Here's the first of my two SummerFest fics. Finally! (Real life circumstances delayed finishing and posting sooner.) I meant to have this brit-picked for the marijuana slang, but at this point I figure I'd just better get it posted. If I got anything wrong, just pretend this is the American edition of the tale. ;-)
Title: Merry Meet Again
Author:![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
bohemianspirit
Genre: Humor. Weirdness. And Slash. Probably. Maybe.
Pairing: Severus/Harry. Probably. Maybe.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry, in search of a post-war sandwich, encounters Draco Malfoy, a stash of weed, and an unexpected reconciliation.
Notes: Written forventurous for the ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif)
snapedom Summer Fest 2008. Inspired, very loosely, by Venturous' Beltane bonfire picture (NOT work safe!) as well as by a fair amount of back-and-forth brainstorming with esmestrella on her LJ. I strove to incorporate related spiritual/religious themes thoughtfully, though I can't vouch for how intelligently the characters handled the religious aspects. The end result: slightly hallucinatory, but I hope it pleases. Beltane themes, California grass, and the closest I'll ever get to writing a Snarry. ;-)
Merry Meet Again
A sandwich. A sandwich. He'd give his wand for a--
"Potter."
Shit.
"Out of my way, Malfoy," sighed Harry. He started to circle around the obstacle, but the obstacle stepped back into his path. Harry reached for his wand.
Malfoy held up both hands. "Truce?"
Harry blinked. Truce? Malfoy? Then he remembered Malfoy's mother, in the Forbidden Forest. And he remembered the Manor, and he remembered Malfoy crying in the bathroom, and Malfoy at the top of the Astronomy tower, hesitating, unwilling to do what was finally done by--
"All right," said Harry.
Malfoy actually grinned. A friendly grin.
"Let's smoke on it," said Malfoy.
"Smoke?"
But Malfoy had already turned. Harry followed him, through the corridors, down into the dungeons, down to--
"Snape's office?"
"Yeah." Malfoy opened the door. "His old office, but I don't think Slughorn ever found out about--yeah." A slow grin spread over his face as he tapped a stone that turned in the wall, revealing a small hollow in which a small box and pipe were nestled.
"I don't believe it," said Harry as he and Malfoy walked quickly across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest. "Snape? Who knew?"
"There's a lot about Snape you never knew," answered Malfoy.
Malfoy led Harry into the forest, halting when they reached a clearing amongst the trees. "Hold this," said Malfoy, handing Harry the box and pipe. Harry held them, staring as Draco gathered wood and lit a bonfire.
"Do we really need all that, just to light a pipe?" asked Harry.
"Give me that." Malfoy yanked the box and pipe out of Harry's hands. He opened the box, filled the pipe, then set a twig to the bonfire and used the flame to light the pipe. He sat down on the forest floor, and Harry followed suit.
"Here." Malfoy handed the pipe to Harry. Harry set it to his lips, thinking as he drew the smoke into his lungs how Snape had put that very same pipe to his lips...
Somehow, Harry found, he had smoked the entire bowl. He looked up, expecting the wrath of Malfoy, but Malfoy had taken off all his clothes and was kneeling by the fire, doing some kind of hand-waving thing. Probably something he'd learnt in Slytherin.
Antlers? Where the bloody hell did Malfoy come up with antlers? Was he mocking Harry's--
Malfoy leaped to his feet and began spinning and twirling in a circle around the bonfire.
"Malfoy! What the hell--"
"I'm dancing in the May! The merry month of May! The merry, merry month of May!"
Harry gaped, watching Malfoy caper round and round with exuberant abandon. He wanted to ask, Are you high? but of course the answer was yes.
"My Lord!"
Harry's jaw dropped.
"My Lady!"
Malfoy extended a hand, still spinning, and Ginny, a flower-crowned and very naked Ginny, stepped forward from the edge of the clearing and took hold of Malfoy's hand. She joined Malfoy in his dance, circling, circling, round and round and round, entwining, untwining, spinning away into the forest, into the night...
Harry waited. The fire crackled on, waiting with him.
"Bugger."
