Day 7
On the Seventh Day of Christmas, A Voyeur Gave To Me
Seven People Watching
Harry Potter
James/Sirius/Lily
PG
47 words
“Does she always undress in front of an open window, Prongs?” Sirius whispered.
James grinned. “Dunno. But you've got to admit, it's a bloody gorgeous view when she does.”
Lily, her speaker-charm working perfectly as always, smiled to herself as she shimmied out of her bra...
Abbey Girls
Benedicta/Rachel
U
76 words
Benedicta watched Rachel as she danced on the garth. Her steps were neither the ballet moves of her sister, nor the country dancing of her best friends. They were wild, manic, private - perfect for the full moon and the Abbey Guardian in her white surplass.
“You're beautiful - beautiful,” Benedicta murmured, knowing that Rachel could not hear. Then, as she realised she was spying on something not intended for sight, she crept softly away.
Malory Towers
Alicia
U
216 words
Alicia didn't think anyone realised how much she hated watching. She knew she could get into anything she set her mind to - the debating club, the lacrosse team, the swimming team, the sewing bee - it was just that she didn't want to. Or, if the truth be known, that she didn't want to enough to put the appropriate effort in. She had laughed when Darrell ran outside in rain, mud and wind to throw a little ball from one wooden cross to another, and thought she was mad. Emily's everlasting needlework in the corner of the common room was only one step better than living death. That was fine.
But then there were the events - when Emily's intricate designs won first prize in front of all the parents at the end of term; when Darrell scored the winning goal and was hoisted up by several of her ecstatic teammates. Alicia hated it then. Day to day, she knew that she was the centre of entertainment, whether it be through her quick brain and amazing knowledge or through her jokes and pranks. But in front of parents, in front of other schools - Alicia was a nobody, and she knew it.
She just hoped that no one else realised how much she hated it.
Dr Who
Rory
U
361 words
Nobody was supposed to want to be a nurse, Rory discovered. People reckoned that either you really wanted to be a doctor, but you weren't quite clever enough; or were looking for a guaranteed job with a pension and a decent (albeit not particularly great) salary.
Amy had asked him the question, not too many months before.
“But why do you want to be a nurse? Why not a doctor, or - I don't know - a job with a bit more pizazz?”
“I just... don't.”
“He doesn't think he's good enough,” Melody had said outright. She often seemed to know more about Rory than Rory did, but on this occasion she couldn't have been more wrong.
“He's perfectly good enough.” Amy had been up in arms about this: whatever she really thought, she would defend him against any slight, perceived or real. “You're perfectly good enough,” she said to Rory.
“But I don't - I don't want to be a doctor,” he protested helplessly.
“Why?” Amy asked; and they had come full circle.
Rory hadn't got any reasons except ones which would make him sound idiotic: he wanted to spend more time with patients than just a quick “you're diagnosed” or “I've just removed your spleen; you'll be as good as new in a few weeks.” He wanted to be there for the long haul, hold someone's hand when they were scared in the middle of the night; look after them in more ways than just medical. Because life wasn't a simple line; it was messy and complicated and sometimes people needed the stability of knowing that the nurse was there. They wanted to know that he knew what he was doing - yes, of course they did - but they also needed to feel that he cared. That he knew that needing a bed pan might be a terrible humiliation for an elderly man after a bad fall; that a little girl might be frightened by the thought of an injection and deserved the reassurance he could give. Rory wanted to be a nurse. Instead...
“I don't know,” he said to Amy.
*
Romantic Poets RPS
Byron/Coleridge, Wordsworth
PG13
330 words
“I wandered lonely as a...” Wordsworth stopped; frowned. What was lonely? A wasp? 'I wandered lonely as a wasp' wasn't likely to get him many readers, however. He continued walking, gazing around him at the beautiful daffodils in hope of inspiration. 'Lonely as a weed in a field of daffodils'? Still didn't really have it. “Lonely as a... lonely as a...” he muttered to himself, in hope that inspiration might spring from the field in front of him. “AAAAAAAAARGH!”
Something - or rather, someone - had sprung from the field in front of him, but it wasn't inspiration. It was Byron. And he was naked.
Naked. Byron. In the daffodils.
The daffodil the man was holding to protect his modesty was not large enough. Apparently the rumours about Byron were true.
