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| THE LIGHT ENTHRALLED BY THE DARKNESS | | | | | | | | |
| Chapter 6 - "Darkness" | | | | 6. Darkness.
I'm searching for answers
Cause something is not right.
I follow the signs,
I'm close to the fire.*
Harry shut his eyes tightly, wishing to cut off the path to the returning images and memories and drown the bombarding of his thoughts. It was almost morning, the sky outside the window had begun to brighten, if you could call it that. It looked rather like a velvet black slowly changing into a grenade ink. He felt warming heat and biting cold deep inside at the same time. A feeling of bitter shame had already vaporized from his mind. Pleasant satisfaction was fighting with paralyzing fear. He felt like his heart was torn in half and both parts couldn’t come together in agreement. He felt like he could just lie there, shrouded in darkness and wait for the outcome.
Which half would win? It was draw for now.
Ron and Neville were snoring, probably dreaming about some nice things. But Harry couldn’t sleep. All the events, that swept like an avalanche through his already confused life just a few hours ago, made him wondered if he would ever again be able to sleep. Once he opened his eyes, before them thrived images so suggestive, so real… The dark, shiny eyes, emerging from the blackness. A figure wrapped in billowing robes. A long, pale hand clamped on his cock. Snape’s red, turgid erection in his mouth. Biting, scornful eyes and a dark, and a mocking smile…
No!
He pressed his hands to his eyes.
For a few moments he gasped heavily, trying to control his breathing. After some time, he tore his hands from his eyes and left them on the quilt, staring again into the darkness.
Everything was back to the beginning. Again, he saw a tall, menacing figure standing in the doorway. The figure, which came to him…
Rosy blushes were burning on his cheeks, and the corners of his lips twitched slightly in a bitter grimace, which should have been a smile, but didn’t resemble one. The green eyes staring at the ceiling glittered feverishly, experiencing every moment once again.
***
“Harry! Harry! What’s going on with you?” Hermione’s angry voice broke through Harry’s mind, wrapped in mist, and snatched him from the torpor in which he was the whole morning. On his plate were laying a few sausages that he hadn’t even touched.
“Nothing” he muttered, feeling like he could vomit. For the tenth time he glanced at the staff table.
Snape wasn’t at breakfast. Harry thanked whatever deity could hear him.
So far, he couldn’t properly understand how that situation, which had taken place yesterday afternoon in the cupboard, had happened. On the one hand, his mind was trying to erase it from memory, on the other – he seized at the surge of heat and the thought of Snape’s taste, his smell, his intoxicating closeness.
That’s impossible! It couldn’t have happened, I dreamed everything! he vehemently repeated in his thoughts. His mind couldn’t grasp the event, and Harry didn’t want to help it for anything in the world.
The words: ‘I blew the Potions Master’ appeared in his head and, alternately with the statement: ‘No, it didn’t happen! I must have dreamed it!’ And sometimes appeared thoughts like: ‘I was sexually abused by the teacher. Maybe I should tell someone about it?’
Harry tried to imagine a hypothetical conversation with Dumbledore:
“… Snape came to me and looked at me.”
“And what happened next, Harry?”
“Hmmm, I got an erection only from his look.”
“Ah.”
“Well, and then… hmm… I said ‘please, touch it.’”
“This complicated the matter, Harry…”
"And he touched me. And then... I blew him. And in the end he told me: 'It was nice, Mr. Potter.'
"I bet it had to be nice to him, Harry."
“And what do you think, Headmaster?”
“Where was this situation?”
“In a cupboard.”
“In a cupboard? It's a public place.”
“No, if we did it in the Great Hall, this would be a public place.”
“Hmm… And how did you feel after that, Harry?”
“I had the greatest orgasm of my life.”
“Well, I don’t see the problem, Harry.”
“Thank you for hearing me out, sir.”
Harry involuntarily smiled to himself.
No. He knew he would never, ever tell anyone about this. He would die of shame if he did. This would be his secret burden, overwhelming him with its weight and not allowing him to forget.
Harry hated himself for drinking that potion in class. He hated himself for how Snape moved him. He hated himself for knowing that he would have done anything for Snape in the cupboard, anything the man had asked him to do. And he hated Snape, because that bastard knew it. He hated him for his confidence: and Harry had given him this confidence.
But at the same time… he was afraid. He was afraid, because Snape knew his desires. He was afraid, because it gave Snape power over Harry, and the man was capable of anything. And Harry himself had given him that authority along with the confidence. And he was afraid Snape would use it.
