Hello, apologies on the delay. GoT has been owning my life. I know you are hanging for some Dramione. It's coming, promise! Major Dramione plot revel in this chapter. Ch 1 has undergone some major formatting edits. FFN had completely thrown it out. It would have been confusing as hell to read the reality vs fantasy, so please feel free to re read it as it's supposed to be read. Ch 2 and Ch 3 have also had spacing and random word repeats taken out. I have no idea what happened because my beta'd document doesn't look like that. I'm sure it's all fixed now, I hope!
I feel the need to mention something quickly. Yes, the wonderful MrBenzedrine is one of my beta's, however, she contributes no plot help. Everything written is mine unless it's been prompted in which I will always credit whoever's idea it was. The same goes for MrB, if she offers a rewording of something, I will always mention it. I'm a proud Gryffindor, I'd hate it if people thought anything I've written isn't my own.
Anyway, enough dribble. This chapter is lemony.
Beta-love to my wonderful MrBenzedrine.
GiTG x
Blaise has had this feeling in his stomach since their fight last night. Normally it would be no big deal. Usually, his day could go on as normal. At the realisation that everything isn't okay...well, let's just say: Blaise is definitely not liking the feeling.
He's laying back on the couch with his arms tucked behind his head, legs resting on the arm of the chair. He's actually been staring at the same spot in the ceiling in some sort of daze, over thinking the most ridiculous things, and they all have to do with her. He huffs in exasperation at the thought of her.
Affection, lust, obsession...Love. To Blaise, they all seemed to be packaged up into one person: Hermione. He's never felt greedy when it comes to witches. He does who he pleases when he wants...and they come and go like the rain. But the good old saying "when it rains, it pours" has never held merritt - until now. He knows she said maybe she'd see him tomorrow. Well, it's tomorrow, midday to be exact, and she's hasn't shown up yet. Technically, the only business they have to tend to at the moment is Divinity'sopening. But still, he expected her to come over regardless.
Blaise swings himself off the couch to fetch a drink -a little something to take off the edge. He browses his collection of the finest beverages, settling on "Blishen's scotch firewhiskey," aged for thirty-nine years, proclaiming to be "The King of Whiskies." He pours a generous amount of the amber liquid, using a chilling charm to cool the glass and adding ice. He sips the scotch, allowing the flavours to envelope him in it's rich, mouth-coating, warmth as it rolls down his throat. Given Blaise's mood, even the taste of alcohol isn't masking his feelings. This is fucked, Granger.
He swirls the ice cubes around his already empty glass. Not even "The King of Whiskies" can drown his sorrows. He needs something stronger.
Blaise is better than this...self-wallowing. It's embarrassing really. He's grateful they've been somewhat discreet, because he doesn't think he would appreciate something like this being blown up publicly if they're on the rocks. And by definition, things are really rocky between them. He stares at the ice cubes absentmindedly. Since when does Blaise Zabini get burned by a witch? Since when does Blaise Zabini let a girl get him down? She's not just any witch, that's why.
One thing about Blaise: he doesn't wait around for anyone. He's a firm believer in seizing the day. So, that's exactly what's he's going to do. Planting his glass firmly on the shelf, he decides that if she wants to skip their business meeting, he'll take the meeting to her. And with that made, Blaise pours himself another firewhiskey and downs it, exhaling loudly as the liquid momentarily burns his esophagus. It almost feels as though the fire in his throat soothes the ache.
Smoothing down his collared shirt and summoning his robes, he throws it on swiftly before apparating in search of Hermione. Nothing ends unless it's on his terms. Lovers or not, they still have business to tend to. He'll use "work colleagues" to his every advantage. He will get this girl. She will be his in every sense of the word - and more.
Hermione isn't the type of girl to be late for anything, especially meetings. But if she is honest with herself, she doesn't know what do about Blaise. Well, more like "how" to deal with ending things with Blaise. If his feelings mirror anything her thoughts suggest, he'll want to end her or hold her hostage for burning the snake.
Hermione boils the kettle, adding a teabag and sugar to the mug. She needs the extra sweetening today. As the kettle whistles, she tops the mug with boiling water and a dash of milk, absentmindedly stirring her tea, a weird trait of hers when she is concentrating on her thoughts.
