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Autumn always bored Peeves. The worst he could do was track in mud from outside. Winter brought snow and he could pelt the students with slush or ice, spring brought the rains and soggy students looking to get dry only to find themselves pelted with water balloons. What did autumn have? Mud and leaves.
Still, beginning of term was always better than the middle of the summer with no one but dear old Dumbles here, and he didn't mess with the headmaster. No, Dumbledore commanded even Peeves's respect. So with only ghosts and Filch to harass for three long months, autumn was refreshing in that he had so many more potential targets.
Term begun nearly a month prior, and everyone seemed to be into the swing of things by now. The students had settled in; old friends reunited and new friends being made. Being a Monday morning, it was clear enough that Peeves's solemn duty was to help students start the week off right. The poltergeist was just trying to decide who to start with. Ickle firsties were always fun, but too easy. He wanted to start the year off with a bang (perhaps literally), but the Weasley twins had gone and he just didn't feel that he could yet do their memory justice. He was bobbing along the ceiling of a busy corridor when he spotted one of his favorites. With a grin he darted down three floors to the potions supply room.
Maggiepushed her way through the crowd toward her first class of the morning. She liked Charms and the kind professor who taught it. Of course, it was possible that being head of Ravenclaw that Professor Flitwick tended to favor her and a few of her friends, but Hermione Granger was a favorite too. People thought Hermione, who was in her year, to be naturally friends with most if not all Ravenclaws, but Maggie didn't actually know her that well.
Someone waving caught her attention. Looking up, Maggie smiled and waved at Anthony Goldstein. She frowned, unable to make out what he was saying at this distance. She moved closer, but Anthony started pointing upwards.
Slime. At the shock of the blow, Maggie had opened her mouth and got a mouthful of whatever it was Peeves had dumped on her. She understood a split second too late that Anthony had been trying to warn her. With a tired sigh, the sixth year wiped the slime out of her eyes and looked up to see Peeves cackle and blow a raspberry before zooming away. Shaking her head, she tried to wipe off as much as she could. Whatwasthis stuff, anyway? It smelled like it might be frog sputum...
gpt
Autumn -- when the Scottish air grew crisp and the first years burrowed themselves into thick piles of woolen knit in a vain attempt to keep the chill at bay. When the students hurried from class to class with a spring in their step and a playful bite to their words as they argued and quibbled over the most recent match of Quidditch. The fact that it was even Monday hadn't been able to dull the enthusiasm of the the lesser years, powered as they were by the limitless feasts that comprised a proper Hogwarts breakfast.
Cutting through the crowd, as a cloud might through the rays of a morning sun,Blaise Zabinicut a harsh contrast with the rest of the student body, for more reasons than the obvious. He wasn't a fresh-faced pale little Scot or Briton, but more than that he adopted a poise more expected of faculty than students. A crispness to his tie, a shine to leather shoes, every aspect of his presentation filed down to some grade of immaculate in the grand tradition of the vain. No buttons, no scarf even, and certainly no thick piles of woolen knit.
Blaise took a steady but measured pace through Hogwarts' halls toward early morning Charms -- a dual session between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. He supposed he had never minded them overmuch -- with certain exceptions, there was something of a dignity to the house that, say, Hufflepuffs had in minute amounts and with which Gryffindor could hardly be bothered and get five house cup points for their troubles.
The young wizard was about to step out into the hall just before charms when some unbidden thought stayed him -- just long enough for a splattering rain of some awful concoction or reagent to come pouring down on some poor soul, covering them in a green film of what could very possibly have been liquefiedfrog. Blaise curled a lip in distaste, and in the wake of the communal intake of breath -- as fresh first years leapt for cover and more seasoned veterans of the school merely acted to deflect the spray with their leather bags or the hems of their cloaks -- Blaise drew his wand. It was a fine dark oak construction, cored by the heartstring of a dragon, that leveled itself on Maggie and glittered brilliantly as only his voice was heard in that instant of silence.
"Scourgify," he said in a resonant basso, before he pocketed his wand as quickly as it had come.
He kept walking, trailing stares -- a fair few Slytherins had already gathered for Charms, and were about to engage in a communal guffaw (Peeves had to have his audiencesomewhere) headed by weaselly Draco Malfoy himself before the spell had silenced them -- he didn't want to be late for class.
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Maggie had been searching for her wand, trying not to spread the slime and make it worse, when suddenly she was clean again. With a blink of surprise, she signed -thank you- to her friend Adriana, who shook her head and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. She turned in time to catch Blaise Zabini's retreating back and a quick exchange confirmed his identity. They exchanged mildly surprised looks before heading inside.
Not that all Slytherins were the same, of course, but they generally laughed hardest and most often at Peeves's pranks on her. She was used to being made fun of, naturally, and the poltergeist's torment had become near-constant in her second year when he realized that he didn't have to sneak up on her to get one over on her. Though she secretly competed with him for top marks, Maggie otherwise didn't know Blaise from a hole in the ground and hadn't the foggiest as to why he might have an interest in helping her. This was the main topic of conversation until Professor Flitwick called on Adriana to answer a question she was unable to answer. With a stern look, but fortunately no points taken, he moved on and the girls fell silent.
Further back in the classroom, a similar conversation was taking place. Draco took a seat next to Zabini and fixed him with a curious look. He seemed almost offended.
"What was that about?" he demanded in a hushed tone, leaning his head closer. "Peeves was brilliant; what'd you go and ruin the fun for? She would've never been able to find her wand in the slime!" Draco knew her, as most others did, simply as "the deaf girl." He'd gone out of his way a few times to make her life harder, but mostly he let Peeves handle it. Retards were rarely worth his time unless he was bored.
gpt
For all his attention and devotion to his grades, Blaise still tended to sit a fair bit further back in the class than the average student. His chin settled in his hand, a quill held loose between two fingers, he was set for another round of casual note-taking when Malfoy fetched up beside him, forcing some other SLytherin girl a little bit down the way in doing so. Blaise pretended not to notice for a careful two seconds, before dark eyes swayed Malfoy's way right around word "brilliant".
Malfoy. Repulsive Draco Malfoy. Mr. "Blood Traitor", Lord "Mudblood". The spitting, sneering image of his father. Blaise couldn't even bring himself to disagree with some of those thoughts on principle; it's just that the Malfoys had to be so unseemly and unprofessional about the whole thing. He'd have chalked it up to age if his family's hall hadn't known the pleasure of the Malfoys' company in summers past. At least he was better than some of the others; Crabbe and Goyle came to mind. Mimicked malice was somehow worse than the genuine article.
"Mm. Her?" Blaise asked. He'd hardly paid any attention when he had cast his spell; in fact, it was only by idle glances and furtive whispers that he'd caught on that the one he had spared Peeves' trickery had been one Maggie Cartwright. One of the cleverer Ravenclaw girls, and frankly beautiful were he to be honest with himself. Appealing, were it not for unfortunate circumstance.
Dark eyes lighted briefly on the back of her head, trailing the length of her lovely golden braid before he followed inevitably back to Malfoy. Peeves' brand of humor had rotted in time with his corpse, but there were more diplomatic ways to say that.
"I thought I was doing a nicety for some second year; it doesn't hurt to set a good example, Draco. I thought that was why we keep losing our House Cup." Blaise didn't care about that -- no one in their right mind did, but a certain subset of each house seemed to be rather pissy about it. "I can't imagine why it matters, anyway. Social niceties to other fine families how we all get along, mm?" He spoke it as if reciting it.
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"Fine families?" Draco sputtered. He ducked his head a little as Flitwick looked up to see who wasn't focusing on practicing their spells. He leaned in and lowered his voice. "The Cartwrights? Surely you're joking."
The Cartwrights were a pureblood family. Not Sacred Twenty-Eight elite, sure enough, but still purebloods, and it was for that reason alone that those with pure blood mania like the Malfoys even bothered learning the name. But they were strictly middle-class and only incidental rather than deliberate purebloods. It was well-known that the mother had run off with a muggle co-worker some ten years prior. Families like the Malfoys and the Blacks looked down on the Cartwrights with a mixture of disgust and pity, the way one might watch a homeless man talking to a lamp post.
"It's not exactly like she comes from good stock," Draco added darkly after quickly casting his charm to satisfy Flitwick that he was indeed practicing. "I didn't take you for having a soft spot for flailing retards."
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Blaise stilled himself before Flitwick's gaze, seamlessly transitioning back into his notes -- before entertaining Malfoy with another side-eyed look.
It was true that the Cartwrights were not well-regarded. And if one was being honest, at this stage of society... for a girl to have been born into such a family without something as basic as her ability tohear, something so fundamental to magic that many spells would simply backfire with the incorrect intonation... well, she might as well have been mudblooded to the grand majority of those that believed in blood purity. That her mother had gone and whored herself to a common Muggle had done little to endear her to others, and it had been avery popular rumor that Maggie wasn't a Cartwright by blood at all, that the cheating and cuckoldry had started well in advance of the Cartwright's most famous "divorce by mail".
These were all things taught under the patient auspices of Bianca Zabini.
At Draco's crass assessment of blood -- Blaise couldn't help but curl his lips at the Sacred Twenty-Eight nonsense, for he knew what lingered in the back of Malfoy's mind; no Zabini had ever graced that particular list -- Blaise shrugged one shoulder.
"Perhaps," Blaise allowed with a careless flick of his wand. "But then, that's the way of things these days. There are so many piecemeal pureblood families that it doesn't pay to be too petty. Having a match and seeing a bridge doesn't oblige you to burn it," Blaise said. "Besides, you know me better than that;" he said with a touch of amusement, "I can't holdeveryone in as high regards as I do the Malfoys." A risky thing to say in response, but he was relatively certain Draco would miss that subtext. He wasn't a between-the-lines sort of man.
"But it cost me nothing to be kind."
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"It can cost you your reputation to be kind," Draco rebutted. They had in their conversation missed the bell signaling the end of class, but with his trademark Malfoy smirk he jerked his chin down the stairs where other students were making their way past to leave. "Perfect example."
Maggie was watching them, clearly intending to stop and talk on her way out. Well, what passed for talking for her. Draco had only heard her speak once, on accident when she and her friends had thought they were alone. It was loud and troll-clumsy, and he and his friends had gotten weeks of entertainment from it.
Maggie quickly signed something to Adriana, who nodded and waved goodbye but cast a doubtful glance at the over her shoulder. She gave Blaise a shy, awkward smile and waved hello before holding up a small slate board.
Words appeared on it with a flick of her wand. I just wanted to thank you for helping me earlier. It was very kind of you. The magical chalk words in tidy, spidery cursive handwriting stayed on the board for a moment before wiping themselves away and being replaced with a new sentence.I'm Maggie.She quickly tucked her wand behind her ear and held out her hand to shake.
Draco couldn't help but snicker and turned his face away from her so she couldn't see his mouth. "This is what kindness costs you," he said with a triumphant smirk, oblivious of Maggie's disapproving look. "Your dignity. See? She's got a crush on you now and you'll never be rid of her."
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"I don't think my reputation so fragile," Blaise said with more than a hint of disdain. It was more of an issue to Malfoy than it ever would have been to Blaise, and it was of significant disappointment that he was sure he would be hearing about this all day long during group classes.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, side by side, Blaise halted in his steps. He opened his mouth to speak but was forestalled by a wave of lovely cursive, the sight of which provoked a small polite smile. He reached for her hand and took it firmly -- his grip was warm and smooth, firm but gentle as it subsumed her smaller hand. "Blaise Zabini," he said. He always spoke clearly and enunciated well, making his lips easier to read than those who preferred to mumble.
He turned his head, leaning just so toward Malfoy as the other boy snickered.
"Draco. Go on; I'll catch up," Blaise said within sight of Maggie's eyes, turning his attention back to her as he dropped his hand. There was a bit of spite in his heart, and it wasn't for her just then.
"It was no trouble. What is your next class? I'll see you partway; Peeves enjoys his encores."
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Draco arched an eyebrow, his face still turned away from Maggie. "Ten galleons if you ask her out," he challenged. "Fifty if you get her to put out. Double it if you do it before New Year." He patted him on the shoulder before turning back around when it wouldn't matter whether she could see his lips or not. "Think about it. I'll see you in Potions."
Maggie smiled when he dropped her hand and offered to walk her to class. Taking her wand out from behind her ear, it twitched the tiniest bit and the board began to write again.I couldn't ask you to do that, she insisted.I saw he said your next class is Potions. I've got Arithmancy up on the seventh floor. It would take ages; I don't want to make you late. Nevertheless, as she began to walk he walked with her. After some silence from the slate she held it up again.Not that I'm ungrateful...but why are you suddenly being nice to me? You
Slyth
She seemed to be having trouble thinking of how to phrase her question.
Draco Malfoy and his friends don't exactly have much sympathy for me when it comes to Peeves, and I thought you were friends with him.
Maggie hadn't wanted it to sound accusatory. He'd never been mean, exactly; he'd just never seemed to notice her existence before. If he had merely helped her clean up that would be one thing...but walking her to class? Unprecedented. A thought suddenly came to her, furrowing her brow briefly, and more words appeared. The handwriting was slightly thicker, as though she had pressed harder than was advisable on the chalk.
