Severus Snape

There are many Severus'. And each Severus has his own canon. In that of my Severus, I have made certain choices. It is certainly due to the influence of my friend's story that I have taken these positions. Since it was written the Snape-shaped hole appeared. This delighted me.

Voldemort is the only other person in the books who is mentioned as flying, and when they learn of it everyone is amazed. He is in the habit of arbitrarily punishing and rewarding. Snape had killed Dumbledore, the only person who Voldemort feared. In my world, it is not only Headmastership of Hogwarts he is granted, and a seat at the Dark Lord's right hand, but the gift of flight.

It has been argued, when I mentioned this in the Voldemort writing, that the Dark Lord was not inclined to give or to share knowledge or skills. I think, however that he was capricious, and it pleased him to act with benevolence as well as cruelty. 'A Merciful Lord,' he said, and perhaps he wanted to prove himself a generous one also. He would want to bear positive attributes, to show himself that he was a wise and good leader of men. If he had been a hard and vicious man always, I do not think he would have gained power and followers from the high old families.

It is true, he punished his followers, either with immediate Crucio, as with Thorfinn, or with long-term elaborate harm such as turning Draco into a murderer in vengeance against Lucius. Nevertheless, I believe that the service Severus rendered him, of that he believed Severus rendered him, was significant enough to warrant significant reward.

In my canon, Severus is aware of what price he paid for his gift. He knows it is blood money or meant to be blood money. On the one hand, when he flies he thinks of Dumbledore, of killing him. On the other hand, flight is wonderful, and the physical feeling is free, the control and solitude - all are at once triumphant and peaceful even in the midst of war. It is a beautiful miracle. It is another tool in an array of personal tactics. It allows him to... escape, to literally rise above. Wonder and horror.

( cut for length and more prosaic details )

words: 1019
warnings: none

Title: Inertia
Character(s): Severus
Pairing(s): None
Rating: G
Warning(s): None. *edit: Exhausting, even Sisyphusian*
Challenge(s): snape100 #284 Random Word (the Third)
Word count: 100
Author's notes: My word was obviously 'inertia.'

Inertia was his enemy. Most followed its lead as if it were the pied piper. They whiled away their waking hours in sports rivalries or trading... paramours. Those working seriously tended to be still more firmly grasped by Severus' arch enemy, cramming themselves with rote and the obvious curriculum.

Severus mind was quicksilver. Rather than succumbing to secure relaxing absorption of coursework, he wrested usefulness from it, teased it, bent it, broke it, used it as a springboard for his aerial cartwheels of innovation.

To him inertia provided a touchstone. While he was challenging it, conquering it, he was justified.

You can watch it being painted brush-by-brush HERE

Sev has used his potions to make his special polishing materials for his precious beloved wand. And there he is, cradling itin his Slytherin-decorated room. In love.

Title: Motive for Metaphor
Character(s): Gellert, Albus
Pairing(s): Albus/Gellert
Rating: G
Warning(s): hint of dark ideas
Challenge(s): Motive for Metaphor by Wallace Stevens
Word count: 2x100
Author's notes: for lemondrop_party on LJ

This time was worth anything, in the best place in the wide world to be. Sleep was a waste. Gellert leaned, head on his elbow, arm stretched out, hand splayed in the air, index finger raised, curved as if suspended from the ceiling. His sleepy eyes smiled, intrigued, appreciative. Almost cheeky. His hair curled over the desk.

Albus sat opposite, smiling too, leaning forward, close, a slight crease of thought between his brows. He had not smiled in the beginning, responsibilities smothering him. Gellert wanted to embody promise - life. Albus was beautiful, richness of mind lighting even this sad house.



"We are beacons. Doesn't it waste... history, if we don't shine? Doesn't it waste us, to the world's sorrow, to leave it in darkness? We should illuminate it - not just for us - for our brethren; for those like us, not yet born; for those helpless ones, scrabbling in their dirt.

"We could instigate true glory forever - fulfilment of the potential of...everyone. And ours!

"Waiting to be, waiting to do, waiting... That is eternal February - almost aware, waking eternally, eyes half open. The pain of desolate winter is gone, but summer... summer never comes. My friend."

Gellert's voice mused, cajoling.

Title: For Scarring Left by Thoughts
Character(s): Severus, Draco, Albus, a misc. Gryffindor, and Goyle jr.
Pairing(s): None
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Challenge(s): Cauldrons and Snitches
Word count: 100
Author's notes: Team Cauldron!

Severus had nurtured the Oblivious Unction long evenings, patiently brewing its components, adding precise variations. For Draco, it must be perfect. This night was the last, most delicate phase. He had skipped supper. Albus would understand. They wanted to save the boy what they could.

Some intrepid Gryffindor rapped on his door, telling tales again. Goyle had taken his sweets again. Entitled, he pushed on the door.

Severus risked a half-second glance from the creation in his cauldron to look for the flash of a shining white head, like his father's, his grandfather's. Not seeing it, he snarled.

"Get Out!"

"Oaths and Vows" (Severus Snape, G, 2x100)
Title: Oaths and Vows
Character(s): Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore,
Pairing(s): None
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Challenge(s): Seal
Word count: 2x100
Author's notes: A series of two interconnected drabbles. X-posted.

