She brought her hands to her mouth, exhaling a puff of hot air in a half-hearted attempt to warm them. Shifting awkwardly under the weight of her heavy cloak, she resumed her steady pace once more, keeping her head down as she went. She heard the way they talked.
It did not take her long to reach the lakeshore; casting her gaze around, she saw no one. This sudden feeling of solitude pleased her greatly, and she settled down to think. Haughty looks could not reach her here.
And now that she was sure there wasn't anybody around to see her, she let loose a muffled sob. Her pale, sickly form shook, a rather stark contrast to the looming twilight. She was so alone, so utterly alone.
Hannah Abbot was not a girl given to brooding. Gentle by nature, and with a generally sunny disposition, it was no small wonder that she was a Hufflepuff. Neither was it very surprising that although she could be said to have possessed many good friends and acquaintances, she tended to slip through the cracks.
She was smart, yes, but by no stretch of the imagination brilliant. She was pretty, indeed, but not particularly so. Nor was she very athletically inclined, although she wasn't in any way clumsy. All in all, she was fairly average. Just another face in the crowd.
Except that she wasn't. Not anymore, anyway. Stares followed her wherever she went now, and there was always whispering to be heard.
Not all of it was hostile. Some of it came from simply curiosity, and some of it could even be assumed to contain a touch of concern. But that didn't change the fact that this unwanted attention was there. And frankly, it was driving her mad.
Who were they to judge what she did with her body? So she was a little thin, a little lack-luster these days. That didn't mean that there was anything wrong with her!
Her sniffling subsided as her ire rose. Who were they to say those things, to call her that, to giggle at her, as if she were some sort of spectacle?
Well, she wouldn't have it any longer. No, absolutely not. There was something of a manic gleam in her dull, otherwise lifeless orbs, even as she rose swiftly to her feet, propelled by the desire to lash out at someone, something.
About to deliver a sound kick to the base of a nearby tree, she could hear the sound of boots crunching across the snow.
Her breath stilled in her throat, and she willed herself not to turn around and face whoever it was who'd come to tease her now. She squinted her eyes shut; if she looked this persistent tormenter dead-on, her newfound resolve would surely crumble.
But this person did not go away, as she had silently hoped, begged. They reached out towards her, instead, a heavy hand clapping down upon her shoulder. It must have been an odd sight to take in, the pair of them.
When at last she knew that she could no longer hold out against this silent assailant, her eyes snapped open and she whirled around in a single, fluid motion… only to lose herself in blue.
The intensity of his gaze… She shuddered to think that such a look might be for her, one who suddenly felt so inherently small and undeserving of his presence.
"W-What do you want?" She finally managed to croak, feeling her insides squirm uncomfortably.
He did not answer her. Rather, he closed the distance between them both, enveloping her in a crushing embrace.
She felt as if she were going to suffocate, and not from any lack of air.
"I know you're cold,' He murmured, and his voice was not unkind, as she'd been expecting, but soft, and earnest, and even a touch reverent. "You bundle up, day after day, and you're never quite as warm as you like? Why?"
It was she who did not answer this time, and she found that she was glad her chin was forced to rest upon his shoulder, because there was no way that she could bear to look into those stormy eyes as he said these things. These horrible, awful, truthful things.
"I know why…" He answered for her, and she found herself shuddering once more, though not so much out of displeasure this time, but for the way his warm breath trickled near her ear. He smelled faintly of mint.
"D-Do you?" She choked out, inwardly cringing at how utterly meek she sounded.
He gave a solemn nod, although she could not see it. "Yes," He answered gravely, and that was all that was said between them for a good, long while. "You don't eat right," He suddenly accused, voice thick with what could only be sorrow. "I've seen you at mealtimes. You barely touch anything. It's a wonder that you aren't sicker than you are."
Her mind was reeling. Who was this boy, this Slytherin, this Zabini, and how dare he follow her out here, and talk to her, and touch her, and say these maddeningly, infuriatingly true things? "I don't know what you're talking about," She said sharply, In a fruitless attempt to exert some control over the situation. "You can let go of me now."
He gave a decidedly bitter laugh— a sound which she decided that she did not like hearing from him— but never once did his hold upon her slacken. If anything, he drew her closer still. And so her arms, which had hung limply at her side up until this point, could find no other place to rest than around his waist, lest she sink to her knees before him.
"I don't think I like you, you know," She faintly informed him. And he gave a great, big laugh, totally unlike the one which has issued forth from his lips mere moments before.
"Well… I like you," He responded, sounding rather nonchalant about the matter, as if this were the purest fact there was and had always been so. "Just thought you should know."
And he let her go, but leaned in close, delivering the most chaste of kisses upon on her sunken cheekbones.
With those words he was gone, silently making his way back to the castle, chestnut strands being tossed about, rosy cheeks lending to his windswept appearance.
Share stared after him, in a bit of a daze, and slowly her mouth curved upwards. Touching her fingers to the place his lips had grazed, her other hand strayed to her stomach, which reflexively issued a gurgle of discontent.
For the first time in ages, she felt like grabbing a bite.
The End
A/N: First things first, I would like to say that this little one-shot is the product of a plot bunny Emmylou had up for grabs over on Fiction Alley Park ("Hannah Abbot shows up for her seventh year disturbingly thin. What's going on? How do her friends react?"). I don't pretend to know anything about eating disorders outside what I learned in school. Sorry if I've offended.
Secondly, I would like to apologize if this does not conform to your standards of 'good writing'. I've been suffering from a rather excruciating bout of writer's block, and this is my way of working through it— although the style change was a conscious effort. In any case, I did not expect to force out any more than a garbled sentence or two when I sat down with my notebook at three-something in the morning (I am something of a summertime insomniac), but to my surprise, the words started pouring.
I don't know why this pairing attracts me so. Call it a pet of mine, if you will. Substitute the names and various descriptions for whatever you like, though, and I'm sure it could conform to the mold of many pairings. It was meant to showcase a Hufflepuff and Slytherin, however.
I'll trust you'll note Blaise's slightly domineering ways, despite a show of tenderness which can probably be assumed to be uncharacteristic of someone such as himself. Hannah is passive here, but not weak-willed.
Sorry, as my fans will yell you, I'm rather long-winded.
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