, you've had a very stressful evening. Best be off to bed. I trust you can get back to Gryffindor Common Room?"—translation—"I've said a lot of important things tonight. You should take some time to think it over."

"Yes sir. And thank you for the soup. See you in class tomorrow."—translation—"I doubt I'll be sleeping at all tonight, and I may have questions tomorrow."

"Very well, and do try to be on time"—translation—"I will answer your questions as best I can."

"Good night, Sir."

"Good night, Harry."


	5. Haunted Dreams

Haunted Dreams

Harry did, in fact, sleep that night. He slept, and he dreamed.

Harry was lying on his back in the middle of a forest. It seemed he had just woken up from a good night's sleep when he heard it. It was Severus' music, yet oddly distorted. Suddenly, he felt a jolt of pain and squeezed his eyes shut to try and will it away. When he opened his eyes, he was on the floor, face down, on a cobblestone walkway. He stood up, followed the path to a door, opened it, and continued down the corridor beyond. Then, at the end of the corridor, he turned left, up a spiral stair case, and found himself face-to-face with Professor Snape, who was hanging upside-down, blood trickling from his mouth and nose into his hair. Harry tried to call to his professor, but found he could not speak, so he pulled out his wand and attempted to spell him down, but could do no magic. He was beginning to worry. He turned to leave, to run away, and found no door. He was trapped; forced to stare into the terror-filled expression—the last he ever made—of his professor until someone came to his rescue. He screamed, screamed, screamed soundlessly until nothing but blood and air came from his throat, and then—

Harry woke with a start, found he had sweated through his pajamas, and suddenly felt very sick. He sprinted to the bathroom and regurgitated everything in his stomach. Returning to his bed, he made sure he wouldn't fall asleep again.

Deciding it best not to tell Ron or Hermione about any of the things that had happened last night, Harry sat, exhausted, at breakfast, brooding.

"Harry? What's going on? Ron told me you barely slept at all last night."

As always, Hermione was being nosy, but Harry didn't notice. He was too deep in thought. Hermione, hurt by Harry's flippant dismissal of her question, stood quickly and said "I'm going to the library. I'll see you in potions, Ron." As she left, the harmony Harry had been contemplating returned to a simple melody: Ron.

"What'd you do that for, Harry?"

"Do what?" Harry was genuinely confused. "Where's Hermione? I didn't see her leave."

"Where's—where's Hermione? She just bloody left because you didn't answer her bloody question!"

"What question? All I heard was music."

"Music? What do you mean, music? And what happened to you last night? You didn't turn in 'till 2 A.M., and then you only slept for ten minutes. What's going on?"

But again, Harry only heard half of it. Draco stood behind him and his polka-style tune was truly overwhelming him.

"That's a good question, Weasel-ey. Weasley. Last thing we knew, you were lying on the floor. Perhaps being the Boy Who Lived is getting to your head."

"Leave him alone, Drag-Queen—I mean, Draco."

Harry put his wand in his pocket, stood up, and left the two rivals to be confused about their civility. He wanted to be on time for potions, and he realized that he left is book in the dorm.

As he stepped through the portrait hole, he felt a swooping sensation in his stomach, which swiftly moved to his head. His last thought before falling to the floor was "oh, shit," and then he passed out. And again the vision came.


	6. An Unexpected Reality

An Unexpected Reality

When Harry came to, he was shaking, face covered in vomit. Again he raced to the bathroom and tossed up the rest of his breakfast. 'what's going on? Oh shit! Potions! What time is it? Goddammit! I'm only going to make the last ten minutes, if even that!' At that thought, he took off back out of the common room for the dungeons at a grueling pace.

Three minutes after the end of class, Harry burst through the door to Professor Snape's classroom, panting like a rabid dog.

"Where exactly have you been, Mr.—My God, Potter! You're white as a sheet. And is that vomit? What's happened?"

For the next half-hour, Harry told Snape all about his dream, too desparate for answers to be embarrassed by the fact that he was afraid to lose Professor Snape, even if he was a snarky old git.

"They've started for you, then?" Snape asked this, mostly as a rhetorical question, but nodded when Harry answered.

"If you mean the dreams, then yes, sir, .they have. You get them too? But why?"

"Again, Harry, can you not think why? Fine, I'll tell you why. You get them because the bond we share is mental, emotional, and—"

"Yes?" Harry asked this, nervous of the coming response.

"And, eventually, physical. However, the extent to which we take this aspect of the bond is entirely up to you. I've known about it since your first year here, and have grown accustomed to the idea that you and I must be together. I also realize that this is an entirely new concept for you. Therefore, I leave the decision up to you."

Harry wasn't sure what made him do it, but a peculiar sensation in the pit of his gut rose up, and he stood, strode over to his professor, and dissed the man briefly on the lips before backing away and bracing himself on a desk, both confused and giddy.

"I suppose that meant thank you."

"For-for what, Potter?" The professor was gasping, disgruntled.

"For respecting my privacy and….discomfort…with certain…issues."

"You're welcome. You've already missed most of History of Magic. Give this to professor binns, and tell him to floo me later. Thanks. Um, dinner again tonight?"

"Yeah. Yes, that'll be great. See ya, Professor."

As Harry left the classroom, he felt oddly giddy. And then he realized that Severus never confirmed or denied whether he, too, experienced the nightmares. 'maybe he'll tell me tonight,' he thought eagerly.


End file.

Harry Potter, Hurt-Comfort, Romance