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tripperfunsterTitle: You have Talent
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tripperfunster
Recipient's LJ name:bitterfig
Rating:PG
Pairing(s):Snape/karkaroff
Word Count:1401
Warnings (if any):Maurader ass-hattedness
Author's notes: Thanks tojoanwilder and schemingreader for the beta help.
“You have talent.”
Those words would come to mean more to me than any other utterance a human could make. By three simple words, I felt empowered. I felt acknowledged. I felt validated. And I felt that I might do just about anything to hear him say them again.
As I lie here in the cold grass, my hair matted with blood, and my soul fouled with my own regret, I struggle to re-capture how it felt on that day, when I noticed his eyes on me from across the classroom. He was handsome, even back then, and I did my best to appear nonchalant. It didn’t occur to me that he would be eyeing me favourably. I suspected, at best, to be teased, and worst … well, I suppose what happened couldn’t have really turned out much worse after all, could it?
I had finished the potion that Professor Slughorn had assigned, and was gathering up my tools for cleaning when I felt him beside me. I had an unspoken rule about personal space (not that anyone ever tried to invade it, aside from getting close enough to strike me, mind) but his was not a threatening presence, so I temporarily let down my guard.
His accent was a surprise, and so was the deep timbre of his voice. I had known that he was an exchange student, although I hadn’t cared enough to find out from where, and I had known that he was a few years older than I, but having him standing next to me (towering over me, really) drove that point home.
His dialect was thick and guttural and it took a moment for me to understand what he had said. By the time my mind realized that not only had he spoken to me, but complimented my work, no less, too much time had passed to appropriately thank him, so instead, I said nothing and continued to gather my things.
If he found me rude, it did not displease him. Perhaps that’s how people conversed in the “Old County.” He gave me a nudge with one elbow, sort of a friendly push, and then he was gone.
Later that week, with my arms pinned behind me and the taste of grass and dirt in the back of my throat, I replayed those words on an indefinite loop. I drowned out my antagonist’s sniggering and the sound of my own pathetic mewling with that throaty pronunciation of those three precious words.
“I am impressed.”
I looked up in surprise. I had been practicing Transfiguration in what I’d thought to be complete privacy, but somehow he’d been observing me. A quick search of this corner of the gardens revealed no one else, and I’d have sworn that he’d Apparated here, had I not known of the wards against it on castle grounds.
You’re Karkaroff, I said, stating the blatantly obvious.
“And you are Severus Snape,” he replied, following suit.
With introductions over, I had nothing else to say, so I went back to changing my quill into a centipede and back again. We would be tested the following afternoon and I was determined to not give the troublemakers in class a reason to take the piss out of me.
Karkaroff regarded me for a moment more, then turned to go, but not before catching my eye and giving me a quick wink.
“I’m watching you,” he said, gesturing to his own eyes, and then to me.
“My condolences,” was all I could think to say. He walked away up the hill, and I shamelessly admired the broadness of his shoulders, contrasted by his narrow hips and long, muscular legs.
I’m watching YOU, I thought, lewdly, and was immediately ashamed of those impure thoughts. My tormentors could save their breath this week, for I was already calling myself those awful names, the ones my father had used years before I had ever come to Hogwarts.
I wouldn’t see him again, until the next week, when I was running down to the dungeons, the taste of copper clogging my throat, and my teeth rattling in my pocket. I didn’t see him, for my vision was blurred with tears and snot and blood, so it was that I almost ran right into him.
I’m sure I looked a sight, all bloodied, and crying like a little girl, but he grasped my shoulders firmly and looked into my puffy red eyes.
“Get a hold of yourself. You’re better than this.”
“But my teef!” I sobbed, “Bwack knocked out my teef!” I pulled said teeth from my pocket and held them in one shaking palm.
He grabbed me more tightly, and pressed his nose to mine.
“You’re better than this!” he repeated. “If you learned to control yourself, you could be a great wizard.”
“B-but … how?” I whinged, desperately trying to hold back more tears.
He sized me up, and I puffed my chest under his scrutiny. Oh, how I desperately wanted his help. I wanted control. I wanted power. But most of all, I wanted not to be afraid anymore.
“Come with me,” he said, in that robust burr. “I show you.”
He took my hand and led me down the corridor to his room, where he tenderly took my teeth, and one by one, spelled them back into my mouth. When he held up a mirror for my inspection, I declined with a quick shake of my head.
