*I don't own any of these characters... I swear.
*This story pretty much sucks some major ass, so sorry people. I just got bored and needed a break from writing my other 3 stories I've got going. Plus I really wanted to do a Draco/Blaise which people wouldn't yell at me for. Even though, you still might.
*Um... Review?
*One shot!
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
It burns sometimes.
My heart, that is.
It burns every time I look beside me in the Great Hall, expecting to see you seated next to me. Instead the seats vacant, no one sits there. No one wants to sit there. A third year tried once. Tried to be a big shot but instead Millicent beat the hell out of him. Poor kid was in the hospital wing for a week. But I didn't feel bad for him. No one did.
Sometimes it burns when I walk into my new room. It's your old one. I remember the look on your face, and your parents, when you found out you were a Perfect. We were so proud. You're father slapped you on the back, a smile I'd never seen before stretched across his pale face. I remember you're mother insisting on throwing you a party. You groaned, but let her do it anyway. Anything to make her happy. And I remember after the party you and I sneaked onto school grounds, found your room, bribed the portrait, and made love on your new bed all night long.
Which must be why it burns the worst when I lay down to sleep.
I can feel it burn when I walk into Potions. You used to sit next to me, but now I sit alone. Again, no one wants to sit in your seat. Snape's not the same anymore either. I think he burns sometimes too. He doesn't yell as much anymore. Instead he tells Finnegan to clean up Longbottom's messes and only takes points from Gryffindor when he's in a good mood.
Pansy burns too. She can't sleep anymore and has to take pills. They don't help though. Sometimes I'll get up in the middle of the night and go into her room because I know she's not asleep. We'll take walks in our pajamas and neither of us cares how undignified it looks. You were her best friend, and she mourns for you almost as much as I do.
I remember when you and I used to take long walks in the middle of the night. We'd sneak out and head into the Forbidden Forest for a little alone time. Horrid Hagrid tried to take the class there one day, but after one step in, the burn was so great I couldn't go any farther. While everyone else tramped through the forest, I sat on the very edge with my eyes closed and my heart on fire.
The looks I get make it burn even more. I hate the way people say they're sorry, that they understand. They have no idea how I feel. No idea what it feels like to find your lover lying lifelessly on the floor of his room while blood pools steadily around his head. They don't understand what it's like to have your world crash down around you.
But above all else, Potter makes it burn.
He's still here trying to make up for what he can never make up for. If it were anyone else he'd have gotten the Kiss. But no, no one believes that the hero of the wizardry world would seek revenge on his ex boyfriend's new love. No one believes he would murder someone in cold blood just out of jealousy.
But I do.
That makes it burn too. Because I know that you'd be with me and that I wouldn't be alone. I know you'd tell me I wasn't crazy when I woke up in the middle of the night screaming. I know you'd kiss away my tears when I cried and hold me tightly whenever I was frightened. I know you'd be there to hold my hand through thick and thin. I know you'd never let me fall. And I know you'd never let me do what I'm about to do.
I look at the vial in my hand. The liquid is an off purple color. I smile at the liquid and think about how the tiny specks of gold look the exact same as the ones in your eyes. After studying the potion for a few moments, I gaze over at the last picture ever taken of us. Our picture selves used to smile and wave at the camera, but now both seem tired and sick. They look like how I feel.
I take a deep breath and tear my eyes away from the picture. The vial is staring back at me, the small gold flakes mocking me. God, I wish I were looking into your eyes. But I'm not, and I never will again. So I lift the vial to my lips and cringe as the liquid slides down my throat.
It burns, Blaise.
It burns.
*This story pretty much sucks some major ass, so sorry people. I just got bored and needed a break from writing my other 3 stories I've got going. Plus I really wanted to do a Draco/Blaise which people wouldn't yell at me for. Even though, you still might.
*Um... Review?
*One shot!
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
It burns sometimes.
My heart, that is.
It burns every time I look beside me in the Great Hall, expecting to see you seated next to me. Instead the seats vacant, no one sits there. No one wants to sit there. A third year tried once. Tried to be a big shot but instead Millicent beat the hell out of him. Poor kid was in the hospital wing for a week. But I didn't feel bad for him. No one did.
Sometimes it burns when I walk into my new room. It's your old one. I remember the look on your face, and your parents, when you found out you were a Perfect. We were so proud. You're father slapped you on the back, a smile I'd never seen before stretched across his pale face. I remember you're mother insisting on throwing you a party. You groaned, but let her do it anyway. Anything to make her happy. And I remember after the party you and I sneaked onto school grounds, found your room, bribed the portrait, and made love on your new bed all night long.
Which must be why it burns the worst when I lay down to sleep.
I can feel it burn when I walk into Potions. You used to sit next to me, but now I sit alone. Again, no one wants to sit in your seat. Snape's not the same anymore either. I think he burns sometimes too. He doesn't yell as much anymore. Instead he tells Finnegan to clean up Longbottom's messes and only takes points from Gryffindor when he's in a good mood.
Pansy burns too. She can't sleep anymore and has to take pills. They don't help though. Sometimes I'll get up in the middle of the night and go into her room because I know she's not asleep. We'll take walks in our pajamas and neither of us cares how undignified it looks. You were her best friend, and she mourns for you almost as much as I do.
I remember when you and I used to take long walks in the middle of the night. We'd sneak out and head into the Forbidden Forest for a little alone time. Horrid Hagrid tried to take the class there one day, but after one step in, the burn was so great I couldn't go any farther. While everyone else tramped through the forest, I sat on the very edge with my eyes closed and my heart on fire.
The looks I get make it burn even more. I hate the way people say they're sorry, that they understand. They have no idea how I feel. No idea what it feels like to find your lover lying lifelessly on the floor of his room while blood pools steadily around his head. They don't understand what it's like to have your world crash down around you.
But above all else, Potter makes it burn.
He's still here trying to make up for what he can never make up for. If it were anyone else he'd have gotten the Kiss. But no, no one believes that the hero of the wizardry world would seek revenge on his ex boyfriend's new love. No one believes he would murder someone in cold blood just out of jealousy.
But I do.
That makes it burn too. Because I know that you'd be with me and that I wouldn't be alone. I know you'd tell me I wasn't crazy when I woke up in the middle of the night screaming. I know you'd kiss away my tears when I cried and hold me tightly whenever I was frightened. I know you'd be there to hold my hand through thick and thin. I know you'd never let me fall. And I know you'd never let me do what I'm about to do.
I look at the vial in my hand. The liquid is an off purple color. I smile at the liquid and think about how the tiny specks of gold look the exact same as the ones in your eyes. After studying the potion for a few moments, I gaze over at the last picture ever taken of us. Our picture selves used to smile and wave at the camera, but now both seem tired and sick. They look like how I feel.
I take a deep breath and tear my eyes away from the picture. The vial is staring back at me, the small gold flakes mocking me. God, I wish I were looking into your eyes. But I'm not, and I never will again. So I lift the vial to my lips and cringe as the liquid slides down my throat.
It burns, Blaise.
It burns.