Title: The Peace Pipe
Author: themostepotente
Team: Wartime
Genre(s): Humour/Angst
Prompt: Sanctuary
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 11,500 +/-
A/N: Huge thanks go to rexluscus for her
pre-beta read through and to venivincere for
her final beta. Thanks also go out to sinick for her advice.
Lots o' love to Team Wartime for their continued support. Any mistakes
thereafter are mine own.
Disclaimer: The characters contained within do not belong to me. I just
like to make them do filthy things to one another.
The premise of my story deals with Snape and Harry staying
with a Native American tribe of my own creation. It's a humorous fic and was
written with that intent in mind. No offense or disrespect is meant in any way,
shape or form to any Native American persons. No negative aspects of culture
were meant to be embraced, but rather I chose to poke fun of certain
stereotypes goodhumoredly.
Summary: Potter is sent to train with a fabled Indian tribe at Dumbledore's
behest. Hijinx ensue when Snape is ordered to supervise.
The Peace Pipe
The old man was always late.
Severus Snape sat at the kitchen table of some long forgotten Order safehouse
in Wales, staring at a blank Chocolate Frog card.
The faceless card was Albus Dumbledore's and had been Snape's only source of
communication with the outside world after his infamous flight.
A year had passed since Snape had uttered those horrible words, and precious
few knew the truth of things, but all of that was about to change.
Snape had been sitting there for hours, bored and hungry. He'd memorised all of
the facts on the back of the card months ago, and was now content to make
anagrams from Grindelwald's name.
Darling lewd. And lewd girl. Gnarl lewd id.
Snape was just about to write down an anagram beginning with 'dad' when a plate
of hot food was plunked down in front of him.
"There. Eat," came a woman's voice from behind. She stared down the
same hooked nose at him when he went to protest.
"I've been listening to your belly grumble for the better part of two
hours. Steak and kidney pie's your favourite, so I'll have no fussin', Severus
Osgood Snape."
Snape cringed at the mention of his middle name. His father had lost the battle
with his mother for the name Severus, but Snape was given the name Osgood, the
name of his paternal grandfather, in a last minute compromise.
It was his lot in life, Snape thought, that he should suffer with greasy hair,
a terrible beak and the name Osgood.
"I'm fine, mum, really. I'll have a forkful, and he'll call upon me. I'd
just as soon wait."
Eileen picked up the scrap of parchment her son had been scribbling on.
"What's this about then? This nonsense with your father, God bless his
drunken, wife beating soul."
They both spat on the floor in tribute.
"I was occupying my hands, nothing more," Snape said coolly.
"Well, occupy them with a fork," Eileen scolded. "I swear if I
didn't remind you to eat, you'd forget most of the time."
Snape's tone was loving but duo-syllabic. "Yes, mo-ther."
Snape was just about to wrap his lips around a particularly fine piece of meat
when Albus ahemed. He'd reappeared on the front of the card and was cleaning
his half-moon spectacles.
"Impeccable timing, Albus," Snape said with an annoyed chuckle.
Dumbledore twinkled his hello. "Haven't caught you at a bad time, have I,
Severus?"
"Of course not, sir." Snape said, pushing his plate away two
fingered. "You've news for me?"
"Good news and bad news, I'm afraid."
Snape bristled at the prospect of Voldemort's victory. "The good news
first then."
"Harry's found and destroyed all of the Horcruxes but one."
Severus arched a crow-black brow. "And the bad news?"
"It is as we feared. Harry is the last Horcrux."
Snape took a deep breath and slumped his shoulders. That was, until, his mother
kicked his chair leg for him to straighten. "The boy is aware of
this?"
"No, Minerva and I agree that this would shatter Harry's confidence.
Voldemort's soul, while negatively influencing, lends certain abilities.
Bravado, ego and his gift of parseltongue to name a few. Harry mustn't believe
he's lost control."
"I see," Snape said. "So now they must meet one another in
battle?"
Albus nodded solemnly. "Sad but true. Which brings me to why I've called
upon you. You are to supervise his training with the Tahlewaketani tribe."
Snape could hardly believe his ears. He didn't know which he found more
incredible; supervising that idiot boy or the possible existence of the fabled
Indian tribe.
"The Tahlewaketani tribe, sir? I thought their legend was myth?"
"Quite the opposite, Severus. And their chief is quite anxious to receive
you and Harry as honoured guests."
Snape could not help himself protesting. "Surely it's better for me to
stay put, sir? I'm quite certain the Aurors have a reward for my capture."
Or more like a price on my head, Snape thought sourly.
"Not to worry. The tribe dwells in seclusion. And five hundred galleons
when last I heard," Dumbledore informed Snape. The old man had an odd
gleam in his eye as if he were proud of the fact.
"Albus, I needn't remind you of our past history. He's a fire element, and
I'm a water element. We're ill suited to one another."
The old man was having none of his argument. "A Portkey has been buried
twenty paces from your front door. You're expected in the morning. I'll be in
contact. Good luck, Severus."
And just like that he was left staring at a faceless card again.
Snape mumbled a few choice imprecations under his breath, reaching for his
lukewarm dinner. To add insult to injury, his mother intercepted the plate.
"Kitchen's closed," she said, her words tinged with annoyance.
"That man does like putting my baby boy in harm's way. Maybe after this,
he'll allow you to settle down."
Snape snorted his amusement. "Settle down? You must be joking. Snapes
don't settle down. You recall you owled dad twenty-three times with news of
your impending delivery before he even responded with 'stop harassing me,
bitch?'"
Eileen looked smug. "Persistence paid off."
Snape shook his head. "Besides, my one and only opportunity for anything
remotely resembling happiness blew out the door when Lucius married
Narcissa."
Eileen put the kettle on to boil. "That poncy bloke with the cane wasn't
worth a squirt of kneazle piss. He did you a favour by marrying that Black
woman."
Snape bristled at his mother's crassness. "I'm going to bed."
"It's early still," Eileen protested. "Play a game of Gobstones
with your mam before retiring?" She had only to give Snape that look and
all mention of Lucius Malfoy was forgotten.
"Very well," Snape said, kissing her cheek. "But only if you let
me win."
Dumbledore had buried the Portkey in a rusted tin of Bertram's Better Butter
Biscuits. It was a small, round campaign button for Minister hopeful Richard
Rumpleminz. Stuck to the bottom of the tin was a spare bit of parchment that
read: Touch my dick.
The old man had an odd sense of humour.
Snape tipped the tin over and the button fell into his hand, whisking him away
to the Tahlewaketani's encampment, situated he knew not where.
Upon arriving, Snape noted his surroundings. There were tipis as far as the eye
could see, but the encampment was actually much smaller than it appeared. The
Tahlewaketani were practised in illusory and shadow magics, employing these
tactics to both protect and preserve their people.
Two monolithic pillars warded the encampment entrance, a bear skull atop one
and a buffalo atop the other. The stones bore carvings of man and beast painted
in red and ochre, and there hung a basket for offerings in homage to Mother
Earth and Father Sky.
It wasn't hard to see why Dumbledore had taken a liking to the tribe's chief.
He held a commanding presence in an eccentric sort of way. The old man and the
chief must've been fast friends, influencing one another from the get go.
There, on the chief's belt, hanging next to his wand, was a pouch of lemon
drops.
"Welcome, Severus Snape," the chief greeted, spreading his hands in a
warm and convivial gesture. "I am Chief Sitting Bullfrog. To the right is
my spiritual advisor, Runs in Circles. To the left is our tribal medicine man,
Says Much, Speaks Nothing."
Snape forced a smile in return, battling the impolite curiosity that threatened
to spill from his lips. Such odd names, but Snape was certain they were just as
fascinated with the origin of his own name.