His eyes emptied everything into those of his new merciful lord. Dumbledore. The bottomless void gaped, terrifying. He poured out loss, fear, selfishness, guilt, broken pride. His mind lay naked. He knelt, eyes red, face wet.

"A teacher? But... even with... How will they accept..." He thrust back his sleeve to reveal the yawning skull, the twisting snakes - seal of committed treason.

"Do not fear. You'll work for me. I'll make you Head of Slytherin."

Their hands clasped. Dumbledore's wand bound them in fire.

"Will you serve my Order; serve my school?"

"I will."

Red flame sealed his new commitment.

---

Still, the brand on his arm - his Dark Mark - itched with the lives of his jailed, mourning friends. No remorse, no terror, not even the death of his Dark Lord himself - and all Severus' hope - could remove this bond, still precious.

No one had left that Band of Brothers save by death. They were bound by awareness indelible, by soft-hearted ties none outside could guess, their oaths sealed by darkness.

This alone, he kept back, locked. After all, the Mark had been laid upon him when this man, now offering succour, had betrayed Severus and all his House. His family.

Title: Free Fall
Character(s): Severus, Dumbledore, The Dark Lord
Pairing(s): None
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Challenge(s): slytherin100 prompt 40 Fly
Word count: 100
Author's notes: X-posted.

Air smoothes against Severus' cheeks. Free, he streaks or glides. He floats. There is no possibility of falling, no need to clutch tense fingers around an undignified broom handle, no reliance on steed or creature. He is under his own control, with the view of a god. Escape is possible. Solitary contemplation is his. Exhilaration. Peace.

The Dark Lord rewards his faithful.

But still, the old face, familiar and fatherly, haunts him, begging him, encouraging him with imperative. To murder. Then it crumples, devoid of humanity, over and over again.

This is his reward, his bounty, his blood money - flight.

Title: Polishing his Wand
Author: janus
Characters and Pairings: Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, ___ Nott
Rating: PG-13
Challenge #280: The Lusty Month of May.
Word Count: 100
Warnings: Suggestion of auto-stimulation
Notes: Still writing gen here... poor wee Sev.

In May the dormitory became restless with expectancy. Soft movements and muffled gasps kept the room alive. Waking early, Severus observed Nott's elbow moving rhythmically, his other arm steady, close to his body. The younger boy could not quite see. It was strange.

"What's he doing?" Severus asked as they dressed.

"He's polishing his wand." Lucius moved his head dismissively.

"But that seems a good idea."

Severus approached Filch for supplies - wax, oil, fine steel wool, soft cloth. Soon his own elbow was energetically pumping in the mornings. The wood of his wand became smooth as glass, reflecting even moonlight.

Title: Reputation
Quote: 2. Gain a modest reputation for being unreliable and you will never be asked to do a thing. -Paul Theroux (1941 - )

Among young men born and trained to recognise and manipulate status, Severus was keenly aware how fragile a thing was reputation. He fed his carefully, exceeding all expectations, adopting every suggestion or task from Abraxas or his Dark Lord, stopping short only of servility - also disaster.

It was a reaction of near-paranoia. He was defensive, sensitive to any suspicion or slight.

The others had families and pride of place. He could not afford to fail anything, lest he find himself cast into a void of inactive purposelessness. He toiled, often sleeplessly, in the dungeons to bolster his right to work.

Severus thought effective masks should not conceal but reveal. Ideally they were faces themselves - visible, open, showing shadows of wariness and vulnerability, obfuscating more critical truth. Such masks would be accepted unquestioned.

These were not masks so much as threats. The smooth superior gold showed only eyes looking into those of their victims - eyes drunk on blood, violence and dark magic. No humanity of a lip caught between resolute teeth must show; no vulnerability of fine hair against a still-soft cheek.

Their natural skin and forms were neutralised, leaving only their soul-baring eyes naked to their Dark Lord.

I made banners! Click on them for the severusbigbang com!

Title: Perhaps You'll Make Your Real Friends

Severus incisively evaluated the new Death Eaters. Lucius, assuming his rightful place, was a young lord; Antonin a colleague; Bellatrix a dangerous fanatic; Regulus a prodigy; Mulciber, Avery and Nott fulfilled parental expectations. Some few, inbred, were soldiers to be led.

He found himself drawn to the younger LeStrange brother, who watched listening, thinking more than he said. His half-smile held a hint of weary knowingness. Severus felt himself judged, not with condemnation but curiosity.

He was intrigued, hungry to be known, to have a friend. Rabastan interested him in himself. Perhaps, after all, Severus could be a friend.

After other mourners had filed away, Severus returned to the sepulchre, moving across the grounds in the shadows. His superstitious fingers stroked the cold white marble above the body. The body, not the soul.

"Father." Not his father, but alone he permitted himself this. "You taught me. You made me. What will become of me now?"

He lay prostrate, cold close-cropped grass absorbing his tears. Severus never cried, but now shook silently, bereft.

"You kept me when there was nowhere else."

Narcissa found him, comforting hand at his shoulder. No one touched him. "Come. Abraxas would not have wanted this."