I was more than aware of my physical shortcomings, and I had no desire to be reminded of them-- especially not in the presence of someone so charismatic.
He held the mirror tightly despite my refusal, and he pushed on the back of my head, forcing me to confront my reluctant image.
“Look!” he growled, “Look and see the face of a powerful wizard. A man who possesses great skill. A man that your friends will respect and your enemies shall fear.”
I looked, despite my reservations, and within the scared boy with the sallow face that stared back at me, I could see, along the periphery, all of those things that he had promised. I broke into a shy smile, my new teeth exposed. They were more crooked, and had become yellowed since being removed from my head and replaced, but the smile itself was brighter, and more confident than I had ever seen it before.
Karkaroff removed the mirror and gave me a smile of his own.
“You can’t see,” he informed me, “but you are beautiful.”
I ducked my face behind my hair and blushed.
“No. I am ugly.” It had been driven home to me by so many people on so many different occasions, that it didn’t even hurt to say it. It just was.
Karkaroff smoothed a rough hand over my cheek, and then cupped my chin, forcing my face up to his.
“Beauty,” he said thickly, “is the sister of talent.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could form my argument, his lips covered my own and I surrendered. After a thorough exploration of my still-tender mouth, he pulled back to meet my eye, and grinned.
“You have talent.”
It wasn’t the three words that I’d been hoping to hear, my whole life, but it was close enough. Three months later I took the mark.
Six years after that, I ran back to Dumbledore.
Only now, a full twenty-three years later, as I lie dying here, in the grass, the cooling corpses of friends and enemies alike, strewn about me, I can finally look back at that scared, lonely boy with the greasy hair and crooked teeth, and tell him what he so desperately needed to hear.
I love you.
Author:
tripperfunsterRecipient's LJ name:
bitterfig Rating:PG
Pairing(s):Snape/karkaroff
Word Count:1401
Warnings (if any):Maurader ass-hattedness
Author's notes: Thanks to
joanwilder and schemingreader for the beta help.“You have talent.”
Those words would come to mean more to me than any other utterance a human could make. By three simple words, I felt empowered. I felt acknowledged. I felt validated. And I felt that I might do just about anything to hear him say them again.
As I lie here in the cold grass, my hair matted with blood, and my soul fouled with my own regret, I struggle to re-capture how it felt on that day, when I noticed his eyes on me from across the classroom. He was handsome, even back then, and I did my best to appear nonchalant. It didn’t occur to me that he would be eyeing me favourably. I suspected, at best, to be teased, and worst … well, I suppose what happened couldn’t have really turned out much worse after all, could it?
I had finished the potion that Professor Slughorn had assigned, and was gathering up my tools for cleaning when I felt him beside me. I had an unspoken rule about personal space (not that anyone ever tried to invade it, aside from getting close enough to strike me, mind) but his was not a threatening presence, so I temporarily let down my guard.
His accent was a surprise, and so was the deep timbre of his voice. I had known that he was an exchange student, although I hadn’t cared enough to find out from where, and I had known that he was a few years older than I, but having him standing next to me (towering over me, really) drove that point home.
His dialect was thick and guttural and it took a moment for me to understand what he had said. By the time my mind realized that not only had he spoken to me, but complimented my work, no less, too much time had passed to appropriately thank him, so instead, I said nothing and continued to gather my things.
If he found me rude, it did not displease him. Perhaps that’s how people conversed in the “Old County.” He gave me a nudge with one elbow, sort of a friendly push, and then he was gone.
Later that week, with my arms pinned behind me and the taste of grass and dirt in the back of my throat, I replayed those words on an indefinite loop. I drowned out my antagonist’s sniggering and the sound of my own pathetic mewling with that throaty pronunciation of those three precious words.
“I am impressed.”
I looked up in surprise. I had been practicing Transfiguration in what I’d thought to be complete privacy, but somehow he’d been observing me. A quick search of this corner of the gardens revealed no one else, and I’d have sworn that he’d Apparated here, had I not known of the wards against it on castle grounds.
You’re Karkaroff, I said, stating the blatantly obvious.
“And you are Severus Snape,” he replied, following suit.
With introductions over, I had nothing else to say, so I went back to changing my quill into a centipede and back again. We would be tested the following afternoon and I was determined to not give the troublemakers in class a reason to take the piss out of me.