Harry cursed himself and all that had led him to the point he was at now.
I curse the moment, when I put the cursed potion to my lips and discovered the desires inside of me!
When he returned to the dormitory on Wednesday night, everyone was asleep. He remembered the smell of Snape’s come that had still been on him, since he hadn't been able to wash it off in the bathroom. He had been feeling dirty, humiliated and trampled but, at the same time, his heart was singing joyful serenades. He had gotten what he’d been longing for. It may not have looked the way it had in his fantasies, but it was only the beginning. Snape couldn’t pretend forever that he didn't feel anything for Harry. Harry had seen that burning look in the other man’s black eyes…
He shuddered, remembering the cool hand stroking his cock, which had led him to the greatest orgasm of his life. It was different than doing it by himself…
“Harry! Harry!” Hermione’s voice broke through his thoughts again.
“Stop Harrying me!” he growled. “What?” he added, seeing reproach in this friend’s eyes. He was annoyed that Hermione was still touting at him and not letting him think.
“What’s happening to you?” spat Hermione, making an offended face.
"Nothing! Stop pestering me and leave me alone!” hissed Harry, pushing his plate away, angrilly, and rising abruptly from his seat.
He wanted to be alone.
He saw Ron’s eyes had gone wide, startled by the sudden explosion. The redhead wanted to say something, but his full mouth didn’t allow him to do so.
“I’m going to clean up the rest of the cupboards,” said Harry angrily, turning his back to his friends, and moving towards the exit. He didn’t care whether he had offended them or not. He didn’t even wait for Hermione’s protests. He could feel the glares of the other students on him, escorting him to the exit, among them with an intense look, Draco Malfoy, but he paid no attention.
He walked through the corridors quickly, trembling and nervous. He didn’t understand where the aggression, that felt so enormous it could flood the halls, came from. He needed solitude to think about the whole thing calmly.
He wasn’t interested in yesterday’s victory of the Chudley Cannons, which was what Ron had been prattling on about. He didn’t want to hear about the pile of homework, which Hermione had constantly reminded him of, and was currently pestering him to hurry up with the cleaning because he wouldn’t have time to do said homework for tomorrow classes. He wasn’t interested at all. Not in anything. Everything was suddenly pushed aside. The most important thing for him now was what happened yesterday evening in a small, musty cupboard in the cold, dark dungeons of Hogwarts. Now, all he wanted was to think about that. Now he only could think about that.
He felt like his life was radically changing now. He didn’t know exactly what that change would involve, but surely Hogwarts wouldn’t be the same as before. Now everything he looked at was marked by his obsession with Severus Snape.
He was unable to finish cleaning the cupboard. He just couldn’t concentrate on that. Shattered and shocked, he left the compartment, dragged himself straight into the bathroom and sat there until he was sure everyone had gone to sleep. And, when he finally ascended to the dorms to try and sleep, himself, he determined he would never again return to that place which had witnessed his total humiliation and also his greatest ecstasy. He knew that Filch would be angry with him, but no one was sending him there, not even by force.
But there still was a cupboard at the bottom of the castle, close to the Slytherin dormitories. Fortunately, the corridor which it was in led away from Snape’s office. And, early in the morning, Harry was still feeling uneasy. He was so shaken when he’d met Snape in the hallway yesterday, he could have fled with a scream, or – even worse – have fainted from fright.
While he was absorbed in his thoughts and going down to the dungeons, he remembered that he needed to take the bucket and the rest of the cleaning stuff with him ... which were in the cupboard next to Filch’s office. He sighed resignedly, turned around halfway down the stairs to head back, and at the same time he saw a dark shape disappearing around the corner at the top of the stairs. He stiffened and felt a sudden overwhelming burden on his heart.
All the students were at breakfast. He couldn’t find anyone here. He put his hand into his pocket, clutching his wand, and slowly began to climb the stairs. He stared at the corner of the corridor with such intensity that after a while he felt tears in his eyes from failing to blink, but he didn’t dare to. He listened but heard nothing suspicious. When he was on the top of the stairs, he clenched his wand even more tightly and with a rapidly beating heart looked cautiously around the corner.
Nobody was there.
He breathed a sigh of relief, telling himself that it was something he had probably thought of. Why would anyone follow him? But on the next floor he started to run.
