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Rendezvous
Character: SS/OFC
Rating: PG
Warnings: Melodrama
Het, Slash or Gen: Het
Description: Unresolved longings of a woman for Severus Snape. Edna St. Vincent Millay's "Rendezvous" rewritten for the HP world.
Not for these roaring fireplaces that adorn your chambers did I come. Indeed,
I could have loved you better in the dark;
That is to say, in rooms less bright with cauldrons, rooms more casual, less aware
Of History in the wings about to enter with benevolent air
On ponderous tiptoe, at the cut "Proceed."
Not that I like the rooms over-crowded and the place in a mess,
Or the empty cell too unctuously austere and stark,
But partly that these formal tapestries of Slytherin colors are a bit too glowering,
And partly that to make the poor walls rich with our unaided loveliness
Would have been more lovely.
Yet here I am, having told you of my quarrel with the house-elves over a floor-scrubbing spell, and you sneer; and you are you, none other.
Your voice pelts my skin with small delicious blows.
But I am perverse; I wish you had not scrubbed--with pumice, I suppose--
The potion stains from your beautiful fingers.
---
Rendezvous by Edna St Vincent Millay:
Not for these lovely blooms that prank your chambers did I come. Indeed,
I could have loved you better in the dark;
That is to say, in rooms less bright with roses, rooms more casual, less aware
Of History in the wings about to enter with benevolent air
On ponderous tiptoe, at the cue "Proceed."
Not that I like the ash-trays over-crowded and the place in a mess,
Or the monastic cubicle too unctuously austere and stark,
But partly that these formal garlands for our Eight Street Aphrodite are a bit too Greek,
And partly that to make the poor walls rich with our unaided loveliness
Would have been more chic.
Yet here I am, having told you of my quarrel with the taxi-driver over a line of Milton, and you laugh; and you are you, none other.
Your laughter pelts my skin with small delicious blows.
But I am perverse; I wish you had not scrubbed--with pumice, I suppose--
The tobacco stains from your beautiful fingers. And I wish I did not feel like your mother.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Melodrama
Het, Slash or Gen: Het
Description: Unresolved longings of a woman for Severus Snape. Edna St. Vincent Millay's "Rendezvous" rewritten for the HP world.
Not for these roaring fireplaces that adorn your chambers did I come. Indeed,
I could have loved you better in the dark;
That is to say, in rooms less bright with cauldrons, rooms more casual, less aware
Of History in the wings about to enter with benevolent air
On ponderous tiptoe, at the cut "Proceed."
Not that I like the rooms over-crowded and the place in a mess,
Or the empty cell too unctuously austere and stark,
But partly that these formal tapestries of Slytherin colors are a bit too glowering,
And partly that to make the poor walls rich with our unaided loveliness
Would have been more lovely.
Yet here I am, having told you of my quarrel with the house-elves over a floor-scrubbing spell, and you sneer; and you are you, none other.
Your voice pelts my skin with small delicious blows.
But I am perverse; I wish you had not scrubbed--with pumice, I suppose--
The potion stains from your beautiful fingers.
---
Rendezvous by Edna St Vincent Millay:
Not for these lovely blooms that prank your chambers did I come. Indeed,
I could have loved you better in the dark;
That is to say, in rooms less bright with roses, rooms more casual, less aware
Of History in the wings about to enter with benevolent air
On ponderous tiptoe, at the cue "Proceed."
Not that I like the ash-trays over-crowded and the place in a mess,
Or the monastic cubicle too unctuously austere and stark,
But partly that these formal garlands for our Eight Street Aphrodite are a bit too Greek,
And partly that to make the poor walls rich with our unaided loveliness
Would have been more chic.
Yet here I am, having told you of my quarrel with the taxi-driver over a line of Milton, and you laugh; and you are you, none other.
Your laughter pelts my skin with small delicious blows.
But I am perverse; I wish you had not scrubbed--with pumice, I suppose--
The tobacco stains from your beautiful fingers. And I wish I did not feel like your mother.
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