snarrymod (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} snarrymod) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} snarry_games,@ 2006-05-22 22:17:00 |
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Original poster: snarrymod
Another future Champion, daughter_moon, to showcase her writing chops.
Enjoy!
43 Snarry Drabbles for the Games!
Author: daughter_moon
Ratings/Warnings: Each labeled appropriately
Nine pm, and the Dark Lord calls. I brew til dawn.
Three am, and I am released, to make my lonely way home.
Three thirty, and Wormtail leaves. I am not sorry to see him go. The place is quiet now.
Four am, and I sleep. Only three hours before I wake and work again, and face the broken darkness of Spinner's End. Three hours to dream of warm skin and soft voice and dark hair. Trusting green eyes that lost their sparkle long ago.
Three hours to remember.
Severus had always been hungry. Never greedy, though. He was denied too much for that.
Hungry for food. Then hungry for companionship. Then for power.
It was the power that claimed him.
He repented, and once more longed for friendship. He found Harry.
But Harry is just the same, and all patterns must be repeated. Severus can only watch.
Warnings: Spoiler for Half-Blood Prince
They said the house of Gryffindor had the courage of a lion. Was the lion ever cowardly?
I feel cowardly. I feel cowardly when I go back to the dungeons and feel empty when I see he isn’t there. I feel cowardly when I think how he risked himself while I stayed here, even if he was a traitor. I feel cowardly when I still hide here, afraid of failing in my search for vengence… Afraid of succeeding.
I feel cowardly when I want nothing more than for him to return.
The church echoed with silence and emptiness.
The board read 'confessions, 12pm'. Harry had vague memories of primary school, lining up to tell the priest how they'd lied, or how they hit their brother. Did it truly grant benediction?
Harry stepped inside the dark confessional, pushing aside the moment of panic. Small, trapped… cupboard. The faceless voice spoke inside.
"What has happened, my child?"
"I killed someone. I'm expected to kill another… I'm in love with a murderer."
The priest offers words of forgiveness and Harry leaves feeling empty. What did he seek?
When he could find forgiveness in Snape.
We had many misunderstandings. I wondered once if our words fragmented in the air, leaving just torn scraps of meaning. We always took comments the wrong way. But we reached an understanding.
Now the misconceptions begin again, and I can not blame him, for there was no other way to understand. He could not know the true meanings behind the headmaster’s plea. He could not understand the hatred in my voice, that the old fool would tear my Harry away from me. He could not understand the depth of my love for him.
And he never will understand.
It was high. The air was thin and insubstantial.
Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy.
The sky was black like the cloak Snape wore. The rain shivered down the glass.
Too open.
Harry watched the endless fall of elderly man in purple robes, which tear and flutter over the battlements. Snape spins, dizzy with shock and fear and-
Run, run, run.
He could not follow. Harry couldn't fall any more. Severus would fall in his place.
It was always masquerade. My first mask was presented to me at the age of eleven.
“You’re a pure-blood Slytherin, Severus. Act like one.”
The second came at the age of twenty-one.
“Welcome to the death eaters.”
Then again at twenty-three.
“We need a spy.”
And now, at the age of thirty-eight, the masks have finally come off.
“I love you, Severus.”
But the masks are a part of me now, and no Gryffindor Hero can possibly take them away. So I don the mask again, except it cuts me now, fitting badly.
“Bring me Harry Potter.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
Have you ever had the sense of déjà vu? The sense that you ran once before, long ago? Running from the same place?
I remember watching Hogwarts fade away, twenty years ago. Lucius Malfoy stood at my side. Now Draco has taken his place.
Dumbledore's disappointed gaze followed me last time. Now Dumbledore gave the orders. The dead can not speak. My lover can not follow.
Harry, why does this hurt more?
He’s living in a nightmare.
Every night he sees it. His lover of a single year, dying before his eyes. Cut down by Death Eaters and Aurors alike. Green light engulfing the body he knew so well, and had treasured so dearly. And the guilt consumes him.
This man killed Dumbledore. This man was a traitor to them all. Harry should kill him for what he did. Harry was expected to kill him for what he did.
That was the real nightmare.
The night before he left, we watched Malfoy dance with Pansy in a hidden room behind the Slytherin common room, and he promised that one day we could dance too.
The night I meet him again, on a bloody battlefield with the dead strewn all around us, he offers me his hand. And I can not refuse. Even if he has become the enemy.
Because he loved me, and remembers.
So on a dance floor awash with mud stained red, we move together. Our first dance and our last, before the Aurors take him away.
