Sojourn

Kirjava Deamon


This is my last piece of writing here. I hope you like it. Maybe, just maybe one day you'll see my name amongst the bookshelves, a name on a book spine. Maybe not, but look around, in that book, I'll make a note to you guys.

Thank you for your time over the years. Never quit writing—I won't.

Thank you, especially Lucullus, Tina and Erin.

Now, on with my drabble.

Nothing too special.


Like the wind, he'd just pass by, come in at dawn from the south, and be out by dusk towards the north. Never staying to long enough for anyone to notice, to know him; he thought of life a sojourn, so, he'd say, be it. Blaise Zabini was infamous or maybe even famous at how he would breeze across the Great Hall in a whirl of black hair, silver eyes that were moonlit-like, but no one dared to touch, and faded once-black robes turned dark gray. No one noticed him; he was the Head Boy over Draco Malfoy in his final year; only then did people notice him, and they noticed him if they dislike Malfoy that much, or if they wanted their precious Slytherin Prince on the throne. But that was neither here nor there. Like a majestic butterfly with some alteration differences, his presence would easily be shaken off and no one knew quite why. Maybe it was because of the childhood jeers from his surroundings, his lack of attention from his parents, or maybe because of the

Someone, though, did notice him.

She wasn't anybody special, not great at hiding or breezing—her flaming hair and freckles made that nearly impossible. But her spirit was what made him finally quell his fleets, and turn his head, taken aback. She walked up to him, and they glared at each other; one angry because she made him stop, one angry because a Slytherin dared to check her out.

"Weasley." He nodded.

"Zabini." She nodded. He stopped from about to turn around, and in silence he knew she was the only person in this castle that knew him all along by the way she said his name. At that moment, it may have been he fell in love with her. But because of this, he fled past her, a famous whirl of black and gray hiding him into the shadows of the hall.

But, like most things, they were ripped apart between the war that took the Wizarding world. Of course, He fled his sojourn, and of course Harry Potter won, by a thread, and became the Wizarding world's adored little hero again.

But he found her again. On the streets, a woman with flaming hair in a tight bun at the back of her head with tired eyes met his wondering gaze.

"Weasley." He nodded.

"Zabini." She nodded.

And in his arms he took her, and like the wind that blew in at dawn from the east, he was gone by dusk to towards the west, but this time with Ginny. His Ginny.