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crack_van2011-02-16 09:24 pm
perverse-idyll.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-02-16 09:24 pm
Entry tags:
To Dwell on Dreams by Musamihi (PG-13)
Fandom: HARRY POTTER
Pairing: None, unless you count unrequited Severus/Lily
Length: ~5,000
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
musamihi
Author Website: musamihi's masterlist of fic
Why this must be read:
This is a devastating and beautifully described portrait of addiction and—not recovery, but resignation to the truth. Snape has been living for almost a year in a state of self-deluding dependence on a potion that allows him to dream of Lily. He's clearly on the point of losing his sanity, and probably his life, as his need for a fix to get him through the day leads to an increasingly reckless dosage. He's hallucinating and miscalculating, and things can't go on this way. The story begins with Dumbledore finding out how close his Potions master is to falling apart and deciding it's high time he put a stop to it.
musamihi focuses on the process of Snape's withdrawal, his demons and reasons, his derangement, his entrapment in the promise he made to Dumbledore. For most of the fic he would clearly prefer the ghost story he conjures each night, and dying from an overdose of imaginary love, to facing the loss of Lily and his responsibility in her death. What he endures as his body throws off the drug is painful and mesmerizing, captured with a sensuous attention to detail that transforms his nightmares into art. But only for us, not for him. Dumbledore's actions here add to the bleakness, making Snape's survival (as I read it) a matter more of reporting for duty than a recognition of his individual worth.
The fic is carefully paced, precisely imagined, gorgeous, and graced with a moment's innocence that suggests the difference it might have made if Snape's dreams about Lily had ever been real. But they weren't. Which is the ultimate heartbreaking revelation, because he wakes at last to emptiness and obligation, not peace; and to a path he has always been destined to travel alone.
***
"If you're ill," came Minerva's voice, cutting through a distant ceramic clanking – his own fork shivering against the edge of his plate in his shaking hand – "we can no doubt find someone to cover your classes. Take some Valerian and go back to bed."
Severus pulled his eyes away from Lily's. Valerian would definitely kill him. "I'm fine. Only tired. Thank you." He set his fork down. There was a ghostly tingling on his scalp where Lily's fingers had been last night. Now they sat like so much dead stone on the table, and he remembered with a cold rush why he had overindulged. There had only been enough left for one night and a half, and so he had taken it all. Why he had thought it was a good idea, he couldn't say, but the fact remained he had to make more. The discomfort after a night with too much would be nothing at all compared to the agony of a night with none.
He trudged through the list of ingredients, all of which could be found in the store cupboard even if some were running a little low. There had to be some benefits to being Potions master, after all.
Cowslip, to sharpen the memory even in sleep. Mandrake, to slow the senses and to bring his dreams in hand, lucid and malleable. Cocculus Indicus, to ensure proper respiration and guard against involuntary thrashings and sleepwalking. The tincture of rain beetles, the lump of quartz, the knot of yellow dodder vine. So long as he could remember them and measure them out, his misery would pass. Tonight, after a proper dose, he would fall comfortably asleep and meet Lily in his dreams as he had for almost a year. And she would be warm, and smile, and talk with him as she used to, and he would feel her fingers like the solid flesh they were – not the cold, empty shadow that rested on his shoulder now as he ate his breakfast that tasted of nothing.
The food was like a stone in his stomach as he pushed his chair back from the table and stood. Lily faded – and for a moment he thought perhaps some of the worst had passed. But everything was turning a dull, corroded grey, his vision was being eaten from the sides, and all he could see was the place straight in front of him, quite far away, where the doors led into the entrance hall. A sharp pain erupted just above his eyebrow, and he fell into blackness.
To Dwell on Dreams
Pairing: None, unless you count unrequited Severus/Lily
Length: ~5,000
Author on LJ:
musamihiAuthor Website: musamihi's masterlist of fic
Why this must be read:
This is a devastating and beautifully described portrait of addiction and—not recovery, but resignation to the truth. Snape has been living for almost a year in a state of self-deluding dependence on a potion that allows him to dream of Lily. He's clearly on the point of losing his sanity, and probably his life, as his need for a fix to get him through the day leads to an increasingly reckless dosage. He's hallucinating and miscalculating, and things can't go on this way. The story begins with Dumbledore finding out how close his Potions master is to falling apart and deciding it's high time he put a stop to it.
musamihi focuses on the process of Snape's withdrawal, his demons and reasons, his derangement, his entrapment in the promise he made to Dumbledore. For most of the fic he would clearly prefer the ghost story he conjures each night, and dying from an overdose of imaginary love, to facing the loss of Lily and his responsibility in her death. What he endures as his body throws off the drug is painful and mesmerizing, captured with a sensuous attention to detail that transforms his nightmares into art. But only for us, not for him. Dumbledore's actions here add to the bleakness, making Snape's survival (as I read it) a matter more of reporting for duty than a recognition of his individual worth.The fic is carefully paced, precisely imagined, gorgeous, and graced with a moment's innocence that suggests the difference it might have made if Snape's dreams about Lily had ever been real. But they weren't. Which is the ultimate heartbreaking revelation, because he wakes at last to emptiness and obligation, not peace; and to a path he has always been destined to travel alone.
"If you're ill," came Minerva's voice, cutting through a distant ceramic clanking – his own fork shivering against the edge of his plate in his shaking hand – "we can no doubt find someone to cover your classes. Take some Valerian and go back to bed."
Severus pulled his eyes away from Lily's. Valerian would definitely kill him. "I'm fine. Only tired. Thank you." He set his fork down. There was a ghostly tingling on his scalp where Lily's fingers had been last night. Now they sat like so much dead stone on the table, and he remembered with a cold rush why he had overindulged. There had only been enough left for one night and a half, and so he had taken it all. Why he had thought it was a good idea, he couldn't say, but the fact remained he had to make more. The discomfort after a night with too much would be nothing at all compared to the agony of a night with none.
He trudged through the list of ingredients, all of which could be found in the store cupboard even if some were running a little low. There had to be some benefits to being Potions master, after all.
Cowslip, to sharpen the memory even in sleep. Mandrake, to slow the senses and to bring his dreams in hand, lucid and malleable. Cocculus Indicus, to ensure proper respiration and guard against involuntary thrashings and sleepwalking. The tincture of rain beetles, the lump of quartz, the knot of yellow dodder vine. So long as he could remember them and measure them out, his misery would pass. Tonight, after a proper dose, he would fall comfortably asleep and meet Lily in his dreams as he had for almost a year. And she would be warm, and smile, and talk with him as she used to, and he would feel her fingers like the solid flesh they were – not the cold, empty shadow that rested on his shoulder now as he ate his breakfast that tasted of nothing.
The food was like a stone in his stomach as he pushed his chair back from the table and stood. Lily faded – and for a moment he thought perhaps some of the worst had passed. But everything was turning a dull, corroded grey, his vision was being eaten from the sides, and all he could see was the place straight in front of him, quite far away, where the doors led into the entrance hall. A sharp pain erupted just above his eyebrow, and he fell into blackness.
To Dwell on Dreams