It's not the ideal relationship. Both hot-headed. Both stubborn. Both fighting for opposing sides.
Every meeting is a test of wills.
But when the final push comes, the winner will take it all, and one will lie broken on the ground.
If they can will themselves to kill their lover.
It was just like fourth year. Except this time the price was life over death.
The labyrinth twisted again, and the hedges bristled. Riddle's laughter rang in his ears.
The branches crackle underfoot in sick symphony with Voldemort. The air was shifting.
Harry rounded the corner, to see the dark-robed figure hanging like a scarecrow in the wind. The robes fluttered like the wings of a dying bird.
The boggart keeps laughing.
A black cat crossed my path. Green eyes, scar on the forehead, name of Harry.
Transfiguration was never my strong point. I knew few animagi.
I was superstitious. Black cats are bad luck - everyone knows that.
But I gave in and welcomed my cat and opened my heart. And loved.
My superstition had never failed before.
Dumbledore's posthumous request came by owl post, of all things. A black raven delivered an unadorned envelope to Severus Snape. A white dove brought the same to Harry Potter.
My boys, it read. I must first thank you both for all your help. I know our position now is assured. But I would like to request a last favour.
Don't hate each other. Find the love inside you and let it triumph. Learn to trust each other and you will find the greatest power imaginable.
They had never been able to say no to Albus Dumbledore.
Severus had sacrificed everything to the cause. His career, his freedom, his home, his mentor… His lover.
He had known for over a year now. He had argued all day and night with Albus to forget his promise. To allow him death. Better to die than live like this.
He had killed his only remaining father figure and estranged his lover.
But he could watch still. The white coffin was covered with the first lose earth and Severus turns away.
Sharp green eyes follow the movement. Harry understands sacrifice too.
We spent seven years apart. It itched then, though I did not know why. Only that something was missing and fought to regain it's place.
We spent seven years hating each other. We were irritants, like bubotuber pus on bare skin. Itching, burning. It was hard to begin again.
We spent seven years at war. Saving each other countless times. Knowing each other more intimately than lovers. Partners in every sense.
He is seven years gone. It doesn’t itch any more. Just the scrape across my fingertips as I brush the cool granite.
We will not forget you.
Warnings: Character death
Severus Snape looked up at Harry Potter. The young wizard had finally killed Voldemort and now was ready to kill Snape.
"Why did you kill Dumbledore?" Why did you leave me?
Severus did not answer when Harry gripped his wand tighter to stop the trembling, did not answer when Harry's lips formed the inevitable words, did not speak even to reassure his long-estranged lover.
Yes, I love you. Yes, I kept fighting for you.
He did not answer when green light spilled from Harry's wand. Because this was Harry's choice, and he had always needed to prove his independence.
Snape had been so angry when Harry looked in his pensive.
Dumbledore explained that it was because Severus felt threatened. That it made an occlumens feel vulnerable when someone could look inside their head.
So Harry was surprised and worried to find Snape's pensieve resting on his bed. A note lay beside it.
Harry,
These are my memories from that night, from some parts of my childhood and from our fledgling relationship. I can trust you more with them than I can myself, in my position.
Take care. I will see you again, brat.
Severus.
The paper fluttered thinly on the air. Voldemort's wand swished through the air. Another rip appeared on the page, and was echoed on Severus' skin.
"Sleeping with the enemy, Severus. I am very disappointed in you."
Severus made no answer. Voldemort frowned, and flicked his wand. Another tear appeared on Snape's pale skin. The paper littered the floor. Snape's long fingers curled around an sedge.
"Loyal until the end, Severus," Voldemort hissed in amusement.
"You shouldn't give your life for the sake of a love letter. Where is Harry Potter?"
Severus' last thought was of black hair and jade eyes.
Morality is a flexible thing.
People with a multitude of sins are only too quick to declare "Have you no scruples?" when confronted with an action they disagree with.
Is murder morally wrong? Of course it is?
If that person was ill? Yes, still.
If that person begged you, asked for your promise?
You don't know, do you? No one could ever know.
When you have killed someone, Potter, Harry, come back to me and then I will teach you the meaning of morality.
They were living in a dollhouse, and they were the dolls.
Controlled by Albus Dumbledore: master puppeteer. They did as they were commanded, and stayed inside the house. The others came and went but they remained, trapped in the empty rooms. Punch and Judy for the entertainment of the others.
Snape knew how to throw his verbal punches, and Harry learned how to handle him.
It was only in the dark, when the curtains closed for the night and the chattering crowds cleared that they fell together on the bed and regained will of their own.
The strings were cut.
