this just sort of came to me while i was listening to "come what may" from
moulin rouge. Don't really know why. It hasn't got much plotwise.
if you read into it very deeply you can find the underlying slash... but
only if you look very deep. :P
Discalimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. I make no profit off this.
The Seasons
Spring. The first tentative rays of sunshine make their way through the winter clouds. Flowers bloom and birds chirp. A young woman sits by the lake, reading, her honey-colored locks falling across her face. She is content simply to sit there, enjoying the rediscovered warmth of sunshine, while her friends run around like little children screaming and laughing.
Smiling, she closes her book and leans back in the grass, looking upwards at the sky. She counts the clouds but before she can define their shapes she drifts off to sleep.
Summer. Intense heat radiates off everyone and everything. The sun burns down, relentlessly, casting the world into a warm haze. Dark hair sticking in every direction, the young man makes his way through the hallways, quietly slipping through a closing classroom door. He sits down on his accustomed seat, smiling at his two best friends. While taking down notes his mind wanders and he looks towards the window, gazing outside.
He can see the Quidditch Pitch from here. The green grass at the bottom and the crisply colored stands. He wants to be out there. Feeling the wind against his face, feeling the freedom that only comes from flying high over the ground. With a sudden jolt he comes back to the classroom. It is quiet; the air humid. The students all seem half asleep, the heat creeping into their bodies making them lazy and tired.
He stiffles a yawn and turns back to his textbook, reading about the ice demons of the snowy mountains in Tibet.
Fall. Leaves start turning from greens to all imaginable tones of red. Dark red, orange, a deep yellow, a firey red. Red like his hair, flaming, drawing attention whereever he goes. His hair identifys him as a part of a family. No one else in the Wizarding community has this shade of hair.
Smiling he shifts on the grass and looks up at the clear blue autumn sky. The blue stands in contrast to the red of the leaves, just as his eyes do with his hair.
He loves autumn. When the leaves fall and the weather is cold and crisp in the mornings yet turns warm in the afternoons.
And winter. Clear blue skys and biting cold. Frost has crept onto the windowpanes, creating intricate patterns through which the cold sun can shine. Everyone in the castle is either shivering or carrying a blue fire in a glass to keep themselves warm. Between classes students rush to and fro, not wanting to be out in the cold.
One night, he sits up and waits, stareing out into the dark night. He feels that something is going to happen. And shrtly after midnight it does. White flakes start falling from the sky, slowly becoming more and more until the snow starts covering the earth. He smiles and for once his face is lightened up with warmth, so different from his usual icy self. His blue eyes turn warm, like the summer sky. Eagerly, like a small child, he scampers from his perach and pulls on his robes. He runs through the freezing hallways out into the court.
The first snow of the year. He never misses it.
*~*~*~*~*
read and review. merci.
Discalimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. I make no profit off this.
The Seasons
Spring. The first tentative rays of sunshine make their way through the winter clouds. Flowers bloom and birds chirp. A young woman sits by the lake, reading, her honey-colored locks falling across her face. She is content simply to sit there, enjoying the rediscovered warmth of sunshine, while her friends run around like little children screaming and laughing.
Smiling, she closes her book and leans back in the grass, looking upwards at the sky. She counts the clouds but before she can define their shapes she drifts off to sleep.
Summer. Intense heat radiates off everyone and everything. The sun burns down, relentlessly, casting the world into a warm haze. Dark hair sticking in every direction, the young man makes his way through the hallways, quietly slipping through a closing classroom door. He sits down on his accustomed seat, smiling at his two best friends. While taking down notes his mind wanders and he looks towards the window, gazing outside.
He can see the Quidditch Pitch from here. The green grass at the bottom and the crisply colored stands. He wants to be out there. Feeling the wind against his face, feeling the freedom that only comes from flying high over the ground. With a sudden jolt he comes back to the classroom. It is quiet; the air humid. The students all seem half asleep, the heat creeping into their bodies making them lazy and tired.
He stiffles a yawn and turns back to his textbook, reading about the ice demons of the snowy mountains in Tibet.
Fall. Leaves start turning from greens to all imaginable tones of red. Dark red, orange, a deep yellow, a firey red. Red like his hair, flaming, drawing attention whereever he goes. His hair identifys him as a part of a family. No one else in the Wizarding community has this shade of hair.
Smiling he shifts on the grass and looks up at the clear blue autumn sky. The blue stands in contrast to the red of the leaves, just as his eyes do with his hair.
He loves autumn. When the leaves fall and the weather is cold and crisp in the mornings yet turns warm in the afternoons.
And winter. Clear blue skys and biting cold. Frost has crept onto the windowpanes, creating intricate patterns through which the cold sun can shine. Everyone in the castle is either shivering or carrying a blue fire in a glass to keep themselves warm. Between classes students rush to and fro, not wanting to be out in the cold.
One night, he sits up and waits, stareing out into the dark night. He feels that something is going to happen. And shrtly after midnight it does. White flakes start falling from the sky, slowly becoming more and more until the snow starts covering the earth. He smiles and for once his face is lightened up with warmth, so different from his usual icy self. His blue eyes turn warm, like the summer sky. Eagerly, like a small child, he scampers from his perach and pulls on his robes. He runs through the freezing hallways out into the court.
The first snow of the year. He never misses it.
*~*~*~*~*
read and review. merci.