salixbabylon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salixbabylon) wrote2007-05-07 11:33 am
salixbabylon) wrote2007-05-07 11:33 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Virulentus Somnium (Harry/Severus, 5/9)
Title: Virulentus Somnium
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
salixbabylon
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry/Severus
Rating: NC-17 overall
Word Count: 37,100 total
Disclaimer: Characters and places in this story, which appear in the Harry Potter novels, belong to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros. and Scholastic. I don't make, or intend to make money out of them. They just wouldn't leave me alone
Summary: Two years after graduation, Harry's having nightmares at Hogwarts. Who will wake him up?
Previous Chapters
Part 5
3 PM, Day 3
In Snape's sitting room, Harry curled into a ball at one end of the sofa, clutching a pillow to his chest, looking pathetic. Snape handed him a handkerchief and sat next to him. Neither of them seemed to know where to begin.
Finally Snape spoke: "Tell me what you were afraid of, why you thought something might have happened to me."
Harry took a deep breath. "I was afraid you might be gone," he answered hesitantly. "I didn't see you all day after, well, this morning. And not at lunch. And then I went for a walk, out by the forest. And... And then I panicked. I thought you might be dead, too," he finished, just barely above a whisper.
"Why would the events of this morning cause something bad to happen to me?" asked Snape, confused.
"Because the only other time anything happened with me, the next morning... he was gone." Harry opened eyes full of despair to look pleadingly into Snape's. When he saw that the other man still wasn't understanding him, he filled in some of the blanks. "Malfoy. He was dead. And it was all my fault. I didn't mean to," he whispered as the tears started again.
Snape put an arm around his shoulders and waited patiently for Harry to calm down until he could talk more.
"So the last time you were in bed with someone..." he prompted when Harry was more composed.
"No! Not in bed. Not anything like that. I've never..." Harry's face turned crimson and his hands came up to cover it again. "I've never done that."
"But then...?" Snape's question hung in the air between them. "'The only other time anything happened' you said. The last time what happened, exactly?"
Harry's ears turned red and he fleetingly wondered if anyone's brain had ever melted with the heat of so much embarrassment. "The last time I ever, uh, felt that way about anyone. Touched anyone," he mumbled into his hands.
"But... Haven't you ever, er, been with anyone?" Snape asked delicately. "Or, even attracted to anyone?" he probed, not wanting to embarrass the boy further about his virginity.
Harry shook his head. "Once. Just once. Autumn term in sixth year. Malfoy and I ran into each other in the hallway and started arguing about something, like always. I was so furious. Next thing I knew, he lunged at me, and we fell to the floor, rolling around and trying to, I don't know, strangle each other or something. And then... Something changed. It felt good," he whispered.
After a long pause the young man continued. "Then that night, I had a dream. Not a nightmare, not at first anyway. A, well, a sex dream. About Draco. We were... Well. And then, in the dream, Voldemort came."
Harry closed his eyes; he heard Voldemort's cold laughter in his head again and that eerie serpentine voice full of evil joy as it sneered at him: "Harry Potter! Have you forgotten that you are mine? No others for you; not now, not ever. You fancy young Malfoy? Yes, he is lovely. But he isn't for you. No one is. Ever." The words had been followed by more of the maniacal laughter that echoed in his head every night and drove him nearly to madness.
"And then?" Snape prompted in a soft tone. "The Dark Lord appeared in your dream?"
"He took Draco away," Harry replied. "And then when I woke up the next morning... he was gone. Draco was gone. No one could find him."
Snape remembered vividly the panic that had flooded the castle when the younger Malfoy had mysteriously disappeared from his dormitory, only to be found dead a few days later in the Forbidden Forest.
"He died," Harry said. "It was all my fault. I didn't, I hadn't even really thought about him that way before then. But it was all my fault. Voldemort wouldn't have killed him if I hadn't, um, wanted him. So I couldn't. I can't. I can't want anyone - they'll die!" he cried, an edge of panic rising in his voice. "He'll kill them all and it will always be all my fault and I can't. I can't do this, I can't go on. It's just, there's no point. And I'm just so alone..." he choked, curling into a ball and succumbing to hysterical sobs.
Snape held him and let him cry.
I'm getting bloody good at this reassuring business, he thought. Merlin. Who knew Harry blamed himself for Draco's death? What kind of mind games did Voldemort play with the boy all those years?
As if Voldemort killed Draco just because Harry was attracted to him... Although that is more reason than the evil bastard ever needed. I suppose I wasn't the only one who suspected that Draco might not have wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. He was expendable. And Lucius didn't even seem to care, Severus remembered with a shiver.
But for Harry to blame himself, as if his desire was so toxic it would kill anyone he lusted after... No wonder the boy withdrew from everyone during his last few years of school. No wonder he's terrified to feel anything sexual. And the two boys didn't even really do anything... Harry just had a dream...
A dream? A sex dream about Malfoy. And then the Dark Lord came and took Draco away. In the dream and in reality. A real Voldemort visiting a dreaming Harry, to learn what he wants and take it away...?
"Harry?" Snape asked when the crying had subsided. "What did Voldemort say to you in your dream when he took Draco?"
Harry refused to meet his eyes as he stuttered, trying to answer a few times, then sighed in resignation as he shook his head. "I can't say."
"Are all of your dreams about Voldemort?" Snape asked, changing tactics.
"All the bad ones."
"And do they all have a sexual aspect of some sort?"
"A lot of them. From about Fifth year on."
