Round #3
Characters: Tracey Davies and Blaise Zabini
Genre: Romance
Words: 2,076
Napoleon
At first Blaise paid little attention to the girl with the green hair ribbon. Little Tracey Davies with her crooked smirk and sardonic laugh – that annoyed the hell out of Blaise, actually. She was a half-blood, the only half-blood Slytherin in the year, and strangely enough, that did not repel people. Sure, to begin with she was treated a little differently, but they were all Slytherins there and what was house loyalty if they castaway members?
So Tracey smirked and laughed and tied her hair in green ribbons that were always slightly frayed at the edges. And at some point her friends became Blaise's and Blaise's mates became hers. It was like they were some huge group of close, best and not-really-at-all friends. Guess which Tracey and Blaise were.
Anyway, Blaise stuck with Theo and Draco and Tracey stuck with Pansy and Daphne. And then Pansy wrapped her tongue around Draco's and Nott took to the library and Daphne's little sister got into trouble. And then there was just Blaise and Tracey and an awkward silence.
"So," said Blaise.
"Right," Tracey said, flipping a page of her book. Her eyes flitted from the parchment to Blaise's face, amusement sparkling in her eyes.
"What're you reading?" asked Blaise, leaning over towards Tracey. He noticed that her nails were painted with tiny silver snakes. He also noticed that the pages of her book were covered in a layer of plastic casing.
"A study of Victorian décor," said Tracey, grinning as her eyes scan the illustration. It was a swirled kind of pattern with golden flowers.
"Sounds – uh… interesting," tried Blaise.
"Yes, it is."
Picking at a loose thread, Blaise stared at the couch. As a ladder pulled through the fabric, Blaise ran a hand through his hair. A second year with pigtails and a heart-shaped face rushed into her dormitory, giggling. Blaise scowled after her. Even the stupid snot-nosed brats were having more fun than him.
"Do you want to see?" smirking, Tracey uncurled and brought the book towards Blaise. The wallpaper was green and silver – Blaise approved. Stroking the plastic casing, Tracey said: "this is my favourite."
"Why is it wrapped in -?"
"Because it's deadly," said Tracey, eyes glittering. They were stormy and it was hard to distinguish exactly what colour they were because the light is misty and Blaise didn't care to study them. "It's Scheele's Green."
Blaise blinked, "uh-huh?"
"You don't know what in hells name that is, do you?"
"Not a clue," Blaise grinned, reaching to touch the page, brushing Tracey's hand 'accidently'. What? – It'd been a while since he had some fun. Tracey snatched back her arm, shooting Blaise a warning glance – a slightly playful one though, so Blaise winked.
"The green is so vivid," Tracy caressed the pattern and brushed her hair back from her face. "Scheele made it so intense using an infusion of arsenic." Blaise gave a startled cry and leapt back, wiping his hands frantically against the velvet divan.
"What the -?"
Tracey laughed, throwing her head back. The book dropped from her lap to the floor with a clatter as she hugged her stomach. Blaise knocked over a lamp to get away from her, the scary cackling girl with the arsenic pigmented book.
"That's why it's wrapped in plastic, Blaise," she said, covering her mouth and giggling again. "Because it's deadly - but beautiful – like me." She stood, picked up the fallen volume and headed towards the girl's dormitory; "see you, Napoleon."
And Blaise thought that maybe it was vain that Tracey called herself beautiful and that maybe it was frightening that she called herself deadly. I guess she is though; Blaise tugged at his collar, loosening the tie that was beginning to strangle him. One thing that no one could deny was that Tracey Davies had become very beautiful. With her almond eyes and pixie cut curtain of hair, Blaise knew that she had a list of broken-hearts almost as long as his.
And whilst Blaise thought of this he wondered who Napoleon was and how her laugh – her sardonic laugh – had become so pretty.
