A Man Cannot Control His Dreams
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,053
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,053
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Speak of the Devil
A/N Sorry for the long time between updates! I keep having ideas for later on in the story and then neglect chronological updates. Oh, and fear not, there will be some smut coming up shortly.
a few responses:
Una: let's not forget just how young and immature Harry is (no matter how hot :P)
Rinicka: I promise, eventually there will be stark-ass-naked Snape
Lin: It was abrupt. I think I'll revise it.
To all others: 11,000 hits?? wow. Thanks for reading. Though i do wonder how many people i know could be reading this...
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“Ugh?” Harry groaned when he was presented with the sight of his disembodied torso in the harsh morning light. He reached out to feel for his legs, and was dully relieved to find that he had simply fallen asleep in his cloak, and hadn’t somehow become a paraplegic overnight. This minor relief was destroyed as he moved a little more.
As he moved to sit up against the headboard, the muscles in his shoulders and back knotted painfully, pulling tight. Grimacing all the way, he shifted to the edge of the jumbled bed and stood. His legs weakened precariously. Feeling rather as though he’d just finished running a marathon, or something equally draining, he stretched delicately.
With sleepy confusion, he noted that he was even sore… down there. As the events of the previous night trickled back into his sluggish brain, he recalled where he’d been and how Snape had been unwilling to let him go without meeting his proffered “quota,” and had therefore resorted to magical means to wring the impossible third climax out of him. Yes, that was probably one of many sources of his discomfort that morning. Not that he’d been complaining at the time, but…
“Merlin,” Harry groaned, and rubbed his face. Then, as the quality of the sunlight struck him, “Wait.” He glanced at the shallow shadows on his floor. “Oh, shite.” It must have been close to noon.
****
Severus surveyed the student populous impassively from the staff table. It was well into lunch and Potter had not yet appeared. He was both pleased and annoyed by this reaction. Pleased, for one, that Potter was so very incapacitated under his touch, and annoyed that the boy was so damn delicate. He was ‘the hope of the Wizarding World.’ Its figurehead, for God sake. What right had he to be so easily broken? There would be no mercy to be found when the war came to fruition, and if Potter could not hold his own under Severus, what hope did he have against the Dark Lord? Surely they were all doomed. He glanced at his fellow professors and sniffed. Lot of good it would do them all.
Just then, Severus’ eye was caught by a harried figure as it dashed into the hall. Well, perhaps ‘dashed’ was not the best word. Maybe ‘rapidly limped’ would be a more astute description. Severus looked resolutely down into his tea. It wouldn’t do to catch the boy’s eye just then- surely the Gryffindor would turn a red worthy of his scarlet colors. He scowled. Perhaps this would be more difficult to hide than he’d thought.
****
The following evening found Potter yet again falling to his knees in Severus’ office. Unfortunately, however, not in the way the Potions Master might have preferred.
“Are you even attempting to occlude your mind, Potter?” Severus asked blithely from beside the collapsed teen, who was panting and holding his head. They’d been at it for the better part of an hour “You don’t appear to be.” Harry looked up at him with contempt, almost shouting out yes, of course he was bloody trying, why the hell wouldn’t he be? Instead, though, he said simply:
“No.”
“No?” Severus raised an eyebrow.
“No. I mean, why would I?” Something snapped. “After all I just LOVE having you parade my dead parents in front of me over and over and over again! It’s like bloody. Fucking. Christmas!” Harry was firmly back on his feet. “I love it!”
“What have I told you about controlling your emotions?” Severus replied, unperturbed. A muscle in Harry’s jaw worked. “Concentration is the key.”
“How in the name of Merlin am I supposed to concentrate when you KEEP PROVOKING ME?” Harry slammed a hand down onto the table beside him, and knocked a bottle of ink to the floor. It shattered, and splattered their shoes with tiny black droplets.
“Provoking, Mr. Potter? I hardly think that calling up your own memories and thoughts counts as provocation. Reparo.” The spoiled ink resolved itself.
“Don’t you? Because I’d call it torment.” His voice broke on the last word, and he looked away from the black, penetrating eyes, almost ashamed as his emotions surged. Severus made a disgusted noise.
“Torment?” He asked, voice subdued. “You know nothing of such things. Again! Legilimens!”
