Just a little oneshot I thought of. Songfic to Busted (yes, BUSTED!), Sleeping with the Light on. It's a cute song, and the lyrics randomly made me think of this..
And ignore the time differences in this. I highly doubt they actually work, but go with it!
Hope you like! And review, please:)
Summary: Oneshot. Sitting there, in the taxi, Blaise wondered. Had he done the right thing? Was he doing the right thing? Blaise/Hermione
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Sleeping With the Light On
Sitting there, in the taxi, Blaise wondered.
Had he done the right thing? Was he doing the right thing?
After graduating from Hogwarts the year before, he'd changed. They all knew about Potter and his miraculous victory over Voldemort; Blaise had been there, after all. He'd seen the battle as a final way to prove his allegiance to the Light, and a real battle it had been. People he'd known for years had gone, wiped out in a moment.
But the battle had brought the wizarding community closer, as well. Some people more than others. He smiled. Hermione. Blaise had known her all the way through Hogwarts without casting a second glance at her once; yet towards the end of the battle preparations, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. There were little things about her that he loved: the way she absent-mindedly twirled a strand of hair round her index finger when embarrassed, or the way she bit her lip whilst thinking; everyone had noticed the stares at Headquarters. Knowing smiles, whispers in corridors: he'd concluded that Hermione must have realised what he felt for her before he'd plucked up the courage to tell her. Even through the death and the sorrow of war had come some happiness, finally.
So now he sat in a taxi. There had been rumours around headquarters. They doubted him, and his allegiance; it had been heard that the Zabini family were trying to round up all surviving Death Eaters, and start a rebellion. Blaise knew nothing of it, but that hadn't stopped the gossip. The Minister had tried to get rid of him. In a bid to wipe the slate clean of any potential threats to the Ministry, Blaise had been relocated to California, and the American Ministry. Today was the day he was flying to a new life. All his hard work, trying to get in the Ministry's good books, studying for hours into the night when Hermione was waiting for him in their little flat, was ruined. He'd had no choice in the matter: relocate, or be disowned from the Wizarding World, have his wand snapped and his memory wiped.
He'd agreed. What other choice was there?
Hermione had cried when she heard. The Minister had specified that she wasn't to go with him; Hermione Granger was way too valuable to be lost to a traitor. They'd begged and pleaded, but to no avail. It had already been decided. Blaise felt betrayed. He'd been disowned by his family and friends to fight, but was now being cast aside and sacrificed like a pawn on a Wizard Chess board.
It had been awful saying goodbye. Both knew it was inevitable and unavoidable, but when the actual moment came, it didn't seem real. He told her he loved her more than anything, and she blushed in that cute way of hers, and said it back. Then, she kissed him, and for that moment, everything had been okay. It had been just the two of them in the world.
When they broke apart, she was crying. Blaise kissed each one of her tears and promised that one day, he'd come back. "As soon as they let me, 'Mione, I'll be back."
She'd smiled weakly at that. "Don't forget me, Blaise."
He grinned, trying to appear stronger than he actually felt. "How could I ever, 'Mione?"
Picking up his heavy suitcase, he backed towards the door. The handle was cold, and stiff as he turned it. "Well, this is it, I guess."
And then, forgetting all his plans to try and be strong, Blaise ran back towards her, and pulled her into a fierce embrace.
"I love you so much." He whispered, between kisses. "I love you so much…"
Along she came, with her picture,
Put it in a frame, so I won't miss her,
They'd been so happy, too. A perfect couple, people said. It'd got serious pretty quickly: from nothing to everything in the blink of an eye. Everyone needed some support in the wartime; Hermione was his, he was hers. It was as simple as.
At first Harry and Ron, her best friends had been doubtful. He could understand that; Blaise and his old best friend Malfoy had hardly been pleasant to her at Hogwarts. But he'd found himself partnered with Harry quite often for duelling practice, and the two had become good friends. Potter must have said something to Weasley, because one day, they just accepted him. The harsh tones and suspicious looks were gone, and Hermione beamed round at them all, so happy that her best friends and her boyfriend were finally getting on.
The taxi came to a halt, jolting Blaise back to his senses. The cabbie opened up the door for him, letting the cold air flood in and hit his face.
"Thanks." He muttered, handing over some Muggle money, not caring if it was the right amount.
The man grinned. "Have a nice flight, Sir."
Blaise nodded in reply, turned, and walked away into the terminal, realising that there was no going back.
Got on a plane, from London Heathrow,
It seems such a shame, yeah
The plane seats were uncomfortable. As Blaise boarded the plane, the hostess had smiled at him with red-lipstick lips.
