My Fic: Fishes Die Not of Cold, Chapter One
Fishes Die Not of Cold
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Snape/Potter, Lupin/Potter
Summary: Snape should know better than to form a working hypothesis without proper observation.
Warnings: This story will contain sexual scenes and depictions of gore and animal cruelty, though not at the same time. This is a work in progress.
Chapter One - In which Snape receives an Offer He Cannot Refuse
It had been years, by Snape’s count, since he’d last had a visitor. Even the guards stayed well away now that the novelty he’d once offered had worn thin. No wonder, really, that he sat now blinking stupidly into the sudden brilliance of wandlight, trying to decide if he were dreaming.
“You could do with a wash,” a voice said from behind the light. It sounded suspiciously like it might belong to Harry Potter. This was, of course, rather absurd. Snape sat up straighter, anyway, and did his best to stop blinking. He squinted instead, and hoped it looked like a glare.
“I will,” Snape said, in a voice rusty from disuse, “inform the house elves, at once.” He thought about standing up, but didn’t think he could do it in any sort of dignified way. The damp stones were slick, and his legs were weak.
His visitor’s aim wavered as he shifted his weight. When the dazzle had faded, Snape could make out the man’s general outline. He still had atrocious posture.
“Say or do whatever it is you came to say or do, Potter,” Snape said, trying his best to sound bored, “And then leave me be.”
“I can, if you want. But I rather think you might be interested in what I have to say.”
Potter was right, of course. Snape was terribly curious. He wasn’t about to let Potter, of all people, know that, though. Maybe Potter was here to kill him. He was a bit late, of course. Naturally. Potter had never been particularly punctual, had he? Really, if Potter wanted revenge, he ought just to leave Snape here. Anything the boy’s petty & cruel imagination might dream up would be better than falling slowly into insanity as his body atrophied around him. Even cruciatus would be preferable - it would speed things up a bit, at least.
Should he play along then? Or he could make Potter angry. Snape had always had a special talent for provoking the boy. It would be fun - until, of course, potter stormed off like the child he was and left Snape alone in the dark again, to ponder why he’d come.
A sudden thought struck him just then, and he tasted bitter rage. So help him, if the boy had come to apologize... The very thought made his lip curl.
“I’ve come to get you out,” Potter said.
Everything stopped. Snape realized after some indeterminable length of time that he was not breathing. He carefully, silently, sucked in a deep breath. Potter would not hear him gasp, nor would he be given the satisfaction of the questions poised on Snape’s tongue. He swallowed them down, but his voice still cracked when he was finally able to speak. Damn.
“I was not aware,” he said slowly, “that strangling one’s cellmate counted as good behavior.”
There was silence, and then Potter, curse him, chuckled. “No one told me about that. I was wondering why your cell was so bare.” He sat down on the stone floor just opposite Snape, perhaps three feet away, through the bars. He laid his wand on the floor between them and looked for all the world as if he were perfectly at home. “Who was it, then?” he asked.
Snape judged the distance between Potter and the wand; between himself and the wand; between the bars and Potter. He shifted his right foot, but it was asleep. “Menelaus Cobblepot,” he said.
“He wasn’t a Death Eater, was he?”
Snape snorted. “I believe he was incarcerated due to some sort of sporting scandal.”
“Oh!” Potter said, and slapped his forehead. “Coach for the Magpies? I think? I knew his name sounded familiar. They put him in here with you?”
“Perhaps the prison was full. Perhaps,” Snape said slowly, as if speaking to a small child, “he would have caused trouble for someone on the sentencing board, if allowed to serve his term and go on to write a book about his ordeal.”
“Is that why you killed him?” Potter asked, “Someone wanted him hushed up?”
Snape smiled his nastiest smile. “In a sense. He snored. It kept me awake.” Potter went still and silent. Snape let him stay that way for a few heartbeats before adding, “He was a horrible conversationalist. Also, he tried to dash my brains out against the floor. It seems he was rather fond of the late headmaster.”
Potter let out a long breath. “Wasn’t everyone?” he asked. Despite his flippant words, he sounded shaken. Snape scored himself a mental point and allowed himself a question.
“Why are you here, Potter?” he asked.
“I told you, to get you out.”
“What you have not told me, however, is how or why you intend to do such a thing.”
Snape’s eyes had finally adjusted to the light of Potter’s wand. They had stopped watering, at least. He was just able to make out Potter’s face. He looked much older than he had when Snape had seen him last, at the dark edge of the Forbidden Forest. He looked grim, but he smiled when he spoke.
