Drabbles, Various.
Spoiler WARNING: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
i. harry, on snape [gen]
It didn't strike him until later, after all the grieving and the metal resolutions, after he'd finally come to his ultimate decision that did not, in fact, include Ginny Weasley, was not supposed to include Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger--it was a small thought, flitting through his mind, and only because he was browsing, shifting through his memories, even as he tried to give that particular one a wide berth--Snape, and the Potions text, and the Half-Blood Prince, and Draco Malfoy split down his chest in a grostesquely bloody fashion, and how it must have burned the man--
Harry found it humorless, now--
Burned Severus Snape in undescriable, inexorable ways that he had, in fact, aided Harry Potter in the extreme; in the form of notes scribbled down as a sixth-year himself, and then--
And Harry had used sectumsempra, unknowingly, and he thought how it must've made Snape's insides white-hot, must have depthlessly seared him--
That, in a way, Draco Malfoy's injuries--Ron surviving that poison--Harry's high marks in Potion's class--
They were all for the sake of Severus Snape.
And Harry was going to kill him.
ii. fleur [gen]
It was the fire in Fleur's eyes, the cold reserve and justifiable accusation in those sparkling depths; her hand tightly in Bill's, and her delicate, smooth fingers carefully, gently, infinitely feather-like and flower-like, smoothing the ointment on the ruins of her soon-to-be husband's face.
The anger in her cheeks, the affronted wash to the way she held herself, the decidedly stoic guardedness in the way her smooth, slight body curved as if to protect Bill from Voldemort himself--
Mrs. Weasley had to agree that, yes, she was beautiful enough for the both of them.
iii. remus, on tonks. [gen/mild.slash]
Nymphadora Tonks was goofy and funny and really very sweet--she was kind, endlessly kind, and loved Remus Lupin with the kind of reckless abandon that could get them all killed, if push came to shove and some Death Eater decided on a whim to 'extract' a bit of information--she was too good-hearted to deal with that kind of blackmail.
She was too good-hearted to be in love with the likes of him; dangerous, he said, and it was the wrong time and the wrong place, and it wasn't wise to open themselves up that way--all weaknesses were mortal ones, these were the things he'd told her.
It wasn't a question of looks. She could look however she wanted; even if Remus might prefer an unaltered form, she was still pretty, if not the beauty that girls like Fleur posssessed; he liked her, he really did.
And there were reasons, dozens, tens of dozens more that he hadn't shared with her for the simple fact that they all began with Sirius--
And ended with him.
iv. harry, on draco [gen]
He wasn't sure whether it was Malfoy crying desperately in the bathroom, to Moaning Myrtle of all peo--of all ghosts, mudblood though she'd been and dead though she was, or if it had been his hesitency, Dumbledore's words, and that Draco was not a killer; he wasn't sure--but he figured it had to have something to do with parents and death-threats and every other option non-existent; had to do with the fact that Malfoy did have a heart because somewhere beneath all that sarcasm and those ugly feelings and desires and greed, somewhere deep down Malfoy loved his mother and his father and most assuredly did not want them to die.
Or, it might have been that Dumbledore was right; that Draco wasn't a killer; that he hadn't cursed Dumbledore into oblivion, though he'd had, at the very least, seven full, long minutes to do so.
He didn't.
Harry, bleakly, realized the terrible bit of truth that, perhaps, he really didn't hate Draco Malfoy so much anymore. It grated against his morals the wrong way, though what morals those might be--
...but if he'd been put up to it all...
Against his will.
After five years of torment, after bloody noses and a kicked-in face, after hexes and jinxes and being gutted like a fish--the pale boy had very much been redeemed in Harry's eyes.
He didn't hate Draco Malfoy.
No, if anything, he'd learned that hate was a thing reserved solely for those who most deserved it.
And, now, there were perhaps only two people on the face of the planet that he would never find it in himself to forgive.
