The Stealth Boat

FIC: Severus Snape Addresses the Slug Club's Annual Reunion Dinner (HP, Snape/Harry, PG13)

Title: Severus Snape Addresses the Slug Club's Annual Reunion Dinner
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Rowling's, if Rowling would let them be gay.
Words: ~3000
Notes: Crackfic written while suffering writer's block for the Snarry Games. Thanks to dementordelta for everything.

Thank you very much. You may hold the rest of your applause; I know I wasn't your first choice for a speaker. In fact, I am a bit at a loss as to who would have invited me, since I was not a member of the Slug Club as a student and never particularly friendly with Slughorn as an adult. I can only presume that someone on the nominating committee must need a favor of which I will be notified later.

I suppose that those of you who are in attendance want to hear a dramatic story about how I returned from the dead, as popular legend maintains. This is, of course, nonsense. I find it insulting to have it suggested that I would have created a Horcrux or left myself so unprotected in death that any passing wizard could have created an Inferius of me. The truth, as you should all realize, is that I never died. Wipe that disappointment off your pathetic faces. Yes, you, young lady in the third row -- were you a Hufflepuff? No, I don't remember you, but it's obvious from your befuddled expression.

Before I go any further, let me add that if you are one of those people who believe that I have no business being alive after what I've done, you may as well step outside for a smoke right now. I have no intention of listening to hecklers or making myself suffer just to console you. What makes you think that you're any better than myself? When you think about it, wasn't there something more you personally could have done during the war to help defeat the Death-Eaters?

You -- that's right, in the back in the vomit-green dress -- I see you shaking your head. Don't plead ignorance with me. Even if you were unaware of the events at Hogwarts or in the Ministry of Magic, you must have seen the ugliness and distrust among people at that time. Wasn't there a moment when you should have been more helpful to a neighbor or more compassionate to a stranger? Yes? Then you have no business judging me, particularly since you can't possibly know the whole story.

I've brought some items that I thought might be of interest. The first few are souvenirs of this club's own namesake, Horace Slughorn. A package of Honeyduke's chocolates that I confiscated from a student planning to use it as a bribe. Very well, call it a gift if you prefer. This bottle...ah, but do you know why it is important? This bottle has a refilling charm on it cast by Potter himself to get Slughorn drunk. Isn't that anecdote in the infamous Potter biography? And here is what's left of the false Felix Felicis that I produced for him. Hmm? No, it produces the same pleasant sensations but doesn't affect the user's luck in the least. Anything that happened that night was entirely coincidence, or else someone else's carefully plotted design.

What's that? Oh, you believe you do know the story because you read the exclusive bits that made it into The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler. Or you read one of the other books: Longbottom's very biased autobiography and the Parkinson girl's self-indulgent tell-all. We all believe we know something, don't we? Raise your hand if you think you understand my role in Albus Dumbledore's death. Yes? And how I felt about Harry Potter's mother, and my impoverished childhood in Spinner's End? Come on, get those hands up! You, in the first row in the Gryffindor tartan...have too many weekend Quidditch matches ruined your arm-raising muscles?

Just as I expected. Well, I have news for you. Even if you've read the entire bestselling series about Potter -- the one that was made into the overlong film series with myself played by a man old enough to be my father -- you are aware of only bits and pieces of the truth. Surprised?

The truth is that I killed Albus Dumbledore without any secret communication via Legilimency nor any expectation that I would be absolved from beyond the grave.

The truth is that I made life at Hogwarts as miserable as I could for The Chosen One, not because I had any secret message or teaching to impart, but because I couldn't stand watching that arrogant boy strutting around the school as if he owned the place.

The truth is that I was not in love with Lily Evans. Nor, to address some other popular rumors, nor did I have a long-standing affair with Narcissa or Lucius Malfoy. And I certainly did not have an unrequited crush on either the odious Sirius Black or his cowering younger brother.

