A Man Cannot Control His Dreams
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,067
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,067
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.
A New Year
A/N: I'm so glad to see so many people have picked this up again! Thanks for all the input. And, once again, to join the updates mailing list, send an email to floconcarne@yahoo.com with the subject "Snarry"
A little longer of a chapter today!
[REVAMPED]
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Albus also slept little that particular night. He was very old, of course, and therefore didn’t sleep much at all; but as he sat in his quarters, absently stroking Fawks’ downy head before a smoldering fire, it was not age that kept his mind buzzing. It was Harry Potter.
The boy had been more than merely evasive during their meeting, and it troubled him. Maybe it was just his nature to worry about the young, but then again, Harry was perhaps the most important part of their entire resistance against the Dark Lord; the cornerstone of their every effort. If he fell apart now… all could be lost. And there were definite symptoms of impending breakdown in the boy. From his poorly-shrouded lies to the very way he held himself, Harry was seeming very… fragile, if that was the correct word.
“I wonder,” Albus man murmured, more to himself than his lone companion, who looked up and cooed softly. “What has happened to him?” But the phoenix had no answers, of course. It was Albus’ responsibility to keep Harry safe for his purpose, and fulfill it he would.
It didn’t seem as though the boy was in any pressing physical danger, of course, Harry had just been acting so strangely. He was usually quite engaged, excitable, or even angry during their meetings, but this past evening he’d been distracted and anxious. With Harry there in his office, what the faculty had noticed was painfully obvious. There was some sort of… spark missing from the boy. And when Severus had interrupted, Harry’d nearly jumped right out of his seat.
Indeed… Perhaps the Occlumency lessons were wearing on him. The mind, such a sensitive organ, often responded poorly to antagonism. Training of the mental defenses was never easy, Dumbledore knew, and Severus was not a man to make such things less painful. His making things unnecessarily difficult was infinitely more likely. Perhaps Albus would ask more thoroughly after Harry’s progression and resilience. For a boy in his pivotal position, there were a myriad of things that could go wrong with such added obligation. And for a boy so young? The pressure would be enormous.
Satisfied that he had a viable thread to follow in the morning, Albus turned his aged mind to other things. Things, which though he might consider them unrelated, were anything but.
Severus.
Albus sighed, stroking the sleek plumage of his companion. If The Dark Lord managed to break through Severus’ (admittedly formidable) mental defenses, the Order would lose their most valuable operative. A mighty blow to the cause it would be. And a mighty gain for the opposition. However, what was there to do but trust in Severus’ abilities, and pray for luck? He’d already given the man a pensieve to hold his most incriminating thoughts. And what other help was Severus likely to accept? If he asked the man, he would probably only request fewer classes. Albus chuckled quietly. Or perhaps the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Severus was, Albus thought fondly, rather predictable.
Of course, that was something of a mischaracterization.
****
Severus knew what he was doing. He did. He was in total control and had been since the onset. Just like every other aspect of his life. Yes. Under his thumb. But… he was beginning to sense unforeseen risks developing.
As Severus lay in his rumpled bed, hands folded over his chest, he postulated the nature of his immediate future. And for once, there in the semi-darkness, he was beginning to see through the notion that he was holding all the cards.
****
When Harry woke up the next morning, it was long past dawn. It may have even been past what could be technically called “morning.” But it was still a good while before classes started again, and he was making the most of the freedom. It had been getting rather difficult to find the time to sleep, and apparently he’d been acting rather zombie-like in class. Or so he’d guessed in the Headmaster’s office the day before.
“Harry, have you been sleeping?” Dumbledore had asked him. Harry had simply shrugged sheepishly and replied,
“Nightmares.” That was a half-truth, at least. He did have nightmares. And they did keep him awake. That, along with being kept up at all hours of the night by Snape, was really cutting into his sleep-time. But he could hardly have said that, could he? In any case, the extra rest allotted by Holiday was suiting him very well.
Sitting up and stretching luxuriously in the empty dorm, he was glad he didn’t share a room with Hermione. Surely she would have something to say about his late nights, even if it was only to offer her confidence. The less she knew about any of it, the better. Hermione was just too sharp sometimes, and knowing her, she’d soon start trying to piece together the bits she’d already found out.
Some time later, after a late breakfast, Harry joined up with Ron and some fellow Gryffindors for an impromptu Quidditch match out on the snow-swept grounds. The cold whipped viciously at his face as his friends whirled below him, and for once, Harry thought, life didn’t seem so bad.
