Time Flies

by Gotbooks93

A series of outtakes for my other fic, "Time's Up." I strongly suggest you read that one first! AU, rated M for language, violence, and lemony goodness in future chapters. Read and Review!

3. Correspondence

Hello, everyone!

This outtake is for my Harry Potter fic, "Time's Up", which can be found on my profile. This gives a little insight into Hermione and Blaise's early relationship, and takes during the summer between sixth and seventh year. I would not suggest this is read before the first several chapters of "Time's Up" but it's your life. Please note that his particular outtake has some writing of the citrus variety, and is thus rated M. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own many things, including an unfinished anthropology paper that I should be working on instead of posting this. However, I do not own anyone or anything when it comes to the world of Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. The end.

'Time's Up"- Outtake Number Three
To: Blaise Zabini
Gaeland Manor, England.
15 June, 11:03 a.m.
Dear Blaise,
Hello! In an effort to fulfill your request that I write "whenever I get the time" I've decided to make the first effort, in hopes that you will respond.
How are things on your side of the country? I imagine your mother was quite pleased to see you again, even if Husband Number Seven (or is it eight?) isn't. If I were you, I would make a point to walk in at inopportune moments whenever possible. Perhaps that will teach him not to make snide comments about your returning presence to the house… looking back on that sentence, I am a little shocked at how positively Slytherin I sound. It looks like you're rubbing off on me. Aren't you proud?
As much as you wish you were at your own Zabini manor, I must insist you take advantage of your stepfather's home and enjoy all the amenities it has to offer. If I remember correctly, you mentioned it had a rather large library. If H.N.7 is as much as an idiot as you profess him to be, it's unlikely the room gets many visitors.
I heard from Harry that Draco Malfoy has received a new racing broom for Quidditch next year. This, naturally, has sent Harry into an absolute frenzy, while Ron insists his Firebolt is still the best broom out there. All Harry talks about is Quidditch during the upcoming school year, and how much he wants to win. Secretly, I am a little worried about Harry being Gryffindor's team captain again this year. By the sound of it, he plans to drill the team so hard, he'll surpass Oliver Wood's legacy. Although, if Malfoy is appointed Slytherin's captain, there is no doubt of Gryffindor having 5-day-a-week practices, a la Wood.
How you can remain friends with Malfoy, I will never understand. He's rude, arrogant, and cruel and- well, I suppose you don't want to hear any of this, do you? Let's move on to more pleasant things, shall we?
Mum and Dad have their annual dentistry conference next week, and continue to try to get me to go. However, I find myself more inclined to stay home, due to the experience gained in previous years. The conference is held in Cornwall, and they encourage me to visit the beach while they're in lecture sessions. While the beaches are sublime and the water pleasant, the company is not.
When there are no screaming children running around, there are small groups of perverted teenage boys, who use scuba gear to look at the assets of the girls underwater. Last year, with the help of some similarly angered teenage girls, we struck against several of these groups. One of us served as a distraction, while the other girls hit the boys with various heavy objects from behind. While this strategy proved to be ultimately satisfying and promoted several close pen- friend relationships, I think I would rather be 'safe than sorry' and stay home.
In other news, I have received my scores on my exams. All O's, much to Mum and Dad's delight. They've offered to buy me an owl as a reward, but I declined. Between our scroll zappers, Hedwig, and Pig, I find myself rather disinclined to acquire a winged messenger.
Speaking of mail, I've had a letter from Remus Lupin this week. Apparently Professor Dumbledore is recovering nicely from Snape's attack on the astronomy tower. How the headmaster survived, I will never know. However, Remus says "the headmaster will be re-instated in his position during the upcoming school year." This came as quite a relief for me, for I feared another Ministry appointed idiot would take over as Headmaster. The last thing we need is another Umbridge.
I imagine you've been following the progressively aggressive attacks by Death Eaters. Although The Daily Prophet continues to present bias views of the attacks, I've been grateful for my subscription. Watching the muggle news and reading wizarding news has become a topic of interest for both myself and my parents.
But, Blaise, I can't see the delay in this war stretching out for much longer, and I confess myself to be afraid. Not very Gryffindor of me, but by looking at the accounts of wars past, I have little hope that everyone will make it unscathed.
And look, I have once again dropped into dreary topics. Perhaps you should revoke your invitation to write this summer, as I don't seem to be a very pleasant correspondent.
In truth, I miss you terribly. It's only been a week since school let out, but I continually find myself thinking, "wait until I tell Blaise!" only to remember we won't be meeting at the end of the day. I miss your voice, your opinions, and your company. I miss your touch, the way you hold me when you kiss me. I miss your hands moving down my body, intent on making me see stars. I miss your-
Oh, will you listen to me? I imagine this is what Lavender Brown sounds like when she writes to "Won Won". I'm telling you, Blaise, much more of this…deprivation, and I might have to take things into my own hands *wink*
Leaving that imagine in your mind, I must go. Write back soon.
With love,
Hermione

