Beware of Projectile Vomiting
Title: Beware of Projectile Vomiting
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Blaise for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: pontification
Rating: PG
Word Count: 408
Summary: This doesn’t make sense-not even a little, tiny, ugly-hairless-baby-mouse-sized bit. The aftermath of an Epiphany.
Author's Notes: Part four. Directly follows Into the Library.
Link to Prompt Table: Accio!
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Beware of Projectile Vomiting
This doesn’t make sense-not even a little, tiny, ugly-hairless-baby-mouse-sized bit. Blaise has seen SHE-WEASLEY many times before: in the corridors, in the Great Hall, at Quidditch matches-in the sky?-at Hogsmeade, apparently in the library now, that one incident in the cupboard… He knows she’s attractive enough, even with that whole freckles-exploded-on-her-face thing; he’s even admitted to it, sort of. But even though maybe he’s given her a second glance or two, he’s never given her much of a second thought.
There was that once when she winked at him after a particularly heartfelt insult, though, and he’s still not sure what that was about; that time, he could pass off the uncomfortable churning within him for a conveniently-timed upset stomach brought on, probably, by the ceaseless sound of Pansy’s voice.
This time, it’s different.
He’s had an Epiphany, that moment of clarity that, if he ignores it, would put him in denial.
She’s pretty.
And he fancies her.
Possibly in that idiotic, giggly way that twelve-year-olds do. (Though if Blaise starts giggling, he’s going to kill himself.)
There are some things Blaise can deny. He can deny that he stole Longbottom’s toad back in first year so that Theo could experiment on it; he can deny that yes, Millicent’s Yule Ball dress did make her look like a troll in a tutu. He can deny that he was ever gullible enough to play chess with the Greengrass sisters when they said they were still learning the rules of the game-still ignoring the rules, more like; that was the only time he ever played fairly. He can even deny to McGonagall’s face that he didn’t scribble rubbish poetry all over his desk-which, to be fair, wasn’t actually a lie.
But he can’t deny an Epiphany. Epiphanies, like Pansy, are obnoxious and won’t go away.
Unlike Pansy, they usually turn out to be useful. Non-petty denial is for lesser people, unless it’s irresistibly convenient.
(It’s convenient now, but he can’t exactly withdraw his acknowledgement of the Epiphany, can he?)
Fingers snap, and Blaise is brought back from wherever it was his brain ran off to and made him chase after.
“Oi, Zabini,” SHE-WEASLEY says, annoyed. “If you’re just going to stare at me, I reckon you better leave.”
Blaise blinks. He glances up. He meets her eyes.
And then he turns around and vomits on the nearest first-year.
“Not again,” the first-year sighs sadly.
First | Previous | Next
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Blaise for rarepair_shorts
Prompt: pontification
Rating: PG
Word Count: 408
Summary: This doesn’t make sense-not even a little, tiny, ugly-hairless-baby-mouse-sized bit. The aftermath of an Epiphany.
Author's Notes: Part four. Directly follows Into the Library.
Link to Prompt Table: Accio!
First | Previous | Next
Beware of Projectile Vomiting
This doesn’t make sense-not even a little, tiny, ugly-hairless-baby-mouse-sized bit. Blaise has seen SHE-WEASLEY many times before: in the corridors, in the Great Hall, at Quidditch matches-in the sky?-at Hogsmeade, apparently in the library now, that one incident in the cupboard… He knows she’s attractive enough, even with that whole freckles-exploded-on-her-face thing; he’s even admitted to it, sort of. But even though maybe he’s given her a second glance or two, he’s never given her much of a second thought.
There was that once when she winked at him after a particularly heartfelt insult, though, and he’s still not sure what that was about; that time, he could pass off the uncomfortable churning within him for a conveniently-timed upset stomach brought on, probably, by the ceaseless sound of Pansy’s voice.
This time, it’s different.
He’s had an Epiphany, that moment of clarity that, if he ignores it, would put him in denial.
She’s pretty.
And he fancies her.
Possibly in that idiotic, giggly way that twelve-year-olds do. (Though if Blaise starts giggling, he’s going to kill himself.)
There are some things Blaise can deny. He can deny that he stole Longbottom’s toad back in first year so that Theo could experiment on it; he can deny that yes, Millicent’s Yule Ball dress did make her look like a troll in a tutu. He can deny that he was ever gullible enough to play chess with the Greengrass sisters when they said they were still learning the rules of the game-still ignoring the rules, more like; that was the only time he ever played fairly. He can even deny to McGonagall’s face that he didn’t scribble rubbish poetry all over his desk-which, to be fair, wasn’t actually a lie.
But he can’t deny an Epiphany. Epiphanies, like Pansy, are obnoxious and won’t go away.
Unlike Pansy, they usually turn out to be useful. Non-petty denial is for lesser people, unless it’s irresistibly convenient.
(It’s convenient now, but he can’t exactly withdraw his acknowledgement of the Epiphany, can he?)
Fingers snap, and Blaise is brought back from wherever it was his brain ran off to and made him chase after.
“Oi, Zabini,” SHE-WEASLEY says, annoyed. “If you’re just going to stare at me, I reckon you better leave.”
Blaise blinks. He glances up. He meets her eyes.
And then he turns around and vomits on the nearest first-year.
“Not again,” the first-year sighs sadly.
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