Disclaimer: It's a lonely world, not owning Harry Potter.
I think I might just love this piece.
(Title is from The Alchemist.)
don't think about what you've left behind
-It's a lonely world without you.
( blaise & parvati )
She realizes very quickly something no one else has figured out.
(Words don't always make clear what really matters.)
His eyes are a dangerous sort of pretty, she notes the first time she spots him, sittingand looking quite angry inside a compartment. On the seat in front of him sat a boy with messy, dirt-coloured hair sticking every which way, his small face hidden by a large textbook. The dark-eyed boy glared at his companion, both bored and curious of his silent nature.
She opens the compartment door without courage, her fingers shaking as she wanders through the strange place she'd been dreading and waiting for her whole life; finally, she is independent of her identical sister. She's only herself.
"Can I help you?" the reading boy asks, his voice polite but his expression irritated as the loss of the large book reveals bright blue eyes and pale, fragile features.
The other boy simply sneers, narrowing his eyes at the floor as he wordlessly eats a sweet. He acts as if neither the girl nor the boy are present.
"I was just wondering where you bought the sweets," she says in a smaller voice than she would've liked.
The boy with the book in his lap now nods understandably, his face weary but kind. "An old lady goes around with a cart," he explains, "and she's the one selling all the food. She'll probably make another round soon, seeing as it's almost lunchtime."
"Thanks," the girl replies with a slight grin. "I'm Parvati. I'm a first year." She examines both of the boys, and by their short and skinny figures she decides to assume. "I take it you are, too? Both of you?"
"Yeah," he says simply. "M'name's Theodore."
And then both of them turn to the dark, un-talking boy, calm and alone in his corner seat. Parvati's eyes meet his and there is something there.
"Blaise." His voice is low and enchanting and terrifying.
Parvati nods with a smile, leaves Theodore with a goodbye, and closes the compartment door without another thought.
It feels like there are a million people in this limitless castle, but in this very moment she's never felt so alone.
Neither Padma nor Lavender understand as she sits there in an empty corridor with her face covered by waist-long black hair, arms hugging her knees to her chest. The sound of her short, pained gasps as she sobs hide the footsteps echoing towards her until she spots the shiny black shoes standing, unmoving, in front of her.
She looks up and finds him, all dark and aloof and unknown, staring down at her. She feels miniscule as he towers over her, his wand sticking out of his pocket and a hood over his head.
"What're you doing here?" she asks when her voice returns. It's cracked and weak and small, but it's enough.
"What? Did you want me to do something for you?"
"Why're you staring at me?"
Even more silence.
And then she blows up. "Do you ever talk?" she shrieks at him with red-rimmed eyes and mussed hair. "Do you suppose it makes people like you, never talking? Does it make you feel good? Mysterious? Wanted? Because it doesn't! It just makes you feel like a snobby prat who thinks he's some bad-boy, just another dumb pureblood Slytherin who struts around in his stupid green robes acting as if he owns this place when everyone loathes him! I hate you people!" Before she knows it she finds herself pounding against his chest with curled fists and tears flying everywhere and hatred pouring out of her uncontrollably, all because his eyes were really something.
Parvati leans against his chest, embarrassed, and turns her head up to catch his eye, fearing his (silent) reaction.
His eyes are comical.
"You seem angry," Blaise says simply, his voice even deeper than it had been first year. "Why're you crying?"
She sighs and slumps against him. His hand comes up awkwardly, unsure of what to do, and touches her shoulder once before pulling away. She realizes her mistake and blushes maroon before stepping back, her heels touching the brick wall. "Boys," she sighs. "You lot are idiots."
"I've heard," he responds, shrugging. "Goodbye, then. Try not to go around telling Slytherins you hate them, yeah? We're not all bad."
Looking back, she supposes it's untrue, but she likes to think it's the longest sentence he's ever spoken in his four years at Hogwarts, talking to her that day.
She feels much too young to be this scared.
But people around her are dying and the Ministry is supposed to be doing something about it but she's quite sure that the Ministry is nothing now and innocence is gone and all that is left is fear; fear for death, fear for loneliness, fear that she'll die soon with barely anything accomplished.
Parvati finds him by the lake one night, past curfew, almost invisible underneath the shadow of a tree, the moon gone from the canvas of black called the night sky.
"I see you've stopped crying," he says smoothly when she sits next to him suddenly, not even flinching as they stare at the calm, placid lake before them.
"Are you scared?" she whispers, shivering when a breeze hits them. He looks at her with those eyes, knowing and faded and onyx.
