Postcards from the River Denial

Filtered post

2005-08-24T06:03:31Z

Brat.

Those damn fluffballs have both robbed us of our well-deserved rest for the last time, do you hear? Have neither of those wretched feline pests they have for parents heard about silencing charms? Or are they not feeding them enough, which is impossible because they are practically eating us out of house and home?

The subject being your mother.

I know you were quite surprised to find that Muggle picture of the two us, taken in our second year. You're still a nosy brat, you realise - do you really think I would accept your poor excuse of wanting more space for your things by rifling through my cat-free wardrobe?

Lily Evans was my best friend... at least when none of our nosy housemates were looking. She was rather a bit like your friend Hermione - quite impossible, utterly bossy and would debate magical theory and history and spellcraft for hours on end. Not to mention her impertinent inquiries into my personal life (or lack, thereof). It is a testament to my considerable mental strengths that she did not drive me completely batty after six years of friendship.

I completely deplored her taste in men and well... I was quite unhappy to know that she, of all people, had the poor taste to fall in love with your father. She was astute enough to know that despite everything, there could never be any real friendship or even a strained civility between myself and your father although I imagine she regretted that very much. Lily was always and ever the optimist.

By that time... you know enough of my past now to realise I had already made several very poor choices in life and after leaving Hogwarts, was now suffering the consequences of my actions. I knew I must somehow find some way to extricate myself from the situation but quite honestly, I was quite at a loss on how to go about it.

It was at that point that I somehow found myself at your mother's door. Bear in mind that it was still some time before your parents were forced to go into hiding and before Trelawney ever made that damnned prophecy.

It was only fortunate that your father was not home.

She was quite surprised to see me there and I was surprised to know that she could still offer a welcome to me. We had sat down together and... for a few minutes I could pretend we were both still young, foolish children, arguing over ridiculous things.

She gracefully suffered through more of this before she finally snapped and said, "Stop thinking that you're already numbered among the damnned, Severus Snape and wipe that hopeless look off your face."

"What do you propose I do, walk right up to the Dark Lord and say, 'Bugger this and sod the lot of you, I quit?'" I snapped back.

She burst out laughing. "Why ever not? Would be worth it to see the look on his face!"

"You're stark raving mad, Evans...." To my horror, I found myself actually considering her idea. I just needed a more Slytherin way to execute it.

"Two words, Snape - James Bond." Her grin was positively evil.

"I'm not good-looking enough to be in Her Majesty's Secret Service," I retorted.

(It was the summer after third year; she'd dragged me off to the Muggle cinema to watch a James Bond film festival. No, I do NOT fancy Sean Connery or Roger Moore - your mother did!)

She rolled her eyes. "If you weren't so staunchly and utterly bent, I'd have told you that there were quite a number of girls swooning after you. But then, what would be the point?" Before I could reply to THAT outrageous pack of lies, she blithely continued, "You know what you have to do and who you have to approach. He'll take you in, I know it."

"He is only ever concerned with his precious Gryffindors," I sneered.

She pinned me with a glare. "You're not an idiot, Severus Snape so stop acting like one and do get your head out of your arse. You are quite capable of handing Voldemort's bollocks to him on a silver plate so I suggest you run off and do it."

"Yes, ma'am," I drawled.

At that point, you decided to join in the conversation with a rather cranky wail. Lily rushed off to get you and you were slightly in a better mood when she introduced the two of us.

In fact, you quite demanded that I pick you up and I was reluctant to do so, as I had no experience with small children, especially babies, for that matter.

However, between you and your mother, I was outnumbered and rather than have you scowl at me in disappointment, I meekly obeyed your request.

You were quite fascinated with my nose and I suffered having you pat it with your tiny, sticky hands and your mother's laughter.

"Just one thing, Severus," she told me, between giggles and your happy cooing over my poor abused proboscis, "do your utmost not to get yourself killed."

"As you wish," I answered.

That was the last time I ever saw her alive.

Protected Owl Post from J. Isabel O'Connor to Severus Snape

2005-03-02T09:51:36Z

Severus,

You realize, don't you, that I owe Kyrys a substantial amount of money.

Don't give me that smirk, y'insufferable man. Truth is, I thought you were going to take a whole lot longer to admit your feelings for your Harry. Scuba-dive into the River Denial, go right down the whole angst-ridden road of unrequited love which will result in making you a whole lot more grouchy and cranky than you already are!

Hey, you come by your drama-queen tendencies honestly! Your great-grandfather IS a vampire prince, by definition - they are drama queens!

But what can I say? All it took was The Princess Bride. True love triumphs again. Awww... isn't that sweet?

No, I won't tell you how I found out that little tidbit, my sweet darling Drama Queen Snapercup. Protect the identity of the ~~guilty~~ innocent party and all that rot. Plus, I lose a very good source and we can't have that now, can we?

Seriously, Kyrys and I are both very happy for you and wish you and your little rabbit all the best in the world.

And now, to business.

Watson has taken to discreetly making inquiries of any and all personnel who were known to have at least the slightest acquaintance of Mr. Adam Pierson during his time as a researcher in the Mathusale Foundation. The interesting thing is that he has found the unmistakable signs of magic around them. I've gone and verified this myself.

Someone has altered their memories through magical means. Someone with a very great deal of skill and subtlety.

By all their accounts, Adam Pierson was an unassuming young man who, for all intents and purposes, was as meek and quiet as a mouse during his time at the Foundation.

Almost as if he didn't exist at all... except for some interesting facts of note that none of them are apparently interested in pursuing. As if they are compelled not to follow things up at all.

I applaud Pierson's (if that is indeed his name) ability at accomplishing this feat, not to mention the sheer power such an undertaking would demand. You are very skilled in the mental arts, Severus, so I know you would appreciate that.

And Pierson would have cause to do this, if he is what I believe him to be.

You see, the Mathusale Foundation is not what it seems. Indeed, they are researchers, historians and scholars. But the nature of their study is focused entirely on what is known as Immortals.

Yes, I know the Wizarding World considers them to be a myth. At least that's what a very few wizards and witches would like the rest of you lot to think and rightly so. Imagine if the late and unlamented Thomas Riddle chose to pursue this avenue of research. Remind me to send your Harry a wonderful present for making sure we won't have to worry about that problem at all.

Anyway, these secret scholars are all, thankfully, Muggle, and other than their awareness of the existence of Immortals, are quite unaware of the Wizarding World and consider what little experience they've had with other supernatural creatures as more legend and myth. They call themselves "Watchers" although not quite in the same manner as those who watch over Vampire Slayers. Their creed is to watch, observe and record the affairs of Immortals but never to interfere in what is called the "Game." Or so they claim.

Each Immortal contains within himself or herself a power that is known as the
"Quickening." The Immortal who beheads him gains that Quickening and thus, adds to his power and ability. The longer an Immortal lives and the more heads he takes, the more powerful he becomes. Hence, the "Game" - in which Immortals challenge each other to a duel with swords.

No one knows where Immortals come from - they are all orphans and foundlings.
Immortality sets in at the time of their very first death, thus locking them forever at the age they "died." Some Immortals actively Hunt others of their kind for the Game while others live in relative peace and only fight when necessary. They all do believe that a time will come when all Immortals will be called to what they refer to as the "Gathering" - a final battle where the last Immortal left standing will win the "Prize" - all the Quickenings of all the Immortals who have ever lived.

Power enough to rule the world or destroy it.

You can see why it is rather important that whoever gets this so-called "Prize" will not be another Voldemort. While a mortal can not harness or gain an Immortal's Quickening, I shudder to think what Voldemort could have done to solve that little problem.

And how do we know so much? Well, we are aware of Immortals - have a few
acquaintances among them after all. Ramirez was one - delightful man; I still miss him. Plus, a vampire very quickly learns to avoid the odd "humans" with the "lightning" (Quickening) in their blood. It's a rush if vampires sample a little of that Immortal blood but any more and the Quickening will burn them away. Kyrys doesn't care to get himself fried, after all.

For all their power, most Immortals are very thoroughly Muggle. They don't have any ability for spellcasting with some very few exceptions. Connor Macleod, one of two Immortals commonly known in their circles as the Highlander, recently acquired magical ability. He's another very good friend of ours - Kyrys has been teaching him to get a handle on his magic. They're a postively unholy combination, being as they BOTH got this zany whacked-out sense of humor. I'm doomed, aren't I?

(Don't answer that, y'impossible git.)

I've also heard tales that Merlin himself is Immortal and that "Merlin" is simply another name taken on by a legend among their kind - Methos, the oldest Immortal of them all, said to be over 5,000 years old.

I do not doubt that this Adam Pierson fellow is an Immortal. It may be that his secret was found out by these Watchers, hence the need to alter their memories. You can imagine the reactions of these mortals, finding out that an Immortal had hidden right under their very noses. It may be that Pierson's intentions were relatively harmless - not all Immortals go headhunting. Of course, he could also use the Watchers' source of information to know the weaknesses of his potential prey. Not a pretty picture, that.

