And To All, A Good Night by turkishangora [Rated PG-13] (Part 2/5)
Celebrate the Season fic request for SvelteRose
Title: And To All, A Good Night
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All of the characters and places belong to JKR, not me.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Jen and to Bethy for beta-ing! Thanks to SvelteRose for her awesome requirements, they were a lot of fun to work with! Happy Holidays, Svelte Rose (and everybody else as well) Enjoy!
Summary: Ron and Hermione think they know what they want, but it takes a full moon ritual on the eve of the winter solstice to make them see how wrong they are.
Blaise Zabini performed a Breath-Freshening charm and ran a comb through his coal-black hair one last time. He smiled appreciatively at his reflection. His trusty (and completely unbiased) mirror let out a high-pitched catcall.
This was it. Today was the day, he thought as he walked up the stairs from the Slytherin dormitories. Blaise could just feel it. So what if the last thirty-six tutoring sessions had failed to show results? They were just warm-ups. Practices for the real thing. Which was definitely, most certainly going to be today.
Today, Hermione Granger would notice him.
Hermione had been tutoring him two or three times a week in Ancient Runes ever since the school year had begun. It had only taken a couple of sessions for Blaise to fall irrevocably in love with her. She was his muse, his Siren, his soul mate. She was intelligence personified, a goddess of virtue, a beauteous statue at whose feet men should be made to grovel.
He had been constant in his affections, and persistent in his attentions. Thus far, his unwavering devotion had failed to yield the slightest hint that she recognized their bond for what it was. Perhaps, he reflected, his methods were too subtle.
No matter, he thought. He stepped into the Runes classroom, pleased that she was not yet there. It gave him a moment to collect himself. He set down the bag he had carried all the way up six flights of stairs and sat down in a chair, striking what he knew was a very seductive pose. And sure enough, delicate footsteps could be heard at the door. O, he groaned silently, my lady approaches.
“Hello, Blaise,” said Hermione brightly, setting down her schoolbag and settling herself behind the front desk of the classroom. “Do you want to pull your chair up?”
Blaise’ mind was reeling. There were so many hidden implications and innuendos in this statement that Blaise could hardly stand it. If you left the chair out of the sentence entirely, the statement read as: Do you want to get closer? A perfect metaphor for their budding relationship.
Or perhaps the chair shouldn’t be left out of the equation. Perhaps the chair was the key to everything. Perhaps Hermione was using the chair to symbolize some particular aspect of herself - or maybe her subconscious viewed herself as the chair. In which case, she was actually saying not, “Do you want to pull your chair up?” but, “Do you want me?”
Yes, he thought, willing her heart to understand his silent affirmation. Yes, Hermione.
“Uh…Blaise?” asked Hermione gently. “Your chair?”
Blaise scooted his chair forward eagerly. “I just wanted to thank you for helping me with Runes, Hermione. It’s just so kind of you. I really, really appreciate it.”
Hermione set her quill down. “Listen, Blaise - there’s no need for you to do this every time we study. It’s really no problem. But thank you for, uh, thanking me.”
Blaise beamed. “No, Hermione, really. Thank you. And by the way, did you uh, get the uh, the -“
“The card was lovely, Blaise. Thank you so much.”
“And the, uh -”
“And the chocolates were just delicious. It was very sweet of you to think of me. But you needn’t have bothered.”
Blaise seized upon this statement. “There’s every need,” he practically gasped. “Your kindness in helping me is - is amazing. And your - your kindness and compassion are second only to your strength and your force of character.”
Hermione smiled. “Oh, Blaise. That’s very nice of you. But you really don’t have to say these things to me.”
“My words don’t even begin to do you justice. But you know what they say. If you can’t say it with words - “ And here he reached down into the bag he had brought with him and pulled out a stunning, massive bouquet of lilies, roses, and orchids.
“Oh, they’re lovely. How nice of you, Blaise. I’ll put them in a vase as soon as I get upstairs,” she said.
