|snarrymod (snarrymod) wrote in snarry_games,|
@ 2007-05-27 14:51:00
Original poster: snarrymod
Our first Closing Games Drabbler has sent in a lovely series of drabbles (14) based on the Wartime theme, using the specific Genre Hurt/Comfort. We are very pleased to announce:
Rating: Overall PG
Wartime. Genre: Hurt/Comfort
They held their wands tightly. Harry’s knuckles had turned white; the back of Severus’ hand was splotchy and red.
“After you, Mr. Potter.”
The dark tent that they’d constructed (and Disillusioned) in the dead of night shivered in the wind, its support beams creaking.
“You first, Snape.”
Severus sighed, but did as he was told. It was hard to make his fingers uncurl. Once he had, though, his wand clattered to the tabletop.
Harry let out a breath and then dropped his own wand on top of Severus’ so that they crossed. “Now – what were you saying about the Horcruxes?”
“Surely we can sit first? This is likely to be a long –”
Two gaudy chintz chairs poofed into existence. “There,” Harry answered flatly, waving at the chair that he’d conjured behind Snape. “Now sit. Talk.”
Severus resented being ordered around. He resented even more the easy show of power that Harry had performed, wandless and wordless (much to his surprise), and the none-too-subtle reminder that the chairs served.
It could not be coincidence. Surely...
But when Harry turned his head enough to see the chair that he’d conjured behind himself, his back stiffened in surprise.
I’m so sorry...
“Why?” Harry asked quietly, curled up on the horrible chair that he’d conjured for himself.
“Why what?” Snape asked crossly, sitting carefully on the very edge of his own seat.
“Why would you help me? You... you k-killed –”
Snape’s temper flared. “Look – you either want my help, or you don’t. If I’m wasting my time –”
“Just tell me, God dammit!”
Snape gripped his arm, covering the hidden Mark in an unconscious gesture. “If you must know, I had no choice. The vow– He wanted... I–”
“I know,” Harry interrupted, quietly.
“How could you possibly?”
“He forced me, too.”
“They are all heirlooms of some sort. Precious relics from the past. After all, the Dark Lord takes great pleasure in perverting that which should be revered.”
Potter leaned forward in his chair, and Severus’ hand itched for his wand. He hated being defenseless...
“The first that I have been able to locate is Rowena’s Rook. More specifically, the rook from her favorite chess set. It is in the Wizarding Museum at Scotland as we speak –”
“And the others?” Potter leaned further forward, his eyes gleaming. “Where are they?”
“One at a time, Potter,” Severus growled, sitting back stiffly.
“Tell me where they are, Snape,” Harry practically growled, hair on end and magic crackling around him. “Now.”
Severus scoffed, trying to swallow his sudden fear. “You can’t destroy them all at once. The Dark Lord would surely –”
“Don’t call him that!” Harry spat. “His name is Voldemort! Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort!” His face was flushed and his breathing erratic as he built momentum. “He is no lord!” Spittle flew from his mouth, but Severus did not move away. “You’re too much of a coward to –”
Harry raised a hand to his red cheek, eyes wide in disbelief.
“I’ll tell you when and if I see fit, Potter,” Snape snarled. His hand throbbed from slapping the boy, but he refused to show any sign of weakness. He dropped the stinging palm to his knee and covered up his wince with a sneer.
Harry touched the side of his face gingerly, glaring all the while. “Why? Don’t want to give up too much information? Still trying to play both sides you fecking traitor?
Snape looked away from those accusing, emerald eyes—so like his mother’s—and stared at the canvas of their tent. “It’s called being a spy, Potter.”