"Napoleon. Napoleon Bonaparte?" said Theo incredulously, pouring over the Transfiguration text book. He looked up as Draco hurried across the room, pulling Pansy behind him and then again as Daphne stormed after Greengrass the younger, shouting obscenities and various threats.
"Yeah," Blaise followed the figures from the common room along with about thirty other onlookers; "I guess that's him, know the dude?"
"Know the dude? He was one of the most famous muggle-"
"Not interested," interrupted Blaise quickly.
"You're so muggle prejudice,"
"It's all part of my charm," grinning, Blaise flashed said charm. Theo shot it down with a raised eye-brow because let's face it, Slytherin men are the masters of disdainful expressions.
"Why would she call you Napoleon?" Theo's eye-brows furrowed as he flipped a couple of pages through his book, fingers flicking over the words.
"Well I don't know," said Blaise, throwing his hands up into the air and kicking a Charms essay – half finished – across the floor. "That's why I came to you."
"Glad to see I'm so appreciated," Theo grumbled.
"Well, if you're just going to ask me stuff-"
"I was thinking out loud!"
"Do it quieter then."
Theo glared at Blaise, folding his arms.
"What were you talking about before she called you Napoleon?"
"Innuendo," deadpanned Blaise; Theo grinned and his eyes crinkled up at the edges. Blaise laughed and, smirking, Theo smacked him on the shoulder with his book. "Ouch! Are you PMS-ing? OUCH!" Blaise rubbed his nose, "I think you broke it."
"Drama queen,"
"That book is hard-backed!"
"And I was literally just complaining about being underappreciated," said Theo and there was a pause. "Let's backtrack," Blaise nodded.
"Before I mentioned innuendo, right?"
"Right," Theo snickered. "Napoleon."
"Napoleon," agreed Blaise, smirking. He thought back to the nonversation that he and Tracey had shared, heart sinking he said; "ummm… wallpaper?"
Theo snorted, his eyes wide in a mien of hysterical amusement, cross interest, cross horror; "you talked about… wallpaper?" Blaise held his head in his hands and rocked back:
"Why? Why?"
"What did I do last night?" said Theo in a booming presenter-esque voice. "I finished all my homework," he held up his hands dramatically as if waiting for applause. "What did Draco do last night? I don't actually know, but it probably involved Pansy and making-out. What did Blaise do last night?" there Theo chuckled. "He talked about wallpaper with a hot girl, way to go mate."
"Why have I got the womanizer reputation?" asked Blaise.
"Because you are a womanizer," Theo said.
"Yeah," Blaise nodded in a manly way. "I'm a stud."
"Wallpaper," sang Theo and Blaise clenched his fist – not very threatening as he couldn't throw a punch, but it was the thought that counted.
"Anyway, she was reading a book and she showed me a picture of some wallpaper, infused with arsenic and then compared herself to it…"
"She compared herself to wallpaper?" said Theo in disbelief.
"Uh-huh, it was shield green, or something like that," Blaise said, trying to remember the name Tracey had used.
"Scheele's green?" asked Theo, Blaise snapped his fingers.
"Scheele's green!" he said, "I got it!"
"And now the inbreeding is clear,"
"I don't know who my dad is!"
"We know you're a pure-blood Slytherin, we don't need the family tree," said Theo, Blaise resolved to whack him with something hard later.
"Ha!" said Theo suddenly, he grinned, eyes glittering. "Oh, Blaisy-Blaisy."
"What?" the green flames in the fire-place crackled, spitting tiny sparks onto the crocodile skin thrown across the floor.
"I think Tracey is going to kill you."
Tracey sat down next to Blaise at lunch, she wore the administered ankle-length robes, but Blaise knew for a fact that underneath she was wearing a skirt that brushed her knee and a low-cut blouse. She leant to grab the butter from Greengrass the younger, who was talking to Draco – it looked like they were having an argument; as she did so, Blaise saw the pendant he had brought her, around her neck.