"Hmm... So as your sexuality awakened, Voldemort somehow began to invade your dreams in an active way, beyond the usual manifestations of subconscious fear, yes?"
Harry nodded.
"Interesting," Snape mused. "Sexual feelings are already rooted so deep in the subconscious... and already so fraught with intense feelings of secrecy and shame. And you can double all of that since you're queer..."
Harry's ears turned pink and he hid his head in Snape's shoulder.
Startled out of his train of thought, Snape tried to recall what he had just said. "Ah. It's quite all right. I won't tell anyone, but it's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. And, as I'm sure you may have concluded from last night, so am I."
Harry nodded into his chest and mumbled something.
"What?"
After a few more mumbles, Harry gave up and sighed. "I'm just so bloody tired."
"Why don't you lie down and rest?" Snape suggested.
Harry's eyes grew wide with longing, but shook his head negative until Snape bodily pulled him up and started prodding him towards the bedroom. "Just lie down. I'll get you a moist cloth for your eyes and I'll stay right here. You don't have to sleep, just rest. You've been through a lot today."
Within a few moments Harry had laid down on the bed with Snape settled in next to him, sitting against the headboard.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me?" Harry asked quietly from under the cloth.
Snape's mouth twitched at the corners and he reached out one hand to smooth the hair off of Harry's forehead. Later, when he was certain Harry was asleep, he whispered the answer as if afraid to speak it aloud: "Because I care about you."
*****
6 PM, Day 3
Severus sat beside Harry on the bed for several hours while the young man dozed, letting his thoughts come and go as they might.
So many sorrows for one so young. Too heavy a burden. And to bear it all alone... not unlike me. But I chose it. Mostly. But I know what it is to be alone, to hide something inside you for fear of contaminating others with your poison. But I chose mine; I joined the Dark Lord voluntarily. Harry never chose this.
That curse... To have to stifle all feelings of sexuality, of affection, at just the time of their blossoming. At a time when a boy can't help it at all, hormones totally out of control. But he stayed in control... Except once. And what a price to pay for it. Possibly a higher price even than Draco himself...
He was so serene when we found him in the forest, Hagrid and I. Unmarked, not even a worried or surprised expression on his face. Just dead. Peaceful. Not even a person, just a pretty toy that Harry had wanted, stolen by Lord Voldemort and broken simply to spite him. At least Draco wasn't tortured. I always wondered if Lucius killed him himself...
And every thought, every lustful look or flicker of guilt-laden desire since then has probably torn Harry apart. I can't imagine the control, of having to not only not act or speak on your desires, but to not even allow yourself to think or dream, in fear. That must have given so much power to the Dark Lord. And it must have made Harry feel so lonely and empty. To be so alone. Not just physically, but alone in his head as well. To always feel that something so senseless was his fault. To be afraid to feel anything for anyone, least they become targets. To hate himself for it. To feel unworthy of love...
He's such a passionate boy, though. Young man. So full of energy and anger and drive. At least, he was. He did quiet down a lot, sober up over the years. At the time I thought he was simply maturing. I suppose he was just grieving though, building walls, refusing to feel anything deeply. No wonder he's so tired. Suppressing all those emotions must be exhausting. It is exhausting; I should know.
And he's been doing this for years. Having nightmares for years...
The Dark Lord must have done something to him in his dreams. Something to trigger all of this guilt and shame and inability to talk about it. And paralyzing, overwhelming fear. Must have convinced Harry that he's worthless. Not that he needed to make much effort, with those terrible Muggles who raised the boy... And Harry's own feelings of uselessness now that the Dark Lord is dead. Who wouldn't feel worthless? I feel it, too. I have all year. Until I found Harry to take care of a few days ago.
To take care of? Help, rather. Protect. Cure...
Love?
No, don't go down that path. Harry may befriend me, but no one could love me. I'm a spy, a Death Eater, duplicitous, weak, cold, cruel, mean...
But Harry held me. Touched me. Why? How did that make him feel? Would he do it again? Would I want him to?
Gods, yes.
This is... Terrifying. I could lose myself in this. In him. I want it too much. Him, And I can't...
He's barely a man. He's so young. I'm far too old for him...
But I do understand him better than anyone else probably could. I know him.
And I've missed his smiles this last year. I miss his impishness. I want him back, better, healed.
We must find the counter-curse. I won't let Voldemort have him. I won't let him win. I won't let him take Harry away from me. Even in death that bastard seems to be winning and I will not let him. I just have to figure out how this curse works, how all of these pieces fit together...
I have to convince Harry to take that potion again, only with him as the dreamer this time, and let me see whatever it is that he can't tell me. I must know how all of this began...
*****
7 PM, Day 3
Harry woke up from a light doze. Snape was still seated next to him, but was asleep. Harry sat up, feeling refreshed and barely groggy at all. I'm getting used to this, waking up with Snape nearby. No, Severus, he smiled to himself, a shiver running through his body as he looked at the other man's face, relaxed in sleep. Porcelain skin, sharp cheekbones, velvety lashes, soft lips...
Unconsciously, Harry moved closer, lightly touching those lips with his fingertip. He started to lean in, wanting to feel those soft lips against his own, but drew back at the last minute to lay his head on Snape's shoulder instead.
What on earth am I doing? Just because I want to doesn't mean I should. Just because he said he was gay and knows I am doesn't mean he would ever want me like that. Why would he? He hated me as a student, tolerated me in the war, and now wants to help me. He doesn't want me. Just because he didn't have a complete conniption when I said I was holding him this morning doesn't mean he liked it. Gods, I'm so pathetic.
