colour is the keyboard

Filtered post: Harry Potter

2007-10-08T20:44:40Z

Tested:
1. Computer settings for both computers; Harry assures me they are correct. I concur.
2. Connection charms.
3. Other sites--the charm does not appear despite repeated navigation which suggest the problem is limited to the journal site. (A side note: Harry has quite a number of pornographic sites saved which I am quite certain would horrify his fan club. I mean, really, Potter, Chiseled Beef? In addition for some reason a site on cheesemaking is a necessity to save? Do note that I refrain from asking because I do not wish to know. And what the hell is a DJ Earworm Mashup site? You are an imbecile, you do realise this fact, yes?)

Notes:
Other journals appear to be experiencing the same issues (cf. Black and Minerva). Wizarding only, perhaps? Muggles appear not to be affected. Not all wizards--or at least not visible posts. Order targets? General wizarding populace? Specific targets revolving around Harry?

Journal appears unresponsive, in lock-down mode, perhaps? Harry's login refused, access to edit functions denied. Password charm appears not to be tampered with. Computer responsive to other commands/charms. Order files have been moved to external device by Harry--do not show evidence of outside access. Yet.

My login appears to work at the moment, and I have access to my journal and to edit functions on back entries. No slowing of use as was reported by Harry. Odd. It does not seem to matter which computer accesses the jour

On the lunch table in the conservatory at Lake Cottage

2007-10-06T17:58:56Z

My Draco,

The charm is not as strong as I wish, but I hope it eases your mind somewhat. Keep it on your personage--if nothing else it will allow you time for escape if necessary. It is configured to work only with your magical signature.

Happy birthday, ves'tacha.

Kamau tut. Always.

Your Severus

Left next to Draco's lunch plate is a carved mahogany box which contains a small, palm-sized ball, feather-light and black as midnight and slick and smooth to the touch. Shimmering within its depths is an exact representation of the night sky--in particular the constellation Draco. When pressed to skin, it causes Draco to become invisible for no longer than ten minutes. Engraved around the circumference in ancient Greek is a snippet of Plato: On the stars thou gazest, my Star.

Also next to the plate is an envelope containing a reservation card this evening for a table for three at The Witchery near Edinburgh Castle. On the card is scrawled (with the signatures in different handwritings) from Severus and Harry.

Patronus message to Poppy Pomfrey

2007-09-27T15:13:17Z

Prepare a bed in the infirmary. I have found Lupin. In such a condition that makes it bloody obvious that he did not take his Wolfsbane last evening. Do believe me when I say he and I shall have words on that score soon.

Wounds include one broken arm--a bite fracture from what I can ascertain--extensive lacerations, a head wound, and half his damned ear looks to be torn off, though still attached.

The girl is still missing. The elf has been found in the kitchen cupboard--poisoned and begging to be killed. I have restrained myself.

Inform Black. The last I saw of him, he was at Lake Cottage, asleep in Animagus form on my sitting room couch with Potter. Shedding damned hair everywhere I am certain. Cretin.

And Poppy? Do not distress Potter any more than necessary. I trust I make myself clear.

FLOO CALL: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic

2007-09-27T14:19:37Z

I need a damned Auror.

OWL POST: Sirius Black

2007-09-27T04:24:16Z

Black.

He is at St Mungo's. He is fine. Physically. However, I would say he requires your presence at the moment.

Snape

OWL POST: Hermione Granger

2007-09-20T01:36:42Z

Granger,

Potter has informed Draco and I that today is the anniversary of your birth. As you have managed to proceed through yet another year without making an utter twat of yourself, I suppose that must be celebrated.

Regards of the day from my husband and myself. Now take a damned weeked off before I am forced to lock you from Hogwarts. That is not a request, you idiot. And no objections, Granger. Potter will keep the brat.

Severus Snape

------------------------
Enclosed are two front-row tickets to the Royal Shakespeare Company's performance of Twelfth Night in Stratford-upon-Avon, Saturday, 29 September.

OWL POST: Luna Lovegood

2007-09-16T04:23:26Z

Miss Lovegood,

After going through the CVs of a number of utter imbeciles the past few days, as well as Filiius Flitwick's office cabinets I have come to two conclusions. The field of charms research is populated by idiots, and your NEWT essay on transformative charms is surprisingly a hundredfold more intelligible than anything those halfwitted bastards have produced.

Ergo, I have determined that you shall take on his position.

I expect you in my office at half-seven Monday morning. I will go over Filius's syllabus with you and we will discuss the terms of your pay. Your first class will be held at nine o'clock.