The truth is that I sensed the Dark Lord's presence, even when most of the Death Eaters had denied and renounced him, and that sense shaped most of my adult decisions. Once I became aware that...oh for Merlin's sake, would you put your hand down! If you wanted to ask questions you should have shelled out the favors for a more desirable seat. Is that you, Granger, there in the back? Oh, I see -- just another would-be know-it-all. Very well: I'll take questions. It may be easier to address some of the misconceptions about me out there if I know what they are.

Yes? How did I return from the dead, he wants to know. Have you listened to a word I've been saying? Repeat after me: "Severus Snape was never dead." There, now you can tell all your friends that you heard it directly from the source. Don't tell me that you all took the word of Potter's abysmal biographer? I suppose you also believe that he had a monster in his chest from the sight of the Weasley girl kissing a fellow student...

What did you say? His wife? You must be joking. Did the book actually say that? Of course I didn't read the things; I'd rather have swallowed hemlock. Someone here surely brought a copy, hoping for an autograph on one of the dreadful illustrations. I've been told that the portrait of me described in the words of those pages is even less flattering. Thank you -- pass it up here. Where? Oh, I see it. "Five Potters?" I don't suppose Miss Weasley is here tonight, which is a shame. I expect that she would hex someone for turning her into someone's compliant little wife. Even Skeeter knew that girl's reputation. And who wrote these biographies of Potter? Not someone with any other wizarding biography credits, you will note. Do these initials stand for "joke"? Oh, then perhaps someone who trained under Skeeter at the Daily Prophet. As if Ginevra would give up being a Weasley to take any man's name!

Let me see...hmmm...Merlin's balls, an entire series of books such as these...bloody hell! Lily clinging to her father's arm and whinging, Albus terrified of ending up in Slytherin. At least it's obvious that whoever wrote this didn't spend much time observing Potter's children. Excuse me? Yes, Potter's and Weasley's, but that doesn't mean they got married. You can't think that after such an isolated childhood, Potter would have wished the same upon his own offspring.

But this final chapter makes everyone he knows sound like a bunch of Weasley stalkers. Like those girls who used to write to Charlie as their last hope of marrying into the family. Teddy didn't go out with Victoire because she was a Weasley; he went out with Victoire for the same reason as any straight teenage boy. Haven't any of you seen Victoire? All her great-grandmother's Veela attributes have been amplified in that one. If girls excited me, I'm sure I'd want to go out with Victoire too.

Oh, please. With everything else that's been written about me, am I to understand that nobody mentioned the fact that I was queer? I thought everyone knew that, no matter how much money Potter spread around discreetly to try to keep his private life private. My invitation to speak here came to Grimmauld Place, so somebody must have known. Were you all assuming that I owed Potter some grand debt that kept me turning up at his home out of obligation?

Oh, rubbish. I never owed Potter anything. I was delighted to retain my independence until the arrogant boy offered me his arse, and then it wasn't attachment that made me accept, but an ill-timed rebellion on the part of my libido. I assure you that I grew attached to the arse long before I grew attached to the little prick attached to it.

No, for Merlin's sake, I am not suggesting that Potter has an undersized penis! Don't you dare go around reporting that I said such a thing. What I meant was that throughout his school years, Potter behaved like a little prick. Trying to compensate for a lack of substance with a big wand and flashy tricks. Don't these books give you some indication? Hmm...no, I see, the usual Potter worship. If only Malfoy had followed through on his promise to write a tell-all instead of devoting all his attention to spawning. This series is apparently based on Potter's testimony before the Ministry, written as if the writer had been in the Shrieking Shack with us! Look at these illustrations!

I could not testify at the time because I was still officially wanted for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Not to mention by the ungrateful parents of a few dozen Hogwarts students whom I'd been unable to shield from the Carrows. It was Granger's idea to pretend that I was dead until my name was cleared. At the time it made sense for me to lie low until I had recovered from the snakebite. Did anyone actually report that I had died? Look here, even in this book -- Voldemort claims that he killed me, but then, Voldemort believed he had killed Potter, too. Imbeciles.

