This is a sequel to A Remedy for Sleep.

I do not own these characters. They are owned by many but not by me. I only play with them. No copyright infringements are intended.

Warnings: Slash, smut, voyeurism, under age (Harry is in 5th year), twinsest, dubious-con, threesomes and whatever else I may come up with. Please read all chapter warnings if there are things that truly bother you.

In the Light of Day

Ineluctable

The light from the charmed window brings him slowly to consciousness. He breathes in a musky scent that he doesn't recognise but it is the warm body encased in his arms that fully awakens him. He opens his eyes and it is only after a couple of seconds have passed that his brain recalls to him the images of last night. He stays himself and takes a deep breath. The scent that follows in place of the much needed air dizzies him. He wants to jump up. He wants to yell. He wants to push the boy out of his bed. He wants nothing of the sort.

He listens closely and hears the deep, even breathing of sleep. He slowly removes his arm from the embrace that mocks him. He rolls onto his back. His other arm is pinned under the chaos of black hair. He closes his eyes as though in prayer. Perhaps he is praying. Perhaps he should pray…or curse.

He gently slides his arm out from beneath the boy. He listens closely to be sure he doesn't wake. Wriggling his numb fingers, he rolls slowly out of bed; carefully so as not to move the bed, so as not to jostle him awake. He chastises himself for taking such pains as this is his bed. The boy came to him. Why is it that he is the one here in a state of discomfiture while the boy slumbers peacefully?

Once he is standing, he turns to look. He swallows a groan at the picture in front of him. The lean, muscled back is bare and exposed. The sheets are draped over the narrow hips. The top of the crevice of his arse peeks out at him. Harry is angled such that if Severus stands tall, he can see the pink nipple, hard against the chilled dungeon air. He licks his lips and is thankful that the same chill keeps his arousal from manifesting itself physically. He reaches over for his robe and wraps himself in it. He is lost. He has never been so not in control of a situation. He has never before not known himself. This is new.

He walks into the loo to distance himself from the situation, from the boy, in hopes of finding a solution to his current predicament. He walks to the toilet and relieves himself. He reaches for the handle to flush and stops. He is not ready for Harry to wake at the sound of the rushing water through the pipes. He moves through his remaining morning ablutions as his mind works on the raven haired problem in his bed.

In his bed.

He shivers and a smile ghosts across his lips. He berates himself and gives himself a mental shake. He has succumbed and lost this battle. The fallout is so much better….worse than he could have imagined and he hates himself like he never has before. He thinks over all of his sacrifices. He recalls all of the self denial, all of the work it has taken him to move past this infatuation-this completely improper, immoral infatuation. He never thought of himself as a paedophile. He has never wanted a child like that. Not until he met the child in his bed.

His mind will not cooperate. It plays back the image of the boy on the couch. He sees the trail of dark hair leading from his navel to the full nest of curls at the base of that delicious cock. He thinks of the hair around the pink nipples…more hair than he, himself has. He thinks of the long, lean legs, also covered in a fine dark fur. The boy's body is definitely not that of a child.

He is sure he is going mad.

He leans onto the counter and looks at himself in the mirror. He expects he has changed. He expects to see a monster but it is only his lank dark hair and his cold black eyes that look back at him. He notices the fine lines around his eyes. Laugh lines? Shit. He rubs his hand over his face. He can't remember the last time he laughed. Has he ever? He sighs. He has long furrows along his brow. These do not surprise him. Nor the ones that trace down along either side of his mouth. He frowns. They become more pronounced.

He is not blind. He knows he is not an attractive man. His nose is long and crooked. It was broken when he was young and left to heal without magical intervention, like so many other injuries. Once the body has completed the healing process, there is nothing for the magic to do. The rest of his face is all angles. His body is long and slim. He snorts in derision. Skinny. His skin is sallow, his teeth are yellow and his hair is thinning. What could he possibly have to offer that boy? To offer Harry?

He catches his thoughts and his eyes grow wide. What is he thinking? What could he offer him? What the hell was that? Why did he even go down this road? He is a child! A student! (Not a child his mind chimes.) He slams his hand against the counter in frustration. He walks back into his bedchambers and sees that the teen still slumbers. He goes to his wardrobe and gathering his clothes, he returns to the bathroom to change.

Once changed he goes into his study and looks around. He is at a loss as to what to do. He does what he knows. He leaves. The boy found his way in; he can find his way out. And with that thought grounding him, he takes his leave and heads to the Great Hall for breakfast.

He is surprised at how late it is. He walks into the dining hall and is greeted by the usual weekend lethargy. Saturdays are relaxed. Breakfast starts later than usual and runs right into lunch as teenagers are notorious for sleeping late. The atmosphere is subdued for the most part. Usually by this time the teachers have finished their breakfasts and left to start their day, but today there is a buzz at the head table. Snape looks around to see if there is anything else amiss and…there. The Gryffindor table seems to have some excitement rippling through it. He shrugs and dismisses it. They tend to be a bit dramatic.

He approaches his spot at the head table and is waved over by the Headmaster. He pours himself a cup of coffee and moves towards the empty seat beside his mentor.

'Albus.'

'Severus. Good morning. I trust you slept well?'

The question catches Severus with a mouthful of hot coffee. He swallows it quickly to keep from choking on it and burns himself.

'As well as can be expected. You?'

"Oh, fine, fine.' He waves his hand in nonchalance. 'You look well rested, Severus. I must say I'm glad to see it. I've been worried about you of late.' He pauses and looks at Severus. 'We seem to have lost Harry.'

This time he does choke. Albus reaches over and taps his back. Severus recovers both control of his choking reflexes and his shock.

'Lost him? How, pray tell, does one loose the Saviour of the Wizarding World? Do you suspect Death Eaters?'

'Oh, no. No…the wards have not been breached. I am, however, concerned of his night time escapades.'

Thankfully, Severus has neither food nor drink in his mouth this time. He looks at Albus closely. Damn him. He seems to know everything….or….

'Yes, young Weasley has just informed me that Harry rarely stays in the dorms at night. There are many places a young man can get lost between these ancient walls. I'm not overly concerned, however. I believe the castle would alert me if he was in danger. It is likely that he has dozed off in some long forgotten room. If he doesn't make an appearance by lunch, I'll consider upgrading my concern to worry.'

….perhaps not….

He winks at Severus.

This unbalances him.

'No doubt he is off cavorting with a Hufflepuff.' Severus tries to deliver this with disdain. He hopes he is successful.

'Not to worry Severus. Harry does seem to get himself into as many scrapes as he gets himself out of. Do enjoy your day. I'll notify you if we need your assistance. I dare say, this has been the most excitement we've had this school year. I'll consider it a successful year if this is the extent of it.'

Dumbledore gets up and pats Severus on the shoulder as he leaves the head table. Severus looks around at the food in front of him and the sight of it causes his stomach to revolt. Perhaps breakfast isn't the best of ideas at the moment. He finishes his coffee and then stands to leave. He walks out the staff door and makes his way towards his lab. He has potions to brew and people to forget.

Thanks for reading. Please feel free to leave constructive criticism or just drop a line to say 'hi'.