Fic: In Between Days; Harry/Snape; PG; (1/34)
Title: In Between Days (1/?)
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Rating/Warnings: This installment is probably a PG, but it's going to vary. Channish.
Setting: Post-OotP
Summary: What I Did On My Summer Vacation, by ClinicallyDepressed!Harry and AmbiguouslyTrustworthy!Severus.
Feedback: Pretty please.
Disclaimers: Not mine. JKR's.
A/N: This is not quite a WIP, in that it's mostly written already and I'm only posting chunks at a time for reasons too many and complicated to go into here. Title shamelessly stolen from a Cure song; it's tentative.
---
Harry had no idea how long he’d been back with the Dursleys. He wasn’t able to stay awake for more than an hour at a stretch, so his sense of time was off. He didn’t want to ever go back to Hogwarts, so he hadn’t bothered with his customary calendar. He tacked sheets to his window to block out the sunlight, and threw his alarm clock against the wall. He couldn’t even muster any satisfaction when it shattered.
Mostly, Harry was tired. Every once in a while, he woke in a cold sweat and hurled himself into the bathroom, retching. He never remembered his dreams, and he didn’t care to. Harry didn’t care about anything anymore, except sleeping. The Dursleys, thankfully, were leaving him alone, so Harry was able to get plenty of sleep.
It was therefore an unpleasant surprise when his bedroom door slammed open one afternoon. Harry pulled the sheets over his head and rolled over, his back to the door. He heard his Uncle Vernon’s heavy footsteps, and then Harry’s sheet was yanked away. He blinked up at his uncle, who was glaring down at him.
“You’ve a visitor,” he said flatly. “I think he’s from that school of yours. Are you going to bother getting up?”
“No,” Harry said. “Tell him to go away.” He snatched the sheet back from his uncle and burrowed back into bed.
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said in your life, boy.” Uncle Vernon slammed the door behind him, and Harry drifted back to sleep.
It was a particularly unpleasant surprise when the door slammed back open a short while later.
“Go away,” Harry mumbled, not bothering to see who it was. It probably wasn’t Uncle Vernon, who would have been wheezing from multiple trips upstairs. This intruder made no sound, which also ruled out Dudley. Maybe it was Aunt Petunia. Harry thought about looking, but he was much too tired to care. Instead he pretended to be asleep, hoping the person would leave him alone.
“Believe me, Mr. Potter, nothing would give me greater pleasure.” That voice. Harry jerked upright, fumbling for his glasses.
“Snape?” He said uncertainly. Why would Snape be in his room? It certainly sounded like Snape, but Harry couldn’t see anything. He heard a snort.
“Manners, Potter,” snapped the sound-alike. “Now if you’d kindly stop feeling sorry for yourself and get dressed, we can be going. As I’m sure even your Muggle-addled brain must grasp, my presence here is distasteful to all involved.”
Harry squinted into the darkness, confused. He still couldn’t tell if it was really Snape, although there was a great bat shape by the door. Where were they going? Snape hated him.
“Snape?” The sound-alike sighed heavily, and Harry thought it must be the real Snape. No one else could sound quite so put-upon and bored and irritated all at once without saying any words.
“Do try to pay attention, Potter. I’ve been sent to collect you, and am under orders not to leave this house without you. I assume the headmaster would prefer you come willingly, but I assure you, I prefer you to-struggle.” Harry heard the cruelty in Snape’s tone, but he couldn’t quite make sense of the words. His brain felt foggy, and his head had started throbbing. Where were they going? Why had Snape been sent?
“Snape?”
“Mr. Potter!” Snape thundered, and Harry’s head exploded. When it was finished exploding, Harry opened his eyes and looked around. This was the most light Harry had seen since… well, he wasn’t sure. Since he’d been back with the Dursleys, anyway. His Potions professor was standing over his bed, his wand out and glowing. He looked exactly the way Harry remembered him: hair still long and greasy, nose still much too big, robes still black and starched, and lips still peeled back from yellow teeth in rage. The sheets had been ripped away from Harry’s window, and daylight was pouring into his room. Harry squinted into the light, and then looked back at Snape.
“Where are we going?” Harry managed not to say the professor’s name again. Snape took a deep breath and lowered his wand. His gaze swept coldly over Harry, who looked as if he hadn’t got out of bed in weeks, and then over the bare bedroom. Harry followed his gaze and noticed a pile of moldy toast in front of the door. Aunt Petunia must have been shoving it through the cat flap, but Harry couldn’t remember her doing it. He frowned, trying to think of the last time he’d eaten anything. He looked up at Snape, who was studying him cynically.
“Do you care?”
Harry thought about it.
“No,” he said honestly. “Not really.”
“Shall I force you?”
