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HARRY POTTER
Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Cow-t, w6, M3 - generazioni 

2nd May 2013 

 

It had been fourteen years since the last time Harry had seen Snape, when he had spoken on his behalf at his trial and he had gave him back the vial of his memories. 

He had tried to talk with the man afterward, but Snape, bitter as he had always been, had closed him off. Apparently all their history wasn’t enough to grant him an amicable acquaintance, not even a talk - any question Harry had about his mother, about Snape, about the war, he had been invited to shove it somewhere else. 

So it’s a surprise for Harry when he gets summoned to the Department of Mysteries a lovely morning of May and he finds the man right outside the same office he’s supposed to go to for his meeting. 

Snape looks as surprised as he is to find him there. “Potter?” he asks, not particularly friendly, but not antagonistic either. “What are you doing here?” 

“Snape,” Harry greets him, “I had an appointment. A summoning, actually. It came in this morning, but maybe I have the wrong time?” 

“No,” a man, dressed with the teal robes of the Unspeakables' uniform, appears from the door in front of which they were both waiting, “You both have the right time,” he smiles, beckoning them inside, “and the right place, I might add. Something happened that requires the cooperation of the both of you.” 

The man looks ageless, his blue eyes old on a face that cannot be older than thirty, but Snape doesn’t remember him as one of his students. “Both of us?” he asks, suspicious. 

Harry stiffens beside him. The only thing they could have in common, the only thing that could require the both of them, was the war, and he’s not really looking forward to be told someone has resurrected Voldemort, or whatever. 

“Yes,” the man smiles, as if he was finding this very funny, “both of you. Now, please, come in and have a seat.” 

Harry gives way, lets Snape get inside before following him. Something tingles his sense as he steps though the threshold and Snape goes rigid beside him, telling Harry he has felt that too. Whatever it si, it didn’t feel dangerous, but Harry has been an Auror for more than a decade now and he’s not going to underestimate anything. 

“What was that?” he asks, still in front of the door, not taking any further step until he knows what’s happening.
“That’s a Non-Disclosure Enchantment,” the man tells them, sitting at his desk and gesturing for them to take a seat too. “It means that you won’t be allowed to discuss with external parties any of the delicate informations the Department might need to give you in this context.” 

He looks extremely calm, seraphic, as if this were every day occurrence to him, and maybe it is, but Harry’s not really sure he’s so happy about the procedure. What about informed consent, what about his right to refuse to receive this ‘delicate informations’? It’s pointless of course. There were a lot of things Harry would have gladly refused to deal with, if only life gave him a choice - Voldemort being the main protagonist of Harry’s top fifty - so what does it matter if the man hadn’t tell him? Harry still would have to get in the room and be told what is wrong and be sent to solve the situation. 

“I’m not really fond of having spells bestowed on me without my knowledge,” Snape fumes, besides him, and Harry agrees with him, but goes to take a seat nonetheless. He can feel Snape’s eyes bore in his nape, the scoff on his lips at the sight of Harry giving in without a fight, after so simple an explanation. 

“None of us do,” the man smiles at them, irritably, “and yet, we can’t have you refuse to hear what I have to tell you today, and neither is a possibility for you to go around talking about some of the secret that this Department is keeping. I know you have first hand knowledge of what happened the last time someone managed to slip past our barriers... Or did you think the means to create Horcruxes could be found on the domestic section of ‘Charms today’?” 

Harry looks behind him, at Snape, at the door behind him, still open on an empty hallway. 

“Oh, don’t worry, this office is soundproof,” the Unspeakable nods, “We greatly implemented the security since then.” 

Snape feels the need to strangle the man. The way he smiles, the way his eyes tingles, the way his voice tries to make light of a very serious situation, almost as if Snape and Harry were the one exaggerating what in the end could be considered a little trifle. Snape might not have been this man’s teacher, but Dumbledore surely was. 

“So, what do you want to tell us?” Snape closes the door, making a point of shutting it as loudly as possible, and then takes a sit at the desk, beside Potter. 

The Unspeakable leans toward them, elbows on the desk, hands clasped under his chin. “Are you acquainted with the theory of multiverses?” 

Harry frowns, Snape scoffs. 

“Muggle science fiction,” the professor dismisses the notion. “Is that why you called us here? To make fun of us?” 

The Unspeakable smiles, as if he were talking with a silly child that doesn’t know better. In the end, that’s what every other civilian wizard is to the Department - ignorant of the way of things, and blessedly naive. 

“I can assure you, Professor Snape, that the theory of multiverses is way more than a theory. Perhaps you’d want to sit a little more comfortably? Do you want a tea?”

Snape doesn’t want a tea. Snape wants for the man to tell him what he has to and send them home. He wants to never be forced in the same room as Harry Potter again in his life. 

“I’d like that, thank you,” Harry nods in his direction. “What is the theory of multiverses?” 

