Memoria Secludo - chapter 2/5
Apr. 2nd, 2008 01:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drachenminaTitle. Memoria Secludo
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drachenmina
Word Count: ~20,600 (Complete, 5 chapters)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Summary: Severus Snape survived Nagini’s bite, but as punishment for his crimes, he has had his memories excised and has been exiled from the wizarding world. Harry can’t resist the opportunity to get to know Snape without their past getting in the way. But what will happen if Snape regains his memories?
Warnings: Object insertion
Harry is 18 in this fic.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter 2
That week, Harry couldn’t seem to get Snape out of his head, even when he slept. Especially when he slept. His dreams were full of him. At first, they were straightforward: he was back at Snape’s flat, and this time he didn’t run, and Snape kissed him. And he liked it, oh god he liked it. Those were the mornings he woke up with his pyjama bottoms stuck to him.
Then they started getting weird. One night, Hermione was sitting on Snape’s lap. Harry blinked and she was naked, Snape caressing her as she told Harry not to worry, Snape was her uncle after all. That morning it was his face that was wet when he awoke.
Other nights, things were different again. Harry was back in the flat, that was the same, but Snape didn’t kiss him. Sometimes he bit Harry. Sometimes he mocked him for being a Potter. Sometimes – and those were the nights Harry awoke sticky and crying, hating himself - he lunged at Harry, pinning him to the sofa, and did – other things.
Harry didn’t know how he managed to carry on as if nothing was wrong during the daytime. He went to lessons, he did his homework (badly) and he talked and joked with Ron and Hermione and the others. And then at night, he was haunted by Snape.
Harry wished he knew how to make things better. He didn’t even know how he felt about the man. It was crazy – he’d never even liked Snape, and now he was having wet dreams about him?
Times like this, Harry really wished he could talk to Hermione. But that would involve way too many explanations he really didn’t want to give right now.
………………………………………………..
When Saturday came around, Harry woke up in his bed in Grimmauld Place and knew, without having consciously decided to do so, that he was going to go and see Snape again.
And not with Hermione.
For Ron and Harry, the weekend usually started slowly, both of them emerging around mid-morning for a lazy breakfast, but this week Harry was up almost before Hermione. After he’d grabbed some toast and a coffee, Harry stuck his head around the library door and told her he was off to do a bit of clothes shopping, as he was sick to death of Dudley’s cast-offs. “Oh, good,” she muttered vaguely, already engrossed in some book or other.
Harry told himself it wasn’t really a lie, not if he popped into a shop or two on the way back, and set off to Snape’s flat.
When Snape opened the door, Harry almost lost his nerve again. Snape looked like he’d just got out of bed – bloody hell, I’m a teenager, and I’ve been up for hours!
Harry pushed down the thought that he’d only been up because his anxiety over the forthcoming meeting had kept him from sleeping.
Snape was in his dressing gown again. It didn’t help Harry’s composure at all.
“I had not expected to see you here again.”
Harry wished he could work out what Snape meant by that. Did he wish Harry hadn’t come?
“I wanted to apologise. For running off.” Harry was feeling really uncomfortable trying to say all this on the doorstep. “Can I come in?”
“As you wish.” Again with the graceful gestures. It was really unnerving.
“So, um, like I said. I’m sorry.” Bugger. Now he was here, did he actually have anything else to say? Snape was just looking at him, the git, not helping in any way shape or form. Harry got desperate.
“Um, I thought maybe I could take you out for lunch?”
“I see my niece’s obsession with feeding me has rubbed off on you. Very well. There is a greasy spoon around the corner that serves a passable cup of coffee.”
Snape went to change, emerging in a similar outfit to the one he’d worn last time Harry had seen him. It was weird seeing him in muggle clothes – Harry almost felt like he should act differently around him. He’d tied his hair back in a ponytail, which didn’t suit him. It made his nose appear even larger, which Harry hadn’t thought possible. It did, however, make him look less Snape-like. Harry wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
………………………………………………….
They walked the short distance to the café, where Harry discovered that “passable” was apparently a synonym for “closely resembles boiling tar”. He tipped four sugars into his coffee when he hoped Snape wasn’t watching.
The mugs tasted salty from the dishwasher, and Harry’s had a smear of bright orange lipstick on it. He turned it around.
“Hm, not exactly your colour, is it? Perhaps something with a pinker tone?”
What, like my face must be now? thought Harry, feeling himself grow hot.
“Full English, love?”
