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FIC: The End of the Fairytale (Colin/Romilda)
Title: The End of the Fairytale
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Colin Creevey/Romilda Vane
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 1,008
Summary: It's better than raspberries, the feel of his mouth moving against hers, the intoxicating taste of him, the heat that she can practically swallow, travelling down her throat and blossoming in her chest. In the summer, Colin brings her raspberries. Romilda has her own ideas on how to share them.
Notes: Written for queenb23more's request for Colin/Romilda, prompt: 'tears'.
He visits her in the summer, bearing a basket of fresh, sweet-smelling raspberries as a gift.
'How did you know they're my favourite?' Romilda asks, surprised.
Colin shrugs, but his eyes are shining. 'Good guess. Go on, try one!'
Her fingers are already hovering over the basket. At Colin's urging, they dive down and select the plumpest, juiciest-looking berry and pop it into her mouth.
The delectable sweetness overwhelms her tongue as she chews. 'Delicious,' she pronounces, licking her lips. 'Thank you.'
She realises then that he's staring at her mouth and this sends a wave of anticipatory delight down her spine. Now, Colin's always too much of a gentleman about things, but Romilda never minds taking matters into her own hands when she knows what she wants. Carefully she picks out another raspberry and asks him coyly, 'Have you had any?'
'No -- I wanted to give you first pick.'
'Or use me as a guinea pig,' she jokes, but the sentiment behind his words makes her feel warm and cosy. 'Well, I insist. You have to taste these.'
'Don't mind if I do.' His hand reaches out but she catches hold of his wrist, stalling him before he can pick a berry. He looks at her, confused.
'I have a better idea.' She grins impishly and bites down on the raspberry, releasing the exquisite taste in her mouth again. Then she pulls him to her by his shirt and kisses him.
It's better than raspberries, the feel of his mouth moving against hers, the intoxicating taste of him, the heat that she can practically swallow, travelling down her throat and blossoming in her chest. Romilda feels a sense of smugness in being the only girl in the world who knows -- who will ever know, she thinks possessively, that Colin Creevey can kiss like this.
They're both breathing hard when they part. 'Wasn't -- that -- better?' Romilda gasps out.
'God, Millie,' he breathes. Then, in a lower tone that makes her shiver and her stomach flutter, 'Incredibly so.' His hand his hot against the base of her neck, drawing her back to him. He closes the distance between them this time.
A little shriek interrupts them. Their eyes fly open, their heads turn to behold Romilda's little sister, peeking out from around a doorway, eyes wide as saucers.
'Esmeralda!' scolds Romilda, annoyed. 'Go away!'
Little Esme's lower lip tremble. 'Wait,' says Colin. He sounds embarrassed -- and possibly guilty, Romilda thinks in exasperation, as though it's his fault at all. 'Here, take some raspberries with you.'
Romilda glances at him as he holds out the basket like a peace offering. Or possibly a bribe. His face is the same colour as the berries inside. Cute, she thinks.
Esme is sufficiently distracted by the unexpected gift. Mistaking Colin's meaning, her hands grip the handle of the basket. Colin just chuckles and allows her to bear the entire basket away.
'There goes my present,' Romilda complains, not really meaning it though.
'Well, I was under the impression that you thought the other "gift" was better.'
'True. Although I think I gave that to you.'
'Anyway, that wasn't the only thing I brought with me.' Colin's hands dig into his pockets.
'Let me guess,' says Romilda wryly. 'Photographs.'
'I just developed a whole batch over the last week. I wanted you to see them -- that's really why I came. The raspberries just made another good excuse.' He considers a little. 'And the snogging's a bonus, of course.'
'All right, then,' she laughs. 'Let's have them.'
She takes him into the drawing room where he lays the pictures out on the table. They are, of course, works of art. Being with Colin has taught Romilda how to really look and see not just the scenes but also the feelings he was trying to capture in each shot.
These photos are all from Hogwarts. It's gratifying to see how many include her. Her gaze lingers on her own shining face as she watches her photographic self move among a group of DA members. Some shots aren't taken with as much finesse but Romilda can't help but smile at them too: Colin himself, laughing, serious, concentrating ... in one of them, she's next to him, looking away, but his eyes are fixed on her. Romilda thinks she remembers this particular occasion, only at the time she didn't know Colin was looking at her like that.
The photos in the next batch are of the aftermath. These ones make her shiver: the wreck of the castle, the sun casting its dawning glow over a bloodshed ground, bodies lying haphazardly in the Great Hall ...They put a lump in her throat and she reaches for Colin's hand to squeeze, for comfort.
Except he isn't there any more. Some time while she was going through the photographs, he has quietly slipped away. No, it's more than that -- Romilda senses somehow that he hasn't just left the room; the whole house, the whole world around her seems devoid of his presence.
Her stomach flips. Everything else around her is suddenly dissolving, leaving her alone in blank whiteness with only that last photo. Fear seizes her with a vice-like grip. She doesn't want to see that photo any more, but her head is turning to it against her will, forcing her eyes to see the bodies. The picture grows -- or maybe she's shrinking -- until all the corpses are life-sized. She's in the Great Hall at Hogwarts and it smells of blood and death. Someone moves away, revealing another lifeless body.
Too late, Romilda squeezes her eyes shut. It doesn't do any good.
There he is, with blank unseeing eyes and cold, unmoving lips. Even with her eyes firmly closed the image is still imprinted on the inside of her lids, a nightmare from which she cannot escape.
And as she wishes to wake up and return to the raspberry-scented summer that's just disappeared, she remembers just which of her dreams is the real one.
