drachenmina (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
drachenmina) wrote2008-11-09 09:22 pm
drachenmina) wrote2008-11-09 09:22 pm
Happy Birthday, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
me_midget!
Title: Anniversary
Author:drachenmina
Word Count: 1,900
Rating: PG
Characters: Harry Potter/Severus Snape,
Summary: War makes for strange bedfellows. So does vodka.
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.
AN: For my darlinggin_tonic. Hope you had a wonderful time in St Petersburg, and a fantastic birthday – and that you didn’t wake up as hungover as Severus! *hugs*
Oh, and, er, this was actually supposed to be a drabble… *g*
Thanks for the beta read are due to the lovelytorino10154
From habit born of long years of tension and danger, Severus made the transition from sleep to wakefulness almost instantly. He was not alone. There were two people in his bed – three if you counted the monstrous hangover that seemed to have a hideous personality all of its own. Right now it was using his stomach as a trampoline so that it could bounce up repeatedly and attack his cranium with a mallet.
With a superhuman effort, Severus managed to avoid groaning aloud. Using all the strength left at his disposal, he opened one eye a crack. Ah. Not his bed at all. Which was very, very bad news as it meant that the ready availability of an adequate hangover potion was unlikely in the extreme. This time, he was unable to contain his misery.
“Oh, er, morning,” a horribly familiar voice boomed in his ear, causing the trampolining hangover goblin to redouble his sadistic efforts. “You groaned?”
“Kill me now,” Severus muttered.
“I told you to go easy on the vodka, you’re not as young as you used to be, you know.” With a spring in his step that made Severus want to tear off both his legs and shove them up his appallingly naked arse, Harry Potter bounded out of bed. “I’ll get you some hangover potion, ok?” he thundered. The hangover goblin was obviously under the impression that Muggle technology was all the rage these days as it started up with a pneumatic drill on Severus’ skull. Shortly after that, it decided that a cement mixer was just the thing for Severus’ stomach and shortly after that, Potter returned with a steaming mug, a look of dismay and an “Oh, I’d, er, better banish that, hadn’t I? Won’t be a mo.” He then spent five excruciating hours searching for his wand and made twenty-seven separate attempts to get the charm right, although it was possible Severus might have been exaggerating slightly. Only then did he open a window and let in some blessed fresh air, and only after that did he remember the potion in his idiot hand and actually give it to Severus.
“There you go!” he beamed at Severus.
Did the imbecile actually expect thanks? “Why, Potter, am I here?” Severus muttered weakly as he lay back on the pillow, feeling almost post-coital bliss as the potion spread its life-saving absence-of-pain through his abused body. He tried not to think about how their mutual nudity made it horrifyingly likely that he was indeed post-coital.
“Er, is that a philosophical question? What is it all for, that sort of thing? ‘Cause you know, I’m not that good at all that agonising over the nature of life, the universe and everything. Just take each day as it comes, that’s what I say.”
The boy’s wand was on the bedside table. It would be but the work of a moment to grab it and Avada Kedavra the little pest out of his hair… Severus sighed. The way he was feeling, he’d be hard pressed to AK a flea.
“Or, you know, if you mean, why did you wake up like that, well, to tell the truth I think you were a bit pissed last night. Should’ve stuck to the beer like I did. That Russian vodka’s wicked stuff – ask Ron. He had no end of Obliviating to do after he sunk half a bottle and went out on the razz when he was here last year. And he never did get his broomstick back, although to be fair I don’t think he wanted it any more when he found out where it’d been – ”
“Potter,” Severus interrupted almost pleadingly. “Just tell me the worst before I kill you.”
The wretched brat gave him a sidelong look. “Well, if you’re going to kill me after I tell you, wouldn’t it be best for me to keep schtumm then? I’m not thick, you know.” His face changed as Severus made a desperate lunge for the whelp’s wand. “All right, all right! We went out for a drink, and we got hammered, that’s all. Then we came home to bed. Where you passed out. End of.”
