Serpens Fic Haven

Title: Definition of 'Free'
Pairing: Harry/Draco, background Ron/Hermione
Rating: will vary, up to R
Warnings: slavery, slash
Word Count: 200


When Harry prepared to Apparate back home to mete out discipline, Ron asked if he could go along. "I'd love to see the Ferret's face when he realises what's coming to him" he snickered, dodging Hermione's incoming punch.

Harry couldn't help grinning back, but shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Ron. It's going to be hard enough as it is."

"What? Harry, after everything the ferret did, how can you not want -"

Harry cut him off. "I'm responsible for him, Ron. Not just in control. I'm not doing this for revenge, or -" He raked a hand through his hair and struggled to explain. "When you abandoned Hermione and me - would you have wanted us to confront you on that publically?"

Ron's eyes narrowed. "I thought we'd moved past that, so why bring it up now?"

Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "We have, Ron, it's not like that," she assured him, then explained, "he's trying to say that discipline is best done quietly, without humiliation or fanfare. Humiliation should never be used as punishment; it's cruel."

"It's something Voldemort was very good at," Harry added quietly. "And I don't plan to be anything like him."


Link to Part One

Title: Definition of 'Free'
Pairing: Harry/Draco, background Ron/Hermione
Rating: will vary, up to R
Warnings: slavery, slash
Word Count: 200

Draco hated what the magic binding him required of him, and fought it tooth and claw. He hated calling Potter 'Master', but worse, he couldn't even do magic, not even a simple Lumos.

Harry got tired of Malfoy's whining quickly. Following Hermione's reluctant advice he assigned him chores to do, like folding the laundry and washing dishes and cooking.

Consequently, Harry found his bed short-sheeted (he had thought that was a purely muggle trick!). The first meal Draco made had been burned to charcoal, completely unedible - they had to order takaeout, Draco smirking as if he'd won a battle. And then he'd deliberately broken many of the dishes he'd dirtied in his 'cooking', forcing Harry to spend the evening repairing the antique china plates.

Harry had flooed over to the Burrow to ask Ron and Hermione for advice; surprisingly, it was Molly who had the solution. "If he's acting like a child, treat him accordingly," she said firmly. "A quick turn over your knee and several swats should do nicely, I should think - nothing hurt but his pride, and that could do with being taken down a notch!"

Ron had stared in shock, but Hermione, surprisingly, had grinned.

Title: Definition of 'Free'
Pairing: Harry/Draco, background Ron/Hermione
Rating: will vary, up to R
Warnings: slavery, slash
Word Count: 200

Buying a slave was not at all what Harry expected; there were ceremonies, binding rituals, contracts signed in blood - things you'd expect of Dark magic.

Hermione insisted that any ritual that enslaved one human being to another against their will had to be dark arts. Ron said it used to be common practice for conquering wizards to enslave their defeated enemies, and didn't muggles used to do that too? After screaming at Ron, it was her turn to ask Harry what he meant to do with his newest acquisition.

Trutfully, Harry had no idea. It wasn't as if he'd meant to buy Malfoy, after all.

Once Hermione had calmed down, she had helped him research Wizard enslavement laws. "He needs a collar, something to mark him as yours. It's not just selfishness," she warned, forstalling his protests, "it's a mark of your protection. He has a lot of enemies."

Harry had snorted at that; Malfoy hardly needed his protection!

He changed his mind when he saw Draco at the ceremony, where he was forced to strip and kneel to receive the collar. He was pale and shivering; the collar was a slash of color against his skin, like Sectumsempra.

Link to Part One

Name of this series is still sort of undecided, so expect it to change.

Title: Definition of 'Free'
Pairing: Harry/Draco, background Ron/Hermione
Rating: will vary, up to R
Warnings: slavery, slash
Word Count: 200


Prospective slaves - the Death-Eater prisoners who were considered just 'tame' enough to domesticate - were on display for those present, spelled into docility. Unlike the slaves, however, the crowd looking over the wares were there voluntarily, and by invitation only: there because the Ministry thought them strong enough, clever enough, and cruel enough to handle a slave who might plot the death and destruction of their owner.

