Leigh!fic- Mistake (4/13)- Blaise Zabini/Daphne Greengrass
Title: Mistake (4/13)
Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Daphne Greengrass
Prompt: like footprints in the sand
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,354
Summary: Just over a month had passed since her cousin Astoria's wedding to Theodore Nott. Seven months since she'd become Mrs. Gregory Goyle. And one month since she'd given into temptation.
Author's Notes: The exposition for this fic can be found here, as it was written a few months ago (heed the warning: it's not for kiddies). This is my fourth Blaise/Daphne fic for rarepair_shorts .
Link to Prompt Table: Prompt table
It had been a mistake.
That was the mantra Daphne kept repeating to herself over and over and over again. It was wrong. She was married, for Merlin's sake! Even if she held no more affection for her husband than she did for a blast-ended skrewt, she had promised to be faithful to him.
Of course, what true Slytherin ever kept their word?
Just over a month had passed since her cousin Astoria's wedding to Theodore Nott. Seven months since she'd become Mrs. Gregory Goyle.
And one month since she'd given into temptation.
“Blaise, what-“ her words died on her lips when he turned and reached for her, drawing her flush against him as their lips crashed together. After several long, blissful moments, they finally broke apart for air, gasping for breath. Her chest was heaving with exertion, her green eyes wide with surprise and hazy with desire. “Blaise…”
“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” he murmured. His dark hand reached out to tug on a finely-styled curl, tugging it down and watching it spring back into place when he released it. “Daphne…”
“You shouldn’t be here,” she finally said breathily. Her eyes fluttered shut and she took a step back, needing space to clear her head. “Do you want Gregory to suspect something?”
“He won’t have room enough in his brain to think about you tonight,” Blaise said quietly, reaching out to cup Daphne’s chin in his hand.
An Order safe house had been discovered during the wedding, and Gregory, along with the rest of the Dark Lord's mindless drones, had been sent to capture the people found within. Daphne had been torn between concern- not concern for the Order, mind you, but rather, for her cousin; Astoria's brother Michael had been amongst those found- and want. His proximity had overwhelmed her, intoxicating her senses and making it hard for her brain to function properly.
That was her only explanation for what had happened next.
She lifted her head to press her forehead against his, her dainty hands grasping at the smooth lapels of his dress robes. None of the old Purebloods were innocent; they were born sullied. Not through their actions, though those eventually cemented their tainted halos, but through their money. Money, which was taken from blood and extortion and cruel, unspeakable acts, made them who they were.
Innocence was nonexistent in their social set.
A few minutes passed before she leaned in to press her lips against his, her hands sliding inside his robe and making quick work of the button down shirt beneath. “Daphne, what are-“ his question was silenced by one slender finger. She pulled back to look at him, green eyes nearly empty of that spark Blaise adored so much. That fire that made her the woman she was. Gregory had nearly stripped it from her, and that made him want to rip the other man’s throat out.
“Make me feel,” she whispered pleadingly. “Please, Blaise. I need this. I need you.”
His eyes darkened, gaze dropped for a split-second to her parted red lips, then back up to her eyes before he leaned in to slant his lips against hers. His hands fisted in the slinky material of her dress, tugging it upwards. He growled against her lips when his fingers slid over the smooth skin of her thighs, tightening in the white flesh and jerking one leg up over his hip.
Blaise had been right. Gregory hadn't room in his mind for her when he'd returned, but not for the reason they'd all believed.
It'd been a trap. The Order members the Death Eaters thought they were capturing were really nothing more than decoys. It'd been an ingenious plan, really, and had Daphne the inclination, she would have admired it. By allowing themselves to be discovered, the Order had played to the Death Eaters' sense of superiority and vanity, and therefore, their guard had been down.
Amazingly, there were only three fatalities, two for the Order and one for the Dark Lord. Travers had fallen, a victim of Snape's pet spell, Sectumsempra, as had Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. Daphne didn't particularly remember either woman, and their deaths meant nothing to her.
She had breathed a small sigh of relief when she'd heard Michael had escaped. Seeing her brother tortured and executed would have stripped Astoria of whatever spark she had left after being sold to Theodore.
Gregory had survived, of course. She wasn't that lucky.
And now, a month after she had given into her desire and had Blaise again, she couldn't get him out of her mind. If being without him for nearly a year had been hard, it had only become exponentially more painful in the past month. She could remember everything about him as clearly as if he were in the room with her; the slightly salty taste to his skin, his masculine scent, how his firm, strong hands slid over her lily-white skin, each caress so much more precious because they were together.