“Ah...” Byron said, in one of his less literary moments. “Yes. Hello.”
“Hello,” Wordsworth said weakly.
“Shut up, don't move,” Byron said in an undertone.
“What?”
Byron swallowed. “Nothing. I... I didn't say anything at all. You must have imagined it.”
“You said 'shut up and don't move',” Wordsworth pointed out.
“No I didn't.”
“Yes you did.”
“No I didn't.”
A voice came from the area of Byron's feet, much to Wordsworth's discombobulation. “Yes you did,” it said.
“W-what???” Wordsworth said again.
A head popped up, around the area of Byron's... daffodil. A familiar head. A very familiar head.
Coleridge.
“Oh God,” said Wordsworth, hoping that his imagination was out-stripping the truth (or indeed out-stripping the other poets). “Please tell me...”
Coleridge stood up. He didn't bother with a daffodil. Wordsworth rather wished he had.
“Hello William,” he said chirpily.
Wordsworth turned away, raising his eyes to the sky. “I'm going away. I'm going away now. All by myself. Lonely as a...” He noticed a solitary cloud scudding across the atmosphere above. “Lonely as a cloud, damn it,” he said firmly.
And so a poem was born.
Harry Potter
Voldemort, Severus
390 words
PG
Severus pushed open the door, descending to one knee and bowing his head the moment he had entered.
“My Lord.”
He could feel the heat of Lord Voldemort's gaze on the back of his neck, and prayed to a God he didn't believe in that his occlumency was up to the task of keeping the Dark Lord out.
“I feel that our dear Lucius needs a little reminder of his place,” Voldemort said quietly. No introductions, no soft soaping the reason for his summoning of Severus. In some ways, that made him easier to respond to.
“My Lord?” This time it was a question from Severus. Tentatively, he raised his head.
“You may stand,” his master said. Severus scrambled to his feet, feeling his usual irritation that he could not do so in a more graceful style. “That's better. Now, Lucius needs a lesson, and you seem to me to be the most obvious person to impart that lesson.”
That, on the other hand, was a barbed statement. Voldemort knew that Severus and Lucius had some degree of friendship. Asking Severus to discipline Lucius was a not so subtle way of asking him to prove that his loyalty lay to his master above his friend. To which, no matter the circumstances, there could only be one reply.
“Yes, my Lord. Of course.” Severus hesitated - a neatly judged move. “When... and how... would you like me to perform this task?”
Lord Voldemort smiled. “This evening, I thought. As an after-dinner entertainment.”
Severus stilled. To humiliate Lucius any further in public in his own house would be torturous. At the same time, not to do so when instructed would almost certainly be fatal for them both.
“My Lord,” he said carefully, “would it not be better to do privately?”
“Why?”
The red eyes burned into Severus's head.
“We have an important battle in the morning. Some of your followers get - over-excited - by certain events. I would not have their judgement compromised.”
Voldemort was silent for a moment. Then, “Very well,” he said. “With one condition, Severus. Afterwards, I want the pensieve memories of Lucius and of you. To watch. To make certain my orders were carried out faithfully.” He nodded. “You are dismissed. But remember, Severus, I will be watching you...”
Harry Potter
Severus/Lucius
R
1081 words
(A companion piece to the story above.)
“Our Lord feels that you need... a little lesson in humility,” Severus said in his usual impassive tones.
Lucius tensed. He was humiliated every day. A servant in his own home. But Severus's eyes held his and he knew well enough the message they were giving. Any word of protest would be seen as treason. And Lord Voldemort didn't like that.
People who did what Voldemort didn't like mostly ended up dead. Those who didn't, wished they had.
“I see.”
“You should be grateful to your Lord that he allows this lesson to take place privately,” Severus said.
Lucius knew what that meant, too. Severus had somehow - Merlin knew how - persuaded the Dark Lord to allow this favour.
“I am very grateful to him for his generosity,” he forced out.
“Give me your wand.”
The anger that Lucius tried so hard to suppress slipped out. “I do not have my wand, Severus. You know that.”
The Dark Lord had taken that, along with everything else Lucius owned. Including his son.
“You have a wand, however,” Severus said, a note of warning in his voice. “Give it to me. And you will refer to me as 'Sir' for the rest of the punishment. Is that understood.”
“It is understood. Sir.”