Caught off guard, Harry clutched his head and cried out, vision after vision stripped out of him for Snape’s inspection. His heart clenched painfully with each image of Sirius’ face, the green of his mother’s eyes, his father’s smile - white behind the film of a photograph. With them came his associated thoughts. Anger. Grief. Guilt… guilt beyond human endurance, shredding him like knives through a paper doll. He’d killed them… killed them all. He felt the tears start to fall, fast and hot down his wintry cheeks. Snape let the spell yield.
“TRY, POTTER! TRY!” he shouted, brandishing his wand over the Gryffindor, who had, yet again, not managed to stay on his feet under the onslaught. Screaming his frustration back in Snape’s face, Harry clenched his fists until he thought his wand might snap in two.
“STOP IT! STOP! You don’t know! YOU DON’T - ” The Gryffindor’s voice caught and tore as his throat seized up around a sob. Snape, Shaking his sleeves out over his hands, folded his arms stoically over his chest. His countenance darkened impossibly, looming menacingly like a cloud of ash over Pompeii.
“I don’t know what? The agony? The torment?” His voice was mocking, and Harry wanted to hit him, to break that sneering mouth and see it bleed. “You’re but a child, Potter. You know nothing of suffering.”
Harry’s mind went black with apoplexy at such an insinuation.
“Nothing?” he choked out, too livid even to shout. “How dare y-“ but Severus let him get no further.
“How dare I? How dare I?” He repeated, almost laughing, though of a bitter and dark sound. “You asinine little brat. Never has there walked a less grateful student through Hogwarts' halls. Never one so lacking in respect. You haven’t the slightest inkling of what atrocities are committed – daily – beyond these smothering maternal walls. If you knew even a fraction-“
Suddenly, before Severus’ tirade could even truly begin, it was cut short. The Potion’s master’s hand closed over his forearm and he swallowed around his arrested ire, narrow eyes shifting at once from rage into something akin to shock.
There was hardly any delay at all between this sight and a searing pain in Harry’s scar, his mind so weak and wide-open after Snape’s punishing assault. Harry’s eyes squeezed tight against the pain, and he barely heard Severus’ parting command over his own curses.
“Out. Now.”
When he opened his eyes again, the room blurred with tears and residual burn, Snape was gone, having left not so much as an echoed footstep behind.
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TBC
a few responses:
Una: let's not forget just how young and immature Harry is (no matter how hot :P)
Rinicka: I promise, eventually there will be stark-ass-naked Snape
Lin: It was abrupt. I think I'll revise it.
To all others: 11,000 hits?? wow. Thanks for reading. Though i do wonder how many people i know could be reading this...
*
*
*
*
*
“Ugh?” Harry groaned when he was presented with the sight of his disembodied torso in the harsh morning light. He reached out to feel for his legs, and was dully relieved to find that he had simply fallen asleep in his cloak, and hadn’t somehow become a paraplegic overnight. This minor relief was destroyed as he moved a little more.
As he moved to sit up against the headboard, the muscles in his shoulders and back knotted painfully, pulling tight. Grimacing all the way, he shifted to the edge of the jumbled bed and stood. His legs weakened precariously. Feeling rather as though he’d just finished running a marathon, or something equally draining, he stretched delicately.
With sleepy confusion, he noted that he was even sore… down there. As the events of the previous night trickled back into his sluggish brain, he recalled where he’d been and how Snape had been unwilling to let him go without meeting his proffered “quota,” and had therefore resorted to magical means to wring the impossible third climax out of him. Yes, that was probably one of many sources of his discomfort that morning. Not that he’d been complaining at the time, but…
“Merlin,” Harry groaned, and rubbed his face. Then, as the quality of the sunlight struck him, “Wait.” He glanced at the shallow shadows on his floor. “Oh, shite.” It must have been close to noon.
****
Severus surveyed the student populous impassively from the staff table. It was well into lunch and Potter had not yet appeared. He was both pleased and annoyed by this reaction. Pleased, for one, that Potter was so very incapacitated under his touch, and annoyed that the boy was so damn delicate. He was ‘the hope of the Wizarding World.’ Its figurehead, for God sake. What right had he to be so easily broken? There would be no mercy to be found when the war came to fruition, and if Potter could not hold his own under Severus, what hope did he have against the Dark Lord? Surely they were all doomed. He glanced at his fellow professors and sniffed. Lot of good it would do them all.
