A Man Cannot Control His Dreams
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,054
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,054
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.
Brutality, Blood and Bathing
A/N: Inspiration! Huzzah!
And, Lioncourt, this chapter is dedicated to you for giving me my 100th review!
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Harry blinked at the empty room. Like hell he’d leave after that. Snape had just been called, that was bloody obvious. And Harry was going to lie in wait until he returned.
However, unfortunately for Harry’s militant intentions, the threat of curfew (and therefore, Filch) loomed ominously, and he was forced to abandon his post. After all, he’d stupidly left his cloak behind, thinking he wouldn’t need to be stumbling back to his dorm at 4am as he had only days earlier.
****
When Severus returned, just shy of daybreak, he wanted nothing more than to retire to the comfort of his bed. However, glancing down at his soiled clothes – which looked rather as though he’d waded knee-deep in blood – he knew he had to clean himself, and thoroughly, first.
Casting scourgify several times over his body, along with everything he’d been wearing, he methodically cleared all visible residue from his person, before wrapping himself in a dressing gown. He drew a bath, feeling that somehow, the usual cleaning spells didn’t seem quite sufficient. Hot water and soap, though, seemed a good supplement.
****
Sinking low into the tub, Severus strove to clear his mind, as his body was cleared of any remaining blood. At least, he thought, it hadn’t been human. Small miracles. He sighed heavily, and urged the hot water to soothe him.
His mind went adrift… landing, after no great time, where it often did. He was, all told, a little surprised that he’d been blessed with an empty room at his return. Knowing Potter, the boy should have been tucked away in a chair, lying in wait or some such nonsense.
Potter… if the boy thought he knew the finer points of torment already…
What immense naïveté. Yet, Severus knew, it would be a fleeting quality, no matter how dominant: intrinsically a characteristic of youth. Such false world-weariness would no doubt be shattered before long and there wasn’t anything anyone – not Severus, nor Albus, nor any of the Order of the Phoenix – could do for it. Particularly not in war. Not in this war. Pity, the boy almost managed to be charming in his infuriating ignorance of the world and its more potent evils.
He recalled the moment Potter’s face had contorted in pain as the Dark Lord’s call went out, apparently triggering his scar even more than the Morsmordre itself. A second, maybe two seconds delay, that was all. Albus hadn’t mentioned the severity of the situation- the sensitivity of the link. Perhaps the old man didn’t know.
Severus was struck, as he contemplated the work left before him, with the impulse to slip beneath the surface of the water and greet his final rest. If Potter were ever to be free of his connection to the Dark Lord… the drudgery would be staggering. Their minds were linked like a floo network – almost instant communication.
The Dark Lord hadn’t even been in a rage, or a thrill, or any other easily communicable emotion. Though, if anything, it had been closer to rage, in Severus’ opinion. Apparently, someone had sought favor with Voldemort by playing the informant against one Antonin Dolohov and had reported (falsely, of course) that the senior Deatheater had been leaking information to the Order. Understandably, Dolohov’s protestations had been vehement.
In the end, the Dark Lord had been unable to find sufficient evidence either for or against the claims and, being the creature he was, resolved to punish both parties. For Dolohov, he ordered several of the man’s prized stallions torn apart. For the would-be informant, Severus did not know, nor did he particularly care to. He dipped his head back into the water, long hair going inky as it saturated.
Severus had been ordered to oversee the execution of Dolohov’s horses, and had done as he was told, though remaining stoic and impassive was rather more difficult than usual. He always detested killing animals, with a few notable exceptions, and particularly so for such a petty purpose. Killing a man was one thing: Severus, being of the school of thought that no man is ever truly innocent, had done so before and would again. Something as plain as a horse, though, was incapable of wrongdoing. He drowned the lingering shriek of dumb fear and agony from his ears with water, submerging himself. Like the screams of children, mindless with pain, still echoing in his mind.
He considered the look of loss on Dolohov’s face as the animals were slaughtered, and was sickened by the knowledge that the old man’s grief would be based solely and unquestionably on the monetary loss of such well-bred, well-trained horses. And all for nothing. Dolohov was among the oldest, the most dedicatedly sadistic of Voldemort’s followers – loyal almost to the point of enjoyment. But then, the same could be said of Severus himself, so the point was rather moot.
Such musings were futile just then, he knew. He had scant few hours before that morning’s potions regiment, and it would do him well to cease his rumination in favor of more pressing needs. Namely, food, and the brewing of a quick pepper-up potion, if he had none in store.
****
It was all Severus could do not to set the Potions Classroom alight and watch them all die in the conflagration. Bloody, useless third-years! Not that the rest of the forms were any better, but Merlin how they tried his patience! He stalked back and forth among the sniveling ranks, glaring down his nose at the disastrous rainbow of potions. How difficult was the concept of “cerulean” to these feeble-minded ingrates? He looked at his instructions on the chalkboard at the head of class. Entirely legible. They had no excuse.
“If,” he began, breaking his silence, and a small boy to his left squeaked and dropped a measuring glass, which shattered. Severus closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. “If… your potion is not currently within the blue spectrum of the color wheel, and I see very few that are, you are finished. Clear your stations immediately and reread chapter six until the period ends. You will all receive zeros.” The children did not even dare a sigh at this pronouncement. “For those of you that feel you may have come close to the assigned result, continue working.” Severus flicked his wand at the ruined glassware as he passed, and it whisked itself into a dustbin. “The next Longbottom,” he said to himself as he returned to his desk. “Of course.”