Harry thought about that, too. Now that he was sitting up and looking around, the prospect of actually standing and dressing and packing was overwhelming. He was tired, and he felt weak and heavy. He didn’t know where to start. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to give Snape the satisfaction of forcing him to do anything. He lifted his chin.
“I…no. Sir. I’ll come with you. I just…could you… er.” Snape’s eyebrow went up, and Harry faltered. “I haven’t unpacked much, I don’t think, but there’s a spell. I can’t…”
“Be bothered to stop sulking long enough to pack properly? Under any other circumstances, Potter, I would take great pleasure in watching you squirm. However, as time is of the essence…” With another great sigh, he flicked his wand, and Harry’s clothes and school supplies flew into his trunk. Harry noticed that unlike Tonks, Snape had mastered the part of the spell that folded everything neatly. “Where is your owl?”
“Hedwig?” Harry looked around, but he didn’t see any sign of his bird. Snape’s lips thinned, and Harry tried to remember where he’d sent her. “I, uh, I guess she’s at the Burrow. With Ron.”
“I see. Is there anything else here you care to take with you?”
“My broom.” At that, Snape opened his left hand and Harry’s Firebolt flew into it. Snape raised an eyebrow in question. Harry looked around and shook his head. He didn’t care if he never saw anything from this place again. “That’s all.”
“Very well.” He flicked his wand several more times. Harry wasn’t really paying attention, but he noticed his trunk disappear, and he felt a tickle behind his ears. “Come along.” Harry tried to stand up, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. Snape got as far as the door before he realized Harry hadn’t moved. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, greasy hair hanging in his face.
“Shall I force you?” Snape asked again, softly, and there was something in the tone that made Harry look up. Harry was tired and the thought of going anywhere was overwhelming and confusing and his brain felt heavy and he didn’t know why. He didn’t know where they were going, and he couldn’t remember why he had agreed to go anywhere with Snape in the first place, because Snape hated him and he hated Snape and he was much too tired to deal with any of this.
Harry’s eyes got wider and wider, and his breathing got faster and faster. His heart was slamming erratically in his chest and the thought of standing up was making him want to vomit. He was dizzy, so he tried focusing on Snape, who turned around, eyes narrowed. It seemed to work, and once the floor stopped spinning, Harry closed his own eyes and tried to get a handle on his breathing. After that was done, he opened his eyes and looked numbly up at Snape.
“I think you’d better.”
Snape’s mouth twisted and the last thing Harry heard was, “Imperio!”
---
Next part
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Rating/Warnings: This installment is probably a PG, but it's going to vary. Channish.
Setting: Post-OotP
Summary: What I Did On My Summer Vacation, by ClinicallyDepressed!Harry and AmbiguouslyTrustworthy!Severus.
Feedback: Pretty please.
Disclaimers: Not mine. JKR's.
A/N: This is not quite a WIP, in that it's mostly written already and I'm only posting chunks at a time for reasons too many and complicated to go into here. Title shamelessly stolen from a Cure song; it's tentative.
---
Harry had no idea how long he’d been back with the Dursleys. He wasn’t able to stay awake for more than an hour at a stretch, so his sense of time was off. He didn’t want to ever go back to Hogwarts, so he hadn’t bothered with his customary calendar. He tacked sheets to his window to block out the sunlight, and threw his alarm clock against the wall. He couldn’t even muster any satisfaction when it shattered.
Mostly, Harry was tired. Every once in a while, he woke in a cold sweat and hurled himself into the bathroom, retching. He never remembered his dreams, and he didn’t care to. Harry didn’t care about anything anymore, except sleeping. The Dursleys, thankfully, were leaving him alone, so Harry was able to get plenty of sleep.
It was therefore an unpleasant surprise when his bedroom door slammed open one afternoon. Harry pulled the sheets over his head and rolled over, his back to the door. He heard his Uncle Vernon’s heavy footsteps, and then Harry’s sheet was yanked away. He blinked up at his uncle, who was glaring down at him.
“You’ve a visitor,” he said flatly. “I think he’s from that school of yours. Are you going to bother getting up?”
“No,” Harry said. “Tell him to go away.” He snatched the sheet back from his uncle and burrowed back into bed.
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said in your life, boy.” Uncle Vernon slammed the door behind him, and Harry drifted back to sleep.
It was a particularly unpleasant surprise when the door slammed back open a short while later.
“Go away,” Harry mumbled, not bothering to see who it was. It probably wasn’t Uncle Vernon, who would have been wheezing from multiple trips upstairs. This intruder made no sound, which also ruled out Dudley. Maybe it was Aunt Petunia. Harry thought about looking, but he was much too tired to care. Instead he pretended to be asleep, hoping the person would leave him alone.
“Believe me, Mr. Potter, nothing would give me greater pleasure.” That voice. Harry jerked upright, fumbling for his glasses.