Harry refilled the pipe and lit it. He inhaled, letting the smoke seep into every cell of his lungs before exhaling. He stared at the pipe in his hand. Just as the thought was forming to raise it to his lips for another hit, he heard the softest of footsteps upon the grass. Harry looked up, and gasped.
"Snape."
Snape gazed down at him. He was wrapped in a dark green cloak.
"I thought you were dead," said Harry.
One eyebrow rose in a familiar arch. "Do I look dead?"
"Uh--no. No." Harry stared at Snape's throat, searching for some sign of--
"It's healed, Potter."
Harry blinked. "Healed," he echoed.
"Yes. Healed. Need I define the word for you?"
"No, but..." Harry frowned, still studying the unmarred skin, skin which had been...
"Fawkes?" prompted Snape.
"Fawkes," repeated Harry. "But... I thought..."
"You thought. There's a refreshing change." Snape seated himself next to Harry, then jerked his head. "Would you mind sharing my weed with me?"
"Oh--um--yeah." Hastily Harry thrust the pipe at Snape, who wrapped his long, slender fingers around it and pulled it to his lips.
"I'm glad you're not dead."
Snape looked at him. "Likewise."
"Really?" Harry started. "You always hated me."
"Did I? Always?" One corner of Snape's mouth curved as his eyes, black and intense, bored into Harry's. Harry stared back, wondering desperately what he was supposed to fathom in that gaze.
Abruptly Snape shrugged and drew a long draft on his pipe. "You never were any good at Legilimency," he said, blowing the words out on wisps of blue-white smoke that trailed up into the night.
"Well." Harry shifted on the grass. "No," he admitted. "I guess not."
"You're as thick as your father." Snape sighed, staring after the faded wisps. "Reading only the surface, and that barely. Never arsing yourself to see the subtext, the subtleties, the shades of nuance. Color escapes you entirely."
Harry clenched his fists. "I'm not my father," he protested.
Snape glanced at him. "No," he agreed, turning back to his pipe. "No, you're not."
Harry watched him. "Share?"
Snape smirked. "Be my guest," he said, handing over the pipe.
"Thanks." Harry smoked. "What am I not seeing, then?"
To Harry's great surprise, Snape laughed: not a mean, malicious laugh, but a soft, almost sympathetic laugh. "If you can't see it for yourself," he murmured, "I can't show it to you."
Harry scowled. "Bloody helpful," he grumbled. He handed the pipe back to Snape, who gazed into the bowl and frowned.
"Uh--here."
"Generous of you, Potter." Snape received the box Harry held out to him. He tapped out his pipe and refilled it. Touching the tip of his wand to the bowl, he lit the pipe and drew deeply upon it.
Harry studied Snape as he stared into the distance. He wondered what Snape was thinking.
"So... um..."
"Not tonight, Potter." Lazily Snape waved his hand in Harry's direction. He was still staring into the forest depths. "We'll have all the time we need, later."
Later...
Harry put away his questions and contented himself with watching Snape smoke.
The pipe was empty, and still Snape sat, pondering who knew what.
Harry was reluctant to break the silence, but finally his need outweighed his reluctance. "Um... could we...?"
Snape's mouth twisted. His eyes glinted with amusement as he looked over at Harry. "I think we've smoked enough for one night," he said, setting the pipe aside.
"Oh." Harry nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
Snape leaped to his feet.
"Come, Potter." Gazing down at Harry, he stretched out one hand. "The winter is over. Summer is at hand."
"What...?" Yet Harry found himself reaching for that hand, pulled up by that hand, and led by that hand into whirling, circling, dancing around the great bonfire.
Harry wanted to ask what the hell they were doing, but Snape kept him moving, spinning, breathless. He could not stop, even should he want to, and Harry wasn't sure he wanted to stop. The heat of the dance pulsed through him, the fire, the flame, flowing through him. The green cloak billowed around Snape, revealing...
Harry blinked, looked quickly away, hoping Snape had not noticed. He danced on, glancing back, met by a familiar smirk...
Snape had noticed.
Harry threw himself into the dance, kicking his legs higher, throwing his arms wider, spinning, spinning...
And Snape was spinning with him...
Heat... flame...
Harry cast away his clothing, not bothering to see where it landed. It may have been consumed by the fire.
