Disclaimer: I don't know the characters just the plot and the placing of the words.
Warning: Shounen-ai, non-con (kind of), and probably OOCness (totally on accident… @___________@had to bend the characters to my plot _______________) oh, and ANGST!!
Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Harry Potter
Please notice this story contains SHOUNEN-AI (which is a mild form of YAOI …. Erm, or SLASH) If you don't like it -- I don't mind…. But there is no guaranty that you'll like this story. You might… but I wouldn't bet money on it. So, anyway… no flames, k?
Enjoy.
"If Walls Could Talk"
He hung his head, staring without really seeing the water's edge. He swung his feet to some depressing rhythm deep in his mind, as they hung lazily, carelessly over the bridge's side. His fingers were lifelessly attached to equally lifeless hands by his side. He stared so hard and so long that nothing was focused in his eyes anymore. And his mind, it played over everything again and again like some horrible broken record set at the worst part of the song.
He shook his black hair out of his face as though he might have been trying to dislodge the track his mind seemed intent to trudge down.
The muscles in his jaw worked so that his teeth were embedded in each other, yet still his throat was tight, yet still the thoughts plagued him.
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It started when Snape paired them up in Potions class:
"Zabini and Potter," the latter name was spat out like some foul tasting sweet that had caught the professor off guard when he had popped it in his mouth.
Harry looked to Ron and Hermione, both of whom gave him an apologetic-but-we-can't-help look. Scooping his belongs into his satchel, Harry -- determined not to let the Slytherins see his disappointment --walked over to Zabini's table and plopped down.
"Hey, don't get too comfortable, Potter," Zabini's eyes twinkled as he hissed, "you'll be getting all the supplies."
"Now, if you'll turn to page four hundred twenty-six, you will see the potion you and your partner will be working on for the remainder of this semester."
Harry reached into his bag to retrieve his book, but his hands couldn't seem to clasp it. Slightly annoyed he peered into his satchel: Intermediate Transfiguration, Unfogging the Future, Standard Book of Spells grade III… but no potions book. He could have sworn he had it not ten minutes ago, glancing over at the table where Ron and Hermione were sitting. No Potions Book. Just to make sure, Harry reached his hand back into his bag - desperately wanting to be sure that it wasn't hiding out in there.
"Mr. Potter!"
He jumped, nearly out of his skin, as Snape both shouted and brought his own large text book crashing down with a resounded thunder in front of Harry's nose.
A round of sneakers floated around him -- Slytherins.
"What are you looking for that is so important that you must disrupt my class?"
Harry bit his tongue from saying Snape himself had disrupted his own class, opting instead for "My book, Professor, it…. It was here --"
"Not prepared for my class, I see," Snape hissed, interrupting him. "Twenty points from Gryffindor -- and look on with Zabini."
Swallowing, Harry slowly forced his eyes to the left -- in an act of complete horror -- to view his partner; the boy's lips leered into a smug smile, his dark hair falling into his equally dark eyes framing his olive complected face. Warily and rather depressed with his own luck Harry scooted so that he could read the book also. Zabini closed the distance, making Harry increasingly nervous.
But that was nothing to what he felt after reading the Potion's title: Solidifying Bodily Fluids Potions. He swallowed thickly… how many weeks were left 'til winter holidays? Three weeks; he could do three weeks… he could make it with this -- he looked over to Zabini, who was still grinning at him slyly --…Slytherin.
He heaved a deep breath, filling his lungs, before he breathed out again slowly, forcing his attention on Snape.
"Now as you can see, if you can read," Snape's gaze flashed at Harry, and the boy felt slightly annoyed. "You'll notice the range of items and the uniqueness of them. I will remind you that you should not waste materials, unless you wish to pay for more out of your own dingy little pockets -- which I suspect only collect spider webs." Harry caught the professor's gaze shift to Ron, and he was relieved to note his fiery friend wasn't paying attention.
The classroom was otherwise in complete silence as they all stared off -- at the teacher, at the book, into space; and Harry was surprised he hadn't dosed off, when he felt a hand suddenly overlapping his own. With eyes wide he gasped, flinging himself away, ending up at the floor staring up at the grinning Zabini.
"Potter, will you please contain yourself and quit disturbing my class!" Snape growled, easily loud enough for the entire class to hear. "Detention -- and another twenty points from Gryffindor."