“Snape?” He said uncertainly. Why would Snape be in his room? It certainly sounded like Snape, but Harry couldn’t see anything. He heard a snort.
“Manners, Potter,” snapped the sound-alike. “Now if you’d kindly stop feeling sorry for yourself and get dressed, we can be going. As I’m sure even your Muggle-addled brain must grasp, my presence here is distasteful to all involved.”
Harry squinted into the darkness, confused. He still couldn’t tell if it was really Snape, although there was a great bat shape by the door. Where were they going? Snape hated him.
“Snape?” The sound-alike sighed heavily, and Harry thought it must be the real Snape. No one else could sound quite so put-upon and bored and irritated all at once without saying any words.
“Do try to pay attention, Potter. I’ve been sent to collect you, and am under orders not to leave this house without you. I assume the headmaster would prefer you come willingly, but I assure you, I prefer you to-struggle.” Harry heard the cruelty in Snape’s tone, but he couldn’t quite make sense of the words. His brain felt foggy, and his head had started throbbing. Where were they going? Why had Snape been sent?
“Snape?”
“Mr. Potter!” Snape thundered, and Harry’s head exploded. When it was finished exploding, Harry opened his eyes and looked around. This was the most light Harry had seen since… well, he wasn’t sure. Since he’d been back with the Dursleys, anyway. His Potions professor was standing over his bed, his wand out and glowing. He looked exactly the way Harry remembered him: hair still long and greasy, nose still much too big, robes still black and starched, and lips still peeled back from yellow teeth in rage. The sheets had been ripped away from Harry’s window, and daylight was pouring into his room. Harry squinted into the light, and then looked back at Snape.
“Where are we going?” Harry managed not to say the professor’s name again. Snape took a deep breath and lowered his wand. His gaze swept coldly over Harry, who looked as if he hadn’t got out of bed in weeks, and then over the bare bedroom. Harry followed his gaze and noticed a pile of moldy toast in front of the door. Aunt Petunia must have been shoving it through the cat flap, but Harry couldn’t remember her doing it. He frowned, trying to think of the last time he’d eaten anything. He looked up at Snape, who was studying him cynically.
“Do you care?”
Harry thought about it.
“No,” he said honestly. “Not really.”
“Shall I force you?”
Harry thought about that, too. Now that he was sitting up and looking around, the prospect of actually standing and dressing and packing was overwhelming. He was tired, and he felt weak and heavy. He didn’t know where to start. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to give Snape the satisfaction of forcing him to do anything. He lifted his chin.
“I…no. Sir. I’ll come with you. I just…could you… er.” Snape’s eyebrow went up, and Harry faltered. “I haven’t unpacked much, I don’t think, but there’s a spell. I can’t…”
“Be bothered to stop sulking long enough to pack properly? Under any other circumstances, Potter, I would take great pleasure in watching you squirm. However, as time is of the essence…” With another great sigh, he flicked his wand, and Harry’s clothes and school supplies flew into his trunk. Harry noticed that unlike Tonks, Snape had mastered the part of the spell that folded everything neatly. “Where is your owl?”
“Hedwig?” Harry looked around, but he didn’t see any sign of his bird. Snape’s lips thinned, and Harry tried to remember where he’d sent her. “I, uh, I guess she’s at the Burrow. With Ron.”
“I see. Is there anything else here you care to take with you?”
“My broom.” At that, Snape opened his left hand and Harry’s Firebolt flew into it. Snape raised an eyebrow in question. Harry looked around and shook his head. He didn’t care if he never saw anything from this place again. “That’s all.”
“Very well.” He flicked his wand several more times. Harry wasn’t really paying attention, but he noticed his trunk disappear, and he felt a tickle behind his ears. “Come along.” Harry tried to stand up, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. Snape got as far as the door before he realized Harry hadn’t moved. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, greasy hair hanging in his face.
“Shall I force you?” Snape asked again, softly, and there was something in the tone that made Harry look up. Harry was tired and the thought of going anywhere was overwhelming and confusing and his brain felt heavy and he didn’t know why. He didn’t know where they were going, and he couldn’t remember why he had agreed to go anywhere with Snape in the first place, because Snape hated him and he hated Snape and he was much too tired to deal with any of this.
Harry’s eyes got wider and wider, and his breathing got faster and faster. His heart was slamming erratically in his chest and the thought of standing up was making him want to vomit. He was dizzy, so he tried focusing on Snape, who turned around, eyes narrowed. It seemed to work, and once the floor stopped spinning, Harry closed his own eyes and tried to get a handle on his breathing. After that was done, he opened his eyes and looked numbly up at Snape.
“I think you’d better.”
Snape’s mouth twisted and the last thing Harry heard was, “Imperio!”
---
Next part