DISCLAIMER: I do not own or even claim to EVER own anything related to Harry Potter or its affiliates. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the rights are still the sole property of WB and Scholastic and whatever other companies are in charge of distributing HP books, movies and whatnot. I am only a simple fangirl who had an idea and felt the need to write it down and share it with other fangirls who are of similarly-minded types.

Oh, and, in case that one didn't get the gist across: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Only the laptop on which this was written and a slight case of insomnia. XD

Warning: This will eventually become Snarry, so for those of you who either look down upon this or things such as this make you uncomfortable or go against personal beliefs, or who just don't think this is okay in any way shape or form, you may now click away from this story and go either read the actual books or find a fic that you find a tad more suitable to you.

Many wonderful wishes to those who must click away, and, don't worry, I still love you.

just not as much as the ones who will read and review this. XD


Insomnia Has Its Perks

Chapter 1: A Little Night Reading

A man sat in his "living room." He sighed, opening yet another book.

There was something to be said about reading a good book in the night. It relaxes a person, puts their mind at ease. Books transport the mind. Often to another world, full of mystery and suspense, or simply full of knowledge. The dark haired man's selection was of the latter variety.

The man groaned. He had yet another crick in his neck. Nimble hands rubbed at the aching muscles. Two gnarled punctures were just visible above his soft shirt.

T-shirts were a welcome holdover from his younger days. The soft cotton the only creature comfort he really allowed himself.

The collar, very unlike his normal button-down shirts, also helped to not irritate his wound after the war, when the holes in his neck had still refused to close up entirely.

The only setback was how, well, fucking cold it got at night in the dungeons. Come wintertime he knew that not even the roaring fireplace would be enough to stem the cold. He would jump that particular hurtle when he came to it, though, as it was only late September.

The man sat back, willing his body to relax into the familiar trance. Eyes scanning pages of text, words floating through his mind. His favorite activity.

His muscles only tensed in response, leaving him with a sense of dread. Sleep would not be found this eve, that was for certain.

Sleep was something that had been eluding him for the better part of two years. His sleeplessness being more pronounced as of late than years before due to… extenuating circumstances. He would nap, certainly, lie in bed and get a wink or two, but a true, restful night's sleep was as out of his reach as being able to undo his previous twenty-some odd years of living and failing. And about as likely as a reset button appearing in front of him.

There is something to be said about a man who is unable to sleep. Whether it is due to pain, guilt, too much on his mind, or even some combination of the three, sleeplessness leads to several unfortunate consequences.

A shortened temper, for instance. For someone with an already "Grenade with the pin pulled out" standard for aggression, this can be quite the downside. Particularly when choosing how to let out said anger. As cathartic as it may be, snipping at eleven year-olds isn't usually considered a healthy way to spend ones spare time.

It can also result in a lessened attention span or lethargy. Both of which can lead to rather hazardous situations if left unchecked.

He would deny it if asked, but, about a week prior, his inability to sleep had resulted in one of the more memorable explosions in his classroom. A third year Hufflepuff was still tinged slightly purple due to his lighting-fast reflexes being likened more to those of a flobberworm. At least it was only a Hufflepuff, he thought, stubbornly, bringing his wandering thoughts back to his task at hand.

CRASH! His train of thought was derailed once more by a noise outside of his rooms.

Being prone to hearing things at night, mainly due to his generally paranoid personality, he refused to check for the source of the crash. It isn't my job to protect anyone in the damn school anymore, he thought. Rather often, actually. He only thought it, though, for someone would begin to worry if they heard how much he relished the thought.

No, it was not his job to protect anyone. He was cleared of all life-saving obligations, as nobody needed his help any longer. They had a savior, and their savior didn't need him or anyone to save them. Not since the war. Not that the man was bitter about his reason for living having been solved. Taken away from him. Leaving him stranded up a creek without a paddle or reason to not just allow himself to be pulled wherever the tide may take him.

Not bitter at all.

He was just a man who needs purpose and a focus to his life... who suddenly found himself without one. A man trying to keep himself together, not for anyone's sake but his own. A man alone and no longer needed by another person, who seemed even too stubborn to die when he had the chance handed to him on a silver platter.

His eyes tried to drill into his book, willing his obtrusive, obnoxious thoughts out of his mind. It almost never worked, but the man could at least try.

Much too short a time later, the words and diagrams the book contained did nothing to calm or lessen this man's racing mind. Sighing yet again, he set aside his book, careful to not damage it. However satisfying it may have been to send it sailing at the nearest wall, him being more than a tad miffed with the inanimate object at the moment, he held back.

He needed a more… inventive way to trick or tire his body into sleeping. Not feeling like running laps around the Quidditch Pitch like he did in his school years (he was no longer anywhere near a spring chicken), he needed to supplement something new in for the same old tricks.

He decided with as much of an inward cringe as an outward one, that it may be time to take a leaf out of the trouble-maker handbook. He would often use the quiet of the castle and the act of roaming its halls at night to calm himself. He might even catch a few students out of bed if he was lucky. This may be worth it after all, he thought with a smirk.

Grabbing his cloak and putting it on, not wanting anyone to see him in his muggle attire (that and a t-shirt and flannel trousers weren't nearly as intimidating as his carefully thought out "student-catching cloak" was), he placed his wand securely in the inner pocket of the cloak that was specially reserved for the wonderful instrument and opened his door. He took a breath, getting into character. Ready to stalk around the school, he took a step into the hallway, and went to start the rest of his already too long night.

There, he found the reason it would seem even more interminably long.

For, ten feet from the entrance to his quarters, just at the bottom of a flight of dungeon stairs, Severus Snape found Harry Potter lying on his back, arm bent in a way that arms should never bend, with his invisibility cloak, parchment and wand strewn around him.

His eyes closed and… fast asleep.


AN: Okay, so… this is the first thing I've posted on here. I am so completely nervous about it so here's hoping I'm not just embarrassing myself on here. Haha. Though, honestly, it was the idea of Snape having a "Student Catching Cloak" that made me giggle enough to actually post this. Haha.

I really hope that someone reads it and at least enjoys it enough to leave me a tiny review.

Though, before reviewing, keep this in mind: Flames will be laughed at and possibly passed around amongst my friends and myself purely for our own enjoyment. ;D Just thought I would warn you ahead of time.