Apparently Snape was a regular here. Harry was still reeling from hearing someone call Snape “love” and get out of it alive when the waitress turned to him, so he just mumbled that he’d have the same.
They sat there for a moment, drinking their coffee (Harry tried not to grimace) until, to break the silence, Harry blurted,
“So, um, what’s it like having no memory?”
One eyebrow arched. Harry braced himself for an attack of sarcasm. But although there was bitterness in Snape’s voice, it was not directed at him. “Imagine, if you will, that you are a colour-blind illiterate who has been set down somewhere in the middle of the London Underground with no idea from whence you came, and instructed to make your way to an unnamed destination.”
“So, not good then?” Harry grimaced sympathetically.
“Not good. It is infuriating that the only living member of my family is a girl who has not seen me since infancy. Clearly I must have had… parents, acquaintances, people who knew me in this country, but there is nobody who is able to tell me of them.”
Harry felt a pang of empathy. He’d hated not knowing anything about his parents: he’d been so grateful to people in the wizarding world who’d told him a bit about them.
“Um, I might be able to help you there. Just a bit. You see, my parents were at school with you – “
Snape leant forward intently. “Your parents are friends of mine?”
“Um, well, they died when I was a baby. And you were never really friends with my dad. But you got on really well with my mum. I, um, might be able to find a picture of her to show you.” He’d have to spell it unmoving first, though.
“And I saw a picture of your mum, once. She looked a lot like you. Her name was Eileen.” Surely that wasn’t giving too much away?
Harry wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing or not. Snape looked like he was in the grip of some strong emotion. Eventually he let out a deep breath, and looking Harry in the eye, said, “Thank you.”
Pleased, Harry busied himself with his eggs, and the conversation, when it started up again, was about generalities.
…………………
Snape had finished eating. Harry chased his untouched slice of black pudding around the plate with his fork, eventually hiding it unsuccessfully under a burnt tomato skin. Snape, he noticed, had eaten everything on his plate, even the flobbly bits of bacon rind.
“So, was your intention today merely to apologise for your abrupt departure last weekend – in which case you may consider it accomplished – or did you have something else in mind?”
Harry looked around. The café was pretty full, and the tables were, in his opinion, entirely too close together. “Um, could we maybe go somewhere else?”
Snape led him the short distance to what apparently passed for a park in this locality. It had a scrubby, neglected air, a thin stream oozing half-heartedly through the centre. A shopping trolley had been dumped at the far end. Unsurprisingly, it was practically deserted, just a few aged drunks congregated on a distant bench. Not a bad place to talk about things you didn’t want overheard.
Harry gathered his courage, and spoke. “So, um, about last weekend. Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. It’s just – I was a bit shocked, that’s all. It’s not that you’re not – you know – “
“Harry. I am a grown man who finds you attractive, not some love struck teenager. If you find the idea of intimacy with me repugnant, simply tell me so. I can assure you I will survive the disappointment.”
So what the hell was he supposed to say to that? “You’re not. Um. Repugnant. It’s just… “ Harry couldn’t believe he was about to admit this to Severus Snape. “It’s just that I’ve never – you know – before.”
“You’ve never been with a man?”
“With anyone.” Harry felt his cheeks burning, and hurried to save at least a little bit of face. “I mean, I’ve had girlfriends, of course. But we never did anything except kiss.”
Snape seemed to be smiling at him, in that way of his that was more a twitch of the corner of his mouth than anything else. “Well, you have to start somewhere.”
Right.
“Well, you know I said you didn’t get on with my dad? From what I’ve been told, I mean. Well, it was more like you hated his guts.”
“Harry, you also told me he died a long time ago. Even if I were to continue to bear a grudge for so long, you are not he.”
Privately Harry wondered just how different his school years might have been if Snape had only realised that back then.
“But I look a lot like him.”
“Given that I am unable to recall anything about your father, I fail to see why that should present any difficulties.”
“But what if you get your memory back? How’re you going to feel then, when you remember just why you hated my dad, and then you look at me – “
“Stop. Harry, I reiterate: if you do not wish any further… involvement with me, simply tell me so. But if you continue to advance arguments I consider specious, then I shall continue as a matter of self-interest to refute them. Why should I live my life according to how I think my past self would have wished me to behave? I may never regain my memories – I cannot afford to raise my hopes too high in that regard. And neither can I live in a kind of limbo, fearful of taking any steps that may contradict what I think I may one day feel. Harry, do you not see that this is an opportunity to break down the walls of hostility that may once have stood between our families?”
