A Man Cannot Control His Dreams
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,045
Reviews:
275
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
59,045
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.
Cauldrons to Scrub/ Derailing
A/N: thank you to all who review! It's truely motivating. We're getting real close to the good stuff here, people.
He didn’t sleep that night. He was wound far too tightly to do much more than lie on top of his covers and try not to think too hard about what exactly was putting the tension in him. Twice, he got up from bed, and twice he thought better of any ideas he’d had and turned back. Where did he think he’d go? To the library? The kitchens? God forbid, to Snape’s quarters? Each time, then, he lay back down on his bed, and stewed and stressed and felt as the tension twisted tighter and tighter.
“Oy! Harry!”
Harry jumped as he was rapped sharply on the head with a fork.
“Yeah, what?” he snapped back at Ron. The redhead looked a little hurt.
“I was just asking why you weren’t a little happier today,” he mumbled. Harry pushed his food around. Why in Merlin’s name should he be?
“Why should I be?”
“Why, mate? Because it’s Friday! And on Friday there’s…” he paused dramatically, clearly wanting Harry to finish the sentence. Harry didn’t. Luckily, however, Hermione chose that moment to plop down across from them and chime in.
“No Potions, I believe,” she said.
“Oh,” Harry mumbled back. But it didn’t really matter. After all, he might not have to deal with potions, but he still had to deal with Snape. That night he not only had their scheduled Occlumency lesson, but detention as well. Just the thought made the knot in his stomach tighten feverishly.
“Ron, Harry has his “tutoring” tonight. You’re just rubbing it in.”
****
Harry drifted through the rest of his day, unable to concentrate on any of his schoolwork. Once or twice he even thought he saw the edge of a black robe whip around a corner as he passed.
“I’ve lost my mind,” he murmured to himself.
****
After picking distractedly at his dinner, Harry found himself in front of the mirror in his dorm, fussing with his hair. The moment he realized he was trying to improve his appearance, he forced his hands to his sides. What did he think he was doing, anyway? He had detention with The Bat for Merlin’s sake. But the tightness he’d been trying to breathe around for two days said this definitely wasn’t going to be lines. It might be punishment, yes, but it certainly wouldn’t be scouring cauldrons. He took a deep breath. Started to smooth his jumper with his hands, but thought better of the gesture. He needed to get a grip. He shook his head forcefully and looked hard at his reflection.
“Stop it,” he said. “Get a grip on yourself.”
“What’s that mate?” Ron said as he dropped his book bag beside the door. Harry jumped and spun to face him.
“Oh! Hey... I was just, you know,” Harry stumbled over an explanation. “Talking to myself?” Ron gave him a look.
“Right. Hey didn’t you get detention tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to be there in a quarter hour or so.” Harry tugged nervously at his shirt collar. Ron gave him an encouraging smile and thump on the back.
“Don’t worry, mate! You’ve lived through detention with the old Dementor before, you’ll do it again!” Good ol’ Ron, always looking for the silver lining.
“Yeah, sure, thanks Ron.”
****
When he finally got up the courage to leave his room, the trip down to the dungeons seemed to take an eternity. The damp chill of the place was oppressive and Harry felt the thick knot of tension in his chest jerk tighter with every step. He mumbled to himself as he descended the stone staircases, mostly nonsense reflections on just what a bad, bad idea this was, and how he should just turn back now and go to sleep. He could just leave and take a double detention with someone else or- Sooner than he’d hoped, he was face to face with the heavy, worn doors to the potions classrooms. He raised his hand to knock: once, hesitated, twice, hesitated, finally his fist made contact. From within, Harry heard a dim but unmistakable,
“Enter.” Stealing himself, internally cursing his heart to shut the hell up for the love of Merlin, Harry did as he was bid. His eyes dropped automatically to the floor as Snape looked up from a stack of papers.
****
The potion’s master was honestly surprised by the sheer obviousness of Harry’s nervous vulnerability. The boy was practically acting like prey. How absolutely ideal.
“Cauldrons, Mr. Potter,” he said dismissively, gesturing to a pile of soiled ironware. “No magic.” Harry hesitated briefly, clearly confused by the mundane task – one he’d had to perform often during his early years at Hogwarts. Snape held in a cruel smirk as the boy sat uncertainly.
Snape let him work for the better part of an hour, then, knowing that it would only unsettle the Gryffindor if he were left stewing in his own thoughts for a while. He found himself unable to grade more than a few essays as Harry worked, though; mind far too occupied to pay them much attention. He mulled over possible ways of approaching the boy, searching for the most surprising, the most unbalancing. He looked up periodically, mindful not to let his detainee see him watching, and catalogued the details of the Gryffindor.
Harry’s shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows, his fingertips and knuckles an angry red from the harsh cleaning solution. His face was warmly colored with exertion and set in concentration, and his hair stood at attention where he’d run his fingers through. And, Snape noted with surprise, he was nearly finished with his penultimate cauldron.
Severus made a fast decision. Just as Harry was pushing the clean cauldron away with the others and leaning down to retrieve the last, he slipped from behind his desk, all too close to Harry in a flash. But before the Gryffindor could flinch away or even react at all more than a brief spike of panic, the Potions Master had grabbed his wrist where he held the last piece of his task.