Just then, Severus’ eye was caught by a harried figure as it dashed into the hall. Well, perhaps ‘dashed’ was not the best word. Maybe ‘rapidly limped’ would be a more astute description. Severus looked resolutely down into his tea. It wouldn’t do to catch the boy’s eye just then- surely the Gryffindor would turn a red worthy of his scarlet colors. He scowled. Perhaps this would be more difficult to hide than he’d thought.
****
The following evening found Potter yet again falling to his knees in Severus’ office. Unfortunately, however, not in the way the Potions Master might have preferred.
“Are you even attempting to occlude your mind, Potter?” Severus asked blithely from beside the collapsed teen, who was panting and holding his head. They’d been at it for the better part of an hour “You don’t appear to be.” Harry looked up at him with contempt, almost shouting out yes, of course he was bloody trying, why the hell wouldn’t he be? Instead, though, he said simply:
“No.”
“No?” Severus raised an eyebrow.
“No. I mean, why would I?” Something snapped. “After all I just LOVE having you parade my dead parents in front of me over and over and over again! It’s like bloody. Fucking. Christmas!” Harry was firmly back on his feet. “I love it!”
“What have I told you about controlling your emotions?” Severus replied, unperturbed. A muscle in Harry’s jaw worked. “Concentration is the key.”
“How in the name of Merlin am I supposed to concentrate when you KEEP PROVOKING ME?” Harry slammed a hand down onto the table beside him, and knocked a bottle of ink to the floor. It shattered, and splattered their shoes with tiny black droplets.
“Provoking, Mr. Potter? I hardly think that calling up your own memories and thoughts counts as provocation. Reparo.” The spoiled ink resolved itself.
“Don’t you? Because I’d call it torment.” His voice broke on the last word, and he looked away from the black, penetrating eyes, almost ashamed as his emotions surged. Severus made a disgusted noise.
“Torment?” He asked, voice subdued. “You know nothing of such things. Again! Legilimens!”
Caught off guard, Harry clutched his head and cried out, vision after vision stripped out of him for Snape’s inspection. His heart clenched painfully with each image of Sirius’ face, the green of his mother’s eyes, his father’s smile - white behind the film of a photograph. With them came his associated thoughts. Anger. Grief. Guilt… guilt beyond human endurance, shredding him like knives through a paper doll. He’d killed them… killed them all. He felt the tears start to fall, fast and hot down his wintry cheeks. Snape let the spell yield.
“TRY, POTTER! TRY!” he shouted, brandishing his wand over the Gryffindor, who had, yet again, not managed to stay on his feet under the onslaught. Screaming his frustration back in Snape’s face, Harry clenched his fists until he thought his wand might snap in two.
“STOP IT! STOP! You don’t know! YOU DON’T - ” The Gryffindor’s voice caught and tore as his throat seized up around a sob. Snape, Shaking his sleeves out over his hands, folded his arms stoically over his chest. His countenance darkened impossibly, looming menacingly like a cloud of ash over Pompeii.
“I don’t know what? The agony? The torment?” His voice was mocking, and Harry wanted to hit him, to break that sneering mouth and see it bleed. “You’re but a child, Potter. You know nothing of suffering.”
Harry’s mind went black with apoplexy at such an insinuation.
“Nothing?” he choked out, too livid even to shout. “How dare y-“ but Severus let him get no further.
“How dare I? How dare I?” He repeated, almost laughing, though of a bitter and dark sound. “You asinine little brat. Never has there walked a less grateful student through Hogwarts' halls. Never one so lacking in respect. You haven’t the slightest inkling of what atrocities are committed – daily – beyond these smothering maternal walls. If you knew even a fraction-“
Suddenly, before Severus’ tirade could even truly begin, it was cut short. The Potion’s master’s hand closed over his forearm and he swallowed around his arrested ire, narrow eyes shifting at once from rage into something akin to shock.
There was hardly any delay at all between this sight and a searing pain in Harry’s scar, his mind so weak and wide-open after Snape’s punishing assault. Harry’s eyes squeezed tight against the pain, and he barely heard Severus’ parting command over his own curses.
“Out. Now.”
When he opened his eyes again, the room blurred with tears and residual burn, Snape was gone, having left not so much as an echoed footstep behind.
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*
TBC