And you will take on his responsibilities as Acting Head of Ravenclaw House until such time as another Head may be found or you prove yourself capable of not killing the damned brats.

Severus O. Snape
Headmaster
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Order of Merlin, 2nd Class

Filtered post: Albus Dumbledore

2007-09-13T15:12:14Z

Albus, if you are available, I have something I wish to discuss with you.

Private post

2007-09-12T03:52:45Z

There are moments when I am not entirely certain what day it is or whether I have slept or, in fact, whether I have gone home.

An elf puts food before me. I eat. I taste nothing.

There are forms to fill out, parents to calm, students to settle. Two staff positions empty, two Head of Houses gone, and not even a fortnight into term.

Filius. How strange to have him gone. My old professor, my colleague of a quarter-century. I think of things I must tell him regarding the students, the school, his classes--and more than once this past week I have found myself in the hallway outside his chamber before I remember.

The Ravenclaws are silent always. In the halls, in classes, at supper. The other students are barely better. Even the oldest are only just old enough to remember the end of the last war. What is so very wearingly familiar to their elders is terrifyingly new to them, even to the ones who lost siblings, parents, grandparents, cousins.

I watch them silently, the brats, and I can feel their fear. Their uncertainty. The world has shifted beneath their feet, has changed from the comfort they once knew. Professors have died, friends have been harmed, death has brushed them. It is never easy to have one's eyes opened to that. Innocence lost can never be regained.

The Romani students are settling slowly. Distrustfully. They keep to themselves still, regardless of House affiliation. A large number Sorted Slytherin or Ravenclaw, a handful Hufflepuff, and then there were the Gryffindors. Including my cousin. How very damned infuriating to have Lukas in that pit of imbeciles.

Wards have been reinforced, lectures combined. Pomona, Horace and I make frequent forays into the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms on inane pretexts. The Slytherins are laying low, certain they will once more be blamed for the actions of madmen. The Hufflepuffs can be found spread across the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw dormitories.

In regards to the perpetrator of the act, Albus says nothing, changes the subject when it is brought up, but there is a certain tightness to his mouth, a look in his eyes that I have not seen for years.

War is so bloody tiring.

Particularly when one is useless.

Safe and comfortable in England is how Lupin put it.

Instead, like an old coward, I have sent in my place my son.

And not until it became a reality did I realise how very difficult that would be. As much as I understand his wish to act, as much as I comprehend that he alone is able to take a place among His Lordship's circle, there remains a part of me that despises myself for allowing this. For supporting it. For insisting that he not be stopped.

I see the silent reproach in Draco's eyes each time Marcellus is named.

And so we do not speak of it. Of him.

But on the rare occasions I close my eyes, I wake up shouting at visions of the Mark burned onto my son's skin. At the memory of his wife's face, pale and horrified, when she first saw it. The revulsion was real, if not her following actions. And I remember another face so many years ago. Someone I once called friend in a fashion. And her revulsion at what had been seared into my flesh.

I look at my son now and I see a startling near-mirror image of my younger self. Down to the Mark black against pale skin. So many memories twist in my mind. Ones I should rather not recall. Flashes of pain, the heavy ache of guilt, the knowledge of the things I have done in my life. Things I will never admit to. But I will never forget.

And I have allowed my son that burden.

He has already taken a life. And looking at him Thursday last, seeing the dull blackness in his eyes, the emptiness and the guilt, the knowledge of what it means to end an existence--he will never escape that. He will never forget. The line has been crossed and he will never be the same man again.

I would never have wished that upon him.

His mother touched my arm when he left his flat. His wife. His children. She said nothing, just looked at me and I knew she suspects what he is doing. Finola is wise enough to not require confirmation. She is familiar enough with the ways of Death Eaters to know that it is best for her and for our son if she knows nothing. They would not hesitate to use her against him if they thought it necessary. The less she is told, the better.

But for one moment, standing there silent amidst the uproar, we shared the sobering understanding of what could happen to our child. Of what was being required of him. Of what the consequences would be. Could be.

Have I sent my son to his death? Have I destroyed his life?

The taint of the Mark will follow him always, regardless of his actions during this damned war. If he survives, if we win, if his sacrifice is noted by the Ministry, there will still be those who judge him. Who see nothing but a black skull and serpent faded into his skin. Who will only note the crimes.

I am so very tired. So very weary.

And still sleep eludes me.

Instead I sit in my office, alone, bottle of whisky in my hand which I claim is in honour of a fallen comrade. Perhaps in some way it is.

Truly, though, it is meant to make me forget. To stop my mind.

It has yet to work.