****
Lord Voldemort would have probably begged to differ.
He knew there was a mole in his ranks. He knew it. The traitor was simply proving more difficult to find than he’d anticipated, and with every false alarm he grew more and more impatient: more easily roused to violence. He’d gone through nearly every member of his innermost circles and had still found no indiscretion more grievous than petty theft or disloyal thought.
Of course, this would relieve any sensible leader, but Voldemort was nothing short of enraged by it. He needed to find the traitor. He needed to find him, and torture him, and kill him. And then perhaps desecrate the corpse somehow. But he couldn’t do that while the culprit was proving so elusive.
And he was getting closer to his most trusted Deatheaters with every wizard falsely accused. The very thought made him shake with fury – that someone so close to him had been a traitor all along! Nagini curled lovingly around his feet, sensing his sheer apoplexy. But the serpent couldn’t distract him from this; it had to be done, even if he had to interrogate every single member of his ranks - twice. If he had to listen to their horrid, pathetic simpering a thousand times, he would torture the truth out of them in gouts of blood.
In days past, he would have simply purged his inner circle – killed them all. There had been a time when replacing them was as easy as the Cruciatus. But now, their ranks were wearing thin. Support was not what it used to be, not with the brat figure-heading the resistance like some sort of torturous crest of virtue.
Oh, how he longed for the opportunity to tear that very face from its skeleton frame… how did someone so fragile keep eluding him? The damned spy! Nagini slithered a little under the chair as he growled and slammed his fist against the armrest.
“WORMTAIL!” he shrieked. Unnecessary, really, as Pettigrew was skulking within 15 feet of him at all times.
“Yes, my Lord?” Wormtail replied, almost instantly.
“Fetch Bellatrix at once.”
He was getting desperate.
****
There was something very peaceful about the Hogwarts grounds after a fresh snow. Severus found he could lose himself in the pristine whiteness as easily and fully as he could in brewing a complex potion. It was the final week of Holiday, just a few days before the first of the New Year, and he was grateful for the respite from classes. Nothing stamped the soul into submission quite like modern youth.
A few half-hearted flakes dusted his cloak as he stood looking out over the lake. It was not quite frozen, and he could see the various creatures therein disturbing the slush on the surface. It rippled with the tired placidity of deep winter, seeming to mimic the mood of the landscape. It was times like these, when he felt truly calm, that he could consider his own mortality objectively. Or, as objectively as one could do such a thing.
He knew he was going to die. Everyone dies: it was a simple fact. Comforting, even, when one took into account the deathless abomination Voldemort had become. Less easily dealt with, of course, was the knowledge that he would probably never see his 40th year. It was increasingly likely that he wouldn’t even make it past his current 36. His early death was becoming an absolute; there was no question. But… was it worth it?
Was this place, were these people, worth it?
Perhaps not the best avenue of thought to pursue. With a word, Severus cleaned the shallow snow from a bench nearby, and sat. A Red Kite landed on a barren branch nearby. Another couple of snowflakes began to fall. The giant squid glimmered in and out of sight.
Would his life even mean anything when it was all over?
“Professor?”
He’d been found. His sigh billowed out, cloud-like, in the crisp winter air.
“Yes, Potter?” He could hear the scuffling of feet, though he hadn’t turned to look. A soft cough.
“Can I sit?”
Severus opened his mouth to denounce the question and send Potter away, but the words didn’t come out. All he did was nod. Keeping his gaze out over the desolate lake, he shifted over a little on the bench as Harry sat beside him. Neither one spoke as the snow began to fall again in earnest, and Severus had to wonder in the blanketing silence whether Potter’s thoughts mirrored his own.
****
The New Year’s feast came and went with little eventfulness. Meaning, of course, that no one important had been found dead, tortured, or simply gone missing. Not including the Deatheaters, of course, of which another set had been brutally tormented under Severus’ supervision just that week. These had been no more guilty than the previous dozen, though of decidedly higher rank, and their punishments seemed to be escalating at an almost exponential rate. Severus found himself increasingly uneasy, as the situation seemed to draw inexorably closer to him.
Dumbledore’s holiday speech may have been a little more serious to reflect the times, though not by much. The roast was perfect, (thanks to the houselves, Hermione reminded the surrounding diners), and pudding was delightful. The student body shared a single table with the faculty, as was the custom when the castle’s occupants were so few, and though Harry and Severus were seated at opposite ends of the table (self-imposed Gryffindor-Slytherin ends, of course), there was little to distract them from each other’s presence.
