A Man Cannot Control His Dreams
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,071
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,071
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.
And He Slept
31
And He Slept
Harry knelt beside the chair, hesitantly reaching for Snape’s buttons. He hadn’t the slightest clue what “inspecting the damage” might entail, but Snape didn’t stop him, so he continued. He couldn’t help but think, as he moved through the layers, that this was not quite how he’d imagined first undressing Snape… not at all. Finally, he reached the last layer of clothing, and began opening up a slit of skin. Harry’s heart began to beat a little faster as he parted the cloth – and saw, to his horror, that Severus’ skin, which he’d always expected to be pale and white, was instead horribly mottled with great black bruises. His stomach turned at the sight of it, even as he found himself fascinated by the idea that Severus Snape could be hurt at all.
“They… they beat you?” Harry asked, touching one of the marks with his fingertips. But it couldn’t be - surely Deatheaters frowned upon muggle interrogation methods.
“Cruciatus,” Severus amended, leaning forward to allow the cloth to be coaxed from his shoulders. He cracked an eye. “Mostly.” Of course, Severus knew well that Deatheaters rather favored muggle torture techniques, having the added benefit of being humiliating as well as painful. But the blood congealing under his skin, and probably his eyes as well, had been caused by magic.
***
Harry didn’t understand. The cruciatus wasn’t a physical blow. How could it possibly leave marks like that? He asked, and Severus even answered him:
“Extended application of the cruciatus curse often leads to trauma of the basal layer. Burst capillaries.”
Harry found that answer more disquieting than the bruises themselves, half for the implications of it, and half for the way Snape had said it: like he was reciting from a textbook. And what exactly did he mean by ‘extended?’
Harry took one of Snape’s trembling hands in his.
“…And your hands?”
“Nerve damage.”
“How long were you –“ But Severus derailed the question with a look.
“If you would, Potter, fetch me a bottle of this,” he conjured a bit of parchment, “at once.”
****
Harry found that his hands were shaking too as he rifled through the Potions stores. Had it been hours? Hours under the cruciatus? Was that even possible? How much could a person, even Severus Snape, physically stand? Just how much had it taken to snap the Longbottom’s minds? And what did ‘cruciatus, mostly,’ mean? What else?
At last, and even without any dropping or otherwise damaging of bottles, Harry located the potion Snape had indicated, and pulled it free. It was a thick, cream colored liquid, perhaps ten or twelve ounces to the bottle. Innocuous looking, but Harry had paid enough attention in Potions class to know that appearances were nothing to go by.
***
Severus shook the bottle experimentally, as if checking the consistency, before uncorking it. A vague, woodsy smell wafted up, and Harry realized at once that he had smelled it before. It was, without a doubt, part of the smell he had come to associate with the Potions Master himself. The man was often marked by it.
“Professor, how often do you…”
Severus held up a hand, draining the potion in one long pull, and grimacing as he swallowed the thick, syrupy fluid. He coughed again, turning almost greenish, and looking as if he would very much like to curl up on himself. With a forced, calming exhale, Severus straightened, eyes squeezed shut, hands white-knuckled on the armrests.
“How often do you have to take that?” Harry finished. Severus did not answer at once, and when he did it was through gritted teeth – a testament to the course of the potion.
“Less than I brew it.” He pressed his lips together into a white line, the tendons in his neck and forearms standing out. But then, amazingly, Harry saw the bruises start to fade… not turning yellow, as bruises do when they naturally heal, but red, as they must have been when they first occurred. Harry touched Snape’s ribs where the bruises were now a burn, now hardly a flush, and found the skin there hot, almost feverish, to the touch.
Finally, as the red gave way to pallor, Snape’s face, and grip, began to relax. When he opened his eyes the blood was gone from them, too.
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“And you couldn’t have given me any of that?” he asked, absently rubbing his neck. Severus looked at him with mercifully clean eyes, carefully clearing his throat.
