I am Responsible for My Rose (2/27)
Title: I am Responsible for My Rose
Author: Lilian_Cho
Pairing: Can be read as H/D
Genre: Gen
Rating: G, won’t get higher than PG-13
Length: Chapter two of twenty-seven=1100+ words.
Complete?: WIP. Chapter one and two is up.
Summary: a Harry Potter adaptation of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, told from Severus Snape’s point of view
Warnings: AU!Fic. Potential gay subtext (Two males will proclaim their love to each other. You may choose to read this platonically or romantically.) Spoilers: Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, all Harry Potter books.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Harcourt, Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes:Updated every Monday at 10 a.m. PST at 43sunsets
Betas: trixiegogobunny and rea_saint
Britpickers: All the wonderful people at hp_britglish
I am Responsible for My Rose
2
Mais je fus bien surpris de voir s’illumer le visage de mon jeune juge.
July 20, 1993
From that fateful day twenty-two years ago, I had chosen my path-my new Karma. All my parchments were filled with precise notes on potions ingredients. There was no more whisper of excitement when I encountered an occamy. Its pure soft silver eggshells only served to remind me of flickering eyes and the day I turned away from memories of beauty. I had chosen the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron.
The headmaster watched over me with indulgence. I had no illusions that his charitable eyes conveyed anything other than calculation. Those eyes held no faith-just the confidence that any duplicity on my part would break me. And so he rewarded my fealty with magnaminous gestures. Such as this time.
I was to meet a high-ranking French wizard to discuss possible ties between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. I was told that the wizard insisted on meeting in neutral territory. Transported into the middle of a desert, I was amused by the French definition of “neutral territory.” While waiting for the wizard, I idly looked through the parchment which detailed the headmaster’s proposal.
By nightfall, I knew that no one would arrive-French wizard or otherwise. I rolled the parchment of proposal and stowed it inside my pocket. For the first time that day, I examined my wand closely. Something was strange with its magical signature; it felt disjointed at a few places. Apparating was not an option. I didn’t bother activating the return portkey. It would probably transport me to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
Thankfully, ever since the alihotsy incident, I had always carried a self-replenishing water flask with me. I looked into my bag of personal tea blend. I estimated that it would only last me eight days. This blend of wormwood and nutmeg infusion had, on numerous occasions, prevented me from slipping aconite into the students’ pumpkin juice. Considering my present situation, I would very much like to have my afternoon tea for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I transfigured some loose stones into bread rolls. Biting into one, I grimaced. It tasted of sand. I had not misread my wand’s warped magical signature. Had a Gryffindor been in my place, he would have splinched himself in an attempt to Apparate. Sighing, I transfigured my overcoat into a threadbare sleeping bag and went to sleep on the sand.
July 21, 1993
A peculiar little voice woke me up from my restless slumber.
“Please sir, draw me an owl…”
“What?”
“Draw me an owl…”
A predawn mist colored the air, blurring the line between sand and sky. Blinking hard, I found myself staring into the face of my worst enemy. I leaped up as if struck by lightning.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, even as the surrealness of the situation hit me. This mirage could not be him; the boy looked no older than a second year.
He answered, in a slow and serious manner totally unlike my enemy’s, “Please, draw me an owl…”
I began to wonder whether yesterday’s afternoon tea was too strong. Why did I not hallucinate of sweet marjoram and marigold dreams instead? Brilliant green eyes glinted at me. Not the enemy then. But then I remembered that the enemy’s Mudblood girlfriend had green eyes.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I demanded again.
“I’m Harry, and I want you to draw me an owl,” he answered, as if surprised that I didn’t already know the answer.
“Well, Harry,” I drawled out his name, “I regret to inform you that I don’t know how to draw.”
“That doesn’t matter. Draw me an owl…” He paused, giving me a beseeching look. “Please.”
In my pocket, my fingertips brushed against the long-forgotten drawing. The day before, while rummaging for old letters, I had found the drawing in the bottom of my trunk. It made me want to look back, all the way back to the time when beauty was not yet stained by blood. Yielding to Karma’s call, I slowly drew the parchment out. Before the drawing revealed the erumpent inside, the boy protested:
“I don’t want a boa constrictor digesting an erumpent-although your boa constrictor is very beautiful,” he looked wistful at this. “An erumpent is a huge, dangerous beast. Where I live, everything is very small. What I need is an owl. Please, draw me an owl.”
This was the first time someone shared my appreciation of Karma’s beauty. Perhaps that was why I obeyed his request and fetched the proposal from my pocket. Holding the quill with a precise grip, I began to draw on the back of the parchment. Clutching at my sleeves, the boy peered at my drawing. I glared at him, but he merely continued his careful contemplation.
“No. This one is too old. I want an owl that will live a long time.”
So I promptly made another drawing.