They danced.
Faster and faster, they danced, Harry and Snape, together they danced the circle round...
Flame and forest, cloak and skin, shadow and glow...
Nothing was always...
Everything was changing...
Harry fell to his knees, reaching, pulling, imploring. Snape held back, his eyes wary, uncertain, the mask of control cast away and revealing...
In a burst of bravery Harry seized the opportunity before him, not daring to think, else he would think, What the hell am I doing? He couldn't believe he was doing it, he couldn't believe Snape was letting him do it, at any moment Snape would erupt with an angry cry of protest, and Snape did cry out, but it wasn't in protest...
Harry jolted, and found himself lying in the dark. He was indoors, in a room, but not his room in Gryffindor Tower. He stared, bleary-eyed, at the ceiling, trying...
The Headmaster's quarters. Snape's room.
Snape's bed.
The hospital wing had been full, and Madam Pomfrey had insisted that Harry not return to the dormitories, at least for one night, until she was assured that his condition was stable. She had sent him to the seclusion of the Headmaster's quarters, because of course those quarters would not currently be in use...
Tears flooded Harry's eyes. He tried to force them back, to no avail.
Snape was dead. No Fawkes, no healing, no frolic in the Forbidden Forest--
Choking, Harry put a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that forced their way to the surface. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow--in Snape's pillow--
"Snape..."
You're as thick as your father...
Convulsions shook Harry's entire body as he poured out a sudden and overwhelming grief. He'd spent seven years hating the man, hating a man he hardly knew at all, would never have opportunity to truly know, had hated...
Always?
When the sobbing subsided, Harry lay still, staring into the night.
At last Harry sighed, reached for his glasses, rolled over to slide off the bed--and found himself staring into the eyes of Snape.
He was lying on his side, on a bed that had been placed next to Harry's while Harry had been asleep. Snape's eyes were deep, fathomless, but they glittered with life. They regarded Harry with curiosity, as if struggling to bring him into focus. Harry flushed, recalling his dream.
Snape moved, just a little. He opened his mouth, breathed in, and let out a single, raspy whisper:
"Legilimens."
Title: Merry Meet Again
Author:
bohemianspiritGenre: Humor. Weirdness. And Slash. Probably. Maybe.
Pairing: Severus/Harry. Probably. Maybe.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry, in search of a post-war sandwich, encounters Draco Malfoy, a stash of weed, and an unexpected reconciliation.
Notes: Written for
venturous for the snapedom Summer Fest 2008. Inspired, very loosely, by Venturous' Beltane bonfire picture (NOT work safe!) as well as by a fair amount of back-and-forth brainstorming with esmestrella on her LJ. I strove to incorporate related spiritual/religious themes thoughtfully, though I can't vouch for how intelligently the characters handled the religious aspects. The end result: slightly hallucinatory, but I hope it pleases. Beltane themes, California grass, and the closest I'll ever get to writing a Snarry. ;-)Merry Meet Again
A sandwich. A sandwich. He'd give his wand for a--
"Potter."
Shit.
"Out of my way, Malfoy," sighed Harry. He started to circle around the obstacle, but the obstacle stepped back into his path. Harry reached for his wand.
Malfoy held up both hands. "Truce?"
Harry blinked. Truce? Malfoy? Then he remembered Malfoy's mother, in the Forbidden Forest. And he remembered the Manor, and he remembered Malfoy crying in the bathroom, and Malfoy at the top of the Astronomy tower, hesitating, unwilling to do what was finally done by--
"All right," said Harry.
Malfoy actually grinned. A friendly grin.
"Let's smoke on it," said Malfoy.
"Smoke?"
But Malfoy had already turned. Harry followed him, through the corridors, down into the dungeons, down to--
"Snape's office?"
"Yeah." Malfoy opened the door. "His old office, but I don't think Slughorn ever found out about--yeah." A slow grin spread over his face as he tapped a stone that turned in the wall, revealing a small hollow in which a small box and pipe were nestled.
"I don't believe it," said Harry as he and Malfoy walked quickly across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest. "Snape? Who knew?"
"There's a lot about Snape you never knew," answered Malfoy.