“Ah, multiverses,” The Unspeakable moves through the office, and somehow from a drawer he retrieves a cup of tea, perfectly brewed, at the right temperature, “Are you sure about the tea, Professor?” 

The glint in Snape’s eyes scream murder, and Harry is, for once, glad to not be at the end of his gaze. 

“No,” Snape sneers, “thank you. Unspeakable...?”

“Yes,” the man waves his hand and completely ignores the question about his name, "To the matter than." 

The man sits back at the desk, placing a cup of tea in front of both Harry and Snape.

"It has a calming draught in it," he explains, "I think you might need it by the end." 

Harry, already the cup in his hand, stills before putting it down. Snape scoffs and picks up his, sniffing it to detect the scent of the potion inside. He nods when he recognizes, mixed to the bergamot scent of the earl grey, the quiet notes of lavender and peppermint, and puts down the cup.

"Such a trusting Auror," Snape mutters under his breath, loud enough . As if the Ministry never had will nor want to do him some damage.

To his surprise, at this first sign of hostility Potter smiles and shakes his head. "Touché." 

Snape frowns.

"So, multiverses," the Unspeakable continues, completely ignoring their banter, "are what gets formed when you make a choice." 

Snape purses his lips, the explanation too vague, to much like a piece of Muggle literature. 

"Yes, I see, Professor Snape, that this doesn't satisfy you" the Unspeakable smiles, the merry twinkling in his eyes irritating Snape more than anything, "but this isn't a theoric lesson. I just need you to understand the basics. And the basics, I'm afraid are much alike a Muggle book." 

"What do you mean, when we make a choice," Harry asks, before Snape can reply. 

"I mean that when you're put in front of a crossroad, when you have to make a choice that single decision creates a ramifications of differen universes where you did instead  choose other things. And think that going back to the start of times," the Unspeakable leans in, with a smirk, "think how many choices any of you had ever made and their parents and their ancestors. The infinity of possibilities: in the majority of the universes where the three of us were never born. There are universes where wizards never existed, universes where the human race is extinct."

Harry shudders, Snape raises his eyebrows skeptically, almost as if was expecting the other man to start spewing some other idiocy.

"And then there are others, where things changed because of fate, where there was no trigger that caused a change, but a change occurred nonetheless," The Unspeakable goes on, "It's entropic, it's not quantifiable." 

"I still fail to see why this concerns us," Snape scowls at the man. 

Harry, lost in the explanation, recoils. There are universes where Voldemort won. (There are universes where Voldemort never existed). 

"Ah, yes," the Unspeakable leans back, getting outside of his head, "pragmatic as I thought. Well, professor Snape, the reason I called you two here, is that sometimes there are connections between the universes. Sometimes there are natural passages between the worlds, sometimes we are the ones that need to contact other places..." the Unspeakable smiles and takes a sip of his tea, "Sometimes some idiot does a ritual without thinking about the consequences and, instead of killing himself, he ends up traveling through dimensional planes. Yes, Mr Potter, that was you que to get in." 

Harry raises his eyebrows but then another door, invisible just until it wasn't, at the back of the Unspeakable's desk, opens. 

A boy, not older than fifteen, black unruly hair, just as a Potter would have, bright green eyes, and no scar on his forehead. The features are not the same, he has a different nose, more prominent, different cheekbones, sharper than Harry's, but it's uncanny how alike they look. Harry wonders if this is how he would have looked liked in a universe where Voldemort didn't exist. And then the Unspeakable talks. 

"And this, Mr Potter," he tells Harry, "this is your son.” 

“My... son?” Harry gapes and manages to avoid saying 'but I don't have a son!' befor Snape can make fun of him. They just talked about parallel universes after all. 

A son. He has a son in a parallel universe and now that son is here. 

He wonders how the kid came here, if the Harry that fathered him is worried about him, if he has him with Ginny, if maybe in that universe he's straight and happy and...

“I fail to understand," Snape interrupts Harry's thinking, "What am I doing here then?” 

The Unspeakable turns to him with a glint in his eyes. 

“Oh, because this, Professor Snape, is your son too.” 

The silence is deafening. 

Harry thinks he mus have misheard.

“How?” Snape asks. His eyes are hardened, inscrutable; his jaw is set. 

The kid smiles sheepishly, "Well, you see, when a man and a woman loves each other very much..." 

"Yes, I see," Snape cuts him, "I also see that neither me, nor Potter here, are women." 

"Not in this universe, you aren't" the boy has cheek, just as Harry had when he was fifteen, but maybe it's just the same sarcasm Snape is always using. 

He's looking at Snape with tears in his eyes, though, he's looking as if he's never seen him before and Harry has to feel a little excluded. 

"So what, he's a woman in your universe?" Harry asks, and the kid reluctantly turns to him. 

"No," he shakes his head, "you are." 