Floo call: Albus Dumbledore

2007-09-02T03:44:13Z

Albus, are you about?

Note delivered to Horace Slughorn by a twitching, wide-eyed elf

2007-08-23T04:29:55Z

Horace,

After deciphering only half of your inane, illegible ramblings, I have three things to say to you.

Crawl out of the damned bottle. You have lost your bloody mind. And for Merlin's sake, do pull yourself together, man, before you humiliate yourself even further.

Good God, Horace. This is utterly ridiculous, you realise.

Utterly.

I expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning before elevenses.

Severus

Note delivered by Issy to Draco Malfoy in the conservatory of Lake Cottage

2007-08-18T05:32:59Z

All day long I have been working
Now I am tired.
I call: "Where are you?"
But there is only the oak tree rustling in the wind.
The house is very quiet,
The sun shines in on your books,
On your scissors and thimble just put down,
But you are not there.
Suddenly I am lonely:
Where are you?
I go about searching.

Then I see you,
Standing under a spire of pale blue larkspur,
With a basket of roses on your arm.
You are cool, like silver,
And you smile.
I think the Canterbury bells are playing little tunes,
You tell me that the peonies need spraying,
That the columbines have overrun all bounds,
That the pyrus japonica should be cut back and rounded.
You tell me these things.
But I look at you, heart of silver,
White heart-flame of polished silver,
Burning beneath the blue steeples of the larkspur,
And I long to kneel instantly at your feet,
While all about us peal the loud, sweet Te Deums of the Canterbury bells.

We have the house to ourselves this evening, ves'tacha, and I will be home soon...

With the note is a single, perfect white lily and a spike of larkspur.

Filtered post: Albus Dumbledore

2007-08-12T01:04:11Z

Albus, I need to request a favour of you regarding my son.

Filtered post: Draco Malfoy, Nymphadora Tonks, Marcellus Dolohov-Snape, Harry Potter

2007-08-11T03:42:20Z

I suppose I should ask whether or not Nymphadora and Draco are speaking with the rest of us yet?

This is utterly ridiculous, you realise. Marcellus has every right to make his own decisions and Potter and I have every right to support him in such.

OWL POST: Draco Malfoy

2007-07-31T14:18:48Z

Draco,

For your information, you damned little twit, I have already procured a present for the wretch--which is entirely acceptable for me to call him as it was not on your prohibited list, thank you very much--and left it by the bed this morning. And what the bloody hell is wrong with calling him so' trekoth, damn it? It's not a sodding pejorative. Well. Not by much.

And I do not care for that suit; the collar does itch and how would you know it does not? You are not the one wearing the blasted thing. But fine. I shall wear it and suffer silently. I expect to be recompensed in full, however.

Stop fretting, ves'tacha. I am perfectly aware of what is expected of me, you realise. I shall not ruin Potter's day, I promise. I shall even dance with the brat if you insist. At least it will give me the pleasure of knowing his fool father is turning over in his grave.

Your Severus

P.S. Mistlethwaite is utterly mad. Merlin only knows what paranoid delusion is playing out in his wretched head; however, I suspect at this moment he is annoyed with me. I informed him this morning that if I caught him pinching my grandchildren once more I would cut off his damned fingers and feed them to the Squid.

Note left on the bedside table in Lake Cottage while Harry and Draco are sleeping

2007-07-31T11:51:04Z

~~Potter,~~

Harry,

I suppose given certain circumstances I shall be forced to take note of the anniversary of your damned birth this year. I shall leave the overt celebration to Draco--and, knowing his tendencies, Merlin only knows what ridiculous tripe he has decided to plan--however I happened upon these items by accident in Knockturn over the weekend while in search of powdered unicorn horn and thought they might be applicable after recent events.

Of course, I am making the assumption that, despite all indications otherwise during your school career, you have actually learned to master basic reading. I do hope I am not proved wrong.

I should suggest you have at least the first five chapters read before end of week. They will be useful in your training.

Regards of the day, etc., etc.

~~Seve~~ ~~Snape~~ Severus

-----------------------
Along with the note are two excruciatingly neatly wrapped packages, one containing a brass and carnelian ring with protective runes carved around the shank, and the other containing two books: The Dark Arts: An Advanced Primer and a biography of Josef Wronski with a note attached that says This book will not open until you have finished reading the other. Do not try to break the charm, Potter. I guarantee it is impossible.

WARDED OWL POST: Minerva McGonagall

2007-07-28T14:02:24Z

Minerva,

You sent a Death Eater to my house. A Death Eater.