"It's a pleasure to be here," Snape lied, thinking about the
unpleasantness that was Potter. "I look forward to learning about your
culture in addition to my assigned duties."
Sitting Bullfrog smiled. "You are a stranger here but once. Consider
yourself both friend and ally to the Tahlewaketani tribe."
"I think it sounds like 'Tallywacker Tiny' when you sound it out,"
came a very familiar voice. Parting the crowd like Moses had parted the Red Sea
was Potter, warpainted up like a cheap tart.
Snape flashed a dangerous look at Potter, casting rueful eyes on the chief.
"My apologies, Sitting Bullfrog, but the boy hasn't manners enough to fill
a thimble…" Snape sneered at Potter, "…half-way."
The chief and his advisor laughed, followed by the rest of the tribe.
Apparently, these imbeciles found Potter's lack of manners endearing.
"Harry Potter speaks the truth," the chief laughed. "Your Boy
Who Lived is much with the wit. Come, the both of you, I will show you to your
tipi."
Snape arched a brow. "Beg pardon, Chief Sitting Bullfrog, but did you say our
tipi? As in the one Potter and I will share?"
The chief nodded solemnly. "Our peoples share a great many cultural
differences, Severus Snape. This is the time of Wahnatahlewake, when those of us
who are unjoined mate for life. I could not risk putting you both into separate
tipis."
Snape was more than happy to take his chances, but he was not here to question
eons old tradition, nodding weakly in agreement. Potter, on the other hand, did
not look the least bit put out. In fact, he looked rather smug about it, the
little bastard.
Their tipi was quite spacious inside, the floor strewn with skins and furs. The
centre space provided room for a small cookfire and an odd looking urn, and the
walls were decorated with artefacts and history. Snape blanched at the scalp
collection.
Snape had been adamant about wearing his robes, but the chief was having none
of it. He insisted that Snape don the traditional garb of their tribe, leaving
deerskin leggings, moccasins, and a vest made of beading and bleached bone for
him to change into. Snape, however, politely put his foot down at the
suggestion of a breechcloth.
The minute Chief Sitting Bullfrog left, Potter caught Snape in the face with a
right hook that displaced his jaw.
"That's for Dumbledore!" Potter snarled.
Snape advanced on Potter with his wand but was hindered by a strange mist that
emanated from the urn. The mist separated into five tendrils to form a hand,
waving a reproving finger at Snape's face and patting Potter's head before
swirling helicoidally back into the urn.
"Can’t threaten me with magic in here. The Guardian responds negatively to
hexes and curses."
Snape had to slide his jaw back into place to speak. "I wonder what the
chief would have to say about your quicksilver temper, boy. No doubt your time
here will teach you a thing or two about discipline."
"You had that coming, Snape. You have a lot to answer for."
Snape winced painfully. Potter had the strength of a Beater when he was furious
enough. "Still an arrogant, strutting little snot I see. A year's done
little for you in the way of maturity."
Potter's smile was ingratiating. "And you're still an ugly, bitter,
repressed excuse for a human being."
Snape wanted to smash Potter in the face. He spat in anger, showering Potter
instead. "Why you--!"
Potter wiped the spittle from his face. "Excuse me. Murderer."
Snape tsked. "Dumbledore would be saddened by your behaviour, Potter. I
can't imagine why, but he thought the world of you."
Potter blinked back a few tears. "Dumbledore's dead. He wouldn't know to
be saddened. He can't hear. He can't speak."
"Really?" Snape said. "I just spoke with him last night."
"Lying bastard!"
Snape's lip curled into a sneer. "Am I now?" He waved the Chocolate
Frog card in front of Potter's face.
"Give it here, Snape. I want the truth of things!"
"You're not ready for the truth, Potter. Not until you let go of that
anger." Snape approached the urn, spewing a few curses to summon The
Guardian. It hovered about Snape menacingly while he reasoned with it. A moment
later it took the card from him.
Potter looked absolutely incensed. "What did you just do, Snape?"
"I've used The Guardian to my advantage, Potter. Just as you did
earlier."
"Explain," Potter snarled.
Snape was too pleased with himself to censure Potter's pushiness. "I've
instructed it to hold the Chocolate Frog card until you can take it. Without
displaying so much as a crumb of anger."
Potter tried to take the card. It was reachable but not obtainable.
Unconvinced, he tried a second time, a third time.
"You utter fucking greasy bastard!"
"Not entirely true," Snape sneered. "I had a father."
Potter stormed from the tipi.
Snape laughed until The Guardian swirled and reformed a hand, patting his bum
in a motherly 'be on your way' affectation.
The tribe's men were gathered in front of the fire for the evening's meal and a
ceremonial induction. Their women attended them, filling their clay goblets
with drink and their plates with generous helpings of 'the three sisters' -
corn, beans and squash - and rabbit, moose and antelope meats. One woman was
insistent upon Snape's eating more, poking his bony frame. The look she gave
him was that of a farmer wanting to fatten a goose for Christmas feast.
Potter was making a pig of himself as usual, stuffing his face and forcing the
women to attend him twice as much. The chief and his men, however, were amused
by Potter's behaviour, practically revering him and his atrocious manners. It
would've come as no surprise to Snape if the Tahlewaketani erected a totem in
Potter's honour, counting him among their Gods.
Upon the feast's close, Chief Sitting Bullfrog stood and motioned for silence.
When the chatter quieted, he stepped over to where Snape and Potter were
seated. The smile on the chief's face told Snape that something dreadful was
coming.
"It is time," the chief began, "to christen our new brothers
with their tribal names. Here, in our presence, they are reborn." The
chief gave them each a stone, carved in their native tongue. "Cast your
old selves into the fire and become one with the Tahlewaketani!"
Potter was the first to toss his stone into the fire, no doubt eager to be rid
of the infamous name he'd carried for eighteen years. Snape, however, was
reluctant. There was no escaping his past. Perhaps, it was just his
imagination, but Snape thought the flames rose higher at his discarding.
Chief Sitting Bullfrog touched the tip of his wand to Snape's shoulder and
stared into his eyes. It was a bit reminiscent of Arthur christening his
knights, but while the chief might have had the goodness of Arthur, Snape
thought himself no Lancelot.
"From this day forth, Severus Snape, you are known to your brothers as
Sneers Too Much."
Potter let out a whoop that rivalled a hyena's, but quickly covered his mouth
when the chief moved on to him.
"And from this day forth, Harry Potter, you are known to your brothers as
Temper that Trembles the Earth."
The chief raised his arms to the heavens, bellowing. "It is done, and so
it is!" He gave Potter and Snape a warm smile and held out his hands. Into
them, Runs In Circles placed a calumet. The stem was ornamented with feathers
and the pipe itself was red pipestone.
"And now we shall smoke to peace amongst our brothers," the chief
announced.
From out of the pouch on his belt, the chief filled the pipe with tobacco,
tossing some on the ground before him. He said a prayer in tribute to the four
directions and to Mother Earth and Father Sky for keeping watch over them. He
took the first hit before passing it to his advisor and down the line.
The young brave who passed it to Snape blew smoke in his face as a sign of
respect. Snape held in his discomfort, swallowing his cough before turning to
Potter. Snape had no qualms with taking part in the ritual, but deep down his
insides were roiling with disgust. There would never be peace between him and
Potter.
Potter must've sensed this and stood, shaking his head violently in protest.
"No way. No. Never. I hate him almost as much as I hate Voldemort. I'd
sooner shove that pipe up my arse than smoke to peace with…Sneers Too Much."
There was a great stir among the men.
