Fiction, yo

[lebateleur]

First of all, more big {{{{{{{hugs}}}}}}} are being sent to metal_dog5, who spent a ridiculous amount of time chatting with me about this fic tonight, and who was most gratifyingly appreciative of my BRILLIANT IDEA concerning the plot. And because more was written, in the event of a computer meltdown, it is being copied here:

He heard Potter clomp down the stairs as he was eating his toast and jam and prepared himself for some outburst of surliness over the previous evening's events. But to his surprise, Potter never came to the kitchen.

Snape set his toast down on the plate very carefully, and directed all his attention to the living-room. His caution was a wasted effort; judging by the various shufflings, thuds, and other assorted noises, Potter was making no attempt to hide his activities. Or perhaps he was making every effort that Snape hear them.

So this was to be Potter's revenge - wiping Snape's nose in the fact that he was an Auror and could do what he wished while in Snape's home. During the past few weeks he had almost allowed himself to forget that this was Potter invading his house, and that the boy had come here to fulfill a vendetta.

So it was back to more 'inspections.' Very well. It wasn't as though Snape had anything to hide. He knew it, Potter knew it. And now Potter was using that fact to attack Snape, invading his private affairs when he knew Snape was doing nothing wrong.

It had been so easy to let his guard down. Knowing that he was engaged in no Dark activity, he had continued his life as if Potter had not been there at all. Now he would pay for his credulity.

He stared darkly at the white linoleum of the floor and pondered his idiocy.

"What the--"

He half jumped from his chair at Potter's exclamation. Silence descended for the space of a moment, and then he could just make out Potter muttering beneath his breath.

Very well, he thought crossly. I'll take the bait. And with that he strode into the living-room to find Potter stretched out on the floor in the corner, head and torso wedged between the wall and the television cabinet.

"I assure you I have no contraband items hidden therein," he said to Potter's feet.

"I know." Potter's words were strangely distorted by the corner and the back of the cabinet. Potter writhed about on the floor, managing to jar his hip against the cabinet in the process.

"Ouch!" His legs flailed about, knocking over a stack of small boxes he'd apparently brought into the room with him. Snape wondered fleetingly what they were; he'd never seen Aurors use anything of their like before.

His musings were interrupted by Potter's indignant snort. "Snape, you haven't even got it plugged in!"

"Pray tell, Potter, what 'it' would be."

"The television!" Potter said, as if this fact should have been glaringly obvious. The boy's grunts and twists were this time accompanied by a violent rattling. Potter muttered a few curses, the rattling ceased, and then the boy extracted himself from behind the cabinet.

"Don't tell me you unplug it every time you use it," he said, rubbing his hip, face flushed from his recent exertions. "It's too tight a fit, even for me."

"Of course not. It has never been plugged in in the first place."

"Then how on earth do you use it?"

"I have never used it."

Potter stared at him in stunned silence. "You've never used it before?"

"I have no idea how to go about doing so."

Potter flicked his fringe out of his eyes and gave Snape a long, suspicious stare. "Getting you to explain something," he said only half under his breath, "is like trying to take Galleons back from a Niffler. Why even bother with a television if you aren't going to use it?"

"Because experience has taught me that Muggles are deeply suspicious of anyone who does not own one of the useless contraptions."

"You've had Muggles over?"

He rolled his eyes heavenward. "That would be necessary in order for them to discover my lack of a television, yes."

"You've had Muggles over," Potter repeated. "To your house?"

"Never if I could avoid it, but yes. It has, on the rarest of occasions, happened."

Potter blinked owlishly. "Oh," he said. "Well, now you can turn it on when they do visit."

"You have no doubt rendered me a great service," he said dryly.

Potter grinned and motioned to the boxes at his side. "Care to watch a film?"

Snape made a noncommittal grunt and returned to his breakfast in the kitchen. When he reemerged into the living-room he found Potter curled up on the floor, head propped on one of the sofa pillows, watching his "film," which was utterly unremarkable save for its frequent showy explosions.

Snape snorted and pulled a Crowley volume from the shelf nearest the desk.

"You can't tell me it isn't exciting," Potter said, twisting awkwardly to look at Snape.

Snape cocked an eyebrow without lifting his gaze from his book. "Any desire I might once have possessed to witness 'exciting' explosions was more than cured by seventeen years as a potions master."

Without looking, he could tell that Potter's attention had shifted entirely from the movie to his face.

