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A Most Ingenious Paradox
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,460
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,460
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter One: On a Night Like This
Chapter 1: On a Night Like This
It was dark - that much she could tell even with her hair obscuring her vision. She couldn’t move no matter how hard she struggled, but her greater concern was how she got there. She was certain that it had only been seconds since she walked through the tall grass and warm night air. Now she lay paralyzed on a cold wooden floor.
A fire blazed on the other side of the room, casting cryptic shadows and bathing a masked blonde man in a warm glow. He kneeled subserviently before a high-backed chair that faced away from her and toward the fire. There was a snake coiled around one of the chair’s legs, and it peered at her occasionally with an almost human comprehension.
“You’ve done well,” a weak voice rattled from the confines of the chair.
“Thank you, master,” the blonde man replied. She recognized his voice as the one she had heard on her walk. Seeming to take a cue from the man in thair,air, the blonde bowed deeply, rose, and headed for the door.
“And Lucius?” the man in the chair spoke just as the blonde’s hand reached the doorknob.
“Yes my lord?”
“Obliviate.”
---
It was 143 steps from the Welcome Witch’s station to the rickety staircase. From there, 68 steps up that staircase to the fourth floor. He had it memorized, from the entrance of St. Mungo’s to the door of the closed ward. When he was younger it took him 271 steps in all. That was when he used to hope that he would reach that room and see his parents standing at the door, smiling and waiting for him, healthy and ready to go home, to make everything the way it should have been. Now it only took him 249 steps and with each one it became harder and harder to move his feet. The childish fantasies he used to embrace were long gone.
With tears threatening to fall, Neville Longbottom finished his journey to the closed ward that held his parents. His grandmother’s grotesque hat threw a shadow over the small window in the door. The shadow caught the nurse’s attention, and she opened the door for them before Neville had a chance to knock.
“Hi Mum. Hi Dad,” His voice shook, but the frail, disheveled woman smiled anyway and held out a wrapper.
---
The essays nearly graded themselves, and he finished the last ones in the low light that emanated from the false window he had placed in his office. He had saved the seventh year essays for the very end, partly so the students would have to squirm nervously, awaiting the owl that would tell them if they’d passed or not, and partly so he could luxuriate in the knowledge that he was free of these dunderheads forever (conveniently forgetting the other six years and the incoming heathens). Finishing the last paper, he arose from his seat, stretched, and entered his lab. The results didn’t need to be sent out immediately, and really, they could probably wait another day or two. Better give those owls a rest.
In his classroom, torches, candles, and windows lit the room, but Severus Snape used halogen light bulbs in his lab. Pureblood, Death Eater, Slytherin though he was, Severus wasn’t too proud to admit that muggles had some good ideas now and then, and electricity was one of them. The halogen lights didn’t interfere with his potions at all, and they provided the perfect light to see that the liquid bubbling in his cauldron at the moment looked to be right on schedule. He took it off the electric burner and set it on the sterile white tile counter, stirring it twice counterclockwise and leaving it to cool. If the potion turned out right, he was one step closer to a cure for lycanthropy. Severus suspected that if he succeeded in finding a cure, he would once again be turned down for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, but he wasn’t so sure he cared anymore. After all, not even Lockhart could rid the world of werewolves - poor insane bastard. Severus smirked
The smirk was suddenly wiped off his face as the mark on his arm burned black. Gritting his teeth, Severus threw his Death Eater robes on over his work clothes, pulled the mask over his face, and raced out of the castle.
---
Eight little slits of blue lifougfought their way through the brass grate on the door. It didn’t do mto bto brighten the cupboard under the stairs, small though it was. This was Harry Potter’s bedroom once again. He had started the summer off with such hope when members of the Order of the Phoenix threatened his uncle, but it was nearly two weeks later and no one had checked up on him yet. Uncle Vernon didn’t take kindly to being threatened by “freaks”, and Harry paid the price. Now the savior of the wizarding world was forced back into his childhood bedroom, trying to examine his bruises and scars in the feeble light. He held his arm in front of the eight blue slits, but the exertion was too much for him and he collapsed back onto his pillow. He hadn’t had a decent meal since the Leaving Feast at Hogwarts, but at least he didn’t have to play house elf to the Dursleys anymore. They preferred to pretend that he didn’t exist. Every couple of days he was let out of the cupboard to write a letter claiming he was happy and healthy, and if the letter was satisfactory, Aunt Petunia would feed him a bit of whatever they’d had for supper.