I can see I'm going to have to explain everything. I don't want the children coming across rubbish like this and thinking there's any truth in it. I've just flipped past an appalling scene with Tonks and although I don't much care if Teddy Lupin thinks his father was a sniveling coward, he deserves to think better of his mother. Of course Tonks was an acceptable Potions student -- do you think I would have allowed her to take the NEWT and become an Auror otherwise? Did you expect me to hold a press conference on each rare occasion when I gave a student an O?

You, there, take your smirking face and leave the room if you're going to attribute lewd meanings to everything I say. I suppose you all would have expected me to hold a press conference announcing that I wasn't dead. Anyone with one iota of intelligence would have known anyway. Is there a portrait of me in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts? Did you ever learn where I was buried? And all the books from Spinner's End were sent to Grimmauld Place...

Oh, I see. You want to hear about my sexual escapades. Excuse me? Must we speak in soppy generalities? Yes, I suppose Dumbledore would have called it love, but "love" was a word that Dumbledore loved to toss around whether or not it was warranted. At any rate it was sponge baths and hand jobs for the first several weeks, not anything more. I'd been bitten by a poisonous, cursed snake! Why don't we speak instead of how I survived? I got the idea from a Muggle treatment that Arthur Weasley received at St. Mungo's. I'd watched Voldemort kill enough people with that snake to have a pretty good idea what he had in mind for me when he decided that I was no longer useful.

Yes, back row, I can't hear you...did sex play a role in my recovery, he wants to know Have you ever had sex, young man? Then I imagine you don't know that sex can play a positive role in one's well-being even if one does not know sex magic.

Foolish boy, I didn't need sex magic to bind Potter to me. Potter's Gryffindor loyalty is celebrated as though Potter invented loyalty, is it not? Before I returned, he held some absurd notion that I had sacrificed everything for him. Even Potter wasn't dense enough to believe I did it all for his dead mother. He was suspicious. Probably harbored some notion that I'd always found his strutting and tossing his hair about sexy.

Pardon me? I most certainly did not! He was underage! I never touched a student. You can't possibly imagine that Dumbledore would have kept me on the faculty of Hogwarts if he thought I was taking advantage of children. Who? Rumors about me and Draco Malfoy -- oh, please! I'd been wiping that boy's snotty nose since he was a mewling infant. I saved him because Dumbledore had instructed me to and because I knew it would give Lucius and Narcissa a more compelling reason to follow my lead than anything the Dark Lord had to offer them. Did you people really believe Draco's overfed arse had anything to do with it?

Very imaginative, I'll grant you that. I'll wager that not even the author of the official Potter books came up with anything like that. What else? Why would you want to see the scar?

You must be joking. A vampire? That's how you thought I survived? Here, look. As you can see, the puncture wounds are clearly from a serpent. Have they stopped teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts altogether at Hogwarts? Then you should be able to tell me, immediately, three reasons why I could not possibly be a vampire as I stand here speaking to you. Daylight is one. No, the clasp isn't silver, but surely you've learned that those legends about vampires or werewolves and silver have been debunked. Does that book contain accounts of Lupin shrinking away from the dining table? If it were so simple to kill a werewolf, I assure you that the day he arrived to teach at Hogwarts, I would have plunged a fork into the back of his hand.

By all means, tell me what you wondered. Oh, for...! Anyone who thinks I harbored secret lusts for a werewolf is in need of a visit to St. Mungo's. We were not lovers. We were not even friends -- I convinced him to leave Hogwarts! Yes, I did tell the students he was a werewolf, but after that incident at the Shrieking Shack, can you blame me? I had been diligently brewing the Wolfsbane potion for him for months, and he couldn't even be bothered to swallow it in his haste to rush out and embrace his very, very good friend Black. Hmm? Draw your own conclusions about those two.

There, you see, now you've got me talking about sex again instead of what I meant to be talking about. You see why I've resisted speaking publicly? Even a supposedly friendly audience such as yourselves cannot be trusted to pay attention to the topic at hand. What was the topic at hand? The power of love, was it not? One of Albus Dumbledore's most beloved subjects, at least among those few with whom he chose to share his wisdom personally...sit down, I wasn't privy to the sordid details of his relationship with Grindelwald, and if I had been, I certainly wouldn't be sharing them here. You all know that it was Dumbledore's contention that Potter was saved as an infant by his mother's love. As an adult...