Blaise gritted his teeth and counted to ten. What the hell would it take for her to say something - anything - besides “Oh, how nice,” or “Oh, that’s sweet of you.” When would she gaze at him adoringly and beg him to be her boyfriend? It was time, he decided, for some serious action.
When Blaise was twelve years old, his father, Roderico, had told him that his father had been none other than Antonio the Anemic - a vampire. This, Blaise had been told, explained his coal-black hair, his knife-life incisors, and his pale-as-death complexion. It also explained his peculiar affinity for eating insects. But that was neither here nor there.
When Blaise was thirteen, he discovered that if he licked his tongue slowly across his upper teeth, in a decidedly vampirical gesture, sexy didn’t even begin to describe it. His impartial mirror had been in a state of near-catatonia the first time he displayed this move for her.
But it was not to be taken lightly. It was not something he did often, and it was only to be used as a weapon of last resort against the female population. Hermione had never seemed particularly affected by it, but today was different. Today was THE day.
Blaise caught Hermione’s eyes with his own. Then he parted his mouth and licked slowly, slooowly.
Hermione gave him a sort of half-puzzled, half-polite smile. “Shall we get started, then?”
Blaise was enraged. No, he cautioned himself. I must be calm, cool, and unruffled.
“Hermione,” he asked in a suave, sophisticated voice. “Have you done something with your hair? It’s looking… bushier than usual. But in a, er, good way.”
Hermione was quite pleased when her tutoring session with Blaise came to an end. Hermione couldn’t understand how her best efforts seemed to be yielding no results when it came to his grades.
She had been teaching him Ancient Runes for months and he had made very little progress - honestly, one would think he wanted her to tutor him.
“Hermione! There you are!” She whirled around at the sound of her boyfriend’s voice, and reached up to give him a hug.
“Hello, Ron. I missed you.”
He frowned. “I can’t believe you were tutoring Zabini on the first day of winter hols. And on a Saturday no less!”
Hermione shrugged. “Well, he certainly seems to need the help. He struggles so much with those runes.”
Ron’s eyes darkened. “Yeah, I’ll just bet he does.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” she asked, bewildered.
“Come off it, Hermione - everyone knows Zabini fancies the pants off you.”
Hermione laughed with astonishment. “Blaise fancies me? Wherever did you get that ridiculous notion?”
“You think I can’t tell when another bloke is after my girl?”
“Well, your girl can take care of herself just fine,” snapped Hermione.
“Oh, is that so?” he asked, eyebrow raised - but he was smiling warmly.
Hermione relented. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“I know,” said Ron softly. And with that, he leaned down to kiss her. Hermione kissed him back softly. It was all very romantic until - “Ouch,” yelped Ron.
Hermione snapped her head back. “What?”
Ron was standing there, his finger on his lip. “I think you bit me.”
“Oh,” she said. “Accident. Sorry.”
Ron rubbed at his lip. “No problem.”
Hermione was disgusted with herself. For months now, she had been working so hard to curb her inner dominatrix, but every now and again it just took control of her actions. During her brief but enlightening time with Viktor Krum, Hermione had discovered that she liked to be the aggressor in the relationship. She had read some books over the summer, and learned that she had a perfectly normal fetish shared by many wizards and witches all over the world. It had a very long and complicated name, but it boiled down to one thing - she liked it rough.
Not that she’d had sex, but even kissing and petting seemed dull to her without a little bit of pain mixed in with her pleasure. Viktor had been game for pretty much anything, although she felt badly about leaving scratches and bite marks on him - he was such a nice sort of chap. Ron was NOT game for anything. He was, it transpired, hopelessly vanilla. And Hermione loved him so much that she honestly didn’t care.
Well, mostly.
It was just at this moment when yet another voice interrupted her musings:
“What the bloody hell?!”
Ron and Hermione glanced behind them to see Harry, looking exceptionally irritated.
“What’s up, mate?” asked Ron warily.
“My wand! Where the hell is my wand? I just put it in the pocket of my trousers not two minutes ago!”