It was Harry himself that bruised and scarred his body.
---
Severus apparated directly into the parlour of the Riddle house. Immediately before him was the Dark Lord, and Severus bowed accordingly. Only after he rose did he notice that no other Death Eaters had appeared by his side. The only other people in roomroom were Voldemort himself and a woman, lying paralyzed on the floor. She had fair skin and copper hair, and was not a witch if her clothing gave any indication. Severus had a feeling that he would be expected to prove his loyalties tonight, and it seemed that this would be his victim. He looked her over to prepare himself and was surprised to find that she was actually attractive – she could even be called beautiful. Even frozen in fear, he could tell that she had a pretty face, with full lips and almond eyes. Her body was one Severus would consider perfect with curves and soft skin. He mentally punished himself for such thoughts and turned his attention to the door, where Peter Pettigrew was shuffling in.
“Here you are, Master,” Pettigrew held out a shallow bowl that held an ancient-looking dagger. Voldemort gestured for him to place the objects on a table nearby.
“Now Wormtail, if you’ll release our guest – and Ms. Weir, I’d like to remind you that it is in your best interest to behave and comply,” Voldemort cautioned. Pettigrew released the woman from the spell. She stood on shaking legs and walked slowly as Pettigrew tried his best to look menacing while directing her toward Severus.
The Dark Lord, feeble though he gra grabbed Severus’s arm with amazing strength and cut it with the dagger. The blood dripped into the shallow bowl for a moment until the cut magically healed itself. Voldemort grabbed the woman’s arm next and repeated the ritual. Her cut did not heal, and Pettigrew bandaged her arm with a strip of cloth he took from the table. As Pettigrew finished tying the bandage, Voldemort pulled his wand out of his sleeve and began chanting. The blood glowed redder, and as the spell ended, Severus realized what had happened. The woman was still obviously confused.
“I’ll translate for the muggle, shall I?” Voldemort said. “Severus Snape and Lorena Weir – I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
---
A/N: PLEASE, pretty please review and continue reading.
It was dark - that much she could tell even with her hair obscuring her vision. She couldn’t move no matter how hard she struggled, but her greater concern was how she got there. She was certain that it had only been seconds since she walked through the tall grass and warm night air. Now she lay paralyzed on a cold wooden floor.
A fire blazed on the other side of the room, casting cryptic shadows and bathing a masked blonde man in a warm glow. He kneeled subserviently before a high-backed chair that faced away from her and toward the fire. There was a snake coiled around one of the chair’s legs, and it peered at her occasionally with an almost human comprehension.
“You’ve done well,” a weak voice rattled from the confines of the chair.
“Thank you, master,” the blonde man replied. She recognized his voice as the one she had heard on her walk. Seeming to take a cue from the man in thair,air, the blonde bowed deeply, rose, and headed for the door.
“And Lucius?” the man in the chair spoke just as the blonde’s hand reached the doorknob.
“Yes my lord?”
“Obliviate.”
---
It was 143 steps from the Welcome Witch’s station to the rickety staircase. From there, 68 steps up that staircase to the fourth floor. He had it memorized, from the entrance of St. Mungo’s to the door of the closed ward. When he was younger it took him 271 steps in all. That was when he used to hope that he would reach that room and see his parents standing at the door, smiling and waiting for him, healthy and ready to go home, to make everything the way it should have been. Now it only took him 249 steps and with each one it became harder and harder to move his feet. The childish fantasies he used to embrace were long gone.
With tears threatening to fall, Neville Longbottom finished his journey to the closed ward that held his parents. His grandmother’s grotesque hat threw a shadow over the small window in the door. The shadow caught the nurse’s attention, and she opened the door for them before Neville had a chance to knock.
“Hi Mum. Hi Dad,” His voice shook, but the frail, disheveled woman smiled anyway and held out a wrapper.
