In case of need

 Fandom: Supernatural

Ship: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Rating: Safe 

Challenge: COW-T, w3, m1

Wordcount: 624

 

“Vai a quell’appuntamento”

 

Cas si era voltato. “Sei sicuro?”

 

Dean aveva sorriso tristemente, annuendo. “Sì. Vai. Ma togliti il gilet. E slaccia i primi due bottoni della camicia,” aveva distolto lo sguardo per non fissare la linea del suo collo. Per cancellare il ricordo di quando era lui a sbottonarlo. 

 

Castiel aveva aperto lo sportello della macchina e si era voltato verso di lui solo per un istante prima di scendere. Gli occhi di Dean erano rimasti piantati sulla strada di fronte a sé. 

 

Castiel era uscito in silenzio, avviandosi lungo il vialetto. Aveva raccolto una rosa dal roseto nel giardino di Nora pur sapendo che non sarebbe stato proprio il massimo del romanticismo, ma aveva sperato che la donna avrebbe apprezzato lo stesso. 

 

Quando si era voltato, di nuovo, Dean era ancora in macchina e lo stava fissando - e Castiel non aveva potuto fare a meno di pensare che stesse aspettando che lui cambiasse idea e tornasse indietro. Lo aveva mandato via con un cenno della mano e Dean, quasi con aria colpevole, lo aveva salutato imbarazzato prima di mettere in moto.

 

Quando l’Impala aveva voltato l’angolo della strada, Castiel stava già suonando il campanello. 

* * *

“Dean, mi serve il tuo aiuto,” il Cacciatore non ebbe nemmeno il tempo di dire una parola prima di essere investito dalla voce di Castiel dall’altro capo del telefono. 

“Come?”

“Non ho la più pallida idea di cosa fare.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Cas, non mi starai chiamando per quello?” Non era che facesse male sapere che lui fosse andato avanti, che frequentasse altre persone, era solo che… beh, era Castiel quello che li aveva traditi, che aveva collaborato con Crowley per aprire il Purgatorio, era colpa sua se Dean aveva smesso di fidarsi di lui, se quella loro stramba e indefinibile cosa che avevano, basata per lo più sul salvarsi la vita a vicenda, era finita e… non era giusto. 

“No, Dean, davvero, io non so -”

“Davvero?,” lo interruppe l’altro, prima che quello potesse dire una sola altra parola. “Non è difficile, Cas. È il buco che è diverso, la procedura è la stessa,” e forse era stato un po’ troppo acido, ma davvero, non voleva intrattenere una conversazione di quel genere con lui. Cercare di tenerla corta e stare il meno possibile al telefono in quella situazione era l’obiettivo migliore a cui riuscisse a pensare. 

“Apprezzo la tua… schiettezza,” disse Castiel in un tono che faceva percepire quanto poco la apprezzasse davvero. Un momento… quando esattamente Castiel aveva imparato il sarcasmo? “So come funziona il sesso. Ma questo non era un appuntamento.” 

“Come?”
“Sto facendo il baby-sitter alla sua bambina e continua a piangere. Non so cosa fare, non mi sono mai occupato di umani così piccoli prima.” 

“Oh,” Dean rimase senza parole per qualche secondo. “Oh. D’accordo, arrivo subito.” Non che comunque si fosse allontanato molto dai dintorni. 

Quando dieci minuti dopo parcheggiò l’Impala proprio davanti alla casa di Nora il pianto della bambina era talmente forte che si poteva sentire dalla strada. 

Dean non aveva davvero molta più esperienza dell'ex-angelo in certe cose, ma sicuramente era più avvezzo ai bisogni fisici che un essere umano poteva avere. 

"Le hai dato da mangiare?" chiese, prendendo in braccio la bambina. Quella smise di piangere per un momento, prima di riprendere ancora più forte di prima.

"Ci ho provato, Nora mi ha lasciato un biberon, ma non ha voluto mangiare." 

Dean sollevò un sopracciglio, stupito. Quanto esattamente si era perso di Castiel? 

"L'hai cambiata?" 

"Cambiata?" 

"Il pannolino."

"Pannolino?" Castiel lo fissò con lo sguardo un po’ perso. 

"Sì, Cas, il pannolino,” Dean sbuffò divertito. 

La fisiologia umana non era ancora un mistero completamente svelato per lui. 

Non si era perso poi così tanto. 

White orchid (turned blue) - chapter 4

 Fandom: Harry Potter

Ship: Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Rating: NSFW (not this chapter, but the whole story)

Challenge: COW-T, w3, m3

Prompt: Omegaverse/Non è vero che l’oblio non esiste. La testa seleziona, fa archivio continuamente e molto scarta. Fa spazio, compatta. Magari non elimina del tutto ma comprime in un formato illeggibile. Anche se ti sforzi non trovi la chiave, non lo puoi decifrare più.” (Concita De Gregorio)/Ossessione (in questo caso quella di Dumbledore for the Greater Good) 

Wordcount: 2000 

Previous chapter: 

1 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248072/chapters/47988985

2 - https://danzanelfuoco.dreamwidth.org/7849.html

3 - https://danzanelfuoco.dreamwidth.org/9428.html

Harry kept quiet, silence stretching for ages. 