Staring down the thin length of wood, Severus narrowed his eyes. “And why,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “would I come home with you?”
“Well, not really home home, obviously – I mean, it’s a hotel. But you do remember coming here, right? For our anniversary? I mean, it was your idea. Come back to St Petersburg, where we first got together at that conference a year ago? You know, the one on Dark Arts – Are They as Black as They’re Painted?” He smiled encouragingly.
Severus was appalled. And not so much suspicious as frankly incredulous. “That conference, Potter, is going on as we speak. Are you seriously trying to persuade me that I have had an alcoholic blackout that has wiped an entire year from my mind? Not to mention the utter absurdity of us getting together as you put it.”
Either the boy was telling the truth or his acting skills had improved exponentially. Although it was equally possible that Severus’ judgement was not up to its usual keen standard, given the number of brain cells that must have come to an untimely end the previous evening. “Oh, God, Severus! You’ve lost a whole year? All of our time together? That’s awful – oh, God, I knew I should have taken your wand away! You said you just wanted to forget that stupid row we had yesterday – I should never have let you try and Obliviate yourself while you were drunk!”
Unsettled, Severus retreated to the familiar. “Potter, this has gone far enough! I have no idea why you are indulging in this ridiculous charade, but it will cease forthwith!” Throwing off the covers with a determined lack of concern for his nudity before a former student, Severus cast his eyes around for the colour black and, finding his clothes, donned them swiftly. “We will not speak of this. Ever,” he spat at the boy, who feigned open-mouthed dejection as Severus stormed out of the room.
Finding his pockets empty of his room key, Severus made his way to the hotel reception and demanded a substitute. The severely pretty young lady with cheekbones that could probably qualify as offensive weapons handed him one with a cool nod and turned away.
“Wait a minute! This is not my room key! I am in room 207,” Severus told her, trying to contain his fury at this conspiracy of youth to ruin his day.
She looked at him. “No, sir, it is room 309. With your friend Mr Potter.” Again she turned to see to another guest.
Severus was enraged. How much had Potter laid out to further this ridiculous deception? About to demand to see the manager, Severus’ eye was caught by the English-language copy of the Times, one of a stack lying on the desk for the use of guests. The date… it was exactly one year from today. Or rather…
“Severus!” Potter was red-faced and anxious-looking as he ran up to the desk. “Severus, you’ve got to believe me, it’s all true. Look, why don’t we get a coffee, and we’ll, um, talk, or something. Maybe I can jog your memory?”
………………………
Three coffees later, Severus’ memory remained resolutely un-jogged. However, he no longer doubted the date. Potter had provided ample proof of that, by both wizarding and Muggle means. He really had lost a year. But a year spent with Potter? As lovers? It seemed impossible.
As the boy appeared to grow more and more disconsolate through the course of the morning, Severus was surprised to find a certain discomfort arising in the region of his heart. Was it possible that he really did care for the young idiot? “But how, in Merlin’s name, did we get together in the first place?” he asked finally.
Potter – Harry – beamed at this acceptance of his story. “Well, to be honest you were a bit pissed then too. But you managed not to kill me the morning after, and we skived off the conference and went on a boat trip down the canals.”
“Perhaps…” Severus hesitated. “Perhaps we should try that now?”
If he had thought the boy’s smile wide before, it was positively dwarfed by the toothy grin that greeted this suggestion.
…………………………….
Late that evening, Severus stared out of the hotel window at the city lights below. They had cruised down the canals, walked along Nevsky Prospekt and gawped at the Church of the Spilled Blood and the Winter Palace. None of which he could remember having seen before, although Harry obviously recalled them clearly from the previous year. The boy had proven a surprisingly agreeable companion, determinedly failing to take offence at Severus’ sarcastic jibes and somehow contriving to infect his companion with his inexhaustible supply of good humour. And when they had returned to the hotel room after dinner, Harry had shyly asked if they could kiss, and Severus had found he had not had the heart to refuse the boy. After all, he told himself, it was their anniversary.