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TBC
A little longer of a chapter today!
[REVAMPED]
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Albus also slept little that particular night. He was very old, of course, and therefore didn’t sleep much at all; but as he sat in his quarters, absently stroking Fawks’ downy head before a smoldering fire, it was not age that kept his mind buzzing. It was Harry Potter.
The boy had been more than merely evasive during their meeting, and it troubled him. Maybe it was just his nature to worry about the young, but then again, Harry was perhaps the most important part of their entire resistance against the Dark Lord; the cornerstone of their every effort. If he fell apart now… all could be lost. And there were definite symptoms of impending breakdown in the boy. From his poorly-shrouded lies to the very way he held himself, Harry was seeming very… fragile, if that was the correct word.
“I wonder,” Albus man murmured, more to himself than his lone companion, who looked up and cooed softly. “What has happened to him?” But the phoenix had no answers, of course. It was Albus’ responsibility to keep Harry safe for his purpose, and fulfill it he would.
It didn’t seem as though the boy was in any pressing physical danger, of course, Harry had just been acting so strangely. He was usually quite engaged, excitable, or even angry during their meetings, but this past evening he’d been distracted and anxious. With Harry there in his office, what the faculty had noticed was painfully obvious. There was some sort of… spark missing from the boy. And when Severus had interrupted, Harry’d nearly jumped right out of his seat.
Indeed… Perhaps the Occlumency lessons were wearing on him. The mind, such a sensitive organ, often responded poorly to antagonism. Training of the mental defenses was never easy, Dumbledore knew, and Severus was not a man to make such things less painful. His making things unnecessarily difficult was infinitely more likely. Perhaps Albus would ask more thoroughly after Harry’s progression and resilience. For a boy in his pivotal position, there were a myriad of things that could go wrong with such added obligation. And for a boy so young? The pressure would be enormous.
Satisfied that he had a viable thread to follow in the morning, Albus turned his aged mind to other things. Things, which though he might consider them unrelated, were anything but.
Severus.
Albus sighed, stroking the sleek plumage of his companion. If The Dark Lord managed to break through Severus’ (admittedly formidable) mental defenses, the Order would lose their most valuable operative. A mighty blow to the cause it would be. And a mighty gain for the opposition. However, what was there to do but trust in Severus’ abilities, and pray for luck? He’d already given the man a pensieve to hold his most incriminating thoughts. And what other help was Severus likely to accept? If he asked the man, he would probably only request fewer classes. Albus chuckled quietly. Or perhaps the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Severus was, Albus thought fondly, rather predictable.
Of course, that was something of a mischaracterization.
****
Severus knew what he was doing. He did. He was in total control and had been since the onset. Just like every other aspect of his life. Yes. Under his thumb. But… he was beginning to sense unforeseen risks developing.
As Severus lay in his rumpled bed, hands folded over his chest, he postulated the nature of his immediate future. And for once, there in the semi-darkness, he was beginning to see through the notion that he was holding all the cards.
****
When Harry woke up the next morning, it was long past dawn. It may have even been past what could be technically called “morning.” But it was still a good while before classes started again, and he was making the most of the freedom. It had been getting rather difficult to find the time to sleep, and apparently he’d been acting rather zombie-like in class. Or so he’d guessed in the Headmaster’s office the day before.
“Harry, have you been sleeping?” Dumbledore had asked him. Harry had simply shrugged sheepishly and replied,
“Nightmares.” That was a half-truth, at least. He did have nightmares. And they did keep him awake. That, along with being kept up at all hours of the night by Snape, was really cutting into his sleep-time. But he could hardly have said that, could he? In any case, the extra rest allotted by Holiday was suiting him very well.
Sitting up and stretching luxuriously in the empty dorm, he was glad he didn’t share a room with Hermione. Surely she would have something to say about his late nights, even if it was only to offer her confidence. The less she knew about any of it, the better. Hermione was just too sharp sometimes, and knowing her, she’d soon start trying to piece together the bits she’d already found out.
Some time later, after a late breakfast, Harry joined up with Ron and some fellow Gryffindors for an impromptu Quidditch match out on the snow-swept grounds. The cold whipped viciously at his face as his friends whirled below him, and for once, Harry thought, life didn’t seem so bad.
****
Lord Voldemort would have probably begged to differ.