Severus had worried during the night, set wards to wake him if Rabastan had started or exhibited disturbance. They had not been triggered, but he himself had woken repeatedly, listening carefully, not wanting to interrupt him or embarrass him without need. Soft sounds of motion in the other bedroom, a creak in the parlour, on the stairs. Severus worried. But there was a part of him selfishly comforted too, glad of the company and fellow humanity in the house. He was pleased to wake and know that Rabastan was there, that he had not been kissed by dementors. He thought of potions, half-dreaming. Somehow, his friend must sleep too. His soul needed a healthy mind to heal. Perhaps after a whole day of good food and work he would be able.

Eventually morning came. Eggs. Bacon. Tomatoes. Beans. More of the new bread, toasted this time. Juice and milk. There had been a cup of potion too, Draught of Peace, and a small vial of Oblivious Unction for scarring left by thought. "It is medicine," he had explained. "It is not to rely on when you are well, but for now, I think it is necessary. There are no side-effects."

After breakfast, after they had cleaned the kitchen, with the day still morning-cool and the grass wet, he drew the curtain from the window to the garden. He had obscured it so for a surprise. A small surprise, but a place where Rabastan could become used to air and light, to the sky, to earth and green. It was ringed with a brick wall and a white gate stood at the far end, opening into a field, weeds grown long against the far side. A stone hut with a wooden roof was snugged against the wall for tools. It was empty, but scoured.

Severus had kept the garden clear, as tidy as everything in the small house. In his childhood it had been overgrown, though his father had sometimes sat baking in the sun in a singlet, throwing rocks at the rats that crept through the tangle of brambles. There was a small porch that had held Tobias' old wooden white chair with the broken slats. It now sat empty, because Severus had burnt it along with all the other memories. Now the garden was empty, simple grass. It was warded as thoroughly and as secretly as the rest of the home, secure. A gnome's face scowled through the gate at the dearth of useful vegetation, then disappeared.

The door stuck slightly, for the house was old and had shifted since it was built. Somehow he had never fixed this small thing. "Here," He told his friend, with the contained excitement of someone holding a gift, anticipating its acceptance and the pleasure it would bring. "We can do whatever you wish with it."

He let Rabastan precede him into the sun and open air. An aroma of earth and meadow entered from the field beyond. It had rained during the night.

Headmaster Dumbledore,
Dear Sir, may I please have permission to return to the school early? I find it impossible to work on my studies without the ability to experiment with my potion modifications. I will not give anyone any trouble. I just want to be able to sleep and work. Though I will need some food, I do not eat much. It is difficult to concentrate on my schoolwork and it is so important to study hard. My parents are unable to give consent at this time. Please, let me come home.

Yours sincerely, thanking you in advance,
Severus Snape.

* * * *

I found this and noticed I had written it but, alas, not posted it in a timely manner.

You may watch it being drawn HERE

Hiding out in the muggle school library, he noticed the book when he was very young. The Little Prince He was immediately attracted...

I love you.

You can view it as it was drawn HERE!

Seveus does not have affinity for many muggle things. Here is his radio from the story, and I have bought him an ipod.

In response to 00sevvie's response to my Severus and Voldemort post.
00sevvie is a brilliant name, by the way. I am all admiration.

I hope I've answered some of your questions. Again - its really too long for comments. And again, I ramble on and on and on... I love to talk about Snape.

( cut for 2500 words of rambles )
He is the perfect adjutant - capable, with nothing to lose and nothing to gain. To want - anything - is to be cheated, to lose. From Voldemort's point of view, love can turn to hate, belief can turn to a feeling of betrayal. Severus is useful. Usefulness does not fail. Usefulness is what he gains from Dumbledore, why he serves him as well, and there are the years of use teaching and perhaps spying on his young charges during the time in which Voldemort was vanquished. Usefulness is what he gains from Voldemort. That is why he is valued by Voldemort, because it is pure and it is hunger, even terror that he will fall into nothingness.

What joy, you ask? Memory. And the things he always loved. Spells, potions, Slytherin House, learning, understanding from wizards. The hope for a fleeting, momentary look or hand of approval, praise, trust. A striving for redemption through service, penance through work.

There was something that amazed everyone, a skill unprecedented that caused even Voldemort's enemies to exclaim in admiration. He was a brilliant wizard - the most advanced in decades. He really had power, and advanced magic. He had won awards at school, feared none but Dumbledore. His accomplishments were extraordinary. None of these elicits comment from his enemies, save one. Voldemort could fly.

There is no mention of anyone else flying unaided in the books. This was something remarkable, something he must have developed on his own. He was not a generous man; not one to instruct, to teach, to give; not one to take on protégés, to mentor or aid his followers or recruits. There is no mention of phalanxes of Deatheaters pursuing anyone freely through the air. Yet Voldemort taught Snape to fly.
( Cut for 900 words of wild justification of my own position, writing Snape and Voldemort )
But that did not happen. Voldemort took Snape under his almost literal wings, branded his arm, taught him, used him, valued him. Snape was, in my world, Voldemort's man as surely as he was Dumbledore's. Janus, I named him - the embodiment of contradictions, he who held good and evil, light and darkness, past and future, all simultaneously within himself. With sincerity.

I did not name Severus, of course. But I selected a journal name.

I started his journal on InsaneJournal. One of the things I wanted to explore was his membership in the Deatheaters and his membership in the Order. Based on conversations, he was loyal to both simultaneously. He was a spy, drawing small instincts from within himself, and not lying, but amplifying them to make them into truths while hiding other truths. He was a halfblood, violently torn between his muggle father and his wizard mother from early childhood. It seemed to fit so perfectly. Love and hate for nearly everything, nearly everyone. Longing and revulsion.

