A Splash Into the Sea by vexia [Rated PG-13]
Celebrate the Season Fic Request for Rose
Celebrate the Season fic request for rosdrise
Title: A Splash Into the Sea
Author: vexia
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters and places copyrighted to J.K. Rowling. No money is being profited, etc.
Author's Notes: I feel as though I may need to explain myself, otherwise things won't make sense in conjunction to the request. I modified the request a lot, the desired things probably unrecognisable to someone who hasn't read these notes for clarification. A Splash Into the Sea is basically a reference to this. Another one wasn't used in the literal sense. It's there, but I'm afraid it's rather incredibly subtle (almost nonexistent).
And then there's implied HBP references, but you may not recognise it if you haven't read the book; therefore, it really doesn't constitute as a spoiler.
Otherwise, everything else is up to interpretation. I apologise if this doesn't fit what you had in mind. This all came out in a blur. Abrupt too, might I add.
Summary: A story about saving lives, realisations and the nightmare of defeat.
This is how new beginnings are started:
She watches students throw packed snow at one another beneath the giant pendulum, and she counts the seconds and minutes that pass by, her youthful time unspent. And yet she has no desire to while away her hours in the cold, gaining nothing in the process but dead-cold hands and a bad case of the shivers. These were the things she couldn't -- and wouldn't -- understand; they were inexplainable and illogical.
She decides that maybe it's high time to go back inside where the warmth would seep into her bones and flood her with feelings of comfort instead of unwanted insecurities that would plague her at times like these.
[ this isolation is called comfort ]
And perhaps she would have gone back inside without a second thought, but it's difficult to turn away from a spectacular view on the highest tower --
[ see me see you ]
-- where she's caught in-between time and space, enraptured with the sight of the otherworldly angel caught in turmoil --
[ we call this disgrace ]
-- ready to take the dive, the flight into the unknown, the oblivion.
This is how saviours are born:
She rushes back inside and, in her haste, trips over her robes that tangle in the spaces of her legs, a perfect web catching them in a grip. She falls. But she forces herself back on her feet and moves in the direction of the tower of heaven, climbing the stairs with fervour and purpose and she's counted many --
[ five fifteen twenty-seven ]
-- how many are there?
But there's no time to focus on insignificant things and she's rushing, rushing, and the world around her spins and tumbles at her feet. And before she even realises what's happened, she's at the top of the universe. God help her, she has to catch her breath. In, out -- her breaths come out in struggled gasps, a blood rush to her head -- she can't afford to lose consciousness.
[ don't jump ]
Colours swirl before her eyes, and she's toppling down to self-destruction.
[ save me save you ]
The angel without wings turns around and their eyes catch.
[ we reciprocate ]
Deus ex machina.
This is unwanted and awkward confrontation:
She's been conscious for a while now, but this is the first time her eyes have opened, filtering colours and shapes. The moonlight is bright and catching, drowning her silhouette in sparkling silver luminosity.
Is the room still spinning for you, Granger?
She doubts he really wants an answer. After all, he's lost himself into the night sky, mesmerised by the glistening stars and burning fireflies. They wait like this, minutes and hours confusing each other, until traces of Aurora threads weave through the brightening sky. Dusk into day -- it's quite simple now, the congregation of space and time and everything else in-between. Too easy.
[ more difficult than you realise ]
The trains will be coming, she finds herself saying.
But words -- answers -- are superfluous today. She's known from the very beginning that he had no intentions of riding the train of luxury to the end of his world, where paths are breaking and the edges steep and rocky.
[ we climb better than we fall ]
I'm not going either, she says.
This time he does look at her, eyes more hollow than they have ever been, but it's never been her priority to read them. His face is blank -- or just unreadable -- but his lips are drawn thin and pursed, the skin on his neck stretched taut, and she thinks she can see the blue of his veins, the pulsing of blood.
I would suggest you leave.
[ trouble brews just for you, my dear ]
And he's gone.
This is their congregation of time and space:
They don't see each other during the quiet weeks as peers but as strangers. They coexist without speaking and share the tiny world they live in with each other.
She observes him and takes notes sometimes, writing down in her perfect handwriting that he hardly eats and looks like he hasn't slept in days. His limbs, typically slender and sinewy, have lost their muscle, his skin greying. She also notes the days when she swears she can see the ridges of his spine as he bends down to pick up objects that have fallen at his feet.
[ let's cry for these brittle bones ]
One day, she gathers enough courage and approaches his sleeping form. It's an odd place to settle and rest -- this dank dungeon where the barriers are thick and prevent any source of light from filtering in and the stars unable to twinkle their glorious, phantasmagorical haze -- but he's here anyway. In her head, she thinks it's fitting for him --
[ there is danger everywhere ]
-- because, if she thinks about it long and hard, there is a metaphor staring at her in the face and it all makes sense.
Are you here to save me?