Chief Sitting Bullfrog shouted above the din. "Silence!" He turned to
Potter, flashing him stern but not unkind eyes. "Another time then. You
are excused from our gathering, Temper that Trembles the Earth."
Potter left without looking back and Snape looked deeply apologetic. He spoke
in Potter's absence. "Chief Sitting Bullfrog, I must apologise for Potter's
cheek. I will speak with him about his behaviour. He has shown you and your men
such disrespect, and I am embarrassed beyond words on his behalf."
The chief threw an arm around Snape's shoulder. "Come, let us take a walk,
Sneers Too Much."
Snape had no choice but to go, narrowing his eyes at the tipi that him and
Potter shared. That little ingrate was going to hear about this later. Away
from that wretched urn, albeit.
Chief Sitting Bullfrog spoke softly. "There is no need to explain the
enmity between the two of you. Dumbledore has told me everything to better
understand you both. We spoke at great length with the help of Sighs at the
Stars, our tribal shaman."
Snape felt a mixture of anger and humiliation. Salazar only knew what the old
man told the chief.
"There is no need to feel shame, Sneers Too Much. Once, there was discord
between Runs In Circles and Says Much, Speaks Nothing. Runs in Circles had
coveted Says Much, Speaks Nothing's wife and there was great unrest between
them. Says Much, Speaks Nothing shot Runs In Circles with an arrow, catching
him in the foot, hence the origin of his baptismal name. They have since made
peace, but Says Much, Speaks Nothing took a vow of silence, nevertheless, and
has not spoken in twenty years."
Snape could hardly believe this. These people had such alien customs.
"So you see," the chief continued, "I know well what to expect.
Peace will eventually come, but not overnight. We will all see to it."
When flobberworms flew, Snape thought miserably.
Nearby, the young brave that had passed Snape the peace pipe was watching.
The chief grinned hugely at Snape. "Whispers to the Wind has taken a
liking to you. He is a young priest in training, the air elemental his chosen
path." He pulled Snape closer, his tone firm but unthreatening. "Go
and have a word, but tread lightly where his virginity's concerned. He may not
enter the priesthood without it."
Snape took that as his dismissal, pale cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Snape
hadn't engaged in sexual activity in years. He was convinced he'd forgotten how
it had been so long. Snape was curious about the priest's religious training,
so he thought a conversation over drink wouldn't hurt, though.
Hours later when Snape returned to the tipi, Whispers to the Wind kissed his
cheek in farewell. Desire burned trails of fire through Snape's being, and his
cock twitched inside his deerskin leggings. Snape guessed the young priest's
age to be in his early twenties. Next to him Snape felt so old and ugly. What
could Whispers to the Wind possibly see in him?
Potter was no less hostile when Snape entered their tipi. "You were gone a
long time. Was it that kind of evening, Snape?"
Snape had had quite enough of Potter's mouth at that point, narrowing his eyes.
"Not the kind that you're used to. No money changed hands."
"Sod off, Sneers Too Much," Potter replied, flipping over in his
bedroll.
Snape sighed deeply. With any amount of luck when he awoke he would be back in
his own bed, this whole situation just a bad dream. Silently, he undressed and
burrowed under a large pile of skins. His mind was racing with thoughts of his
assignment, the old man and Whispers to the Wind. Quietly, he stroked his cock
until he came, falling asleep quickly thereafter.
Snape was startled from his sleep at the sound of a voice. He watched
unobtrusively as Potter spoke to the Chocolate Frog card, begging an audience
with Dumbledore. The old man did not appear, of course. The card was enveloped
in mist, creating a barrier between worlds.
Potter sniffled a bit, restraining his tears, and for a moment, however brief,
Snape's heart broke a little at Potter's sorrow. His lecture on manners would
wait.
Lesson the First
Snape had slept longer than he'd wanted. There was something about sleeping in
an alien environment that messed with his internal alarm clock. He was usually
up and about by six a.m., but it was quarter of ten when he finally sat down
for a spot of breakfast. If most people found him difficult in the morning,
then he was downright insufferable without his perfunctory tea and toast with
lime marmalade.
The chief was particularly lively this morning, nattering on about Potter's
first lesson. The tribe's tracker, Rattles the Mountains, was going to take
Potter out in the wilds to teach him Animagery.
Snape was positively gobsmacked at Rattles the Mountain's nose. It was just as
large as his own. It was said that when Rattles the Mountains slept, his snore
shook anything that wasn't nailed down in nature. Of course, the tracker had
been blessed with the uncanny ability to find anyone or anything by sniff
alone, and that in itself was quite remarkable. Snape decided that he liked
this man on principle.
They'd set out just after lunch, packing for an overnight stay. Snape hated
travelling on foot, but apparently there were no Apparition points once inside
the forest. To make the long walk somewhat bearable, Rattles the Mountains
began to explain his peoples' method of learning Animagery. Had Snape known it
was only a matter of picking and choosing, he would have studied with the
Tahlewaketani. Minerva did have her bitchier moments when instructing.
When Rattles the Mountains cleared his throat to speak, all the forest seemed
to hush at his insistence. "It is said," he began, "that my
people were the first true skin-changers. When a brave showed initiative, he
was taken into the wilds and told to sleep by the animal of his choosing. The
animal would counsel him in his sleep and share its secrets, thus becoming a
part of his psyche. This would then manifest to the physical form, and the
brave became a skin-changer."
Snape thought the whole idea ludicrous. Or perhaps, he was just bitter that the
Gods saw fit to make him just as ugly in animal form as he was in human form.
Vultures, after all, were the scourges of the desert.
"What animal do you make a strong connection with, Temper that Trembles
the Earth?"
Potter thought a moment before answering. "A fox. They're clever and
cunning."
The tracker stopped dead in his steps, sniffing the air "A wise choosing,
and there is a den up ahead. I smell wet fox fur."
Potter looked just as smug as he could be, but that look was short lived when
Rattles the Mountains bid them both farewell, saying he'd frighten the foxes
with his thunderous snores. Snape knew better than to protest. He was stuck
babysitting Potter.
With about six hours until nightfall and a few before dinner, Snape settled
under a tree with his book, shutting Potter and the rest of the world out until
it was time to make a cookfire. Twenty minutes later, Potter was complaining
loudly of boredom, demanding they talk. Snape, however, was having none of
Potter's petulance.
"Bored," Potter yawned.
Snape did not look up from his book.
"Bored," Potter repeated.
Snape said nothing in response, reading through the distractions.
The third time, Potter saw fit to enunciate the word dramatically.
"Booored."
The fourth bout of silence brought about a challenge as Potter lowered Snape's
book with a fingertip, invading his personal space and touching nose tips.
"Bored, bored, fucking bored."
Snape pushed Potter away with his middle and index fingers, reading on until
the book was finally plucked from his grasp and thrown into the trees.
That did it.
Snape raised his wand. "I suppose you think yourself clever, Potter. I can
just as easily retrieve the book with a simple Acc--"
Snape felt quite silly when his wand followed the same trajectory. "Very
well, Potter, talk. But I will not discuss Dumbledore. You know that you must
control your anger if you've any hope of speaking with him again. And what fine
progress you've made."
"This isn't about Dumbledore, Snape. Not yet, anyway. I want to know what
you were doing with Whispers to the Wind."
Snape rolled his eyes. "My personal life is none of your concern."
Potter pointed his wand at Snape. "I could have a look inside that greasy
head of yours. I've been in there before, you see. Buzz, buzz, buzz - fly
zapping's quite fun, isn't it?"
Snape allowed Potter his hollow victory. He had nothing to hide. "Whispers
to the Wind has a schoolboy crush on me. He kissed my cheek Exciting,
really."
"You're queer, aren’t you, Snape?" Potter asked pointedly.
