Not a Rebel (Maybe)
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
6,719
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
6,719
Reviews:
9
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.
Second, Third, Fourth Thoughts
The contempt I had been waiting for, as well as the slight shock. I have to admit though, the bewildebemubemusement wasn’t expected. “Well… yes.” I answered him with a slightly questioning tone. “Not friends exactly but we are colleagues in a way, couldn’t we act like it?”
“Colleagues?” and there was that contempt again, “How in that insipid little mind of yours do you consider us colleagues?”
“Well”, I reply, coldly, stung by the insult, “We work for the same cause, if not exactly together, then towards the same end.”
“Only you Potter…only you,” and maybe it’s just my hopeful thinking, but it doesn’t sound at all insulting, although it should have.
I give a small shrug and watch him, as he seems to be thinking it over, which is a lot more than I could have hoped for. “Colleagues,” he repeats once again, and then shockingly, “Perhaps, if you show the maturity I expect in one, which I doubt.”
“We’ll see,” cryptic again. I return to my position leaning over what feels like all of Hogwarts, and then throwing all caution to the wind I pull out my pack of smokes. I have no idea why but I offer it to him before I take one for myself. I quickly hide my surprise at his acceptance and offer him a light.
His face is slightly lit up by the glowing tip as he takes a deep drag and then, “Smoking Potter? What would your entourage say about such unwholesome activities.”
I shrug, indifferent, not rising to his dig about my friends and sayhen hen there’s more than half ance nce that you’ll never see the other side of eighteen, you tend to sow your wild oats at fifteen, sixteen.”
“How terribly melodramatic of you.”
“I prefer optimistically pessimistic, or is it pessimistically optimistic? Whichever, I don’t care. You know, as a teenager I’m prone to making gushing arterial wounds out of paper cuts, but with this whole Voldermort business I don’t feel the need to.”
A snort, only slightly derisive, and, “I like your metaphor.”
That’s a new line, I think, but out-loud it’s, “Pots and kettles, mountains and molehills, why is it that we nickname God\'s creatures, and make our
wantonness our ignorance?”
“Been at the Shakespeare I see, and not quoting it either correctly nor making much sense,” shows how little he knows about my summer, “Tell me Potter, do you fancy yourself another Hamlet?”
“I’m neither tragic nor insane enough for that role. Anyway, I prefer older men to innocent young maidens.”
I get a strange look at that, and then Snape decides that we’ve been conversing civilly for much too long. “Yes, well, I believe Mr. Potter that it’s about time for you to toddle off to your dorm as all good little Gryfindors have done hours ago.”
“Who said anything about me being a good little Gryfindor,” I reply with a small degree of scorn. But I follow it with a parting nod and a, “Good night Severus,” that rolls easily off my tongue. I’m gone too fast to see his reaction to my familiarity.
*One Week Later*
It’s been one week since that night on the Astronomy tower, and sometimes I think that the whole thin was merely a product of my slightly diseased mind. Snape’s been a belligerent as ever dishing out scathing remarks like a Yank dishes out candy on all Hallows. Then again there are little things that sneak around my doubts and maybe it did happen. Things like the fact that instead of my having to hid my righteous indignance and anger at these comments, I find myself trying to hide my growing amusement. T know I shouldn’t feel like all those insults are some kind of private joke, but it ‘s hard to quell that feeling when I see a spark of humor in those onyx eyes. Things like the barely perceptible nod of acknowledgment I get every now and then. I’m not sure if I appreciate these chinks in my doubts or not. The thing is, even though I’ve been steadily losing my childhood ever since I set foot in Diagon Alley, and any shreds I had clung to were gone the night a brought Cedric’s cold lifeless body back. Even though I’ve done several years worth of growing up during the past few months, I’m not sure I’m ready to be the adult I know (think?) I am.
I know that I’m the one who had extended the proverbial olive branch on that night, but do I regret that I did? For the longest time I’ve taken solace in the aloneness I’ve felt, or perhaps I consider my isolation my purgatory, a way to cleanse the blood that’s collected on my hands. The reasonable part of my mind keeps telling me that the only guilt I carry is that of existence, but I’ve learned to ignore that part of me the first time I did something foolish. (I’ve done so many foolish things that I have no recollection of what the first may be.) So that’s why I haven’t gone back even though I’m craving the little peace that that place provides.
My constant analysis of whys and wherefores has made me irritable I know, but I cant help it. If I was just another sixteen-year old, my moodiness would probably have been chalked up to teenage angst, but I’m the boy who bloody lived and I can see the worry in my friends eyes. Their solicitous questions only increase my longing for solitude and subsequently my irritation. “Are you all right Harry?”; “Your… uh… head hasn’t been bothering you, has it Harry?” I try not to snap when I reply that I’m fine, Most people would back off, but Moine and Ron know me too well and care too much to do so. A few months ago I would have been pathetically appreciative, but right now I only wish to be left to myself.
All this tension needs an outlet. Either a good smoke or a good fuck will do, preferably both, but I’m not picky. A good rutting sounds really really nice right no, but I don’t need the complications that come with it, so I guess it’s a smoke. After all what complication could possibly arrive from a trip to the Astronomy Tower tonight?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
(Famous last words?)
*Laughs an evil laugh and innocently asks if this is a cliffhanger* (Seriously though, is it?)
Anyway… feedback would be really really nice right now. (I’m feeling insecure ;P) Plus, I hear it increases typing speed. I need motivation to finish this ting, I mean is anybody even reading it?