If it's a trick or a joke, get the punchline over with. A pause.Please.
It wouldn't be the first time someone, particularly a Slytherin, had shown her kindness as a joke. In first year Professor Flitwick had taught her to enchant her quill to transcribe the lecture long enough for her to take notes before disappearing, so that she would have the same advantage as hearing students and it wouldn't look like cheating. Before she had mastered this particular spell, Pansy Parkinson had volunteered to be her note-taker in the three classes Ravenclaw and Slytherin shared. She and Draco had been caught in uncontrollable giggle fits when Maggie nearly broke down crying after receiving three failed tests on the same day.
Blaise Zabini, arrogant though he seemed, also seemed to be above such pettiness and secretly she hoped he really was. Ravenclaws, believing strongly in pack bonding and recognizing the mental health benefits suggested by recent studies of bond-building between like individuals, had agreed as a house several years ago to dedicate the first Saturday of every month to a voluntary boys-only takeover of the common room, and the third Saturday to a girls-only takeover. The second Saturday was coed, and it had quickly become a tradition which many participated in when they could, resulting in a tight-knit house community. At least once a term on a girl's weekend the "if you had to do a Slytherin" game came up. There was no psychological benefit or team-building aspect to it; it was simply a slumber party type game that they played when it had gotten too late and too much butterbeer had been involved. Slytherin house to them seemed to be comprised of two groups: models, and those with troll ancestry, some more recent than others. Some girls considered personality and intellect in their choices--Millicent Bullstrode, for example, despite falling into the troll group appeared to be passably intelligent, perhaps even slightly above average--while others focused solely on physical traits. There were no wrong answers in the Slytherin Game, but one had to provide their reasoning.
While a good number of Ravenclaw girls were convinced that Draco Malfoy and a boy named Calen Pratchett were both part-Veela, Maggie's choice had always been Blaise.
He's easily the most intelligent, was her usual argument before adding with a sly smile,and you could cut yourself on his cheekbones if you aren't careful.
Not that she would ever tellhim this, of course. A thrill of cold fear ran through her and she glanced sideways at him; what if someone elsehad? It was generally understood that Aerie Night was sacred, and nothing said in the common room ever left there, especially not the Slytherin Game. But they worked on the honor system, and Maggie's memory flashed back to Marietta, who had apparently told on the secret Defense Against the Dark Arts class Harry Potter had been teaching after hours. Just because they were fellow Ravenclaws didn't mean they couldn't be just as cruel as anyone else. Look at how much poor Luna got picked on. She glanced sideways at him, hoping he wasn't able to hear her heart thundering against her chest at the mortifying thought while waiting for his explanation.
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What-- Blaise had managed in reply to Dracos challenge, but swiftly mastered his own shock, smoothing the very brief wrinkle in his poised expression. Very well, Draco -- see you there.
Money? To bed the deaf girl? Was that child out of his mind? The thoughts came. Blaise had always prided himself on keeping well above the muck that the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Averies, and more seemed to keep thrusting themselves into. These children, playing at a politic they were given secondhand, a hand-me-down status quo that rankled Blaise. The Zabinis were a higher class, his mother had always insisted.
But yet, Blaise could only rise so far above. On some level, even the brightest Hogwarts students were still just that: students. Children.
And how sweet it might be to make Draco that much poorer for a trifling endeavor?
He swept out of Charms with her, his hand touching very briefly on the small of her back as if to usher her through the thronging students just outside the room -- fourth year Ravenclaws, jockeying for front row seats. Once free of it, he turned dark eyes onto the blonde, catching the glow of her chalk against the slate.
-Draco Malfoy and his friends don't exactly have much sympathy for me when it comes to Peeves, and I thought you were friends with him.-
He had to be diplomatic. That was a key rule of Bianca Zabini.
But he could have a little fun. He opened his mouth to have his fun when--
-If it's a trick or a joke, get the punchline over with.- A pause. -Please.-
That was
His eyes focused on hers briefly, struck by how blue they were. Not touched by any special malice, but merely the softness of a Zurich sky, a meltwater blue.
Hed never noticed.
Why, yes. He does seem to think that, doesnt he? Blaise asked, remembering in time to turn his face toward hers enough that she could read his lips. Lips that spread into a handsome smile -- she didnt get to see that often, even admiring him from afar. In the Great Hall, perchance, at an occasional joke that trended more humorous than needlessly cruel.
Our families are friends, Maggie, he said, turning dark eyes her way briefly. And though that may be, I'm not a part of his posse. I'm where I choose to be.
They had made their way up a flight of stairs or two by now, and it was at the peak of one flight he paused, holding there as the two stood alone a moment.
I apologize for their behavior. It's unbecoming of Slytherin, he said. He liked to believe that even if the Slytherin version of Aerie Night involved in depth discussions about which girls from other Houses they would fuck for fun, and which ones they would need to be drunk for. Cho sober, Maggie if very drunk, and Granger if she was drunk had been one consensus, a game Blaise was aware of but had refused participation.
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Blaise caught her gaze and she easily returned it. His eyes were a liquid black, like dark pools of ink or the gap in the sky where the moon ought to be when it had completed its cycle and was hidden again from view. Intelligence and good looks certainly weren't all that mattered in a man, but the comparison made him admittedly more appealing. She wondered briefly where his ancestors hailed from; the shape of his eyes spoke of Egypt and Mozambique, and though his mother had famously married an Italian trade goods magnate she wondered whether he had any connection to those roots. Her own people, she'd been told, were English and had always been English at least on her father's side, even before the Romans. She doubted they actually had proof of heritage from that far back; the druids hadn't had a writing tradition, after all.
She was distracted. Maggie blinked when she realized he was talking again and concentrated on the movement of his lips. It wasn't an unpleasant task. "--I'm not a part of his posse. I'm where I choose to be." She nodded. Given what little she knew of him as a person, and what she could glean from his general demeanor, it made sense. At the top of the stairs he paused and apologized for Draco's behavior. She smiled but waved a hand dismissively.
It's not yours to apologize for him,she insisted.We can control only our own actions, and therefore only apologize for our own. But it was very nice of you to say so anyway.She gave him another smile. It was at once a kind and cautious smile, hesitant, as though she was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.I'm all for intrahouse unity, she said,but I think after a certain point it divides us more than unites us. Malfoy's behavior is unbecoming a civilized person, not just a Slytherin.She shrugged and continued up the stairs.He's not the only one, and it certainly isn't behavior confined to Slytherins; it simply seems to be more common in them. I'm pleased to find that you appear to be an exception.
gpt
Her thoughts, spelled out as plain as day on the slate, gave Blaise a momentary pause. It wasn't lost on him how easy it was to say the right thing through the medium of text, to cultivate one's thoughts in such a way that they could appeal most greatly to the other's sensibilities. One could provide a window to one's best self or -- if sufficiently clever -- a mirror to the best self of the recipient. No impulsiveness, no misconstrued meaning, lest one was a poor writer. Calligraphy was a noble's game for many reasons, but... she didn't seem the type to treat it that way, not least of which because she did it as naturally as he would speak.
And yet, she said precisely the right thing to precisely the right person.
It wasn't spiteful, or petty, or vengeful -- many of the other houses had every reason to be any of the three when it came to Draco. It was just... refreshingly honest and blunt in a way he wasn't used to.
He laughed -- a warm and basso sound, full of richness. But she couldn't experience that -- no, she could but enjoy the crinkle on either side of his eyes, the whiteness of his teeth against the pleasant dark of his skin. The way his hands briefly resettled over his hips in a subconscious motion to keep from moving too much.
"I've never understood this concept of the Houses and their competition, I'll admit -- men into their sixties still carry their pennants with pride, and yet it hardly seems to matter. The connections we forge seem so much more important than the ones we'regiven. It's why I've always appreciated Ravenclaws; I assume that kernel of information is one bit of the knowledge so cherished. Had I learned it sooner, I might wear blue and bronze; though I do tend to prefer the brilliance of green, as a rule of fashion," Blaise said with a self-effacing little smile.
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Maggie paused on the stairs again when she caught the flash of brilliance and flutter of motion out of the corner of her eye.Did you just laugh? There was an unnameable quality to the handwriting that possibly indicated incredulity. Her lips pulled into a slow smile of her own, larger and less cautious than before.I don't think I've seen you laugh before, what little I've seen of you. No don't stop.Her eyes flicked to his hands at his hips and she gestured to them.Never try to control laughter. Bad for the soul and repression of the most powerful magic of all.She winked conspiratorially.Plus my Nan always says that if you try and control laughter you'll explode. We've almost made it to graduation without You-Know-Who blowing us up trying to get to Harry Potter; I wouldn't risk it if I were you.She didn't know what she had said that was so funny, but if it had made someone laugh she wasn't going to question it. When Blaise talked about the connections they forged she nodded.
There are even a good number of Ravenclaws who haven't figured this out yet,she wrote. At his joke about fashion she chuckled. It was more an exhale of air with slight vocalization on an inhale, but most definitely identifiable as laughter.You do look good in green, she agreed, before mentally kicking herself and working to keep her face still as though she hadn't realized too late that that could have come off sounding flirtatious.I like green too, and purple. They make a good combination. I think blue makes me look too pale, honestly, especially in combination with all of the black. But what can you do?Her shrugs were exaggerated, more out of habit in using them as punctuation than anything.
After a pause she chose to interpret as comfortable she looked at him.So do you know some secret passage to the dungeons from all the way up here? I can't imagine you're going to be on time.
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"I wouldn't count on anything with Potter's luck," Blaise said as she brought up the ever-looming-specter of Voldemort. He couldn't bring himself to foreshorten the name, aloud or in the back of his head. It was a sticking point of personal pride, a bit of stubbornness that hadn't endeared him to certain Slytherins for his seeming lack of deference. "It does seem to be rubbing off on all of us as of late," Blaise said, his smile sobering a touch.
He walked with her in companionable silence for a moment or two longer, casting his dark eyes sideways to catch the script of her slate. It was an odd little quirk, one that reminded him of his days when he was younger -- nose stuffed in a book as he traipsed around the Zabini estate, so familiar with its myriad twists and turns that he didn't need to spare it so much as a glance as he followed the book wherever he went. Old skills died hard, and he seemed to have no real trouble at all in keeping pace with her in spite of it.
"It fits you, though. It goes well with your eyes," Blaise said, and he took no attempt to make that sound any less flirtatious than it was. Besides -- it was honest, juxtaposing meltwater blue with the deep navies of Ravenclaw--
They'd reached near the seventh floor now, and he chanced a glance down the stairwells toward the dungeon. He smiled faintly, drumming his fingers across the banister of the stairwell.
"I'll manage, Maggie. I always do. Professor Slughorn has something of a soft spot for me, so I'm certain he can let this slide once, mm?" He glanced back her way, his smile a handsome and warm one. "Though it would probably do for me to hurry along in a moment. We'll have to speak again soon, mm?"
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Maggie's own smile faded a little when Blaise mentioned that Harry Poter's luck seemed to be rubbing off on them all lately. She rubbed her neck and the smile turned nervous; they lived in dark times, and certainly had darker ahead. She knew there were a fair few people Blaise knew more than casually who wanted her dead, just for her family circumstances. Angry though she was at her mother--and her father--she would never wish either of them dead, not for all the world. And certainly not on the basis of an accidental circumstance of birth.
I guess I'm just grateful I'm safe, she replied at length.For now, anyway. And that people don't seem to take the rumors very seriously.She wasn't aware that most if not all of Slytherin house took them as gospel truth. It was the only way to accept anyone with Burke blood would have Muggle sympathies the way she did.But school is difficult enough as it is; let's set that aside.She waved a hand as though clearing the air and pulled on another smile. Knowing who he did and being who he was, it would probably be a touchy subject, should they ever become closer friends. No sense in starting off on the wrong foot now.
They turned to the topic of colors and Blaise complimented her eyes. Maggie tried not to blush, but it was unsuccessful. -Thank you- she signed, not trusting her board to be discreet and not having the presence of mind to remember that he didn't sign. She averted her eyes and chewed lightly on the inside of her bottom lip to give herself some time to gather her thoughts. Every now and then her hands fluttered in small motions, an equivalent of muttering to herself.
When she mentioned his getting down to the dungeons she followed his gaze over the edge of the banister before returning it to his lips. They were very nice lips, and she noticed that he had a funny little quirk of pursing them and raising his eyebrows very slightly whenever he asked a question. Well that was cuter than was absolutely necessary.I'd like that, she wrote with a smile.I'm glad we got to talk. Maggie gave him a little wave, but paused with her hand on the doorknob.Hey, umShe flicked her wand and her board began to write and erase in very quick succession as she tried to settle on what to say.Maybe I'll see you in Hogsmede on Saturday. Or something.
She disappeared through the door with a little squeak she hadn't been aware was audible and the hope that he hadn't seen the many faces of pink she had turned. Boys never took an interest in her, unless it was as a joke. But if it had been a joke he was certainly taking his time getting to the punchline, and she supposed if it was a joke or if she had misread the situation, the worst that had happened was she'd embarrassed herself in the privacy of an abandoned corridor. That was a far cry from Peeves embarrassing her in a crowded one. Maggie pretended not to see Professor Sinistra's rebuke for being late as she took her seat next to a very curious-looking Adriana.
