HP fic: 100quills entries, part 1 [Harry, various others, adult]
Title: 100quills entries part 1 (first 25) Author: celandineb Fandom: HP Characters: Harry, various others Rating: adult (a handful of them) Warnings: occasional bondage, exhibitionism/voyeurism, poly relationships Summary: Drabbles and ficlets written for 100quills. Harry was my subject, and I worked from a prompt table of 50 words to write these. Pairing (if any) and prompt are noted immediately after the title for chapter, in italics. Most chapters are general in rating, but a few are adult and are so noted. Likewise the warnings apply only to a handful of chapters.
Beginnings
Draco waits. Prompt #18, "Child." Harry/Draco. Written also to fill the "She" challenge at hd100.
Draco paced the waiting room. Ten strides across, whirl, ten back across the ugly green carpet. It wasn't as if he hadn't experienced this before, with Daphne, but now it was Harry's turn to hold someone's hand as his child was born.
He could hear Ginny's cries, muffled through the wall. They stopped, and he tensed: one hand clutching the back of a chair, eyes fixed on the door.
"They're both all right." Harry's face was joyous as he stepped out to embrace Draco. "Come on, love, come and meet our daughter Rosemary."
Draco took a shuddering breath and followed.
Determination
Harry knows what he must do; Ron disagrees. Prompt #29, "Quarrel."
"No!" The hurt expression on Ron's face was almost enough to make Harry change his mind. Almost. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. "I can't risk anyone else. Don't you see? It's not that I think you're no good, you know that. But if something happened to you..."
"You just don't want to share the glory," spat out Ron. "It's not about keeping us safe. The Death Eaters could turn up here too. Forget it. Hermione and I have been with you from year one; we're not staying behind."
But as Ron reached for him, Harry Disapparated.
Sight and Sound
Which sense better alleviates loss? Prompt #6, "Picture."
There's a Muggle saying, a picture is worth a thousand words. Every time I look at the photographs of my mum and dad, I wonder. Would I rather see them, smiling and waving at me, looking so young, so hopeful? Or would I give up one of those pictures to hear their voices, just once? Even if it were to say something ordinary, like "take out the rubbish bins," or "come to the table, your dinner's getting cold." Maybe it's just as well that I haven't the choice to make. It's better to focus on the one who killed them.
The End
Harry fulfills his destiny. Prompt #44, "Silence."
He had imagined what would happen after Voldemort's death a hundred times, dwelling on it to lull himself to sleep at night in one of the uncomfortable hideouts the Order was forced to use. Cheers, cries, jubilation – something to express relief at the end of the long threat, the long fight. Or perhaps, if some of the Death Eaters remained, then simply more crashes, shouts, explosions; taunts and threats that rang in the ears and seared across the soul. Never, in all of Harry's imaginings, had he expected this grey and arid silence. He fell to his knees and wept.
It Feels Natural
Ron can't believe what Harry is telling him. Prompt #43, "Natural." Harry/Draco.
"You're joking." Ron looked at Harry pleadingly; when Harry shook his head, he turned to Hermione. "Tell me he's having me on."
"No, he's not, Ron. I've known for ages." Hermione blushed. "I saw a mark on Draco's neck, and guessed, and asked. I thought you might have figured it out too."
"Why would I guess that Harry's been snogging Draco?" Ron's voice was anguished. "I thought you liked Ginny. How can you be in love with Draco Malfoy?"
Harry shrugged. "I still like Ginny, just not in the same way. There's something about being with Draco... it feels natural."
She's My Girl
They're young, they're in love. Prompt #12, "Wonder." Harry/Ginny.
Ginny slipped her hand into his as they walked across the grounds.
"I didn't think this would ever happen," she said, turning her face towards the sky, the sunlight making her hair blaze, tendrils of it drifting in the wind. Harry's breath caught.
"Neither did I," he admitted, tugging her to a stop. "You always seemed to have another boyfriend. Neville. Michael. Dean."
She laughed. "You went out with Parvati and Cho."
"So I did." Harry leaned forward, and Ginny tilted her head until their lips met. When they broke apart, he wondered why he hadn't asked Ginny out first.
As Gentle As Bright
Some moments should be enjoyed slowly. Prompt #7, "Gentle." Harry/Draco. The title is from Thomas Moore, On the Death of Sheridan: "Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, / Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade." This drabble was inspired by a sketch by lillithium, which is in a locked post on her LJ but which she has kindly given permission for me to put at the end of this drabble as well.