Lucius handed the wand over. Almost it didn't matter any more. The wand was so ill-suited to him that his wandless magic was almost as effective.
“And now...” Severus said.
He brought his wand and Lucius's borrowed wand together. Then, unexpectedly, a silver spark flew out, touching Lucius and running all over his body, fizzing like lightning. It - Lucius couldn't say that it hurt precisely, but it brought a great discomfort. And there was an expression on Severus's face which he'd never seen before. His erstwhile friend looked... almost embarrassed, and sad, at the same time.
“What?” asked Lucius, his tone sharp.
“I have removed your magic.”
A moment of silence as Lucius tried to wrap his mind around what Severus had said. Another as he tried to form a spell, and hit emptiness. Nothing. Nothing was there. For a moment, Lucius thought he might faint. It felt as if his self had been destroyed; like a Dementor's kiss. Without magic, how could he still be Lucius Malfoy?
“Severus...”
Severus took a step towards him and cuffed him hard around the head. “You will call me 'Sir'.” His tone was angry, but his eyes... his eyes still looked sad.
Lucius looked at him blankly. It was too hard to understand. Too much. Far too much.
“I...” he whispered; but he had no words to say.
“Take your clothes off,” Severus ordered.
Lucius still stared at him. There was a buzzing in Lucius's ears, a cold clammy stickiness around his body. He had no magic. He had no magic. He was nothing. He was aware of pain where Severus had hit him, but it was as if it were something he was observing in another person. This was not his pain.
“Strip,” growled Severus. “Unless you want me to do it for you. You could hardly stop me, Lucius.”
“No.” Lucius blinked. “I couldn't.”
No magic.
No magic.
He undressed. That was nothing in itself: he had undressed in front of Severus many times before. But not like this. Of all the fear and humiliation Lucius had ever suffered, even in Azkaban, being left not just wandless but magicless was the worst.
“Our Lord wishes to see how well you can behave.”
Was there a stress on the word 'see'? Was, even now, Lord Voldemort watching him, watching them? And if Lucius misbehaved, would he be killed? And, further - would that not be preferable to this?
Severus reached out and touched Lucius. With a seasickness motion, Lucius felt them move. Side-along Apparition. He looked round, and saw the dankness of his dungeon. The final coup gras of the lesson: to be punished in his own dungeon.
“Kneel.” For a moment, Lucius just looked at Severus blankly. “Kneel,” Severus said again; and his body seemed to crackle with the magic that Lucius no longer owned.
Lucius sank to his knees. He had known Severus so many years; known, and looked after him with the careless patronage of someone who had everything where Severus had so little. Family, money, privilege, looks, admiration. Now he was reduced to kneeling at the other man's feet.
“Sir,” he said, the word trembling on his tongue.
“Bow your head.”
Lucius did so. There was a rustle of Severus's clothes; then the sound of running water, followed by the feeling of warm liquid on Lucius's head. Severus was urinating on him. And Lucius could do nothing but kneel there, feeling the warm stream of piss flooding through his hair, over his shoulders and back; forward past his face.
“Now thank me, and kiss my feet.” There was just the faintest sound of strain in Severus's voice to show that he had disliked what he had been required to do. Only someone who knew him so well as Lucius did would be able to discern it.
“Thank you. Sir.” Lucius dripped urine as he bent forwards to kiss Severus's feet, his long hair sliding damply against his cheeks.
“Who do you serve?” Severus asked.
“Lord Voldemort.” Lucius would have given much to refuse to say it, but he knew he did not dare. His cowardice shamed him almost more than the rest.
“Look at me.”
Warm damp smelly hair against his shoulders as he looked up. “Sir.”
“Lord Voldemort is a generous master, Lucius. You need not to forget your place.”
“I understand.” Lucius swallowed. “I thank him - and you - for the lesson.”
“One last thing.”
Severus put his wand to the side of Lucius's head, pulling out a silver thread of memory to place in a bottle. He put the wand to his own head next, repeating the procedure. Then, he brought out Lucius's borrowed wand again, and once more touched the tips together. Lucius felt, shuddered under, the feeling of his magic returning. It brought him to tears where nothing before had done so.
“Thank you,” he said, voice shaking. “Thank you, Severus.”
Severus stood for a moment, still looking down on him. His voice was low. “I'm so sorry.”