He took the broom, the bucket, the towels and the feather duster from the cupboard next to Filch’s office and with the entire inventory he began going down again, straight to the dungeons. He looked intently, but nothing strange jumped at him suddenly from behind a corner. He thought of the medallion – a present from Luna, which rested quietly in his trunk in the dormitory. He regretted that he didn’t have it with him anymore. What if it really works?
There’s no reason for concern. I’m at Hogwarts – it’s currently the safest place in the Wizarding World. There’s nothing sinister. Well, maybe except three-headed dogs, giant spiders, snakes that can kill someone with one look, and the whole lot of other strange creatures hiding in the nooks and crannies of the castle. And Snape, he thought, placing the bucket on one of the steps and stretching. “It probably was just Peeves, or some other ghost,” he uttered aloud.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw some movement on top of the stairs, but when he turned his head he saw only a few portraits on the walls. An old fat monk was dozing in his frame, a herd of hippos calmly laid in the water. Nobody moved.
I’m hallucinating. Probably from lack of sleep, thought Harry, grabbing the bucket and descending into the cold dungeons. While he traversed a long, austere corridor he felt the chillness diffuse through his clothes and leave his body shaking. Here, it was always cold. He had almost forgotten about this, remembering the fire that burned in him yesterday, when he and the Potions Master…
He felt his cheeks blushing. He really didn’t imagine that he would meet Snape now. The very thought made him break out in a cold sweat..
Finally he reached his destination. The most neglected and forgotten cupboard in the entire castle was just a few meters from the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, the dark bay round the corner. Harry had been here only once in his life when he and Ron had drank the Polyjuice Potion and turned into Crabbe and Goyle – Malfoy’s two faithful lackeys.
There was no one here at this time, but he knew that the Slytherins would soon appear, returning from breakfast. He preferred not to tempt fate and quickly hid in the darkness surrounding the cupboard. When he opened the door, the obnoxious smell of mustiness and rat droppings burst into his nostrils. He clogged his nose, coughing for a while and waving his hand trying to ward off the smell.
After this I’ll be smelling worse than Kreacher, he thought in disgust, trying to see something in the dark.
He took his wand out of his pocket to cast a Lumos and try to find some candles, when suddenly someone’s strong hands caught him from behind and a hard-as-rock fist gave him a punch into his stomach, depriving him of breath. Before he realized it, his wand was snatched from his hand, and he found himself on the floor, holding his stomach and trying to catch his breath. In his eyes, stars appeared and he heard only tinnitus, but after a while he heard also a familiar, venomous voice:
“What, no longer so riotous, Potter?”
Two hoarse snickers reached Harry’s ears.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” he coughed, gritting his teeth, and looked up.
Draco was standing between his two gorillas and was smiling vindictively.
“What do I want? Do you think that I would just let you get away with all that I have to endure because of you?
Kneeling on the stone floor, Harry quickly assessed the situation. They were three, he was one. And they had taken away his wand. How could he have been so careless? He cursed himself for his stupidity, coming down here without watching his own back.
“It’s you who followed me?” he asked, although he knew the answer. He wanted to gain time. He hoped that at any moment someone would come. Although he suspected that the Slytherins would probably be pleased at how his colleagues would have beaten Harry Potter to a pulp. Deep down, however, he had hoped that at least one of them would prove to be as good-natured as to notify a professor.
He didn’t know what to expect from Malfoy. He knew only one thing – that he didn’t at all like the nasty smile that contorted Malfoy's face. He didn’t like that dark shadow in the Slytherin’s eyes. Malfoy had always hated him, but never before had his eyes expressed such… madness, when he looked at Harry.
“We heard what you told that Mudblood and redhead about cleaning the cupboards. How wonderful that you’ve come straight here.” A demonic gleam appeared in Malfoy’s eyes making Harry even more uneasy than before.
They’re really going to… He was choked by fear and anger when he realized the sudden hopelessness of the situation in which he found himself. He looked around furtively in search of help, but the corridor seemed to be completely empty. He wouldn't have a chance against them without his wand, but he wouldn’t give up without a fight.
“Are you such a coward that you need the help of your lackeys to give me a whacking, Malfoy? Are you afraid that you can't beat me by yourself?”
“I don’t wish to dirty my hands with your filthy blood.” Malfoy spat at his feet, signaling at Crabbe and Goyle who caught Harry in their arms and lifted him up.
Oh, so that how it'll be… Would he be a punching bag for Malfoy? No way!
