s e c t u m s e m p r a
{ silence lends a face
to the soul }

It felt like a fresh nightmare.

Severus Snape. Nightmare tackler extraordinaire. Sarcasm? No. Severus Snape had had to tackle nightmares for as long as he could remember. Some, self-inflicted. Most, not. Most, cruel, shattering, uninvited.

Why do former lives ambush one, like sworn enemies? Memories seemed to break some shadowy dam inside of his mind, and flood into his head. He could have convinced himself that no part of this could be labelled his fault. But he did not. Some unconscious part of him accepted it as a mistake.

His mistake.

Potter stood there, pale-faced, shocked, numb, but Severus felt no sympathy or pity for him. He just stood there, Severus, for one moment that seemed like years, and looked down at the slender body on the floor, that of Draco Malfoy, gaunt, ashen, haggard.

Close to death.

Something in him reacted. The counter-curse came. Not once, but thrice. Draco's chest began to rise and fall, no more motionless, no more breathless, but the action seemed like a labor, like it cost him, like it required a great effort.

It had never occured to Severus before how much the thought of Draco dying could affect him.


Song credit: Saxon Shore. <3