He turned, and walked away.
Seven People Watching
Harry Potter
James/Sirius/Lily
PG
47 words
“Does she always undress in front of an open window, Prongs?” Sirius whispered.
James grinned. “Dunno. But you've got to admit, it's a bloody gorgeous view when she does.”
Lily, her speaker-charm working perfectly as always, smiled to herself as she shimmied out of her bra...
Abbey Girls
Benedicta/Rachel
U
76 words
Benedicta watched Rachel as she danced on the garth. Her steps were neither the ballet moves of her sister, nor the country dancing of her best friends. They were wild, manic, private - perfect for the full moon and the Abbey Guardian in her white surplass.
“You're beautiful - beautiful,” Benedicta murmured, knowing that Rachel could not hear. Then, as she realised she was spying on something not intended for sight, she crept softly away.
Malory Towers
Alicia
U
216 words
Alicia didn't think anyone realised how much she hated watching. She knew she could get into anything she set her mind to - the debating club, the lacrosse team, the swimming team, the sewing bee - it was just that she didn't want to. Or, if the truth be known, that she didn't want to enough to put the appropriate effort in. She had laughed when Darrell ran outside in rain, mud and wind to throw a little ball from one wooden cross to another, and thought she was mad. Emily's everlasting needlework in the corner of the common room was only one step better than living death. That was fine.
But then there were the events - when Emily's intricate designs won first prize in front of all the parents at the end of term; when Darrell scored the winning goal and was hoisted up by several of her ecstatic teammates. Alicia hated it then. Day to day, she knew that she was the centre of entertainment, whether it be through her quick brain and amazing knowledge or through her jokes and pranks. But in front of parents, in front of other schools - Alicia was a nobody, and she knew it.
She just hoped that no one else realised how much she hated it.
Dr Who
Rory
U
361 words
Nobody was supposed to want to be a nurse, Rory discovered. People reckoned that either you really wanted to be a doctor, but you weren't quite clever enough; or were looking for a guaranteed job with a pension and a decent (albeit not particularly great) salary.
Amy had asked him the question, not too many months before.
“But why do you want to be a nurse? Why not a doctor, or - I don't know - a job with a bit more pizazz?”
“I just... don't.”
“He doesn't think he's good enough,” Melody had said outright. She often seemed to know more about Rory than Rory did, but on this occasion she couldn't have been more wrong.
“He's perfectly good enough.” Amy had been up in arms about this: whatever she really thought, she would defend him against any slight, perceived or real. “You're perfectly good enough,” she said to Rory.
“But I don't - I don't want to be a doctor,” he protested helplessly.
“Why?” Amy asked; and they had come full circle.
Rory hadn't got any reasons except ones which would make him sound idiotic: he wanted to spend more time with patients than just a quick “you're diagnosed” or “I've just removed your spleen; you'll be as good as new in a few weeks.” He wanted to be there for the long haul, hold someone's hand when they were scared in the middle of the night; look after them in more ways than just medical. Because life wasn't a simple line; it was messy and complicated and sometimes people needed the stability of knowing that the nurse was there. They wanted to know that he knew what he was doing - yes, of course they did - but they also needed to feel that he cared. That he knew that needing a bed pan might be a terrible humiliation for an elderly man after a bad fall; that a little girl might be frightened by the thought of an injection and deserved the reassurance he could give. Rory wanted to be a nurse. Instead...
“I don't know,” he said to Amy.
*
Romantic Poets RPS
Byron/Coleridge, Wordsworth
PG13
330 words
“I wandered lonely as a...” Wordsworth stopped; frowned. What was lonely? A wasp? 'I wandered lonely as a wasp' wasn't likely to get him many readers, however. He continued walking, gazing around him at the beautiful daffodils in hope of inspiration. 'Lonely as a weed in a field of daffodils'? Still didn't really have it. “Lonely as a... lonely as a...” he muttered to himself, in hope that inspiration might spring from the field in front of him. “AAAAAAAAARGH!”
Something - or rather, someone - had sprung from the field in front of him, but it wasn't inspiration. It was Byron. And he was naked.
Naked. Byron. In the daffodils.
The daffodil the man was holding to protect his modesty was not large enough. Apparently the rumours about Byron were true.
“Ah...” Byron said, in one of his less literary moments. “Yes. Hello.”
