Mrs. Spooky (nari_gordon) wrote,
Mrs. Spooky

Мое фико(вое) творчество решили перевести на английский язык.

Books » Harry Potter » Dreams of Something Greater

Author: Siriusly Sirius Lily Black
Fiction Rated: T - English - General/Drama - Published: 02-19-07 - Updated: 02-19-07 id:3404131
NOTE: This fanfiction is NOT written by me, I am marely translating it from Russian to English so more people could enjoy it. Hopefully I am able to pick and translate the mood and the style of this story, but, of course, this is my first time translating a story. DISCLAIMER: Everything belongs to somebody else. Any characters, places, and such you recognize, probably belong to WB and JKRowling. Original characters, the plot and the story itself belongs to the wonderfull Nari who is letting me play with her words. The inserts in italics are song lyrics from Russian songs and some in other languages. There are to many to list all, But they do not belong to me, nor, I believe is the Author trying to claim them. I tried to do the best job at translating the meaning of the lyrics, and I'm sure any rythm and other song attributes are lacking. I'll get on with the fic, now, don't mind me 969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696

Who is talking to me,

Who is talking to me here?

Happiness to those who seek; Bravery to those who sleep.

Thirteen days in the direction of the full moon.

I thought that I’m dreaming,

Well, welcome, my dreams;

I think I know why you came to me.

A dimly lit room. Quiet murmurs on the telly. A man in an armchair. Slender fingers lazily going through the channels. Click… News. Click… Commercials. Click… A redheaded woman on the screen is making her way through a forest. Click… Click…

The man tiredly rubs his face. Five AM. In two hours the alarm clock will ring to wake him up, and he didn’t even go to sleep yet. Sleep… sleep means dream. The dreams, they are so… No, they weren’t nightmares, but the man felt empty after them. The worst thing was that he didn’t understand where they came from, and what do they mean.

Visions in these dreams were foggy and ragged. A green flash. Red hair above a nondescript face, he didn’t even know if it was a woman or a man. The feeling of a flight. A black dog. Books, lots and lots of books. Changing, as if by magic, objects. Stone halls, endless and dim. Of all, these halls scared the man the most. Get out of the halls… Break out, find an exit and leave these horrid stone mazes... But no, he was destined to wonder them forever.

The man remembers his latest dream.

An old man, with a snow white bread, in strange clothes, leaning on a wall. Clinging to it, as if with his last breath. Soft voice – “Severus… Please…”

Severus… What a daft name.

Maybe he should look it up on the Internet. Google can find anything, right?

“Lucius Septimius Severus restored stability to the Roman empire after the tumultuous reign of the emperor Commodus and the civil wars that erupted in the wake of Commodus' murder. However, by giving greater pay and benefits to soldiers and annexing the troublesome lands of northern Mesopotamia into the Roman empire, Septimius Severus brought increasing financial and military burdens to Rome's government. His prudent administration allowed these burdens to be met during his eighteen years on the throne, but his reign was not entirely sunny. The bloodiness with which Severus gained and maintained control of the empire tarnished his generally positive reputation.”

Well, if anything, the old man did not look like a proud Roman emperor. More like a fairytale wizard, just like in one of those books with pictures that he learned to read from.

That was such a long time ago. Fifteen years ago? Sixteen? No, no, that was fifteen years ago.

The man sat back on the chair behind his computer. His brain kept no memories of his first seventeen years of life. Nothing. As if there was none before the car accident, the one that took all his memories with it.

The doctors fixed his body, the plastic operation took care of his scars, he learned to read, write, and use modern technology, but no one could return his memories.

He put his head to his hands. Sometimes, he wondered what was his real name.

While he was in the hospital, they read a list of names to him, hoping something will spark his memory, but it was useless. He smiled bitterly at the memory of the distressed nurse:

“Sir, we have to call you something!”

“Would ‘John Doe’ be too hard for you?” He pointed to the television screen in his


“John?” the nurse made a face, “It doesn’t suit you, sir.”

