Synopsis: After Voldemort's defeat, Harry discovers a hard truth - seeing the future really sucks. (PWP) (HP/SS Pre-Slash)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Notes: This is the first of two parts. This story started as a drabble, then kept growing - I was having fun exploring just how horrifying seeing the future could be. This is unbeta-d so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: This story contains some minor HP/SS slash. There is nothing explicit, as it is not the focus of the story. But if the idea of a same-sex relationship bothers you, please proceed with caution.

Seeing Tomorrow: Part 1 of 2

Her heartbeat rises, thumping louder and louder as her shaking hand reaches forwards. A drop of sweat beads at her brow and panicked eyes dart back and forth. Her desperation to escape this mess unscathed is all consuming.

Realizing there is no one around to help, she returns her gaze to the problem in front of her. The quill in her hand presses against her parchment and she begins to write. 'Basilisk fangs are commonly used in potions in order to counter the otherwise explosive effects triggered by using Acromantula hairs…'

Harry sits up in bed with a groan.

"Seriously?" he mutters darkly as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and casts a Tempus charm. 5:47 am, late enough to not even bother trying to go back to sleep. Not that the teen would really want to sleep again if it meant risking another boring glimpse of Daphne Greengrass panicking over a potions exam.

Though, now that he is thinking about it, Harry figures it wouldn't hurt to study up on the questions he saw on Daphne's test. Quickly casting a Lumos and pulling out his text, Harry settles in to spend the rest of the pre-dawn winter morning prepping for a quiz bound to happen sometime soon.

His mind can't focus fully on the words in his text book. Instead, his mind drifts back, running through his memories about how his current nightmarish situation had come to pass.

…..

When the dreams started, Harry didn't realize what was really going on. Recovering from his final battle against the megalomaniac Voldemort, the teen had simply assumed that his relief at no longer having the threat of death hanging over him like an executioner's blade was finally allowing his unconscious mind to relax into what the wizard assumed were the tedious, normal dreams of tedious, normal life.

At first, it was gloriously freeing - the nightmares that had plagued his sleep for years were replaced by dreams of safe, innocuous events: Ron eating a rotten egg, Hermione going through an attic and rediscovering a familiar childhood toy, Neville finding a rare plant in his grandmother's garden. However it took less than a month for the novelty of fear-free drams to fade. After fifteen straight nights of boring, clear, dreams, Harry could admit to himself that he almost missed the nightmares. He was unused to boring life and boring dreams.

About the time Harry was getting desperate for a way to stop these dreams, when he realized things were even worse than he thought.

Harry woke from a dream featuring Tonks nearly destroying the Grimmauld Place kitchen with her clumsiness. Giving up on sleep entirely, the boy padded downstairs to find some breakfast. As he rounded the corner, he heard loud shouts and curses coming from the kitchen. Opening the door revealed the scene Harry had just woken from. Remus held a pixie in one fist and a platter of eggs in another. Tonks lay sprawled amid a mess of fallen pancakes and toast on the floor. And Sirius was howling in laughter from where he was crouching on top of the kitchen table.

"Oh man, Harry, you would not believe what you just missed!" The teen's godfather had snorted, taking a few deep breaths as if to calm himself before bursting into a fresh gale of laughter.

Harry had simply sat on the only intact chair left and watched the remnants of the chaos. In that instant, he had realized that his life, once again, was royally fucked.

….

Summer had slowly faded into fall, which had in turn faded into winter. By the time Hogwarts is firmly covered in a constant mid-November blanket of snow, Harry has figured out a bit more about what is happening to him.

First, the dreams are visions. He'd figured out as much after that startling revelation in Grimmauld's grimy kitchen, but it had taken him a while to fully accept that he had somehow unlocked the ability to see into the future.

Second, the visions only ever feature people Harry knew personally. Often they are simply passing acquaintances - schoolmates or shopkeepers he's interacted with a few times. Other times they were of people Harry is more familiar with. He isn't sure which is worse, as either way he feels like an intruder.

Third, most of the events shown in the visions happen within the next 48 hours. He'd had a few that hadn't come true until almost a week after, but for the most his visions seem to be of the very immediate future.

And finally, the visions are going to drive Harry completely insane.

Being forced to watch tedious drivel or embarrassingly private moments every single night wears thin on his patience. He almost misses the days of terror and Death Eater threats. At least if he were still in the midst of a war, the ability to see visions of the future might be useful. But as it is, Harry can see no the point in seeing the future since the future these days is dull as rocks.

