A Thousand Fibres

Chapter Five

Snape finished grading the paper, then put it aside. He studied Harry for a moment, before saying, "So, Potter."

Surprisingly, Snape looked almost as uncomfortable as Harry felt. Weird. Snape never looked uncomfortable. "Professor?"

Snape grimaced slightly. "Potter, I don't like you, you don't like me, and the only reason we haven't killed each other yet is because Albus would look at us in that disappointed way of his, and we don't want that." He snarled. "Fools that we are."

Harry actually chuckled. "Yes, sir."

"I saved your life because you were instrumental in defeating the Dark Lord."

"I know."

"And because of a debt I owed to your father."

"Yes, sir." He didn't add "your point is?" but it was easy to hear it in his tone.

"And I wouldn't like my efforts to have been in vain."

"I'm still alive," Harry pointed out.

"Yes. Although for how long remains to be seen, if you can't even keep breathing properly."

Harry blushed at the reminder of the previous night. "I wasn't-"

"Mister Potter, for the time this discussion will last, let's forget that we despise each other."

Harry felt the blush recede, and nodded nervously.

"What happened last night?"

"I had a nightmare." That was simple enough, even though Harry didn't know why that had sent him into a panic attack.

Snape wasn't convinced by the explanation. "Not an unusual occurrence for you, I gather. Hardly worth working yourself into such a state, I would think."

Harry blushed. "No, sir."

"So?"

Harry growled slightly, suddenly feeling desperate to find the cause of the problem. "I don't know." He focussed on a pile of essays perched on the desk. "I... I saw myself in ten years." He blushed, embarrassed beyond words. Therapy with Snape... What was the world coming to?

When he didn't add anything, Snape said, "I assume you didn't like what you saw?"

Harry shook his head, still transfixed by the essays.

"What do you plan to do, when you have left here?" Snape's voice implied that would be a day he would celebrate. Harry almost smiled, reassured at this glimpse of the usual Snape - the one he usually dealt with, sarcastic and grouchy.

"I sent an application form for the Auror program," Harry said.

"Figures," Snape muttered. "Aren't you tired of being the bloody hero, Potter?"

Harry hung his head.

"Look at me," Snape ordered.

Harry raised his head. "Yes, sir, I am."

"And yet, you want to be an Auror?"

Harry swallowed back the "Sure" that had been on his lips. He could pretend that everything was fine, but it wasn't. Perhaps it was time he admitted it, and dealt with it. The truth was, he didn't want to spend his life fighting.

"I would think the question would be simple enough," Snape said.

"Not as simple as that," Harry thought. He had said, for years, that he planned to become an Auror. He had followed classes to reach that goal, including, for Merlin's sake, *Potions.* Now, all he had to do was pass the NEWTs and get on with it.

As people were expecting him to do.

And yet...

Yet, the answer to Snape's question was clear to Harry now. "No, Sir, I don't think I want to be an Auror."

There was no judgement in Snape's tone. "Why?"

Harry sighed, and looked at the shelved books on the walls. "It was fun, you know?" he said. "In first year, when we stopped Quirrell. I just... It was an adventure, and there were scary moments, but it was also camaraderie, and it was - " He smiled a little. " - stopping evil." When Snape didn't retort with a cutting remark, Harry went on, "Then people began dying, and then I killed someone. And I hated it. When Voldemort died, I didn't feel good like everybody else. I felt relieved."

"Most of us did," Snape pointed out. Not for the first time since the conversation had begun, Harry wondered why Snape took the time to talk to him. In two months, Harry would be gone, presumably never to come back again. Why was Snape bothering? To make sure his "efforts hadn't been in vain?"

"Yes," Harry said. "But the point is... I killed him because he would have killed me. I thought I would train, and become able to look at the greater good, to do the right thing because it's the right thing. But it wasn't that way. There wasn't time for that, I just didn't have a choice, so I did it."

"Yes?"

"And I'm not sure I would have if it hadn't been me in the prophecy." Then he realised how stupid that sounded. "I mean, if there hadn't been a prophecy, if anyone could have killed him. I don't think I would have tried." He smiled bitterly. "Not a very Gryffindor feeling."

Snape shook his head. "Albus made sure you'd become someone who took care of things," he sighed.

Harry shrugged. "He did what he thought best, and things turned out all right in the end. That's not the point."