Malfoy led Harry into the forest, halting when they reached a clearing amongst the trees. "Hold this," said Malfoy, handing Harry the box and pipe. Harry held them, staring as Draco gathered wood and lit a bonfire.
"Do we really need all that, just to light a pipe?" asked Harry.
"Give me that." Malfoy yanked the box and pipe out of Harry's hands. He opened the box, filled the pipe, then set a twig to the bonfire and used the flame to light the pipe. He sat down on the forest floor, and Harry followed suit.
"Here." Malfoy handed the pipe to Harry. Harry set it to his lips, thinking as he drew the smoke into his lungs how Snape had put that very same pipe to his lips...
Somehow, Harry found, he had smoked the entire bowl. He looked up, expecting the wrath of Malfoy, but Malfoy had taken off all his clothes and was kneeling by the fire, doing some kind of hand-waving thing. Probably something he'd learnt in Slytherin.
Antlers? Where the bloody hell did Malfoy come up with antlers? Was he mocking Harry's--
Malfoy leaped to his feet and began spinning and twirling in a circle around the bonfire.
"Malfoy! What the hell--"
"I'm dancing in the May! The merry month of May! The merry, merry month of May!"
Harry gaped, watching Malfoy caper round and round with exuberant abandon. He wanted to ask, Are you high? but of course the answer was yes.
"My Lord!"
Harry's jaw dropped.
"My Lady!"
Malfoy extended a hand, still spinning, and Ginny, a flower-crowned and very naked Ginny, stepped forward from the edge of the clearing and took hold of Malfoy's hand. She joined Malfoy in his dance, circling, circling, round and round and round, entwining, untwining, spinning away into the forest, into the night...
Harry waited. The fire crackled on, waiting with him.
"Bugger."
Harry refilled the pipe and lit it. He inhaled, letting the smoke seep into every cell of his lungs before exhaling. He stared at the pipe in his hand. Just as the thought was forming to raise it to his lips for another hit, he heard the softest of footsteps upon the grass. Harry looked up, and gasped.
"Snape."
Snape gazed down at him. He was wrapped in a dark green cloak.
"I thought you were dead," said Harry.
One eyebrow rose in a familiar arch. "Do I look dead?"
"Uh--no. No." Harry stared at Snape's throat, searching for some sign of--
"It's healed, Potter."
Harry blinked. "Healed," he echoed.
"Yes. Healed. Need I define the word for you?"
"No, but..." Harry frowned, still studying the unmarred skin, skin which had been...
"Fawkes?" prompted Snape.
"Fawkes," repeated Harry. "But... I thought..."
"You thought. There's a refreshing change." Snape seated himself next to Harry, then jerked his head. "Would you mind sharing my weed with me?"
"Oh--um--yeah." Hastily Harry thrust the pipe at Snape, who wrapped his long, slender fingers around it and pulled it to his lips.
"I'm glad you're not dead."
Snape looked at him. "Likewise."
"Really?" Harry started. "You always hated me."
"Did I? Always?" One corner of Snape's mouth curved as his eyes, black and intense, bored into Harry's. Harry stared back, wondering desperately what he was supposed to fathom in that gaze.
Abruptly Snape shrugged and drew a long draft on his pipe. "You never were any good at Legilimency," he said, blowing the words out on wisps of blue-white smoke that trailed up into the night.
"Well." Harry shifted on the grass. "No," he admitted. "I guess not."
"You're as thick as your father." Snape sighed, staring after the faded wisps. "Reading only the surface, and that barely. Never arsing yourself to see the subtext, the subtleties, the shades of nuance. Color escapes you entirely."
Harry clenched his fists. "I'm not my father," he protested.
Snape glanced at him. "No," he agreed, turning back to his pipe. "No, you're not."
Harry watched him. "Share?"
Snape smirked. "Be my guest," he said, handing over the pipe.
"Thanks." Harry smoked. "What am I not seeing, then?"
To Harry's great surprise, Snape laughed: not a mean, malicious laugh, but a soft, almost sympathetic laugh. "If you can't see it for yourself," he murmured, "I can't show it to you."
Harry scowled. "Bloody helpful," he grumbled. He handed the pipe back to Snape, who gazed into the bowl and frowned.
