A Curious Start
by pari
a ficlet of about 500 words
Rated: PG Disclaimer: props to Joss Whedon and J. K. Rowling; no profit to me.
Summary: it was his eyes that spoke most clearly of things familiar…
Spoilers: "Not Fade Away"
She'd volunteered immediately.
She'd come a long way from the proper bookworm she'd been before Ron'd died.
"An apocalypse?" she'd asked. "In America?" So she'd die on foreign soil? Too much of her blood had been shed here anyway.
She took her team and apparated to Los Angeles; to the focal point of the dark energies growing there. She found that nasty so-called sorcerer who'd murdered Nymphadora Tonks - Cyvus Vail, he was called.
"I mean, really. I crap better magic than this. Now then, let me show you what a real wizard can do…"
Hermione still loathed foul language. Malfoy had spit out blood and curses with his last breath, and she'd hated him as much for that, as for the criss-cross of scars he'd left on her back and the tops of her thighs.
Vail wasn't alone when Hermione found him. He had a solemn-looking stranger in his grasp who startled Hermione by seeming so familiar.
It was in the stranger's face - the stubbled chin and gaunt profile that reminded Hermione of Remus Lupin. It was in the fact that he was here alone - he had to be at least a little reckless, then. Hermione had certainly known enough men like that - Sirius, Seamus, Harry… Ron. And it was in his defiance… Even at the mercy of magic seemingly greater than his own, the stranger glared at Vail with nothing like defeat. He was either as fearless, or foolish - or perhaps both - as a Potter.
But it was the man's eyes that spoke to Hermione most clearly of things familiar. His eyes were hollowed, except for the cold pain that lived there; they were haunted.
They were the eyes Hermione saw in the mirror each time she gathered enough courage to look.
A swish and flick of the wrist, and a handy hex later, and Vail was lying on the other end of the room; the stranger was standing before Hermione as if uncertain she was really there. He'd landed on his feet when Vail's magic had released him. He only spared a moment, and a nod, to thank her for her intervention, and then they were both striding to Vail's side - Hermione with her wand outstretched, he with a nice-sized fireball he'd conjured in the palm of his hand.
Hermione faced Vail on his left; the stranger faced him on his right.
For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt more than a detached interest in whether or not the battle she fought would be won or lost in her favor.
This man was a curious mix of faces from Hermione's past, and an identity Hermione hadn't yet come to know.
And Hermione had always been curious at heart.
end.
a ficlet of about 500 words
Rated: PG Disclaimer: props to Joss Whedon and J. K. Rowling; no profit to me.
Summary: it was his eyes that spoke most clearly of things familiar…
Spoilers: "Not Fade Away"
She'd volunteered immediately.
She'd come a long way from the proper bookworm she'd been before Ron'd died.
"An apocalypse?" she'd asked. "In America?" So she'd die on foreign soil? Too much of her blood had been shed here anyway.
She took her team and apparated to Los Angeles; to the focal point of the dark energies growing there. She found that nasty so-called sorcerer who'd murdered Nymphadora Tonks - Cyvus Vail, he was called.
"I mean, really. I crap better magic than this. Now then, let me show you what a real wizard can do…"
Hermione still loathed foul language. Malfoy had spit out blood and curses with his last breath, and she'd hated him as much for that, as for the criss-cross of scars he'd left on her back and the tops of her thighs.
Vail wasn't alone when Hermione found him. He had a solemn-looking stranger in his grasp who startled Hermione by seeming so familiar.
It was in the stranger's face - the stubbled chin and gaunt profile that reminded Hermione of Remus Lupin. It was in the fact that he was here alone - he had to be at least a little reckless, then. Hermione had certainly known enough men like that - Sirius, Seamus, Harry… Ron. And it was in his defiance… Even at the mercy of magic seemingly greater than his own, the stranger glared at Vail with nothing like defeat. He was either as fearless, or foolish - or perhaps both - as a Potter.
But it was the man's eyes that spoke to Hermione most clearly of things familiar. His eyes were hollowed, except for the cold pain that lived there; they were haunted.
They were the eyes Hermione saw in the mirror each time she gathered enough courage to look.
A swish and flick of the wrist, and a handy hex later, and Vail was lying on the other end of the room; the stranger was standing before Hermione as if uncertain she was really there. He'd landed on his feet when Vail's magic had released him. He only spared a moment, and a nod, to thank her for her intervention, and then they were both striding to Vail's side - Hermione with her wand outstretched, he with a nice-sized fireball he'd conjured in the palm of his hand.
Hermione faced Vail on his left; the stranger faced him on his right.
For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt more than a detached interest in whether or not the battle she fought would be won or lost in her favor.
This man was a curious mix of faces from Hermione's past, and an identity Hermione hadn't yet come to know.
And Hermione had always been curious at heart.
end.