A/N: Hee hee... another of my unnamed-pairing, open to interpretation one-shots! Although this does specify that it's a Gryffindor/Slytherin ship. But WHO precisely it's about... that's up to the reader ;) Hope you like anyway, and reviews are always appreciated!
Dedication: This particular one-shot is dedicated to and written for the uberloffly Skyler Sage, whom I adore beyond all measure of t00by loff. *is not worthy* *is not worthy*
Disclaimer: I own a pretty sword. Godric owned a pretty sword. That's about all we have in common.
~*~
There was a point... a point where things just... shattered.
Where glass-fragile emotions hidden under a shell of porcelain tinkled terribly like silver bells as they broke like soap bubbles against a rough brick wall.
The tinkling was of laughter, because people sometimes (oftentimes) didn't know what was serious and what was not, and laughter was easiest. And when someone fell and they laughed, they would be spared the necessity to be uncomfortable and sympathetic and...
They didn't see, and they didn't care. And her mind was a whirl, because SHE shouldn't care.
She was strong. She had friends who loved her. Really. They were the best, amongst the bravest and most friendly and honoured of the house of heroes.
She eyed her reflection in the mirror, tiny nose wrinkled slightly in distaste.
So she wasn't... conventionally beautiful. She wasn't UGLY, was she? She wasn't just... good at the one thing that everyone knew her for!
She was more than that!
But why couldn't anyone, even those nearest and dearest her heart (apparently not so)... SEE that?
Deciding viciously that uninteresting sparrow-brown eyes were more ugly when red-rimmed, she stalked out of the loo and down the hall. Out, out, out...
Like being away from those whose goodwill her sense of worth depended so irrevocably and irrationally on... all by her lonesome outside on a slushy winter's day... would help.
But perhaps the wind would freeze her tears, and then, at least she wouldn't be crying any more.
~*~
She had almost finished dusting the wet, chilly snow off the surface of a fallen log by the lake when she heard THAT voice.
Slightly gritty. Male. An audible sneer in the nuances of the words, subtle but unmistakable. Hated.
HIM.
"And what's a good little Gryffindor like YOU doing out here, away from your ickle housemates?"
"As if you have a right to know," her own voice was thick, laced with resentment and a futile fury at being seen NOW. No, just... she couldn't deal with Slytherins right now. The villains were not allowed to see the heroes on their knees.
And she knew that that was an unreasonable, biased view, but she didn't want to think on it, and just wanted him to go away, go away, go away...
"Why should I?" he drawled, and she found herself staring at the toes of fine dragonhide boots, black in stark relief against the white snow. Black and white. Dark and light...
She had said the miserable, pathetic 'go away's aloud.
Turning abruptly away from him, seated on the cold, wet log, she let out a slow breath.
But there was no slight thud of footsteps moving away, and as the wind blew harsh and merciless in her face, reddening her cheeks and blowing the hair that she so despised as dull and tangled, away from her cheeks, revealing her face.
And yet, HE was the one to draw in a sharp breath, gloved hands reaching out, firmly and yet with a strange almost-gentleness cupping her face, turning it slowly so that he was looking her in the eye.
"You of all people shouldn't cry," his voice was low.
"Why NOT?" Her words were venomous. What RIGHT did he have to say that? She could too cry! She had as much right to... as... as ANYONE!
"Because..." his voice lowered yet more, and she found herself unconsciously moving closer to hear what he had to say. "Because you're better than whatever... or whoever made you cry."
"What... what are you talking about?" Her face was unabashedly confused, flushed perhaps with the wind and something uncomfortable about the situation, so not status quo, and her lips were pursed slightly. He stared down into her face, the wide, still-liquid brown eyes, and the utter confusion in their depths. She was a lost girl...
And he'd found her, like a hunter who in a strange moment of mercy and empathy carefully frees a wounded bird from a thornbush... and caresses its feathers smooth before letting it fly away.
He shrugged. What was there to say, anyway?
But the gloved hands still cupping her face gently smoothed over her cheeks, brushing away the tears that had fallen from now-transfixed eyes, and briefly, he tucked a few strands of her windblown hair behind her ears.
And his face nearly as solemn as hers, he then turned, silent footsteps taking him away, his dark-cloaked form moving back towards the castle, smaller and less close now.
And she felt her face heat up suddenly, despite the chill of the wind...
And she sprang up, Gryffindor impulsiveness rushing through her veins like fire, and ran after him, catching his arm with her hands almost as if on a whim.
He paused, and gave her a slight smirk oddly devoid of its usual malice, and she gave him, for once, a sweet smile.
