Fic: In Memory of Severus Snape (Part 5)
Aug. 22nd, 2011 11:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
abstractconceptApologies for not responding to comments. Still not doing great, but I did want to get this up. Thank you to those of you who've commented/sent emails/etc. to me lately, but I don't know if I'm up to talking just yet.
Title: In Memory of Severus Snape (Part 5 of ???)
Authorthe_con_cept
Pairing: Snarry
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Kinks:: (none so far) WIP
Disclaimer: Belongs to J.K. Rowling
Summary: More than twenty years after Voldemort’s death, Snape discovers Harry in long term care at St. Mungo’s with chronic memory problems. Snape doesn’t care that Potter can't remember the war, his family or his schooling, but Severus Snape will be damned if he lets Potter forget him.
Betas Isisanubis and Mexta <3
Dedication: Forswansong33, for helping me with that dreadful citation assignment as well as all those other assignments. You are an amazing friend. &hearts
In Memory of Severus Snape
Part 5
“What do you think?” Snape asked.
Harry looked around the dusty room, frowning. “Too gloomy.” There was only one window, and it was covered in grime.
Snape sighed. He liked the place well enough—it was a small flat, but conveniently located in Diagon Alley. It would have suited him well, but he knew that Potter’s diagnosis meant they would have to be wary of possible depression, and it wouldn’t do to move the boy to a place where he was obviously and immediately ill at ease.
So Snape turned back to the witch from Rune’s Realtors. “Do you have anything else?”
The woman gave a quasi-shrug. “Well, I do have one other place in your price range. I’m afraid it’s a bit out of the way, though.”
“Let’s see it, then.”
They Floo’d and ended up nearly having to crawl out of the fireplace on the other end. “The Floo is a bit tight,” the realtor admitted, getting up and brushing her robes off. “But the property is just adorable.”
Snape scowled. “That’s one of those weaselly advert words that means piddling, does it not?”
The woman blinked a little. She wore large spectacles and this made her seem very surprised and owlish. “I’m sorry?”
“Be nice to the pretty lady,” Harry admonished.
“Pretty?” Snape repeated sourly. “I’d have called her more of a fixer-upper.”
The woman made a face at him, but Potter interrupted again before the argument could really take off. “Look! Look! You can see the sea! And look, here’s a shelf next to the window. I like this shelf. And the curtains are nice. I like these curtains.”
Snape allowed Potter to lead him round by the hand. He was being careful and keeping close to the boy in case of any funny turns, but Potter seemed stable enough at the moment. Of course, it rather helped that he’d dosed the brat with a number of mood-altering potions, Snape allowed, looking at Harry’s spacey eyes and rather absent smile. “Where are we exactly—near Dawlish?” Snape asked the real estate woman.
“Technically Cockwood,” the woman replied. “This cottage was once part of a bed and breakfast.”
“The price is a bit high,” Snape remarked, remaining aloof.
“Your boyfriend seems enchanted by it,” the woman replied with a rather cunning smile.
“It’s cheery,” Harry put in, apparently not the least upset by being referred to as Snape’s boyfriend.
Snape groaned. Of course it was cheery—it was a former vacation spot, whitewashed and ginghamed and fretworked within an inch of its life. “I can’t imagine being able to whip up a delicate potion with a patchwork dog overseeing things,” he said, gesturing to one of the stupid tchotchkes on a shelf.
“You can always redecorate,” the woman said.
“I don’t know. I’d prefer to be closer to civilisation. And there’s hardly room for all my potions ingredients, let alone my library,” Snape hedged.
“Oh, is that what’s hanging you up? The previous owner was a witch,” the realtor noted. She went over to one wall, which had a rather hideous wooden ship’s wheel hung jauntily above a bench. She grasped it and spun as though steering the whole cottage to starboard. Then she stepped back, and the wall on which the wheel hung swung outward with a creak. A dim and cobwebby stairway wound down out of sight.
Snape sighed; the sight was like a refreshing sip of lemonade on a balmy day. “We’ll take it,” he said.
oOoOoOo
“Fine, I’ll show you again. Here is the ground. Here is the tree trunk. The rabbit runs around the tree and goes down the hole. See?”
Harry looked up at Snape with glowing admiration. “You’re really good at that,” he said.
Snape stared. “I spent years instructing you in the art of potion making. I risked my life spying on your arch nemesis. I put myself in terrible danger to get you the sword of Gryffindor, the tool I knew you would need to destroy horcruxes, and you never once said, ‘Hey, good job, chum. I really appreciate it.’ But now you fall all over yourself in gratitude when I tie your shoes?”
Harry shrugged, standing. “In the first place, I don’t remember any of those things, so I’m not really in a position to comment. In the second place, maybe I just have twisted priorities. In the third place, maybe you’re just really fantastic at tying shoes,” the brat said with a wicked grin.
