Beneath A Cunning Eye
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,501
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,501
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Beneath A Cunning Eye
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Hogwarts realm. Persephone is my character though. The lyrics cited are by Maria McKee - readers of this story are entreated to listen to her music. She's fabulous!
Author's note: This story is a continuation of "Dark as my Intentions" which appears on the Snape/OFC board; however, I feel it can probably act as a stand alone as well. It is post "Half-Blood Prince" though, so if you haven't read HBP yet, you may want to take a pass on this one since it gives a spoiler or two.
A/N #2: This story is based around two perspectives: Harry's and the female character's. The perspectives are handily set apart by the rows of stars.
Beneath A Cunning Eye
The boy had felt her in his room before. He had felt her warm breath against his cheek, ruffling his dark hair like the breeze before. Once, he had half awakened to see her face, white and cold, like a twin to the moon outside his high window. At the time, he had thought he was still dreaming. After all, the chambers were secure, barred by charms and spells, and the tower was high. She must have been part of a dream, a misguided angel. But, then, she had touched him, her finger grazing his scar. Where it had burned only moments before when the nightmare had him in its jaws, it was then cool, soothed. Within that dream that wasn’t a dream, he found himself wanting her to draw nearer, for her touch to envelop him.
********
He had grown so much in the time that had passed since my last visit. The planes and angles of his face had deepened, the complexion grown more fair. If anything, he seemed more fragile, almost stricken. The scar was still etched on his brow beneath that unruly hair. Although they were closed, I knew that his eyes still blazed with an emerald light. He had had to grow up so much in such a short while.
When I had slipped into the dormitory, I merely had to tilt my head to one side inquisitively and lay a finger to my lips. Perhaps the rumours of my humbling visits to the teacher had reached her ears as well, for the fat lady merely tossed her raven curls, curled her painted lip, and sneered “You again?” before allowing the frame to tip forward to give me access. The common room was still lit, bathed in a golden glow. Only a short time before, youths had sat there, reading and laughing, capering about in their robes as they mocked despised professors and practiced spells on one another. I could still see the imprints of their bodies pressed into the cloth of the chairs. Then, I slipped up the cold, dark steps to the chamber hung in red and gold. The red-haired boy lay on his back, blankets drawn to his chin, head flung back as he snored gracelessly. A picture of unassuming innocence. Expecting and wanting for nothing. Slowly, silently, I unfastened the silk, allowing it to fall down around his sleeping form, to hide me from his view. There was a whisper of silk, the soft snuffling made in sleep, but otherwise, nothing. I crept to the other bed and studied the figure there by moonlight. The boy who lived.
********
“Wanted to make you into a demigod
Superhuman so you’d never die
Die to me, my golden boy
I was so in awe of you.”
“Human” by Maria McKee from the album “Life is Sweet” (1996)
********
He had felt a strange prickling on his skin. It was like the feeling he got at the back of his neck when he knew someone was staring at him. His eyelids fluttered and he heard a sharp intake of breath that he didn’t think was his own. Then, a finger, cold as ice, was tracing his scar lovingly. The touch was deliciously light, almost as if it were only imagined. A soft sigh came from near his shoulder. He willed his lids to stay closed, afraid to see who it was but unwilling to have them stop.
He had a strange feeling from whoever it was. It was almost as if they were adoring him. He was accustomed to being an object of pity – no parents, a mythic quest to fulfill. He was also used to being an object of fascination, a novelty, like a bone being groveled over by dogs. He was not, however, accustomed to feeling as he did – like he was an idol, a work of art to be admired.
********
Such a strange, changeling being. He was half man, half child. The innocence, the valour, the innate goodness of him radiated out from every sinew and every bone, reflecting up from the satin skin. The inky lashes shuddered as he dreamt; his brow was stilled by peaceful sleep. His skin was smooth, flawless as fresh snow. I ran my palm across his throat, feeling the gentle beating of his pulse beneath my fingertips. His Adam’s apple rose and fell on the soft swell of his breath. How I loved to watch them sleeping – enfolded in the arms of grace, lost within themselves. Completely unaware, utterly defenseless. They were easy to ensnare, but it was too easy. I am not a passive creature. I seek out confrontation, passion, realization. I closed my eyes and inched my fingertips up his throat to his face – feeling the contours of the skull: the ridge of his jaw, the breadth of his nose, the hollows around his eyes. I was reading his face as the blind read Braille. I could never touch him before. Not really. As a student, he had been an untouchable, forbidden to me and the others. I had toyed with the professor, who had then betrayed me. Otherwise, I had been relegated to the darker passages, wearing the long shadows like a cloak as I hid my face, hid myself.
What was that phrase in a poem - “I am half sick of shadows, cried the Lady of Shalott”? Well, so too was I. I was tired of keeping to the shadows, pretending I didn’t exist. I had been stricken, and yet, I hadn’t died. So too had this one. He also had cheated death, and I wanted to know his secret. What made him so different? My hand trailed down his bare arm and I sucked in a quick breath. Now, he was no longer an untouchable. Dumbledore, the one I had feared for so long and so much, was dead. Who now could cast me out? Who now could determine who I could or could not touch, to whom I could give my kisses?
