(no subject)
Title: The Connoisseur
Team: Spy for the Dark, Dark, Dark
Challenge: Scream
Word Count: 100x2
Characters: Severus, Hermione
Rating: PG-13 for violence
A/N: I tried to make this challenge light and fluffy, I really did. Subversion is good for soul, no? The dark sucked me in.
There are many kinds of screams, and Severus Snape knows them all.
Screams of horror, despair, of unbearable pain, even of ecstasy.
He has heard them all. He has caused them all. Over the years, he has become something of a connoisseur of screams, mentally cataloging their qualities and quirks. There is something new in every scream. Some of the hardest, strongest men have squeaky little girly screams when they finally break. Children’s screams carry a purity of focus on the moment of terror itself, unblemished by the complication of awareness of greater purpose or meaning.
Her scream was different.
…
It wasn’t personal. There was no regret or fear or even anger. She knew why she was there. Her sacrifice had bought them the opening they needed, the opening the Dark Lord didn’t yet see. But the victory would come too late for her. She knew that too. And so, her screams carried neither regret nor fear nor anger. He catalogued a new kind of scream. Wrenched from her breaking body without consciousness or will, but carrying a note of triumph the Riddle Manor had never heard before. The Dark Lord’s torturer watched her suffer and silently applauded her victory.
Team: Spy for the Dark, Dark, Dark
Challenge: Scream
Word Count: 100x2
Characters: Severus, Hermione
Rating: PG-13 for violence
A/N: I tried to make this challenge light and fluffy, I really did. Subversion is good for soul, no? The dark sucked me in.
There are many kinds of screams, and Severus Snape knows them all.
Screams of horror, despair, of unbearable pain, even of ecstasy.
He has heard them all. He has caused them all. Over the years, he has become something of a connoisseur of screams, mentally cataloging their qualities and quirks. There is something new in every scream. Some of the hardest, strongest men have squeaky little girly screams when they finally break. Children’s screams carry a purity of focus on the moment of terror itself, unblemished by the complication of awareness of greater purpose or meaning.
Her scream was different.
…
It wasn’t personal. There was no regret or fear or even anger. She knew why she was there. Her sacrifice had bought them the opening they needed, the opening the Dark Lord didn’t yet see. But the victory would come too late for her. She knew that too. And so, her screams carried neither regret nor fear nor anger. He catalogued a new kind of scream. Wrenched from her breaking body without consciousness or will, but carrying a note of triumph the Riddle Manor had never heard before. The Dark Lord’s torturer watched her suffer and silently applauded her victory.