Chapter 80

Saturday 28 March 2003: AM

"Gelsy, no one cares if the egg and lettuce sandwiches have a parsley garnish! Come along, we'll be late," Blaise tries and fails to chivvy along his diligent house elf. The sense of excitement and glee he'd woken with has increased three- or four-fold in the interminable hours since.

"Master Blaise forgets he wastes half an hour of Gelsy's valuable time this morning, modelling and rejecting a succession of outfits for the day," she instantly retorts. "'Gels, do you think I can pull off all-white, or does it look too bridal?'" she quotes his earlier words to him in a spookily accurate rendition of his much deeper tones and inflections. "Gelsomina's patience is sorely tested when Master Blaise elects at last to take her initial advice to wear his Quidditch gear straight to the match," she snips.

"Yes – but I have to shower and change afterward, and I want to make sure I look my best for– for our luncheon," Blaise defends. He tries a diversion tactic as Gelsy's mouth purses to reply. "You look lovely today, Gels; are you hoping to attract the eye of a certain hairy little German, perhaps?".

Gelsy makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a hiss. "Master Blaise's 'jest' falls as flat as a pancake; he would do better to focus his mind on the game ahead, and leave humour to the professionals. Herr Wireceaster's presence does not concern Gelsomina, much as a tigress notices not the earthworm at her feet."

Ouch. Guess Wirey's still on the outer. Silly little git… I do feel some sympathy for him, even if he did bring their antipathy on himself. Blaise grins as he thinks of how his own persistence paid off, with Gussie. She thought me a cavalier playboy arsehole at first, yet now she's coming to watch me play Quidditch– no, to watch me win Quidditch, today. I've gone from being rejected, to friend-zoned, to having my beautiful woman cheering me on the sidelines… not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Heh. He pictures Gus jumping to her feet, screaming his name every time he sends a Bludger sailing high with a graceful flick of his bat…

"Do rid yourself of that dopey smile, Master Blaise; Gelsomina has twice now advised the picnic hamper is ready to be transported!". She follows her words with a well-placed finger drilled into his thigh. "Wizards," she mutters disparagingly, as he pivots toward the Floo.

Grabbing the handle of the large wicker basket, Blaise ignores Gelsy's little barb, letting his grin wholly suffuse his joyful face. Time for Blaise the Praised to shine… and shine, I will.

"I hope you packed some pom-poms, Gels: you're going to need them!".


Scanning the small population of spectators seated in the main stand, Blaise immediately zooms in on the familiar figures of Tavi and Mrs Green, Nella's greying head bent down to the child's fair one. He rapidly peruses the rest of the crowd, puzzlement turning to disappointment as he confirms Gus's absence.

"She's not here." He thinks his words too softly-spoken to be overheard, until Gelsy lays a comforting small hand upon his wrist.

"Auror Gilmont has likely been delayed, or is perhaps visiting the facilities?" she nods to the utilitarian toilet block/changing room building located on the left of the Quidditch oval. "Master Blaise need not fret. She is a witch of her word."

"Thanks, Gels," he mumbles. "Yeah, you're right. Gus would have sent a note if she couldn't make it."

Gelsy bustles up the steps. "Master Blaise behaves like a schoolboy with his first crush; Gelsomina will be most relieved when Mistress Augusta finally puts him out of his misery. Andiamo!"

Take-charge women – I'm surrounded by them, Blaise ponders. Gelsy, Mrs Green, even Tavi – the kidlet already has me wrapped around her little fingers and thumbs. I guess I'm a sucker for strong females. Although, if anyone has the right to order me about, it's Gelsy; she's been the closest thing to a mum to me since I was born. Ah, don't get maudlin, Blaise. Gus'll be here soon; you'll have a cracker of a match; and then you get to enjoy a delicious picnic with your favourite people in the world.

He bounds up the stairs, his customary grin firmly back in place on his attractive face. "Hallo, ladies! Mrs Green, don't you look fetching? Miss Octavia – do my eyes deceive me, or are you wearing Slytherin house colours?". The little girl is dressed in loose shamrock-green trousers, a white blouse, and a silvery knitted cardigan. Tricky the triceratops is sitting proudly in her lap.

"Mr Blaise! Gus is going to die when she sees you – are they all your own muscles, or is a lot of it protective padding?" Tavi earnestly knocks down his ego a peg or five.

"Grew most of them myself, Miss Octavia," he wryly replies, as Gelsy and Nella snicker. "Speaking of Gus – has she been called into work? I thought she was coming with you? She was rather insistent that I meet you all here, when I offered to swing by to escort my girls to the game."

