Disclaimah: Don't sue! I live in a cardboard box and live off of JK's leftover's! (Ha, no, j/k, I don't have the honor eating her leftovers). Anyway, she's the one makin' the dough, and I'm just a fanatical stalker who steals her characters.
Dive
By:
Quixotic-Feline
There's nothing worse than having your brain blank out on you, thought Hermione dejectedly as she stared down at the annoyingly pristine parchment in front of her.
She had been staring at the piece of paper for the past hour, encouraging her mind to come up with the perfect introduction to her essay.
She had tried everything to spark inspiration; from singing the school song to banging her head repeatedly on the table. Alas, the parchment remained stubbornly blank.
And it wasn't even that she didn't have the material! Glancing at the enormous stack of volumes on sleeping draughts, she knew that she had more than enough. But it was the damned, stupid, horrid, evil, wretched, bloody first sentence that was eluding her. The Fates were wicked.
Her quill now resembled a massacred strip of twig, as she had been chewing on it ferociously for fifteen minutes. She watched miserably as the end broke off and fell pitifully to the floor.
"Okay, Mione… Let's do this. You've written thousands of essays! Just start it off simply…"
She tapped her long fingers against the glimmering ebony surface of her desk. She whistled a random tune, pulling a curl and watching it bounce back up like a spring. She resisted the random urge to cry, 'Boing!'
She picked up her…—quill—and slowly poised it a millimeter above the parchment. She cautiously pressed down, and jotted down the first word with ridiculously exaggerated precision.
Draughts, it said in her small, immaculate script.
She stared at it dumbly, marveling at how pretty her 'D' had come out. The belly was nice and round. It looked like Ron's cheek when he was eating a lollypop. Only Ron's cheek had freckles…
Giggling, Hermione drew a pair of eyeballs on the 'D' and made a thought bubble saying, "Wonder what's for lunch?"
Soon, the whole page was filled from top to bottom with pointless, crudely drawn doodles.
She stared at them. Her eyes bulged.
Never had Hermione Granger doodled. On her homework, no less.
Ever.
"AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed, burying her hands in her spirals of hair and stomping her feet wildly like a spoiled child would.
A lilting laugh resonated from the doorway, making her stop her mad thrashing and whirl around to face the source, tendrils of stray hair smacking her in the face.
Leaning lazily against the doorframe was the slender, willowy figure of her co-Head, olive hands shoved casually into his trouser pockets. His thick, black curls hung elegantly about his handsome face, falling slightly into his gleaming green eyes that stared at her with wicked amusement.
"Non ci credo!" drawled his accented voice. "The Head Girl, having trouble concentrating?"
"Zabini," she acknowledged him coldly, cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment at being caught pulling a tantrum.
His full, pale lips curled into a devilish smirk as he pushed off from the frame and sauntered over to her desk.
Hermione straightened instinctively, jutting her chin out defiantly in the air. He gracefully slid into the seat next to her and peered curiously into her parchment.
"Working diligently, I see," he remarked sarcastically, amused eyes flickering briefly to her face. Hermione felt her hand twitch with the need to sock that smirk off his obscenely alluring mouth. Or simply choke him with her doodled page, so that she'd have two birds killed with one stone; Zabini dead and blasphemous doodles gone. She settled for a menacing growl.
"It's none of your business, Zabini," she snapped, ripping the parchment in half and squeezing it viciously in her hand. He arched one fine, dark eyebrow.
"I agree, Granger. I have no wish to spy on you doodling Potter's name dotted with hearts all over your homework," he said coolly. Feeling exhausted and frustrated, she merely glared at him half heartedly.
"You're such a… git! Go away," she muttered, making his lips twitch into a smile, obviously thinking her insult less than satisfactory, but amusing all the same.
"Granger, I assure you, I will as soon as I tell you this," he said. "McGonagall told me to inform you of the Prefect meeting that will take place on Sunday. We are to discuss the upcoming Halloween festivities with the prefects." Hermione stared at him blankly, then groaned quite ill-manneredly.
"Didn't we do that already?" she asked, tiredly rubbing her eyes. Blaise chuckled humorlessly, lazily folding one of her loose papers into a crane.
"Yes, we did. But the moron prefects got into an argument and demanded to have another meeting. Waste of my time… I have so many other things to tend to…," he added in a muttered rush to himself, throwing down the half finished origami. Hermione rolled her eyes with a sigh.
