Present Tense
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Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Snape/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
4,907
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
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Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Snape/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
4,907
Reviews:
4
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.
Present Tense
Disclaimer: Harry Potter\'s universe is the sole intellectual property of JK Rowling, and I make no money from my dalliances in it.
Snape. Severus Snape. He was a very unexpected arrival to this party. Well, maybe party is a bit of an exaggeration, perhaps more of a communal reverie. Whatever you wish to call it.
At any rate, here we all sit with no real cohesion. By we, I mean one third of my year from Hogwarts. All different houses. All different stories. We like to call ourselves the Sixth Years—the year we were all in when the school closed eleven years ago.
I like to have these gatherings because, ultimately, I believe we need to remind each other of where we come from so we can’t fall into the numb, fleeting existence of our present. Maybe I just never got over it all.
But enough of my inane babble. I was thinking of Severus. I haven’t seen him in years, since the final battle. Then he just disappeared. I always sent an owl out in his name, along with the rest (and indeed, I invite everyone who attended sixth year—even Weasley despite a continued absence.) Snape never deigned to surface in the sunlight until, I suppose, today when he showed up at my manor as dour as ever and with minimal eye contact.
No matter to me, though, I was simply happy to see him. Call me nostalgic.
We’re all just sitting here, on the anniversary of Dumbledore’s demise, getting stoned or drunk, or both. People have asked me why I choose this night out of all the others in the history of significant dates, and I just shrug and tell them I was there for this one, I saw it happen. Nobody has contested the appropriateness.
Not many people are up for conversation tonight, and I don’t blame them. I haven’t spoken to a soul all evening. Then my gaze settles on Severus, and I watch him. He’s smoking something, could be anything really, he’s never been conservative with his indulgences.
I pick up my glass of whisky and walk to sit next to him on the couch. Our thighs touch once I’ve settled in and neither of us seem to mind. I continue to watch him. He hasn’t acknowledged my presence, he just takes a deep drag on the cigarette that smells strongly of tobacco, and lets the smoke rise up from his open mouth as if he doesn’t even notice.
I find myself fascinated by his slow movements that appear choreographed over years of repeated behaviour.
After several long pulls on his cigarette, he turns toward me with unfocused eyes. He must have had drinks earlier. His mouth quirks up in an altogether amused look.
“Draco, you are incredibly close,” his words are laced with smoke, and I realise (and not for the first time) that he is correct, and my chin is very near his shoulder. Our arms pressed against each other’s.
I, however, have no intention of moving. By the way he turns back to stare at nothing I assume he has no qualms. Again, he attends his cigarette.
“Severus, why do you smoke?” I ask him in a voice I don’t quite recognize and am surprised to hear coming from myself.
He smiles, and this is the first time I’ve seen it. On anybody else, I would even call it a fond smile. Reserved for good memories and close ones.
“I am a faithful man, Draco. This is the only thing nobody has been able to take from me, and this,” he takes another drag, “has always been there.”
The smile is slow to fade, and I am mesmerised by this…by him.
He finishes what is left of the smoking stick and banishes it with a flick of his hand. He draws another out of his trousers and brings it to his lips, when I intercept, and he tenses as my fingers brush his own. Snape looks down at me with knitted eyebrows which could either be irritation or confusion, and I smile back peaceably; taking the unburnt cigarette and pushing it past my own lips.
I pass my other hand in front of it to show off my wandless Incendio and the end sparks to life. I shut my eyes and inhale deeply. The sweet-tasting smoke fills my lungs and I am loathe to release it. As I finally do let it escape I open my eyes to find a mildly curious Severus, to whom I pass the fresh cigarette.
He stares for a long moment at my mouth, from which is a trail of smoke meandering upward into oblivion.
“Draco…” he whispers in a tone that makes me realise how solid and warm he is beside me.
He banishes this cigarette as well, and reaches across me to place a hand on my hip.
“Draco…” his mouth descends onto mine, and I welcome the heat. His black hair falls in curtains around my face like his whole being could swallow me and make me disappear. It is intimate, and heavy in a way only he could be, and it reminds me.