He felt the flame of rebellion igniting in his heart, heated by years of hatred, add to his strength and determination.
“No wonder! You can’t even tie your shoelaces without the help of others!” he shouted, struggling and trying to break free from the restraints of their strong hands. “I wonder if your gorillas wipe your arse, too!”
Malfoy’s face turned white with rage.
“You'll eat your words, Potter! And after that you’ll be writhing under my feet and begging for mercy!” snarled Malfoy, rolling up the sleeves of his robe.
Harry began to struggle violently. His hatred for Malfoy overwhelmed him, triggering the aggression that had long been dormant inside him, waiting for the right time to release from the bonds in which he’d has held it for so long. He felt a powerful jab to his side by Crabbe, who tried to control him, but only enraged him further.
“Just touch me, Malfoy, and it will be the last thing you’ll ever do!” he bellowed, kicking and biting at random, just to break free, to throw himself at Malfoy and crush his pale face into the cold stone floor.
“Hold him tight!” shouted Malfoy. “You think you can do whatever you like? You think you’re untouchable because this is his will? Nobody will save you now, Potter! You’re mine!” The last word changed into roar of rage, and Malfoy swung his fist. Harry closed his eyes, waiting for the strike.
“What the hell’s going on here?!” A sharp, cold voice cut through the air and made it all suddenly go quiet and dreadfully still.
The strike didn’t come.
Harry opened his eyes, breathing hard and panting. A tall, proud figure in black, billowing robes emerged from the dark corridor, gloomy and menacing.
Snape!
Inside him there was a violent explosion that shook his whole body. He felt like his heart dropped into his stomach and like his throat had tightened into a knot, making it impossible to breathe. He opened his eyes wide, his hate turning to panic and dread. He quickly looked away and moved his gaze to the floor. He could hear and feel his heart pounding in his ears and his blood burning in his veins.
Severus Snape cast one glance over the whole scene, furrowed his brows, and from his lips, in a deadly threatening voice, came cooly dictated words addressed to Crabbe and Goyle:
“Let him go.”
Harry was staring at the floor with determination and didn’t see the professor’s expression, but his tone suggested, quite clearly, that any attempt to ignore the command could lead to a very badly end.
The massive hands holding him let him go and, rubbing his sore arms, Harry straightened up slowly, but still trembling. His hair was in disarray and he could only stand with his head bowed, feeling the blood rumbling in his ears and his cheeks burning.
“Mr. Malfoy, return Mr. Potter’s wand to him, immediately.”
“No!” Malfoy’s sudden shout made Harry almost petrify with surprise. The Gryffindor looked up at the Slytherin, who was standing and trembling with suppressed rage. It looked as if he was fighting an internal battle with himself. “You won't stop me!” he exclaimed, then turned back to Harry, so blinded by hatred, that it seemed as if he was totally unaware just who he was resisting.
Harry didn’t even blink when Snape came at Malfoy and, with one hand, grabbed Draco's wrist in the iron grip. Harry watched Malfoy grimace in pain and let out a muffled groan. Snape held his grip on Malfoy’s wrist for just a moment, but it was enough for Malfoy to drop Harry’s wand and grab his hand, groaning in pain.
“Don’t you ever try to resist me again.” The tone of the Potions Master’s voice gave Harry the goosebumps. He swallowed hard, trying to control the tremor possessing his body.
“Follow me,” growled Snape, throwing a murderous gaze at the Slytherin. “And you two go to your dormitories.” He turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who were staring at Snape with foolish faces, then quickly turned and stumbled out, disappearing around the corner.
The man’s eyes rested on Harry for a moment, but the Potions Master didn’t turn to him in any way, as if Harry was just a negligible detail in the entire incident, an inconvenient witness.
And yet it was he whom they wanted to beat!
The Gryffindor felt the warming sensation of the heat inside him disappearing, replaced by something cold, heavy and hard.
Snape turned around and waited until Draco – throwing Harry one again a hateful stare – passed him and moved towards the Potions Master’s office.
Harry caught himself thinking of a sudden strange notion that went through his mind; that he would give almost everything to be in Malfoy’s place. On the other hand – he would give all the rest so as to not be there.
He felt dizzy when he looked at the professor’s receding back, dressed in black, his robes fluttering.
Suddenly he realized that he was alone.
He was shaking and his head was still spinning.