“Hello,” Wordsworth said weakly.
“Shut up, don't move,” Byron said in an undertone.
“What?”
Byron swallowed. “Nothing. I... I didn't say anything at all. You must have imagined it.”
“You said 'shut up and don't move',” Wordsworth pointed out.
“No I didn't.”
“Yes you did.”
“No I didn't.”
A voice came from the area of Byron's feet, much to Wordsworth's discombobulation. “Yes you did,” it said.
“W-what???” Wordsworth said again.
A head popped up, around the area of Byron's... daffodil. A familiar head. A very familiar head.
Coleridge.
“Oh God,” said Wordsworth, hoping that his imagination was out-stripping the truth (or indeed out-stripping the other poets). “Please tell me...”
Coleridge stood up. He didn't bother with a daffodil. Wordsworth rather wished he had.
“Hello William,” he said chirpily.
Wordsworth turned away, raising his eyes to the sky. “I'm going away. I'm going away now. All by myself. Lonely as a...” He noticed a solitary cloud scudding across the atmosphere above. “Lonely as a cloud, damn it,” he said firmly.
And so a poem was born.
Harry Potter
Voldemort, Severus
390 words
PG
Severus pushed open the door, descending to one knee and bowing his head the moment he had entered.
“My Lord.”
He could feel the heat of Lord Voldemort's gaze on the back of his neck, and prayed to a God he didn't believe in that his occlumency was up to the task of keeping the Dark Lord out.
“I feel that our dear Lucius needs a little reminder of his place,” Voldemort said quietly. No introductions, no soft soaping the reason for his summoning of Severus. In some ways, that made him easier to respond to.
“My Lord?” This time it was a question from Severus. Tentatively, he raised his head.
“You may stand,” his master said. Severus scrambled to his feet, feeling his usual irritation that he could not do so in a more graceful style. “That's better. Now, Lucius needs a lesson, and you seem to me to be the most obvious person to impart that lesson.”
That, on the other hand, was a barbed statement. Voldemort knew that Severus and Lucius had some degree of friendship. Asking Severus to discipline Lucius was a not so subtle way of asking him to prove that his loyalty lay to his master above his friend. To which, no matter the circumstances, there could only be one reply.
“Yes, my Lord. Of course.” Severus hesitated - a neatly judged move. “When... and how... would you like me to perform this task?”
Lord Voldemort smiled. “This evening, I thought. As an after-dinner entertainment.”
Severus stilled. To humiliate Lucius any further in public in his own house would be torturous. At the same time, not to do so when instructed would almost certainly be fatal for them both.
“My Lord,” he said carefully, “would it not be better to do privately?”
“Why?”
The red eyes burned into Severus's head.
“We have an important battle in the morning. Some of your followers get - over-excited - by certain events. I would not have their judgement compromised.”
Voldemort was silent for a moment. Then, “Very well,” he said. “With one condition, Severus. Afterwards, I want the pensieve memories of Lucius and of you. To watch. To make certain my orders were carried out faithfully.” He nodded. “You are dismissed. But remember, Severus, I will be watching you...”
Harry Potter
Severus/Lucius
R
1081 words
(A companion piece to the story above.)
“Our Lord feels that you need... a little lesson in humility,” Severus said in his usual impassive tones.
Lucius tensed. He was humiliated every day. A servant in his own home. But Severus's eyes held his and he knew well enough the message they were giving. Any word of protest would be seen as treason. And Lord Voldemort didn't like that.
People who did what Voldemort didn't like mostly ended up dead. Those who didn't, wished they had.
“I see.”
“You should be grateful to your Lord that he allows this lesson to take place privately,” Severus said.
Lucius knew what that meant, too. Severus had somehow - Merlin knew how - persuaded the Dark Lord to allow this favour.
“I am very grateful to him for his generosity,” he forced out.
“Give me your wand.”
The anger that Lucius tried so hard to suppress slipped out. “I do not have my wand, Severus. You know that.”
The Dark Lord had taken that, along with everything else Lucius owned. Including his son.
“You have a wand, however,” Severus said, a note of warning in his voice. “Give it to me. And you will refer to me as 'Sir' for the rest of the punishment. Is that understood.”
“It is understood. Sir.”
