My Ficlet For The Deathly Hallows Challenge II.
I know this is late. Terribly sorry. :( I hope the quality of this story isn't awful... I wrote it in a rather rushed, braindead state.
Just a short ficlet this time - I'm afraid it's all I have time for. RL has been a little busy for me, what with my being drowned in class projects and everything.
Title: A Heated Terror
Author: Harmony (Silver Harmony)
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Blaise. Surprise, surprise.
Rating: PG-13.
Word Count: Approximately 713.
Notes: Response to the Potent Serpent Deathly Hallows Challenge 2007, Part II: What would you have liked to see in Deathly Hallows?
Feedback: Very much appreciated. I value all feedback, especially when they tell me what you think and/or what I can do to improve. Thank you and I hope you enjoy the story.
Summary: In a moment of urgency, Harry had neither the time nor the patience for Blaise Zabini.
***
Harry’s eyes flew open.
The Ravenclaw Tower’s ghost. Something fell into place. It was as if all the noise around him had faded away; he barely heard the shuffling of the hundreds of feet heading for the Room of Requirement, nor the prefects feverishly yelling instructions to the younger students. Harry leapt up from the plinth and turned back the way he had come, towards the marble stairs. The students near him were getting restless, crying and calling out for their friends and looking frightened, and a part of him felt awful for not being able to help them - but there just wasn’t time.
His eyes wandered as he hurried along, looking for any sign of a pearly-white figure. He was growing desperate. But just as he was thinking that he really couldn’t waste any more time, a strong hand grasped his wrist, startling him out of his wits.
He whirled around to meet a pair of dark, hostile eyes.
Harry almost groaned. Blaise Zabini - out of all the people who could interrupt him at that moment, Blaise Zabini was one of those who must have had the least legitimately life-threatening emergencies to interrupt him for. He really, really didn’t have the patience for this. He tore his wrist out of Zabini’s grasp and glared back at him.
‘I don’t have time for you,’ he said bluntly.
‘I don’t care,’ Zabini sneered back, his eyes gleaming. ‘I have plenty to say to you. It’s ridiculous that the rest of us are at risk of dying because of you.’
Harry felt rage rising inside him just from hearing it.
‘Are you scared, Zabini? Thought you’d be sure that Voldemort wouldn’t touch you,’ he spat savagely. ‘I don’t have the time to hear your useless Pureblood prattling. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do. Feel free to thank me when Voldemort’s gone and you’re still alive.’
Harry moved to step around him, but Zabini took a solid step sideways, blocking his way. Harry stared at him, astounded. The dark-skinned boy, although composed, bore an expression that made it obvious that he was infuriated. The two of them stood there, face to face; the chaos of the bustling students all around them went almost unheard. A Gryffindor at heart and a Slytherin at will, facing one another - they stared at each other, wordless, the lines of their faces hardened.
‘Move out of my way,’ Harry warned in a low voice.
Zabini didn’t react at first; he didn’t look the least bit intimidated by the threat. His eyes were firmly fixed on Harry’s, utterly filled with loathing. Harry noted the clenched fists by the other boy’s sides, the beads of sweat on his temples, the slight tremor in the black-clad shoulders. He knew what it was: it couldn't be anything but fear. The dark-skinned boy didn’t show it on his face - his expression showed an anger above fear - but Harry could still see it, deeply ingrained into the Slytherin, a hateful uncertainty, a heated terror.
For a fleeting moment, Harry felt something like a shred of sympathy sparking within him. But it must have shown on his face, because the other boy suddenly narrowed his eyes, his face contorted with disgust.
‘You reckless fool,’ hissed Zabini, turning to move away. ‘Don’t you bloody dare get yourself killed.’
And he slid into the crowd of students before Harry could say anything, and Harry could no longer see him. The former Gryffindor stood there, stunned, wondering if he had heard the Slytherin right. There was a strange sensation rising inside him, but he wasn’t really sure what it was. He had no idea what had just happened.
But just as these thoughts crossed his mind, he saw, drifting across the Entrance Hall below, a familiar pale, translucent figure; immediately, the urgency of his task returned to him in full force. He took a deep breath and yelled as loudly as he could manage over the surrounding commotion.
‘Nick! NICK! I need to talk to you!’
He pushed his way back through the wave of students, and briefly wondered, as he made his way over to the Gryffindor ghost, whether or not he would ever see Blaise Zabini alive again.