He had asked to see Dumbledore every day since his arrival at Hogwarts and now that his wish to talk with the Headmaster had been fulfilled he felt like he had nothing to ask the man in front of him. 

All the questions he could have had, all the mysteries… everything was answered by what he had seen in the Pensive. And if some doubt remained, Harry wouldn’t ask Professor Dumbledore to solve them. He couldn’t trust him anymore. 

“Would you like a lemon sherbet, Harry?” The Headmaster broke the silence.

“No, thanks.”

Dumbledore took one. 

“Well, I think it’s time for us to do what we are supposed to do, are we not?”

“I don’t know. What are we supposed to do?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Talk, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled sadly. “I think we should talk.” 

“Why bother? I already know everything there is to know, and what I still don’t, you surely don’t want to tell me.” 

“Harry, my boy, of course -” 

“You wouldn’t be here talking to me if the secret wasn’t already out,” Harry interrupted him, “It took me violating Snape’s Pensive and destroying his room to finally have you acknowledge my presence here and finally deign to talk to me.” 

“I won’t deny it.”

Harry looked taken aback. 

“I think you’re still too young. Or maybe it’s just some old man delusion in willing you to be innocent and carefree for a little longer.” 

“Carefree?!” Harry laughed bitterly. “Professor, I don’t think you have noticed the damn collar around my neck! When have I ever been carefree? While sleeping in a cupboard?” 

“Here at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore simply replied, and Harry closed his mouth because it was true. “I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school and I could not bring myself to add another. I could have told you about the prophecy the first time you defeated Voldemort, I wanted to tell you but… the first step is always the most difficult to take. I thought I had time, I cared about you too much and I wanted to save you more pain than you had already suffered. And then Voldemort came back and what I had just hypothesized became more and more plausible.” 

“My unavoidable death?” Harry asked, impassible, and Dumbledore just nodded. “You would have let me go dying blindly?” 

“Wouldn’t it be mercy?” 

“No! I deserved to know!” 

Dumbledore stopped him before he could get even angrier. “I know. And I would have told you when the moment came. But how could I look at you and tell you you’d have to die before it was absolutely necessary?” His eyes were glistening from unshed tears. “How could I look at a fifteen years old child who I came to cherish, who would have had all his life in front of him if only he would have been anyone else but Harry Potter and tell him he should die, sacrifice himself so that we could live free. Don’t judge me too harshly for willing to postpone this moment and spare us both the pain as long as possible.”

“You didn’t do it for me. You were just selfish.”

“Aye. Selfish. And ashamed of myself.”

“Ashamed?” Harry snapped, "I am to die and you feel ashamed?"

Dumbledore took off his glasses, massaging his temples. “When you get as old as I am, you change the way you look at things. There are a lot less black and white and a lot more shades of grey. We could attack, stall, lose thousands of lives, between Aurors and Dark Wizards and civilians and oblivious Muggles, all taken in the crossfire. And maybe, maybe, we could take Voldemort down. Small chance,” he put his glasses back, “Or we could use you as the central piece in this chess game and enhance our possibilities to win without losing so many lives but yours. I know you have to act as a sacrificial lamb. I know this is the easiest way to win and it shames me what I am prepared to do for the Greater Good. It almost makes me wonder if it is the Greater Good at all.”

“And yet you are prepared to do it,” Harry accused him.  

“When you follow something for so long, the objective blinds you to the road that takes you there and you allow awful things to happens. Sometimes I even have to pretend to be blind to go on” Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “Yes, Harry. I’m prepared to do it. And are you not?”

Harry looked away. 

“I know you are, I know you would face Voldemort even if it hadn’t been prophesied. Aren’t you gonna ask me why I’m so sure?” 

“I don’t really care ” 

“You don’t?” 

“No, I don’t care what you think you know about me.”

“Oh, I don’t just assume to know this about you. I am certain. Or having your Presentation changed you to the point you no longer are the eleven years old boy who threw himself into a trial that would have made any adult wizard tremble just to face what you thought was Professor Snape and prevent him to gain the Philosopher Stone?” 

“You are just trying to manipulate me. Again.” 

Dumbledore looked hurt. “No. I’m just trying to make you see things as they are. You are the one who went to face a Basilisk and the unknown in the Chamber of Secret to save the life of a poor girl, just because no one else would. The one who flew back in time on a Hippogryph to save the soul of a man you had known for a few hours, just because he was innocent and it was what had to be done. The one who almost drowned in the School’s Lake because you wanted to save all the hostages during the Triwizard Tournament and who took back Cedric Diggory’s corpse even if doing so could have cost you your life. Are you no longer that person, Harry? 