“And what name does suit me, miss?” He became curious.

“Well, Julian, or Vane, for example.”

He thought about both,

“Vane it is then. I’m good with John, too, though.”

Guitar. He didn’t even notice how he crossed the room and picked it up. The instrument answered with a melody.

Boy, who looks like a wizard, blind, like an arrow,

The innocence of the sky, he ruined with the wave of his wing.

He suddenly stopped the song. Why do the words of a foreign language excite him so much? He never really liked fairy tales, he never dreamed of wings. But you flew in your dreams, whispered his mind, you flew.

The man threw his head up and looked at the clock. Well, time, at least, flew for sure. It was time for work. A short stop in the bathroom, take a cold shower, put on the contact lenses, trash yet another unopened ampoule, make a strong coffee, to wake up completely, dress quickly, get into the car and start driving to London.

Without looking, he turned on the player. What will turn up today? He liked game guessing, the important thing is to correctly ask the question.

“What did I loose? What will I find?”

Of Lancelot du Lake

tell I no more

But this by leave

these ermytes seven.

But still Kynge Arthur

lieth there, and Quene Guenever,

As I you newyn.

For some reason, the mention of Arthur and Ginevra causes unexplainable, wrenching warmth in his chest. For a second.


Even with the traffic, he reached his work 40 minutes earlier.

“Hey, Vane! Alex. New. Today’s his second shift. We’ll see how long he’ll last.”


You smile,

Probably, you’re thirsty.

I watch,

I don’t want to say anything.

I’m a snake,

I keep the peace.

Sit closer, you

Will learn, who I am.

“A cup of coffee?” Alex grins.

“No, thank you. I’d prefer juice.”

“Pumpkin again? Don’t you ever get sick of it?” Vane shrugs.

“Well, I’ll have coffee. By the way, Dave asked you to stop by.”

“I know.”

“By the by, you have any plans for today?” Alex came up closer and sat on the edge

of his desk.

“Not at the moment, why?”

“I just thought we, perhaps, could go somewhere, to a bar, or something.”

Vane grinned to himself. Nai"ve boy.

“Sorry, Alex, I don’t drink.”

“You’re a strange one, Vane. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t do drugs, live like a


“What else did you read in my file?” His voice was cold.

“That you easily speak four or five languages, find high energy physics interesting,

know chemistry and pharmacology, play on the guitar, have a nice voice, your favorite series is “X files”, you don’t like the colour green, and it’s never dark in your house.”

“You forgot that I have an Internet addiction, allergy on rats, that I wear coloured

lenses, sleep in red pajamas, read in bed, eat in front of the computer, and don’t masturbate.” Alex started squirming, still grinning.

“Ah…” He didn’t get to finish. Vane leaned into his ear and nearly hissed out:

“Also I sort through brains of different bastards, taking out their secrets, their fears,

their desires. Then I shove them all back, multiplying and twisting them. I create a horror marathon in the theater of their minds. And I get paid for doing it.” His companion gulped nervously and moved away.

Vane entered his boss’s office. Dave Skitters, thick short man with a flat face, was sitting behind his desk and sorting through papers. The room was full of cigarette smoke, but Skitters didn’t acknowledge the clouds of smoke around him.

Give me your hands; I’ll show you,

How a blooming tree turns to ashes;

I’m a snake;

I keep the peace.

Look at your palms – now

You know who I am.

“ Dave, I need a vacation.” Vane stated instead of a greeting.

“Vane, you know perfectly well...”

“Dave, I work for your company for ten years. Ten years I do what I’m told. I gut the

minds of complete strangers, I’m stuck in their memories, like a fly in a web. I’m covered in their rotten thoughts, like a pine tree in Christmas lights. I’ll soon start glowing with their bloody desires and twisted goals. I’m up to here with their fears, their lies, their hopes and fantasies. I’ve had it. I need a vacation, and you are going to give it to me.”