…..

As Harry eats breakfast that morning, he can't help but notice Greengrass sitting at her normal spot among the Slytherins. She takes a few slices of toast, jam, juice and begins to eat without saying anything to her peers. It's a scene so normal Harry almost thinks he's having another dreadfully boring vision. But this time it's just the present. Just Harry's real life reflecting the tedium of his dreams. Or is it the dreams reflecting his life? Harry bites back a frustrated sigh - he figures he must be pretty selfish to miss days of war simply because he's bored.

"-wonder if I should have gone more in depth about the… Harry, are you listening?"

Harry snaps back to attention, giving Hermione an apologetic grin and tearing his eyes away from Greengrass.

"Sorry, 'Mione. Still a bit early," the boy responds, smiling at the girl and taking another serving of sausage.

"It's never too early to think about our future, Harry. McGonagall said the subject from our assignment will be featured prominently in our N.E.W.T.s! We need to be careful not to miss anything."

"Thinking about the future, huh," Harry murmurs, looking back across the hall towards Greengrass. Maybe that's what Harry needs to do. As a seed of an idea forms in his head, he does his best to calm his friend. "I don't think you need to worry about forgetting anything important, Mione. Besides, if you do forget something, McGonagall will let you know and you can study it plenty before the exams."

While Hermione ponders that tidbit, Harry looks over at the Slytherin table again. Greengrass is leaving the table and heading out of the main hall. Harry hesitates only a moment before shaking his head and excusing himself from breakfast. "See you at Potions, 'Mione!" he calls as he strides quickly out of the hall.

Harry still isn't sure if he should play along with his mind's insanity or not. But maybe doing something about his boring visions will give him a way make his daily life less boring. At the very least, it might keep him a bit busier. Mind made up, Harry calls out to the girl just outside of the Potions classroom.

"Hey, Greengrass!"

The blonde witch stops in her tracks. When she turns to face Harry, her face is the definition of wary and confused.

"Potter."

"Uh...I was, uh…" Harry stumbles a bit. This is more awkward than he'd expected. "I was trying to remember. Basilisk fangs are used to counterbalance the explosive effects of Yeti fur, not Acromantula hairs, right? I keep getting them mixed up."

Daphne's expression grows even more confused. Harry mentally curses his crappy attempt to give the girl a hint to help her later. After a long moment of silence, Harry surrenders and bows out of the situation with an awkward laugh. "I guess I'll just look it up."

He slides to the ground, sitting against the wall and pulling out his book. He'd already read the section the test will cover several times this morning, but he needs something to do to hide from his embarrassment. Soon after, another figure sits down not far from him. Harry bites his lip to hide a satisfied grin when he sees Daphne Greengrass pulling out her own book and flipping through the pages.

Later, when Snape sneers at the class and passes out a 'surprise' pop quiz, Harry glances over at Greengrass. She looks calmer than she had in his vision, almost smiling as she reads through the questions. And for the first time, Harry admits that maybe his worthless visions aren't so worthless after all.

…

"Harry, mate, wanna play some exploding snap?" Ron's voice rings through Harry's mind and the teen turns away from where he'd been blankly staring into the fire. The smiling redhead waves a pack of cards towards Harry with a big grin on his face.

"Maybe tomorrow, Ron. Not sure I'm up for it today," Harry says, sighing and trying to give an apologetic smile. Ron just scowls at Harry.

"That's what you said yesterday, Harry."

"Well, I meant it then too," Harry snaps. He doesn't want to fight over this but he doesn't feel like doing anything right now. "I just don't feel like games right now, okay?"

Ron's quiet a moment as he stares at his friend. Harry knows that Ron had noticed his lack of interest in a lot of things lately. But Ron is as reliable as ever when it comes to being reluctant to talk about 'emotions' and 'feelings'. "You okay, mate?"

Harry winces and replies quickly, "Yeah, Ron. Just… getting used to things again, you know?"

"You've been waking up in the middle of the night a lot. Don't think I haven't noticed. Is it nightmares again?" Ron asks as he sets the cards aside and sits on the couch beside his friend.

Nightmares? Harry can't help but smile and think that things would be much easier if that were the case. Then he looks at his best friend and wonders why he doesn't just tell the redhead what's been happening lately. Having someone to talk to might help him deal with the stress of the visions. Harry is about to confess the truth when he recalls Ron's many outbursts of jealousy over the years, even about things Harry couldn't help.

