August nest of spiders: other pairings
Oct. 24th, 2007 07:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lesyeuxvertsThe last of my nest of spiders ficlets ... wow, I can't believe what canon pairings I wrote! There's only one snarry, and it's a barely-there snarry at that ... yikes. I think I have to go write some more snarry to fix this. :D
Title: Thirteen Paces
Author: lesyeuxverts00
Word Count: 300
Rating: R
Pairing: James/Lily, Severus/Lily, implied Severus/Harry
Prompt: #11, "There is an alchemy in sorrow. It can be transmuted into wisdom, which, if it does not bring joy, can yet bring happiness." -- Pearl S. Buck
Warnings: Canon character deaths, DH spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Thirteen paces, thirteen paces, thirteen paces – none of these steps heal the rent in the world.
It has all washed away to nothing, and Lily is gone. A sacrifice for her son – his arms ache for her.
He has pressed her to his breast and held her close when she was shaking, when she needed him. He has walked with her on sunny afternoons, marking the hours with her smiles.
Thirteen paces, thirteen paces – the whisper-thin leaves crunch under his leaves, the earth is still fresh with mourning, and there is nothing in the world that can slow this inevitable divide.
There will be lines on Severus's face. His hair will gray, his step will slow. His sight will grow dim, for there is nothing to see if it is not the red-gold of her hair, the sweet curve of her lips, the emerald of her eyes.
There will grow grass to cover her grave, and flowers will be left there by those who had the right to love her. There will be nothing to stop the inevitable crumble of her bones – nothing to stop her bones from curving toward Potter's resting place.
Thirteen paces – Severus stops, standing over her grave. None of his steps will bring them close again.
Nothing will put Lily in his arms. Nothing will wash away his ill-chosen words. The world will pass away, and the grass will grow over her grave, and there is a duty left for Severus. He will wait, not marking the hours.
There will be time to watch over Lily's boy – Severus will live for him. There will be time to watch him grow into a man, time to see Lily's eyes sparkle again. There will be world enough, and time, and there will be hours marked with Harry's smiles.
-----
Title: Enough, Not Enough
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: James/Lily, James/Sirius
Prompt: #18, "The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise. " - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Warnings: None, no DH spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine.
There's the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and it's Peter, and Sirius leans away from James, elbows over his head.
He stretches, opening his mouth in an o of a yawn, and ducks behind the curtains.
The four-poster is a cave, as red-gold and warm as a womb. Sirius presses his fingers to his throat and it's there, his heartbeat, and it doesn't stutter or stop, it doesn't seem to know that James almost kissed him.
Footsteps on the stairs, and there's Remus's voice, and there's Lily's, and Sirius doesn't need to open the curtains.
James will take out his Charms book, fanning the pages open on his bed, cracking open his bag to find parchment and a quill. He'll chew on it, and Remus will elbow Lily, and she'll laugh.
Sirius doesn't need to see it.
He felt the stutter of James's heartbeat beneath his fingers, he felt the warmth of James's breath on his lips, he was mere footsteps away from a kiss. It's enough, it's not enough, it's more than James has from Lily.
Sirius stretches out on his bed, thrusting his face into his pillow, and the down tickles his cheek like tiny fingers, and he has a hint of stubble, and there's no difference from this morning. His lips don't feel almost-kissed.
Lily will go down the stairs, Sirius doesn't need to open the curtains to see it. She'll drag Remus off to the library, and Remus will drag Peter, and James – James might go with them.
James might not go. He might stay, parting the curtains and bringing sunlight into Sirius's bed, and they'll be alone again, and James will lean in for a kiss, and Sirius will taste him for the first time.
Sirius's heartbeat hammers in his ears, and he waits.
-----
Title: Ignatius
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 300
Rating: R
Pairing: Arthur/Molly
Prompt: #19, the Great Drought of 1976
Warnings: None, no DH spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: According to Wikipedia, the drought broke in the last week of August, with severe thunderstorms – and according to the Lexicon, Percy was born on August 22 ... close enough for me!
The boys have been sent away for the birth, and the house is empty without them, echoing with the distant roll of thunder and Arthur's heavy tread on the stairs.