Karkaroff regarded me for a moment more, then turned to go, but not before catching my eye and giving me a quick wink.
“I’m watching you,” he said, gesturing to his own eyes, and then to me.
“My condolences,” was all I could think to say. He walked away up the hill, and I shamelessly admired the broadness of his shoulders, contrasted by his narrow hips and long, muscular legs.
I’m watching YOU, I thought, lewdly, and was immediately ashamed of those impure thoughts. My tormentors could save their breath this week, for I was already calling myself those awful names, the ones my father had used years before I had ever come to Hogwarts.
I wouldn’t see him again, until the next week, when I was running down to the dungeons, the taste of copper clogging my throat, and my teeth rattling in my pocket. I didn’t see him, for my vision was blurred with tears and snot and blood, so it was that I almost ran right into him.
I’m sure I looked a sight, all bloodied, and crying like a little girl, but he grasped my shoulders firmly and looked into my puffy red eyes.
“Get a hold of yourself. You’re better than this.”
“But my teef!” I sobbed, “Bwack knocked out my teef!” I pulled said teeth from my pocket and held them in one shaking palm.
He grabbed me more tightly, and pressed his nose to mine.
“You’re better than this!” he repeated. “If you learned to control yourself, you could be a great wizard.”
“B-but … how?” I whinged, desperately trying to hold back more tears.
He sized me up, and I puffed my chest under his scrutiny. Oh, how I desperately wanted his help. I wanted control. I wanted power. But most of all, I wanted not to be afraid anymore.
“Come with me,” he said, in that robust burr. “I show you.”
He took my hand and led me down the corridor to his room, where he tenderly took my teeth, and one by one, spelled them back into my mouth. When he held up a mirror for my inspection, I declined with a quick shake of my head.
I was more than aware of my physical shortcomings, and I had no desire to be reminded of them-- especially not in the presence of someone so charismatic.
He held the mirror tightly despite my refusal, and he pushed on the back of my head, forcing me to confront my reluctant image.
“Look!” he growled, “Look and see the face of a powerful wizard. A man who possesses great skill. A man that your friends will respect and your enemies shall fear.”
I looked, despite my reservations, and within the scared boy with the sallow face that stared back at me, I could see, along the periphery, all of those things that he had promised. I broke into a shy smile, my new teeth exposed. They were more crooked, and had become yellowed since being removed from my head and replaced, but the smile itself was brighter, and more confident than I had ever seen it before.
Karkaroff removed the mirror and gave me a smile of his own.
“You can’t see,” he informed me, “but you are beautiful.”
I ducked my face behind my hair and blushed.
“No. I am ugly.” It had been driven home to me by so many people on so many different occasions, that it didn’t even hurt to say it. It just was.
Karkaroff smoothed a rough hand over my cheek, and then cupped my chin, forcing my face up to his.
“Beauty,” he said thickly, “is the sister of talent.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could form my argument, his lips covered my own and I surrendered. After a thorough exploration of my still-tender mouth, he pulled back to meet my eye, and grinned.
“You have talent.”
It wasn’t the three words that I’d been hoping to hear, my whole life, but it was close enough. Three months later I took the mark.
Six years after that, I ran back to Dumbledore.
Only now, a full twenty-three years later, as I lie dying here, in the grass, the cooling corpses of friends and enemies alike, strewn about me, I can finally look back at that scared, lonely boy with the greasy hair and crooked teeth, and tell him what he so desperately needed to hear.
I love you.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-03-16 10:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-26 02:15 am (UTC)Thanks so much! I"m so glad you liked it. I don't really fancy myself much of a writer, but this one, once I'd decided on how to write it, came out fairly quickly. Usually, it's more like pulling teeth. :D
Again, forgive my duh-ness of not thanking you in a more timely fashion. *heddesk*
no subject
Date: 2007-03-25 10:53 pm (UTC)“Beauty,” he said thickly, “is the sister of talent.”
Ooh, that gave me shivers. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-03-26 02:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 04:08 pm (UTC)this was so lovely! i love your vulnerable young snape who has only a glimpse of his potential!
no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 04:59 pm (UTC)I don't write very much (I'm more of an artist) but if you're interested, the rest of my fic can be found here:
http://archive.skyehawke.com/authors.php?no=1578
no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 05:11 pm (UTC)thanks for the link! *off to read*