"Yeah, just some nightmares. Nothing too bad though." Harry lies.

As he sees Ron accept the obvious lie, Harry promises himself he'll tell Ron and Hermione the truth. Soon. Eventually. He just had to find the right time.

…...

Harry comes awake Thursday morning gagging and groaning, pressing his hands into his eyes in a vain attempt to purge the image of a masturbating Colin Creevy from his brain.

While helping Daphne avoid getting a question wrong on a pop quiz had been oddly satisfying, Harry sure as Salazar wasn't going to warn Colin about the dangers of using a film-development potion for personal lubricating purposes.

Dear Merlin, Harry was never going to be able to look Colin in the eye again.

….

Harry skips breakfast, not willing to risk running into Colin at the Gryffindor table. Instead, he one again finds himself sitting on the ground outside of the potions classroom. An exceptionally dry passage in the textbook has lulled Harry nearly to sleep when a huff and a clatter nearby startles the boy fully awake.

Harry's nose twitches as Daphne Greengrass's overly strong perfume wafts towards him. He scratches his nose. "Uh, good morning?"

Daphne doesn't even glance over at the boy as she pulls out her books and class notes. Forgoing any social niceties, she simply demands, "Do you have any idea what Professor Snape meant when he said that oak ashes have defining properties?"

Harry blinks. Then he blinks again.

"I was trying to figure that out myself," Harry finally gets out, once the teen comes to terms with the fact that the Slytherin girl is indeed speaking to him. Greengrass hums and turns a page in her notes.

"You take chapter four and I'll take chapter five. Let me know if you find it."

"Sure…" Harry says, flipping to the chapter in his book. "Might as well."

…

Hermione practically pounces on Harry that afternoon when he joins her and Ron in the common room. "When were you going to tell us you like Daphne Greengrass, Harry?!"

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath while Rone squawks and starts flailing around. "What?! Hermione, what? Harry, mate?!"

"Hermione, trust me, I do not like Daphne. Not like that," Harry grumbles then plops down on the couch by the fire. He stubbornly refuses to look at the girl and the disbelieving expression he is sure she is wearing.

"Harry, this is the second Potions class in a row you've gone to early," Hermione waves for Ron to be quiet after he lets out another yelp of disbelief. "And both times when I've arrived, it's just been you and Daphne studying together."

"Exactly, Hermione. Studying. For Merlin's sake, you make it sound like you walked in on us snogging or something. I study with you all the time, yet you don't assume there is anything romantic between us, do you?"

Ron glares at Harry over that comparison while Hermione tuts and tries to adopt a comforting tone, "Harry, we're your friends. As… odd… as this may be to us now, if you really like her, we'll support you. We just want-"

"I. Do. Not. Want. To. Date. Daphne." Harry stares straight into Hermione's eyes as he carefully enunciates each word. But Hermione still looks skeptical and Ron still looks uncomfortable. So Harry takes a deep breathe and does what any mature teenager would do - he stands and storms out of the common room and up to his bed.

Once again, his visions are proving bring him nothing but misery.

….

Elegant fingers sprinkle the diced herbs into the potion - an action so familiar as to be hardly worth noting.

A soft humming escapes thin lips as the other hand starts stirring the potions. 13 times clockwise. 5 times counter clockwise. The potion turns a perfect shade of indigo and the dour man nods in satisfaction.

Those long long fingers then pull a skeletal wing out of a jar. The man is deep into the comforting lull of making a familiar potion and barely spares a passing glance at the wing as it is carefully places on the top of the potion, slowly sinking in. Now just to wait for the potion to turn a vibrant green before stirring again.

But instead of green, the potion begins to darken. Realizing something went wrong, the man curses and tries to dodge out of the way of the explosion. But even with his safety precautions, he ends up covered in the goo.

His irritation at his carelessness only grows as he looks into a reflective cabinet and realizes that his skin is quickly turning the same green his potions should have been. When he opens his mouth to call for a house-elf to help him safely clean the mess, a discordant squeaking comes out instead.

This time Harry wakes up laughing.

It was not the first time he's gotten a glimpse of Snape's potions experiments gone wrong in a vision, and it never got old.

