Cable Troubles
"Having a problem?" A smooth tenor voice drifted across the room.
Hermione started and looked up from the hopeless tangle of pink yarn in her hands. Her companion was evidently taking a break from his Potions research and making the most of the opportunity to bother her. She glared at the disturbance. So much for a quiet bit of knitting. "There's no problem, Zabini." she snapped.
Blaise Zabini just raised an eloquent black eyebrow and smirked. "You know, Granger, you really should refrain from grinding your teeth. It encourages tooth decay. I thought your parents would have taught you better. They are both dentists, are they not?"
It was just too easy to get under her skin. He caught the black look Hermione sent him. It was practically an invitation.
The next thing Hermione knew, Blaise had elegantly draped himself across the burgundy couch, not two feet from her. Blast, but the bloody Slytherin could make himself distracting. Honestly, how was a girl supposed to think with 6 feet, 3 inches of gorgeous, infuriating Italian wizard in front of her? Hermione concentrated on thoroughly ignoring him.
Unfortunately for her, though, Blaise Zabini soon chose to remind her of his presence.
"I've always been a bit curious. Why do you knit? I hadn't expected Gryffindor's most strident advocate of feminism to stoop to such a domestic activity." With that, he leaned back and waited for the explosion. Keen blue eyes noted as the petite girl next to him seemed to swell with anger. Even her hair looked larger and more alarming than usual.
"It's relaxing," she managed to get out through her clenched jaws.
The irony.
Blaise could read her so well. He didn't even feel the need to provoke her further – he knew Hermione was already off and rolling. As she launched into all sorts of well-rehearsed rhetoric about the many virtues of knitting and feminism, he smiled and considered what he knew of the girl in front of him.
Blaise had kept an eye on her for years, of course. He watched everybody. After much painstaking observation, he knew most of his peers like the back of his hand. And so, when Blaise Zabini did choose to emerge from the shadows, he possessed just the sort of knowledge that allowed him to convince people of just about anything he wanted to. Bucketfuls of charisma and his Italian good looks didn't hurt either, of course.
Hermione, though. She was the only witch that never fell for his charm. Inquisitive, clever, bossy, and logical to a fault, the little witch's character was commendable, even if severely lacking in some qualities – like patience.
"… and furthermore, Zabini, feminism has been villanized in order to continue women's oppression, particularly in the wizarding world, which seems to have somehow regressed, showing all the enlightenment of the Middle Ages…" Blaise's attention was dragged back to Hermione as her voice jumped in volume. Quickly, he seized the opportunity when she paused to breathe.
"Really," he drawled lazily. "And I thought you were supposed to be the reasonable Gryffindor."
Hermione blinked in surprise at being cut off, mid-rant. Not many people dared to do that to her. "What's that supposed to mean, Zabini?" she gritted out after a moment.
"You're just upset because you've been trying for an hour now and still can't work that cable properly." With that, Blaise scooted closer to her and stole the jumbled yarn right out of her hands.
Hermione was about to stab him with her one remaining knitting needle when he took that one, too. Then she had nothing to do except watch his deft fingers sort out the mess she had made. Say what you like about Blaise Zabini, but the man did have beautiful hands. Long, shapely fingers quickly untangled several knots, picked up the dropped stitches, and gracefully demonstrated the stitch she had been struggling with for far too long. Gradually Hermione forgot her outrage as astonishment took its place.
"There," Blaise pronounced as he slipped the needles back into her hands and thoughtfully put the ball of yarn into a basket on the coffee table, where it couldn't roll away.
"You knit?" she managed to choke out.
He shot her a mouth-wateringly rakish grin before he answered. "Mama Zabini taught me. She wanted all her sons to have an appreciation for the more domestic arts. She also seemed to think that I might not ever find anyone crazy enough to marry me." Hermione noticed that now the knitting lesson was over, Blaise was making no move to either leave or move back to the other side of the couch. Instead, he remained where he was, one arm outstretched and resting just behind her shoulders.
Hermione just groaned and cast a sideways glance at the man next to her. "I can't see why your mama would ever think you might not find a wife."
He made an adorable hurt face - puppyeyes and all – then grinned. "I don't know either, but never let it be said that Zabini men aren't secure in their masculinity, darling," he added with a wink.
The corner of Hermione's mouth quirked up at that and she wriggled closer to him. "Oh? Maybe you should be the one to make these booties, then."
At that comment Blaise - cool, collected Slytherin that he was - shot up out of his seat and whirled to face Hermione. Kneeling on the floor in front of her, he settled himself between her knees and pulled her closer to the edge of the seat.
"Hermione." He stopped to clear his throat. "Run that by me again, would you? Booties?"
Hermione shot him a wicked grin. His hands were now nervously running up and down the length of her arms. "Yes, have you heard of them? They like socks, only-"
"Silly girl," he interrupted, then asked again, giving her a searching look. "Why? Why booties?"
She never could resist those indigo eyes, so she sat up and wound her arms around his neck. "I figured they might come in handy about 8 or so months from now," she finally admitted with a bit of a smirk.
Blaise was completely floored. His eyes glazed over. And he sat, just staring at Hermione's flat stomach.
After several minutes of this, Hermione brought him back from his trance with a sharp prod. His eyes widened even more. "How did this happen?"
Now it was Hermione's turn to arch an eyebrow. She purred, "Do I really need to teach you, Mr. Zabini?" as she began to nibble on his neck. "I thought, surely, you knew…"
He pulled back abruptly from her teasing caresses, though, to plant a soft, sincere kiss on her kips. "Grazie, cara mia. You couldn't have given me happier news." His blue eyes bore joyfully into hers and she was more thankful than ever that she had found him. She was even more thankful as he caught her mouth in a passionate kiss.
After a few minutes, Blaise pulled back. "And now, Mrs. Zabini," he queried with an eager gleam in his eyes. "I do believe you mentioned 'teaching me' earlier? Are you still willing me provide me with the proper instruction I so desperately require?"
Blaise swept his wife into his arms and off to the bedroom, even as she gave her answer: "I'm very secure in my femininity. I can handle giving lessons."
Neither noticed nor cared the yarn that had provoked so much anxiety was now lying, deserted, under the couch.