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For 
7spells.
title: april showers
rating: PG
prompt: the cruelest month
words: 549
summary: To the beat of her heart and the first rain that ever fell in April, Blaise falls in love for the first time.
warnings: Incestuous themes.
notes: He's young. 10, I would assume, myself. What can I say? He's old for his age, that Blaise. :)
“It’s strange, don’t you think?”
“What is?”
She stretches, not unlike a pussycat with a bow tied at her neck: all fluffy head of orange-red and thin pink ribbons round wound her thin, giraffe-like neck. She is animalistic; a menagerie of hues, creatures, sounds.
“The month of April. You know-how does that one rhyme go? ‘April showers bring May flowers’. But where you live, it hardly rains, and flowers grow all-year round.” She stops to scratch her head and a ladybug rushes down her forearm. He wants to brush it off with his finger and let it crawl over his own hand.
“That’s because-” Well, what can he say? Because I’m a wizard? And mum’s a witch? Because our gardener feeds the plants with Skele-Gro when he shouldn’t? And by the way, Skele-Gro makes your bones grow?
“Oh, you don’t have to say it, Blaise.” She leans way, way forward-more pussycatting-and rests her fragile chin on his knees. His hands immediately go to plait her hair, which she taught him how to do yesterday. He separates three strands, and she purrs: a vibration he can feel subtly through her scalp.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he says, braiding away with shaky fingers. “You interrupted me. That’s quite rude, Priscilla.”
She smiles, and he knots the finished plait with one of her ribbons. His mother-their mother, is the correct vernacular, but he doesn’t dare utter it-screams for Blaise and Priscilla two floors above them.
She begins to hum-All You Need is Love. It’s to the beat of her heart, which she told him once is what her tempo always is. The beat of her heart, his half-sister’s heartbeat, and a lover’s quarrel: all of which Blaise hears only in his secret dreams.
They go back into the house when the sun starts to set, he helping her up underneath the low branches of the lemon tree. And as they meet under a trio of hanging lemons she kisses him, holding his head in her bony fingers, right there in the red glow of the sky. She’s wearing a thin cotton summer-dress, even though it’s spring, and he presses a frenzied hand against her chest and feels it: b-bmp, b-bmp, b-bmp bmp bmp. It gets faster every time he clutches at it, every time he licks her bottom lip.
His (not their) mother is still screaming for them, her head stuck out of the open window.
That night, for the first time in ten years at the Zabini estate, it rains in April: a steady, slow downpour that pongs against Blaise's window. He is in bed and immediately wakes at the tap-tap-tapping, which he hopes is Priscilla’s knock against his door, or her footsteps outside in the hallway, or her fingernail against his teeth.
But it isn’t, of course.
He learns, from the disconnected shouting and sobbing and general pandemonium upstairs, that Priscilla and her father are dead-under the most mysterious, befuddling circumstances. Ah. So far, it’s the third one for his mother, but he knows she’ll find another one the way she had exactly twice before.
He just hopes this one doesn’t come with a daughter.
He goes back to sleep, lulled by the tempo of the rain and his own disturbing heartbeat, which he wishes was more like hers (only now she is dead). April showers. Very strange, indeed.
7spells.
title: april showers
rating: PG
prompt: the cruelest month
words: 549
summary: To the beat of her heart and the first rain that ever fell in April, Blaise falls in love for the first time.
warnings: Incestuous themes.
notes: He's young. 10, I would assume, myself. What can I say? He's old for his age, that Blaise. :)
“It’s strange, don’t you think?”
“What is?”
She stretches, not unlike a pussycat with a bow tied at her neck: all fluffy head of orange-red and thin pink ribbons round wound her thin, giraffe-like neck. She is animalistic; a menagerie of hues, creatures, sounds.
“The month of April. You know-how does that one rhyme go? ‘April showers bring May flowers’. But where you live, it hardly rains, and flowers grow all-year round.” She stops to scratch her head and a ladybug rushes down her forearm. He wants to brush it off with his finger and let it crawl over his own hand.
“That’s because-” Well, what can he say? Because I’m a wizard? And mum’s a witch? Because our gardener feeds the plants with Skele-Gro when he shouldn’t? And by the way, Skele-Gro makes your bones grow?
“Oh, you don’t have to say it, Blaise.” She leans way, way forward-more pussycatting-and rests her fragile chin on his knees. His hands immediately go to plait her hair, which she taught him how to do yesterday. He separates three strands, and she purrs: a vibration he can feel subtly through her scalp.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he says, braiding away with shaky fingers. “You interrupted me. That’s quite rude, Priscilla.”
She smiles, and he knots the finished plait with one of her ribbons. His mother-their mother, is the correct vernacular, but he doesn’t dare utter it-screams for Blaise and Priscilla two floors above them.
She begins to hum-All You Need is Love. It’s to the beat of her heart, which she told him once is what her tempo always is. The beat of her heart, his half-sister’s heartbeat, and a lover’s quarrel: all of which Blaise hears only in his secret dreams.
They go back into the house when the sun starts to set, he helping her up underneath the low branches of the lemon tree. And as they meet under a trio of hanging lemons she kisses him, holding his head in her bony fingers, right there in the red glow of the sky. She’s wearing a thin cotton summer-dress, even though it’s spring, and he presses a frenzied hand against her chest and feels it: b-bmp, b-bmp, b-bmp bmp bmp. It gets faster every time he clutches at it, every time he licks her bottom lip.
His (not their) mother is still screaming for them, her head stuck out of the open window.
That night, for the first time in ten years at the Zabini estate, it rains in April: a steady, slow downpour that pongs against Blaise's window. He is in bed and immediately wakes at the tap-tap-tapping, which he hopes is Priscilla’s knock against his door, or her footsteps outside in the hallway, or her fingernail against his teeth.
But it isn’t, of course.
He learns, from the disconnected shouting and sobbing and general pandemonium upstairs, that Priscilla and her father are dead-under the most mysterious, befuddling circumstances. Ah. So far, it’s the third one for his mother, but he knows she’ll find another one the way she had exactly twice before.
He just hopes this one doesn’t come with a daughter.
He goes back to sleep, lulled by the tempo of the rain and his own disturbing heartbeat, which he wishes was more like hers (only now she is dead). April showers. Very strange, indeed.