The Death Eaters pinning his arms loosened their grip a moment to adjust their hold on him to keep him in the air as the other man forcibly parted Harry's legs and fumbled his robes open.
In that instant of inattention, Harry jerked his hands free, and used the only weapon left to him.
With a horrified cry of "No!" Harry loosed the power inside of him, watching as the blue lightning bolts of mage fire crackled forth from his fingertips towards the man about to rape him . . . .
As with the hundreds of terrifying scenarios that had played out before this one, as soon as Harry loosed his power, he woke up.
He wasn't being held up in the air, being spread wide for a Death Eater to rape him. He was standing on a bed, his ankles tangled in a familiar green duvet. His mage fire wasn't incinerating his attacker. It was crackling into a mahogany wardrobe with the Slytherin House coat of arms carved into its lustrous wood.
The front of the wardrobe exploded with a resounding crack. Charred, smoking wood was all that was left of the serpent seal.
Harry stared in horror at the damage.
Shaking all over, he used a trembling hand to brush the sweat-drenched hair from his eyes. Gasping for breath, he stared around the wreck of the bed. Severus' bed. Severus, who had been sound asleep in his arms the last he remembered, was now nowhere in sight.
Had Severus gotten in the way of his mage fire and been incinerated in his first burst? Had he finally gone that irreversible step and killed someone while in the grips of these insane dreams?
"S-Severus?" Harry rasped out with a voice hoarse from screaming.
The silence that followed his shaky call blew an icy shiver down his back. Gooseflesh pricked up his skin as he stood there shuddering under the rawest terror he'd ever experienced.
There was nothing in the room but the rising, acrid smoke from the wardrobe and his own harsh breathing.
Then, quite abruptly, the bed dipped and a speck on the duvet that was no bigger than a fly began to swell in size, gaining mass and weight until it transformed into Severus Snape. Save for the wand he held clutched in his right hand, Severus was naked.
His lover's long face looked pinched and as pale as the white sheets on the bed. His eyes were wide and glittering with an odd light.
It took a moment for Harry to place the emotion. He so rarely saw fear in Severus.
"Thank god," Harry whispered and dropped to his knees on the bed. "You shrank yourself."
"That was mage fire," Severus said in a tone that was strange for him, but with which Harry was far too intimate.
Severus didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off his charred wardrobe.
The last bit of hope Harry had harboured died at that fateful inflection. Well, he'd had six incredible weeks before the damn dreams ruined everything. That was a record.
Only, Harry didn't care about records. All he cared about was Severus, and now Severus was as scared of him as every other lover.
How could he have been so stupid as to forget to take the Dreamless Sleep potion again? What had he been thinking – or not thinking? This wasn't a relationship he wanted to jeopardize for any reason, and now he'd lost it like it was just another one night stand. Because of those fucking dreams.
The unfairness of it all avalanched over his already fraught emotions. He couldn't lose Severus, not now . . . but when had he ever had any choice in the matter?
Harry drew a shaky breath and forced himself to hold it together. He was not going to break down in front of Severus, not make him feel any worse than he was probably already feeling. None of this was Severus' fault. Who wouldn't be scared of him, after seeing what he could do?
"Yes," Harry whispered, "it was. I'm . . . sorry, Severus, really sorry."
"You used mage fire," Severus said in that same blank, stunned voice.
"I didn't mean to, I just . . . I'm sorry. I was dreaming and . . . I'm really sorry," there was no explaining or excusing it. "I know the drill. I'll just go." Harry couldn't look at that face and say those words without blubbering, so he said them to the duvet. Then he climbed to his feet, trembling like he'd been tossed in the frozen lake outside.
"Drill? What the devil are you talking about? Where do you think you're going? It's one a.m.!" Severus didn't quite shout.
Severus' angry demands stopped him in his tracks. Harry was still wobbly from the nightmare and the wellspring of misery bubbling inside him at the idea of losing Severus was making it impossible for him to think straight. "I'll go back to my rooms . . . unless you want me to leave the school?"
