A Promise
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
6
Views:
3,716
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
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Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
6
Views:
3,716
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any money off of writing this piece of fiction.
Chapter 2
A/N: First, thanks to the people who rated this story and to my lone reviewer, Inugrl2004! You guys are awesome! Also, hope you enjoy this next chapter and please leave me a quick note, or rate my story! Thanks :)
Disclaimer: Still applies ;)
Chapter 2
Severus Snape is dead. The four words that he had always dreaded hearing.
The young Auror who had answered his query into what was going on had long since slipped away to control the crowd. Harry had been on his way into work, having Apparated into the Ministry’s atrium to find a large crowd gathered around the fountain of magical brethren. When the young man in his second year of apprenticeship to the Auror’s program had passed him by, he had taken the opportunity to ask what was going on.
Severus Snape is dead.
When Harry had finally managed to make his feet move, it was only to take him closer to the edge of the crowd, where he assumed the body was found. The body. Sweet Merlin. Harry choked on his breath for a moment, his steps faltering briefly, but he somehow managed to continue his journey towards the fountain. Somehow, he found the will to continue towards the moment that would forever change his life. Because there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that his life would be irrevocably altered once he saw the truth for his own eyes. Once he saw the evidence for himself, saw that he had not heard incorrectly, that he was not having a nightmare, that this was real.
Because this could not be real. This could not be happening. Harry had only parted from him three hours ago. They had made love four hours ago. And five hours ago. And six hours ago. They had kissed for the first time in weeks six hours and seven minutes ago. They had kissed like they’d been drowning and were coming up for fresh air at last, after so long being apart. They had kissed like they were coming home.
They had ripped each other’s clothes off six hours and four minutes before, so eager to see one another that they’d completely forgotten the spells that could have helped them avoid the carnage. Five hours and forty-six minutes prior, they had collapsed in an exhausted heap, but hadn’t gone to sleep because they’d been too in wonder. In wonder of each other. They’d stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed an eternity, stroking one another’s faces, trying to memorize the features that had been denied them for so long. Four and a half hours before this moment, they had talked to each other in quiet whispers, drawing out soft laughter and talking about the future, about their dreams, about their hopes. Three hours and fifteen minutes previous, after a gloriously slow round of love-making, they had finally conceded defeat and cuddled up in their haven for the night—a rented bed in a seedy, downtown London, Muggle hotel. And three hours ago, the Dark Mark had burned black and torn them apart once more. Now, here Harry was, standing at the edge of a precipice.
Severus Snape is dead. Severus Snape is dead. Severus Snape is dead. Severus...oh Merlin.
The words kept repeating themselves, over and over, refusing to leave him alone. Between the ringing in his ears, though, his mind was screaming at him to wake up. Please, God Harry, please just wake up, it’s just a dream, a twisted nightmare, and all you have to do is wake up. Wake up. Wake up. But there was no relief for Harry. He did not wake up, no matter how much he willed himself to do so. Because this was real. This was happening. This was...
“Sir! Auror Potter!”
A lone voice cutting through the buzzing in his head. When Harry managed to focus his eyes, he realized he had made it all the way to the front of the crowd, but had stopped before the magical tape the Auror department had set up. It was the young Auror from before, but his name was eluding Harry at the moment. Pearson...Pulcer...no, Parker...Harry couldn’t remember, and frankly, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Because his world was crumbling around him. His perfect, stupid, naive world.
“What is it?”
Harry only managed to rasp the words out after several seconds of clearing his throat carefully. Pluto—or whatever his name was—gave Harry a look that clearly showed the confusion he felt from Harry’s reaction, but persisted nonetheless.
“Sir, what would you like to do?” And when Harry looked at him blankly, “About the crowd, sir. There are rather a lot of people here and it’s slowing the traffic in and out of the atrium.”
