Eleven
20th December 1997
Severus, please. We’re friends…
The woman’s body is pulled into the snake, like a particularly large hair ball being sucked into a hoover. She continues to plead even as her bones are snapping and crunching. Her eyes, never leaving his.
As if tugged in by an invisible thread Severus finds himself pulled forwards, dragged head first into the yawning maw of the snake’s mouth. He crawls along a dark, wet passage, things squelching and crunching beneath him. He can still hear Charity’s screams in the distance, and as it grows darker he begins to see other ghostly forms; Lily’s green eyes staring unblinking, dead, yet still accusatory; Cedric Diggory killed simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time; Sirius Black whom he had wished death on more times than he could count, and yet in the end had tried to save, and whose death only left him feeling empty; and the headmaster falling backwards from the tower after his killing curse.
“Lately only those whom I could not save.”
That is what he had told Albus, partly because he did not know the number of people he had watched die.
He continues to crawl forward through dead bodies, rotten flesh, brittle bones. He keeps going even though he doesn’t want to, would do anything not to reach the end of this tunnel, because he knows what lies at the end. One more death. One more body.
The green eyes shine at him out of the darkness, growing larger, and he knows that each step is sealing the boy’s fate. The boy whom he hates – or maybe loves – it’s so difficult to tell the difference. He was supposed to be keeping him safe, but now he is leading him to the gallows.
This is the only dream he has now. Never mind any long forgotten hope of ever having a good dream, this one perfect nightmare runs on a loop every night. Over and over.
Just as he is reaching the boy, ready for his mind to replay it’s own personal torture, a slit of light appears to his side. Fingers push through the gap and pull the gash wider, then a face appears.
‘Severus.’ His voice intones.
Severus sighs and slumps in the muck. Morpheus always finds him at his worst.
‘Come.’
A hand reaches in and drags him out of the snake’s body. He lands on the very familiar patterned rug of the tent.
‘Thanks, but you needn’t have bothered.’ Severus mutters. ‘And no I don’t want tea.’
‘Don’t you think you’ve tortured yourself long enough with that nightmare?’ Morpheus asks.
‘Don’t you think you’ve gone a bit soft?’ Severus scoffs. ‘You’ve lost your objectivity, Dream King.’ Severus practically sneers.
‘You still think you deserve those dreams Severus?’
‘Deserve? I don’t know what I deserve, but it can’t possibly be anything good.’
Morpheus finds himself longing to comfort this man; imperfect and flawed as Severus is, he would do anything to take his pain away.
‘So much has been asked of you in the name of the greater good.’ He sweeps his fingers along the edge of Severus’ hair, tucking the curtain behind his ear. ‘Do you no longer believe you are doing the right thing?’
‘What’s the difference.’ Severus murmurs on barely more than a whispered breath. ‘I follow my orders, orders which I might once have at least thought to question. But now… I barely know the difference between right and wrong any more. All I can do is continue down the path before me with some vain echo of hope that I am doing my part for…’ He trails off and holds his head in his hands. ‘But what does that matter? I continue to watch people die, stand by as children are tortured. How can that be right? How am I any different, any better than any of them?
‘Why can’t I make good dreams? Why does everyone I care about die? Why do I keep coming back to the same conclusion? At some point one has to admit that there is a common dominator. Me. I’ve always been… tainted. Wrong. My father saw it. Potter. Everyone. The only people who have ever seen any good in me end up dead. If that’s not the definition of evil…’
‘I know evil Severus.’ Morpheus interrupts him. ‘I have literally danced with the Devil herself. I have walked through hell, fought demons, created nightmares, I have lived for millennia and seen the very best and worst of humanity. You… dear… you are not the worst. You are not anywhere in the same realm as evil.’ Dream’s fingers delicately trace the contours of his features. The angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose, the lines around his eyes.
Morpheus had known love, but had not allowed himself to either give or receive it for a very long time. Perhaps… perhaps he could allow himself… perhaps he could not stop himself.
‘I see good in you Severus. And I have no intention of dying any time soon.’ He smirks lightly at the notion. ‘So, if you are ready to stop feeling sorry for yourself…’
~~*~*~~