Why didn’t it worry him that he had narrowly escaped beatings? Why was he more bothered by the fact that Snape had hardly paid any attention to him? He didn’t expect that after what had happened between them the Potions Master would somehow be incredibly nice, but so much coolness and indifference was a disappointment to him that felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head.
Something had happened between them. And, damn, it really was something! Snape couldn’t behave as if everything was okay. As if the whole world had not suddenly turned upside down. As if what had happened yesterday didn’t happen. It’s true that Harry was also trying to do the same, to pretend it hadn’t, but… hell! He knew it was true! He hadn’t dreamt it!
Maybe Snape also needed time to accept it? Or something like that… Next time he would give him a sure sign that he remembered him and that he remembered what had happened, that it also meant something to him…
Next time.
For sure.
***
“WHAT did Malfoy do?” Ron and Hermione’s screams earned them odd looks from others around them.
“Shhh,” hissed Harry, looking around the Common Room anxiously. The three of them were sitting on the couch by the fireplace. It was Sunday night and a few students had stayed up late to finish homework. Harry was also covered with books, and Hermione and Ron were helping him finish with the task. Hermione was writing the essay for History of Magic, Ron was trying to note the effects of the Stretching Potion. Harry was practicing Transfiguration, but he couldn’t concentrate.
“Malfoy and his gang attacked you in the dungeons?” exclaimed Hermione with indignation almost bouncing in place, splashing ink on the sides. “How could they? This is totally unacceptable!”
“That right bloody bastard!” hissed Ron, ignoring the alarming look Hermione shot him. “I hope Snape gives him exactly what he deserves!”
“Do you really believe that Snape could punish his pet?” asked Hermione doubtfully. “No, Ron. At best, he’ll end up with a reprimand. You should tell Professor Dumbledore, Harry.”
“No, Hermione. I’m not running to Dumbledore with every little problem. He has enough to deal with.”
“Then go to Professor McGonagall.”
“And what can she do? Snape won’t allow her to punish Malfoy a second time, now that he can take care of him,” said Ron. “Harry should handle this on his own.”
Hermione threw the redhead an indignant glare.
“Ronald Weasley, you’re not suggesting that Harry spy on Malfoy and attack him by surprise, like a common thug?”
Ron grinned. “Exactly what I meant.”
“In that case, I think you’re irresponsible…”
Harry stopped listening. He had already had enough. Anything he told his friends about, it always ended up in a quarrel. He suspected that if he confessed to them what he did with Snape in the cupboards, his friends for the first time would – finally – break off.
No, Harry didn’t intend to tell them. Ever.
They wouldn’t understand, anyway, just as he, himself, didn’t understand it yet. He was still wondering how this came about. But – curiously enough – he was more interested in what Snape would do now. Maybe he also was thinking about Harry and remembering how Harry was kneeling in front of him and…
Harry felt like embers flooded him and his cheeks began to burn dangerously.
He couldn’t let Ron and Hermione see!
He quickly calmed his racing heart and tried to return to the interrupted conversation.
“…at least I try to help him and not throw ridiculous ideas at him for which he could be expelled from school!” raged Hermione.
Harry quickly returned to his thoughts, which he much more preferred to hear than the next argument between his friends.
He met Snape today. He saw him. It was a such a strange feeling to look at the man, with the image of his erection still fresh on his mind and the memory of how he tasted in his mouth. Still, when he closed his eyes, he felt his closeness, his strength, crushing him into the wall and holding him before the fall, and his stunning smell.
Harry still couldn’t believe it.
Fuck, I almost had sex with him! He jerked me off and I gave him a blow job! That's just impossible!
…And probably he won’t be able to believe it, until Snape gave him a sign that he remembered it too, that it wasn’t only his dark, twisted dream.
Harry truly believed that it had to also meant something to Snape, since he saved him from Malfoy earlier that day. Before that he would probably go away without a word and let Malfoy do with Harry whatever he wanted and he would probably enjoyed it inwardly. No, Snape had clearly stood in Harry’s defense and the thought warmed him, giving him hope. The fact that the Potions Master didn’t pay attention to Harry in general was just a small misunderstanding.
When Harry closed his eyes he was again in the cupboard, nestled amidst the black, rough coat, the smell of potions in this nostrils and the taste of the man’s hot cock in his mouth, hearing the murmurs of pleasure in his ears and looking into the dark, burning eyes, bursting into his soul.
He trembled uncontrollably.