“Why don’t you Summon it?” asked Ron.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, he can’t very well Summon his wand without - well - his wand. I’ll do it.”
She raised her wand. “Accio Harry’s wand.”
And sure enough, it came zooming toward them down the hall. It seemed to have come from the Great Hall.
“No,” said Harry. “No way… I had it right here. Guys, I swear I had it in my pocket…You believe me, don’t you?”
Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick glance.
“It’s not that we don’t believe you, Harry,” began Hermione, “but maybe you ought to try and get to bed early tonight. I think you could do with a bit of rest.”
“I’m not tired and I’m not bloody crazy,” he stated. “I swear it was… it was right here.”
And with that, Ron took his frazzled friend by the arm and marched him up to the Gryffindor dormitories. Hermione watched them go with a bemused smile on her face.
After a fairly good night’s sleep and a morning spent alone with her vases, Pansy was feeling marginally better about herself. How was it, she wondered, that painting vases was the perfect solution to all of her troubles?
It drove her parents and her friends absolutely mad. Why, they would ask, do you insist on buying the ugliest, cheapest, plainest vases? The simple answer was - Pansy enjoyed fixing them up. The process of turning something unattractive into something aesthetic delighted her. She could spend hours making a flaw into an adornment. And the expensive vases that were sold in stores were certainly beautiful - but they never exactly suited her tastes.
This way she could be assured that the final creation was perfect.
Of course, it didn’t entirely drive out her worries about tonight. Pansy kept on glancing at the clock, and the pixies in her stomach got worse and worse as it got closer to ten o’clock. That was the time she and Draco had decided on. Draco had been practicing the Disillusionment charm to prevent them from being seen as they snuck out into the grounds. Draco was not keen on going on to the Forbidden Forest, although he never said why - he would only say that he had had a terrible experience in there during his first year. So they had chosen a spot near the perimeter of the school grounds where they would be shrouded by trees and rocks and the darkness of night.
Now, she thought as she reached once more for her paintbrush, all she had to do was wait.
Part 3/5
Title: And To All, A Good Night
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All of the characters and places belong to JKR, not me.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Jen and to Bethy for beta-ing! Thanks to SvelteRose for her awesome requirements, they were a lot of fun to work with! Happy Holidays, Svelte Rose (and everybody else as well) Enjoy!
Summary: Ron and Hermione think they know what they want, but it takes a full moon ritual on the eve of the winter solstice to make them see how wrong they are.
Blaise Zabini performed a Breath-Freshening charm and ran a comb through his coal-black hair one last time. He smiled appreciatively at his reflection. His trusty (and completely unbiased) mirror let out a high-pitched catcall.
This was it. Today was the day, he thought as he walked up the stairs from the Slytherin dormitories. Blaise could just feel it. So what if the last thirty-six tutoring sessions had failed to show results? They were just warm-ups. Practices for the real thing. Which was definitely, most certainly going to be today.
Today, Hermione Granger would notice him.
Hermione had been tutoring him two or three times a week in Ancient Runes ever since the school year had begun. It had only taken a couple of sessions for Blaise to fall irrevocably in love with her. She was his muse, his Siren, his soul mate. She was intelligence personified, a goddess of virtue, a beauteous statue at whose feet men should be made to grovel.
He had been constant in his affections, and persistent in his attentions. Thus far, his unwavering devotion had failed to yield the slightest hint that she recognized their bond for what it was. Perhaps, he reflected, his methods were too subtle.
No matter, he thought. He stepped into the Runes classroom, pleased that she was not yet there. It gave him a moment to collect himself. He set down the bag he had carried all the way up six flights of stairs and sat down in a chair, striking what he knew was a very seductive pose. And sure enough, delicate footsteps could be heard at the door. O, he groaned silently, my lady approaches.
“Hello, Blaise,” said Hermione brightly, setting down her schoolbag and settling herself behind the front desk of the classroom. “Do you want to pull your chair up?”