Slim elegant fingers tugged at Harry's shirt, unbuttoning each button in a movement so tender it was like a kiss in itself.
"Here, Harry, let me," murmured Draco, and the clean white cotton fell open, sliding down Harry's shoulder.
He shivered pleasurably as Draco's hand smoothed across his back in a loving caress. Warm air from the open window echoed that touch, tangling Draco's fair hair, blowing the thin curtains around them as a cloudy veil.
Letting his fingers steal around Draco's waist, Harry leaned forward, his eyelids lowering as he waited for Draco's lips to brush against his own.
Turn, Turn, Turn
As time passes, some things do change. Prompt #17, "Now." Harry/Draco.
For years I hated him, and the feeling was assuredly mutual as we baited each other.
Then he fled Hogwarts, that night I can't remember without anger. When he reappeared, entreating pardon, pleading to help the Order, for months I didn't trust him, so I watched him whenever I could, wondering when he would betray us too.
After Voldemort's death I spent weeks trying to get the thought of him out of my head. Three days ago I asked him to come to the Leaky for a drink.
I brush my lips over his flushed face and say, "Draco. Now."
Second Best
Harry isn't sure if he's doing the right thing, marrying Hermione. Prompt #40, "Promises." Harry/Hermione. Background character death. Vague allusion to H/Hr/R.
"Are you sure, Hermione?" Harry asked once more. It had been Hermione's idea to begin with, but perhaps she had thought better of it.
"I can't mourn him forever." Serious brown eyes met green in a level gaze. "We'll both always miss him. But it wasn't your fault."
"Ginny thinks so."
"Ginny's wrong. She and Ron were always close – not as close as the twins, but still. She's needed someone to blame, that's all." Hermione laid her hand on Harry's arm. "Don't hold it against her."
"No." Harry huffed out a breath. "If you can forgive me, I can forgive her."
"Good, because she's going to be standing beside me tomorrow and I'd hate to have you two glaring at each other over my shoulder. Keep that in mind because you won't be seeing me until the ceremony, you know."
"That's such a ridiculous custom," Harry complained.
"Tell it to my mother and Molly Weasley." Hermione stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the lips. "Till tomorrow."
Back in his own flat – soon to be shared with Hermione, until they found a house, and why she had been unwilling to move in with him before now he still didn't understand – Harry poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and sprawled on the sofa.
The photograph of himself, Hermione, and Ron that had been taken at Bill and Fleur's wedding stood in its silver frame on the table next to him, and Harry picked it up. Three faces smiled at him, three hands waved. Picture-Harry's other hand was shoved in his pocket, but picture-Ron and picture-Hermione were holding hands.
It hadn't been Harry's fault that Ron died. The plan of attack had been the best that they could devise; it had simply been Ron's bad luck that he had encountered Bellatrix Lestrange and been unable to duck the Killing Curse she had hurled in time. It could just as easily have been Hermione or Harry himself.
He laid the photograph against his knees and took a gulp of his drink. "It never should have been this way. We were all supposed to make it through. Then you and Hermione could have married." Harry sighed. "But you're gone, and Ginny blames me, and I guess Hermione and I had no one but each other. So when she suggested we should get married, how could I say no?"
Picture-Ron looked at him, almost as if he could hear, and nudged picture-Hermione, who stopped waving and put her arm around the waist of picture-Harry. Picture-Ron nodded and spread his free hand wide, as if to say, "See? She loves us both."
"I know she loves me," Harry told the photograph. "And I love her too. But she always loved you best. It wasn't supposed to be like this." He watched the three of them, leaning on one another, until he fell asleep still dressed and with the lights on.
The wedding was scheduled for four o'clock, and the guests were beginning to stir and look questioningly at one another when Harry raced in at five minutes to four and took his place. The Minister of Magic had insisted on being the one to conduct the ceremony; it wasn't every day that the Hero of the Wizarding World got married. He scowled at Harry's tardiness, but Neville just looked relieved.
"Thank goodness," said Neville in an undertone. "I wasn't sure what I'd do if you weren't here. Imagine me having to explain to Hermione."
"It's all right," Harry said. He turned and faced down the aisle, waiting.
Ginny walked up first, dressed in pale green and looking as if she couldn't decide whether to smile or cry. Harry gave her a quick nod, but his attention was all on Hermione behind her. She wore ivory lace and for once her hair had been tamed into a crown of braids and tendrils, shimmering brown under her veil.
As she reached the front and before the Minister could begin speaking, Harry cleared his throat.
"Minister, if I may say a few words to my bride first?"
