Millie (millieweasley) wrote in blaise_zabini, @ 2008-11-13 06:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | blaise solo, blaise/hermione, fiction |
Fic: Two Years - Blaise (Blaise/Hermoine) - All Ages
Title: Two Years
Author: millieweasley
Pairing/Character: Blaise (Blaise/Hermione is hinted at for those who has read Casualties of War)
Rating: All Ages
Warning: None
Word count: 561
Summary: Being sentenced to two years in Azkaban, Blaise tries to keep his hope for the future in spite of the Dementors.
A/N: Day 12 of Mini Nano. A continuation piece to Casualties of War though it can be read on its own.
His skin was cold as ice. His breath made clouds in the air with every breath. The warmth of his eyes was gone and he himself was shivering under the thin blanket. The winds in this place seemed to go right through the thick stone walls. The blankets were thin and worn and half eaten by moths. The mattress was more or less useless and infested with Merlin only knew. Everything was cold, hostile, grey.
He wondered if this was what she had felt like down there. In his dungeon. Two years she'd been there – though the bed had been comfortable, the room had been warmth, she'd had comfort.
Still he guessed this was only fair. Two years for two years – even if she'd had the choice to leave if she wanted to. Sometimes he was still surprised that she'd chosen to trust him – to not leave. He wondered about that as he stared at the stones in the wall.
Sometimes he counted them. Mostly because there was nothing else to do.
Closing his eyes, he tried to bring the memory of her back. Tried to keep it from fading. A year was a long time, and she'd changed so much the last he saw of her. It was months ago now. That day, she'd stood up in court and told everyone everything – just like she'd promised. How he'd saved her life, how he'd kept her safe and hidden in his dungeon – two years in this hell had been the result – instead of the life sentence he would have received otherwise. He guessed he should be glad. Half the guys he knew were dead, dying or without a soul. The others were screaming for his head. Quite often he could hear them through the door of his cell.
He never left his cell – it simply wasn't safe. Instead he sat here, trying to imagine her, trying to imagine her embrace. Hot. Welcoming. Loving. It wasn't easy imagining something he'd only been allowed to feel once in his life.
Sometimes he allowed himself to doubt, to wonder if her embrace would still be there when the two years were over. Two years was a long time. Two years was an eternity when you had a child. A child he'd never seen. A son, Dorian, whose only photo was months old already. One photo, one fleeting meeting in the halls of the Ministry before he was taken away and she was pulled away by her friends.
No conversation allowed. No visitations permitted.
The photo was fading from the many times he'd run his fingers over the image of the sleeping child.
Dorian.
His son.
Would the boy even know who his father was when the two years were over, or would his mother have found another father to raise him? Would he even be able to blame her if that would end up being the case?
As the wind picked up in speed (was it even possible?), Blaise pulled the blanket closer around his body as he started counting the stones again. Outside the door the Dementors moved slowly passed, sucking the only pieces of hope he had left, leaving him in doubt and fear.
Two years, he tried to keep in mind. Two years was not that long, he tried to tell himself. But as the Dementors stalked the hallways it felt like an eternity.