A Gift for amorette: This Changes Nothing (Blaise/Ginny, R)
Author: demented_mei
Recipient: amorette
Title: This Changes Nothing
Pairing: Blaise/Ginny
Rating: R
Word Count: 772 words
Summary: Blaise is distracted
There’s something painful about her light. A daily defiance, knife-edged and clashing against the iron fists of the Carrows as they mete out their punishments. It hurts him to watch when the curses begin to fly, seeing her lithe body convulse against the stones for one flippant remark or another. She is stubborn and bold--her house incarnate--when she disagrees. Even in the face of torture, she will not shut her mouth.
He knows she’s one of them. They’re little more than a small cabal, of course--miscreants creatingmischief to pester and annoy in the dark halls after curfew. The castle almost seems to help them, creating shadows where there were none when a patrol is started. It annoys him, this illicit cooperation between the roof over his head and the group that vexes his house so thoroughly each day, and he hates her for it.
The hatred is not enough, though. It can’t erase the way his eyes track the play of light against her flaming hair, drawn like a moth to the shadows and shine produced by candles and sunlight alike. Hatred can't stem the rough tugging in his abdomen in those moments when her bright blue eyes light on his own, insolence and daring flashing at him above that hint--always no more than a hint--of something that may have been attraction in a different time and place. That hint haunted his dreams each night, dancing across his mind with mocking glee. A constant reminder that there were some things he might never have.
It is the reminder that makes him act, snatching her from a flight down a deserted corridor into a broom cupboard he could have sworn didn't exist before the very moment he'd needed it. She protests, of course, seeming to forget for a moment that she is, in fact, a witch and capable of hexing him straight through the stone walls. Instead she fights like a Muggle, fists and knees lashing out though she does not bother to try to scream. He latches on to those choices like a leech, pressing her hard against the door that now keeps them in the cupboard and covering her mouth with his own. Her protests die down quickly, a muffled echo of footsteps passing them by outside the door. Strange, he thinks vaguely, any decent patrol would have immediately checked the door.
Her eyes are open when he pulls back, fury and something else shining through the darkness of the cupboard as he stares down at her. She wastes little time, only giving the barest hesitation before she flings an arm around the back of his neck and attaches their mouths once more. It’s hard and fast between them after that. The heavy door creaks, and the small room fills with their breathless attempts to keep quiet. He feels her fury in the nails on his back beneath his robes, knows her defiance by the scrape of teeth on his throat. They are both of them desperate in different ways, clinging to an impossibility from both sides of a vicious battle they know won’t stop anytime soon. His end rushes on him suddenly from the feel of her finding her own and he clamps his teeth over her shoulder, throwing one fist into the door so hard he can feel the rough wood tear at the skin of his knuckles.
He’s on his back on the floor of the cupboard before he can fully comprehend what’s happened. She stands above him with her wand in hand, straightening her clothing with one hand while her eyes stay trained on him. Her face is carved from stone, deceptively blank despite the flush still coloring her cheeks and the sweat still cooling on her brow.
“This changes nothing, Zabini,” she tells him, her voice more steady than he’s been for days. It’s only chance that he catches it: a brief flash of amusement in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since before the war began in earnest. “Still,” she quips, her lips quirking up into a smile, “I may have to let you catch me more often.”
She’s gone in the next instant, the door closing behind a flash of red hair. He shakes his head, putting himself to rights. It’s no more than a second after he’s fastened his trouser that the stones around him rumble. The walls of the cupboard shake slightly, and before he knows it Blaise finds himself shoved into the hallway. Glancing over his shoulder, he finds the door has vanished--not even a splinter of wood to suggest it was ever there at all.
Recipient: amorette
Title: This Changes Nothing
Pairing: Blaise/Ginny
Rating: R
Word Count: 772 words
Summary: Blaise is distracted
There’s something painful about her light. A daily defiance, knife-edged and clashing against the iron fists of the Carrows as they mete out their punishments. It hurts him to watch when the curses begin to fly, seeing her lithe body convulse against the stones for one flippant remark or another. She is stubborn and bold--her house incarnate--when she disagrees. Even in the face of torture, she will not shut her mouth.
He knows she’s one of them. They’re little more than a small cabal, of course--miscreants creatingmischief to pester and annoy in the dark halls after curfew. The castle almost seems to help them, creating shadows where there were none when a patrol is started. It annoys him, this illicit cooperation between the roof over his head and the group that vexes his house so thoroughly each day, and he hates her for it.
The hatred is not enough, though. It can’t erase the way his eyes track the play of light against her flaming hair, drawn like a moth to the shadows and shine produced by candles and sunlight alike. Hatred can't stem the rough tugging in his abdomen in those moments when her bright blue eyes light on his own, insolence and daring flashing at him above that hint--always no more than a hint--of something that may have been attraction in a different time and place. That hint haunted his dreams each night, dancing across his mind with mocking glee. A constant reminder that there were some things he might never have.
It is the reminder that makes him act, snatching her from a flight down a deserted corridor into a broom cupboard he could have sworn didn't exist before the very moment he'd needed it. She protests, of course, seeming to forget for a moment that she is, in fact, a witch and capable of hexing him straight through the stone walls. Instead she fights like a Muggle, fists and knees lashing out though she does not bother to try to scream. He latches on to those choices like a leech, pressing her hard against the door that now keeps them in the cupboard and covering her mouth with his own. Her protests die down quickly, a muffled echo of footsteps passing them by outside the door. Strange, he thinks vaguely, any decent patrol would have immediately checked the door.
Her eyes are open when he pulls back, fury and something else shining through the darkness of the cupboard as he stares down at her. She wastes little time, only giving the barest hesitation before she flings an arm around the back of his neck and attaches their mouths once more. It’s hard and fast between them after that. The heavy door creaks, and the small room fills with their breathless attempts to keep quiet. He feels her fury in the nails on his back beneath his robes, knows her defiance by the scrape of teeth on his throat. They are both of them desperate in different ways, clinging to an impossibility from both sides of a vicious battle they know won’t stop anytime soon. His end rushes on him suddenly from the feel of her finding her own and he clamps his teeth over her shoulder, throwing one fist into the door so hard he can feel the rough wood tear at the skin of his knuckles.
He’s on his back on the floor of the cupboard before he can fully comprehend what’s happened. She stands above him with her wand in hand, straightening her clothing with one hand while her eyes stay trained on him. Her face is carved from stone, deceptively blank despite the flush still coloring her cheeks and the sweat still cooling on her brow.
“This changes nothing, Zabini,” she tells him, her voice more steady than he’s been for days. It’s only chance that he catches it: a brief flash of amusement in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since before the war began in earnest. “Still,” she quips, her lips quirking up into a smile, “I may have to let you catch me more often.”
She’s gone in the next instant, the door closing behind a flash of red hair. He shakes his head, putting himself to rights. It’s no more than a second after he’s fastened his trouser that the stones around him rumble. The walls of the cupboard shake slightly, and before he knows it Blaise finds himself shoved into the hallway. Glancing over his shoulder, he finds the door has vanished--not even a splinter of wood to suggest it was ever there at all.