The trouble was, Harry did see. He’d always wanted Snape to see him, really him, not just some copy of his dad, and now he had that chance.
He just wasn’t sure if he’d survive Snape getting his memories back if he allowed anything to develop between them.
Snape was speaking again. “Harry, I promise I will not try to rush you into anything. Will you come back to my flat for a short while?”
Well, that was a loaded invitation if ever he’d heard one.
But Harry found himself unable to turn it down.
By the time they got back to the flat, Harry was far more nervous than any Dark Lord vanquisher had a right to be. Half of him wanted to run away screaming, while the other half of him was thinking yes! Finally! Another half of him was shouting Are you mad? This is Snape! whilst yet another half of him was countering with So? He doesn’t remember anything. Since by Harry’s reckoning he was now up to at least two whole people, he figured it wasn’t surprising he felt conflicted.
So what are you going to do if he jumps on you? whispered one of his more cautious inner voices. Pull your wand? He’s not supposed to know about magic, remember. And if you try Obliviating him in his condition, will there be anything left? Harry didn’t have an answer for this one.
But in the end, all Snape did, once the door of the flat had closed behind them, was take Harry’s face gently in his hands and kiss him softly on the lips.
Harry would never have imagined the Potions Master capable of such, well, tenderness seemed to be the word that fit the most. It wasn’t at all like the kisses of his dreams of the past week, which had been forceful, aggressive. This felt like how you kissed someone you liked, not someone you just wanted to shag.
Had that been what he’d thought he wanted? A lover who would take control, would force him into things? That was all taking.
This was different. This was all giving. Snape’s lips were soft, and the way he held Harry as he kissed him made him feel warm, cherished, even loved.
Harry couldn’t believe just how right it felt.
*****************************************
As he closed the door after Harry’s departure, Stefan allowed himself some modest self-congratulation. That had gone far better than he had dared hope. The boy was as skittish as a young doe in her first rutting season. Gentleness, that was the key.
It was slightly disturbing what the boy had said about his father, though. Granted, it explained the instant antipathy he had felt for the lad. It did not, however, explain why he felt so drawn to the boy now. Had he, perhaps, had a passion for the father in his youth, and been rejected?
Stefan comforted himself with the thought that, were that the case, then buggering the son would indeed be fitting revenge.
Then he wondered where the hell that vindictive thought had come from.
Stefan went to make a coffee to rid himself of the sour taste in his mouth.
*******************************************
Harry returned to Grimmauld Place that evening in thoughtful mood. He’d arranged to see Stefan the following weekend. They were going to the theatre; Snape had said he’d get tickets.
Harry cursed as he realised he should have offered to pay. Snape was living on benefits, for god’s sake, would he be able to afford them? But maybe he’d have been insulted if Harry had tried to give him money. God, this was confusing.
And he still had to work out how he was going to tell Ron and Hermione he was seeing someone. Someone male.
He’d realised he didn’t want to keep lying to them. Ron still kept hinting that maybe Harry and Ginny would get back together one day. Hermione was worse – she kept suggesting girls he could go out with. And they’d wonder what was going on if he disappeared for a large part of next weekend as well without a good excuse – he’d told them today he was going shopping, he couldn’t use that one again. Certainly not without actually buying anything.
And it just felt wrong, not being honest with them. Not that he was going to tell them it was Snape he was seeing. There was honesty, and then there was sheer bloody suicide.
But he couldn’t tell them tonight. Hermione was leaving to go and cook Snape his dinner in a minute, which just seemed weird. She’d actually asked if he wanted to go along too, but he’d said no. He didn’t need that kind of pressure, having to watch how he behaved in front of everyone.
So when Ron suggested the pub, he said yeah, why not? And spent the evening with the lads, eying up girls he didn’t have the remotest interest in, and thinking of Snape and the Kiss.
Chapter 3
Author:
drachenminaWord Count: ~20,600 (Complete, 5 chapters)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Summary: Severus Snape survived Nagini’s bite, but as punishment for his crimes, he has had his memories excised and has been exiled from the wizarding world. Harry can’t resist the opportunity to get to know Snape without their past getting in the way. But what will happen if Snape regains his memories?
Warnings: Object insertion
Harry is 18 in this fic.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter 2
That week, Harry couldn’t seem to get Snape out of his head, even when he slept. Especially when he slept. His dreams were full of him. At first, they were straightforward: he was back at Snape’s flat, and this time he didn’t run, and Snape kissed him. And he liked it, oh god he liked it. Those were the mornings he woke up with his pyjama bottoms stuck to him.
