(no subject)
Story: The Drunk and the Red Dress
Summary: Hermione is going to retrieve a dress from Madam Malkins when she runs into Blaise Zabini, drunk.
Elena: Written for Carmen's Challenge! Needs to have: one argument, one scene located in a dressing room, the quotes "My/his/her/your teary eyes say otherwise" and "You're not blonde!" and one pop culture reference.
Hermione had a party to attend the next night. She had ordered a dress for the aforementioned party and had been lounging home all day, talking to Harry about her dating situation. Of course, she'd probably end up meeting someone nice enough there, but she still felt a part of herself missing the feeling of having someone adore her looks. Harry believed that she would eventually find someone to take with her, even though the party wasn‘t far away.
And she had been sitting on her couch almost all night, watching TV in her pajamas, (these really cute ones she had gotten as a Christmas present from Ginny, with little moons on them) when an owl swooped through her window and dropped a letter into her lap.
The window was designed for only owls to get through, with a black flap on it and the black and white owl that she had sent to Madam Malkins with her robe request was back. It flew to the perch in the kitchen as she opened the letter that she had received. Her dress would be ready in an hour. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was almost nine thirty, so her dress would be ready at ten thirty. She figured that she had enough time to pick up a book, browse around, and then pick up her party dress.
In her room, she took off her pajamas and folded them up on her big, made up bed. Looking through her drawers, she found a black jumper and blue jeans. She went into the bathroom and pulled them on, afterwards lacing up her trainers, then brushing her dark curls and putting on mascara and eyeliner, before making sure everything was in order. Then, Hermione Dissapparated from her flat to Diagon Alley.
Blaise Zabini was intoxicated. Drunk, rolling, smashed, inebriated. Whichever side of the spectrum you gazed at, you saw Blaise Zabini stumbling around the streets of Diagon Alley shouting, "Oy, where's my soy latte!?" The man had been drowning his non-apparent sorrows in the bar at the beginning of the Alley and had been wandering around ever since his departure from his safe haven.
His non-apparent sorrow, however, was his state of boredom. Upon entering the Alley, he had met up with Draco for a Scotch. After Draco had left, claiming something about "alone time," "Ginny," and "lonely," that had left Blaise with a chance to befriend the barman and multiple glasses of Scotch.
He had been there for nearly an hour, spilling his deepest desires and woes to the barman, who kept handing him Scotches. He had consumed enough to stack them up taller than his whole arm, and had taken a cigar to beat the tops of the glasses in what he thought to be a melodious manner, until the cigar broke all over the shot glasses.
Then, Blaise proceeded to cry and wail about insufficient drugs and thick glasses of Scotch, while humming Christmas tunes in between his rants and tears. After he had finally stacked twenty-one shot glasses up and figured that his intoxication level was as high as his IQ, he stumbled out of the bar, slamming the door shut. And the barman cursed as all twenty-one shot glasses toppled over and broke.
And now, the completely rolling drunk sexy--ahem, former Slytherin wandered the streets loosely, yelling about, "Damn people putting regular milk in my soy latte!" He occasionally wandered into stores, trying like hell not to piss in the floor, knock things over, or throw up his Scotch. He would end up chatting someone up before leaving--at least owning the common sense not to go off into someplace where he was likely to crack or break something.
"Arghhhhh." He made somewhat of a mix between a strangling person and the cat whose tail was just stepped on as a reflexive noise when he crashed into another person. Stumbling and almost falling over, Blaise tried to regain his balance while leaning against the stone wall. After his dazed eyes cleared up, he recognised the face.
"Oy, it's Grangerrrrrrr!" He exclaimed, jumping slightly in his shoes. The brunette leered at him, her brown eyes confused.
"'Elllooo Granger! How are youuu on this fine morning?" He asked, slurring his words. He swung an arm around her shoulders and hit her head with his hand accidentally. Rubbing the side of her head, Hermione looked at the dark-haired wizard as if he were insane. Which was most likely not very doubtable.