"Most irregular." But Harry was who he was, and with a harrumph, the Minister stepped back. "Very well, if you must."
"Hermione." Harry took her hands. "For the last time, are you sure? Because I don't want to be your second best, your consolation prize because Ron isn't here. It wouldn't be fair to either of us."
She disengaged one hand to flip back the veil, looking at him steadily. "You're the one I want, Harry. You're not second best. You never were. I always loved you both."
He swallowed. "I loved you both too. I would have..."
Hermione put her finger to his lips. "I know. Ron knew. Let's not keep everyone waiting now, shall we?"
Together they turned to where the Minister was gaping at them in confusion. "All right, sir."
"Right." The Minister pulled himself together, and began. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."
St. Ceneu's Graveyard
Harry visits his parents. Prompt #36, "Cemetery." This is a moment from Better Than Revenge, if it had gone a somewhat different way.
He fingers the cold stone. Less than twenty years, but already the incised letters are worn, moss and lichen eating them into oblivion. Or perhaps whoever paid for it – and who was it, he wonders – skimped, had the carving done on the cheap. He rubs at the green corruption. One name. Two. Three. Three? His own name is there, showing that he died aged one year. A Muggle must have put up the stone, assuming their baby had died in the fire too. He shivers, but the thought is oddly freeing. If he is already dead, what more can happen?
In Case
Brave with ribbons they will set out for battle. Prompt #50, "Ribbon." Harry/Hermione/Ron.
"You want me to wear a what?" Harry's voice cracked as Hermione waved the floppy length in his face.
"A ribbon," she said firmly. "And you as well, Ron. Look, I have one." She twisted her head so they could see a flash of scarlet under bushy brown hair.
"Only ponces like Lucius Malfoy tie their hair back like that," Ron objected, backing away as she gave up on Harry for the moment and started towards him.
"Don't worry, I'm going to put it round your upper arm." Hermione seized his shoulder and made quick work of it, tying a neat bow, scowling, then knotting it so it couldn't come undone.
"Why, Hermione?" Harry asked.
"Ladies gave their champions favors before they went into battle."
"But you're going with us."
"And... to recognize our allies, in the fighting. In case we get Transfigured or something."
"Oh, all right," Harry acquiesced. Hermione wrapped the ribbon around his arm, and he hugged her quickly, drawing Ron in as well. The three of them together – they could do anything, even defeat Voldemort.
As he went through the doorway, he just barely heard her whisper, "And in case someone needs to identify a body."
Even-handed Justice
Harry must set free an old enemy. Prompt #14, "Honor." The title is from Shakespeare's Macbeth, Act I, scene VI, lines 9-13: "But in these cases / We still have judgment here; that we but teach / Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return / To plague the inventor; this even-handed justice / Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice / To our own lips."
"I've never been able to use it against him, not properly," Harry had argued, but the Wizengamot overrode him, even though the only person he had ever loathed more than Snape had died by Harry's hand. If Harry had managed to use both Occlumency and Legilimency against Voldemort, he could do it now.
So he took a deep breath and met Snape's gaze, striving to force his way through the curtain of cloudy thoughts. Thin lips twisted bitterly, and suddenly Harry could see –
It was due to Harry's testimony that Severus Snape was acquitted of the murder of Albus Dumbledore.
Enough Is Too Much
Harry decides you really can have too much of a good thing. Prompt #47, "Chocolate."
Sometimes Harry thought that it was some sort of odd poetic justice. He had spent his childhood envying the fact that his cousin Dudley was allowed to eat all the chocolate he liked. Now Harry could hardly bear to look at the stuff.
"Come on, Harry." Hermione's voice was gentle, but a trace of impatience edged it. "You have to have it, you know you do. It's the only thing that will make you feel better."
Reluctantly Harry took the bar from her hand. "As soon as the Dementors are dealt with, I'll never eat chocolate again," he promised himself.
Gone
Harry remembers those who are gone. Implied character death. Angst. Prompt #45, "Who?"
The voices echoed.
"I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best."
Whispers, some.
"You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren't you, Harry?"
Others like ordinary conversation.
"I don' ever want ter go back ter Azkaban."
He could almost see the faces.
"You told me about the dragons. I would've gone down in the first task if you hadn't told me what was coming."
He named each one over to himself.
"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly."
So many.
"Your blood is worth more than mine."
All for him to be here.
A Bit of Privacy, Please
The outside may not match the inside... and sometimes that's a very good thing. Prompt #11, "Ice." Harry/Draco. Written also for the "Ice" challenge at hd100.