Harry didn't want a slave. However, he absolutely loathed Umbridge, who had somehow gotten off with no more than a wrist slapping. He suspected she'd bribed someone to be here.

When she started bidding with her simpering, "Hem hem, 5 galleons, if you please," he literally saw red, clenching his hands into fists so tight that the scar - I will not tell lies - stood out white against his flushed skin, his wand held in a white-knuckled grip.

His hand shot up like he was under Imperius. "Ten galleons," he heard his own voice say, cold and harsh. He had more than enough galleons, even if the Ministry itself backed her.

Still, when the bidding ended, he found himself the shocked owner of one Draco Malfoy.

He hadn't even known who he was bidding on.


Link to Part Two

Title: Ghosts
Pairing: Neville/Luna
Rating: G
Word Count: 300

Mostly Neville found he didn't mind losing his memories, not when it meant forgetting the horrible things that had happened: things he was only able to guess at, from reading newspaper articles and looking at the photographs thrust at him in hopes of jogging a memory that stubbornly refused to return.

His Grandmother dragged him to visit his parents, her pride for Neville vanished, replaced with bitterness that he had forgotten everything he owed his parents. But how was he to have known those candy wrappers were gifts?

He knew he'd lost all the worst memories, but he was fairly certain that he had lost all his good memories, too - especially when Luna came to talk to him, in her distant dreamy manner.

She'd indulged him, following him around to all the places everyone had said he'd liked - more attempts by his well-meaning friends to jog his memory. "It's ok to not remember everything," she told him, every time he felt discouraged by the pressure.

The memories were gone, but he was certain that in those memories he'd known her. It was to her he confessed the strange phantom-memories he had. "When I walk around Hogwarts, I don't remember anything, but still my feet feel like they've never walked anywhere else; when I'm in the greenhouse and close my eyes, I feel as if I'll suddenly remember when I open my eyes."

Later, Luna had suddenly interrupted their perusal of the recent Quibbler edition to look at him intently, dreamy eyes unusually focused over the rim of her spectrespecs. "It's normal, you know; memories, like people, have ghosts. Some people find ghosts scary, but I actually think they're quite reassuring." She smiled, "In a way, I think it's our memories telling us we haven't - quite - lost something very precious."

Drabble: Conquest
Pairing: Snape/Lupin, past Lupin/Tonks
Warnings: mention of non-canon death
Disclaimer: Not mine

Snape winced at the shrill, agitated voice ringing through the healing ward for cursed and hexed wizards at St Mungo's.

"Why do you insist on - on mothering him?" Tonk's shouted.

Snape wished he could hex her; her hysterics made his pounding head unbearable.

"Why do you mother Harry? Or Ginny?" Remus snapped back at her; Snape could hear him pacing.

Score, Severus thought nastily.

"They have no one to look out for them anymore!"

Snape thought of Molly's beaming face and Arthur's round smile, and actually felt a pang of sorrow for their passing.

"Harry has the whole wizarding world to look after him - as if the 'saviour of the wizarding world' needs looking after!" Lupin bellowed.

Score two for Lupin.

Tonks slung back, "He doesn't have you!"

For a moment, Snape felt very cold - the part of him that had been freezing over a little bit more with every death, starting with Lily's -

- but then Lupin's voice, warm, forgiving, cut through the cold like a knife, excising the diseased part of him and letting in light and healing.

"No, that's right - he doesn't have me. Snape has me, now. Nothing could take me away."

Snape allowed one corner of his mouth to curl up in a tiny smile of victory; the side of his mouth furthest from the metamorphmagus. So only Remus shared in the delight of mutual conquest as Nymphadora slammed her way out of the ward, cursing.