Janus then - embodiment of dichotomy. His birthday was coincidentally in January as well! The more I thought about it, the more this position seemed to represent every aspect of his life.

The name was, to my mind, perfect.

When I found a need to start a journal on LiveJournal, the name Janus was taken, not surprisingly. True Janus, I suggested to my friend, but she asked why I did not simply say it in Latin. We talk often of Latin. Thus: verus_janus. Besides, it rhymes and has a certain symmetry. I am still sorry it is not simply janus here, but there you have it.

old-style punk, and look: it's green and silver.
as per This story, and more, naturally.
( cut for YOUTUBE. you have been warned. Dropkick Murphy's Boys on the Docks )

Say hey Johnny Boy, The battle call
United we stand, Divided we fall
Together we are what we can't be alone
We came to this country you made it our home.

And the boys on the docks needed John for sure
When they came to this country he opened the door
He said men I'll tell ya, They don't like our kind
Though it starts with a fist, it must end with your mind.

Say hey Johnny Boy, The battle call
United we stand, Divided we fall
Together we are what we can't be alone
We came to this country you made it our home.

Title: Photo Failure
Author: janus
Characters: Severus Snape, (Lily?)
Rating: PG
Challenge #272: Polyjuice Potion.
Word Count: 100
Warnings: Slightly creepy?

Severus warded the door so thoroughly he hoped to remember how to exit. No one must interrupt. He would be respectful, not even look at himself. This was exclusively for the photo. He set up the camera and small spell to take the picture.

He drank the potion quickly, furtive though he was alone, choking on her hair. He waved, smiled coyly. Lily's image would be his. His. To cherish, tuck under his pillow, slip into his book.

It didn't move properly, was completely wrong. The stance, the expression were unnerving. He whispered Incendio and waited glumly to change back.

make your own HERE!

Title: Slytherin Dream
Author: janus
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Rating: G
Challenge #271: Snape and the Four Founders.
Word Count: 100
Warnings: None

Severus sat, his lap full of books, five years old, able to read. Though these were beyond him, he could stretch his abilities. His father was off on a job. His mother was telling stories in a low intense voice, bony hand clutching his arm.

Later he dreamt. Tall, looming, Salazar made everything hum with his power, strength of will, vision, confidence. All his concentration bent on the boy. Dark green robes festooned in draped snakes. He gave Severus one. Almost a scarf, it curled cold silver, nestling about his warm neck. Slytherin. It hissed to him, a comfort.

Creampuffs!

Nums! Severus has a secret! And they were expecting him!
Watch it being drawn HERE!

I have thought about Snape's hair. It is greasy. It is black. It is shoulder-length. Snape is not handsome and he 'has better things to worry about than whether his hair has bounce.' (the_iscariot - though I may not have remembered the wording perfectly.)

( cut for musing about Severus' hair. 489 words. )

Severus keeps his observations of the obvious strictly to himself, as usual.
You can watch the painting brush by brush HERE!

as per my comment in torino10154's Wand discussion

How strange to see this after I wrote a wand story! I wish I had seen it first. Perhaps I would have selected Ash. Old power, Odin's staff, Ygdrasil. What was I thinking?

This:
I found the three cores Ollivander used too limiting. There are so many magical creatures, so many more possibilities. I had Ollivander contemplating the wand's suitability to the owner's based on their physical qualities and what he could determine of their souls. Severus' concern for his soul - which I interpret as his 'being,' his self respect, his essence - was very telling to me. "That boy's soul is not yet so damaged... I would not have it ripped apart on my account" "And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?" So I have taken this to be a key to him. I'll admit it: I sift everything. So the wood was mahogany, like James' as James looked like Sev in the traincar the first day, but well-cared for while Sev looked neglected. Dark rich complex wood. And for me it represents old expensive furniture - what Severus envied and desired, what he valued, the heritage he deserved but had not been given. There it was in his precious wand, an embodiment. Part of him! Magic means everything to him. And at his core, at the wand's core is unicorn hair. This is Christ, as has been pointed out - sacrifice, the scapegoat. But it is also virginity. Poor Severus. Hence Ollivander's look of pity. And his wand is longer than James'. ha!

Initially Ollivander tried thestral mane, thinking perhaps Severus' soul matched his appearance, but he was wrong. And dragon heartstring was not correct either.

The girl's wand was walnut, a lower grade hardwood used for floors and furniture of lesser quality. It is often trying to be something it is not. And the core was Augurey feather because, as the story pointed out, the bird like the girl moans plaintively and loudly at, well, nothing.

Characters: Severus
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Severus acquires his wand.
Word count: 3142
Author Notes: I have changed canon a little here adding to the available options for wand cores. I have also taken liberties with the nature of liquorice wands.

Eileen kept him in front of her, herded as if he would run away. She had cut his hair that morning, though he had finished it himself with the sharpest knife he could find. She had given up halfway through, taking her sewing scissors with her. She had also insisted he bathe, though the bath itself had been cold because Tobias, as usual, refused to pay for the gas to heat the water. As a result he had been perfunctory and was still resentful and slightly dank as he had not wanted to use the unwashed towels that smelled of stale crackers. Again he wished his mother could run their house with magic. Again he wished he was allowed to use magic. Magic would have changed everything, and he held it in his hands, fingering it, proscribed, impotent.