Harry and Snape's relationship had mellowed since they helped each other in that final battle against Voldemort. They still didn't get along, but at least Harry had grown enough to not outright hate the bitter man. And if the reduction in potions detentions was anything to go by, Snape no longer hated him utterly either. But that didn't mean that it wasn't funny for Harry to see the dour man get a taste of his own medicine every now and then.

Harry chuckles again as he falls back into sleep.

…..

"Oh, good morning, Harry," Hermione says that morning at breakfast. Harry can see her hesitation; she searches his face for any hint about how upset the boy still is from their conversation the night before.

"Morning, Mione," Harry greets with a smile. Amazing what one interesting vision can do for one's outlook on life - Harry found himself in a rare good mood and didn't want to waste it rekindling last night's fight.

Seeing the bookworm visibly relax at the warm greeting makes Harry grin even more. "I'm sorry about last night, Harry. I didn't mean to…." Hermione trails off, grabbing a roll and fidgeting with the bread for a moment while she thinks. "I forgot to listen to you. I was too caught up in my own theory. So I'm sorry, Harry."

"I know, Hermione," Harry says as he fills his own plate. "Just try to believe me in the future, okay? It's kind of annoying."

The girl winces a bit at the honesty but nods at her friend. "I'll do my best, Harry."

Harry tosses a bit of his own roll towards her playfully, "Your best is terrifying."

Hermione glares and picks the bread crumbs out of her hair as Harry snickers. The snickers grow to full blown laughter when a minute later a piece of roll plops into Harry's porridge and splashes the oats all over his face.

….

By the time December rolls around, Harry has turned his one-time whim of helping Daphne into a full-blown hobby. In the last few weeks, Harry had subtly helped a shy Ravenclaw avoid an embarrassing encounter with one of Hagrid's latest pets, helped a few more students avoid silly mistakes on quizzes, prevented Ron from losing his lucky pair of Chudley Cannons socks, located seventeen lost textbooks, and helped to prevent two potions explosions in class. Each time Harry managed to change the future he saw in his dreams, he felt a burst of contentment and pride. Having a hobby was doing wonders for his mental health.

Unfortunately for the teen, he'd also lost the ability to look eight more classmates and Professor Vector in the eye. He'd also mistaken a normal day for a vision come to life enough times to make his housemates not-so-subtly suggest he try to get a bit more rest. If only they knew that 'getting rest' was the cause of his odd behavior in the first place.

Okay, maybe 'wonders for his mental health' was a bit of an overstatement. But it has been keeping him busy. And at least being busy also meant being less bored.

Harry sighs and shakes himself out of his thoughts, looking towards the board where Snape had just written their assignment for the day. He tenses, immediately recognizing the potion assignment from a vision he had several nights ago. Harry had been anxiously waiting for this class since he had it, since it was one of two visions he'd ever had that he felt truly invested in preventing. If he did nothing, Daphne Greengrass would end up naked, dyed purple, covered in boils and humiliated to tears in front of everyone. The girl might not be the most pleasant of people, but she had become Harry's tentative ally when it came to potions class. Besides, even if he hadn't been slightly fond of her, Harry wouldn't want any girl in here to have something like that happen to them.

He'd sat next to Daphne today at the start of class just in case, and as she cuts and prepares her ingredient Harry keeps a tense eye on things. Right before Daphne would have added the ingredients in the wrong order, Harry 'accidentally' knocks her pile of pyreflies to the ground.

"Crap, sorry Greengrass. Go ahead and add the shale and I'll get some new pyreflies ready for you."

Daphne's stares at Harry for a long moment before nodding and doing as he instructed. Harry lets out a relieved sigh. Crisis averted.

After sliding some pyreflies over towards Daphne the boy glances to the head of the classroom. His green eyes immediately meet Snape's calculating gaze. The boy panics and tries to jump back into working on his own potion. Without thinking he tosses the nearest ingredient into his cauldron.

The fumes created when his potion explodes haven't even begun to clear before Snape is yelling at the class, "Get out, all of you!"

A rough hand grabs Harry's arm and pulls him out of the room. Harry is too busy coughing and wiping at his watering eyes to fight it. "Anyone else besides Potter hurt? Greengrass?" Snape questions once the entire class is in the hallway and the door to the classroom is firmly shut and warded.

"No, sir, I'm okay," The girl states, shooting an almost worried glance at Harry as the boy continues to cough and gasp.

"Alright, I'm taking Potter to the infirmary. All of you are to write a two foot essay on what Potter might have done to result in this specific type of disaster."

