Forlorn Dream by elssha
Summary: Sequel to Forlorn Hope. "And yet, here I am, forced to endure what dreams may come and fight with friend and foe alike. I know not which is which, they know not which am I". Horris
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape > Severitus Challenge Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Hermione, Ron, Voldemort
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Supernatural
Media Type: None
Tags: Slytherin!Harry, SuperPower! Harry
Takes Place: 5th summer
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: Forlorn Saga
Chapters: 8 Completed: Yes Word count: 22052 Read: 26763 Published: 17 Apr 2007 Updated: 30 Apr 2007
Distorted Beyond Hope by elssha

With a swift jerk to dislodge the arm, he fell to his knee as he did so often before, sparing a quick glare at the others. Why did they not kneel? Were they asking to be punished? Dragon made half a grabbing motion, but stopped as Voldemort appeared with the usual ostentatious display. The blonde-haired boy bowed now as well, though the raven-haired boy felt the anger-filled gray orbs watch him for any sign of trickery.

“Alpha…” Voldemort hissed, to which both boys answered with a unanimous

“My Lord.”

He glared at the blonde through his emerald orbs. How dare he claim to be Alpha! He was Alpha, the son of Voldemort’s Ammodytus, not Malfoy! Never Malfoy! His green eyes blazed at the blonde, who returned the sentiment with his own stormy gray.

Voldemort, on the other hand, laughed. Making both sets of eyes snap back to the owner of the crimson orbs that so haunted the boy’s dreams. Voldemort laughed almost as often as his father had… and on the odd occasion the monster did so, it was never a good thing.

“Releassse your spell my Dragon, I wish him to be in control whiles I conquer him at lassst.”

Spell? What- oh. His rational side acknowledged that Voldemort had never expected obedience from Potter. Still, maybe he could-

“He is not under any spell my Lord, I know not what has happened, but a moment before you arrived, he dropped to his knee as if he could sense your imminent arrival.”

“I sssssee.” The Dark Lord hissed thoughtfully. “And how isssssss it that he came to be captured, my little Dragon?”

“I-”

“He does not know, my Lord.” he interrupted against his better judgment, his instincts winning once more. He had the information, Dr-Malfoy didn’t, and he could not bring himself to have his Asps punished… obedient or not.

Oh, how long had I wished you to call me that, young Potter.” Voldemort hissed at him in Parseltongue, the red eyes fixed upon his kneeling form. “And just as I had given up the dream, here you are, on your knees before me of your own accord.

“I am yours to order as you please my lord,” came the well-rehearsed response, “born and bred.”

The crimson orbs narrowed into calculating slits, and the boy was spared having to deny his identity.

Who are you, boy?” the creature before him demanded, and he could do nothing but answer.

“Your Viper, my Lord, your Alpha.”

The red eyes became fixed upon his, and once again, his instincts took over. This time, however, they were the instincts his father had drilled into him. Almost before he realized what he was doing, all the incriminating memories that could link him, his Asps, or his father to the light were tucked into the ‘trap door’. He felt Voldemort probe his mind, and pretended to allow him unhindered access. His father always emphasized the importance of seeming not to know how to shield your mind. It made the intruder overestimate the superiority of his skill to encounter only the weak shield everyone was born with, and made it almost impossible for a person to find the trap door while being assaulted by memories no matter what topic they picked. That was why the trick was thought to be foolproof, after all.

So, here he was, watching the memories fly through his consciousness as the creature before him raced from one to the next. True, the greater one’s skill, the faster the person can absorb the information contained within any given memory, but the rate at which Voldemort used seemed to indicate he was browsing rather than actually viewing each one. The creature had assaulted him prior to this, after all, and his proficiency was nowhere near this level. But enough of that… he needed to concentrate on maintaining his façade; if Voldemort suddenly picked up on his analysis of the man, he didn’t know what would happen.

“Curious.”

“What is, my lord?” he asked, head lowered once more.

Very curioussss.” repeated the creature, with what the boy deciphered as a grin.

He could feel the unrest of the Asps about him, all of whom had been stealing glances towards the younger Malfoy. Foolish, really. His Asps knew not to be so open with their uncertainties.

Without another word, Voldemort cursed him, and all he knew was pain. However, despite his feeble body, he was able to endure the brief exposure without screaming out, or withering on the ground. He did fall to his knees, an act that had been greeted with annoyance in the past (though the curse of choice had been the Killing Curse at the time), but he was not reprimanded for it on this occasion. Again functioning on autopilot, he rose without any comment, acting for all intents and purposes as if the curse had not occurred.

Very curious indeed.” The Parseltongue washed over him, the tone bearing an undiluted curiosity that brought goose bumps to the boy’s skin.

