Fic Post: Danger through Me
Jan. 14th, 2004 07:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
constanceTitle: Danger through Me
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Summary: (Snape) + (teambuilding exercise) = (awkward horror)
Word count: 850 or thereabouts.
Notes: written at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
laurelwood's request. It's late, I know, but these things take time, with me. It's set during Snape's first Christmas holiday as a faculty member at Hogwarts.
:::
"I know he's eccentric. But, Minerva, could it be that he's finally lost his mind entirely?"
"Perhaps he's drunk? I've seen a fair few people worse for drink in my day, and this -- er, behavior -- seems to fit nicely."
Minerva is standing in a little cluster of teachers. They are, the Hogwarts teachers, nearly all standing in whispery huddles, clutching crystal cups in white-knuckled fists, seeking anonymity in groups. They are talking to each other, but they are not looking at each other; all eyes in the room (including those of the portraits and the canapé-toting house-elves) are trained with grave trepidation on the tall, spangled figure in the center of the room -- and on the small, long-suffering figure bumping gently against the ceiling, like an abandoned balloon. They are watching him bob as Dumbledore conducts him, at wand-tip, in a surprisingly graceful, slow-spinning arc across the staffroom.
Minerva has some few doubts about Dumbledore's sanity and/or sobriety herself, tonight, but she knows better than to say so. "Nonsense, Poppy," she says staunchly, not taking her eyes off Flitwick's patient face as his hat is knocked askew by an arch. "You heard as well as I did what Dumbledore intends by this. An exercise in trust, he said."
Pomona pipes up helpfully, sotto voce. "I believe muggles play a game like this," she says. "Only they do falling instead of floating. No floating for muggles, obviously." There is something in her expression that indicates that for tonight only she rather envies the muggle world this lack.
"Yes -- in their acting classes, I'm told. The idea is to relinquish control entirely to one's partner, and trust in her ability to bear you up."
"Well, it's ridiculous." Hooch's voice is, as always, carrying and brisk, and a few eyes leave off following Flitwick across the ceiling and glance their way, sympathetically, for an instant. "I mean. We have our differences, but most of us do trust each other."
Trust Hooch to cut straight to the matter; this is a trait Minerva finds both exasperating and admirable. "Well," she says carefully, and stops, struggling to voice her suspicions discreetly. Starts again. "Well, I can't say for certain -- who can say for certain when it comes to Dumbledore's notions? -- but I believe the idea is to force trust upon those few of us who do not trust so easily."
Poppy glances over at Flitwick. "Do you think Argus? Because honestly, I don't think he trusts any of us." Argus, though watching with everyone else, is sitting alone, huddled over a plate of canapés rendered mysteriously as grubby-looking as he himself is. (Minerva has noticed this phenomenon in him before; it is as though everything Argus touches is filtered through his pockets first.)
"Well, possibly." Pomona replies. "Why should he trust any of us, after all? He knows all our dirty secrets, after all these years. All our untrustworthinesses. Better than we do ourselves, I should think."
Minerva settles her spectacles firmly against her nose. "Undoubtedly he does -- but I'm not certain he'll be participating. He won't be able to float his partner, you know."
"Ah, true, true." They are silent for a moment. "Well, much as I trust the entire faculty, I'd want one of you, or Filius, to float me, I admit it." Poppy's smile is rueful. Then her face sharpens. "Now, that one. I wonder if he's not the target of all this trust-enforcing."
"He's a cagey one, isn't he? Hasn't said two words to me all term -- just grabs his coffee and scuttles out the door sideways, like a crab. As if he's afraid to turn his back on me."
They are none of them looking at Flitwick, now, as he drifts gently, in waves, closer to the floor towards Dumbledore. They are also not looking at the new subject of their conversation, but they're specifically not-looking; they are catching him in crystal glasses and peripheral vision.
Privately Minerva thinks they have hit upon the inspiration for this particular party-game. Severus Snape. The last person at Hogwarts to benefit from such an exercise as this. Tricksy parlor games are no more his style than confidences and sociable evenings with the faculty. He, too, is standing alone, as close to the door as he can manage without attracting attention. He is clutching his glass as well, but in a different way; the way he's holding it, it might make a useful weapon. His face is a closed book, unnaturally so for such a heartbreakingly young man.
And Dumbledore's good intentions aside: fresh from You-Know-Who's clutches, no amount of floating about under someone else's steam is going to teach him how to trust.
Further gossipy speculation washing around her, Minerva makes a silent wager against her own better nature. Ten to one, she thinks, that if Dumbledore lets us pick our partners, he heads for the one person in the room who can't reciprocate.