BTW: If anyone wants to be emailed an update mention it in a review and I’ll see what I can do.
Teaser: Sev’s POV next chapter.
“Colleagues?” and there was that contempt again, “How in that insipid little mind of yours do you consider us colleagues?”
“Well”, I reply, coldly, stung by the insult, “We work for the same cause, if not exactly together, then towards the same end.”
“Only you Potter…only you,” and maybe it’s just my hopeful thinking, but it doesn’t sound at all insulting, although it should have.
I give a small shrug and watch him, as he seems to be thinking it over, which is a lot more than I could have hoped for. “Colleagues,” he repeats once again, and then shockingly, “Perhaps, if you show the maturity I expect in one, which I doubt.”
“We’ll see,” cryptic again. I return to my position leaning over what feels like all of Hogwarts, and then throwing all caution to the wind I pull out my pack of smokes. I have no idea why but I offer it to him before I take one for myself. I quickly hide my surprise at his acceptance and offer him a light.
His face is slightly lit up by the glowing tip as he takes a deep drag and then, “Smoking Potter? What would your entourage say about such unwholesome activities.”
I shrug, indifferent, not rising to his dig about my friends and sayhen hen there’s more than half ance nce that you’ll never see the other side of eighteen, you tend to sow your wild oats at fifteen, sixteen.”
“How terribly melodramatic of you.”
“I prefer optimistically pessimistic, or is it pessimistically optimistic? Whichever, I don’t care. You know, as a teenager I’m prone to making gushing arterial wounds out of paper cuts, but with this whole Voldermort business I don’t feel the need to.”
A snort, only slightly derisive, and, “I like your metaphor.”
That’s a new line, I think, but out-loud it’s, “Pots and kettles, mountains and molehills, why is it that we nickname God\'s creatures, and make our
wantonness our ignorance?”
“Been at the Shakespeare I see, and not quoting it either correctly nor making much sense,” shows how little he knows about my summer, “Tell me Potter, do you fancy yourself another Hamlet?”
“I’m neither tragic nor insane enough for that role. Anyway, I prefer older men to innocent young maidens.”
I get a strange look at that, and then Snape decides that we’ve been conversing civilly for much too long. “Yes, well, I believe Mr. Potter that it’s about time for you to toddle off to your dorm as all good little Gryfindors have done hours ago.”
“Who said anything about me being a good little Gryfindor,” I reply with a small degree of scorn. But I follow it with a parting nod and a, “Good night Severus,” that rolls easily off my tongue. I’m gone too fast to see his reaction to my familiarity.
*One Week Later*
It’s been one week since that night on the Astronomy tower, and sometimes I think that the whole thin was merely a product of my slightly diseased mind. Snape’s been a belligerent as ever dishing out scathing remarks like a Yank dishes out candy on all Hallows. Then again there are little things that sneak around my doubts and maybe it did happen. Things like the fact that instead of my having to hid my righteous indignance and anger at these comments, I find myself trying to hide my growing amusement. T know I shouldn’t feel like all those insults are some kind of private joke, but it ‘s hard to quell that feeling when I see a spark of humor in those onyx eyes. Things like the barely perceptible nod of acknowledgment I get every now and then. I’m not sure if I appreciate these chinks in my doubts or not. The thing is, even though I’ve been steadily losing my childhood ever since I set foot in Diagon Alley, and any shreds I had clung to were gone the night a brought Cedric’s cold lifeless body back. Even though I’ve done several years worth of growing up during the past few months, I’m not sure I’m ready to be the adult I know (think?) I am.
I know that I’m the one who had extended the proverbial olive branch on that night, but do I regret that I did? For the longest time I’ve taken solace in the aloneness I’ve felt, or perhaps I consider my isolation my purgatory, a way to cleanse the blood that’s collected on my hands. The reasonable part of my mind keeps telling me that the only guilt I carry is that of existence, but I’ve learned to ignore that part of me the first time I did something foolish. (I’ve done so many foolish things that I have no recollection of what the first may be.) So that’s why I haven’t gone back even though I’m craving the little peace that that place provides.
My constant analysis of whys and wherefores has made me irritable I know, but I cant help it. If I was just another sixteen-year old, my moodiness would probably have been chalked up to teenage angst, but I’m the boy who bloody lived and I can see the worry in my friends eyes. Their solicitous questions only increase my longing for solitude and subsequently my irritation. “Are you all right Harry?”; “Your… uh… head hasn’t been bothering you, has it Harry?” I try not to snap when I reply that I’m fine, Most people would back off, but Moine and Ron know me too well and care too much to do so. A few months ago I would have been pathetically appreciative, but right now I only wish to be left to myself.
All this tension needs an outlet. Either a good smoke or a good fuck will do, preferably both, but I’m not picky. A good rutting sounds really really nice right no, but I don’t need the complications that come with it, so I guess it’s a smoke. After all what complication could possibly arrive from a trip to the Astronomy Tower tonight?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
(Famous last words?)
*Laughs an evil laugh and innocently asks if this is a cliffhanger* (Seriously though, is it?)
Anyway… feedback would be really really nice right now. (I’m feeling insecure ;P) Plus, I hear it increases typing speed. I need motivation to finish this ting, I mean is anybody even reading it?
BTW: If anyone wants to be emailed an update mention it in a review and I’ll see what I can do.
Teaser: Sev’s POV next chapter.