He hadn't thought of that, that he might have frightened Severus so badly that they wouldn't be able to work together in the future. His heart seemed to trip to a stop, his blood turning to ice in his veins at the prospect of losing both Severus and Hogwarts. In his pain, he could only stare at Severus as the older man looked back at him in open confusion.
Severus made to run a hand through his mussed, long black hair, and nearly poked himself in the eye with his wand. With an impatient hiss, he placed the wand on his nightstand and then sank down on the bed.
Harry watched the slender, yellow-stained fingers comb through the long locks that he'd had the right to touch a half hour ago, but would probably never be able to caress again. Then Severus released a slow breath, stood up, and approached him.
"Potter . . . Harry . . . you're not making any sense."
The words were gentle, not angry and accusative. Harry didn't know what to make of them. He could only watch as that elegant, bony hand reached for his shoulder.
"Damn it, man, stop looking at me as though I'm going to strike you," Severus demanded as he laid his flat palm on Harry's biceps, then slowly curled his fingers around it.
Harry barely restrained the words 'Aren't you?' Instead, he stared down at Severus' hand where it rested on his arm, trying to work out what was happening. Nobody touched him after one of these incidents. They usually fell all over themselves to prevent any contact at all.
"You're shaking," Severus said in a much softer voice and slipped his other arm around Harry's waist.
Harry gaped speechlessly up at Severus and then buried his face in the soft chest hair in front of him. As Severus began to rub his back in slow circles, he sucked in a breath that smelt of his lover's sweet skin and whispered, "You're not . . . going to make me leave?"
Those arms tightened around him so hard Harry could barely breathe.
"No, of course not."
Harry knew Severus well enough now to recognize emotion in his voice, no matter how hard the other man might try to conceal it, but he couldn't place whatever it was that was flavouring his words.
"I used mage fire . . . and I destroyed your wardrobe. Everyone else makes me leave when things like that happen." Even to his own ears, he sounded like a child.
"This has happened before, then?" Severus asked.
Harry nodded against Severus' chest.
"The dream or the mage fire?" Severus questioned.
"Both. I'm sorry. I really should have told you about the nightmares," Harry fretted.
Severus sighed. "You did tell me about them. Weeks ago, when we were talking in the deserted classroom. Don't you remember? You said you have nightmares that sometimes leave you violent."
"I – did?"
"Yes, you did," Severus softly confirmed.
"I don't remember," Harry admitted, beginning to tremble all over again.
"It's of no importance. Come back to bed. It's freezing," Severus said, his body shifting their locked forms back towards the four-poster.
"But . . . I blasted up your wardrobe," Harry reminded him, as though Severus could possibly be unaware of the blackened husk that had once been a beautiful piece of furniture.
"It can be replaced. Right now we need to get you warm. I believe you might be going into shock," Severus said, moving him more insistently towards the bed.
Harry stopped protesting and allowed himself to be guided down onto the mattress. The heavy warmth of the duvet settled over him as Severus covered him up. He couldn't take his eyes off Severus.
Still unable to believe that Severus wanted him here, Harry watched Severus pause by the side of the bed to collect his wand from the night table. He flicked it at a candle on the nightstand to light the wick, and then pointed at the wall sconces. They immediately flickered out.
Meeting his gaze, Severus offered in an uncertain voice, "I thought you might sleep better with a small light in the room."
"Thank you," Harry whispered, his throat going tight at this dour man's consideration.
Severus nodded and slipped his wand back under his pillow. Then he climbed in beside Harry and gathered him close without any hint of hesitation.
Harry rested his cheek on that beloved, furry chest, sighing as Severus' arms slipped around him.
For the first time ever, he hadn't lost everything after one of those nightmares. The relief he felt was so intense, he was sure he was going to burst out sobbing any second. It was only the thought of how Severus would respond to such a display that allowed him any control at all.
"I can't believe you're letting me stay," Harry said in an embarrassingly unsteady voice, kissing the bony chest beneath his cheek.
Severus was quiet for a moment, and then he answered in an equally affected tone, "Funny, I can't believe anyone would let you go."