"Povero," she said with a smirk, feeling a brief satisfaction at seeing his head snap up in surprise at her use of his language. He smiled slowly.
"Ciao, Granger." And with that, he glided off with a careless grace to his chambers, the silk hems of his robes trailing behind him like one of those super villain capes. She stared, fascinated, until they fully disappeared behind the corner.
Shaking her head, she ferociously grabbed a clean sheet of parchment and, sweeping the numerous crumpled paper balls (along with the crane) from the desk, hunched over it determinedly.
Blaise stretched slowly on his queen sized bed, smiling as he felt the coolness of the silk sheets caress the bare skin of his back.
It was so nice to have private chambers, he thought contentedly.
He hoisted his torso upwards and leaned back on his elbows to better glance at the illuminated clock on his nightstand. 'You sick freak. No on should be up this late. One in the morning! Merlin on a freaking broom…,' it read in bright green letters. He stifled a chuckle. The clock had been a birthday gift from Draco Malfoy, and the flimsy insults always made him smile.
His throat felt parched, and a familiar gnawing feeling began to bloom in the pit of his stomach. He needed It. The elixir of life.
Coffee.
Rolling off the bed, he landed on the floor on all fours, poised like a cat. Standing up, he shook out his curls and pulled on the closest shirt in his reach, and not bothering to button it up he slinked out of his room.
The Common Room was dimly lit, the few dying embers still glowing in the fireplace the only source of illumination. The tall, foreboding backs of sofas loomed at him from the dark, towering shadows.
His eyes combed through the room, searching for an uninvited soul with a resisted sense of fear and paranoia. 'Old habits die hard,' he thought bitterly.
With a dull satisfaction he deemed the room safe to cross. Just as his hand reached out for the doorknob, a soft sound stopped him in his tracks.
He slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder.
In the corner of the room, barricaded by walls of heavy books and stacks of parchment, was Hermione Granger's work place. Squinting, he just barely noticed the top of her curly head peeking out from behind the wall of knowledge she had hidden behind.
Sighing, and casting a remorseful glance at the door, he switched directions and headed towards her.
As he got closer, the sounds morphed into terrified whimpers and moans, and with a start he noticed that his heart began to beat a bit faster.
Finally, he peered over the wall and his gaze came to rest on her troubled form.
He never realized how small and thin Granger was. The proud, confident and sometimes intimidating way she held herself easily disguised the fact that her figure was anything but burly. Or maybe he didn't notice because of the mounds of books she was always lugging around.
In the bleak darkness of the dimly lit chamber, her skin seemed to glow with a violent milky paleness. It looked almost unhealthily pale, he mused, and guessed it was because she hardly ever went outdoors in favor of studying.
His gaze swerved to her face, soft and clear and deeply troubled. Her cheek bones were daintily defined, and her lips were full and uniquely shaped, stained with the remains of her cherry lip balm. She wasn't like any other girls, with their painted on faces and sleek, dyed hair. With the soft, natural curves of her face and genius of her mind, she possessed her very own appeal.
Looking at her now, Granger wasn't all that unpleasant to look at.
Another whimper snapped him back to reality. Her face was twisted into an expression of horror, and she was shuddering against the desk.
Not thinking what he was doing, he gently reached out a careful hand and shook her. She woke suddenly with a scream and thrashed out, sending the walls of books toppling over the edge of the desk. Jumping away just in time, Blaise managed to avoid being squashed by the heavy volumes.
Her chest heaved with labored, ragged breaths, and her usually soft brown eyes had darkened to an ebony hue as she stared maniacally ahead of her, as if seeing something that he could not.
After a few moments she calmed, and sagged against the desk whilst heaving out an exhausted sigh.
"Nightmare?" he asked, startling her and making her scream again. He winced. If she kept on screaming she would wake up the whole damned castle.
"Za… Zabini…" she wheezed, holding a hand against her chest. He walked up to her and perched himself on the edge of her desk.
A few beats passed in silence. Hermione had begun to halfheartedly pick up her scattered books and papers, and Blaise watched her closely as he helped her.
When she finished, she stood nervously in front of him, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, trying not to stare too obviously at his bare chest.
He took in the dark rings beneath her eyes, and the slouch of her shoulders. Her hair was in wild, disarrayed sable ringlets, and her clothes were wrinkled.