And with that, Shape is herding a coughing Harry down the hallway. When the boy stumbles and nearly falls, the potions master tightens his grip on the teen's arm. As they come to a stop on a staircase that chose that moment to move, Snape rubs Harry's back as the hacking cough continues, loud and painful. "Idiot boy," Snape murmurs with considerably less venom than he would have years previously.

…

After the potions accident, Harry decides it might be best to give up on his hobby. While he doesn't regret preventing Daphne's potions disaster, his own injury has shaken him. No use preventing one potions accident only to cause another.

So for a few days, Harry ignores the events that plague his sleeping hours. Dennis Creevey loses his homework. A Hufflepuff first year doesn't find a bathroom in time. Professor Flitwick eats a bagel. Ginny gets hit in the face with a quaffle.

Harry hates almost every minute of it. No longer running around like a lunatic trying to subtly help people, his boredom returns tenfold. Once again he finds himself listless and irritable. Soon enough, Harry snaps at his friends - Hermione furiously hides away in the library, Ron is not speaking to him, and Harry finds himself alone and cursing his life and the stupid visions that plague it. "Enough is enough," Harry whispers angrily into the darkness of his bed canopy. "No more. I don't need this crap, I never asked for it."

Harry's rage still burns strong as he falls asleep and another vision begins to play out in front of him.

…

The halls are quiet as Harry pads across the stones. It's past curfew, but that's rarely stopped the boy before. And as awkward as he's sure this encounter will be, he can still feel the sharp heartbreak that had woken him up with a sob the night before. He doesn't care how pissed he is at these stupid visions, there are some things he'd never be able to ignore.

He continues on his journey for several more minutes - searching for signs he was in the right stretch of stone hallway, near the right deserted alcove. Finally, he hears a sniffle just ahead and turns a corner. There stands the slightly dented suit of armor from his dreams. Which means behind it… "Blaise," Harry whispers, crouching down in front of the boy and placing a hand on his knee. "Hey, Blaise."

The boy sniffs again and looks up at Harry, eyes teary and rimmed with red. "P-Potter?" The boy asks, voice rough with misery.

"Yeah. Hey." Harry doesn't move his hand and finally sits down when the silence drags on and yet the other boy doesn't try to remove it. "I just… I'm sorry."

"How did you know? News can't possibly travel that fast," Blaise whimpers.

The Gryffindor pauses at that, he has no idea what kind of excuse he could give that would explain his knowing about the death of Blaise's mother before anyone else. So he just shrugs, "You know how things go, sometimes."

Luckily, Blaise seems too out of it to really care about the nonsensical reply. And suddenly, the calm confusion he's been presenting to the Gryffindor crumbles with a sob, "I can't believe… I just…. How…"

Harry removes his arm from Blaise's knee and slips it around the other boy's shoulder. He sits next to the crying boy long after the sobs taper off and the boy's breathing mellows out. He sits all through the night, trying to comfort a boy he's never liked for a loss that Harry himself wished he understood. He'd never known his own mother well enough to grieve her death.

The next morning, Blaise wakes up and is only slightly awkward as he says goodbye to Harry and returns to the Slytherin dormitory. Harry sighs and slumps back in the alcove.

So much for ignoring the visions.

…

A few weeks later, Christmas break has arrived and Harry reluctantly had begun to act upon his visions once more. Since they've shown no signs of stopping, the boy has also reluctantly come to the conclusion that it might be long past time to tell someone about them. As he's walking Hermione and Ron to the Hogwarts Express, Harry tries to broach the topic of his secret, "Hey 'Mione, Ron, you know how-"

"Crookshanks, no!" Hermione gasps, cutting off Harry as she lunges after the cat that had just squirmed out of her grasp. Crookshanks meows loudly and runs off towards Hogsmeade. "Crookshanks! If you make me miss the train, so help me I will shave you!"

Hermione is off running after her cat, luggage floating behind her. She turns around and gives Harry a wave, "Bye Harry! We'll talk after break! Happy Christmas!"

So much for his grand revelations, Harry thinks to himself as he watches his friend race away. Ron is laughing next to him. "I'll go help her. Happy Christmas, eh, Harry?"

"Yeah, you too, Ron."

Harry waves goodbye to Ron as the red-head races to catch up with Hermione and Crookshanks. He can't deny the sense of relief he feels from having been stopped from revealing his secret. "I'll tell them when they get back," Harry promises himself.