I don't know that I would say his capacity for love is any greater than anyone else's. He can be just as petty and prejudiced and spiteful as the next person. Does he love me? You would really have to ask him that. As for whether he's ever said it to me, that is not your business. I've already admitted that he saved my life, is that not sufficient? Well, yes, I did save his too.

I can understand your interest -- from what I understand, students are woefully unprepared in the study of Defense Against the Dark Arts -- but I'm afraid I've no interest in returning to teaching, at Hogwarts or anywhere else. Surely you realize that I only remained for so long to keep an eye on Potter and maintain a position of use to the Dark Lord? It certainly wasn't any desire to teach sniveling children how to brew potions. I'm afraid I am better suited for working alone.

What's that? Certainly, the Ministry has greater need of me. I'm the only one they've got who can produce effective antidotes to the newly designed poisons that Muggles keep putting into the food and water supplies of their cities. Besides, most of them are aging and they prefer to come to me with their discreet requests for diet supplements and marital aids than risk Knockturn Alley's shady suppliers. Some of the people in this very room. You, behind the girl in green, aren't you the son of...

Oh, I'm being signaled that our time is up. How disappointing for all of you. Enjoy your banquet...no, I'm afraid I won't be staying. I'm sure the food is delicious but I have a delectable feast of my own waiting for me at home, and he becomes concerned when I am late. Thank you for the honorarium -- I shall purchase a very fine bottle of wine with it. Good evening.

FIC: An Unexpected Fellowship (LOTR, PG13)

Title: An Unexpected Fellowship
Fandom: LOTR
Rating: PG13
Characters or Pairing: Vague Faramir/Aragorn; past-tense Aragorn/Boromir, Boromir/Théodred; mentions of Aragorn/Arwen, Faramir/Éowyn, Éowyn/Aragorn, Éomer/Lothíriel; but actually it's mostly about Faramir and Éomer.
Summary: Neither of the two Kings nor the Steward expected to find himself so fortunate, at such cost.
Notes: My 3fan_holidays recipient wanted long hair tied back with or untied from a leather thong, backrubs or massages, and slow mutual undressing; I barely managed the first. Happy holidays nonetheless, Ann!

"Do you envy him?"

The question startled Faramir, causing his cheeks to redden. He hoped Éomer would think that the exertions of riding rather than having been caught gazing at Aragorn had brought the blood to his face. Though one of the finest riders in the land -- the equal of his esteemed wife -- Faramir rode this day with the two greatest horsemen in the world, the kings of Rohan and Gondor, and he had become a bit winded.

But if his wife's brother had recognized the object of his stare, might Éomer also suspect the true reason for it? Quickly Faramir answered the question. "Not at all. I have everything I have ever wanted. Our lands are peaceful, the White Tree is in bloom, and I have won the hand of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

At this, Éomer smiled. Though he and Éowyn little resembled one another when the King of Rohan was dressed in the raiment of his position and the White Lady in loose, flowing skirts that gave her greater freedom of movement, on horseback the similarities between brother and sister were striking. They both pulled their long, fair hair back in leather thongs so that it streamed behind them like the tails of their horses, and they both sat confidently no matter the mount or saddle, even bareback.

"My sister has told me of your suffering before his arrival," continued Éomer, nodding to indicate Aragorn as he shifted his mount's reins from one hand to the other. "Even so. Had King Elessar not arrived, you would now rule as the Steward of Gondor."

"Had King Elessar not arrived, I would be dead, and the shadow would fall over the whole of this land." Faramir kept his eyes lowered, studying his horse's path, lest his expression reveal too much to this new brother whom he admired but did not yet know well. Éomer had been Boromir's friend and companion on many journeys when their father deemed Faramir unfit to travel to Rohan. Faramir had not complained at the time, preferring his books and his solitary training, but now his wife's brother was a mystery to him.