"Why did you leave, Snape?"

"Have we not engaged in this conversation previously? I have no wish to discuss it further."

"You wouldn't answer me then, either."

"Potter, I cannot be held accountable for your faulty memory."

Potter extinguished the television and stood, shoulders squared. "I won't leave off until you tell me what happened."

Snape shut his eyes and placed his book carefully on the desk.

"As I told you before, I was run out of my job by a rabid pack of your supporters--"

"That's not true," Potter whispered.

"By a rabid pack of your supporters who felt that I had outlived my usefulness after the Dark Lord's demise--"

"No." Potter's voice rose dangerously.

"Had me removed from my position at Hogwarts and then did nothing to halt the rumours that I was in league with the Dark, though they knew full well that I was not.

"As," he added, heart racing, "I am sure you already know." Was Potter so obsessed with revenge, that he wouldn't rest until he'd forced Snape to say this out loud?

"And I told you before that no-one knew!"

"And you are LYING!"

"No!" shouted Potter, and Snape did look at him then. "No," he said more softly. "I'm not. Maybe the Order knew, maybe it didn't. Maybe the Ministry knew, maybe not. But I never knew until now."

That couldn't be...sympathy in Potter's gaze, so what was it?. It wasn't possible that Harry Potter, the man who had it all, could find any point of similarity between himself and Snape, any point on which to commiserate. And yet, what was that look in his eyes? Certainly not the triumph and condescension Snape had anticipated.

Potter was still staring. "Look," the boy said, brining a hand halfway to his face and then dropping it helplessly, "I didn't know. Believe me if you like, or don't but that's the truth.

"All I knew is that you'd disappeared. And given the rumours that you'd gone Dark, I didn't ask anything beyond that."

He paused and then continued, "I know you haven't gone Dark."

Snape shut his eyes again. His head was pounding and he felt ill. Why had Potter come here at all?

"Tell me one thing," he said at last.

"Yes."

"Did you believe the rumours?"

Silence

"Did you believe the rumours?"

"That's not fair," Potter whispered.

"Did you believe them, Potter?"

"Who wouldn't have!"

And there it was, out in the open, though he'd known it all along. He turned to leave the room, to go...somewhere. Potter's voice stopped him.

"Look... Snape, who wouldn't have?"

"Who indeed?" he said softly.

"Snape." The voice was closer this time, as though Potter had approached him. Or perhaps it was just that the buzzing in Snape's ears was beginning to subside.

Snape could tell that Potter had chosen his next words carefully. "It just... Everyone was worried. Nobody could believe Voldemort was truly gone. And then you disappeared, and--"

"Those rumours began long before my disappearance."

Potter was silent.

"Tell me something else," he said. "Did Dumbledore ever publicly acknowledge the part I played in the Dark Lord's fall?"

"No," said Potter softly.

"Did any members of the Order?"

"No."

He nodded once, without turning around. "Thank you."

The sound of Potter's movie carried faintly through the vents so that Snape heard the occasional explosion or scream from his bedroom. Eventually it ended, or Potter shut it off, and Snape was left with nothing but the sound of his own breathing, the whir of the furnace and the moan of the wind about his windows.

But the initial rush of vindication soon wore off, leaving dull disappointment in its wake. He had known that was how things were to be; it wasn't as though Potter's words had come as any sort of shock. Was he to sit here, locked away in his room like a sulking adolescent? Had he fallen this far? The possibility was disgusting.

And so he returned downstairs to find the living-room blessedly empty. He had no desire to read, and even less to play with Potter's beloved television, so he found himself staring out the window, across the front lawn and street.

The sun slowly worked its way across the sky, five o'clock came and went, cars rushing past as their occupants returned from work. The street lay deserted as families went about having their dinners, then a few children emerged to play on the lawns of the houses across the street. Several bicyclists passed. And elderly couple took their dogs for a walk.

Night fell, and lights were switched on in the houses across the streets, creating a patchwork of golden squares on the ground outside. Potter gave a bitter laugh.

"We look the same from this point."

Snape was too tired to find his sudden appearance startling. He moved his focus from the street outside to the windowpane, where his reflection, dark haired, pale, and hollow-eyed did indeed look a twin to Potter's.

Potter's next words did startle him. "What's the Albus, Snape?"

"Where did you hear of that?"

"You were muttering about it during your concussion in the hospital."


Not edited. Not for anyone expecting cohesion, either.

これで以上です。