Echoes of the Soul

Severus Snape was out of sorts this evening. Not that any one person would be able to tell the difference. His stern demeanour looked the same to the casual observer, his tall frame elegant in the high backed chair behind the table in the Great Hall as he picked at his meal with his fork. It had not been the best of days.

Teaching First Years the principles of Potion-making was proving tiresome. He had not seen one pupil today with any spark on enthusiasm for the subject. Severus was well aware that Charms and Transfiguration provided instant gratification for a young witch or wizard keen to demonstrate their wand-waving abilities. The subtleties of his art remained unappreciated and Severus remained unfulfilled.

He knew he should be accustomed to this by now, but recently he was aware of a growing seed of frustration. He had personal projects he was keen to complete in his personal labs, but marking assignments, correcting homework and adapting his lesson-plans was taking up too much of his precious free time.

The fact that he was having disturbed sleep wasn’t helping; he hadn’t slept well in days. He was grouchier and more bad-tempered than ever and even his Slytherin students had started to dread their Potions class, knowing their Professor would be snarling at the slightest offence.

Severus gave up on his meal and stood to leave the Great Hall. He strode away, robes billowing and nostrils flaring, glaring at the lines of pupils as he went past.

Albus Dumbledore watched Severus as he left the hall and murmured something under his breath. In the Headmasters’ office, Fawkes began to sing quietly.

In his chambers, Severus was determined to get a good nights’ sleep. He drank 3 large tumblers of Firewhisky and an extra-strong sleeping draught of his own making. Severus would never imbibe a potion made by another’s’ hand, years in Voldermort’s’ service had taught him never to trust anyone. His eyes were heavy as he undressed and his shoulders, though firm and muscular, sagged as he disrobed. The potion was working. He climbed gratefully between his crisp, cotton sheets and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

In his unconscious state, Severus was dreaming. There was a woman, standing with her back to him, long dark hair hanging behind her in sleek waves. She was naked, her skin glowing with youthful luminescence, slim waist widening to curvy hips. He walked up to her and lifted her hair, bending to kiss her neck. She turned to him, deep amber eyes flashing love and desire in turn. They kissed and he felt her love overwhelm him. He wanted to possess her, make her his alone and to know all of her. His hands started to caress her back when she was suddenly wrenched away, pulled from him by an invisible force. She screamed, her arms outstretched and tears falling down her beautiful face.

‘Annalin!’ She cried.

Severus woke with a start, sweat dripping onto his sheets. It was still early morning and in the quiet of the castle, he could hear Fawkes crooning a sombre tune. Running his hands through his hair, Severus sighed. This dream would not leave him alone. They had got further this time. The last time she had been wrenched from him before he saw her face. He didn’t recognise the woman and had no idea what Annalin was. Severus closed his eyes and resolved to use a Dreamless Sleep potion tonight. He sighed again, knowing sleep wouldn’t come to him now.

Severus spent the whole day trying to fight off a sense of loss.


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OK. This is as far as I've got. I sort of know where its going, do you? Please review.