Fic: What Goes Around Comes Around
Rating: G,
Pairings: Subtle, RL/SS, RW/HG
One page drabble, 632 2 words
Disclaimer: Not mine

( Above them they could hear.... )

Drabble: Do Not Mix
Characters: Snape, Harry
Disclaimer: Not mine

It was Harry bloody Potter's fault, of course. Because of COURSE the Boy Who Lived had to be an abject failure in mixing potions! He melted not one, not two, but THREE cauldrons in one class before Snape snapped and gave him detention.

During that detention, Harry was SUPPOSED to be making a simple strengthening potion. A potion a first year should have accomplished adeptly by the end of his first year. But Potter botched it - and not only did he botch it, he dropped it.

In slow motion Snape went to catch it - but missed -

Shouldn't he have used his wand? -

--and it crashed into some other bottles. He could hear the glass shattering. What else broke?

The potent fumes of mishmash potions wafted up to him; reflexively, he inhaled. Wrong move. He could feel the potions affecting him; nearby Harry regarded him warily. I should give him a month of detentions -

He felt his loins tighten; he suddenly knew which potion Harry had broken. And mixed with a botched strengthening potion....

Well, if he was going to suffer, he'd bloody well make sure Potter did, too. "Come clean up your mess," he sneered. At least watching him hide a hard-on he can't explain will be amusing...

Drabble: Out of Madness
Pairing: Neville/Luna
Disclaimer: Not mine

Something about the war had changed him. It had changed all of them, to be sure, but it had changed the very heart of what Neville was.

It had broken through the core of fear and replaced it with a sort of madness. Tapping into that - and gaining some confidence in himself - led him to exploring new facets of his personality. And exploring relationships. He'd tentatively toyed with the notion of being bent, and had even flirted with the Boy Who Lived.

Eventually, it was the Ravenclaw who held his attention. Her silky blonde hair was a waving flag that signaled the path back to safety; her dreamy eyes brought him back to reality.

And the heat that welcomed him alone - that sacred, consuming heat between her legs - brought him home.

After the first time, she never failed to bring him home when the madness took him from her.

Birthday Drabble for Severus Snape
Word Count: 300
Disclaimer: World and Characters are Not Mine
Summary: Snape doesn't want to spend his last birthday at Hogwarts alone, but he has a plan to remedy that. He's just forgotten one thing.



'Snivellus' had spent too many previous birthdays alone. He was determined this one, his seventeenth - and last - birthday at Hogwarts, would not be alone. Thankfully, this year he had a plan that would guarantee he wouldn't have to - and take care of that annoying 'virginity' issue.

His potions were perfect; brewing the Amortentia was easy, and slipping it to Remus Lupin was easier; werewolf he might be, but fetching he was also. And Lupin had an absurd fondness for anything chocolate - including a hot mug of cocoa each night while studying before bed.

Everything went perfectly; the werewolf never knew what came over him. That night passion and pleasure replaced the animosity that hung between them - until morning, when the werewolf woke in Severus' bed.

Severus had woken earlier and had his wand ready to Oblivate, in case the wolf decided he resented being shagged by a 'greasy Slytherin'.

But Lupin simply stretched, and began dressing with only a quiet 'good morning' to Severus.

When Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, Remus said conversationally, pulling on his trousers and shirt, voice muffled through the fabric, "Did you know werewolves can smell Amortentia no matter what it's mixed into?"

Severus stiffened; he couldn't think of any excuse. Surely the mangy wolf would run and tell Potter and Black, and he'd never hear the end of it! He said darkly, "Yet you still took it, like a fool. What if I had added a dose of aconite?"

Remus pulled his robes on; they were wrinkled, but would do. "I didn't take the Amortensia. I might have taken," he added with a faint smile, "the aconite. Happy Birthday, Severus."

So surprised was Snape that he barely caught Lupin's last words as the wolf slipped out of the room.

Between the Lines
Word Count: 100

When Dumbledore died, a part of Neville died as well. The thought of never again seeing those kind, twinkling blue eyes or hearing that warm voice – the world lost something precious on the day Dumbledore fell.