It always takes time to get used to, in that respect at least they are normal. Both tossing and turning in the wide bed; too hot, too unused to the presence of another human body.
But they got used to it in time. The blanket no longer ended up on the end of the bed during sleep. They no longer suffered from sleep deprivation.
And with the new flood of restful sleep, and a wash of happy Harry tackling him every evening Severus too became happier.
And though they tried to hide it, everyone could see.
Harry was always hungry. Within a few days of moving into his new home, he had no biscuits left and bread was a long forgotten memory.
Severus never seemed to eat. He would work whole days and through the night on potions without a single protest from his stomach.
Although Severus was never inclined to share his food, when he did have some, the arrangement worked out quite well.
And the love they received from each other was more than enough no matter how hungry for devotion they might be.
"Courage-"
"Stupidity," Severus slipped in.
"…is the trademark of Gryffindor!" Harry finished. "Let it never be said that I don't do what is needed."
"Harry," Severus exclaimed in exasperation, "You don't need to prove your love for me by standing on the Gryffindor table and announcing it to the entire student body."
"Well, no," Harry agreed. "I don’t need to, but you can't tell me you don't want to see their faces when I do."
Severus hid his smile behind his tea.
It was benediction, the first touch of skin on skin. So long, too long since they’d last been together. Five long years since Severus had been chased from the school, branded a traitor. Five years to defeat a Dark Lord, five years to visit Azkaban prison in hope of closure, reasons, even to just hear a familiar voice again.
Everyone else was dead.
And so Harry had clung to Severus’ confession, offering his lover benediction of his own when he forgave the sins committed for masters joined in a single goal.
And after five years, Severus finally came home.
There were always things left unsaid. That is human nature. Human nature to ask, and human nature to hide, and human nature to forgive these small transgressions.
Harry was curious. Snape was closed, like a locked trunk.
Harry forgave and forgot. Snape made it up to him.
His friend's didn’t approve. They said he should find someone more open, more attractive (more female, perhaps? Ginny is still interested.)
Just between them, it didn't really matter if there were things left unsaid.
"Love inspires vertigo," Hermione said on the day she married Ron. Harry didn't understand.
"It's like being really dizzy," Ron told him at the reception. "I bought a dictionary."
But no-one explained quite so well as Severus Snape did, when he swooped in from the doorway and swept Harry clean off his feet.
Love was like vertigo!
Love removed all masks. Everything was broken away to reveal the person within.
Not so with Severus Snape.
He had worn the mask so long that it had almost become part of him. He wore the image like a shield; secretive, frightening, dark. He could not remove it.
It took just one dark-haired young man to strip it away at last.
Severus had never had a moment's déjà vu. Perhaps it made him odd, but he experienced things once and only once. Life was too complex to have lived it twice.
Harry experienced a moment of déjà vu when he walked into Spinner's End for the first time.
"So," he said with a grin. "I see you kept the bed. How did you get it all the way from Grimmauld Place?"
Severus sighed. Every bed in these old houses was the same, but he would allow Harry his fantasy. After all, it was a happy memory for him too.
They soothed each other’s nightmares. Woke each other with a kiss when the sheets twisted as they did in their torment. Told each other things would be okay, because they would, because they were together. Let each other know they weren’t alone.
And although they are alone now, they are alone together. And although the nightmares haven’t stopped, although the nightmares have become reality, still the memories are there to soothe them.
“Love you, Severus.”
“Good night, Harry.”
Because sometimes all you need is love.
The ball was torment. Hour after hour of simply standing, watching, longing. Seeing the happy couples twirl in haphazard circles across the polished stone floor.
He could see Severus from here, standing dark and silent on the other side of the hall, watching with the same dispassionate coolness he treated every Hogwarts event with. Severus turned his head, catching Harry’s eyes, and Harry caught the unspoken message.
Save the last dance for me.
"You can not go one day without sex, Mr. Potter."
Harry, flat on his back on the bed, stared up at his smirking lover with challenge in his eyes.
"Oh really, well I don't think that you can either."
"I have much more self-control than you," Severus protested, bending his head to lick up Harry's straining erection. Harry let out a soft whine.
"You're not helping your case here."
"Prove me wrong."
So the test of wills began, but as it turned out, neither was very good at it. Stubborn versus sexy never really worked.
Severus' mind was like a labyrinth. There were so many twists and turns, traps for unwitting legilimens, fake memories and unexpected ones.
Harry shook his head. Severus looked at him in some amusement.
"I told you the mind bond would take some getting used to."
"How am I ever supposed to concentrate with that thing in my head?" Harry spluttered.