An interesting note - Adam Pierson was assigned to the Methos Chronicles. He was their prime Methos researcher and considered to be quite the expert on this myth among Immortals.

Holmes has tracked down the Watcher Adam Pierson was closest to - a Mr. Joseph Dawson. He's a blues bar owner currently living in Seacouver and is the assigned Watcher of Duncan Macleod, Connor Macleod's kinsman - the other Highlander. Let's see what other items of interest he might turn up here.

I do not need to tell you to be very wary of Pierson. I've already said that wizardry is a rare thing among his kind and it means he's either a very old, canny Immortal or he's really good with a sword or he's both.

Anyway, I do believe we'll be seeing each other very soon.

Isabel

Postcard 13: Terms of Endearment

2005-02-26T15:37:08Z

It was all Harry's fault really.

He started it by making that ridiculous nickname - Snapercup, of all things! - into an endearment. Not only was it the most absurd thing he'd ever heard, it also had the added hideous benefit of putting in that awful song into his head. Severus usually ended up hearing it play over and over all the damn day in his mind, sung in Harry's rather pleasant tenor voice.

Why do you build me up (build me up)
Snapercup, baby
Just to let me down
And mess me around

And worst of all
You never call, baby
When you say you will
But I love you still

I need you
More than anyone, darling
You know that I have from the start

So build me up (build me up)
Snapercup
Don't break my heart

When - not if! - he figured out a way to send hexes through the Internet, he was going to track down that vileseagulls person and extract vengeance.

(Oh, all right - Harry liked her, so he was not going to make her suffer. Much.)

Severus could never understand why was it that people felt this insane urge to make up godawful variants on his name. Perhaps "Severus" was a bit too heavy to lay on a poor defenseless infant but he had grown into the name after all. Mama, in fact, had wanted to name him "Stefan" - which explained his choice of alias - but his father Aurelius had gotten his way as the Snapes were an ancient family that traced its roots all the way to Imperial Rome.

So maybe announcing that fact in first year didn't stop James Potter and Sirius Black from calling him "Snivellus" but could he help it if Aurelius had drilled that fact into his head practically from birth, never mind if Aurelius Snape was not a sterling example of the family and its fortune (or lack of it, to be more precise).

"Sev' " was a nickname he could put up with from a very few people (actually, just Harry, as not even his colleagues would dream of shortening his name that way). And no one dared to ever call him that most hideous of all nicknames - Sevvie - except perhaps his dotty old twin maiden Aunts Wilhemina and Philomena Snape, who he hadn't seen in years. Thank God.

One good thing about his relatives on his mother's side - the Radivois never called him (shudder) Sevvie.

Even "Aunt" Isabel and "Great-grandfather" Kyrys cringed at the mere sound of it.

Although he had the sinking feeling Isabel and Kyrys were going to enjoy "Snapercup."

God help him.

So, really, he had to come up with some kind of revenge after all and calling Harry zajka or bunny, was just the beginning. Thinking about it alone made Severus laugh out loud (something that pretty much shocked his Slytherins and any other Hogwarts student who heard him) and that drawing of Harry as the Dark Bunny Lord? The Bunny Eaters? Oh all right, that was a really evil joke on his part. Ginny Weasley still couldn't help but giggle every time she saw him and he'd mock glowered at her, if only to keep up appearances, which made her laugh all the harder.

He rather liked the idea of black bunny slippers though. The rest of them could keep their pink ones and Adam Pierson could have his sequins and glitter all to himself.

Severus hadn't laughed so hard in ages. Then again, he hadn't really laughed that much, period.

Of course, there were the other endearments, spoken in a tongue he hadn't even used in years, but it came back suprisingly easily. Moya lapochka - "little bit" or "little paw" was something Harry was probably going to hex him over again, but then it suited Harry, who, standing in his bare feet, only reached up to Severus' considerable nose. (That it offered him an excellent vantage point for nuzzling into Harry's hopelessly messy hair was a bonus.) But kisa suited his cat-like Harry best of all, especially since he most often murmured it into Harry's neck as he nuzzled and nibbled at it, making him purr and mewl delightedly in Severus' arms.

Russian had been the first language Severus had ever heard as a child in hs mother's arms, as she sang to him lullabies and told him stories in her sweet musical voice. Sometimes these were tales of a brave and courageous dark-haired, green-eyed prince who had taken on a terrible curse to save his people and wandered the world, seeking his lost love and having many adventures with his friend - a powerful sorceress who forever bore the face and form of a very young girl.

(Little did young Severus know, of course, that he'd end up meeting said green-eyed prince and little cheeky sorceress one day and that they were family, no less.)

Sometimes, they were memories of her homeland and family, before she'd left it at the age of seventeen, defying her family to marry Aurelius Snape. There were times that Severus wondered what it was that she found to love in Aurelius, if it had all been illusion to a naive and headstrong young girl. Or perhaps it was Aurelius Snape who had changed from dashing suitor and indulgent husband to an abusive, drunken spouse and parent.

Aurelius, who Severus had simply called "sir" to his face, which the bastard accepted as his due, never dreaming that his son called him thus because he refused to acknowledge him as "father." Aurelius, who had grown bitter at
the family fortune wasted away by earlier generations of Snapes, at the censure and suspicion leveled on him by wizarding society for his extensive research into the dark arts and its most ancient history. And worse, when he had turned around and found to his dismay that the adoring girl-bride he had brought home with him was now a woman grown to be his equal, a master of potions whose skills far exceeded his own and won far greater acclaim
for her breakthroughs with the Wolfsbane Potion.

Aurelius had not wanted Sophia Radivoi to be his equal.

And forbidding her the use of her native tongue in his presence was only the beginning. Russian had been the language of love for his mother and she'd taught this to her son, whispering endearments into his ear, calling him
her "curious little cat" for his endless questions about anything and everything.

She had tried to teach her husband this as well, but Aurelius had never listened. Aurelius had put a stop to all of that, all too soon, accusing her of coddling Severus, believing that they were speaking against him, whenever he caught them conversing in "that barbaric, uncivilized tongue."

But both of them were gone now, old, painful memories that he would explain to Harry one day, who he knew had already glimpsed them in his mind. It was enough that the language of his mother had come back to Severus so easily again, that he could woo Harry all over again with loving words he could never really express in plain English.

And he was rather sure that Harry would be far more willing to listen and learn those terms of endearment from him.

All his life, Severus' own name had been used against him as a form of ridicule. But it was only Harry who turned his austere, dignified name of "Severus" into a term of endearment, who seemed to have attached the word "love" to it as if it were Severus' second name, which both mortified and sort of pretty much melted him silly (though Severus would never admit it out loud) at the same time.

"All right, I've figured out that other bit of Russian you just told me," Harry told him a couple of nights after the day they had spent laughing themselves silly on what Harry now called "the Great Dark Bunny Lord Fiasco."

"Which bit, my lord zajka?" Severus asked him playfully, tugging him onto his lap, which he had found out was one of Harry's favorite places to be on. He told himself he did not just yelp when Harry bit him on the
ear for that crack.

And then he felt Harry's hands cradle his face and turn him so he could look into serious green eyes.

"Ya tebya dejstvitel'no liubliu - I really do love you too, Severus Snape," Harry informed him, sounding the unfamiliar words carefully and yet correctly.

And then, Harry pushed Severus' jaw up from where it had just hit the floor and left his mouth open just wide enough so he could cover it with his own and kiss him silly. And "silly" was fast becoming a very pleasant state of
mind for Severus, especially if his irrepressible Harry had led him there.

Severus had prided himself on his precision and skill at language but perhaps it was Harry who was the one who was truly eloquent with words.

Sometimes.

-end-

Postcard 12: Adorable

2005-02-20T15:14:55Z

Adorable

You know that you're completely arse over teakettle over a person when you think he's terribly adorable even when he's in a complete snit.

Adorable. That's a wickedly insidious word, sneaking its way past your formidable defenses and hitting you upside the head when you least expected it. Puppies are adorable. Kittens are adorable. And God help you, you've never been the puppies and kittens sort. Not even close. You're a cranky, grouchy, cantankerous bastard and you've been that way for years. In fact, you like it that way. You've built your reputation on it, your persona. And it's not an act hiding a soppy, sugary-sweet nature inside. You know who you are and you're not up for any Mr. Charming Awards up at Witch Weekly any time this century.

So how in the seven blasted hells did Harry Potter reduce you to this? Besotted. Wrapped completely around his smallest finger.

Undone.

You remember, now that you're not heatedly denying anything when it was that word "adorable" snuck into your mind, concerning one green-eyed Brat Who Lived. Around the end of Harry's sixth year, you had taken leave of your senses and performed an act so stupidly, embarassingly Gryffindor (never mind if Albus declared it "quite heroic") that you were sure you'd never hear the end about it from the rest of the Hogwarts staff.

