Plural Possessive I & II, The Victorious I & II
Prompt: 195 "Wand"
House: Ravenclaw
Characters/Pairings: (platonic) Hermione Granger/Lord Voldemort
Rating: PG, for death
Word Count: 100 each, 400 total
A/N: Two sets of two linked drabbles that may be viewed independently or together, as they explore perspectives and one is not critical to the other. All four are abstracts. For those that might argue that these does not fulfill the prompt, the connection is that the narrator I. takes the other's wand, II. compares the function of the other's wand to the other person, III. & IV. breaks the other's wand as way of finding finality for the other.
Title: Plural Possessive
I. His
A thing of bone for a creature of ice.
She touches it, caresses even, drawing her hands across the pale: long, lingering, a lover’s upon the leper cold.
-but it had not always been cold, not as he had been. Bone once held the heat of life, the fire of power, and he had drawn this heat through him as sand through a sieve, and perhaps, if only for a moment, he may have been eased from the cold clarity of self.
She takes it into her hand with something like a smile, though the fire had long since ceased.
II. Hers
A thing of lines for a creature of curves.
His hands to it, tracing the long contours, warm and solid beneath the chilled, all change and chagrin-the propriety of reality!
And to unto, and to undo, he remembered. A thing of rules, true: but a creature of rules not graduated but changing at sudden cusps and twists that meant nothing differentiated but a lack of everything to all but creatures of curves, watching, wondering…
Curves set to linear systems: to unto, and to undo, it was paltry approximation of what she might have been.
-but he preferred integration anyway.
Title: The Victorious
I. She
Serenity, for a slight of mind?
-he almost smiles.
Her body is splayed, violated by the trivialities of war-sweat, blood, grime, the like-but then in turn by those of victory-necrophilia, necrophobia, and their gratuitous mixing.
And what could it be to him?-there could have been no peace for her in victory but in this-
-in this-
-in this?
What had he expected, for slight of mind over slight of hand?-peace is not serenity, for victor or invalid.
He smiles, now. Her only artifact is withdrawn from her hand, and with stilling fingers that, too, breaks.
II. He
It had been a clean affair, a wand and a wave, just like magic: and there was death, kneeling and keeling until the floor had registered his fall with the sound of mute thunder.
Death is too simple an affair for the complex, and she can scarce abide it: affairs of state were anarchy, affairs of nature were entropy, and here, this?-
-death is not sin, but silence is, this silence is-
-a slump of shadows and the abyssal plain between here and her. She crosses the silence, and the deaf cross themselves.
Snap is the sound of the song.
House: Ravenclaw
Characters/Pairings: (platonic) Hermione Granger/Lord Voldemort
Rating: PG, for death
Word Count: 100 each, 400 total
A/N: Two sets of two linked drabbles that may be viewed independently or together, as they explore perspectives and one is not critical to the other. All four are abstracts. For those that might argue that these does not fulfill the prompt, the connection is that the narrator I. takes the other's wand, II. compares the function of the other's wand to the other person, III. & IV. breaks the other's wand as way of finding finality for the other.
Title: Plural Possessive
I. His
A thing of bone for a creature of ice.
She touches it, caresses even, drawing her hands across the pale: long, lingering, a lover’s upon the leper cold.
-but it had not always been cold, not as he had been. Bone once held the heat of life, the fire of power, and he had drawn this heat through him as sand through a sieve, and perhaps, if only for a moment, he may have been eased from the cold clarity of self.
She takes it into her hand with something like a smile, though the fire had long since ceased.
II. Hers
A thing of lines for a creature of curves.
His hands to it, tracing the long contours, warm and solid beneath the chilled, all change and chagrin-the propriety of reality!
And to unto, and to undo, he remembered. A thing of rules, true: but a creature of rules not graduated but changing at sudden cusps and twists that meant nothing differentiated but a lack of everything to all but creatures of curves, watching, wondering…
Curves set to linear systems: to unto, and to undo, it was paltry approximation of what she might have been.
-but he preferred integration anyway.
Title: The Victorious
I. She
Serenity, for a slight of mind?
-he almost smiles.
Her body is splayed, violated by the trivialities of war-sweat, blood, grime, the like-but then in turn by those of victory-necrophilia, necrophobia, and their gratuitous mixing.
And what could it be to him?-there could have been no peace for her in victory but in this-
-in this-
-in this?
What had he expected, for slight of mind over slight of hand?-peace is not serenity, for victor or invalid.
He smiles, now. Her only artifact is withdrawn from her hand, and with stilling fingers that, too, breaks.
II. He
It had been a clean affair, a wand and a wave, just like magic: and there was death, kneeling and keeling until the floor had registered his fall with the sound of mute thunder.
Death is too simple an affair for the complex, and she can scarce abide it: affairs of state were anarchy, affairs of nature were entropy, and here, this?-
-death is not sin, but silence is, this silence is-
-a slump of shadows and the abyssal plain between here and her. She crosses the silence, and the deaf cross themselves.
Snap is the sound of the song.