Harry smiles to himself when Draco leans over to the man from the Daily Prophet. "If you run that photograph, I can promise you'll regret it." Draco's voice is all steely disdain, as if the man were scarcely worth threatening, and the man stammers, promising no, no, of course he won't, he'll destroy the negative immediately.
When they're alone Harry gazes at Draco, whose hair is so fair it's almost white, skin pale, eyes light grey. He looks like his voice sounded: cold, a snow prince wrapped in Malfoy pride. Underneath, though, there is warmth that is all Harry's own.
Aftermath
Being a hero isn't quite what Harry expected. Prompt #42, "Hero."
He never tried to be a hero, really, even though Hermione had joked about his "hero complex" for years. All he ever did was what seemed necessary at the time, what he couldn't avoid. All right, sometimes he went looking for trouble, but not to be a hero.
Which made standing there to receive the Order of Merlin terribly uncomfortable. He kept being asked to kiss babies, which was ridiculous, and having floo addresses on bits of parchment shoved in his pocket. As soon as it was over, he fled back to Grimmauld Place, almost envying his late godfather's solitude.
Three-Quarter Time
What goes around, comes around, and love can't be limited. Prompt #9, "Circle." Ginny/Hermione, Hermione/Viktor, Harry/Hermione, Harry/Ron, Harry/Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny/Hermione. Adult but little explicitness, character death implied.
Hermione was glad that Ginny had suggested they practice kissing before the Yule Ball. When Viktor's lips touched hers, and then his tongue, she didn't jump away with surprise as she might otherwise have done. It was quite nice, actually, she thought, putting her arms around his neck.
She ignored the fact that it wasn't Viktor she really wanted to be with... and she pushed to the back of her mind the question of just who it was she'd prefer to be kissing.
***
"I have to, Ginny." It hurt to say the words, but it would hurt more if anything happened to her.
"I know." She nodded, eyes bright. A featherlight kiss brushed across Harry's cheek. "Maybe after it's all over..."
"Maybe." Harry forced himself to add, "But... if you meet someone else, it's okay."
"You, too." She sounded as if she meant it. He hoped she did.
***
As he entered the room, Ron didn't even look at the bed, not until he heard a gasp. He turned.
A very red-faced Hermione was hastily reaching for a sheet to pull over herself and Harry.
"Ron..." she said pleadingly.
He fled.
***
Harry wasn't sure how to talk to Ron about what had happened, but he knew he had to. Everything they'd planned to do would take the three of them, and if Ron left, it would all fall apart.
"It wasn't Hermione's idea," he said to Ron's back.
"She didn't exactly seem to object." Ron's voice was thick with bitterness.
"No, but..." Harry took a deep breath and touched Ron's shoulder, ignoring the way Ron tensed as if wanting to shake Harry off. "I wanted you there too, but I didn't know how you'd feel about it."
Ron turned a little at that, blue eyes wary. "What do you mean?"
"I..." Harry's voice cracked. "God, Ron, I love you both. I didn't want to come between you, but I needed someone to help me forget, and Hermione... besides you she's the only one who saw Hagrid..."
"Die." Ron bit off the word. "Didn't you trust me enough to ask me, after all this time?"
"I'm sorry," whispered Harry. He forced himself to meet Ron's gaze.
"Harry... did it ever occur to you that maybe I love you, too?"
***
Lips touched sweat-damp skin, tasting, teasing. Someone moaned as a prick slid slowly home, reaching across to someone else's hip, clasping another hand, the three of them moving together. It didn't matter whose lips, whose prick, whose hand.
None of them had to be alone anymore.
***
"Who cares what anyone else thinks?" said Harry defiantly. "We love each other. If we can defeat Voldemort, we deserve a little happiness. There's plenty of room in Grimmauld Place, the three of us can live there when it's all over."
"You thought what the Daily Prophet wrote about you before was bad enough. Just wait till they can publish stories with headlines like 'Love Nest? War Heroes' Kinky Triad.' The Howlers won't stop coming," Ron said.
"So what? I don't want to give either of you up." Harry bent and kissed him, as Hermione watched, smiling above white sheets.
***
The tiny brown owl dropped a letter on Hermione's lap and swooped away, hooting.
"Who's it from?"
"Ginny," she said, breaking the seal and starting to read. She glanced up at Harry, who was flushing. "She sends her love, Harry."
"Yeah."
Silence for a while, and then, "I know it's weird enough with the three of us, but what about Ginny, Hermione?"