It still stole her breath and made her heart beat faster, and her body yearned for his skilled touch.
She thought of him when Gregory touched her, and had- on more than one occasion- had to bite her tongue in order to keep from calling Blaise's name when it was her husband who took her body. Gregory wasn't a particularly skilled lover; the only foreplay he indulged in was when he'd push her to her knees in front of him, finding great arousal in the submission she showed him.
Only the memory of Blaise's hands on her skin, his soft kisses, and the way he moved within her kept her from yawning during intercourse with her husband.
It was a dangerous game she played at; it would be so much safer to Obliviate herself, to wash the memories away like footprints from the sand at high tide. She knew she should forget him, but she couldn't. She wouldn't. In a world full of so much misery, the memory of their stolen interlude was one of the only things keeping her sanity mostly intact.
Once he’d finally regained control of his breathing, he lifted his head to look her in the eye. “I can’t give you up, Daphne,” he said, his voice raw with emotion, “I won’t. Goyle can go straight to hell for all I care. I want you.”
She shook her head and cupped his cheek. “We can’t,” she whispered. “How do you think I would feel if something happened to you because of me? I have nothing left to me anymore, no happiness, no free will. This is my life now.”
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. “You have me,” he murmured, intense brown eyes catching hers. “You’ll always have me.”
Daphne’s breath caught in her throat at those simple words. So little, yet in this hopeless world, they meant everything. “How,” she trailed off, “how can we…?”
“We’ll find a way.”
When Pansy slipped the note into her hand during tea at Malfoy Manor, Daphne had had to fight to control her face, to keep the nonchalant mask in place in front of Draco and Gregory. It wouldn't do to become flustered and draw attention to herself. In fact, since her marriage, she had become a master of blending into the room, of not being worthy of attention. But with the prospect of what she hoped was a message from her love made her heart beat faster in anticipation.
She'd barely locked herself in the loo upon arrival back home before she ripped the note open, eager green eyes scanning the scrap of parchment. There was but two sentences on it, but they gave her more hope than she'd felt in years.
Send word via Pansy. I have to see you again.
A small smile making her lips twitch, Daphne set her wand tip to the note and incinerated it with a quick spell. "We'll find a way," she whispered, the mere words making her heart clench with longing.
Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Daphne Greengrass
Prompt: like footprints in the sand
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,354
Summary: Just over a month had passed since her cousin Astoria's wedding to Theodore Nott. Seven months since she'd become Mrs. Gregory Goyle. And one month since she'd given into temptation.
Author's Notes: The exposition for this fic can be found here, as it was written a few months ago (heed the warning: it's not for kiddies). This is my fourth Blaise/Daphne fic for rarepair_shorts .
Link to Prompt Table: Prompt table
It had been a mistake.
That was the mantra Daphne kept repeating to herself over and over and over again. It was wrong. She was married, for Merlin's sake! Even if she held no more affection for her husband than she did for a blast-ended skrewt, she had promised to be faithful to him.
Of course, what true Slytherin ever kept their word?
Just over a month had passed since her cousin Astoria's wedding to Theodore Nott. Seven months since she'd become Mrs. Gregory Goyle.
And one month since she'd given into temptation.
“Blaise, what-“ her words died on her lips when he turned and reached for her, drawing her flush against him as their lips crashed together. After several long, blissful moments, they finally broke apart for air, gasping for breath. Her chest was heaving with exertion, her green eyes wide with surprise and hazy with desire. “Blaise…”
“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” he murmured. His dark hand reached out to tug on a finely-styled curl, tugging it down and watching it spring back into place when he released it. “Daphne…”
“You shouldn’t be here,” she finally said breathily. Her eyes fluttered shut and she took a step back, needing space to clear her head. “Do you want Gregory to suspect something?”
“He won’t have room enough in his brain to think about you tonight,” Blaise said quietly, reaching out to cup Daphne’s chin in his hand.
An Order safe house had been discovered during the wedding, and Gregory, along with the rest of the Dark Lord's mindless drones, had been sent to capture the people found within. Daphne had been torn between concern- not concern for the Order, mind you, but rather, for her cousin; Astoria's brother Michael had been amongst those found- and want. His proximity had overwhelmed her, intoxicating her senses and making it hard for her brain to function properly.
That was her only explanation for what had happened next.