Blaise’ mind was reeling. There were so many hidden implications and innuendos in this statement that Blaise could hardly stand it. If you left the chair out of the sentence entirely, the statement read as: Do you want to get closer? A perfect metaphor for their budding relationship.
Or perhaps the chair shouldn’t be left out of the equation. Perhaps the chair was the key to everything. Perhaps Hermione was using the chair to symbolize some particular aspect of herself - or maybe her subconscious viewed herself as the chair. In which case, she was actually saying not, “Do you want to pull your chair up?” but, “Do you want me?”
Yes, he thought, willing her heart to understand his silent affirmation. Yes, Hermione.
“Uh…Blaise?” asked Hermione gently. “Your chair?”
Blaise scooted his chair forward eagerly. “I just wanted to thank you for helping me with Runes, Hermione. It’s just so kind of you. I really, really appreciate it.”
Hermione set her quill down. “Listen, Blaise - there’s no need for you to do this every time we study. It’s really no problem. But thank you for, uh, thanking me.”
Blaise beamed. “No, Hermione, really. Thank you. And by the way, did you uh, get the uh, the -“
“The card was lovely, Blaise. Thank you so much.”
“And the, uh -”
“And the chocolates were just delicious. It was very sweet of you to think of me. But you needn’t have bothered.”
Blaise seized upon this statement. “There’s every need,” he practically gasped. “Your kindness in helping me is - is amazing. And your - your kindness and compassion are second only to your strength and your force of character.”
Hermione smiled. “Oh, Blaise. That’s very nice of you. But you really don’t have to say these things to me.”
“My words don’t even begin to do you justice. But you know what they say. If you can’t say it with words - “ And here he reached down into the bag he had brought with him and pulled out a stunning, massive bouquet of lilies, roses, and orchids.
“Oh, they’re lovely. How nice of you, Blaise. I’ll put them in a vase as soon as I get upstairs,” she said.
Blaise gritted his teeth and counted to ten. What the hell would it take for her to say something - anything - besides “Oh, how nice,” or “Oh, that’s sweet of you.” When would she gaze at him adoringly and beg him to be her boyfriend? It was time, he decided, for some serious action.
When Blaise was twelve years old, his father, Roderico, had told him that his father had been none other than Antonio the Anemic - a vampire. This, Blaise had been told, explained his coal-black hair, his knife-life incisors, and his pale-as-death complexion. It also explained his peculiar affinity for eating insects. But that was neither here nor there.
When Blaise was thirteen, he discovered that if he licked his tongue slowly across his upper teeth, in a decidedly vampirical gesture, sexy didn’t even begin to describe it. His impartial mirror had been in a state of near-catatonia the first time he displayed this move for her.
But it was not to be taken lightly. It was not something he did often, and it was only to be used as a weapon of last resort against the female population. Hermione had never seemed particularly affected by it, but today was different. Today was THE day.
Blaise caught Hermione’s eyes with his own. Then he parted his mouth and licked slowly, slooowly.
Hermione gave him a sort of half-puzzled, half-polite smile. “Shall we get started, then?”
Blaise was enraged. No, he cautioned himself. I must be calm, cool, and unruffled.
“Hermione,” he asked in a suave, sophisticated voice. “Have you done something with your hair? It’s looking… bushier than usual. But in a, er, good way.”
Hermione was quite pleased when her tutoring session with Blaise came to an end. Hermione couldn’t understand how her best efforts seemed to be yielding no results when it came to his grades.
She had been teaching him Ancient Runes for months and he had made very little progress - honestly, one would think he wanted her to tutor him.
“Hermione! There you are!” She whirled around at the sound of her boyfriend’s voice, and reached up to give him a hug.
“Hello, Ron. I missed you.”
He frowned. “I can’t believe you were tutoring Zabini on the first day of winter hols. And on a Saturday no less!”
Hermione shrugged. “Well, he certainly seems to need the help. He struggles so much with those runes.”