Snape's lip curled into a telltale sneer. "I daresay that it takes one to
know one."
Without another word on the subject, Potter Accio'ed Snape's book and wand and
laid them at his feet, turning to start a fire for dinner.
Snape couldn't resist his own victory. He had always been a poor loser, but he
was an even worse winner. "Come back if you're feeling chatty,
Potter."
Snape had trouble sleeping underneath the stars. Or perhaps it was the forced
communing with nature that had turned him into an insomniac. At half past
midnight, he finally gave up, turning to his book for relief. Potter was, of
course, fast asleep in front of the foxes' den, lids blinking rapidly. The
little snot was in counsel.
From out of the trees, a creature appeared. Its fur was black, and there was a
long stripe of white down its back. It was headed straight for Potter.
Snape had no desire to be sprayed so he raised his wand in defence. Raised his
wand and was damned if he couldn't bring himself to zap the skunk. There was a
lesson in this for Potter, he thought slyly.
Everything in the skunk's path scurried in fear of the stink attack. Snape was
just as still as he could be; watching unobtrusively as the skunk sniffed at
Potter, tail hair bristling in disgust. Snape could hardly argue the point.
Potter's eyelids were blinking rapidly again, and Snape was positively beside
himself with amusement. Oh, how he was looking forward to morning. The smile
did not die on his lips even as he fell asleep.
Rattles the Mountains woke them early the next morning; the fire's embers still
smoking. The tracker was eager to hear of Potter's experience, engaging him
spiritedly. And Potter, show-off that he was, could hardly wait to demonstrate
his skin-changing prowess. There was a pause between transformation and
realisation and Snape knew in an instant why Rattles the Mountains had opted to
leave their campsite.
His laughter shook everything within a five-mile radius.
Snape fully expected the rest of the Tahlewaketani to tease Potter mercilessly.
Instead, they congratulated him on a job well done. While the fox was clever
and cunning, the chief agreed, the skunk was dominant and fearless. A bold
alternative! Leave it to Potter to become a skunk and still come out smelling
like a rose.
He had no time to dwell on Potter's choosing, though. Snape had been summoned
by way of the chief to Says Much, Speaks Nothing's tipi for a hush hush
assignment. The medicine man was deep in meditation, seated cross-legged with
arms extended and palms turned up. Never one to infringe upon anyone's private
time, Snape waited outside until he was allowed entrance.
Says Much, Speaks Nothing was mute by choice and well suited to his profession.
Snape was almost envious he hadn't thought of taking a vow of silence in the
name of stupidity long ago. It would have saved him many painful conversations
with incompetent students over the years.
The medicine man communicated by way of picture runes. It was the easiest way
for Snape to learn the rudiments of their language. All of Says Much, Speaks
Nothing's plants and herbs were neatly arranged in clay jars, crude drawings etched
on their surfaces. It was nothing at all like his beloved dungeon and yet Snape
felt somewhat at ease and even a bit homesick.
Snape did not know this man from Adam, but he was compelled to engage him in
conversation, curious about his blending of science and religion. Says Much,
Speaks Nothing did not share in Snape's curiosity, however, putting a finger to
his lips in favour of silence. He left Snape to his work and quietly went back
to his prayer, silent even in his exchanges with the Gods.
Using a small hipbone as a pestle to pulverise lacewing flies, Snape went about
the task of prepping ingredients for Polyjuice Potion. He was not given a
reason for its use, only that he would need a quantity enough for thirty.
This, he could only concede, had to have been the old man's idea.
Lesson the Second
If Potter's first lesson proved anything of a delight, the second was sure not
to disappoint. The tribe's best hunter, Crazy Thestral, was to teach Potter
archery and warfare.
Crazy Thestral cut an imposing figure. He was quite tall and muscled, covered
from head to toe in tattoos. His long hair was braided and interwoven with
teeth and bones; presumably from the bodies of his enemies.
To get into the spirit of things, Crazy Thestral had lined both Snape's and
Potter's cheeks with warpaint. It felt strangely enough like the time he'd
painted his face with his mother's lipstick as a boy. His mother had laughed,
gently explaining that makeup was for girls, but his father hadn't been so
tolerant of his experimental whims. Remembering this put Snape in the perfect
mood for target practice.
Potter wasn't quite as enthused, questioning the merits of wandless combat.
"I don't see why a wizard would need to learn archery. Not when a wand
will suffice."
Crazy Thestral did not look the least bit insulted. In fact, it made him all
the more excited to prove Potter wrong. "Tell me, Temper that Trembles the
Earth, what would you do if your enemy disarmed you?"
"Well, there's always wandless magic," Potter offered thoughtfully.
Snape rolled his eyes at the very suggestion. "You haven't the skill or
the patience to learn wandless magic, Potter. I have only to look at your
efforts with Occlumency or non-verbal magic."
"You were a lousy teacher," Potter countered defensively.
Snape took an aggressive step forward and Potter took two.
Crazy Thestral came between them. "Save it for the battlefield."
"Perhaps a demonstration would convince Potter. You see, he seems to think
he has all the answers," Snape said with a smirk.
"Very well," Crazy Thestral answered. He notched an arrow on his
composite bow from the quiver on his back, showing the proper stance. Pointing
to a clump of trees some two hundred yards away, he took aim and loosed his
arrow.
Through a pair of pocket Omnioculars, Snape watched as a brown lump fell from
the tree. He nodded, impressed.
"Now imagine if that had been an approaching Death Eater. Your wand hasn't
the range of an arrow." Crazy Thestral offered his bow to Potter.
"Now, you try."
Potter looked a bit apprehensive, nervous almost. He shoved the bow at Snape.
"Age before beauty."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Snape growled. He notched the arrow that
Crazy Thestral had given to him, mimicking his stance. Crazy Thestral stood
behind Snape to monitor his line of sight, raising Snape's arm a bit as he took
aim and fired. The arrow lodged in the knot of a tree trunk fifty yards away.
Crazy Thestral looked pleased. "Not bad, Sneers Too Much, but perhaps
Temper that Trembles the Earth can do better?"
Snape was feeling quite invincible. "Potter couldn't hit the broad side of
a castle. I'd even stand against the tree as his target." To prove his
point, Snape made his way over to the tree in a swift jog.
With gloves off and gauntlet flung, Potter stepped up to the challenge.
"Don't suppose I could use your tomahawk instead, Crazy Thestral? Bow's a
bit awkward for me."
Crazy Thestral handed Potter his tomahawk, mirroring Snape's thumbs up when
Snape was against the tree and awaiting his fate William Tell style.
Gripping the handle at the end, Potter put a spin on his throw, clipping Snape
on the left side of his face. Potter had shorn Snape's hair down to the roots,
lopping off a fair bit of his greasy tangles.
Cursing profusely, Snape unwillingly volunteered a piece to the scalp
collection.
A narcissistic man would have seen to his hair troubles. Snape felt no such
urge.
He supposed it didn't help his reasoning much that Potter's triumph was
lessened by Snape's nonchalance. Snape made positively no effort to fume even
though he was seething inside.
Crazy Thestral had been surprisingly impressed with his bowsmanship, and had
asked Snape to come by his tipi so that he could lend him a bow and a quiver of
arrows for practise.
He found the hunter in his tipi putting the finishing touches on a young
brave's tattoo. Snape winced in pain as Crazy Thestral penetrated the skin with
what appeared to be a modified quill feather. Several clay bowls were filled
with different coloured inks from the juices of elder, bear, black and sumac
berries.
Snape thought he would have his bow and leave, but Crazy Thestral invited him
to stay, plying him with berry pudding and a type of alcoholic beverage
fermented from maize.
