A Man Cannot Control His Dreams
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,062
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,062
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.
Important Points
A/N: 100 ratings!! Wow! Oh, and SilverPhoenix69, here's another chapter, just for you. :)
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“Does it?” Harry asked incredulously, torn between wanting to totally derail the conversation away from where it could still lead, and continuing a discussion of just how illogical (and frankly insulting) it was to think that he’d been snogging Neville Longbottom. “Seriously, Hermione? Seriously?”
“Well, it’s just that – you’ve seemed so distracted, and Neville, he asked Ron and me whether you were taken the other day and,” she stopped mid-thought at his expression, flushing with embarrassment. “Look, I just thought…”
Harry dissolved into peals of laughter.
“That I – I was,” he gasped and guffawed with some mix of horror and hilarity, and couldn’t even finish his sentence. Hermione fought a smile. Maybe it was silly.
“Well I’m sorry,” she said, starting to laugh despite herself, “but you do have a bite mark on your neck.”
“Well, Neville certainly didn’t give it to me!” Harry replied, beside himself with laughter. “I mean, really!” Catching his breath, it took Hermione’s next question for Harry to realize what he’d said.
“So, who did?” There was still mirth in her voice, but interest too, and Harry stalled, clearing his throat.
“Um,” how was he to answer that? “Look, Hermione, I don’t…”
“What?” she prompted.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he finished lamely. Well, he didn’t. That was the truth.
“But Harry, I’m your friend,” she insisted. “And I apologize for assuming I knew.” Harry sighed, and felt laughter threaten again at the thought, but fought it back.
“Please, Hermione, I deserve a personal life, don’t I?” she looked hurt, but he continued. “So please, please don’t get involved in it. And please,” he paused for emphasis. “Please don’t spread rumors about me and Neville.” Hermione grinned a little, but still seemed dissatisfied.
“But Harry,” she started, replacing her hand on his shoulder.
“Look, if I ever need advice, or help, or anything like that, I’ll come to you first. But please, I’ve already got enough attention on me. The less people that know about some things, the better, right?” If that wasn’t true, he didn’t know what truth was.
“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed. “But promise me you’ll tell me eventually.” Harry met her eyes with put-on sincerity.
“I promise, ‘Mione.” No he didn’t.
****
That night, at the appointed time for his weekly Occlumency lessons, Harry burst into the Potions classroom in a rage.
“Do you have to bruise me?” he shouted. “Do you have to make it so obvious?” He rubbed a hand over the mark on his neck, frustrated and scared by the series of near-discoveries he’d had to endure. The confrontation with Hermione had torn it- things had to change.
Snape regarded him as a teacher might regard a particularly truant student.
“We don’t even get to begin today, hmm?” he asked, and set aside his quill and parchment.
“If you weren’t so rough with me, I wouldn’t have to be so damned paranoid every day. They’ll know, Professor! I can’t hide these forever!” He pulled aside his collar just as Hermione had, but Snape seemed unimpressed.
“Don’t tell me you can’t talk your way out of a few teethmarks,” he drawled, then tsked softly. “Have you learned nothing?” Harry flushed at the dismissive tone. Didn’t he realize what was at stake?
“Don’t be so flippant!” the Gryffindor snapped, without thinking. As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he knew he’d just made a leap of faith over the line of obedience he’d been toeing. A mistake? Most certainly.
Severus stood. A lesson it would be, then. And one long overdue.
“Would you prefer, Mr. Potter,” he began, and strode smoothly over to the boy, “that I…make love to you?” he gently brushed a lock of hair away from Harry’s eyes, acting out a possible tenderness, and Harry’s anger drained away. “That I greet and dismiss you with a kiss?” Harry looked confused by the question, unsure. Severus brushed the back of his knuckles against Harry’s cheek, traced his lips. “That I whisper sweet nothings to you as you sleep in my embrace? Would you prefer that…Harry?” Severus let the name pass his lips slowly, naturally, as if it were the only name he ever had, or ever would use for the boy, and Harry’s eyebrows furrowed – his face contorting in some unique mixture of refusal and puzzlement.
