Watching by Fitful
Summary: It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Pairing: HP/SS
Warnings: pre-slash, chan.
Gasp.
The sound is like water cutting through the heat in my veins. I tremble, groping for stable ground, as my emotions fall like sand slipping out of my grasp.
It's not supposed to be like this. This chaotic hail-storm of hate, and aching, and a terrible loathsome wanting.
It's not supposed to be like this. This hot trembling in my chest that for years has been nothing but hate, and hurt, and a yowling of injustice; and now is something hotter than hate, and an ache so similar to hurt, and a protesting yowling of unfairness.
Now there's a monster there, a hot raging thing that snarls its molten wanting sending fire through my veins, an inferno in my chest, dry air burning up my lungs.
Merlin help me for I can't breathe through the fire.
And he watches me.
I've noticed him watching before. The first day I felt his gaze and the heat of his own monster burnt me so suddenly I recall flinching. And from then on he watched and I noticed it and my pride would growl and my eyes would challenge and hate would yowl an internal monologue of injustice. And he'd step back and watch from the shadows as they curled about his robe's hems hissing silently.
He watched me from the stands that time and I can still recall his own burning monster chanting for my failure regardless of what I later found out his lips chanted. And I've noticed him watching since. Only his monster never changed. That hot burning thing still snarls in rage at my pride and hate seeps from his eyes at my challenge and only his conscious keeps his internal thirst for my blood within his mind where it strains at confinement.
I curse this thing that can't help its wanting. That forces me to hold my breath as he passes lest I breathe in too deep his scent and it's poison send me falling into unconsciousness. It sends me from my warm bed and safe dormitories and sends my feet walking on ice covered stone down and down and down. It steals the very heat in the air until only I can only feel the heat of his hate and can't help but crave it. It d directs my eyes, almost unwillingly, to watch him back as he and his monster watch me.
But then, quiet by accident, that monster pushed through my veins and moved my hand, that ever so crudely faked the mistake of it, and touched him.
Gasp.
I nearly whimpered but I had no breath. His heat had stolen it away.
It was innocent to all who might have looked up and seen it. I wrestled control back so quickly perhaps I had had it it all along, and my hand retreated from where it had grazed his ever so slightly to curl up against my chest as if I cradled an aching wound. Indeed I did for his heat had burnt me.
And I saw him pause. His shoulders, which he always hunches ever so slightly as if subconsciously wanting to curl up protectively but never daring, those shoulders straightened almost painfully and I couldn't breathe as I watched him. He held that pause for quite too long.
And then he moved on, forward, and away from me. As if nothing had changed but a distasteful encounter he longed to forget but his Slytherin side would store away to study later for further use. He moved away up to the front and to the ebony wood chair that stood grandiosely behind the ebony wood desk covered in a black stone and dripping with papers and cauldrons and potions paraphernalia that most never even dared look at lest it ensnare their senses and run away with them. And he sat, his shoulders still held painfully straight and his face so blank I nearly worried for his mental health before reality brought me back and I began to worry for my own physical well being. And then he looked at me, and his eyes usually so dark they merely resembled black, were now twin pools of dying light. I could barely see for the darkness that swallowed me.
I heard the sand hit the floor, my shattered emotions tinkling to settle in the grooves in the stone.
"Potter. Stay behind." His eyes never left mine and I could see glimpses of his monster wriggling behind them. Distantly I felt the sympathetic eyes of my friends touch me but they were so small compared to his. The world tilted and my monster scrambled in my chest trying to burrow its way deeper inside.
It wasn't supposed to be like this yowled something in despair, distant and far away now.
And I drop my eyes and whisper back to it. What was it supposed to be like?
And he watches me.
Err... yeah. So I found this on my computer and, gasp, it was finished. I wrote it a while back in order to make fun of Harry's "Monster". Ahh well. It didn't turn out that way. Actually I think it's rather good.
Any way thanks for reading and if your reading Saith then I'm diligently, or not so much, working on chapter 8 for you.
All My Love
Fitful