He knew there was a mole in his ranks. He knew it. The traitor was simply proving more difficult to find than he’d anticipated, and with every false alarm he grew more and more impatient: more easily roused to violence. He’d gone through nearly every member of his innermost circles and had still found no indiscretion more grievous than petty theft or disloyal thought.
Of course, this would relieve any sensible leader, but Voldemort was nothing short of enraged by it. He needed to find the traitor. He needed to find him, and torture him, and kill him. And then perhaps desecrate the corpse somehow. But he couldn’t do that while the culprit was proving so elusive.
And he was getting closer to his most trusted Deatheaters with every wizard falsely accused. The very thought made him shake with fury – that someone so close to him had been a traitor all along! Nagini curled lovingly around his feet, sensing his sheer apoplexy. But the serpent couldn’t distract him from this; it had to be done, even if he had to interrogate every single member of his ranks - twice. If he had to listen to their horrid, pathetic simpering a thousand times, he would torture the truth out of them in gouts of blood.
In days past, he would have simply purged his inner circle – killed them all. There had been a time when replacing them was as easy as the Cruciatus. But now, their ranks were wearing thin. Support was not what it used to be, not with the brat figure-heading the resistance like some sort of torturous crest of virtue.
Oh, how he longed for the opportunity to tear that very face from its skeleton frame… how did someone so fragile keep eluding him? The damned spy! Nagini slithered a little under the chair as he growled and slammed his fist against the armrest.
“WORMTAIL!” he shrieked. Unnecessary, really, as Pettigrew was skulking within 15 feet of him at all times.
“Yes, my Lord?” Wormtail replied, almost instantly.
“Fetch Bellatrix at once.”
He was getting desperate.
****
There was something very peaceful about the Hogwarts grounds after a fresh snow. Severus found he could lose himself in the pristine whiteness as easily and fully as he could in brewing a complex potion. It was the final week of Holiday, just a few days before the first of the New Year, and he was grateful for the respite from classes. Nothing stamped the soul into submission quite like modern youth.
A few half-hearted flakes dusted his cloak as he stood looking out over the lake. It was not quite frozen, and he could see the various creatures therein disturbing the slush on the surface. It rippled with the tired placidity of deep winter, seeming to mimic the mood of the landscape. It was times like these, when he felt truly calm, that he could consider his own mortality objectively. Or, as objectively as one could do such a thing.
He knew he was going to die. Everyone dies: it was a simple fact. Comforting, even, when one took into account the deathless abomination Voldemort had become. Less easily dealt with, of course, was the knowledge that he would probably never see his 40th year. It was increasingly likely that he wouldn’t even make it past his current 36. His early death was becoming an absolute; there was no question. But… was it worth it?
Was this place, were these people, worth it?
Perhaps not the best avenue of thought to pursue. With a word, Severus cleaned the shallow snow from a bench nearby, and sat. A Red Kite landed on a barren branch nearby. Another couple of snowflakes began to fall. The giant squid glimmered in and out of sight.
Would his life even mean anything when it was all over?
“Professor?”
He’d been found. His sigh billowed out, cloud-like, in the crisp winter air.
“Yes, Potter?” He could hear the scuffling of feet, though he hadn’t turned to look. A soft cough.
“Can I sit?”
Severus opened his mouth to denounce the question and send Potter away, but the words didn’t come out. All he did was nod. Keeping his gaze out over the desolate lake, he shifted over a little on the bench as Harry sat beside him. Neither one spoke as the snow began to fall again in earnest, and Severus had to wonder in the blanketing silence whether Potter’s thoughts mirrored his own.
****
The New Year’s feast came and went with little eventfulness. Meaning, of course, that no one important had been found dead, tortured, or simply gone missing. Not including the Deatheaters, of course, of which another set had been brutally tormented under Severus’ supervision just that week. These had been no more guilty than the previous dozen, though of decidedly higher rank, and their punishments seemed to be escalating at an almost exponential rate. Severus found himself increasingly uneasy, as the situation seemed to draw inexorably closer to him.
Dumbledore’s holiday speech may have been a little more serious to reflect the times, though not by much. The roast was perfect, (thanks to the houselves, Hermione reminded the surrounding diners), and pudding was delightful. The student body shared a single table with the faculty, as was the custom when the castle’s occupants were so few, and though Harry and Severus were seated at opposite ends of the table (self-imposed Gryffindor-Slytherin ends, of course), there was little to distract them from each other’s presence.
*
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*
*
TBC