Snape rolled his eyes.
“Can we go for another walk on the beach?” Harry asked eagerly.
“No. We spent all morning outside. I have research to do, and you’ve got a sunburnt nose.”
“I do?” Harry touched his nose, surprised. “We weren’t out there that long, were we?” he added, looking vaguely worried.
“We were outside almost four hours. I don’t expect you to remember; twice you forgot where we were and the second time you frightened the life out of a fisherman by screaming at him to watch out for the Giant Squid. That’s when I decided it was time to come in.”
Harry looked blank. “I don’t remember that.”
Snape was familiar enough with Harry’s moods that he could sense a turn coming on. “Wait here and I’ll fetch you a cup of tea,” he said. He suspected a few drops of calming draught would not go amiss, and quickly ducked into the small kitchen. He had only been gone moments when he heard Potter scream.
“Hermione! Hermione! Ron, where are you?”
Snape was back in the front room in a flash. “I have some tea,” he began, but Harry’s posture was already defensive.
“Who the hell are you? What have you done with them?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” Snape replied swiftly. “Your friends are safe.”
“You’re lying! I can tell!” Harry drew in a shuddering breath. “I know you’re a servant of Voldemort’s. You look evil. You even dress evil.”
Snape was a touch offended by that. He’d even washed his hair that morning. “Apologies; next time I’ll wear a loud Hawaiian shirt if you think that will help.”
He tried to get close to Harry, but Harry stepped sharply back. Snape saw Potter’s fingers reflexively squeeze and unflex, unconsciously holding a wand that was not there. This was dangerous. The boy was quite capable of wandless magic, and Snape would have to be fast if—
As Snape took another step forward with the tea, Harry’s hand spasmed and an ornamental sextant above the kitchen door caught fire.
Snape quickly immobilised the boy, then put out the fire. When he turned back to Potter, the boy’s eyes were round and frightened. Yet they were also rather confused. Harry blinked. “Uh-oh. You’ve got that little furrow you get when you’re upset. What happened? Why am I on the floor?” he asked. The moment of danger had passed.
“Nothing to get excited about,” Snape told him. “Just a bit of excitement. Here, have a sip of tea,” he added, helping the boy sit up. Harry sipped it gratefully, his whole body relaxing as the potion began to work.
“I’m tired,” Harry complained. “And for some reason, my nose hurts.”
“I’ll take you to bed and whip up a potion for it,” Snape assured him. He assisted Harry up onto sluggish feet.
“Who are you?” Harry asked petulantly even as the man led him to bed.
Not again. “I’m . . . here to help you,” Snape said.
“Are you my friend?” Harry whispered. He sounded so lost, so vulnerable, and yet Snape had never been one to be delicate with the vulnerable. He was cruel by nature, and he knew it.
“We’ll have to see,” was all he could manage to grunt. He wasn’t here to coddle Potter, or to somehow become his best mate. He intended to fix the brat, and as expediently as possible.
“But you’re a good friend,” Harry protested. The draught was well in his blood now; he sounded dozy and content. Snape untied those recently-tied trainers as Harry sat on the edge of the bed, watching the process happen vacantly. “You’re nice,” he mumbled as Snape began to untuck Harry’s shirt.
“No, I’m not. Now lift your arms.” Harry did so obediently, and Snape lifted the shirt off and sailed it across the room to fold itself and set itself on a chest of drawers. Harry’s denims came off with magical assistance, because Snape felt too much like he’d be taking advantage otherwise, not that he actually would, but it was difficult to look at those lean, naked thighs and feel nothing. He quickly slid one of his own sleeping shirts over Harry’s head—much too long, and not the right colour, as the grim black washed the boy out, but indescribably easier than seeing all that stretch of skin.
Harry lay back in his too-big shirt, looking adorably rumpled and glassy and young. He grabbed Snape’s hand as Snape pulled up the bedcovers. “But you are nice,” Harry murmured insistently. “No one’s ever been nice to me. The Dursleys hate me,” he informed Snape in a tremulous voice. “And I’m just glad you’re so nice.” He lifted Snape’s surprised, frozen hand, and nuzzled it gently.
Snape gasped and snatched it back. “I’m sorry,” he told Harry in a clipped voice. “But I’m not nice.” He nearly ran for the door to douse the light.
None of this seemed to have any effect on Harry at all; his eyes had been falling shut even as he pressed his warm face to the back of Snape’s hand—likely he had been drifting off right then, and by now he was snoring noisily.
Nonetheless, Snape escaped the bedroom quickly, shutting the door between the two of them and leaning back on it. He couldn’t fathom why the whole thing had unsettled him so much.