Harry sighed with resignation, determined to push his feelings away. All of the pain and fear and hope and desire. Just shove it down and forget about it. It's for the best anyway. I don't want him to get hurt, he thought as he forcibly removed himself from the bed.
Snape's eyes flew open as the bed was jostled by Harry's swift departure. He had felt Harry touch his lips, held his breath as he'd felt the young man move closer, and fought to not sigh audibly as Harry instead rested his head against his shoulder.
Harry shot him an embarrassed smile from the chair beside the bed and said the first thing he thought: "It's nice to wake up with you."
Snape's eyebrows shot upward, and Harry could feel the shocked expression mirrored on his own face as he began to flush.
After a moment of awkwardness, Snape cleared his throat, "Er. Yes. We should eat something and get to work. Figure out a plan. Do some research." Hide in books and potions, before I think too much about waking up with Harry.
*****
9 PM, Day 3
They spent the rest of the evening researching in the library and going over the facts again and again. Harry felt they were no closer to an answer than when Snape had awoken him in his chambers two nights ago. Snape hadn't commented, but did admit that they weren't going to get much farther without more information. Information which was locked away in Harry's mind.
Harry could tell the other man was hesitant to mention it, so he brought up the dream-sharing potion himself, despite his own reluctance to use it. It really did seem to be the only option. The only other clues they had were lists of facts that made no sense on their own: the connection between Voldemort and Harry, the dream visitations having real-life effects, the failure of the Dreamless Sleep potion, the "cure" of the Memory Charm, and the sexual component of the dreams. Some of the hexes they'd found in books were close, but nothing fit entirely.
They retired from the library to another evening in the potions lab. They worked quietly together, chopping and stirring, each lost in his thoughts...
*****
He acts like he can save me but no one can ever save me from this. I've done what I was meant to do with my life. Why am I still alive? Why didn't I die? Why haven't I ended it by now, if I'm always going to be so alone?
Why does he think he can just swoop in like some knight in shining armor (all right - black, non-shiny armor) and make all of this pain and fear go away? He can't fix me. Why would he even want to? Why is he doing all of this? How can someone so distant and cold my whole childhood suddenly be so warm and caring?
What's going on?
Severus can't actually feel anything for me. Why on earth would he? I'm so worthless. He doesn't want me physically. No one does or ever could; I'm so pristine and untouchable and terrified. Not to mention toxic - don't forget Malfoy...
Maybe he just wants something to do. Maybe he just wants some companionship. Yeah, that must be it. I can give him that. Just keep all the nasty, evil, black feelings and desires to myself, and only give him the stuff that's ok. We'll be friends. He'll never know anything more about it. This problem, this curse, this project will be one thing, and my feelings about Severus will be something separate. I'll answer his questions but... I won't give him anything he can't want. Stay in control.
It's going to be hard trying to be just a friend and be honest without talking about how I feel. I don't even want to think about the sex stuff. I wish I could go back to not feeling anything. Everything is just happening too fast.
Fuck. This feels like it's going to tear me apart. But I'll do it, I'll be friendly and keep all the other stuff locked deep inside, if that's what I have to do.
I'm scared to even think it in words but... I wish he wanted me.
I wish I could be capable of more.
*****
Harry is so beautiful. Not classically, not perfect, but just... lovely.
But so tormented. So exhausted. So obviously miserable and in need of saving. How can I be the only one to have ever noticed it or the only one to ever want to help him? Maybe he just never let anyone else see, keeping his distance from everyone else and using that ridiculous Glamour spell.
I can't believe I'm the only one he's ever opened up to, the only one he lets see him like this. The one he trusts to help him. Why me? I'm honored, but... It's almost too much. Too much responsibility. Too much emotion.
I'm feeling things I haven't felt in decades? If ever. Wanting to protect him. Wanting to save him. Wanting him.
Gods, I want him. I'm twice his age though. And even if he wanted me... Well, it's terrifying. To feel this.
To love.
Yes, love, no matter how reluctant I am to even think the word. I think I could love him.
He trusts me. I even think he desires me. But does he love me?
Could he ever know me and still love me? His nasty old potions teacher, the sharp-tongued bastard who once hated him because of his father and only learned to tolerate him because Albus demanded it? Who thought he liked being famous and only noticed that he hated it once the Dark Lord had returned?
And even if he could, wouldn't it be a bad idea? He's a virgin. I remember too well the utter gratitude and devotion given the first time I shared my body with someone else. The first time I was vulnerable that way. It's too much responsibility.
I don't deserve him. I'd hurt him at some point. I end up ruining everything I touch eventually...
Just like Harry thinks he does.
Perhaps we're both wrong? Perhaps...
*****
Severus noticed suddenly that they had both been lost in their thoughts for some time and the potions were almost complete. He cleared his throat and made an effort to keep any of the emotions he was feeling out of his voice. "It's time for the lashes and hairs, then we'll be finished here."
Harry did Severus first, with a great deal more shaking of hands than the night before. Whatever he was thinking, it's certainly upset him, Severus noticed.
Then it was his turn. It took an immense amount of control to not think about how good it felt to touch Harry, how soft his skin was, and when the involuntary tears from each lash pulling seemed more copious than the night before, Severus wondered if they were tears of a different sort.