"Uh--here."
"Generous of you, Potter." Snape received the box Harry held out to him. He tapped out his pipe and refilled it. Touching the tip of his wand to the bowl, he lit the pipe and drew deeply upon it.
Harry studied Snape as he stared into the distance. He wondered what Snape was thinking.
"So... um..."
"Not tonight, Potter." Lazily Snape waved his hand in Harry's direction. He was still staring into the forest depths. "We'll have all the time we need, later."
Later...
Harry put away his questions and contented himself with watching Snape smoke.
The pipe was empty, and still Snape sat, pondering who knew what.
Harry was reluctant to break the silence, but finally his need outweighed his reluctance. "Um... could we...?"
Snape's mouth twisted. His eyes glinted with amusement as he looked over at Harry. "I think we've smoked enough for one night," he said, setting the pipe aside.
"Oh." Harry nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
Snape leaped to his feet.
"Come, Potter." Gazing down at Harry, he stretched out one hand. "The winter is over. Summer is at hand."
"What...?" Yet Harry found himself reaching for that hand, pulled up by that hand, and led by that hand into whirling, circling, dancing around the great bonfire.
Harry wanted to ask what the hell they were doing, but Snape kept him moving, spinning, breathless. He could not stop, even should he want to, and Harry wasn't sure he wanted to stop. The heat of the dance pulsed through him, the fire, the flame, flowing through him. The green cloak billowed around Snape, revealing...
Harry blinked, looked quickly away, hoping Snape had not noticed. He danced on, glancing back, met by a familiar smirk...
Snape had noticed.
Harry threw himself into the dance, kicking his legs higher, throwing his arms wider, spinning, spinning...
And Snape was spinning with him...
Heat... flame...
Harry cast away his clothing, not bothering to see where it landed. It may have been consumed by the fire.
They danced.
Faster and faster, they danced, Harry and Snape, together they danced the circle round...
Flame and forest, cloak and skin, shadow and glow...
Nothing was always...
Everything was changing...
Harry fell to his knees, reaching, pulling, imploring. Snape held back, his eyes wary, uncertain, the mask of control cast away and revealing...
In a burst of bravery Harry seized the opportunity before him, not daring to think, else he would think, What the hell am I doing? He couldn't believe he was doing it, he couldn't believe Snape was letting him do it, at any moment Snape would erupt with an angry cry of protest, and Snape did cry out, but it wasn't in protest...
Harry jolted, and found himself lying in the dark. He was indoors, in a room, but not his room in Gryffindor Tower. He stared, bleary-eyed, at the ceiling, trying...
The Headmaster's quarters. Snape's room.
Snape's bed.
The hospital wing had been full, and Madam Pomfrey had insisted that Harry not return to the dormitories, at least for one night, until she was assured that his condition was stable. She had sent him to the seclusion of the Headmaster's quarters, because of course those quarters would not currently be in use...
Tears flooded Harry's eyes. He tried to force them back, to no avail.
Snape was dead. No Fawkes, no healing, no frolic in the Forbidden Forest--
Choking, Harry put a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that forced their way to the surface. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow--in Snape's pillow--
"Snape..."
You're as thick as your father...
Convulsions shook Harry's entire body as he poured out a sudden and overwhelming grief. He'd spent seven years hating the man, hating a man he hardly knew at all, would never have opportunity to truly know, had hated...
Always?
When the sobbing subsided, Harry lay still, staring into the night.
At last Harry sighed, reached for his glasses, rolled over to slide off the bed--and found himself staring into the eyes of Snape.
He was lying on his side, on a bed that had been placed next to Harry's while Harry had been asleep. Snape's eyes were deep, fathomless, but they glittered with life. They regarded Harry with curiosity, as if struggling to bring him into focus. Harry flushed, recalling his dream.
Snape moved, just a little. He opened his mouth, breathed in, and let out a single, raspy whisper:
"Legilimens."
Where will Snape take it from here? Deicious uncertainty!
Where will Snape take it from here? Delicious uncertainty!
Heh. That was the idea. ;-) Tormenting ambiguity...
And oh! What a perfect ending!
a Magnificent Gift
so much to love, where to begin?