A dark eyebrow raised. "That thing happens to be my brain."
"It looks like some wool that a cat got hold of."
Severus tackled him to the bed, and pretty soon Harry couldn't concentrate anyway.
On Monday, Harry broke a mirror.
On Tuesday, Severus tripped over a black cat.
On Wednesday, Harry spilled the salt.
On Thursday, Severus walked under a ladder.
Friday was the thirteenth. They both expected the bad luck to come.
On Saturday, Harry found his black cat and Severus repaired his mirror.
On Sunday, Harry dropped the salt again, and both moved beneath the ladder to pick it up.
The ladder toppled, and the two fell in a tangled, laughing heap against the wall as Filch crashed to the ground.
Superstition didn’t hurt. Not them.
Harry didn't like see Severus fill out his will. It reminded him of all sorts of uncomfortable topics: mortality, age (and it's differences), the many death eaters still hunting for them both.
Harry didn't like seeing the posthumous requests Severus put in small envelopes and slipped inside the will.
Harry didn't like seeing the one addressed to him. And Severus didn't like him looking.
But they ignored the requests for now. They weren't posthumous yet.
Sacrifices were made in every marriage.
Severus gave up his cold, dark dungeons and with them abandoned the comfortable familiarity he had lived with for twenty years. He didn't need them anymore.
Harry gave up the lurid orange cannons duvet cover Ron had given him two Christmasses ago. It didn't fit their new bed anyway.
Severus gave up scowling, and Harry gave up the idea of a 'family lunch' with the Weasleys. Severus was nicer, yes, but he still didn't get on with them.
Sacrifices were made in every marriage, but it's always the smallest ones that matter.
Seven was a magical number, Harry soon discovered. Seven dwarfs (not that they were real), seven snake scales in Drought of Living Death, seven days to the week.
What Harry didn't understand was why the ropes binding him to the bed needed seven loops. They itched!
"One for each year we've been together," Severus told him.
Harry still didn't understand, but as Severus descended on him, he decided to let Severus just have his way. Because something about this position was certainly magical!
"Why must I submit to your quest for independence, Potter?" Snape snapped, heaving Harry's squirming body off his lap.
"You don't have to do that!" Harry protested. "Just submit, that's all!"
"Oh, is that all?" the sarcasm coated Snape's sharp tongue thickly. "I am a top, Potter. Always have been, always will be."
"Have you ever tried being bottom? You might like it." Harry scrambled back up.
"I-"
Perhaps this was worth a try after all.
Harry gazed around Snape's home. "This is it?"
"I am sorry it does not meet your standards."
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that." Harry took another look around the sparce room. "Well, maybe I did. But I'll get over it. You at least have a home."
Severus watched him steadily.
"This is my ancestral home, Potter."
"This is lovely, really. I wish I had an ancestral home."
"You did. We can visit the plot, if you like."
"Really?" Harry flung himself into Severus' arms and kissed him. Severus smiled. Compromise wasn't as hard as his ancestors made it look.
For their tenth wedding anniversary, Harry gave Severus a pensieve. Within it, he placed all the memories from their time together. Their first kiss, their first night together, their wedding, the honeymoon, the day they adopted their son.
Severus was confused. "I have a pensieve!" Then he was happy, and pulled Harry into his arms for a sweet kiss.
Harry has a new memory to add to the collection.
The first letter was brief.
Detention, 8pm
The second letter was frantic.
The death eaters will attack the Burrow at 7.30 Saturday. Make sure you're out.
The third letter was hopeful.
Meet me at the Three Broomsticks at 5.
The fourth letter was the fulfillment of joint dreams.
Please attend the wedding of Harry James Potter and Severus Septimus Snape on January 19th.
Severus has learnt to ignore the idiots who told him it was wrong. Who told him he had no scruples. Who told him to leave Harry and let him find another.
Harry had learnt to put out howlers quickly.
Both had learnt that love, faith and, yes, scruples, were really in the eye of the beholder.
They built it by hand and magic. Conjured the walls, placed bars of glowing ‘lumos’ across the ceiling, charmed the windows to show the Hogwarts grounds.
They fought over the colours, deciding that neither green nor red fitted. Changing the colours again when the other was not looking, and setting bubbling cauldrons in the dungeons.
And when the dollhouse was done, their Goddaughter shouted in delight.
“Is that really what Hogwarts looks like?” gasped their goddaughter.
“No!” Harry laughed, conjuring a small wooden figure and kissing Severus on his beaky nose, “It wouldn’t be the same without the Potions Master.”
FIN
Thank you,
daughter_moon!