|snarrymod (snarrymod) wrote in snarry_games,|
@ 2007-06-02 14:31:00
Original poster: snarrymod
Our fourth drabbler brings to us a double drabble with a double dose of angst.
Author: marasme (marasme)
Rating: PG, I suppose.
Word Count: 100 x 2 (Double Drabble)
A/N: ♥ to the sisterhood and Crystal my darl beta.
Disclaimer: I don't own them; I'm only using them for recreational purposes. Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling, no copyright infringement is intended.
On Saturdays at half-past six Harry goes into Muggle London.
At seven he sinks into his bench. The bench is oak painted a stark black, and riddled with scratches -- he feels them beneath his fingertips, carvings scored into the wood, like a fiery brand pressed against his flesh. Now Harry makes another, his hands precise, tch-tch-tch, surer of this than of anything he has done in the past 6 days. He doesn't stop, his hands unceasing in their movement. S – N – A – P – E, he writes, S – N – A – P – E.
By eight he is finished with his weekly obsession. He counts his paces, and on the fifth one he vanishes mid-step. He crashes into his bedroom, the crack of apparition drowned out by the toneless, white ringing that seems to fill his head and all the spaces in between. Harry hasn't experienced clarity of mind since January 19th, 1997. When he comes back from work he is quite drunk to the point of falling down the stairs.
But Harry knows nothing, can't think, does not care, and above all: remembers nothing.
He climbs into bed and dreams of long-fingered caresses and the splatter of blood on his cheek.