[ficlet] Low Tension Love
Aug. 21st, 2009 02:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
babygrayA Harry Potter fic...
Title: Low Tension Love
Author:![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
babygray
Pairing: Snarry
Warnings: Typos. No beta.
Disclaimer: This is just fanfiction, non-profit and just for fun.
Notes: Ten minute story.
Word Count: 387
Summary: Snape hands Harry a scroll. Harry thanks him.
We said little. My arm brushed against his with each step. It was awful.
He waited for me to enter his office. He fell into step behind me and closed the door. The smell of metal and smoke filled my nose as he moved around me. He moved to stand behind his desk. His eyes were shadowed as he lifted a scroll of parchment off his desk and thrust it towards me.
"Take it," he said. I hesitated. I slowly approached the desk. My fingers brushed against the scroll. He thrust it again. I grasped it and held it against my chest.
He watched me, his mouth a thin line. "Do not expect more from me, Potter," he said. "I did not do this for you."
I look at the ends of his hair. They were jagged in the light. I unroll the scroll and scan the first few lines quickly before rolling it up again.
"You should read it carefully," he said.
"I trust you," I said.
He scoffed, a surprising sound. "Since when?"
I wanted to say, 'I've always trusted you,' but that would be a lie. The words coated my tongue with vile sentiments. "I don't know," I said instead. That, too, was a lie. It did not taste as false as the truth, however.
The muscles of his face moved. An eyebrow arched and an eye squinted. Would he have prefered the truth? I was too afraid to try. I, afraid... That was not nearly as unnerving as the truth.
"I trust you will not come to me about this again," he said. His eyes were black. His mouth was a soft red line.
My grip on the scroll tightened. "... Thank you."
He did not acknowledge the words. He did not discredit them, either. That was some sort of progress, yes?
He sat down. "Go, Potter," he said. "It's getting late, and I have much to do."
I shifted from one foot to the other. A fluttering bit of foolishness was banging about in my chest. I leaned forward and pressed my lips against that soft, red line. It was a light, feathery thing; I did not have the nerve to do anything more.
I ran out of his office, familiar with the professor's ire and the strength of his throwing arm. I clenched the scroll tight against my chest. My lips tingled with what I had dared.
Title: Low Tension Love
Author:
babygrayPairing: Snarry
Warnings: Typos. No beta.
Disclaimer: This is just fanfiction, non-profit and just for fun.
Notes: Ten minute story.
Word Count: 387
Summary: Snape hands Harry a scroll. Harry thanks him.
We said little. My arm brushed against his with each step. It was awful.
He waited for me to enter his office. He fell into step behind me and closed the door. The smell of metal and smoke filled my nose as he moved around me. He moved to stand behind his desk. His eyes were shadowed as he lifted a scroll of parchment off his desk and thrust it towards me.
"Take it," he said. I hesitated. I slowly approached the desk. My fingers brushed against the scroll. He thrust it again. I grasped it and held it against my chest.
He watched me, his mouth a thin line. "Do not expect more from me, Potter," he said. "I did not do this for you."
I look at the ends of his hair. They were jagged in the light. I unroll the scroll and scan the first few lines quickly before rolling it up again.
"You should read it carefully," he said.
"I trust you," I said.
He scoffed, a surprising sound. "Since when?"
I wanted to say, 'I've always trusted you,' but that would be a lie. The words coated my tongue with vile sentiments. "I don't know," I said instead. That, too, was a lie. It did not taste as false as the truth, however.
The muscles of his face moved. An eyebrow arched and an eye squinted. Would he have prefered the truth? I was too afraid to try. I, afraid... That was not nearly as unnerving as the truth.
"I trust you will not come to me about this again," he said. His eyes were black. His mouth was a soft red line.
My grip on the scroll tightened. "... Thank you."
He did not acknowledge the words. He did not discredit them, either. That was some sort of progress, yes?
He sat down. "Go, Potter," he said. "It's getting late, and I have much to do."
I shifted from one foot to the other. A fluttering bit of foolishness was banging about in my chest. I leaned forward and pressed my lips against that soft, red line. It was a light, feathery thing; I did not have the nerve to do anything more.
I ran out of his office, familiar with the professor's ire and the strength of his throwing arm. I clenched the scroll tight against my chest. My lips tingled with what I had dared.
