HP drabble for iuls
the other one come true
- acidquill
notes: old school Snarry. I found this hiding out in the back of my notebook and I've been missing my HP lately. 2nd person Snape pov.
this is for iulia_linnea, just because I can.
He has very few scars. The most notable one is of course his most infamous, but there are a few more scattered across his body. Small, smooth white patches of skin earned in childhood scrapes or, more recently, stupidly heroic adventures. But other than that, he is unblemished. It never ceases to surprise you.
You always expect to find something darker hiding just underneath his skin. A brand, a taint. Something black and blooming as proof of the nights he spends with you. You map every inch of his skin like he's the most precious of texts. Looking for the mark you are sure is there, a sign he's being poisoned. And he is, whether he will admit it or not.
You are not a happy man, you never have been. For years you have lived with, and for, yourself. You cannot suddenly become someone else. Even if you have a good reason.
Bitterness. Anger. Apathy.
These things stain you as readily as years of potion-making has stained your fingers. And you are certain that you are only killing him slowly, the contamination spreading a little more with every touch, every kiss.
He laughs when you tell him this isn't good for him. You send him away and he comes back, more determined than ever. And through it all you can't once look him in the eye and say truthfully 'I don't want you.' No matter how much you've tried to quit him, you can't.
Maybe he's the one poisoning you.
-end
- acidquill
notes: old school Snarry. I found this hiding out in the back of my notebook and I've been missing my HP lately. 2nd person Snape pov.
this is for iulia_linnea, just because I can.
He has very few scars. The most notable one is of course his most infamous, but there are a few more scattered across his body. Small, smooth white patches of skin earned in childhood scrapes or, more recently, stupidly heroic adventures. But other than that, he is unblemished. It never ceases to surprise you.
You always expect to find something darker hiding just underneath his skin. A brand, a taint. Something black and blooming as proof of the nights he spends with you. You map every inch of his skin like he's the most precious of texts. Looking for the mark you are sure is there, a sign he's being poisoned. And he is, whether he will admit it or not.
You are not a happy man, you never have been. For years you have lived with, and for, yourself. You cannot suddenly become someone else. Even if you have a good reason.
Bitterness. Anger. Apathy.
These things stain you as readily as years of potion-making has stained your fingers. And you are certain that you are only killing him slowly, the contamination spreading a little more with every touch, every kiss.
He laughs when you tell him this isn't good for him. You send him away and he comes back, more determined than ever. And through it all you can't once look him in the eye and say truthfully 'I don't want you.' No matter how much you've tried to quit him, you can't.
Maybe he's the one poisoning you.
-end