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tbc
And, Lioncourt, this chapter is dedicated to you for giving me my 100th review!
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Harry blinked at the empty room. Like hell he’d leave after that. Snape had just been called, that was bloody obvious. And Harry was going to lie in wait until he returned.
However, unfortunately for Harry’s militant intentions, the threat of curfew (and therefore, Filch) loomed ominously, and he was forced to abandon his post. After all, he’d stupidly left his cloak behind, thinking he wouldn’t need to be stumbling back to his dorm at 4am as he had only days earlier.
****
When Severus returned, just shy of daybreak, he wanted nothing more than to retire to the comfort of his bed. However, glancing down at his soiled clothes – which looked rather as though he’d waded knee-deep in blood – he knew he had to clean himself, and thoroughly, first.
Casting scourgify several times over his body, along with everything he’d been wearing, he methodically cleared all visible residue from his person, before wrapping himself in a dressing gown. He drew a bath, feeling that somehow, the usual cleaning spells didn’t seem quite sufficient. Hot water and soap, though, seemed a good supplement.
****
Sinking low into the tub, Severus strove to clear his mind, as his body was cleared of any remaining blood. At least, he thought, it hadn’t been human. Small miracles. He sighed heavily, and urged the hot water to soothe him.
His mind went adrift… landing, after no great time, where it often did. He was, all told, a little surprised that he’d been blessed with an empty room at his return. Knowing Potter, the boy should have been tucked away in a chair, lying in wait or some such nonsense.
Potter… if the boy thought he knew the finer points of torment already…
What immense naïveté. Yet, Severus knew, it would be a fleeting quality, no matter how dominant: intrinsically a characteristic of youth. Such false world-weariness would no doubt be shattered before long and there wasn’t anything anyone – not Severus, nor Albus, nor any of the Order of the Phoenix – could do for it. Particularly not in war. Not in this war. Pity, the boy almost managed to be charming in his infuriating ignorance of the world and its more potent evils.
He recalled the moment Potter’s face had contorted in pain as the Dark Lord’s call went out, apparently triggering his scar even more than the Morsmordre itself. A second, maybe two seconds delay, that was all. Albus hadn’t mentioned the severity of the situation- the sensitivity of the link. Perhaps the old man didn’t know.
Severus was struck, as he contemplated the work left before him, with the impulse to slip beneath the surface of the water and greet his final rest. If Potter were ever to be free of his connection to the Dark Lord… the drudgery would be staggering. Their minds were linked like a floo network – almost instant communication.
The Dark Lord hadn’t even been in a rage, or a thrill, or any other easily communicable emotion. Though, if anything, it had been closer to rage, in Severus’ opinion. Apparently, someone had sought favor with Voldemort by playing the informant against one Antonin Dolohov and had reported (falsely, of course) that the senior Deatheater had been leaking information to the Order. Understandably, Dolohov’s protestations had been vehement.
In the end, the Dark Lord had been unable to find sufficient evidence either for or against the claims and, being the creature he was, resolved to punish both parties. For Dolohov, he ordered several of the man’s prized stallions torn apart. For the would-be informant, Severus did not know, nor did he particularly care to. He dipped his head back into the water, long hair going inky as it saturated.
Severus had been ordered to oversee the execution of Dolohov’s horses, and had done as he was told, though remaining stoic and impassive was rather more difficult than usual. He always detested killing animals, with a few notable exceptions, and particularly so for such a petty purpose. Killing a man was one thing: Severus, being of the school of thought that no man is ever truly innocent, had done so before and would again. Something as plain as a horse, though, was incapable of wrongdoing. He drowned the lingering shriek of dumb fear and agony from his ears with water, submerging himself. Like the screams of children, mindless with pain, still echoing in his mind.
He considered the look of loss on Dolohov’s face as the animals were slaughtered, and was sickened by the knowledge that the old man’s grief would be based solely and unquestionably on the monetary loss of such well-bred, well-trained horses. And all for nothing. Dolohov was among the oldest, the most dedicatedly sadistic of Voldemort’s followers – loyal almost to the point of enjoyment. But then, the same could be said of Severus himself, so the point was rather moot.
Such musings were futile just then, he knew. He had scant few hours before that morning’s potions regiment, and it would do him well to cease his rumination in favor of more pressing needs. Namely, food, and the brewing of a quick pepper-up potion, if he had none in store.
****
It was all Severus could do not to set the Potions Classroom alight and watch them all die in the conflagration. Bloody, useless third-years! Not that the rest of the forms were any better, but Merlin how they tried his patience! He stalked back and forth among the sniveling ranks, glaring down his nose at the disastrous rainbow of potions. How difficult was the concept of “cerulean” to these feeble-minded ingrates? He looked at his instructions on the chalkboard at the head of class. Entirely legible. They had no excuse.
“If,” he began, breaking his silence, and a small boy to his left squeaked and dropped a measuring glass, which shattered. Severus closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. “If… your potion is not currently within the blue spectrum of the color wheel, and I see very few that are, you are finished. Clear your stations immediately and reread chapter six until the period ends. You will all receive zeros.” The children did not even dare a sigh at this pronouncement. “For those of you that feel you may have come close to the assigned result, continue working.” Severus flicked his wand at the ruined glassware as he passed, and it whisked itself into a dustbin. “The next Longbottom,” he said to himself as he returned to his desk. “Of course.”
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tbc