"Would you like some coffee?" he asked finally. She looked surprised, but grateful that he didn't inquire about her nightmare. She offered him a weak smile.
Not waiting for her to speak, Blaise turned on his heel and sauntered over to the main doors. He could hear Granger's hurried footsteps trying to catch up with him.
The castle's hallways were forebodingly quiet save for their gentle footsteps. The sound was intrusive and thunderous against the sleepy silence of the school.
Hermione hated the dark.
As the two of them hurried along the twisting corridors, her eyes kept darting to the sides, anxiously inspecting the shapeless shadows lurking around her.
She could just barely make out the slender silhouette of her co-Head walking ahead of her, and every time she lost sight of him, she would burst into a panicked run until he was in a close, reassuring range.
Finally, they entered the familiar hallway filled with paintings of food. She let out a noisy exhale of breath that she didn't remember holding.
Blaise shot her a mildly distracted look as he stretched out an arm and tickled the painted pair.
Hermione welcomed the fruit's delighted giggles and squeals, a cheerful variation from the menacing silence.
"After you," whispered the dark haired boy, holding the painting open for her. With a smile she crawled through the narrow opening.
The moment the portrait swung close behind Blaise, a flurry of bald, bobbing heads surrounded them, all squealing and talking and tugging at their robes.
"Master Blaise! Mistress Hermione!" came a particular, squeaky voice from the cacophony of mingling elfish chatter.
A small elf, donning various colorful woolen hats, sweaters and socks jumped out from the sea of his companions and embraced Hermione's knees.
The other House Elves, upon seeing that the elf would be assisting the two humans, dispersed, grumbling as they trudged back to their duties.
The elf looked up at the girl with huge, watery brown eyes and gave her an enormous, toothy grin. Hermione smiled back and crouched down to be level with her huge-hearted friend.
"Hello, Dobby. It's wonderful to see you again," she said kindly, and laughed when the elf threw his skinny arms around her neck.
"Mistress Hermione hasn't come visit Dobby for long time!" sniffled the tiny creature. After a few more tearful comments from Dobby, he let go of the Griffindor girl's neck and allowed the couple to sit down by a wooden table situated in a shadowed corner. A few moments later, two house elves hurried over carrying two cups of coffee.
Blaise looked amusedly at his companion over the steam rising from his slightly chipped mug.
"I never would have expected you to be best friends with the school's nuttiest elf," he commented, raising the hot beverage to his lips.
Hermione smiled reminiscently as she swirled her coffee around in her mug.
"Dobby was the only elf you supported my S.P.E.W. campaign," she said, ignoring his raised eyebrow. "I remember when he tried to save Harry during a Quidditch match by magicking a bludger to practically kill him. It wasn't fun at the time, but now I find it funny," she said with a chuckle.
Blaise shook his head in wonderment, thinking how many exciting adventures this small girl before him had experienced. Of course, most of them were obscenely dangerous, but exciting nonetheless, as adventures inevitably were.
"So… Did you finish your essay?" he asked casually. The question startled Hermione out of her thoughts, and for a moment she looked completely disoriented.
"Essay? ...Oh. Yeah, but it's total crap anyway. I slaved the whole night away writing it, but I'm not satisfied with the outcome."
Hermione studied the young man sitting across from her from the corner of her eye, pretending to be looking out for Dobby. His black curls were in elegant disarray, and kept falling over his left eye. He would sweep it away with a graceful hand, only to have it persistently fall back again.
Hermione felt her fingers twitch with the sudden need to touch that bothersome curl, and for once, it wasn't to rip it out.
Blaise Zabini was an enigma to her. She could not, for the life of her, figure him out.
Technically, she knew nothing about him. His family, his interests, most of his personal opinions and thoughts were all a mystery to her. What they shared was a friendly professional partnership as Heads, only speaking to discuss something of importance regarding the school. They had had a few fascinating and intriguing intellectual conversations in the past, and his thoughts excited her. Sadly, these kind of conversations were few and far between.
All she really knew of him, was that he was Italian (whether he was only Italian, she did not know), he was friends with Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode, had an unhealthy obsession with coffee (she watched in horror as he downed his third cup of triple espresso), he loved art (he attended Symbols in Magical Arts class with her) …and that he was sinfully beautiful.