Lucius handed the wand over. Almost it didn't matter any more. The wand was so ill-suited to him that his wandless magic was almost as effective.
“And now...” Severus said.
He brought his wand and Lucius's borrowed wand together. Then, unexpectedly, a silver spark flew out, touching Lucius and running all over his body, fizzing like lightning. It - Lucius couldn't say that it hurt precisely, but it brought a great discomfort. And there was an expression on Severus's face which he'd never seen before. His erstwhile friend looked... almost embarrassed, and sad, at the same time.
“What?” asked Lucius, his tone sharp.
“I have removed your magic.”
A moment of silence as Lucius tried to wrap his mind around what Severus had said. Another as he tried to form a spell, and hit emptiness. Nothing. Nothing was there. For a moment, Lucius thought he might faint. It felt as if his self had been destroyed; like a Dementor's kiss. Without magic, how could he still be Lucius Malfoy?
“Severus...”
Severus took a step towards him and cuffed him hard around the head. “You will call me 'Sir'.” His tone was angry, but his eyes... his eyes still looked sad.
Lucius looked at him blankly. It was too hard to understand. Too much. Far too much.
“I...” he whispered; but he had no words to say.
“Take your clothes off,” Severus ordered.
Lucius still stared at him. There was a buzzing in Lucius's ears, a cold clammy stickiness around his body. He had no magic. He had no magic. He was nothing. He was aware of pain where Severus had hit him, but it was as if it were something he was observing in another person. This was not his pain.
“Strip,” growled Severus. “Unless you want me to do it for you. You could hardly stop me, Lucius.”
“No.” Lucius blinked. “I couldn't.”
No magic.
No magic.
He undressed. That was nothing in itself: he had undressed in front of Severus many times before. But not like this. Of all the fear and humiliation Lucius had ever suffered, even in Azkaban, being left not just wandless but magicless was the worst.
“Our Lord wishes to see how well you can behave.”
Was there a stress on the word 'see'? Was, even now, Lord Voldemort watching him, watching them? And if Lucius misbehaved, would he be killed? And, further - would that not be preferable to this?
Severus reached out and touched Lucius. With a seasickness motion, Lucius felt them move. Side-along Apparition. He looked round, and saw the dankness of his dungeon. The final coup gras of the lesson: to be punished in his own dungeon.
“Kneel.” For a moment, Lucius just looked at Severus blankly. “Kneel,” Severus said again; and his body seemed to crackle with the magic that Lucius no longer owned.
Lucius sank to his knees. He had known Severus so many years; known, and looked after him with the careless patronage of someone who had everything where Severus had so little. Family, money, privilege, looks, admiration. Now he was reduced to kneeling at the other man's feet.
“Sir,” he said, the word trembling on his tongue.
“Bow your head.”
Lucius did so. There was a rustle of Severus's clothes; then the sound of running water, followed by the feeling of warm liquid on Lucius's head. Severus was urinating on him. And Lucius could do nothing but kneel there, feeling the warm stream of piss flooding through his hair, over his shoulders and back; forward past his face.
“Now thank me, and kiss my feet.” There was just the faintest sound of strain in Severus's voice to show that he had disliked what he had been required to do. Only someone who knew him so well as Lucius did would be able to discern it.
“Thank you. Sir.” Lucius dripped urine as he bent forwards to kiss Severus's feet, his long hair sliding damply against his cheeks.
“Who do you serve?” Severus asked.
“Lord Voldemort.” Lucius would have given much to refuse to say it, but he knew he did not dare. His cowardice shamed him almost more than the rest.
“Look at me.”
Warm damp smelly hair against his shoulders as he looked up. “Sir.”
“Lord Voldemort is a generous master, Lucius. You need not to forget your place.”
“I understand.” Lucius swallowed. “I thank him - and you - for the lesson.”
“One last thing.”
Severus put his wand to the side of Lucius's head, pulling out a silver thread of memory to place in a bottle. He put the wand to his own head next, repeating the procedure. Then, he brought out Lucius's borrowed wand again, and once more touched the tips together. Lucius felt, shuddered under, the feeling of his magic returning. It brought him to tears where nothing before had done so.
“Thank you,” he said, voice shaking. “Thank you, Severus.”
Severus stood for a moment, still looking down on him. His voice was low. “I'm so sorry.”
He turned, and walked away.