~*~
Down in the dungeons Blaise came sauntering in more than five minutes late. Draco arched an eyebrow and watched the curious swagger between desks. Slughorn swallowed his bullshit excuse, naturally. Anyone in that godawful "Slug Club" got a free pass to do whatever they wanted. And Saint bloody Potter could have just straight-up murdered a kid and Slughorn would have shrugged it off. Once Blaise was finally settled and they were left to their own devices again Draco drew nearer.
"So did you do it?"
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It was a darkening of the conversation that was not necessarily unexpected. A shadow seemed to hang over Hogwarts, as much as people like Bianca Zabini seemed to be of the opinion that all one would need to do is play careful politic in these moments of stress and duress. She was the kind to solve problems with a cross word or uncrossed legs, though here at the school one could feel how the winds blew differently. It was no secret that Voldemort wanted the school for his own, a long-held obsession with halls full of memory, built by grand and old dead men.
She was right to be worried. He was just in the habit of making sure no one saw the same in him.
"I agree. The world can wait while we have N.E.W.T.s to prepare for, hm?" he asked, his eyebrows indeed raising slightly at the question, joking as it might have been.
He couldn't tell what sign she had made with her hands, but with the subtle shifts in her body language -- from the heat in her cheeks to the way in which her hands seemed a little jumbled, as if stuttering over her own words, he figured he could hazard a guess as to what she was saying.
When she was able to remaster herself enough to speak through the slate and proposed Hogsmeade, Blaise was already walking backwards away from her, his smile broadening.
"It's funny you should mention that. I was thinking a two PM lunch myself. I usually show up by the square around one," he said, making certain she could catch his lips before he turned. He could hear her depart into her class, and he paused a moment, dark eyes traveling sidelong until they alighted upon a window. It would take quite a bit of time to walk down to the dungeons, and he daren't do something as silly assprint all that way.
He unlatched the window and held out a hand. He didn't need a wand with no one around to see him cast.
"Accio Air Wave."
Blaise walked into the dungeons with a smooth stride, running a hand through his close-trimmed dark hair. He didn't look terribly ruffled in spite of the speed with which he had descended the castle -- he might have been fifteen minutes late had he not taken the express way down, and his excuse was as smooth and silvery as it ever was to old Horace Slughorn.
Blaise took the seat Draco had reserved for him, and he settled his chin upon his hand.
"I believe that'll be one hundred galleons even, Draco," Blaise said without a hint of the dripping sarcasm in Blaise's soul. He liked getting reactions out of some of the other SLytherins, and Draco typically had the most amusing.
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Draco's eyes widened and eyebrows shot to his hairline. A noise escaped from his throat that was part scoff, part incredulous laugh, part mocking guffaw. He hadn't actually expected Blaise todo it.But at the same time he shook his head, leaning back in his seat.
"Unless you fucked her right there in the corridor, you've still got some work to do," he said. He dug into his pocket, extracted his clenched fist, then set a tidy stack of galleons on the desk.
"There's ten, for asking her out," Draco conceded. "I believe I said onlyfiftyfor fucking her, double if you get it done on or before Christmas. Oh and ah, I'll require proof." His lips settled into that smirk Malfoys had come to be so known for. "However you decide that is up to you, but a pair of knickers won't cut it. You could get them from anywhere, or just steal them from her."
With the terms of their wager, to his mind, settled, Draco leaned forward again. There was a keen interest in his gaze, studying Blaise's usually inscrutable expression for any hints that he was lying or withholding information. "So how did you do it?" he demanded. "I mean, I didn't think someone withyour standards would stoop to snogging retards, so color me a little surprised. I suppose even I can be wrong every now and then."
gpt
At the mention of proof, Blaise made a show of leaning back in his seat and snapping his fingers quietly. "Bloody hell, I knew I'd forgottensomething," he said evenly, reaching out to gather the handful of golden coins. He pocketed them cleanly, only turning his attention back to Draco.
He wasn't, Blaise reflected, the worst of all Slytherins. Occasionally the blonde twit could be persuaded to pull his head out of his arse. It wasn't often, and this certainly wasn't one of those times. He felt a twinge of anger at the other boy, something unexpected. He usually merely had a cool retort in the back of his mind (today's version was, "Are you really so surprised? I befriended you, after all."), but it was usually pushed aside with just a bit of irritation. He seemed to merely be more infuriating than usual today.
"Are you asking out of curiosity, or because you want to copy my methods? It was simple enough. We had a conversation about what's happening around the school, and I invited her out to dinner so that we could talk some more." A lie, but a smooth one and close enough to the truth to perhaps pass muster. He didn't need Draco poking his nose around come the weekend.
"She's surprisingly eloquent, in spite of having to write everything. Her grades aren't all that far behind mine," but a bit ahead of Draco's, and sometimes even his own -- not that he'd admit that outright, "so I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that she's got a knack for conversation."
He shrugged a shoulder. "We'll see how it plays out."
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A minute twitch at the corner of his lip gave Blaise away. Draco wouldn't have even caught it if he hadn't spent the past six years learning Zabini's every tic, in case the day should come that he had reason to mistrust him. Not that they were particularly close or that he was going to be telling him all of his deepest, darkest secrets any time soon, but he had mentally classified Blaise as only mutinous when it suited him. So long as neither gave the other reason for it to suit them, they could be allies. When Blaise asked whether he wanted to copy his methods, Draco scoffed.
"Believe me, Blaise, I have no problem getting women," he assured him, "and I don't have to stoop to thedisabledto do it." The worlddisabledtook on the same inflection thatretard had. When he insisted that Maggie's grades weren't too far behind his, Draco scoffed again. He didn't pay attention to the grades of other houses, Granger notwithstanding; they were below his notice. But Blaise had irritatingly bested him in nearly every subject since their first year, and this year he even had the upper hand in Potions, although Defense Against the Dark Arts was going better than usual for Draco. For her to be even close to either of them? It was inconceivable.
"A knack for conversation?" he repeated. One eyebrow arched again, suspiciously this time, and he folded his arms across his chest. "You know Blaise, if I didn't know any better I might think you were actuallyinterested in her. Ahalf-blood? Really, mate?" The term was used lightly, as very few Slytherins could call other Slytherins true friends these days; more out of a lack of any other way to define their complicated relationships than anything.
gpt
Blaise was still, at the end of the day, a young man. One who thought himself extremely clever which, while correct, stretched an inch or two further than was true, strictly speaking. Draco had done well to not let slip how well he had learned to read Blaise's tells, right down to the way his eyes angled upward by degrees -- not enough to be called a proper rolling of the eyes -- whenever he was divining some terribly amusing thought, insult or otherwise.
Blaise did, in fact, engage in that half of an eye roll right then. Something about "... but what of your associates, the Misters Crabbe and Goyle?"
"You've gotten me, mate. Head over heels. Once I invite her to the Slug Club, I can have the good professor tie the knot for us." Blaise settled his chin into the palm of his hand, and gave the other boy a sidelong glance. "It's just dinner, Draco. Would you believe I manage to get along decently with Granger, too?" Well, it was no secret that the two of them could at least be civil to one another, in a sort of tense "worthy opponent" way. He tended to be that way with the outstanding intellects of the other houses.
Save Lovegood. There was no saving that one.
"I've not gone soft, Draco, if that's what you're trying to insinuate. I'm not going to win this little bet by acting like a bastard."
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The week crawled by. It was as though now that something exciting was finally going to happen, the calendar was determined that it never would arrive. In the middle of class Adriana's hands had burst into a flurry of activity when Maggie had told her the news, and Professor Sinistra had looked suspicious when they explained that Adriana was simply explaining a concept she was particularly enthusiastic about. Neither girl had paid much attention in the rest of their classes, and Maggie was spirited away to the dorm for the rest of the evening to discuss clothing tactics. But all of this was on Monday, and by the time Friday arrived she found herself just wishing the week would get itself over with already.
Saturday she couldn't sleep in as she normally did. Maggie was up at 6, pacing and reading and pacing some more until it was time to get ready. Despite Adriana's insistence that she wow Blaise with a borrowed dress, she opted to keep it simple: jeans, black sweater, sage and lavender scarf, opal pendant and studs. Black boots. Blaise seemed to appreciate simplicity. Perfume, however, was another matter: in the absence of one sense, her others had been rather heightened and Maggie had spent the past four years perfecting the art of perfumery. She took great pride in the science, even moreso when the baffled Professor Snape had informed her in fourth year that yes, Forester's Everlasting Feculence Elixir (often used in shops as an anti-theft measure and said to be the inspiration for Muggle dye packs) could indeed be modified and yes, yes this was in fact the correct way to brew it Miss Cartwright. Given the lateness of the year, Maggie thought today as good a time as any to switch from summery honeysuckle-citrus-cedar, braided with after-storm cloud humidity and sunny fast-broom freedom, to something more seasonally appropriate.
When she met Blaise in the courtyard, she smelled of fallen forest leaves, of sunny-damp afternoons and nighttime fires, of baked apples and cinnamon and the somber wind of early November evenings, though it was not yet Halloween. Threaded into this particular scent was the magic of nostalgic childhood excitement she in particular associated with this time of the year, sprinkled with the eerie feeling of being indoors too late under the florescent lighting of Muggle office buildings--something which she had experienced exactly twice, and that was enough. It was a risky scent, but she had been so safe in her clothing choices for her first date ever that she figured a little risk was worth it.
She hoped she didn't looktoo nervous as the approached.I hope I'm not too early,she said with a self-deprecating smile.My friend was meeting her boyfriend and I didn't want to be a third wheel, but I didn't know where else to go.Adriana didn't have a boyfriend. She'd left five minutes earlier with a hug for good luck and a hopeful smile.
gpt
For Blaise, the week had passed nigh uneventfully.
The typical schedule of classwork, Quidditch practice, studying, and his hobby of musing at quillpoint into any one of the number of fine leatherbound journals that he owned. He had always made a point to not do so during class, as it was a sign that he wasn't paying attention (even if he wasn't, he typically was a little more subtle about it), but it was a hobby that Blaise had picked up along the way. Musing at length about the state of wizarding society, the way that muggleborns were working their way in, a preponderance of idle spell notes and potential potion creations, as well as notes about his fellow students and what he considered to be their likely futures.
His journals had stacked up over the years, a complex web of treatises that would hardly make an interesting read unto themselves, but which marked a substantialawarenessthat Blaise had constructed over time, an overactive imagination that was almost laughably practical rather than fanciful. They were chronicled ambition, the scribblings of a pre-Renaissance man, a web of introspection that suggested a politician, a magical scholar, a future teacher, a historian, a professional duelist, a poet, a sportsman, an alchemist--
It was a useful hobby, in its own way, but as the week had dragged by with nary a thought for the weekend passing Blaise's mind's eye... the notes had drifted to idle considerations. How might deafness affect one's magic? How might society be affected in the future as the Sacred Twenty-Eight found themselves dwindling in desirability in "mainstream" wizard society while "lesser" families were on the rise? With the common conception of "when one sense deadens, the others sharpen", what scents were palatable?
It was only on Friday that Blaise noticed any commonality in his recent thoughts, and so it was early on Saturday that Blaise awoke with a faint flutter in his stomach. He was... nervous. It was something that came to him implicitly, felt but hardly thought, and it made him put a little bit of extra thought into his attire for the day--
A black shirt with a sable diamond pattern worked subtly into the cloth, paired with dark slacks the color of the darker shade of his shirt. A leather belt with a silver buckle finished out that part of the ensemble, paired then with black leather shoes that were clean but hardly shiny. They were clothes of fine make, but they still seemed... well, practical and simple, the sort of clothes that he could actually go into town with rather than be constrained merely to the parlors of the well-to-do. That was the simple part -- what was more difficult was the rest of his grooming.
He'd experimented quite often with different grooming products, keeping his style rather high and tight, and while ordinarily he might have gone with some fine cologne or another... this time he opted for something subtler. A cream he had made himself, one that when applied smelled faintly of wood and dark coffee, a whiff of caf that served to bring out the natural warmth of his skin, bringing out that undertone of gold in a way that drew the eye.
So styled, Blaise checked the time and departed the dungeons at a brisk pace -- running a circuit first to the library before heading down toward the front and thence to Hogsmeade.
Blaise was there well in advance of time, settling himself right near the heart of the cobbled town square. Students had already streamed in for some time, those that had gotten their permission earlier in the day to head down. He settled up on the edge of the street at one of the little shops -- this one a sort of caf where he could get his morning coffee and while away the time with his nose buried in one of his leatherbound books, one of the very small ones that looked to be little more than a notebook. He set it down when he caught sight of Maggie at a distance, no more than five or so minutes after he had actually settled there.
A smile came to his lips, and it was with a little flourish that the book was closed and carefully slotted into one pocket.
"You're right on time -- I'd only just sat down," he said, raising the heavy ceramic mug as way of proof. He set it down, still steaming with a rich goodness that seemed to follow Blaise as he stood and took a step toward her. His nostrils flared briefly as the wind of the day carried that delightful mix of scents his way. A rush of odd emotion, liminal nostalgia for moments he'd scarce experienced himself in a way that made them seem alone with one another, in spite of the throngs of people all around them. It would have been odd, he thought, to comment, and so he settled on something else.