If Snape 

"Makes sense," Harry says, even though it doesn't really. But to him is more understandable that he has slept with a man as a woman than that he was straight. 

"Really, Potter?" Snape's irked, "This makes any sense to you?" 

"You're the only one who thinks I'm stupid." 

"Well, Potter, even if you were to profess your undying love for me, it still stands that I would have never, in no universe, have had sex with you!" 

Harry hadn't thought about it, but now imagines of sex and Snape and sex with Snape fill his head. He feels himself blushing. 

"And yet in some universe you did," the Unspeakable looks almost happy, "because here there's proof. And unitl we don't find a way to send him back to his right universe, you two are the ones that legally needs to take care of him." 

Snape takes the tea spiked with the calming draught and downs it in one gulp. 

And that's how they find themselves with a son.

Ragazzi giovani e timidi e con una seria passione per le tabelle

 Cow-t verse 
Cow-t week 6, M1 - sacrificio
593 parole

Per il Polyverso, gli dice Meridian e gli piazza una boccetta di lubrificante tra le mani. Soltanto un anno prima Fabian le avrebbe chiesto che avrebbe dovuto farci, ma Meridian ha pensato a togliergli ogni dubbio e Regis gli ha insegnato qualche trucchetto e adesso Fabian sa perfettamente cosa la sorella si aspetta che lui faccia. 

Per lei non è mai stato un problema - un politico la pensava diversamente e si divertiva a intralciare i loro piani durante le sedute del parlamento? Beh, per Meridian era sufficiente fargli una visitina nelle ore d'ufficio, chiudere la porta a chiave dietro di sé e uscirsene dalla mezz'ora alle tre ore dopo con un sorrisetto soddisfatto (e nella maggior parte dei casi qualche orgasmo) e un voto in più dalla sua parte. Lei era brava così, a trovare quali bottoni premere in ogni persona, esattamente come ci si aspettava da lei. 

Solo che Castaros no. Castaros non ce l'ha un bottone da premere, una promiscuità da sfruttare. Castaros ha una figlia che ha cresciuto da solo e nessuna compagna - o compagno o straccio di partner in un qualunque punto dello spettro. Fabian, se avesse dovuto pensarci - e non vedeva perché avrebbe dovuto dal momento che fino al colpo di stato Castaros era sempre stato soltanto un nome in una tabella, ma se avesser dovuto pensarci - avrebbe pensato che Castaros fosse come lo zio Calico. (Come la gente pensava che anche lui fosse, senza rendersi conto che il problema era Meridian, era sempre stata Meridian, e come poteva lui pensare a chiunque altro nel frattempo?) 

E adesso Meridian se ne esce che Castaros vuole il suo culo - secondo Meri, sempre secondo Meri, perché Fabian proprio non ci crede. 

La promiscuità su Tanit è sempre stata accettata, per cui Fabian non capisce perché se anche Castaros avesse un debole per i ragazzi giovani e timidi e con una seria passione per le tabelle -  e Fabian è assolutamente certo che non sia così - perché mai questo dovesse essere un problema?  Da quale Landa sperduta sarà mai andato a recuperare dell’omofobia latente? 

“Coraggio, Fabi!” Meridian lo esorta, “Me lo farei io, ma io sono soltanto una ‘sgualdrina svergognata’ per lui. E fidati, nel mio caso lo dice con un’espressione di disgusto.” 

Fabian scossa la testa, “Guarda che insulta anche me.” 

“Eh, no,” Meridian gli sventola un dito sotto il naso, “No, tesoro mio, quando insulta te dice Fabian, ah, con quel tono un po’ sospirante... e poi annaspa per cercare qualcosa di cattivo da dire e quello con cui se ne esce è ‘imberbe’? Imberbe? Ma non ha avuto nessun problema a darmi della sgualdrina.” 

“Imberbe e senza spina dorsale...” Fabian la corregge. 

“Sì, gli piacerebbe che tu non avessi la spina dorsale,” Meridian sogghigna, “altro che piegarti a novanta...” 

“Meri,” Fabian sospira e si stringe il ponte del naso tra l’indice e il pollice, “Tu ti sogni le cose.” 

“Forse,” la gemella gli concede, “Però tentar non nuoce. E poi non dirmi che Castaros non ti piace? Sarà un maniaco egocentrico e pure stronzo, però devi ammettere che ha un suo fascino.”  

Fabian sì, deve ammetterlo, adesso che non è più distratto dall’angosciarsi dietro il rapporto con sua sorella e Regis, può permettersi di lasciar cadere l’occhio - e, se ascoltasse sua sorella, pure la mano, che mezza Tanit se lo vorrebbe portare a letto e né lei né Regis hanno nessun problema a riguardo. 

“Visto!” Meridian gli fa l'occhiolino, dandogli una pacca sulla spalla, "Non sarà così terribile."

E, d’accordo, Fabian farà questo sacrificio.