The Most Important Thing That Happened Three or Four Hours Ago
Title: The Most Important Thing That Happened Three or Four Hours Ago
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Blaise for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: watch your step
Rating: PG
Word Count: 977
Summary: Why Blaise ended up in the Hospital Wing in the first place.
Author's Notes: Follows A Peek into the After.
Link to Prompt Table: Accio!
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The Most Important Thing That Happened Three or Four Hours Ago
It’s actually rather nice up here. He can look out as far as he wants, and there’s no end to what he can see. The world just keeps on stretching, a mixture of blues and greens and somewhere, there’s a patch of gold that glints in the sunlight.
He keeps his expression in check, but the wind sure does feel good against his face.
SHE-WEASLEY sits cross-legged beside him on the slanting rooftop. The wooden shingles are rough and older than anything, but they’re warm. Sturdy.
“You see?” she says again, as if she’s proven some unspoken point. The point probably being: It’s not so bad, as long as you stay put and don’t fall to your brain-bashing-in death.
“Hm,” he grunts. Up here, she acts a lot less insane. Maybe almost normal.
He’s still wary, though; if not of her, then of the conversation he can see brewing on her lips.
“Okay,” she starts a few seconds later. Well, what do you know? “So here’s the thing. You’re incredibly weird.”
Blaise narrows his eyes. This isn’t exactly where he thought this would be going.
“I mean, all of your lot’s weird,” she continues. “You’re Slytherins. I s’pose you can’t help it. Which is why we hate you, blah blah blah.”
This is the strangest I-hate-your-guts speech he’s ever heard.
Oh wait, that’s right.
It’s the only one anyone’s ever said to his face.
What’s her problem?
“What’s your problem, Weasley?” he demands.
She frowns at him angrily. Violently. Can you even frown violently? “Shut up, Zabini,” she snaps. “I’m not done. Just because I’ve been nice to you so far doesn’t mean that I’ve got to keep it up.”
Right. Because she’s been a docile little lamb frolicking in a field of three-part-harmonizing daffodils so far.
“Don’t think you’re the only one,” he threatens.
She ignores him. “Hermione says-”
Good God. Granger. Buck-toothed beavers always give the best advice, doesn’t everyone know that?
“Hermione says I ought to think about my problems before I start hexing them away. You may have noticed I get carried away.” SHE-WEASLEY pokes her shoelace at a shingle. “Anyway, I’ve decided to try it. I’m going to be rational. Because frankly, Zabini, you are my problem, and yeah, normally I’d be pushing you off the roof.”
“I don’t even associate with you.”
She snaps her head up to look at him sharply, and her next three words are three stabbity-stabbity-stabs. “Yeah, you do,” she says. “You’ve been acting weird around me lately.”
“Whatever you have is catching.” A simple explanation: Weird-itis. Weasleys have it in spades.
She throws up her hands, and then stands, shaky on the incline. “Bloody hell! No! You never paid me any mind before, and now all of a sudden, you’re everywhere! Do you have any idea how weird that is, Zabini? Something’s wrong with you, and clearly, it’s got something to do with me.”
“Yes,” he says. “I hate you.”
SHE-WEASLEY glares, apparently sick of everything he has to say. But how else is he supposed to respond? With the truth?
Ha.
Ha ha ha.
HA. HA. HA.
“Don’t be stupid,” she says. Like she’s chastising a child for getting its hand stuck in a cookie jar, rather than for sticking it in there in the first place. (She’d probably make a terrible mother.) “That’s the thing.”
There seem to be a lot of things. Isn’t it the point of The Thing for there to only be one of them?
“See, Hermione says it’s not just that you’re around me all the time now.” She’s started pacing in front of him, precariously close to the edge of the roof, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her balance is probably good enough to keep her from doing anything idiotic. “She says you’ve been watching me. Looking at me, I mean. Which is rather creepy when you say it like that, but she said it differently, so I think I...”
SO YOU THINK WHAT? his heart pounds as his stomach turns circles.
This thing that’s happening to him? The Thing? It’s really starting to unnerve him.
“I mean, you’re a git, really, but at least you’re not dumb enough to get caught up in that really shifty rubbish.”
“‘Shifty rubbish’? That’s your conclusion?”
Her eyes flash.
Warning: Volatile substance. Do not shake.
(Which means, shake as hard as you want in order to be entertained.)
She’s been turned askance for a while, talking to him but not exactly at him, and now she turns, quickly, her feet taking an unfathomable combination of steps so that she is right there again, ready to release her wrath upon him. Hell hath no fury like Ginny Weasley.
“I think,” she says, taking another step toward him. There’s a smirk in position now, ready for takeoff. “I think you-”
But she steps in very much the wrong place.
A rotted shingle, probably the only one on this part of the roof, slips out from beneath her feet, causing her to lose her balance. So much for that apparent sturdiness. She arches backward, her arms flailing about like a windmill as she tries to right herself.
Blaise gawps at her. He imagines her toppling backward, knocked over like a leaf and spattering into a million pieces of goo and innards on the ground below. All his problems gone away, just like that. Just like magic.
It makes him want to vomit.
“-you-”
Quick as anything with a delayed reaction, he shoots up and grabs one of her flailing arms, getting accidentally smacked in the face as thanks in the process. He pulls her in. She shrieks. He possibly shrieks, too, and possibly like a little girl.
“-fancy-” she’s still saying.
