Summer Chronicles III

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3: Healer Hadrian - Part 2 - Night Terrors

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Harry awoke to the silent sounds of someone groaning, the golden Celtic band on his arm heating up, and his feet on the floor in an instant.

He didn't need any other sign to tell him that the sound was from his Papa.

On the bed, Severus was clutching the sheets, battling with his inner demons, for in the moment he fell into the supposed effect of Harry's creation, his Occlumency shields were temporarily withdrawn, and the memories seeped through the cracks of the Master Occlumens, the ever genius spy, Harry's father: Severus Tobias Snape.

And of course, it isn't boding well. Nothing truly bodes well when one is subjected to the torture of his own memories.

Harry was panicking on the inside. He himself experienced tons and tons of night terrors every night, but he never knew his Papa does too. Somewhere in his mind, Harry was trying his hardest not to fall into a pit of fear, where he knew he couldn't emerge from.

His body though, if one is an observer, would see the collected boy that is the trademark of Harry Snape- or any Snape gentleman, for that matter. This was, perhaps, the only trait that Severus would be proud to say was of Tobias Snape's genes.

Harry quietly gathered his thoughts, summoned his wand, and made his way to where Snape's body was trying, ever so valiantly, to fight the opponent that was himself, but all for naught. The memories were too much, as they always had been- a result of Snape hiding them away for so long, instead of facing them and moving on.

Harry did not need to wave his hand over to know that Severus Snape was sweating coldly, but was burning. His Papa's reddening ears and cheeks yet the paler complexion, the way the sweat seem to cling to the man's porcelain skin, and the way his usually kept hair was thrashing wildly along with his writhing. His lips were clamped shut in an effort to down the screams, only to let them out as pitiful whimpers.

Inside his subconscious, Severus was gasping for air as memory after damned memory assaulted him, along with nightmares of his worst fears coming back to life.

--

"Come on, Severus. Just one!"

"That's an Unforgivable."

"And so?"

"Regulus, it's labeled as an Unforgivable for a reason!"

"But it's so fun! Our Lord does it! Why can't we?!"

Sixteen year old Snape sighed, drew his wand, then whispered the words with such contempt that it made him wonder where he stored all those hate in his body, "Crucio!"

The man- unknown, a Muggle- writhed across the floor, his eyes wide, dark, foreboding, but he didn't scream...

---

The whole place seemed so alive. Clinking of glasses, then whoops and jibes- the tent filled with cheers of joy and erupted with jubilance as Potter and Lily stood and rewarded the crowd with a display of a kiss.

Twenty year old Snape watched it all, his heart breaking, his whole being shattered.

Wasn't it just last night when he held her in his arms as though they were the only beings in the world?

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