There was absolutely no use denying his attractiveness. If someone wanted to personify male beauty allure, Blaise Zabini was their man.
"…Granger. Granger!" a distant voice, sounding annoyed, called to her. She jumped, knocking over her half full mug and spilling the murky liquid onto the table cloth.
"Oh!" she cried, grabbing a handful of napkins to try and soak up the spilled coffee. Blaise watched her amusedly, holding back a wolfish grin at the thought of him distracting her.
Her large, round brown eyes were wide, and a blush had tinted her cheeks an attractive pink.
He could see the points of her teeth gently biting her bottom lip, and unexpectedly he felt a surge of attraction for her.
He began to swirl the remainder of his coffee in his mug, attempting to block out the tidal waves of feelings that were threatening to drown him.
She was pretty…
It was a mere observation.
She was cute…
It was a fact.
She was freakishly smart…
It couldn't be denied.
He wanted to be closer to her…
That he couldn't explain.
"…Zabini. Zabini!" a distant, amused voice echoed, and he felt a sense of déjà vu wash over him. Coolly, his eyes swiveled to her face, and with an indifferent arch of his eyebrow, he silently said: 'Yeah, you caught me staring, got a problem with it?'
She looked like she was fighting back a laugh. He looked at her confusedly.
"What?" he asked, lost to the reason of her obvious amusement.
She burst out laughing, throwing back her head as she weakly pointed to his lap. Glancing down, he realized with a groan that he, too, had spilled his coffee.
Right onto his lap.
With a growl, he grabbed a fistful of napkins and, ignoring her barely suppressed chortles, began furiously wiping his pants.
Hermione, still smiling, began to wipe the spilled caffeine from the table's surface with a cloth. Blaise glanced up momentarily at her from his scrubbing, intending to send her a glare…. but as his gaze embraced her face, he felt his hands stop moving. As a matter of fact, so did his lungs.
Her cheeks were pink, an attractive contrast against the paleness of her skin, and her eyes were glittering and crinkled because of her smile.
Her smile.
It was enchanting. Her lips were full and interestingly shaped; the top lip slightly overlapped the bottom, but prettily so. He traced the delicate curves of her mouth with his eyes.
"Hey, Granger…" he whispered, distantly noting the fact that his voice was deep and throaty. Her big, light brown eyes looked into his, and he felt himself begin to smile; her eyes were so innocent, so huge and round and sparkly.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice a mere breath. The words that he had intended to say dried in his throat as he began counting the freckles on her nose, which was small and slightly upturned in a know-it-all sort of way. Although, how a nose could be a know-it-all was lost to him.
He noticed a tiny, strangely shaped scar above her left eyebrow, and he wondered how she got it. Maybe on one of her adventures? It was oddly enticing. The tiny scar added to her mystery.
The wild, untamable ringlets framed her face, and he wondered if all that hair was heavy? After all, those curls surely couldn't be weightless. They were the kind of curls that tightly spiraled, that bounced when you pulled them. Not like his hair, he thought, fingering one of his loose curls.
Suddenly, he remembered where he was and what he was going to say, and with a sigh he floated back down to earth.
"Granger, would you go to Hogsmeade with me this Saturday?" he asked.
Hermione had been wriggling uncomfortably in her chair, self-conscious as he shamelessly scrutinized her. She wondered, panicked, if she had a zit on her nose or something. He really seemed to like it.
After several long moments, she began to think that he wasn't really looking at her after all and was simply lost in thought, and she was just inconveniently sitting in front of him.
Just as she was beginning to relax, he asked the one question she had never dreamed to hear escape his lips. Or, actually, she had dreamed to hear. She just never believed that it would become reality.
She parted her lips to answer, but as soon as she did her mind blanked out.Hermione stared at him, mouth frozen into a small 'o', her stomach lurching nervously and her throat drying up.
His eyes were amazing. A deep green swirled and specked with gold and brown. They were serious, slightly vulnerable, though Hermione couldn't really tell.
"I…I…" she babbled. His lips twitched, as if he were holding back a smile. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When I open them, he won't be there!
She opened them.
"Zabini…" she began uncertainly "I… We… Um… Your friends hate me!" she blurted. Zabini's amusement increased as he watched the fidgeting girl before him.
