Lionesque
By Ha'ani
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James smiled warmly as he looked down at his six-year-old son. Pretty little Harry, vicious killer of butterflies. Pretty little Harry, the forbidden lover of pain. Hunter of bumblebees and eater of grasshoppers. Beautiful, fragile, crazy Harry. Charmed with emerald sweetness and knife-sharp teeth. A slender little slip of a boy who grew his nails long just so he could jump out and scratch people. Harry Potter, the bright-eyed boy who threatened to rip his mother's eyes out and eat her tongue.
Beautiful Harry Potter, the little sprite James loved so much.
And now he watched his child, his ethereal little fairy, settle among the splash of lush green grass and fold his legs deftly under him. Yes, very dignified, Harry was. Always swathed in black satin and shocking people five times his age with vivid threats and outstandingly intelligent remarks. Lively and vibrant and relaxed, the petite little puzzle everyone so loved.
And how incensed he looked, starring at a spider with childlike fascination. His long, thin fingers gently rose and fell from the ground, occasionally lifting a small rock or twig and holding it tightly in his tiny palm.
Slowly, very slowly, the spider was plucked up and dangled in front of his nose, but so very quaint. And there it was. The spider clawed at Harry's face, which wrinkled amusedly and let forth the smallest most invisible sneeze.
And then Harry opened his mouth and laughed, letting the sound spill out of his swanlike throat, tinkling like broken pieces of silver and glass and dancing off with the wind.
Suddenly it stopped.
James frowned angrily, wanting to crush such a miserable force that could hinder such a beloved sound.
There, the spider. It's curled; fuzzy brown limbs wrapped around Harry's thin finger like a cursed piece of jewelry and sank its little fangs into tender flesh.
Harry was sobbing, a horrible, wretched sound wrenched from an angelic demon with big eyes fiery with anger. And he surged at it, perfect white teeth wrenching it from his delicate white skin, gnashing madly on the crunchy body of a defeated enemy.
Then he was crying again, that unbearable sound, and James was with him, scooping him up and into his arms. Never mind a ruined shirt wet with salty tears, never mind little pearly fangs biting ever so lightly on his shoulder.
It's okay, little lion, beautiful one. Stop that terrible misuse of a maple syrup voice and close those pretty little gems. It's all right, sweet leopard, little kitten, my sweet, shh, and never forget. For the snake may possess the venom, but the lion will always have the heart.
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A/N - Well. I'm not sure I like it much (did it seem a bit rushed?), but I figured I might as well post it. The authors probably the harshest critic for themselves anyway. I guess.
By Ha'ani
-
James smiled warmly as he looked down at his six-year-old son. Pretty little Harry, vicious killer of butterflies. Pretty little Harry, the forbidden lover of pain. Hunter of bumblebees and eater of grasshoppers. Beautiful, fragile, crazy Harry. Charmed with emerald sweetness and knife-sharp teeth. A slender little slip of a boy who grew his nails long just so he could jump out and scratch people. Harry Potter, the bright-eyed boy who threatened to rip his mother's eyes out and eat her tongue.
Beautiful Harry Potter, the little sprite James loved so much.
And now he watched his child, his ethereal little fairy, settle among the splash of lush green grass and fold his legs deftly under him. Yes, very dignified, Harry was. Always swathed in black satin and shocking people five times his age with vivid threats and outstandingly intelligent remarks. Lively and vibrant and relaxed, the petite little puzzle everyone so loved.
And how incensed he looked, starring at a spider with childlike fascination. His long, thin fingers gently rose and fell from the ground, occasionally lifting a small rock or twig and holding it tightly in his tiny palm.
Slowly, very slowly, the spider was plucked up and dangled in front of his nose, but so very quaint. And there it was. The spider clawed at Harry's face, which wrinkled amusedly and let forth the smallest most invisible sneeze.
And then Harry opened his mouth and laughed, letting the sound spill out of his swanlike throat, tinkling like broken pieces of silver and glass and dancing off with the wind.
Suddenly it stopped.
James frowned angrily, wanting to crush such a miserable force that could hinder such a beloved sound.
There, the spider. It's curled; fuzzy brown limbs wrapped around Harry's thin finger like a cursed piece of jewelry and sank its little fangs into tender flesh.
Harry was sobbing, a horrible, wretched sound wrenched from an angelic demon with big eyes fiery with anger. And he surged at it, perfect white teeth wrenching it from his delicate white skin, gnashing madly on the crunchy body of a defeated enemy.
Then he was crying again, that unbearable sound, and James was with him, scooping him up and into his arms. Never mind a ruined shirt wet with salty tears, never mind little pearly fangs biting ever so lightly on his shoulder.
It's okay, little lion, beautiful one. Stop that terrible misuse of a maple syrup voice and close those pretty little gems. It's all right, sweet leopard, little kitten, my sweet, shh, and never forget. For the snake may possess the venom, but the lion will always have the heart.
-
A/N - Well. I'm not sure I like it much (did it seem a bit rushed?), but I figured I might as well post it. The authors probably the harshest critic for themselves anyway. I guess.