For the most part, she wants to cooperate and remain on good terms. A part of her questions if she is capable of doing such. Not the ending, but continuing with friendship. Are they even capable of being friend's now? How can you go from being enemies in school...to grown adults spending a night together...being business associates while casually fucking on the sidelines…semi-lovers...awkward post-fucking friend-zoned friends and still work together in somewhat dodgy proceedings with hopes of their flames fizzling out? It all seems too much, doesn't? And she only says post-fucking friend-zoned friends, because she doubts she has the stability to stay away from his bed. A ridiculous thought, but a notion that is true. He's been a comfort to her on those lonely nights, and although she doesn't "need" anyone, she's grown to like having someone. Convenience.
Urgh! thinks Hermione in frustration. She stops stirring her tea, pushes it aside, and brings her head to her hands. She holds her face while her elbows lean on her kitchen bench. The steam from her cup of tea dissipates.
She squeezes her eyes shut while resting her face in her hands. "This is why I'm technically single," she says out aloud to Crookshanks. Crookshanks meows at her feet until she bends down to pet him. "I'm just not 'good' at this - dating...I don't know - is it even dating?" she asks the ginger feline.
Crookshanks purrs at the friendly stroke of Hermione's hand against his fur.
Even her cat knows she isn't good at this stuff.
Friendship is easy. It's what she knows; it's what she's good at...she understands how to be a good friend. But how to be a friend to a guy that has fucked every hole you have, and then some, and you more than mildly enjoy it…Well, picturing him naked certainly won't do. This is utter turmoil.
Hermione is already flustered by the thought. It's too much considering what they have isn't even a real, "sure" thing. It's creating just as much angst for her as a real "thing."
Deciding that enough is enough, Hermione needs a distraction. What could be more distracting than planning the grand opening of a club? Even if it's connected to the wizard currently mind fucking her.
She takes her now cold tea, pouring it down the sink, and makes her way to her bedroom. A bit of freshening up and a cheeky champagne to help with the plans will suffice… Hermione has just the place in mind.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she slides her foot into one side of her stockings, rolling the sheer material up her calves, over her knee, and further travelling above her thigh. She is going back to the place where it all began to mould things over in the muggle atmosphere. It's now approaching one O'clock in the afternoon, and the pub in particular will more than likely draw in a crowd of muggle workers having late lunches or early knock-off drinks.
She completes her outfit: a dark emerald-green blouse tucked into a short, black, fitted-skirt, black sheer stockings and a pair of simple, black, pointy, high-heels. She drapes a thick, dark grey coat over her shoulders before taking a glance at herself in the mirror. Hermione sighs before pinching her cheeks and summoning a rose-pink shade of lipstick. Simple, yet classy.
Hermione sweeps her hair into a bun, adds her finishing touches to her outfit, and is leaving her place in mere minutes. She arrives at the muggle bar, leather briefcase in tow, in search of a secluded spot where she won't be bothered. Her eyes scan the room, and she halts at the recognition of a familiar head of hair sitting in "their" regular booth.
Hermione was dreading their next confrontation, but she had no idea it would be so soon. She was hoping to lay low - at least for a few more hours. She couldn't go days, because Blaise would hunt her down and make her talk. An unfortunate expectation, but also one that holds merit because it means he cares - in a possessive, infatuated, kind of way. She relishes the attention despite feeling guilty for it. It was never something Hermione wanted from a man, especially a Slytherin. But in some ways, she feels as though they are wrapped around each other's fingers. They both have this craving to possess each other. It's volatile. It's obsessive. It's toxic.
Blaise is poised, smoking a cigar, appearing to be reading a muggle newspaper in an attempt to "blend."
Hermione walks up behind him, steadying her breathing as she readies herself to face him. Her courage always wins despite the reservations in her mind.
"Am I really this predictable?" she questions calmly, already knowing what he's going to say.
Blaise puts out his cigar immediately, waving an open palm at the seat opposite him. Hermione doesn't wait for a clearer invitation, so she joins him, sliding into the chair across from him. She removes her laptop from the briefcase, setting it up. It's almost as though they'd planned a meeting here.
Internally, Blaise is smiling like the cheshire cat at being right that she would come. On the outside he is as smooth as ever.
"You're always predictable when you're mad. More specifically: the day after," Blaise muses smugly.
Hermione attempts to call a waiter, but Blaise interrupts her.
"Don't. That's hardly the job of a lady."