"You look lovely, Maggie. Care to join me for some coffee or tea? We can talk here a while before we go find what else Hogsmeade has in store for us today," he said, gesturing briefly at the outdoor table he'd taken for himself. Was it a trick of the eyes that the chair across from his scooted back just so, as if in invitation? It had to be.
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Thank you. Maggie took the proffered seat, wondering whether he had pulled it out for her but choosing not to comment.
The smell of coffee followed him more than it did his mug, and when she sat down and ordered her own she thought she could detect...was that mahogany? She wished she could ask. She had noticed the subtle tics in his features: the curl of his lip, the now-familiar crease between his eyebrows when he asked a question, and of course the momentary flare of nostrils at her approach. She could have sat and talked with him all day about personal scent concoctions but...well, that was weird.Was it weird? Was that why she was sitting here agonizing over how to start conversation on her very first date, because she was weird? How had she made it tosixteen without realizing her own weirdness?
Now he was staring.
No, he was just looking at her. He was allowed to look, and it had only been a few seconds anyway. But they still weren't talking. For the love of Godsay something!
So how was your week?Maggie hoped she hadn't cringed externally.I'm sorry. Small talk is awful and I ought to be stoned in the public square for it. Not that I'm not interested in how your week was, just that it's an awfully cliche way to start a conversation. Don't you think? No good. She set her wand on the table and folded her hands in her lap while she waited for her coffee. Couldn't talk if she couldn't use her hands. After a few slow, deep breaths she picked up her wand and tried again. Hopefully with less babbling this time.
So what are your usual haunts?Much better.A lot of people I know like Scrivenshaft's. It's a wonderful place of course, but I tend toward knee-jerk rebellion against any type of stereotype. And what's more stereotypical than a Ravenclaw in a stationary shop?Maggie shrugged, quietly glad to have gotten her thoughts in order enough to imitate some semblance of cleverness.Well, a Ravenclaw in a library I suppose. We'll ignore that I'm guilty of fitting the stereotype no matter how much I rebel.She raised her eyebrows slightly and grinned, adding a wink then regretting it instantly. What if he thought she was trying to flirt? What if hewantedher to flirt? She'd never flirted in her life!
Two minutes, twenty-three seconds in to her first date and it was already an unqualified disaster.
gpt
Well, Maggie got points on this one, even if she insisted on taking them away from herself; Blaisewas staring, not that he terribly meant to. It was impolite, you know, but there was just something in those moments where a few thoughts came to him -- those that had been pursuing him all week.
What exactly was he going to do with this girl?
A damnably irritating question and one that he hadn't been able to come up with a satisfactory answer for. Especially as she launched into a ramble -- or was that a monologue? Perhaps an autobiography of awkwardness, when it was put to slate for his viewing pleasure. It drew a smile from his lips, once he attempted to quash behind the rim of his coffee.
"... well, weare right by the town square. Though I think from history, fire was more customary for witches," he said with an amused little smile. "Though I've gotten the feeling that you're a fairly nontraditional sort, so stones might do in a pinch. I think it's a little gauche, though. For posterity, however, my week was excellent, even if Quidditch practice has run a touch long recently. Our captain's gone mad with fury in wanting to bring down Potter at least once." He set down the cup of steaming, wafting coffee, leaning forward on his arms.
He kept that little smile on his lips, even as she settled into something more normal and then followed it up with... did she wink? Was that awink? By God, she was unsubtle. The girl was adisaster, and this was precisely why he had wondered exactly how he was supposed to go aboutseducing her per the bet.
perhaps by winking?
But the way she shrunk in on herself a little bit when abashed, or the way her fingers twined together in a particular way of being tongue-tied... it was just.
Cute.
"... so taking you toTomes & Scrolls after this is out of the cards?" he asked at last, once he'd managed to get control of his tongue again.
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Oh, it wasn't always fire. One American Muggle was crushed with stones.In her head the tone sounded nonchalant, though she wasn't entirely certain it came off that way on slate. People who didn't know her often mistook dry humor or sarcasm for sincerity. She really needed to work on some sort of font for that. Blaise went on about Quidditch practice and she nodded.That's right, you're on the Slytherin team. Well, I think my public stoning is in particularly skilled hands then. As for Potter, we can just pop down to Dementors N More and see what they've got, hm? That was more like it. More normal. Moreher.
But then she tried too hard again. She winked. How to recover from it? Should she acknowledge it or would that make it worse? Surely he couldn't think she had missed that coy little smirk hiding behind the rim of his mug. Maggie smiled and thanked the waiter for bringing her tea before returning her attention to Blaise just in time to see him say something aboutTomes & Scrolls. It was one of her favorite bookshops, not that he could've known.
I didn't say I was a very good rebel, she pointed out, recovering a bit of ease in her smile.And stop laughing at me. She gestured at him with the hand holding her mug and raised her eyebrows mildly.I know that I'm a mess; I'll be awkward enough for both of us without your help, thanks.The smile turned self-deprecating and she shrugged as though to indicate there was nothing she could do.So books, you say? Do go on.She put one elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand with purposefully exaggerated interest.Not many Slytherins that I know of are exactly readers, not to say there aren't any. What interests you, Blaise?
Nice and easy. No winking, no forced laughter or rambling. Just...conversation. Really it was just conversation. Just like talking to Adriana or Anthony or Luna. Well, nothing was quite like talking to Luna, but the point still stood. Blaise Zabini, regardless of attractiveness, was a mortal man just like any other and there was absolutely no need to be awkward about being here on a date with him despite knowing next to nothing about him. That was the point of dates, wasn't it? Get to know each other? Unless, of course,he didn't think this was a date in which case it would continue to be a disaster from start to finish. But they didn't have to address that just now, if ever. Easy does it.
Just don't let thoughts slip out onto the slate.
gpt
"But that's theAmerican tradition. And they'redreadful," Blaise said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Though if it'sstrictly necessary, I am a chaser. You'll at least be in good hands when I manage to marshal enough of a crowd," he said. She didn't have to hear him to see just how sarcastic Blaise could really be. There was a darkly amused glimmer in his eyes, a slyer curl to his lips on certain syllables. The kind of thing you didn't notice when only his truly flat delivery was there to scrutinize.
It was a peculiar sort of insight they got on one another -- the tone wasn't too hard to suss out even through the slate; blunt, wielding sarcasm and humor more like a cudgel than the silvery glint of a knife, but charming in its simplicity. And in spite ofbeing simple in such a way... certainly not an idiot, which was a refreshing change of pace.
"Regardless, I think that public executions are really more third date material, but ithasbeen a while since I've courted someone. You're doing just fine," Blaise said. And there it was. He'd called it what it was, with a casualness that put other fumbling high school romantics to shame, even if it had been spoken in the same sentence as a joke.
At her questions however, Blaisedid feel a sudden ping of idle awkwardness. Just enough -- he always had one answer for other Slytherins, jockeying as they often were for social stratification, as well as an answer for friends of his mother, or adults such as Slughorn.
he'd never really thought how to answer that for a cute Ravenclaw girl, looking at him with such big blue eyes.
"Ah... sports, obviously. There's nothing quite like flying." It was a rare treat to find someone who felt as joyful on the back of a broom as he did; he couldn't even overly hate a few Gryffindors, such as Potter or that Weasely girl. People whose soul thrummed when they were airborne and racing along at speed--
He couldn't have caught it, but there was a lightening of his expression. Something softer that rounded out his sharper features for a scant second or two. "Reading is a favorite, being the rare literate Slytherin. I guess overall...experience.Traveling, reading, exploring, competing. It's all a part of it." He settled back comfortably in his seat, that glimmer of open honesty feeling surprisingly... good. He gestured at her with his coffee cup.
"What about you, Maggie?"
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Maggie felt her face turn hot but managed to push the blush back down with another deep breath. So hedidthink it was a date. Well, at least that was out of the way. Still at his word choice she grinned wryly and arched an eyebrow.
Oh, courting are we? You did say courting, didn't you? Well, perhaps I'll let you burn me at the stake after all seeing as you're that old school. But I agree: definitely something for a third date. Get to know each other a little first.She nodded and sipped her tea. The topic turned to books, and to interests, and though she had feigned keen interest at being taken to a bookshop, it wasn't feigned at Blaise's interests and hobbies.
Maggie went to set down her mug but never quite made it. Instead she held it, hovering half an inch or so from the tabletop, while she watched him talk about flying.There was a Blaise Zabini she had never seen before. The keen glint in his eye, the sharpness of his gaze dulled ever so slightly. Just for a few seconds a muscle pulled the far corner of his lip up just a fraction and the firm line of his lips--not that she paid much attention to his lips inthatway of course, no that would be silly--softened. Tension in his brow released and his tongue moved differently around his teeth as he spoke, as though pronouncing the wordflyingwould let him taste the sensation he got from actually being on a broom. She was under no illusions: Blaise presented a carefully crafted front to the world and always had, that much had been apparent even from afar. But for a man so full of carefully constructed (and well-executed) charm, he had accidentally let slip a real part of himself that was infinitely more charming than anything he could concoct on purpose.
Experience is good, Maggie agreed with a slight nod when he turned the question back on her. She knew enough to realize his slip likely hadn't been intentional, and so left it alone. She'd tease him about it when he knew her well enough to know she meant no harm in it. If he decided he wanted to know her that well.I like traveling too, when we can manage it. You'll have to take me up on a broom some time, though; I've never actually flown. Dad's convinced that being deaf means I'll not hear the predatory honks of geese coming to devour my soul if I'm on a broom by myself. Or at least, that's as much as I can figure. He's got a second cousin who's a squib, who taught me how to drive a car. So I can rocket about in a 1.5 tonne metal weapon at 80kph, but I can't get a broom higher than five feet off the ground or I'll plummet to my death.She rolled her eyes. The issue had been a lifelong fight and Mr. Cartwright seemed to have no intention of letting up. Maggie sighed and pursed her lips momentarily, then shook the complaint away.
So I stay earthbound. I distance run. I actually did a 15k over the summer; working my way up to a marathon. She smiled brightly, proud of the achievement.Reading, obviously, is another interest, as well as potions. I think Snape's disgruntled that I actually ask him questions, but I make my own perfumes and colognes and stuff, see. Not sure he realizes that I'm not too pleased about having to talk to him, either.Maggie set her wand down again, using the same hand to pick up her mug and slide the other one off of the table and into her lap; a one-handed way of stopping herself from talking. Interesting as she had found his cologne or aftershave or whatever it was, she realized it likely wasn't of interest to him. It was hardly of interest to people she was already friends with.
Sorry, she said finally with a sheepish smile.I know I can prattle on sometimes. I like to get into the minutiae: potion chemistry, spell theory, wandlore and the like. Just tell me to shut up if I start rambling. Or, y'know...break the board. She chuckled--a clipped, conservative sound low in her throat born of years learning what vibration frequency was least disruptive--but it had happened. Several times. Over the years Maggie had learned not to talk much because people often weren't interested in what she had to say. Better to keep it to yourself than to be disappointed or ignoredand branded the awkward girl. Ravenclaws were generally better about it, but they were a varied group with eclectic interests. Many of them just weren't as academically-minded, which was fine but often made for one-sided conversations.
gpt
"That sounds entirely reasonable to me. I would much rather end up in a pile of burning metal with a half dozen other motorists rather than end up stuck up a tree," Blaise said breezily. Not that he couldn't get the logic behind it... he'd been often curious how those with issues such as hers got by in the world of magic, not that it was a question easily asked or answered.
It left him with a much simpler thing to say:
"All the same, I'd be happy to take you up on that sometime. Hogwarts' grounds are lovely this time of year, and it certainly deserves an aerial tour." He let her go off after that for a time, keeping dark eyes levelly on her as she animatedly went through quite a spiel; he was a quick reader, so he was able to devote almost as much time to her expressions and the way her hands moved as he did to her text. She seemed like she got lost in it; the way her brow almost comically furrowed when she spoke about Snape (a lot of people seemed to do that), or the way lovely blue eyes would flit back to him as if to make certain he hadn't run away mid-conversation.
It was kind of cute.
She would find him engaged in listening, giving her quick "go on" motions with one hand, making eye contact between bouts of absorption of her written word. Potions, chemistry, marathons, reading, spell theory, wands. An almost absurd level of practicality and... well.
A mirror.
He was self-aware enough to see the similarities; she need merely say that she also loved the great horned owl as a familiar of choice for the reflection to be complete.
"No, by all means go on; I think I've mentioned that I enjoy a good book," he said with a wan smile. "I can see why you duel with me for grades in my favorite classes; they're your favorites, too. I probably should have guessed that; it explains that really curious scent you're wearing; it's like nostalgia for something I've never experienced. If you need a name for it, I suggest "Sehnsucht, by Cartwright"," Blaise said, spreading his hand along the front of an imaginary marquee. "I make some of my own as well, albeit not so intrinsicallysubtle; maybe we'll have to compare notes. I'm surprised I've never run into you at the apothecary on Carkitt," Blaise said.
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Hmm...perhaps a second date, then? Maggie suggested as casually as she could when Blaise suggested taking her on an aerial tour of Hogwarts.
