Fic: HP, (bz/dm), 50 Sentences, "Irrationalization"
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Draco Malfoy
Theme set: Alpha
Title: Irrationalization
Rating: Sentences range from G - R; overall R
Warning[s]: language, drinking, sex/sexual situations
Disclaimer:Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and not mine. I make no profit from this piece of fiction.
Notes: Blaise-POV, Lollyverse canon. For toujours_nigel, who writes the Draco to my Blaise. Read her incredible Draco-POV set here. Crossposted here at 1sentence. Sentences are in no particular chronological order.
DEVOTION:
Oh, surely he had said things like it before, but never actually to do it, not with his bare hands, never with true intent - until Draco whispered “it was Aunt Bella,” and suddenly Blaise found himself a murderer, though the bitch was already dead.
FOREVER:
There was no forever and they both knew it, but only Draco ever dared to say it aloud; Blaise might have hit him if he hadn’t known it was true.
MARKET:
He purchases white carnations from the stall at the street market and imagines how they will smell, crushed against Draco’s collarbone.
TEARS:
Blaise's first instinct is to tear the letter cleanly in half, which he does, his hands sharply ripping a line through paper and ink in a single swift movement.
SUPERNOVA:
The two halves of the letter wrinkle and tear further in each of his fists as he stands in his parlor, his anger hot like a forming planet, gases and dust spinning violently before condensing into a solid core, molten, cooling into set iron, leaving no breathable atmosphere.
WEAKNESS:
Though he would never ask, and had in fact instructed against it, flowers on his birthday would have been… nice.
LIFE:
It moved on without Draco, pushed by the hands of other men.
SEX:
“It hasn’t been about that for a very long time, Draco mine.”
FREEDOM:
Before the child, there had been the freedom for him to walk away, to take it all back - even if it was just once - but Blaise knew better, now.
GIFT:
He had arranged and paid for the florist at the wedding as his gift to the couple, and before the ceremony, placed a small bouquet on the dressing table in the groom’s chambers.
BONDS:
Privately, Blaise knew that the Greengrass-Malfoy wedding would be the last he would ever attend.
TOUCH:
After Draco, Blaise’s men were always large in stature and personality to match his own, but the bruises their brute hands left never could match the impressions left by slight fingers some years earlier.
EARS:
Draco was always silent when he came, though the screaming of his muscles as his hands clenched and neck snapped, arching, left a ringing in Blaise’s ears that often didn’t fade for hours.
POTATOES:
They had never lived together outside of school, and as such would never know the comforts and simple rituals of domesticity, so Blaise frowned when Black slid hands over hips and skin under lips as Lupin peeled potatoes over the sink, smiling.
JEALOUSY:
He wasn’t necessarily jealous of Asteria, because jealousy would require that Draco love her, or enjoy having sex with her; he merely hated the fact that his arrangement with Draco had been displaced by an arrangement of Lucius’.
NAME:
It was a pity that the Silencing Charm he set on himself each time required the effort of the caster to stay in place, as his boys generally didn’t come back after he’d slipped the wrong name.
SICKNESS:
Shuddering, Blaise reached for a towel to wipe his mouth and muttered something about how there should be a potion for this by now, because it was easier to blame the alcohol for the vomiting than acknowledge the fact that Draco was no longer his.
WIND:
“Happy Christmas, Blaise - it’s Swiss; got a charm on so you don’t have to wind it.”
HANDS:
The minute hand of the wristwatch stopped working a few weeks after the wedding, and Blaise didn’t bother taking it for repairs; he’d never liked the damn thing anyway, and only kept wearing it because it still marked the hour, didn’t it?
INNOCENCE:
Blaise hadn’t minded helping Draco Charm all of those buttons, because - well, ‘Weasley Is Our King’ had been rather catchy.
FEAR:
Carefully, terrified to wake him but more afraid of waking Draco, Blaise disentangles Scorpius from his father’s arms and carries him up to bed, tucks the blankets around his shoulders and smoothes back his hair, not daring to kiss the child’s forehead.
