Ficcie
This one wouldn't let me sleep till it got out last night. Sooo here it is.
Title: Night Terrors
Fandom: HP
Characters: Severus Snape
Prompt: "Lights went out in the house and hamlet as they came, and doors were shut, and folk that were afield cried in terror and ran like hunted deer."
Word Count: 554
Rating: PGish
Summary: Snape has trouble sleeping sometimes.
Author's Notes: Well, I got an instant mental picture when I read the prompt and I had to write this. Also, I checked most of my canon details with hp-lexicon.com, however info on Snape’s family is remarkably scarce, so most of this is my own little invention.
There were nights Severus awoke cold in his bed at Hogwarts, sweating and panting. Groping for his wand with damp hands he would mutter “Lumos!” and wince as light drove the shadows away. His eyes would dart around to the still-dark corners, would search out any shadow, while his heart raced with half-awake fear.
When he came to his senses he would curse himself for behaving like a child. Severus Snape, a full-fledged Potions Master, a Death Eater, even, afraid of the dark! It was preposterous. Unthinkable. Still, his stomach always gave a flitter of anxiety when he extinguished the light. And he would lie back listening, always listening, for the sound that never came.
It was true that being confronted with Remus Lupin as a snarling beast had frightened him; had left him unable to sleep without light for many weeks, even when the moon wasn’t full. Yet Severus’ fear went farther back than that. When he closed his eyes, his world would tilt away from Hogwarts, and back to his youth before school. And he would remember…
It was always the smell of hay first, wet and sweet. Then the smell of his grandmother’s cooking, his grandfather’s pipe. He would remember a town with very few people on a desolate stretch of land dotted with sheep and bordered all around by forest. So was he banished to this place every summer before Hogwarts, and some Christmases as well.
The isolation was what attracted the werewolves. In the days preceding the full moon, the villagers would grow restless with a nervous anticipation even the children could taste on the air. When the moon rose in the dusky sky they would come, heralded by their howling. Lights went out in the house and hamlet as they came, and doors were shut, and folk that were afield cried in terror and ran like hunted deer.
Severus Snape would ball himself up under his wool blanket, trying to drown out the howls and the occasional, abbreviated bleat of an unlucky sheep. All through the night the werewolves roamed, bayed at the moon, and fed. And in the morning, the townsfolk would rise as usual, if a bit bleary-eyed, take stock of the damage, and go about their business.
Even when he went to school, when he was safely ensconced in a high tower, in a dormitory surrounded by other snoring boys, he would listen carefully for the familiar growling, snuffling sound of something monstrous exploring outside his window. He would lay awake, waiting for the distinct howl that belonged to one creature alone. He learned to sneer at the boys who teased him when he awoke with his cry, for he knew better than any of them what terrors waited in the dark. When his fears were confirmed in the end, he felt a certain surge of victory along with the cold terror.
As a professor, when he had moved into the dungeons, when his rooms were warded with all manner of powerful spell and incantation, he would still listen. And when Remus Lupin came back to teach at Hogwarts he brewed the wolfsbane potion faithfully. Not for Dumbledore, not to spare Lupin pain, but for himself; so that he would never again hear in the waking world the sound that turned his dreams to ice.
Cross-posted to my journal.
Title: Night Terrors
Fandom: HP
Characters: Severus Snape
Prompt: "Lights went out in the house and hamlet as they came, and doors were shut, and folk that were afield cried in terror and ran like hunted deer."
Word Count: 554
Rating: PGish
Summary: Snape has trouble sleeping sometimes.
Author's Notes: Well, I got an instant mental picture when I read the prompt and I had to write this. Also, I checked most of my canon details with hp-lexicon.com, however info on Snape’s family is remarkably scarce, so most of this is my own little invention.
There were nights Severus awoke cold in his bed at Hogwarts, sweating and panting. Groping for his wand with damp hands he would mutter “Lumos!” and wince as light drove the shadows away. His eyes would dart around to the still-dark corners, would search out any shadow, while his heart raced with half-awake fear.
When he came to his senses he would curse himself for behaving like a child. Severus Snape, a full-fledged Potions Master, a Death Eater, even, afraid of the dark! It was preposterous. Unthinkable. Still, his stomach always gave a flitter of anxiety when he extinguished the light. And he would lie back listening, always listening, for the sound that never came.
It was true that being confronted with Remus Lupin as a snarling beast had frightened him; had left him unable to sleep without light for many weeks, even when the moon wasn’t full. Yet Severus’ fear went farther back than that. When he closed his eyes, his world would tilt away from Hogwarts, and back to his youth before school. And he would remember…
It was always the smell of hay first, wet and sweet. Then the smell of his grandmother’s cooking, his grandfather’s pipe. He would remember a town with very few people on a desolate stretch of land dotted with sheep and bordered all around by forest. So was he banished to this place every summer before Hogwarts, and some Christmases as well.
The isolation was what attracted the werewolves. In the days preceding the full moon, the villagers would grow restless with a nervous anticipation even the children could taste on the air. When the moon rose in the dusky sky they would come, heralded by their howling. Lights went out in the house and hamlet as they came, and doors were shut, and folk that were afield cried in terror and ran like hunted deer.
Severus Snape would ball himself up under his wool blanket, trying to drown out the howls and the occasional, abbreviated bleat of an unlucky sheep. All through the night the werewolves roamed, bayed at the moon, and fed. And in the morning, the townsfolk would rise as usual, if a bit bleary-eyed, take stock of the damage, and go about their business.
Even when he went to school, when he was safely ensconced in a high tower, in a dormitory surrounded by other snoring boys, he would listen carefully for the familiar growling, snuffling sound of something monstrous exploring outside his window. He would lay awake, waiting for the distinct howl that belonged to one creature alone. He learned to sneer at the boys who teased him when he awoke with his cry, for he knew better than any of them what terrors waited in the dark. When his fears were confirmed in the end, he felt a certain surge of victory along with the cold terror.
As a professor, when he had moved into the dungeons, when his rooms were warded with all manner of powerful spell and incantation, he would still listen. And when Remus Lupin came back to teach at Hogwarts he brewed the wolfsbane potion faithfully. Not for Dumbledore, not to spare Lupin pain, but for himself; so that he would never again hear in the waking world the sound that turned his dreams to ice.
Cross-posted to my journal.