Chapter Text
"How did you sleep last night?"
Harry settles into the familiar arm chair, his feet encounter the lush carpet in Dr. Brand's office.
"I slept alright, I had dreamless sleep". Harry lets his eyes wander across the wooden shelves, glass bottles and dusty tomes of books.
The mind healer coughs and straightens his posture, his hooked nose seems to pick up on Harry's lie.
"You do know Mr. Potter I'm aware you can't drink that potion any longer".
Harry stares straight at the man in front of him. Middle-aged and well dressed in emerald robes and sporting golden rimmed spectacles, Dr. Brand is a well-respected authority in the Wizarding world, at least in the field of mental illness.
Harry smirks; he knows he is considered by Brand and the rest of the wizarding world to be an authority on defense against the dark arts.
It had in fact crossed Harry's mind, one sleepless night among many, as he tossed sweaty and fearful in his sheets that if Dr. Brand was right he should have been able to fight the darkest illness of all- depression.
"Sorry." Harry replies when the heavy gaze makes him want to scratch his left ear. " I did what you said. Drank my tea, went to bed on time".
Dr. Brand appears sympathetic but not particularly convinced.
"I assure you my methods do work. It is simply your resistance that is slowing down the process."
Harry nods, trying to convince himself that is very much the case.
"Tell me about your day." Dr. Brand looks down his lap where a pile of notes sits ready; his spidery handwriting makes Harry sigh. It reminds him of Snape, somehow Harry guesses that compression won't delight the doctor.
" I had a regular day. I woke up almost on time. Grabbed a black coffee and fire called the lady from the last case and then"...Harry is interrupted, "Excuse me Mr. Potter, what case was that?" Harry scratches his nose in agitation.
"Just a small case from last week, this lady in London claimed her cat was attacking people and it turned out to an unregistered Animagus. "
Harry smiles, recalling the frumpy old guy with a big gray mustache not unlike the cats own whiskers.
"Anyway", Harry continues. " I called to check she wasn’t planning on pressing charges against the Aurors. She wasn’t too happy to lose her pet of 10 years."
Dr. Brand presses his hands together as he regards Harry, "Go on, what did you do next?"
Harry attempts to keep his voice even, patience running out.
" Went to the office, said hello to the guys, the usual, drank more coffee." Harry omits the fact that his coffee breaks allowed him to avoid the rest of the Aurors for most of the day.
"Any disturbing thoughts?" Harry looks away.
" Mr. Potter, this is a waste of time, for both of us. Don’t you want to get better?" Harry feels his chest constrict and remembers the exact same words.
He was standing in his kitchen with Hermione, shards of a recently broken glass between them, Hermione, face red and her usually sharp eyes obscured by tears.
Dear clever Hermione who didn't know how to fix Harry.
"Well, don’t you want to get better?" The words were uttered in such a defeated tone that Harry almost jumped in alarm.
They were arguing for what seems like hours. Ron left under the excuse of getting some Pizza and Harry was still trying to argue his way out of this one an hour later.
Harry couldn't remember why he was right, only that he needed to win this argument because surely Hermione was wrong.
"I don’t recognize you anymore, you don't go out with us, and you don't talk and Harry"…He looks up just then, "you lie" she whispers. Harry looks down in shame but already the familiar lies are on his lips, begging to burst.
Hermione was right, god if only the lies weren’t so much better than the truth. "Sorry Hermione, I really am."
Harry walks away before the words on his tongue cause any harm.
She was right. He lied about many things.
At first, he just lied to get away from work. It wasn't really a problem, after so many violent cases anyone would have given him a break.
Three years an Auror and about as many cases solved as articles printed about him in the Prophet, Harry could have asked to be put on desk duty or to just take a holiday, but no, instead he made excuses. He lied to avoid what he could not do.
"No Hermione, you know I just I don't have time to date" or- " Sorry Ron but I think I can't make it to the pub tonight, yeah yeah everything's fine mate".
Harry avoided work, his friends; he avoided meals and most of all he avoided the night. The night was the hardest, like the day it held its own expectations of Harry.
Unlike Ron and Hermione, it didn't expect him to do the right thing.
The problem was rather the opposite; the night seemed to want him to do the wrong thing.
When Harry awoke from another nightmare, a scream stretching his lips, teeth cutting into his cheek, Harry wasn't worried.
But when he awoke from the same dream a few days later (body twisted and pillow on the floor) pleasure coursing through his veins as images of torture and flesh still fresh on his mind, Harry ran to the bathroom and threw up his dinner.
That was when Harry started lying to himself. No, of course he did not enjoy those dreams and of course those images of violence did not make him wake up with a smile. It was a reaction to too many long hours of fighting crime and nothing more. Harry was happy for a few days.
He even had Ron ask him what he was so happy about.
"Mate did you meet someone? Who is she?" Harry wanted to celebrate- his nightmares turned into good dreams. Harry was free.
For the first time in his life he could sleep without a silencing charm, a potion and that glass of water on his bedside.
If the dreams that made him feel good were about torture and pain, so what? It was perfectly reasonable dreaming material for a diligent crime fighter.
He was just happy he had caught the evil bastards who were doing this. He was dreaming of catching those monsters and punishing them for their evil. And what could be wrong with enjoying that?
Then things started going wrong, very wrong.
Dr. Brand coughs; it is his polite way of reminding Harry their time is limited, and Harry remembers with a grimace- expensive. "I thought about birds".
"Birds?" Dr. Brand sits up, his face lights up in interest for the first time.
Harry nods. "Yes, birds. I had a dream about them". Harry assumes telling the dream about the birds is preferable to the one about people.
"You know that entrance to the ministry?" Dr. Brand nods, "I always walk so fast I never stopped to notice, but there is a small fountain, just before you step in.