---
Mmkay, 's it for now. More drabbles later.
i. harry, on snape [gen]
It didn't strike him until later, after all the grieving and the metal resolutions, after he'd finally come to his ultimate decision that did not, in fact, include Ginny Weasley, was not supposed to include Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger--it was a small thought, flitting through his mind, and only because he was browsing, shifting through his memories, even as he tried to give that particular one a wide berth--Snape, and the Potions text, and the Half-Blood Prince, and Draco Malfoy split down his chest in a grostesquely bloody fashion, and how it must have burned the man--
Harry found it humorless, now--
Burned Severus Snape in undescriable, inexorable ways that he had, in fact, aided Harry Potter in the extreme; in the form of notes scribbled down as a sixth-year himself, and then--
And Harry had used sectumsempra, unknowingly, and he thought how it must've made Snape's insides white-hot, must have depthlessly seared him--
That, in a way, Draco Malfoy's injuries--Ron surviving that poison--Harry's high marks in Potion's class--
They were all for the sake of Severus Snape.
And Harry was going to kill him.
ii. fleur [gen]
It was the fire in Fleur's eyes, the cold reserve and justifiable accusation in those sparkling depths; her hand tightly in Bill's, and her delicate, smooth fingers carefully, gently, infinitely feather-like and flower-like, smoothing the ointment on the ruins of her soon-to-be husband's face.
The anger in her cheeks, the affronted wash to the way she held herself, the decidedly stoic guardedness in the way her smooth, slight body curved as if to protect Bill from Voldemort himself--
Mrs. Weasley had to agree that, yes, she was beautiful enough for the both of them.
iii. remus, on tonks. [gen/mild.slash]
Nymphadora Tonks was goofy and funny and really very sweet--she was kind, endlessly kind, and loved Remus Lupin with the kind of reckless abandon that could get them all killed, if push came to shove and some Death Eater decided on a whim to 'extract' a bit of information--she was too good-hearted to deal with that kind of blackmail.
She was too good-hearted to be in love with the likes of him; dangerous, he said, and it was the wrong time and the wrong place, and it wasn't wise to open themselves up that way--all weaknesses were mortal ones, these were the things he'd told her.
It wasn't a question of looks. She could look however she wanted; even if Remus might prefer an unaltered form, she was still pretty, if not the beauty that girls like Fleur posssessed; he liked her, he really did.
And there were reasons, dozens, tens of dozens more that he hadn't shared with her for the simple fact that they all began with Sirius--
And ended with him.
iv. harry, on draco [gen]
He wasn't sure whether it was Malfoy crying desperately in the bathroom, to Moaning Myrtle of all peo--of all ghosts, mudblood though she'd been and dead though she was, or if it had been his hesitency, Dumbledore's words, and that Draco was not a killer; he wasn't sure--but he figured it had to have something to do with parents and death-threats and every other option non-existent; had to do with the fact that Malfoy did have a heart because somewhere beneath all that sarcasm and those ugly feelings and desires and greed, somewhere deep down Malfoy loved his mother and his father and most assuredly did not want them to die.
Or, it might have been that Dumbledore was right; that Draco wasn't a killer; that he hadn't cursed Dumbledore into oblivion, though he'd had, at the very least, seven full, long minutes to do so.
He didn't.
Harry, bleakly, realized the terrible bit of truth that, perhaps, he really didn't hate Draco Malfoy so much anymore. It grated against his morals the wrong way, though what morals those might be--
...but if he'd been put up to it all...
Against his will.
After five years of torment, after bloody noses and a kicked-in face, after hexes and jinxes and being gutted like a fish--the pale boy had very much been redeemed in Harry's eyes.
He didn't hate Draco Malfoy.
No, if anything, he'd learned that hate was a thing reserved solely for those who most deserved it.
And, now, there were perhaps only two people on the face of the planet that he would never find it in himself to forgive.
---
Mmkay, 's it for now. More drabbles later.