But Harry simply bowed his head without opening his eyes and Severus ran his fingers through the short, dark curls and quickly pulled out two hairs. When Harry still didn't move, head bowed, eyes closed, looking defeated and hopeless, Severus pulled him into an embrace before he had a chance to talk himself out of it. Harry relaxed into his arms and for a moment Severus felt a sense of completion and peace so deeply it awed him.
In his arms, Harry felt so safe, so protected, so fulfilled... For a moment. Then his earlier thoughts came rushing back, and his frame stiffened with commingled despair and desire and the effort to keep it all hidden within.
Severus' moment of peace was shattered so abruptly that without even meaning to, he let go of the young man and his own hurt feelings gave way to old defenses, as his voice instinctively dripped acidic sarcasm: "I can see this is going to be a relaxing night in my bed. Doesn't anyone ever touch you?"
Harry's eyes widened as all the color drained out of his face and he made a sudden movement as if to flee. Severus caught him by the arm, his temper fading before the last syllable was uttered, suddenly afraid of how much he might have damaged whatever this tentative thing between them was. He pushed aside for later the thought of how intense and quick were his successive feelings of peace, followed by hurt, anger, and fear.
The two men stood looking at each other, not knowing what to say.
Finally Harry met Severus' eyes and bitterly answered his question. "No. Nobody ever touches me."
Something inside Severus melted in the face of Harry's raw pain and he wanted nothing more than to hold Harry so tightly he would forget all his past. Instead, he did the best he could and offered a small confession of his own. "No one often touches me either. I suppose we're both a bit awkward."
Harry seemed to accept his apology, and he nodded.
They hovered for a moment, on the edge of a conversation neither of them was ready for, but both desperately wanted to have already be in the past.
Instead Harry cleared his throat and nodded towards the potions. "Are they ready yet? I'm tired." At Severus' nod, he continued. "Fine then. I'll meet you in your rooms in a few minutes."
*****
As they drank their potions and got into the bed, the tension was almost unbearable. Harry was doing a commendable job of refusing to let himself think about anything at all, most especially how scared he was of the nightmares he was about to have, about letting Snape see them, about being in bed with Snape again, about his confusing feelings, about how strangely the other man was acting... As the list of forbidden topics grew and grew, he failed to notice that he was, in fact, thinking as he drifted off to sleep...
Snape was also trying valiantly to halt the activity of his brain, that annoying chorus of internal voices. As he had more practice, he was more successful than the young man sharing his pillow at subduing them. However, his body decided to fill the void in his mind by announcing its repressed desires; quiet mind, screaming body. Snape decided to call it a draw and fell asleep resigned to sexual frustration and hoping to somehow try to control himself enough to not molest the boy as he slept.
*****
Harry dreamed...
He was in a small, dim room, lying on his back, surrounded by wooden slats. A woman's voice was making reassuring cooing noises as he looked up at her but he could feel her fear. She was frightened, so he was also. He heard a loud crash and began to cry as the house shook. The woman screamed as someone came into the room and tried to shield him with her body. Then she was gone and the most evil voice he'd ever heard said strange words to him, sharp hateful words that hurt unbearably, and pain washed over him and he screamed and screamed as the world went dark...
His heart pounded as a shade drifted across the floor of the Forbidden Forest towards the dead unicorn. His feet were leaden, his throat closed. He couldn't run or move or scream for help, not that there was any help nearby. Then the shade turned and saw him. He was helpless to move as it advanced...
He watched with horror as Professor Quirrell unwrapped his turban to reveal a grotesque parody of a face on the back of his head. The moment where he stood paralyzed with fear lengthened and stretched endlessly as his horror grew with each heartbeat...
The images came faster: in the Chamber of Secrets under Hogwarts, a teenaged boy's voice teased and tormented him as his best friend's little sister lay dying. He was alone and helpless as pain ripped through his arm...
Cedric was killed before his eyes in a flash and he could do nothing, too shocked with his own terror... He was bound to a gravestone, pierced with a knife, helpless to prevent the rebirth of the greatest evil he could imagine... Vomit rose in his throat as the greyish creature arose from the cauldron... He tried to run but his ankle was broken and he fell...
Voldemort's quiet laughter rang in his head, as his voice slithered into his ear, "Have you forgotten that you are mine? No others for you, not now, not ever..."
Voldemort loomed above him, giant against the night sky, and shrieked curses of torture and death. Fireballs rained from the sky and he heard screams all around him as the Death Eaters closed in. Harry could do nothing... In the distance, he heard a wolf-like howl and knew that Sirius was dead.
A cold, serpentine voice hissed at him, naming his worst fears and making them real. "You are alone and worthless. No one cares about you. They only see you as a knight in shining armor who they think will save the world. But you will fail. You're not real to them. You cannot stop me! Crucio!"
Again and again, he stood facing his enemy, trembling with fear, alone, helpless, filled with despair. Paralyzed with fright, overcome with nauseating dread, unable to do anything to help anyone else or even to save himself.
The dreams went on and on...
*****
After what seemed like endless hours of dreaming, Harry finally woke, whimpering brokenly. Held tight in Snape's arms while as cool hands stroked his cheek and hair, soft lips whispered into his neck that he was safe, that it was all over. That the Dark Lord was dead and none of it was his fault.
Exhausted, Harry fell asleep before the tears stopped leaking out his eyes, held secure and safe for the first time in his life.
