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lesyeuxverts) wrote2009-03-07 07:35 pm
lesyeuxverts) wrote2009-03-07 07:35 pm
Entry tags:
To Wake the Sleeping Prince
Title: To Wake the Sleeping Prince
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 1k
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Prompt: rugs
Warnings: epilogue-compliant
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: For![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
alisanne, who gave me the prompt and helped with the ending, yay! :)
The one thing that had changed in the dungeons, in all the years that Harry had been gone from Hogwarts, was the floors. Instead of bare stone that echoed with every footfall, they were covered with plush thick rugs. Scattered here and there, they broke up the chill of the dungeons and made the dark stone room seem almost inviting.
Harry scuffed at the nearest green rug with his toe, tracing the pattern of silver vines that was embroidered into it. "You don't need to protect him, you know." He looked up and met Scorpius Malfoy's eyes, not flinching when Scorpius glared at him. "I don't mean him any harm."
"That's what everyone has said." Scorpius sat behind his heavy desk, cool and unmoved while Harry gave up all show of composure and began pacing around the room. "They all want to see him – complete strangers want to gawk at him. You may be the famous Boy Who Lived, but that doesn't give you the right to see him, either. There are other people who are far more worthy than you are – people who cared about Headmaster Snape when he was alive. People who loved him."
"I know. I don't pretend to be one of them." Harry's boots made muffled thuds on the green rugs, and he stopped in his tracks and turned to face Scorpius again. "But he's been gone from this world for thirty years, and I was the last person he saw when he thought he was dying. I may not have loved him, but he died so that I could live – he was willing to die for me.
"Don't you think that it would help him, if I was there when he woke up? He'll want to know what happened in the war, that I survived, and you know Snape … he's such a bloody suspicious bastard, the best way to convince him that I'm still alive is to show him."
Scorpius stood and walked to the door behind his desk. "Fine. But if you make one move to hurt him, you're out. And you'll regret it. Slytherins protect their own."
"Of course. I won't do anything, I swear. I just want–"
"To right the wrongs of your schooldays and dash around the world like some sort of romantic hero … yes, you've said. I doubt that your presence will make two sticks' difference to Professor Snape, but as you say, he may want to see you there."
Scorpius led the way down a dimly lit passageway, his silhouette disappearing as he went further into the darkness. He looked like his father – the resemblance was enough to be uncanny, but it ended when it came to their looks. Harry hadn't heard anything from his children at Hogwarts, and hadn't seen anything himself that would suggest that Scorpius was anything like Draco. He'd become a competent and well-liked Head of House in the years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and Albus loved teaching with him, or so he said.
Harry's bones ached as they went further down the passage, following the twists and turns through the shadows. Torches flickered on the wall – they were set at wide intervals, and barely enough to light their way. Harry stumbled and caught himself against the wall.
He was too old for this – he was retired from active duty, and felt his age in his bones, every one of his forty years that had been lived too hard and too dangerously. He was too old for any more rescue missions and adventures, but he hadn't been able to resist when he heard that Snape was about to awaken.
It wasn't something that Harry was able to explain – not to the Minister when he asked, not to Ginny when she dropped by for her monthly visit, not to any of his children – but perhaps he had come close to the truth when he was speaking to Scorpius. He had been the last person that Snape saw when he lay dying in the Shack. It was only right that he be there now when Snape woke.
Harry stumbled again, blinking as they emerged out of the passageway and into a brightly lit room. The walls were draped with tapestries and the floors were covered with more of the thick green rugs – the room looked something like a bordello, or a scene out of Arabian Nights.
Snape was in the center of it all, laid out on a canopied bed with his hands folded over his chest. He was so still that Harry feared that they'd been wrong all along – a sudden sharp pain went through him when he thought that perhaps Snape was dead, not merely in an enchanted sleep.
He took a step closer, and saw that Snape's chest rose and fell with each breath – a step closer still, and he saw that Snape's eyelids were twitching. It was true, then. He was about to wake up.
Harry leaned over him as Snape began to stir, and before Scorpius could stop him, he planted a quick dry kiss on Snape's lips – a kiss to break the enchanted sleep. Snape had died for Harry. It was only right that Harry be the one to awaken him … it was only right that Harry be there to save him this time.
The first thing Snape saw was Harry's eyes, still as green as Lily's. He reached out, taking Harry's hand and clutching it with a surprisingly strong grip. "Potter–"
"Safe. You're safe. We won the war." Harry fell to his knees on the green rug next to the bed, hanging on to Snape's hand and taking as much support as he gave in return. Harry felt the pulse of the blood through Snape's veins, the whisper of it under his skin as strong as it had ever been. "We owe you so much, Professor–"
"Then you'll assist me through my recovery and with establishing a new position in the world now." It wasn't a question – Snape didn't ask for favors, he demanded them. He was as harsh and unyielding as Harry remembered.
