[Editing] Expecto Patronum: Harry Potter One-shots

10 - The Chase [ Blaize Zabini]

I watched a frown nestle across my lips as I was compelled by the quietude of the darkness. There were no noises except the whispered breath from my throat. 

I watched myself in the mirror for a few minutes, thinking about my zealot mother and my deceased father, Rodolphus. I had an uncle whose name was Rabastan, but I had never met him when he was alive. I had been told that I had his strong chin and devil-may-care attitude, but my mother had never mentioned him. Every time there creeped in a question of my other family, deceased or not, she would clamp shut and stalk off to find something better to do than talk to me, her unfortunate daughter. My frown deepened. 

In the mirrored depths, my silhouette became ringed by a sudden burst of light. Reeling to face the blaze, I rose my hand to cover my eyes and squinted at it.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

The figure did not reply, nor did it deign to speak. It was silent as a phantom as it paced a steady, furtive pace towards me. The wand clutched in my fingers did nothing to ward off his advances since it only seemed to amuse him. His entire gait challenged me to take action, but my mouth was too dry and panicked to perform a spell.

"Stop!" I cried out. "Stop right now!"

But he didn't listen - and there was nowhere left for me to go. The mirror pressed against my spine, trapping me between its hard surface and the approaching figure. I whimpered in surprise, my wand hand weak and useless.

The figure cocked his head to the side.

Nowhere to run? The gesture seemed to question me. Nowhere to hide?

My heart thundered in my chest.

"I'm warning you!" I choked on a gasp, "I'm a very influential witch! If you do anything to me or harm me in any way, you will only live to regret it! You'll hardly live at all!"

A sliver of white, dagger-sharp, sliced through the darkness.

A smirk.

"Is that so?" The figure toyed. "How interesting."

His was a voice indescribable. It was a sound changing as the sea; the pleasant softness and harsh clipped accent over the vowels, a sound smooth and deep and charming. There was a husky note to it, too. A tone of danger and deception.

My confidence deserted me as soon as he spoke. I knew that it showed on my face because the figure gave a low chuckle as his approach slowed. He was only a hair's distance away from me now, and closing. . . 

"Don't be scared, love." The figure said, "There will be plenty of time for that later."

Breath ghosted my neck behind me and I jerked forward, stumbling away from him with a screech. The floorboards opened beneath me and flexed their jaws, preparing to swallow me whole as I fell. The world rushed passed me as gravity clawed at me - slamming me into its clutches. Into something hard and unyielding, firm and secure. Something that felt like - someone's arms. 

I groaned dizzily.

The figure found my pulse at the base of my throat - his breath a flutter of butterfly wings across my skin - before he marked it with his mouth. I was too breathless to gasp. It was only a stroke of his lips, but goosebumps trailed down my spine. All the while, his arms held me close to him. 

"Oh, Lyra." Whispered the voice.

It was a pleasure-pain. A centripetal mixture of hot and cold, slow and fast, fear and excitement. I couldn't have named an emotion for how I felt when his mouth groped, soft and needy, against my throat. When his kisses along my neck were no longer gentle and timed, but frantic and erratic. That man played me like an instrument. He knew exactly when I was weak and trembling, enclosing his arms tighter around me and pressing me against his chest, and he knew when to let me go as I recoiled, my body taut. My emotions fumbled. It was only a short kiss, but I was disgusted by his audaciy. What sort of man thought, in the seconds of knowing me, he could hold, touch or kiss me like some raving Cassanova?! On the other hand, my mind chipped in, his very touch had stimulated me like a bunch of firecrackers.