Molly pushes her hair back away from her face, and the world gasps for breath in this heat. Conjured water isn't enough – it can't sustain breath or heartbeat, not this summer.
Arthur brings her roses, already wilting. The garden is blistered and sun-burnt, the coils of the roses around the white lattice are unwound, lax in the light, and the grass is bleached to the color of straw – the color of old bones or ivory.
The weeds, always successful in their garden, are dying too. Molly grips Arthur's hand, and he brushes her fingers with a rose petal. "It'll be fine," he tells her, his voice rasping in the silence that the heat has pressed upon the world.
"There's water in the kitchen, ready to boil, and there's –"
She quiets him with a kiss, tastes the salt from his lips and holds him. Molly bumps her forehead against his, looking into his eyes. "Bring me a glass of water?"
The water is as cold as ice, the coldest thing that she's tasted in weeks. Molly presses the glass against her face, rolling it across her cheeks.
Arthur takes her hand, brushing away a bead of sweat. "There's this refreezerator that the Muggles have –"
"Not now, Arthur."
The first contraction ripples through her, thunder rumbles in the distance, and the world is caught in the heat, waiting. "Ignatius," she says.
"Coming just in time to rescue us from this drought?" Arthur fills her glass with water again. "Percy, I think."
Molly clutches Arthur's hand, and the storm opens over their garden. It's the first rain they've had in months.
-----
Title: Secrets Carried to the Death
Author: lesyeuxverts00
Word Count: 600
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Severus/Lily
Prompt: #20, confiscated notes
Warnings: DH spoilers and canon-compliant character deaths
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The details of death are made easier with magic, but Harry refuses to rob the dead of their dignity. He makes his way down the line of bodies, straightening limbs and closing eyes with his own hands.
The Great Hall is cold, the long tables have been shoved together, and the torches burn at their brightest. Each shadow is cast, each wrinkle is revealed, and each wound, earned and honorable, is visible.
There is a dark, glowing beauty to the color of clotted blood. Harry cleans it away with a wet handkerchief, white to pink to ruby red. It stains his fingers, and this is lifeblood, this is blood that should not have been shed, and this is all that he can do.
The others follow Harry's example, and he takes comfort from them. He is not alone with death. There are some who have no loved ones, there are some who are alone … he seeks them out, finds the lonely bodies sprawled on the tables.
They can take no comfort in his presence, but he does not leave them to lie alone.
Charms is with the Gryffindors, and Severus follows Lily there. The torchlight gleams on her hair, a changeable pattern, a glory of red-gold and light, a real halo, and he catches her by the hand.
"No," she says. "We'll be caught."
"We'll be careful, this time."
She frowns at him, wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. "Flitwick read the note aloud, the last time he confiscated one."
"I'll hide it in my pocket," he says.
A roll of something hard in the pocket, the size of a cigarette – Harry pulls it out. It's parchment, yellow with age, and brittle when he tries to unroll it.
"There's a spell for that," Ginny says. "Mum uses it on the love notes that Dad used to send her."
Tortoises and tea-kettles and talking tangerines – Severus hides his sigh, taking out a fresh sheet of parchment. The ink is clogged in his quill, and Lily taps it free for him.
She takes the parchment from his hands, their fingers brushing, and Severus watches her write.
Potter gave me a hard time when Flitwick read that note aloud. You've no idea how hard it is in the Gryffindor common room, sometimes.
You've no idea how hard it is in the Slytherin common room, Severus writes. She'll never know.
Is it everything you thought that it would be – magic, Hogwarts, being here?
A blot of ink is still wet on Severus's fingers, and spreads to her hand when he takes the parchment – black ink-kisses on her skin, lovely speckles against her pale glow.
Yes.
Ginny leans over Harry's shoulder, unrolling the parchment – when she's finished, she hands it to him without a word. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asks.
Harry finishes with Snape's pockets, pulling out the last empty vial and setting it with the others. Potions, useless without their maker – secrets carried to the death – Harry reaches up to close Snape's eyes.
"Yes," he tells her. "I owe him this much at least."
Harry owes him more than this.
Even with his heavy boots, even with his flowing black clothes, Snape is small in death. His face is smooth, the wrinkles faded and the sneer erased. Harry brushes Snape's hair back from his face, and leaves it as it was in life, greasy and unkempt.