And thought what? That I would not sense the Mark? Be damned grateful I hustled her upstairs before Draco realised. If he had not been upstairs when she arrived, if he and Potter had not only just walked in the room--you daft old cow.

I know bloody well she has the Mark--I grabbed her arm and checked when we were alone.

And on top of that, a wolf? Whose pack, Minerva? She's young enough to be one of Greyback's or belong to a lieutenant of his. She's barely a child, and I know exactly how young that bastard prefers to turn his wards. Easier to manage, he claims. She claims to have been Marked as a child, with her pack in last war. There were very few wolves who forced their packs to take that drastic of a fealty oath to His Lordship.

Who is this girl, Minerva, and why the bloody hell are you helping her hide?

Severus

Private post

2007-07-17T04:49:25Z

They have been acting oddly the past three days, the both of them.

First Draco was sulking and Potter was drinking my whisky. Neither speaking to the other save through me which is beyond disturbing on so very many levels.

And then there was yesterday.

They Apparated into my workroom midday, wrapped around each other, kissing, touching, performing. Frenzied, almost, and Draco asked if Potter could fuck him there on the floor beneath my worktable. For me.

I am not an idiot.

There was a difference in the way they moved together. An intensity that seemed unleashed. Not that I am surprised. Draco always does enjoy winning. And to win over Ronald Weasley, whom he has hated practically since birth...

He came back to us. To our bed.

Odd that. Inexplicable even. But perhaps, like Draco, I should not question why as long as he pays his penance. Perhaps it is enough, for now, that he returned.

Still. Curious.

I took them to our bed afterwards, both of them tired, drained, and I watched them yet again as they slept. I am still not certain about this. Any of it. And yet I am willing to admit, to myself only perhaps, that the damned wretch has some strange hold on me as well. He is Potter, after all, and there is a power about him. A deep magic that shivers across my skin when he is pressed against me.

Draco senses it too. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at Potter. When he smiles faintly as he touches Potter's skin.

His abilities are returning, buoyed by tendrils of confidence. He Summoned a phial across the room last night. Without his wand.

And he did not even notice.

I was pleased.

Perhaps the brat shall not leave us defenceless after all.

Perhaps.

He still has a great deal further left to go.

Private post

2007-07-14T00:06:42Z

He came back this morning, just as Issy was putting out breakfast. We knew exactly where he had gone; Draco had set a tracing charm on the Floo when Bellatrix first appeared so many months past.

Draco did not stay. He said nothing, merely stood up, threw his napkin down on the table and went upstairs. Potter couldn't even look at him.

Nor at me.

Instead the idiot sat quietly, picking at his plate of sausages and eggs--made just the way he prefers with the yolks ever so slightly runny. Issy notices these sorts of things after all.

Finally, he said, without looking up, I should have left a note, and when I said nothing, merely grunted and returned to the tripe on the Prophet's front page, he looked at me. He started to tell me where he'd been--I stopped him with a Potter, shut up.

We ate in silence.

It took all the restraint I had to keep from hexing him in his chair. It was a disturbing anger. It still is. After all we have done for him--I brought him to our bed, goddamn it, not three days past. Our bed.

Ungrateful imbecile.

He knocked on my workroom door mid-morning, refusing to cease until I opened the damned door.

I let him stand there for a half-hour before the incessant tapping became too much to endure. And when I flung the door open, wand in my hand an a curse on my lips, he pushed past me, hands in his pockets, and informed me that Draco had taken up residence in the bath and wouldn't speak to him either.

And then he stood there, looking at me until he glanced away and swallowed.

I must be turning into a fool. Instead of throwing him out the window as he deserved, I poured a glass of whisky and forced it upon him.

We drank silently at first, both of us. And then he began to speak.

The story poured out of him whether or not I wanted to hear it. And there were moments, elements of it that I had no damned desire to know. How Weasley touched him. What he did to him. How Potter fucked him on the Burrow kitchen floor--and how I would pay to have seen Molly Weasley's face had she come upon that. How it was their most erotic encounter. The things Weasley said when they retired to his room. To his bed.

And then.

Potter's eyes as he looked at me, listing to one side and holding his glass to me for more whisky. So empty. So lost. He said Krum's name when I was inside of him. Not all of it. Just started, and then he caught himself and that was almost worse, I think. Because he knew. But his mouth was on my skin and his hands were on my shoulders and I was fucking inside of him, Snape. And he said his name. Not mine. His. Another half-glass of whisky, then quietly, his hand shaking only slightly, what could I do but leave afterwards? He still wants him and even if he wants me--

There were so many things I could have said.