She was so… cute! Blaise suppressed a shudder at the adjective, still smiling like a lunatic. Zabini's didn't use the word 'cute'. It was… blasphemous! But as he looked at the flushed Head girl, a wave of words infiltrated his mind. Cute, charming, enticing, enchanting, lovely and…. angelic. Now he didn't even bother suppressing a shudder.
Shaking his head, he realized she had said something. His smile dropped, and so did his heart.
"My friends? They don't give a flying hippogriff's arse whom I go out with. I assure you, they would not hate you. But if you feel uncomfortable and unwilling to accept my offer, then I respect your decision. After all, I am a Slytherin," he said, and sitting still for a few moments, he waited silently for her reply.
When one didn't come, he glanced down at the table top with an unreadable expression, and slowly stood up.
Hermione felt an urgency to say something, to call out, to grasp his hand, but instead all she did was sit still and silent.
He paused again, uncertain, and when the silence still reigned, he turned on his heel and began to march off. Suddenly, her mind snapped back into focus and she flung herself at him.
"Zabini, wait!" she cried, grabbing his sleeve as he swept past her. He stopped, but didn't turn around to look at her.
She took a deep breath and stood up, before quietly walking to stand in front of him. She had to raise her head a considerable amount to look up at his face. His eyes were dark and stormy, and Hermione realized with a start that he was bitter about the concept of her rejecting him. A distant amazement and satisfaction unfurled in her belly at the thought.
"I really have no idea what you see in me," she began. "I'd probably bore you to tears. I mean, I admit that I'm a bookworm, and… And I'm not exactly… experienced. You know? I wouldn't be a very good girlfriend… I haven't even kissed anyone before! And I bet you're real experienced and I would most definitely disappoint you and you'd laugh at my pathetic-ness. I mean, I'd babble on and on until you fell off your chair unconscious, and you really wouldn't want that. I mean, there isn't anything interesting about me, and you'll hang around for a while then get bored and leave me (and I wouldn't blame you) and find some beautiful, charming girl to replace me and I'd get depressed and get fat and enter a nunnery where I would spend the rest of my miserable days moping about in a tower," as she ranted on and on, her voice steadily rose in volume until she reached a practically hysterical pitch.
Blaise was just watching her face, only half listening, his lips curling into a wide grin. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and bended his knees slightly so that he was eye level with her.
"Granger…" he said. "Shut up." Hermione, who was breathing slightly heavily by now, looked half relieved, half confused at his grin.
"Is that a sì?" he asked quietly. She stared at him for a moment before a slow, hesitant smile lighted up her face.
"Sì," she replied. His smile was so bright, Hermione felt like shielding her eyes. Wordlessly, he reached for her hand and laced their fingers together.
He didn't say anything; he didn't have to. She could feel the relief and joy radiating off of him in waves, and the thought that she, plain old Hermione Granger, could make someone as amazing as Blaise Zabini that happy, made her stomach do a pleasant flip-flop. She didn't even know why she made him so happy.
After a while of just standing and looking at each other, Hermione nervously cleared her throat.
"Um… We should be getting back…" she began. Blaise nodded, and gently pulled her along as he made his way towards the door.
Just as they were about to leave, Hermione whirled around and with an apologetic smile directed at Blaise, jogged back into the kitchen and hugged Dobby goodbye, with a promise to visit him again soon.
As Hermione entered the darkness with her… she suppressed a sigh of amazement at the thought… boyfriend, she felt the familiar uneasiness sweep over her. It wasn't anywhere near as strong as before, now that she felt the Slytherin's cool hand holding hers, but it was there nonetheless.
Blaise must have felt her tense, because he turned around to face her with concern shining in his golden green eyes.
"Everything alright, Granger?" he asked. Hermione felt a small smile don her lips at how he still refused to call her by her given name. For some reason, it didn't bother her.
Suddenly, she thought she saw a shadow shift, and all of her brief amusement evaporated as she jumped.
"It's stupid, really… I… I have a phobic fear of the dark," she whispered, lowering her eyes to their clasped hands.
She felt slender fingers cup her face as he redirected her gaze onto his face. Bathed in shadow, his features looked like that of a Greek statue.
Suddenly, Hermione squealed as he unexpectedly swept her off her feet and cradled her small form against his chest.
"Don't be afraid of the dark… I'm here," he whispered into her ear. She giggled as he began to carry her, and she relaxed in his arms and rested her head against his chest, gently fingering the green and silver Slytherin tie slung around his neck.
