Ficlet: Common Ground, PG-13
Title: Common Ground
Author: The_Kinky_Pet
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,000
Warnings/Spoilers: in white: past character death
Summary: Ron pays Severus a visit. They converse.
Dedicated to the ever-talented the_con_cept and with thanks to whispers_of_me for the beta read.
Please review!
Common Ground:
Severus was too shocked to see Ronald Weasley at his door to even slam it in the boy’s face. Weasley held up an expensive bottle scotch. Severus stared at it.
“What do you want?” Severus asked, fingers clenched tightly around the still open door.
“To talk.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know,” Weasley answered with disarming honesty. Severus blinked. “I guess there are only so many hours a man can spend at bedsides in St. Mungos.”
The boy brushed past Severus and walked heavily to the bar. He picked up two glasses. Severus marveled at Weasley’s presumption, but marveled more at his own acquiescence.
“It’s nice, Snape,” Wealsey said, looking around the modest living room. “I expected it to be more. . . . green, though.”
*Some of us have moved beyond the decorative creativity of a first year on Sorting Day.* or *Ah, yes, Avada Kedavra green-my favorite color.* or . . . surely he could think of another, but he couldn’t be bothered to articulate it. .
If only he weren’t so tired . . . The exhaustion had seeped from his bones to his tongue to his brain, otherwise he wouldn’t . . . he wouldn’t . . .
The sound of singing and a firework salute reached even to the dungeons. Severus shoved the door shut against it and returned to his armchair.
“Bloody ridiculous,” Weasly said, shaking his head with disgust and swaying slightly on his way to Severus. Perhaps this was not his first bottle. “Fucking racket,” the boy mumbled.
Severus shot an angry silencing spell at the door.
“It’s a stupid ceremony,” Weasley told him angrily, as though Severus had planned it specifically for his irritation.
“Official ceremonies are by definition stupid.”
“Dumbledore’s funeral wasn’t,” Weasley informed him and Severus grimaced.
“I was sadly unable to attend since I murdered him.” The verb was deliberate: a challenge, to hurt, to accuse, to scream, to hate, to cry to make him leave.
“No! Don’t say that,” Weasley cried, “It wasn’t like that. You had to. I saw the pensieve he sent us and . . .” the boy was stammering, his voice as saturated with emotion as his liver with alcohol.
“It wasn’t murder,” Weasley said slowly, after a deep breath. His voice was back under control. He stood across from Severus’ armchair, awkwardly poured two glasses and set one on the end table. Still standing, he took a long sip then repeated, “It wasn’t murder.”
Severus snorted. He had been half-way through his whiskey when the boy arrived and he wondered now how the flavors would mix.
“How many?” Severus asked gesturing at the door.
“Don’t know. Thousands, I guess. I went up to the astronomy tower before it got dark. The grounds looked like a fucking ant hill. Swarming with people. All the space-expansion magic and sonorous charms in the air made me kinda dizzy. Figured it would be quiet down here.”
Severus decided to finish his whisky before starting in on the scotch. He liked to be methodical, even in pursuit of drunkenness. Weasley swayed again, then sank to the couch.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” Weasley said. “Even after we saw the Headmaster’s pensieve, even after Bella-“ Severus went stiff, but the boy’s disoriented brain had already stumbled onto the next topic.
“I didn’t even want to let him go. I thought it was a trap. It was Hermione who. . . .”
Pained silence dampened even the popping of the fire.
“I hated you,” Weasley whispered, “Even after we saw the Headmaster’s pensieve, I . . . I hated you.”
“Quite justified.” Severus was too tired to snarl.
“I still wanted to kill you. So did he.”
“I am well aware of it. He made it abundantly clear upon his arrival at my laboratory.”
Weasley downed another drink.
“He never said anything,” Weasley told him abruptly. “After he came back. He just said you were ‘very helpful’ with the Horcrux potion. Hermione asked what you’d found to talk about for all that time and he just said that it was ‘private.’ ‘course, she didn’t take to that.”
“Of course not,” Severus muttered and finished the last of his whiskey.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Weasley asked darkly as he lurched forward in his seat.
“Miss Granger’s curiosity is infamous.” Severus sighed. He was so weary, so blank, so tired of it all, yet he couldn’t quite turn the boy out.
“Yeah. Yeah, she is.” Weasley’s voice was still tinged with hostility but he sank back onto the couch.
The silence was deafening with memories. Severus picked up the scotch and closed his eyes.