It was my opportunity to throw Potter out. To send him running back to the arms of his idiot Gryffindor.

Instead, like a goddamned fool, I grabbed his elbow, Apparated us both into Draco's bath and proceeded to strip his clothes off in front of my startled--and irate--husband. I barely had my mouth on Potter's cock, however, before Draco said Severus in that voice of his, and I knew he was watching. Breathless.

Potter is so very lovely bent over the side of a bath.

And when I dragged him into the bedroom, threw him on the bed with Draco trailing behind us, wet and wrapped in a towel, he just looked up at me in that Potter way of his and I found myself biting his throat, his jaw. Telling him angrily that he was ours, damn it, and he would do best to remember that.

God damn Potter to hell and back.

They're sleeping now. Both of them. Sprawled across the bed as I sit here, whisky in hand, watching them. There is space between them, rumpled sheets from where I lay. An indentation on the pillow from my head.

This cannot be any good.

It cannot.

OWL POST: Edgar Lowell

2007-07-07T19:37:52Z

Lowell,

I suppose if you are insistent upon the brats being schooled at Hogwarts and since your eldest's OWL scores indicated the idiot had been tutored adequately, then I have no choice but to provide you with a test dosage of the potion. Expect it to arrive the last week of this month. Brewing is generally finished within a few days of the moon, and the potion must be taken before sundown on the approrpriate evening, of course.

I will require proper documentation of the potion's effects on the children, of course, and the appropriate precautions will be taken at Hogwarts as well for their safety as well as that of the other students.

Severus O. Snape
Headmaster
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Order of Merlin, 2nd Class

Mr Potter [filter: Harry Potter]

2007-06-28T04:48:33Z

I do believe that your attendance at Lake Cottage is required.

Private post

2007-06-25T00:18:47Z

The things that I allow Draco to talk me into.

Although perhaps talk is not the best verb. Fuck, perhaps, would be better. The sight of him over me, riding me on the dining table, dishes and glasses clattering to the floor, and the things he said, the images he brought to mind, gold and dark heads bent over me, mouths on my cock, hands in my hair, bodies pressed against me.

I am only a man, after all.

It is madness, this. I know full well. Utter and complete madness.

But perhaps Draco is correct. Potter is weak. You have only to look at him to see that. And this latest fear...

I can feel the Mark. It has yet to burn again, but it twists under my skin, dark inks surfacing again, and His presence is always there, just out of thought, just out of touch. But there. I cannot forget; I sense Him every day.

The prophecy. Neither can live while the other survives.

Potter cannot face Him. That much is clear. And yet Potter is once again our best hope against Him. God help us all.

What Draco suggests is madness. There is entirely no guarantee that it would work. And it is bloody Potter.

Still.

I will not say there is not a certain perverse modicum of satisfaction, even perhaps revenge in taking the idiot to my bed. How his father would hate it were his pathetic arse still alive. How he would despise it. How his idiot mother would cry. How Black would howl.

And that does not even touch on the power I would have over the boy. How in my debt he would be. Have I not wished that for years?

And then Draco. There is a certain revenge of sorts there as well. The knowledge that I can take what he once had. That it would no longer be his. Would no longer be separate. Secret. That I would have power over that which caused me pain. That I would see his face, that he would know how it would feel to watch me fuck someone else.

All for the price of a night or two, spending myself inside Potter.

There are so many ways this could go wrong. So very many. I am aware of them all. But still, I found myself agreeing. Like a fool, perhaps.

Still.

Potter could refuse.

There is part of me that would be glad of that.

Part of me.

Filtered post: Draco Malfoy

2007-06-14T03:45:54Z

I spoke with Horace regarding Potter earlier this week.

Honestly, Draco. The damned things I do for you at times.

Note delivered to each Hogwarts staff member by house elf after breakfast

2007-06-11T11:59:14Z

Staff meeting. This afternoon, half-five. Do not be tardy; do not be absent. I am in a vile, foul mood and I shall make your lives bloody miserable should either of those events occur.

S. Snape

Note delivered to Horace Slughorn and Sirius Black by a traumatised and still shaking house elf

2007-06-05T00:04:09Z

Horace and Black.

I do not suppose either damned one of you has an explanation for why the entire seventh year of Gryffindor burst into tears at supper this evening? Nor why there are rampant rumors going round claiming that half of Slytherin, rather than duck, was served to the Head Table and to the examination proctors?

If I am to be labeled a cannibal by the dull-witted wretches I should like to know exactly why.

My office.

Immediately or I will sack the bloody both of you idiots without second thought. I still may.

You will explain this.

Snape