He missed his hair, which he could have allowed to swing over his face, hiding his eyes and perhaps shame from other students - wizards. He had very much wanted to meet them. Wizards! The word was a shout of joy in his head. Wizards would be like him. He had somehow pictured them all in uniforms, talking about school, looking at their books. He had pictured himself showing them spells he could work - the innocent spells. Already he knew dark magic and he must hide that. Now here he was, looking repulsive, and he was bitterly disappointed.

Nevertheless, his eyes looked around eagerly for each glimmer and spark of magic. Families floated their student's stacks of textbooks behind them. There were owls, cats and more exotic wizarding pets in the arms of excited children. He knew he too would have been allowed to have a pet at school. He would not have been allowed to have one at home, however, and he could well imagine his father's reaction to any creature, no matter what its size, especially a magic one. He resolved that someday somehow he would ensure that he never had to go back, not even for holidays.

Two younger siblings of a wizarding family were laughing over their liquorice wands, one of which had emitted a small and sparkling but rapidly vanishing school of fish. He remembered once - and once only - when he had been very small, before his parents had hated him and one another quite so much, his mother had brought him here. Three years old, but lucid, he had been a skinny, black-haired, over-eager toddler, cringing from his mother but ever-hopeful as regarded strangers. They had met an older wizard. Severus never learned whether he had been an old teacher, someone who had once been a family friend of his mother's parents, or a relative who had since disowned his increasingly slovenly mother. He had never seen him again, but this man had given him a liquorice wand. The tiny charm on it that acted in the hands of a wizard had been the most beautiful, wonderful thing he had ever seen. That had been the moment he had held safe through the intervening time as a promise. He had identified himself: I am a wizard. He had decided: Magic is the best and therefore only thing in the entire world. These thoughts had led to the next one: I will be great.
( cut for length )

Mun Friending Meme! for those interested or curious!
I am late in posting, but sometimes that is the way it goes.

You can watch the painting, brush by brush HERE!

Severus is in a playful mood at midnight in a snowstorm. He is icing the Gryffindor Quidditch path.

Characters: Severus
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Severus receives an owl bearing a small present on his sixteenth birthday - a future.
Word count: 618
Author Notes: A short piece for his birthday.

( story! )

Rabastan is not fit to serve the Dark Lord any more.

At least, that’s what he has led them to believe, by remaining stoic, withdrawn in his own mind. He is not like Bellatrix, his mind has not been honed into a weapon that only thirsts for revenge and chips away at the sanity. His mind is not like Rodolphus’, broken but resilient. Already, out of the grasp of the Dementors, his brother is raising his head from the proverbial sand, is finding wonder in the world. He has already made a choice and knows what he will do. Or perhaps this has been the one thought that has sustained him, decisions reached in the years they spent in those cells, alone in their own personal hell. He has forged his feelings for his wife, which Rabastan has always seen as chains as it became more and more obvious that it was not his brother that Bellatrix loved. Rodolphus might not have been the cleverest of them, but he has always known what he has wanted. And Rabastan, well…

His grip has not lessened around the thick green blanket that has kept him warm all these nights, as comforting as the twinge on his forearm - the thought that someone misses him. He has to remind himself that this cannot be a happy thought, and so has locked away such emotions, especially pain, discomfort and unhappiness - anything that would bring the Dementors. Everything that they wanted he has tried to lock away, shoved beneath him as if he is a bridge and the emotions are water. If they touch the arch of his being, he will break. He will suffer. He will feel again. He lets the Dark Lord see this bridge, lets him think that he is a blank slate, that he might as well have had the Dementors kiss him. He wants the Dark Lord to think him worthless. Azkaban has broken men stronger than him, so it wouldn’t be so farfetched to believe that he too was a lost cause. The Dark Lord could not use a broken weapon, a wand snapped in half.
( to Spinner's End )

Fic for: anomalywaiting
Title: Azkaban Blanket

Characters: Severus, Rabastan. Dumbledore
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Severus visits Rabastan in prison and brings him a gift.
Disclaimer: This journal contains adult material. I am not Severus Snape. I am not Alan Rickman. I am not Alec Hopkins. I do not own Severus, Alan nor Alec, nor any thing nor person from the 'Harry Potter' universe. I do not own Rabastan LeStrange or Albus Dumbledore. I make no money from this journal, which is written by and for adults.
Word count: 2,223
Author Notes: The prompt was 'Blanket'
( story! )

Fic for: arrogantmage
Title: Prophecy Creation

Characters: Severus, Lezard Valeth. Mention of Others
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: On his flight from Hogwarts after killing Dumbledore, Severus experiences prophecy of another world, which he assists a young bereft mage to bring into being.
Disclaimer: This journal contains adult material. I am not Severus Snape. I am not Alan Rickman. I am not Alec Hopkins. I do not own Severus, Alan nor Alec, nor any thing nor person from the 'Harry Potter' universe. I also do not own Lezard Valeth nor any thing from the Valkyrie Profile 2 universe. I make no money from this journal, which is written by and for adults.
Word count: 1,715
Author Notes: The prompt was the following quote:
The reward of sin is death: that's hard.
Si peccasse negamus, fallimur, & nulla est in nobis veritas.:
If we say that we have no sin,
We deceive our selves, and there's no truth in us.
Why then belike we must sin,
And so consequently die.
Ay, we must die an everlasting death.
What doctrine call you this, Che sera, sera,:
What will be, shall be? Divinity, adieu.
These Metaphysics of Magicians,
And Necromantic books are heavenly;
Lines, circles, scenes, letters and characters,
Ay, these are those that Faustus most desires.
From Christopher Marlow's The Tragicall History of Doctor Faustus
( story! )

From sayshisname via various people (of course you know who you are.)

