Couplets (Set Three)
Title: Couplets
Team Name: Death Eaters
Word Count: 100 x 2
Rating: All Ages, for now
Challenge: 2005’s #28, Leaving
Characters: Hermione/Severus
Authors Notes: I haven’t quite finished them, but it’s a series of couplets … each set containing one drabble from his POV, one from hers.
First set
Second Set
~o0o~
Deft hands chopped fungi for a simple frittata she’d taught him to make. It was like hitting a bruise ... sharply painful, but re-affirming.
Why hadn’t he asked her to accompany him?
Long fingers plucked sage from a small potted plant.
She was the golden lioness, beloved of their people ... right hand to the martyred Boy Who Triumphed.
They would never let her go.
He should have asked her anyway.
Pungent herbs and mushrooms scented the air.
Come spring, he was going back. He’d wait on her parents’ doorstep until he got her answer ... one way or another.
~o0o~
The day dawned clear and crisp. It was her last day before she’d have to admit defeat and return to England.
She nervously paid her hotel bill.
At the edge of town, she cast a series of quick charms, then she was aflight: Disillusioned and astride Harry’s old Firebolt.
Her wand pointed the way ... unwavering.
Hours later, she could no longer feel the broomstick, but, in the near distance, smoke lazed toward blue sky.
A small beacon.
Its source was a snow-covered cabin in a vale surrounded by wild forest.
The ebony wand spun ... her throat was tight.
~o0o~
Team Name: Death Eaters
Word Count: 100 x 2
Rating: All Ages, for now
Challenge: 2005’s #28, Leaving
Characters: Hermione/Severus
Authors Notes: I haven’t quite finished them, but it’s a series of couplets … each set containing one drabble from his POV, one from hers.
First set
Second Set
~o0o~
Deft hands chopped fungi for a simple frittata she’d taught him to make. It was like hitting a bruise ... sharply painful, but re-affirming.
Why hadn’t he asked her to accompany him?
Long fingers plucked sage from a small potted plant.
She was the golden lioness, beloved of their people ... right hand to the martyred Boy Who Triumphed.
They would never let her go.
He should have asked her anyway.
Pungent herbs and mushrooms scented the air.
Come spring, he was going back. He’d wait on her parents’ doorstep until he got her answer ... one way or another.
~o0o~
The day dawned clear and crisp. It was her last day before she’d have to admit defeat and return to England.
She nervously paid her hotel bill.
At the edge of town, she cast a series of quick charms, then she was aflight: Disillusioned and astride Harry’s old Firebolt.
Her wand pointed the way ... unwavering.
Hours later, she could no longer feel the broomstick, but, in the near distance, smoke lazed toward blue sky.
A small beacon.
Its source was a snow-covered cabin in a vale surrounded by wild forest.
The ebony wand spun ... her throat was tight.
~o0o~