Part 6
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Author:
salixbabylonFandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry/Severus
Rating: NC-17 overall
Word Count: 37,100 total
Disclaimer: Characters and places in this story, which appear in the Harry Potter novels, belong to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros. and Scholastic. I don't make, or intend to make money out of them. They just wouldn't leave me alone
Summary: Two years after graduation, Harry's having nightmares at Hogwarts. Who will wake him up?
Previous Chapters
3 PM, Day 3
In Snape's sitting room, Harry curled into a ball at one end of the sofa, clutching a pillow to his chest, looking pathetic. Snape handed him a handkerchief and sat next to him. Neither of them seemed to know where to begin.
Finally Snape spoke: "Tell me what you were afraid of, why you thought something might have happened to me."
Harry took a deep breath. "I was afraid you might be gone," he answered hesitantly. "I didn't see you all day after, well, this morning. And not at lunch. And then I went for a walk, out by the forest. And... And then I panicked. I thought you might be dead, too," he finished, just barely above a whisper.
"Why would the events of this morning cause something bad to happen to me?" asked Snape, confused.
"Because the only other time anything happened with me, the next morning... he was gone." Harry opened eyes full of despair to look pleadingly into Snape's. When he saw that the other man still wasn't understanding him, he filled in some of the blanks. "Malfoy. He was dead. And it was all my fault. I didn't mean to," he whispered as the tears started again.
Snape put an arm around his shoulders and waited patiently for Harry to calm down until he could talk more.
"So the last time you were in bed with someone..." he prompted when Harry was more composed.
"No! Not in bed. Not anything like that. I've never..." Harry's face turned crimson and his hands came up to cover it again. "I've never done that."
"But then...?" Snape's question hung in the air between them. "'The only other time anything happened' you said. The last time what happened, exactly?"
Harry's ears turned red and he fleetingly wondered if anyone's brain had ever melted with the heat of so much embarrassment. "The last time I ever, uh, felt that way about anyone. Touched anyone," he mumbled into his hands.
"But... Haven't you ever, er, been with anyone?" Snape asked delicately. "Or, even attracted to anyone?" he probed, not wanting to embarrass the boy further about his virginity.
Harry shook his head. "Once. Just once. Autumn term in sixth year. Malfoy and I ran into each other in the hallway and started arguing about something, like always. I was so furious. Next thing I knew, he lunged at me, and we fell to the floor, rolling around and trying to, I don't know, strangle each other or something. And then... Something changed. It felt good," he whispered.
After a long pause the young man continued. "Then that night, I had a dream. Not a nightmare, not at first anyway. A, well, a sex dream. About Draco. We were... Well. And then, in the dream, Voldemort came."
Harry closed his eyes; he heard Voldemort's cold laughter in his head again and that eerie serpentine voice full of evil joy as it sneered at him: "Harry Potter! Have you forgotten that you are mine? No others for you; not now, not ever. You fancy young Malfoy? Yes, he is lovely. But he isn't for you. No one is. Ever." The words had been followed by more of the maniacal laughter that echoed in his head every night and drove him nearly to madness.
"And then?" Snape prompted in a soft tone. "The Dark Lord appeared in your dream?"
"He took Draco away," Harry replied. "And then when I woke up the next morning... he was gone. Draco was gone. No one could find him."
Snape remembered vividly the panic that had flooded the castle when the younger Malfoy had mysteriously disappeared from his dormitory, only to be found dead a few days later in the Forbidden Forest.
"He died," Harry said. "It was all my fault. I didn't, I hadn't even really thought about him that way before then. But it was all my fault. Voldemort wouldn't have killed him if I hadn't, um, wanted him. So I couldn't. I can't. I can't want anyone - they'll die!" he cried, an edge of panic rising in his voice. "He'll kill them all and it will always be all my fault and I can't. I can't do this, I can't go on. It's just, there's no point. And I'm just so alone..." he choked, curling into a ball and succumbing to hysterical sobs.
Snape held him and let him cry.
I'm getting bloody good at this reassuring business, he thought. Merlin. Who knew Harry blamed himself for Draco's death? What kind of mind games did Voldemort play with the boy all those years?
As if Voldemort killed Draco just because Harry was attracted to him... Although that is more reason than the evil bastard ever needed. I suppose I wasn't the only one who suspected that Draco might not have wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. He was expendable. And Lucius didn't even seem to care, Severus remembered with a shiver.
But for Harry to blame himself, as if his desire was so toxic it would kill anyone he lusted after... No wonder the boy withdrew from everyone during his last few years of school. No wonder he's terrified to feel anything sexual. And the two boys didn't even really do anything... Harry just had a dream...
A dream? A sex dream about Malfoy. And then the Dark Lord came and took Draco away. In the dream and in reality. A real Voldemort visiting a dreaming Harry, to learn what he wants and take it away...?
"Harry?" Snape asked when the crying had subsided. "What did Voldemort say to you in your dream when he took Draco?"
Harry refused to meet his eyes as he stuttered, trying to answer a few times, then sighed in resignation as he shook his head. "I can't say."
"Are all of your dreams about Voldemort?" Snape asked, changing tactics.
"All the bad ones."
"And do they all have a sexual aspect of some sort?"
"A lot of them. From about Fifth year on."
"Hmm... So as your sexuality awakened, Voldemort somehow began to invade your dreams in an active way, beyond the usual manifestations of subconscious fear, yes?"
Harry nodded.
"Interesting," Snape mused. "Sexual feelings are already rooted so deep in the subconscious... and already so fraught with intense feelings of secrecy and shame. And you can double all of that since you're queer..."
Harry's ears turned pink and he hid his head in Snape's shoulder.