I'm going to write ficlets for Christmas - a gift from me to you. Fill out the information below. I will grant one or more of your requests, depending on time and inspiration. If you want to borrow the meme go right ahead.

Give me up to five requests with the following information:

1. My Muse/Your Muse
2. A song, quote, one word prompt, letter prompt (if letter prompt make sure you say so) or brief description of what you'd like to see them do
3. Fluffy, Angsty, Comedy or writer's choice?
4. Rating request?
5. What timeline or universe is this set in or do you want me to choose?


Pick from any of my muses and any of your muses. Make five requests of the same pairings or mix it up. I'll pick and choose and have something written before the end of the year. I'll screen comments for anyone who wants to make requests with muses that they haven't been outed for playing yet. I will put this up on my other muse's journal, but comment in either place as you wish.

3rd Snapely Holidays Fic - Battle Not With Monsters
star with lights
Fic for: janus
Title: Battle Not With Monsters
Author: severed_lies


Pairing Severus Snape/ Lucius Malfoy, Abraxas Malfoy
Rating PG 13
Warnings None
Summary Severus plays Lucius and Abraxas against one another, but will he get caught in the crossfire?

Disclaimer The world of HP and its characters belongs to J K Rowling. The author of this fic has borrowed them for the purposes of storytelling. No profit was or will be made.
Word count 3213
Author Notes Janus asked for Deatheaters bonding - kindness between them in the darkness of their lives. I hope that this is close to what you want.
( Read more... )

There is a jolly com called snapeartcontest!
You can use the exciting and fun online program Artpad!
Humour counts, not artistic skill if you are shy about that.
No pressure and whimsical and endearing charm!

Here is mine, a first try.
There are a host of prompts. The one I used was: "Stocking or Presents?" So I chose "Present of Stockings!"



You can watch the actual painting of it brush by brush HERE!

Oh, it is my story from Snapely Holidays! It has Abraxas! And it is wonderful!
I do not know the author yet, but I am so happy. And excited. snapelyholidays is like an advent calendar. There is a story each day. A Snape story. Or artwork.
Go! Read!

They had been sent to this house, in a city this time. It is neither a quiet cottage, nor a council house such as the one in which Severus had grown up. A detached home. Severus had always been slightly jealous of them - they were not as clearly out of reach as Malfoy Manor.

Missions tend to consist of information extraction, and killing. Or killing as punishment and example. Each is a test, a building of the death-eaters themselves. Not just a test of fortitude, but a test of service, of loyalty, commitment. There is something in Severus. He can turn away inside himself, bypass his soul, his feeling, his empathy. He learned it at the hands and fists of his parents and now finds it as useful inflicting pain and scattering blood as he had in simple endurance. It is a talent, something inherent, and sometimes he wonders if it came from his father himself. There is fear inside him, empathy, even love, hunger, yearning. But he can cast it aside and does not hate these missions. Indeed some part of them fulfils his loneliness. And there is the intoxication of fear and blood.

He does not know why they are to destroy this family. It does not matter- it is the will of his Dark Lord, and there is a certain satisfaction in that. It is working towards the perfect world of Abraxas and Lucius, the promise of place and chance. He is working to change the world, that it might be a place where he can become great. It gives him context, without which he is somehow internally terrified he would cease to be a viable person. As well, for now, he has companions; has something to contribute. Being a Death-eater means that he exists.

It is a misty night. As he waits, half-hidden by the tree, a similar figure, similarly masked, reveals itself. It is not Lucius, who is always his partner at these times, as he believes Abraxas arranges it to be. He peers through the eyeholes at the movement, the set of the shoulders. Something... It is Rabastan. His friend. Part of him is glad of the company, part of him clenches that they would have to share this darkness about which they so rarely speak, reading one another's eyes. Rabastan.

Janus

But Severus has more than two faces.

The one you see is reserved, turned inward, defensively blank. It is not submissive, it is enduring, patient, numb. Severus is not here when he shows this face, he is nowhere, curled inside, protecting himself. This is the face he wears at home, in the corridors at school. It does not reveal or register pain, surprise or pleasure. His muscles are relaxed, not slack for his eyes take everything in, his mouth neither frowns nor smiles but remains closed, neutral. This was the phenomenon he first seized on to teach him occlumency. He simply went away, unfeeling. These eyes look through you, dead. They can seem accusatory, but this is projection.

When he is alone he is distilled, concentrating. He is quiet, diligent, does not like to be interrupted. He can retreat from attack to snatch moments of learning, studying, figuring, working. These moments are precious to him. They are what he truly considers himself to be, his best. If he is left for a time, uninterrupted, he may even hum while he works, tap a finger, perhaps smile. Unguarded. He loses track of time like this. All the world is irrelevant, vanishing in the face of creation, inscription, experimentation, development. This is the face that looks outward to the tree above him, to the horizon, to contemplation. He is not unfeeling, but he is self-possessed.

