What Also Happened About Three or Four Hours Ago
Title: What Also Happened About Three or Four Hours Ago
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Blaise for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: on the rooftop
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 933
Summary: What Blaise also remembers.
Author's Notes: Follows An Interlude into Memory, or: What Happened About Three or Four Hours Ago. Yeah, I'm churning these out pretty fast.
Link to Prompt Table: Accio!
First | Previous | Next
What Also Happened About Three or Four Hours Ago
“You’re mistaken if you think there’s enough of that subject to talk about,” he hisses, but she’s already yanking him along the corridor, pretending like she can’t hear him.
SHE-WEASLEY is a psychopath. Plain and simple. He doesn’t know how he hadn’t realized it before.
So why the hell is he letting her drag him someplace like a stupid, misbehaving pet?
And furthermore, where are they going?
“I’ll humor you, Weasley,” he snarls. “Where are we going?”
“Upstairs,” she says pleasantly.
“Upstairs?” he echoes. Her helpfulness is astounding.
Where is Gringotts? Oh, you know, in the middle of the world somewhere. How about the Eiffel Tower? Yeah, that’s pretty much in Europe. Pretty much. Let me think on that one for a bit, though.
And apparently, she won’t do this whole Talking thing until they get there. Upstairs.
“I can walk on my own,” he tells her eventually with a measure of venom.
She glances back at him. “I suppose so,” she relents, and releases him. As soon as she does, before he can even begin to turn around and Run The Hell Away, she’s got her wand pointing at him. “In front,” she says.
“I don’t know where we’re going.” Scowls, scowls, and more scowls. Doesn’t she understand yet?
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you where to go.”
It’s like, trust me. I will lead you to your death.
Because you should never trust a Gryffindor, no matter how pretty she is. Ever.
They walk in silence, not doing much of anything except staring straight ahead and walking and that gets really, really boring after a while.
Even SHE-WEASLEY seems bored.
“Turn left here,” she says in a monotone. And then, “Turn right.” Or, “Keep going.” And, “Yeah. Take the stairs.”
And so on, until they are who-knows-where inside the castle. All Blaise knows is that they keep climbing, up and up and up, and there never seems to be any end to the directions.
She could at least give him a little information, even if it’s about the past and not the future.
“Why were you dragging me?” he asks at some point.
“When?”
He rolls his eyes. “After the library.”
The Library. Capitalized, really. Like it’s an Incident worth writing down in history books, or at least on some kind of timeline.
Maybe it’s a turning point.
But of what?
SHE-WEASLEY shrugs. “I had to get you out of there somehow,” she says. “I didn’t want Madam Pince finding you and giving me detention. Wasn’t really worth it.”
Blaise glances around them, noticing that the walls are narrowing in, and the ceiling seems to be lower. How much higher can they go?
“Not much farther,” she says, as if reading his mind.
(He worries for a half-second that she actually can, but then shakes his head. That’s stupid, and Blaise Zabini is not stupid, nor does he entertain stupid thoughts. Usually.)
She isn’t lying, though. Just a few more turned corners and steps farther, and they are at the end of the corridor-like-thing. There is a large window directly in front of them that looks out over some part of Hogwarts that he thinks maybe he’s never seen before-at least, not from this high up.
SHE-WEASLEY steps out from behind him, apparently unconcerned by the fact that he could easily turn back sprinting in the opposite direction. Because he very easily could. He could turn around, and he could sprint; but he wouldn’t have any idea at all where he was going. She’s got him good and lost.
Very crafty, SHE-WEASLEY, he thinks, almost with approval. Very crafty.
She glances out the window for a moment, and then bends to fiddle with something at its side. Despite himself, Blaise peers in to see what she’s doing.
She’s actually just unhooking the latch, is all.
Shit.
With a small creak, she pushes on the glass and sends it swinging outward. The window is definitely large enough for a person to fit through, especially a Blaise Zabini.
Is she going to try and push him out to his death? She can try, certainly, but if it comes to that, he’ll stop humoring her very, very fast.
“Out,” she says to him.
He stands there with his arms crossed.
She groans in annoyance. “Come on, Zabini. There’s a ledge and a rail. You’re not going to fall.”
“I’m not worried about falling,” he states blandly.
Now she’s the one rolling her eyes. “And I’m not going to push you. Merlin, you Slytherins are insecure.”
“That’s where we’re going.”
“Right.” She looks out the window again, checking something. “Well, no. Not exactly. We’ve a bit farther to go. Up.”
The only thing more up than this is the rooftop...
She beams at him. “We’re going onto the roof. Nobody’ll overhear us there.”
There are spells for that, aren’t there? Trust a Weasley not to think of the most obvious solution.
“I need you to go first, though. You can just stand out there if you want. I’ll take you up.”
Riiiiight.
“No.”
She sighs. “Well, I suppose we could talk right here. But this little room? Happens to share a wall with the Gryffindor common room. And if I want, everything I say-and you say-can easily be heard by everyone inside.” She cups her hands between her mouth and the wall. “CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?” she shouts.
Blaise winces and listens for a moment, and then he hears a very muffled but distinct, “OI! Who’s there?”
