Ron coughed and sputtered as sand whirled around him, catching in his robes
and scratching across his freckled face. There was nothing he could do; the
new Slytherin student had him pinned halfway up the castle wall with a form
of magic he couldn't understand. He didn't know there were spells to
control sand, let alone how to counter them.
"I'm sorry!" Ron cried out, trying to be heard over the fury swirling about him. "I didn't see you there, I bumped into you on accident, I swear," his voice cracked with fear, his lips beginning to bleed as sand particles imbedded themselves in his skin.
Gaara said nothing, did nothing, but stare at Ron as he squirmed, pinned to the wall. Something about the fear in his eyes, the way he became so instantly submissive, excited Gaara. He could almost smell the frantic blood pulsing through Ron's quivering veins, and it made him hungry.
The force of the sand slashing at Ron intensified to the point where he began to worry that he might just pass out. "HELP!" he screamed out, wondering where everyone was. The boy standing below was staring up at him with disdain, as if he were looking at one of the paintings on the castle walls.
Gaara licked his lips, "Fresh, sweet blood," he whispered. There was nothing in his thoughts beyond killing Ron, nothing beyond sacrificing him to the sand. He stepped forward, raising his hand, readying himself for the subtle pleasures of performing Desert Coffin, when his foot caught on the corner of the heavy black robes he'd been forced to wear by that wretch, Dumbledore. With nothing more than a widening of his eyes, Gaara stumbled forward, his hand catching himself on the wall, but his concentration was gone as the sand quivered angrily around him.
Bloody Hell! Ron's thoughts screamed as he realized not only was he falling, but he was falling directly onto the Slytherin boy who'd had him trapped. With a crash and tumble, Ron's awkward teenaged body slammed into Gaara, bringing them both to the ground in one mangled heap of red hair and black robes.
Gaara lay beneath Ron, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above. Were it not for the gentle heave of his chest, he could have been dead.
"Sorry," Ron shrieked, scrambling off the boy, who hadn't moved, but simply collapsed under him. The Slytherin lay there staring vacantly, and Ron feared he might be dead. "Hey, hey there, are you ok?" Ron reached out and shook the boy, but the Slytherin didn't move. He was so much smaller than Ron, obviously a first year. How does such a small boy get such vacant eyes? Ron wondered as he reached out and gently touched the boy's face with his fingertips.
Licking his lips nervously, avoiding every instinct to simply run, Ron fluttered his fingers beneath the high neckline of the boy's shirt, seeking hopefully for a pulse in the willowy neck. Finally, he found a faint pulse, and sat back with a sigh, wiping his robe sleeve across his sweaty brow. "Close one," he muttered, "better get him to Madame Pomfrey." Ron slid one arm under the Slytherin's neck, another under his knees and began to lift him when he realized there was something on the ground.
Not wanting to leave anything behind, Ron knelt, setting the boy on his knee. The movement was awkward, and Ron had to slide one of his hands around the Slytherin's back, letting the boy's face nuzzle against Ron's chest as his own neck craned over the tiny shoulder.
Gaara lay motionless. His eyes were open, but he didn't see the castle around him, didn't feel as Ron gently embraced him. There was only one world for Gaara, a world of swirling sand.
It was the boy's ID. "Gaara," Ron tried the name out as he leaned back, cradling the boy. Gaara's eyes were still open, and Ron bent down to peer into them. Gaara was adorable, so much like a beautiful doll that Ron's expression turned to one of puzzlement. Is this kid for real? He couldn't help but wonder. He shook Gaara again, gently. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, Gaara's two crystal blue eyes slid to meet Ron's emerald green ones. "Oh, good, you're awake... Listen you, you can't go around slamming people with strange magic!"
Gaara's vision cleared, and behind the veil of sand lay a child, practically a baby. Something ancient inside Gaara twitched with hunger, making him shudder and whimper in Ron's arms. A slow, deliberate smile began to creep across his face; he was no longer his own. Now he belonged to the sand.
"Hey, you ok?" Ron looked at Gaara with concern. The kid had whimpered and then turned on him with one of the creepiest smiles Ron had ever seen. "We've got to get you to the Hospital Wing. Do you hear me?" Something beneath Gaara's robes shifted against Ron's lap, a rigid growth pressing against Ron's leg. "Hey!" Ron jumped up, dropping Gaara to the floor. Something was happening, something Ron knew already he didn't like.
Gaara looked up from the floor, particles of sand beginning to swirl around him. The bulge under his robe shifted and throbbed, straining against the thick black cloth.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Ron cried out. He'd heard of this sort of thing before. Just last week someone mentioned they'd seen it happening to Professor Snape.
Gaara laughed as his whole body throbbed with a different pulse. Suddenly his body jumped beyond its skin. Suddenly he was free.
Ron screamed as a huge creature made of sand stood before him. He was sure Professor Snape had never done that.
Gaara stared blankly from behind the mask of his new body. "I'm hungry," a gravelly voice ground its way from the depths of his body.
"Uh, sure, sure," Ron's voice cracked as he slid along the wall, "we'll get you Dumbledore, he'll..."
