Nightstalker
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
7,898
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
7,898
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
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.
The Artist
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I am just borrowing it for fun, not for profit.
Snape was irritable; more so then usual. Last night he had felt the urge to hunt, as he often did after a confrontation with the Dark Lord. Being in his panther form gave him the freedom he lacked in his real life; and not just physical freedom. The panther could run like the wind forever, it could hunt and chase and stalk and fly through the trees as if they weren’t there at all. But the real freedom lay in the lack of care, the amazing feeling of living in the moment, of, just for a little while, letting go of worry for the future, of the dirtiness of compromising his values to be a spy, of the guilt and treachery he felt when he looked around the circle of Deatheater’s, some of whom he had know for decades, and knew that every day he was betraying them. Sometimes he wished he could stay in his panther form forever, but as unappealing as his real life was he had responsibilities which, while it was nice to let go of them for awhile, meant too much to him to throw away forever. Too much was at stake. But however much he had enjoyed his night time romp it did not make the morning any easier to bear. He was exhausted and his muscles ached. And to make it worse his first class consisted of Harry Potter and his self-righteous little Gryffindor sidekicks. He scowled; the dark haired boy in question was bent over his book intently, too intently. Snape doubted that it was potions that held him so absorbed. As he started gliding towards the desk, his eyes fixed on the boy, the redhead next to him must have sensed the danger because he nudged the other boy softly, then more insistently when he refused to look up.
“What?” Harry turned around and snapped at Ron, then yelped as his book was snatched from under his nose.
“What have we here Mr. Potter? What holds the attention of…” Snape’s voice faltered as he caught sight of the rough sketch of the panther. He turned to stare at Harry. Did the boy know? Was this some subtle threat? Blackmail? Was his secret, his illegal and, until now, jealously kept and guarded secret, finally out?
But no. The boy looked horrified, embarrassed, not triumphant or sly as would be expected of someone exposing blackmail material. Could it be coincidence? Quickly Snape glanced down at the sketch, and was surprised to find it was good. Not perfect, it was out of proportion; the head too small, the legs to long, and drawn roughly, but somehow Potter had managed to catch the dangerous grace of the creature, its taut, barely constrained power. Attempting to appear careless, but actually careful to make sure he did not crease or rip the drawing, Snape tore the page out of the book.
“Try again to copy the notes Potter, as they are written on the board, and see you are not distracted in my class again. 10 points from Gryffindor.”
Later Snape sat in his office, studying the drawing by candlelight. Who would have thought the Potter boy could draw? For the first time he noticed the verse in Potter’s untidy script scrawled beneath the sketch.
Nightstalker
He flows through the darkness; liquid night.
The forest parts before him
and comes alive as lesser creatures flee.
He is complete.
Alone.
Free.
For a long time the man sat staring, reading the words over and over. The drawing had touched him, struck a chord, but the poem felt like a knife in his heart. It somehow described exactly how it felt to be the panther, the ecstasy and euphoria of being one with the night, with the forest. Of being alone and complete within yourself and needing nothing else. To be free. Had Potter written the poem? Or stolen it? It didn’t matter, it was his now. And the name; Nightstalker. He had never felt the need to name his panther self; to label it seemed somehow to lessen it. Yet the name Nightstalker had more the feeling of a title, and it fitted well. He said the name aloud and liked the dark mysterious feeling of it rolling off his tongue.
###
Note to readers:
Just an idea i got... not sure where im going with it yet, anyway enjoy & review.
Snape was irritable; more so then usual. Last night he had felt the urge to hunt, as he often did after a confrontation with the Dark Lord. Being in his panther form gave him the freedom he lacked in his real life; and not just physical freedom. The panther could run like the wind forever, it could hunt and chase and stalk and fly through the trees as if they weren’t there at all. But the real freedom lay in the lack of care, the amazing feeling of living in the moment, of, just for a little while, letting go of worry for the future, of the dirtiness of compromising his values to be a spy, of the guilt and treachery he felt when he looked around the circle of Deatheater’s, some of whom he had know for decades, and knew that every day he was betraying them. Sometimes he wished he could stay in his panther form forever, but as unappealing as his real life was he had responsibilities which, while it was nice to let go of them for awhile, meant too much to him to throw away forever. Too much was at stake. But however much he had enjoyed his night time romp it did not make the morning any easier to bear. He was exhausted and his muscles ached. And to make it worse his first class consisted of Harry Potter and his self-righteous little Gryffindor sidekicks. He scowled; the dark haired boy in question was bent over his book intently, too intently. Snape doubted that it was potions that held him so absorbed. As he started gliding towards the desk, his eyes fixed on the boy, the redhead next to him must have sensed the danger because he nudged the other boy softly, then more insistently when he refused to look up.
“What?” Harry turned around and snapped at Ron, then yelped as his book was snatched from under his nose.
“What have we here Mr. Potter? What holds the attention of…” Snape’s voice faltered as he caught sight of the rough sketch of the panther. He turned to stare at Harry. Did the boy know? Was this some subtle threat? Blackmail? Was his secret, his illegal and, until now, jealously kept and guarded secret, finally out?
But no. The boy looked horrified, embarrassed, not triumphant or sly as would be expected of someone exposing blackmail material. Could it be coincidence? Quickly Snape glanced down at the sketch, and was surprised to find it was good. Not perfect, it was out of proportion; the head too small, the legs to long, and drawn roughly, but somehow Potter had managed to catch the dangerous grace of the creature, its taut, barely constrained power. Attempting to appear careless, but actually careful to make sure he did not crease or rip the drawing, Snape tore the page out of the book.
“Try again to copy the notes Potter, as they are written on the board, and see you are not distracted in my class again. 10 points from Gryffindor.”
Later Snape sat in his office, studying the drawing by candlelight. Who would have thought the Potter boy could draw? For the first time he noticed the verse in Potter’s untidy script scrawled beneath the sketch.
Nightstalker
He flows through the darkness; liquid night.
The forest parts before him
and comes alive as lesser creatures flee.
He is complete.
Alone.
Free.
For a long time the man sat staring, reading the words over and over. The drawing had touched him, struck a chord, but the poem felt like a knife in his heart. It somehow described exactly how it felt to be the panther, the ecstasy and euphoria of being one with the night, with the forest. Of being alone and complete within yourself and needing nothing else. To be free. Had Potter written the poem? Or stolen it? It didn’t matter, it was his now. And the name; Nightstalker. He had never felt the need to name his panther self; to label it seemed somehow to lessen it. Yet the name Nightstalker had more the feeling of a title, and it fitted well. He said the name aloud and liked the dark mysterious feeling of it rolling off his tongue.
###
Note to readers:
Just an idea i got... not sure where im going with it yet, anyway enjoy & review.