.∞ . ∞ . ∞.

He was in a daze the rest of the meeting -though quite aware of the several eyes that begged him to so much as breathe the wrong way, thank you very much. As his body hit the dank dungeon floor once more, however, he could not help but wonder if the daze had not begun long before he had been cursed. After Voldemort had dismissed them with the promise he would see him in private come morning, he had been escorted back into the same cell by the boy he once considered his most loyal Asp. He remembered bowing in near-unison with the Beta, turning, and making it three steps passed the door before the blonde forcefully grabbed him like a pesky prisoner once more. Merlin, what had happened? Was he truly so far gone that he could not resist what the monster had once drilled into him? Sure, he had obeyed the instincts before, but he had always been so sure he could stop the fake submission at any time. Had the creature broken him, after all? A part of him argued that it was only because of his prolonged sense of confusion and weariness… that it was only caused by his need for something familiar, something that was not a surprise, as everything else had seemed to be, ever since he had woken up. He could count on Voldemort, if nothing else… he could count on him to be cruel and calculating, he could count on him to hurt and threaten, he could count on him to be the monster he always was. The rest of him hoped and prayed for this to be true, for him to have simply succumbed to the promise of familiarity than a true fear of displeasing the creature.

“You think you’re one of us, Potter?” a voice disturbed his musings,

“Dragon.” he acknowledged the blonde, unable to force himself to call him Draco.

“I could kill you where you lie, you filth.” the other snarled, “how dare you pretend to be an Asp!”

“You had best calm yourself, Beta,” he cautioned the youth emotionlessly, making sure to underline his rank, “even if I was lying through my teeth, Voldemort will make you wish for him to kill you for second-guessing him.”

“My Lord would never kill me, Potter.”

“I never said he would. That, would be too benevolent.” he answered once more, realizing that his eyes had become slightly unfocused. Benevolent and wasteful, not to mention boring for the monster. “You have no idea of what horrors he would force you to face.”

The blonde did not say anything, but the prisoner somehow felt no inclination to turn back towards the cell door where the Beta stood. On the face of the mold-encrusted wall, he could almost see the memories of which he spoke as if it was an old Muggle movie.

A distinct mumble caught his attention after what seemed like only a minute or two later, though he could not be certain how long he had been watching the wall.

“It worked better than we thought.” was followed by slow, steady footsteps as the intruder left the brunette boy to his memories once more. This time, it seemed, the silent show before him was not limited to the painful events he had experienced in the Dark Lord’s presence. Instead, he saw a condensed version of his entire life, starting from the time he had found out about his father. Though anyone who might have passed would have surely thought him insane, him sitting there, staring at the wall as if it was the most interesting thing in the whole wide world, he attempted to place everything where it belonged. He was sure that somewhere in there lay the answer, the key that would make everything make perfect sense. There were no gaps, no lapses he could not account for from the moment he found out who his true father was to the moment he finally allowed himself to fall asleep in the short break Voldemort had allotted his Asps. It had to be real, it just had to be.

And yet, here were hundreds of solid contradictions to what he was positive was true. The logical side of him was sure that it was not possible for him to be right and the world to be wrong… that was what five year olds believed when someone tried to tell them their logic was flawed. If this were some elaborate hoax by Dumbledore to lure him back into his Order, Voldemort would have recognized his Alpha. If this was Voldemort’s doing, he would not have alienated him from his supporters so… he would have used the boy’s confusion to lure him wholly to his side or at least attempt to coax some sensitive information out of him before he went in for the kill; he was a Slytherin, after all. And if this was how twisted his dream had become, Draco had damn well better wake him up… NOW. Not that he allowed himself to even consider this option. Too simple, and in his life, nothing could ever be simple. What he needed to do now was figure out what he was going to do about it all. Would it be better to attempt an escape, or should he play the perfect Alpha who is confused beyond all hope? If he chose the former and this was some sort of mental probe by the ruler of the Dark, he’d screw over not only him, but his Asps and his father… not to mention the entire Light by dying and having all his mental safeguards brutally destroyed. If the opposite occurred, he wasn’t sure if even the Lemondrop-sucking Dumbledore would spare him; he’d be their greatest liability, after all. The last thing the Order needed was another traitor, after all, and he knew how thin the old Headmaster’s patience had been wearing when it came to his two Snape men as of late.

Yup, it was official, he was screwed either way.

.∞ . ∞ . ∞.

He was not sure at what point he fell asleep, nor was he aware how long said sleep lasted, or even what the present time of day was. What he did know, was that there was a painfully unrelenting foot jabbing itself into his ribs at a regular interval that clashed terribly with that damned dripping.

“Finally awake, are you?” a clearly annoyed voice drawled, making the boy’s green eyes snap open immediately. Could it be?