TASTE:
Blaise had always insisted upon testing his potions himself, but now that the upstairs library was empty while he worked, he wondered how he had ever evaluated his Sleeping Draught on just a taste.
STAR:
“Blaise, why on earth are you shooting out sparks--” “-Scintillating Solution, it’s -” “-never, ever, test your potions on - good gods, your hair’s caught fire-”
CONFUSION:
Scorpius cries for hours the first night Draco brings him home to Blaise, wailing for his mother and confused as to why his father kissed the giant instead.
DEATH:
When the announcement of the death of Husband No. Four arrived, Blaise told the table that it was a good riddance, that he was old and snored terribly - so when Malfoy ensured that Blaise had first go at the pudding at dinner that evening, he didn’t know how to tell him he wasn’t hungry because he was trying not to cry.
HAIR:
The first time Malfoy pulled on his braids, Blaise punched him square in the jaw, and a Prefect pulled the two first-years apart, yelling “no;” the second time, Blaise pressed him further into the mattress and kissed his jaw as Draco, Prefect, cried “yes-”
KISS:
He was stupid in love - or maybe he was just stupid - but it was their anniversary, and it’s not like it was illegal, so the street was a good a place as any to steal Draco’s balance and breath, and the men glaring at them from the bar across the street could go to hell for all he cared.
BLOOD:
Their blood was blue and it was pure, but this conviction was shaken when Draco arrived home twenty minutes after him with it smeared across his lip and matted in his hair; they washed it out together as filth and grime.
CHOCOLATE:
As Draco lies silent in his arms after visiting his father in Azkaban, Blaise mentally makes arrangements to have some words with Lupin, the lying bastard, because the chocolate didn’t do a damn thing.
TELEPHONE:
“I don’t have a bloody problem, Draco - s’just, just - oh, so you got the labels I sent; well, just - shut up, shut up- you haven’t got the right anymore to tell me what to do -” and Blaise empties his glass, throws it into the fireplace, and won’t take Floo calls for a week.
SOFT:
Blaise had said it a thousand times, too softly for Draco to hear, had whispered it quietly into his shoulder, his neck, pressed it alongside kisses to his inner thigh - love you, I love you, I'm in love with you; when finally he said it loud enough, Draco ordered a cafe-au-lait as though he hadn't even been listening.
SPEED:
The first glass of wine goes down easy, the second easier, and by the time he pours the rest of the bottle into the fifth, Blaise notices that the clock is wrong; must’ve been more than only an hour since the owl had come with the birth announcement.
RAIN:
He stood on the street in the middle of a downpour, screaming into the doorway at Draco’s godsdamned prick of an editor - and who the fuck did he think he was - what the fuck did he know about bloodlines purer than the diamonds on his fat fucking fingers - for an hour, shaking Draco’s blotted, marked-up manuscript in the bloody idiot’s face; infant Scorpius, frightened by the yelling, began to cry in his carriage, and all Draco could do was stare.
SMILE:
Blaise had never considered himself a ‘morning person,’ preferring to work late and rise later, but if things kept on like this - waking at half six to see gray eyes matching a sleepy smile turned up at the corners in a kiss - he might entertain the notion of redefining himself as a ‘coffee person.’
HOME:
His house is so empty, now that his mother had moved out and in with No. Nine, and it wasn’t like France had really been a home, anyway.
SKY:
Blaise had never much cared for Quidditch - organized sports in general, really - but there was something about watching the Seeker cut through the sky, fingers outstretched, grasping in the air for a fleck of gold he could barely see, that kept him in the stands; he attributed it to aesthetics and House pride.
WAVES:
Blaise can see the collision before it happens, the Bludger shrieking across the pitch faster than anyone can react, and the nausea hits him like a wave into a concrete wall seconds before Draco hits the ground.
HELL:
“Thank you for the invitation, Asteria, I’d be more than happy to attend - yes, seven o’clock is fine; I’ve a nice white, if you say the Parkinsons are bringing a pinot noir.”
HEAVEN:
Blaise doesn’t think he’ll get in, but he figures that’s got to be all right, considering Draco doesn’t, either.