"If you mean... I don't know. She's my closest friend after you and Ron, and I love her. But I think Ron would be more than a little weirded out."
"Weirded out by what?" Ron came in from outdoors and poured himself a cup of tea.
"By, um..." Harry explained, haltingly, and as Hermione expected, Ron exploded at the very idea.
***
"No! No!"
"Harry!" Hermione tugged at him. "He's gone, can't you see that?" Tears were blinding her, but if they didn't leave now, it would be all three of them dead, not just one.
***
"Savior of the Wizarding World... hereby award the Order of Merlin, First Class..."
The words rolled over Harry; as soon as he could, he left. The walls of Sirius's house closed around him.
***
"All he does is fly?" Molly Weasley was less cheerful than she once had been. On the wall of the Burrow's kitchen, three of the clock hands were stilled forever.
"Pretty much, yes." Hermione tried to smile. "At first I thought he was just trying to think things out, but it's been more than a month. I can't... I wondered if Ginny might want to come stay at Grimmauld Place."
"I'm sure she would, dear. She misses her brothers so, it's hard for her to be at home."
***
"No... Ron..." Harry thrashed, tangling the sheets.
Another nightmare. Every night, often several times. Hermione held him close, the only thing that soothed the terror. It wasn't always Ron's name he called; sometimes it was Ginny's, sometimes her own.
He half-woke, clutching at her. "Hermione. I need..."
She knew what he needed, spread herself open for him as he thrust blindly, seeking the pleasure of a moment to relieve the pain and guilt that bore down on them both.
***
Harry pushed back his chair while still chewing the last bite of his toast.
"Where are you going?" Hermione asked each morning, even though she knew what he would answer.
"Flying." He mumbled the word and vanished out the door without a glance at either of them.
"I can't bear it," Ginny burst out. "I almost want to... I don't know, use the Bat-Bogey Hex on him, anything to make him react. Mum and I both thought it would help if I came to stay, but he hasn't... he doesn't..."
"He does need you," said Hermione. "We both do." She was tired, so tired of being the only one.
***
"I remembered this too," whispered Ginny, her breath warm in Hermione's ear. "That Yule Ball... when Neville kissed me, I wished it were you."
Hermione touched her, hearing Ginny moan as Hermione's thumb rubbed her clit. "I wanted you, too."
***
Once she was sure Harry would have fallen into the first deep sleep of the night, Ginny crept into the room.
"Hermione?"
"Yes. The bed's more than big enough for three, I know." There was a catch in her voice; she was remembering Ron, Ginny was sure. She slid under the covers and pressed close to Harry, reaching across him to take Hermione's hand.
"When he has a nightmare, he..."
"You told me." She was ready.
***
"Ron!" Ron was grinning at him, just as he always did, reaching down to Harry's prick and running his fingers over it. Harry groaned and gave himself up to the touch. "Love you, Ron..."
"I love you, too." The voice in his ear wasn't Ron's, and Harry struggled out of sleep.
"Ginny... oh, fuck!"
She was kneeling over him, sinking down onto him, so warm and wet and soft that he almost came right away.
Hermione kissed his cheek, then his mouth. "Ron would want this," she said firmly as Ginny began to move. He could not resist them both.
***
"Did you see the Prophet?"
"You mean the article with the headline 'Perverse Pad?: Potter's Thrilling Threesome'? I could hardly miss it."
"Almost what Ron predicted." Harry was silent a minute. "I wish it could have been 'Fabulous Foursome,' but maybe that was never meant to be." He pushed back his chair. "I'll be late to practice. Can't have that, not with the match against the Magpies tomorrow."
Hermione nodded. "I have a meeting with the house-elves' representatives this afternoon, Ginny, don't wait dinner for me."
"All right."
They kissed, and Harry smiled.
All in Vain
Harry wants Remus, but can't have him. Prompt #27, "Hers."
"I'd better be going, Harry, Tonks will be waiting." Remus' voice warmed as he said his wife's name. He stood, light glinting from grey hair.
"Next Thursday, then?" Harry was careful to be casual.
"Of course," came the equally breezy reply. A touch on the shoulder, and he was gone.
Harry looked at the half-empty glass before him. No. He finished the whisky, gasping as it burned down his throat, but did not order another. Tomorrow he would work with Tonks as usual, joking in the Aurors' staff room, chasing down Dark magic. Trying to forget that Remus was hers.
The First Clue
Even in primary school Harry was a little different. Prompt #2, "Magical." snegurochka_lee gave me the suggestion that this could be pre-Hogwarts -- so a big *mwah* of thanks to her!