"What is the point, Potter?"

Harry thought for a minute. He had felt trapped for weeks, and he had difficulties exploring the roots of the problem. "If I become an Auror," he finally said, "that will be my life. Finding dark wizards. Stopping them. I've had enough of that."

"For now," Snape said.

"Yes, but how can I know what I'll want in six months?"

"What do you think you'll want?"

Harry raised his hands in exasperation. "I never thought about anything else," he said.

Snape growled. "Typical Gryffindor. Never a back up plan." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "What do you like to do?" The words seemed to be painful for Snape to say, as if interesting himself in Harry Potter's life was beneath him. Harry couldn't help being impressed the man didn't add an insult to the question.

"Quidditch," he said. "But I don't want to make it a career."

"Why not?"

"Quidditch has always been something I did for, well, the fun of it. I don't want it to become serious."

Snape seemed on the verge of a cutting remark, but all he said was, "There must be more than Quidditch."

"DADA." Harry shrugged and swallowed back a nervous laugh. "I was a little busy trying to survive, I don't even know what I want."

Snape considered him a moment, deep in thought. "I think," he said at last, "that you shouldn't make a decision then."

Harry felt a little taken aback. He was finishing school in a few months, shouldn't he have made a decision by then?

Snape smiled bitterly. "Mister Potter, it is not a written law that you must have your whole future planned when you leave this institution. In fact, I think any decision you could make while you are feeling like you are, would end up causing a disaster in a few years."

Harry nodded, and saw Snape rub his forearm slightly. He wondered if the man was thinking about the decisions he had made at seventeen.

"Potter?"

He smiled. "Sorry. Everyone seems so set on me getting settled."

"You shouldn't let their guilty conscience guide your actions."

"Their guilty-"

Snape looked annoyed. "Potter, don't you think most of the adults you know feel bad about making you fight the Dark Lord? Don't you think they want to see you move on, so they can convince themselves that all is right with the world?"

Harry swallowed. Snape went on, oblivious.

"They won't dare talk to you, but they will push you into whatever role they feel best for you."

"And make me the next Dumbledore," Harry muttered. "A bloody symbol everyone turns to when things get tough and they need reassurances."

"People need heroes, Mister Potter."

Harry gritted his teeth. He hadn't much experience of the Muggle world, even though he had grown up in it, but he knew that Muggles were, on average, a lot more sceptical about their leaders than wizards. Thinking about the wizarding world's response to the lies published in the Daily Prophet still angered him. "People need to take themselves by the hand, and to think, and to make decisions based on what they think, instead of following a leader blindly - Fudge, Dumbledore, or me," he said.

Snape snorted. "Good luck for that."

"I guess so." Harry groaned, fighting the urge to start banging his head against the desk in frustration. "Damn, but I've known, from the night of the Third Task, that it would come down to Voldemort and me. I never expected to survive. I thought, at best, that I'd take him down with me." He snorted. "My future wasn't supposed to become an issue."

"Well, it is now."

"Yeah." He felt so overwhelmed by all these decisions he had to make. He hadn't truly realised, until now, just how much he had expected to die. He had never truly pictured himself as anything. Oh, of course, like any boy his age, he had daydreamed about catching the snitch for England at the World Cup. But even then, he had known it was unlikely to ever happen.

"Potter, let me give you a piece of advice," Snape said. "Take a long holiday. Don't sign anything until you know what you want. I can't believe I am saying this, but be selfish, for Merlin's sake."

Harry stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded.

"Er," he said.

"What?"

He shook his head. "I already sent the papers back to the Ministry."

"You sent them an application, Potter, you didn't sign a magically binding contract. I hope even you know not to sign those without due consideration."

"Yes, sir."

"Then, I would suggest you focus on your NEWTs, and make a decision later."

The Potions Master took his quill in his hand, picked the next paper on the pile, and bent down to work. Harry got to his feet and went to the door, unsettled by the discussion - and by Snape's advice.

The professor's voice stopped him two feet from the door. "Potter?"

"Sir?"

"Thirty points from Gryffindor for roaming the hallways at night."

Harry almost smiled. "Yes, sir. Thanks."

* * *

The letter from the Ministry arrived the next Monday. Just a standard form, saying his application was interesting and he should take the tests allowing access to the Auror's program, in July.