To say 'no' would have been impolite. And after the day he'd had, the prospect
of a guilt-free alcohol buzz seemed inviting.
When Crazy Thestral had finished, the young brave examined his tattoo, grinning
in appreciation. Snape was surprised to find that the barter for services
rendered was a Chocolate Frog card; a limited edition foil card of Elric
Marchpine, free lance hunter and hired wand. Crazy Thestral was so overjoyed
that he kissed the card before putting it someplace safe.
Snape had always found avid hobbyists to be a bit eccentric, but most people
would've found his obsessions with potions and herbology just as peculiar. It
was hard to fault another man for his loves.
"Please, sit," Crazy Thestral grinned, gesturing to the chair the
young brave had occupied.
Snape sat, unsure of why he was asked to stay. The Tahlewaketani, he'd noticed,
didn't beat around the bush so his answer was forthcoming.
Crazy Thestral handed Snape a bowl of wojape. "You display a natural
ability for bowsmanship, Sneers Too Much. You'd make a fine archer."
"Thank you," Snape said humbly. All his life, he'd never taken well
to compliments. His father had assured him that he was a no talent loser just
like his old man. For a good while, Snape had believed that.
"A fine hunter, really. And you've the battle scars to prove it."
Crazy Thestral followed up Snape's pudding with drink, filling his cup to the
brim. "I could not help noticing the scars on your chest and back."
Snape shook his head. "These are not battle scars. They are reminders. You
cannot know where you're headed, if you don't know where you've been."
Crazy Thestral nodded in agreement. "Sage advice, Sneers Too Much.
Twinkles like a Shiny Sickle thinks of you as a son."
"Do you mean Albus Dumbledore?" Snape emptied his cup and gestured
for another.
"Yes," Crazy Thestral answered. "Chief Sitting Bullfrog has
granted him a seat on our Great Council."
Snape wanted to smile in reflection, but he was unable to will the muscles
necessary. "He was more of a father to me than my own father ever
was."
"It would be my honour to ink your skin, Sneers Too Much. A good man
should be proud of at least one of his scars."
"A gracious offer, Crazy Thestral," Snape said kindly. "But I
fear I'm not nearly drunk enough to endure your quill."
Crazy Thestral laughed, throwing his head back. "You tempt this old bear
by sticking your head in his sharp-toothed maw."
Snape shook his head, sure of this. "This is my last cup."
The men spoke through the night, carrying on and swapping stories. Snape had
never had many friends, let alone friends that listened to him. Crazy Thestral
treated him as an equal; not as an underling or a half-blood or a poor, working
class sod. There was kindness in his eyes, pride in his heart and respect in
his voice. But in the morning Snape thought quite differently of Crazy
Thestral, cursing his blasted hangover.
And the huge tattoo on his shoulder blade.
Lesson the Third
The last vestiges of Snape's hangover disappeared with a cup of coriander tea.
No sooner had he rid himself of the headache, than a new headache appeared with
a second headache in tow.
"Good morning, Sneers Too Much. I am Sighs at the Stars, shaman to the
Tahlewaketani. I am to escort you both to the desert for Temper that Trembles
the Earth's next lesson."
Snape's mouth was a moue of displeasure. He disliked extreme heat just as much
as he did extreme cold.
The three of them Apparated to a remote part of the desert whereupon there was
a tipi already set up. Only it wasn't quite a tipi.
Sighs at the Stars gestured them inside. The stifling air was made worse by a
flick of the shaman's wrist, igniting the coal-heated brazier.
"This is a sweat lodge. The heat drives the body's temperature up,
allowing an exploration of the mind. The white man would call what he
experiences inside the sweat lodge hallucinations. We call them visions."
The shaman pointed to a talisman on his necklace. "I will return when the
Keeper of the Shadowrealm summons me."
Snape untied his moccasins and toed them off as Potter watched him. He sat
cross-legged on the floor and shrugged from his vest and shirt, trying to make
things as comfortable as possible.
After only ten minutes, Potter voiced his discomfort. "It's too hot in
here, I'm leaving."
Snape laid a hand on Potter's arm. "You will remain. I will not suffer
this alone." His smile was perhaps more ingratiating with eyes closed.
"Besides, I thought the House of Gryffindor touted bravery?"
Potter shrugged from Snape's grasp. There was no sound of exiting footfalls;
only the sounds of choked breaths.
Let us see what path their foolish Gods have given me to follow, Snape thought
with a dark chuckle.
) O (
Snape was in his tipi, lying on a bed of furs with elbows propped. A gentle breeze
blew through the door flap, licking the flames and rousing the fire.
From across the room, a dark haired man came at him, crawling on all fours,
gaze fixed upon the ground. With that of a serpent's slither, he slid between
Snape's legs, crawling up his body. Innocuous green eyes met with dark, lambent
ones.
Snape watched as Potter cupped the angle of his jaw and drew a line down the
muscular column of his throat, flattening his palm against the pale planes of
his chest. He drew Snape into a kiss, expertly manoeuvring about his nose and
pressing their lips together hungrily.
Desire blossomed in the pit of Snape's stomach, spreading like wildfire to his
cock and balls. A pleasurable surge swam from root to base and his cock peeked
through the loose folds of foreskin, stiffening until it beached against his
belly.
Snape scarcely touched Potter, fingertips hovering above his warm flesh, but
where they passed, the fine hair rose on Potter's arms like a wheatfield
stirred by a summer's wind.
He moaned hotly against Potter's lips when their kiss deepened, Potter's eager
tongue forcing its way though thin, resistant lips. Their lips remained pressed
until Snape was satisfied that Potter had had his fill of the taste of his
sneers and scowls.
Snape arched up against Potter's body, crashing their hips together. He drew
Potter nearer, the pads of his fingertips burrowing into the underside curves
of Potter's arse cheeks.
He skimmed the hard line of Potter's teeth, Snape's tonguetip dragging over
points and edges, as their cocks swung and danced like swords rang in battle,
velvet lengths of steel vying for dominance. Wetness dewed and dropped,
spattering Snape's belly.
At a snail's pace, Snape slid his tongue inside Potter's mouth, snaking it
around his tongue in an exploratory kiss. Potter's kiss had begun as a shallow
pool that deepened with every twist and shift of his lips. Snape's body was
weakening as his strength waned, muscles unclenched and trembling underneath
the weight. Helplessly, he clawed and fought his way back up to the surface
before he drowned in that kiss, chest hitching madly as their lips parted.
"Prepare yourself for me," Snape said, eyes half lidded, his tone low
and uneven.
Potter obeyed, fetching an indicated preparation of salve, peppered with caper
and cardamom. Snape watched as Potter sank to his knees and lubed the cleft of
his arse before sliding his fingers in and out of the tight, slicked hole.
Snape's cock was throbbing painfully, and his balls were tightening to burst.
The head was flush, and the shaft was thick and veined, eager for hands to palm
and stroke it. "Now my cock," Snape said grabbing Potter's wrist.
When Snape was satisfied with Potter's anointing his cock, he gestured for
Potter to squat over his pelvis. Cock in hand, he directed Potter down until
the tip was nudging at his entrance. Balanced unsteadily on tiptoe and
spreading his arse cheeks, Potter sank down on Snape's cock, anchored by
Snape's last minute and desperate reach.
All of the nerve endings in his body were on fire, and his cheeks flushed with
fever burn. Snape's toes curled with every subsequent plunge of his cock into
Potter's arsehole, his brow dappling with perspiration as he arched his back to
meet Potter's wanton plunges.