---
The essays nearly graded themselves, and he finished the last ones in the low light that emanated from the false window he had placed in his office. He had saved the seventh year essays for the very end, partly so the students would have to squirm nervously, awaiting the owl that would tell them if they’d passed or not, and partly so he could luxuriate in the knowledge that he was free of these dunderheads forever (conveniently forgetting the other six years and the incoming heathens). Finishing the last paper, he arose from his seat, stretched, and entered his lab. The results didn’t need to be sent out immediately, and really, they could probably wait another day or two. Better give those owls a rest.
In his classroom, torches, candles, and windows lit the room, but Severus Snape used halogen light bulbs in his lab. Pureblood, Death Eater, Slytherin though he was, Severus wasn’t too proud to admit that muggles had some good ideas now and then, and electricity was one of them. The halogen lights didn’t interfere with his potions at all, and they provided the perfect light to see that the liquid bubbling in his cauldron at the moment looked to be right on schedule. He took it off the electric burner and set it on the sterile white tile counter, stirring it twice counterclockwise and leaving it to cool. If the potion turned out right, he was one step closer to a cure for lycanthropy. Severus suspected that if he succeeded in finding a cure, he would once again be turned down for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, but he wasn’t so sure he cared anymore. After all, not even Lockhart could rid the world of werewolves - poor insane bastard. Severus smirked
The smirk was suddenly wiped off his face as the mark on his arm burned black. Gritting his teeth, Severus threw his Death Eater robes on over his work clothes, pulled the mask over his face, and raced out of the castle.
---
Eight little slits of blue lifougfought their way through the brass grate on the door. It didn’t do mto bto brighten the cupboard under the stairs, small though it was. This was Harry Potter’s bedroom once again. He had started the summer off with such hope when members of the Order of the Phoenix threatened his uncle, but it was nearly two weeks later and no one had checked up on him yet. Uncle Vernon didn’t take kindly to being threatened by “freaks”, and Harry paid the price. Now the savior of the wizarding world was forced back into his childhood bedroom, trying to examine his bruises and scars in the feeble light. He held his arm in front of the eight blue slits, but the exertion was too much for him and he collapsed back onto his pillow. He hadn’t had a decent meal since the Leaving Feast at Hogwarts, but at least he didn’t have to play house elf to the Dursleys anymore. They preferred to pretend that he didn’t exist. Every couple of days he was let out of the cupboard to write a letter claiming he was happy and healthy, and if the letter was satisfactory, Aunt Petunia would feed him a bit of whatever they’d had for supper.
It was Harry himself that bruised and scarred his body.
---
Severus apparated directly into the parlour of the Riddle house. Immediately before him was the Dark Lord, and Severus bowed accordingly. Only after he rose did he notice that no other Death Eaters had appeared by his side. The only other people in roomroom were Voldemort himself and a woman, lying paralyzed on the floor. She had fair skin and copper hair, and was not a witch if her clothing gave any indication. Severus had a feeling that he would be expected to prove his loyalties tonight, and it seemed that this would be his victim. He looked her over to prepare himself and was surprised to find that she was actually attractive – she could even be called beautiful. Even frozen in fear, he could tell that she had a pretty face, with full lips and almond eyes. Her body was one Severus would consider perfect with curves and soft skin. He mentally punished himself for such thoughts and turned his attention to the door, where Peter Pettigrew was shuffling in.
“Here you are, Master,” Pettigrew held out a shallow bowl that held an ancient-looking dagger. Voldemort gestured for him to place the objects on a table nearby.
“Now Wormtail, if you’ll release our guest – and Ms. Weir, I’d like to remind you that it is in your best interest to behave and comply,” Voldemort cautioned. Pettigrew released the woman from the spell. She stood on shaking legs and walked slowly as Pettigrew tried his best to look menacing while directing her toward Severus.
The Dark Lord, feeble though he gra grabbed Severus’s arm with amazing strength and cut it with the dagger. The blood dripped into the shallow bowl for a moment until the cut magically healed itself. Voldemort grabbed the woman’s arm next and repeated the ritual. Her cut did not heal, and Pettigrew bandaged her arm with a strip of cloth he took from the table. As Pettigrew finished tying the bandage, Voldemort pulled his wand out of his sleeve and began chanting. The blood glowed redder, and as the spell ended, Severus realized what had happened. The woman was still obviously confused.
“I’ll translate for the muggle, shall I?” Voldemort said. “Severus Snape and Lorena Weir – I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
---
A/N: PLEASE, pretty please review and continue reading.