Fic: Zero Times (Snape/The Nameless Accountant, PG)
Title: Zero Times
Author: La Onza
Pairing: Snape/The Nameless Accountant
Rating: PG
Summary: After the events of HBP, Snape and Draco take refuge with another escapee. This little oddity might be considered genfic, but I think of it as a love story of sorts. 600 words.
When the digital clock showed 2:05 a.m., he allowed himself to check on the boy again.
In the other time, when Mafalda was a baby, he had checked on her six, ten, twelve times a night, counted the breaths she took in the space of a minute. His wife had resented it, at first, as though he were deliberately trying to show her up as a mother. Eventually she had come to look upon it, along with many of his other habits, with contemptuous aversion. “You’re mad,” she had said.
And so, from his implacable fear of losing his daughter, he had lost them both. And come to believe it was better, so. Strange to think that Mafalda would be a teenager, now; the age of this boy, this unknown blond boy who cried in his sleep.
Over the years he had schooled himself not to think about them, nor about the world they still belonged to. The occasional allusion or image or smell would evoke a tickle of memory, but he never lingered over it. He dreamed about it, that could not be helped. But the magical world might as well have been a dream he had once.
Until the wizard had shown up, an improbably adamant dream-figment ripping the fabric of reality and stepping through, dragging the wan-faced boy behind him.
The accountant tried to think what he would say when he called in to work tomorrow. He hadn’t taken a day off work for twelve years. What would happen if he didn't phone, if he simply didn't show up? What if he never showed up again?
When he returned to the front room - seventeen steps down the hall, ten through the kitchen - the black figure of the wizard was still outlined against the dark blue window.
"Twenty-five minutes, this time, instead of thirty," the wizard said, without turning around. "You're cheating, I believe."
Mocking him, he knew, but that was to be expected. "The digital clock is always a cheat, in any case," he said, and the wizard glanced around at him at last, his eyes dark holes in the white mask of his face.
"Digital…?"
"Digital clock, a Muggle invention," he explained, looking toward the squared red numbers that glowed consolingly in the dark. "A decimal display of sexigesimal time. A sublime cheat." Even under the wizard's sharp incredulous gaze, he was unable to keep the tender admiration out of his voice.
The wizard snorted. "You always preferred your tidy little decimal system," he said. They had been deskmates in their NEWT-level Arithmancy class. "I suppose we should have known then what you were made of." His eyes narrowed. "If your Weasley relations should contact you…"
"They won't," said the accountant. "They've forgotten me completely." He had no idea if this were true or not. “I’ve had no contact with your world for years,” he said.
They had last seen each other when they were nineteen. Now they were thirty-seven. Sequential centered hexagonal numbers. What had taken place in the gnomon?
“I know,” the wizard said. “That’s why I thought of you.”
“But how did you know? How did you know that I would…” He broke off, uncertain how to say what he would do.
The wizard stood looking at him. The destruction lurking in his black eyes was complete, inevitable, and, he realized at last, welcome.
"Zero times anything is zero," the accountant whispered. "Zero triumphs."
The wizard stared. "Something like that," he agreed, in a voice that was almost gentle.
Author: La Onza
Pairing: Snape/The Nameless Accountant
Rating: PG
Summary: After the events of HBP, Snape and Draco take refuge with another escapee. This little oddity might be considered genfic, but I think of it as a love story of sorts. 600 words.
When the digital clock showed 2:05 a.m., he allowed himself to check on the boy again.
In the other time, when Mafalda was a baby, he had checked on her six, ten, twelve times a night, counted the breaths she took in the space of a minute. His wife had resented it, at first, as though he were deliberately trying to show her up as a mother. Eventually she had come to look upon it, along with many of his other habits, with contemptuous aversion. “You’re mad,” she had said.
And so, from his implacable fear of losing his daughter, he had lost them both. And come to believe it was better, so. Strange to think that Mafalda would be a teenager, now; the age of this boy, this unknown blond boy who cried in his sleep.
Over the years he had schooled himself not to think about them, nor about the world they still belonged to. The occasional allusion or image or smell would evoke a tickle of memory, but he never lingered over it. He dreamed about it, that could not be helped. But the magical world might as well have been a dream he had once.
Until the wizard had shown up, an improbably adamant dream-figment ripping the fabric of reality and stepping through, dragging the wan-faced boy behind him.
The accountant tried to think what he would say when he called in to work tomorrow. He hadn’t taken a day off work for twelve years. What would happen if he didn't phone, if he simply didn't show up? What if he never showed up again?
When he returned to the front room - seventeen steps down the hall, ten through the kitchen - the black figure of the wizard was still outlined against the dark blue window.
"Twenty-five minutes, this time, instead of thirty," the wizard said, without turning around. "You're cheating, I believe."
Mocking him, he knew, but that was to be expected. "The digital clock is always a cheat, in any case," he said, and the wizard glanced around at him at last, his eyes dark holes in the white mask of his face.
"Digital…?"
"Digital clock, a Muggle invention," he explained, looking toward the squared red numbers that glowed consolingly in the dark. "A decimal display of sexigesimal time. A sublime cheat." Even under the wizard's sharp incredulous gaze, he was unable to keep the tender admiration out of his voice.
The wizard snorted. "You always preferred your tidy little decimal system," he said. They had been deskmates in their NEWT-level Arithmancy class. "I suppose we should have known then what you were made of." His eyes narrowed. "If your Weasley relations should contact you…"
"They won't," said the accountant. "They've forgotten me completely." He had no idea if this were true or not. “I’ve had no contact with your world for years,” he said.
They had last seen each other when they were nineteen. Now they were thirty-seven. Sequential centered hexagonal numbers. What had taken place in the gnomon?
“I know,” the wizard said. “That’s why I thought of you.”
“But how did you know? How did you know that I would…” He broke off, uncertain how to say what he would do.
The wizard stood looking at him. The destruction lurking in his black eyes was complete, inevitable, and, he realized at last, welcome.
"Zero times anything is zero," the accountant whispered. "Zero triumphs."
The wizard stared. "Something like that," he agreed, in a voice that was almost gentle.