Everyone was caught in a stupor of shock and grief; first the funeral, and then the closing of Hogwarts. When the train pulled out and he watched Hogwarts disappearing into the distance, he mourned for Dumbledore's death – and for another sense of loss. The library was lost to him now, too...

Like so many before him, Neville thought, Someday when this war is over...

Between the Lines
Word Count: 100

When the DA was discovered, Neville was afraid his work was for nothing.

The books were waiting for him. It was easier to find them; maybe he was starting to 'think eclectically' - as his unknown tutor might have said. Every week there was another book waiting, giving him time to pore over each page. Sometimes the lessons were right on the surface; other times they were cleverly buried. It gave him a headache, but he honestly didn't mind.

He learned to sift for the important things. They were always there.

He wondered if he'd ever get to meet her.

Between the Lines
Word Count: 100

She was surprised when Hermione found her in the library and held out a book; less surprised when she read the title: Magical Battles Through the Ages. It had been Neville's most recent find. "Aren't you worried that Madam Pince will catch you?"

Luna shook her head. "They're not her books to start with." To Hermione's baffled glance she added, "Keeping them in the library is safer than the dormitories. I didn't intend for him to find them." Not at first.

Hermione understood. "Can you help me get an article published?"

Luna twirled a radish earring. "I'd love to help."

Between the Lines
Word Count: 100

She joined the DA because she would do anything to put one in Voldemort's eye, but she also joined because of him. She still chose books on a wide subject matter to write in, but made sure there was enough in the margins to help him with defensive and offensive spells. Funny anecdotes were related just enough to justify their presence. If Neville noticed the funny stories all carried hidden tips, he never divulged them to anyone else.

Maybe he picked them up without knowing - because he improved rapidly, and it wasn't just Harry's teaching and his own determination.

Between the Lines
Word Count: 100


Finding the books became a source of enjoyment for Neville; sometimes the book was brand new, sometimes very old. Sometimes he felt he learned more from the margins than he did the book itself. Whoever writes these, he thought, must be very clever.

Midterms came suddenly and in the flurry of tests, the books were set aside and forgotten.

The Ravenclaw student hadn't. When her studies were done she worked her way through an old book, scrawling notes in the margins as she read.

She wondered just when she'd stopped writing them for herself – and started writing them for him.

Between the Lines
WC: 100

It was several weeks before he found another: a History of Magic text, so old it was no longer used. The cover was falling off, yet he found himself handing it to Madam Pince to check out.

The margins were full of witty anecdotes again. He laughed aloud as he read it, which caught Hermione's attention when he brought it with him to breakfast. "Neville, what's so funny?" she hissed, when he'd laughed too loudly.

"Sorry," he said, "I never knew history could be funny!" Hermione looked at him oddly. Across the hall, a Ravenclaw looked at him with interest.

Title: Snow Angel
Characters: Harry, Draco
Rating: PG13 for blood and violence
Word Count: 500


The fresh-fallen snow is a cold austere blanket over these grounds. It makes Hogwarts seem long-abandoned, though in truth only a few years have gone by since the war against Voldemort and his demise – and the final closing of Hogwarts. It is just a hollowed-out shell; only an army of ghosts and bad memories walk those desecrated halls now.

It's the perfect place for retribution – and redemption.

He comes to him there, barefoot, clad in only his Slytherin robes, his skin pale and his cheeks wind scoured into bright roses. His eyes – sharp shards of rainy skies – are full of shadows, fear, uncertainty. But still, he comes. Still he drops his robe and stands in the snow naked in front of Harry, nearly as pale as the landscape.

Once he would have said Draco's heart was colder than the snow – but he knows better now.

It only takes an hour for his retribution to be cut into the blond's skin, for the failures and sins to be catalogued in blood. The fresh blood against the cold flesh is vivid, richer and darker than the blood of innocents, tainted. He uses a small, sharp blade; it makes the retribution personal. It drives the lesson home.