“Please, please tell me you are mad at me because I had gone exploring the Manor dungeons without a guide again and had simply hit my head or passed out down here…” he begged, knowing how unlikely the situation was. True, he had done that once, and his father had been quite angered when he found him the next day (and punished him by allowing the cold he had caught by sleeping down in the bowels of the dungeons in only his summer outer robes run its course the Muggle way), but he seriously could not be so lucky. Nope, Fate hated him, of that he was certain, thus so simple an explanation was simply impossible and unattainable for the raven-haired lad.

“I had not lied to please you when I was on your side, Potter, I will certainly not do so now.” the answer came, squashing the tiny hope that, by all accounts, had had no place in the boy’s heart in the first place. “Now, I want to know exactly how a cretin such as yourself managed to enter my place of residence, what you came here to accomplish, and why in the name of Merlin had the senile old fool thought you would be able to do so. And,” his father added, as if as an after though, “where in hell did you manage to lose your wand.”

“Um…” Okay, either he didn’t say anything beyond that little vocalization of pure intelligence, he attempted to lie to his father, or he cut out a lot of bull and simply told him the truth… and prayed the man somehow held the answer as he had so often in the past. Aw, screw it.

“I needed to come home.”

His father said nothing, which translated into the man demanding further explanation before he so much as acknowledged a word having been spoken.

“Look, Dad, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but the old coot certainly didn’t send me here. All of a sudden, I look like Potter again,” he nearly spat the name, “and everyone is acting as if I was Potter, and everyone is different, and-”

“What,” his father cut him off, growling, “in Merlin’s name, did you CALL ME?”

“Um… er…” why was it always so hard to remember what you had just said (or heard) when under pressure? “Dad?” he half-guessed, knowing that it would be worse if he had not said anything at all.

The man before him was madder than the boy had ever seen him… including that incident with Lupin. This was BAD… and worst of all, it took him till that instant to realize just what he had said wrong.

He looked like Potter…

Everyone thought he was Potter…

Harry Potter had just called Severus Snape ‘Dad’.

Oh Hades, he was dead.

He was quite aware of the fact that his face had gone as white as his ghost would soon be. He was also quite aware that his f- that Snape was red as a tomato (which, with the Snape complexion, was not an easy feat). Moreover, and perhaps most of all, he was quite glad that the man before him was on the opposite side of bars of his cell door.

“You, POTTER, are lucky my Lord does not wish you dead before he sees you.”

Thank Merlin for small favors endowed upon him by senile Dark Lords… and for his father’s famed self-control. The extra ten seconds between the time he had called the man that and the time said man had cut him off, only underlined the wizard’s level of anger.

“Call me that however, and I will chance death at my Master’s hand for torturing you to death myself.” the glint in the older man’s eyes, even if the boy had not known him well enough to tell he was serious, screamed of an unbreakable promise. “Now, how did you manage to enter my Manor.

“Narcis portal, sir.” he answered without hesitation. He knew what his- what the man was capable of when angered.

“Preposterous.”

Oh hell no. He was not about to contradict him.

“You would not know how to identify a Narcis Portal… much less activate one which led to this manor. Now, I want the truth, or I shall rip each and every answer from your mind!”

“I- I’m telling the truth sir.” he stammered, still not keen on contradicting the man in his present state. “I… I so wanted to go home.” he added in the lowest whisper he could manage.

And suddenly the man he trusted beyond all others had forced himself into his mind. If he had warned him, the boy would have allowed him unhindered entry. As the man gave him no warning, however, and since the boy had not kept any buffer blocks up while speaking with his father, his mind was entered with such force that he could not help but cry out. He could have fought the man’s entry, but he could not bring himself to put up any of his defenses against his sire. And, true to the man’s word, he pulled at the information so hard and continued his assault with such force, that the boy was sure he’d go insane.

Never had he experienced anything like this. Either a person did not know how to block his mind, so any attacks had to pass through the feeble shields everyone is born with (which a person had to shatter himself before building any new blocks) and his awareness of the intrusion is so dulled that he feels but a fraction of the pain, or his shields are up so that only a fraction (if any) of the power behind the invading presence penetrates the defenses, or the outside party is ‘invited’ and thus does so gently and with the utmost care. The boy knew the man was capable of changing the power behind his attack in a fraction of a second, and he knew that the man (anyone capable of actively attacking a mind, actually) could tell the difference between weak (natural) shields, strong created shields, or the lack there of. Hell, even he could do it, and his father had only just begun to teach him how to actually attack! And still, the man he had trusted beyond all others kept pushing himself in with all his might. In that moment, the boy knew he could not possibly endure much more of this. He was going to die… by the hand of his own father.

The End.


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