One of Dudley's favorite ways to lose Harry marks was to give him leaky biros. He had figured out how to twist them so that they looked fine, but after about ten minutes of writing, they began to smudge the pages.
Biting his lip, Harry pulled the fourth biro of the day out of his bag, hoping fervently that Dudley had not damaged this one. When the blotches started appearing, he nearly cried.
"Please, please, please," he whispered. "I haven't another with me." He kept on with his essay – he had to – and to his astonishment, the paper stayed clean.
Concealment
Harry's scribblings might give him away. Prompt #4, "Blank." Implied Harry/Draco. mistressofrohan was kind enough to give me the bunny for this one!
Meetings were held nightly, now, with reports on where attacks had come, which Death Eaters had been sighted (and, ideally, captured), who among the Order had been injured. Hermione always took notes, her quill slashing ink onto parchment, and Harry tried to do the same. He felt responsible, though Shacklebolt had assured him that he should concentrate on Voldemort. Tonight, though, he had been distracted, daydreaming, and when he realized what he had written over and over on the page, he quickly cast a spell to erase it. It would never do for anyone to learn that he wanted Malfoy.
He Plays at Hazard: Laid Bare
The impending chance of death provokes Harry to speak to Snape in ways he might never have done. Prompt #32, "Naked." Possible Harry/Snape, if you squint. florahart's suggestion led me here. Many thanks to her!
The sigh seemed exaggerated, even for Snape. "And just why would I want to listen to your inane maunderings, Potter?"
"Did you have something better to do?" Harry gestured at the bare little room. "We still have eighteen hours to wait before the attack. If we do any magic, it'll be detected, and personally I can't sleep for that long, even if two blankets on a stone floor were less uncomfortable."
"Talking to you is not necessarily preferable to silence," Snape muttered. "Unlike yourself, I have plenty to think about to keep me occupied."
"Like what, potions recipes?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." Snape glowered at him. "I've been trying to reformulate the Wolfsbane Potion to be more stable, so that it can be brewed in advance rather than every month. An improvement that I believe your friend Lupin might appreciate."
"Oh," said Harry, looking down. "I didn't realize..."
"No, you wouldn't have."
"You could talk about it with me," Harry offered.
"As if that could possibly help. Miss Granger, perhaps, but not you."
Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to stay calm. How did Snape always manage to make him feel small? "Even if I don't know nearly as much about the principles of potion-making as you do, discussing it might be useful," he said stubbornly.
"I would rather not." Snape sat on one of the two rickety wooden chair and closed his eyes. "If you must natter on to stave off your boredom, choose some other topic. Ideally something that might be of mutual interest."
Mutual interest? Snape couldn't possibly have guessed what Harry wanted to talk about, could he? And wasn't going to, not without feeling his way a bit first
"Er," said Harry, "er, why did you decide to do this?"
"Do what, precisely?"
"Come back." He waved his hands vaguely, not sure quite what he meant himself. "Keep helping the Order. After... after Dumbledore, you must have seen in the Prophet, or heard from someone who had, that you were identified as his killer."
"I trusted Albus to have left exonerating information about the orders he gave me, to Minerva if to no one else." Snape frowned. "I didn't think it would take so long for her to believe it."
"That was partly my fault," Harry admitted.
"So I have been given to understand." Opening his eyes, Snape glared at Harry. "Are you enjoying this discussion?"
"I want to know what your motives are," Harry said adamantly. Not that it really made any difference, but he was curious.
"It seems rather late for that, given that you will be relying on my help to destroy your enemy in less than a day." Snape raised his eyebrows. "I might also want to know yours."
"That's easy." Harry shrugged. "It's me or him, according to the prophecy. I don't like it but I've had to get used to the idea."
"But why work with me?" pressed Snape. "We have a long history of, shall we say, mutual dislike. You could have ensured that your partner tomorrow was Shacklebolt, or Moody, or any of a number of other people; you have enough prestige to have done that." For once he sounded more interested than contemptuous.
"I could say that you're the only member of the Order who's actually been inside the building, and knows the most about it, so you're the most... reliable."
"You could say that." Snape pounced on the conditional. "But you don't."
"No." Harry stopped pacing and sat on the other chair, turned slightly away from his companion.
"Why, then?" The dark voice was wary, not a tone Harry was accustomed to hearing from those lips. "Because you don't trust me, I suppose."
Harry laughed at that, a choked snort that he couldn't hold back, even for Snape's furious scowl. "Rather the opposite, actually." They could both die, he reminded himself. Which would be worse – to speak, and risk Snape not just loathing him but having something to hold over his head, should they both live; or to stay silent, and possibly never have the chance again?