Romilda awakens with tears on her cheeks.
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Colin Creevey/Romilda Vane
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 1,008
Summary: It's better than raspberries, the feel of his mouth moving against hers, the intoxicating taste of him, the heat that she can practically swallow, travelling down her throat and blossoming in her chest. In the summer, Colin brings her raspberries. Romilda has her own ideas on how to share them.
Notes: Written for queenb23more's request for Colin/Romilda, prompt: 'tears'.
He visits her in the summer, bearing a basket of fresh, sweet-smelling raspberries as a gift.
'How did you know they're my favourite?' Romilda asks, surprised.
Colin shrugs, but his eyes are shining. 'Good guess. Go on, try one!'
Her fingers are already hovering over the basket. At Colin's urging, they dive down and select the plumpest, juiciest-looking berry and pop it into her mouth.
The delectable sweetness overwhelms her tongue as she chews. 'Delicious,' she pronounces, licking her lips. 'Thank you.'
She realises then that he's staring at her mouth and this sends a wave of anticipatory delight down her spine. Now, Colin's always too much of a gentleman about things, but Romilda never minds taking matters into her own hands when she knows what she wants. Carefully she picks out another raspberry and asks him coyly, 'Have you had any?'
'No -- I wanted to give you first pick.'
'Or use me as a guinea pig,' she jokes, but the sentiment behind his words makes her feel warm and cosy. 'Well, I insist. You have to taste these.'
'Don't mind if I do.' His hand reaches out but she catches hold of his wrist, stalling him before he can pick a berry. He looks at her, confused.
'I have a better idea.' She grins impishly and bites down on the raspberry, releasing the exquisite taste in her mouth again. Then she pulls him to her by his shirt and kisses him.
It's better than raspberries, the feel of his mouth moving against hers, the intoxicating taste of him, the heat that she can practically swallow, travelling down her throat and blossoming in her chest. Romilda feels a sense of smugness in being the only girl in the world who knows -- who will ever know, she thinks possessively, that Colin Creevey can kiss like this.
They're both breathing hard when they part. 'Wasn't -- that -- better?' Romilda gasps out.
'God, Millie,' he breathes. Then, in a lower tone that makes her shiver and her stomach flutter, 'Incredibly so.' His hand his hot against the base of her neck, drawing her back to him. He closes the distance between them this time.
A little shriek interrupts them. Their eyes fly open, their heads turn to behold Romilda's little sister, peeking out from around a doorway, eyes wide as saucers.
'Esmeralda!' scolds Romilda, annoyed. 'Go away!'
Little Esme's lower lip tremble. 'Wait,' says Colin. He sounds embarrassed -- and possibly guilty, Romilda thinks in exasperation, as though it's his fault at all. 'Here, take some raspberries with you.'
Romilda glances at him as he holds out the basket like a peace offering. Or possibly a bribe. His face is the same colour as the berries inside. Cute, she thinks.
Esme is sufficiently distracted by the unexpected gift. Mistaking Colin's meaning, her hands grip the handle of the basket. Colin just chuckles and allows her to bear the entire basket away.
'There goes my present,' Romilda complains, not really meaning it though.
'Well, I was under the impression that you thought the other "gift" was better.'
'True. Although I think I gave that to you.'
'Anyway, that wasn't the only thing I brought with me.' Colin's hands dig into his pockets.
'Let me guess,' says Romilda wryly. 'Photographs.'
'I just developed a whole batch over the last week. I wanted you to see them -- that's really why I came. The raspberries just made another good excuse.' He considers a little. 'And the snogging's a bonus, of course.'
'All right, then,' she laughs. 'Let's have them.'
She takes him into the drawing room where he lays the pictures out on the table. They are, of course, works of art. Being with Colin has taught Romilda how to really look and see not just the scenes but also the feelings he was trying to capture in each shot.
These photos are all from Hogwarts. It's gratifying to see how many include her. Her gaze lingers on her own shining face as she watches her photographic self move among a group of DA members. Some shots aren't taken with as much finesse but Romilda can't help but smile at them too: Colin himself, laughing, serious, concentrating ... in one of them, she's next to him, looking away, but his eyes are fixed on her. Romilda thinks she remembers this particular occasion, only at the time she didn't know Colin was looking at her like that.
The photos in the next batch are of the aftermath. These ones make her shiver: the wreck of the castle, the sun casting its dawning glow over a bloodshed ground, bodies lying haphazardly in the Great Hall ...They put a lump in her throat and she reaches for Colin's hand to squeeze, for comfort.
Except he isn't there any more. Some time while she was going through the photographs, he has quietly slipped away. No, it's more than that -- Romilda senses somehow that he hasn't just left the room; the whole house, the whole world around her seems devoid of his presence.
Her stomach flips. Everything else around her is suddenly dissolving, leaving her alone in blank whiteness with only that last photo. Fear seizes her with a vice-like grip. She doesn't want to see that photo any more, but her head is turning to it against her will, forcing her eyes to see the bodies. The picture grows -- or maybe she's shrinking -- until all the corpses are life-sized. She's in the Great Hall at Hogwarts and it smells of blood and death. Someone moves away, revealing another lifeless body.
Too late, Romilda squeezes her eyes shut. It doesn't do any good.
There he is, with blank unseeing eyes and cold, unmoving lips. Even with her eyes firmly closed the image is still imprinted on the inside of her lids, a nightmare from which she cannot escape.
And as she wishes to wake up and return to the raspberry-scented summer that's just disappeared, she remembers just which of her dreams is the real one.
Romilda awakens with tears on her cheeks.