When I made that Beltane art, the first image that came to me was Draco in antlers, and I love how your wrote him, dancing with abandon, the beautiful young horned god. and Ginny! yay.
That painting is so over-the-top,it embarrasses me, but I had to try to express the intensity of my dance with Severus-as-Muse.
What a stroke of brilliance to put the ritual immediately at war's end! So many times I have tried to imagine Harry's state of mind and heart at the end of canon. This is perfect, capturing the dazed state of unreality, and using the ritual and elemental to transform and heal.
And he discovers his grief. Oh, my dear heart, bless you for that. How can this child, who has suffered so much loss, hold himself together? The idea of him in Severus' room, pouring out his tears, is so powerful.
and the ending, gah! in a few lines I went from a heavy heart to disbelief, to astonishment. Then to a careful re-read.
Tomorrow before the dawn I will gather with friends to drum for the moment of Solstice. we wont be dancing around a fire, alas, but I shall call you into the circle and give thanks for the magic that surrounds us.
Re: a Magnificent Gift
On a literal level, I was thinking, well, none of the Potter characters are Wiccan, so this has to be a bit weird and seemingly out-of-context. Yet the themes and symbolism worked so well for Harry's inner turmoil and sorting things through, and it's plausible that he might have had some exposure to the religion, it being the late 1990s! And yes, poor Harry had so much grief and loss and new revelations to work through, more than a sandwich could assuage.
Oh, and the timing worked out when I read that the final battle with Voldemort took place on May 2 or something like that. Anyway, it was May. Close enough for jazz, and for numinous dreams.
That painting is so over-the-top,it embarrasses me
Any artist/writer worth their salt has plenty of stuff that embarrasses them. ;-) Sometimes the embarrassment is warranted--but that's all part of the process, eh?--but often it's just because less creative people don't get the Muse and Her ways. (Or His ways, in the case of Severus-Muse.)
but I had to try to express the intensity of my dance with Severus-as-Muse.
I didn't understand, on a conscious level, that that was what you trying to convey, but apparently I tuned in on the subconscious level. ;-) And thank you so much for remembering me at Solstice! I'm sure it helped, especially given the context of this holiday season. Have a blessed New Year!
Bravo!
A sandwich. A sandwich. He'd give his wand for a--
Probably could have after the weed, too. ;)
Probably could have after the weed, too. ;)
Um, yeah, he probably did, after the weed, from the way that dream was looking. ;-)
And thanks for getting this on the master-list so quickly!
This was really lovely, very humorous and moving at the same time. The beginning was hilarious--Harry and Draco getting high on Snape's secret stash of weed! ^_^ That would have been entertaining by itself, but then we see Harry attempting to understand Snape in his awkward, fumbling way--I think this is how he'd act if he had actually been able to confront Snape post-war in canon, a bit contrite and a bit defensive at the same time.
And then it was so heartbreaking, to find that it was only a dream, and then again you gave both the reader and Harry renewed hope to find that Snape is alive, after all.
And you know I'm not much of a Snarry shipper, but wow, I really loved the way you portrayed Harry's repressed desire for Snape, suddenly freed.
but then we see Harry attempting to understand Snape in his awkward, fumbling way--I think this is how he'd act if he had actually been able to confront Snape post-war in canon, a bit contrite and a bit defensive at the same time.
I agree. Savior of the Wizarding World notwithstanding, the guy was only 17, after all, with a hell of a lot of baggage and hard experience to process that would daunt many people twice his age. I think JKR handled it far too glibly. Then again, I'm also into the "angst-ridden soul in search of healing and integration" genre of story, so maybe that's just my bias showing!
And you know I'm not much of a Snarry shipper
I'm not, either. There's some good Snarry fiction out there, but I don't find the pairing very plausible, on a romantic level. This was really out of my usual scope, but I'm pretty good at suspending disbelief in the service of fiction!
but wow, I really loved the way you portrayed Harry's repressed desire for Snape, suddenly freed.
Thanks. Not only desire, per se, but basically realizing that maybe the "I hate Snape" story he'd been telling himself all those years wasn't still true--a consideration that works as well on the platonic level as the romantic level.