"Good morning, Mr Zabini. Your seat is in Row 14, seat A. Have a nice flight."
He'd merely grunted in reply, and continued shuffling down the aisle. No energy for politeness. Upon arrival at Row 14, he saw that the two other seats were already occupied. In the gangway chair sat a bald man, reading a newspaper. Blaise couldn't see his face. Next to him was a blonde girl, wearing a pair of jeans and a baby blue T-shirt reading "Kiss me, I'm cute!" Blaise wrinkled up his nose. Hermione wouldn't wear anything like that. Damnit! He sighed. Don't think about her, Blaise!
"Excuse me." He mumbled. "Could I get to my seat, please?"
The bald man grumbled as he stood up, muttering to himself. The blonde girl positively beamed. "Sure! I'm Gina, nice to meet you!"
Blaise groaned to himself. This is the last thing I need right now. Gina didn't notice; instead she sat down again and fussed around in her bag, pulling out a lipstick and re-applying the pink gloss in a small hand-mirror.
"So, where you heading to, then?" she enquired, brightly, her American accent making him feel extremely posh. He could feel her eyes roaming over his dark skin and messy black hair, and felt uneasy under her gaze.
Blaise tried to smile. "I-I've just got a job out here. This will be my first time in America, let alone in California."
Her mouth widened. "Oh, cool! I've lived in LA all my life! Maybe I could show you round sometime?"
No thanks. "Yeah, that'd be good."
Gina seemed pretty pleased with that. "I love your English accent. It's really hot!"
He tried to force himself to forget that Hermione had insisted endlessly that he had a really sexy way of saying things.
As Gina started off on another round of questions, Blaise sighed, and shuffled further down into his seat. It was going to be a long flight.
I feel her slipping through my fingers,
Now she's gone, I'm sleeping with the light on,
And sharks swim through my veins, now that she's gone,
I'm sleeping with the light on.
The first thing he noticed, stepping out into the evening air of Los Angeles Airport, was the heat. Even in September, when it would be raining all day every day in Britain, LA was warm.
Gina had bade him goodbye by the baggage carousel, saying that she had to run, "My boyfriend's waiting for me… I can't wait to see him!", but not before giving Blaise her phone number and address, commanding him to "Call me!" The last sight he'd seen of her was Gina throwing herself into the welcoming arms of her boyfriend. Funny, isn't it? He mused, this is her coming home, and only the beginning of my journey.
A taxi driver had approached him, carrying a battered piece of cardboard with Blaise's name on it. The man looked about twenty years old, with a dark tan and ruffled brown hair, and smiled as he introduced himself. Blaise forgot his name within minutes, but willingly got into the taxi after him.
The silence felt uncomfortable, and Blaise fidgeted in his pockets for something to distract himself. His fingers came across the smooth edge of Hermione's parting gift to him. A mobile phone, or something like that. She'd explained how it worked to him, and told him to call her when he landed. The Ministry had blocked all possible other access of him returning to England: the Floo system would spit him back out again if he dared step in a fireplace, and he couldn't apparate half-way across the world, anyway.
He pressed one of the buttons on the keypad, and jumped as the small object lit up. The whole day had been a blur, trying to cope with all the Muggle technology. It'd been hard to fit in, as a wizard, and he'd already had to obliviate a passer-by who'd picked up his wand after it'd fallen out of his back pocket. Blaise could feel the smooth wood against his skin now. His wand had been with him all day, despite Ministry warnings, tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and covered by his t-shirt.
Heard she's engaged, spoke to her best friend,
No one's to blame, here's where it all ends,
Hermione's home number was the only number stored in the phone, so it wasn't hard to figure out. Blaise was glad he'd taken Muggle Studies, but putting the studying into practice felt odd. Holding the phone up to his ear, he counted the rings. It took a long time to connect.
"Hello?" A familiar voice echoed down the line. Not Hermione's. "Who's this?"
Something clicked in Blaise's head. "Ginny? It's Blaise."
He heard a small intake of breath, and the voice quietened to a whisper. "Blaise? What are you doing calling? You know what they said…"
"I need to speak to Hermione," he pleaded. "Is she there? Tell me she's there, Ginny, please…"
Ginny paused. "Blaise, you know you're not supposed to be doing this."
His voice broke. "I know, I know. Just tell me how she is, and let me talk to her, please. No-one will know, Gin."
"I can't let you talk to her." said Ginny, stubbornly. "Anyway, she's asleep right now."
"Ginny!" he cried, exasperatedly. "Is she okay? Hermione never sleeps during the day!"
