Entry tags:

closing games, drabbles

CLOSING GAMES DRABBLES #1 = Yura Slash!

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:


Author: yura_slash
Warnings: None
Rating: Overall PG




Wartime. Genre: Hurt/Comfort


Armistice

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?”


Hostile Territory

“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.

Albus...

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...


War Crimes

“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.”


Relics

“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.


Counter Attack

“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 –”

Crack!

Harry raised a hand to his red cheek, eyes wide in disbelief.


Espionage

“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.”

*******One year later*******


Assassin

Snape had warned him just in time.

If not for Snape, then...

What world was this that a mere brush with Imperio could make his friends into enemies—their days into nothing but gauzy memories?

Harry ran a hand through Ron’s hair and tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. He should have known. Should have seen the change. Ron was his best friend and he’d...

“You couldn’t have known,” that dark voice whispered. “You’ve been busy with the Horcruxes, but now...” A cold, slender hand rested on his shoulder. Harry leaned back and closed his eyes.


Azkaban

Azkaban held nothing on this. Dementors swooped down, scads of them, and Harry wondered where they’d been hiding all these months. The first alarms started. People rushed from their tents, wands alight, faces white with terror.

Harry understood their fear.

He hadn’t seen a Dementor in more than a year, and he feared what they would show him, what screams would echo in his head tonight. He’d seen so many deaths and so much pain...

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Someone, Neville by the sound of it, shouted at the tops of his lungs.

He closed his eyes and groped for a memory...


Casualty of War

He’d never let anyone see his tears. Now was no different. Finally, blissfully alone in his tent, he curled up into a ball on his cot and cried hard and long. His body wracked with sobs as he catalogued each new casualty, each new death in this long and pointless war. Their bodies were buried but would never rest, Harry knew, until he’d finished his mission.

Until Voldemort was dead.

And if he wished for that cold, slender hand on his back – if he longed for someone to hold and then soothe him into sleep, he’d never admit to it.


Cavalry

They’d hidden the bodies. They had been careful. There was no way that –

*I’ve found them, Harry.*

He was lying. This was just a dream. A bad dream. Harry had long ago managed to block Voldemort out of his mind and this was just a –

*They’re mine, now. My soldiers. But can you fight them?*

Voldemort’s evil cackle echoed in his mind as a hazy image swam into focus. Oh Merlin, no. Anything but...

*The cavalry has arrived. Now fight!*

One of the inferi bore Snape’s face. Snape wasn’t dead. He wasn’t...

Tears ran down Harry’s cheeks as he slept.


Chain of Command

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry hissed, shaking Hermione’s hand off his arm.

“But Harry – I’m worried about you,” she insisted, grabbing hold of his shoulder and digging her nails in painfully. “You can’t keep meeting with him like this. You can’t trust him not to –”

“He warned me about Ron. He knew about the Curse and he warned me.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched. “I had noticed something odd, Harry. But I had to make sure –”

“Leave it, Hermione,” Harry snapped, jerking free again. “Must I remind you who’s in charge, here?”

She just shook her head as he stalked away.



Cold War

Harry’s message had been frantic. He’d requested a meeting at “the usual spot,” but the cold indifference that had stood between them was strangely absent.

Severus arrived early and set up the tent, refreshing the Disillusionment charm on its canvas before conjuring a comfortable chair for himself.

Moments later, Harry burst in wildly, as if he hadn’t expected the tent to be there. “Severus? S-Severus!” And then the blighter had launched himself at him, knocking the air out of him as he landed on his lap and flung his arms around his shoulders.

When had the air between them thawed?


Tribunal

Voldemort was dead, and Snape was through fighting. He answered their questions wearily, unfeeling and uncaring. Harry was out there somewhere with the rest of the mob, hanging on to his every truth serum-induced word.

It hardly mattered.

Someone introduced a pensieve as evidence—it may have been Minerva—but he just sat stonily, staring at the ground. He’d be going to Azkaban soon, and with the poor, threadbare slippers on his feet, frostbite would be a real possibility...

Time passed, no more real than the last two years he’d spent playing both sides against each other.

A gavel pounded.


Veritaserum

“...evidence from the late Professor Albus Dumbledore...

“...questions answered under the influence of Veritaserum...

“...Mr. Snape is found not guilty. We would like to thank Mr. Snape for his service...”

Not guilty? This must be some mistake –

A young man with a shock of dark hair came bounding towards him.

“You’re free, Snape! Free!” Strong arms wound around him and several flash bulbs went off. “What are you feeling?”

Snape looked up into endless green eyes and cursed the Veritaserum still rushing through his veins. “I- I’m in love with you...”

Harry grinned. “And I love you, too, you git.”

---

Thank you, yura_slash!

Stay tuned for more Drabbles while voters catch up on the 2007 Winter Games Submissions!