"Lady or not, I'm quite capable of ordering a drink, Blaise."
"Not in my company you're not," he states matter-of-factly. His tone has the kind of finality that she recognises it's not worth starting another fight over.
Hermione huffs, knowing it's chivalry at its finest, but she can't help but feel Blaise's fangs steadily piercing her skin, injecting her with his venom. His poison is seeping through her veins, her independence unable to be sucked out of her to save life.
Blaise orders champagne. They have nothing to celebrate, but it's as if he can tell just by her mood what she wants. She hates it when he does that, leaks little signs that he pays attention to things and files it away for later, summoning the information at times like this. It can't always be for personal gain, can it?
Hermione accepts a glass as Blaise shoos the waiter. He knows he should say something about last night, but he doesn't know where to begin. The start is always a good place, but he finds himself ignoring the obvious.
"Draco is fine, by the way," he says dryly. Now he's playing the serious, tough card too.
Hermione subtly sticks her nose in the air, a defence mechanism at the recognition of his tone, but she is satisfied that he took her advice for once. She feels like it's a small victory in the scheme of things.
"I'm really glad to hear that," she says sincerely as she looks down her nose.
"Lovegood and Longbottom are reviewing some things…"
"That's good to know," says adds, a little more softly now. She dips her head and relaxes her shoulders a bit more. Her fingers are wrapped around the stem of her champagne glass as she casually brings it to her lips to take a sip.
Blaise decides it's now or never. This is a recovery mission after all. Puckering up the courage from god-knows-where, he tries to soften his intense, overpowering gaze.
"About last night."
Hermione starts typing on her laptop, an obvious distraction from whatever truths are about to be revealed. She waits a few seconds before her mind goes elsewhere. It's now or never. Say something now and be done with it. Just say something before he does.
An awkward silence is between them - It can't be more deafening.
"I want to apologise for my behaviour," mutters Blaise.
"Excuse me?" questions Hermione in shock.
Blaise clears his throat, raising his glass to his mouth before taking another swig of champagne.
"You heard me. I won't say it again."
Hermione smiles subtly, pressing her lips together to try hide it.
"I accept your apology," she muses, feeling victorious.
Blaise feels instant relief at her reaction, and he smirks back. He was worried she wouldn't come around.
Somewhere in the past five minutes of her being there, Hermione has changed her mind. Sometime during the past five minutes, he's managed to slither his way back in causing her to forgive him…To forgive isn't being weak. Weakness is lacking the courage to do what you want. And right now, she is more certain than ever that she still wants to "do" Blaise. Call it small minded or sacrilegious. Hermione simply thinks of it as life experience. She'll live and learn from it all one day. For now, her mind is sick of thinking about how she came to this conclusion when less than ten minutes ago she wanted to end things.
Hermione is well on the way with plans for Divinity's official opening - without Blaise or Theo's help...she knows exactly what to expect and how to deliver. Blaise has been watching her closely throughout the day, happy to leave her to it. No expense is spared. All he wants to take care of is the "entertainment."
Throughout the course of the afternoon, the general mood between them is pleasant. Once it's crunch time and they work on something with the same focus, they work together synonymously. It's as though last night never happened. It's as though all is forgiven and forgotten.
As tensions rise in between a flirtatious glance or the subtle nudge under the table, it's clear where the night is taking them. For once, Blaise welcomes the notion of going to Hermione's place. Whether it be an attempt at sucking up or him submitting, she isn't going to argue about it, enjoying the idea of having him in her bed for once. The last person she had in her bed was Draco Malfoy, the night of his stag do. It wasn't planned. It wasn't appropriate, but she can't deny it happened. She still has a soft spot for him, considering they shared an exhilarating night. While her and Blaise are firecrackers, her and Draco were uncontrollable, passionate and intense. It was fun until she felt the guilt of their indiscretion the next morning. They parted ways and haven't had contact since, that is, until his initiation into Divinity.
Hermione hasn't really given Draco much thought to be honest. She wasn't sure if she was trying to avoid the memories or if she was genuinely distracted. What she did know is when Blaise said to her: "Is this how you pictured your night when you came here? Us arguing about someone insignificant to you?" he couldn't have been more wrong. The history was there, and although it was only one night, it left a lasting impression on her. Probably because it was his stag do, and the fact that she avoided processing it all until now…
The moment is lost when Blaise seeks her attention.