"Keep your voice down!" she whispered ferociously. "I'm not waking her."
Blaise exhaled deeply. "Ginny. This is all I'm asking. Let me talk to the woman I love one more time. You have no idea what this is doing to me."
"I know exactly what it's doing to the both of you" she growled. "I've been here with 'Mione ever since you left. She's cried herself to sleep now, and I'm not waking her."
"She cried herself to sleep?" Blaise closed his eyes, blocking out the feeling that he was drowning.
Ginny sighed. "Blaise, there's nothing you can do anymore. You've got to let go, and let her move on."
There was a silence.
"Do you really think I can do that, if I'm calling you, begging to talk to her? Does it really look like she wants to move on to you? Gin, this is wrong. We all know that. Now let me talk to her!"
He gasped as a groggy voice came in the background. "Ginny? Who's that on the phone?" His heart jumped. Hermione!
"Ginny! Let me talk to her!" he yelled, ignoring the taxi driver's confused looks back at him.
He felt his heart breaking for the second time in a day as he heard her say "No-one, 'Mione. Must have been a wrong number."
His heart sank as he heard a beep, as the phone clicked onto the hook and the line went dead.
And then, for the first time since he was six years old, Blaise Zabini cried.
And I feel the pain, 'cause I'm without her,
I feel the pain…
The hotel reception was bright and cheerful, with photos of local tourist attractions gracing the walls. Blaise hardly noticed. He walked straight up to the front desk, at which a dark haired, middle-ages woman sat typing at a computer.
"Hi." She looked up, not noticing his slightly red eyes. "I have a reservation."
"Name?" she enquired, opening up a book full of names and dates.
"Zabini… Blaise Zabini." He choked, feeling very James Bond-ish with his accent.
The woman didn't seem to notice, and instead grabbed a key off a hook. "Here you go, Mr Zabini. Room 256. I hope you had a good flight?"
Blaise nodded stiffly. "Yeah, thanks. It was okay."
I see the sight, with a different light,
Words cannot describe the way I'm feeling,
"Good." She smiled a wide smile, showing off perfect white teeth. "Take the elevator up to the second floor. Dinner is at seven, but you must be jet-lagged. It's best to sleep it off, if you can. Breakfast is from six till ten o'clock"
"Thanks." Blaise smiled his fake smile again, and headed to where she'd pointed. The elevator seemed to take forever to arrive. I just want to be alone.
'Cause I've been searching in my head,
For the words I thought she'd said,
For too long…
He stepped into the lift, relishing the cool breeze blown in by the air conditioning. A familiar song played quietly on the speakers. Blaise couldn't place the title or artist, but it reminded him of the summer him and Hermione had spent hiding away in Headquarters.
I've got to stop thinking of her. The corridor was long and narrow, with deep blue plush carpet. Blaise came to his door, Room 256 and turned the key into his home for the next few weeks.
I feel her slipping through my fingers,
His room was dark. Even with the lights on, it lacked a certain warmth to it that Blaise knew only came when Hermione was around him. It felt bland and boring – no, he felt bland and boring without her. His eyes used to light up and danced bright blue, even in darkness, yet now they sat solemn and dull. Is this what life is like now?
Now she's gone, I'm sleeping with the light on,
Opening his suitcase, Blaise grabbed a T-shirt and some clean boxers. The shirt smelled of the Muggle washing powder Hermione always used. He held it close to his face and inhaled the scent, relishing the memories it brought back. God, I miss you so much.
He changed quickly. In the bathroom, he stared long and hard into the mirror. He could feel such a change: from the way he stood – proud and tall with Hermione, now slumped as if in pain – to the way he'd left his hair today. No need to style it in the way she loved, if there was no one to impress, right? Grabbing the toothpaste angrily, Blaise averted his eyes from his own reflection. How can a mirror make me feel so guilty?
The bedcovers were cream in colour, and despite looking warm and inviting provided no warmth to a shivering Blaise. He turned out the light. Lying on his back, he reached out an arm to where she normally would have lain, hunched up in a ball, as always. It was cold, and empty.
And sharks swim through my veins, now that she's gone,
And then it dawned on him. The reality of the situation. She's never coming to see me. I'll never see those eyes again, or watch her bite her lip again. I'll never tell her I love her again, and she'll never blush and tell me she loves me more.
A sensation flooded him, one he'd never felt before, despite the horrors of war. Grief. It's really over. Blaise just wanted to be alone. To mourn.
The room was too dark. The shadows lingered just out of sight, and the silence echoed inside his head.
He flicked on the light.
I'm sleeping with the light on.
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