She blinks in surprise. He's awake.
I'm here because I ... wanted to know if you're okay. You've been acting strange lately.
And you haven't? I notice you, Granger, and I'd appreciate it if you kept your filthy eyes to yourself.
I came here to help! she said, indignant and insulted.
But are you here to save me?
She stands there, uncertain, while he closes his eyes once again and ignores her presence. This is how their conversations ends -- empty and unresolved, and this -- this -- becomes almost routine and the same questions are asked and the same answers are given -- Can you save me? I'm sorry -- it's a wild, wild circle.
And days go by and suddenly, the world's monster -- a fear personified -- releases a bloodbath of terror.
This is the eruption of chaos:
It's perfect, she thinks. This is their glory day, ready to be taken away by a madman for power. How convenient that doomsday has arrived when the snow has started to fall and more than half of the students have left to celebrate the birth of their God.
They're still in the dungeons, speaking to each other in hushed tones as if the world outside is silent.
[ loud loud too loud can you hear? ]
We're going to die.
Are you ready?
No.
[ honesty in your last waking hours ]
It's too much to see, the ground covered in red and black, a sea of mangled bodies and an end. They pretend they're the only ones left and they have a few minutes remaining to spend before their inevitable demise.
This is the end of their beginning:
They're cowards -- back to where they started, high in the tower where they won't be found. Too many bodies, a hundred against one, predator to prey. They're vulnerable.
[ we're all quite foolish ]
This is the end of their storybook. The fires are still blazing, the incantations of spells and wishes and dreams glowing and exploding in sparks of light just beyond their tower of heaven. This is the music that will play for them.
[ life is a tragedy ]
This is coincidence, chance, fate at play because they're back where they started. Pressures rising, nerve endings electrifying and senses on overdrive. In a broken world, divine interventions are only cracks and minute dents; they bear no positive effect except to exist. In a broken world, he will jump and she knows it, and she will go after him.
[ we are all alike ]
Jump to sacrifice a life to save another. But it's a cruel cycle that both entities should want to self-destruct to save each other in front of the world.
[ we all fall down ]
I'll fall with you.
- -
Three things you want your fic to include: A partridge in a pear tree, snowball fight, spies
Three things you do not want your fic to include: Drunken hook-ups, "I'm just misunderstood"- Draco, Bitter-Hermione
Anything specific that you do not want to write: BDSM, Threesome, and Slash (because I'd be no good at it)
Thank-you for Celebrating the Season with Draco and Hermione!
Celebrate the Season fic request for rosdrise
Title: A Splash Into the Sea
Author: vexia
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters and places copyrighted to J.K. Rowling. No money is being profited, etc.
Author's Notes: I feel as though I may need to explain myself, otherwise things won't make sense in conjunction to the request. I modified the request a lot, the desired things probably unrecognisable to someone who hasn't read these notes for clarification. A Splash Into the Sea is basically a reference to this. Another one wasn't used in the literal sense. It's there, but I'm afraid it's rather incredibly subtle (almost nonexistent).
And then there's implied HBP references, but you may not recognise it if you haven't read the book; therefore, it really doesn't constitute as a spoiler.
Otherwise, everything else is up to interpretation. I apologise if this doesn't fit what you had in mind. This all came out in a blur. Abrupt too, might I add.
Summary: A story about saving lives, realisations and the nightmare of defeat.
This is how new beginnings are started:
She watches students throw packed snow at one another beneath the giant pendulum, and she counts the seconds and minutes that pass by, her youthful time unspent. And yet she has no desire to while away her hours in the cold, gaining nothing in the process but dead-cold hands and a bad case of the shivers. These were the things she couldn't -- and wouldn't -- understand; they were inexplainable and illogical.
She decides that maybe it's high time to go back inside where the warmth would seep into her bones and flood her with feelings of comfort instead of unwanted insecurities that would plague her at times like these.
[ this isolation is called comfort ]
And perhaps she would have gone back inside without a second thought, but it's difficult to turn away from a spectacular view on the highest tower --
[ see me see you ]
-- where she's caught in-between time and space, enraptured with the sight of the otherworldly angel caught in turmoil --
[ we call this disgrace ]
-- ready to take the dive, the flight into the unknown, the oblivion.
This is how saviours are born:
She rushes back inside and, in her haste, trips over her robes that tangle in the spaces of her legs, a perfect web catching them in a grip. She falls. But she forces herself back on her feet and moves in the direction of the tower of heaven, climbing the stairs with fervour and purpose and she's counted many --
[ five fifteen twenty-seven ]
-- how many are there?
But there's no time to focus on insignificant things and she's rushing, rushing, and the world around her spins and tumbles at her feet. And before she even realises what's happened, she's at the top of the universe. God help her, she has to catch her breath. In, out -- her breaths come out in struggled gasps, a blood rush to her head -- she can't afford to lose consciousness.