"He has earned in battle the crown and the love of the people that were his birthright." Éomer made no attempt to disguise his admiration for Aragorn, allowing his gaze to sweep across the older man's back. Faramir did not quite dare to mention that it was not on the battlefield but in the Houses of Healing that Aragorn had won a Steward's loyalty, and his heart.

Nor did Faramir dare to ask the questions that were uppermost in his thoughts. Did Éomer know that Boromir and Théodred had been intimate friends? Had he been envious of the love between the heir of Rohan's king and the son of Gondor's Steward? Instead Faramir tried to guess at the thoughts that had prompted Eomer's curiosity. "If your cousin had survived to become King of Rohan, would you have envied him?"

"No!" The word was an anguished cry that caused Aragorn to turn his head. Éomer whirled to face Faramir, bringing their horses so close together that their ankles very nearly brushed. "The rule of Rohan was Théodred's birthright. I loved him as if he were my brother. I would have given my life for his."

"As I would have for Boromir," Faramir replied. He saw Aragorn smile sadly at him before turning his eyes back toward the gates of Minas Tirith and hoped that Éomer would not notice how helplessly Faramir returned the smile. In a few hours the spring festival would begin, and then unrestrained affections would draw far less attention, when so many others joined in the celebration.

Yet the King of Rohan had noticed Aragorn's look, if not Faramir's. Lowering his voice, he murmured, "I understand that during their travels, Aragorn and your brother often disagreed."

"When two men of conviction come together in a cause of such importance, a measure of conflict may be inevitable," replied Faramir. He did not know what to believe, for none of the hobbits wished ever to speak an unkind word about Boromir once they had made Faramir understand that his brother had tried to take the Ring from Frodo. From Gimli -- whose forthrightness was refreshing after so much decorum -- Faramir was given to understand that Aragorn and Boromir had indeed quarreled about everything from how to approach Mordor to their different obligations to Gondor. Yet whenever Aragorn spoke of Boromir, his eyes filled with sadness and another emotion that Faramir recognized too well: unrequited longing.

Éomer was watching him, he realized, and turned to meet the gaze. "You knew of your brother's affection for my cousin," Éomer guessed.

Faramir did not pretend to misunderstand. He had known since he was very young that Boromir had no interest in marrying or fathering a child to follow him to the Steward's chair. Boromir had always preferred the company of soldiers, particularly that of Théodred. But why would Éomer mention such a thing? The whispers that had followed Boromir had sometimes been unkind, though because of his titles and his great skill in combat, they had never turned to public jeers or accusations.

Was this, then, a test that could lead to such an accusation by the King of Rohan against his sister's husband? "What of it?" Faramir demanded.

It was clear that Éomer believed he had offended. "I loved Théodred," he repeated. "I did not know your brother as well as he did, but Boromir seemed a fine soldier, devoted to this land." There was a long, awkward pause as they guided their horses past a piece of mortar, nearly buried now in the new growth of grass outside the city gates. "We are all of us bound by duty," added Éomer as they moved together once more. "My sister as well."

Now Faramir stared outright at Éomer, fearing the accusation in those words. Did Éomer know that Éowyn had hoped for a time to marry Aragorn? It had become a very private source of amusement between Faramir and his wife, their mutual fervor for a man who preferred to lock away his passions and give himself to a serene elf. If indeed he had loved Faramir's adored brother, Aragorn could not even bring himself to offer Faramir the comfort of that knowledge. "Nothing is more important to me than your sister's happiness," Faramir told Éomer. "If she wished to leave Ithilien for Dol Amroth, I would go with her. If she desired to ride with the Rohirrim while I served as Steward, and I could be with her only one day out of each year, I would let her go."