Akin to this is a face apparent when he is moved, inspired. When he teaches truly, presents the dreams and ideas, engages in collaboration, serious discussion of equals. It is not joy, though he may smile with satisfaction. This is not his best, but the best he consciously presents.

There is another faced, filled with hate, impatience, pain - vengeance. This one is forced a little, summoned easily to wash through him like a flood. Sometimes, with stupidity he encounters that is not an active threat, he can barely restrain it. His Death-eater comrades have seen this face, destroying muggles, subjects, opponents. And they are quiet, seeing terror lash from his stiffness. It is for this that he goes to the punk gigs out by the docks - not to lose, but to loose himself. It is appropriate there, accompanied by a roar, a scream of frustration burning with injustice and no other outlet.

There is an intimate face he sometimes relaxes into. Quiet talk, a drink, nervous fingers. Severus is very good at listening, attentiveness. He can make you believe he loves you, can make you believe you are the most important one in the world. And it is true. He conjures from something he senses, maybe from a spark of recognition or understanding. He conjures full-blown mutual feeling. And this is his skill as a spy - greasy hair, sullen eyes, his wrapping of withdrawn darkness, swept aside to reveal his serious brilliance, offered to you, accepting yours and recognising it in turn, drawing it from you valued, revealed, understood. And he learns.

Rarely, there is another face that looks into that of another naked, almost startled by hope and hunger for company and salvation. Few have seen this. Rabastan, Abraxas, perhaps Lucius. Dumbledore. The Dark Lord believes he has. Lily saw it, but she did not recognise it.

These are not masks. They are true.

552 words

Temptation.

Severus believes.

It will be all that he ever wanted. Since boyhood, he has only had one ambition. His Dark Lord has promised. There will be a new world. And in that world everything will be ordered, everything will be correct. Severus sees it as perfect. Those who deserve it will have everything. They will have not just dominion but stewardship.

And his Dark Lord has promised something else that Severus holds close to his chest, precious and shining. It is purpose - a goal. It comforts him through all the violence and social vilification, all the wearying attacks on his integrity. He had promised himself when he had been very young. He had been so young Severus cannot now remember the moment, and his memory is prodigious.

He will be great. He will change the world, scoring it with his own indelible deep mark. He will be remembered. When students parade through the years, their History of Magic textbooks fresh before them, new to school, new to magic, his name will be spoken as inspiration and hope, as example of what one can do with brilliance and diligence. They will hear his name. They will think of him, and their fresh minds with their creativity, hope and potential will soar and expand, and they will change the world, in their turn, to ever greater magic.

And his Dark Lord has promised him a chance. He is brilliant, and he is diligent. His parents and home would have been crippling to someone with less tenacious ambition. They have ruined his blood. They provided no money, no entry into the network of influential connection of old families, old debts and allegiances, old mutual tradition and pride. They have denied him a knowledge of even its trappings - grace, manners, languages, the feel of physical things the others took for granted. He has not known nutritious, attractively prepared food on clean uncracked bone china. He has not known old wood oiled by decades - centuries - of pureblood fingering. He has not known the taste of silver polished or the touch of smooth-woven cloth. He has not known how to speak politely; how to move in counterpoint to others; when to demand and when to serve. His parents have taken his future from him.

So he has clutched his little promise, imagining it bright enough to light his room, his face, and his soul. He has nourished it, fed it, worked for it with all his being. He has nourished it until now, when the Dark Lord has offered back his future, brilliant as he had always known it would be. He has offered fulfilment of all Severus' hungry potential. Recognised it. Needed it. And all Severus' work, on dark curses, on potions, on spells and silent magic has place, value. It is the course, the aim of his life - everything he had always been strives towards that glimmer of success. It is everything. The beginning of his hope had been Slytherin and his companions, where even with only half a heritage, he has belonged for his skill and predilections. The Dark Lord's approval has confirmed it.

He has a chance! A chance to be proud, to be useful, to live.

But there was a girl, her green eyes laughing - even into his - with excitement, when she discovered magic, when she saw a glimpse of the wide infinity of possibility. But there was a girl, her hand warm on his arm. And Severus, when he thought of her, could dream of being understood, wanted, with appreciation and warm humanity. He dared to think he could be welcomed always; that he could give; that he could become better; that he could learn social grace from her gently. He dared to think he might even be loved, because he loved; because he would learn to show love, without fear. He could dream of a different future where he had a place, not from what he could do but because he had his own soul.

Warmth.
Temptation.
Severus did not succumb.

Severus believes.

Severus liked the cold.

Some of the others had curled around themselves protectively when they had first come to sleep in the Slytherin dungeons. They had requested larger fires, more blankets. The first winter, when he had been eleven, some had slept in caps, mittens and extra socks. Sometimes he thought they had all been placed here simply for the environment. He thought they had been housed in the dungeons to drive them from their wombs in the rich warm houses where they had been bred and raised The others still had seemed to expect their former luxury and even demand it. He was cold at home, often. There it was a burden, but here it was a choice and a pride.

