Into the Library
Title: Into the Library
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Blaise for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: stranger in a strange land
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 652
Summary: Blaise hates libraries.
Author's Notes: Written before my computer killed itself a week ago; it follows Framed By Poetry.
Link to Prompt Table: Accio!
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Into the Library
The library. Is not. A good. Place. At all.
Blaise hates libraries. Of course, he happens to hate a lot of things, but libraries make his list of top three or four-or something like that; it’s difficult to rank things that seem equally annoying.
It’s not like Blaise doesn’t know how to read-only the best of the Hufflepuffs and/or a few select others can get away with that-and it’s not like he doesn’t like to, either. He does. He just prefers to spend his time around books that don’t look and smell as if someone’s pet toad defecated and then died upon the middle of page thirty-four.
Libraries are for people like Theo who, bless him, is one of the only Slytherins Blaise knows that does his homework on time-or on his own. Because libraries attract people like Theo with some kind of freakish Siren call that Blaise has never understood; and people like Theo who aren’t Theo are generally the sort of people that Blaise avoids as much as possible. (He’s had this irrational fear, ever since he was little, that overachieving is contagious.)
So why is he here?
He doesn’t exactly know. It’s probably got something to do with wasting time. But whatever the reason, simply being here, in this place that is not good, is making him nervous.
He weaves through a series of occupied and unoccupied tables, trying not to touch anything and refusing to get near any books. He’d probably look like an idiot, but-oh, right-he’s Blaise Zabini, and that apparently means he’s incapable of blatant idiocy.
(No, really. He used to try for it, but it never worked out.)
As he’s passing the last table, a folded note bounces down onto the floor at his feet.
The girl-because it’s always a girl, isn’t it?-starts to make a grab for it. She even starts to say something, in fact. Something like “Oh, could you please pass me that-” that makes him want to casually please pass it to her.
Except that the hand reaching for the note is actually quite freckled; and the hand about to relinquish it-his hand-is just as distinct and recognizable as hers.
Blaise thinks she must realize this just as he does.
“You,” they spit out at the same time; the synchronization is all the more displeasing.
Blaise snatches the note and then straightens, sneering down at it.
“Give it to me, Zabini,” SHE-WEASLEY snarls. (Snarls like a weasel; it’s intriguing.)
Blaise ignores her and flicks open the note. He hopes it’s embarrassing.
As it turns out, it’s more than that.
“You!” he snaps again, though this time with more of an accusatory edge.
Because he’d know that handwriting anywhere.
It got him detention, after all.
Weasley snorts. “Are we starting over? I thought we got through that already.”
He gives her what he supposes is a very ugly look of disgust, but he doesn’t care. It’s her fault.
“It’s your fault, you filthy blood-traitor!”
“Excuse me?”
“Because of your fantastic poetry, I-”
“I don’t write poetry.”
And she certainly doesn’t, he thinks derisively, but then he happens to look at her for the first time. In his defense, he’s been distracted by other things, such as notes and the handwriting they’re written in; but when he looks at her, that ugly expression freezes.
It’s one of those moments where it’s a combination between Oh, shit, and You’ve got to be kidding me.
See, he’s forgotten how pretty she truly is.
The ramifications of this officially become clear when his stomach does that stupid thing where he feels like he wants to vomit, burst into song, and kill a couple thousand butterflies.
But he can handle this. This isn’t the first time this has happened.
Really.
…Except that it actually is.
Oh, shit, he thinks. You’ve got to be kidding me.
First | Previous | Next
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Blaise for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: stranger in a strange land
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 652
Summary: Blaise hates libraries.
Author's Notes: Written before my computer killed itself a week ago; it follows Framed By Poetry.
Link to Prompt Table: Accio!
First | Previous | Next
Into the Library
The library. Is not. A good. Place. At all.
Blaise hates libraries. Of course, he happens to hate a lot of things, but libraries make his list of top three or four-or something like that; it’s difficult to rank things that seem equally annoying.
It’s not like Blaise doesn’t know how to read-only the best of the Hufflepuffs and/or a few select others can get away with that-and it’s not like he doesn’t like to, either. He does. He just prefers to spend his time around books that don’t look and smell as if someone’s pet toad defecated and then died upon the middle of page thirty-four.
Libraries are for people like Theo who, bless him, is one of the only Slytherins Blaise knows that does his homework on time-or on his own. Because libraries attract people like Theo with some kind of freakish Siren call that Blaise has never understood; and people like Theo who aren’t Theo are generally the sort of people that Blaise avoids as much as possible. (He’s had this irrational fear, ever since he was little, that overachieving is contagious.)
So why is he here?
He doesn’t exactly know. It’s probably got something to do with wasting time. But whatever the reason, simply being here, in this place that is not good, is making him nervous.
He weaves through a series of occupied and unoccupied tables, trying not to touch anything and refusing to get near any books. He’d probably look like an idiot, but-oh, right-he’s Blaise Zabini, and that apparently means he’s incapable of blatant idiocy.
(No, really. He used to try for it, but it never worked out.)
As he’s passing the last table, a folded note bounces down onto the floor at his feet.
The girl-because it’s always a girl, isn’t it?-starts to make a grab for it. She even starts to say something, in fact. Something like “Oh, could you please pass me that-” that makes him want to casually please pass it to her.
Except that the hand reaching for the note is actually quite freckled; and the hand about to relinquish it-his hand-is just as distinct and recognizable as hers.
Blaise thinks she must realize this just as he does.
“You,” they spit out at the same time; the synchronization is all the more displeasing.
Blaise snatches the note and then straightens, sneering down at it.
“Give it to me, Zabini,” SHE-WEASLEY snarls. (Snarls like a weasel; it’s intriguing.)
Blaise ignores her and flicks open the note. He hopes it’s embarrassing.
As it turns out, it’s more than that.
“You!” he snaps again, though this time with more of an accusatory edge.
Because he’d know that handwriting anywhere.
It got him detention, after all.
Weasley snorts. “Are we starting over? I thought we got through that already.”
He gives her what he supposes is a very ugly look of disgust, but he doesn’t care. It’s her fault.
“It’s your fault, you filthy blood-traitor!”
“Excuse me?”
“Because of your fantastic poetry, I-”
“I don’t write poetry.”
And she certainly doesn’t, he thinks derisively, but then he happens to look at her for the first time. In his defense, he’s been distracted by other things, such as notes and the handwriting they’re written in; but when he looks at her, that ugly expression freezes.
It’s one of those moments where it’s a combination between Oh, shit, and You’ve got to be kidding me.
See, he’s forgotten how pretty she truly is.
The ramifications of this officially become clear when his stomach does that stupid thing where he feels like he wants to vomit, burst into song, and kill a couple thousand butterflies.
But he can handle this. This isn’t the first time this has happened.
Really.
…Except that it actually is.
Oh, shit, he thinks. You’ve got to be kidding me.
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