[ don't jump ]
Colours swirl before her eyes, and she's toppling down to self-destruction.
[ save me save you ]
The angel without wings turns around and their eyes catch.
[ we reciprocate ]
Deus ex machina.
This is unwanted and awkward confrontation:
She's been conscious for a while now, but this is the first time her eyes have opened, filtering colours and shapes. The moonlight is bright and catching, drowning her silhouette in sparkling silver luminosity.
Is the room still spinning for you, Granger?
She doubts he really wants an answer. After all, he's lost himself into the night sky, mesmerised by the glistening stars and burning fireflies. They wait like this, minutes and hours confusing each other, until traces of Aurora threads weave through the brightening sky. Dusk into day -- it's quite simple now, the congregation of space and time and everything else in-between. Too easy.
[ more difficult than you realise ]
The trains will be coming, she finds herself saying.
But words -- answers -- are superfluous today. She's known from the very beginning that he had no intentions of riding the train of luxury to the end of his world, where paths are breaking and the edges steep and rocky.
[ we climb better than we fall ]
I'm not going either, she says.
This time he does look at her, eyes more hollow than they have ever been, but it's never been her priority to read them. His face is blank -- or just unreadable -- but his lips are drawn thin and pursed, the skin on his neck stretched taut, and she thinks she can see the blue of his veins, the pulsing of blood.
I would suggest you leave.
[ trouble brews just for you, my dear ]
And he's gone.
This is their congregation of time and space:
They don't see each other during the quiet weeks as peers but as strangers. They coexist without speaking and share the tiny world they live in with each other.
She observes him and takes notes sometimes, writing down in her perfect handwriting that he hardly eats and looks like he hasn't slept in days. His limbs, typically slender and sinewy, have lost their muscle, his skin greying. She also notes the days when she swears she can see the ridges of his spine as he bends down to pick up objects that have fallen at his feet.
[ let's cry for these brittle bones ]
One day, she gathers enough courage and approaches his sleeping form. It's an odd place to settle and rest -- this dank dungeon where the barriers are thick and prevent any source of light from filtering in and the stars unable to twinkle their glorious, phantasmagorical haze -- but he's here anyway. In her head, she thinks it's fitting for him --
[ there is danger everywhere ]
-- because, if she thinks about it long and hard, there is a metaphor staring at her in the face and it all makes sense.
Are you here to save me?
She blinks in surprise. He's awake.
I'm here because I ... wanted to know if you're okay. You've been acting strange lately.
And you haven't? I notice you, Granger, and I'd appreciate it if you kept your filthy eyes to yourself.
I came here to help! she said, indignant and insulted.
But are you here to save me?
She stands there, uncertain, while he closes his eyes once again and ignores her presence. This is how their conversations ends -- empty and unresolved, and this -- this -- becomes almost routine and the same questions are asked and the same answers are given -- Can you save me? I'm sorry -- it's a wild, wild circle.
And days go by and suddenly, the world's monster -- a fear personified -- releases a bloodbath of terror.
This is the eruption of chaos:
It's perfect, she thinks. This is their glory day, ready to be taken away by a madman for power. How convenient that doomsday has arrived when the snow has started to fall and more than half of the students have left to celebrate the birth of their God.
They're still in the dungeons, speaking to each other in hushed tones as if the world outside is silent.
[ loud loud too loud can you hear? ]
We're going to die.
Are you ready?
No.
[ honesty in your last waking hours ]
It's too much to see, the ground covered in red and black, a sea of mangled bodies and an end. They pretend they're the only ones left and they have a few minutes remaining to spend before their inevitable demise.
This is the end of their beginning:
They're cowards -- back to where they started, high in the tower where they won't be found. Too many bodies, a hundred against one, predator to prey. They're vulnerable.
[ we're all quite foolish ]
This is the end of their storybook. The fires are still blazing, the incantations of spells and wishes and dreams glowing and exploding in sparks of light just beyond their tower of heaven. This is the music that will play for them.
[ life is a tragedy ]
This is coincidence, chance, fate at play because they're back where they started. Pressures rising, nerve endings electrifying and senses on overdrive. In a broken world, divine interventions are only cracks and minute dents; they bear no positive effect except to exist. In a broken world, he will jump and she knows it, and she will go after him.
[ we are all alike ]
Jump to sacrifice a life to save another. But it's a cruel cycle that both entities should want to self-destruct to save each other in front of the world.
[ we all fall down ]
I'll fall with you.
- -
Three things you want your fic to include: A partridge in a pear tree, snowball fight, spies
Three things you do not want your fic to include: Drunken hook-ups, "I'm just misunderstood"- Draco, Bitter-Hermione
Anything specific that you do not want to write: BDSM, Threesome, and Slash (because I'd be no good at it)
Thank-you for Celebrating the Season with Draco and Hermione!