"You have brought my sister happiness. And I have expressed myself badly. Forgive me." It was likely, Faramir realized, that as the son of the Steward of Gondor, he himself had spent more time among nobles than either Aragorn, who had lived so long as a Ranger, or Éomer, who had stayed with the Riders of the Mark in their villages when he was not at Théoden's court. They had very nearly reached the gates of Minas Tirith; inside, preparations for the festivities tonight would be nearly completed, a mood of joyous anticipation building. With a quiet laugh and a glance at Aragorn's horse several paces in front of them, Éomer added, "I meant only to say that we are all infatuated with the King of Gondor. Even your cousin Lothíriel, with whom I hope to dance at the fires tonight."

While Éomer paused to see what response his words would draw, Faramir grinned. So Éomer had guessed all along, but his concerns lay elsewhere entirely. Lothíriel was vivacious and well-favored, and a marriage to her would bring a valuable alliance to Rohan, nearly as much as his own marriage to Éowyn. It was Éomer who needed Faramir's approval rather than the reverse.

"She is an excellent rider," Faramir said seriously. "She has three brothers who have taught her to wield a sword. I hope that your men have kept their training sharp during your absence, or she will embarrass them at their games of skill."

Éomer's laugh caused Aragorn to turn once more as they rode up behind him, waiting for the gates to open. "You are in fine spirits for the festival," he observed.

"It has been a fine afternoon, and I expect to enjoy myself, my lord," Éomer responded, inclining his head to his host. "Until then, I would like to visit with my sister. I am certain that the King of Gondor and his Steward must have private matters to discuss."

As Aragorn turned to Faramir, a puzzled expression furrowing his brow, Éomer smiled broadly behind the other king's back. "You are very kind, my brother," Faramir said, inclining his head to Éomer and Aragorn in turn. "I shall not fail to remember it."

Dismounting, they passed the reins of their horses to the grooms and said their farewells. With a gesture of his hand and a small smile, Aragorn directed Faramir away from the citadel toward the kitchens, from which rich scents emanated. "The banquet this evening may be the finest of the year, but right now I would trade my portion for a bit of smoked meat," confessed the king.

"Then as your Steward, the duty falls upon me to risk my honor and steal what I can," Faramir declared, hand on the pommel of his sword. "Those who keep your pantry have feared my incursions since I was a small boy."

He was rewarded with a warm laugh from Aragorn. "I would not have taken you for such a troublemaker."

"Left to my own devices, I would have been a paragon of virtue. But I had an elder brother to encourage my vices." He watched Aragorn carefully, expecting to see the high brow grow heavy with that sorrow the king would not name. Yet Aragorn merely looked curious.

"Boromir defied your father's rules?"

"The rules were always different for Boromir. I think it shamed him more than myself."

Now Aragorn wore the wistful expression that often crossed his face when Boromir was mentioned, and Faramir grew bold. "You grew to care for my brother on your journey together, did you not?"

Unexpectedly, the king laughed again. "We argued constantly, it seemed. Until the very end, I was not even certain that he believed me worthy for such a fellowship."

"Then he did not know you as well as I do." Faramir spoke the words lightly but Aragorn's gaze pierced him, and, perhaps for the first time, seemed to see what Faramir did not dare to add. Quickly he turned away, ducking into the doorway of a storehouse. It was empty, its contents already removed for the feast. Emerging, he kept his tone merry. "I am very sorry, my lord, but I have failed you. There is not a scrap to be had."

"Faramir, you have never failed me." Aragorn was still watching him with eyes that saw too much. "There is no man whom I would rather have for my Steward."

It should have been enough, the words and the smile they brought to Faramir's face. He should have thanked the king for his generosity and let it lie. Yet he spoke again: "I am not my brother, nor could ever be. But he is gone, and I am here. Whatever you might require, or wish of me...I am here."

"You are very kind, my Steward. I shall not fail to remember it." This time Aragorn spoke lightly, but his eyes conveyed something of the hunger they had shown when he had wished for something to eat. "It is a night for celebration. Will I see you at the fires?"

"My lord, you will."

Smiling, the king turned, and again Faramir found himself studying the regal bearing as they followed the path that Éomer had taken. The festive fires burned already. This night he had reason to envy no one.

~*~