Once he sees Hermione and Ron run through the gate, Harry turns around and heads back into the nearly-empty castle. This being the first holiday season since the defeat of Voldemort, almost every student and teacher had decided to head home to spend time with their families. Harry would have done the same, had Sirius and Remus not needed to travel out of country for some werewolf-related business. In fact, Harry was pretty sure he was the only student still here. His guess was proven correct when, at lunch that evening, the teen entered the great hall to find just one small table with seats for himself and Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape.

Harry flashes a grin at the Headmaster as he takes the only remaining seat, right between the serene old man and Snape. The table is so small he can't avoid having his knees brush against those of his neighbors.

"This is quite cozy," the headmaster states as the food arrives and the group begins eating.

McGonagall gives the old man one of her patented wry looks, "Perhaps a bit too cozy, Albus. I for one wouldn't mind a bit more elbow room." Harry bites down a laugh when he hears the potions master mutter a quiet "here, here" under his breath.

"Nonsense Minerva. We're all family here. We all have fought together and spent many evenings together. And we had even less elbow room during meals at Grimmauld place," Dumbledore pauses and looks at the four other people in the hall. The twinkle in his eyes dims a bit as his face takes on a more solemn smile. "No, this is quite nice."

Flitwick beams and nods then quickly launches into a conversation about the transfiguration of food items that draws both McGonagall and the headmaster into a merry debate. Harry and Snape continue to eat in silence. The atmosphere between them is less tense than Harry would have expected, but he's still not going to try and engage in small talk with the potions master.

Given his resignation to a quiet meal, the boy about faints with shock when it's the dour man himself who starts up a conversation. "Don't think I haven't noticed, Potter."

"Noticed what, Snape?" Harry quietly snaps back. He falls easily into his usual habit of antagonising the man even though the venom he once spat the name out with is long gone. Professor Snape notices the lack of true ire, if the smirk that flashes across his face is anything to go by.

"Your performance in class has actually improved this year and you've managed to stop two near-disasters from your classmates in the last month. It seems, Mr. Potter, that you are now finally applying yourself to your studies."

Harry snorts. "Yeah, well being free from constant death threats and murderous teachers does wonders for my ability to- Wait a minute!" Part of Snape's sentence sinks into Harry's mind and he turns to the man in shock. "You totally know when we're about to cause an explosion, don't you?"

Snape raises an eyebrow, which Harry takes as an affirmative.

"All those years of suffering side effects from Neville's reign of chaos and you could have stopped it?!" Harry barely realises that his raised voice has brought the other conversation to a halt. The other three teachers look between the gaping teen and the smug potions master and prepare themselves to referee another vicious battle between the two.

"I'm neither a miracle worker nor a saint."

Harry stares in disbelief. He's torn between throwing the steak on his plate into his professor's face and laughing at the revelation. Deciding both ideas to be bad ones, his brain scrambles for something to say to change the subject. "Dumbledore cheats at chess, you know."

It's Flitwick who reacts first, bursting into laughter so strong that tears pour out of the small man's eyes. McGonagall and Snape both immediately refocus on the headmaster, launching into an angry tirade after the old man admits his guilt.

With everyone else distracted, Harry lowers his face. No one notices how his shoulders shake from his quiet laughter.

If only Neville knew…

…

Harry's resolution to tell his friends about his new skill fades away. The week preceding their return had been filled with visions of Ron and Hermione both in situations he is sure they would never ever want him to witness. The more he thinks about it, the more Harry fears how Ron and Hermione might react when they realize just how much of their lives he sees without their permission. So he keeps his silence and promises himself once again that he'll tell them the truth. Someday. Eventually.

For the rest of winter, Harry devotes himself to his studies and to helping out his classmates where he can. He even stops two more portions disasters, each time meeting Snape's knowing gaze with a half-hearted glare and poorly hidden grin.

Harry keeps himself so busy, that his depressed boredom fades almost entirely. Ron relaxes when Harry offers to play games with him one night, and Hermione nearly tackles him with glee when he asks for a study times table.

But Harry being Harry, not even the distinct lack of Voldemort can keep all disasters away.

One morning, not long before dawn, Harry wakes in a cold sweat and launches out of his bed. Down the stairs and through the common room - the teen bolts into the halls in record time. Harry knew the moment he woke up that this vision become reality at any moment now. The boy puts on another burst of speed, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he practically flies off a staircase and onto the second floor.