He wasn’t nice. He just wasn’t. If you were lucky, he would do whatever he had to do—he would give you whatever you needed. If you were lucky, you ended up better off than you were before you knew Snape. And you still didn’t like him. Because he gave you what you needed and not what you wanted, and because he was never, ever nice.
Title: In Memory of Severus Snape (Part 5 of ???)
Author
the_con_ceptPairing: Snarry
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Kinks:: (none so far) WIP
Disclaimer: Belongs to J.K. Rowling
Summary: More than twenty years after Voldemort’s death, Snape discovers Harry in long term care at St. Mungo’s with chronic memory problems. Snape doesn’t care that Potter can't remember the war, his family or his schooling, but Severus Snape will be damned if he lets Potter forget him.
Betas Isisanubis and Mexta <3
Dedication: For
swansong33, for helping me with that dreadful citation assignment as well as all those other assignments. You are an amazing friend. &hearts“What do you think?” Snape asked.
Harry looked around the dusty room, frowning. “Too gloomy.” There was only one window, and it was covered in grime.
Snape sighed. He liked the place well enough—it was a small flat, but conveniently located in Diagon Alley. It would have suited him well, but he knew that Potter’s diagnosis meant they would have to be wary of possible depression, and it wouldn’t do to move the boy to a place where he was obviously and immediately ill at ease.
So Snape turned back to the witch from Rune’s Realtors. “Do you have anything else?”
The woman gave a quasi-shrug. “Well, I do have one other place in your price range. I’m afraid it’s a bit out of the way, though.”
“Let’s see it, then.”
They Floo’d and ended up nearly having to crawl out of the fireplace on the other end. “The Floo is a bit tight,” the realtor admitted, getting up and brushing her robes off. “But the property is just adorable.”
Snape scowled. “That’s one of those weaselly advert words that means piddling, does it not?”
The woman blinked a little. She wore large spectacles and this made her seem very surprised and owlish. “I’m sorry?”
“Be nice to the pretty lady,” Harry admonished.
“Pretty?” Snape repeated sourly. “I’d have called her more of a fixer-upper.”
The woman made a face at him, but Potter interrupted again before the argument could really take off. “Look! Look! You can see the sea! And look, here’s a shelf next to the window. I like this shelf. And the curtains are nice. I like these curtains.”
Snape allowed Potter to lead him round by the hand. He was being careful and keeping close to the boy in case of any funny turns, but Potter seemed stable enough at the moment. Of course, it rather helped that he’d dosed the brat with a number of mood-altering potions, Snape allowed, looking at Harry’s spacey eyes and rather absent smile. “Where are we exactly—near Dawlish?” Snape asked the real estate woman.
“Technically Cockwood,” the woman replied. “This cottage was once part of a bed and breakfast.”
“The price is a bit high,” Snape remarked, remaining aloof.
“Your boyfriend seems enchanted by it,” the woman replied with a rather cunning smile.
“It’s cheery,” Harry put in, apparently not the least upset by being referred to as Snape’s boyfriend.
Snape groaned. Of course it was cheery—it was a former vacation spot, whitewashed and ginghamed and fretworked within an inch of its life. “I can’t imagine being able to whip up a delicate potion with a patchwork dog overseeing things,” he said, gesturing to one of the stupid tchotchkes on a shelf.
“You can always redecorate,” the woman said.
“I don’t know. I’d prefer to be closer to civilisation. And there’s hardly room for all my potions ingredients, let alone my library,” Snape hedged.
“Oh, is that what’s hanging you up? The previous owner was a witch,” the realtor noted. She went over to one wall, which had a rather hideous wooden ship’s wheel hung jauntily above a bench. She grasped it and spun as though steering the whole cottage to starboard. Then she stepped back, and the wall on which the wheel hung swung outward with a creak. A dim and cobwebby stairway wound down out of sight.
Snape sighed; the sight was like a refreshing sip of lemonade on a balmy day. “We’ll take it,” he said.
“Fine, I’ll show you again. Here is the ground. Here is the tree trunk. The rabbit runs around the tree and goes down the hole. See?”
Harry looked up at Snape with glowing admiration. “You’re really good at that,” he said.
Snape stared. “I spent years instructing you in the art of potion making. I risked my life spying on your arch nemesis. I put myself in terrible danger to get you the sword of Gryffindor, the tool I knew you would need to destroy horcruxes, and you never once said, ‘Hey, good job, chum. I really appreciate it.’ But now you fall all over yourself in gratitude when I tie your shoes?”
Harry shrugged, standing. “In the first place, I don’t remember any of those things, so I’m not really in a position to comment. In the second place, maybe I just have twisted priorities. In the third place, maybe you’re just really fantastic at tying shoes,” the brat said with a wicked grin.
Snape rolled his eyes.
“Can we go for another walk on the beach?” Harry asked eagerly.