The boy pointed at my drawing and laughed, “That owl has horns for ear tufts!”
I looked at him and saw another boy instead, laughing at me. I quietly began another drawing.
The boy let go of my sleeves. When he continued to say nothing, I turned to look at him. His lower lip was trembling. I felt no remorse. I had drawn an owl inside a fox.
When his green eyes started to glisten with tears, I no longer saw the other boy.
“How old are you?” I sneered. “You look no older than eight.”
“I’m twelve!” the boy spluttered, blinking away his tears.
“Well, you don’t want an old owl, and you don’t want an eagle owl,” I said with annoyance. “What kind of owl do you want?”
The boy’s face immediately brightened. “I’d like a snowy owl, please.” His eyes sparkled--the last drawing forgotten. “A young snowy owl.”
“I’ll see what I can manage,” I said coolly. I was rewarded with a warm smile.
In the next heartbeat, I was surrounded by the fragrance of roses and lilies, of marigold and marjoram. Beauty belongs to everyone. Picking up my quill again, I discarded all thoughts of potions ingredients and simmering cauldrons.
As I concentrated on the owl’s feathers, I saw the white rose and lily petals that danced with her scattered ashes.
The boy sighed happily. “That’s just the kind I wanted. She’s as beautiful as your boa constrictor.” Looking at my finished masterpiece, I had to agree.
“Do you think she will need a lot of rodents?”
“Why?”
“Because there aren’t that many rodents where I live. Everything is very small…”
“She is a small owl,” I began. Then I realized that I was indulging the boy in his delusion that the drawing is alive. “There will surely be enough,” I stated simply.
“But she’s not so small that…” Thin shoulders hunched over the drawing, the boy whispered, “Look, she has gone to sleep.”
And that was how I first met the little prince.
*******
Vocabulary:
occamy
alihotsy, wormwood, aconite
Special Mention: sollersuk suggested “wormwood and nutmeg.” The use of the words “infusion” and “blend” is courtesy of atalantapendrag. Educational links on wormwood and nutmeg provided by sinick. And everyone else who posted helpful comments at hp_britglish.
Fanarts: Again, go here to see the real Karma.
Thank you for reviewing. :-) I probably won’t read most of the R to NC-17 rated stories here, but will read and review the G to PG-13 ones starting Wednesday.
I have changed “boy” to “pure-blood” and “bowel” to “gut” in Chapter one, as per melisande88 and cutekeeper’s suggestions. Thank you.
Author: Lilian_Cho
Pairing: Can be read as H/D
Genre: Gen
Rating: G, won’t get higher than PG-13
Length: Chapter two of twenty-seven=1100+ words.
Complete?: WIP. Chapter one and two is up.
Summary: a Harry Potter adaptation of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, told from Severus Snape’s point of view
Warnings: AU!Fic. Potential gay subtext (Two males will proclaim their love to each other. You may choose to read this platonically or romantically.) Spoilers: Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, all Harry Potter books.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Harcourt, Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes:Updated every Monday at 10 a.m. PST at 43sunsets
Betas: trixiegogobunny and rea_saint
Britpickers: All the wonderful people at hp_britglish
I am Responsible for My Rose
2
Mais je fus bien surpris de voir s’illumer le visage de mon jeune juge.
July 20, 1993
From that fateful day twenty-two years ago, I had chosen my path-my new Karma. All my parchments were filled with precise notes on potions ingredients. There was no more whisper of excitement when I encountered an occamy. Its pure soft silver eggshells only served to remind me of flickering eyes and the day I turned away from memories of beauty. I had chosen the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron.
The headmaster watched over me with indulgence. I had no illusions that his charitable eyes conveyed anything other than calculation. Those eyes held no faith-just the confidence that any duplicity on my part would break me. And so he rewarded my fealty with magnaminous gestures. Such as this time.
I was to meet a high-ranking French wizard to discuss possible ties between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. I was told that the wizard insisted on meeting in neutral territory. Transported into the middle of a desert, I was amused by the French definition of “neutral territory.” While waiting for the wizard, I idly looked through the parchment which detailed the headmaster’s proposal.
By nightfall, I knew that no one would arrive-French wizard or otherwise. I rolled the parchment of proposal and stowed it inside my pocket. For the first time that day, I examined my wand closely. Something was strange with its magical signature; it felt disjointed at a few places. Apparating was not an option. I didn’t bother activating the return portkey. It would probably transport me to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
Thankfully, ever since the alihotsy incident, I had always carried a self-replenishing water flask with me. I looked into my bag of personal tea blend. I estimated that it would only last me eight days. This blend of wormwood and nutmeg infusion had, on numerous occasions, prevented me from slipping aconite into the students’ pumpkin juice. Considering my present situation, I would very much like to have my afternoon tea for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I transfigured some loose stones into bread rolls. Biting into one, I grimaced. It tasted of sand. I had not misread my wand’s warped magical signature. Had a Gryffindor been in my place, he would have splinched himself in an attempt to Apparate. Sighing, I transfigured my overcoat into a threadbare sleeping bag and went to sleep on the sand.