Harry looked around as if only just noticing the people around him. And if he was honest with himself, he was taking a first look at the people gathered to watch the scene unfold. Never before had a body been dumped in the Ministry’s hallowed halls and so it was with great interest that they all milled around to see just who had warranted the honour. Harry felt sick. Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, Harry addressed the young man before he lost the little contents left in his stomach all over the other man’s shoes.
“Get them out of here. Now.”
Again, Paisley gave him an odd look, but let it go in favour of letting the other junior apprentices know what was expected of them. Harry barely heard the magically-enhanced voice begin its announcement before the buzzing in his head engulfed him all over again.
Severus Snape is dead.
Harry stayed where he was, staring at the back of a Ministry employee who was cataloguing the details of the crime in a detached voice. Male, Caucasian, early 50’s, black hair, black eyes...the list went on and on. Harry knew what he would see when the man finally moved out of his way. He knew that there would be a body, that it would likely be mangled or disfigured in some way. Although there was no blood on the atrium floor, that only meant that the Ministry worker had removed the excess blood to get a better look at the wounds inflicted.
Harry had to take a juddering breath in when the wizard finally moved aside. He had been prepared to see blood, cuts, mangled flesh, an unrecognizable corpse. What he had not been prepared to see was a practically pristine-looking body, the only evidence of hurt being the red bruising consistent with excessive use of the Cruciatus curse. Even that had been kept to a minimum, the only marks left being around the abdomen and chest. He certainly had not been prepared to see the eyes that he so loved open and staring straight at him. The body had been posed so that the head lolled to the side, so that Harry was looking directly into the eyes that had so short a time ago been gazing at him with tenderness. Now they were cold, back to the eyes of the Professor that Harry had known throughout his school days.
Severus Snape is dead. Severus Snape is dead. Severus Snape is dead. Severus...dead. Severus...oh God, oh sweet Merlin, please no.
Harry couldn’t breathe. Or he could, but his brain didn’t seem to be getting any oxygen, nor did his lungs. Because his brain wasn’t functioning beyond the ringing in his ears and his lungs were burning—please—and his heart—oh Gods his heart—was breaking. Now his whole chest burned and his eyes seemed to be feeling the effects as well; his vision was blurry, he couldn’t see anything but black spots and blurred colours. Stop it. Pull yourself together.
Suddenly, Harry could feel the rush of air into his lungs and he nearly collapsed in relief when he realized that he could still breathe, that the burn was fading, that his vision had cleared again. Focus. He needed to focus. If he didn’t, he could very well end up a puddle on the floor and then they’d be examining his body, just like they were Se—no. Harry had to stop thinking about it. If he didn’t, he was going to lose himself, and very quickly.
“Are you nearly done?”
Harry didn’t know where the words came from, or how he managed to force them out in so level a tone. Focus.
The Ministry worker looked up as though only just noticing that beyond himself and the Aurors, they were alone in the atrium—the apprentices had done their jobs well, ushering everyone off to work or back home.
“Yes, sir. I just need to make a few more notes and then I’ll be moving the poor sod’s body down to the morgue. Nasty way to go,” the wizard grimaced, shaking his head.
It was then that Harry finally noticed the words that had been carved into the foot of the fountain. They had been poorly done, probably in a rush so as to finish before Ministry workers arrived. Harry spared a thought as to who had dropped the package off, who had had the task of carving the letters into the gold plating. But he could not focus on this for long, lest he return to his state of burning.
To the Ministry and most importantly Dumbledore: we send you your spy, the traitor amongst the Dark Lord’s ranks. Let this be a lesson to those who seek to deceive the Dark Lord.
It was painfully obvious to Harry that the words had been dictated to whomever had carved them, likely from Voldemort himself. They reeked of Voldemort’s arrogance.
Harry was distracted once more by the white sheet being brought up to cover the body’s nude form.
“Wait.”