"But, Professor!" Harry gasped, looking from Zabini to Snape as if they were straight from horrible sci-fi movie. "He touched me!"
"Are you implying that one of my students is homosexual, Potter?" Again his name was something disgusting.
"No," but Harry said it in such a way as he crawled backwards on the floor that it left Snape snarling.
"You will get back in that seat, Potter, and you will work with Zabini for the rest of this class --and this semester for that matter -- without complaint.
It was the voice that all children have become accustom to. The finality in it, even though Snape knew he was ultimately wrong, angered Harry. It was obvious that the Snape was being unfair, and that the man knew it. But it was also obvious that if Harry made another comment he'd only help Gryffindor into the negative point range.
It was hard to ebb his anger and nerves, but after a minute he schooled himself so that he could stand up and again returned to the bench -- next to Zabini.
Almost immediately class started again, Snape turning his back to him. Just as quickly Zabini slipped his hand under the desk table to clasp Harry's hand.
There was a tight clenching somewhere inside Harry, and he closed his eyes tightly.
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He took a deep breath as the memory subsided. His hand went up to push the black hair from his pale, pained expression before falling once again to his side. If only there was someone he could tell, someone he could ask for advisement, direction, or just a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen.
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"Zabini," Harry stressed the name as he breathed out. Days seemed longer than ever recently, and he was so tired now.
"You can call me Blaise, you know, since we will be working together on this for a while."
Harry turned up his eyes, where they had been staring at the seemingly un-comprehendible text, to meet Zabini's dark ones. The coffee color swirled in the middle of white, inked lashes framing it all. But surprisingly the orbs were silent, giving forth no depth of knowledge, soul, or anything for that matter.
Harry looked away quickly; he could feel his cheeks heating. He wasn't sure what Zabini was doing, but he did know he didn't like it. For a brief moment he cast his back to the boy sitting in front of him in the empty library. There was a smile on those dark beige lips -- but not a comforting warm one. No, this was almost equivalent to the sneer that that Malfoy boy possessed. Only this was something oddly foreboding, oddly uncomfortable about this smile. Something was hidden in it, unlike the Malfoy sneer where the receiver knew quite well what the boy was thinking.
"Oh, come on, Harry, if we're working together we should at least be mates for the time."
The grin increased, dancing annoying in front of Harry's face. The voice was rich and sweet, deep and easy, one he could get drunk off of. Dully Harry felt he was going to become sick.
His first thought of reply to Zabini's comment was, "But you're Slytherin." But Harry didn't voice it; it made him feel dirty even thinking about it.
"It doesn't matter that I'm Slytherin, does it?" the boy pointed out both quizzing and statingly.
And Harry felt ashamed of himself, wondering in the back of his mind if his parents would be embarrassed that he had even thought what Zabini had asked.
"No, Blaise," Harry said carefully, shaking his head firmly even though his voice was weak. "It's just that no one in Slytherin has ever been nice to me." Feebly, Harry tried to justify himself. Zabini was still making him nervous, and he didn't like being in this situation, but what could he do?
"I've always wanted to be friends with you," Zabini confided in a whisper with a winning smile spread over his face; he grabbed Harry's hand excitedly.
Well, if it's just friends….
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He clinched his eyes shut; his hands suddenly becoming active as they wrapped themselves tightly around his robe clad body.
If they'd all just go away! This memories:
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"Hey, Harry, I think I've got an idea for how to brew the potion!" Zabini slid into the seat next to Harry in the library, causing it to skid against the floor bringing Zabini and Harry elbow to elbow.
"Oh?" Harry gave the boy a small smile.
"Yeah!" Zabini slammed his opened book over Harry's. "It's in this book! See? Here!" Zabini's whole arm brushed against Harry's chest as he put it out to extend a single finger to point a t the book. "It's the missing step; the last one we needed! We'll write the essay, then we'll be done." He turned to face Harry, and his knee brushed against the boy's thigh. "Do you think we'll be finished early?"
Harry shrugged his shoulders, scanning the text. He knew one thing though, being friends with Blaise Zabini meant a lot of accidental touches he had to ignore.
_______
"Oi, Blaise, I asked 'Mione what she thought, and then I looked back at the research we've found. I think, if we just find a bit more on the uses for the solidifying Potion we can write up the essay more effectively." Hary announced with a grin as he slid into the familiar place next to Zabini in the library.