Startled out of his train of thought, Snape tried to recall what he had just said. "Ah. It's quite all right. I won't tell anyone, but it's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. And, as I'm sure you may have concluded from last night, so am I."
Harry nodded into his chest and mumbled something.
"What?"
After a few more mumbles, Harry gave up and sighed. "I'm just so bloody tired."
"Why don't you lie down and rest?" Snape suggested.
Harry's eyes grew wide with longing, but shook his head negative until Snape bodily pulled him up and started prodding him towards the bedroom. "Just lie down. I'll get you a moist cloth for your eyes and I'll stay right here. You don't have to sleep, just rest. You've been through a lot today."
Within a few moments Harry had laid down on the bed with Snape settled in next to him, sitting against the headboard.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me?" Harry asked quietly from under the cloth.
Snape's mouth twitched at the corners and he reached out one hand to smooth the hair off of Harry's forehead. Later, when he was certain Harry was asleep, he whispered the answer as if afraid to speak it aloud: "Because I care about you."
6 PM, Day 3
Severus sat beside Harry on the bed for several hours while the young man dozed, letting his thoughts come and go as they might.
So many sorrows for one so young. Too heavy a burden. And to bear it all alone... not unlike me. But I chose it. Mostly. But I know what it is to be alone, to hide something inside you for fear of contaminating others with your poison. But I chose mine; I joined the Dark Lord voluntarily. Harry never chose this.
That curse... To have to stifle all feelings of sexuality, of affection, at just the time of their blossoming. At a time when a boy can't help it at all, hormones totally out of control. But he stayed in control... Except once. And what a price to pay for it. Possibly a higher price even than Draco himself...
He was so serene when we found him in the forest, Hagrid and I. Unmarked, not even a worried or surprised expression on his face. Just dead. Peaceful. Not even a person, just a pretty toy that Harry had wanted, stolen by Lord Voldemort and broken simply to spite him. At least Draco wasn't tortured. I always wondered if Lucius killed him himself...
And every thought, every lustful look or flicker of guilt-laden desire since then has probably torn Harry apart. I can't imagine the control, of having to not only not act or speak on your desires, but to not even allow yourself to think or dream, in fear. That must have given so much power to the Dark Lord. And it must have made Harry feel so lonely and empty. To be so alone. Not just physically, but alone in his head as well. To always feel that something so senseless was his fault. To be afraid to feel anything for anyone, least they become targets. To hate himself for it. To feel unworthy of love...
He's such a passionate boy, though. Young man. So full of energy and anger and drive. At least, he was. He did quiet down a lot, sober up over the years. At the time I thought he was simply maturing. I suppose he was just grieving though, building walls, refusing to feel anything deeply. No wonder he's so tired. Suppressing all those emotions must be exhausting. It is exhausting; I should know.
And he's been doing this for years. Having nightmares for years...
The Dark Lord must have done something to him in his dreams. Something to trigger all of this guilt and shame and inability to talk about it. And paralyzing, overwhelming fear. Must have convinced Harry that he's worthless. Not that he needed to make much effort, with those terrible Muggles who raised the boy... And Harry's own feelings of uselessness now that the Dark Lord is dead. Who wouldn't feel worthless? I feel it, too. I have all year. Until I found Harry to take care of a few days ago.
To take care of? Help, rather. Protect. Cure...
Love?
No, don't go down that path. Harry may befriend me, but no one could love me. I'm a spy, a Death Eater, duplicitous, weak, cold, cruel, mean...
But Harry held me. Touched me. Why? How did that make him feel? Would he do it again? Would I want him to?
Gods, yes.
This is... Terrifying. I could lose myself in this. In him. I want it too much. Him, And I can't...
He's barely a man. He's so young. I'm far too old for him...
But I do understand him better than anyone else probably could. I know him.
And I've missed his smiles this last year. I miss his impishness. I want him back, better, healed.
We must find the counter-curse. I won't let Voldemort have him. I won't let him win. I won't let him take Harry away from me. Even in death that bastard seems to be winning and I will not let him. I just have to figure out how this curse works, how all of these pieces fit together...
I have to convince Harry to take that potion again, only with him as the dreamer this time, and let me see whatever it is that he can't tell me. I must know how all of this began...
7 PM, Day 3
Harry woke up from a light doze. Snape was still seated next to him, but was asleep. Harry sat up, feeling refreshed and barely groggy at all. I'm getting used to this, waking up with Snape nearby. No, Severus, he smiled to himself, a shiver running through his body as he looked at the other man's face, relaxed in sleep. Porcelain skin, sharp cheekbones, velvety lashes, soft lips...
Unconsciously, Harry moved closer, lightly touching those lips with his fingertip. He started to lean in, wanting to feel those soft lips against his own, but drew back at the last minute to lay his head on Snape's shoulder instead.
What on earth am I doing? Just because I want to doesn't mean I should. Just because he said he was gay and knows I am doesn't mean he would ever want me like that. Why would he? He hated me as a student, tolerated me in the war, and now wants to help me. He doesn't want me. Just because he didn't have a complete conniption when I said I was holding him this morning doesn't mean he liked it. Gods, I'm so pathetic.
Harry sighed with resignation, determined to push his feelings away. All of the pain and fear and hope and desire. Just shove it down and forget about it. It's for the best anyway. I don't want him to get hurt, he thought as he forcibly removed himself from the bed.
