Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. As far as I know, slaves are still illegal in America. Damn it all.
That night Snape couldn't get to sleep.
He tried to block out the feelings from that day. Since the lesson he had not been able to completely pick himself back up, and allowed his feelings down in the dungeon to permeate his mind the rest of the day. Oddly enough, Snape was not able to concentrate on the environment around him. He was not thick enough not to take notice.
Even the other professors noticed a difference in his mood. Filius had told him he looked a bit peaky. He had scoffed it off then, but inside he knew that he looked exactly that way. Those who knew him a bit better, such as Minerva, noticed his absentmindedness but said nothing. The Gryffindor Housemistress knew that, with the pressure he was under on a regular basis, it was better not to ask questions. She was avowed to mind her business when it concerned more secretive things like the Order, and her relationship with him through it, and was respectful enough never to press Albus for any information, even in more stressful times. It was well known throughout the faculty that Snape was a very personal person, and whatever he was burdened with, he could solve himself.
Back in his bed, Snape reflected on having to put up with her beady eyes all day, even though he knew she wouldn't bother him further.
He thought of how he had looked today. He felt immensely angry with himself that he almost could not answer a student's question in the Slytherin corridors. He berated himself soundly for this lack of poise. Lacewings. LACEWINGS. He scowled into the dirty, damp excuse for a pillow. Any blundering idiot would know their role in a truth potion. Any idiot...
Snape was very sure of his abilities. However he couldn't shake off the thought that something, something sparked earlier that day, was amiss. As it was, he had been teaching for many years. He had grown relatively inured to the sorts of idiocy he had to deal with. But today was a worse day, and it was undoubtedly only that. He refused to discuss his feelings with himself any further, and instead concentrated on drifting off to sleep...
Screaming. Terror. Mania. It was the third or fourth house tonight. The sound of curses almost obscured the yelling from their casters.
"And look what we have here!" Bellatrix. A petrified child not older than four was cowering in a corner, his eyes fixed on her. "Did Mummy read you a bedtime story tonight? Did she?" The grin on her face was supernatural. The sobbing child shook in his paisley pyjamas, too afraid to make a noise, so the woman continued. "I asked you a QUESTION. DID SHE!" A puddle wasforming on the floor where he sat, and dampening his clothing. The boy shook his head very quickly, and the woman laughed, and screamed something about happy endings over the rushing sound of the green light. It was unreal. However, like lightning, Severus broke away his gaze to see what else was happening.
Dmitry Goyle and Lucius Malfoy were chasing down a full-grown man down the street and hurling curses. The wife was up in the air, shrieking, so Severus decided to follow the husband. The other two were gaining on him, and it would be but a few minutes before they caught up with him completely. But they were still being leisurely with it. It was no fun if they didn't give him a scare first.
"See if we can make the bastard run a bit longer, shall we?" yelled Dmitry. The pair of them shrieked with laughter and cast another curse which, this time, hit him dead on. The man struggled valiantly against it, but still moved as if he was wading through lead. The plan was to keep the traitor going a bit longer until he began begging. Severus was new, though, and he felt himself losing control. What he shouted was unclear, but there was a flare of bright green and the man ceased struggling. The young, Death Eater didn't notice, over the noisy din. He kept running, running, still looking for the man wildly and screaming curses. Screaming...
He woke up, panting. He whipped around, wanted to shout for Lucius. The screaming was dying in his ears. He forced himself to get control.
Desk. Beakers. Books. Research papers. Threadbare blankets on the cold floor. He was back.The breathing through his nose sounded like wind through a tunnel.But, at least, he could breathe again.For a considerable amount of time he sat in the dark, silent. The footfalls of the escaping father disappeared in his mind. Bellatrix's voice. The dead child...
He slowly lied back down. Wasn't worth it to think about. Years ago. Insanity. There were more important things to ponder.But he couldn't push the feeling of horror away. To add to it, this was the second time in a day that he had... had... but he couldn't say it. To admit losing control was to lose completely. To fail to maintain a grip meant to die.This knowledge was firmly ingrained in him.
In this murky state, he did not connect his feelings to what he had felt earlier, aware as he was that they both happened.In this state, he cared only about making the nightmare disappear. He began to regain his poise and managed to purge his mind enough to drift back into a fitful, confused sleep.
Thank you, Silver Sailor Ganymede, for reviewing, and thank you to anyone else who read the first chapter! I am working hard to make this an original, logical story. So, yes, you know what's coming next. Please review.