It reminds me where I come from—the impetuous youth I left behind. And suddenly the numbness of the present falls away and nothing seems so bad anymore, shrouded in this smoke and darkness.
Snape. Severus Snape. He was a very unexpected arrival to this party. Well, maybe party is a bit of an exaggeration, perhaps more of a communal reverie. Whatever you wish to call it.
At any rate, here we all sit with no real cohesion. By we, I mean one third of my year from Hogwarts. All different houses. All different stories. We like to call ourselves the Sixth Years—the year we were all in when the school closed eleven years ago.
I like to have these gatherings because, ultimately, I believe we need to remind each other of where we come from so we can’t fall into the numb, fleeting existence of our present. Maybe I just never got over it all.
But enough of my inane babble. I was thinking of Severus. I haven’t seen him in years, since the final battle. Then he just disappeared. I always sent an owl out in his name, along with the rest (and indeed, I invite everyone who attended sixth year—even Weasley despite a continued absence.) Snape never deigned to surface in the sunlight until, I suppose, today when he showed up at my manor as dour as ever and with minimal eye contact.
No matter to me, though, I was simply happy to see him. Call me nostalgic.
We’re all just sitting here, on the anniversary of Dumbledore’s demise, getting stoned or drunk, or both. People have asked me why I choose this night out of all the others in the history of significant dates, and I just shrug and tell them I was there for this one, I saw it happen. Nobody has contested the appropriateness.
Not many people are up for conversation tonight, and I don’t blame them. I haven’t spoken to a soul all evening. Then my gaze settles on Severus, and I watch him. He’s smoking something, could be anything really, he’s never been conservative with his indulgences.
I pick up my glass of whisky and walk to sit next to him on the couch. Our thighs touch once I’ve settled in and neither of us seem to mind. I continue to watch him. He hasn’t acknowledged my presence, he just takes a deep drag on the cigarette that smells strongly of tobacco, and lets the smoke rise up from his open mouth as if he doesn’t even notice.
I find myself fascinated by his slow movements that appear choreographed over years of repeated behaviour.
After several long pulls on his cigarette, he turns toward me with unfocused eyes. He must have had drinks earlier. His mouth quirks up in an altogether amused look.
“Draco, you are incredibly close,” his words are laced with smoke, and I realise (and not for the first time) that he is correct, and my chin is very near his shoulder. Our arms pressed against each other’s.
I, however, have no intention of moving. By the way he turns back to stare at nothing I assume he has no qualms. Again, he attends his cigarette.
“Severus, why do you smoke?” I ask him in a voice I don’t quite recognize and am surprised to hear coming from myself.
He smiles, and this is the first time I’ve seen it. On anybody else, I would even call it a fond smile. Reserved for good memories and close ones.
“I am a faithful man, Draco. This is the only thing nobody has been able to take from me, and this,” he takes another drag, “has always been there.”
The smile is slow to fade, and I am mesmerised by this…by him.
He finishes what is left of the smoking stick and banishes it with a flick of his hand. He draws another out of his trousers and brings it to his lips, when I intercept, and he tenses as my fingers brush his own. Snape looks down at me with knitted eyebrows which could either be irritation or confusion, and I smile back peaceably; taking the unburnt cigarette and pushing it past my own lips.
I pass my other hand in front of it to show off my wandless Incendio and the end sparks to life. I shut my eyes and inhale deeply. The sweet-tasting smoke fills my lungs and I am loathe to release it. As I finally do let it escape I open my eyes to find a mildly curious Severus, to whom I pass the fresh cigarette.
He stares for a long moment at my mouth, from which is a trail of smoke meandering upward into oblivion.
“Draco…” he whispers in a tone that makes me realise how solid and warm he is beside me.
He banishes this cigarette as well, and reaches across me to place a hand on my hip.
“Draco…” his mouth descends onto mine, and I welcome the heat. His black hair falls in curtains around my face like his whole being could swallow me and make me disappear. It is intimate, and heavy in a way only he could be, and it reminds me.
It reminds me where I come from—the impetuous youth I left behind. And suddenly the numbness of the present falls away and nothing seems so bad anymore, shrouded in this smoke and darkness.