Drabbles

[snaples]

cybele_san issued a call for challenges. I think this is a fantastic idea, and while I am working on Le Lion au Serpent, I would love to churn out some drabbles to get back into the practice of things. So if anyone has any, I would dearly love to hear them. My fingers are itching. So are Snape's. ;)

Comments

[cordelia_v]

Here are two for you, both are open (no deadline).

painless_j issued the Snape Pursues Harry challenge

And she and I together issued the Snape is Straight challenge.

Also, arsenic_jade has just announced an h/c fest. Check her lj for the details.

Hope that one of these appeals!

[ebilsoki.livejournal.com]

Actually, the Snape is Straight challenge interest me, but for a longer story. I'll keep this one stored for a tale of 5000 or more words. Thanks!

[neeteeus.livejournal.com]

I would love to see Snape doing martial arts or another form of physical fighting to protect Harry. :D

[bethbethbeth.livejournal.com]

Okay, here's a drabble challenge: I'm taking (slightly changed) phrases from your post...see what Snapey things you can do with *them*...

"A fantastic idea."
"I would love..."
"The practice of things."
"Snape's fingers are itching."

(I'm such a literalist *g*)

Not my finest ...

[ebilsoki.livejournal.com]

Snape’s fingers are itching. They have been for a long while, and he doesn’t understand why. The mediwitch he consulted assured him his circulation was quite normal, ‘remarkable for a man of his taste’ in fact, to which he pointedly answered that ten coffees a day was far from unhealthy, and, in fact, was the only thing that kept him remotely sane. Albus and potions confirmed that no nefarious magic was involved to drive him mad. Snape’s fingers are simply itching, like a thousand tiny spiders crawling over his hands, and there is no possible reason for them to do so.

He is distracted from this growing problem by a vile voice whispering in the back of his class. “Mr Potter!”

An unkempt haired head rises suddenly and Potter stares back in surprise. “I …”

“I would *love* if you would be silent in my class, Mr Potter. This is Potions, not the water fountain. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

The look of surprise morphs quite well into bitterness, and Snape feels a satisfaction deep in his belly. His fingers go numb and he quickly forgets the mounting pressure that threatens an embarrassing situation.

“I’m sorry Severus, but there’s nothing I can do,” Pomfrey later informs him. “I can’t see what’s wrong with them. You say you weren’t bitten,” she proposes, to which he shakes his head, “or cursed.”

“If I knew that with certainty, I would not come to you,” he retorts sharply.

She stiffens and simply says, “Then get back in the practice of things. Brew more potions, write more *creative* ideas for detention. In my professional opinion, you’re just not using them enough.”

“A fantastic idea,” he mutters. “I’ll be certain to keep you apprised.”

Later, he crosses Potter in the hall at midnight. The foolish boy has been slithering in the castle hidden beneath his father’s cloak, hoping no doubt to escape his prying eyes. “I can smell you, Potter. You reek of your father,” he smirks. “I became quite good at knowing where he was hiding, too, so you should not presume to take me for a complete fool.” He yanks the cloth from the boy and throws it unceremoniously on the ground. Towering over the boy, he makes certain to press his boot quite deliberately on the shimmering fabric. “Return to your quarters.”

There was a time Potter would have tucked tail and run. Now that they have shared what Potter believes to be a personal view into each other’s lives (damn Occlumency), he is not so demure. “I can’t. I have to see someone.”

“Indeed? And whom are you seeking to have a ‘conversation’ with at this late hour?” he smirks. He remembers being fifteen. Conversations were rarely comprised of words past midnight.

“None of your business!”

The all too familiar pressure rears its head, and Snape’s hand goes flying without hesitation. What was meant as a slap ends up with his hand around the back of Potter’s head. He draws him near and hisses, “Speak to me on another tone, and perhaps I’ll decide not to deduct a hundred points from your miserable House.” Potter’s breath is warm and smells like morning. Not quite fresh but not exactly unpleasant; there is, in fact, something tangible about it, all too inviting, that Snape has to step back and retreat from the intimacy. He realizes his fingers no longer itch.

Something entirely different does when Potter simpers and walks away.

Not exactly happy with it. Find it sterile. But ... a beginning.

Re: Not my finest ...

[bethbethbeth.livejournal.com]

No, see...I'm sure there are things you'd change if you were going to post this for real, but it still works! (and honestly? I wasn't expecting you to use all four phrases in a single ficlet, so I'm *very* impressed that you were able to manage it as well as you did and as *quickly* as you did). Thank you!

Re: Not my finest ...

[lakesrith.livejournal.com]

Wow! That was good and fast. Like a good cup of coffee.

[lakesrith.livejournal.com]

I can't wait!