Snape's eyes flew open as the bed was jostled by Harry's swift departure. He had felt Harry touch his lips, held his breath as he'd felt the young man move closer, and fought to not sigh audibly as Harry instead rested his head against his shoulder.
Harry shot him an embarrassed smile from the chair beside the bed and said the first thing he thought: "It's nice to wake up with you."
Snape's eyebrows shot upward, and Harry could feel the shocked expression mirrored on his own face as he began to flush.
After a moment of awkwardness, Snape cleared his throat, "Er. Yes. We should eat something and get to work. Figure out a plan. Do some research." Hide in books and potions, before I think too much about waking up with Harry.
9 PM, Day 3
They spent the rest of the evening researching in the library and going over the facts again and again. Harry felt they were no closer to an answer than when Snape had awoken him in his chambers two nights ago. Snape hadn't commented, but did admit that they weren't going to get much farther without more information. Information which was locked away in Harry's mind.
Harry could tell the other man was hesitant to mention it, so he brought up the dream-sharing potion himself, despite his own reluctance to use it. It really did seem to be the only option. The only other clues they had were lists of facts that made no sense on their own: the connection between Voldemort and Harry, the dream visitations having real-life effects, the failure of the Dreamless Sleep potion, the "cure" of the Memory Charm, and the sexual component of the dreams. Some of the hexes they'd found in books were close, but nothing fit entirely.
They retired from the library to another evening in the potions lab. They worked quietly together, chopping and stirring, each lost in his thoughts...
He acts like he can save me but no one can ever save me from this. I've done what I was meant to do with my life. Why am I still alive? Why didn't I die? Why haven't I ended it by now, if I'm always going to be so alone?
Why does he think he can just swoop in like some knight in shining armor (all right - black, non-shiny armor) and make all of this pain and fear go away? He can't fix me. Why would he even want to? Why is he doing all of this? How can someone so distant and cold my whole childhood suddenly be so warm and caring?
What's going on?
Severus can't actually feel anything for me. Why on earth would he? I'm so worthless. He doesn't want me physically. No one does or ever could; I'm so pristine and untouchable and terrified. Not to mention toxic - don't forget Malfoy...
Maybe he just wants something to do. Maybe he just wants some companionship. Yeah, that must be it. I can give him that. Just keep all the nasty, evil, black feelings and desires to myself, and only give him the stuff that's ok. We'll be friends. He'll never know anything more about it. This problem, this curse, this project will be one thing, and my feelings about Severus will be something separate. I'll answer his questions but... I won't give him anything he can't want. Stay in control.
It's going to be hard trying to be just a friend and be honest without talking about how I feel. I don't even want to think about the sex stuff. I wish I could go back to not feeling anything. Everything is just happening too fast.
Fuck. This feels like it's going to tear me apart. But I'll do it, I'll be friendly and keep all the other stuff locked deep inside, if that's what I have to do.
I'm scared to even think it in words but... I wish he wanted me.
I wish I could be capable of more.
Harry is so beautiful. Not classically, not perfect, but just... lovely.
But so tormented. So exhausted. So obviously miserable and in need of saving. How can I be the only one to have ever noticed it or the only one to ever want to help him? Maybe he just never let anyone else see, keeping his distance from everyone else and using that ridiculous Glamour spell.
I can't believe I'm the only one he's ever opened up to, the only one he lets see him like this. The one he trusts to help him. Why me? I'm honored, but... It's almost too much. Too much responsibility. Too much emotion.
I'm feeling things I haven't felt in decades? If ever. Wanting to protect him. Wanting to save him. Wanting him.
Gods, I want him. I'm twice his age though. And even if he wanted me... Well, it's terrifying. To feel this.
To love.
Yes, love, no matter how reluctant I am to even think the word. I think I could love him.
He trusts me. I even think he desires me. But does he love me?
Could he ever know me and still love me? His nasty old potions teacher, the sharp-tongued bastard who once hated him because of his father and only learned to tolerate him because Albus demanded it? Who thought he liked being famous and only noticed that he hated it once the Dark Lord had returned?
And even if he could, wouldn't it be a bad idea? He's a virgin. I remember too well the utter gratitude and devotion given the first time I shared my body with someone else. The first time I was vulnerable that way. It's too much responsibility.
I don't deserve him. I'd hurt him at some point. I end up ruining everything I touch eventually...
Just like Harry thinks he does.
Perhaps we're both wrong? Perhaps...
Severus noticed suddenly that they had both been lost in their thoughts for some time and the potions were almost complete. He cleared his throat and made an effort to keep any of the emotions he was feeling out of his voice. "It's time for the lashes and hairs, then we'll be finished here."
Harry did Severus first, with a great deal more shaking of hands than the night before. Whatever he was thinking, it's certainly upset him, Severus noticed.
Then it was his turn. It took an immense amount of control to not think about how good it felt to touch Harry, how soft his skin was, and when the involuntary tears from each lash pulling seemed more copious than the night before, Severus wondered if they were tears of a different sort.
But Harry simply bowed his head without opening his eyes and Severus ran his fingers through the short, dark curls and quickly pulled out two hairs. When Harry still didn't move, head bowed, eyes closed, looking defeated and hopeless, Severus pulled him into an embrace before he had a chance to talk himself out of it. Harry relaxed into his arms and for a moment Severus felt a sense of completion and peace so deeply it awed him.
In his arms, Harry felt so safe, so protected, so fulfilled... For a moment. Then his earlier thoughts came rushing back, and his frame stiffened with commingled despair and desire and the effort to keep it all hidden within.