Snape could feel his chest tightening, his breaths becoming more and more
ragged as he claimed Potter. His heart was thumping rapidly, threatening to
explode in his chest, the pounding in his ears loud and savage like the beat of
war drums. He almost stopped breathing a few times, driven to the delicious
brink of death by Potter's touch. If any other man had been his heart attack,
Potter had been his flatline, delivered back into the hands of his divine
healer. For Potter had the Lazarus touch.
) O (
Snape's eyes snapped open the moment his vision became clear. His skin was cold
and clammy, and every inch of his body ached. It was as if his fever broke.
Not one, but two sets of eyes were staring him down, casting rueful glances.
Snape hadn't felt this guilty since he was a boy, sneaking a biscuit from the
bloody jar. Damn them both!
Sighs at the Stars led them from the sweat lodge wordlessly, linking both his
and Potter's arms for a Side-Along Apparition. Turning to Potter he nodded,
pride in those steely grey eyes. Turning to Snape, he smiled, knowingly.
"It would appear," the shaman said with a wink, "that you have a
path to walk as well."
The lake Chief Sitting Bullfrog had suggested to Snape was the perfect
temperature. Snape liked his bath water anywhere from cool to tepid, and
depending upon where he swam to in the lake, he was treated to both
temperatures.
It wasn't often that Snape indulged in a bit of outdoor frolic, but when he
had, he enjoyed the Loch Ness as well as Hogwart's own lake.
It was a peaceful time alone. A time for thinking and for smoothing rough
edges. It had been near three weeks since he had first communicated with
Dumbledore, and he wondered if he'd hear from the old man again soon. Potter
had been unsuccessful in his attempts to obtain the Chocolate Frog card, but as
time progressed, Snape became less and less amused with keeping Potter at bay.
The boy had been owed his dues.
And then there was the matter of his vision. This had been a great source of
personal embarrassment for Snape. Like he'd been caught staring at his friend's
father. The way he'd first looked at Orion Black when Regulus had brought him
'round to 12 Grimmauld Place. Potter was only further proof that the Gods were
cruel.
His fingertips beginning to prune, Snape swam ashore and dried off, watching
the sunset. He was just about to towel his privates when a voice ahemed from
behind.
"I might've gone all year without seeing your dangly bits, Snape,"
Potter said. He stuck a finger down his throat to emphasise his meaning.
Snape had been quite the body conscious teenager, but as an adult, he didn't
seem to care who saw what. "I don't recall inviting you to watch. What are
you doing here?"
Potter rocked to and fro on his heels, hands clasped behind his back.
"I've just come to tell you that I've figured out a way to get the
Chocolate Frog card. Thought you’d like to know."
Snape snorted, picking up his clothes and dressing. "You're bluffing, of
course. You do get off on being defiant. Like your father before you, and most
likely his father before him."
"This isn't about being defiant," Potter snapped back. "And I'm
not."
"Oho?" Snape said, unsheathing his wand. He drew a line in the sand.
"What is your first instinct?"
Potter crossed the line.
"And now?" Snape drew another.
Potter crossed that, too.
Snape started to draw a third line, but Potter crossed that even before he'd
finished. Snape shook his head. He was actually more disappointed than angry.
"Not only are you defiant, you are exceedingly arrogant."
"No," Potter said, poking Snape in the chest two-fingered. "It
just means that I won't be bullied."
Before Snape had time to think, Potter took Snape's face in his hands and
kissed him. Potter broke the kiss just about the time Snape's body began to
respond.
"Or doubted," Potter said with a dangerous wink.
Snape watched unobtrusively from the outside flap as Potter plucked the
Chocolate Frog card from The Guardian's keep, victorious. The triumphant hoist
was indicative of Arthur pulling the sword from the stone.
"Potter kissed me earlier," Snape told the chief. "And there
was no rhyme or reason to his madness."
"Are you aware that anger can be transferred via a kiss?" the chief
asked Snape.
Snape arched a crow-black brow. "Really? You don't say."
Potter had found a way, and a clever way at that, to best Snape. Leave it to
the boy that barely studied a wink at school to initiate extra lessons on the
sly. And with trickery, no less. What fools these natives be, Snape thought
wryly.
Potter had even gone so far as to don Snape's robe, drawing the hood over his
face in an attempt to fool Albus. At least enough for a summons. Potter had
such nerve, and dwelling on it just made Snape angrier. The strict
disciplinarian in him wanted to turn Potter over his knee and tan his backside
for this little stunt.
Snape was just about to intrude on Potter's privacy when Potter drew back his
hood, falling to the floor and sobbing.
He'd seen the old man.
"Sneers Too Much?" a voice came from behind. The voice was low and
melodic. Like bells tinkling on the air.
Snape turned around a bit, enough to see that it was Whispers to the Wind.
The elemental priest laid a hand on Snape's shoulder. "I taught Temper
that Trembles the Earth how to transfer his anger. I thought he might come to
you."
Snape was absolutely livid, but he could not tell where his anger ended and
Potter's began. "And then you to me?"
"Yes," Whispers to the Wind said quietly, taking Snape's face in his
hands. "You'll need your wits about you for tomorrow's lesson."
"And if I don't wish my wits about me now?" Snape spat,
narrowing his eyes. "Potter should be punished for this."
The priest caressed Snape's cheek with his thumb. "Say nothing to Temper
that Trembles the Earth. Allow him his answers."
Snape closed his eyes at the touch of soft lips, and in an instant he felt an
air of calm envelope him.
Lesson the Fourth
If Potter had been apprehensive of Apparition lessons, he was positively
terrified of Shadowmancing. Snape was always pleased to see Potter flinch in
the face of fear.
The tribe's Shadowmancer, Dwells in the Darkness, was a tall, lithe brave. He
was muscled from head to toe, and his skin was the colour of ink. It was
rumoured that he preferred the comfort of shadows and was merging with the
darkness.
As much as Snape was enjoying Potter's discomfort, Snape's stomach knotted at
the prospect of catastrophe. Where Apparition held the dangers of splinching,
Shadowmancing held the dangers of imprisonment in darkness.
Dwells in the Darkness chose to teach them deep within the forest; shadows a
plenty made by the sun penetrating the canopy of green. It was the perfect
place for their lesson.
"Shadowmancing," Dwells in the Darkness began, "is not merely
another form of travel but also an otherworldly experience. It is not difficult
to master, but it does require precise timing and knowledge of one's
surroundings. Ideally, a forest like this, or perhaps the cover of night when
the moon is pale enough."
Snape found the idea of travelling in shadows a bit menacing, but Potter seemed
utterly fascinated with anything that provided even the slightest bit of danger
despite his obvious alarm. Even as a teenager, Snape tried to play it safe.
Now, in his late thirties, he wondered where he would be if he'd only taken
more chances in his life. On some levels, he was living vicariously through
Potter.
"Like Apparition," Dwells in the Darkness explained,
"Shadowmancing is based on three key principles; destination,
determination and deliberation." He tapped his temple with the tip of his
wand to reiterate his meaning. "Concentration is paramount for a
successful jump between shadows. Distraction equals disaster."
Potter interrupted with a question. "Er, what sorts of disasters are we
talking about here?"
The Shadowmancer smiled, his teeth whiter and brighter than Lockhart's.
"I'm glad you asked that question, Temper that Trembles the Earth."
Snape rolled his eyes when Dwells in the Darkness gave Potter a congratulatory
pat on the back. The Tahlewaketani certainly liked to cosset Potter.
"A Shadowmancer should never fear the darkness," Dwells in the
Darkness continued, making a fist and punching the air. "But embrace it!
The darkness is able to sense fear and may collapse a shadow before a jump can
be made. One of two ways imprisonment occurs."
"And the other way?" Snape chimed in. Unlike Potter, he was given no
smile or clap on the back. Typical.