"What do you mean? You've never believed that anything I did was for your good, or the Order's good. That has been evident for years."
"Professor." That was not right; Snape was no longer his teacher. To use his surname alone seemed equally wrong, somehow, and he definitely was unable to call him "Severus." There was only one alternative. Harry shook his head and began again, watching Snape sidelong. "Sir."
Snape's eyes widened.
"I was wrong," said Harry. "I misunderstood what you were doing, and why. I apologize."
"Trying to salve your conscience with a last confession?" The snapped words were as condescendingly daunting as anything Harry had ever heard from Snape, but he went on nonetheless.
"Maybe, but that's not all I wanted to say." He faltered at that point, shifting on the seat of the chair and clenching his hands in the folds of his robe.
After several minutes, Snape said, "Well?"
"If we both survive tomorrow... um. I'd like to make it up to you. How I've acted all this time. Anything that you want, from me going away and never darkening your door again, to... well, to putting myself into your hands. For whatever you choose to do with me." Harry risked a more direct glance at Snape, who looked disconcerted. "And I do mean anything," he added softly.
"That is not necessary." Snape's voice was stiff, and Harry could see his throat moving as he swallowed. "You don't want..."
"I do want," Harry knew that it was rude to cut across Snape like that, but he couldn't let the words be said. "Even Ron sees me as The Boy Who Lived, sometimes. You don't. There's no one I could trust more than the person who's seen all my secrets," he flinched and hurried past that tender subject, "who only thinks of me as Harry. Don't you understand?"
Snape was quiet. At last he said, "If we both are alive, this time tomorrow... you may make me that offer again, if you still mean it."
"I will." The promise was sweet on Harry's tongue. "I will."
Mirror, Mirror
If only the mirror-world were real. Prompt #48, "Parents." darkladyothsith suggested Harry and the Mirror of Erised... big {hug} to her for the idea!
My mum's face shows she's proud and happy that I'm here at Hogwarts, and my dad looks pleased too. Their hands rest on the shoulders of my reflection, not pressing down, just solidly there. Safe. I'd feel safe if I could feel that touch. I'd feel loved. I know they loved me – how can I disbelieve that, when my mum died to try to keep me alive? – but I can't feel it, not inside. My reflection seems to know how love feels. He looks up at them and smiles. Why can't I change places with the boy in the mirror?
A Fine Line Dividing
To save his freedom, Snape must risk a secret. Prompt #15, "Shaken." jelazakazone suggested using Snape with this prompt -- thanks to her for the suggestion!
He ignored his own unease. He was here for one purpose, to find evidence of guilt or innocence. If Dumbledore had provided proof, it was long gone; this was the only solution. Odd that Snape had been so reluctant to accept it, arguing for someone other than Harry to perform the task. Harry might not be skilled at Legilimency, but he had seen into Snape's memories once before, and the Wizengamot had chosen him.
"If you are quite ready, Potter?" The tone was calm, but Snape looked paler than usual, his fingers twitching against his robes.
"Ready." He looked unhindered into Snape's dark eyes and saw memories of Dumbledore first cajoling and then finally ordering Snape to kill him. He felt Snape's reluctance and anguished acceptance. Murder under orders was still murder, but Harry's testimony would now provide some vindication.
He ought to have withdrawn, then, but one memory merged unbidden into another, very different one. Now it was Harry himself who filled Snape's thoughts, a Harry quite unlike the one he saw in the mirror each morning: handsomer, face filled with courage. The emotions that Snape felt toward him, had always felt...
Harry broke free, shaken. "You love me?"
Nothing So Much
Harry wants to have his Gin and eat cock too. Prompt #8, "Wrong." Harry/Remus, implied Harry/Ginny and Remus/Tonks. Adult. The title is from a maxim by Publius Syrus, "We desire nothing so much as what we ought not to have."
"Tell Remus hello for me," said Ginny cheerfully as Harry reached for the doorknob. "Ask if he and Tonks would be free to come for dinner next week; in a month or so I doubt I'll be awake enough to want company, if what Mum says is true." She rested her hands on her belly, swollen beneath her robes.
"All right, I'll ask." Harry turned back and gave her a quick kiss. "Don't wait up for me. You need your sleep and you know we always stay out fairly late."
"Yes, yes." She flapped her hands at him. "Go on. I'll have a cup of tea and read last week's Witch Weekly before I go to bed. Lavender's first column is in it. Don't worry."