Severus' moment of peace was shattered so abruptly that without even meaning to, he let go of the young man and his own hurt feelings gave way to old defenses, as his voice instinctively dripped acidic sarcasm: "I can see this is going to be a relaxing night in my bed. Doesn't anyone ever touch you?"
Harry's eyes widened as all the color drained out of his face and he made a sudden movement as if to flee. Severus caught him by the arm, his temper fading before the last syllable was uttered, suddenly afraid of how much he might have damaged whatever this tentative thing between them was. He pushed aside for later the thought of how intense and quick were his successive feelings of peace, followed by hurt, anger, and fear.
The two men stood looking at each other, not knowing what to say.
Finally Harry met Severus' eyes and bitterly answered his question. "No. Nobody ever touches me."
Something inside Severus melted in the face of Harry's raw pain and he wanted nothing more than to hold Harry so tightly he would forget all his past. Instead, he did the best he could and offered a small confession of his own. "No one often touches me either. I suppose we're both a bit awkward."
Harry seemed to accept his apology, and he nodded.
They hovered for a moment, on the edge of a conversation neither of them was ready for, but both desperately wanted to have already be in the past.
Instead Harry cleared his throat and nodded towards the potions. "Are they ready yet? I'm tired." At Severus' nod, he continued. "Fine then. I'll meet you in your rooms in a few minutes."
As they drank their potions and got into the bed, the tension was almost unbearable. Harry was doing a commendable job of refusing to let himself think about anything at all, most especially how scared he was of the nightmares he was about to have, about letting Snape see them, about being in bed with Snape again, about his confusing feelings, about how strangely the other man was acting... As the list of forbidden topics grew and grew, he failed to notice that he was, in fact, thinking as he drifted off to sleep...
Snape was also trying valiantly to halt the activity of his brain, that annoying chorus of internal voices. As he had more practice, he was more successful than the young man sharing his pillow at subduing them. However, his body decided to fill the void in his mind by announcing its repressed desires; quiet mind, screaming body. Snape decided to call it a draw and fell asleep resigned to sexual frustration and hoping to somehow try to control himself enough to not molest the boy as he slept.
Harry dreamed...
He was in a small, dim room, lying on his back, surrounded by wooden slats. A woman's voice was making reassuring cooing noises as he looked up at her but he could feel her fear. She was frightened, so he was also. He heard a loud crash and began to cry as the house shook. The woman screamed as someone came into the room and tried to shield him with her body. Then she was gone and the most evil voice he'd ever heard said strange words to him, sharp hateful words that hurt unbearably, and pain washed over him and he screamed and screamed as the world went dark...
His heart pounded as a shade drifted across the floor of the Forbidden Forest towards the dead unicorn. His feet were leaden, his throat closed. He couldn't run or move or scream for help, not that there was any help nearby. Then the shade turned and saw him. He was helpless to move as it advanced...
He watched with horror as Professor Quirrell unwrapped his turban to reveal a grotesque parody of a face on the back of his head. The moment where he stood paralyzed with fear lengthened and stretched endlessly as his horror grew with each heartbeat...
The images came faster: in the Chamber of Secrets under Hogwarts, a teenaged boy's voice teased and tormented him as his best friend's little sister lay dying. He was alone and helpless as pain ripped through his arm...
Cedric was killed before his eyes in a flash and he could do nothing, too shocked with his own terror... He was bound to a gravestone, pierced with a knife, helpless to prevent the rebirth of the greatest evil he could imagine... Vomit rose in his throat as the greyish creature arose from the cauldron... He tried to run but his ankle was broken and he fell...
Voldemort's quiet laughter rang in his head, as his voice slithered into his ear, "Have you forgotten that you are mine? No others for you, not now, not ever..."
Voldemort loomed above him, giant against the night sky, and shrieked curses of torture and death. Fireballs rained from the sky and he heard screams all around him as the Death Eaters closed in. Harry could do nothing... In the distance, he heard a wolf-like howl and knew that Sirius was dead.
A cold, serpentine voice hissed at him, naming his worst fears and making them real. "You are alone and worthless. No one cares about you. They only see you as a knight in shining armor who they think will save the world. But you will fail. You're not real to them. You cannot stop me! Crucio!"
Again and again, he stood facing his enemy, trembling with fear, alone, helpless, filled with despair. Paralyzed with fright, overcome with nauseating dread, unable to do anything to help anyone else or even to save himself.
The dreams went on and on...
After what seemed like endless hours of dreaming, Harry finally woke, whimpering brokenly. Held tight in Snape's arms while as cool hands stroked his cheek and hair, soft lips whispered into his neck that he was safe, that it was all over. That the Dark Lord was dead and none of it was his fault.
Exhausted, Harry fell asleep before the tears stopped leaking out his eyes, held secure and safe for the first time in his life.
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Exhausted, Harry fell asleep before the tears stopped leaking out his eyes, held secure and safe for the first time in his life.
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It's always nice when there's someone to hold you after your bad dreams. I'm convinced Severus would be wonderful at it, don't you think?
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gimmie O:
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More Thursday!
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the STUFF you've got in this chpat..
lines, emotion ..parallel and contrasting
yow
I'll hafta come back and gush
yow
really
-km-
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and voldemort is creepy *thats why i always liked him lol* i really like his part of the plot...it is interesting...i always like possesive voldy...especially when the plot turns into snarry :D
muh ha ha this is awsome...must...read...on..
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Thanks for commenting along the way. :)