Harry is turning around a corner when he slams straight into a hard body. Hands latch onto the boy's arms and he hears a vaguely familiar voice let out a curse as both Harry and Professor Snape fall to the ground. The boy is so lost in his panic he doesn't even mumble an apology as he springs back to his feet. He's deaf to the shouts behind him and to the man's running feet as the Potions Master gets up and runs after Harry.

Another turn, another staircase, one more hallway, just a bit further…

And there it is - the tail end of his vision.

"No!" Harry shouts, furious at his timing as he rushes towards the crumpled form of the first year Hufflepuff, Marina Finnel, lying in a pool of blood at the base of a nearby staircase.

…..

Harry isn't aware of Snape catching up to him, or of the older man sending his Patronus to gather the other professors. He isn't aware of the arrival of the teaching staff, or of Professor Sprout's sobs as she helps Madame Pomfrey move the body. He doesn't notice when the headmaster heads to his office to call the Finnels, or when Harry himself is led through the halls towards the dungeons.

The first thing the teen really processes after reaching Marina is a warm cup of tea being placed in his hands. He blinks slowly as awareness returns and he looks around, taking in the room around him.

He's barely started to look around when Snape sits down next to him, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder as he looks into green eyes. "Are you back with us, Potter?" He asks, weary voice devoid of any of its usual snarky fire. Harry's heard this tone once before. On the day Voldemort was defeated, he and Snape had been lying exhausted on the Quidditch pitch, trying to catch their breath and barely daring to believe the nightmare was over. Snape's words then had echoes through the battlefield and echoed in Harry's mind as the boy stared at the carnage around them. It was a tone he'd hoped to never hear again.

"I…" Harry trails off, feeling a tear slide down his face. His mind is overcome with memories of the battle playing alongside his dash to try and save Marina. He's never felt so guilty, so useless. Harry is sure he'll die right here from his shame if he doesn't confess his crime. So he does.

"I didn't get there in time."

Snape's expression doesn't change, but the hand on Harry's shoulder squeezes slightly. "Neither did I."

"You didn't know though!" Harry yells. More tears escape and his voice cracks.

"And you did?"

"Yeah," Harry never thought that the potions master would be the first one for him to tell, but he needs the man to understand the depth of Harry's failure. "Yeah, I did. I… Ever since we defeated him last summer, I've been seeing these visions… visions of things that will happen soon, to people I know. People like Marina-" Her name is lost in a sob that forces its way out of Harry. The boy tucks his head into his hands and cries for several long moments.

Snape waits until Harry's sobs taper off before he speaks. "I was a spy for many years, Potter. Even when the Dark Lord was inactive, I played my role and kept on eye on the dangerous acquaintances I had cultivated through the years."

Harry knows his, but had never heard Snape speak about his life as a spy. Even in the midst of his misery, the boy's curiosity keeps him focused as the dour man continues. "I learned many things, some important and some not. Occasionally I learned of dangers to people, threats to their lives. I knew what was to happen to them and in some cases I was able to work with Dumbledore to stop it. But in other cases, I was either too late or there was no way I could stop the events without tipping my hand and revealing my true allegiances."

Harry is blown away by the similarities in the situations the man is pointing out. He lifts his head from his hands and looks at the Potions Master. "You can't save everyone, Potter," Snape's dark eyes bore into Harry's own with those words. "It's a terrible lesson to learn, but an important one."

It is terrible, Harry agrees in his mind as his tears overflow once more. He nods, unable to get out any words. Snape moves to circle his arm around the teen's shaking shoulders, holding the boy quietly as he sobs.

….

Snape leaves Harry bundled up and resting on his couch when he goes to stand with Dumbledore at breakfast and share the sad news about the death of Marina. While the professors spend their morning helping deal with shocked and grieving students, Harry remains still and pensive. The boy finally dozes about an hour before lunch, waking after seeing Draco Malfoy hugging a crying first year Slytherin.

When the potions master returns after lunch, he finds the boy curled up on the other end of the couch, staring into the fireplace blankly. The man summons a House Elf to bring some snacks for the boy, grabs a book and sits down in his chair by the couch. He reads in silence while Harry shakes himself out of his daze long enough to nibble on a sandwich that appears minutes later.

"Most of them are really boring," Harry says, breaking the silence an hour later. "The visions, I mean."