TO: Hermione Granger
8732 Virginia Road, Oxford, England
16 June, 3:55 p.m.
My darling Hermione,
I swear, you just like to vex me. The conclusion to your last letter left me in quite a state. However, if I continue to write on this topic, I will find myself in a highly uncomfortable situation, as I am currently writing in my mother's drawing room, while she has tea with her friends.
In response to your letter, I must disappoint you. I am indeed wishing I was of age, and could reside at Zabini manor, for life here is usually both dreadfully dull and astonishingly monotonous. Husband Number Seven continues to make disparaging remarks, but I plan to take your advice and make his life as miserable as possible.
Indeed, the library here is both impressive and deserted, and is the only room in the manor that I don't particularly mind. The manor's house elves seem to detest my presence in any other room, so I find myself taking refuge among the books more often than not. In response to Gaeland manor's house elves' neglect, the elves from Zabini manor have come to my rescue. They outnumber Gaeland's elves, and insist they have the right to be here, due to my own presence. This proves to be a source of great amusement to myself, as I often see signs of their warfare.
The other night, a plate of dinner (grilled tuna over a bed of spinach salad, and a side of grilled goat cheese) appeared in front of me. Just as I picked up my knife and fork, the plate disappeared, to be replaced by a grilled cheese sandwich. Puzzled, I set down my utensils, and reached for the sandwich. Just before I could touch it, it was replaced by the original plate of tuna and goat's cheese. This switch happened several times more before two house elves apparated into the room. I recognized one of them as my own, named Lonnie, but was unfamiliar with the second elf. Upon closer inspection, I saw the Gaeland family crest on her pillowcase. The two elves were screaming at each other, and continued to do so until I stood. It turned out that the Gaeland elves were dead- set on serving me a sandwich, while my own elves thought me worthy of a more extravagant meal.
The matter was eventually solved, and I ate the tuna and goat cheese, much to Lonnie's satisfaction. As far as I am aware, the elve's feud continues, although they seem to have declared my food off- limits.
As for Draco and his new broom, yes it is true. He sent me an owl the same day he got it, and has declared it to be "the fastest broom on the market- or, at least fast enough to beat Potter's firebolt". As you know, I find myself disinterested with Quidditch and its politics, although I admit the occasional game can be quite exciting. And yes, I am choosing to ignore your comment about Draco. If you had been friends with him as long as I have, you would realize his loyalty and wit is hard to match, even among Gryffindors.
While I would love to encourage you to seek sun and sand in Cornwall, the idea of you being surrounded by underwater perverts contrasts my idea of a good time. Besides, I've seen the muggle version of a bathing suit, especially the item I believe is called a 'bikini'. While the idea of you modeling such a scandalous outfit for me peaks my interest, the idea of other men seeing you in one only peaks my jealousy and rage. Feel free to go to the beaches anyway, but don't be surprised if I show up to cart you off "caveman style", as you call it.
I, too, have received my exam results and find that they match your own. You have my congratulations and praise, as well as my amusement. I believe that I told you, repeatedly, that you did not fail your exams, as you predicted in the haze of your testing anxiety. Looks like I was right.
Yes, I have been keeping up with the Dark Lord's activities. The latest attack on that muggle bookstore in London has me worried, as a foreign wizard was killed in the attack. Apparently the Death Eaters care little for the anger of other countries, which makes me think they have a weapon we don't know about. Draco has confided in me that Death Eaters will begin to recruit at Hogwarts this year, and I fear for both Draco and myself. While I have the option of remaining neutral, due to my Italian heritage, his family is so wrapped up in the Dark Arts that there is little hope for him, no matter what his personal opinions are. Now, if only I could convince you to come abroad with me, and leave this pending war behind. I know your hackles are raised at the very suggestion, but the idea of you in this god- forsaken war has me filled with anxiety. Cara, please re-consider your stance. I suspect that you will give me a flat 'no' in your next letter, but I digress.
I find absolutely no interest in discontinuing our correspondence this summer, and will ask you not to mention the idea again. I miss you horribly already, and think I might go mad if I were to lose your written words, as well. Well, okay, I wouldn't go mad, but I might do something drastic… like ask you to meet me in London this Saturday, at the Rose and Crown for dinner? Say, seven o'clock? I hear they make a fabulous caramel desert, and I know how much you like that particular sweet. The risks of being sighted are much lower, as it is a muggle establishment, and I could take you out for a night on the town, for once. What do you say?
I plan to go stay with a friend this week, and will consequently be busy for most of it. However, I'm bringing my zapper with me, and look forward to your letter.
Finally, I must conclude with my own yearnings to see you. Cara, I miss you in so many ways. I miss the sweet sound of your laugh, and the wit of your conversation. I miss running my fingers through your wild, curly hair. I miss the feeling I get whenever I look at you, and the rush of warmth I feel when I catch you looking at me. I miss the intoxicating feeling of your lips on mine, and the feel of your breasts in my hands. Perhaps most of all, I miss your tight-
Looks like I have encountered my own physical… problem. Must go take an ice cold shower, before any of Mother's friends notice the tightness of my trousers.
Te amo,
Blaise