"I won't. I love you."
"Love you too," said Ginny, already switching on the kettle.
Harry met Remus at their usual table in the Leaky Cauldron. After almost three years of turning up every Thursday night, neither of them even had to order; Tom brought over a pair of Firewhiskies as soon as Harry had sat down.
"Ginny wants the two of you to come have dinner," Harry said. "Next week sometime."
"Next Friday is the full moon," Remus reminded him.
"I know." He kept careful track, these days. "Would Tuesday do?"
"Tonks has some sort of Auror training retreat, I think. Sunday?"
"That should be fine." Harry watched Remus' finger run along the lip of the glass before he raised it to his lips. "How has your week been?"
They never talked of anything consequential there in the pub. Only snippets about work, and Quidditch, and which friends were doing what these days. Remus invariably had two Firewhiskies, except for the week after his transformation, when it was three. Harry only had one, and then switched to Butterbeer for two more drinks.
Neither of them touched the other at the Leaky.
Sometimes one of them couldn't go to the tiny cottage that Harry had bought after the first six months. If that was the case, he would manage to work a reference to the Giant Squid into the casual conversation, and the other one would understand. Otherwise, within a few minutes of strolling out, they were kissing in the low-ceilinged bedroom as if they had been apart for weeks.
As happened tonight. Harry felt the familiar fire in his veins as he fumbled with Remus' clothes, stripping him bare. Remus had once been reluctant to let Harry see the scars that marred his body, and it had taken a long time to convince him that they were badges of honor rather than shame. His prick rose hard and hot and unscarred from the greying patch of hair at his groin. Harry pushed him gently to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt before him, inhaling the ripe scents of musk and sweat.
"I thought it was canines who sniffed crotches." Remus' voice had a laugh in it, and Harry looked up and smiled.
"You're welcome to do so if you want."
"No, I'm quite happy to... ngh," Remus broke off with a groan as Harry licked along the purple vein that was darker than any scar, then took the whole into his mouth. Remus loved it when Harry did that; it had taken months of surreptitious practice with assorted objects to learn to relax his throat muscles sufficiently. He still couldn't face a whole courgette without blushing.
They rarely had the time to go as slowly as Harry would have liked, so he didn't hold back, encouraging Remus by humming and bobbing his head, feeling Remus' hands running over his back and then gripping his shoulders.
As Remus came, Harry pulled back a bit, swallowing the thick bitter fluid. He stayed there and ran his tongue across the soft skin while Remus twitched and shuddered and threaded his fingers into Harry's hair, until Remus tugged him up into another long kiss. They tumbled backward, sprawling across the bed.
"Want me to reciprocate?"
"No, I just want your hand," said Harry, rubbing against Remus' hip. Not that he didn't enjoy having Remus' mouth wrapped around him or Remus' arsehole opening under him, but tonight he felt like being quick and dirty. Remus' hand snaked down and insinuated itself between their bodies, fondling the loose skin of Harry's balls before slipping back to brush a knuckle over his opening. Now it was Harry's turn to moan and rut with frantic need, finishing with a rush of pleasure that left him blinking sleepily, sticky skin pressed against Remus.
"I love you," he murmured.
Remus smoothed the hair away from Harry's face. "I love you."
It wasn't quite enough for either of them, these stolen half-hours and hours. Sometimes Harry wondered if Ginny guessed, if Tonks did. Perhaps he and Remus were greedy selfish bastards, wanting everything and each other too. Sometimes he wished he had been stronger, hadn't touched Remus that first time, hadn't heard the small noise that told him Remus felt the same way he did. Life would have been far less complicated.
But then, his life had never been simple.
"Owl me," he said, standing reluctantly and using a quick charm to spell them both clean. "About dinner."
"I will." Remus began to dress.
They held each other for a long moment before Apparating home.
Growing Old Together
Harry celebrates a birthday. Prompt #39, "Warmth." Harry/Draco. Follows "Happy Christmas, Harry" by about 15 years, but it's not necessary to read that fic first.
"Seventy. I can't believe it. For a long time I didn't think I would make it past seventeen."
Draco put one arm around Harry. "And Horatio and Ariadne, Rosemary and Julian and their families are going to be here for the whole weekend. Don't worry, I'm going to put all the kids out in the tent; no running and squealing along the hallway at six in the morning."
"I wasn't worried." He leaned back into the warmth of Draco's embrace. "I'm looking forward to seeing them all."
"But first..." Draco bent his head to Harry's, kissing him. "Happy birthday, love."