Severus touched the bruise below Harry’s eye, where his cheekbone had struck the desk a night, maybe two, before.
“I thought not. In fact, Mr. Potter,” the switch back to his usual surname was cold, “I believe you prefer that I hold you down. Hurt you. Bruise you. Mark you as my own. I believe,” he kept his voice soft, his touches tender, “that you need it this way so that somewhere in that tiny, puerile mind of yours, you can tell yourself that you had no choice.” Harry closed his eyes, unable to even recall his justified concern and anger, and Severus grabbed him by the collar, dropping all pretenses. He let his voice grow harsh with ire – let it strike the Gryffindor to the bone if it could. “So you can tell yourself that you couldn’t have put a stop to it – couldn’t have run to our dear headmaster and had me sacked within the hour. You, in your weakness, need to believe that it was never consensual, that Severus Snape, a Deatheater, never asks, but only takes.” Severus dropped his voice to its most dangerous timbre and finished with a killing blow: “that you never begged me to touch you.” A sound tumbled from Harry’s lips, something between a whimper and a sob, filling Severus satisfaction.
****
Eyes growing hot with undeniable truth of it all, Harry lost all sense of consequence. Everything was suddenly so insignificant under the force of the Potions Master. Nothing seemed as real as that moment.
“You think of that before you ask for my tenderness,” Snape finally spat, and released his grip on Harry’s collar. The Gryffindor stumbled back, shocked. “And learn to own what you’ve done.”
“They’ll know,” he said again, voice little more than a whisper. “They’ll know.”
“Then hide it. Merlin knows you’ve more resources than a high-collar. Now get out. You’ve wasted my time yet again, Mr. Potter. And if you don’t care to treat your training in Occlumency with professionalism, than neither do I.”
“But –“
“I SAID OUT!”
Severus straightened his robes calmly as the door slammed shut. The wretch had it coming. If that hadn’t been motivation enough to take discretion seriously, Potter was even more thickheaded than he’d thought.
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“Does it?” Harry asked incredulously, torn between wanting to totally derail the conversation away from where it could still lead, and continuing a discussion of just how illogical (and frankly insulting) it was to think that he’d been snogging Neville Longbottom. “Seriously, Hermione? Seriously?”
“Well, it’s just that – you’ve seemed so distracted, and Neville, he asked Ron and me whether you were taken the other day and,” she stopped mid-thought at his expression, flushing with embarrassment. “Look, I just thought…”
Harry dissolved into peals of laughter.
“That I – I was,” he gasped and guffawed with some mix of horror and hilarity, and couldn’t even finish his sentence. Hermione fought a smile. Maybe it was silly.
“Well I’m sorry,” she said, starting to laugh despite herself, “but you do have a bite mark on your neck.”
“Well, Neville certainly didn’t give it to me!” Harry replied, beside himself with laughter. “I mean, really!” Catching his breath, it took Hermione’s next question for Harry to realize what he’d said.
“So, who did?” There was still mirth in her voice, but interest too, and Harry stalled, clearing his throat.
“Um,” how was he to answer that? “Look, Hermione, I don’t…”
“What?” she prompted.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he finished lamely. Well, he didn’t. That was the truth.
“But Harry, I’m your friend,” she insisted. “And I apologize for assuming I knew.” Harry sighed, and felt laughter threaten again at the thought, but fought it back.
“Please, Hermione, I deserve a personal life, don’t I?” she looked hurt, but he continued. “So please, please don’t get involved in it. And please,” he paused for emphasis. “Please don’t spread rumors about me and Neville.” Hermione grinned a little, but still seemed dissatisfied.
“But Harry,” she started, replacing her hand on his shoulder.
“Look, if I ever need advice, or help, or anything like that, I’ll come to you first. But please, I’ve already got enough attention on me. The less people that know about some things, the better, right?” If that wasn’t true, he didn’t know what truth was.