Hermione peered at Harry over her book. "Good news?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "I can take the tests, at least," he commented.

Ron, at his left, made an indecipherable noise, and wolfed down a huge mouthful of eggs. Hermione looked vaguely disgusted, and Harry hid the letter in his backpack. The NEWTs were coming fast, and Hermione's stress was beginning to contaminate him. He would never like exams, Harry decided, finishing a piece of toast before heading for the first class of the day.

The letter from the Ministry stayed in his bag for most of the week, before moving to his trunk, where Harry wouldn't see it each time he needed a book.

It stayed there.

* * *

Later, when asked to tell younger wizards what the NEWTs were like, all Harry would remember were the countless hours in the common room, and the library, bent over books, scribbling notes so fast his hand hurt, and trying to commit to memory yet another titbit of information that would make the difference between an E and an O.

The waiting before entering the examination room would be a blur to him, as well as the questions he was asked.

Sometimes, he felt as if someone had just taken over his body and was performing for him. Given his history, it should have been worrisome. Harry found he didn't mind, though - just was long as he got his body back at the end of the week, so he could use it to eat amounts of food that would make even Ron blush with envy, and sleep for a month.

And the fact that he allowed this kind of thoughts, he mused, said a lot about the state he was in.

"Mental," Ron said, often. He said it about Hermione, who was more snappish than ever; about Neville, who sometimes answered exam questions in his sleep; about the fifth years who were taking their OWLs; about Harry, who could barely remember his own name. No one listened to him. They were all too focussed on transfiguration and potions to pay attention to other people's idiosyncrasies.

The only thing that would really stand out in the blur that was that week was Ron saying, "Mental" when Professor Dumbledore gallantly opened the door of a classroom for an examiner. The deathly silence that followed, and Harry and Hermione's hysterical laughter at the sight of Ron's face were the only thing Harry wanted to commit to memory, of that long, long week.

* * *

"Dear Remus,

Well, I'm finally done.

No more NEWTs, no more questions, no more studying.

Although last night, I had this disturbing dream of an examiner finding me and telling me that my degree had been revoked, and I had to take the NEWTs again. Poor guy looked funny when I was done with him, all covered with blue feathers. Do you think that's a bad sign? And, perhaps more importantly, will the dreams ever stop?

Anyway, the end of the Exams We Will Never Mention Again If We Are To Stay On Civil Terms is not the main reason I'm writing you.

I was wondering... I wrote to you when I sent the papers for the Auror apprenticeship to the Ministry, didn't I? I think I did. The thing is, I've been having second thoughts - Ron calls it "cold feet," but I think, mostly, that I came to the conclusion that I have enough nightmares already, without adding new ones to the list. I'm not sure what I want out of life - until recently, what I wanted out of life was survive the school year, and I never really thought about the future.

I'm rambling, aren't I?

I'm not even sure why I'm writing, except to keep you aware of what's happening. I guess I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the matter? Before I write to the Ministry and take my application back?

I hope everything is going fine with you.

HP."

Harry finished the letter and sat back, exhausted beyond comprehension - all the seventh years were the worst for wear. They all tired easily and seemed unable to focus. Thankfully, most teachers seemed happy to just let them be, and didn't try to hold a class anymore. The one exception being, of course, Snape. But then, no one had expected any different from him.

Harry looked over the letter. It seemed jumbled to him - as were his feelings, these days.

He hadn't had any more panic attacks. Which was of the good.

He had, two nights before, had a nightmare about Voldemort. He supposed it had come from his "discussion" with Malfoy. The Slytherin had been very discreet since Christmas, keeping his insults of the trio to a minimum. Then, two days ago, Harry had been walking to Hagrid's hut, and had crossed Malfoy on his way there.

"So, Potter, going to enjoy the fame in the outside world, instead of just here?" Malfoy had asked.

Why people kept making snide remarks about a fame he hadn't asked for, and didn't feel he deserved, Harry would never know. He tried to ignore Malfoy and go on his way, but the Slytherin said, "Do you still dream of Him, Potter? Does He still haunt you?"

Harry looked back at Malfoy. "Haven't thought about the bloody nuisance in weeks," he lied. "I've been busy."

Malfoy smiled knowingly. "You say that. I'm sure he's still with you. He marked you, Potter."

"And he died in the snow, with no one caring - even his supporters were only in it out of fear or for power. Not for him. He's gone, Malfoy. And good riddance, really."