He would never have imagined that those chapped lips could feel so soft against his own, that the young body would fit so perfectly in his arms. If he were honest with himself, until that moment there had remained a flicker of doubt in Severus’ mind, but after that…
And yet… Had the boy’s words that morning really fit his tale? Severus took a deep breath. Harry waited for him in bed. Raising his wand, Severus sent a gentle sleeping charm whispering through the open door into the bedroom. Then slowly, methodically, he began to search the suite.
Clocks were chiming midnight when he found it – a Pensieve, sealed against spillage and locked inside a shrunken trunk. Lifting it out carefully, Severus examined its contents. They swirled fluidly almost to the top of the bowl, their silver tarnished an ugly blackish grey. Severus bent forward, and skilfully began to sift through the memories.
Himself, booking a room for this year’s St Petersburg conference, with the grim reflection that if Potter turned up he could always fling one of them into a canal…Seated alone in the dreary sitting room of Spinner’s End, staring at the spider scurrying up the cracked wall… Wandering along a grimy lane, drunk as a lord, flinging a bottle into the gutter… Endless, weary days of solitude… The despair of a Christmas spent, once again, alone…Headlines in the Prophet, proclaiming that the Boy-Who-Lived had turned into the Boy-Who-Wasted-His-Potential, had dropped out of Auror training, had been thrown over by the Weasley girl…Back in St Petersburg, a year ago, with Potter propositioning him. Himself, angrily rejecting the boy, certain it must be a trick.
Severus stood, for a moment, staring at the roiling surface of his memories. Then he carefully sealed up the Pensieve once more, locked the trunk, shrank it and returned it to its former position.
Then he shrugged off his robe and slipped into bed beside Harry. As the boy snuggled drowsily against him, Severus slid his arms around the slender figure and planted a gentle kiss on the scarred young forehead, shushing the sleepy boy’s faint murmur with a yet more tender kiss to those rough-soft lips. After all, it was their anniversary.
Ende.
Author:
drachenminaWord Count: 1,900
Rating: PG
Characters: Harry Potter/Severus Snape,
Summary: War makes for strange bedfellows. So does vodka.
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.
AN: For my darling
gin_tonic. Hope you had a wonderful time in St Petersburg, and a fantastic birthday – and that you didn’t wake up as hungover as Severus! *hugs*Oh, and, er, this was actually supposed to be a drabble… *g*
Thanks for the beta read are due to the lovely
torino10154From habit born of long years of tension and danger, Severus made the transition from sleep to wakefulness almost instantly. He was not alone. There were two people in his bed – three if you counted the monstrous hangover that seemed to have a hideous personality all of its own. Right now it was using his stomach as a trampoline so that it could bounce up repeatedly and attack his cranium with a mallet.
With a superhuman effort, Severus managed to avoid groaning aloud. Using all the strength left at his disposal, he opened one eye a crack. Ah. Not his bed at all. Which was very, very bad news as it meant that the ready availability of an adequate hangover potion was unlikely in the extreme. This time, he was unable to contain his misery.
“Oh, er, morning,” a horribly familiar voice boomed in his ear, causing the trampolining hangover goblin to redouble his sadistic efforts. “You groaned?”
“Kill me now,” Severus muttered.
“I told you to go easy on the vodka, you’re not as young as you used to be, you know.” With a spring in his step that made Severus want to tear off both his legs and shove them up his appallingly naked arse, Harry Potter bounded out of bed. “I’ll get you some hangover potion, ok?” he thundered. The hangover goblin was obviously under the impression that Muggle technology was all the rage these days as it started up with a pneumatic drill on Severus’ skull. Shortly after that, it decided that a cement mixer was just the thing for Severus’ stomach and shortly after that, Potter returned with a steaming mug, a look of dismay and an “Oh, I’d, er, better banish that, hadn’t I? Won’t be a mo.” He then spent five excruciating hours searching for his wand and made twenty-seven separate attempts to get the charm right, although it was possible Severus might have been exaggerating slightly. Only then did he open a window and let in some blessed fresh air, and only after that did he remember the potion in his idiot hand and actually give it to Severus.
