Not Your Superman (Snape/Harry) [PG-13]
Title: Not Your Superman
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: PG-13
Length: Drabble (400 words)
Summary: Harry has difficulty identifying with his alterego.
Kinks: Angsty, but hopeful
Disclaimer: Oh, so not mine. This market's been cornered.
A/N: Try as I might, I could not ignore the parallels between Harry and Clark Kent/Superman. And yes, this was written under the influence of painkillers. *G*
Written with love for lizardspots.
Betaed by venivincere and cordelia_v. I owe the both of you many thanks. Any mistakes thereafter are mine own.
Not Your Superman
Without hesitation, they gave the babe to Hagrid to deliver to the surrogate caregivers. The deaths of James and Lily Potter were but the first cracks in Harry's fractured world. He would need to grow up elsewhere, hidden amongst the Muggles far from the light of Godric's Hollow.
He would be different from them, possessing talents and abilities freakish in nature. And some of the Muggles would be jealous, hateful. Harry would not understand his life's purpose or who he was until he received his calling - an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, preordained.
He would leave Little Whinging for the metropolis of the wizarding world to live life on his own. A dangerous, exciting world in which to learn, play, laugh, and love. And he would love. Love the one person who could not see his way past the celebrity image. For this reason, he assumed a dual personality, one extraordinary, the other ordinary.
Only together could they vanquish the world's otherwise inexorable injustice.
The victory was bittersweet. The War had been won, but he'd lost the most important thing of all.
Severus lay still in his arms, the lifeless body bathed in green light. Harry could not touch the power of the green glow. It weakened his mettle, rendered him frightened, mortal.
All these powers, and I couldn't save him.
A voice of the past spoke, solemn and sure.
No death can ever be undone. No spell, no potion can fill a man's lungs with air or liven a stilled heart.
Tears fell, fogging Harry's glasses, and anguish shattered the silence like the storm bestirred the calm. The pain of death stung bitterly, but unlike the sting from the bee, the hurt did not die after the bite.
No spell, no potion, he knew - but time could be influenced. What was lost could be found if you knew where to look. And Harry did.
Always play to your strengths.
The 'S' on Harry's chest meant something different to those who saw him through starry eyes. He was no saviour and no superhero. He was just a teenager in Snape's old Slytherin jersey.
He hopped on his broom and circled the earth. One, ten, one hundred, one thousand times, and turned back those precious moments between never and always, all the while reciting his mantra:
I'm not your Superman; I'm just your Harry.
Fin
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: PG-13
Length: Drabble (400 words)
Summary: Harry has difficulty identifying with his alterego.
Kinks: Angsty, but hopeful
Disclaimer: Oh, so not mine. This market's been cornered.
A/N: Try as I might, I could not ignore the parallels between Harry and Clark Kent/Superman. And yes, this was written under the influence of painkillers. *G*
Written with love for lizardspots.
Betaed by venivincere and cordelia_v. I owe the both of you many thanks. Any mistakes thereafter are mine own.
Not Your Superman
Without hesitation, they gave the babe to Hagrid to deliver to the surrogate caregivers. The deaths of James and Lily Potter were but the first cracks in Harry's fractured world. He would need to grow up elsewhere, hidden amongst the Muggles far from the light of Godric's Hollow.
He would be different from them, possessing talents and abilities freakish in nature. And some of the Muggles would be jealous, hateful. Harry would not understand his life's purpose or who he was until he received his calling - an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, preordained.
He would leave Little Whinging for the metropolis of the wizarding world to live life on his own. A dangerous, exciting world in which to learn, play, laugh, and love. And he would love. Love the one person who could not see his way past the celebrity image. For this reason, he assumed a dual personality, one extraordinary, the other ordinary.
Only together could they vanquish the world's otherwise inexorable injustice.
The victory was bittersweet. The War had been won, but he'd lost the most important thing of all.
Severus lay still in his arms, the lifeless body bathed in green light. Harry could not touch the power of the green glow. It weakened his mettle, rendered him frightened, mortal.
All these powers, and I couldn't save him.
A voice of the past spoke, solemn and sure.
No death can ever be undone. No spell, no potion can fill a man's lungs with air or liven a stilled heart.
Tears fell, fogging Harry's glasses, and anguish shattered the silence like the storm bestirred the calm. The pain of death stung bitterly, but unlike the sting from the bee, the hurt did not die after the bite.
No spell, no potion, he knew - but time could be influenced. What was lost could be found if you knew where to look. And Harry did.
Always play to your strengths.
The 'S' on Harry's chest meant something different to those who saw him through starry eyes. He was no saviour and no superhero. He was just a teenager in Snape's old Slytherin jersey.
He hopped on his broom and circled the earth. One, ten, one hundred, one thousand times, and turned back those precious moments between never and always, all the while reciting his mantra:
I'm not your Superman; I'm just your Harry.
Fin