His heart was beating in a rhythmic staccato, and the sound calmed her. Burring her face into his shirt, and deeply inhaled his scent. He smelled spicy... like some exotic seasoning. She inhaled again, breathing deeply against his shirt.
"Are you sniffing me?" rumbled an amused, dulcet alto into her ear, causing her to jump slightly. She looked up sheepishly, and grinned at him.
"Um… yeah?" Blaise threw back his head and let out a deep, melodic laugh that echoed against the empty halls.
Hermione was so enraptured by the sound she didn't even remember to scold him for being loud after curfew.
"Well then, maybe I'll sniff you, too!" he teased, and began to smell her all over like a dog. Hermione suppressed a squeal of laughter, and fought weakly against his hold.
The scent of books and vanilla infiltrated his nostrils, stirring within him a surge of attraction towards the small witch in his arms.
He realized just how ridiculously light she was. It was almost like holding a child, her form small and fragile in his strong hold. He suddenly felt an over whelming sense of protectiveness for her, and he shifted her gently in his arms, handling her delicately as if she might break if he applied too much pressure.
As Zabini noticeably gentled his grip, and cradled her against his chest, the revelation that this was Blaise Zabini holding her, wanting her, flirting with her, struck her hard.
Not a few hours ago they were bickering as usual. They never had actually fought, even though others interpreted their hurling insults as each other as 'fights'. For them, it was just friendly banter.
Hermione had always respected her co-Head for his brilliant ideas and shrewd, philosophical outlook on life. Hermione had been hopelessly attracted to him for months now, ever since she finally noticed the quiet, mysterious Slytherin boy in her Symbols in Magical Arts and Ancient Runes Class.
The silence in which they lapsed into was comfortable, and as moments went by Hermione couldn't help the wide yawn escaping her mouth.
She smiled sleepily as Blaise's chest rumbled with a deep chuckle.
Staring down at the small girl in his arms, her face bathed in shadow and her eyes closed, he felt a small, secret smile curl his lips.
Hermione Granger… My girlfriend… He thought, the sentence sounding surreal and beautiful.
Finally, they reached the tall, heavy doors guarding the Head Tower. Whispering the password, he watched as the web of many complicated, puzzle-like locks silently began to rearrange and unlock, the door seeming alive and writhing as the intricate wooden locks scampered around over it's surface.
A moment passed, and the locks stilled. Blaised pushed the doors open and walked inside, knowing the locks were once again rearranging themselves back into the impossible puzzle.
The common room was completely devoid of lighting, and Blaise blindly walked the familiar path to his room. There was no use going to Granger's room, as she had a password on her door, and judging by her deep, even breaths, she had slipped in unconsciousness.
Gently laying her boneless form onto his four poster bed, he carefully slipped off her shoes and cloak before pulling the cool covers over her body.
Smiling in the darkness, he realized that he went out for a cup of coffee, but came back with a girlfriend.
Still smiling goofily, he noiselessly backed out of the room and shut the door, before walking back into the common room and crashing onto the nearest couch.
As he drifted into unconsciousness, the last coherent thought flittering through his mind was Hermione Granger's bright smile…
A/n:
Um… yeah, hi, I'm back. wavessheepishly No, I'm not dead. No, I did not give up completely on my other stories, I will (at some point in the future) bring myself to update them, but at the moment, I'm suffering a severe case of writer's block regarding said stories. This, however, is my new favorite ship! It's so… fun and sweet! I love love love love love love love it! Although, since the end of the school year is approaching, I'm not promising any vast amounts of updates. Sorry. But come vacation, I'll be on a ROLL, baby! Whoo!
Clicky clicky the pretty review button, please! It's caaaaalling you, man! Don't rebel against your inner desires!
REVIEW BUTTON: Cliiiiiiick me. Cliiiiiiiiick me.
Q-F: Um. Somebody, hit me over the head with a fishbone, please.
Oh, and just for kicks, for anyone who doesn't know:
quix·ot·ic (kwk-stk) also quix·ot·i·cal (--kl)
adj.
1. Caught up in the romance of noble deeds and the pursuit of unreachable goals; idealistic without regard to practicality.
2. Capricious; impulsive: "At worst his scruples must have been quixotic, not malicious" (Louis Auchincloss)