remmyswritings

The words advertising Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad echoed through your mind as you sat in the classroom waiting for Blaise. He’s now, you check the time again, 15 minutes late and your worry is turning into annoyance. The sigh that escapes you fills the room’s silence just for a second, your eyes tempted to check the time a second time even though nothing has changed.

You’re tired. So tired. But Blaise had practically begged for the two of you to meet and you couldn’t say no. Especially with the way he eyed the bandage wrapped around your hand any chance he could get.

You finally couldn’t stop yourself as you check the time once more. It has now been 20 minutes that you’ve waited for Blaise to appear at the door. 20 minutes. It’s not past curfew just yet, but it’s close- too close- so with one more check of the time, you grab your things and head to the door.

If only you’d waited just a little bit longer, paused for just a second more at the end of the hallway, you would have heard the rush of his steps, his name calling out to you as he opened the door. As your head hits your pillow you can only think, God I’m tired.

•••

You realized that the scar on your hand was finally close to disappearing as you and Ginny focus on another one of Potter’s lessons.

“I’m happy it’s no longer showing,” Ginny grabs hold of your wrist as her fingers search for the bump of the words that used to be there.

You smile at her tenderness, “I am too,” you pause, “means he won’t ask anymore questions.”

Both of you check to make sure everyone else in the room is too busy practicing to care about your conversation, “How’s that going?”

You bite your lip as you contemplate her question before another voice- no two voices- join the conversation, “How’s what going?”

Nobody else is sure who the shriek comes from, but for sure you and Ginny are not gonna be able to continue your conversation. Ginny glares at her older brothers, “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

The twins look at you and then her, before backing up slowly when Ginny’s wand is pointed in their direction. “Alright, alright,” one starts, “We’ll leave you two alone.”

Harry has wrangled most of the room’s attention but something about the continued stares stops you all together. Ginny’s hand rests on your shoulder, “We can talk tonight.”

You shake your head out of your stupor, “Maybe,” you whisper, “I might finally be seeing him later.” There’s a pause, “I’ll write to you.”

Ginny nods as the lesson finally comes to an end. And yet, you force yourself to leave the room as nonchalantly as possible. Running means attention and you don’t want that at the moment. You’re late, you know you’re late, and for once you can’t come up with a viable excuse. You can only hope that Blaise will accept your apology.

“Darling,” you call out as you peak behind the door, grateful to see that Blaise is pacing the length of the room.

He continues back and forth, his hands tightly wound into fists, as his brain seems to run on full speed.

You walk further into the room, “Darling?” No response, “Darling?” His pacing continues, his steps becoming louder.

“Blaise?” He finally looks at you, “Blaise? What’s going on?”

His eyes are clouded with an emotion that you don’t recognize as he looks over your form. And yet, it reminds you so much of your first meeting at the start of the year, you don’t want to remember but it filters into your mind.

You take a step into the room, happy yet also sad when he doesn’t move from his spot. His feet now fully grounded into the floor below him.

“Blaise?” the whisper of his name curls around him as he tries to make the tension in his body not as obvious. He can’t help it when he looks down at the floor, painfully obvious in the way he ignores meeting your eyes.

You want to ask more, say more, but Blaise has not always responded well to prodding so you wait there, hoping he will finally look at you.

His words are sharp, “Who is it?”

Your head tilts slightly, “Who’s what?” You take a small step forward, “Blaise, I’m really confused about whatever is going on right now.”

“Who is it that you’re seeing?”

You want to laugh, you do, but Blaise is shaking, he is shaking in a way that you know is because he’s trying to control himself- his anger.

“I’m seeing you,” your voice wavers, “Why do you think otherwise?”

“No.” The trembling has stopped. “No. You weren’t here the other night-” “Well, you were late and I was really tired Blaise, we knew it wasn’t-” “You’re bloody seeing someone, I know it.” “No. I’m not.” “I don’t believe you.”

You’re chest to chest now, his eyes cold and staring not at you but past you. You’re sure he can hear the way your heart is beating in your chest, and you definitely hear his.

You breathe in, then out. “I’m not cheating on you, and quite frankly I don’t know why you believe that.”

His voice has quieted down, at this point you almost have to read his lips to understand, “So, where is it that you go ‘cause it’s not here with me?”

“I do have other friends,” his head shakes and yet you continue on, “and where exactly do you get off accusing me of cheating?”

Your anger starts to build up, “Cause I’m not the only one who’s missed dates. Who’s shown up late. So, do you want me to ask you the same thing-”

“I was busy.”

“Oh, so you’re busy and I’m cheating. Good to know that’s how you view things.”

You’ve somehow already grabbed your bag, one hand on the door handle when he reaches out to you. Your wand sends a minor curse next to his feet. Any anger that you held has fully turned into something else- embarrassment or guilt or dread- you’re not sure which.

Your heart still pounds, “I’m sorry. I don’t- I’m sorry.” And then you’re gone.