And then the roof caves in beneath them.
First | Previous | Next
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Blaise for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: watch your step
Rating: PG
Word Count: 977
Summary: Why Blaise ended up in the Hospital Wing in the first place.
Author's Notes: Follows A Peek into the After.
Link to Prompt Table: Accio!
First | Previous | Next
The Most Important Thing That Happened Three or Four Hours Ago
It’s actually rather nice up here. He can look out as far as he wants, and there’s no end to what he can see. The world just keeps on stretching, a mixture of blues and greens and somewhere, there’s a patch of gold that glints in the sunlight.
He keeps his expression in check, but the wind sure does feel good against his face.
SHE-WEASLEY sits cross-legged beside him on the slanting rooftop. The wooden shingles are rough and older than anything, but they’re warm. Sturdy.
“You see?” she says again, as if she’s proven some unspoken point. The point probably being: It’s not so bad, as long as you stay put and don’t fall to your brain-bashing-in death.
“Hm,” he grunts. Up here, she acts a lot less insane. Maybe almost normal.
He’s still wary, though; if not of her, then of the conversation he can see brewing on her lips.
“Okay,” she starts a few seconds later. Well, what do you know? “So here’s the thing. You’re incredibly weird.”
Blaise narrows his eyes. This isn’t exactly where he thought this would be going.
“I mean, all of your lot’s weird,” she continues. “You’re Slytherins. I s’pose you can’t help it. Which is why we hate you, blah blah blah.”
This is the strangest I-hate-your-guts speech he’s ever heard.
Oh wait, that’s right.
It’s the only one anyone’s ever said to his face.
What’s her problem?
“What’s your problem, Weasley?” he demands.
She frowns at him angrily. Violently. Can you even frown violently? “Shut up, Zabini,” she snaps. “I’m not done. Just because I’ve been nice to you so far doesn’t mean that I’ve got to keep it up.”
Right. Because she’s been a docile little lamb frolicking in a field of three-part-harmonizing daffodils so far.
“Don’t think you’re the only one,” he threatens.
She ignores him. “Hermione says-”
Good God. Granger. Buck-toothed beavers always give the best advice, doesn’t everyone know that?
“Hermione says I ought to think about my problems before I start hexing them away. You may have noticed I get carried away.” SHE-WEASLEY pokes her shoelace at a shingle. “Anyway, I’ve decided to try it. I’m going to be rational. Because frankly, Zabini, you are my problem, and yeah, normally I’d be pushing you off the roof.”
“I don’t even associate with you.”
She snaps her head up to look at him sharply, and her next three words are three stabbity-stabbity-stabs. “Yeah, you do,” she says. “You’ve been acting weird around me lately.”
“Whatever you have is catching.” A simple explanation: Weird-itis. Weasleys have it in spades.
She throws up her hands, and then stands, shaky on the incline. “Bloody hell! No! You never paid me any mind before, and now all of a sudden, you’re everywhere! Do you have any idea how weird that is, Zabini? Something’s wrong with you, and clearly, it’s got something to do with me.”
“Yes,” he says. “I hate you.”
SHE-WEASLEY glares, apparently sick of everything he has to say. But how else is he supposed to respond? With the truth?
Ha.
Ha ha ha.
HA. HA. HA.
“Don’t be stupid,” she says. Like she’s chastising a child for getting its hand stuck in a cookie jar, rather than for sticking it in there in the first place. (She’d probably make a terrible mother.) “That’s the thing.”
There seem to be a lot of things. Isn’t it the point of The Thing for there to only be one of them?
“See, Hermione says it’s not just that you’re around me all the time now.” She’s started pacing in front of him, precariously close to the edge of the roof, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her balance is probably good enough to keep her from doing anything idiotic. “She says you’ve been watching me. Looking at me, I mean. Which is rather creepy when you say it like that, but she said it differently, so I think I...”
SO YOU THINK WHAT? his heart pounds as his stomach turns circles.
This thing that’s happening to him? The Thing? It’s really starting to unnerve him.
“I mean, you’re a git, really, but at least you’re not dumb enough to get caught up in that really shifty rubbish.”
“‘Shifty rubbish’? That’s your conclusion?”
Her eyes flash.
Warning: Volatile substance. Do not shake.
(Which means, shake as hard as you want in order to be entertained.)
She’s been turned askance for a while, talking to him but not exactly at him, and now she turns, quickly, her feet taking an unfathomable combination of steps so that she is right there again, ready to release her wrath upon him. Hell hath no fury like Ginny Weasley.
“I think,” she says, taking another step toward him. There’s a smirk in position now, ready for takeoff. “I think you-”
But she steps in very much the wrong place.
A rotted shingle, probably the only one on this part of the roof, slips out from beneath her feet, causing her to lose her balance. So much for that apparent sturdiness. She arches backward, her arms flailing about like a windmill as she tries to right herself.
Blaise gawps at her. He imagines her toppling backward, knocked over like a leaf and spattering into a million pieces of goo and innards on the ground below. All his problems gone away, just like that. Just like magic.
It makes him want to vomit.
“-you-”
Quick as anything with a delayed reaction, he shoots up and grabs one of her flailing arms, getting accidentally smacked in the face as thanks in the process. He pulls her in. She shrieks. He possibly shrieks, too, and possibly like a little girl.
“-fancy-” she’s still saying.
And then the roof caves in beneath them.
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