Following his fantasy, however, always came an unpleasant feeling of anxiety which he couldn’t admit to himself. He didn’t want to remember how Snape had turned and walked away, leaving him there, alone. He didn’t want to wonder why he had done it. He didn’t want to remember the taste of bitterness, which had squeezed at his throat.
A shroud of darkness hung over his memories and, although Harry tried hard to oust it, it was still there, like a poisonous snake’s venom.
No, what had happened later have no meaning for him.
It really haven't!
He wouldn’t think about it, because he felt so… so… badly.
But in the end, he had got what he wanted. He’d asked for it. He couldn’t blame anybody now. Only himself.
“Harry, why aren’t you practicing?" Hermione’s outraged voice reached Harry’s ears. Harry realized that he was sitting motionless and was staring into the flames. “It’s late! You know what McGonagall would say if you don’t master this spell by tomorrow.”
“I don’t care what that old hen would say!” growled Harry angrily. It surprised him. He saw Hermione inhaling sharply and Ron lifted his head. “Sorry, Hermione. I’m just very tired. Let’s go to sleep.”
Hermione shook off the surprise, looked anxiously at him and smiled sadly.
“Go alone. We’ll finish this for you.”
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione shot him a sharp look and he closed it and shook his head resignedly. Harry, muttering thanks, got up and slowly dragged himself to the dormitory, trying to understand why he feels like a skunk. He wreaked on his friends who were trying to help him. It’s not his fault that lately he was feeling so… bad. Last week was filled with only humiliation and struggle. He was simply tired of all this. Everyone has their limits. Even the Boy Who Lived.
He didn't pay any attention to me ... as if I was thin air, and yet ... yesterday… He thought for some time before falling asleep, pressing his face into the pillow, actually afraid of falling asleep. He didn’t want it to return. He didn’t want to feel again like when Snape had suddenly disappeared, leaving him alone in the dark, at the mercy of his dreams where all these terrible things that he pushed the whole day somewhere far away inside himself waited for him.
***
An explosion of blinding light moved Harry to the dark cupboard.
Snape was standing over him and on his face was an expression of disgust. He was staring at Harry with anger, but Harry felt that the anger was not directed at him. He saw the professor’s harsh face looking at him, but he didn’t see him, as if Harry wasn’t there, as if he were invisible. But the expression of disgust didn’t disappear with his angry face.
The word “Enough!” suddenly echoed around him, as if bouncing off the distant walls of the cave.
It became dark. Cold. But Harry burst with inexplicable joy.
He laughed. The high, cold laugh came from his throat.
Long, deathly pale fingers caressed something that was curled around his shoulders.
On the edge of his sight was a dark figure surrounded by blackness. It was the reason of his joy.
Yes, yes, yes! That’s right! Quite delicious!
There was another explosion of light and Harry felt a stabbing pain in his forehead.
A cold whisper, “You'll take care of it” escaped from his throat.
He saw Draco Malfoy’s face contorted by a grimace of rage. He saw the darkness in his deep blue eyes, which now had the color of a cloudy, stormy sky.
White, burning light flooded his eyes again and the next thing he saw was the ceiling over his bed. His scar was hurting him as if someone just burned it with a red-hot poker. His heart was trying to break through his chest and jump out.
What was that? Was it Voldemort?
Harry recalled with horror the joy which had filled him and the sharp, stabbing laughter, which was still ringing in his ears. He looked around the room. Neville and Ron were sleeping peacefully in their beds. Harry wanted to run to a friend and wake him up. He had to talk to someone about what he had just dreamed.
Who was the person in the shadows? What was it that had made Voldemort so ... Joyous? What did the darkness in Malfoy’s eyes mean? Is he planning something with Voldemort? Although it looked as if Malfoy was angry at him. But Malfoy angry at Voldemort? For what?
Harry returned to the memory of Snape’s face of disgust and the anger in his eyes.
No, Snape hadn’t looked at him with disgust. He remembered after all his burning eyes, he remembered his erection. There was something more and it wasn’t disgust.
It was just a stupid dream. It couldn’t be true. Voldemort also had to be just a dream. The connection was broken last year. Dumbledore had said that.
Harry closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing and heartbeat.
Anxiety, however, didn’t want to leave and it rooted in his heart like a parasite, sucking all the positive emotions from him.
He gently touched the scar. The pain slowly disappeared and was now just a memory.
Or maybe it was, as well, just a dream.
* "A dangerous mind" by Within Temptation
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