The Prince of Nothing and the Scion of Coal

a comparison


When she smiled, he could almost swear that he felt it.

He felt the soft edges against the sharp corners of his ribs and the warmth of it, against his cheek and he so desperately wanted to bottle up this precious thing. For a stormy night. For the storm that was threatening to blow away all that he cherished in life.

Sometimes her smiles weren't enough and he wanted-needed more. He would peer at her from under the shade of his eyelashes and the ache would inflame him. He had to have her. Possess her. Save her. Maybe then he'd be able to save himself somewhere along the way.


The whispers grew too loud for them to ignore- for him to ignore. She didn't care and if she did, she was far too obstinate to show it. Her loyalty once given was rescinded only upon the pain of death. Or so he thought.

The laughs prickled him. He wanted to burn them and then himself. Hexes kept the worst offenders at bay but the damage was done. Her warm fingers that had wound themselves around his frozen ones felt like a beautiful lie. She would leave. For her own safety. She had to. The laughter belied the very real danger that brewed around them.

Under the cover of the huge ash tree, she lay with her head on his lap and babbled about charms. He knew he ought to pay attention. He'd need all the help he could get in the coming war. But he couldn't. Her teeth glistened in the muted sunlight and her lips were red like bloodberries in the cold. His gut ached with the desperation of his want.

Her fingers brushed against the lines in his forehead and he was utterly wrecked.


Her friends hated him. For good reason. They warned her and threatened and cajoled and railed. She stood firm and sure. Didn't they knew that he was a good man. He'd changed. He would never hurt her.

Well, never again.

The first time they kissed was the worst and best day of his life. He should have terrified her in his intensity but he didn't. He would never hurt her. She knew that. She loved him. It was a kiss of good luck and a kiss of utter damnation. He had her. Finally. In his arms. And in less than five hours, he'd lost her.

All with one word.

Mudblood

Expelliarmus


Two sets of male eyes watched as the women, to whose laughter they'd sewn their souls to, turned their back on them. Disgust had twisted their smiles and fear had dulled their laughter.

Two men, separated by a generation, one darker than the longest winter night and the other paler than virgin snow, damned themselves to darkness.

I'm sorry

I'm not interested

Draco, no. Draco, please.

I don't want your help! Don't you understand? I have to do this! I have to kill you! Or he's going to kill me...

Goodbye, princess.

Look at me.