Dumbledore looked at him expectantly and seemed to deflate when Harry replied. 

“I don’t know. Have I ever been him?”

“I - I don’t think I understand.”

“Did you made me so?”

 “What?” 

“Did you made me so? Did you make me the sacrificial type? For the Greater Good?” Harry’s rage, building as he spoke, broke on the last question, along with his voice. 

“Oh, Harry,” he looked pained, “I think you put too much faith in me and my ability. I could never mold you like that. I pushed you, maybe, but it was you. It is you. It’s all you.”

Harry looked away. He could feel it. He could sense it in his heart. He did all those things Professor Dumbledore had enumerated and even more because it was the right thing to do. 

“You don’t trust me anymore, do you?” 

“I wish I could. I trusted you from the start and look where I am. Oblivious, enslaved and about to die.” 

“I know I deserve it,” Dumbledore acknowledged “but I’m afraid you’ll have to take my word for what I’m about to tell you. You asked me to be honest, so I’ll be. You deserve it and I own you as much.”

Harry nodded. 

“However if I am to treat you like the adult you were forced to become,” he said, acknowledging his collar, “I need you to behave like the adult you are required to be.” 

“What do you mean?”

 “I’m not talking as your Headmaster, in fact, I have no authority over you. But I need you to learn Occlumency. It’s mandatory.” 

“Because Voldemort could implant new thoughts in me?” 

“Yes, and because Voldemort would know what we know. We would lose the element of surprise and we would be disadvantaged. Right now, the flow of information it’s unconscious and it goes in both directions. But Voldemort will soon realize what is happening and will close his mind to you while trying to keep access to yours. If you are not protected, he could gain vital pieces of information, such as who is your Alpha, where you are and what I am about to tell you.

Occlumency will be fundamental. It’s not true that oblivion doesn’t exist. The brain selects what to keep and other things get discarded, not eliminated but encrypted so much they become unreadable. And if you don’t have the key, for how much you try to, you can no longer decipher it. With Occlumency you would learn how to do so, to disguise your thoughts, encrypt them and hide the key, even to yourself if necessary.” 

“I understand,” Harry nodded, “and I will apply myself on Occlumency. But… couldn’t you teach me?” 

“I’m afraid my presence in your mind would only draw Voldemort’s interest and accelerate his becoming aware of this link.” 

“Yes, but if Snape doesn’t take me back?” 

“He will.” 

“How are you so sure? He just threw me in your office, without a word.” He had actually said a word, more than only one actually, and even though it would have helped Harry’s case - “I’m not sure I could be your Alpha anymore” - the boy didn’t want to speak that out loud. “And you are an Alpha. I can smell it. He just decided I was not worthy of his time and left me to you, didn’t he?” It shouldn’t have stung so much. 

“I’m afraid I’m not used to talking about people while they’re not in the room, but if there’s a thing I can assure you is that Professor Snape didn’t hand you off to me.” 

“Still, you are an Alpha. Couldn’t you take me in?” 

“Would you really prefer that? To have intimacy with me than Severus?” 

“I -” He should have said yes, of course, he would have preferred hugging the Headmaster instead of Professor Snape. Except he could still feel Snape’s body pressed against him, his panting in his ears, his tongue in his mouth and yes, yes, he wanted that, more than that, with Snape - if one could believe it - and he didn’t regret anything. Besides he would have preferred to gauge his eyes out at the idea of himself and the headmaster… ugh, no, a mental image he didn’t need and that probably would have Voldemort running away to vomit should he ever approach his mind.

“I thought so. Don’t worry to let me down easy, Harry, I know I’m an old man” Dumbledore winked at him, and Harry almost felt fourteen again, his name not yet in the Goblet of Fire, Voldemort still dead, no prophecies nor Omegas. 

Almost.

“Besides, Harry, don’t you smell something else?” 

“I - yes? What is it?” 

“That is the Bond. It means I already have an Omega. And it’s part of what I am about to tell you. But first, we need to discuss the Prophecy and how it links you with Voldemort. Keep in mind that this is just more than a conjecture, but that I lack solid evidence. I doubt to be wrong, but as our conversation, as already proved, I have been wrong before.”

“So maybe I don’t have to die.” 

“You may have a chance not to die even if I’m correct.” 

“Then why the fuck -?”

“I believe you have already witnessed it in the Pensive. The Marking is the only thing that probably won’t kill you.” 

“Oh,” Harry remembered that bit of conversation. But also remembered what Snape told him about the Mark. 

Well, after all, it was better to be forever tied to Snape - his insides churned at the thought, though he could tell it was less from disgust and more from anticipation - than to be dead.

“I’m gonna tell you everything I know, albeit it’s very little, about Horcruxes and why I think you are one.” 

Harry listened.