“No. We spent all morning outside. I have research to do, and you’ve got a sunburnt nose.”
“I do?” Harry touched his nose, surprised. “We weren’t out there that long, were we?” he added, looking vaguely worried.
“We were outside almost four hours. I don’t expect you to remember; twice you forgot where we were and the second time you frightened the life out of a fisherman by screaming at him to watch out for the Giant Squid. That’s when I decided it was time to come in.”
Harry looked blank. “I don’t remember that.”
Snape was familiar enough with Harry’s moods that he could sense a turn coming on. “Wait here and I’ll fetch you a cup of tea,” he said. He suspected a few drops of calming draught would not go amiss, and quickly ducked into the small kitchen. He had only been gone moments when he heard Potter scream.
“Hermione! Hermione! Ron, where are you?”
Snape was back in the front room in a flash. “I have some tea,” he began, but Harry’s posture was already defensive.
“Who the hell are you? What have you done with them?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” Snape replied swiftly. “Your friends are safe.”
“You’re lying! I can tell!” Harry drew in a shuddering breath. “I know you’re a servant of Voldemort’s. You look evil. You even dress evil.”
Snape was a touch offended by that. He’d even washed his hair that morning. “Apologies; next time I’ll wear a loud Hawaiian shirt if you think that will help.”
He tried to get close to Harry, but Harry stepped sharply back. Snape saw Potter’s fingers reflexively squeeze and unflex, unconsciously holding a wand that was not there. This was dangerous. The boy was quite capable of wandless magic, and Snape would have to be fast if—
As Snape took another step forward with the tea, Harry’s hand spasmed and an ornamental sextant above the kitchen door caught fire.
Snape quickly immobilised the boy, then put out the fire. When he turned back to Potter, the boy’s eyes were round and frightened. Yet they were also rather confused. Harry blinked. “Uh-oh. You’ve got that little furrow you get when you’re upset. What happened? Why am I on the floor?” he asked. The moment of danger had passed.
“Nothing to get excited about,” Snape told him. “Just a bit of excitement. Here, have a sip of tea,” he added, helping the boy sit up. Harry sipped it gratefully, his whole body relaxing as the potion began to work.
“I’m tired,” Harry complained. “And for some reason, my nose hurts.”
“I’ll take you to bed and whip up a potion for it,” Snape assured him. He assisted Harry up onto sluggish feet.
“Who are you?” Harry asked petulantly even as the man led him to bed.
Not again. “I’m . . . here to help you,” Snape said.
“Are you my friend?” Harry whispered. He sounded so lost, so vulnerable, and yet Snape had never been one to be delicate with the vulnerable. He was cruel by nature, and he knew it.
“We’ll have to see,” was all he could manage to grunt. He wasn’t here to coddle Potter, or to somehow become his best mate. He intended to fix the brat, and as expediently as possible.
“But you’re a good friend,” Harry protested. The draught was well in his blood now; he sounded dozy and content. Snape untied those recently-tied trainers as Harry sat on the edge of the bed, watching the process happen vacantly. “You’re nice,” he mumbled as Snape began to untuck Harry’s shirt.
“No, I’m not. Now lift your arms.” Harry did so obediently, and Snape lifted the shirt off and sailed it across the room to fold itself and set itself on a chest of drawers. Harry’s denims came off with magical assistance, because Snape felt too much like he’d be taking advantage otherwise, not that he actually would, but it was difficult to look at those lean, naked thighs and feel nothing. He quickly slid one of his own sleeping shirts over Harry’s head—much too long, and not the right colour, as the grim black washed the boy out, but indescribably easier than seeing all that stretch of skin.
Harry lay back in his too-big shirt, looking adorably rumpled and glassy and young. He grabbed Snape’s hand as Snape pulled up the bedcovers. “But you are nice,” Harry murmured insistently. “No one’s ever been nice to me. The Dursleys hate me,” he informed Snape in a tremulous voice. “And I’m just glad you’re so nice.” He lifted Snape’s surprised, frozen hand, and nuzzled it gently.
Snape gasped and snatched it back. “I’m sorry,” he told Harry in a clipped voice. “But I’m not nice.” He nearly ran for the door to douse the light.
None of this seemed to have any effect on Harry at all; his eyes had been falling shut even as he pressed his warm face to the back of Snape’s hand—likely he had been drifting off right then, and by now he was snoring noisily.
Nonetheless, Snape escaped the bedroom quickly, shutting the door between the two of them and leaning back on it. He couldn’t fathom why the whole thing had unsettled him so much.
He wasn’t nice. He just wasn’t. If you were lucky, he would do whatever he had to do—he would give you whatever you needed. If you were lucky, you ended up better off than you were before you knew Snape. And you still didn’t like him. Because he gave you what you needed and not what you wanted, and because he was never, ever nice.
