Whisper with me
His eyes, they would always find her, whether it was across the Great Hall in their old school, or the Battle of Hogwarts, or now, in this quaint little village. His hands ached to hold her, his chocolate irises yearning to find her own ice blue ones while they wrapped themselves in each others embrace. But alas; these cravings were always just dreams, fantasies that he indulged in when he was alone at night, staring at the beaded green and silver curtains of the four poster of his dormitory, or now, in the ultra-modern jet black bed of his apartment.
Blaise had always lived his life clear-cut, his decisions sharp and smart, choices that he had always had to think about, never a grab-life-by-the-horns bloke, was Blaise. His mother and family had consistently impressed the need for him to be clever, witty; cynical beyond his years. He had stayed neutral during the war, even though he had desperately wanted to save her, save them all, Potter included. He had wanted to fight for the good side, longed to slay Bellatrix and Greyback, but no. His mother had forced him to hide away and retreat back to their Italian villa in the months before he had to go back to Hogwarts for his seventh year, shortly before the battle, where she had told him that he must not get involved, he could get hurt, slain and killed. She needed him to survive. So he did, because he promised his mother, and he never broke his promises. Draco was a mess, and he knew that the boy had never wanted to be near Potter, protection and just plain goodness.
If there was one word to describe Blaise Zabini, it was guarded.
So after years of being cold and sarcastic, smart and sceptical, he started to notice her.
Her ash hair, white-blonde in the Hogwarts sky, her eyes the colour of the frozen lake, the way she saw things through her own eyes.
He wanted to fly with the nargles with her, let go of his hard exterior and just dream, imagine with her.
He even knew where he would take her if they ever went on a date.
He knew a field in the east of England, the border filled with red shiny apple trees, the grass mint green and long to his thighs, so it would reach her willowy waist. There was a frozen lagoon, an dragonflies spun and danced in the cold air. There was a observatory with glass walls, and soft blankets, picnic style, and with a bit of elementary magic, he could make the windows around them turn into a sky of stars. Well, it was a magical building, Blaise built it himself, and it would not just reflect the heavens, but every scene she desired. He wanted to spend forever there with her, hands linked, just dreaming.
He bought the damn field, for god's sake, just for her, just for a date he knew he'd never have the courage to ask her too.
When he heard what Scamander had done to her, how he had created black bruises which blossomed over her moon pale skin, how the crimson fluid inside those soft blue veins that shone in the sun to pour, he'd been so furious, in a rage so deep, he was like a man possessed. It took all of Draco's strength an Blaise's willpower not to apparate over to Scamander and snap his neck.
She was leaving and all he could do was watch. Her pale fingers slowly smoothed over the ruby red surface of the fruit she just bought. He knew a place where she could get apples shinier than that, riper with organic juice. She was laughing with the seller, her nose scrunching up as she handed the old man the money. She was petite, and shook his hand before leaving. She was wearing an elegant cornflower blue summer dress, nipped in at the waist, and her blonde waves hanging to her waist, a blue rose clip pinning back a wayward curl from her face. But, although she looked spectacularly beautiful and almost normal, she still wore those radish earrings, that she had charmed blue, and she wore an imp ring on her middle finger of her left hand, that he knew to be a clay model of a Cornish pixie. He watched as she stepped away, graceful as a fairy on the pavement.
And something inside him just clicked.
"Luna! Hey, Luna!" he yelled, and cringed at the desperate sound of his own voice as he ran down the side of the road. "It's me, Blaise Zabini. From Hogwarts?"
"Hi Blaise, it's been a while." she told him, her dreamy voice enchanting him.
"I was wondering, maybe you would like to go for a coffee? I know a great place down the street."
"Blaise? Come downstairs, the plimpy stew is almost done! You can paint the rest tomorrow!"
Blaise smiled and sauntered down the steps of their beachside cottage, which had been built beside Dobby's grave, near Shell Cottage. In the driftwood scattered kitchen, where the aga was warm and glowing and Luna's random art projects were disarrayed, he saw her.
"I'm here!" he said, wrapping two strong coffee-coloured arms around her waist, before kissing her protruding stomach, big now that she was six months.
"Hello, my little one! How've you been without daddy?"
She turned to face him as he rose, pecking him on the cheek.
"You have paint on your chin. And your nose." She snorted, bursting into those absent giggles that he was used to.
Her hair was in a bun, and she wore a long sleeved mint green jumper and faded denim jeans.
"You have paint on your lips, Luna. Let me get it off for you."
The sparrows outside settled in their nests as the sea sprayed up onto the craggy rocks, watching the happy family through the warm windows, and the two people that loved each other more than anything.