“There you go!” he beamed at Severus.
Did the imbecile actually expect thanks? “Why, Potter, am I here?” Severus muttered weakly as he lay back on the pillow, feeling almost post-coital bliss as the potion spread its life-saving absence-of-pain through his abused body. He tried not to think about how their mutual nudity made it horrifyingly likely that he was indeed post-coital.
“Er, is that a philosophical question? What is it all for, that sort of thing? ‘Cause you know, I’m not that good at all that agonising over the nature of life, the universe and everything. Just take each day as it comes, that’s what I say.”
The boy’s wand was on the bedside table. It would be but the work of a moment to grab it and Avada Kedavra the little pest out of his hair… Severus sighed. The way he was feeling, he’d be hard pressed to AK a flea.
“Or, you know, if you mean, why did you wake up like that, well, to tell the truth I think you were a bit pissed last night. Should’ve stuck to the beer like I did. That Russian vodka’s wicked stuff – ask Ron. He had no end of Obliviating to do after he sunk half a bottle and went out on the razz when he was here last year. And he never did get his broomstick back, although to be fair I don’t think he wanted it any more when he found out where it’d been – ”
“Potter,” Severus interrupted almost pleadingly. “Just tell me the worst before I kill you.”
The wretched brat gave him a sidelong look. “Well, if you’re going to kill me after I tell you, wouldn’t it be best for me to keep schtumm then? I’m not thick, you know.” His face changed as Severus made a desperate lunge for the whelp’s wand. “All right, all right! We went out for a drink, and we got hammered, that’s all. Then we came home to bed. Where you passed out. End of.”
Staring down the thin length of wood, Severus narrowed his eyes. “And why,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “would I come home with you?”
“Well, not really home home, obviously – I mean, it’s a hotel. But you do remember coming here, right? For our anniversary? I mean, it was your idea. Come back to St Petersburg, where we first got together at that conference a year ago? You know, the one on Dark Arts – Are They as Black as They’re Painted?” He smiled encouragingly.
Severus was appalled. And not so much suspicious as frankly incredulous. “That conference, Potter, is going on as we speak. Are you seriously trying to persuade me that I have had an alcoholic blackout that has wiped an entire year from my mind? Not to mention the utter absurdity of us getting together as you put it.”
Either the boy was telling the truth or his acting skills had improved exponentially. Although it was equally possible that Severus’ judgement was not up to its usual keen standard, given the number of brain cells that must have come to an untimely end the previous evening. “Oh, God, Severus! You’ve lost a whole year? All of our time together? That’s awful – oh, God, I knew I should have taken your wand away! You said you just wanted to forget that stupid row we had yesterday – I should never have let you try and Obliviate yourself while you were drunk!”
Unsettled, Severus retreated to the familiar. “Potter, this has gone far enough! I have no idea why you are indulging in this ridiculous charade, but it will cease forthwith!” Throwing off the covers with a determined lack of concern for his nudity before a former student, Severus cast his eyes around for the colour black and, finding his clothes, donned them swiftly. “We will not speak of this. Ever,” he spat at the boy, who feigned open-mouthed dejection as Severus stormed out of the room.
Finding his pockets empty of his room key, Severus made his way to the hotel reception and demanded a substitute. The severely pretty young lady with cheekbones that could probably qualify as offensive weapons handed him one with a cool nod and turned away.
“Wait a minute! This is not my room key! I am in room 207,” Severus told her, trying to contain his fury at this conspiracy of youth to ruin his day.
She looked at him. “No, sir, it is room 309. With your friend Mr Potter.” Again she turned to see to another guest.
