Chapter 3

For the next few days, Snape remained at home in the office, guarding his private stores. He had dreamt up many other ghastly sights since the night before Draco came. His mind had combined his father, and James Potter, and Draco's intrusion into an unbearable travesty of a vision. Snape couldn't figure how they all intertwined in his mind. Hate and fear and annoyance proved to be on different levels… a buzzing fly does not constitute murder. Snape pitied Draco somewhat. But he could not reconcile; he had remained a figure of solitude for too long. He felt that resilience should be stable: Nothing shall faze you.

"Let no one in, let nothing out," Snape breathed. He often recited this, as though it would increase his emotional stamina. Long ago he had started this, sheltering himself. It was as though he had the armor of a blast ended scroot. Snape slid off his chair and onto the dusty floor, his eyes half shut as he dozed off again.

The air was ice cold and swirling, as though the planet was having another ice age. Snape could barely make out the figure gliding towards him. It was tall, shrouded in a long cloak that trailed behind him. He stretched out a hand towards Snape, who recoiled. It was not a dementor, nor a fellow death eater. It was his father, looking furious. He only said one thing:

"You never were a good son." And then James Potter sidled up to the pair, laughing smugly.

"Hello Father," he called at the man in the cloak; Snape froze as his father flashed his rare leer of a smile. "What has happened?" Snape's asked in his head. The pair disappeared into the night and before Snape's eyes, Draco's face swam into view. He looked scared and vulnerable.

"Protect me, save me," he was whimpering. Snape backed into the darkness, shaking his head and… he woke up again.

He rose, shaking his greasy hair out of his eyes. "No more dreams," he whispered to no one. "No more…"