Fic: Far Too Soon
Title: Far Too Soon
Author: dexstarr
Word Count: 454
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: rarepair_shorts Trick or Treat 2012 (Cornish Pixies, warm mead, the Great Hall), rarepair_shorts Septima/Aurora Table: far too early
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Septima Vector/Aurora Sinistra, Irma Pince
Warnings: None
Author's Note: I couldn't resist participating in the Trick or Treat event and finally starting my Septima/Aurora table. Not beta'ed.
Disclaimer: HP and all assorted are not mine.
Summary: Her hair is longer than Aurora remembers, spilling over her shoulders in a shining wave.
***
“Did you hear about Lockhart’s botched lesson?”
“No?” Aurora is almost scared to find out what the git has done now. She doesn’t want to choke on her dinner. As a precaution, she sets down her fork.
“He released pixies in the classroom.” Irma’s dark eyes glow with merriment in the light of the Great Hall. “Cornish pixies! One flew into Minerva’s office. She couldn’t wait to spread the news.”
Aurora swallows a snort of laughter. She’s sure that by the end of the year, the staff of Hogwarts will be able to write a book on the exploits of Gilderoy Lockhart-one that’s actually true.
At the middle of the table, Minerva is grinning like a Cheshire cat, her head bent to Albus’s ear. No doubt she’s regaling him with the story of her little blue visitor. Aurora makes a note to ask her about the incident-Minerva has a spot on imitation of Lockhart, one that she shares only in the privacy of her office. Lockhart has a bad habit of stumbling into the staffroom at the worst of times, and they’ve started meeting privately to share stories of his idiocy. It’s the only thing that makes his presence bearable.
Irma launches into her own Lockhart story, detailing his recent visit to the library to make sure his books were prominently displayed. She’s sure that went over well. Irma doesn’t allow such hogwash in the halls of her domain.
Listening to Irma with one ear, Aurora scans the table for a fresh jug of mead. Tonight’s forecast calls for chilly weather, and she wants some warmth in her belly before her nightly stargazing.
That’s when she sees her.
Septima Vector is sitting at the far end of the table. She’s the only quiet one in the group of chattering professors. Just like she always was, back in the day. The girl who brought a book to the Quidditch pitch; the silent student before the start of class when the professor was late.
Her hair is longer than Aurora remembers, spilling over her shoulders in a shining wave. It’s loose; Septima always hated hats. Aurora used to love twisting those soft curls around her forefinger-no. She’s not going to think about the past.
“Are you listening to me?”
Aurora shakes her head, the simple movement taking far too much concentration.
“Oh.” Irma Summons the mead, from its position right in front of Septima. How poetic. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to tell you. Septima’s taken over for Wenlocke. His mother has dragon pox, so he went to Cannes to take care of her.”
Aurora mumbles something, she doesn’t know what.
It’s been ten years since she last saw her, but it’s still far too soon.
***
Author: dexstarr
Word Count: 454
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: rarepair_shorts Trick or Treat 2012 (Cornish Pixies, warm mead, the Great Hall), rarepair_shorts Septima/Aurora Table: far too early
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Septima Vector/Aurora Sinistra, Irma Pince
Warnings: None
Author's Note: I couldn't resist participating in the Trick or Treat event and finally starting my Septima/Aurora table. Not beta'ed.
Disclaimer: HP and all assorted are not mine.
Summary: Her hair is longer than Aurora remembers, spilling over her shoulders in a shining wave.
***
“Did you hear about Lockhart’s botched lesson?”
“No?” Aurora is almost scared to find out what the git has done now. She doesn’t want to choke on her dinner. As a precaution, she sets down her fork.
“He released pixies in the classroom.” Irma’s dark eyes glow with merriment in the light of the Great Hall. “Cornish pixies! One flew into Minerva’s office. She couldn’t wait to spread the news.”
Aurora swallows a snort of laughter. She’s sure that by the end of the year, the staff of Hogwarts will be able to write a book on the exploits of Gilderoy Lockhart-one that’s actually true.
At the middle of the table, Minerva is grinning like a Cheshire cat, her head bent to Albus’s ear. No doubt she’s regaling him with the story of her little blue visitor. Aurora makes a note to ask her about the incident-Minerva has a spot on imitation of Lockhart, one that she shares only in the privacy of her office. Lockhart has a bad habit of stumbling into the staffroom at the worst of times, and they’ve started meeting privately to share stories of his idiocy. It’s the only thing that makes his presence bearable.
Irma launches into her own Lockhart story, detailing his recent visit to the library to make sure his books were prominently displayed. She’s sure that went over well. Irma doesn’t allow such hogwash in the halls of her domain.
Listening to Irma with one ear, Aurora scans the table for a fresh jug of mead. Tonight’s forecast calls for chilly weather, and she wants some warmth in her belly before her nightly stargazing.
That’s when she sees her.
Septima Vector is sitting at the far end of the table. She’s the only quiet one in the group of chattering professors. Just like she always was, back in the day. The girl who brought a book to the Quidditch pitch; the silent student before the start of class when the professor was late.
Her hair is longer than Aurora remembers, spilling over her shoulders in a shining wave. It’s loose; Septima always hated hats. Aurora used to love twisting those soft curls around her forefinger-no. She’s not going to think about the past.
“Are you listening to me?”
Aurora shakes her head, the simple movement taking far too much concentration.
“Oh.” Irma Summons the mead, from its position right in front of Septima. How poetic. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to tell you. Septima’s taken over for Wenlocke. His mother has dragon pox, so he went to Cannes to take care of her.”
Aurora mumbles something, she doesn’t know what.
It’s been ten years since she last saw her, but it’s still far too soon.
***