Then they started getting weird. One night, Hermione was sitting on Snape’s lap. Harry blinked and she was naked, Snape caressing her as she told Harry not to worry, Snape was her uncle after all. That morning it was his face that was wet when he awoke.
Other nights, things were different again. Harry was back in the flat, that was the same, but Snape didn’t kiss him. Sometimes he bit Harry. Sometimes he mocked him for being a Potter. Sometimes – and those were the nights Harry awoke sticky and crying, hating himself - he lunged at Harry, pinning him to the sofa, and did – other things.
Harry didn’t know how he managed to carry on as if nothing was wrong during the daytime. He went to lessons, he did his homework (badly) and he talked and joked with Ron and Hermione and the others. And then at night, he was haunted by Snape.
Harry wished he knew how to make things better. He didn’t even know how he felt about the man. It was crazy – he’d never even liked Snape, and now he was having wet dreams about him?
Times like this, Harry really wished he could talk to Hermione. But that would involve way too many explanations he really didn’t want to give right now.
………………………………………………..
When Saturday came around, Harry woke up in his bed in Grimmauld Place and knew, without having consciously decided to do so, that he was going to go and see Snape again.
And not with Hermione.
For Ron and Harry, the weekend usually started slowly, both of them emerging around mid-morning for a lazy breakfast, but this week Harry was up almost before Hermione. After he’d grabbed some toast and a coffee, Harry stuck his head around the library door and told her he was off to do a bit of clothes shopping, as he was sick to death of Dudley’s cast-offs. “Oh, good,” she muttered vaguely, already engrossed in some book or other.
Harry told himself it wasn’t really a lie, not if he popped into a shop or two on the way back, and set off to Snape’s flat.
When Snape opened the door, Harry almost lost his nerve again. Snape looked like he’d just got out of bed – bloody hell, I’m a teenager, and I’ve been up for hours!
Harry pushed down the thought that he’d only been up because his anxiety over the forthcoming meeting had kept him from sleeping.
Snape was in his dressing gown again. It didn’t help Harry’s composure at all.
“I had not expected to see you here again.”
Harry wished he could work out what Snape meant by that. Did he wish Harry hadn’t come?
“I wanted to apologise. For running off.” Harry was feeling really uncomfortable trying to say all this on the doorstep. “Can I come in?”
“As you wish.” Again with the graceful gestures. It was really unnerving.
“So, um, like I said. I’m sorry.” Bugger. Now he was here, did he actually have anything else to say? Snape was just looking at him, the git, not helping in any way shape or form. Harry got desperate.
“Um, I thought maybe I could take you out for lunch?”
“I see my niece’s obsession with feeding me has rubbed off on you. Very well. There is a greasy spoon around the corner that serves a passable cup of coffee.”
Snape went to change, emerging in a similar outfit to the one he’d worn last time Harry had seen him. It was weird seeing him in muggle clothes – Harry almost felt like he should act differently around him. He’d tied his hair back in a ponytail, which didn’t suit him. It made his nose appear even larger, which Harry hadn’t thought possible. It did, however, make him look less Snape-like. Harry wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
………………………………………………….
They walked the short distance to the café, where Harry discovered that “passable” was apparently a synonym for “closely resembles boiling tar”. He tipped four sugars into his coffee when he hoped Snape wasn’t watching.
The mugs tasted salty from the dishwasher, and Harry’s had a smear of bright orange lipstick on it. He turned it around.
“Hm, not exactly your colour, is it? Perhaps something with a pinker tone?”
What, like my face must be now? thought Harry, feeling himself grow hot.
“Full English, love?”
Apparently Snape was a regular here. Harry was still reeling from hearing someone call Snape “love” and get out of it alive when the waitress turned to him, so he just mumbled that he’d have the same.
They sat there for a moment, drinking their coffee (Harry tried not to grimace) until, to break the silence, Harry blurted,
“So, um, what’s it like having no memory?”
One eyebrow arched. Harry braced himself for an attack of sarcasm. But although there was bitterness in Snape’s voice, it was not directed at him. “Imagine, if you will, that you are a colour-blind illiterate who has been set down somewhere in the middle of the London Underground with no idea from whence you came, and instructed to make your way to an unnamed destination.”
“So, not good then?” Harry grimaced sympathetically.
