notes: yet another story that is going somewhere unknown but give it and me a chance. The title is the name of a HIM album (my favourite by the way) so basically the concept for this will be a chapter for each song on the album ...at the moment anyways.
disclaimer: I own neither characters nor this particular group of Finns
The world was on fire, no-one could save me but you
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do
No and I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you
I'll never dream that I lose somebody like you
HIM: "Wicked Game" (Chris Isaak cover)
Harry Potter lay on his bed in Gryffindor tower cursing alcohol, cursing Slytherins and cursing the infamous 7th year parties. One, of perhaps only two, benefits of acting completely delusional under the influence of the evil substance was being able to take no responsibility what so ever for your own actions. The other benefit was that it could almost be guaranteed that you would not remember. Unfortunately, Harry was reaping none of these benefits.
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I stare at the canopy above me, its crimson colouring lost in the swirling darkness. I try to sleep but every time I close my eyes I see flashes of last night. Mere moments of something longer is all they are but they feel more intense than a week's worth of dreams.
I chance lowering my eye lids another time, I'm beginning to wonder if I am in fact craving these sensations. I hear heart beats and raged breathing echoing around my ears. Soft lips press into mine as steady hands trace patterns on my lower back. My hands stroke soft blond hair as a tongue explores my mouth. A hand curves round my hip but my eyes snap open. This was no drunken mistake. I wanted you, needed you, and now I lie here craving you.
I pulled you aside today, away from all your serpentine minions. I grabbed your wrist and as soon as skin hit skin I knew I was gone. I tried to talk to you.
"Look, about last night..." Was how I began but forgot exactly where my statement was heading when I saw the look you were giving me. Your silver eyes stared back at me, masked, as if I were a total stranger in this stone corridor. I'll admit that you scared me then. I dropped your wrist and fled, although entirely aware of your eyes following me until I had disappeared from sight.
Never before had I seen you look that way. As much as you like to believe, and to a certain extent actually are, the cool, collected Slytherin, emotions hidden behind a steely facade, you never have been able to hide how you truly feel. For seven years your eyes have glowed with the utmost disdain and loathing whenever they looked my way. Today, however, there was nothing. What are you hiding from me Malfoy ?
I cannot be here any longer. I feel trapped beneath this duvet, constricted, bound. With an air of a creeping thief I remove myself from my cotton coffin and stuff my feet haphazardly into my trainers. I close the drapes behind me should anyone wake up. I take my invisibility cloak from my trunk as I breeze past and stealthily leave the dormitory.
On autopilot after so many nights spent alone roaming this draughty castle, I let my feet carry me from Gryffindor tower to wherever my subconscious draws me. How much time passes in this silence, ten minutes ? Thirty minutes ? I didn't know the time when I began this blind mans journey and so the fraction of eternity that I have wandered so aimlessly will go unchartered. Perhaps one day I will look back and wish I knew how long it took me to find myself before this painting on the wall of a dark, dead-end.
Inhaling deeply as my path ends I let the wet musk scent of my surroundings register in my brain allowing for recognition as to my current position in the castle. The portrait is that of a woman. Her dark hair flows sleekly to her waist. Black robes adorn her body as she sits regally on a throne of dark wood. Her eyes are the very shade of green on the Slytherin crest and a silver snake is coiled round her left wrist. I wonder who this formidable looking witch is as she acts so differently to the other paintings that decorate Hogwarts.
She, herself, barely moves, eyes blink and roam the corridor and chest moves in soft breathing. The snake flicks her tongue out, hissing and winding her way up her mistress' arm. Funny that my feet should bring me here when the very reason I was walking lies not far behind the painting.
The woman's eyes flick towards the end of the passageway and narrow at the sound of soft, approaching footsteps. I skulk back against the wall, awaiting the arrival of this fellow night walker. The person rounds the corner, an unfamiliar sensation writhes in the bottom of my heart as I see blond hair flowing behind a tall, slender frame. Seems we're not so different you and I.
I watch you coming along the corridor. Your pale face is set in a frown, silver blond brows furrowed in the middle. Candlelight casts shadows over high cheek bones, soft pink lips set in a gentle pout. You look confused ? Worried ? Sad ? With no one around there is no attempt made to hide what you are feeling. I try to make out the emotion showing in those flame lit silver eyes.
You grow nearer, I feel my hands itching to reach out and grab you as you pass. You stop in front of the portrait yet you do not utter the password. I watch you deciding a course of action, chewing slightly on your bottom lip. The woman in the painting begins to grow noticeably impatient. I could stretch out my hand to touch you just once, and it would be enough (or would I want to repeat the action ?). Tentatively I raise my hand, directing it towards your soft cheek.
