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Dec. 6th, 2004 @ 09:43 pm FIC: "And Invertebrates." for curia_regis
Current Mood: impressedimpressed
Author: yeats
For: curia_regis
Title And Invertebrates.
Harry/Snape, PG-13
Summary: Feeding time at Grimmauld Place.
A/N: I don’t usually write Snarry! And by usually, I mean ever. Cheers!



Molly Weasley prided herself on her knowledge about growing up. After all,
she'd not only gone through the process herself (not so very, very
long ago!), and she'd also shepherded seven children through the process –
altogether, plenty of time to learn the tricks of it. A good Scourgify
never cures a swearing problem, but a Chilling Charm can cure a spot the day
before the Hogwarts Express. Also, there is no such thing as non-alcoholic
Butter-Firewhisky, and never ask what those magazines (or those stains) are.

And, she thought as Harry Potter floated his way through Grimmauld Place,
wraithlike and unseeing, through the sweltering days at the end of July,
never count on an otherwise-precocious teenager to be mature about his

Harry had carved out a part of the creaking mansion as his own – a six-room
suite that included the library, a bathroom (the one with the
manticore-clawed bathtub), and what Molly assumed from the décor had been a
child's bedroom. She shivered; possibly even Sirius' own bedroom. Although
he wasn't to use magic legally yet, he'd made it clear to the other
occupants of the House (she'd begun thinking of it with a capital H, as if
had a character of its own) that he would not tolerate unwanted visitors.
In front of the library, he'd even hung a small placard – "Quiet, please.
(No solicitors.)" (Nymphadora Tonks assured her that was a good sign.)

Molly wished Ron would come, but he'd taken the chance to see Romania –
understandable, given that his best friend's attitude towards him had cooled
markedly since Harry's return from his cousins. And with Hermione gone to
Nice with her parents, Harry had few options even if he did want to
bare his soul.

After two aborted attempts to provide him with a tray of food, Molly began
to send others; all were rebuffed. She'd considered owling Professor Lupin,
who'd himself retreated to Wales. The man was always so patient with the
children. Once her quill was in her hand, though, she remembered the taut
lines of his face, his thin wrists as he waved goodbye at Charing Cross
station. She tore up the letter, shooing away Errol when he nuzzled in for
a sugar treat.

One day, nearing the end of her wits – couldn't the boy see how he
needed to express his emotions? – Molly felt the tray being lifted
from her. She whirled around.

"I will wait on the princeling," Professor Snape scowled.



Tray in hand, Severus Snape marched up the back staircase towards his
brooding student's lair. He was more familiar with this House (and Snape
knew it was sentient, like a yawning beast), better acquainted than
anyone in the Order – or, he thought, with a twist of his mouth, better than
anyone left in the Order. His footsteps were muffled by the dark rugs in
this wing – silencing devices for when the Blacks still relied on human
servants. He saw several familiar portraits as he went, tilting his head at
a stately man in a collar.

Reaching the library, Snape shook out the sleeve of his robe, knocking

"Leave me be!"

Snape rolled his eyes. Clearly the boy had learned histrionics from his
godfather – although perhaps that was a trait of all Gryffindors. He
knocked again.

"Put the tray down and go!"

"Mister Potter." Snape adopted his Gryffindor tone – low, spiteful. He
considered adding a threat, but resisted.

He heard a clumping sound from inside. The door creaked open, revealing a
shaft of light five centimeters wide, punctuated by one green eye. "What do
you want."

"As distasteful as this is to both of us," Snape gestured down, "I've
brought your dinner."

The eye blinked. "Why?"

Snape sighed, exasperated. "Certain individuals in this god-forsaken house
see it as important that you not die of malnutrition. I have been

The door opened wider. Harry Potter stood, bleary-eyed and glowering. His
hair stood up at all ends; his Muggle clothing was covered in a white film
of dust. "It's your fault he's dead."

Snape sneered, and swept inside. "As you wish."



Snape had expected Potter to let him drop the tray at the nearest possible
spot. At several points as they walked, he made to put it down and leave,
but Potter kept going, padding through corridors whose curtains had been
willfully closed. The portraits probably liked it better this way; Snape
remembered them as being insufferably morbid, obsessed with the fact of
their own mortality. He heard them whisper as they passed below, a small
tallow candle in Potter's hand the only light. How melodramatic.

"Planning on haunting the place, Potter?"

The boy did not respond, though his shoulders hitched.

When they stopped, it was before a door Snape knew well. Potter passed
through quickly, but he took his time, feeling a shudder course through him
as he stepped inside.

"Leave it on the bed," Potter said, already seated at a desk, facing the
window, back to Snape.

"What are you doing in here?" Snape coughed.

"This is my room," came the response, accompanied by the skittering of a

"It most certainly is not."

"No," Potter turned, "it's not." He stood, glaring at Snape, but also, he
noted, attempting to show off the growing he'd done so far this summer.
Five centimeters, Snape thought.

"This House," Snape growled, "does not suffer interlopers."

"Does it make you feel guilty, Snape?" Potter's hands twisted against his
sides, as if desperate for a wand. "Does standing here, in Sirius' old
room, make you feel like the cockroach you are?"

Snape filed away that bit of information. Striding up to him, he matched
Potter, centimeter for centimeter with some to spare. "Should it?" He
enunciated the syllables, drawing closer, bearing down on him, evoking the
authority of a teacher of Hogwarts to pound through his veins and temper his
indignation that this boy, this brat, should dare lecture him on guilt.

