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rarepair_shortsAuthor: ???
Recipient: the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rarepair_shorts community
Title: Snowstorm
Pairing: Pansy/Blaise
Rating: PG
Word Count: 687
Summary: There’s a storm raging outside. It fits Blaise’s mood.
Author's Notes: Warning: This contains angst. Thank you,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dormiensa, for being amazing as always!
Pansy's hand on his shoulder didn't surprise him. He had felt her approaching behind him; he could have recognised her footsteps in a crowd. Moments later, the bed squeaked loudly as she sat down by his side. "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?" she asked softly.
Blaise didn't reply. He didn't need to: she was right, as always. People who didn't know Pansy Parkinson well thought that she was shallow, vain, and stupid. Blaise might not disagree with the first two, but he knew that stupid was one thing she certainly was not.
"Stop it," she scolded, the softness fading already. Pansy had little patience for his melancholy. "I already told you: I don't want kids. So, it makes no difference, anyway."
He stared out through the window of their tiny bedroom in the attic, watching the snowstorm outside. They had been here for over three weeks, much longer than they normally allowed themselves to stay anywhere; the sudden storm had trapped them in. They could have seen it coming and left before it started, but they had been distracted by his illness and the need to find a Healer who would not turn them in to the authorities. The illness had turned out to be a simple cold, but the Healer's examination had revealed something else they had not suspected. And though Blaise had never given much thought before to the prospect of being a father someday, knowing that he never could had affected him in a way he did not expect.
Knowing that he needed to respond before Pansy lost patience completely, he turned away from the window and looked into her face. It was difficult, looking at her this way, knowing that it was because of him that they would never know what it would have been like to have a child. "Maybe you don't, Pansy, but I do. I do want kids. And I think you want them, too. You're just saying you don't because you're too proud to admit that something’s missing in your life, that you’re missing a means to be happy.”
Suddenly, she was laughing. Blaise was taken by surprise. He hadn't seen her laugh in days. It was not a very joyful laugh, though. It was a derisive, bitter sound. "Happy? Happy? Oh honey, you've got to be kidding! What part of this—" she waved her arm in the general direction of their cramped, rudimentary room "—do you call happy?"
He shrugged. "We're together. And we're free. Compared to the alternative, it sounds pretty good to me."
Pansy scoffed and crossed her arms. "Please. You can stop pretending. Our life is miserable. We're on the run, wanted in half of Europe, with no friends and no money. Everything we’ve ever believed in has come crashing down around us, and even our own families have sold us out in exchange for a few scraps of mercy. No matter how far we run, we'll never be completely safe. We'll always be looking over our shoulder, wondering when our past will finally catch up to us. We'll have to lie for the rest of our lives. We're not free, Blaise. We'll never be. Is this really the life you want to give to an innocent child?"
Blaise sighed. She was right—again. "No Pansy, of course not." He took her arms and uncrossed them gently to hold her hands in his. "Or at least, not now, maybe. But later . . . Why not? I'm not so sure that our life will always be this way. Things can change. Things can get better. And then, you will want to have a child of your own."
She shook her head sadly. "I doubt it, Blaise. I doubt they'll ever stop chasing us. They'll never stop punishing us for what we did."
"Well then, let's not punish ourselves, at least." He drew her closer into his arms, and she clung to him with the passion that only despair can breed. While the storm raged outside, they let sorrow wash over them, mourning the loss of the child they would never have.
Recipient: the
rarepair_shorts communityTitle: Snowstorm
Pairing: Pansy/Blaise
Rating: PG
Word Count: 687
Summary: There’s a storm raging outside. It fits Blaise’s mood.
Author's Notes: Warning: This contains angst. Thank you,
dormiensa, for being amazing as always!Pansy's hand on his shoulder didn't surprise him. He had felt her approaching behind him; he could have recognised her footsteps in a crowd. Moments later, the bed squeaked loudly as she sat down by his side. "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?" she asked softly.
Blaise didn't reply. He didn't need to: she was right, as always. People who didn't know Pansy Parkinson well thought that she was shallow, vain, and stupid. Blaise might not disagree with the first two, but he knew that stupid was one thing she certainly was not.
"Stop it," she scolded, the softness fading already. Pansy had little patience for his melancholy. "I already told you: I don't want kids. So, it makes no difference, anyway."
He stared out through the window of their tiny bedroom in the attic, watching the snowstorm outside. They had been here for over three weeks, much longer than they normally allowed themselves to stay anywhere; the sudden storm had trapped them in. They could have seen it coming and left before it started, but they had been distracted by his illness and the need to find a Healer who would not turn them in to the authorities. The illness had turned out to be a simple cold, but the Healer's examination had revealed something else they had not suspected. And though Blaise had never given much thought before to the prospect of being a father someday, knowing that he never could had affected him in a way he did not expect.
Knowing that he needed to respond before Pansy lost patience completely, he turned away from the window and looked into her face. It was difficult, looking at her this way, knowing that it was because of him that they would never know what it would have been like to have a child. "Maybe you don't, Pansy, but I do. I do want kids. And I think you want them, too. You're just saying you don't because you're too proud to admit that something’s missing in your life, that you’re missing a means to be happy.”
Suddenly, she was laughing. Blaise was taken by surprise. He hadn't seen her laugh in days. It was not a very joyful laugh, though. It was a derisive, bitter sound. "Happy? Happy? Oh honey, you've got to be kidding! What part of this—" she waved her arm in the general direction of their cramped, rudimentary room "—do you call happy?"
He shrugged. "We're together. And we're free. Compared to the alternative, it sounds pretty good to me."
Pansy scoffed and crossed her arms. "Please. You can stop pretending. Our life is miserable. We're on the run, wanted in half of Europe, with no friends and no money. Everything we’ve ever believed in has come crashing down around us, and even our own families have sold us out in exchange for a few scraps of mercy. No matter how far we run, we'll never be completely safe. We'll always be looking over our shoulder, wondering when our past will finally catch up to us. We'll have to lie for the rest of our lives. We're not free, Blaise. We'll never be. Is this really the life you want to give to an innocent child?"
Blaise sighed. She was right—again. "No Pansy, of course not." He took her arms and uncrossed them gently to hold her hands in his. "Or at least, not now, maybe. But later . . . Why not? I'm not so sure that our life will always be this way. Things can change. Things can get better. And then, you will want to have a child of your own."
She shook her head sadly. "I doubt it, Blaise. I doubt they'll ever stop chasing us. They'll never stop punishing us for what we did."
"Well then, let's not punish ourselves, at least." He drew her closer into his arms, and she clung to him with the passion that only despair can breed. While the storm raged outside, they let sorrow wash over them, mourning the loss of the child they would never have.