Vane looked into the eyes of his boss, and the man, for a second, felt like he is dissolving in the dark eye sockets.

“No, Vane. You know the contract.” Dave shook his head, chasing away the

unnerving feeling.

“In that case, you can go ahead and try and stop me.” Skitters scrunched up his face.

“Vane, don’t mess with me. Or, do you want to be in the preventively guarded

category again?” Boss accented the threat, “You liked being on a short leash, didn’t you, Doe? I can arrange that again, for you.”

“You’re a right bastard, Dave.” His voice sounded like a purring snake. If such a feat

was possible.

“Proud of it.”

“So you aren’t afraid,” Vane’s voice continued to snake around, purring, enveloping

into a deadly trance, “that I will twist your rotted soul, and you will wander the mazes created by your own fear forever? Forever… Tell me, what would you prefer to watch, how your mother is hanging from a noose, or how your father is raping your own sister? Or, perhaps, you wish to remember again and again what was done to you in a school restroom, by your own classmates? Again and again, Dave, time after time. Forever.” His voice lowered to a barely audible whisper. Boss looked at Vane, frightened and bewildered,

“Look at your palms, Dave” Skitters glanced his hands, and his eyes, already wide

with fear, nearly popped out, as if he witnessed something horrible. His mouth fell open in a silent scream. “Look at your palms, Dave.”

The boss’s face was covered with droplets of sweat, his body shaking in convulsions, his throat refusing to emit any sounds. He stared, without blinking, at his hands… stared… stared… Finally, his body twisted at an inhuman angle, and fell to the floor.

Vane studies the office, as if seeing it for the first time.

Skitters, trying to be original, instead of an aquarium with fishes, had a tank with a boa. Vane came closer. The snake raised its head. For a moment, Vane saw a white, noseless mask with red eyes, floating midair. He closed his eyes. It’s an illusion. An illusion again. Expel it from your mind. It’s just an illusion. As he opened his eyes, Vane found the illusion dissolved. Along with the glass of the tank.

It was time to go. The air in the room darkened, or did the lamps dim? The printer on Skitters’ desk awoke noisily. Vane came up to his boss, who was still unconscious, lying between the wall and the desk. He leaned over Skitters, his hand out, on the boss’s neck. There was a pulse. Bitterly smiling, Vane moved to the door. The lamp on the windowsill suddenly flashed and exploded, raining glass and sparks all over the man. Familiar situation. There was a time when any extreme emotion, anger, or even extreme hunger, was supervised with destruction. Before his emotions were blocked with medicine.

He remembered one day at the clinic, when the people of the company were going through with another experiment on him.

“ Can you light his doll up with your eyes?”



“I don’t want to try!” He was terribly hungry, and he was tired of the endless attempts

to break him, and make him a machine. A machine that will obediently collect information, and cause pain. Murder.

The man in the white, doctor’s robes pressed a button. Brain exploded with searing, white and purple fire. Fire.

You want fire, bastards, you’re going to get it. Humming fire cut him off from the others in the room. Oh, how he laughed that time, how he laughed… until the air in his lungs ran out. No one offered him to light up dolls after that.

But, it’s been almost a week since he stopped injecting himself…

Vane goes into the hall, past the open offices, in which chaos already ensues. Alex flings himself at him.

“Vane, what the hell…” Alex makes a nice imprint on the wall. Vane nearly reached

the doors then Alex’s voice stops him,

“Vane you won’t leave!” Slightly turning, he can see Alex with a gun in his hands.

Behind him are a few more people from the “security”. They, too, are not armed with food baskets.

“Are you sure of that?” Calmly, calmly. While there is strength left. Reach their

mind, blur it a bit, confuse them. People began to frown, some started rocking a bit. Alex’s gun fell to the ground.

“Goodbye, boys. Don’t wait up.”

Vane jerked the door open.
Please tell me any comments on the fanfic, because I want to know if I am translating this fic for a cause, or no one is even reading this. Thank you, until next time
Tags: ГП, Лытдыбровое

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