He shook his head, purging himself of that thought. Now wasn’t the time.
Just a short ficlet this time - I'm afraid it's all I have time for. RL has been a little busy for me, what with my being drowned in class projects and everything.
Title: A Heated Terror
Author: Harmony (Silver Harmony)
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Blaise. Surprise, surprise.
Rating: PG-13.
Word Count: Approximately 713.
Notes: Response to the Potent Serpent Deathly Hallows Challenge 2007, Part II: What would you have liked to see in Deathly Hallows?
Feedback: Very much appreciated. I value all feedback, especially when they tell me what you think and/or what I can do to improve. Thank you and I hope you enjoy the story.
Summary: In a moment of urgency, Harry had neither the time nor the patience for Blaise Zabini.
***
Harry’s eyes flew open.
The Ravenclaw Tower’s ghost. Something fell into place. It was as if all the noise around him had faded away; he barely heard the shuffling of the hundreds of feet heading for the Room of Requirement, nor the prefects feverishly yelling instructions to the younger students. Harry leapt up from the plinth and turned back the way he had come, towards the marble stairs. The students near him were getting restless, crying and calling out for their friends and looking frightened, and a part of him felt awful for not being able to help them - but there just wasn’t time.
His eyes wandered as he hurried along, looking for any sign of a pearly-white figure. He was growing desperate. But just as he was thinking that he really couldn’t waste any more time, a strong hand grasped his wrist, startling him out of his wits.
He whirled around to meet a pair of dark, hostile eyes.
Harry almost groaned. Blaise Zabini - out of all the people who could interrupt him at that moment, Blaise Zabini was one of those who must have had the least legitimately life-threatening emergencies to interrupt him for. He really, really didn’t have the patience for this. He tore his wrist out of Zabini’s grasp and glared back at him.
‘I don’t have time for you,’ he said bluntly.
‘I don’t care,’ Zabini sneered back, his eyes gleaming. ‘I have plenty to say to you. It’s ridiculous that the rest of us are at risk of dying because of you.’
Harry felt rage rising inside him just from hearing it.
‘Are you scared, Zabini? Thought you’d be sure that Voldemort wouldn’t touch you,’ he spat savagely. ‘I don’t have the time to hear your useless Pureblood prattling. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do. Feel free to thank me when Voldemort’s gone and you’re still alive.’
Harry moved to step around him, but Zabini took a solid step sideways, blocking his way. Harry stared at him, astounded. The dark-skinned boy, although composed, bore an expression that made it obvious that he was infuriated. The two of them stood there, face to face; the chaos of the bustling students all around them went almost unheard. A Gryffindor at heart and a Slytherin at will, facing one another - they stared at each other, wordless, the lines of their faces hardened.
‘Move out of my way,’ Harry warned in a low voice.
Zabini didn’t react at first; he didn’t look the least bit intimidated by the threat. His eyes were firmly fixed on Harry’s, utterly filled with loathing. Harry noted the clenched fists by the other boy’s sides, the beads of sweat on his temples, the slight tremor in the black-clad shoulders. He knew what it was: it couldn't be anything but fear. The dark-skinned boy didn’t show it on his face - his expression showed an anger above fear - but Harry could still see it, deeply ingrained into the Slytherin, a hateful uncertainty, a heated terror.
For a fleeting moment, Harry felt something like a shred of sympathy sparking within him. But it must have shown on his face, because the other boy suddenly narrowed his eyes, his face contorted with disgust.
‘You reckless fool,’ hissed Zabini, turning to move away. ‘Don’t you bloody dare get yourself killed.’
And he slid into the crowd of students before Harry could say anything, and Harry could no longer see him. The former Gryffindor stood there, stunned, wondering if he had heard the Slytherin right. There was a strange sensation rising inside him, but he wasn’t really sure what it was. He had no idea what had just happened.
But just as these thoughts crossed his mind, he saw, drifting across the Entrance Hall below, a familiar pale, translucent figure; immediately, the urgency of his task returned to him in full force. He took a deep breath and yelled as loudly as he could manage over the surrounding commotion.
‘Nick! NICK! I need to talk to you!’
He pushed his way back through the wave of students, and briefly wondered, as he made his way over to the Gryffindor ghost, whether or not he would ever see Blaise Zabini alive again.
He shook his head, purging himself of that thought. Now wasn’t the time.