Before he could really answer with any depth she was off, rambling. Well,shewas certain it was rambling, anyway, though Adriana and Luna had both assured her a number of times that there was nothing wrong with talking about one's own interests. Every now and then her eyes flicked over his face, attempting to read his true level of interest in what she had to say. She was pleasantly surprised to find that it seemed genuine, and that he was able to keep up with her writing. Maggie's hands moved twice the speed the words on the board did, signing out of habit until she forced herself to stop again and apologized. He encouraged her to go on and she had to resist the urge to look away in embarrassment when he compared her conversation to a book. But he was smiling, and it seemed to be a joke.
Oh so you noticed!At Blaise's appraisal of her perfume she smiled brightly.So the nostalgia worked then? Excellent! I was taking a bit of a risk but I'm glad it worked. It's a nostalgia for something I've experienced, but I wasn't entirely certain about pairing it with liminal space. Thought it might make some people uncomfortable. He suggested a name for the scent, spreading his hands and making it seem grander than a girl tinkering about with a cauldron. She grinned, but her eyebrows furrowed ever-so-slightly.I'm sorry, I'm rubbish with spoken foreign languages. Or at least, I hope it was foreign. Write it down for me?
When he revealed that he made his own scents as well, she smiled and nodded.I do love coffee and woody scents. Mahogany was a good choice for a day like this. Add a bit of old leather, maybe a particularly fragrant tobacco and you've got a cozy Sunday morning. As for Carkitt, She shrugged.I don't get to London very often except at start of term. I'm one of those dreadful country witches everyone talks about, can't move with the times, bringing down the progress of modern wizardry. Ought to move up to York, really... Another low chuckle and a sip of tea.I usually wind up getting supplies from Muggle shops. Is it lame that I can't wait to turn 17 so that I can use magic to make better scents outside of school? I feel like it's absurdly lame.
gpt
"Of course. Most of the people around here go for something... ratherplain. It wouldn't kill to try for a little complexity. Have to make something practical of Snape's droning," Blaise said. He held a hand out over the table, drawing a finger across the smooth surface of the tabletop. He whispered a spell she couldn't quite catch, the motion of his lips too subtle and the language not one she might have caught anyway. Traced across the tabletop, a word appeared following the passage of his finger. In a sharp black ink, the word "Sehnsucht" was left behind. She hadn't seen him go for his wand, and both hands were plainly visible --
And then it was gone, the word disappearing after a scant few seconds of existence.
He spread his hands out to either side.
"It's a shorthand for 'longing'. Some people use it for nostalgia," Blaise said with a slow roll of the shoulders. "German's a rather descriptive language," Blaise said.
He let her write out her self-deprecation, earning another rich little chuckle that one could but make a fortune if they could only transcribe such a thing. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "Terribly lame. Even then, I'm surprised I've not seen you. I make a stop there at start of term every year, regardless of my other trips there. But I'll have to rescind my offer if you go to York. Mother's been very clear about the sorts I should associate with," he said in perfect mimicry of the Slytherin party line, but with a more gnuine smile than the way in which they typically sneered that.
human
Maggie watched with curiosity as Blaise leaned over and murmured, wand in his pocket and hands moving only in very subtle ways. It was blink-and-you-miss-it magic, the sort that likely even escaped those whocould hear. Her fingers twitched to say something about it and a few chalk letters started to form, but she watched the word form on the table and rubbed one palm flat across the other, erasing the board.
I should have known it was German, she said with a wry smile.I can read French and German perfectly well, but when it comes to lip-reading they've both got so much going on in the soft palate, velum, and glottis that I can't make heads or tails. I'm trying to learn Deutsche Gebrdensprache but even my fingers get tangled up.
She threatened to move to York, country witch that she was, and shrugged when Blaise expressed surprise that they'd never run into one another while doing start-of-term shopping.I try to get my shopping done early, she said.Otherwise it only just gets done at all, and usually at higher back-to-school prices.
"But I'll have to rescind my offer if you go to York," Blaise threatened. "Mother's been very clear about the sorts I should associate with."
This earned not simply a chuckle but an actual laugh. Maggie's laugh was low-pitched, chortling sound, breathy and originating in the chest.Indeed?she asked, eyebrows raised with amusement.But wasn't Norrell one of the greatest wizards of the age and the exemplary Slytherin? No, you're right: York is far too respectable for the likes of me. I'll go to Glasgow instead.She laughed again, at her own joke this time.Perhaps then York won't seem too bad by comparison, but we can still cause a fun little scandal. The handsome, enigmatic, cosmopolitan Mr. Zabini running off round with a commonplace little Yorkshire girl. The Prophet and Quibbler alike would have a field day.
Maggie had always, for some reason, imagined the likes of Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy to be followed by tabloids reporting on what they were wearing, who they were seeing, where they were going on holiday. She didn't know for certain; she never wasted her time on rag mags like that. But it was a mental picture she had of him that she couldn't seem to shake.
Well, I'm afraid you're stuck with a commonplace little Devon girl instead,she added after some thought, with a shrug,for the afternoon, anyway.And the gossip mills will simply have to make do.
gpt
French and German? More cosmopolitan than he'd have expected of her, but he supposed he shouldn't have held her innate Britishness against her. She was, after all, of the house of knowledge and learning--
"Ah, mas e o portugus?" he offered. He held his hands out to either side. "We'll have to exchange linguistic tips. We can use them to mess with the Anglophones," Blaise said.
She had a low and pleasing laugh, something he had not entirely expected of her. Not least of which because he was somewhat surprised they seemed to share so much of a sense of humor. It was chortling, and just a little bit undignified as far as the noblewoman's laugh went, usually much higher and originating somewhere in the throat and coming out through the nose, as if insinuated into the pattern of breath.
They were able to enjoy a laugh together there for a long moment, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He wasn't certain he could ever go to Glasgow, not least of which because he was under the assumption that people of a certain breeding or higher would likely be compelled to combust upon entry.
"The wretch'd rumor mill. I'll have to assume the ministry if only to cut down on that particular agricultural subsidy. Which reminds me," he leaned back in his seat, turning his attention briefly to Hogsmeade as a whole. It was a lovely town, all things considered, if a little pastoral for his usual tastes. It promised wide-ranging grounds and a chance to stretch one's legs free of the watchful eye of Hogswarts ghosts. Or worse, the teachers.
"Before we're hounded by them, we should find cover somewhere else. I wouldn't mind more than just a cafeside chat," he said, turning dark eyes back toward her.
human
The corners of Maggie's eyes crinkled minutely only for a moment as she stared a little harder, then comprehension dawned and her eyebrows raised a little.Oh Portuguese? Some day. But for every language you've got to learn, I've got to learn three. Romance and Germanic written language don't translate well to speech, and sign evolves on its own just the way speech does. And don't get me started on dialects.
They shared a laugh and it actually seemed genuine. There were some times when people--even people she knew well--would laugh at her jokes but not really seem to understand, or were uncertain whether she was joking. Perhaps it was something to do with inflection. But Blaise seemed to understand and indeed share such dry humor. It was refreshing. Blaise joked about joining the Ministry just to cut down on gossip, earning a smile.
You've got my vote,she assured him.
He sat back and looked around before suggesting that they move to somewhere else. A fine crease appeared between her eyebrows for a second before smoothing away again. Had he suddenly remembered to be embarrassed? Had he seen a friend and wanted to flee before having to face their derision? Did he have more nefarious motives, plans for her honor?
Or was he simply as genuine as he seemed?
Maggie didn't have much experience with boys.No experience, really. So there was nothing to measure against; she would simply have to trust that he wasn't like the others, that he hadn't asked her out on a bet or a dare--or worse, out of pity--and simply had genuine interest in her as a person. After a long minute of consideration she nodded and stood.
Where did you have in mind? she asked.Somewhere somehow less fashionable than Glasgow? Oh! Tampa Bay perhaps? Maggie had only the vaguest notion of where Tampa Bay actually was; somewhere in Florida, that much was clear from the postcard her mother had sent a few years ago with a postmark from Tampa. But the very fact of its Floridian existence was enough for her to know that it was probably a nightmare for someone like Blaise.I follow your lead.
gpt
I follow your lead.
Those were the words that kickstarted the next month and change of adventure for the both of them. Far from hiding her, Blaise had spent the rest of that morning walking her around Hogsmeade and taking in the sights with her-- there was a peculiarity to travel with others. You could experience the same place a hundred times with a hundred fellow travelers, each place tinted by the company.
That morning, Hogsmeade had been cornflower blue and deepest green. They'd riffed at length andad nauseam on the sheer ridiculousness of language and the degree to which linguists the world over seemed to be taking the piss on grammar, structure, shared etymology, and more. They had even used the word diphthong, making some English comprehension teacher weep a single tear over a career finally justified.
They even shat on Florida together for a time.
They had walked and talked until it had been time to conclude the day's visit to Hogsmeade.
The following weeks were told in visits to the library, or trips to raid Slughorn's store of accessible potion ingredients, and the occasional walk around the grounds between classes. She'd been invited to a Quidditch game or two and had watched Blaise win a game or two.
While they were not what one would call inseparable, they had certainly found time for one another in their lives. For quick chats here and there, for a rivalry that was simultaneously more and less heated in terms of their grades during any shared classes.. and on occasion, something softer. Another date, another trip 'round school or elsewhere.
And the entire time, Blaise had been at war with himself.
He was no stranger to dating. Sometimes, for as loathe as he was to admit it, he was a hormonal teenaged boy. His mind drifted to thoughts of forcing Maggie down against the sheets of his bed, hands on her hips as he gave her more than she could handle. Making her scream, moan, whimper, and every other wonderful sound that came from a tangle of limbs and sheets--
It wasn't so hard to imagine. But what came next was the idea of lingering in the afterglow, fingers twined and an arm around a bare and slender waist. Moments passed in perfect silence and--
Blaise tried not to think about it too much.
It was a bet. And while certainly he enjoyed talking to her, it was a momentary distraction, even moreso than all of his student dalliances had been. His mother had always informed him to wait until the seventh year or into their careers to find the most suitable match, for any girl easily won was not so desirable a prize. He might have reflected on that sentence with regards to his mother's track record with men, but it was not something he was prepared to dwell on.
One night, heading into November, Blaise had finally chosen to take up on his word that he would take her flying. One night, under a moonless sky that instead promised stars in its stead, a veritable ocean that twinkled merrily in a British sky, mercifully free of thick clouds and dreary rainfall. It would be beyond curfew when they came back, but plans had been made.
Maggie with Adriana to let her in unbeknownst of the prefects and others, and Blaise with the time-honored and tested tradition of Slytherins quite simply not giving a fuck.
Clad in thick sweater and with a scarf tight round his neck, Blaise took Maggie astride the broom sometime in the waning minutes of dinner and took her right up toward the rooftops, heading up in time to the stars making themselves brighter, bolder, all the more apparent against a darkening sky.
His feet touched down against the time-worn stonework, recently fixed in places from where Potter had run a dragon into one of the towers but two years ago, because that was a thing some students were allowed to be exceptions on apparently. Blaise turned his head to her, raising his arms so she could release herself from the death grip she'd enacted upon his waist.
human
There were a good many books and stories that included the phrase "she had never met anyone quite like him," and Maggie had always thought it trite. Then she started dating Blaise. Was it dating? It certainlyfeltlike dating, with trips to the library and around campus, and another day out to Hogsmede which this time included dinner in a rather pricey little bistro. But they had never defined what theywere to one another, had never used words like "boyfriend" or "companion," or even "friend." They just...were.
But whatever it was they were, she had never met anyone quite like him. She could talk with him about language and potions, sports and books, fashion and travel (though he was far more well-versed in both topics). He actually understood and laughed at her jokes in a way that at least felt like it wasn't a courtesy laugh, and made her laugh in turn. He was even willing to learn sign language and she had been teaching him some of the more common signs. Although Maggie was trying very hard to be careful not to tumble ass-over-teakettle for the first boy to favor her with a smile, she could certainly feel her feet slipping. She was still trying to decide whether she could still feel them under her after Blaise kissed her.
It hadn't been long or hard, or even terribly romantic; there were no fireworks or foot pops. It was just a goodbye kiss in the halls as they went their separate ways for classes. But it had been enough to leave her lips tingling and struggling to keep a neutral expression. She hadn't told Blaise that that had been her first kiss; bit pathetic, that, and although they had fallen into a pattern of affectionate teasing she wasn't certain she could handle teasing on that particular topic from this particular man. Adriana pulled it out of her, of course, and from the looks of things there had been squealing to go along with the hugs. As Maggie had grown happier her best friend's initial suspicion of Blaise had gradually--very gradually--diminished and that seemed to make it disappear altogether. They hadn't as yet had a propersnog, really, only small kisses stolen in the fleeting moments of the day or hidden between library shelves. While that was enough to sustain her, Maggie found herself imagining somethingmore with Blaise. More than snogging, even. In particularly dull classes, or on study breaks, or even in the quiet moments of the evening as she started drifting to sleep she imagined dark hands contrasted starkly against her wrists, pinning her against the bed. Lips crushing against hers to quiet moans she couldn't hear and couldn't help. Watching the way the muscles in his back and hips moved beneath his skin as he--
She could never hide a blush at those thoughts, and when her mind had drifted in class she would have to hurriedly check her slate to make sure it hadn't run away with itself.