He hadn't changed at all. Harry was glad – was willing to do anything to help him recover. Now that Snape was alive and awake, all would be well.
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 1k
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Prompt: rugs
Warnings: epilogue-compliant
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: For
alisanne, who gave me the prompt and helped with the ending, yay! :) The one thing that had changed in the dungeons, in all the years that Harry had been gone from Hogwarts, was the floors. Instead of bare stone that echoed with every footfall, they were covered with plush thick rugs. Scattered here and there, they broke up the chill of the dungeons and made the dark stone room seem almost inviting.
Harry scuffed at the nearest green rug with his toe, tracing the pattern of silver vines that was embroidered into it. "You don't need to protect him, you know." He looked up and met Scorpius Malfoy's eyes, not flinching when Scorpius glared at him. "I don't mean him any harm."
"That's what everyone has said." Scorpius sat behind his heavy desk, cool and unmoved while Harry gave up all show of composure and began pacing around the room. "They all want to see him – complete strangers want to gawk at him. You may be the famous Boy Who Lived, but that doesn't give you the right to see him, either. There are other people who are far more worthy than you are – people who cared about Headmaster Snape when he was alive. People who loved him."
"I know. I don't pretend to be one of them." Harry's boots made muffled thuds on the green rugs, and he stopped in his tracks and turned to face Scorpius again. "But he's been gone from this world for thirty years, and I was the last person he saw when he thought he was dying. I may not have loved him, but he died so that I could live – he was willing to die for me.
"Don't you think that it would help him, if I was there when he woke up? He'll want to know what happened in the war, that I survived, and you know Snape … he's such a bloody suspicious bastard, the best way to convince him that I'm still alive is to show him."
Scorpius stood and walked to the door behind his desk. "Fine. But if you make one move to hurt him, you're out. And you'll regret it. Slytherins protect their own."
"Of course. I won't do anything, I swear. I just want–"
"To right the wrongs of your schooldays and dash around the world like some sort of romantic hero … yes, you've said. I doubt that your presence will make two sticks' difference to Professor Snape, but as you say, he may want to see you there."
Scorpius led the way down a dimly lit passageway, his silhouette disappearing as he went further into the darkness. He looked like his father – the resemblance was enough to be uncanny, but it ended when it came to their looks. Harry hadn't heard anything from his children at Hogwarts, and hadn't seen anything himself that would suggest that Scorpius was anything like Draco. He'd become a competent and well-liked Head of House in the years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and Albus loved teaching with him, or so he said.
Harry's bones ached as they went further down the passage, following the twists and turns through the shadows. Torches flickered on the wall – they were set at wide intervals, and barely enough to light their way. Harry stumbled and caught himself against the wall.
He was too old for this – he was retired from active duty, and felt his age in his bones, every one of his forty years that had been lived too hard and too dangerously. He was too old for any more rescue missions and adventures, but he hadn't been able to resist when he heard that Snape was about to awaken.
It wasn't something that Harry was able to explain – not to the Minister when he asked, not to Ginny when she dropped by for her monthly visit, not to any of his children – but perhaps he had come close to the truth when he was speaking to Scorpius. He had been the last person that Snape saw when he lay dying in the Shack. It was only right that he be there now when Snape woke.
Harry stumbled again, blinking as they emerged out of the passageway and into a brightly lit room. The walls were draped with tapestries and the floors were covered with more of the thick green rugs – the room looked something like a bordello, or a scene out of Arabian Nights.
Snape was in the center of it all, laid out on a canopied bed with his hands folded over his chest. He was so still that Harry feared that they'd been wrong all along – a sudden sharp pain went through him when he thought that perhaps Snape was dead, not merely in an enchanted sleep.
He took a step closer, and saw that Snape's chest rose and fell with each breath – a step closer still, and he saw that Snape's eyelids were twitching. It was true, then. He was about to wake up.
Harry leaned over him as Snape began to stir, and before Scorpius could stop him, he planted a quick dry kiss on Snape's lips – a kiss to break the enchanted sleep. Snape had died for Harry. It was only right that Harry be the one to awaken him … it was only right that Harry be there to save him this time.
The first thing Snape saw was Harry's eyes, still as green as Lily's. He reached out, taking Harry's hand and clutching it with a surprisingly strong grip. "Potter–"
"Safe. You're safe. We won the war." Harry fell to his knees on the green rug next to the bed, hanging on to Snape's hand and taking as much support as he gave in return. Harry felt the pulse of the blood through Snape's veins, the whisper of it under his skin as strong as it had ever been. "We owe you so much, Professor–"
"Then you'll assist me through my recovery and with establishing a new position in the world now." It wasn't a question – Snape didn't ask for favors, he demanded them. He was as harsh and unyielding as Harry remembered.
He hadn't changed at all. Harry was glad – was willing to do anything to help him recover. Now that Snape was alive and awake, all would be well.