“You see?” she says.
He groans.
First | Previous | Next
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Blaise for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: on the rooftop
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 933
Summary: What Blaise also remembers.
Author's Notes: Follows An Interlude into Memory, or: What Happened About Three or Four Hours Ago. Yeah, I'm churning these out pretty fast.
Link to Prompt Table: Accio!
First | Previous | Next
What Also Happened About Three or Four Hours Ago
“You’re mistaken if you think there’s enough of that subject to talk about,” he hisses, but she’s already yanking him along the corridor, pretending like she can’t hear him.
SHE-WEASLEY is a psychopath. Plain and simple. He doesn’t know how he hadn’t realized it before.
So why the hell is he letting her drag him someplace like a stupid, misbehaving pet?
And furthermore, where are they going?
“I’ll humor you, Weasley,” he snarls. “Where are we going?”
“Upstairs,” she says pleasantly.
“Upstairs?” he echoes. Her helpfulness is astounding.
Where is Gringotts? Oh, you know, in the middle of the world somewhere. How about the Eiffel Tower? Yeah, that’s pretty much in Europe. Pretty much. Let me think on that one for a bit, though.
And apparently, she won’t do this whole Talking thing until they get there. Upstairs.
“I can walk on my own,” he tells her eventually with a measure of venom.
She glances back at him. “I suppose so,” she relents, and releases him. As soon as she does, before he can even begin to turn around and Run The Hell Away, she’s got her wand pointing at him. “In front,” she says.
“I don’t know where we’re going.” Scowls, scowls, and more scowls. Doesn’t she understand yet?
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you where to go.”
It’s like, trust me. I will lead you to your death.
Because you should never trust a Gryffindor, no matter how pretty she is. Ever.
They walk in silence, not doing much of anything except staring straight ahead and walking and that gets really, really boring after a while.
Even SHE-WEASLEY seems bored.
“Turn left here,” she says in a monotone. And then, “Turn right.” Or, “Keep going.” And, “Yeah. Take the stairs.”
And so on, until they are who-knows-where inside the castle. All Blaise knows is that they keep climbing, up and up and up, and there never seems to be any end to the directions.
She could at least give him a little information, even if it’s about the past and not the future.
“Why were you dragging me?” he asks at some point.
“When?”
He rolls his eyes. “After the library.”
The Library. Capitalized, really. Like it’s an Incident worth writing down in history books, or at least on some kind of timeline.
Maybe it’s a turning point.
But of what?
SHE-WEASLEY shrugs. “I had to get you out of there somehow,” she says. “I didn’t want Madam Pince finding you and giving me detention. Wasn’t really worth it.”
Blaise glances around them, noticing that the walls are narrowing in, and the ceiling seems to be lower. How much higher can they go?
“Not much farther,” she says, as if reading his mind.
(He worries for a half-second that she actually can, but then shakes his head. That’s stupid, and Blaise Zabini is not stupid, nor does he entertain stupid thoughts. Usually.)
She isn’t lying, though. Just a few more turned corners and steps farther, and they are at the end of the corridor-like-thing. There is a large window directly in front of them that looks out over some part of Hogwarts that he thinks maybe he’s never seen before-at least, not from this high up.
SHE-WEASLEY steps out from behind him, apparently unconcerned by the fact that he could easily turn back sprinting in the opposite direction. Because he very easily could. He could turn around, and he could sprint; but he wouldn’t have any idea at all where he was going. She’s got him good and lost.
Very crafty, SHE-WEASLEY, he thinks, almost with approval. Very crafty.
She glances out the window for a moment, and then bends to fiddle with something at its side. Despite himself, Blaise peers in to see what she’s doing.
She’s actually just unhooking the latch, is all.
Shit.
With a small creak, she pushes on the glass and sends it swinging outward. The window is definitely large enough for a person to fit through, especially a Blaise Zabini.
Is she going to try and push him out to his death? She can try, certainly, but if it comes to that, he’ll stop humoring her very, very fast.
“Out,” she says to him.
He stands there with his arms crossed.
She groans in annoyance. “Come on, Zabini. There’s a ledge and a rail. You’re not going to fall.”
“I’m not worried about falling,” he states blandly.
Now she’s the one rolling her eyes. “And I’m not going to push you. Merlin, you Slytherins are insecure.”
“That’s where we’re going.”
“Right.” She looks out the window again, checking something. “Well, no. Not exactly. We’ve a bit farther to go. Up.”
The only thing more up than this is the rooftop...
She beams at him. “We’re going onto the roof. Nobody’ll overhear us there.”
There are spells for that, aren’t there? Trust a Weasley not to think of the most obvious solution.
“I need you to go first, though. You can just stand out there if you want. I’ll take you up.”
Riiiiight.
“No.”
She sighs. “Well, I suppose we could talk right here. But this little room? Happens to share a wall with the Gryffindor common room. And if I want, everything I say-and you say-can easily be heard by everyone inside.” She cups her hands between her mouth and the wall. “CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?” she shouts.
Blaise winces and listens for a moment, and then he hears a very muffled but distinct, “OI! Who’s there?”
“You see?” she says.
He groans.
First | Previous | Next