So it had the benefit of saving Harry's life and winning the admiration of the rest of the Hogwarts student population ("Good old Snape" indeed!), not to mention making your young Slytherins finally think twice of the Dark Lord and his insidious pureblood/mudblood teachings. Amazingly, that number included Draco Malfoy, who ended up proving himself more of a man than his father ever was.

However, it also outed you as a spy for the side of Light and landed you in the infirmary for weeks.

That you didn't die was largely due to the interference of one stubborn green-eyed Gryffindor brat - who was quite determined not to let you suffer the same fate as his late dogfather did.

That you didn't go mad under the combined infernal fussing and mothering of both Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall (the old cat unaccountably had decided that you were now one of her kittens and behaved accordingly - oh, the horror!) was also largely due to the frequent visits by the very same green-eyed Gryffindor.

Harry had patiently put up with your ill temper and proved that he had quite the pert tongue on him, though you quite trounced him on the field of verbal battle. Since the two of you had made your peace with each other, it had always been this way. And soon enough, sarcastic commentary had grown to mischievous teasing and you quite enjoyed the boy's remarkable ability to dig himself into a verbal hole.

Harry was so very easy to tease.

And it just so happened that one day, you looked at his flushed, embarassed features and his sputtering attempts to fend off your sallies and then his exasperated laughter and you thought, quite clearly, that he was the most adorable thing you had ever seen.

And you quickly squashed that thought, buried it deep in the darkest vaults of your mind, because on the heels of it came an awareness of Harry as a beautiful, charming, young man, an attraction to him, that you'd never felt for any student in all your years of teaching, that you'd never even dream of feeling for any student under your care. You can admit it to yourself now that Harry's out of Hogwarts, that you chose to deny the feeling, to willfully ignore it, because you didn't want to deny yourself that innocent pleasure of Harry's company, to gently tease him and make him laugh and blush that delightful shade of red.

At that time you thought that it was all you'd ever have of Harry, the closest that you will ever come to him, the safest kind of contact you could allow yourself.

But of course, who knew that you would find yourself to this end?

Valentine's Day had been the usual disaster for you - you hate hearts and flowers and sentiment. And yet, despite the added aggravation of dealing with infatuated adolescents dabbling in love philtres and trying their hand at aphrodisiacs, there was that quiet, hopelessly giddy part of you overjoyed that you finally had a Valentine of your very own.

That said Valentine was unfortunate enough to inadvertently attract the affections of a Japanese telly demon and turn himself female through sheer bad luck - well, you did fall in love with Harry "World's Number One Trouble Magnet" Potter after all.

Adorable. You thought that he was, even temporarily transformed into a girl and being quite sulky about the whole business. You wanted to take him into your arms and kiss him silly the moment you apprehensively stepped into his house, for the first time since he and his friends had invited everyone for the warding and blessing ceremonies. And he was still so very beautiful, even under the loose jumper and Muggle blue jeans that normally fit him well as a male, but now overwhelmed him completely as a female.

And Harry was still such a joy to tease.

You coaxed him out of his snit and reassured him that everything was going to be all right soon and that he would be quite back to normal - this particular batch of cursed spring water only lasted for 48 hours and not on a permanent basis. And while doing so, you reminded him of the teasing he got on his Live Journal and wickedly reminded him of all the invitations to dress as a girl, which made him blush that adorable shade of red yet again. Because you made it quite clear that you found him quite unbearably attractive as Harry - regardless of his current gender, as it were.

And finally, he reluctantly withdrew from the comforting circle of your arms, after the both of you had playfully tussled with each other - you were quite curious about the changes in Harry's form and were unashamedly wondering if his weak spots were in still the same places.

They were, by the way - with some added delightful extras.

"Be right back," he said, the green eyes twinkling with mischief and promise.

The few minutes of waiting were well worth it when Harry returned.

He wore nothing but one of your white silk shirts, appropriated from you sometime in the past few days, you realized. The firelight outlined every sweet, delectable curve of his currently female body and the rosy blush that trailed down the tantalizing line of his throat to the gentle swell of his breast. And you were rather curious to find out if Harry was blushing all over.

Adorable, you think again and you whisper that word into his ear as you draw him close for a kiss.

- end -

Postcard 11: Morning

2005-02-13T10:02:52Z

Severus was not a morning person.

Vampire genes from generations back in his maternal family bloodline had nothing to do with it. Despite appearances, Severus was not a vampire and perhaps the only hereditary gifts he'd inherited from his irritating vampire ancestor (great-grandfather Kyrys indeed!) was the fact that he could go on very little sleep (hence his long nights), the unusual sensitivity of his physical senses and his remarkable ability to move quickly and silently whenever he chose.

Severus was not a morning person simply because he had always been ill-tempered and cranky and quite frankly, he'd felt that there was nothing to look forward to each and every time he opened his eyes to another day.

Well, at least, until now.

Waking up with a warm and sleepy Harry in his arms definitely improved his outlook on mornings. It seemed like things had always been so, even if it had only been a few days since they had both admitted their feelings for each other. And it seemed that Harry had always been there, that it was quite normal for him to walk around in one of Severus' nightshirts when they got out of bed, that his Quidditch T-shirt had always been draped over that chair and even his bloody toothbrush seemed like it belonged in Severus' bathroom.

Harry made a soft contented little sound in his sleep and nuzzled into Severus' shoulder. Severus felt his lips twitching into a faint smile, which was a facial expression he wasn't inclined to wear often. Actually, he didn't smile that often, never having had a reason to do so. But he had to admit that his silly, irrepressible, beloved brat did many things to make him do that, if not make him burst into outright laughter every time they were together, even counting the times they were online.

Harry made that soft little sound again and Severus absently caressed his lover's shoulder, and then, let his fingers trail down his spine and gently stroked the sweet curve of his backside. There was something very cat-like about Harry sometimes, especially in his reactions to any show of affection and Severus was rather fond of those reactions. He had already made a mental catalogue of how Harry would respond to his attentions and never tired of going through it.

Like for example, if he gently nuzzled at Harry's neck just so, placing light, little nipping kisses just beneath his jawline, he could make his lover purr. He paid special attention to that tempting pulse point just beneath Harry's ear, sucking at the sweet skin there, making sure that he would leave yet another mark that Harry would find difficult to hide under his collar.

Harry had marked him too in just the same spot, last night, growling a possessive Mine as he did so and Severus was only too happy to return the favor. Perhaps there was something of his vampire ancestor in Severus after all.

And if he moved lower, flicking his tongue over Harry's nipples, grazing them lightly with his teeth, he could make him arch and mewl and whimper.

And then, with a wicked smile, if he went even lower, he could make Harry moan...

"Sev'rus....?"

Hands fisted in his hair, urging him up but Severus was quite unwilling to relinquish his prize, quite unable now to hold back his own moans of pleasure as Harry finally shattered under his loving torment, savoring the exquisite taste of him on his tongue. Only then did Severus let Harry tug him up for a sweet kiss... several sweet kisses that had his young lover purring again.

He met those beautiful slightly unfocused green eyes and found himself smiling once more.

"G'mornin', love," Harry whispered, languid and sated in his arms.

"A very good morning indeed," he answered softly, quite unwilling to stop himself from nuzzling Harry again. "Love," he whispered, his mouth against the mark he had just made earlier, a quiet affirmation.

And then he felt Harry push him back against the bed - their bed now, felt the warm welcome weight of his lover as Harry straddled him, his bare backside brushing teasingly against his groin.

"Brat," he gasped, hands settling on Harry's hips, stilling him.

It was Harry's turn to smile wickedly down at him, an expression that unusually befitted his normally angelic-looking Gryffindor, "My turn, I think."

Severus was not a morning person. But if he woke up to mornings like these for the rest of his life, he could get used to them very, very quickly.

-end-

Postcard 10: Distraction

2005-02-09T09:07:41Z

Snape's subconscious was up to its evil tricks again.

For once he and his little demon were in agreement on not letting Harry out of sight (read: out of bed) for the rest of the day.

Alas, real life intruded on them and while wrestling with a wriggling Harry on his lap for control of the computer was quite enjoyable (among other things), they both knew they had responsibilities to attend to. So it was with a great deal of reluctance that they parted for the day - Harry back to Oxford and Severus off to teach his classes.

Harry loved him. By rights, the world should stop turning on its axis, so Severus could fully savor that concept, cherish the very first memory of that first kiss they shared and the caresses that followed and the sweet words that were whispered and all the delicious discoveries they made of each other's bodies when they made love for that very first time.

Severus had not known that he was actually capable of feeling that kind of tenderness for another human being, that he could just lie contentedly with Harry in his arms, breathing in his scent - at first smelling of his soap and shampoo and then later, of sweat and the sweetness of their lovemaking. And then, much later, to talk quietly and far more openly than they ever had, even during the tentative friendship they had developed while Harry had still been his student. And after that, plying Harry silly with his coffee - teasing and bantering and laughing on Harry's journal, so much more enjoyable now than their playful verbal battles from before.