Her heart nearly stops. "What's there to be scared of?" he murmurs back.
She swallows, her throat dry and her body cold. "Everything. Death. People close to you being killed. Being alone. Your best friend dying. We're living in times where anything can happen."
His shoulders go up and his eyes go down, avoiding her. "Anything, hmm? I guess that leaves the possibility of hope." He sighs and looks up, the North Star very clear amongst the stars to him.
"Are you sure you're a Slytherin?" she teases, feeling as if everyone needed a laugh after everything that's been happening.
"You've heard the rumours," he breathes, still ignoring the fact that her stare was glued to him. "I'm not exactly the best company to keep, most people believe."
"I disagree," Parvati replies, all the shyness and fear disappearing from her stomach, replaced by the cool, sleekness of his gaze. "You're not so bad when you open your mouth."
Blaise glances at her for a second and it's there again. "I like being alone," he explains, and she finds his sculpted, tanned, haughty features beautiful. "I guess that's why I don't talk. It repels people. People need to talk, to say things, make themselves heard. But words can't do everything."
"Would you like me to leave, then?" Parvati asks boldly.
He smiles. It's the first time she's seen it. She grins back. "No."
She's horribly wasted and the world is spinning and the everything she's been craving for disappears in the blink of an eye as he finds her in the clutches of some sleazy Hufflepuff, the smell of alcohol on her breath and her giggle infectious as he cradles her in his muscled arms. They're both very unsure of how they ended up in said position.
"Blaise," she says, his name dragged and stretched out in her drunken state. "I do believe I might be a little bit drunk."
Blaise grunts as he shifts his arms to make her more comfortable, heading up the staircase and only just remembering to skip over the disappearing step. "Yeah, a little bit's an understatement, Patil," he grumbles back. Her face is flushed and she looks half-nauseous. "You okay?"
"Do you love me?" she asks with no warning and he's taken aback, stopping for a second and thinking about dropping her on the floor before gripping her small body tighter and putting one foot in front of the other. (It's the only way he knows how to live.)
He can't shrug with her in his arms, but he does his best to make an attempt. "I don't believe in love," he replies, "and 'sides, I barely know you."
"We should get to know each other, then," she laughs very loudly. And then she kisses him.
It's like magic.
And then they're all fireworks and sober inebriation and everything is wantwantwant, needneedneed, pent-up desires released while the air is intoxicating as he presses her back against the sharp wall of an abandoned classroom, her legs wrapping around his waist and his lips attacking the dark skin of her neck.
"You're delightful," she whispers hoarsely as he kisses her everywhere.
"I don't believe in love," he reminds her, and the realization hits hard as everything happens too fast, too slow, the world moving at a pace that's unbearable in no way at all. "But, if you must, what you said.
Decisions become regrets as he wonders just why he doesn't believe in love again.
He passes her on his way to class the next morning, his head aching and his heart hurting but a smile on his face when he spots her in the crowd.
She doesn't meet his eyes and the emotion is gone before anyone could notice.
He remembers now.
He finds her throughout the chaos, curses flying through the air and death and pain and loss so much closer with evil and good mixing in, confusion being the combining element.
"Don't do this now, Patil," he commands, his eyes dry and his teeth gritted but everything so fucking sore.
She closes her eyes and falls limp in his hands, but her mouth opens just a little bit. "Do you believe in love yet, Blaise?" she asks softly, fragile. He doesn't care who sees them, who cares about them, who he is anymore. All he cares about is the fact that her heart is still beating and her breath is still breathing and the world is still in orbit.
"Will it make you stay?" he chokes out.
Her lips begin to form an answer, and then she slumps, curled up against him, and the scars peel open.
He sits in a solemn, silent vigil by her side for exactly six nights and seven days; her lifeless hand in his and her face scarred and battered. The only thing that comforts him is the slow, steady rising and falling of her chest as he watches patiently, waiting for chocolate brown to meet blackblackblack.
And then without warning one day, she wakes just as he is about to stand, her eyelids slamming open to reveal tired eyes, and he nearly jumps, startled for the first time in about forever.
They stare at each other, unmoving, not knowing what or who they are, what they're doing here and why his heart is skipping so many beats it's a miracle he's alive.
"Do you ever talk?" she asks then, smiling slightly, the something taking over.
"I believe now," he says simply, shrugging.
He kisses her afterwards, a rough finger tracing the long scar from her ear to her jaw.
(What else is there to do?)
Speaking isn't the only language, she finds.
(There are other ways to believe in love.)