TO: Blaise Zabini
The home of whatever unnamed friend he is staying with, presumably in England
June 20th, 7:06 p.m.
Blaise,
And you accuse me of being unfairly seductive in my letter! After your last, I had to fan myself with the parchment, I was so worked up. Although, knowing you, you included that last paragraph for that very purpose.
To respond to the comments and inquiries made in your last letter:
1. Caramel, you say? Yes, I would be delighted to meet you at the Rose and Crown for dinner. I know there are some lovely gardens close by. What about an evening walk after dinner? My parents left to Cornwall this morning, I am consequently free for the night. Use your imagination.
2. As I stated above, I will not be going with my parents to their conference. As such, I will not require your caveman duties, as tempting as they are. I do indeed possess several bikinis, and would be pleased to model them for you. There's a green one in particular that I think you would enjoy…
3. Congratulations on the scores on your exams. Unfortunately, not all of us are born with the ability to be stone cold in the face of very important tests. I'm sticking my tongue out at you right now, in case you wanted to know.
4. You were right; I have absolutely NO interest in fleeing to Italy with you. Blaise, I'm a muggleborn, and this war is being headed by a muggle- hating psychopath hell bent on exterminating people like me. If there's even one little thing I can do to help to win the war, I have every intention of doing it. So stop trying to get me to run away, as it is NOT GOING TO WORK.
Now, look what you've done. I'm entirely too upset to leave you with some sexy statement that will have your mother's friends talking. What a shame.
Hermione

TO: Hermione Granger
8732 Virginia Road, Oxford, England
June 2oth, 7:10 p.m.
Hermione,
I can tell you're still holding onto the zapper, the light on mine is glowing. You know I didn't suggest you accompany me to Italy to make you seem like a coward. The idea of you fighting in this war worries me more than you know. Please write back.
Blaise

TO: Blaise Zabini
Possibly still at one of his mate's homes, or maybe not, as he still hasn't told me where he is, or who he's staying with.
June 2oth, 7:12 p.m.
Blaise,
Weather you meant it or not, it still hurt my feelings. I'm proud to be a muggleborn, and refuse to run away when things get dangerous. Muggles have a saying for times like these: "When the going gets tough, the tough get going" and Blaise, I plan to get going.
Hermione

TO: Hermione Granger
8732 Virginia Road, Oxford, England
7:19 p.m.
Hermione,
There's another saying: "It is better to turn back in the middle of the ford than to be drown in the flood." Hermione, please, I'm begging you. Leave this war behind before it really starts. We could bring your parents with us, and wait until it's over to go back, should your Boy Wonder defeat the Dark Lord. Please.
Blaise

TO: Blaise Zabini
SOMEWHERE OUT THERE, BECAUSE HE STILL HASN'T TOLD ME WHERE
7:26 p.m.
Blaise,
I'm done talking about this. The answer is NO.
Hermione
PS: Why haven't you answered my questions about who you're staying with?

TO: Hermione Granger
8732 Virginia Road, Oxford, England
7:28 p.m.
Hermione,
Fine, I'll drop it…for now.
I won't be telling you who I'm staying with- you wouldn't react well. Please just let it go, for both our sakes.
Blaise

TO: Blaise Zabini

7:31 p.m.
Blaise,
At the risk of sounding like a jealous cow, I have to ask you something:
Are you staying with another girl?
Hermione

TO: Blaise Zabini
At some boyfriend- stealing cow's house
7:47 p.m.
Dear Blaise,
Oh, God, it is a girl, isn't it? Okay. Well, that's your decision. I hope she realizes how lucky she is.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger

TO: Hermione Granger, the most ridiculous girlfriend on the planet.
8732 Virginia Road, Oxford, England
7:48 p.m.
Hermione,
As stated above, you are ridiculous. Yes, I am staying at a friend's house, and she happens to be a female. However, I have a strictly platonic relationship with her. As if any other girl besides you could spark my interest. If that doesn't set your mind at ease, this should: she plays for the other team.
With all my love,
Blaise