And what really floored Severus was that this was only just the beginning. There were still things left unspoken between them, things that they had yet to learn about the other - even without that incident of that final, dreadful row they had where Harry blundered his way into Severus' head with that Legilimens spell in what seemed a whole other lifetime ago. But there was that unspoken and yet understood promise between them - this was only the beginning. There would be many more nights and many more days and if Harry had his way and if Severus could bring himself to believe in it -"forever" was not a far-off concept.

All Severus could believe in at the moment was that he was Harry's, for as long as Harry wanted him. Afterwards was something Severus did not want to contemplate. Not today.

But in the meantime, Severus had classes to teach.

And his evil, malevolent subconscious persisted in throwing up those wonderful, precious, distracting memories all through the bloody day!

Like, for example, the way Harry looked in the early morning, sleepy and tousled and quite utterly kissable. That memory came up to him in the middle of writing ingredients for a third year Gryffindor/Slytherin class.

Or, the soft little purring sounds Harry made when he nuzzled Severus or was getting nuzzled in turn - a memory that quite derailed his train of thought while grading essays on the properties of dragon's heartstrings.

Or the way Harry writhed beneath him on his bed as Severus lavished slow, loving torment on all the secret places of his body with hands and lips and tongue, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin and savoring his cries of pleasure with each devouring kiss. It took all of Severus' self-control not to hit his head on the desk repeatedly when his wicked little demon of a subconscious chose to put THAT memory up in seventh-year N.E.W.T's class, with bloody Ginny Weasley sitting just a few rows across from his teacher's desk.

Worse was finding himself humming that damnable Meatloaf song (what a ridiculous name for a Muggle rock singer) that Harry had insisted on playing so early in the morning all throughout the damn day, only realizing what he was doing when Luna Lovegood absently began singing THAT song under her breath while chopping up her ingredients during class.

"Ooops, sorry, Professor. I think I caught it from you," Lovegood said in her atypical diffident manner, earning titters from her classmates.

The Meddling Old Coot was twinkling maddeningly at him when Severus came to the Great Hall and God help him, so was Minerva McGonagall, who was doing a very good impression of the cat who'd not only caught the canary, but had also secured herself a bowl of cream.

And he should have known what was going to happen when Willow tackled him in the staff room, making this ear-splitting noise that sounded like a "SQUEEEEEE!!!"

"STOP that damnable noise this instant, Rosenberg," he snapped at her, quite mortified enough for one day.

"But you guys were like, so totally adorable. EVERYBODY was squeeing out there on the Internet today," Willow told him, quite unaffected by his scowl.

"Oh Merlin," Severus groaned. "I knew I should have kept the coffee out of Harry's reach today. Does everyone in the whole blasted world know?!"

"Well, that would only be the people who know you guys are on the Internet. And us," Willow shrugged. "Lucky for you, the magic of surfing the Net hasn't caught on that much in the Wizarding World yet. But enough of that. Hello? You totally have to give me details, Snapercup."

"Call me that again and you'll regret it until your dying day, I assure you," Severus told her frostily, even as he knew he was not likely to live this down - ever.

"Spoilsport," Willow pouted. "Oh well, guess I'll have to check Harry's LJ. And imagine how you got that nice hickey mark on your neck."

"WHAT?!" Before he could stop himself, Severus felt his hand go to that spot on his neck that should, by rights, have been nicely hidden beneath the high collar of his teaching robes.

"Er, I think Harry aimed a wee bit too high," Willow informed him, laughter in her eyes.

"I'm going to kill him," Severus growled, even as his subconscious cackled gleefully and made plans on what form that "revenge" would take.

And once more, he found that he and that evil little critter in his mind were in complete agreement.

- end - :P

Postcard 9: Snapercup

2005-02-08T17:17:15Z

Brought on by the entries HERE
and HERE.

Snapercup

Severus Snape sat staring at his computer monitor for what seemed like an eternity before he finally switched the damned machine off.

And then, he buried his face in his trembling hands.

A part of him wished that this was all some monstrous prank, some horribly cruel practical joke so that he could go back to hating James Potter's son in peace. It wasn't proper, it wasn't right for him to feel this other
way, to want and to </i>need</i> so very badly...

The Dark Mark might have long faded from his arm and Severus Snape might have finally been recognized, however grudgingly, as a hero in his own right during the war against Voldemort but Severus knew that the memories of what he did as a Death Eater, the things he needed to do as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix, would remain with him for the rest of his life.

Severus had allowed himself little hope except to see Harry alive through the war and thus, finally repay his debt to James Potter. And then, perhaps, to lead a quiet, peaceful life with his potions research to occupy him.

That was Severus' version of happily-ever-after.

True love was never a part of it. Harry should have made his ridiculous, public, heartfelt confession of love to someone worthy of him, someone beautiful and pure and good. Not to greasy, cranky, ugly,wicked Severus Snape who deserved to be loathed and despised at worst and ignored or made fun of at best.

Snapercup, indeed.

In the story, Buttercup was the most beautiful woman in the world and songs were made for the beauty of her eyes and the sweetness of her smile.

Only Harry would do something so ridiculous, so absurd as to paint a loving word-portrait of Severus Snape's nose.

But then, that was why Severus knew he loved his silly, coffee-addicted, reckless Gryffindor.

And that was the real terrifying truth - Harry falling in love (the sheer insanity of it!) with Severus was one thing. But that Severus loved Harry in return - that was truly frightening.

"I am not Buttercup," he said suddenly to the young wizard who he knew was now standing beside him.

"How did you know I had finally gotten in here?" Harry asked him.

Severus stood up and walked to the fireplace, not wanting to look at the young man. He wrapped his arms around himself to still the shaking of his hands. "You are about the only wizard other than the Headmaster who I have allowed to get past my wards." That Severus had always been unusually sensitive to Harry's presence, even when the brat was under his Invisibility Cloak, was something he chose not to mention.

"Severus, I -- " After his unusual burst of eloquence on his Journal, Harry was again fumbling for words.

"Have you come to tell me that it was all a joke on your part, Mr. Potter?" Severus asked silkily. "Believe me, I would rather take that explanation for your conduct than believe that you have entirely lost your wits."

"Were you joking when you put up your part of the story, 'Stefan?' " Harry shot back. "Or are you going to claim temporary insanity yourself?"

"I wasn't the one dropping hints and acting like a giddy schoolboy with his first crush all over the bloody Internet," Severus sneered back. There. It was remarkably easy to play this old game, to seek out and score verbal points on his opponent.

Instead of doing anything so ridiculous as taking Harry into his arms and making soppy avowals of eternal love.

Harry laughed bitterly. "Right. A giddy schoolboy with his first crush. And you weren't acting like a jealous boyfriend when we were talking about Professor Turner or when Pierson popped up, right?"

"I was NEVER jealous of anyone. I was merely pointing out the impropriety of your infatuation on your own teachers!"

Harry raised a brow. "So since you're no longer my teacher, Severus, I suppose we're not being improper, are we?"

"You are quite out of your mind, Potter," Severus barked, feeling the ground slip very quickly out from under his feet. "You can't love me. You shouldn't love me. There are young men out there who would come running to you at the slightest show of interest -- "

"That's the pont. None of them are you and you're the one I want," Harry interrupted him. And dear gods, his heart was in those expressive green eyes and no matter how much Severus wanted to look away, he couldn't help but look right back. "You're the only one I want," Harry ended up in a whisper.

"Why?" The question was torn out of Severus before he could still his tongue.

"I already told you. Hell, I already told the whole world, right out there in my damn live journal," Harry said, with a noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "And you were the one who told me to end your misery, weren't you? You were the one who told me you were 'mortally certain' that I was loved right back."

Severus was frantically searching his head for the words, the right, hurtful words to send Harry running away. He had done it before, made those green eyes flash with anger and hatred instead of this new emotion, this new and precious and fragile thing....

But then, Harry scored his final victory and Severus knew he would not be able to fight anymore.

"And besides," Harry continued softly, "You were the one who said 'as you wish,' first."

And then, it seemed that Severus' subconscious was again playing its evil tricks because he had finally moved and taken a startled Harry into his arms, the way he had wanted to from the very first moment Harry had entered his rooms.

"Walk away from me," he whispered into Harry's hair, burying his nose in its softness and inhaling the sweet scent of Harry's shampoo. "Walk away now, because if I kiss you right this instant, I don't think I'll ever have the
strength to let you go again."

He felt Harry's hands card through his own greasy locks and then felt the barest brush of Harry's lips against his own.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said softly against his mouth. "I love you, Severus Snape. And I won't ever let you go."

There was only one possible answer he could make to that.

"As you wish." And then, Severus finally gave himself up to that kiss.

- end -

Protected OWL Post to Severus Snape from J. Isabel O'Connor

2005-02-08T08:06:54Z

Severus,

When are you going to get that cute behind of yours back Home? We miss you. And since that bastard sod Tommy Riddle is gone - you are more than due for a well-earned vacation. Among other things, but then, I'm not going to match you up with every eligible bachelor in sight. I'll leave that for the other members of the family.