He takes the parchment from Ginny, setting it unread with the vials on the table – and it is not enough, but there are no words, no more duties to be done.
Title: Thirteen Paces
Author: lesyeuxverts00
Word Count: 300
Rating: R
Pairing: James/Lily, Severus/Lily, implied Severus/Harry
Prompt: #11, "There is an alchemy in sorrow. It can be transmuted into wisdom, which, if it does not bring joy, can yet bring happiness." -- Pearl S. Buck
Warnings: Canon character deaths, DH spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Thirteen paces, thirteen paces, thirteen paces – none of these steps heal the rent in the world.
It has all washed away to nothing, and Lily is gone. A sacrifice for her son – his arms ache for her.
He has pressed her to his breast and held her close when she was shaking, when she needed him. He has walked with her on sunny afternoons, marking the hours with her smiles.
Thirteen paces, thirteen paces – the whisper-thin leaves crunch under his leaves, the earth is still fresh with mourning, and there is nothing in the world that can slow this inevitable divide.
There will be lines on Severus's face. His hair will gray, his step will slow. His sight will grow dim, for there is nothing to see if it is not the red-gold of her hair, the sweet curve of her lips, the emerald of her eyes.
There will grow grass to cover her grave, and flowers will be left there by those who had the right to love her. There will be nothing to stop the inevitable crumble of her bones – nothing to stop her bones from curving toward Potter's resting place.
Thirteen paces – Severus stops, standing over her grave. None of his steps will bring them close again.
Nothing will put Lily in his arms. Nothing will wash away his ill-chosen words. The world will pass away, and the grass will grow over her grave, and there is a duty left for Severus. He will wait, not marking the hours.
There will be time to watch over Lily's boy – Severus will live for him. There will be time to watch him grow into a man, time to see Lily's eyes sparkle again. There will be world enough, and time, and there will be hours marked with Harry's smiles.
-----
Title: Enough, Not Enough
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: James/Lily, James/Sirius
Prompt: #18, "The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise. " - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Warnings: None, no DH spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine.
There's the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and it's Peter, and Sirius leans away from James, elbows over his head.
He stretches, opening his mouth in an o of a yawn, and ducks behind the curtains.
The four-poster is a cave, as red-gold and warm as a womb. Sirius presses his fingers to his throat and it's there, his heartbeat, and it doesn't stutter or stop, it doesn't seem to know that James almost kissed him.
Footsteps on the stairs, and there's Remus's voice, and there's Lily's, and Sirius doesn't need to open the curtains.
James will take out his Charms book, fanning the pages open on his bed, cracking open his bag to find parchment and a quill. He'll chew on it, and Remus will elbow Lily, and she'll laugh.
Sirius doesn't need to see it.
He felt the stutter of James's heartbeat beneath his fingers, he felt the warmth of James's breath on his lips, he was mere footsteps away from a kiss. It's enough, it's not enough, it's more than James has from Lily.
Sirius stretches out on his bed, thrusting his face into his pillow, and the down tickles his cheek like tiny fingers, and he has a hint of stubble, and there's no difference from this morning. His lips don't feel almost-kissed.
Lily will go down the stairs, Sirius doesn't need to open the curtains to see it. She'll drag Remus off to the library, and Remus will drag Peter, and James – James might go with them.
James might not go. He might stay, parting the curtains and bringing sunlight into Sirius's bed, and they'll be alone again, and James will lean in for a kiss, and Sirius will taste him for the first time.
Sirius's heartbeat hammers in his ears, and he waits.
-----
Title: Ignatius
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 300
Rating: R
Pairing: Arthur/Molly
Prompt: #19, the Great Drought of 1976
Warnings: None, no DH spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: According to Wikipedia, the drought broke in the last week of August, with severe thunderstorms – and according to the Lexicon, Percy was born on August 22 ... close enough for me!
The boys have been sent away for the birth, and the house is empty without them, echoing with the distant roll of thunder and Arthur's heavy tread on the stairs.
Molly pushes her hair back away from her face, and the world gasps for breath in this heat. Conjured water isn't enough – it can't sustain breath or heartbeat, not this summer.