He himself was happy in his new dungeon bed with its rich curtains. He slept there in an old shirt of his father's, the collar, cuffs and elbows frayed to threads. It draped around his thin little form to the knees. Through it, the chill made him feel his body. It made him notice his arms and legs in the air and his skin against his clothes, or touched by his cool sheets. He was aware of his thin skin over his bones. He was aware that his elbows lay against his ribs, but remained separate from them. He had not been given slippers and the soles of his bare feet burned as they encountered the freezing flagstones in the morning. This phenomenon interested him.
( cut for length and body description )

"Respect your elders, boy." It had been accompanied by the usual familiar open-handed smack to his head, just above his left ear. "It's not enough just to mind me, you have to want to mind me. I'm your father. Respect isn't doing what I say, it's knowing I am right. None of those affected sighs from you, boy."

( cut for length, part I )

---

Severus kneels before his Lord, waiting for praise or condemnation. Respect is service now. His masters are his father, his mother. The Deatheaters, the Order are his brothers, his sisters. Now he knows the nature of respect - giving himself, giving his attention, his will, his loyalty, every aspect of his work, his life to them. It is not a question of ideas, of vision. It is just to have a place, to be allowed to be. Once he had thought to become, now existence is enough.

( cut for length, part II )

Severus Snape
Harry Potter
614 words

with thanks to electric_girl for kindly guiding me through my writer's block

Lucius had left Severus to meander in the bookshops, as if he were going to find anything his father's library did not already contain. But he was glad because he would be alone to collect Narcissa and they could smile and say small things to one another without his dark awkwardness. He was clearly trying hard, but Lucius would rather be free to simply be himself without having to set a good example, responsible for himself alone.

He smiled as he took her hand to apparate with her to the cafe. He frequented it occasionally when he was in town. He made a point of frequenting any establishment of any quality, and many that were of more dubious reputation.

Narcissa looked beautiful. They were a perfect couple. He always smiled when he looked at her. His good fortune was confirmed once again. She was so cool, collected. She always knew the perfect thing to do, and that would stretch into the future, a legacy. They would have beautiful children together, and ensure they were perfect too. He was proud, not only of himself, but of the two of them together. Not only of their beauty and taste, but of the more essential concordance that existed between them. The way she was always aware of him, considerate, calculating what was best, smoothest, easiest for each situation - most decorous. He trusted her completely, looked to her, relied on her already.

He was not one for public affection certainly. But his eyes met hers, crinkled just a tiny bit and he saw she read the depth of his fondness, his appreciation for her grace, and that this party was a family function, though they were not wed yet. An appearance, perhaps.

Realising he was thinking of her and not Evan he readjusted his sweeping cloak and offered his arm. He opened the door for her and let her enter first, then paused a moment in the doorway as their eyes adjusted to the light. There was a dark-haired girl. Woman, he reminded himself. Evan's girlfriend who had confused his birthday. Cheyenne, though without Evan. And Bellatrix was here, though without Rodolphus. Narcissa's sister, he still marveled.

"Good afternoon, Bellatrix." He inclined his head to his soon-to-be sister-in-law, then moved forward to greet the young woman and allow Narcissa to present their hostess gift. His lip twitched, amused. "Good afternoon, Miss Mittle. Lucius Malfoy. Thank you so much for the invitation to your soirée. May I present my fiancée, Miss Narcissa Black?"

Narcissa
She did not think she had ever done so much shopping in her life as she had done in the past year. For one thing, she had rather more spending money available to her than she ever had before. For another, she genuinely had reason to shop. She would need an almost entirely new wardrobe, styles a bit more modest and classically cut, colors more muted. She would need to pay attention to cosmetic potions for the wedding if for no other occasion. And there were books Lucius had mentioned to her that she felt she really ought to read.

Severus
Abraxas had sent him into London to pick up... something. He had walked proudly down Knockturn Alley, as always hoping that his mother would not materialise. She never had, but there were rumours. At the appointed door he had knocked and been granted suspicious and reluctant admission. At his offering of the note their attitude had changed completely. They had bowed and whispered, awed, to one another, finally producing a thoroughly wrapped package in brown paper. He had then been shown quickly to the door as if they had wanted to get rid of... whatever it was. He was too well-trained now to pry.

Free in London, he had naturally gravitated to the bookshop.He was still working on the mind potions, experimenting with the end of increasing the potency of the jobberknoll parts. It was new research, but he was still hopeful of coming upon some old tome that would contain a phrase or hint to aid him.

Head bent into a book he had thought promising, he raised his nose for a moment, noticing a movement in the next aisle and perhaps a certain scent or air that seemed familiar. He recognised Narcissa when she passed an open space and replaced the tome. It was not quite what he was looking for anyway, and he was wearying of running his finger fruitlessly down indices. He ducked his head and tried to smooth his hair a little, make sure his robes and cloak were straight. He wanted to make a good impression, wanted Abraxas to be proud of him.

He moved out into the open area before the counter and greeted her. He bowed a little and again reached rather gracefully for her hand, he thought. She was so beautiful and cool, and without Lucius there he felt even more formal and shy. Yet somehow he had faith too that she would make even his awkwardness seem nonexistent. She seemed so far beyond him. But he was learning. Not birth - he would never have that, though he was a Prince - but manners and poise, even if it was studied. "Good afternoon, Miss Black. How do you do?"