It always has small birds drinking from it, sparrows, and sometimes even ravens.
They just sit there together drinking the water.
I walked by yesterday and I saw them, and I thought nothing of it."
Harry's breathing starts speeding up, "but last night I saw myself very clearly walking past the fountain and stopping, just like I did that morning. I had my coffee in my right hand burning my fingers.
This time, the birds froze as I walked by, and I turn around, I look straight at them. And…and I'm filled with this rage, I'm just so fucking angry. These birds stare at me and it makes me go mad. I take a step closer and I..." Harry swallows; this is harder than he thought. He looks up and into Dr. Brand's eyes, "I kill them, with my bare hands. I do."
Dr. Brand's eyes are obscured by a sudden ray of sunlight that slips through the window and only as he leans forwards Harry catches his excitement. "That is wonderful Harry! We can really work with that".
Harry can’t take it. "What are you talking about? Don't you see what this means?"
"I wanted to kill them- and every night is like this….every night I just hurt, kill and destroy. This isn't normal!". Harry is standing up now.
"Sit down Mr. Potter, of course this isn't normal or you wouldn’t be here would you? But this is your mind trying to tell you something and that I must say- is my specialty."
Harry isn't convinced. "I don’t know what is happening to me".
"I have a theory Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid our time is up. Why don't you keep a journal, write down all your dreams, we will continue this fascinating discovery next time."
Harry stands up and automatically reaches to shake Dr. Brand's hand, it is warm and delicate.
Harry doesn’t care, if he has to stay in this stuffy office with this overly polite doctor for one more second, he will start screaming.
As the door shuts behind him, "goodbye Mr. Potter", Harry starts walking briskly. "yeah right, birds".
As Harry crosses the street towards his apartment and reaches for the door handle, a big black raven grazes to his left.
Harry just looks at him, his jet black feathers sparkle in the late afternoon sun and Harry thinks that perhaps …it will all be alright.
***
The next morning Harry wakes up and his head feels light, he steps out of his bed and reaches to open the window.
Below him, the busy street on a Monday London morning greets him with full force.
The slight wind blows at the white curtains and brushes away the last wisps of sleep from Harry's mind.
The flat is a mess, clothes and papers scattered everywhere.
Harry likes his small apartment; he likes the clean white walls and the shelves which are overflowing with pleasant memories.
The walls are full with everything long past and gone: Hogwarts a History Hermione gave him as a present, proudly exposed to all who enter along with some old bottles of long dried ink from fourth year, and even a Snitch.
All gingerly welcome potential visitors into his flat, assuring them they have reached Harry Potter, Boy who lived.
The image is perfect, a white canvas with spots of Gryffindor red and gold to add warmth.
It is inside the wardrobe and underneath the bed that some less pleasant truths sit. Under the bed, a trunk with broken childhood toys and a sock once belonging to an elf along with a cruelly shattered mirror.
The messy desk holds some letters written in despair to one Severus Snape, begging for just another veil of dreamless sleep, the writing is hectic with each letter up to the last one where sharp letters clearly read: Fuck you Potter, and don’t ever write to me again, a polite response to Harry's desperate threats.
Harry doesn't dare write again, but he does show up on Snape's doorstep several days later.
Exhausted and beyond despair. Snape takes one look at him and barks "come in".
Harry drags his feet along the tiles of Spinners End. He is not that far gone that he isn’t surprised at the coziness of the place.
He tries to apologize for interrupting Snape's reading, eyes darting towards an open journal at the foot of a green duvet.
Snape just waves his arms, something between demon exorcism and a "get on with it". The room is overflowing with books and smells faintly of cinnamon.
Harry takes a deep breath; this is going to be a hard one." I came here for your help. And before you say anything, you know I wouldn’t come if this wasn't urgent."
Snape sits down and stares, his face unreadable.
"You Mr. Potter have clearly reached the limit of you own deranged mind if you think I'm going to help you."
Harry shakes his head, "I'm not asking for your sympathy, I'm not." Harry is on the verge of panic he falls into the chair opposite Snape and pleads him with his eyes. "I just need the potion for a few more days and then I promise you I won't bother you again."
Snape grunts, some unnamed emotion glitters in his black eyes.
"Sympathy aside Potter, I will be committing a crime. seeing as you cannot consume anymore Dreamless Sleep, not unless you wish to end up dead."
"In fact." Snape glares, "You probably already caused additional damage to that brain of yours."
Harry feels defeated, every muscle hurts, time seems to drag while every heartbeat sends sharp pain in his chest.
"Not a big loss there, right professor?" Harry looks down into his lap, what was he thinking coming here like that? Snape was right, he is losing it.
"Quite right Potter" pauses, "would you like some tea?" Harry looks up in shock, Snape is already standing with his back to him, a kettle whistles.
Harry laughs. "yes, I would sir." A minute later with a tea clutched in his hands, Harry feels better and even a tad guilty. "I'm sorry for all the letters. I wasn't in my right mind…" Snape sips from his cup his dark eyes sharp as ever.
"Indeed, I especially liked the last one... What was it? "Give me my potion you useless old Death eater with an exaggerated moral sense?" Harry drops his head with a thump on the table.
"That was very wrong of me." Harry peers through his hair but Snape seems strangely calm, there is something uncanny about the way his eyes are focused on Harry, their dark depth hiding some activity, solving a riddle or piecing together a particularly difficult puzzle. "I am surprised your nightmares bother you as much."
"It is my line work you know? Being an Auror adds up some new memories."
Snape just sips more of his tea. They stay silent and Harry finds comfort in that moment.
His mind is clear then it has been in weeks and he is resolved to fight this- whatever this is.
So Harry goes back to his flat and decides it is time to try therapy.