Zabini grinned, and Harry thought he was mad for thinking Zabini's eyes looked dead -- lifeless -- they were actually quite nice eyes. He had just completed this thought when quite suddenly he found himself against the wall. With wide eyes he realized that Zabini was quite literally trying to eat him -- or at least his lips anyway. His mind froze along with every inch of his body -- he could feel himself run cold and his heart pounded against his chest.
"Come on, Harry, kiss me back," Zabini whispered, his hands running over his chest.
Kiss me back -- it was like an order that demanded him to obey. He could see Zabini pleading, he could hear the desperation in the voice.
So he submitted, in all his confusion, he submitted because somewhere along the line they had become friends, he thought. And deep down he only wanted his friends to be happy. He believed this would make Zabini happy.
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He couldn't tell Ron. Oh, God, he couldn't. And rightly he asked the demons in his mind that said he could how could he when he had felt so ashamed -- how could he when he had practically run away afterward. His lips were so dirty, his mind also…. How could he tell Ron when:
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"Blaise, so now that the project's done," Harry started as he moved to the table he and Blaise had shared during potions. But Zabini didn't turn around or acknowledge him.
"Blaise?" he heard the change in his voice -- the faltering. He paused, waiting hand and foot for the dark haired boy to turn around. And when he didn't, Harry realized how weak he seemed, how weak he felt. He shook his head and clinched his fists, determined not to be so dependent.
"Zabini!" There was force in this word -- force he didn't feel he even possessed anymore. And maybe Zabini heard the change in tone -- maybe he was caught off guard by the sheer malice that seemed suddenly tangible in the room -- whatever the case, he stopped mid conversation to turn ever so slowly to Harry.
And the Boy Who Lived caught it. In those eyes he caught for the briefest second a wild emotion…. Fear, perhaps? But it was gone to fast to place it, covered swiftly with a smirk that all but laughed at the boy.
"What is it, Potter?"
"I don't like what you're doing." Harry glared darkly as the Zabini stood up before him, towering over him.
"And what would I be doing, Potter?" The Olive complected boy started circling him. Some how the Slytherins in the class had surrounded them both and laughed at the lengthy pause.
Harry's lips thinned into a line. His eyes narrowed dangerously. What exactly was Zabini doing? Playing with him? No, but close.
"I don't like being used. I know, I know that's what you're doing. I won't take it. I won't. I'm not so gullible now. I can see through your lies. I don't like it."
"Oh," Zabini purred. " I'd say you do, I'd say you like it just fine." He encircled his arm around Harry's waist, planting his lips firmly, aggressively, possessively against the slim boy.
Harry shoved him back with his own aggression that he hadn't known was bottling up inside him. His cheeks were hot with tears, and all around him he heard the Slytherins laughing in their merciless tones. Their voice circled around him faster and faster, and he wanted to cringe from them. But something inside him had snapped, and he couldn't take it anymore.
"Stop it!" He screamed so loud that his throat burned with just two words uttered. Somewhere spinning around him he heard Snape shouting for him to control himself, to stop shouting, but there was no way for him to stop now. "Why are you doing this!?" Both a question and a statement of resentment -- he didn't let Zabini answer… not like the boy planned to anyway. "I've done nothing -- you can't condemn me to this; I won't let you!" He shrieked; he knew his face was red, he knew his eyes leaked tears, and he knew that everyone was looking at him. "I have been nothing but nice -- nothing but what I was asked of to you." He felt his insides crumbling. "WHY! Just answer me that -- why?" his voice rasped out the last question as his head fell as if suddenly to heavy for his neck to manage.
Only a gaping silence answered him; no one spoke, but he could feel their stares piercing him -- like a thousand needles. His ragged breath was loud in his ears, and he dimly wondered if it was to anyone else. A sudden powerful shame washed over him. How could he have let himself go like that… the whole class had seen him break. He felt his cheeks burn in added burden.
"Harry?" It was Ron's voice… etched with a brotherly concern -- but he couldn't deal with it -- nor the hand that he shrugged off.
"Leave me alone," he hissed, and he fled the dungeon.
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The black water gave back to him a boy who stared into his eyes with an equal depression. He heaved a weighted sigh and looked away. The tears were still fresh on his cheeks. If only… if …. If only he had someone to talk to.
~owari~
Reviews are always appreciated!! Thanks for reading!!