Untouchable
Title: Untouchable
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Sturgis Podmore
Rating: G
Other: Written for the January 3rd challenge (somebody to love) for 30_hath. Don't know that this turned out how I wanted, but when does anything ever turn out right from me? Bahhhh.
Laughter, sparkling eyes, vivacity. That was how, in a flash, she had come into his life. That was how Sturgis would forever remember her, in brief flashes of intense memory. Her bright personality absorbed his reliable solitude more than Sturgis initially realized. There was never an obsession, not quite. He simply felt the sensation of her from time to time, coming upon him as a daydream at noon or a passing image before just midnight.
She danced through his life, seemingly untouchable. She was a spirit of sorts, he told himself. Yet at last-just before he was sent away for wretched months-he made contact, if only briefly, felt her living presence against him.
For an instant the embrace felt right, but only for an instant.
(When he returns from Azkaban, Sturgis finds her changed, more closed-off. He knows that it cannot be any fault of his, but almost believes this to be so. She is farther removed now. Sturgis discovers a great sense of loss in this, and a sense of unhappiness at her deadened quiet. He has not forgotten that instant of right. He does not wish to lose the sensation of it.)
Not right for him and not right for her, either. From his view, she was animation embodied, a bubbling and unquenchable stream of life and humor and enduringly flippant affection. Yet she was young and, despite her career, almost too naïve. Inexperienced? Perhaps, in some areas. How much did that matter to him? He wasn’t entirely realistic, himself, and the age difference wasn’t so very horrible. It posed a mild discomfort, especially coming after Leigh, and a hesitation. Sturgis had beaten back far worse.
There had simply been no strong return from her side. She had been friendly. Night spent drinking together and occasional interludes at headquarters spent joking around had strengthened whatever bond they had forged. This bond was not entirely what Sturgis might have wished, however; not from her side. When presented with a sudden hint-however alcohol-induced-of his earnest affection, she had drawn back. A moment’s acquiescence, yes, but then she had flinched away; it was not right for her. Faced with this uneasy cold, Sturgis had found his own desires thwarted.
What did she want, then? She hardly needed protection. Humor? Reliability? Sturgis offered both. There was a quality desired, he felt convinced of it. Perhaps a check against rather than a compliment to those traits he shared with her. He could not tell. He only knew with certainty that he lacked what she required.
(When Tonks and Remus announce themselves, Sturgis isn’t surprised. He smiles at the news, shakes Remus’s hand. For a moment he feels awkward, facing her. Yet this time her embrace feels right. It is the embrace of a friend, and she has found what she needs. It is not in him. He is to be a friend, and Sturgis tells himself that this is the best resolution. He is able to laugh with her again.
Later that evening, he tells himself that it is enough, though he has difficulty concentrating on the favored book in his hand.)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Sturgis Podmore
Rating: G
Other: Written for the January 3rd challenge (somebody to love) for 30_hath. Don't know that this turned out how I wanted, but when does anything ever turn out right from me? Bahhhh.
Laughter, sparkling eyes, vivacity. That was how, in a flash, she had come into his life. That was how Sturgis would forever remember her, in brief flashes of intense memory. Her bright personality absorbed his reliable solitude more than Sturgis initially realized. There was never an obsession, not quite. He simply felt the sensation of her from time to time, coming upon him as a daydream at noon or a passing image before just midnight.
She danced through his life, seemingly untouchable. She was a spirit of sorts, he told himself. Yet at last-just before he was sent away for wretched months-he made contact, if only briefly, felt her living presence against him.
For an instant the embrace felt right, but only for an instant.
(When he returns from Azkaban, Sturgis finds her changed, more closed-off. He knows that it cannot be any fault of his, but almost believes this to be so. She is farther removed now. Sturgis discovers a great sense of loss in this, and a sense of unhappiness at her deadened quiet. He has not forgotten that instant of right. He does not wish to lose the sensation of it.)
Not right for him and not right for her, either. From his view, she was animation embodied, a bubbling and unquenchable stream of life and humor and enduringly flippant affection. Yet she was young and, despite her career, almost too naïve. Inexperienced? Perhaps, in some areas. How much did that matter to him? He wasn’t entirely realistic, himself, and the age difference wasn’t so very horrible. It posed a mild discomfort, especially coming after Leigh, and a hesitation. Sturgis had beaten back far worse.
There had simply been no strong return from her side. She had been friendly. Night spent drinking together and occasional interludes at headquarters spent joking around had strengthened whatever bond they had forged. This bond was not entirely what Sturgis might have wished, however; not from her side. When presented with a sudden hint-however alcohol-induced-of his earnest affection, she had drawn back. A moment’s acquiescence, yes, but then she had flinched away; it was not right for her. Faced with this uneasy cold, Sturgis had found his own desires thwarted.
What did she want, then? She hardly needed protection. Humor? Reliability? Sturgis offered both. There was a quality desired, he felt convinced of it. Perhaps a check against rather than a compliment to those traits he shared with her. He could not tell. He only knew with certainty that he lacked what she required.
(When Tonks and Remus announce themselves, Sturgis isn’t surprised. He smiles at the news, shakes Remus’s hand. For a moment he feels awkward, facing her. Yet this time her embrace feels right. It is the embrace of a friend, and she has found what she needs. It is not in him. He is to be a friend, and Sturgis tells himself that this is the best resolution. He is able to laugh with her again.
Later that evening, he tells himself that it is enough, though he has difficulty concentrating on the favored book in his hand.)