“Not good. It is infuriating that the only living member of my family is a girl who has not seen me since infancy. Clearly I must have had… parents, acquaintances, people who knew me in this country, but there is nobody who is able to tell me of them.”
Harry felt a pang of empathy. He’d hated not knowing anything about his parents: he’d been so grateful to people in the wizarding world who’d told him a bit about them.
“Um, I might be able to help you there. Just a bit. You see, my parents were at school with you – “
Snape leant forward intently. “Your parents are friends of mine?”
“Um, well, they died when I was a baby. And you were never really friends with my dad. But you got on really well with my mum. I, um, might be able to find a picture of her to show you.” He’d have to spell it unmoving first, though.
“And I saw a picture of your mum, once. She looked a lot like you. Her name was Eileen.” Surely that wasn’t giving too much away?
Harry wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing or not. Snape looked like he was in the grip of some strong emotion. Eventually he let out a deep breath, and looking Harry in the eye, said, “Thank you.”
Pleased, Harry busied himself with his eggs, and the conversation, when it started up again, was about generalities.
…………………
Snape had finished eating. Harry chased his untouched slice of black pudding around the plate with his fork, eventually hiding it unsuccessfully under a burnt tomato skin. Snape, he noticed, had eaten everything on his plate, even the flobbly bits of bacon rind.
“So, was your intention today merely to apologise for your abrupt departure last weekend – in which case you may consider it accomplished – or did you have something else in mind?”
Harry looked around. The café was pretty full, and the tables were, in his opinion, entirely too close together. “Um, could we maybe go somewhere else?”
Snape led him the short distance to what apparently passed for a park in this locality. It had a scrubby, neglected air, a thin stream oozing half-heartedly through the centre. A shopping trolley had been dumped at the far end. Unsurprisingly, it was practically deserted, just a few aged drunks congregated on a distant bench. Not a bad place to talk about things you didn’t want overheard.
Harry gathered his courage, and spoke. “So, um, about last weekend. Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. It’s just – I was a bit shocked, that’s all. It’s not that you’re not – you know – “
“Harry. I am a grown man who finds you attractive, not some love struck teenager. If you find the idea of intimacy with me repugnant, simply tell me so. I can assure you I will survive the disappointment.”
So what the hell was he supposed to say to that? “You’re not. Um. Repugnant. It’s just… “ Harry couldn’t believe he was about to admit this to Severus Snape. “It’s just that I’ve never – you know – before.”
“You’ve never been with a man?”
“With anyone.” Harry felt his cheeks burning, and hurried to save at least a little bit of face. “I mean, I’ve had girlfriends, of course. But we never did anything except kiss.”
Snape seemed to be smiling at him, in that way of his that was more a twitch of the corner of his mouth than anything else. “Well, you have to start somewhere.”
Right.
“Well, you know I said you didn’t get on with my dad? From what I’ve been told, I mean. Well, it was more like you hated his guts.”
“Harry, you also told me he died a long time ago. Even if I were to continue to bear a grudge for so long, you are not he.”
Privately Harry wondered just how different his school years might have been if Snape had only realised that back then.
“But I look a lot like him.”
“Given that I am unable to recall anything about your father, I fail to see why that should present any difficulties.”
“But what if you get your memory back? How’re you going to feel then, when you remember just why you hated my dad, and then you look at me – “
“Stop. Harry, I reiterate: if you do not wish any further… involvement with me, simply tell me so. But if you continue to advance arguments I consider specious, then I shall continue as a matter of self-interest to refute them. Why should I live my life according to how I think my past self would have wished me to behave? I may never regain my memories – I cannot afford to raise my hopes too high in that regard. And neither can I live in a kind of limbo, fearful of taking any steps that may contradict what I think I may one day feel. Harry, do you not see that this is an opportunity to break down the walls of hostility that may once have stood between our families?”
The trouble was, Harry did see. He’d always wanted Snape to see him, really him, not just some copy of his dad, and now he had that chance.
He just wasn’t sure if he’d survive Snape getting his memories back if he allowed anything to develop between them.
Snape was speaking again. “Harry, I promise I will not try to rush you into anything. Will you come back to my flat for a short while?”
Well, that was a loaded invitation if ever he’d heard one.
But Harry found himself unable to turn it down.
By the time they got back to the flat, Harry was far more nervous than any Dark Lord vanquisher had a right to be. Half of him wanted to run away screaming, while the other half of him was thinking yes! Finally! Another half of him was shouting Are you mad? This is Snape! whilst yet another half of him was countering with So? He doesn’t remember anything. Since by Harry’s reckoning he was now up to at least two whole people, he figured it wasn’t surprising he felt conflicted.