"Thank you," Harry grated out, his eyes stinging.
"You already said that. Go back to sleep, Potter," Severus said. "We'll sort everything out in the morning."
Harry tensed, wondering if Armageddon had simply been postponed.
"It will be all right," Severus assured in a gruff tone and began rubbing his back again.
Releasing an unsteady sigh, Harry closed his eyes. He let his lover's scent and warmth surround and comfort him. After a few minutes, he felt Severus press a soft kiss to the crown of his head. Severus' lips stayed there in his unruly hair as the chest rising and falling beneath his cheek slowed into a deeper rhythm.
Severus had gone back to sleep. That, more than any words, assured Harry that he really didn't consider him a dangerous monster.
Severus had said everything would be all right, that they'd sort things out in the morning. Harry didn't know what could be 'sorted out' in this situation, but as long as it didn't involve Severus dumping him, perhaps everything would be all right, after all. It was strange enough to hear Severus Snape offer that kind of reassurances that he might just believe them.
Lulled by his lover's steady breathing at this time when he'd normally be making his miserable way home alone, Harry gave in to his emotional exhaustion.
*~*~*
Sunday morning dawned the same as every other morning did in the dungeon, which was to say, not at all. There were no windows to proclaim even a brilliant August dawn, let alone the grey half-light of a Scottish December day in Severus' bedroom. Still, his internal clock told him it was morning.
Even after nearly six weeks, every time Severus rolled over and saw that bird's nest of wild black hair sharing his pillow, a thrill would go through him. It was no different this morning. Potter was still here.
Harry had turned towards him in his sleep. He lay there on the other side of the pillow with his mouth slightly open. Sleep had soothed the cares of his lover's difficult life away. He looked younger and far more innocent than a wizard who had defeated a dark lord before the age of twenty should.
As Severus' admiring gaze fell upon the lightning bolt scar peeking out through Harry's fringe, he remembered the events of last night. His sleepy lassitude evaporated. He looked to the other side of the room, where his blackened wardrobe with its blasted apart door confirmed his memories.
Harry had used mage fire in his sleep last night.
Severus' own memories of the event were jumbled and confused. He'd been deeply asleep himself, when he'd felt a chillingly familiar presence pass through his rooms, a presence that had been vanished from this plane nearly a decade ago. Harry had screamed beside him as though undergoing Cruciatus.
More asleep than awake, Severus had grabbed his wand from beneath his pillow and jumped up in the bed, scanning the room for intruders.
But there was no one there, save Harry. All his wards were still intact. Hogwarts' greater securities hadn't been breached. And, yet, that dark, malignant spectre remained and Harry was still screaming.
Slowly, Severus had realized that the shadow he was sensing was coming from Harry. It wasn't Voldemort, per se, but it was definitely Voldemort's energy signature behind the curse he was feeling. Then, Harry had jumped up in the bed beside him and stretched out his hands in his direction.
Hogwarts' anti-Apparation wards had prevented him from apparating to safety. The instant he'd seen the sparks of blue energy around his lover's fingertips, he'd done the only thing he could think of to get out of the way of whatever defensive magic Harry was about to work. He'd shrunk himself down to the size of an ant, mere seconds before the mage fire crackled forth.
He'd known Harry was a tremendously powerful wizard; in all probability Harry Potter was the most powerful wizard to be born in a thousand years, but . . . he'd never expected mage fire. There hadn't been a documented case of it in nearly three hundred years. The ability was the stuff of fantasies these days. And Harry was working it in his sleep.
Potter had told him how his powers had frightened off his other lovers. Until last night, he hadn't understood. Now he did.
But more than that, Severus was finally beginning to appreciate how significant their association was to Harry. He'd never seen Potter upset like that. Even as a boy, Potter had possessed a confidence and emotional fortitude that surpassed most of the adults around him. Be it his nasty Potions professor, the Minister of Magic, or the Dark Lord he was confronting, Potter stood firm and proud before them, defiant to the end. But last night Harry had seemed broken, totally crushed by the prospect of losing . . . him, of all things.