July 21, 1993
A peculiar little voice woke me up from my restless slumber.
“Please sir, draw me an owl…”
“What?”
“Draw me an owl…”
A predawn mist colored the air, blurring the line between sand and sky. Blinking hard, I found myself staring into the face of my worst enemy. I leaped up as if struck by lightning.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, even as the surrealness of the situation hit me. This mirage could not be him; the boy looked no older than a second year.
He answered, in a slow and serious manner totally unlike my enemy’s, “Please, draw me an owl…”
I began to wonder whether yesterday’s afternoon tea was too strong. Why did I not hallucinate of sweet marjoram and marigold dreams instead? Brilliant green eyes glinted at me. Not the enemy then. But then I remembered that the enemy’s Mudblood girlfriend had green eyes.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I demanded again.
“I’m Harry, and I want you to draw me an owl,” he answered, as if surprised that I didn’t already know the answer.
“Well, Harry,” I drawled out his name, “I regret to inform you that I don’t know how to draw.”
“That doesn’t matter. Draw me an owl…” He paused, giving me a beseeching look. “Please.”
In my pocket, my fingertips brushed against the long-forgotten drawing. The day before, while rummaging for old letters, I had found the drawing in the bottom of my trunk. It made me want to look back, all the way back to the time when beauty was not yet stained by blood. Yielding to Karma’s call, I slowly drew the parchment out. Before the drawing revealed the erumpent inside, the boy protested:
“I don’t want a boa constrictor digesting an erumpent-although your boa constrictor is very beautiful,” he looked wistful at this. “An erumpent is a huge, dangerous beast. Where I live, everything is very small. What I need is an owl. Please, draw me an owl.”
This was the first time someone shared my appreciation of Karma’s beauty. Perhaps that was why I obeyed his request and fetched the proposal from my pocket. Holding the quill with a precise grip, I began to draw on the back of the parchment. Clutching at my sleeves, the boy peered at my drawing. I glared at him, but he merely continued his careful contemplation.
“No. This one is too old. I want an owl that will live a long time.”
So I promptly made another drawing.
The boy pointed at my drawing and laughed, “That owl has horns for ear tufts!”
I looked at him and saw another boy instead, laughing at me. I quietly began another drawing.
The boy let go of my sleeves. When he continued to say nothing, I turned to look at him. His lower lip was trembling. I felt no remorse. I had drawn an owl inside a fox.
When his green eyes started to glisten with tears, I no longer saw the other boy.
“How old are you?” I sneered. “You look no older than eight.”
“I’m twelve!” the boy spluttered, blinking away his tears.
“Well, you don’t want an old owl, and you don’t want an eagle owl,” I said with annoyance. “What kind of owl do you want?”
The boy’s face immediately brightened. “I’d like a snowy owl, please.” His eyes sparkled--the last drawing forgotten. “A young snowy owl.”
“I’ll see what I can manage,” I said coolly. I was rewarded with a warm smile.
In the next heartbeat, I was surrounded by the fragrance of roses and lilies, of marigold and marjoram. Beauty belongs to everyone. Picking up my quill again, I discarded all thoughts of potions ingredients and simmering cauldrons.
As I concentrated on the owl’s feathers, I saw the white rose and lily petals that danced with her scattered ashes.
The boy sighed happily. “That’s just the kind I wanted. She’s as beautiful as your boa constrictor.” Looking at my finished masterpiece, I had to agree.
“Do you think she will need a lot of rodents?”
“Why?”
“Because there aren’t that many rodents where I live. Everything is very small…”
“She is a small owl,” I began. Then I realized that I was indulging the boy in his delusion that the drawing is alive. “There will surely be enough,” I stated simply.
“But she’s not so small that…” Thin shoulders hunched over the drawing, the boy whispered, “Look, she has gone to sleep.”
And that was how I first met the little prince.
*******
Vocabulary:
occamy
alihotsy, wormwood, aconite
Special Mention: sollersuk suggested “wormwood and nutmeg.” The use of the words “infusion” and “blend” is courtesy of atalantapendrag. Educational links on wormwood and nutmeg provided by sinick. And everyone else who posted helpful comments at hp_britglish.
Fanarts: Again, go here to see the real Karma.
Thank you for reviewing. :-) I probably won’t read most of the R to NC-17 rated stories here, but will read and review the G to PG-13 ones starting Wednesday.
I have changed “boy” to “pure-blood” and “bowel” to “gut” in Chapter one, as per melisande88 and cutekeeper’s suggestions. Thank you.