So what are you going to do if he jumps on you? whispered one of his more cautious inner voices. Pull your wand? He’s not supposed to know about magic, remember. And if you try Obliviating him in his condition, will there be anything left? Harry didn’t have an answer for this one.
But in the end, all Snape did, once the door of the flat had closed behind them, was take Harry’s face gently in his hands and kiss him softly on the lips.
Harry would never have imagined the Potions Master capable of such, well, tenderness seemed to be the word that fit the most. It wasn’t at all like the kisses of his dreams of the past week, which had been forceful, aggressive. This felt like how you kissed someone you liked, not someone you just wanted to shag.
Had that been what he’d thought he wanted? A lover who would take control, would force him into things? That was all taking.
This was different. This was all giving. Snape’s lips were soft, and the way he held Harry as he kissed him made him feel warm, cherished, even loved.
Harry couldn’t believe just how right it felt.
*****************************************
As he closed the door after Harry’s departure, Stefan allowed himself some modest self-congratulation. That had gone far better than he had dared hope. The boy was as skittish as a young doe in her first rutting season. Gentleness, that was the key.
It was slightly disturbing what the boy had said about his father, though. Granted, it explained the instant antipathy he had felt for the lad. It did not, however, explain why he felt so drawn to the boy now. Had he, perhaps, had a passion for the father in his youth, and been rejected?
Stefan comforted himself with the thought that, were that the case, then buggering the son would indeed be fitting revenge.
Then he wondered where the hell that vindictive thought had come from.
Stefan went to make a coffee to rid himself of the sour taste in his mouth.
*******************************************
Harry returned to Grimmauld Place that evening in thoughtful mood. He’d arranged to see Stefan the following weekend. They were going to the theatre; Snape had said he’d get tickets.
Harry cursed as he realised he should have offered to pay. Snape was living on benefits, for god’s sake, would he be able to afford them? But maybe he’d have been insulted if Harry had tried to give him money. God, this was confusing.
And he still had to work out how he was going to tell Ron and Hermione he was seeing someone. Someone male.
He’d realised he didn’t want to keep lying to them. Ron still kept hinting that maybe Harry and Ginny would get back together one day. Hermione was worse – she kept suggesting girls he could go out with. And they’d wonder what was going on if he disappeared for a large part of next weekend as well without a good excuse – he’d told them today he was going shopping, he couldn’t use that one again. Certainly not without actually buying anything.
And it just felt wrong, not being honest with them. Not that he was going to tell them it was Snape he was seeing. There was honesty, and then there was sheer bloody suicide.
But he couldn’t tell them tonight. Hermione was leaving to go and cook Snape his dinner in a minute, which just seemed weird. She’d actually asked if he wanted to go along too, but he’d said no. He didn’t need that kind of pressure, having to watch how he behaved in front of everyone.
So when Ron suggested the pub, he said yeah, why not? And spent the evening with the lads, eying up girls he didn’t have the remotest interest in, and thinking of Snape and the Kiss.
Chapter 3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-04-02 06:02 pm (UTC)It's interesting that most fanfic-writers go the road that as soon as Snape stops seeing the resemblance to bully!James he'd instantly like Harry for himself.
Neglecting, that while Snape might have started out loathing him as James2.0, Harry soon gave him lots of reasons to dislike Harry for being "just Harry"! The constant lying, rule breaking, cheating, stealing from him, invading his privacy, physically attacking him... And all virtually going unpunished or made to take responsibility for thanks to AD's need to raise himself an utterly reckless, impulsive saviour without a shred of common sense or rationality - all the better to manipulate. >_<
Add in that Harry never expressed any hint of appreciation for Snape's efforts to keep him safe even pre-Dumbledore-killing-shock and I really wouldn't be surprised if Severus disliked Harry "as Harry" even without James' spectre. I've seen that problem sometimes touched upon in gen-fics, but somehow never in Snarrys.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-05 01:10 pm (UTC)I think there's a good reason you haven't seen this addressed in a lot of Snarries, though - most authors dislike shooting themself in the foot! *g*
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Date: 2008-04-10 03:43 am (UTC)Furthermore, I think often its forgotten that Harry disliked Snape right back! He thought he was cruel and greasy and arrogant...
Again, I still think this fic works nicely though. Harry's attracted to Snape because he's seeing aspects of his personality that he kept hidden before, like the genlteness of the kiss!