She lifted her head to press her forehead against his, her dainty hands grasping at the smooth lapels of his dress robes. None of the old Purebloods were innocent; they were born sullied. Not through their actions, though those eventually cemented their tainted halos, but through their money. Money, which was taken from blood and extortion and cruel, unspeakable acts, made them who they were.
Innocence was nonexistent in their social set.
A few minutes passed before she leaned in to press her lips against his, her hands sliding inside his robe and making quick work of the button down shirt beneath. “Daphne, what are-“ his question was silenced by one slender finger. She pulled back to look at him, green eyes nearly empty of that spark Blaise adored so much. That fire that made her the woman she was. Gregory had nearly stripped it from her, and that made him want to rip the other man’s throat out.
“Make me feel,” she whispered pleadingly. “Please, Blaise. I need this. I need you.”
His eyes darkened, gaze dropped for a split-second to her parted red lips, then back up to her eyes before he leaned in to slant his lips against hers. His hands fisted in the slinky material of her dress, tugging it upwards. He growled against her lips when his fingers slid over the smooth skin of her thighs, tightening in the white flesh and jerking one leg up over his hip.
Blaise had been right. Gregory hadn't room in his mind for her when he'd returned, but not for the reason they'd all believed.
It'd been a trap. The Order members the Death Eaters thought they were capturing were really nothing more than decoys. It'd been an ingenious plan, really, and had Daphne the inclination, she would have admired it. By allowing themselves to be discovered, the Order had played to the Death Eaters' sense of superiority and vanity, and therefore, their guard had been down.
Amazingly, there were only three fatalities, two for the Order and one for the Dark Lord. Travers had fallen, a victim of Snape's pet spell, Sectumsempra, as had Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. Daphne didn't particularly remember either woman, and their deaths meant nothing to her.
She had breathed a small sigh of relief when she'd heard Michael had escaped. Seeing her brother tortured and executed would have stripped Astoria of whatever spark she had left after being sold to Theodore.
Gregory had survived, of course. She wasn't that lucky.
And now, a month after she had given into her desire and had Blaise again, she couldn't get him out of her mind. If being without him for nearly a year had been hard, it had only become exponentially more painful in the past month. She could remember everything about him as clearly as if he were in the room with her; the slightly salty taste to his skin, his masculine scent, how his firm, strong hands slid over her lily-white skin, each caress so much more precious because they were together.
It still stole her breath and made her heart beat faster, and her body yearned for his skilled touch.
She thought of him when Gregory touched her, and had- on more than one occasion- had to bite her tongue in order to keep from calling Blaise's name when it was her husband who took her body. Gregory wasn't a particularly skilled lover; the only foreplay he indulged in was when he'd push her to her knees in front of him, finding great arousal in the submission she showed him.
Only the memory of Blaise's hands on her skin, his soft kisses, and the way he moved within her kept her from yawning during intercourse with her husband.
It was a dangerous game she played at; it would be so much safer to Obliviate herself, to wash the memories away like footprints from the sand at high tide. She knew she should forget him, but she couldn't. She wouldn't. In a world full of so much misery, the memory of their stolen interlude was one of the only things keeping her sanity mostly intact.
Once he’d finally regained control of his breathing, he lifted his head to look her in the eye. “I can’t give you up, Daphne,” he said, his voice raw with emotion, “I won’t. Goyle can go straight to hell for all I care. I want you.”
She shook her head and cupped his cheek. “We can’t,” she whispered. “How do you think I would feel if something happened to you because of me? I have nothing left to me anymore, no happiness, no free will. This is my life now.”
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. “You have me,” he murmured, intense brown eyes catching hers. “You’ll always have me.”
Daphne’s breath caught in her throat at those simple words. So little, yet in this hopeless world, they meant everything. “How,” she trailed off, “how can we…?”
“We’ll find a way.”
When Pansy slipped the note into her hand during tea at Malfoy Manor, Daphne had had to fight to control her face, to keep the nonchalant mask in place in front of Draco and Gregory. It wouldn't do to become flustered and draw attention to herself. In fact, since her marriage, she had become a master of blending into the room, of not being worthy of attention. But with the prospect of what she hoped was a message from her love made her heart beat faster in anticipation.
She'd barely locked herself in the loo upon arrival back home before she ripped the note open, eager green eyes scanning the scrap of parchment. There was but two sentences on it, but they gave her more hope than she'd felt in years.
Send word via Pansy. I have to see you again.
A small smile making her lips twitch, Daphne set her wand tip to the note and incinerated it with a quick spell. "We'll find a way," she whispered, the mere words making her heart clench with longing.