And together, they walked inside, the soft snowflakes feathering her dark eyelashes and caressing his cheeks for a few more moments...
Before they disappeared inside the door.
Dedication: This particular one-shot is dedicated to and written for the uberloffly Skyler Sage, whom I adore beyond all measure of t00by loff. *is not worthy* *is not worthy*
Disclaimer: I own a pretty sword. Godric owned a pretty sword. That's about all we have in common.
~*~
There was a point... a point where things just... shattered.
Where glass-fragile emotions hidden under a shell of porcelain tinkled terribly like silver bells as they broke like soap bubbles against a rough brick wall.
The tinkling was of laughter, because people sometimes (oftentimes) didn't know what was serious and what was not, and laughter was easiest. And when someone fell and they laughed, they would be spared the necessity to be uncomfortable and sympathetic and...
They didn't see, and they didn't care. And her mind was a whirl, because SHE shouldn't care.
She was strong. She had friends who loved her. Really. They were the best, amongst the bravest and most friendly and honoured of the house of heroes.
She eyed her reflection in the mirror, tiny nose wrinkled slightly in distaste.
So she wasn't... conventionally beautiful. She wasn't UGLY, was she? She wasn't just... good at the one thing that everyone knew her for!
She was more than that!
But why couldn't anyone, even those nearest and dearest her heart (apparently not so)... SEE that?
Deciding viciously that uninteresting sparrow-brown eyes were more ugly when red-rimmed, she stalked out of the loo and down the hall. Out, out, out...
Like being away from those whose goodwill her sense of worth depended so irrevocably and irrationally on... all by her lonesome outside on a slushy winter's day... would help.
But perhaps the wind would freeze her tears, and then, at least she wouldn't be crying any more.
~*~
She had almost finished dusting the wet, chilly snow off the surface of a fallen log by the lake when she heard THAT voice.
Slightly gritty. Male. An audible sneer in the nuances of the words, subtle but unmistakable. Hated.
HIM.
"And what's a good little Gryffindor like YOU doing out here, away from your ickle housemates?"
"As if you have a right to know," her own voice was thick, laced with resentment and a futile fury at being seen NOW. No, just... she couldn't deal with Slytherins right now. The villains were not allowed to see the heroes on their knees.
And she knew that that was an unreasonable, biased view, but she didn't want to think on it, and just wanted him to go away, go away, go away...
"Why should I?" he drawled, and she found herself staring at the toes of fine dragonhide boots, black in stark relief against the white snow. Black and white. Dark and light...
She had said the miserable, pathetic 'go away's aloud.
Turning abruptly away from him, seated on the cold, wet log, she let out a slow breath.
But there was no slight thud of footsteps moving away, and as the wind blew harsh and merciless in her face, reddening her cheeks and blowing the hair that she so despised as dull and tangled, away from her cheeks, revealing her face.
And yet, HE was the one to draw in a sharp breath, gloved hands reaching out, firmly and yet with a strange almost-gentleness cupping her face, turning it slowly so that he was looking her in the eye.
"You of all people shouldn't cry," his voice was low.
"Why NOT?" Her words were venomous. What RIGHT did he have to say that? She could too cry! She had as much right to... as... as ANYONE!
"Because..." his voice lowered yet more, and she found herself unconsciously moving closer to hear what he had to say. "Because you're better than whatever... or whoever made you cry."
"What... what are you talking about?" Her face was unabashedly confused, flushed perhaps with the wind and something uncomfortable about the situation, so not status quo, and her lips were pursed slightly. He stared down into her face, the wide, still-liquid brown eyes, and the utter confusion in their depths. She was a lost girl...
And he'd found her, like a hunter who in a strange moment of mercy and empathy carefully frees a wounded bird from a thornbush... and caresses its feathers smooth before letting it fly away.
He shrugged. What was there to say, anyway?
But the gloved hands still cupping her face gently smoothed over her cheeks, brushing away the tears that had fallen from now-transfixed eyes, and briefly, he tucked a few strands of her windblown hair behind her ears.
And his face nearly as solemn as hers, he then turned, silent footsteps taking him away, his dark-cloaked form moving back towards the castle, smaller and less close now.
And she felt her face heat up suddenly, despite the chill of the wind...
And she sprang up, Gryffindor impulsiveness rushing through her veins like fire, and ran after him, catching his arm with her hands almost as if on a whim.
He paused, and gave her a slight smirk oddly devoid of its usual malice, and she gave him, for once, a sweet smile.
And together, they walked inside, the soft snowflakes feathering her dark eyelashes and caressing his cheeks for a few more moments...
Before they disappeared inside the door.