Draco never whimpers, never twitchs. The cold is a balm; he will feel the burning pain later. It is part of the healing process; nor will he speed the healing with spells or potions. He knows what is necessary and he will obey. He lies spread on the snow, arms flung wide, streaming with crimson - a fallen snow angel, marked and punished.

Later there will be more retribution – but not too much, now. Such a fine line to walk – he doesn't want Draco broken, he wants him shattered. So much more to come. But for now, there will be kindness – and the subsequent retribution will be all the more harsh for it.

“Get dressed.”

Clumsily Draco stands, numb; he knows what is expected of him. Silently he drapes the robe back over his lacerated body; the cloak will freeze to his wounds on the walk back. Tenderly, Harry touches the blond's face, strokes his cold cheek with a warm, bloody hand. “The blood sains you,” he told him earnestly, seriously. “Each time a little more.” The blond nods his head. Harry wonders what he thinks, if he really believes him – or if he understands -

- understands that the retribution will never really end. But it doesn't matter, because in the end, he always comes, and always bleeds, and neither of them ever heal.

Draco leaves first, as always; walking home the long way. His feet will be all but frozen and will need medical care. Harry allows that, so he can walk humbly to his next punishment. But not for long.

The wind is cold, cutting sideways and toying with Harry's cloak as he walks to the edge of the grounds to apparate. Cold – but not as cold as Draco.

And never as cold as Harry.

Between the Lines
Word Count: 100

It really wasn't so much what the book was about; in truth, it was dreadfully dull. What was interesting was that someone had written in the margins all through it, witty and sarcastic and sometimes utterly nonsensical. But reading it all jumbled together somehow made it (which was a lengthy discourse on the effects of Mimbletonia on the Sahara desert – ergo, nothing) seem hilariously funny.

He'd finished the entire book in a week and returned to the library for another, hoping that he'd find another one like it - one written over. But who would dare write in Madam Pince's precious books?

Between the Lines
WC: 100

It began, innocently enough, with a book.

What had provoked Neville into borrowing it, he couldn't tell. It wasn't required reading, nor would it help him complete any of his impossible assignments. Maybe it was just the ornately tooled Mimbulus mimbletonia on the leather-bound cover that caught his eye. He still couldn't explain it to himself, late that night, after he'd given up on his homework for the following day.

The other Gryffindors were playing exploding snap but he pulled out the book and began to read, ignoring their invitation to join them.

An hour later, he was still reading.

Drabble: I Must Be Cruel Only to Be Kind
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Not mine
WC: 352


He should have stopped an hour ago; she was trembling with fatigue and pain and on the verge of tears. His own eyes were dangerously close to tears as well, but he couldn't allow weakness in himself, or in her. "Again," he said, harsher than he'd intented. She flinched and he cursed himself, but raised his wand again anyway. "Block them faster, damnit! You've got to be faster than that!"

It was grief, raw grief, pushing him to this desperation. Too many people died for him; damned if he'd let her become another one. Even if it meant making her hate him. So he pushed her to defend herself past endurance, fear fueling him. Hex after stinging hex slipped past her guard in her exhausted state until she fell, and failed to get up again. She lay still, gasping for breath.

"Get up!" he yelled. "He could be here any time, and you're not ready, and you've GOT to be ready!" He fired off another hex, but this time she didn't even try to evade it - and he realized this time she was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks and her head cradled in her arms.

He felt sickened by what he was doing, but he could see no other alternative. He was doing this to protect her. Either she'd get fast enough to protect herself from anything - or she'd hate him enough for pushing her that'd she'd pull away from him - and remove herself as a target.

It was the only way he could see. Because he cared too much and underneath the amazing Boy Who Lived, he was far more fragile than anyone assumed. "Hell, Ginny," he whispered, before lifting his wand again. "Get up! You're not done yet!"

It took a long moment - during which he barely restrained himself from flinging another hex to motivate her - for her to pull herself unsteadily to her feet, and another moment for her to raise her badly-shaking arm. And it took another long, frozen moment to realize that somehow, impossibly, she was tremulously smiling through her tears.