fic: stars
Title: Stars
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy
Rating: G
Word Count: 357
Summary: An encounter in the Astronomy Tower. There is a kiss.
Notes: Pansy/Draco. Alison betaed, she owns my soul. Written for 100quills, where my prompt was "midnight."
Stars, what do they do for her? They are luminous spheres of gas and plasma that come and go as they please, flickers in the heavens that are about as permanent as the seasons that they journey with. When they wink coyly from their dark pedestals, they are mocking her, which Pansy loathes. She is unimpressed, uninterested, uninspired.
Draco, on the other hand, seems to take a mild curiosity in the study of celestial bodies. By candlelight he scratches his quill across yellowed maps of the night sky as Pansy watches on inquisitively, and when he recites the names of constellations at mealtimes, Cygnus and Orion and Cassiopeia rolling off his tongue, Pansy mimics him.
Cygnus, Orion, Cassiopeia.
She asks Draco if he will show her Cygnus and Orion and Cassiopeia. She wants to know if there really is a swan sprawled across the cosmos - a swan, a hunter, a queen. Why has she not seen them before?
They meet each other in the Astronomy Tower that evening, at an hour during which they should be curled - warm, dreaming, sound - in their beds, but it is not so different up here. The air is cooling, silk against her sixteen-year-old knees. She feels secure.
Pansy asks where they are, these hidden creatures of the night. Draco does not answer for some moments, gray eyes stoic and lips unmoving. Pansy counts in her head and on her fingers, counts one two three, like the chimes of the grandfather clock in the foyer back at home. She counts four five six, and the second hand stutters.
Cygnus, Orion, Cassiopeia.
Seven, eight, nine.
She's beginning to run out of fingers and about to go to her toes when a hand finds its way around her waist, and now she is pressed against the parapet. Stars, they are nothing more than imperfections marring the otherwise flawless plane of darkness above her. Pansy prefers consistency; stars come in clusters. Pansy prefers consistency, so she is taken aback when Draco's lips are suddenly sweeping along her jaw line.
Ten, eleven.
She goes blind.
Draco kisses her, and she sees stars.
Twelve.
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy
Rating: G
Word Count: 357
Summary: An encounter in the Astronomy Tower. There is a kiss.
Notes: Pansy/Draco. Alison betaed, she owns my soul. Written for 100quills, where my prompt was "midnight."
Stars, what do they do for her? They are luminous spheres of gas and plasma that come and go as they please, flickers in the heavens that are about as permanent as the seasons that they journey with. When they wink coyly from their dark pedestals, they are mocking her, which Pansy loathes. She is unimpressed, uninterested, uninspired.
Draco, on the other hand, seems to take a mild curiosity in the study of celestial bodies. By candlelight he scratches his quill across yellowed maps of the night sky as Pansy watches on inquisitively, and when he recites the names of constellations at mealtimes, Cygnus and Orion and Cassiopeia rolling off his tongue, Pansy mimics him.
Cygnus, Orion, Cassiopeia.
She asks Draco if he will show her Cygnus and Orion and Cassiopeia. She wants to know if there really is a swan sprawled across the cosmos - a swan, a hunter, a queen. Why has she not seen them before?
They meet each other in the Astronomy Tower that evening, at an hour during which they should be curled - warm, dreaming, sound - in their beds, but it is not so different up here. The air is cooling, silk against her sixteen-year-old knees. She feels secure.
Pansy asks where they are, these hidden creatures of the night. Draco does not answer for some moments, gray eyes stoic and lips unmoving. Pansy counts in her head and on her fingers, counts one two three, like the chimes of the grandfather clock in the foyer back at home. She counts four five six, and the second hand stutters.
Cygnus, Orion, Cassiopeia.
Seven, eight, nine.
She's beginning to run out of fingers and about to go to her toes when a hand finds its way around her waist, and now she is pressed against the parapet. Stars, they are nothing more than imperfections marring the otherwise flawless plane of darkness above her. Pansy prefers consistency; stars come in clusters. Pansy prefers consistency, so she is taken aback when Draco's lips are suddenly sweeping along her jaw line.
Ten, eleven.
She goes blind.
Draco kisses her, and she sees stars.
Twelve.