The Shadowmancer looked Snape over as if to size him up. "The other way
happens when there is a disruption of light, displacing the shadow. Either
total darkness or total brightness will eclipse a shadow, trapping the
traveller between worlds. For today's lesson, I will jump in tandem as a safety
measure. Which of you would like to go first?"
"He can," Potter and Snape said in unison. Snape gave Potter a funny
look that was neither hateful nor contemptuous. The boy could piss off with his
'age before beauty' rubbish, though.
Neither of them stepped forward after that so the Shadowmancer volunteered
Snape. "Your job," he said, turning to Potter, "will be to try
and distract, Sneers Too Much."
Potter proceeded to snicker at Snape's dumb luck, that was, until, Snape
whapped the back of Potter's head in passing. Oddly enough, it wasn't because
he was terribly angry, but because he found it amusing. Snape felt strangely
out of sorts this day.
Dwells in the Darkness stood behind Snape, linking their arms. "That
shadow up ahead," he indicated, pointing. "Your job, Temper that
Trembles the Earth, is to break Sneers Too Much's concentration. No touching,
though. Ready. On my mark. The both of you. Go!"
Just as Snape was readying his mind for the jump, Potter deluged him with
insults. "Nice, tattoo, Snivellus. Did you get inked to impress
Whispers to the Wind? Did he show you his 'Little Big Horn?'"
Snape had cleared his jump but just barely. The boy still possessed the power
to get under his skin.
The Shadowmancer shook his head. "That was sloppy, Sneers Too Much. You're
capable of doing much better." When Snape returned to the starting point,
Dwells in the Darkness stood behind Potter, repeating his words. He nodded for
them both to go.
Snape's expression was deadpan. He had quite the insult planned, and if that
didn't work, he had an ace up his sleeve. When Potter made to leap, he
commenced with part one of his attack. "Top or bottom, Potter? My sickle's
on your being a feisty bottom."
That seemed to rattle Potter sufficiently, but to add insult to injury Snape
threw a non-verbal Locomotor Mortis curse Potter's way. The Shadowmancer
cleared the next shadow all by his lonesome. Potter looked none too happy.
Dwells in the Darkness was quite impressed with Snape's quick thinking despite
Potter's accusations of cheating. Hadn't the Shadowmancer's only contingence
been 'no touching?'
The Shadowmancer gave his pupils quite the workout, imparting them with his
words of wisdom when the hour grew too late for them to continue.
"Remember," he said gravely, "more assassination attempts are
successful when the attacker employs Shadowmancing."
That night, Snape slept with one eye open.
Battle Royale
In the weeks that followed, Snape continued to supervise Potter's lessons.
Though he was loath to admit as much, Potter's training was progressing along
nicely. Where the boy once lacked maturity there blossomed patience and
control. It was amazing how much he could accomplish without the bane of his
temper. The anger transference spell had actually worked in their favour.
Of course, those words were spoken much too soon.
In the dead of the night, Snape awoke in a cold sweat, clothes moist and
clinging. The tipi was pin-drop quiet. It was as if the world lacked a pulse.
No voices. No insects. No sounds at all.
The calm before the storm, Snape thought, rising quickly. Potter was nowhere to
be found.
And then the explosions began, loud and earth shattering like a German
blitzkrieg. Snape's heart sank. There, in the sky, hung the Dark Mark.
Their sanctuary was a sanctuary no longer. Death Eaters descended upon them
like a plague, swarming like locusts. Snape panicked. He had to find Potter.
Salazar's scrote, where had the idiot boy wandered off?
Outside, the Tahlewaketani were assembling, steadfast and battle-born. Fear had
been driven from them at an early age. Even the women and children had parts to
play. Here, every man, woman and child was a soldier at arms.
Snape found Potter in the bushes of all places, half-dressed and apologetic.
Either to him or to the young brave he couldn't wager a guess. Snape was
ashamed to admit that even in the midst of war, there arose a sickening feeling
in the pit of his stomach that he cast aside in favour of disgust. He had a job
to do.
Snape met up with the chief and the two of them exchanged worried glances. The
Death Eaters were just outside their gates, busily trying to figure a way
inside. Or to tempt Potter and his army outside.
The Dark Lord was first to speak. "Come out, come out wherever you
are," he crooned singsong. "Severus, I know you have the boy with
you. Bring him to me, my favourite turncoat, and I will make your death quick
and painless. Lucius will even eulogise your passing."
Snape stiffened. Every pore and fibre of his being told him to be angry, but he
felt nothing. Potter looked just as lost.
And then he felt a wind at his back and a tap on his shoulder. "I have
something that belongs to you," Whispers to the Wind said. He kissed Snape
tenderly on the lips, pulling back when Snape's pale cheeks rosied.
"Thought you might want that back." The elemental priest nodded in
Potter's direction. "Share the wealth, won't you?"
The Dark Lord roared in rage. "Come out! Come out now! Fight like
men and die with dignity, or I shall burn this place to the ground!"
Infuriated beyond words, Snape took Potter by the crook of his arm and kissed
him fiercely.
Potter looked stunned. "W-what w-was that for?"
"Returning the favour, you little shit," Snape sneered.
There was a chorus of mocking awws from the Death Eaters when Potter approached
the gates. "It ends tonight, Voldemort!" Potter snarled through
clenched teeth, pointing an accusatory finger.
The Dark Lord had something more to say until Potter turned his back on him,
rejoining the others. In all his years of service to Voldemort, Snape had never
seen such a courageous snub. Courageous and stupid and Snape was sorry he
hadn't done it himself.
In a cover of grey mist, they Apparated one by one to Says Much, Speaks
Nothing's tipi where Snape had set up the makeshift potion's lab. When the fog
cleared, the monolithic pillars warding the encampment crumbled, allowing the
Death Eaters their entrance. With illusory magic in place, the number of tipis
was quadrupled. Several of the Dark Lord's men cursed, hiding defeated looks
behind those masks of comedy and tragedy.
Inside the medicine man's tipi, each brave was given a small phial to quaff.
Only Potter did not receive one. "What's this, then?" Potter
complained, looking slighted. Chief Sitting Bullfrog answered Potter's question
with a sly grin.
In about the time it took to recite the alphabet, the men began to transform,
watching as their separate identities became carbon copies of one distinct
personality; Harry Potter.
Potter was agreeably astonished. "Brilliant, that is. Which one of you lot
took my hair?" he asked, feeling for a missing clump in the back.
Somebody clapped Potter on the shoulder from behind. "You're a heavy
sleeper. It wasn't that difficult."
There was a titter of laughter among the men. Hardly expected from men who
might soon be casualties of war.
"Glasses," one of the copies offered thoughtfully. "I hardly
think we'll be as convincing without them."
There was a clash of wood and blade as wands and tomahawks were raised in
commencement. A flood of Potters rushed the exit, alike in every way but each
with a dissimilar and curdling warcry.
It had begun.
Unbeknownst to Potter, Snape had accompanied him on his quest to destroy the
Dark Lord. It had been the old man's dying wish.
In the distance, Snape could hear Unforgivables followed by screams. Fires were
blazing all about, and the bodies of the fallen were strewn haphazardly. The
battle grew uglier and uglier.
It had been on everyone's mind to be sure, but no one had asked until now. No
one but Potter. "How d'you reckon they found us?"
Snape shrugged his shoulders, but he knew the truth of it. Somehow, Potter's
contact with Dumbledore must have alerted the Dark Lord. If only he had had
more patience with teaching the boy Occlumency. Thinking about it only seemed
to intensify the anger he was feeling.
Potter broke away at some point, leaving Snape to deal with the Carrow
siblings. He was amazed at how easily they were dealt with. The anger from the
kiss had given him such an edge, and it left him merciless and wanting for
more. The Tahlewaketani weren't so much fools as he first thought.
