Dream On
by Scy

The lake was deep; like the wisdom of a rumpled bed sheet, moments before dawn.

Many of the other faculty did not care to take walks along its banks; for there were creatures living below the water.

He saw the world as a sort of threaded line of seconds, with past, future and present only blind to one another for the distance between and the ever fraying connection that kept them ordered in a swinging of life and eventual rest.

There were spells to walk on water, but he preferred to go beneath, into a place less socially active, yet far more overflowing with creatures strong and self-sufficient.

The incantation brought an awareness of the particles of oxygen needed by marine life, and now available to him. No primitive sphere of plastic this, but a means of descending into another's world, having respect for mood and surroundings.

He had determined that the 'kraken' living in the lake had been imbued with a magical enzyme or coating, for the mollusk was from the deepest oceans, and its soft body was different than that of its relatives.

Normally; squid of its kind that came to the surface, died, or were in mortal distress. This one; however, was fully able and inclined to do as it pleased in regards to diving and returning to open air.

Those visiting the lake were taken aback at the casual wanderings of the animal, and most probably thought it strange for it to have so much liberty.

Humans called beasts by names they thought fitting. But, the squid could not pick up on the titles given to it, because its species had no hearing organs at all.

Still, it had other ways to convey thoughts or what the mind did not see behind the curtain. Secretions of the skin were common, and one such substance had the effect of plucking his mind out and taking it to other planes, places.

And this time, a party became the destination. A fete that he might have or would attend.

The glass curved upwards, a normal characteristic for objects which were meant to hold liquids, but here it only meant that vision was distorted.

There is no good way to see yourself when you're a glass of wine. It might sound novel to be without a body, but in reality it only hardens a person, or their consciousness. They become bitter and are apt to insult whomever is around them, whether they are to blame or not.

Parties were really not his preferred pleasure, but one had a duty, and this one was more distasteful than others, though the colors were brightly arranged.

And the rooms were full of dancing boys with cherry pink lips. They frequented such establishments when it was cold outside and folks with destinations far from home were obliged to don many layers of wool and neoprene. The performers knew that for their acting they would be paid, and this crowd was only another assembly of older watchers, though they were a bit odd in dress and expression. But they liked to stare at the sheened sweat of dancers wearing barely-there garments and imagine that they were thin, graceful and warm. To the point of not requiring so many clothes. The eyes aimed out at the audience held what might bring monetary appreciation.

Mouths wet with saliva and the gape of passion, the performers stared out into the people, not revealing Truth.

Snape understood it, all the movement for cash. He appreciated that there was to be found only one motivation, the watchers might have Lusts, and Sorrows, but as for those who gyrated before them, there was only The End. Of the night, the set, and for some, all things. Not for Broadway was this dancing, but a more elemental form, that of copulation. The coupling and cleaving bodies so that there would be a relief for desires.

That was common enough, and all wanted that, someday. Not that there weren't numerous ways to reach that, but many were delayed on the way there.

Arms wound up in the arms of the massive sea creature, and he could feel his head going back, deeper into someplace.

A person likely would not travel across the ocean if they already had a cave full of secret stones, much of human motivation today is from the search for precious stones in all forms, plastic, etc.

The wine lapped at his fingers, somehow forming some sort of appendage, closing around the tip of his index finger, and holding. Perhaps an invitation or a threat or the power that still existed, he didn't know which yet. A movement in the direction of hte glass' mouth was a signal to glance up.

"What is that?" A sucking of sound at the teat of air as You-Know-Who spoke.


"Hanging from the light." An arrangement of flowers that had been threaded together, wilted blossoms a crazed sort of wreath without evident purpose.

"I really don't know," Snape smiled. "Perhaps it's seasonal."

A glare from the glass, and though he held the power to tip things out over the carpet, there was a threat magnified by the fact that it was delivered in wet and crimson eyes. But this wasn't real, he couldn't choke on the odor. There was always a smell to Voldemort, which was enough of a deterrent to forget about drinking a drop of anything. He smelled like all the ozone Snape had ever imagined, but there were other things in it that held more pleasant familiarity- the rot of a body left alone in a bed in a hospital, because washing the wound out was too troublesome.

Or, no, that one rested in his nightmares, goodness always tried, even when one leg had been torn away, and the woman's insides had been shifted. All things so very much not where they should be, and still medicine would keep her alive so that the family can sit beside her and think about what went wrong. He dreamt these things because of what he did to cause sort of thing. and what was the most painful to recall was that those he worked on never ended up under medical supervision.

Still, this might be in his coming days, it was not yet around him, and a gentle current of water against his cheek brought him out of that room. No anger, leadership was unnecessary, sleep. Yes, that would be permitted. A sucker-covered limb briefly contacted with his chest before settling around his waist, and impressions came through the water to him like telegrams. Soft. Quiet. Warm. Safe. Sleep.

The strongest chains were often the ones both intangible and invisible.


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