"Zabini, it's ten thirty. It's the evening." She said, pulling his arm off of her. He gave her an affronted look, before making a kissy face at her and pinching her cheek. ("Awwwww. Wittle Granger is pretending to be a big adulttttt." He cooed, ruffling her curly hair.)
"Hey! I'm the one with the watch on, Grangerrrr." He said, pointing at his left wrist with his right hand, although said watch was on his right wrist. She looked at him, observing the loopy smile on his face.
"You're drunk, aren't you?" Blaise shook his head childishly, his dark curls flying around his head. She looked at him incredulously, and she could swear she heard him humming "Pieces of Me" by Ashlee Simpson under his breath.
"Your teary eyes say otherwise. And you can barely walk or talk, so you are." Blaise pouted and crossed his arms suddenly, while in front of her. She crashed into him, fell back onto the sidewalk, before getting up and glaring.
"Nu-uh." He replied, before wandering away again. After standing in a shop window, he ran back over.
"'Ellooooo." He said again. "'Elllooooo, elloooo, ellloooo veeeee-eeeee. Ellllloooooo, ellooooooo, ellooooo." Hermione snickered. This confirmed that he was indeed humming her song before. He stopped singing and watched her.
"Were you singing?" She asked. He glared at her, which only proved to make him looked cross-eyed, seeing as one of his dark blue eyes rolled around, before he closed the other one.
"It's Ashleeeeee Simpson." He answered, puffing his chest out proudly. Hermione dissolved into laughter and Blaise glared at her again. The witch straightened, trying to retain a solemn look.
"Eh, cut it out, Grangerrrrr! I lurrrrve Ashleeee."
"Ashlee Simpson is a poser." Hermione scoffed, before keeping up her pace to her destination. Madam Malkins. The bell tinkled lightly, before the door closed, and then the bell shook violently, before tinkling once more. Apparently, Blaise had forgotten that the shop had a door, and ran into it, before opening it. I mean, he was absolutely smashed, it was a given that he would forget things.
"She's not a poserrr." He retorted, and Hermione stood at the counter, ignoring him, talking to a worker. She handed the girl the letter that she had been sent, who then turned around to look through a book. Whirling around to face her, she grinned at Blaise, before handing Hermione a red dress. The brunette witch walked back into the dressing rooms, slamming the door shut.
"Oh, damn." She muttered to herself. "Can't find the zipper." Blaise clapped his hands together from outside of the stall doors.
"Need any help, Grangerrrrrrr?" Before she could answer, he had opened the stall door and charged over, pulling the zipper off of her shirt and slipping it off. She shrieked, flailing her arms.
"Get out of here, Zabini!" The man ducked as Hermione threw her purse at him, before walking out of the dressing room. The worker at the front of the store eyed Blaise's disheveled form. The pissed man turned to her, grinning, before walking into an empty stall, the girl following.
--
When Hermione had finally gotten her dress on, she walked out in front of the mirror to survey herself in the blood red velvet dress. It fit perfectly. The stall next to her rattled before out popped Blaise.
"Oy vey, Granger, you look bloody hot!" Hermione eyed him, and the employee that crept out of the stall after him, grinning sheepishly. He walked over to her, more steadily that he had before, and traced his hands over her curves, the witch shuddering slightly.
"Weren't you just making out with something--someone else?" He shook his head.
"Two blondes can't make out... And she was just sobering--showing me some clothes" He said, his voice more pronounced. ("But you aren't blonde..." She added.) He felt for the zipper in the back of the dress and tugged it down. "Damn, we need to get you outta this dress." He pushed her back into the dressing room.
It seemed as if Blaise would never have to worry about Draco abandoning him for a girl or worry about drinking Scotch by himself, because he now had his own girl to look out for him. As well as that, it seemed that Hermione wouldn't go without a date to the party she was attending or without someone to sleep beside her in the big bed in her room, because now she had Blaise.
If you looked carefully under the stall, you could see the red dress drop to the floor as well as a shirt stained with Scotch.
