Post by Drake on Jul 25, 2007 13:17:46 GMT -5
Title: First
Summary: Unrequited love. Angst. The astronomy tower.
Rating: PG
Abandon hope all ye who enter.
She stands poised at the top of the astronomy tower, gazing out on the expansive grounds that are no longer his dominion. The cool breeze pulls three rebellious hairs from the confines of her plait and tickles her with them. But she is not in the mood for games.
That is the funny thing about being a second; one never wants to be in the spotlight. One hopes that one never is.
There is only so much to see, and she has seen it all before. But she likes it so much better at night, when the colors are muted and the world is all in gray.
She remembers sitting in that stiff wooden chair and pretended to be detached as he dueled. Trying to appear unperturbed, even though she was screaming on the inside. She flinched whenever he appeared to be in danger. In the history of their partnership, that was about five times. She always knew she had no reason to worry. His opponents never could quiet hold a candle to him. And she had never had to take over for him, of course. Never in dueling.
The squid is in mourning. It seems a tremendously silly thing to admit, which is why she never does, but the squid has not been glimpsed since his death. She sees it in her mind’s eye, all alone, mammoth, resting on the bottom of the lake. A gentle, wailing song of despair travels with the waves in the deep. Perhaps it sleeps too much. She wonders if it has wept for him, and pictures its great dark eyes stinging with tears. Or not stinging. It is, after all, under the water where no one could tell if it cried.
She was not his second when he dueled Grindlewald. She was still a lowly assistant teacher. But she recalls sitting that same wooden chair keeping the same brave face. It felt as if she were with him even then. But then, she supposes the entire Wizarding world felt as she did.
It seems to her that the universe is a raw thing, still screaming in pain from where he was torn from it. She’d seen a baby badly burned once, at St. Mugo’s, and imagines it the universe. Scalded and distorted, wailing in agony, clawing desperately for the comforting touch that cannot come.
The baby, she remembers, had died. It had been a very nasty piece of Dark Magic.
And then, as Deputy Headmistress, she had sat in a hard wooden chair. Waiting anxiously. Se had not said anything when he came back with one hand ruined. But she supposed, even then, she knew it was only a matter of time. He was old.
He was the philosopher in the ivory tower. He had been brilliant, and in that brilliance, he had been all alone. The sun had seemed to shine from him sometimes, and it had been a white sun. Sometimes, when he smiled at her, it would seem the sun shone only for her. When his eyes twinkled, it was her twinkle. But everyone felt like that. That was his allure, and that was what made him so dangerous.
But it was good to be endangered by him! To give in to the mad waltz he conducted in the secret halls of power and the ancient temples of learning was to find peace. He did it all for the greater good, she knows. She knows.
And she has no doubt that he liked her. No doubt, even, that he cared for her very much. But it was never…
Now, then! She cannot allow herself to think like that. It would be unfair. He cared for her deeply, as much as he could. She was his second, and she was second only to him.
Then he was gone. He was gone for good, and the only thing she could think as she fell into that hard wooden chair was that she got the big office now.
“He never loved you.”
The words fall cold and too quiet, silenced by the wind on the tower. But they ring true despite their hush. Even, perhaps, because of it. They are true, and it does not matter, she will not allow it to matter, because he has left her a job to do. She does not permit herself to cry.
*sigh*
You guys, I have no idea what this is. I have no idea. It’s a very “WTF?” piece of fiction.
Basically, this is a fic I’ve been trying to write for, oh, I don’t know, two years now(!) set to Minnie Driver’s “Beloved.”
It’s sort of two fics smashed together. And it’s probably not very good. But I was trying to write how people (especially women) think. It's not all linear and logical and easy to follow.
So here it is.
Like it? Loathe it? Want me dead for it?
Summary: Unrequited love. Angst. The astronomy tower.
Rating: PG
Abandon hope all ye who enter.
~~~0OoO0~~~
She stands poised at the top of the astronomy tower, gazing out on the expansive grounds that are no longer his dominion. The cool breeze pulls three rebellious hairs from the confines of her plait and tickles her with them. But she is not in the mood for games.
That is the funny thing about being a second; one never wants to be in the spotlight. One hopes that one never is.
There is only so much to see, and she has seen it all before. But she likes it so much better at night, when the colors are muted and the world is all in gray.
She remembers sitting in that stiff wooden chair and pretended to be detached as he dueled. Trying to appear unperturbed, even though she was screaming on the inside. She flinched whenever he appeared to be in danger. In the history of their partnership, that was about five times. She always knew she had no reason to worry. His opponents never could quiet hold a candle to him. And she had never had to take over for him, of course. Never in dueling.
The squid is in mourning. It seems a tremendously silly thing to admit, which is why she never does, but the squid has not been glimpsed since his death. She sees it in her mind’s eye, all alone, mammoth, resting on the bottom of the lake. A gentle, wailing song of despair travels with the waves in the deep. Perhaps it sleeps too much. She wonders if it has wept for him, and pictures its great dark eyes stinging with tears. Or not stinging. It is, after all, under the water where no one could tell if it cried.
She was not his second when he dueled Grindlewald. She was still a lowly assistant teacher. But she recalls sitting that same wooden chair keeping the same brave face. It felt as if she were with him even then. But then, she supposes the entire Wizarding world felt as she did.
It seems to her that the universe is a raw thing, still screaming in pain from where he was torn from it. She’d seen a baby badly burned once, at St. Mugo’s, and imagines it the universe. Scalded and distorted, wailing in agony, clawing desperately for the comforting touch that cannot come.
The baby, she remembers, had died. It had been a very nasty piece of Dark Magic.
And then, as Deputy Headmistress, she had sat in a hard wooden chair. Waiting anxiously. Se had not said anything when he came back with one hand ruined. But she supposed, even then, she knew it was only a matter of time. He was old.
He was the philosopher in the ivory tower. He had been brilliant, and in that brilliance, he had been all alone. The sun had seemed to shine from him sometimes, and it had been a white sun. Sometimes, when he smiled at her, it would seem the sun shone only for her. When his eyes twinkled, it was her twinkle. But everyone felt like that. That was his allure, and that was what made him so dangerous.
But it was good to be endangered by him! To give in to the mad waltz he conducted in the secret halls of power and the ancient temples of learning was to find peace. He did it all for the greater good, she knows. She knows.
And she has no doubt that he liked her. No doubt, even, that he cared for her very much. But it was never…
Now, then! She cannot allow herself to think like that. It would be unfair. He cared for her deeply, as much as he could. She was his second, and she was second only to him.
Then he was gone. He was gone for good, and the only thing she could think as she fell into that hard wooden chair was that she got the big office now.
“He never loved you.”
The words fall cold and too quiet, silenced by the wind on the tower. But they ring true despite their hush. Even, perhaps, because of it. They are true, and it does not matter, she will not allow it to matter, because he has left her a job to do. She does not permit herself to cry.
~~~0OoO0~~~
*sigh*
You guys, I have no idea what this is. I have no idea. It’s a very “WTF?” piece of fiction.
Basically, this is a fic I’ve been trying to write for, oh, I don’t know, two years now(!) set to Minnie Driver’s “Beloved.”
It’s sort of two fics smashed together. And it’s probably not very good. But I was trying to write how people (especially women) think. It's not all linear and logical and easy to follow.
So here it is.
Like it? Loathe it? Want me dead for it?
AAAAAARGHHHHHH...
Forget about that.