Compatibility and attraction were all well and good, but trust was paramount in any relationship. It was trust that got her on the broom with him, and trust that kept her from flailing wildly in an attempt to get down the moment they took off. She wasn't sure why she had expected a little bit of an introduction to flying, hovering a few feet off the ground the way first years did just to get her used to it; that wasn't Blaise at all. But she didn't scream when they took off. She never vocalized when she could help it, except around a very few, and after a lifetime of people with various intent sneaking up on her she had learned to control the urge to scream quite well. Instead there was merely a sharp intake of air and she locked her arms around his middle as tightly as she could. Her arms didn't immediately unlock once they'd landed. Rather, she maintained her grip while gasping sharply in and out with her head ducked against his chest, under his arm. It was a few long moments before she realized that his arms were held out above her head and she looked up with a sheepish smile.
* she signed. With a flick of her wand her slate was levitating next to her again.I um...I'm not sure how I felt about that. Might try it another time or two before I decide I want to keep my feet on the ground.She smiled again then leaned against the crenelation next to him to look up at the stars.You picked a beautiful night for it.
gpt
He was not quite sure how long she intended to keep a lock around his waist -- he was likewise unsure of how quick he was going to be to alert her to her current predicament, thus perpetuating it until such time that she was willing to let go of him under her own power. Which was fine.
He could wait as long as it would take.
He took a step off of the broom when her arms finally relented from around him -- he set the broom down against the roof, muttering a spell that bestowed the stick with just enough adhesion to keep it from being knocked off the roof by an errant gust. Nothing an accio couldn't fix, but he did not want to get any scuff marks onto it if he could help it.
* he signed back, notably a little less elegant with his hands than he was with his lips. He held a hand to her, signing with one hand as he spoke aloud. Together, it came to say: "Right up ahead. There is a better place to sit."
They picked their way up the stonework a bit, the magical nature of Hogwarts doing much to preserve the texture of the stone as it had always been, rather than as the smoothness that would inevitably result from the weather. They found a place a bit higher, in a nest of steeples and spires, a flat part of the roof onto which they could descend together, finding a place to sit in their own nest amongst the stars.
"Of course I did," he said at last. "Best seats in the house," he said. He brought his wand out, whispering "lumos" and infusing it with a sprout of light, a glow that gave just enough to see one another more clearly like their very own twinling star.
human
His signing was still a little clumsy, but that made it endearing. She gently corrected the difference between the affirmative "ok" he had used and the conciliatory "it's alright" he had probably meant. She took his hand and let him lead the way to the spot he had in mind.
Maggie rarely held Blaise's hand. Instead in the instances they had felt the need or desire to be physically attached she looped her arm with his, resting her hand on his forearm in a rather old-fashioned way. It kept her hands free, and it was her hands which her charmed slate read and interpreted; holding hands, she had explained, felt like being told to shut up. On this occasion, however, she made an exception and willingly let him lead her by the hand for fear of losing her balance and slipping off the roof. Certainly she figured if she did Blaise had good enough reflexes to slow her fall, but she would really rather not test it.
Blaise lit his wand, throwing shadows over both their faces in the dim light. She smiled and scooted a little closer before looking up at the stars. His body was warm and inviting next to her in the chilly evening, but she was hesitant to lean against him he way she wanted to. That lack of definition in their relationship--whatever kind of relationship it was--made her wary of crossing any undefined boundaries.
I'll bet you take all the girls here, she teased with a slight nudge and a smile and a dimly sincere question behind her eyes.Has anyone ever accused you of being romantic, Mr. Zabini? It would be a tragedy if I were the first.
gpt
It was by an odd quirk of commonality that he'd hardly minded that she didn't want to hold hands. It was easy enough to understand her problem... and there was something oddlyold-fashioned about the Slytherin boy. Some sort of affectation, perhaps, that put one in mind of a gentleman of society more than a schoolboy, and that was quite assuredly on purpose considering the rest of his well-maintained and manicured appearance. But... still, there was something justnice about locking his fingers with hers as they carefully navigated the old shingles and roofing tiles of the ancient castle. Perhaps they were enchanted to stay where they were in their moorings, but it was hardly a time to check the structural integrity of the stone.
"Oh, I've tried. Unfortunately, Pansy Parkinson is afraid of heights so I had to leave her in the bushes instead," Blaise said with a faint quirk of a smile, lit ever-so-faintly by the light of his wand.
He leaned back against her just so, providing a solid basis against which she could take any kind of liberty. He settled his hands on his knees, splaying his fingers across as dark eyes stole out over the grounds of the castle. A new angle on a hundred little sights they'd all taken in time and time again. It gave the grounds new definition, coloring it with a tinge of excitement that had been gone since sometime in their second year.
"I suppose we'll have to sit together and watch this tragedy. I can't say I've ever been accused of it, but I'm good at covering my tracks, so the evidence wouldn't stick. I wouldn't mind if you said it off the record, though," Blaise said. Her warmth was a comfort this high up, a comfortable presence that made his smile genuinely warm in kind. He had been unsure of when and how to push...
But there was never a better time than now, he supposed. So far high up from others, where it was just them 'neath the stars.
human
Maggie smiled.Well then, off the record I will indeed accuse you of romantic tenancies. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone. A well-cultivated reputation for cold heartlessness is very important. She twisted her fingers for a few moments, then smiled a tad uncertainly.i guess I'm glad Pansy's afraid of heights, then. Her loss is my gain.
There was a moment. Inexperienced as she was, even Maggie could recognize that there was a moment. His smile was warm, as was his body, and there was a sort of softness to his gaze. Would she be able to make any sort of move with her heart in her mouth like this? Could he hear it thundering in her chest?
Suddenly it didn't matter. She wasn't sure who had leaned in first, but Maggie's lips were on his and her eyes were closed. One hand was on his shoulder. Was that okay? Was it weird? Apart from the few quick pecks they'd briefly shared, she had never kissed a boy before. She wasn't entirely sure how this sort of thing went.
And then it was over. She had pulled away, out of sheer nerves more than anything else. Her hands fluttered nervously.
Sorry, she said.That was rather sudden of me, wasn't it? She smiled nervously and plucked at his sleeve.
gpt
"Her loss was my gain, too," Blaise said -- though one couldn't have been certain if he meant that to be complimentary of Maggie or an insult to one Miss Parkinson, but all of the patented Slytherin doublespeak in the world couldn't have detracted from the rest of the moment. The school had long become a place of dread for many of the students -- near death for its students every year of their tutelage tended to have that kind of effect, ever moreso with the experiences just before the most recent summer for far too many of the school's students--
It was nice to be reminded that there were more than academic doldrums or life-and-death. It was nice to be reminded of the touch of warm hands and the sight of soft smiles. Of the feel of spun gold sliding between his fingers as his hand found its way to the nape of her neck, the space between moments filled with mouth on mouth.
His fingers twined into her hair, his body turning just so to both give and receive, the two of them falling together as if it was more inevitability than happenstance.
She could feel his mouth open against hers in the brief second before she pulled away, a maturation of a kiss that found him almost falling into the space that she so quickly vacated. He caught himself on the roof with one hand, his breath coming slightly hotter and heavier before he reigned it in.
"... ah... s-sure," he said, his composure briefly cracked in a way that was rare for him. "No more sudden than, well--"
When her lips were captured a second time, it was all him. Pulling her back in with a firm hand on her neck, taking a kiss that was all the softer and the sweeter for the time he put into it.
human
She hadn't meant to make him fall. Maggie tried to hide her mortification under a quintessentially English apology, but couldn't help but notice that she seemed to have caught him off-guard. That was...odd. Though she knew she had certainly wormed her way beyond his usual defenses, there was one facade that never, ever cracked. She seemed to have finally put the tiniest of fissures in it, unintentionally of course. Still, it was encouraging know that she could.
But even then he had a hand up on her.
Blaise captured her lips again, mid-sentence. This drew a delighted little squeak from her and she smiled against his lips briefly before falling into the sweet seriousness of it. The firmness of the hand on the back of her neck gave her chills and sent an odd thrill of sensation up through her stomach and into her chest. Maggie adjusted to face her body squarely towards his. Gloved fingers gripped his sweater, holding him gently in place even if he had wanted to pull back. The kiss seemed to last for forever. That would have been perfectly fine by her. But it did come to an end eventually, a natural end that didn't leave either of them staggering for purchase this time.
I wouldn't mind doing that again...Maggie couldn't help the stupid grin and giggled nervously, averting her gaze momentarily.I um...She pushed a lock of hair out of her face, still grinning. She was grinning too much. Her cheeks hurt in the cold. Oh God he would know she had never kissed anyone before if she didn't do something. Anything. So she kissed him again.
Finally something to say came to mind as their third proper kiss finally ended.Have you had dessert yet?
gpt
She was surprising.
A thought that came in the space between what felt like minutes. Minutes in passing, mouth on mouth, fingers curled against one another in a way that suffused them with a warmth that had nothing and yet everything to do with the press of their bodies. The sort of heat that remained, even as they pulled back from one another, maintaining only a loose grip on one another -- her fingers splayed across the front of his sweater, his touch light upon the back of her neck, trending into her soft hair--
He wasn't sure why, and that was the most surprising thing of all.
He opened his mouth to speak, and lost them to the softness of her lips -- and a long and lingering kiss later, he couldn't remember what it was he had been going to say.
"Ah... I haven't, no," he said. His worse -- usually so freely conceived and given -- were at a loss just then. It was enough to nearly make him pull back, but he couldn't bring himself to gain too much distance just then.
human
Would you like some?Maggie smiled. There was a sort of confusion behind his eyes that amused her, something she was almost audacious enough to think might have something to do with her. Almost. In either case, he seemed to have lost his footing.We'd have to pop back down into the castle for a bit, but I can't think of a better place to eat it than up here.She looked out over the grounds then up at the stars. They seemed closer than ever this evening.
With Blaise's consent, she helped him up and they flew down to the 7th floor. She paced in front of a tapestry of dancing trolls, as though she were lost, but upon her third time passing it a door appeared in the wall and she smiled brightly. She gestured.
Ah, here we are!She held the door open for him.Most people only learned about the Room of Requirement last year, when Harry Potter had that secret dueling club and got caught. A number of Ravenclaws, however, have been using it for years. Mostly for experiments that might be considered...less than legal. Maggie shrugged.I like to use it for potions. And cooking.
The door opened up into anairy kitchenwith exposed beams. Maggie chattered on about the history of the room, about its different uses before Potter had gotten a hold of it. She was busy pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator when she turned and realized, with some slight surprise, that there was nowhere for Blaise to sit. Almost as soon as she had thought it, asitting roomappeared at the other end of the island. She considered it critically for a moment, then wrinkled her nose when her eyes fell upon the plaid sofa. It ingratiatingly corrected itself into a faded denim-colored linen, and the leaf-patterned chairs became cream, pin striped with the same denim. Ditto the color of the curtains.
That's better.She nodded and smiled, then glanced at Blaise, then back to the decor.Oh, don't you dare judge me. I warned you that I was a dreadful little cottage witch. Now let's see...She dared to hum softly, a tuneless thing, while she pulled ingredients out of the fridge and raised her eyebrows in mild surprise at a chalkboard standing on the counter with a recipe written out.Tiramisu? I thought you'd have had a taste for something a little more obscure than that. You seem the type.She grinned playfully and winked. It was, this time, not the awkward wink of their first date but a playful one.
The ladyfingers took some time, though not quite so long as it might have for an amateur. Throughout the process Maggie's face was screwed up in concentration, and there were a number of swear words on her board that she seemed to be unaware of. While the pastries baked she followed a different recipe that had come up on the board waiting for her on the counter. She frowned in disapproval at it, but followed it anyway. The recipe forzabaionecalled for wine, which she added to Blaise's but substituted for espresso in her own. The Room generally knew best. The only magic she used was in chilling the tiramisu.
Don't get me wrong, she said as she poured the drinks,the elves are fantastic. But there's nothing quite like a homemade dessert. You know, by hand, without magic.She glanced over at the tiramisu, which was gradually solidifying as her cooling charm settled over it.Never mind that, anyway. But it's all chemistry, isn't it? Like Potions, only edible. She pushed a bit of hair out of her face and dusted her hands off on an apron.Did you want to go back to the roof with this? It's a beautiful night for stargazing.
The kiss seemed to have unlocked something. Maggie's attitude might be categorized as "slow" rather than "glacial," as it had been. She had, as it were, received acknowledgement that Blaise liked her, actuallyliked her. She didn't have to guard her heart quite so cautiously anymore.
gpt
There was an iota more of confusion writ large across his face at her offer. The Slytherin accommodations for homemaking were... lacking, given the preference to use the house elves for literally everything. No one wanted to do anything when they were so accustomed to the Help doing what it was they did best. While that was what Blaise thought she was offering, he thought the offer momentarily odd before he acquiesced to her suggestion.
A short broom-trip to the seventh floor later, and the meaning of her offer was suddenly much clearer.
"... theRoom of Requirement?" Blaise inquired. It had been seized upon by the Slytherins in recent months, acting with all the typical hypocrisy they did after previously ratting Potter out to Umbridge over the very same. It was said that Malfoy had been seen coming and going from the seventh floor in recent weeks, though Blaise had given little thought to the whole thing. It was rumored by those with a dim view of the Malfoys that Draco was honestly just finding a place to wank in peace.
