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Leliha

Chapter Thirteen: Qualms and Nightmares

Severus couldn't find sleep that night. After some futile hours of forcing his body and mind to relax, which only resulted in his getting more and more restless, he got up and went into the living room to sit in the armchair and read for fear of waking Alexandra with his tossing and turning. When his eyelids were beginning to droop at last he returned to bed and slept fitfully, mixing up dream and reality without knowing which was which.

He was back in the market, right in front of Madame Derusseau's stall, staggering under the weight of a huge crate full of his products, when a band of Aurors appeared, overwhelming him, hexing him, destroying every single jar in the crate with fiery spells from their wands, filling the bright and sunny market square with suffocating black fumes, and dragging him away.

Then he was back at Azkaban, in the deepest corridor, where the walls consisted of crudely hewn hard, black rock, glistening with moisture in the torchlight. He was dragged along roughly, through a heavy, iron-studded wooden door and down a steep, slippery staircase and then he was chained to the wall, his wrists, feet, waist and neck firmly encased in iron shackles. Water was coming in through a narrow opening in the wall, splashing over his feet, ice-cold and rising with the tide. Now it was up to his knees, to his waist, there was nothing he could do but stare helplessly ahead as it got higher and higher, covering his chest, his shoulders, his neck… He panicked, tried to fight against the shackles, he cried out – and then there was blackness.

The next thing he realized was that the shackles were gone; he was kneeling before the Dark Lord in his Death Eater robes and mask in a high, vaulted chamber. He was shivering, the multiple layers of black cloth unable protect him from the coldness of the room. In the shadows along the walls of the room other men and women in black were standing silently, watching. He felt their presence rather than seeing them in the gloom. The Dark Lord was angry, pacing in front of him with slow deliberate steps, marking the end of each of his sentences with an angry soutenou and a change of direction.

"I was fond of you, potion maker, I admitted you into our midst despite your dubious origin. I appreciated your keen mind, your hunger for learning and granted you access to rare and valuable knowledge of Dark Magic, I promoted you through the ranks of my followers. And now YOU'RE HEALING MUGGLES WITH YOUR POTIONS, YOU'RE BETRAYING OUR CAUSE!" the fierce high-pitched voice shouted in uncontrolled rage. The towering figure of Voldemort came closer, stopped in front of the cowering man and the volume of his voice went down to a stage whisper.

"I should never have trusted you, you filthy half-blood."

And then the curse came and hit Severus in the chest, making him writhe in agony on the floor, thrashing out and trying to get away from the other Death Eater hands that were grabbing him, trying to get their share in the torture. But the hands were relentless, they held him securely, they stroked his back, they stroked his hair, gently, comfortingly… What was that? Something was wrong! Death Eaters would never comfort him!

"Severus, wake up. It's only a dream." A soft voice speaking to him, repeating his name over and over again.

Confused and terrified he resisted these strange hands, tried to get away from them.

"Severus", the voice repeated, more firmly and insistently now, "wake up. It's me, Alexandra, I don't want to hurt you. You're safe, it's only a dream."

Slowly he became aware of his surroundings. The grey light of early dawn came in through the window, lifting the lurking shadows of the night. There was no stone floor, no vaulted chamber, he was in his bedroom, in his bed, trembling with the aftermaths of his dream, his body drenched in cold sweat. There were neither Aurors nor Death Eaters, only Alexandra's arms wrapped around him, holding and comforting him, rubbing his back gently. It was her soothing voice next to his ear, repeating the same soft consoling sounds over and over again. He struggled to emerge from the images of his nightmares, to gain control over his body and his voice, to arrive in the reality of his bedroom.

"Sorry – I – a dream," he muttered hoarsely, embarrassed about the state he was in, breaking away from her arms, sitting back, taking his sweaty, trembling body out of her reach and avoiding her eyes.

"I'm sorry for being such a nuisance".

She didn't respond. Without looking at her he could sense the compassion in her eyes and it

made him feel even more humiliated and miserable.

She took his hands.

"It's OK, Severus, after all you've been through you're entitled to having nightmares."