And sure enough, when Dumbledore calls for pairings-up, he heads straight for Argus. Cagey and canny. He will be a danger to us all.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Summary: (Snape) + (teambuilding exercise) = (awkward horror)
Word count: 850 or thereabouts.
Notes: written at
laurelwood's request. It's late, I know, but these things take time, with me. It's set during Snape's first Christmas holiday as a faculty member at Hogwarts.:::
"I know he's eccentric. But, Minerva, could it be that he's finally lost his mind entirely?"
"Perhaps he's drunk? I've seen a fair few people worse for drink in my day, and this -- er, behavior -- seems to fit nicely."
Minerva is standing in a little cluster of teachers. They are, the Hogwarts teachers, nearly all standing in whispery huddles, clutching crystal cups in white-knuckled fists, seeking anonymity in groups. They are talking to each other, but they are not looking at each other; all eyes in the room (including those of the portraits and the canapé-toting house-elves) are trained with grave trepidation on the tall, spangled figure in the center of the room -- and on the small, long-suffering figure bumping gently against the ceiling, like an abandoned balloon. They are watching him bob as Dumbledore conducts him, at wand-tip, in a surprisingly graceful, slow-spinning arc across the staffroom.
Minerva has some few doubts about Dumbledore's sanity and/or sobriety herself, tonight, but she knows better than to say so. "Nonsense, Poppy," she says staunchly, not taking her eyes off Flitwick's patient face as his hat is knocked askew by an arch. "You heard as well as I did what Dumbledore intends by this. An exercise in trust, he said."
Pomona pipes up helpfully, sotto voce. "I believe muggles play a game like this," she says. "Only they do falling instead of floating. No floating for muggles, obviously." There is something in her expression that indicates that for tonight only she rather envies the muggle world this lack.
"Yes -- in their acting classes, I'm told. The idea is to relinquish control entirely to one's partner, and trust in her ability to bear you up."
"Well, it's ridiculous." Hooch's voice is, as always, carrying and brisk, and a few eyes leave off following Flitwick across the ceiling and glance their way, sympathetically, for an instant. "I mean. We have our differences, but most of us do trust each other."
Trust Hooch to cut straight to the matter; this is a trait Minerva finds both exasperating and admirable. "Well," she says carefully, and stops, struggling to voice her suspicions discreetly. Starts again. "Well, I can't say for certain -- who can say for certain when it comes to Dumbledore's notions? -- but I believe the idea is to force trust upon those few of us who do not trust so easily."
Poppy glances over at Flitwick. "Do you think Argus? Because honestly, I don't think he trusts any of us." Argus, though watching with everyone else, is sitting alone, huddled over a plate of canapés rendered mysteriously as grubby-looking as he himself is. (Minerva has noticed this phenomenon in him before; it is as though everything Argus touches is filtered through his pockets first.)
"Well, possibly." Pomona replies. "Why should he trust any of us, after all? He knows all our dirty secrets, after all these years. All our untrustworthinesses. Better than we do ourselves, I should think."
Minerva settles her spectacles firmly against her nose. "Undoubtedly he does -- but I'm not certain he'll be participating. He won't be able to float his partner, you know."
"Ah, true, true." They are silent for a moment. "Well, much as I trust the entire faculty, I'd want one of you, or Filius, to float me, I admit it." Poppy's smile is rueful. Then her face sharpens. "Now, that one. I wonder if he's not the target of all this trust-enforcing."
"He's a cagey one, isn't he? Hasn't said two words to me all term -- just grabs his coffee and scuttles out the door sideways, like a crab. As if he's afraid to turn his back on me."
They are none of them looking at Flitwick, now, as he drifts gently, in waves, closer to the floor towards Dumbledore. They are also not looking at the new subject of their conversation, but they're specifically not-looking; they are catching him in crystal glasses and peripheral vision.
Privately Minerva thinks they have hit upon the inspiration for this particular party-game. Severus Snape. The last person at Hogwarts to benefit from such an exercise as this. Tricksy parlor games are no more his style than confidences and sociable evenings with the faculty. He, too, is standing alone, as close to the door as he can manage without attracting attention. He is clutching his glass as well, but in a different way; the way he's holding it, it might make a useful weapon. His face is a closed book, unnaturally so for such a heartbreakingly young man.
And Dumbledore's good intentions aside: fresh from You-Know-Who's clutches, no amount of floating about under someone else's steam is going to teach him how to trust.
Further gossipy speculation washing around her, Minerva makes a silent wager against her own better nature. Ten to one, she thinks, that if Dumbledore lets us pick our partners, he heads for the one person in the room who can't reciprocate.
And sure enough, when Dumbledore calls for pairings-up, he heads straight for Argus. Cagey and canny. He will be a danger to us all.