Arthur brings her roses, already wilting. The garden is blistered and sun-burnt, the coils of the roses around the white lattice are unwound, lax in the light, and the grass is bleached to the color of straw – the color of old bones or ivory.
The weeds, always successful in their garden, are dying too. Molly grips Arthur's hand, and he brushes her fingers with a rose petal. "It'll be fine," he tells her, his voice rasping in the silence that the heat has pressed upon the world.
"There's water in the kitchen, ready to boil, and there's –"
She quiets him with a kiss, tastes the salt from his lips and holds him. Molly bumps her forehead against his, looking into his eyes. "Bring me a glass of water?"
The water is as cold as ice, the coldest thing that she's tasted in weeks. Molly presses the glass against her face, rolling it across her cheeks.
Arthur takes her hand, brushing away a bead of sweat. "There's this refreezerator that the Muggles have –"
"Not now, Arthur."
The first contraction ripples through her, thunder rumbles in the distance, and the world is caught in the heat, waiting. "Ignatius," she says.
"Coming just in time to rescue us from this drought?" Arthur fills her glass with water again. "Percy, I think."
Molly clutches Arthur's hand, and the storm opens over their garden. It's the first rain they've had in months.
-----
Title: Secrets Carried to the Death
Author: lesyeuxverts00
Word Count: 600
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Severus/Lily
Prompt: #20, confiscated notes
Warnings: DH spoilers and canon-compliant character deaths
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The details of death are made easier with magic, but Harry refuses to rob the dead of their dignity. He makes his way down the line of bodies, straightening limbs and closing eyes with his own hands.
The Great Hall is cold, the long tables have been shoved together, and the torches burn at their brightest. Each shadow is cast, each wrinkle is revealed, and each wound, earned and honorable, is visible.
There is a dark, glowing beauty to the color of clotted blood. Harry cleans it away with a wet handkerchief, white to pink to ruby red. It stains his fingers, and this is lifeblood, this is blood that should not have been shed, and this is all that he can do.
The others follow Harry's example, and he takes comfort from them. He is not alone with death. There are some who have no loved ones, there are some who are alone … he seeks them out, finds the lonely bodies sprawled on the tables.
They can take no comfort in his presence, but he does not leave them to lie alone.
Charms is with the Gryffindors, and Severus follows Lily there. The torchlight gleams on her hair, a changeable pattern, a glory of red-gold and light, a real halo, and he catches her by the hand.
"No," she says. "We'll be caught."
"We'll be careful, this time."
She frowns at him, wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. "Flitwick read the note aloud, the last time he confiscated one."
"I'll hide it in my pocket," he says.
A roll of something hard in the pocket, the size of a cigarette – Harry pulls it out. It's parchment, yellow with age, and brittle when he tries to unroll it.
"There's a spell for that," Ginny says. "Mum uses it on the love notes that Dad used to send her."
Tortoises and tea-kettles and talking tangerines – Severus hides his sigh, taking out a fresh sheet of parchment. The ink is clogged in his quill, and Lily taps it free for him.
She takes the parchment from his hands, their fingers brushing, and Severus watches her write.
Potter gave me a hard time when Flitwick read that note aloud. You've no idea how hard it is in the Gryffindor common room, sometimes.
You've no idea how hard it is in the Slytherin common room, Severus writes. She'll never know.
Is it everything you thought that it would be – magic, Hogwarts, being here?
A blot of ink is still wet on Severus's fingers, and spreads to her hand when he takes the parchment – black ink-kisses on her skin, lovely speckles against her pale glow.
Yes.
Ginny leans over Harry's shoulder, unrolling the parchment – when she's finished, she hands it to him without a word. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asks.
Harry finishes with Snape's pockets, pulling out the last empty vial and setting it with the others. Potions, useless without their maker – secrets carried to the death – Harry reaches up to close Snape's eyes.
"Yes," he tells her. "I owe him this much at least."
Harry owes him more than this.
Even with his heavy boots, even with his flowing black clothes, Snape is small in death. His face is smooth, the wrinkles faded and the sneer erased. Harry brushes Snape's hair back from his face, and leaves it as it was in life, greasy and unkempt.
He takes the parchment from Ginny, setting it unread with the vials on the table – and it is not enough, but there are no words, no more duties to be done.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-25 04:39 am (UTC)