Disclaimer: Slash, but not much (yet...ahahahaha...)
Don't own, nope, not a thing but I've rather taken a shine to Blaise lately.
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Blaise growled as he shoved the book away from him. He ran a hand through his black, shaggy hair in frustration. So bored! he thought. The hot, sticky, horrible, humid air wafted through the windows and the moon hung like a dead man wrapped in chains of stars in the gibbet of the late May sky. Blaise was particularly proud of coming up with that clever metaphor. He would have to use it in his next poem. He made a mental note to write something amusing structured around that line in Tuesday's History of Magic class.
However, making snide comments to himself about the disgusting heat was not exactly entertaining. Blaise shoved a lock of hair out of his eyes and threw himself against the back of the chair. He was wide awake and it was twenty to midnight on a Sunday evening with no classes the next day. He'd read the three books in the library he actually liked and he didn't feel like penning any poetry.
Blaise could always do his homework, a small voice at the back of his head pointed out.
Blaise could also be a specimen of a rare breed of exotic dancing puffskeins, Blaise snarled back, but he's not. Blaise could even refrain from referring to himself in the third person, but I note he's not doing that either, Blaise added sourly.
And Blaise needn't be so bitchy, the tiny voice snapped. But he seems to enjoy it.
Blaise could also stop talking to himself, Blaise decided, and the conversation was finished.
Blaise looked around the room and almost … words failed him. The idiot house elves had the fire going. No wonder he was so hot and restless. Damn house elves and their "helpfulness". They must have misinterpreted Pansy yelling at Malfoy that he was frigid. Blaise snickered. Pansy had no idea what went on in the Quidditch changing rooms.
Heh. Quidditch.
Every single player flew for the other team. It was almost like a requirement. Blaise snickered again. Prime material for innuendo, too, what with broomsticks and hoops and so many different kinds of spheres and bats and catching the Snitch and scoring and Beaters and Keepers and defending goals and…wow.
Blaise ought to join the Quidditch team. It sounded hilarious.
Blaise ought to stop talking to himself, the voice said snidely.
Blaise turned his attention back to the steamy love story he was rereading for the umpteenth time. It was as close as Hogwarts students got to porn, unless two of the professors had gotten into a spat with one another and actually returned The Book.
Blaise shoved his book to the floor and twisted around in his chair. There was nothing to DO. He was wasting time, he could be doing something! He should be doing something! But there was no one else awake and nothing to do and Blaise thought he'd go mad if he had to stay there or go to sleep. Going to bed, however…
Blaise turned the idea over in his head. Hmm…taken, taken, taken, straight, taken, taken, taken…free but wouldn't want-- He shook his head vigorously. "Fuck. I need to take a walk or something," he muttered.
Fuck. Blaise needs to stop talking to himself.
Hey, shut it! I was merely stating my intentions out loud, you prick!
Calling himself a prick is another thing Blaise should refrain from.
I hate you. You irritate me. I'm not speaking to you anymore.
Yes you are.
No, I'm not.
You are speaking to me right now.
"NYEHHH!" Blaise shot out of his chair and padded across to the door. He threw it open, refreshed by--
WHY IS IT HOTTER OUT THERE THAN IN HERE?
I don't know any more than you do. And I thought you weren't speaking to me, the voice huffed.
Don't get your skirt in a twist, it was a rhetorical question. Blaise sulked.
So I'm female now, am I? I hate stories like this. You'll end up sleeping with everyone from Finnegan to Malfoy to possibly yourself from the future, or Legolas.
What? What the hell are you babbling about? I'm male and I think you are too! And Finnegan is taken and Malfoy is too and I wouldn't sleep with myself! And who is this Legolas bloke? And would sleeping with yourself be incest?
You know, I'm not sure, answered the voice in a thoughtful tone. I shall have to ponder this.
Blaise rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. Where to walk to?
Astronomy tower! screamed his hormones.
Not on your manipulating, fiendishly clever chemical existence!
Why ever not?
Because, Blaise said, unsure himself. Because…I said so. Shut up and go away. Blaise came up with a good reason to walk elsewhere. That stunt you pulled in Potions was bad enough. You expect me to walk in on someone? On purpose?
Yes, please! Voyeurism, voyeurism, rah rah rah!
I hate you.
Yes, I know. SO, are we going?
Absolutely not. God, I hate hormones.
I'm only here to help. Let's get walkin'!
Blaise sighed and started walking, letting his feet take him where they wished.
JOYRIDE!
Blaise rolled his eyes. Not you too. I had hoped my fucking FEET wouldn't gang up on me.
We promise to use our powers for good, not evil.
If I even think I'm anywhere near the Tower, you are going to be Transfigured into … into… lemons.
Killjoy.
Blaise made his way up to the roof, arguing internally with various bits of his body along the way. He finally sprawled across a flat bit near a gargoyle and stared up at the stars, partially obscured by the gathering clouds, making a poem in his head about someone's eyes.
God, it's hot up here, he grumbled to himself.
Hot air rises, said the voice. Ah, I see you're waxing poetic about--
YES, okay, fine, yes I;ve been lusting after him, yes I'm totally infatuated with him, yes I am waxing poetic and yes the heat is frying my brain and causing me to be more insane than usual, yes I know all of this so you needn't be a prick and point it all out again.
I'm just saying said the voice sulkily.
Blaise sighed and hummed a song from when he was small.
"You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are grey
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away."
As if one cue, the cloudy sky burst open and a light rain fell down onto Blaise.
Stipid weather. Ah, well. Fits better with the song, seeing as how he's been hitting on him lately…Blaise mused.
Wha? He likes him but he likes him so he doesn't like him but he likes him but he doesn't know it…? the voice sounded very confused.
Wait, what? Blaise asked, puzzled.
I don't know, you said it,and now I'm so confused I don't know who I am or where I live or who's lying by that gargoyle watching us! wailed the voice.
We are Blaise Zabini and a right royal prick and bastard of bastards, we live in Sorrento, Italy sometimes and Sheffield, England other times and Hogwarts for the rest of the time, and He is lying by that gargoyle watching us He is lying by that gargoyle watching us Him watching lying by us watching Him lying us by Him watching us watching HIM…Blaise's thoughts short of shut down at this point.
Holy fucking hell…concurred the voice.
Yes, please! hollered his hormones.
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Do tell who y'all think He should be, I haven't decided yet. If anyone thinks this is interesting enough for me to stick in a second (third? fourth?) chapter full of Slytherins Gone Wild, then by all means review and It Shall Be Done!
This is odd and I don't like the ending but am too tired and hyped up to write the next chapter. This will probably eventually have a second chapter whether or not people review it.