One
8th January 1965
The small boy twists and writhes under the thin greying sheet. There is a patch sewn over the place where the fabric had worn away down to bare thread, then eventually given way to nothing. Atop the sheet is a crumpled, moth eaten blanket which had probably once been pink, but now is a dusty faded salmon.
The boy’s face is sweaty, and straggles of long black hair stick to his cheeks and forehead, which is tense and furrowed. Between his dry lips, encrusted with spittle, panicked words issue in an unintelligible murmur. There is a half healed cut on his cheek, and an ugly purple bruise wrapped around his wrist. One bony hand clings to the sheet, threatening to tear it further, the other twitches out of time with the jerking of his shoulders.
‘He is always like this?’ Lucienne asks, standing neatly to the side, and peering with concern through her round spectacles.
‘Yes.’ Lord Morpheus responds. ‘Every night. He has never once had a good dream.’
‘Never?’ Lucienne questions, taking out a small, leather bound book, and flicking through. ‘That can’t be right.’ She frowns. ‘His life is not a pleasant one, I am sad to say.’ She shakes her head and frowns slightly. ‘But to never have had a pleasant dream by which to escape… it makes no sense. Has something gone wrong do you think? He is almost five years old.’
‘Yes, Lucienne.’ Morpheus hums. ‘In fact it is his birthday tomorrow.’
‘And since when did you keep track of sleeper’s birthdays?’ Lucienne gives her lord a knowing look over the top of her glasses.
Morpheus doesn’t answer her, but takes out his bag of sand.
‘It’s about time he had a good dream for once, don’t you think?’ He says.
The tall man digs into the small leather pouch and pulls out a handful of sand. Grains slip through his fingers like water as he holds his palm up to his angular face, then blows.
~~
Severus is sprinting along the ginnel which runs along behind the houses. His feet slip between the damp cobbles with each step, stones hitting his ankles, and then his knees as he stumbles to the floor. Footsteps echo between the brick walls behind him, and he tries to get up. He has to get up, to run away before the monster catches up, but his foot is stuck in something. He tries to pull himself up on the cobbles, which have grown to the size of small boulders, but they are slippery, and he cannot find a grip. The footsteps have stopped now, but he can feel the monster looming over him.
It is like this every night. Every night the monster comes for him. Every night the monster hurts him. Sometimes it is in the alley, sometimes on huge flights of stairs like mountains to which he can never reach the top. Sometimes he is in a forest like the one he has seen in his picture book, or trying to paddle up a rubbish choked river like the one down the road on the way to the park. But always he is running, and always it catches him.
He cowers as the monster’s shadow falls across him, that is all he can do now, all he can ever do. The same thing, day and night; curl up small, don’t cry, and wait for it to be over.
But this time the blows from the monster’s great fists don’t come. After a moment he realises that the cobbles have turned to smooth stone and he can hear burbling water nearby. He peeks out cautiously from between his arms to find that the ginnel has been replaced by a small valley with gently sloping meadows either side.
The monster is gone too, and in it’s place a tall thin man with black hair which sticks out from his head in long spiky fronds. He wears a long black coat that ripples around him lightly in the breeze, and his deep set eyes are like two small lumps of coal.
‘What you want?’ Severus asks the man.
‘Want?’ The man tilts his head. ‘Why would I want anything from you, Severus Snape? I am Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of the Land of Dreams, I want for nothing.’
‘If you don’t want somethin why you talkin to me? Why’d you make the monster go away?’ The small boy scowls at him in a rather accusatory manner.
The King of Dreams smiles slightly at him then, squinting his eyes.
‘Well then, Severus, I suppose you could say that I want to know why it is you only ever have nightmares.’ He replies.
The boy looks down at the ground and picks up a perfectly smooth stone, rubbing it between his thin little fingers.
‘Mam says it’s because I’m her little Prince. And Princes have to face their fears, so they can learn how to be strong.’ He murmurs.
‘Your mother sounds like a wise woman.’ Dream says. ‘But even Princes are allowed a good dream, every once in a while.’
‘A good dream?’ Severus frowns up at the man.
‘Would you like that?’ Dream asks.
‘Is this a good dream?’ Severus asks in return.
‘Yes. I suppose it is.’
‘Can you make the nightmares go away every night?’
‘Not every night Severus. Your mother was right, nightmares help us to learn how to solve our problems. But how about we do a deal you and I? The Prince of Cokeworth, and the King of Dreams. I will come and bring you good dreams for as long as you cannot make them on your own, and one day, when you are done with the human realm, you will come and live with me, in the land of dreams, and be my raven.’
Severus nods slowly, and cautiously takes the hand which is held toward him. He doesn’t quite trust this man who calls himself the King of Dreams, but he will go along with it for now.
In the morning Severus will not remember running along the valley and playing in the stream, but the circles under his eyes will be just a little less dark, his shoulders just a little less hunched. And in some deep corner of his mind a tiny light will keep burning.
~~*~*~~