Ron’s eyes darkened. “Yeah, I’ll just bet he does.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” she asked, bewildered.
“Come off it, Hermione - everyone knows Zabini fancies the pants off you.”
Hermione laughed with astonishment. “Blaise fancies me? Wherever did you get that ridiculous notion?”
“You think I can’t tell when another bloke is after my girl?”
“Well, your girl can take care of herself just fine,” snapped Hermione.
“Oh, is that so?” he asked, eyebrow raised - but he was smiling warmly.
Hermione relented. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“I know,” said Ron softly. And with that, he leaned down to kiss her. Hermione kissed him back softly. It was all very romantic until - “Ouch,” yelped Ron.
Hermione snapped her head back. “What?”
Ron was standing there, his finger on his lip. “I think you bit me.”
“Oh,” she said. “Accident. Sorry.”
Ron rubbed at his lip. “No problem.”
Hermione was disgusted with herself. For months now, she had been working so hard to curb her inner dominatrix, but every now and again it just took control of her actions. During her brief but enlightening time with Viktor Krum, Hermione had discovered that she liked to be the aggressor in the relationship. She had read some books over the summer, and learned that she had a perfectly normal fetish shared by many wizards and witches all over the world. It had a very long and complicated name, but it boiled down to one thing - she liked it rough.
Not that she’d had sex, but even kissing and petting seemed dull to her without a little bit of pain mixed in with her pleasure. Viktor had been game for pretty much anything, although she felt badly about leaving scratches and bite marks on him - he was such a nice sort of chap. Ron was NOT game for anything. He was, it transpired, hopelessly vanilla. And Hermione loved him so much that she honestly didn’t care.
Well, mostly.
It was just at this moment when yet another voice interrupted her musings:
“What the bloody hell?!”
Ron and Hermione glanced behind them to see Harry, looking exceptionally irritated.
“What’s up, mate?” asked Ron warily.
“My wand! Where the hell is my wand? I just put it in the pocket of my trousers not two minutes ago!”
“Why don’t you Summon it?” asked Ron.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, he can’t very well Summon his wand without - well - his wand. I’ll do it.”
She raised her wand. “Accio Harry’s wand.”
And sure enough, it came zooming toward them down the hall. It seemed to have come from the Great Hall.
“No,” said Harry. “No way… I had it right here. Guys, I swear I had it in my pocket…You believe me, don’t you?”
Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick glance.
“It’s not that we don’t believe you, Harry,” began Hermione, “but maybe you ought to try and get to bed early tonight. I think you could do with a bit of rest.”
“I’m not tired and I’m not bloody crazy,” he stated. “I swear it was… it was right here.”
And with that, Ron took his frazzled friend by the arm and marched him up to the Gryffindor dormitories. Hermione watched them go with a bemused smile on her face.
After a fairly good night’s sleep and a morning spent alone with her vases, Pansy was feeling marginally better about herself. How was it, she wondered, that painting vases was the perfect solution to all of her troubles?
It drove her parents and her friends absolutely mad. Why, they would ask, do you insist on buying the ugliest, cheapest, plainest vases? The simple answer was - Pansy enjoyed fixing them up. The process of turning something unattractive into something aesthetic delighted her. She could spend hours making a flaw into an adornment. And the expensive vases that were sold in stores were certainly beautiful - but they never exactly suited her tastes.
This way she could be assured that the final creation was perfect.
Of course, it didn’t entirely drive out her worries about tonight. Pansy kept on glancing at the clock, and the pixies in her stomach got worse and worse as it got closer to ten o’clock. That was the time she and Draco had decided on. Draco had been practicing the Disillusionment charm to prevent them from being seen as they snuck out into the grounds. Draco was not keen on going on to the Forbidden Forest, although he never said why - he would only say that he had had a terrible experience in there during his first year. So they had chosen a spot near the perimeter of the school grounds where they would be shrouded by trees and rocks and the darkness of night.
Now, she thought as she reached once more for her paintbrush, all she had to do was wait.
Part 3/5