That one word had come out much less solidly than the ones before it and perhaps it was for this reason that the Ministry wizard stopped pulling the sheet up over the body, halting at the waist. Harry stepped through the Auror tape, which was spelled to let anyone from the Auror’s department pass. Under the watchful eyes of the other wizard, Harry stepped up to the body. He was trembling now, very faintly, and his breathing was coming faster again. He took note of this and managed to calm his erratic breaths once more, but the trembling only intensified as a result. Something must have shown on his face because the next words came from the other wizard:
“I expect you knew the good Professor,” he said softly. Harry nodded slowly, taking in another gulp of air. “If it helps any, he went fairly quickly. He was only under the Cruciatus for an hour at the most, which is why there is such extensive damage to-”
“Stop!” whispered Harry frantically.
He could not hear this. He could not bear to hear how the man he had come to love so much had passed. He knew it already, knew that Severus’ death, no matter what the other wizard said, had been torturously slow. To be under the Cruciatus for that long...it would have been like the body ripping itself apart and putting itself back together, over and over and over and over...
Harry’s knees gave out. To the outside world, it looked as if he had wanted to kneel next to the dead body, but he knew better. He had no longer been able to stand, his knees had become complete and utter jelly. He knelt there for what seemed like forever, staring at the pale form sprawled on the atrium floor. Finally, tentatively, he brought his hand up to smooth the lank black hair away from the sallow face, tucking the stray strands behind a convenient ear. His hand then came to rest along the other man’s cheek, the cold of the other’s skin shocking him momentarily.
Severus Snape is dead.
It was that cold, hard truth reverberating in his head that lead him to his next action. Harry moved to sit next to the body, and then laid down, grabbing the arm closest to him so that he could wrap it around his own shoulders. And then Harry laid his head down to rest on the mottled chest, despite the various gasps and exclamations that he could hear throughout the room. It was there, laying on that cold floor, with his head pillowed on that cold body, that Harry tried to come to grips with what was happening.
Severus is dead. Severus is dead. No, but he couldn’t be. He promised he would come back. He promised he would come back to me. He promised. Promise, promise, promise, promise...
“Harry? I need you to come with me,” Kingsley Shacklebolt’s low voice asked of him.
“He promised me. He promised me. He promised. Oh God, what’s happened? This can’t be happening, no, no, no—don’t touch me!”
Harry’s shout of fury and agony ripped through the relatively silent atrium, halting all previous whispered conversations. He had heard some of what they had been saying. Potter’s gay?—what the hell is going on—why is he so upset—I didn’t know ol’ Snape had it in him! And then Kingsley had reached out to touch his shoulder and he had reacted as if the other man was tearing his flesh from bone. He went back to whispering denials as soon as Kingsley backed off, back to his almost calm analysis of how they had gotten to this point.
“I was with him three hours ago. We made love. Then his mark burned. He had to leave. He promised he would come back. He promised...”
As Harry’s mutterings took on a more frantic edge, Kingsley made a snap decision. He motioned one of the junior apprentices over, Patton, and tried to discreetly ask for what he wanted. Although it looked like Harry was back to being in his own world at the moment. His arm now thrown across Snape’s chest as if by holding him, he could make it all better again. Bloody hell. How had they kept it hidden? Because now Kingsley could see that Snape was wearing a chain around his neck, one that had not been visible before. On it, there was an old silver ring with the Potter crest emblazoned proudly across the front. Merlin, Harry, I’m sorry.
“Yes, sir?” Patton asked, his eyes wandering to the scene in front of him with a severe shock.
“Eyes on me, son,” Kingsley ordered softly and the roving eyes came back to his own face. “I want you to go upstairs to the Department of Muggle Artefacts and tell Arthur Weasley that he is needed in the atrium. Then I want you to go to the Auror’s department and get them to call Ron Weasley back from his assignment. He will be in Hertfordshire, looking after a disturbance. In his stead, I want you to send Auror Tonks. She will be able to handle it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now go. Quickly. And not a word to anyone else, is that understood?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll return shortly.”