I'm joking. Really. Your good Aunt Isabel will keep you safe from the eeeebil matchmaking aunties and uncles.

And don't look down that elegant beak of yours at us - you know you're as bad a trouble magnet as we are. Pot calling the kettle black and whatnot. Anyway, the point is - we miss you. Great to the nth degree-grandfather Kyrys and "Aunt" Isabel miss you dearly and would like to see you before we die of old age.

And present us with grandchildren but I'm going to stop now before I get a Howler from you.

And now, to business.

For your little bit of "research" - I called in this team of private investigators with a really good reputation, especially in matters involving the supernatural - William Holmes and John Watson. Mr. Holmes is a Muggle but he's incredibly brilliant and his wizard partner Watson's not a slouch either.

Surface details - Adam Pierson has existed both in the Muggle and the wizarding worlds for quite some time now, doing a very good job of keeping one life separate from the other. He is listed as having been born on September 5, 1962 in Ruthin, Wales. He took his undergraduate degree at St. Aidan's College and went to the University of Paris - Sorbonne as a PhD candidate doing classical studies and his Mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He is also an accomplished linguist and is fluent in several Western and Eastern languages, not to mention ancient ones such as Egyptian, Latin, Aramaic and the ancient form of Greek.

While there, he worked as a researcher for a certain Mathusale Foundation. He left it shortly before taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts master at Oxford. Watson feels there is something more to this but he is still pursuing that lead at the present time.

However, Holmes has uncovered that Dr. Pierson's childhood records are forged - the forgery is very cleverly done, by the way. Far better than some of the documents Kyrys and I have had to obtain, over the centuries. And we should know - we paid good money to get things like that done.

All of the details are in the parcel attached to this letter. It's a very interesting puzzle, this Adam Pierson fellow. But you seem very concerned over this for Harry Potter's sake. Surely your wizard's debt to his father has been more than paid many times over?

Or perhaps is it something more? Now don't scowl at me like that, Severus Snape - I'VE had my hands full with my own personal black-haired, green-eyed fellow, who insists on going through all this hero business. And now he's got himself a nice set of fangs for all his trouble. But you have to hand it to your great-to-to-the-nth-degree grandfather, Kyrys still somehow has a sense of humor about the whole thing.

But then I love the idiot - who's been somewhere between my son, best friend and older/younger brother - for all these long centuries.

So I know how you feel. Or perhaps you feel more for the young man you call "the quintessential irreprresible fool heroic Gryffindor?"

I'd really like to meet your Harry one day - he sounds like he and Kyrys will get along splendidly.

We'll keep you informed of whatever else we'll turn up on this Dr. Adam Pierson. Take care of yourself, Severus and DO visit us soon. Or we'll come and visit you.

Love from your favorite "aunt,"
Isabel

Postcard 8: Me and My Shadow

2005-02-06T10:33:17Z

Severus' subconscious was an evil, malevolent little critter hell-bent on making his conscious life miserable.

It regularly delighted in hitting him upside the head with things that Severus had already quite properly buried in the deepest, darkest vaults of his mind, filling him with hopes and dreams that were best unhoped and undreamt for. It was responsible for all the absurd things that a proper, dignified Hogwarts professor would never even think of doing, like, for example, singing angsty Muggle songs (preferably ones with a loud, throbbing beat guaranteed to blow the walls of the dungeons down) while deep in his cups and worse, reading the most romantic, sappy, sentimental verses or prose that he could find.

And also, writing the most absurd, ridiculous sentiments on the internet, in LiveJournal, while talking to a giddy

(adorable)

Harry Potter high on coffee. Severus cringed upon waking up to see what he had told Harry in his latest post but Merlin, could he help it if he had to resort to drink at the

(erotic)

images the brat conjured up while on a coffee rush. It was giving his subconscious all sorts of deranged

(delightfully depraved)

ideas for Harry....

Oh God.

Severus had tried reasoning with the demented little bugger because had Harry actually named his secret love? Even if it looked like that it was definitely NOT Pierson, did it mean that it was actually Severus himself?

(And by the way, Severus was still going to investigate the man - he was still Harry's mentor after all and Severus didn't trust him one bit.)

There were quite possibly a hundred fellows that Harry could fall in love with, men who were more worthy,

(untainted)

who would treasure the brat's

(young man's)

affections the way that they should be.

But Severus' subconscious harbored a terrible romantic streak a mile wide and was quite confident that somewhere out there was someone that would love Severus forever and that Severus would love quite deeply in return, never mind if Severus himself was already quite resigned to finally living a life in peace and quiet, immersed in his research. After all, Death Eaters, even ones who'd reformed and distinguished themselves very well in the war against Voldemort, could not expect love, family and happily ever after in their future.

Severus' subconscious was, quite frankly, an impractical little creature and so he did not appreciate the uncomfortable, disturbing, terrifying truth that it had just hit him with.

"...Every time you said 'Farm Boy do this' you thought I was answering 'As you wish' but that's because you were hearing wrong. 'I love you' was what it was, but you never heard, and you never heard."

"Professor Snape?"

"Yes, what is it, Miss Weasley?" Severus snapped, turning around to glare at the last Weasley that he would hopefully have to teach in Potions class for a good long while, at least, if the gods were kind and none of her older brothers were inclined to spawn yet.

"Er.... what you wrote on the board, sir. That's from the book The Princess Bride, isn't it?" she said hesitantly.

Severus whirled around to look in horror at what he had just written on his blackboard.

In the middle of seventh-year N.E.W.T Potions.

As you wish, Harry.

Severus picked up the eraser and quickly obliterated the offending

(damning)

quotation. "I'm delighted that you have good taste in Muggle literature, Miss Weasley," he growled, turning around to glare at every single student in his classroom, already deciding to decimate House points if one of them, even if it were one of his Slytherins, dared to speak or make a single sound out of turn. No one even dared to breathe.

"Now kindly open your books to page 397 and we shall continue with the lesson."

The students, thankfully, docilely did as they were told.

In the meantime, Severus' subconscious did a little happy dance in his head, pleased with the havoc he had just wreaked.

-end-

Postcard No. 7: Sentiment

2005-02-04T06:58:17Z

The following song is heard over the strongly erected silencing wards in Severus Snape's dungeon rooms. The voice is not Eddie Vedder's of Pearl Jam but he does very well anyway. He sings as if the song is his own, with memory and pain behind every word. The passionate, resonant baritone is oddly familiar but the students who can hear the singing can't believe their ears.

Then again, a few of the older students have now figured out exactly what Severus Snape does to the CDs he confiscates from Muggle-born students who don't pay attention in class:

At home, drawing pictures of mountain tops
With him on top lemon yellow sun, arms raised in a v
And the dead lay in pools of maroon below
Daddy didn’t give attention
Oh, to the fact that mommy didn’t care
King Jeremy the wicked...oh, ruled his world...
Jeremy spoke in class today...

Clearly I remember pickin’ on the boy
Seemed a harmless little fuck
Ooh, but we unleashed a lion...
Gnashed his teeth and bit the recess lady’s breast...
How can I forget?
And he hit me with a surprise left
My jaw left hurtin’...ooh, dropped wide open
Just like the day...oh, like the day I heard

Daddy didn’t give affection, no...
And the boy was something that mommy wouldn’t wear
King jeremy the wicked...oh, ruled his world
Jeremy spoke in class today...
Try to forget this...try to forget this...
Try to erase this...try to erase this...
]from the blackboard...

Jeremy spoke in class today...
Jeremy spoke in, spoke in...
Jeremy spoke in class today...

Postcard No. 6: Scuba-Diving in the River Denial

2005-02-03T06:35:28Z

Severus was quite proud in his ability to recognize and accept the truth whenever it reared its ugly head in his life.

Hell, doing the whole double-agent, double-crossing Death Eater bit had made him quite sick of lies and deceptions, never mind if said lies and deceptions were designed to save his hide from the late unlamented Thomas Riddle. Living a lie 24 hours, seven days a week, and almost every single day of the 365 in a year, took its toll on a man.

So, he was simply bowing to the truth when he fled like hell from Harry's heartfelt confession of love on his very own Journal.

That lucky fucking bastard, Severus thought uncharitably of whoever it was Harry loved so much.

The trouble was, Harry was being very confusing about the identity of whoever it was that he loved. It seemed like it was Pierson and yet Harry was very insistent that whoever it was, was quite unaware of Harry's regard.

And then Pierson made a reference to someone at Hogwarts and it was at that point that Severus' mental processes screamed "AUGH!!!!! STOP!!!!!" because the logical conclusion to that was just too absurd to be even seriously contemplated. Severus was quite aware of the truth - he was a greasy, hook-nosed, cranky, cantakerous bastard who would make life hell for any potential mate and quite unlovable. So the whole idea was just quite preposterous, thank you very much and he'd really rather not waste his time in that line of thought.