PAIN:
He wrenched his eyes shut so tightly he thought his sockets might burst from the pressure, ground fingernails into his palm and smashed glasses against walls, collected three more tattoos and fucked the artist so hard against the door that the lock broke - but he didn’t cry.
COMFORT:
The first time he held Draco again, Blaise couldn’t breathe right, could only try to touch as much of Draco as he was able; when Draco whispered “I’m here,” Blaise found enough breath to say “no, you weren’t.”
MELODY:
Blaise doesn’t generally, as a rule, dance, so he pushes Draco towards Pansy and sends them out on the floor instead, smiling as Draco turns to look at him every fourth beat.
SUN:
“Malfoy, you are the only person alive who vacations in Alonissos and comes home paler than when you left.”
MOON:
There are no windows in the dungeons for moonlight to swim through, and even if there were, it couldn’t fight its way through the darkness of drawn hangings where two boys are reduced to flashes of teeth, palms, and thigh.
CLOUDS:
“I swear the potion was supposed to be a cloudy blue - and I’m sure your hair will grow back just fine, Draco, so stop whinging.”
SENSUAL:
The first time they fuck with enough light to properly see each other, Blaise keeps closing his eyes, because he is afraid that if he looks his touches will turn to caresses, his mouth will soften and his hands will unclench - they’d be ‘making love,’ then, and the thought nearly overwhelms him.
LIGHTNING/THUNDER:
Neither of them knew quite what to do when the storm came, and Scorpius was found huddled in Blaise’s chair, instead.
TECHNOLOGY:
Blaise finds it obnoxious when Malfoy’s father outfits the entire team with new brooms, and makes a well-placed remark on the subject in front of the entire Common Room; Malfoy sneers and turns pink, but at least he shuts up about it.
HAPPINESS:
They’d never had much of it, what with the war and the wedding and the way things tended never to work out, but Blaise just pulls Draco closer and the covers up, deciding that not much was better than none at all, and it was more than he’d ever expected, anyway.
COMPLETION:
Artist: Theodore Lupin-Black; Year: 2019; Materials: oil paint, canvas; Subjects: Draco Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy, Blaise Zabini; Title: "Family Portrait."
Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Draco Malfoy
Theme set: Alpha
Title: Irrationalization
Rating: Sentences range from G - R; overall R
Warning[s]: language, drinking, sex/sexual situations
Disclaimer:Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and not mine. I make no profit from this piece of fiction.
Notes: Blaise-POV, Lollyverse canon. For toujours_nigel, who writes the Draco to my Blaise. Read her incredible Draco-POV set here. Crossposted here at 1sentence. Sentences are in no particular chronological order.
DEVOTION:
Oh, surely he had said things like it before, but never actually to do it, not with his bare hands, never with true intent - until Draco whispered “it was Aunt Bella,” and suddenly Blaise found himself a murderer, though the bitch was already dead.
FOREVER:
There was no forever and they both knew it, but only Draco ever dared to say it aloud; Blaise might have hit him if he hadn’t known it was true.
MARKET:
He purchases white carnations from the stall at the street market and imagines how they will smell, crushed against Draco’s collarbone.
TEARS:
Blaise's first instinct is to tear the letter cleanly in half, which he does, his hands sharply ripping a line through paper and ink in a single swift movement.
SUPERNOVA:
The two halves of the letter wrinkle and tear further in each of his fists as he stands in his parlor, his anger hot like a forming planet, gases and dust spinning violently before condensing into a solid core, molten, cooling into set iron, leaving no breathable atmosphere.
WEAKNESS:
Though he would never ask, and had in fact instructed against it, flowers on his birthday would have been… nice.
LIFE:
It moved on without Draco, pushed by the hands of other men.
SEX:
“It hasn’t been about that for a very long time, Draco mine.”
FREEDOM:
Before the child, there had been the freedom for him to walk away, to take it all back - even if it was just once - but Blaise knew better, now.
GIFT:
He had arranged and paid for the florist at the wedding as his gift to the couple, and before the ceremony, placed a small bouquet on the dressing table in the groom’s chambers.
BONDS:
Privately, Blaise knew that the Greengrass-Malfoy wedding would be the last he would ever attend.