With that task over with, all Kingsley could do was wait and watch in horrified fascination as Harry slowly fell apart before his eyes. Now, Harry had taken out his own chain from around his neck, bearing another ancient silver ring with the Prince family crest displayed. Kingsley hadn’t remembered seeing it before now, but he supposed that if Snape’s had been charmed for secrecy, then Harry’s had also. It was likely that the charm had been broken now that people knew the truth about their relationship. Bugger. I have got to fire-call Albus.
Disclaimer: Still applies ;)
Chapter 2
Severus Snape is dead. The four words that he had always dreaded hearing.
The young Auror who had answered his query into what was going on had long since slipped away to control the crowd. Harry had been on his way into work, having Apparated into the Ministry’s atrium to find a large crowd gathered around the fountain of magical brethren. When the young man in his second year of apprenticeship to the Auror’s program had passed him by, he had taken the opportunity to ask what was going on.
Severus Snape is dead.
When Harry had finally managed to make his feet move, it was only to take him closer to the edge of the crowd, where he assumed the body was found. The body. Sweet Merlin. Harry choked on his breath for a moment, his steps faltering briefly, but he somehow managed to continue his journey towards the fountain. Somehow, he found the will to continue towards the moment that would forever change his life. Because there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that his life would be irrevocably altered once he saw the truth for his own eyes. Once he saw the evidence for himself, saw that he had not heard incorrectly, that he was not having a nightmare, that this was real.
Because this could not be real. This could not be happening. Harry had only parted from him three hours ago. They had made love four hours ago. And five hours ago. And six hours ago. They had kissed for the first time in weeks six hours and seven minutes ago. They had kissed like they’d been drowning and were coming up for fresh air at last, after so long being apart. They had kissed like they were coming home.
They had ripped each other’s clothes off six hours and four minutes before, so eager to see one another that they’d completely forgotten the spells that could have helped them avoid the carnage. Five hours and forty-six minutes prior, they had collapsed in an exhausted heap, but hadn’t gone to sleep because they’d been too in wonder. In wonder of each other. They’d stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed an eternity, stroking one another’s faces, trying to memorize the features that had been denied them for so long. Four and a half hours before this moment, they had talked to each other in quiet whispers, drawing out soft laughter and talking about the future, about their dreams, about their hopes. Three hours and fifteen minutes previous, after a gloriously slow round of love-making, they had finally conceded defeat and cuddled up in their haven for the night—a rented bed in a seedy, downtown London, Muggle hotel. And three hours ago, the Dark Mark had burned black and torn them apart once more. Now, here Harry was, standing at the edge of a precipice.
Severus Snape is dead. Severus Snape is dead. Severus Snape is dead. Severus...oh Merlin.
The words kept repeating themselves, over and over, refusing to leave him alone. Between the ringing in his ears, though, his mind was screaming at him to wake up. Please, God Harry, please just wake up, it’s just a dream, a twisted nightmare, and all you have to do is wake up. Wake up. Wake up. But there was no relief for Harry. He did not wake up, no matter how much he willed himself to do so. Because this was real. This was happening. This was...
“Sir! Auror Potter!”
A lone voice cutting through the buzzing in his head. When Harry managed to focus his eyes, he realized he had made it all the way to the front of the crowd, but had stopped before the magical tape the Auror department had set up. It was the young Auror from before, but his name was eluding Harry at the moment. Pearson...Pulcer...no, Parker...Harry couldn’t remember, and frankly, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Because his world was crumbling around him. His perfect, stupid, naive world.
“What is it?”
Harry only managed to rasp the words out after several seconds of clearing his throat carefully. Pluto—or whatever his name was—gave Harry a look that clearly showed the confusion he felt from Harry’s reaction, but persisted nonetheless.
“Sir, what would you like to do?” And when Harry looked at him blankly, “About the crowd, sir. There are rather a lot of people here and it’s slowing the traffic in and out of the atrium.”
Harry looked around as if only just noticing the people around him. And if he was honest with himself, he was taking a first look at the people gathered to watch the scene unfold. Never before had a body been dumped in the Ministry’s hallowed halls and so it was with great interest that they all milled around to see just who had warranted the honour. Harry felt sick. Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, Harry addressed the young man before he lost the little contents left in his stomach all over the other man’s shoes.