That was, until, he heard the lilt of a familiar voice. A rich contralto that
could only belong to that of Lucius Malfoy.
"Potter," Lucius purred. "Oh, how I prayed I'd be the one to
find you. Your death will bring me back into My Lord's good graces again."
He raised his wand and trained it at Snape's chest. "Beg, and I might
spare you the pain of a Crucio, boy."
"Not if I can help it!" the real Potter growled, rounding the corner.
The confused look on Lucius's face gave Potter all the time he needed to send
an Avada Lucius's way. He dropped in a crumpled heap at Snape's feet. Dead, he
didn't look quite so glamourous.
Snape gave Potter a slight nod of thanks.
Potter wasn't fooled. "Come off it, Snape. I know that's you. I watched you
from a bush. Only you would hesitate in killing Malfoy."
Defeated, Snape rolled his eyes. "You were watching? Way to have my back,
Potter. And that wasn't hesitation, it was a slight pause."
"Can't say that I blame you, though," Potter said with a dark
chuckle. "I'd probably hesitate in killing my only sexual outlet,
too."
Snape was practically foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog after that insult,
but he still needed Potter alive. Instead, he redirected his anger and plucked
Lucius's cane out of his cold, stiff grasp. He snapped it in two across his
knee and tossed it callously over his shoulder. Snorting derisively, he
clenched and unclenched his fists. "Don't be ridiculous, boy. There's a
reason an ugly man finds beauty in his hands."
Potter had no further insults after that.
The battle raged on, but the Dark Lord was nowhere to be found. Potter had made
a quip about Snape being an old man, and wouldn't he like to rest for a bit. It
was rubbish, really, because Potter looked just as exhausted. Together they
shared a fallen log, catching their breaths and reflecting.
It was almost over, Snape thought, and he wondered what he would do after the
war if they were successful. Would he have to live out his life in seclusion?
Would they send him to Azkaban with all of the other prisoners of war? Or would
he be allowed some dispensation? It had always been a small dream of his to
open up a shop like Slug and Jiggers. He was, after all, a better
potionscrafter than those two imbeciles. With the help of his mother, he could
put them out of business in no time. It was a pleasant consideration, even if
he hadn't a snowball's chance in hell at peace.
Potter finally spoke, breaking the long, cold silence. "Are you sorry I
killed Lucius Malfoy? I know you two were tight, and all."
Snape sighed deeply. "I will mourn the Lucius I knew twenty years
ago." He turned to look at Potter, unsure if he was angrier with Potter
for asking him or having answered. "Why do you care?"
Potter shifted his weight around to answer Snape. "I don't hate you
anymore, Snape."
Snape gave a silent 'Oh really?' expression. And then the little shit retracted
his statement.
"Okay," Potter corrected. "I don't hate you as much. I'll
probably always hate you, just not to the degree I used to."
Snape could feel the anger swelling inside him again. All it took was something
stupid to come out of Potter's mouth to accomplish this. "Was this
supposed to make me feel better about helping you?"
Potter shrugged. "I don't care if it does, but th--"
Snape thought he heard a voice. His voice. "Shh, you idiot."
"Don't 'shh' me, Snape," Potter fumed.
Snape stood, pricking up his ears.
"It's in my head," Snape said softly. "The Dark Lord is trying
to draw me out. Stay put."
Potter did not look too happy being ordered around like a dog, but for the time
being he obeyed.
When Snape stepped out from the clearing, there the Dark Lord stood, surrounded
by his followers. The Dark Lord look surprised at seeing Potter in Snape's
place. Immediately, Snape slammed up his defences, but it was only a matter of
time before the Dark Lord would be able to break through them.
The Dark Lord shook his head, tsking. "Potter, how disappointing. I called
for my favourite turncoat. We've unfinished business first. Where is your
lover?"
Snape made a gagging noise, trying to be convincing. "The greasy bastard
is not my lover! He ran. Again. He's a bloody coward." It was easy if not
surreal to make fun of himself, he thought.
There was a round of laughter from the Dark Lord's followers.
"Then you shall pay for his mistakes," the Dark Lord laughed. He
threw a Crucio Snape's way, and Snape dropped to his knees, writhing in pain.
Through the pain, out of the corner of his eye, Snape could see Potter
watching. The moment the Dark Lord let up, Snape sent a non-verbal Legilimens
at Potter, searching for the embarrassing moment when Potter first discovered
he was a skunk Animagus. With any luck, the stupid boy would get the message.
The Dark Lord rounded on Snape again for a second Crucio when a skunk came
wandering by. The Death Eaters scurried about, trying to zap the poor creature.
Most of them fled at the prospect of being sprayed. Few others remained to try
and dispose of the nuisance. The skunk retreated into the trees with a few of
the Dark Lord's followers hot on his heels.
The Dark Lord approached Snape, slitted nostrils flared in anger. He toed Snape
over onto his back. "I suppose I'll just have to be happy killing you,
Potter. But don't think for a moment I won't enjoy torturing your lover. Pity,
you won't be around to watch."
"I told you," Snape said weakly, "Snape's not my
lover."
The Dark Lord rested the tip of his wand at Snape's forehead. "Really?
Shall we find out for certain? Legilimens!"
"Legilimens!"
"Legilimens!"
Snape grasped the sides of his head as if that would stop the Dark Lord from
entering his mind. He could feel the imaginary walls beginning to crumble when
he noticed the Dark Lord's shadow, followed by Potter's feet inside the shadow.
Potter rapped the Dark Lord on his bald head with the tip of his wand. "He
really isn't my lover y'know."
The Dark Lord spun around. "You?! Him?!"
Potter gave the Dark Lord his cheekiest grin ever. "Surprise, Mouldy
Voldy!"
Snape grinned in spite of himself.
Without skipping a beat, Potter put an end to it all. "AVADA
KEDAVRA!" The Dark Lord fell with a dramatic thud on top of Snape.
Disgustedly, Snape shrugged the body off of him. He proceeded to get to his
feet when Potter extended a hand. Snape took it, and Potter let him fall back
down.
Snape groaned in pain, cursing the idiot boy.
Potter chuckled and extended his hand again, this time tugging Snape up to his
feet. "I can't believe you fell for the oldest trick in the book."
"I can't believe you're a bloody skunk Animagus," Snape countered,
sneering.
Potter swung his leg back and kicked Snape's arse. "Shut it, or I'll spray
you!"
The celebration that followed their victory was spectacular. The surviving
members of the Order of the Phoenix were summoned, and even the old man was in
attendance, smiling from his Chocolate Frog card.
Prayers and toasts were spoken in honour of the fallen, and thanks were given
to Mother Earth and Father Sky by those blessed with continued life.
There was singing and dancing and feasting, and those barely acquainted were
being ushered into tipis for congratulatory sex. Potter looked a little jealous
and sullen, Snape observed, when Weasley and Granger closed the flap on their
own tipi.
Snape was still too angry himself to celebrate, and he hated putting up a
front. Slowly, he gravitated towards Potter, resting a hand on the boy's arse
to test the waters.
"This changes nothing," Potter said, not moving his lips. "But
I'll be damned if I'm going to watch all of my friends shag while I sit
here."
Snape nodded, agreeing. "Besides, with the war won, it's not as though we
had many ways to rid ourselves of this excess anger."
Chief Sitting Bullfrog, just as oblivious as the old man, crashed their little
pity party, waving the calumet pipe about. "Now you two will smoke the
pipe of peace, yes?"
Snape looked at the chief and whispered in his ear, clueing him in.
"Later, perhaps. Potter has a different pipe to smoke."
Fin
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