Who: Blaise & Padma When: 4 January, evening Where: 6th floor window Rating: G What: explanations and sentiment
It was surprisingly warm at the window that Blaise had come to consider "their's." Some charm or another kept the warmth of the torches contained, although there still remained a chill emanating from the windows. Hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, he leaned against the ledge, waiting, and watching the shadows flickering at his feet. A small basket sat at his feet, filled with a simple meal of bread, cheese, and fruit. He hadn't seen Padma at all during dinner, and being unsure if she had even eaten, he'd taken the liberty of stopping at the kitchens and fetching both the basket and a flask of pumpkin juice.
Having left her dormitory long before curfew for patrols with Anthony, Padma was nevertheless prompt. Blaise's shadow was visible before the man himself, and she felt a forgotten hesitance at the prospect of the encounter. A deep and steady breath was taken before she stepped forward and into the torchlight.
Her footsteps gave her whereabouts before she came into view. Pushing from the ledge, he stood fully, and made as if to move toward her. Stopping himself, unsure of her reception, he simply took in her form, staring for many moments. He gestured at his feet. "I wasn't sure if you'd eaten." His throat was dry, the words nearly lost because of it. Swallowing, he coughed, holding himself back from literally throwing himself at her.
"I didn't." The reply was soft, her eyes dark and traveling from his face to the window beyond and back. Padma had missed him terribly, but he seemed a stranger to her then. She stepped forward, paying no mind to the basket though her hunger was keenly felt. "I did not want to see... whatever it was you wished for me not to see."
"You shall have to know, regardless." He met her then, keeping a small amount of distance between them. He lifted his hand, hovering an inch from her face. "May I?" He hated the asking of permission where none was needed before, but uncertainty plagued him, reducing him to questioning nearly everything.
A slight nod brought her lips to the lifted hand, a kiss pressed where his wrist met his palm.
He closed his eyes then, arms going closing around and holding her closely and tightly. He buried his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply. When finally he exhaled, it brought with it a shudder, and a burning of his eyes. "I am sorry," he whispered. He gave her no time to respond, pressing his lips to her temple, then cheek, and finally lips.
Where her words and mind would dither with pleasantries and accusations, her mouth and body would have none of these dalliances. Her kiss was a fierce one, it pulled, giving a little and taking, her teeth nipping slightly. Padma released only when she was ready, steadying her face to see his, full and serious. "What has happened?" Her question had the quality of stone.
Left breathless, he savoured the memory of the kiss before leading her to the ledge and sitting within. Waiting for her to join him, he was quiet. Then: "There is much about my father I do not speak of. Once, this was out of fear that he would be captured, and out of respect and even love for him. He is a Death Eater, Padma, and he would have me join their ranks, taking the Dark Mark shortly after we leave here." He drew in a deep breath. "He informed me of his decision on New Year's Eve."
To say that this revelation was not one Padma had turned to in dark moments would have been a lie, but the horror swept across her features nonetheless at so brutal a telling. Several moments passed before she could speak, her limbs drawn in tightly to her body, a distance created between them. "Would you do such a thing?" A whisper.
His breath left his body in a vehement exhalation, helped by the placing of his head within his hand and the frustrated scratching of his forehead. He laughed slightly and bitterly."This is where it becomes complicated. I tried." He looked at her, his eyes imploring her to believe him. "I tried, and he..." The words stuck, fury at his father reaching up and choking him. The stone floor was beneath his feet; he hadn't realised he's risen and started pacing, anger contained within every line of his body. "Mother's life is forfeit, if I don't."
Padma did not think to rise with him, seemingly rooted where she crouched. "There is nothing to be done?"
He shook his head quickly. "I've yet to write to Peter -- my oldest brother -- but she doubtless would not heed our warnings. She... tends to not believe Father capable of such atrocities. I can only hope that between Peter and myself, she will listen to reason."
Hands knotted limp in her skirt, Padma's face twisted as she sought to understand their situation, this wild notion of family, and obligation. All of this for a war, for Pureblood nonsense. For a moment she was certain she would be sick, head touching against her knees, breath drawn ragged and slow.
He wanted to scream his rage, but all that he could do was whisper. "I don't want this, none of it. He's... he's wrong to ask this of me, to force me, and even more wrong to hold my own mother's life over my head for it." Tears -- held back for days with the belief that as a man grown and a Slytherin, they were weak -- gathered, only to be dashed away with a rough swipe of a hand.
She went to him without hesitation, taking his hands and cradling them each between her own. Her features were still. "Can I help you?"