Gaara cut Ron off, disgusted by the thought of Dumbledore. "Much too old," he growled, licking his lips, "I prefer babies."
"I'm sorry!" Ron cried out, trying to be heard over the fury swirling about him. "I didn't see you there, I bumped into you on accident, I swear," his voice cracked with fear, his lips beginning to bleed as sand particles imbedded themselves in his skin.
Gaara said nothing, did nothing, but stare at Ron as he squirmed, pinned to the wall. Something about the fear in his eyes, the way he became so instantly submissive, excited Gaara. He could almost smell the frantic blood pulsing through Ron's quivering veins, and it made him hungry.
The force of the sand slashing at Ron intensified to the point where he began to worry that he might just pass out. "HELP!" he screamed out, wondering where everyone was. The boy standing below was staring up at him with disdain, as if he were looking at one of the paintings on the castle walls.
Gaara licked his lips, "Fresh, sweet blood," he whispered. There was nothing in his thoughts beyond killing Ron, nothing beyond sacrificing him to the sand. He stepped forward, raising his hand, readying himself for the subtle pleasures of performing Desert Coffin, when his foot caught on the corner of the heavy black robes he'd been forced to wear by that wretch, Dumbledore. With nothing more than a widening of his eyes, Gaara stumbled forward, his hand catching himself on the wall, but his concentration was gone as the sand quivered angrily around him.
Bloody Hell! Ron's thoughts screamed as he realized not only was he falling, but he was falling directly onto the Slytherin boy who'd had him trapped. With a crash and tumble, Ron's awkward teenaged body slammed into Gaara, bringing them both to the ground in one mangled heap of red hair and black robes.
Gaara lay beneath Ron, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above. Were it not for the gentle heave of his chest, he could have been dead.
"Sorry," Ron shrieked, scrambling off the boy, who hadn't moved, but simply collapsed under him. The Slytherin lay there staring vacantly, and Ron feared he might be dead. "Hey, hey there, are you ok?" Ron reached out and shook the boy, but the Slytherin didn't move. He was so much smaller than Ron, obviously a first year. How does such a small boy get such vacant eyes? Ron wondered as he reached out and gently touched the boy's face with his fingertips.
Licking his lips nervously, avoiding every instinct to simply run, Ron fluttered his fingers beneath the high neckline of the boy's shirt, seeking hopefully for a pulse in the willowy neck. Finally, he found a faint pulse, and sat back with a sigh, wiping his robe sleeve across his sweaty brow. "Close one," he muttered, "better get him to Madame Pomfrey." Ron slid one arm under the Slytherin's neck, another under his knees and began to lift him when he realized there was something on the ground.
Not wanting to leave anything behind, Ron knelt, setting the boy on his knee. The movement was awkward, and Ron had to slide one of his hands around the Slytherin's back, letting the boy's face nuzzle against Ron's chest as his own neck craned over the tiny shoulder.
Gaara lay motionless. His eyes were open, but he didn't see the castle around him, didn't feel as Ron gently embraced him. There was only one world for Gaara, a world of swirling sand.
It was the boy's ID. "Gaara," Ron tried the name out as he leaned back, cradling the boy. Gaara's eyes were still open, and Ron bent down to peer into them. Gaara was adorable, so much like a beautiful doll that Ron's expression turned to one of puzzlement. Is this kid for real? He couldn't help but wonder. He shook Gaara again, gently. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, Gaara's two crystal blue eyes slid to meet Ron's emerald green ones. "Oh, good, you're awake... Listen you, you can't go around slamming people with strange magic!"
Gaara's vision cleared, and behind the veil of sand lay a child, practically a baby. Something ancient inside Gaara twitched with hunger, making him shudder and whimper in Ron's arms. A slow, deliberate smile began to creep across his face; he was no longer his own. Now he belonged to the sand.
"Hey, you ok?" Ron looked at Gaara with concern. The kid had whimpered and then turned on him with one of the creepiest smiles Ron had ever seen. "We've got to get you to the Hospital Wing. Do you hear me?" Something beneath Gaara's robes shifted against Ron's lap, a rigid growth pressing against Ron's leg. "Hey!" Ron jumped up, dropping Gaara to the floor. Something was happening, something Ron knew already he didn't like.
Gaara looked up from the floor, particles of sand beginning to swirl around him. The bulge under his robe shifted and throbbed, straining against the thick black cloth.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Ron cried out. He'd heard of this sort of thing before. Just last week someone mentioned they'd seen it happening to Professor Snape.
Gaara laughed as his whole body throbbed with a different pulse. Suddenly his body jumped beyond its skin. Suddenly he was free.
Ron screamed as a huge creature made of sand stood before him. He was sure Professor Snape had never done that.
Gaara stared blankly from behind the mask of his new body. "I'm hungry," a gravelly voice ground its way from the depths of his body.
"Uh, sure, sure," Ron's voice cracked as he slid along the wall, "we'll get you Dumbledore, he'll..."
Gaara cut Ron off, disgusted by the thought of Dumbledore. "Much too old," he growled, licking his lips, "I prefer babies."