“This particular concoction,” he touched the empty bottle, “though unpleasant, is unquestionably the best for the reconstruction of nerve-damage and general repair after prolonged exposure to the cruciatus and related hexes. Only a moron would use it as a hickey cure.” Harry blushed.
“Oh.”
Severus looked down at his hands, which, though dirty and caked with blood, had stopped shaking as well.
“Do you, should we…?” Harry began, wondering what else there might be to heal.
“You,” Severus cut in, “Should go back to your dormitory at once and leave me in peace.” With that pronouncement, he stood, but swayed alarmingly. Harry jumped up at once, catching his arm.
“Sir?” Severus clutched the back of the chair.
“The potion has some secondary effects that many find undesirable,” he said, and Harry, thinking of how a person’s skin turned yellow just before a faint, did not let go. Holding his arm, Harry noticed that, where Snape’s skin had been hot before, it was now very, very cold.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Harry said, but Snape shrugged him off.
“I know how to handle my own business, Albus,” he hissed, but sat back down anyway. “Do not presume to tell me what to do with my free time.”
Harry blinked.
“Right,” he said. “What sort of side effects?”
“Ahhh…” Severus mused, tracing a circle in the air, “the usual vertigo, disorientation. Some less enjoyable hallucinations.”
“Hallucinations.” Harry said as Snape trailed off again. The Potions Master raised his eyes, then touched one finger to Harry’s forehead.
“Harry Potter…” he said. Then, dropping his hand, “you have a centipede on your face.”
“A centipede,” Harry repeated. “… On my face.” Severus nodded, but paused, then shook his head.
“Ah, it’s gone now. Crawled away,” he made a weak, skittering motion with his fingers, and Harry fought the terrible urge to laugh.
“How long do they last?”
“Oh, an hour or two,” Snape replied, and let his head fall back against the chair.
“Maybe you should lie down on the couch.”
Severus’ head rolled to look at it.
“That couch is revolting,” he said. Harry followed his gaze, but the worn leather seemed quite normal. The point was proved moot, however, as Severus had already slipped into sleep, looking very frail and human slumped against the chair.
And He Slept
Harry knelt beside the chair, hesitantly reaching for Snape’s buttons. He hadn’t the slightest clue what “inspecting the damage” might entail, but Snape didn’t stop him, so he continued. He couldn’t help but think, as he moved through the layers, that this was not quite how he’d imagined first undressing Snape… not at all. Finally, he reached the last layer of clothing, and began opening up a slit of skin. Harry’s heart began to beat a little faster as he parted the cloth – and saw, to his horror, that Severus’ skin, which he’d always expected to be pale and white, was instead horribly mottled with great black bruises. His stomach turned at the sight of it, even as he found himself fascinated by the idea that Severus Snape could be hurt at all.
“They… they beat you?” Harry asked, touching one of the marks with his fingertips. But it couldn’t be - surely Deatheaters frowned upon muggle interrogation methods.
“Cruciatus,” Severus amended, leaning forward to allow the cloth to be coaxed from his shoulders. He cracked an eye. “Mostly.” Of course, Severus knew well that Deatheaters rather favored muggle torture techniques, having the added benefit of being humiliating as well as painful. But the blood congealing under his skin, and probably his eyes as well, had been caused by magic.
***
Harry didn’t understand. The cruciatus wasn’t a physical blow. How could it possibly leave marks like that? He asked, and Severus even answered him:
“Extended application of the cruciatus curse often leads to trauma of the basal layer. Burst capillaries.”
Harry found that answer more disquieting than the bruises themselves, half for the implications of it, and half for the way Snape had said it: like he was reciting from a textbook. And what exactly did he mean by ‘extended?’
Harry took one of Snape’s trembling hands in his.
“…And your hands?”
“Nerve damage.”
“How long were you –“ But Severus derailed the question with a look.
“If you would, Potter, fetch me a bottle of this,” he conjured a bit of parchment, “at once.”