TO: Blaise Zabini, who continues to be mysterious.
Location: Unknown.
7:50 p.m.
Blaise,
While I am relieved to hear your friend is uninterested in you sexually, I am confused by your continued mysteriousness where her name is involved. Perhaps I could peak your interest with some play by play goings on in my bedroom, in exchange for her name? Firstly, I'm wearing a matching set of underwear, which happen to be green satin with silver lace…
Spill, monkey boy.
Hermione

TO: Hermione Granger, of the green underclothes
Her bedroom, a place I dearly wish to be at the moment
7:51 p.m.
Hermione,
It's Pansy Parkinson, okay?
Now, continue.
Blaise

TO: Blaise Zabini
Parkinson Manor
7:56 p.m.
PARKINSON IS A LESBIAN?
Hermione

TO: Hermione Granger, who better get moving, or else.
8732 Virginia Road, Oxford, England
7:59 p.m.
Hermione,
Yes, although she would rather keep it under wraps. According to her, "It's quite easy to hook up with another girl on the sly, especially when half of the school thinks you're going after their boyfriends."
Now, I believe our deal was I gave a name, and your clothes start coming off. Get to it.
Blaise

TO: Blaise Zabini, who is apparently a slave to his hormones
Parkinson Manor
8:15 p.m.
Blaise,
Very well, if you insist. Now, where was I? Oh, yes.
I'm lying on my bed with only my bra and knickers on. The window is open a little, allowing a breeze in, which gently plays with my hair. If I close my eyes, I can pretend it's your finger, tracing the skin just above my breasts.
I quickly unsnap the clasp to my bra, still pretending it's your hands instead of my own. My- your hands remove my bra, and begin to play with my nipples, which are pebbled under your touch. Your tugs get gradually harsher, until they roll and tug the pink buds without mercy. Leaving my left breast bereft and alone, you use both hands on my right breast. One continues to pluck the swollen pink bud, while the other gently rolls flesh around it, massaging it in your large, strong hand. Just when I think I'm going to cum with just this, the attention is quickly switched to my left breast. This continues until I'm crying out, begging you to fill me.
(My fingers are too small to fill me the way you do, but a toy from my drawer does the job. Thank Ginny Weasley for my last birthday present.)
Your palm slides down my belly, to the hot, wet place between my thighs. My feet lay flat against the bed, bending my legs at the knee. You roughly shove them wide, taking your place between them. Giving my clit a quick lick, and I nearly explode from the feeling of the rough pad of your tongue scraping over my slick flesh.
Soon, too soon, your head moves back up my body until it teases the flesh at my throat, licking and sucking. Marking me as your own.
Your fingers, however, have stayed behind, and roughly work inside of me until my quim is nearly gushing with cream. Gathering some of that cream on your fingers, you lick them clean right before you smash your mouth onto mine; I can taste myself on your lips.
Then, just as I'm about to fall off the precipice I'm balanced on, you roughly plunge into me, your long, thick cock filling and stretching me almost painfully. This sends me over the edge, the feel of you buried deeply inside of me.
You work me through my orgasm, plunging in and out of me. This continues for a blissful eternity until I clench my inner muscles around you, milking you for all you're worth. We fall over the edge together this time, and I can feel the scorching hot seed you spill inside of me. I scream your name as I fall into the abyss. You don't pull out of me for a long time, but cradle my body with your own when you do.
…
So, how did I do, Mr. Zabini?
Hermione

TO: Hermione Granger
Her bedroom, where the security wards better be OPEN
I don't fucking care what time it is, I'm coming over.
Blaise

*********************************************************************
TO: Blaise Zabini
Gaeland manor, England
June 21st, 11:00 a.m.
Blaise,
Thank you for last night, it was amazing. I according to the little boy next door, I was "walking funny" this morning when I went to check the mail. I'm sure this will only boost your ego, but I am currently too blissed out to care.
I understand your early morning departure, and love the rose and note you left behind. The rose is currently sitting on my desk, where I can see it and be reminded of…well, you know.
I will see you tomorrow night at the Rose and Crown, at seven o'clock.
Much love,
Hermione
PS: I hope you're taking special care with those letters. If your mother or, God forbid, Malfoy were to come across them…I don't even want to think about that. Please put them somewhere safe and hidden. Or else. –H

…...

Author's Note:

Not bad for my first lemon, eh? (In truth, I'm just trying to play it off like I don't care. In reality, I'm terrified of the possibility that it's horrible.)

I know someone is going to comment on Hermione's OOC behavior, particularly at the end. However, I see it like this: when JK Rowling wrote Hermione's character, there was no smokin' hot Blaise Zabini around to keep her seventeen- year- old hormones company. However, there is one in my fic, and so Hermione is a little more sexual as a result.

So there you go. Let me know what you thought in a review! I think the next outtake update will be…soon-ish. I already have it written, but something needs to happen in "Time's Up" before I can post it, and not give anything away.

Be safe,

Gotbooks93