"And they so often say that the Ravenclaws haven't any mischief in them," Blaise mused as the room whorled around her -- a mercurial location that seemed to acquiesce so quickly to Maggie's idle whims. He took up a chair and chatted amiably enough with her, expressing deep interest in all the things the Room had been bound into service for in all its many years of existence. It was a spectacular feat of magic, and she could see the ways in which dark eyes lit up in appreciation for the wonderment of it all.
Through it all, they traded in jokes. "That's just my eclectic man-of-mystery persona you've been fooled by. Sometimes even I enjoy abysmal peasant country-witch fare," Blaise said with a dash of self-deprecation.
And "Zabaione with espresso? My mother would be aghast."
Finally, the two sat in warmth and contentment. Somewhere along the waya fire had started in a worn-brick hearth, a sort that echoed a fireplace with which Blaise was intimately familiar, right down to the curious pale-wood grain.He'd taken off the sweater somewhere in the intervening moments, his chin couched in his hand.
"... you know, I'll admit that I hadn't thought of it. I'm sure I wouldn't find it terriblydifficult, but... it wasn't something emphasized in my upbringing. House chef, and all that," Blaise said as if that were the most humdrum thing in the world to have. "We might stay here for a while, I think. There isn't a way to see the stars from here, is there?" he asked.
human
Maggie grinned at Blaise's assertion that Ravenclaws had a reputation for staying out of mischief.You'd think so,she said,but really we're just better at not getting caught. Helps that your lot's pissing match with the Gryffindors takes the attention off the rest of us. I'm still convinced the Weasley twins would've made cracking Ravenclaws.
He was interested in what she had to say, and that in and of itself was a small miracle. Not many were; she often found wonderment in the smallest things, and thought too much about what others took for granted. And he appreciated the Room itself for what it was. She shared her pet theory that it was a secret room left behind by Helga Hufflepuff to help those in need and mentioned the occasional odd thing she'd come across during her years of use. There was a scorch mark that she pointed out, high up on one wall where it wasn't really noticeable, where she said a couple of Ravenclaw potions gone wrong had scarred the room itself the year before she'd started attending Hogwarts.
And he joked. That was the thing she had found most surprising about Blaise, was that for all his poise and carefully-constructed persona he still joked. Maggie liked it, but she liked it better still when she was able to pull a genuine smile out of him; she was getting quite good at telling the difference between his calculated smiles and his real ones. The real ones were far superior, in her opinion.
But he pointed out that his mother would be aghast that she chose to leave the wine out of her own drink and Maggie shrugged.I don't drink.She didn't quite meet his eyes as she said it, and the terse sound of the chalk made it clear that that was as far as she would go with that particular topic.Anyway, you have to be honest. I can't get better if you're not honest.
Oh you wouldn't find it difficult would you? Her usual jocularity was back as she settled onto the couch and handed him his drink.No, certainly nothing is so difficult for the Great Zabini that he wouldn't get it right on the first try. Why, I'm sure you could just fire the chef now and be done with it. There was a certain way Maggie quirked her lips, a bit of an unconscious tilt to the way she held her hands as she signed, a very slight difference in the font, which all indicated playful sarcasm. It was different from her biting sarcasm, used sparingly but well, and if Blaise had cared to notice during the past month he would have picked up on these subtle cues which stood in for vocal inflection.
He suggested that they stay there, which she had to admit was more comfortable than shivering on a hard roof. At his question about whether they could see the stars from where they were, though, she pursed her lips thoughtfully and looked at the windows the Room had so graciously provided. The sunlight streaming through them rapidly faded into night and the window treatments rolled up and disappeared while the windows themselves widened and lengthened. Soon there was a floor to ceiling wall of windows with a view of the grounds and the stars. The lights dimmed to minimize glare on the windows, and Maggie nodded in a pleased sort of way.
Even if it isn't real, she said,it's at least a wonderful facsimile. She set her drink down for a moment to get up and fetch several generous portions of tiramisu, then brought them back to settle in on the couch and look out the window.I do most of the cooking at home,she said,without magic, obviously. Because that's the law. So I've gotten a lot of practice. Dad's pretty useless at the stove.Maggie smiled a little, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.I can't imagine what it might be like to have a chef.
gpt
She was something worth studying.
It wasn't so cold an observation as it might have sounded. Blaise didn't put much time into studying, observing, and taking in the fine details of things he didn't find interesting. One of Mother's axioms was to learn all that was worth learning, and the way of the household was to be fairly clear if anything evenwas of sufficient "worth".
But there was just something about her. The ways in which hewasn't able to read her, for she spoke in a way unalike to any he had seen before. He watched for the inflections -- he could see them everywhere, once he had spent enough time with her and in active observation of her tics. The way certain muscles on her face twitched when she was trying to emphasize an expression or a feeling. The way her fingers would get a little jumbled when she was terribly excited for something, almost like she was slurring the signs. His favorite was a little furrow to her brow that he was certain she could never have noticed, the one she used when she was irked but quick in reply, a microcosm of an expression.
The frankness in her demeanor that told him when a topic was off-limits.
He settled himself comfortably on the couch next to her, focusing hard for a scant moment to have the room issue them a hard wooden table -- a curious little design made of solid rectangular pieces of wood, thick and sturdy with the top of it hanging over empty space before them, standing itself on a frame more than legs. He set the dessert down gingerly, as if afraid a construct of his own design would not be fit for the task, but the Room prevailed in spite of such worries.
"It's cold," Blaise finally said. "Which isn't such a bad thing. But it lacks a certain... something, that comes from something made out of desire rather than obligation. His zabaione isn't quite as good, for one example. Healways drowns it," Blaise said, turning dark eyes sidelong on her past the rim of a cold glass. He could see the fragility of her smile, and it was in the wake of it that he set the zabaione back down on the table. A hand slid over the surface of the sofa, to settle on one thigh. It was no shy touch, settling far above her knee and gripping her, gentle but firm.
"Perhaps I should try to set an example for you. I have to live up to the title of theGreat Zabini, after all."
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Maggie watched as Blaise built a geometric table, very sleek and modern. She nodded in appreciation.How very art deco of you, she commented slyly. Given their difference in decorating tastes, it wasn't entirely clear whether it was a compliment or a playful ribbing. She sipped her own zabaione, impressed with herself for it turning out this good on the first try but worried about whether she had gotten it right. And hers had too much coffee flavor.
Blaise complimented it in his own round-about fashion, but she wasn't sure whether it was a bad thing that her attempt lacked a "certain something." Then she realized that he was joking. His chef always drowned it, so hers was very probably a direct result of being overly-cautious with any sort of spirit. She supposed it was a good thing that he recognized the virtues of moderation. Maggie frowned briefly when he set the zabaione back down on the table, then followed the path of his hand over to her thigh with her eyes.
Well, far be it from me to set impossible standards, she replied.But exactly which example were you planning on setting? Hm? She smiled, and it had a hint of her old shyness; perhaps his meaning would have been clearer if she could hear his tone of voice. Still, that didn't stop her from scooting ever-so-slightly closer to him on the couch.
gpt
"Of the wonders of having a chef, of course," Blaise said -- or would have. There was something in that shyness of hers as his hand settled, warm and large, upon her thigh. She was a small thing, at the end of the day, and very appealing in that way. Of course he'd been able to feel that in the stolen moments -- in the library, at the caf, or up on top of the school... but it was a different thing entirely when they were sequestered away in a part of the school that no one would ever find them in. He knew well enough about the Room to know that only those who knew what they were looking for would be able to open the same door as the person previous--
"Of the various things expected of a scion of my house. I'll have to start by trouncing your cooking," he said, the glimmer of mischief making that part obvious enough for what it was -- a joke. "But you've shown me such hospitality, and I've not had the chance to thank you for it. Far be it for me to be a bad guest."
And then he kissed her.
It was a warm and lingering thing, not so far removed from the kisses they had shared beforereal starlight. But it was different here and now. It wasn't just the pretense of being alone, it was the true and actual experience of the same. Somewhere soft and accommodating, that saw him leaning into her, his hand sliding up to take her hip, hiking the edge of her shirt up just so, pressing bare skin to bare skin.
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Blaise threatened to trounce her cooking and Maggie chuckled.Good luck,she laughed.I've got about a decade of experience on you, but you're more than welcome to try.He back pedaled with just as much humor, declaring himself a bad guest.
Well! Ifthis was how he thanked her, she would have to cook for him more often.
His lips lingered on hers, warm and tasting ever-so-slightly of wine. It wasn't any deeper or more tender than before, but it seemed more...real. Alone in the warm, dimly lit room beneath the stars, it gave Maggie the impression that they were the only ones in the entire country still awake, still very much active. His lips pressed against hers, seeming to mold to hers until they were one and the same. Blaise leaned into her until her back pressed against the arm of the sofa, and Maggie shivered as she felt his hand sliding up her shirt. It was warm and dry against her skin, pleasant despite its unfamiliarity. Nobody had ever touched her like this before; it was thrilling and terrifying all at once.
Are you sure the wine hasn't gone to your head already?she asked shakily when they came up for air. It was difficult to control the actual shaking brought on by the adrenaline rush. If Blaise answered, she didn't see it; Maggie slid her arms over his shoulders, cupping one hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him in for another kiss.
gpt
It wasn't a motion with a lot of practice to it. A slow and steady press against her until she felt the pressure of the couch's armrest against her back, and the warmth of his body against her. He shifted until he was near on his side, giving him all the room he needed for his hand to trace all the way up one hip and down again, tracing little sparks of static across her nerves.
"It wasn't a lot of wine," he breathed, sparing the quickest glance at her slate, hardly wishing to spend much time away from the sudden heat he felt in his stomach, the same heat that so nicely filled his hand as it swept up her side -- making its way no further just yet, merely enjoying the sensation of her warmth, her softness beneath his fingertips. But all that changed when her lips secured another kiss from him.
One firm, strong hand -- trembling just so for the sudden burst of nerves -- pushed her shirt up to reveal inches of bare, flat stomach, almost all the way up to the bottom of her small clothes. The palm of his hand splayed so nicely against her stomach, broad and dark against slender and pale, pressing against her enough to make it entirely clear that he had her exactly where he wanted her. She could feel him from all sides, hard and very appreciative of the girl he had entirely wrapped up in his touch~
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Blaise's hands were warm and strong, and she was shaking so that she didn't notice his slight tremble. Maggie worked hard, tensed all of her muscles to control the head-to-toe slight tremble, but couldn't quite. He was the only thing in the world at that moment, filling her senses and blinding her to anything that might've existed both before and after.
The taste of his kiss was warm and subtle, but more overwhelming was how hefelt.How his lips felt against her tongue, how very aware she was of every fiber in his shirt as she bunched it in her fists. (She knew he wouldn't appreciate that, and itwasa very fine cardigan, but she had other concerns at the moment.) Most of all were hishands, their warmth and strength and just how experienced they seemed. Maggie was hyper aware of just where his hands were, and as one traveled toward her underwire and the other toward her waistband she cautiously, shyly pressed the tip of her tongue against his lips, pleading uncertainly for entrance.
Each breath seemed deeper than the last; she was going to run out of it sooner or later. To avoid feeling lightheaded she shifted her focus from his hands to her own. Slowly she unclenched her fingers from Blaise's sweater and slid her palms over his shoulders, up to cup the back of his neck. It was difficult to resist the urge tograband to hang on for dear life, especially when he pressed his body against hers. Almost instinctively Maggie's hips pressed against his and...
Oh...
Oh...
Oh goodness...
It wasn't that she didn't want him; the hot ache in her loins would attest to that. If it hadn't been for some little part of her brain that kept one eye on reason, she would have happily given Blaise anything his heart desired in that moment, and taken in return anything he allowed. But prudence and fear won out.
-Wait.- The word hadn't appeared on the slate. As Maggie taught him how to sign, she gradually took away words reduce his reliance on her written word. The sign was firm, a quick circular motion of both fists moving in opposite directions. Even as her chest heaved and her eyes clouded with desire, still she looked apologetic.
I know it's not sexy and I'm probably bollocksing everything up,she said, hands still shaking and a little clumsy,but maybe we should talk real quick? About...I dunno... Expectations...?Her face, already flushed with passion, blushed a deeper shade of vermilion and she had to fight the very strong urge to look away in mortification.
gpt
The press of her tongue was received quickly by Blaise, his mouth opening to her own. She tasted like sweet coffee, a dessert that came rarely but was always so very appreciated when it did. It was a touch that emboldened him, and she could feel one hand slip around her back, tracing the underwire of her bra to find where it might eventually lead to the clasp--
He couldn't help but marvel in just how... small Maggie seemed against him. That mattered so much more just then than his cardigan, than the zabaione left to warm on the table, than all the other little concerns he might have had a few minutes ago. Howslight she seemed, her body splayed against his hands, his chest, and as by reflex they pressed their hips to one another, and she could feel the strain against those trousers of his -- he felt a sudden thrill of exhilaration at just what would happen if he was allowed to go just that one step further, to spread bare pale legs over either hip--
--Wait--
The word came through in not only the sign, which he did not see, but in the sudden absence of her hands, the withdrawal of her tongue. He tried to follow it for but a brief moment, his perception addled by a haze of pure desire, but it was but a split second later that he was pulling back. His breath was heavy, his hand drawing itself over his face briefly as if to wipe a sheen of sweat away that wasn't there.