****
Harry found that his hands were shaking too as he rifled through the Potions stores. Had it been hours? Hours under the cruciatus? Was that even possible? How much could a person, even Severus Snape, physically stand? Just how much had it taken to snap the Longbottom’s minds? And what did ‘cruciatus, mostly,’ mean? What else?
At last, and even without any dropping or otherwise damaging of bottles, Harry located the potion Snape had indicated, and pulled it free. It was a thick, cream colored liquid, perhaps ten or twelve ounces to the bottle. Innocuous looking, but Harry had paid enough attention in Potions class to know that appearances were nothing to go by.
***
Severus shook the bottle experimentally, as if checking the consistency, before uncorking it. A vague, woodsy smell wafted up, and Harry realized at once that he had smelled it before. It was, without a doubt, part of the smell he had come to associate with the Potions Master himself. The man was often marked by it.
“Professor, how often do you…”
Severus held up a hand, draining the potion in one long pull, and grimacing as he swallowed the thick, syrupy fluid. He coughed again, turning almost greenish, and looking as if he would very much like to curl up on himself. With a forced, calming exhale, Severus straightened, eyes squeezed shut, hands white-knuckled on the armrests.
“How often do you have to take that?” Harry finished. Severus did not answer at once, and when he did it was through gritted teeth – a testament to the course of the potion.
“Less than I brew it.” He pressed his lips together into a white line, the tendons in his neck and forearms standing out. But then, amazingly, Harry saw the bruises start to fade… not turning yellow, as bruises do when they naturally heal, but red, as they must have been when they first occurred. Harry touched Snape’s ribs where the bruises were now a burn, now hardly a flush, and found the skin there hot, almost feverish, to the touch.
Finally, as the red gave way to pallor, Snape’s face, and grip, began to relax. When he opened his eyes the blood was gone from them, too.
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“And you couldn’t have given me any of that?” he asked, absently rubbing his neck. Severus looked at him with mercifully clean eyes, carefully clearing his throat.
“This particular concoction,” he touched the empty bottle, “though unpleasant, is unquestionably the best for the reconstruction of nerve-damage and general repair after prolonged exposure to the cruciatus and related hexes. Only a moron would use it as a hickey cure.” Harry blushed.
“Oh.”
Severus looked down at his hands, which, though dirty and caked with blood, had stopped shaking as well.
“Do you, should we…?” Harry began, wondering what else there might be to heal.
“You,” Severus cut in, “Should go back to your dormitory at once and leave me in peace.” With that pronouncement, he stood, but swayed alarmingly. Harry jumped up at once, catching his arm.
“Sir?” Severus clutched the back of the chair.
“The potion has some secondary effects that many find undesirable,” he said, and Harry, thinking of how a person’s skin turned yellow just before a faint, did not let go. Holding his arm, Harry noticed that, where Snape’s skin had been hot before, it was now very, very cold.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Harry said, but Snape shrugged him off.
“I know how to handle my own business, Albus,” he hissed, but sat back down anyway. “Do not presume to tell me what to do with my free time.”
Harry blinked.
“Right,” he said. “What sort of side effects?”
“Ahhh…” Severus mused, tracing a circle in the air, “the usual vertigo, disorientation. Some less enjoyable hallucinations.”
“Hallucinations.” Harry said as Snape trailed off again. The Potions Master raised his eyes, then touched one finger to Harry’s forehead.
“Harry Potter…” he said. Then, dropping his hand, “you have a centipede on your face.”
“A centipede,” Harry repeated. “… On my face.” Severus nodded, but paused, then shook his head.
“Ah, it’s gone now. Crawled away,” he made a weak, skittering motion with his fingers, and Harry fought the terrible urge to laugh.
“How long do they last?”
“Oh, an hour or two,” Snape replied, and let his head fall back against the chair.
“Maybe you should lie down on the couch.”
Severus’ head rolled to look at it.
“That couch is revolting,” he said. Harry followed his gaze, but the worn leather seemed quite normal. The point was proved moot, however, as Severus had already slipped into sleep, looking very frail and human slumped against the chair.