I want to make him happy. I want to see what he looks like when he really laughs out loud. I want to wake up every day with him beside me and I want to grow old with him.

That odd tight feeling in his chest and the sudden twist in his stomach wasn't envy. Of course it wasn't. Severus just knew that he would probably strangle whoever it was with his bare hands if this person was unable to appreciate how fortunate he was to be so loved.

Severus just didn't count on Willow Rosenberg.

The little redhaired American witch was sitting at the computer desk set up in the staff room, which was, at the moment, quite empty, except for the two of them. She was patiently explaining to him some more of the HTML commands and the odd quirks of language that Severus regularly encountered on LiveJournal. By necessity, she knew his LiveJournal username.

And to his horror, she had discovered his LiveJournal conversations with Harry.

"Awwww...." she cooed. "Isn't it sweet? He's like, completely gone on you, 'Stefan.' "

"Mind your own business," he growled. And then, he startled himself by blurting out: "What in Merlin's name are you babbling about now?"

Oh God. Since when did his tongue take on a mind of its own? Severus was only grateful it didn't do that while Voldemort was alive...

"Hello?" Willow rolled her eyes. "I can't BELIEVE you're not getting this, you're like, so seriously brainy and all. Harry Potter? Who's totally in love with you?"

To his complete and utter horror, Severus felt his cheeks flame. "Don't be ridiculous. He's talking about Pierson, not me."

Willow snorted. "Right. He's talking about a Hogwarts teacher. It's like, all right here in his LJ, you know? Who else could it be, Professor Flitwick?"

"Remus Lupin?" Severus countered.

"Pffft," Willow waved a hand airily. "He's totally hot but ew, incest much - wasn't he, like, together with Harry's godfather -- "

"-- dogfather -- " Severus couldn't help correcting.

"Whatever. Still, he's like an honorary godfather to Harry already. So that kind of leaves you. Duh."

"And how did you know about that little tidbit of gossip about Lupin and the dearly departed mangy mutt?" Severus asked, quite eager to change the subject.

Willow sniffed. "Nah-uh, no changing the subject here, Mr. Tall, Dark and Cranky. I think Harry's really gone on you. Not that I'm surprised - you got this whole dark, gothic and broody thing going for you and you totally carry it off better than Angel ever does. Plus, you've got that voice. Ooooooh." She shivered delightedly. "If I wasn't already a lesbian, I might consider going back to the straight side for you."

Severus prided himself on his ability to wage war with words - it was just that he didn't expect to be blindsided by Willow-babbling. So he settled for sneering, "You are utterly daft. Harry seems to harbor crushes on a new professor every single day of the bloody week."

Willow fanned herself, staring at the photo of the very pretty Professor Will Turner on Harry's Journal. "Well, with him teaching ME, I might like, never want to get out of THAT class." And then she turned to glare at Severus. It was, quite surprisingly, an effective expression on her pixie-like features. "And you're changing the subject again. I think you should go and like do the seduction thing on Harry Potter. What's that word? Austin Powers - oh yeah. You should go shag Harry Potter and live happily ever after."

Severus felt his knees go weak. "WHAT?!"

"What? I'm a grown-up, I'm allowed to say shag!" Willow said matter-of-factly. "And I think Mr. Harry Potter's quite the shaggable guy."

Severus had to sit down and bury his face in his hands. Oh. Bloody. Hell.

"And he's like totally legal now, right? So you don't have to worry about the whole jailbait thing anymore!" Willow declared happily.

Feet, you must move, Severus told the offending appendages sternly. He had to get out of there. Away from Willow Rosenberg and her madness. One mad meddling old coot in his life (read: Albus Dumbledore) was quite enough!

"And he's got quite the nice fanny on him," Willow continued.

Severus choked. "FANNY?!"

"Well, you know," Willow cupped her hands. "Bottom. Butt. What's that word you British guys use - oh yeah, really nice arse on him. Rawr."

"Well, I don't suppose there's anything wrong with that, my dear Severus," came a very familiar voice with that unmistakable Scottish brogue. "After all, Harry is no longer your student. I rather think you two would be very good for each other."

Severus looked up in complete and utter mortification at the amused features of Professor Minerva McGonagall, watching them from the doorway.

A wise Slytherin knew when he was outnumbered and the tactical necessity of a good retreat. Severus Snape finally managed to get his legs working and swept out of the staff room with a rather dramatic billow of his great black robes.

If one had to run like hell, one at least had to do it in style.

God, Severus thought, he really needed a drink.

-end-

Postcard 5: Mountains and Molehills

2005-02-01T06:48:04Z

Author's Notes: This was brought about by THIS THREAD over at Harry's LJ. :P

Severus Snape was staring at his computer screen in horror.

I did not just type that in. I did not just give in to the brat and apologize to some stranger on his say-so.

I did not just do that!

But there it was and Severus didn't have the faintest idea how to delete that comment. In any case, it was already there, for all the world to see.

Now he was beginning to see why anonymity was so treasured on the Internet. He'd never live this down, if anyone, especially Albus, blast him, had gotten wind of it!

Of course, Harry Potter couldn't be as anonymous as he wanted to be on the Internet. But it was a near thing, although much to Severus' surprise, most of the people who seemed to be commenting on Harry's journal seemed friendly enough and not as rabid as some of Harry's fans who kept hounding him in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Knowing Harry as he did now, Severus knew that the young man did not welcome that kind of attention.

And who would have thought that Severus would blunder right into Harry's Live Journal? invisiblesnitch indeed! Still, he found himself amused by some of Harry's earlier entries, vaguely irritated by some (Professor Sparrow? Harry should know better than to go about nursing silly infatuations on his teachers!) and perplexed by others. Some of the comments were too long and complicated for Severus to follow and so he avoided those.

And the others.... well, it seemed that Harry was hopelessly pining over some "beaky-nosed, snarky git" - Pierson, if their last LiveJournal "conversation" was any indicator. Because really, the only other "beaky-nosed, snarky git" in Harry's life that Severus was aware of was himself and...

Well. Really. The whole idea was just too preposterous.

Adam Pierson was indeed a very good-looking wizard in the prime of his life. And a respected Oxford professor and apparently a very good friend of Albus Dumbledore's. Severus was, at this moment, also finding out where the Oxford Wizarding University webpage was - where the public details of each of the faculty were put up.

Thank goodness Willow had explained to him about the usefulness of "Windows."

In any case, all that information was just on the surface. Severus knew better. It wouldn't hurt to find out more about this Pierson fellow and he'd already begun discreet inquiries in that direction.

Right now, Severus realized that keeping an eye on Harry's Live Journal was almost as good as watching over the young man himself. And he had to admit it, Harry was rather amusing,

(adorable)

especially when he left himself wide open for teasing. And it was refreshing to "talk" to him without their whole history as Severus Snape and Harry Potter getting in the way. Severus was "just Stefan" to Harry, a friendly stranger and he wanted to keep it that way.

So all right, he had to apologize and acquiesce to Harry's wishes. Because for all of Harry's occasional obliviousness, he could be remarkably perceptive and Severus had nearly tipped his hand there. So apologizing was the best thing to do - lest he give the whole game away.

In any case, he was just making mountains out of molehills. It was just a very simple, polite request on Harry's part and Severus easily

(happily)

granted it.

Nothing to trouble himself about.

-end-

Postcard 4: Curiousity Killed The...

2005-01-30T15:29:26Z

Severus Snape absolutely hated that saying about curiousity and cats.

It was true that once his interest was provoked, he was insatiably curious about anything and everything. He just didn't see why he had to be compared to a bloody feline of all things. Too damn Gryffindor for his tastes.

Well. Could he help it if his meeting James Potter, descended from a long line of proud Gryffindors, on the Hogwarts school train had soured him completely on the House of the Lion from the very beginning? He'd been a scrawny runt of eleven, worried very much about his mother being left behind with his bastard father and feeling a mite homesick. Couldn't help it if he'd been quietly wiping away a secret tear or two.

Bloody James Potter and Sirius Black could have gone and left him alone but no, they had to make a bloody great production of it, nicknaming him "Snivellus" - a label he'd had to live with for the next seven years at Hogwarts.

But both James Potter and Sirius Black were now gone and Severus Snape was now a very very long way from that frightened little boy on his way to Hogwarts.

The fact that The Sorting Hat once proposed to put him in Gryffindor at first, instead of deciding on Slytherin, was a secret Snape was going to take to his grave. Wouldn't do if his little snakes thought there was the faintest smidgen of that House's most deplorable traits in their Head of House.

Like "outstanding courage," as Albus had proudly announced in the Great Hall, (read: reckless idiocy) for once nearly dying in trying to save Harry Potter's life (yet again). Snape would have done the same for any student under his care, thank you.

Don't you die on me, you stubborn bastard.

No one else is going to die because of me, do you hear me, Severus?