"I... what?" he asked, a step or so behind the curve. He wet his lips with his tongue, getting one hand on the back of the couch so he could pull away just enough to give her some breathing room. "Yes... right. What.. what are you thinking? We don't have to go... further, if you're not ready," he said. It was a struggle, and there was a part of him that didn't mean those words at all. That wanted to just cover her mouth with his hand as he pulled her trousers down to her knees to take what he wanted. But theright words, theright thing to say, that was what was important, and he wasn't near drunk enough to forget the words.
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I...I'm not, Maggie admitted shamefacedly, chalk shaky on slate as her hands still quivered.I want you Blaise. God! I really do. You don't know how much. But this...it's all new to me.She would have covered her face with her hands if she hadn't needed them to speak. She felt almost ready to cry in embarrassment. What was a timid little country mouse like her doing with someone like him, anyway? Who did she think she was? She took a deep breath and held it, summoning up all her courage to be frank.
Tonight's a first everything for me, Blaise. You're my first everything.She couldn't do it anymore. Maggie ducked her head and looked away, unable to risk it. Unable to watch him laugh at her, or look at her with pity. She sniffed thickly and swallowed hard, but managed to keep it together so long as she didn't have to watch him decide she wasn't worth it after all.I really like you. A lot. She kept her hands as close to her chest as she could, her movements tight and timid. Her handwriting matched.And I don't want tonight to end now, but I just...I don't want to move too quickly, y'know? I'm not exactly a "wait for marriage" kinda girl, but it's just...when I've never even... The board began to write and erase over and over as she started and stopped, trying to find the words. She couldn't tell him the truth, that even now a small part of her suspected that it was just a game to him, just another conquest.
Nobody's ever touched me. And I want you to. But I'm scared. And now I feel stupid for ruining a perfectly good evening.
That was the best she could do. Maggie curled her hands into tight fists and pulled them against her chest in an apparent attempt to disappear into herself as much as physically possible. The only reason she hadn't pulled her knees up to her chest too was because Blaise was currently kneeling between them. She had pulled her chin to her chest, averting her eyes as she felt the hard, deep blush creep up to her hairline, over her ears, and down her neck.
gpt
Blaise wasn't sure what feeling was welling up in his chest, in the back of his throat. Disappointment, certainly. A little bit of frustration. He had... never been turned down. Not when he wasthis far, when they werethis alone, away from any prying eye that could hope to ever find them. But somethingelse there, that stirred up in him as he saw the girl try to physically collapse inside of herself in an attempt to escape his gaze.
He wasn't so closed-off and cold for the thought to not occur to him. He wasn't so far-removed from the world of actual human connection and emotion -- though perhaps his mother wishes he were -- to not recognize the tell-tale twang ofguilt.
He would hurt her if he pressed any further, and Blaise did not want to hurt Maggie Cartwright.
He reached for her slate, plucking it up along with the chalk. He wrote a message in his tidy handwriting, all hard crisp lines, practiced and easy. He reached forward, tucking the slate between her knees and chest so that there was no escaping the pale lines, staring back at her from the flat surface.
Then let me touch you.
He had left the couch when at last she looked up, straightening his cardigan -- he'd become terribly untucked in the preceding activities, and now he was smoothing it back over the smooth, dark muscles she could briefly spy beneath. He still stood out against his trousers, parts of him still anticipating a more entertaining time than they would have. He took a step toward the end of the couch, settling himself down on the very edge, right next to her head. His arm came around, begging entrance around her shoulders... to merely pull her against his ribs, so that she could cushion herself there, warm and soft.
"Just like this. Anything else can wait. Alright?"
human
Maggie stared at the words for a long time. She swallowed several times, fighting the tightness in her throat as she puzzled over the meaning of the simple sentence. Touch her where? How? It was a basic request but one she couldn't grasp, couldn't understand. She barely noticed when he left the couch, still staring at the slate. Blaise didn't seem to realize the intimacy in his action; nobody but her had ever written onher board. And when he did, she didn't find it offensive or controlling; he'd done it in an attempt to communicate clearly, to get onto her level without forcing her to look at him. He recognized that she was too mortified to look at him, to stare at anything but her own lap, and had adapted.
It was with a sudden, shaky breath that she realized he was gone. Maggie finally looked up and looked around, but he was still there merely straightening himself out. Still at attention--which made her gradually fading blush return with a vengeance--but clearly not in the mood for forcing matters. To her utter surprise, however, instead of getting impatient with her inaction and leaving, he sat beside her and pulled her in close. Blaise spoke slowly and clearly and comprehension dawned while she set the slate aside. All at once she curled into his side, pulling him close and holding him tightly against her. One hand came up, touching her fingertips to her chin just below her lip then making an outward motion over and over.
-Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.-
She'd have been lying if she denied that at least a few tears dropped onto Blaise's sweater, but finally she got herself under control enough to function again. Maggie cleared her throat and sniffed thickly again, lifting her head from his chest and wiping at the few remaining tears that had threatened to turn into a deluge. She pulled her arm back from around him, if nothing else then because it was probably quite uncomfortable for him, and leaned into his ribs and looked up at him. The slate took up its usual vocation once again.
I imagine you probably have, haven't you? she asked.Been with other girls, I mean.It still wasn't the most ideal topic, but it was a conversation that needed to happen and she was rather more comfortable talking about his sexuality rather than her own.It's alright if you have, not that you need my permission. Dunno if I'm even a proper girlfriend or anything. I just... She huffed.Honesty, yeah? She looked up at him again, still pink but no longer on the brink of tears.Thank you, Blaise. You don't know how much it means to me. Not a lot of guys are interested in the first place, so deaf and a virgin? She chuckled, but the word brought the blush back with a vengeance.Sort of a deal-breaker, it seems. One of those cyclical problems.
gpt
The words were clear. His actions were clean and precise. But the emotions roaring in tumult in his chest, under that fine, well-appointed cardigan, were anything but. It was what he had been taught. The most important lesson of all -- when your mind is unsure, be sure in your actions. Feel the feelings in your body, and try to disperse them while you attended to the matter at hand. There would always be time to deal with that later.
He wasn't looking at her as her hand traced its pattern with fervency. He was looking somewhere straight ahead, lost in other thoughts, as she thanked him for a restraint he hadn't wanted to show.
A hundred thoughts swirled, none of them taking more prominence than the others.Do you fancy her? She wants this, you could probably convince her. It might hurt her. But you want it, too. Could have won the bet right here. But what did that matter? He didn't need the money. He wanted satisfaction.
But it might hurt her--
His arm tightened around her just so, a protective gesture as he turned -- scooting himself back just a bit so that he could actually sit there, taking her place from where she had been so wonderfully pressed against the side of the couch.
He didn't answer her -- it wasn't one he terribly wished to give, not least of which because a few memories came trickling through. Of sticky-sweet summers or cold winters, the twining arms and legs of three different girls, all lovely in their own right. Desperate thrusts of the inexperienced, finding delight in the stolen moments alone. It made his body surge with a sudden shiver, and he found himself crossing his legs at the thought of Maggie and just how tight she would be around him.
But there was one truth that did come bubbling up. He hadn't beenfriends with the other girls. That was truth enough.
"... a few," Blaise finally admitted. "For honesty. But... I like being around you, more." His arm tightened around her just so. No great admission of affection, but-- "... it's to their great loss that they haven't."
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Maggie smiled weakly. He had answered honestly, and that just gave her more questions. Questions she had no right to ask. How many? What had he done with them? Were they girls she knew? Was he still involved with them? Had he loved them?
He answered that last question in his own way. If he liked being around her then certainly he wasn't in love with someone else. Not that she wasin loveof course, that would be silly. How easily she would be giving her heart away! Yet still, she couldn't ignore the fact that Blaise treated her the way few boys had treated her before. She curled up against him, head on his shoulder, knees resting on the side of his lap. His arm tightened around her.
I like being around you, too,she said with a smile. Maggie chewed on her lip for a moment.So I know you like things to be precise, so to clarify you weren't my first date ever. I just sort of count it as such. She looked up at him with nothing but trust and honesty.A few guys have asked me out before on a bet or a dare. One of them didn't even wait until I was out of sight before he collected. Asshole.She sighed heavily and shrugged.I guess the Universe was just saving up for better was all.She gave him a small smile and leaned up to kiss him gently.
So um...Not to be that guy, but...what are we, anyway? Maggie chuckled nervously.I just don't wanna, y'know, make you uncomfortable or anything. And my dad probably ought to know if I've got a boyfriend.
gpt
Saving up for better.
Blaise wasn't typically one to feel much in the way of guilt or shame. And yet, he couldn't help but feel the weight on his shoulders of something new and terrible. Guilt, certainly, trapping him in thick chains made of wrought-irony. His lips were unresponsive against hers for the first second or so, but he returned it belatedly. A brush, his hand catching her fleetingly across her chin.
"... I'm not sure the school is ready to deal with the two of usofficially tied together," Blaise said. "The sheer scandal of it might upstage Potter's yearly disruption of... everything." He said it with a small smile as he turned onto his other hip, his arm tightening around her just so.
"But as far as I'm concerned... I don't wish to see anyone else right now. I want to see where this goes."
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Maggie chuckled at the thought of a new relationship detracting from Harry Potter, and how he might take it.The Chosen One, they were calling him. She just hoped it wasn't going to his head. Still at Blaise's gentle let-down she couldn't help but feel her heart sink. She shouldn't, she knew. She'd given him the option, and he'd taken the out. It wasn't only about whatshe wanted. Still, it was disappointing and her smile faded a little more quickly than usual despite his arm tightening around her. It was a comfort to know that he didn't want to see anyone else, that he wanted to see how it turned out. Howtheyturned out.
Well then in that case,she said, snuggling in a little closer.I don't mind saying that I was perfectly fine with where we were. I just wanted to make sure that we were on the same page. I wouldn't mind revisiting our earlier programming. She crinkled her nose briefly, cutely, and her teeth grazed his bottom lip ever-so-lightly.Unless you're more concerned about dessert?
gpt
He lost the question "programming?" under the gentle grind of her teeth, dark eyes glancing sidelong over at the slate as it asked a question. The first question in some time that he found ever-so-easy to deal with-- He was not shy in moving her, adjusting her with his arms, so that she was pulled straight against his body once more. His hand smoothed itself through her hair, finding himself in more familiar territory as his lips pressed against her own.
"Mm. I find you sweeter, if I'm being honest," Blaise said, his lips closing over hers before she had much time to contemplate the sheer cheesiness of the line. His hands closed around her lower back -- the kiss was gentler, less heated than before... but carrying with it a comfort. That they would see where this went, that they would consider all else later--
In the Slytherin Common room sometime over the next few nights, Blaise found Draco Malfoy. The Malfoy heir had been up at odd hours in recent days, that much anyone could discern. It was even often that he would outlast Crabbe and Goyle, his erstwhile apes who apparently needed their beauty sleep. Emphasis onneed. Blaise found him poring over some odd book or another, a leather tome of unclear origin.
Blaise had had a bit of time to get his thoughts together. After taking Maggie back to her room elsewhere in the castle, Blaise had had a few days just to consider what it was he wanted to do. It was a problem to be solved. He wasn't sure how he felt about Maggie. He wasn't sure he could call her his girlfriend, or anything more than a friend... but that was the point, wasn't it? Shewas his friend, or near enough to one that he would find some guilt in trading her dignity for coin. To lie to her, to lead her on, that was another thing. That was justcommunication.
But money was mercurial. Holding control of the situation,that was important.
And so a bag of coins landed on the table in front of Draco with a heavyclink.
"You win, Malfoy," Blaise said simply.
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Draco leaned over an ancient leather book with cramped writing, head in hand, hair ruffled, a slight sheen on his skin where he'd forgotten to shower yesterday. So much to do. So much to figure out. So much... He could practically feel the dark circles forming under his eyes as he sat there, reading the same line he'd moved his eyes overseventenfourteen times. He couldn't focus. But hehad to. Myrtle had warned him that if he worked too hard he'd burn out, but that was just because she didn't know any better. She'd been moping around in her eternal pity party going on fifty years, she'd probably forgotten what it was like to work this hard.
That was an uncharitable thought about the only person he could talk to about this stuff. Maybe hedid need a break.
That break came in the form of a small sack of gold. Draco stared at it for a moment, unseeing at first and then perplexed as to why it was there.
"You win, Malfoy."
Zabini. He blinked and looked up at him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "Iwin?" It was genuine perplexity. "Not like you to give up on a wager; it's the principle of the thing after all. And I've never known a girl to turn you down. What happened?" He had a few ideas, but one in particular settled in his mind and a slow grin tugged at his sagging face. "Good lord! Don't tell me she's adykeas well?" He laughed sharply. "Sheis, isn't she? Oh God that's rich!" He ran his hands over his face, wiping away the sweat and sleep, and shook his head. "And not evenyouhave the power to turn her back is that it?"