Severus was enraged. How much had Potter laid out to further this ridiculous deception? About to demand to see the manager, Severus’ eye was caught by the English-language copy of the Times, one of a stack lying on the desk for the use of guests. The date… it was exactly one year from today. Or rather…
“Severus!” Potter was red-faced and anxious-looking as he ran up to the desk. “Severus, you’ve got to believe me, it’s all true. Look, why don’t we get a coffee, and we’ll, um, talk, or something. Maybe I can jog your memory?”
………………………
Three coffees later, Severus’ memory remained resolutely un-jogged. However, he no longer doubted the date. Potter had provided ample proof of that, by both wizarding and Muggle means. He really had lost a year. But a year spent with Potter? As lovers? It seemed impossible.
As the boy appeared to grow more and more disconsolate through the course of the morning, Severus was surprised to find a certain discomfort arising in the region of his heart. Was it possible that he really did care for the young idiot? “But how, in Merlin’s name, did we get together in the first place?” he asked finally.
Potter – Harry – beamed at this acceptance of his story. “Well, to be honest you were a bit pissed then too. But you managed not to kill me the morning after, and we skived off the conference and went on a boat trip down the canals.”
“Perhaps…” Severus hesitated. “Perhaps we should try that now?”
If he had thought the boy’s smile wide before, it was positively dwarfed by the toothy grin that greeted this suggestion.
…………………………….
Late that evening, Severus stared out of the hotel window at the city lights below. They had cruised down the canals, walked along Nevsky Prospekt and gawped at the Church of the Spilled Blood and the Winter Palace. None of which he could remember having seen before, although Harry obviously recalled them clearly from the previous year. The boy had proven a surprisingly agreeable companion, determinedly failing to take offence at Severus’ sarcastic jibes and somehow contriving to infect his companion with his inexhaustible supply of good humour. And when they had returned to the hotel room after dinner, Harry had shyly asked if they could kiss, and Severus had found he had not had the heart to refuse the boy. After all, he told himself, it was their anniversary.
He would never have imagined that those chapped lips could feel so soft against his own, that the young body would fit so perfectly in his arms. If he were honest with himself, until that moment there had remained a flicker of doubt in Severus’ mind, but after that…
And yet… Had the boy’s words that morning really fit his tale? Severus took a deep breath. Harry waited for him in bed. Raising his wand, Severus sent a gentle sleeping charm whispering through the open door into the bedroom. Then slowly, methodically, he began to search the suite.
Clocks were chiming midnight when he found it – a Pensieve, sealed against spillage and locked inside a shrunken trunk. Lifting it out carefully, Severus examined its contents. They swirled fluidly almost to the top of the bowl, their silver tarnished an ugly blackish grey. Severus bent forward, and skilfully began to sift through the memories.
Himself, booking a room for this year’s St Petersburg conference, with the grim reflection that if Potter turned up he could always fling one of them into a canal…Seated alone in the dreary sitting room of Spinner’s End, staring at the spider scurrying up the cracked wall… Wandering along a grimy lane, drunk as a lord, flinging a bottle into the gutter… Endless, weary days of solitude… The despair of a Christmas spent, once again, alone…Headlines in the Prophet, proclaiming that the Boy-Who-Lived had turned into the Boy-Who-Wasted-His-Potential, had dropped out of Auror training, had been thrown over by the Weasley girl…Back in St Petersburg, a year ago, with Potter propositioning him. Himself, angrily rejecting the boy, certain it must be a trick.
Severus stood, for a moment, staring at the roiling surface of his memories. Then he carefully sealed up the Pensieve once more, locked the trunk, shrank it and returned it to its former position.
Then he shrugged off his robe and slipped into bed beside Harry. As the boy snuggled drowsily against him, Severus slid his arms around the slender figure and planted a gentle kiss on the scarred young forehead, shushing the sleepy boy’s faint murmur with a yet more tender kiss to those rough-soft lips. After all, it was their anniversary.
Ende.