|snarrymod (snarrymod) wrote in snarry_games,|
@ 2007-06-10 17:08:00
Original poster: snarrymod
Hi, friends of Snarry! Today we bring you a special Closing Games treat. One of our mods stepped up to write a last minute pinch hit for the Games, in the event that it became necessary.
In the end, we were able to finish the Games without the worry, but we are pleased and honoured that our most excellent reddwarfer finished her story and we now share it with you to ease the wait for the End of Games Ceremony, which is nearly upon us.
Please welcome our dear Leila, who came through with an awesome story to share!
Author: Leila (reddwarfer)
Theme: Humour, Romance, and Postwar.
Warnings: Drag mouse over space if you wish to know: * Hey, just remember that I was an original member of teamangst. *
Word Count: 5,300+
Author Notes: Many thanks to aliciamasters for the awesome and thorough beta. Thanks to whisper132 for suffering through a fandom and pairing she doesn't know, giving support, and generally being my googletalk notepad. And massive thanks to djin7 for allowing me to be a mod, almost be a pinch hit, and running the huge and brilliant snarry_games
Summary: "Is that any way to greet your very dear…me?"
Harry didn't know what made him decide to come all this way to Snape's home. He wasn't even sure that the old bastard would even answer the door, never mind listening to his undoubtedly boring tale of woe.
Spinner's End looked the same as it ever did, just as worn down and decrepit as before. It was comforting, more than anything, knowing that some things were inevitable.
It didn't take Snape long to answer the door; it opened before he could knock twice.
"What do you want, Potter?" Snape asked, already sounding completely exasperated with his presence. Harry wondered if it was a new record. On second thought: it probably wasn't.
"Is that any way to greet your very dear…" Harry said cheerfully, twisting his hands as he tried to figure out just who he was to Snape, "me," he added lamely.
"It's the best I can do, I'm afraid, as the greeting you truly deserve would land me in Azkaban, even now," Snape replied, as he backed up to let Harry inside.
Harry tossed his outer robes on a hook next to the door, and looked around the sitting room. It looked even more crammed with books than before, and now had two wizarding maps tacked to the walls with various arrows moving from one point to another.
"Do you mind?" Snape's voice didn't sound as annoyed Harry thought he would be.
Looking over his shoulder, Harry gave Snape a bright smile. "I'm just seeing if everything's the same." He looked down at a pile of books. "These are new."
"Must you touch everything?" Snape asked, his voice sounding further away. Harry glanced at him, and saw that he was heading toward the kitchen.
"I like two lumps, and a dash of milk," Harry called out to him, "leave off the poisons this time."
"Not bloody worth the ingredients, and you know it," Snape yelled back. Harry went back to poking through papers and rummaging through a box or two, only stopping after one bit him.
"Ouch," Harry complained softly, sucking on his reddened finger as he collapsed onto Snape's sofa. It was lumpier than the last time he'd been there, but that time, Snape had basically told him to sit down, shut up, or he'd use his wand. It had only taken that once to learn that Snape wasn't joking, and only taken a further two times to realise that first time wasn't a fluke.
"Serves you right for being so damned nosy," Snape said as he thrust a cup of tea under his nose. Harry accepted it with a nod, and Snape settled across from him with his own cup of tea.
"Thanks," Harry said after taking a long sip. It was good: spit-free, he assumed, and nothing else unseemly, he hoped. Last time Snape had come to his house, he had offered to make the tea, and there was a suspicious frothiness about it that had left Harry wary.
"Cut the pleasantries and tell me why you're here," Snape said with that familiar impatience that always drove Harry to the wrong side of crazy.
"I've come to see a man about a curse." Harry added after a moment, "At least I think that's what it is, can't be sure."
"What did you manage to do this time?" There it was, Harry thought with a vague sort of fascination: that resigned exasperation that Snape had whenever he thought Harry had done something spectacularly stupid. Well, that was pretty fair, to be honest.
"You see, I've this job, and it carries a certain set of risks, and well, I'm sometimes apt to rushing into things…"Harry paused a moment. "I can't exactly be sure what it is…or when it happened, mind, but sometime over the past…maybe eight years? Well, I'm pretty sure I've gotten cursed, and I’m almost positive that I'm gonna be dead…sooner rather than later." Harry took another drink of his tea— it really was quite good—and set it down on the table, waiting for a response.
Snape looked at him for a moment, opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally managed to ask, "Have you always been this stupid, or has it gotten worse over the years?"
"Hey now, that's not nice," Harry said. He wasn’t truly all that miffed, but it was the principle of it.
"If you want someone to be nice, I can refer you to a specific corner of Knockturn Alley," Snape muttered under his breath. "Potter, why have you not mentioned this before?"
That was a good question. One for which Harry didn't really have an answer. "I've not had the opportunity, have I?"
"Potter, over the many long years I have had the misfortune of knowing you, you have found yourself in situation after situation of nothing but trouble. I thought, perhaps after the war ended, you'd have settled down, at least enough to remain out of my hair, but you resolutely have found ways to need my particular brand of expertise on more occasions than I'd have imagined possible.
Harry toyed with the hem of his robes. As long as Snape hadn't noticed the pattern, he'd be set. "It's a part of my natural charm?"
Snape raised an eyebrow at that. "It's considered charming to find yourself in need of a potion or anti-curse every single holiday for last eight years? Some would say it's plain unlucky."
Smiling again, Harry picked up his teacup, even though it was empty. "Christmas can be very dangerous. Studies that prove most accidents occur in the home."
"For pity's sake, Potter, last year you called me claiming you'd been cut by a cursed knife when the reality is that you didn't have enough sense to peel a carrot with the blade away from your skin."
"Oh, there was that," Harry agreed with a nod. "Still, you never know with yard sale items. Some witches have gone plain batty."
There were a few minutes when Snape just looked at him as if he were contemplating a particularly unsightly specimen. Harry didn't do much beyond staring back with a wide grin and slight shift to find a more comfortable position, which sadly didn't exist.
"Fine, Potter, I'll make up the spare room. This had better not be a waste of my time or I will ensure that your final days on this blessed earth are painful ones," Snape said as he got to his feet.
Harry stretched out, placing both hands on the back of his head. "How could I refuse such a generous offer? Shall I contact the registry? Think a simple service will do?"
The glare he received almost made him want to get a hand on his wand. "Don't test me, Potter. I could fetch a fair amount of Galleons on the black market selling you piece by retched piece."
Laughing, Harry stood up and walked toward the door. "I'll just nip home and get a few things.”
"You do that. And if you should find yourself in harm's way," Snape said with a malicious grin, "don't hesitate to let it finish the job. Save me the trouble."
Harry laughed. "You'd never be so lucky, and you know it." Cantankerous old bastard. He hoped Snape would never change.