The teen is still staring into the fire and doesn't see Snape's raised eyebrow. So the man asks out loud, "How so?"

Harry lets out a sad, halfhearted chuckle. "Last week I saw the headmaster stub his toe when he got out of bed."

"How absolutely tedious," Snape agrees.

"You know, Dumbledore sleeps in the nude," Harry states, finally looking over at the professor with a slight blush on his face. He notices the Potions Master grimace, and assumes the mental image of his mentor's dick hanging out is one the man won't be able to get rid of anytime soon. The man looks towards Harry after a moment, visibly hesitating before speaking again. "Should I assume that you have seen a large number of the school's residents naked at this point?"

Harry's pretty sure the question isn't one a professor would normally ask a student. But Snape had never really acted much like a typical professor, at least not when Harry was involved. So Harry boldly meets the man's eyes as he replies.

"You have not idea. I can't look most of my year in the eyes anymore without remembering things I never wanted to know about them." Harry is relieved to finally be able to admit to it.

"You have my honest sympathies," Snape says. Melancholic silence falls again as the conversation ends.

Thirty minutes later, Harry speaks again. "The visions are how my potions alliance with Daphne started."

Turning a page, Snape hums. "I had wondered about that. She's not the most friendly of people, even when it comes to her fellow Slytherins."

"Yeah. I saw her get an answer wrong on a quiz. I met up with her before class and tries to get her to look up the uses of Basilisk Fangs." Snape looks at the boy flatly. It takes Harry a moment to realize why, and he winces, "Crap, I probably shouldn't admit that to you."

"You really shouldn't," Snape growls.

"But it's not like I could help seeing the test before hand. And I used my powers to help one of your Slytherins, so you shouldn't be too mad," Harry hunches down into the couch, waiting for Snape to explode about the admission to cheating. But Snape merely sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"In the future, when you see my tests, I expect you to tell me before class. I'll give you alternate questions." Harry is so shocked by the lack of argument about the issue that he readily agrees.

Over the next few hours, two more sandwiches disappear and Harry tells more stories about his adventures trying (and often failing) to help his classmates with their issues. Snape is surprisingly easy to talk to now that they've grown out of their mutual irrational hatred. And Harry appreciates both Snape's snarky reactions to the situations he's found himself in as well as Snape's lack of accusations about how Harry has handled his foresight. The fear of being condemned for a skill Harry has no control over had been haunting Harry for months.

But Harry realizes there is still one more admission he needs to make now, even at risk of breaking this truce between student and professor. "I've seen you too, Professor."

Snape's book snaps closed. Harry is too nervous to look over at his professor and misses the slightly panicked expression that flickers over the man's face briefly. "Expand on that, Potter." The tone leaves no room for argument.

"Don't worry, it's nothing inappropriate. I mean, I've never seen you, uh, you know," Harry stumbles over his words, wanting to get the awkward reassurances out of the way quickly. "It's mostly been your experiments. I've seen some explosions and some breakthroughs. Like when you realized you could use Jackalope blood to reduce the brewing time for Wolfsbane."

Snape frowns at the memory. "That wasn't really a breakthrough. While it sped up the brewing time, the potion ended up far less potent and thus was utterly useless." Harry finally looks at Snape, surprised by what the man had decided to focus on first.

"Oh," He says dumbly. "Next time I guess."

A raised eyebrow and bemused smirk are shown to the teen. "I guess so."

Harry waits Snape to ask more questions. His professor can't quite hide how uncomfortable the thought of Harry being able to see him without his permission is making him. "How about a deal? I'll tell you whenever I have a vision of you, even if it's awkward. And then you can ask me any question you want in return?" Harry suggests, desperate to keep Snape from reacting badly. Harry isn't fully sure why, but he doesn't want to drive the man away.

Barely a moment passes before Snape replies. "Sounds fair enough, given the circumstances," The response is rewarded with a genuine grin from Harry, then Harry is speaking. "I guess we'd better start then. I've seen you five… no, six times. The first was when you were brewing some weird, sparkly glop in this tiny cauldron..."

Harry spends the rest of the afternoon telling about each of his visions about the man. The boy spares no details, vividly describing all the times the man has hummed or cursed or turned a strange color from an explosion. And while the specter of Marina's death doesn't leave him, the room is warm and comfortable and Harry finds himself relaxing with the knowledge that he's not alone with his knowledge anymore.

…..

End Part 1