TOUCH:
After Draco, Blaise’s men were always large in stature and personality to match his own, but the bruises their brute hands left never could match the impressions left by slight fingers some years earlier.
EARS:
Draco was always silent when he came, though the screaming of his muscles as his hands clenched and neck snapped, arching, left a ringing in Blaise’s ears that often didn’t fade for hours.
POTATOES:
They had never lived together outside of school, and as such would never know the comforts and simple rituals of domesticity, so Blaise frowned when Black slid hands over hips and skin under lips as Lupin peeled potatoes over the sink, smiling.
JEALOUSY:
He wasn’t necessarily jealous of Asteria, because jealousy would require that Draco love her, or enjoy having sex with her; he merely hated the fact that his arrangement with Draco had been displaced by an arrangement of Lucius’.
NAME:
It was a pity that the Silencing Charm he set on himself each time required the effort of the caster to stay in place, as his boys generally didn’t come back after he’d slipped the wrong name.
SICKNESS:
Shuddering, Blaise reached for a towel to wipe his mouth and muttered something about how there should be a potion for this by now, because it was easier to blame the alcohol for the vomiting than acknowledge the fact that Draco was no longer his.
WIND:
“Happy Christmas, Blaise - it’s Swiss; got a charm on so you don’t have to wind it.”
HANDS:
The minute hand of the wristwatch stopped working a few weeks after the wedding, and Blaise didn’t bother taking it for repairs; he’d never liked the damn thing anyway, and only kept wearing it because it still marked the hour, didn’t it?
INNOCENCE:
Blaise hadn’t minded helping Draco Charm all of those buttons, because - well, ‘Weasley Is Our King’ had been rather catchy.
FEAR:
Carefully, terrified to wake him but more afraid of waking Draco, Blaise disentangles Scorpius from his father’s arms and carries him up to bed, tucks the blankets around his shoulders and smoothes back his hair, not daring to kiss the child’s forehead.
TASTE:
Blaise had always insisted upon testing his potions himself, but now that the upstairs library was empty while he worked, he wondered how he had ever evaluated his Sleeping Draught on just a taste.
STAR:
“Blaise, why on earth are you shooting out sparks--” “-Scintillating Solution, it’s -” “-never, ever, test your potions on - good gods, your hair’s caught fire-”
CONFUSION:
Scorpius cries for hours the first night Draco brings him home to Blaise, wailing for his mother and confused as to why his father kissed the giant instead.
DEATH:
When the announcement of the death of Husband No. Four arrived, Blaise told the table that it was a good riddance, that he was old and snored terribly - so when Malfoy ensured that Blaise had first go at the pudding at dinner that evening, he didn’t know how to tell him he wasn’t hungry because he was trying not to cry.
HAIR:
The first time Malfoy pulled on his braids, Blaise punched him square in the jaw, and a Prefect pulled the two first-years apart, yelling “no;” the second time, Blaise pressed him further into the mattress and kissed his jaw as Draco, Prefect, cried “yes-”
KISS:
He was stupid in love - or maybe he was just stupid - but it was their anniversary, and it’s not like it was illegal, so the street was a good a place as any to steal Draco’s balance and breath, and the men glaring at them from the bar across the street could go to hell for all he cared.
BLOOD:
Their blood was blue and it was pure, but this conviction was shaken when Draco arrived home twenty minutes after him with it smeared across his lip and matted in his hair; they washed it out together as filth and grime.
CHOCOLATE:
As Draco lies silent in his arms after visiting his father in Azkaban, Blaise mentally makes arrangements to have some words with Lupin, the lying bastard, because the chocolate didn’t do a damn thing.
TELEPHONE:
“I don’t have a bloody problem, Draco - s’just, just - oh, so you got the labels I sent; well, just - shut up, shut up- you haven’t got the right anymore to tell me what to do -” and Blaise empties his glass, throws it into the fireplace, and won’t take Floo calls for a week.
SOFT:
Blaise had said it a thousand times, too softly for Draco to hear, had whispered it quietly into his shoulder, his neck, pressed it alongside kisses to his inner thigh - love you, I love you, I'm in love with you; when finally he said it loud enough, Draco ordered a cafe-au-lait as though he hadn't even been listening.
