Rating:
PG
House:
Astronomy Tower
Ships:
Blaise Zabini/Ginny Weasley
Characters:
Blaise Zabini Ginny Weasley
Genres:
Romance Drama
Era:
The Harry Potter at Hogwarts Years
Spoilers:
Order of the Phoenix Half-Blood Prince
Stats:
Published: 09/10/2009
Updated: 09/10/2009
Words: 1,648
Chapters: 1
Hits: 68

In Her Presence

Aradion

Story Summary:
You go back to the woods, hoping she'll be waiting for you in the depressing shadows, in the fume of the fog. She's not.

In her Presence

Posted:
09/10/2009
Hits:
68


Author's notes: The fic is inspired by the Harry Potter series. Thus, J.K.Rowling still owns the Potterverse. It's a completely random one-shot I came up with the other day; you might consider it fluffy, but I still think it's cute...

A silent breath escapes your lips as you watch her brush her friend's hair. Her hand slides among the soft locks, and you...you begin to wish it were your hair under her hand, your roughness under her own silk.

She sings a song of joy and love deep inside your heart; the heart you thought was cold and black.

She sings her song, and you remain calm. Poised against the fire that threatens to burn your lungs.

The song...Do you know the song? You heard it before. You heard the words you never spoke. But you listen to her sing nevertheless. You listen to the loneliness of the world and the difference of her soul. And suddenly, there is a very fine line between the two of you.

You dare say she senses it. That's why she turns her gaze to you; or so you think she does. She smiles feebly, and the flame inside of you dies. You wish she knew, you wish she cared... You never felt that way before. You never felt that sinful need. You always prided yourself on being untouchable, unlovable, unnerving. Now, you want to feel, you want to touch, you want to taste, you want to love. You want to scream, rush, jump, smell. Kiss.

You want to feel alive.

So you walk over to her. You hear your voice talking to her, but it's as if someone else is saying the words, asking her how she's doing and if she remembers you.

She says she does remember your face, but not your name. It cuts you like a knife. You can't stand it; you can't bear it. You walk away. Maybe it's for the better after all...

But then you stop. She calls after you. You turn hopefully; she runs toward you. She says she remembers your name; she does now. And she says so quite forcefully. You feel the ground shake beneath your numb legs. And when the sun strokes the side of her face, and she pushes her hair out of her eyes, you can see it: she's smiling at you and even admits that you look lonely. So you walk with her, not speaking, just dragging your feet through the trees. It's enough to be in her presence.

You pass among tall trees and short bushes, and when she finally speaks, she asks what you want from her. You say you just want someone to talk to; anyone, anyone interested in your dusty story (though you don't use the exact same words.) She then asks why you don't talk to her. You shrug, because even you don't know why.

You turn away, marching dismally your way back. You hear the rustle of the leaves and turn round; she's beside you now, smiling encouragingly at you. You take a deep breath, and the story unfolds on its own accord.

You find yourself telling her the story of your mother; the story of the woman who has been married seven times, with seven different men, each of them dying mysteriously and leaving her large amounts of money. The woman who brought you up to be cold-hearted and unforgiving, murdering rats and birds, and then rabbits and raccoons, in preparation for the day you would progress to kill humans. She doesn't say a word; she can't.

So you go on telling her how your mother brought you a child on the day of your seventeenth birthday and made you torture it, made you drain every sign of life from his petrified face. Then you tell her you've been assigned to do something terrible, something you can't possible do. She asks what; you can't tell her. You just say that you made a mistake by getting involved with the wrong people, and then another mistake by not being able to fulfill your assignment. She sympathises, and before you know it, you've reached the edge of the woods.

Over the next few days, you pass her in the hallways and see not a speck of familiarity in her eyes. You feel small, weak. You laid bare your heart to her, risked everything for her, and that's the price you have to pay...

You go back to the woods, hoping she'll be waiting for you in the depressing shadows, in the fume of the fog. She's not.

You visit the woods again next day, and the day after that. She doesn't come back both times. You begin to think that maybe you mean nothing to her: your walk, your talk...

Then, one day, you're sitting down, scribbling in a piece of parchment, your fervent hand searching among your disheveled hair, and suddenly, she's there. You hear the noise of her footsteps on the soil and the feel of her hand on yours-

She corrects your grammar, smiling as she watches you scratch out the last sentence. You ask her why she didn't come back. She says she didn't know if you needed her. You tell her it's all right and you stand up, packing your things away. You set off into the woods, listening to the song of the birds. She follows you, and the words flow on their own accord.

This time she talks too. She talks about how hard it is to grow up in a family of nine, where she is the youngest and the only girl, besides her mother. She tells you how her father nearly died two years ago and how she'd had her heart broken by the boy she'd been in love with since she was eleven. She tells you she doesn't want to be left alone, with all her brothers fighting in the war. She tells you she doesn't want to be frightened. You tell her you're here for her. A faint smile crosses her face, but it's still there: her fear and apprehension of you.

The next time you come back to the woods, you're both there, babbling the whole way through the forest. It's euphoric. But then, something in her voice changes, and you're reminded of the task you have to complete. You stumble and hit the cold ground. She's the one to pick you up, advising you to go get some medicine. You nod and ran away, as fast as you can.

Over the next week, you steer clear of the woods. You pass her in the halls, you see her face everywhere. Your stomach is clenched and tight. You avoid her; you can't face her. Not now, not after realising what you have to do, and that if you don't, you'll be killed.

But then, she corners you, asking you what the matter is, why you don't want to talk to her anymore. You refuse to tell her. She pressures you. You fight. She hexes you and stalks off, leaving you alone once more.

You still avoid her, you watch her figure wander under the trees, but you never go close to her. That's the opportunity you've been waiting for. Your heart stops bleeding, your face freezes. You walk over to her, your wand raised...

She turns. The wand hits the floor and lies dead between the two of you. She gives you a gentle hand, asking you whether you feel all right. You don't speak; you can't.

You sit down, besides her, listening to your heart beating. You heart, her heart; it doesn't matter anymore. You had your chance and you lost it. And now you hear her voice racing to your ears, stirring, pulsating through your blood...

She persists, and finally, you fed up, and blurt it all out: how you've been assigned to get close to her, be her friend, and in the end, kill her. Her eyes go wide with shock; she scrambles back and backs slowly away. She turns and runs, and doesn't look back.

------

Now, she is the one avoiding you. You walk past her in the corridors, under the staircase, but she turns abruptly round, and goes the other way. She never visits the woods now. She's never alone. Her heart has hardened as much as yours.

Then, she arrives at the woods. She sees you sitting there. She walks away; you call after her. You run to catch her, leaving your things scattered behind. You tell her how you met her one day, talked to her, then got close to her and liked her so much you could no longer kill her. She doesn't listen to you. You run faster now, your breath heaving. You tell her how you'd rather die than kill her. She ignores you. You begin fighting, screaming and yelling at her. And suddenly, you stop, realising you just yelled out that you love her.

She walks back, her brown eyes soft and vulnerable. She asks you to repeat that truthfully. You tell her again. You tell her how she made you feel alive, she made you feel things that were previously forbidden to you, she made you want to do things you'd never dreamt of; she made you feel human. You tell her that you're even willing to die for her. She smiles, and you know the ice in your eyes has melt. Then she sobers, demanding to know what you're going to do. You say you're going into hiding. She says she's coming with you, in a harsh voice, as if daring you to refuse.

The two of you stand in silence, looking deep into each other's eyes, and then, you begin to walk back to the edge of the woods, your hands entwined, and for the moment, you feel as if all is right in the world.