“What . . . what are you going to do now? Are you teaching Potions in the fall? Or Defense?”
Severus froze in mid-sip, then lowered his glass, and opened his eyes. “Have I ever given the impression of a man who loves teaching,” Severus sneered.
Weasley let out an awful little laugh and shook his head. “What then? Open a potions store?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Severus growled.
“Why not?” Weasley asked, voice thick. “I mean, why not a potions store?”
“Ah, yes, my reputation as Albus Dumbledore’s murderer will earn me an immediate clientele. That and my sweet temper and good looks of course.” Severus glared at the bottle: one week after his spying ended, he could no longer hold his tongue or his liquor. Revealing too, too much. And to a Weasley. Pathetic.
“But…” Weasley leaned forward urgently. “It was in the Prophet. The pensieve-everybody’s seen it now. You begged him not to make you. It . . . It was to kill Voldemort. You’re not a murderer! You didn’t want to do it.”
“It makes little difference.”
“It makes every difference! They, they should have given you an Order of Merlin for all your spying, for the sacrifices, for--”
Severus laughed and finished his scotch. “Don’t be a fool. I’m lucky not to be in Azkaban.”
“Don’t say that,” Weasley says with a choke. Perhaps he swallowed his drink crooked. Severus closes his eyes again wishing he could summon the energy to throw the boy out.
He had thrown boys out of there before.
Severus’ fist clenched around the glass and he concentrated on breathing.
“You’re in love with him,” Weasley said confidently, choking gone.
“With Albus? Don’t be absurd.”
“You know perfectly well who I’m talking about.” Weasley glanced at the fire, then repeated, “You’re in love with him.”
“I believe the time has come to embrace the past tense, Weasley,” Severus snarled, but the redhead didn’t scream or fling his scotch into the fireplace or storm out. Instead he stared at Severus for a moment before taking another sip.
“Not really. You still love him, don’t you? So do I and-“ the boy’s voice cracked. He downed his drink in a gulp and poured another.
They sat in silence some moments more.
“You must have cared for the Headmaster very much, to . . . to do what he asked,” Weasley said quietly. Severus silently pretended it hadn’t been a question.
“Do you hate me?” Weasley asked, broken whisper barely audible.
Severus stared into the fire. His eyes hurt. He would have to brew some eye-drops. As the silence stretched he heard Weasley’s breath hitch, shudder and accelerate.
“No.”
“I wish he’d asked you . . . Would you have done it?”
Severus couldn’t force the words out.
Now Weasley cried openly, spilling scotch on the floor as his hands shook. “He didn’t tell us beforehand. He figured it out and . . . and . . . he knew if he’d told us we . . . we wouldn’t have . . . Hermione would have researched for a way not to . . . not to . . .”
“And more would have died, every day,” Severus murmured to himself.
“When I think of how much time I spent fighting with him and resenting him or jealous or not speaking to him or . . .” Weasley’s voice trailed off in misery. Severus let out a sharp bark of laughter, but the irony was lost on the drunken sot and he could not even imagine the weight of Severus’ regrets.
“He didn’t tell me ‘til it was too late to say no.” Weasley’s voice was pleading. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. The prophesy, he was supposed to . . . “
Severus choked on a mirthless laugh. “Leave it to him to find any loophole and disobey any rule.”
Weasley sat shuddering on the couch a moment longer and Severus finally could bear no more.
“Enough, Weasley. Keep your Order of Merlin Second Class. Let his name go down in history books as Voldemort’s killer instead of the last horcrux. Take my advice and go.”
“But I-“
“Tell no one, expect perhaps Miss Granger when she awakens. No one else saw and . . . he-- Albus would have wanted me to keep your secret. I shall tell no one. Now go.”
“You love him too,” the boy cried. “You don’t blame me- I didn’t- I- “
It was all too much. Severus wrapped his fingers around the boy’s wrist and into the collar of his sweater and dragged him from the chair, adding a wandless mobilicorpus to his manhandling. The boy’s hair needed washing and he smelled like tears and sweat and booze. He released Wealsey on the threshold of his chambers.
Severus paused as he began to shut the door. “Abandon Gryffindor stupidity for once in your life. The world is an unforgiving place.”
The boy pulled himself together enough to stand straight for a moment and say, “But do you . . . would you forgive me?”
Severus stared at Weasley, unblinking, then shut the door in his face.
He heard the boy’s back thud against it and the sound of sobbing penetrated the cracked silence spell.
Severus renewed the spell and picked up the last of the scotch.
He retreated to his bedroom and shut the door.