I smiled.
Author's note: This story is a continuation of "Dark as my Intentions" which appears on the Snape/OFC board; however, I feel it can probably act as a stand alone as well. It is post "Half-Blood Prince" though, so if you haven't read HBP yet, you may want to take a pass on this one since it gives a spoiler or two.
A/N #2: This story is based around two perspectives: Harry's and the female character's. The perspectives are handily set apart by the rows of stars.
Beneath A Cunning Eye
The boy had felt her in his room before. He had felt her warm breath against his cheek, ruffling his dark hair like the breeze before. Once, he had half awakened to see her face, white and cold, like a twin to the moon outside his high window. At the time, he had thought he was still dreaming. After all, the chambers were secure, barred by charms and spells, and the tower was high. She must have been part of a dream, a misguided angel. But, then, she had touched him, her finger grazing his scar. Where it had burned only moments before when the nightmare had him in its jaws, it was then cool, soothed. Within that dream that wasn’t a dream, he found himself wanting her to draw nearer, for her touch to envelop him.
********
He had grown so much in the time that had passed since my last visit. The planes and angles of his face had deepened, the complexion grown more fair. If anything, he seemed more fragile, almost stricken. The scar was still etched on his brow beneath that unruly hair. Although they were closed, I knew that his eyes still blazed with an emerald light. He had had to grow up so much in such a short while.
When I had slipped into the dormitory, I merely had to tilt my head to one side inquisitively and lay a finger to my lips. Perhaps the rumours of my humbling visits to the teacher had reached her ears as well, for the fat lady merely tossed her raven curls, curled her painted lip, and sneered “You again?” before allowing the frame to tip forward to give me access. The common room was still lit, bathed in a golden glow. Only a short time before, youths had sat there, reading and laughing, capering about in their robes as they mocked despised professors and practiced spells on one another. I could still see the imprints of their bodies pressed into the cloth of the chairs. Then, I slipped up the cold, dark steps to the chamber hung in red and gold. The red-haired boy lay on his back, blankets drawn to his chin, head flung back as he snored gracelessly. A picture of unassuming innocence. Expecting and wanting for nothing. Slowly, silently, I unfastened the silk, allowing it to fall down around his sleeping form, to hide me from his view. There was a whisper of silk, the soft snuffling made in sleep, but otherwise, nothing. I crept to the other bed and studied the figure there by moonlight. The boy who lived.
********
“Wanted to make you into a demigod
Superhuman so you’d never die
Die to me, my golden boy
I was so in awe of you.”
“Human” by Maria McKee from the album “Life is Sweet” (1996)
********
He had felt a strange prickling on his skin. It was like the feeling he got at the back of his neck when he knew someone was staring at him. His eyelids fluttered and he heard a sharp intake of breath that he didn’t think was his own. Then, a finger, cold as ice, was tracing his scar lovingly. The touch was deliciously light, almost as if it were only imagined. A soft sigh came from near his shoulder. He willed his lids to stay closed, afraid to see who it was but unwilling to have them stop.
He had a strange feeling from whoever it was. It was almost as if they were adoring him. He was accustomed to being an object of pity – no parents, a mythic quest to fulfill. He was also used to being an object of fascination, a novelty, like a bone being groveled over by dogs. He was not, however, accustomed to feeling as he did – like he was an idol, a work of art to be admired.
********
Such a strange, changeling being. He was half man, half child. The innocence, the valour, the innate goodness of him radiated out from every sinew and every bone, reflecting up from the satin skin. The inky lashes shuddered as he dreamt; his brow was stilled by peaceful sleep. His skin was smooth, flawless as fresh snow. I ran my palm across his throat, feeling the gentle beating of his pulse beneath my fingertips. His Adam’s apple rose and fell on the soft swell of his breath. How I loved to watch them sleeping – enfolded in the arms of grace, lost within themselves. Completely unaware, utterly defenseless. They were easy to ensnare, but it was too easy. I am not a passive creature. I seek out confrontation, passion, realization. I closed my eyes and inched my fingertips up his throat to his face – feeling the contours of the skull: the ridge of his jaw, the breadth of his nose, the hollows around his eyes. I was reading his face as the blind read Braille. I could never touch him before. Not really. As a student, he had been an untouchable, forbidden to me and the others. I had toyed with the professor, who had then betrayed me. Otherwise, I had been relegated to the darker passages, wearing the long shadows like a cloak as I hid my face, hid myself.
What was that phrase in a poem - “I am half sick of shadows, cried the Lady of Shalott”? Well, so too was I. I was tired of keeping to the shadows, pretending I didn’t exist. I had been stricken, and yet, I hadn’t died. So too had this one. He also had cheated death, and I wanted to know his secret. What made him so different? My hand trailed down his bare arm and I sucked in a quick breath. Now, he was no longer an untouchable. Dumbledore, the one I had feared for so long and so much, was dead. Who now could cast me out? Who now could determine who I could or could not touch, to whom I could give my kisses?
I smiled.