AN: One shot, I was bored, I've been meaning to do this for a while, so I'll do this and then I'll post my next Chapter for Scars.
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His lips met hers in a blurred passion, fierce and demanding, blending together so many emotions held back over the years. The loss, the separation, the deaths, the tragedy, the depression, and now, the re kindled love that the two shared.
It was true. Both Pansy and Blaise had been through a lot in the past year. Pansy had separated from her lover for fear that her lawful and unwanted fiancée would bring him to his death. She had broken his heart in an attempt to save him, from the war and from her own problems. But now it was all over, and the only thing that mattered to the two was the exceeded amount of clothes on the others body.
Blaise unbuttoned her blouse quickly and dropped it somewhere in the room. He growled at the lacy cami she wore under the long-sleeved Oxford that she was known to wear to work. His lips trailed down her neck as she moaned incomprehensible phrases. Pansy rolled her head back and took down the pins holding her hair to the tight French twist. The curls trailed down to her mid-back as Blaise's hand followed them, slipping the last piece of fabric off the top part of her body.
Suddenly he stopped everything.
His hands slid over rough lines on her stomach and he pulled back and looked at her. She tried to cover herself, but the damage was done. As he looked down, he stopped breathing.
Rows upon rows of red and white scars lined her stomach, disappearing into the hem of her skirt. He ran his fingers over what looked to be the most recent cuts, and she flinched out of pain.
"Pansy…" he asked. He grabbed the wrist that she had been cradling and flipping it to see the underside, which was littered with hundreds of slashes, some deeper then others. "What have you done?" he asked her as she retracted her arm and looked away.
"This shouldn't have happened." She tried to cover, grabbing her shirt off the floor. Blaise stood defiantly in front of her.
"Why are you doing this to your self?"
She met his eyes. "You wouldn't understand." She tried again to get past him, but he refused to do anything of the sort.
"Then make me." He grabbed her wrist again, caressing the scars that befell his eyes. "Please." He added.
"Because it was the only escape that I knew of." She whispered as he planed a kiss on the most bruised and battered parts of the collection of red.
"Escape from what?"
"Reality. Please don't hate me…" she pleaded with him, only now getting what she had caused her self so much pain over.
"I could never do that." He drew her into his arms as she shivered. "You have to stop." He whispered.
"I- I c, I don't know how…" tears fell from her eyes as he kissed them away slowly.
"There's help. You won't be alone." He whispered.
"And loose all respect letting someone else in? Pansy Parkinson, heir to the seventh greatest fortune in the wizarding world, can't even control her own emotions. Sounds like a fairy tale."
"Pansy. I will be there." He tried to reason with her with no luck.
"Why? I broke your heart. Why help me. Why not just let me die, Blaise?" she whispered venomously.
"You are so fucking selfish aren't you?" he exploded "If you die, I die. I pledged my love for you once, gave you my live god damn you! Your death would affect more people then you know. Look beyond everything that you have made your world to be. Look beyond the fake smiles, fake empathy, past the walls of what you make your life to be everyday. Think about Draco, Millicent, Greg, Vinny and Colin, your parents, so many people love you, will you get enough brains to accept that?" He was nearly breaking down as he finished, and slowly she nodded against him.
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Three weeks at later funeral, he kept blaming himself, knowing that it could have been act and doing nothing to keep her from walking up the stairs. Doing nothing from reaching the roof. Doing nothing as she past her last words into the wind. And doing nothing as she jumped seventeen stories to her immediate death.
It rained as the some four hundred people departed from the Royal Graveyard. Ironic, he thought bitterly. As even her parents left their daughter in her peaceful eternal darkness, he stood there, watching over her as she was lowered into the grave.
When he finally did reach what home he had left, he wandered around helplessly. Reaching the bathroom, he spotted a haven.
A razorblade.
Walking towards it, he picked it up, before dropping it down out the window of his bedroom at his Manor. He wouldn't make the same mistakes that she did, that he knew. How he dealt with the loss of the one woman he had ever loved, many still wander. But what is fact and what is fiction is a fine line. What we do know, is that everyday, a man dressed in black, appears by Pansy's grave, and delivers a red rose, and by midnight the next night, a new one replaces it.
The last time that this rose ever showed up, was the last night that Blaise Zabini was alive. And on this rose, were the words, 'Through out all of time, I will love you, and no matter what you have done, where you are, I will love you.'
The myth of the bloody roses is common, but that was how I saw it. The day Blaise died, Pansy's grave changed, from Pansy V. Parkinson, to Pansy V. P. Zabini, so that maybe when they do meet again, they can be united in all ways, even in death.
AN: Tell me what I can do to change it. Reveiws greatly appreciated.