So no, Snape was no lion, nothing even remotely feline about him, even if he had thought there were times his curiousity had nearly killed him.

But he didn't think it was going to get him killed now, for instance.

He hoped.

Albus was quite engrossed with this whole Internet thing and now that Snape had started on it, was not surprised why. Well, there was an awful lot of tripe to wade through but once one had hit upon the right place or website, as the Muggles put it, it was indeed, quite informative. Snape was also finally figuring out some of the modes of communication the Muggles used for this Internet thing (email? chatrooms? Yahoo Instant Messenger?) but he wasn't about to come and casually chat up some stranger on the fly.

Then, Professor Rosenberg, or Willow as he'd come to call her, said that she'd first made friends with many of what she called "chatmates" on her LiveJournal.

"A Live what?" he asked, feeling quite lost as he'd first started with this whole computer business.

"A LiveJournal," Willow repeated. "You know, like a regular journal. Where you put your thoughts and things that happen to you in it. Except that it's on the Internet and it's kind of public."

Snape was bewildered. "What is the poing of keeping a journal if you're going to make your every thought public?"

"Oh, no," Willow answered. "That's why it's a Live Journal, get it? You kind of just put stuff you don't mind people reading about it on the Internet and sometimes people read it and they react to it and they talk to you. Or you ask questions about stuff and you usually get some answers and even weblinks, like, if you're asking questions about potions and things."

"That's assuming they know what they're talking about," Snape answered dryly.

"Well, you can tell if you go to the website, you know. I mean, I once got a spell for banishing those icky Brechtiean Demons right off my LiveJournal. That was pretty handy." And then Willow frowned. "Except that it was a bit wrong on a couple of syllables and brought in some Teefses Imps in their place. Whoa. Was that kind of unnerving."

Snape was sure he didn't want to know. But Willow did help him set up his own LiveJournal account and, as she put it, "fix you with some neat icons. Iconnage is us!" He was a little dubious about the one that said "Bugger Off" with that odd little drawing but Willow said it was "neat" and Snape admitted that the caption was, in fact, fairly appropriate.

Willow also advised him to look around and see who shared the interests he'd listed in his Journal as a good way to start making "friends," as it were. "Stumbling about like an idiot" was more like it, to Snape's mind, but he had to start somewhere.

Interests: dark arts, vampires
invisiblesnitch

Snitch? Could this fellow be a wizard, by any chance? Snape clicked on the user name and decided to find out....

- end -

Author's Notes: Some of you out there will note some familiar fandom references. *grins* They're a loving hommage and tribute to wikdsushi and subliculous.

Postcard 3: Windows and Mice

2005-01-30T14:28:20Z

As it originally appeared on darth_stitch

Windows and Mice
by Darth Stitch

DISCLAIMER: Luckily, they're not mine, althought they do get a lot of perks from me. Such as me babysitting Severus and Harry's adorable spawn while those two sneak off for some "alone time." *sighs* Oh well, I always take good care of the stuff I borrow - so no worries, JKR and Joss Whedon. :P

WARNINGS/NOTES: Yet another ficlet set in Stitch's Wacky Snarry Fluffverse. HP/SS pre-slash. Out you go if you've stumbled into this by mistake and the notion of men falling in love with each other (slash) is NOT your thing.

****

At first, Severus Snape wasn't sure how anyone learned anything from Professor Willow Rosenberg, the new Muggle Studies teacher.

The redhaired American witch happily prattled on about CPUs, the computer monitor, the keyboard, mice, windows and found time to observe that Snape might want to put some color in his usual somber wardrobe...

"You know, you would look really, um, what's that word you British guys use? Dashing. That's it. Really dashing in like midnight blue. Or maybe a bit of green and silver there. Buffy's really good at noticing stuff like that for guys. I mean, look at Spike. From that whole Billy Idol thing to like...wow but still with that cool leather duster, right?

"And like, you know, that whole scowl-y face thing you do? So not of the good. I mean, I know about the discipline thing you have to maintain and stuff but you really don't need to go all 'grrr....' and 'arrr....' all the time." She giggled. "It's not as if you're a vampire!"

By this point, Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the beginnings of what promised to be a monstrous headache.

"If you could kindly explain to me what windows and mice have to do with Muggle computers, Professor Rosenberg?" He managed through gritted teeth.

"Oh gosh, you've so got the wrong idea!" Professor Rosenberg giggled again. "See it's really easy and those 'for Dummies' books I gave you are really helpful..."

And they said that little Willow Rosenberg nearly brought about the end of the world?

All right, so maybe Snape shouldn't wonder about it anymore, considering that Rosenberg did survive living in the Hellmouth, despite the vampires, demons and sundry other supernatural monsters, not to mention preventing the end of the world (and once, in a period of madness now very much repented, trying to bring it about herself). For another thing, Snape also had a front-row seat to their own apocalyptic battle, wherein they were all saved by a certain skinny, bespectacled, messy-haired Boy Who Lived, who just managed to defeat the greatest Dark Wizard of their time.

So, in the middle of "Willow-babbling" as the American professor apologetically put it herself, Snape somehow managed to master the mechanics of operating a computer. Not to mention finally understanding what a mouse and windows had to do with the whole business.

Maybe Rosenberg was a teacher after all.

Well, Snape had only Albus Dumbledore to blame for this whole computer business. The daffy old coot was quite taken with the whole notion and was, in fact, happily messing about on what he called a "laptop." Dumbledore was also fascinated with the Muggle Internet and its "endless uses for information and communication" and so he thought that the Hogwarts staff might find it very useful indeed.

And then the Headmaster quite casually pointed out that Adam Pierson was very much the "computer wizard" and was indeed, the one who introduced him to the things in the first place.

That caught Snape's interest.

Information and communication, is it?

Snape was now currently leafing through all the "how-to" books on computers that Rosenberg lent him ("For dummies, indeed," Snape huffed) and now, he thought himself ready for the next level.

The Internet.

- end -

Postcard 2: Notes From the River Denial

2005-01-26T02:50:22Z

As it originally appeared in the LJ of darth_stitch

Notes From the River Denial
by Darth Stitch

PAIRING: HP/SS - well, it IS part of Stitch's Wacky Snarry Fluffverse. Yay for the Snarry Love! *dances*

WARNINGS: Well, if you've stumbled onto this by mistake and guys in true love with each other ain't your thing - then it's time to run like hell. Right now. Hee.

DISCLAIMER: Alas, they are not mine and will never be mine. But if it wasn't for JKR, they wouldn't have taken over my poor brain in the first place! So all thanks to her. Am just borrowing the boys and will put 'em back right where I found them all nice and spandy clean again. :P

NOTES: Again, this is backstory for invisiblesnitch on Snape's side. A minor spoiler for The Shameless Bad Ficlet - Harry and Severus do NOT remember little Arthur popping up in Harry's Seventh Year. How and why will be explained in upcoming chapters of Arthur's little adventure.

***

Severus Snape had every faith in the judgement of Albus Dumbledore.

So he was seriously hoping that the daffy (read: deranged) old coot was right in his estimation of Dr. Adam Pierson, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at the venerable institution of Oxford Wizarding University as "a fine upstanding gentleman and wizard."

Because, right now, the irritating

(detestable)

man was anything but "fine and upstanding." Not if his outrageous flirting with

(young, innocent, naive)

Mr. Harry Potter was any indication. In Albus' office, in the middle of tea with him, no less. Potter was simultaneously embarassed and flustered at the teasing but at the same time, managed to cheerfully parry and return Pierson's attentions with a surprising smattering of wit.

It made Severus grit his teeth and his fingers itch for his wand, biting back his tongue on the very first hex to come to mind.

(A Castration Hex, perhaps?)

Honestly, Pierson was Potter's mentor. And while Potter was decidedly over the age of consent and an adult in his own right, there was still the ethics of a teacher-student relationship to consider. So all right, maybe
Potter wasn't exactly innocent or naive anymore (killing the most evil Dark Wizard who had ever lived will do that to a person) and Severus shouldn't really be that concerned about his former student, right? Especially since said former student had given him the worst aggravation in all his years of teaching, not to mention practically making him do cartwheels trying to protect him from wanted felons, Death Eaters and Voldemort himself.

Really, his work was done. The boy was no longer under his care, no longer his student. So maybe Severus Snape and Harry Potter had parted ways, having reached a mutual respect and liking

(Just "liking," Severus?)

for each other. And the brat

(young man)

had already expressed his heartfelt gratitude for all Severus had done for him. It was something that had decidedly made him feel better about the whole business

(warmed him all the way down to his toes, more like)

and made him feel a little more charitable towards young Mr. Potter. Oh, all right, so he still felt a little concern for Potter

(it was natural, wasn't it, having protected the boy for so long?)

and perhaps Albus' invitation for Severus to come to tea, conveniently placing him in the vicinity when Dr. Pierson and his protege came to visit, smacked of a little manipulation on the daffy old coot's part. Maybe it was Albus' way of telling him to reassess this Dr. Pierson and keep a closer watch on him.