Summary: Hermione is going to retrieve a dress from Madam Malkins when she runs into Blaise Zabini, drunk.
Elena: Written for Carmen's Challenge! Needs to have: one argument, one scene located in a dressing room, the quotes "My/his/her/your teary eyes say otherwise" and "You're not blonde!" and one pop culture reference.
Hermione had a party to attend the next night. She had ordered a dress for the aforementioned party and had been lounging home all day, talking to Harry about her dating situation. Of course, she'd probably end up meeting someone nice enough there, but she still felt a part of herself missing the feeling of having someone adore her looks. Harry believed that she would eventually find someone to take with her, even though the party wasn‘t far away.
And she had been sitting on her couch almost all night, watching TV in her pajamas, (these really cute ones she had gotten as a Christmas present from Ginny, with little moons on them) when an owl swooped through her window and dropped a letter into her lap.
The window was designed for only owls to get through, with a black flap on it and the black and white owl that she had sent to Madam Malkins with her robe request was back. It flew to the perch in the kitchen as she opened the letter that she had received. Her dress would be ready in an hour. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was almost nine thirty, so her dress would be ready at ten thirty. She figured that she had enough time to pick up a book, browse around, and then pick up her party dress.
In her room, she took off her pajamas and folded them up on her big, made up bed. Looking through her drawers, she found a black jumper and blue jeans. She went into the bathroom and pulled them on, afterwards lacing up her trainers, then brushing her dark curls and putting on mascara and eyeliner, before making sure everything was in order. Then, Hermione Dissapparated from her flat to Diagon Alley.
Blaise Zabini was intoxicated. Drunk, rolling, smashed, inebriated. Whichever side of the spectrum you gazed at, you saw Blaise Zabini stumbling around the streets of Diagon Alley shouting, "Oy, where's my soy latte!?" The man had been drowning his non-apparent sorrows in the bar at the beginning of the Alley and had been wandering around ever since his departure from his safe haven.
His non-apparent sorrow, however, was his state of boredom. Upon entering the Alley, he had met up with Draco for a Scotch. After Draco had left, claiming something about "alone time," "Ginny," and "lonely," that had left Blaise with a chance to befriend the barman and multiple glasses of Scotch.
He had been there for nearly an hour, spilling his deepest desires and woes to the barman, who kept handing him Scotches. He had consumed enough to stack them up taller than his whole arm, and had taken a cigar to beat the tops of the glasses in what he thought to be a melodious manner, until the cigar broke all over the shot glasses.
Then, Blaise proceeded to cry and wail about insufficient drugs and thick glasses of Scotch, while humming Christmas tunes in between his rants and tears. After he had finally stacked twenty-one shot glasses up and figured that his intoxication level was as high as his IQ, he stumbled out of the bar, slamming the door shut. And the barman cursed as all twenty-one shot glasses toppled over and broke.
And now, the completely rolling drunk sexy--ahem, former Slytherin wandered the streets loosely, yelling about, "Damn people putting regular milk in my soy latte!" He occasionally wandered into stores, trying like hell not to piss in the floor, knock things over, or throw up his Scotch. He would end up chatting someone up before leaving--at least owning the common sense not to go off into someplace where he was likely to crack or break something.
"Arghhhhh." He made somewhat of a mix between a strangling person and the cat whose tail was just stepped on as a reflexive noise when he crashed into another person. Stumbling and almost falling over, Blaise tried to regain his balance while leaning against the stone wall. After his dazed eyes cleared up, he recognised the face.
"Oy, it's Grangerrrrrrr!" He exclaimed, jumping slightly in his shoes. The brunette leered at him, her brown eyes confused.
"'Elllooo Granger! How are youuu on this fine morning?" He asked, slurring his words. He swung an arm around her shoulders and hit her head with his hand accidentally. Rubbing the side of her head, Hermione looked at the dark-haired wizard as if he were insane. Which was most likely not very doubtable.
