Fic Exchange: Fic for veilingofthesun
For: Caitlin/veilingofthesun of Ravenclaw
# of words: 1012
Title: After Life
Rating/warnings: PG
Characters/Pairings: Salazar Slytherin, Helena Ravenclaw
Summary: Reminiscences after the fact. Five scenes, from the end to the beginning.
The stone was a curious thing. Like any object of wizard-make, it came with its own tale. Someone had recalled a loved one with it to reminisce; another, an enemy to gloat over; another, a long-dead scholar to further his own research; everyone to see someone one last time.
He held it in his hand and the stone looked back with its carved eye. Triangle, circle, line.
five.
Bran came running in, out of breath and with scratches on his face. He had explained, in halting words, punctuated by deep breaths, about the man who had come. The man with the cloak and who she had called Baron. That she had told him to run home and find his father.
They had been in the woods, and she had been teaching him, silver on her brow.
"Hide," said Salazar, the word numb on his lips, and set out from the house.
He knew the path they would have taken, and he walked it with quick and sure-footed steps, muscle memory guiding him even as his jaw tightened and his mind whirled. He stepped among the greenery, veering off. They never stayed on the paths. It made it too easy for others to find them. Salazar walked, feet trampling the low branches and ground plants.
Salazar found her near the hollow trees.
The forest was full of green, and she was full of red. It splashed across her chest, on skin and fabric. It stained her palms and coloured her lips. It fell on the ground around her, spilled out from the silver handle driven into her breast and the punctures it had caused.
Salazar Slytherin knelt down on the forest floor, ignoring roots and rocks and twigs, and cradled Helena, brushing her hair back from her face. He reached up and drew down her lids, light shining in them no more.
He paid no heed to the other body even as he recognized it.
It had come from a dead man, on the sound of his last breath. The man didn’t want his family to have it, to have the ability to call him back. He had lived, he said, long enough, and didn’t think that it was right that anyone should have that power.
So it, like many things, fell to Salazar.
four.
They stayed in bed all day some times, out in the middle of the forest. It was half a day's ride to Beligrad, but that half-day made all the difference. It was quiet, and that was what mattered.
Salazar entwined his fingers in hers, and Helena leaned back against his chest, and he spoke stories in a foreign tongue that sounded like song.
The dead man knew nothing of the other two parts to the whole, apart from what the whole world knew. One remained within a family and the other passed from hand to hand, each stay shorter than the last.
He could have found the first if he chose, sought out the wand that would defeat any comers. It would have made a twisted sense: Salazar, the hater of Roman methods of controlling magic, using a wand as his sole weapon at last.
three.
There were tears still on her cheeks, even as her eyes were dry. The invisibility cloak was piled around her feet, forgotten. She clutched the back of a chair, fingernails digging into the wood, knuckles white and taut. Her hair was a tangle of curls, her mouth pale and tight as her fingers.
"She expects me to - " Helena cut herself off, swallowing hard. She looked down and to the right, at the doorway, expecting someone to come storming in again. "He'll be here in two days."
"I'm leaving. Tonight."
Helena froze, nails trapped where they split into the wood, and looked up at him. Salazar leaned against the fireplace, one hand on the mantle.
She opened her mouth, but the words stayed trapped in her throat.
With only a few steps, he crossed the room and lifted her hands from the wood. The imprint of her nails stayed behind.
"Come with me," Salazar said into her hair. Helena fell forward into his arms, and the tears came again.
The cloak he didn’t need. He had his own woven from Demiguise wool, and Disillusionment Charms strong enough for anything. They were useless trivialities.
two.
Godric was the one who had found out. They had been stupid, careless. A forgotten locking charm?
He had punched Salazar right in the mouth, not bothering to use magic. Physical violence was one of Godric's methods for calming himself, to keep himself from hexing anyone into oblivion, even though he could do so with a few choice syllables.
Then came the yelling, the swearing. Godric's voice rose loud enough that it could have shaken the dust from the ceiling beams if there had been any.
"She's Rowena's daughter!"
"Every woman is someone's daughter."
Then, Helena swore loudly as Rowena Ravenclaw swept in, robes immaculate and expression inscrutable, demanding to be told what exactly all the yelling was about.
And so, it fell to the stone.
It rested in the palm of his hand, gently gleaming in the candlelight, and he felt, for a moment, underwhelmed. It was like any other stone, scratched and dark, but that was the beauty of it. It had been normal, and then it had been created special. Taken from its original place and imbued with power beyond anything that had been imagined before.
And so, he contemplated the stone and its use.
one.
She kissed him first, after he told her that she should leave. There was stubble on his chin, and wine on his lips, and then Helena's mouth pressed against his, soft and slight.
Salazar pulled her close and kissed her again, mouths opening, and hands sliding over clothing that was now just in the way.
He turned it, three times. He rolled the stone in his hand until it faced upward once more, shadows cutting along the lines in it.