On close inspection, Pierson appeared to be an attractive fellow who was one of those fortunate souls who would always appear younger than his age. Strong features, nose a bit too big but then Severus had no ground to stand on when it came to that and eyes that wavered between green and gold, depending on his mood.

The eyes gave Pierson away. There were moments when they seemed very, very old - ancient and full of secrets, disconcertingly like Albus Dumbledore's, a man who was more than a century old and likely to reach his second still in full health. Adam Pierson and Harry Potter made for a very attractive couple though, a thought that made for a funny, wrenching feeling in Severus' chest - similar to what he felt when he'd teasingly requested Potter to not have the bad taste to fall for Draco Malfoy. That feeling had gone away when Potter had told

(reassured)

him that the young, spoiled Malfoy brat was not the one he was pining for. So maybe young Mr. Malfoy had proven himself a true Slytherin and had grown up quite remarkably in the last war, having learned to think for himself instead of slavishly following in his doomed father's footsteps - Severus felt a twinge of guilt for thinking so uncharitably of his other former student.

Severus realized he'd never gotten around to asking exactly who it was that Harry Potter had loved so hopelessly in his seventh year.

(Didn't really want to know)

He could only assume that nothing had come from it as Potter, if the wizarding newspapers and gossip were accurate, still seemed to be quite unattached. Severus had no doubt that Pierson looked to be a very good candidate for that and if he set about winning Potter's affections, would no doubt be very discreet about the whole business.

(Although if Adam Pierson broke Harry's heart, Severus would quite cheerfully break his neck.)

So Severus had sat in uncharacteristic quiet throughout that tea, offering only a non-committal word or two. He avoided the questioning look in Potter's eyes and determinedly chose not to meet the twinkle in Albus'. And he mouthed polite courtesies when the tea party had broken up and when the two visitors had left, he had swiftly gone back to his dungeons as soon as it was properly possible.

Severus had some plans to make - among them was finding out everything he could about this Adam Pierson.

All of Severus' instincts were screaming that there was something much much more to the seemingly affable Professor. Dangerous, perhaps? Well, he was noted for his skill in the subject he taught, as Oxford did not stoop to hiring frauds and incompetents such as Gilderoy Lockhart into their faculty, and a true master of Defense Against the Dark Arts was, by very definition, dangerous in their own right. But there was something more and Severus was determined to get to the bottom of it.

He was only concerned for the welfare of his former student (and perhaps one that Severus could cautiously call a friend) after all.

Nothing more.

That night, Severus had the strangest dream.

He and Harry Potter were standing in a corridor along the way to Gryffindor Tower. Harry was in his seventh year and he was holding an adorable little boy in his arms. The little boy's green eyes were an exact match to Harry's
own. He looked a little bit like Harry

(and Severus himself)

and had squeaked and hid his face in Harry's neck when Severus had approached.

That child has inherited my nose, poor lad.

And Severus had teased

(flirted with)

Harry in his usual manner and Harry had stammered back, completely and

(adorably)

flustered as per usual. The child had murmured something about his "Papa" - something that had taken Harry quite aback and Severus was very curious as what was that all about. And finally, Harry had made his excuses because the little boy declared himself in need of a nap and run off saying to Severus:

"See you later, love."

Severus woke up from that dream in a cold sweat, the dream-Harry's words echoing in his mind. He was shaking because that dream-Harry had called him "love."

The frightening part was that Severus quite liked it.

-end-

A/N: BWAHAHAHAHA!!! *pets her Severus Muse*

Postcard 1: Safe

2005-01-26T02:48:56Z

As it originally appeared at the LJ of darth_stitch:

Safe
by Darth Stitch

DISCLAIMER & NOTES: Good thing they're not mine or I'd have drowned us all in silly fluff by now. Oh well. I'm just borrowing them.

Holy cow, did I just write HP/SS pre-slash?!!! *faints*

**************************

Severus thinks that he is safe now that Harry Potter is out of Hogwarts.

It's an odd thought to have. And he pushes it firmly behind that locked compartment in his head that bears Potter's

(Harry's)

name, filled to overflowing with half-formed thoughts and nameless emotions and things that he would really rather not bring out to examine in the clear light of

(truth)

day.

He can pinpoint the day it started; the day Harry, quite by blundering accident, as was the boy's wont, barrelled into his mind. Snape is a superb Occlumens but perhaps he underestimated the depth and sheer power of Harry's rage, that day he chose to hit, with his usual ruthless precision, at the one truth the boy was so desperate to run from.

Sirius' death. And Harry's own guilt about it.

Perhaps it wasn't just rage - Dumbledore had spoken to him, much, much later, of the power that Harry possessed that Voldemort did not have, would never have and indeed would never understand.

Harry loved.

Despite years of neglect at the Dursleys' hands

(curse them all into the next millennium),

Harry's capacity to love, to find love, to know it, to cherish it and to return it, was nothing short of astonishing. And there was real power in that kind of emotion, power that Severus

(envied/feared)

knew could be quite formidable in its own right - witness Lily Evans and the way her love protected her child from certain death even at the cost of her own life.

And Harry loved Sirius - even Severus understood that, little as the cur deserved it. And that love, more than anything perhaps, was behind the Legilimens spell Harry clumsily executed to strike at him.

That and the fact that Harry had touched the Dark Mark on his arm when he'd grabbed at Snape, as much as to strike out at him physically as well as magically. Accidents happened, freak occurences, flukes, once-in-a-lifetime chances - Harry Potter was fated to be the sort of person to attract these kinds of things and so there he was, charging straight into Severus Snape's head - when Snape had stood in the presence of the Dark Lord's rage and never betrayed himself with a single thought.

Perhaps Snape could blame himself too - for there was always something about the boy that provoked him to lose his own carefully cultivated self-control. Anger, frustration, bitterness, contempt... all the old grudges, all the old hurts and failures - they all came pouring back whenever Snape saw the boy with James' face and Lily's green eyes.

And there was Harry bloody Potter in his head, in his mind, seeing all of Snape, stripping him naked in a far worse way than on the day his father James thought it would be a fine idea to divest "Snivellus" of his underpants.

Just for those moments, it seemed that Harry was him, seeing it all through his eyes - every bitter memory of his childhood and his bastard father, every time he'd been pranked and bullied and made to cry, every time he'd fought back with his own pranks, bullied and made others cry because he'd sworn he'd never be Snivellus again, never never never and he'd make THEM cry and he'd be the one to laugh and Voldemort with his promises of power and glory and the sure knowledge that he'd laugh and lord it over all of them now, make them pay, make them hurt and much much later discovering his weakness

(his conscience)

and that the promises were all lies

(all those deaths at his feet)

and that he was still, at the very very core of him, Snivellus Snape.

(because he had nothing and no one because he was indeed nothing)

And Snivellus Snape had never loved.

(He had, once, but he'd forgotten now.)

And he could never be loved.

(Mother loved him but she was long dead and buried.)

And Harry Potter had looked at him with those green green eyes full of pity.

(understanding)

And Harry Potter reached out to him with irritating Gryffindor nobility.

(compassion)

We're the same, aren't we?

And that drove Severus Snape to finally rise up and drive him out of his mind.

(Lock him out, don't let him see, don't want him to see...)

Sent him out of his sight.

Harry had come to him later and in a surprising and yet, at the same time, typical fashion, apologized.

And maybe sorry couldn't fix everything but that he was still very, very sorry.

And Severus has never truly felt safe since.

He's broken through Harry's mental defenses far too many times not to see all of the boy's own early and bitter childhood memories, all the hurts and the disappointments and the rage

(We're the same, aren't we?)

and so he knows

(understands)

far more of Dumbledore's Golden Boy Hero than the ones who profess to love him the most.

And afterwards, they had both began to slowly fumble their way through even more conversations that were actually civilized, instead of their usual rows.
Severus can't quite pinpoint the exact moment when he realized he was enjoying teasing Harry, instead of taunting him. And that Harry would try to tease back, only that he'd fail spectacularly and dig himself even deeper, blushing

(adorably)

the entire time.

But it happened. It wasn't an immediate change from animosity to that guarded, amiable relationship. It didn't happen overnight. But they got to that point. Eventually.

Severus doesn't want to know what happened in between to make that change. He's sure he'll never quite understand it. They're all behind that locked compartment buried quite deeply in his head.

And now that Harry's graduated, Severus is sure he'll never need to know about it. All that he's sure of is that he's safe now.

But in his dreams, in that place between sleeping and waking where one always safely forgets what they see, he is Snivellus again, that thin, twitchy teenager who hadn't quite learnt how to stop his tears yet.

And Harry is there and he calls Snape by his own right name. And there is no scalding pity in those green eyes. Only understanding.

You're just like me, aren't you?

And Severus is suddenly quite sure that Harry was about to embrace him in that moment and if he'd let him, he'd be perfectly safe. At last.

-end-