"Zabini, it's ten thirty. It's the evening." She said, pulling his arm off of her. He gave her an affronted look, before making a kissy face at her and pinching her cheek. ("Awwwww. Wittle Granger is pretending to be a big adulttttt." He cooed, ruffling her curly hair.)
"Hey! I'm the one with the watch on, Grangerrrr." He said, pointing at his left wrist with his right hand, although said watch was on his right wrist. She looked at him, observing the loopy smile on his face.
"You're drunk, aren't you?" Blaise shook his head childishly, his dark curls flying around his head. She looked at him incredulously, and she could swear she heard him humming "Pieces of Me" by Ashlee Simpson under his breath.
"Your teary eyes say otherwise. And you can barely walk or talk, so you are." Blaise pouted and crossed his arms suddenly, while in front of her. She crashed into him, fell back onto the sidewalk, before getting up and glaring.
"Nu-uh." He replied, before wandering away again. After standing in a shop window, he ran back over.
"'Ellooooo." He said again. "'Elllooooo, elloooo, ellloooo veeeee-eeeee. Ellllloooooo, ellooooooo, ellooooo." Hermione snickered. This confirmed that he was indeed humming her song before. He stopped singing and watched her.
"Were you singing?" She asked. He glared at her, which only proved to make him looked cross-eyed, seeing as one of his dark blue eyes rolled around, before he closed the other one.
"It's Ashleeeeee Simpson." He answered, puffing his chest out proudly. Hermione dissolved into laughter and Blaise glared at her again. The witch straightened, trying to retain a solemn look.
"Eh, cut it out, Grangerrrrr! I lurrrrve Ashleeee."
"Ashlee Simpson is a poser." Hermione scoffed, before keeping up her pace to her destination. Madam Malkins. The bell tinkled lightly, before the door closed, and then the bell shook violently, before tinkling once more. Apparently, Blaise had forgotten that the shop had a door, and ran into it, before opening it. I mean, he was absolutely smashed, it was a given that he would forget things.
"She's not a poserrr." He retorted, and Hermione stood at the counter, ignoring him, talking to a worker. She handed the girl the letter that she had been sent, who then turned around to look through a book. Whirling around to face her, she grinned at Blaise, before handing Hermione a red dress. The brunette witch walked back into the dressing rooms, slamming the door shut.
"Oh, damn." She muttered to herself. "Can't find the zipper." Blaise clapped his hands together from outside of the stall doors.
"Need any help, Grangerrrrrrr?" Before she could answer, he had opened the stall door and charged over, pulling the zipper off of her shirt and slipping it off. She shrieked, flailing her arms.
"Get out of here, Zabini!" The man ducked as Hermione threw her purse at him, before walking out of the dressing room. The worker at the front of the store eyed Blaise's disheveled form. The pissed man turned to her, grinning, before walking into an empty stall, the girl following.
--
When Hermione had finally gotten her dress on, she walked out in front of the mirror to survey herself in the blood red velvet dress. It fit perfectly. The stall next to her rattled before out popped Blaise.
"Oy vey, Granger, you look bloody hot!" Hermione eyed him, and the employee that crept out of the stall after him, grinning sheepishly. He walked over to her, more steadily that he had before, and traced his hands over her curves, the witch shuddering slightly.
"Weren't you just making out with something--someone else?" He shook his head.
"Two blondes can't make out... And she was just sobering--showing me some clothes" He said, his voice more pronounced. ("But you aren't blonde..." She added.) He felt for the zipper in the back of the dress and tugged it down. "Damn, we need to get you outta this dress." He pushed her back into the dressing room.
It seemed as if Blaise would never have to worry about Draco abandoning him for a girl or worry about drinking Scotch by himself, because he now had his own girl to look out for him. As well as that, it seemed that Hermione wouldn't go without a date to the party she was attending or without someone to sleep beside her in the big bed in her room, because now she had Blaise.
If you looked carefully under the stall, you could see the red dress drop to the floor as well as a shirt stained with Scotch.