The End
Please review!
Author: The_Kinky_Pet
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,000
Warnings/Spoilers: in white: past character death
Summary: Ron pays Severus a visit. They converse.
Dedicated to the ever-talented the_con_cept and with thanks to whispers_of_me for the beta read.
Please review!
Common Ground:
Severus was too shocked to see Ronald Weasley at his door to even slam it in the boy’s face. Weasley held up an expensive bottle scotch. Severus stared at it.
“What do you want?” Severus asked, fingers clenched tightly around the still open door.
“To talk.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know,” Weasley answered with disarming honesty. Severus blinked. “I guess there are only so many hours a man can spend at bedsides in St. Mungos.”
The boy brushed past Severus and walked heavily to the bar. He picked up two glasses. Severus marveled at Weasley’s presumption, but marveled more at his own acquiescence.
“It’s nice, Snape,” Wealsey said, looking around the modest living room. “I expected it to be more. . . . green, though.”
*Some of us have moved beyond the decorative creativity of a first year on Sorting Day.* or *Ah, yes, Avada Kedavra green-my favorite color.* or . . . surely he could think of another, but he couldn’t be bothered to articulate it. .
If only he weren’t so tired . . . The exhaustion had seeped from his bones to his tongue to his brain, otherwise he wouldn’t . . . he wouldn’t . . .
The sound of singing and a firework salute reached even to the dungeons. Severus shoved the door shut against it and returned to his armchair.
“Bloody ridiculous,” Weasly said, shaking his head with disgust and swaying slightly on his way to Severus. Perhaps this was not his first bottle. “Fucking racket,” the boy mumbled.
Severus shot an angry silencing spell at the door.
“It’s a stupid ceremony,” Weasley told him angrily, as though Severus had planned it specifically for his irritation.
“Official ceremonies are by definition stupid.”
“Dumbledore’s funeral wasn’t,” Weasley informed him and Severus grimaced.
“I was sadly unable to attend since I murdered him.” The verb was deliberate: a challenge, to hurt, to accuse, to scream, to hate, to cry to make him leave.
“No! Don’t say that,” Weasley cried, “It wasn’t like that. You had to. I saw the pensieve he sent us and . . .” the boy was stammering, his voice as saturated with emotion as his liver with alcohol.
“It wasn’t murder,” Weasley said slowly, after a deep breath. His voice was back under control. He stood across from Severus’ armchair, awkwardly poured two glasses and set one on the end table. Still standing, he took a long sip then repeated, “It wasn’t murder.”
Severus snorted. He had been half-way through his whiskey when the boy arrived and he wondered now how the flavors would mix.
“How many?” Severus asked gesturing at the door.
“Don’t know. Thousands, I guess. I went up to the astronomy tower before it got dark. The grounds looked like a fucking ant hill. Swarming with people. All the space-expansion magic and sonorous charms in the air made me kinda dizzy. Figured it would be quiet down here.”
Severus decided to finish his whisky before starting in on the scotch. He liked to be methodical, even in pursuit of drunkenness. Weasley swayed again, then sank to the couch.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” Weasley said. “Even after we saw the Headmaster’s pensieve, even after Bella-“ Severus went stiff, but the boy’s disoriented brain had already stumbled onto the next topic.
“I didn’t even want to let him go. I thought it was a trap. It was Hermione who. . . .”
Pained silence dampened even the popping of the fire.
“I hated you,” Weasley whispered, “Even after we saw the Headmaster’s pensieve, I . . . I hated you.”
“Quite justified.” Severus was too tired to snarl.
“I still wanted to kill you. So did he.”
“I am well aware of it. He made it abundantly clear upon his arrival at my laboratory.”
Weasley downed another drink.
“He never said anything,” Weasley told him abruptly. “After he came back. He just said you were ‘very helpful’ with the Horcrux potion. Hermione asked what you’d found to talk about for all that time and he just said that it was ‘private.’ ‘course, she didn’t take to that.”
“Of course not,” Severus muttered and finished the last of his whiskey.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Weasley asked darkly as he lurched forward in his seat.
“Miss Granger’s curiosity is infamous.” Severus sighed. He was so weary, so blank, so tired of it all, yet he couldn’t quite turn the boy out.
“Yeah. Yeah, she is.” Weasley’s voice was still tinged with hostility but he sank back onto the couch.
The silence was deafening with memories. Severus picked up the scotch and closed his eyes.
“What . . . what are you going to do now? Are you teaching Potions in the fall? Or Defense?”