He calmed, sniffling slightly. "I don't want you in danger, too. That's why..." he swallowed. "Why we have to appear to have split up." He captured her hands in his then. "Thus far, no one has actually told him that the girl who has been writing to me all of break does not hold the same values as the Zabinis are supposed to. It... may not go well if he does know."
A nod, as this much had been clear to her from the beginning. "What am I to do then?" She held their joined hands to her breast. "Nothing? To sit idle? What are you to do?"
A deep breath. "Tracey has been a good friend. She has offered to provide a... cover of sorts. In public, it will appear as if you and I are no longer as close, or even speaking, while she and I have grown closer over the hols." He kissed her then, quickly. "It will be a lie. I will appear to be courting her, but will not be. I won't lose you over this, Padma."
Shaking her head, Padma loosed his hands. "What charade we play does not matter to me. You matter to me." She shook with anger at his father and hateful ideology, with fear for his life and for her own. "How shall you keep from taking the mark? Are you to find sanctuary?" What should happen if this war is lost?
"I'm still working on how to not actually take it, but I hope that Peter will be of some help. Without the threat on Mother's life so direct..." He swallowed, pulling her close. "I won't become one of them. I'll do what I have to, to be safe." He meant it, every word, including the implied, unspoken ones. Perhaps especially those.
She breathed deeply against him, her thoughts stirred and refusing to settle. "I hope it is enough." The torchlight jumped at her words, mad shapes thrown across the stone and vanished in an instant.
"Me too." His voice was a mere echo of hers. "But I refuse to live in constant fear. Otherwise I think I'll drown from it." He leaned back slightly, cupping her face with his hands. "Forgive me for keeping all of this from you?"
Her gaze was steady. "I cannot begrudge you such a terrible secret." Though Padma did not smile, her next words were not so heavy as her first. "Had you kept it from me, almost certainly. But not now."
He grinned, brushing his nose against hers. "I have missed you in a wonderfully horrid way." His thumbs brushed over her jawline, simply taking her in. "You should eat."
"I should." She settled against him, careless a moment in appreciation of his warmth and steady figure. A moment passed before she let him go. "How shall we proceed?" She took a seat in the window once more, drawing the basket to her and taking the bread, still slightly warm from the ovens.
He followed closely, a hand resting lightly on her hip. He didn't want to fully release her, not yet. "Hm? Well, the journals make it easier. And Tracey spends a great deal of time in the Potions classroom, so no one would really remark upon if we were not around at the same times." His hand stole into the basket, stealing a few grapes. He ate one and held the other to her lips. Relief washed over him, that she knew and that she wasn't angry and that despite his fears, there was hope. He wanted to spend the entire evening with her.
She accepted the proferred fruit, thrilling unexpectedly. "I would not wish for this to be burdensome. Nor to endanger you." Padma would not admit the simple pleasures, the need to pretend if only to be with him fleetingly.
He ate another, enjoying the game of feeding her. "You are not a burden, love. You," here he rested his chin on her shoulder, "and forgive the mushy poetics, are a refuge."
A smile was tugged to her face. "You know I do not believe your flattery." She pinched him, gathering mostly sweater.
He laughed, gathering her to him and becoming serious once again. "I do not lie about that." He fetched a chunk of cheese, trying to balance it on her nose, enjoying his bout of silliness. "Eat."
Padma snatched the cheese and kissed him, one hand curling into his sweater, the other depositing the cheese in the basket before reaching to touch his neck at the collar of his shirt. "I know you are a good man." Whispers, feather light. "I love you for that and all else besides."
He came to a full stop then, staring at her. A slow smile spread across his face. "I love you." Spoken, finally, and only those.
She had not meant to say it, and there it was, and returned. Padma smiled, shy but bright.
He kissed her again, smiling in between. "I think I shall smile all day tomorrow."
Padma could not help but be grounded by his words. "For want of Tracey. For writing your brother." She took his hand, holding it firmly within her own. Bangles clattered together as though anxious themselves. "All shall be well."
He nodded. "For love of you." He squeezed her hand, bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss. "Yes. I will compose a letter to Peter tonight and send it in the morning. I hope Mother listens." Suddenly tired, he rested his head on her shoulder.
She allowed this easiness, reaching a hand to stroke his neck, across his shoulders. Padma felt keenly the weight of his exhaustion, her breath soothing in his ear, crossed with whispers, meaningless. She watched the shadows on the wall, theirs, joined.