“It’s simple, really,” Potter said, “I need you to make a potion.”
to chapter two
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Snape/Potter, Lupin/Potter
Summary: Snape should know better than to form a working hypothesis without proper observation.
Warnings: This story will contain sexual scenes and depictions of gore and animal cruelty, though not at the same time. This is a work in progress.
Chapter One - In which Snape receives an Offer He Cannot Refuse
It had been years, by Snape’s count, since he’d last had a visitor. Even the guards stayed well away now that the novelty he’d once offered had worn thin. No wonder, really, that he sat now blinking stupidly into the sudden brilliance of wandlight, trying to decide if he were dreaming.
“You could do with a wash,” a voice said from behind the light. It sounded suspiciously like it might belong to Harry Potter. This was, of course, rather absurd. Snape sat up straighter, anyway, and did his best to stop blinking. He squinted instead, and hoped it looked like a glare.
“I will,” Snape said, in a voice rusty from disuse, “inform the house elves, at once.” He thought about standing up, but didn’t think he could do it in any sort of dignified way. The damp stones were slick, and his legs were weak.
His visitor’s aim wavered as he shifted his weight. When the dazzle had faded, Snape could make out the man’s general outline. He still had atrocious posture.
“Say or do whatever it is you came to say or do, Potter,” Snape said, trying his best to sound bored, “And then leave me be.”
“I can, if you want. But I rather think you might be interested in what I have to say.”
Potter was right, of course. Snape was terribly curious. He wasn’t about to let Potter, of all people, know that, though. Maybe Potter was here to kill him. He was a bit late, of course. Naturally. Potter had never been particularly punctual, had he? Really, if Potter wanted revenge, he ought just to leave Snape here. Anything the boy’s petty & cruel imagination might dream up would be better than falling slowly into insanity as his body atrophied around him. Even cruciatus would be preferable - it would speed things up a bit, at least.
Should he play along then? Or he could make Potter angry. Snape had always had a special talent for provoking the boy. It would be fun - until, of course, potter stormed off like the child he was and left Snape alone in the dark again, to ponder why he’d come.
A sudden thought struck him just then, and he tasted bitter rage. So help him, if the boy had come to apologize... The very thought made his lip curl.
“I’ve come to get you out,” Potter said.
Everything stopped. Snape realized after some indeterminable length of time that he was not breathing. He carefully, silently, sucked in a deep breath. Potter would not hear him gasp, nor would he be given the satisfaction of the questions poised on Snape’s tongue. He swallowed them down, but his voice still cracked when he was finally able to speak. Damn.
“I was not aware,” he said slowly, “that strangling one’s cellmate counted as good behavior.”
There was silence, and then Potter, curse him, chuckled. “No one told me about that. I was wondering why your cell was so bare.” He sat down on the stone floor just opposite Snape, perhaps three feet away, through the bars. He laid his wand on the floor between them and looked for all the world as if he were perfectly at home. “Who was it, then?” he asked.
Snape judged the distance between Potter and the wand; between himself and the wand; between the bars and Potter. He shifted his right foot, but it was asleep. “Menelaus Cobblepot,” he said.
“He wasn’t a Death Eater, was he?”
Snape snorted. “I believe he was incarcerated due to some sort of sporting scandal.”
“Oh!” Potter said, and slapped his forehead. “Coach for the Magpies? I think? I knew his name sounded familiar. They put him in here with you?”
“Perhaps the prison was full. Perhaps,” Snape said slowly, as if speaking to a small child, “he would have caused trouble for someone on the sentencing board, if allowed to serve his term and go on to write a book about his ordeal.”
“Is that why you killed him?” Potter asked, “Someone wanted him hushed up?”
Snape smiled his nastiest smile. “In a sense. He snored. It kept me awake.” Potter went still and silent. Snape let him stay that way for a few heartbeats before adding, “He was a horrible conversationalist. Also, he tried to dash my brains out against the floor. It seems he was rather fond of the late headmaster.”
Potter let out a long breath. “Wasn’t everyone?” he asked. Despite his flippant words, he sounded shaken. Snape scored himself a mental point and allowed himself a question.
“Why are you here, Potter?” he asked.
“I told you, to get you out.”
“What you have not told me, however, is how or why you intend to do such a thing.”
Snape’s eyes had finally adjusted to the light of Potter’s wand. They had stopped watering, at least. He was just able to make out Potter’s face. He looked much older than he had when Snape had seen him last, at the dark edge of the Forbidden Forest. He looked grim, but he smiled when he spoke.
“It’s simple, really,” Potter said, “I need you to make a potion.”
to chapter two