"Yes," he hissed, not looking away. The candle's light glittered in his

Snape laughed coldly, and turned. Wheeling around, he peered at the books,
fingers skating across the leather-embossed spines. "I don't suppose
they've changed this room in twenty years," he said.

Potter, wary at the change in tone, stood still, sentinel. "Don't touch
anything," he barked.

"Oh hush, Potter," Snape said, "I won't break it." He tapped one
spine, pulling it out. Magical Insects and Invertebrates.
‘Acromantulas, billiwigs, bugbears.' He thumbed through idly.

"So." Snape didn't bother looking up. "You spend your time alone, like, a
ghost, in a dead boy's rooms." ‘Despite its appearance, the jade beetle…'
"How maudlin."

"Sod off!" The springs creaked as Potter sat down.

"You know, I'd wager those sheets haven't been changed since their last
occupant." Snape snapped the book shut. "Probably all caked in Black skin

Potter eyed him warily as he approached. "You don't know anything about
anything, Snape."

"Oh don't I?" His voice stayed low. "I don't know that you're sleeping in
his bed because you want to die, too? Because you feel so dreadfully
guilty that you think the only place you're welcome is a coffin?" He
stopped very close to where Potter sat; the fabric of his robe puffed up
dust as it hit the bed.

"Or maybe I don't know that. Maybe," he palmed the boy's shoulder, "you're
sleeping in his bed because you like it?"

"What?" Potter's choked.

"Maybe," his voice murmured like the tides, like the portraits' moans of
heritage and purity, "you enjoy wallowing in the past, having it touch your
skin. Touching yourself while it touches you?"

Snape tugged Potter to his feet. There wasn't enough room between them.
"Guilty, dirty boy," he murmured, face inches from Potter's neck, voice
feathering the hairs there. He could feel the boy's breath, hot and quick,
on his cheek. "Did you think no one would notice the new stains?"

Potter gave a small gasp, quivering. Snape suspected his was crying. He
canted his hand, sliding it down, feeling Potter's caged erection. "Just as
I thought," he tsked, and squeezed. The boy cried out. He moved in, mouth
muttering against the skin. "Pathetic."

Snape allowed himself one stroke, then two, easing the boy along. One of
the portraits outside began to sob. His other hand felt for Potter's
clenched fist, gradually relaxing the fingers, petting the inside of his
palm. He heard the bang of a door in another part of the house; it
syncopated with Potter's ragged breaths, the quiet noise expanding to fill
the entire cavernous room like a winged bird, shaking its beaked head.

He pulled away at the last minute; Potter's fingers scrabbled against his,
seeking contact again. He pushed the boy back onto the musty bed.
Readjusting his collar, Snape scowled. "Eat your dinner, you degenerate
little whore."

At the door, he paused. "This bedroom belonged to Regulus Black, a far
greater individual than his brother ever was. Sirius' room was gutted and
turned into storage the summer he left home."

Severus walked back out through the dark, the taste of milk on his lips.

About this Entry
House of Yes
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Date:December 7th, 2004 03:14 am (UTC)
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Oh. That was just...oh.

So wrong and right and good.

You've got a beautifully twisted mind. Thanks for letting us share a piece of it. (I'm looking forward to finding out who you are.)
[User Picture Icon]
Date:December 7th, 2004 04:29 am (UTC)
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Ooooohhh, hot and cold. Very very good.
[User Picture Icon]
Date:December 8th, 2004 01:13 am (UTC)
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Oh my! Thank you so much for writing this. Just, guh! That was so perfect, so twisted, and so wonderful!

I loved this line: "Did you think no one would notice the new stains?"

And this line was so Snape: "This bedroom belonged to Regulus Black, a far
greater individual than his brother ever was. Sirius' room was gutted and
turned into storage the summer he left home."

I love this! Twisted Snarry is my favourite type of fic. :)
[User Picture Icon]
Date:December 9th, 2004 05:10 am (UTC)
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Oh, I'm so glad you like it! I wasn't quite sure if I could make Snape Slytherin enough for your standards; I'm glad you're happy with the results!
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Date:December 8th, 2004 04:36 pm (UTC)
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There's not much I love more than bad Snape. And he was very bad. Well done.
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Date:February 15th, 2005 03:57 am (UTC)
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woah! I'm speachless from the sheer *guh* of it all.
[User Picture Icon]
Date:February 15th, 2005 03:59 am (UTC)
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*speechless. I'm an idiot ;)
[User Picture Icon]
Date:July 20th, 2005 11:41 pm (UTC)
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:::whimpers:::: i just found this fic, and it's absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous, from the claustrophobic description of the hallways leading to other hallways leading to corridors leading to yet more hallways, and harry shuffling through them dejectedly,

to the end. the end---oh, how fantastic. regulus's room, of course it is. snape is so cutting, so fabulous.
this is ----- so hot.
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Date:August 2nd, 2005 04:33 am (UTC)
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That is the most perfect thing I have ever, ever read in my entire life.
Date:January 2nd, 2006 04:22 pm (UTC)
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Well done w/ a totally unexpected ending-- Particularly liked fluttery! Molly.
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Date:August 3rd, 2006 11:51 pm (UTC)
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Here from snarry_reader.

Excellent story, great ending-- especially since I can imagine, too, that Snape might be lying. Either way, it's a great twist.
Date:March 20th, 2007 10:17 pm (UTC)


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Yikes! Ya got me. I am dead. You've honed your skills and have deadly aim. Congratulations on so precisely hitting your target.
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Date:January 20th, 2012 07:37 am (UTC)
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Oh, but that was harsh!
Fabulous :)