“Get them out of here. Now.”
Again, Paisley gave him an odd look, but let it go in favour of letting the other junior apprentices know what was expected of them. Harry barely heard the magically-enhanced voice begin its announcement before the buzzing in his head engulfed him all over again.
Severus Snape is dead.
Harry stayed where he was, staring at the back of a Ministry employee who was cataloguing the details of the crime in a detached voice. Male, Caucasian, early 50’s, black hair, black eyes...the list went on and on. Harry knew what he would see when the man finally moved out of his way. He knew that there would be a body, that it would likely be mangled or disfigured in some way. Although there was no blood on the atrium floor, that only meant that the Ministry worker had removed the excess blood to get a better look at the wounds inflicted.
Harry had to take a juddering breath in when the wizard finally moved aside. He had been prepared to see blood, cuts, mangled flesh, an unrecognizable corpse. What he had not been prepared to see was a practically pristine-looking body, the only evidence of hurt being the red bruising consistent with excessive use of the Cruciatus curse. Even that had been kept to a minimum, the only marks left being around the abdomen and chest. He certainly had not been prepared to see the eyes that he so loved open and staring straight at him. The body had been posed so that the head lolled to the side, so that Harry was looking directly into the eyes that had so short a time ago been gazing at him with tenderness. Now they were cold, back to the eyes of the Professor that Harry had known throughout his school days.
Severus Snape is dead. Severus Snape is dead. Severus Snape is dead. Severus...dead. Severus...oh God, oh sweet Merlin, please no.
Harry couldn’t breathe. Or he could, but his brain didn’t seem to be getting any oxygen, nor did his lungs. Because his brain wasn’t functioning beyond the ringing in his ears and his lungs were burning—please—and his heart—oh Gods his heart—was breaking. Now his whole chest burned and his eyes seemed to be feeling the effects as well; his vision was blurry, he couldn’t see anything but black spots and blurred colours. Stop it. Pull yourself together.
Suddenly, Harry could feel the rush of air into his lungs and he nearly collapsed in relief when he realized that he could still breathe, that the burn was fading, that his vision had cleared again. Focus. He needed to focus. If he didn’t, he could very well end up a puddle on the floor and then they’d be examining his body, just like they were Se—no. Harry had to stop thinking about it. If he didn’t, he was going to lose himself, and very quickly.
“Are you nearly done?”
Harry didn’t know where the words came from, or how he managed to force them out in so level a tone. Focus.
The Ministry worker looked up as though only just noticing that beyond himself and the Aurors, they were alone in the atrium—the apprentices had done their jobs well, ushering everyone off to work or back home.
“Yes, sir. I just need to make a few more notes and then I’ll be moving the poor sod’s body down to the morgue. Nasty way to go,” the wizard grimaced, shaking his head.
It was then that Harry finally noticed the words that had been carved into the foot of the fountain. They had been poorly done, probably in a rush so as to finish before Ministry workers arrived. Harry spared a thought as to who had dropped the package off, who had had the task of carving the letters into the gold plating. But he could not focus on this for long, lest he return to his state of burning.
It was painfully obvious to Harry that the words had been dictated to whomever had carved them, likely from Voldemort himself. They reeked of Voldemort’s arrogance.
Harry was distracted once more by the white sheet being brought up to cover the body’s nude form.
“Wait.”
That one word had come out much less solidly than the ones before it and perhaps it was for this reason that the Ministry wizard stopped pulling the sheet up over the body, halting at the waist. Harry stepped through the Auror tape, which was spelled to let anyone from the Auror’s department pass. Under the watchful eyes of the other wizard, Harry stepped up to the body. He was trembling now, very faintly, and his breathing was coming faster again. He took note of this and managed to calm his erratic breaths once more, but the trembling only intensified as a result. Something must have shown on his face because the next words came from the other wizard:
“I expect you knew the good Professor,” he said softly. Harry nodded slowly, taking in another gulp of air. “If it helps any, he went fairly quickly. He was only under the Cruciatus for an hour at the most, which is why there is such extensive damage to-”
“Stop!” whispered Harry frantically.