Severus froze in mid-sip, then lowered his glass, and opened his eyes. “Have I ever given the impression of a man who loves teaching,” Severus sneered.
Weasley let out an awful little laugh and shook his head. “What then? Open a potions store?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Severus growled.
“Why not?” Weasley asked, voice thick. “I mean, why not a potions store?”
“Ah, yes, my reputation as Albus Dumbledore’s murderer will earn me an immediate clientele. That and my sweet temper and good looks of course.” Severus glared at the bottle: one week after his spying ended, he could no longer hold his tongue or his liquor. Revealing too, too much. And to a Weasley. Pathetic.
“But…” Weasley leaned forward urgently. “It was in the Prophet. The pensieve-everybody’s seen it now. You begged him not to make you. It . . . It was to kill Voldemort. You’re not a murderer! You didn’t want to do it.”
“It makes little difference.”
“It makes every difference! They, they should have given you an Order of Merlin for all your spying, for the sacrifices, for--”
Severus laughed and finished his scotch. “Don’t be a fool. I’m lucky not to be in Azkaban.”
“Don’t say that,” Weasley says with a choke. Perhaps he swallowed his drink crooked. Severus closes his eyes again wishing he could summon the energy to throw the boy out.
He had thrown boys out of there before.
Severus’ fist clenched around the glass and he concentrated on breathing.
“You’re in love with him,” Weasley said confidently, choking gone.
“With Albus? Don’t be absurd.”
“You know perfectly well who I’m talking about.” Weasley glanced at the fire, then repeated, “You’re in love with him.”
“I believe the time has come to embrace the past tense, Weasley,” Severus snarled, but the redhead didn’t scream or fling his scotch into the fireplace or storm out. Instead he stared at Severus for a moment before taking another sip.
“Not really. You still love him, don’t you? So do I and-“ the boy’s voice cracked. He downed his drink in a gulp and poured another.
They sat in silence some moments more.
“You must have cared for the Headmaster very much, to . . . to do what he asked,” Weasley said quietly. Severus silently pretended it hadn’t been a question.
“Do you hate me?” Weasley asked, broken whisper barely audible.
Severus stared into the fire. His eyes hurt. He would have to brew some eye-drops. As the silence stretched he heard Weasley’s breath hitch, shudder and accelerate.
“No.”
“I wish he’d asked you . . . Would you have done it?”
Severus couldn’t force the words out.
Now Weasley cried openly, spilling scotch on the floor as his hands shook. “He didn’t tell us beforehand. He figured it out and . . . and . . . he knew if he’d told us we . . . we wouldn’t have . . . Hermione would have researched for a way not to . . . not to . . .”
“And more would have died, every day,” Severus murmured to himself.
“When I think of how much time I spent fighting with him and resenting him or jealous or not speaking to him or . . .” Weasley’s voice trailed off in misery. Severus let out a sharp bark of laughter, but the irony was lost on the drunken sot and he could not even imagine the weight of Severus’ regrets.
“He didn’t tell me ‘til it was too late to say no.” Weasley’s voice was pleading. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. The prophesy, he was supposed to . . . “
Severus choked on a mirthless laugh. “Leave it to him to find any loophole and disobey any rule.”
Weasley sat shuddering on the couch a moment longer and Severus finally could bear no more.
“Enough, Weasley. Keep your Order of Merlin Second Class. Let his name go down in history books as Voldemort’s killer instead of the last horcrux. Take my advice and go.”
“But I-“
“Tell no one, expect perhaps Miss Granger when she awakens. No one else saw and . . . he-- Albus would have wanted me to keep your secret. I shall tell no one. Now go.”
“You love him too,” the boy cried. “You don’t blame me- I didn’t- I- “
It was all too much. Severus wrapped his fingers around the boy’s wrist and into the collar of his sweater and dragged him from the chair, adding a wandless mobilicorpus to his manhandling. The boy’s hair needed washing and he smelled like tears and sweat and booze. He released Wealsey on the threshold of his chambers.
Severus paused as he began to shut the door. “Abandon Gryffindor stupidity for once in your life. The world is an unforgiving place.”
The boy pulled himself together enough to stand straight for a moment and say, “But do you . . . would you forgive me?”
Severus stared at Weasley, unblinking, then shut the door in his face.
He heard the boy’s back thud against it and the sound of sobbing penetrated the cracked silence spell.
Severus renewed the spell and picked up the last of the scotch.
He retreated to his bedroom and shut the door.
The End
Please review!