[FIC] Red (1/3)
Title: Red
Part: 1/3, 2/3, 3/3
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: spoilerrl/ssspoiler
Warnings: death, confusing? (for some readers), BTEM, tense mistakes I just don't get out and missing (?) comma
Rating: G
Language: English, Deutsch hier!
Archives: Animexx, AFF.net
Disclaimer: My name is not JK Rowling and so I earn nothing with this little thingy. All characters are her property - I just borrow them for playing.
Story: He fell, his face still turned away from his murderers. Without a bang, without a crash, he hit dully the stone floor.
A little sad something for in-between. This story wanted to be written at all costs.
Beta: Snow-chan: Thanks for your comments and amendments!
See
~OoO~
The narrow lines were fully occupied and more darkly dressed onlookers still crowded into the auditorium. No one wanted to miss this. On each bank, which ran through the almost circular room, they were: anger loaded, full of excitement, with fear in their eyes, what kind of spectacle they will probably see, and all stared at the free surface of stone in their midst. There stood, with narrow, rusty chains on feet and arms, the one whose last moments they had come to see.
He already stood there for hours. Exposed to scorn and irreverent eyes. They had brought him in the room earlier and not, as usual, just before the start of negotiations.
But someone else was also in his seat for hours. He sat in the front row, his hands folded on his lap and he absorbed with his eyes every movement of the clear-cut face in the middle of the room, caressed every contour silently and secretly and kissed each rigidity in his thoughts. But none of these glances were returned.
The farce of a trial began with a thump and a loud voice, the whispering subsided. But he heard no word of the allegations.
While words followed shouting, voices were spoken loud at times, quiet at times, spoke his thoughts of past years, did his sense follow memories of strong hands on skin.
And then there was silence.
He knew what would follow now.
He guessed what was decided.
Black met brown and suddenly he was in his thoughts, pounded with his rage onto his mind, tugged at him, pushed his mind this way and that way.
He let it happen. Let himself fall into this anger, into this beloved spirit. Caressed here, where hands could not reach.
And then he knew what he was doing. With the same tenacity, the same force he tried to chase him back out of his mind, built so many walls to keep him away.
But each of these walls was wiped away with gentle brushing. He knew all his weaknesses and he came closer and closer to him in the maelstrom of his mind, evaded every attack until they finally faced each other: so full and clear, without a mask, without the distortions of the outer world were they exposed to the truth of their colors. Like a raging stream they gurgled and glittered in their minds, sometimes hopeful green, sometimes broken blue, sometimes bright white and interspersed by deep red again and again. No words are used here, only the colors speak loudly and clearly.
Slowly, like threads, white sprawled out to him and where it touched him clear, shimmering red broke out, like cracks in broken ice it stretched exploding through all the colors, transformed and left only red, red, red behind.
Still, still they wait. Both show only that one color. No sounds of anger, betrayal, grief drift through their minds anymore. And where they touch each other, they repel each other, gravitate to each other, dance, dance in the vortex of the red, turn and sway, and more and more they blur and mix until there are no limits anymore, and only a single mind is there.
When the words, which the onlookers expected, hoped for, echoed through the nearly circular room, a tingling went through the crowd.
He fell, his face still turned away from his murderers. Without a bang, without a crash, he hit dully the stone floor.
A sigh of relief ran through the pews. It was expected, and yet more questions flashed in their heads, the feeling of having done something wrong knocked on the door of their conscience.
And then a shocked outcry.
In the first row, half-sunk in on the bench, leaning on his neighbor, a man sat with his eyes fixed on the middle of the room.
~OoO~
>> part two
Part: 1/3, 2/3, 3/3
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: spoilerrl/ssspoiler
Warnings: death, confusing? (for some readers), BTEM, tense mistakes I just don't get out and missing (?) comma
Rating: G
Language: English, Deutsch hier!
Archives: Animexx, AFF.net
Disclaimer: My name is not JK Rowling and so I earn nothing with this little thingy. All characters are her property - I just borrow them for playing.
Story: He fell, his face still turned away from his murderers. Without a bang, without a crash, he hit dully the stone floor.
A little sad something for in-between. This story wanted to be written at all costs.
Beta: Snow-chan: Thanks for your comments and amendments!
See
~OoO~
The narrow lines were fully occupied and more darkly dressed onlookers still crowded into the auditorium. No one wanted to miss this. On each bank, which ran through the almost circular room, they were: anger loaded, full of excitement, with fear in their eyes, what kind of spectacle they will probably see, and all stared at the free surface of stone in their midst. There stood, with narrow, rusty chains on feet and arms, the one whose last moments they had come to see.
He already stood there for hours. Exposed to scorn and irreverent eyes. They had brought him in the room earlier and not, as usual, just before the start of negotiations.
But someone else was also in his seat for hours. He sat in the front row, his hands folded on his lap and he absorbed with his eyes every movement of the clear-cut face in the middle of the room, caressed every contour silently and secretly and kissed each rigidity in his thoughts. But none of these glances were returned.
The farce of a trial began with a thump and a loud voice, the whispering subsided. But he heard no word of the allegations.
While words followed shouting, voices were spoken loud at times, quiet at times, spoke his thoughts of past years, did his sense follow memories of strong hands on skin.
And then there was silence.
He knew what would follow now.
He guessed what was decided.
Black met brown and suddenly he was in his thoughts, pounded with his rage onto his mind, tugged at him, pushed his mind this way and that way.
He let it happen. Let himself fall into this anger, into this beloved spirit. Caressed here, where hands could not reach.
And then he knew what he was doing. With the same tenacity, the same force he tried to chase him back out of his mind, built so many walls to keep him away.
But each of these walls was wiped away with gentle brushing. He knew all his weaknesses and he came closer and closer to him in the maelstrom of his mind, evaded every attack until they finally faced each other: so full and clear, without a mask, without the distortions of the outer world were they exposed to the truth of their colors. Like a raging stream they gurgled and glittered in their minds, sometimes hopeful green, sometimes broken blue, sometimes bright white and interspersed by deep red again and again. No words are used here, only the colors speak loudly and clearly.
Slowly, like threads, white sprawled out to him and where it touched him clear, shimmering red broke out, like cracks in broken ice it stretched exploding through all the colors, transformed and left only red, red, red behind.
Still, still they wait. Both show only that one color. No sounds of anger, betrayal, grief drift through their minds anymore. And where they touch each other, they repel each other, gravitate to each other, dance, dance in the vortex of the red, turn and sway, and more and more they blur and mix until there are no limits anymore, and only a single mind is there.
When the words, which the onlookers expected, hoped for, echoed through the nearly circular room, a tingling went through the crowd.
He fell, his face still turned away from his murderers. Without a bang, without a crash, he hit dully the stone floor.
A sigh of relief ran through the pews. It was expected, and yet more questions flashed in their heads, the feeling of having done something wrong knocked on the door of their conscience.
And then a shocked outcry.
In the first row, half-sunk in on the bench, leaning on his neighbor, a man sat with his eyes fixed on the middle of the room.
~OoO~
>> part two