He could not hear this. He could not bear to hear how the man he had come to love so much had passed. He knew it already, knew that Severus’ death, no matter what the other wizard said, had been torturously slow. To be under the Cruciatus for that long...it would have been like the body ripping itself apart and putting itself back together, over and over and over and over...
Harry’s knees gave out. To the outside world, it looked as if he had wanted to kneel next to the dead body, but he knew better. He had no longer been able to stand, his knees had become complete and utter jelly. He knelt there for what seemed like forever, staring at the pale form sprawled on the atrium floor. Finally, tentatively, he brought his hand up to smooth the lank black hair away from the sallow face, tucking the stray strands behind a convenient ear. His hand then came to rest along the other man’s cheek, the cold of the other’s skin shocking him momentarily.
Severus Snape is dead.
It was that cold, hard truth reverberating in his head that lead him to his next action. Harry moved to sit next to the body, and then laid down, grabbing the arm closest to him so that he could wrap it around his own shoulders. And then Harry laid his head down to rest on the mottled chest, despite the various gasps and exclamations that he could hear throughout the room. It was there, laying on that cold floor, with his head pillowed on that cold body, that Harry tried to come to grips with what was happening.
Severus is dead. Severus is dead. No, but he couldn’t be. He promised he would come back. He promised he would come back to me. He promised. Promise, promise, promise, promise...
“Harry? I need you to come with me,” Kingsley Shacklebolt’s low voice asked of him.
“He promised me. He promised me. He promised. Oh God, what’s happened? This can’t be happening, no, no, no—don’t touch me!”
Harry’s shout of fury and agony ripped through the relatively silent atrium, halting all previous whispered conversations. He had heard some of what they had been saying. Potter’s gay?—what the hell is going on—why is he so upset—I didn’t know ol’ Snape had it in him! And then Kingsley had reached out to touch his shoulder and he had reacted as if the other man was tearing his flesh from bone. He went back to whispering denials as soon as Kingsley backed off, back to his almost calm analysis of how they had gotten to this point.
“I was with him three hours ago. We made love. Then his mark burned. He had to leave. He promised he would come back. He promised...”
As Harry’s mutterings took on a more frantic edge, Kingsley made a snap decision. He motioned one of the junior apprentices over, Patton, and tried to discreetly ask for what he wanted. Although it looked like Harry was back to being in his own world at the moment. His arm now thrown across Snape’s chest as if by holding him, he could make it all better again. Bloody hell. How had they kept it hidden? Because now Kingsley could see that Snape was wearing a chain around his neck, one that had not been visible before. On it, there was an old silver ring with the Potter crest emblazoned proudly across the front. Merlin, Harry, I’m sorry.
“Yes, sir?” Patton asked, his eyes wandering to the scene in front of him with a severe shock.
“Eyes on me, son,” Kingsley ordered softly and the roving eyes came back to his own face. “I want you to go upstairs to the Department of Muggle Artefacts and tell Arthur Weasley that he is needed in the atrium. Then I want you to go to the Auror’s department and get them to call Ron Weasley back from his assignment. He will be in Hertfordshire, looking after a disturbance. In his stead, I want you to send Auror Tonks. She will be able to handle it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now go. Quickly. And not a word to anyone else, is that understood?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll return shortly.”
With that task over with, all Kingsley could do was wait and watch in horrified fascination as Harry slowly fell apart before his eyes. Now, Harry had taken out his own chain from around his neck, bearing another ancient silver ring with the Prince family crest displayed. Kingsley hadn’t remembered seeing it before now, but he supposed that if Snape’s had been charmed for secrecy, then Harry’s had also. It was likely that the charm had been broken now that people knew the truth about their relationship. Bugger. I have got to fire-call Albus.