imadra_blue has agreed to collaborate with me on big_bang_hd. \:D/ *so.excited.omg*
Also, queerditch_pub drabbles.
Blaise/?: hypnotise me with the longest stare
She's everywhere, it seems. Gliding along the walls, her long-suffering sighs mingling with the castle's usual sounds, almost undetectible beneath them. Blaise feels an uncomfortable prickle on his neck and it's a constant presence, one he knows he will remember for as long as he lives -- his seventh year at Hogwarts. Her staring causes the hairs on the back of his neck to rise; her whispers thread through them, sending a shiver down Blaise's spine.
One day, Blaise turns, and looks back. "What the hell do you want from me?"
The ghost girl freezes, eyes widening behind thick spectacles. "I wanted to know... If you could tell me..." She lets out a sob and disappears through a wall.
Blaise stares after her, surprised that he wants to follow.
Harry/Draco: The more you suffer, the more it shows you really care
Um. this is meant to be read backwards. On the bad crack, I am.
Like in a dream sequence or a movie, Harry runs a finger down Malfoy's cheek.
Malfoy wants the same things Harry does. Their normal life back -- a life where school rivals exist and mortal enemies don't.
Harry watches and he knows now, he knows. Malfoy cares.
There is pain there, an almost visible throb beneath pale skin, it makes him look like he's stretched too thin.
Malfoy's face twists into a grimace, sharp white teeth and furious glances.
Harry/Draco: Your promises / They look like lies / Your honesty's / Like a back that hides a knife
Hermione's always right. She always is, much as it might pain everyone around her to admit it.
Harry listens to the water drip somewhere behind the wall and tries to breathe. The air is thin in this place; Harry thinks it might be in the mountains somewhere but he can't tell, really. He's not even sure if it's Tuesday or Saturday.
Everything smells of corrosion with just a hint of the sickening scent of decay. The splash of water, once annoying, has since become a sort of soundtrack to the beat of Harry's life, or whatever's left of it.
"I can help you." He still looks like a petulant child, but there is a dark weariness lurking at the corners of his eyes; it belies his age and attitude.
"What makes you think I want your help, Malfoy?"
Harry throws his head back against the wall and shuts his eyes tightly. His right leg's fallen asleep under him, but he welcomes the prickly feeling as he rubs his calf. It makes him focus on here and now -- wherever and whenever it might be.
"You can't trust him, Harry. He'll hand you over to the other side if it suits him. Harry! Harry?"
But Harry is already walking away.
Hermione's always right.
There is a rattling sound at the door. Harry looks up and his breath catches; it's Malfoy. His cloak's hood is off and for a moment it looks like there is a halo of light behind him. Then Harry realises it's just the torchlight from the corridor. He can hear his heart pounding at his temples as a feeling of dread rises from deep inside.
"Are you going to stare at me, Potter? Or are you going to get off your arse? We haven't got much time to get away from here, you know."
Harry/Draco: My words may disturb, but at least there's a reaction.
Draco occupies his free time with idle pursuits - after all, it's kind of what he's always wanted. He'd much rather help Pomfrey deal with the injured than put himself into the line of fire. He switched sides to avoid said line, after all. When the morning routines are completed, he takes walks around the Hogwarts grounds, wondering if he'll ever get to do a seventh year at Hogwarts.
The news of Weasley's death reaches Draco and he feels a brief twinge of childish glee, he's not sure why.
Granger dies three days after they bring her, and then Potter haunts the castle, looking every bit like the ghost girl Myrtle.
"You're pathetic. Acting like this won't bring them back," says Draco to Potter one morning. Spring is a week away and the air smells like melted snow.
For a prolonged moment, there is silence, and then Potter turns around very slowly, still looking like his shoulders bear the weight of the world.
"Leave me alone, Malfoy."
Draco shrugs. It was worth a shot. Besides, that's the first time Potter has spoken to anyone in a week.