Tracey kissed him, her lips were soft and gentle and Blaise twisted a strand of her hair that had fallen free from her twisted bun between his palms as she ran her own fingers through his hair.
Daphne tapped him on the shoulder and Blaise broke away from Tracey.
"What have we said about kissing at the table?" she said briskly. "Astoria, stop arguing."
"No, no," Draco said, smirking at Daphne. "She makes some good points."
Tracey laughed softly.
"What?" asked Blaise, Tracey shook her head.
"Nothing," a loud chorus of noise erupted from the Gryffindor table. Blaise and Theo directed glares towards the mass of red and gold. "I just didn't thank you for the necklace; malachite – it's beautiful," she smirked and drew Blaise towards her using his tie.
"Happy birthday," said Blaise quietly as Tracey smiled against his lips. She brought her hand to his face, letting it rest, brushing his cheek.
"Ugh," Daphne shook her head and forked a lettuce leaf.
Blaise flung his arm around Tracey's shoulders, the slim frame leaning into him slightly. Breathing in deeply, Blaise smelt the apple shampoo and coco-powder moisturizer that was Tracey's scent. Even as Tracey began to talk to Vaisey, Blaise just carried on twisting the curl around his index finger, before pulling it up into the chopstick chignon and fixing the braid.
Tracey twisted their hands together, and Blaise ate one-handed, using a Spork it cut his potatoes.
"It's nearly Christmas," said Pansy from across the table. She grinned, her pointed features striking.
"We're going to have a party, right?" Daphne said, pushing her plate away to place her palms flat on the table. "We've got to have a party – and better than last year's one too."
"Last year's party was pretty awesome," said Pansy, nodding thoughtfully.
"I was thinking we could have a theme, like: Slytherites,"
"What?" Tracey asked.
"It's an old term for Slytherins," said Draco cautiously. "It was a rather derogatory idiom, used by other houses, are you sure we should be bringing it back?"
"You're proud of your heritage, aren't you Draco?" said Daphne stiffly, standing and pulling Astoria from her seat. Draco slid down the bench, the shadows under his eyes salient in the light.
"This is a bad idea," he said darkly before pushing past a group of Slytherin fourth-years with Crabbe and Goyle close behind him.
"D'you think he's alright?" asked Blaise under his breath to Theo.
"No," Theo tapped his left fore-arm three times. "Draco's definitely not alright, just as we won't be soon." He didn't have to be any clearer.
Blaise hugged Tracey closer to his side, she fitted perfectly against him. Blaise couldn't imagine her not being there. Tracey tugged away, kissed him and it was like Napoleon all over again. She was drawing him in, closer and closer. And Blaise was falling hook, line and sinker.
"See you later, babe," she said, smirking and laughing her sardonic laugh.
Blaise grinned, as she left the room, and then turned to Theo.
"I can't lie to her anymore," the smile had vanished, replaced by a panicked expression. "I hate not telling her the truth."
"Blaise, if you tell her…" Theo trailed off. "Look. Asking her out was stupid, becoming emotionally attached; even stupider. Telling her now would only result in her recruitment."
"I know," groaned Blaise into his hands. "I just don't know how to carry on lying – I mean, she and Daphne are the only ones who don't know."
"And that's how it's going to stay," said Theo sternly. He rose; "I have Transfiguration now."
"See you in potions," agreed Blaise. He was a million miles away, staring into a pair of stormy, almond eyes and running his hands through soft hair. Tracey was Scheele's green, she was killing him over time. And Blaise had to run away, but couldn't.
But, as Blaise walked towards the charms corridor, heavy hearted, he knew that he was Napoleon and Tracey was his sentence. He felt the ghost of her lips against his, Blaise would save himself – from everything and everyone – but Tracey Davies, she was an arsenic infusion. Vivid and interesting and beautiful and deadly; yet, Blaise thought that maybe Tracey was not such a bad way to go.
After all, it wasn't as if he had much else to live for.
.
Fin