“I believe that one can wait,” Snape said.
****tbc****
He didn’t sleep that night. He was wound far too tightly to do much more than lie on top of his covers and try not to think too hard about what exactly was putting the tension in him. Twice, he got up from bed, and twice he thought better of any ideas he’d had and turned back. Where did he think he’d go? To the library? The kitchens? God forbid, to Snape’s quarters? Each time, then, he lay back down on his bed, and stewed and stressed and felt as the tension twisted tighter and tighter.
“Oy! Harry!”
Harry jumped as he was rapped sharply on the head with a fork.
“Yeah, what?” he snapped back at Ron. The redhead looked a little hurt.
“I was just asking why you weren’t a little happier today,” he mumbled. Harry pushed his food around. Why in Merlin’s name should he be?
“Why should I be?”
“Why, mate? Because it’s Friday! And on Friday there’s…” he paused dramatically, clearly wanting Harry to finish the sentence. Harry didn’t. Luckily, however, Hermione chose that moment to plop down across from them and chime in.
“No Potions, I believe,” she said.
“Oh,” Harry mumbled back. But it didn’t really matter. After all, he might not have to deal with potions, but he still had to deal with Snape. That night he not only had their scheduled Occlumency lesson, but detention as well. Just the thought made the knot in his stomach tighten feverishly.
“Ron, Harry has his “tutoring” tonight. You’re just rubbing it in.”
****
Harry drifted through the rest of his day, unable to concentrate on any of his schoolwork. Once or twice he even thought he saw the edge of a black robe whip around a corner as he passed.
“I’ve lost my mind,” he murmured to himself.
****
After picking distractedly at his dinner, Harry found himself in front of the mirror in his dorm, fussing with his hair. The moment he realized he was trying to improve his appearance, he forced his hands to his sides. What did he think he was doing, anyway? He had detention with The Bat for Merlin’s sake. But the tightness he’d been trying to breathe around for two days said this definitely wasn’t going to be lines. It might be punishment, yes, but it certainly wouldn’t be scouring cauldrons. He took a deep breath. Started to smooth his jumper with his hands, but thought better of the gesture. He needed to get a grip. He shook his head forcefully and looked hard at his reflection.
“Stop it,” he said. “Get a grip on yourself.”
“What’s that mate?” Ron said as he dropped his book bag beside the door. Harry jumped and spun to face him.
“Oh! Hey... I was just, you know,” Harry stumbled over an explanation. “Talking to myself?” Ron gave him a look.
“Right. Hey didn’t you get detention tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to be there in a quarter hour or so.” Harry tugged nervously at his shirt collar. Ron gave him an encouraging smile and thump on the back.
“Don’t worry, mate! You’ve lived through detention with the old Dementor before, you’ll do it again!” Good ol’ Ron, always looking for the silver lining.
“Yeah, sure, thanks Ron.”
****
When he finally got up the courage to leave his room, the trip down to the dungeons seemed to take an eternity. The damp chill of the place was oppressive and Harry felt the thick knot of tension in his chest jerk tighter with every step. He mumbled to himself as he descended the stone staircases, mostly nonsense reflections on just what a bad, bad idea this was, and how he should just turn back now and go to sleep. He could just leave and take a double detention with someone else or- Sooner than he’d hoped, he was face to face with the heavy, worn doors to the potions classrooms. He raised his hand to knock: once, hesitated, twice, hesitated, finally his fist made contact. From within, Harry heard a dim but unmistakable,
“Enter.” Stealing himself, internally cursing his heart to shut the hell up for the love of Merlin, Harry did as he was bid. His eyes dropped automatically to the floor as Snape looked up from a stack of papers.
****
The potion’s master was honestly surprised by the sheer obviousness of Harry’s nervous vulnerability. The boy was practically acting like prey. How absolutely ideal.
“Cauldrons, Mr. Potter,” he said dismissively, gesturing to a pile of soiled ironware. “No magic.” Harry hesitated briefly, clearly confused by the mundane task – one he’d had to perform often during his early years at Hogwarts. Snape held in a cruel smirk as the boy sat uncertainly.
Snape let him work for the better part of an hour, then, knowing that it would only unsettle the Gryffindor if he were left stewing in his own thoughts for a while. He found himself unable to grade more than a few essays as Harry worked, though; mind far too occupied to pay them much attention. He mulled over possible ways of approaching the boy, searching for the most surprising, the most unbalancing. He looked up periodically, mindful not to let his detainee see him watching, and catalogued the details of the Gryffindor.
Harry’s shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows, his fingertips and knuckles an angry red from the harsh cleaning solution. His face was warmly colored with exertion and set in concentration, and his hair stood at attention where he’d run his fingers through. And, Snape noted with surprise, he was nearly finished with his penultimate cauldron.
Severus made a fast decision. Just as Harry was pushing the clean cauldron away with the others and leaning down to retrieve the last, he slipped from behind his desk, all too close to Harry in a flash. But before the Gryffindor could flinch away or even react at all more than a brief spike of panic, the Potions Master had grabbed his wrist where he held the last piece of his task.
“I believe that one can wait,” Snape said.
****tbc****