“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed. “But promise me you’ll tell me eventually.” Harry met her eyes with put-on sincerity.
“I promise, ‘Mione.” No he didn’t.
****
That night, at the appointed time for his weekly Occlumency lessons, Harry burst into the Potions classroom in a rage.
“Do you have to bruise me?” he shouted. “Do you have to make it so obvious?” He rubbed a hand over the mark on his neck, frustrated and scared by the series of near-discoveries he’d had to endure. The confrontation with Hermione had torn it- things had to change.
Snape regarded him as a teacher might regard a particularly truant student.
“We don’t even get to begin today, hmm?” he asked, and set aside his quill and parchment.
“If you weren’t so rough with me, I wouldn’t have to be so damned paranoid every day. They’ll know, Professor! I can’t hide these forever!” He pulled aside his collar just as Hermione had, but Snape seemed unimpressed.
“Don’t tell me you can’t talk your way out of a few teethmarks,” he drawled, then tsked softly. “Have you learned nothing?” Harry flushed at the dismissive tone. Didn’t he realize what was at stake?
“Don’t be so flippant!” the Gryffindor snapped, without thinking. As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he knew he’d just made a leap of faith over the line of obedience he’d been toeing. A mistake? Most certainly.
Severus stood. A lesson it would be, then. And one long overdue.
“Would you prefer, Mr. Potter,” he began, and strode smoothly over to the boy, “that I…make love to you?” he gently brushed a lock of hair away from Harry’s eyes, acting out a possible tenderness, and Harry’s anger drained away. “That I greet and dismiss you with a kiss?” Harry looked confused by the question, unsure. Severus brushed the back of his knuckles against Harry’s cheek, traced his lips. “That I whisper sweet nothings to you as you sleep in my embrace? Would you prefer that…Harry?” Severus let the name pass his lips slowly, naturally, as if it were the only name he ever had, or ever would use for the boy, and Harry’s eyebrows furrowed – his face contorting in some unique mixture of refusal and puzzlement.
Severus touched the bruise below Harry’s eye, where his cheekbone had struck the desk a night, maybe two, before.
“I thought not. In fact, Mr. Potter,” the switch back to his usual surname was cold, “I believe you prefer that I hold you down. Hurt you. Bruise you. Mark you as my own. I believe,” he kept his voice soft, his touches tender, “that you need it this way so that somewhere in that tiny, puerile mind of yours, you can tell yourself that you had no choice.” Harry closed his eyes, unable to even recall his justified concern and anger, and Severus grabbed him by the collar, dropping all pretenses. He let his voice grow harsh with ire – let it strike the Gryffindor to the bone if it could. “So you can tell yourself that you couldn’t have put a stop to it – couldn’t have run to our dear headmaster and had me sacked within the hour. You, in your weakness, need to believe that it was never consensual, that Severus Snape, a Deatheater, never asks, but only takes.” Severus dropped his voice to its most dangerous timbre and finished with a killing blow: “that you never begged me to touch you.” A sound tumbled from Harry’s lips, something between a whimper and a sob, filling Severus satisfaction.
****
Eyes growing hot with undeniable truth of it all, Harry lost all sense of consequence. Everything was suddenly so insignificant under the force of the Potions Master. Nothing seemed as real as that moment.
“You think of that before you ask for my tenderness,” Snape finally spat, and released his grip on Harry’s collar. The Gryffindor stumbled back, shocked. “And learn to own what you’ve done.”
“They’ll know,” he said again, voice little more than a whisper. “They’ll know.”
“Then hide it. Merlin knows you’ve more resources than a high-collar. Now get out. You’ve wasted my time yet again, Mr. Potter. And if you don’t care to treat your training in Occlumency with professionalism, than neither do I.”
“But –“
“I SAID OUT!”
Severus straightened his robes calmly as the door slammed shut. The wretch had it coming. If that hadn’t been motivation enough to take discretion seriously, Potter was even more thickheaded than he’d thought.
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tbc