Still refusing to meet her eyes, he shook his head. 'Entitled to nightmares' indeed! He was a wizard, able to use powerful magic, he had always been proud of the absolute control he had had over his mind and body. Only after his release from Azkaban had the dreams started and all his efforts to stop them had been futile, even Dreamless Sleep Potion didn't really help. His frustration and anger with himself were increasing with every nightmare he'd had. He was a man, for Merlin's sake, men were supposed to be strong and not to break down with nerves waiting to be consoled by a woman, a mere squib. 'But you need her comfort!' his body screamed. He was shivering with cold now, missing the warmth of her embrace.

"Severus, don't be so hard on yourself. It's alright."

When he didn't react she continued, "Look, in the Muggle world it is commonly known and accepted that being held captive may traumatize a person, people get help from psychologists. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

Her voice was calm, neutral, matter-of-fact, sensible, her hands were warm and reassuring. She was not fussing over him, not treating him like a mentally retarded child, she was just telling him the facts, he could hear no pity in her words.

His breathing was still fast and ragged. After long and silent minutes he raised his head and looked at her, pain and torment in his eye.

"I dreamed I was drowning," he started hesitantly in hardly more than a whisper. "They had this cell in Azkaban which was flooded during high tide. They put you there for punishment, chained to the wall and you never knew how high the water would be and…", his voice broke into a sob and he allowed her to draw him into her arms again. He rested his head on her shoulder.

"It's alright during daytime, I force myself not to think of the past, but in my sleep it doesn't work."

"You've experienced too many atrocities, it's natural."

"Is it?" He tried to snort derisively, but out came only a pitiful little sound.

"Sometimes I feel so – useless for life."

"Don't do anything silly, there's always a solution", Alexandra quoted quietly.

He sat up and stared at her. His mouth quivered, he wanted to laugh - and then the tears came. He didn't want to shed them, he frantically tried to hold them back but didn't succeed.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him until her shoulder was wet and they fell into an exhausted sleep again.

Severus woke with the sun on his face. There was a dull pain at the back of his head and his eyes were sore, and with a moan he remembered the events of the night. So she had witnessed one of his nightmares, had patiently comforted him when he was clinging to her helplessly, sobbing like a baby. Human wreck that he was. And yet she had neither behaved condescendingly nor turned away in horror and disgust, she was still there, a cloud of brown hair next to him on the pillow. Her presence had helped him, he didn't feel the depression that usually came as the aftermaths of his dreams. If only she could stay with him… At once he was overcome with an overwhelming sensation of hope, happiness and affection. Merlin, he loved her – and yet he was still afraid. He was not used to sharing his life with anybody, he had always been alone. He had always hidden his anxiety and vulnerability behind a wall of sarcasm and derision, and he couldn't get rid of the habit. Would she have the tolerance and the stamina to endure his moods or would he drive her away eventually?

His thoughts were interrupted by Alexandra muttering something unintelligible under her breath. She turned without waking, her knee now touching his thigh. At once he felt his body react. No, this wouldn't do. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he got up and went to the bathroom. He splashed plenty of cold water on his face and studied it in the mirror. Pale, gaunt, lined… ugly, old. What did she see in him? There was nothing about his looks that would recommend him to a woman. Alexandra was pretty, not beautiful, but attractive in an average, unassuming way. She could easily find another man…

He leaned heavily on the wash basin, staring into the bleary eyes of his mirrored self.

And yet there had been this strange mutual attraction from the very first moment they had set eyes on each other in the prison room. He couldn't explain it, and as far as he knew she couldn't either. Merlin's beard, how he wished she would stay with him. But could she tolerate his habits, his moods, his nightmares? He had been living like a hermit for the last two years, he had not been renowned for his social skills at Hogwarts and Azkaban had done nothing to enhance them. Could he tolerate another person's habits, even a beloved person's habits, in the long run?

He realized his thoughts were running in circles and cursed. Why was everything so difficult?

He registered a soft buzzing sound. Dumbledore's mirror.

"No, headmaster, not now. I can't put up with your meddling benevolence and your twinkling eyes right now. I don't want your advice. I have to find a way of my own for this", he said aloud, pointing his wand at the buzzing mirror and silencing it; and resolutely left the bathroom for the kitchen, hoping some strong coffee would clear his mind.

Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these wonderful characters.