joanwilder aka RaeWhit (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} joanwilder) wrote,@ 2009-10-31 23:39:00 |
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FIC: 'Freefall' and 'The Conductor'
Title: Freefall (written for Week Six/snarry_ldws on LJ)
Author:joanwilder (RaeWhit)
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 300
Genre/Cliché: Non-magic AU
Word prompt: 'Way to go, Potter'
Summary: There's more than one way to fall, and more than one way to be saved.
A/N: Thanks tojadzialove for beta reading, and congrats to literaryspell for her winning entry this week! Once again, accioslash guessed my entry correctly, so there'll be a Snarry drabble for her this week.
Freefall
My life was in freefall, twisted and directionless, when I first met Severus. Sometimes I wonder how much longer I would've lasted. When would my recklessness and anger, fueled by my wealth, have run out the clock for me?
We were in a mountain climbing group together, the first time he saved my life. He'd cautioned me once, but then was a witness to my arrogance nearly putting an end to me. I can still remember that cold wave of shock and disbelief as my hands tried to grab at the line slipping through my fingers, my crampons useless as I slid at terrifying speed toward the precipice. No chance to even call out, I slipped over the edge, my last desperate thought for the cams that would either hold my weight or wouldn't.
They did, and I hung suspended, breathless and practically paralyzed, twenty feet below the cliff edge. Utterly helpless, all I could do was wait, listening to the sound of someone taking care to secure their own line, before beginning the task of pulling me upward.
When our faces were finally level, Severus scowled, "Way to go, Potter."
Not a very promising beginning, but almost dropping to my death was an epiphany. That night, he lectured me until I shook, then listened quietly as I cried about my life. No judgment, but no sympathy either. Just sober words about personal choice and responsibility. I figured the man must've had some experience with freefall himself, of both the life and climbing sort.
And by the end of it, I not only had a friend, I had a lover. He'd saved me on the cliff a week earlier; then he saved me again when he showed me with gentle hands that I was a man, one worthy of wanting.
fin
This drabble was also written for Week Six's prompts, but I decided to submit 'Freefall' instead.
Title: The Conductor
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 300
Summary: Having someone believe in you is a powerful motivator.
The Conductor
As the youngest conductor the philharmonic had seen in over a century, Snape was doomed from the start. We did what we could to make his life miserable: tutting at his awkwardness, sneering at how he wielded his baton, and sullenly following his barks of monosyllabic direction. When he announced a violin concerto for the season opener, we laughed until he fled the podium.
I didn't laugh for long, though, when he appointed me concertmaster. What had he seen in me? Was I talented enough? But in that first rehearsal, I lifted violin to shoulder, then glanced up to meet his eyes. He'd ignored my contempt and had instead heaped burning coals on my head by believing in me. That sort of personal investment, I discovered, didn't just inspire beautiful music, but personal devotion. I suddenly wanted to do my best, to strike notes and deliver a cadenza that would bring tears to his eyes.
Over the weeks, my bow hand became tied to the arch of his eyebrow, the intensity of my vibrato modulated by the temperature of his eyes, the force of my double stops synched to the flick of his wrist as he deftly mastered me like a marionette.
At the first performance, he and I merged to become one mind, one soul, one heart. And when the final chords of the concerto sounded and the lights went up, he pulled me from my seat so we could take a bow together.
"Way to go, Potter," he murmured with a slightly knowing smile, then turned me to face the audience. As the applause crescendoed again, I felt the warmth of his hand rest on my back.
"Way to go, Maestro," I smiled, and at the look in his eyes, I was completely smitten, never to recover again.
fin
Title: Freefall (written for Week Six/
snarry_ldws on LJ)Author:
joanwilder (RaeWhit)Pairing: Harry/Snape
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 300
Genre/Cliché: Non-magic AU
Word prompt: 'Way to go, Potter'
Summary: There's more than one way to fall, and more than one way to be saved.
A/N: Thanks to
jadzialove for beta reading, and congrats to literaryspell for her winning entry this week! Once again, accioslash guessed my entry correctly, so there'll be a Snarry drabble for her this week.My life was in freefall, twisted and directionless, when I first met Severus. Sometimes I wonder how much longer I would've lasted. When would my recklessness and anger, fueled by my wealth, have run out the clock for me?
We were in a mountain climbing group together, the first time he saved my life. He'd cautioned me once, but then was a witness to my arrogance nearly putting an end to me. I can still remember that cold wave of shock and disbelief as my hands tried to grab at the line slipping through my fingers, my crampons useless as I slid at terrifying speed toward the precipice. No chance to even call out, I slipped over the edge, my last desperate thought for the cams that would either hold my weight or wouldn't.
They did, and I hung suspended, breathless and practically paralyzed, twenty feet below the cliff edge. Utterly helpless, all I could do was wait, listening to the sound of someone taking care to secure their own line, before beginning the task of pulling me upward.
When our faces were finally level, Severus scowled, "Way to go, Potter."
Not a very promising beginning, but almost dropping to my death was an epiphany. That night, he lectured me until I shook, then listened quietly as I cried about my life. No judgment, but no sympathy either. Just sober words about personal choice and responsibility. I figured the man must've had some experience with freefall himself, of both the life and climbing sort.
And by the end of it, I not only had a friend, I had a lover. He'd saved me on the cliff a week earlier; then he saved me again when he showed me with gentle hands that I was a man, one worthy of wanting.
This drabble was also written for Week Six's prompts, but I decided to submit 'Freefall' instead.
Title: The Conductor
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 300
Summary: Having someone believe in you is a powerful motivator.
As the youngest conductor the philharmonic had seen in over a century, Snape was doomed from the start. We did what we could to make his life miserable: tutting at his awkwardness, sneering at how he wielded his baton, and sullenly following his barks of monosyllabic direction. When he announced a violin concerto for the season opener, we laughed until he fled the podium.
I didn't laugh for long, though, when he appointed me concertmaster. What had he seen in me? Was I talented enough? But in that first rehearsal, I lifted violin to shoulder, then glanced up to meet his eyes. He'd ignored my contempt and had instead heaped burning coals on my head by believing in me. That sort of personal investment, I discovered, didn't just inspire beautiful music, but personal devotion. I suddenly wanted to do my best, to strike notes and deliver a cadenza that would bring tears to his eyes.
Over the weeks, my bow hand became tied to the arch of his eyebrow, the intensity of my vibrato modulated by the temperature of his eyes, the force of my double stops synched to the flick of his wrist as he deftly mastered me like a marionette.
At the first performance, he and I merged to become one mind, one soul, one heart. And when the final chords of the concerto sounded and the lights went up, he pulled me from my seat so we could take a bow together.
"Way to go, Potter," he murmured with a slightly knowing smile, then turned me to face the audience. As the applause crescendoed again, I felt the warmth of his hand rest on my back.
"Way to go, Maestro," I smiled, and at the look in his eyes, I was completely smitten, never to recover again.