After a solid afternoon of planning the final details of the grand event and too much champagne, Hermione finds herself Apparating them straight to her bedroom.
A combination of last nights frustrations and tonight's desperation lingers as Hermione kicks off her heels. She is slipping Blaise's robes off his shoulders immediately before fumbling to unbutton his shirt; yearning for his lips.
Blaise is very much trying to do the same to her, but his patience is wearing thin. In a brazen attempt, he skips undoing her buttons, untucking her blouse from her skirt, slipping it straight over her head. He's pleased to see she has matched her undergarments with her shirt. Slytherin green and lace, his favourite combination. He figures it's a silent nod to him. Apparently, her subconscious dressed her this afternoon. He pulls her body into him, his lips slightly teasing hers, but he's aching to have a taste. His teeth lightly tug her bottom lip before his mouth connects with hers, kissing her fiercely.
Hermione has removed his shirt...the buckle of his pants is now undone while they kiss. His pants are down around his ankles in a flash. Blaise hops out, kicking them to the side. His hands are all over her, traveling from the small of her back down the back of her skirt. His hands meet her arse that is delicately wrapped in the sheer material of her pantyhose. He personally finds stockings sexy - the fact that she appears to be wearing practically nothing underneath them excites him greatly. It's like he gets to unwrap a present, and what's underneath is his favourite gift of all. Blaise stops kissing her lips and moves to her neck, biting and sucking the sweet spot between the top of her shoulder and the base of her throat. She lets out a gasp, shuddering for a moment while he does this. Blaise grunts in satisfaction at her reaction.
Feeling rather urgent now, he slips his hands out from her skirt and makes way for the zip. He has her unzipped and out of her skirt just as quickly as she got him out of his pants. He admires the way see-through material makes her skin look so complicated, like a maze - yet, so inviting.
"Damn, Granger, you know what stockings do to me," he says darkly as he ceases the attention to her neck for a moment.
His left hand is sitting snug at the base of her back. He leans forward more, re intensifying the work he's doing on her neck as his right hand slips down the back of her thigh. He rests his grip behind her knee, just enough of a hold to pull her leg up - he guides it to wrap around his hip.
Blaise's right hand glides from her knees to hip, following her curves to the front of her lower stomach. His fingers trail south so he can slip his hand between her legs. Upon getting there, he's pleased to find her dripping with anticipation.
"So wet," he mutters in between nipping the thin skin of her neck.
He lets a finger penetrate her...enough for a tease but not enough to get her off. He can feel her want in his ministrations.
"I don't have much patience tonight, Blaise," mutters Hermione breathlessly.
Wanting a closer look at what's underneath those stockings, Blaise withdraws his finger from her and stops paying attention to her neck. He resumes kissing her lips, guiding her back to the bed. As she reaches the edge of her mattress, he picks her up, tossing her backwards onto it in a not-so-gentle throw.
Hermione laughs as her body collides with the mattress. Blaise joins her, practically jumping on her playfully to straddle her legs. His hands hover at the top of her stockings but they don't stay for long. His impatient fingers are hooking into the sheer material...one hefty tug is enough to rip them open: exposing the triangle of a very snug-fit g-string.
Blaise doesn't waste any more time, using magic to rid her of her underwear. His head dives between her legs shortly after to let his mouth and tongue do all the talking between their bodies. He could happily spend hours buried down there and not really give a fuck if she was tired. He never wants to tire of her. He never wants to stop.
His tongue works her clit as his fingers slip back into her cunt so he can pummel her. It's only a matter of time between the workings of his tongue and the come-hither motion of his fingers that he is sending her to the brink.
Her laboured breaths and not-so-innocent moans of appreciation have his cock so full of life, he's ready to venture into her pussy.
Blaise repositions himself on top of her. Hermione welcomes him with open arms and spread legs. As his dick drives into her, she gasps at the feel of his snake; it never ceases to amaze her how something as simple as a cock entering her could be so damn satisfying. Yet, here she is, trembling in his presence as he glides in and out of her.
Hermione's legs wrap around his waist as her hips roll into him. They find rhythm to the familiar push-pull of their bodies as they synonymously thrust and grind. As the night rolls on they find their bliss in each other. As they drift off to sleep they find comfort in each other. When they wake, who knows what tumultuous turn their relationship will take?