SPEED:
The first glass of wine goes down easy, the second easier, and by the time he pours the rest of the bottle into the fifth, Blaise notices that the clock is wrong; must’ve been more than only an hour since the owl had come with the birth announcement.
RAIN:
He stood on the street in the middle of a downpour, screaming into the doorway at Draco’s godsdamned prick of an editor - and who the fuck did he think he was - what the fuck did he know about bloodlines purer than the diamonds on his fat fucking fingers - for an hour, shaking Draco’s blotted, marked-up manuscript in the bloody idiot’s face; infant Scorpius, frightened by the yelling, began to cry in his carriage, and all Draco could do was stare.
SMILE:
Blaise had never considered himself a ‘morning person,’ preferring to work late and rise later, but if things kept on like this - waking at half six to see gray eyes matching a sleepy smile turned up at the corners in a kiss - he might entertain the notion of redefining himself as a ‘coffee person.’
HOME:
His house is so empty, now that his mother had moved out and in with No. Nine, and it wasn’t like France had really been a home, anyway.
SKY:
Blaise had never much cared for Quidditch - organized sports in general, really - but there was something about watching the Seeker cut through the sky, fingers outstretched, grasping in the air for a fleck of gold he could barely see, that kept him in the stands; he attributed it to aesthetics and House pride.
WAVES:
Blaise can see the collision before it happens, the Bludger shrieking across the pitch faster than anyone can react, and the nausea hits him like a wave into a concrete wall seconds before Draco hits the ground.
HELL:
“Thank you for the invitation, Asteria, I’d be more than happy to attend - yes, seven o’clock is fine; I’ve a nice white, if you say the Parkinsons are bringing a pinot noir.”
HEAVEN:
Blaise doesn’t think he’ll get in, but he figures that’s got to be all right, considering Draco doesn’t, either.
PAIN:
He wrenched his eyes shut so tightly he thought his sockets might burst from the pressure, ground fingernails into his palm and smashed glasses against walls, collected three more tattoos and fucked the artist so hard against the door that the lock broke - but he didn’t cry.
COMFORT:
The first time he held Draco again, Blaise couldn’t breathe right, could only try to touch as much of Draco as he was able; when Draco whispered “I’m here,” Blaise found enough breath to say “no, you weren’t.”
MELODY:
Blaise doesn’t generally, as a rule, dance, so he pushes Draco towards Pansy and sends them out on the floor instead, smiling as Draco turns to look at him every fourth beat.
SUN:
“Malfoy, you are the only person alive who vacations in Alonissos and comes home paler than when you left.”
MOON:
There are no windows in the dungeons for moonlight to swim through, and even if there were, it couldn’t fight its way through the darkness of drawn hangings where two boys are reduced to flashes of teeth, palms, and thigh.
CLOUDS:
“I swear the potion was supposed to be a cloudy blue - and I’m sure your hair will grow back just fine, Draco, so stop whinging.”
SENSUAL:
The first time they fuck with enough light to properly see each other, Blaise keeps closing his eyes, because he is afraid that if he looks his touches will turn to caresses, his mouth will soften and his hands will unclench - they’d be ‘making love,’ then, and the thought nearly overwhelms him.
LIGHTNING/THUNDER:
Neither of them knew quite what to do when the storm came, and Scorpius was found huddled in Blaise’s chair, instead.
TECHNOLOGY:
Blaise finds it obnoxious when Malfoy’s father outfits the entire team with new brooms, and makes a well-placed remark on the subject in front of the entire Common Room; Malfoy sneers and turns pink, but at least he shuts up about it.
HAPPINESS:
They’d never had much of it, what with the war and the wedding and the way things tended never to work out, but Blaise just pulls Draco closer and the covers up, deciding that not much was better than none at all, and it was more than he’d ever expected, anyway.
COMPLETION:
Artist: Theodore Lupin-Black; Year: 2019; Materials: oil paint, canvas; Subjects: Draco Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy, Blaise Zabini; Title: "Family Portrait."