Malfoy's eyes darkened, and his hand moved to his wand. Harry sighed inwardly. A few more days to go. Couldn't Malfoy have resisted that long?

Professor McGonagall was approaching quickly, and her arrival quite probably prevented a duel of mythical proportions on the school grounds. "Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy. A problem?"

Harry waited. Malfoy hesitated, then said, "No, Professor." His hand relaxed.

"Mister Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"No problem," Harry said.

"Then I suggest you both go on your way," she said firmly.

Even with her watching, Harry waited until Malfoy was a good distance away before turning his back to him and heading to Hagrid.

And so, that night, he relived the Hogsmeade Battle in his dreams, and Ron shook him awake at three in the morning, and sat with him in the common room until dawn.

Harry sighed, rubbed his neck and went to the owlery to give the letter to Hedwig. He watched her fly in the night sky - a sight that would never cease to amaze him.

He honestly didn't know why he had written to Lupin - except perhaps to not follow Snape's advice too blindly. He trusted Lupin's advice - the man had always treated him fairly, and had never seemed to mistake him for James. A skill Sirius, much as Harry had loved him, had never mastered.

* * *

Lupin's reply came the next evening. Harry was sitting high on the stands of the Quidditch Pitch, enjoying the sunset - the view, from so high, was spectacular.

Hedwig flew down to him and settled on the bench next to him. Harry took the letter, and stroked her feathers. "Thanks, girl," he said. She looked at him expectantly. He snorted. "Sorry, I don't have anything on me. But I can take you back to the castle when I've read this, and find something for you to eat?"

She seemed to think for a moment, before flapping her wings, and going to perch on his shoulder. Hermione was always amused to see Harry talking to his owl. "She seems to understand everything you tell her," she often said.

Harry unrolled the parchment, Lupin's writing doing wonders to calm him.

"Dear Harry,

Congratulations on being done!

I remember my NEWTs in living details. I could barely stand the sight of a book for about two weeks after that. James wanted to celebrate by flying (your father *always* celebrated by flying. The first night you spent home, he took you out on his broom, and even though he didn't fly high, Lily cursed him when he landed, and didn't talk to him for hours.) Sirius had planned a prank on Snape, and he fell asleep in the dormitory, and forgot about it. He wasn't there to see the results of his handiwork. It had never happened to him before. And Lily got up, the day after her last exam, and went to the room where we had been tested, forgetting that she was done.

There, that was for the trip down memory lane."

Harry smiled. He never asked Lupin to talk about his parents and Sirius. He had mentioned once, in passing, that he liked to hear about them. Now, each time something he wrote reminded Lupin of something that had happened during his own time at Hogwarts, he told Harry about it. "It's good for me too," Lupin had said, once Harry had worried that it was too painful for Lupin. "It's good to remember the good times, the fun we had, our friendship. Instead of everything else."

"About your future, I understand what you said about not having thought about it until recently. You probably know the life expectancy of a werewolf is not long - well, believe me, it was even shorter before the Wolfsbane potion was invented. I was not even supposed to make it through Hogwarts. I asked my parents, once, why they had bothered sending me to an expensive school when I probably wouldn't live long enough to finish it. They were both Hogwarts alumni, and they answered that they wanted me to enjoy life there as they had, make friends, have all the experiences boys my age had. "You never know what will come," they said. "You're not dead until you are, and until then, you need to plan to live." Yet another thing I should have told you before. I'm not very good at the informal guardian thing, I'm afraid.

Anyway, when I finished Hogwarts, I was much as you are, with no definite plans. It took me a few years to decide what I wanted - and let me assure you, you have time. Think, learn new things, and the rest will come naturally.

There, that's my advice. Relax, and the answer will come to you.

I hope to see you in a few weeks time.

Love,

Remus

PS. The dreams about the revoked degree will disappear, don't you worry. It takes about two or three years, but they go away."

* * *

Later that night, after feeding Hedwig, Harry scribbled a quick answer.

"Remus,

Thanks for the advice.

You are *not* bad at the guardian thing, believe me! Even if you had said that I needed to think about the future, I wouldn't have listened to you - I was too caught up with Voldemort to pay attention to anything else.

I'll see you as soon as I'm out of here.

H.P.

PS. TWO BLOODY YEARS?"