|HP Valensmut Mod (hpvs_mod) wrote in hpvalensmut,|
@ 2009-02-27 18:41:00
|Entry tags:||2009, fic, severus/neville|
Gift for leni_jess: Released, Part 1 (Severus/Neville)
Rating: marginally NC17
Summary: Severus is good with being out of the way and alone after the war; however, after a visit from an old friend and an odd encounter with a former student, he finds maybe it's not the only possible way he wants to live.
Disclaimers: HP is not mine.
The statue was, at least, a faithful reproduction.
Or it had been, when it had been commissioned. The Granger chit had made her case with all the passion she'd previously used to horrify House Elves, and with Potter backing her up, an artist had been commissioned and forced to take the job seriously.
Potter had put up half the money and shamed those in the Ministry who were not Shacklebolt into paying for the rest. That part had been quite worth reading about in the papers as he waited for the wounds to his throat to finally, finally close up and scar.
The big names behind the project hadn't, of course, prevented the general populace from expressing their opinions after the fact, with everything from Muggle paint that sprayed from a can to acrylics, plant dyes and destructive spellwork. A few had gone so far as to acquire and use the fecal matter of a rather impressive variety of magical species; it turned out the shockingly green excrement of the Korean Mandrake stained marble terribly.
Granger had cried, which had actually been rather touching, in a sickening sort of way, and made a terrible but heart-felt public speech right there outside the sodding Shrieking Shack, then repaired the small broken bits and set up protective charms around the statue just like those that kept off the less political shit from overflying birds.
A few weeks later, a professional had been by to paint the thing, incorporating the green spatters and streaks into a rather… abstract interpretation of Slytherin colors; it looked somewhat like he imagined might result if Salazar Slytherin himself had described his vision to Jackson Pollock, only to have him write of it in a letter to Matisse, who used interpretive dance to pass the concept to Dali, who drew a scale model to be copied by a small child and liberally smeared with creamed spinach.
Severus stared up for a while longer at his garish likeness, the flesh of his face stretched into a near-grin as he chuckled. Some things never changed, though he supposed some did; it had taken him some time to become comfortable--or at least, less uncomfortable--with having the statue here in the town nearest his home. He never went to London any more, and rarely mingled with Muggles, instead remaining in Scotland well outside of town, coming in for supplies and to send out the occasional post and else remaining to himself.
He turned away from the statue and went across and up the street and into the Three Broomsticks for a drink.
The place was quiet during the school term when it wasn't a Hogsmeade week-end, with only the locals and a handful of tourists now that the Christmas season was past and spring hadn't yet come. No one wanted to see the near-death monument to the probable traitor (and fast talker) Snape whilst tramping through the snow in a frozen Scottish village where the rest of the attractions consisted primarily of a sweet shop and a place to buy magical jokes.
This, on the whole, was just the way Severus liked it. No one to harass him, no one to sit at his favorite table in the back, and no one to ask him if he'd heard the news, seen the papers, or been in touch with Potter.
He stopped at the front long enough to shake off the snowflakes on his collar and hang up his coat here near the door, then headed for the table, sliding behind it and facing out because even now, four years on from the last time he'd had specific enemies, he didn't think he could have sat facing away if he'd tried. It was another thing that never changed.
He found his adherence to custom both grating and comforting, and had stopped trying to resolve this paradox.