He waited.
And there was nothing.
# of words: 1012
Title: After Life
Rating/warnings: PG
Characters/Pairings: Salazar Slytherin, Helena Ravenclaw
Summary: Reminiscences after the fact. Five scenes, from the end to the beginning.
The stone was a curious thing. Like any object of wizard-make, it came with its own tale. Someone had recalled a loved one with it to reminisce; another, an enemy to gloat over; another, a long-dead scholar to further his own research; everyone to see someone one last time.
He held it in his hand and the stone looked back with its carved eye. Triangle, circle, line.
five.
Bran came running in, out of breath and with scratches on his face. He had explained, in halting words, punctuated by deep breaths, about the man who had come. The man with the cloak and who she had called Baron. That she had told him to run home and find his father.
They had been in the woods, and she had been teaching him, silver on her brow.
"Hide," said Salazar, the word numb on his lips, and set out from the house.
He knew the path they would have taken, and he walked it with quick and sure-footed steps, muscle memory guiding him even as his jaw tightened and his mind whirled. He stepped among the greenery, veering off. They never stayed on the paths. It made it too easy for others to find them. Salazar walked, feet trampling the low branches and ground plants.
Salazar found her near the hollow trees.
The forest was full of green, and she was full of red. It splashed across her chest, on skin and fabric. It stained her palms and coloured her lips. It fell on the ground around her, spilled out from the silver handle driven into her breast and the punctures it had caused.
Salazar Slytherin knelt down on the forest floor, ignoring roots and rocks and twigs, and cradled Helena, brushing her hair back from her face. He reached up and drew down her lids, light shining in them no more.
He paid no heed to the other body even as he recognized it.
It had come from a dead man, on the sound of his last breath. The man didn’t want his family to have it, to have the ability to call him back. He had lived, he said, long enough, and didn’t think that it was right that anyone should have that power.
So it, like many things, fell to Salazar.
four.
They stayed in bed all day some times, out in the middle of the forest. It was half a day's ride to Beligrad, but that half-day made all the difference. It was quiet, and that was what mattered.
Salazar entwined his fingers in hers, and Helena leaned back against his chest, and he spoke stories in a foreign tongue that sounded like song.
The dead man knew nothing of the other two parts to the whole, apart from what the whole world knew. One remained within a family and the other passed from hand to hand, each stay shorter than the last.
He could have found the first if he chose, sought out the wand that would defeat any comers. It would have made a twisted sense: Salazar, the hater of Roman methods of controlling magic, using a wand as his sole weapon at last.
three.
There were tears still on her cheeks, even as her eyes were dry. The invisibility cloak was piled around her feet, forgotten. She clutched the back of a chair, fingernails digging into the wood, knuckles white and taut. Her hair was a tangle of curls, her mouth pale and tight as her fingers.
"She expects me to - " Helena cut herself off, swallowing hard. She looked down and to the right, at the doorway, expecting someone to come storming in again. "He'll be here in two days."
"I'm leaving. Tonight."
Helena froze, nails trapped where they split into the wood, and looked up at him. Salazar leaned against the fireplace, one hand on the mantle.
She opened her mouth, but the words stayed trapped in her throat.
With only a few steps, he crossed the room and lifted her hands from the wood. The imprint of her nails stayed behind.
"Come with me," Salazar said into her hair. Helena fell forward into his arms, and the tears came again.
The cloak he didn’t need. He had his own woven from Demiguise wool, and Disillusionment Charms strong enough for anything. They were useless trivialities.
two.
Godric was the one who had found out. They had been stupid, careless. A forgotten locking charm?
He had punched Salazar right in the mouth, not bothering to use magic. Physical violence was one of Godric's methods for calming himself, to keep himself from hexing anyone into oblivion, even though he could do so with a few choice syllables.
Then came the yelling, the swearing. Godric's voice rose loud enough that it could have shaken the dust from the ceiling beams if there had been any.
"She's Rowena's daughter!"
"Every woman is someone's daughter."
Then, Helena swore loudly as Rowena Ravenclaw swept in, robes immaculate and expression inscrutable, demanding to be told what exactly all the yelling was about.
And so, it fell to the stone.
It rested in the palm of his hand, gently gleaming in the candlelight, and he felt, for a moment, underwhelmed. It was like any other stone, scratched and dark, but that was the beauty of it. It had been normal, and then it had been created special. Taken from its original place and imbued with power beyond anything that had been imagined before.
And so, he contemplated the stone and its use.
one.
She kissed him first, after he told her that she should leave. There was stubble on his chin, and wine on his lips, and then Helena's mouth pressed against his, soft and slight.
Salazar pulled her close and kissed her again, mouths opening, and hands sliding over clothing that was now just in the way.
He turned it, three times. He rolled the stone in his hand until it faced upward once more, shadows cutting along the lines in it.
He waited.
And there was nothing.