"Oh, Gus is–"

"Aye, dinna get your breeks in a bind, lad. Gus skedaddled to the nettie – the loo," Mrs Green clarifies. "The lass'll return, aal reet. Has a surprise for ye, a right canty surprise," she grins. "Aa dorsn't say more, nee."

A surprise? Has Gussie gone the whole hog and dressed in Slytherin colours, too? Blaise preens a little. Gelsy's little nudge to his hip recalls his manners.

"Mrs Green, may I present my dear housekeeper, cook, nanny, governess, Girl Friday, Indisputable Ruler of Villa Zabini, and all-round legend, Signorina Gelsomina? Gelsy, this charming young lady is Mrs Green." Blaise performs the introductions.

"Sleekit bugger, ye be, young Blaise," Nella indulgently shakes her head. "Come thee ways, Signorina, an' sit atwix," she shuffles down the wooden bench, patting the gap she's created. "Pelt away, lad."

"But I wanted to see Gussie before the match," Blaise whines. Wanted to ask her for a good luck kiss too, in truth.

"You'll see her soon, Mr Blaise!" Tavi pipes up, giggling as she kicks her splinted legs. The toy dinosaur bounces across her spindly legs. "Good luck!".

"Thanks, Kiddo. Go easy on the snacks, Gelsy's made us a scrumptious lunch," he sets down the hamper. "See you in a while," he busses a quick kiss onto each female's cheek, before galloping down the staircase.

She's here – I can't wait to find out the surprise she has in store! Maybe some kind of enchanted banner, magicked to sing my praises whenever I block a Bludger, or whack one into the opposition? Hmm… it's not quite Gussie's style, but I live in hope.

Humming 'Hail the Conquering Hero', Blaise hustles into the changing rooms.


"Hermione! Oi, POLLYANNA!" Pansy hollers, uncaring of the startled heads swinging her way at the bottom of the stands as her friend finally looks in the right direction. Hermione beams as she ascends to Pansy's row, Macdolas and Ruibby hot on her heels.

"Where have you been? The game is about to start – I'm flabbergasted you weren't here an hour ago, given your reputation for promptness and accountability," Pansy teases, after stepping back from their fond embrace. "Hullo Mac, Ruibby – you both look very smart, by the way."

"MacRu thank Mistress Parkinson most meekly," Ruibby bobs a curtsey. "Darlingest Macdolas suggests MacRu dress similarly, to show their support of both the Houses of Granger-Malfoy and our Most Revered Benefactor Master Harry James Potter," she gestures to their multi-striped matching robes. "Scarlet and gold for Gryffindor, green and silver for Slytherin."

"Just go with 'MacRu' – they have a 'couple name' now. Draco scorns it as a passing fad, but I think it's sticking… with them, anyway," Hermione whispers in Pansy's ear. "Aren't they the cutest?".

"Oh, I see… well, you can certainly wear them again at Christmas, they look rather festive," Pansy smiles. She quirks her eyebrow at Hermione. "You haven't yet answered my question, amiga."

"If you must know – I was trying to sneak a peek at Draco in his Seeker get-up, and he kept evading me by Disapparating from room to room in the townhouse, the sly wretch," Hermione grumbles. "He led me a merry chase, before he finally snuck away. Left a note claiming he wanted me to experience 'the full effect' of his sporting prowess on the field."

"It's pitch, not field: Quidditch, 'Queerditch Marsh', ditch, pitch– get it?" Pansy explains. "Merlin, have we truly discovered the one topic Hermione Granger doesn't know everything about?" she lightly ribs.

"You're having far too much fun with this, aren't you, Pans? I have the perfect revenge; you get to explain the game to me, while we watch," Hermione smugly rejoins. "I'll warn you in advance, I ask a lot of obscure, aggravating questions."

"Oh joy," Pansy pretends to grouse. "Tavi, Mrs Green, and Gelsy are saving us seats – they got here early, the view is magnificent. MacRu – reserve some spittle for the cheering, please," she gently nudges apart the diminutive fey lovers before their impassioned kiss further intensifies.

Once they have all been greeted and seated, Hermione leans in for an intimate chat. "I had morning tea with Harry yesterday, you know," she begins.

"Yes – he told me last night," Pansy breezily replies. "I thought you wanted to see Draco all geared up? They'll be coming out any minute, now."

"Yeah, yeah – you're trying to change the subject – ohmigod, you're actually blushing! Pansy Parkinson, you've moved in with Harry now, haven't you? Haven't you?!" Hermione just about screeches.

"Shush! Settle down, you madwoman! No, no – of course not! We're just… enjoying each other's company," Pansy snaps back.

"Mmm… eating dinner together every night, cuddling up like a couple of contented possums, listening to Harry's record collection, smooching up a storm… sleeping together… giving him massages," Hermione pauses for dramatic effect, while Pansy briefly considers slapping the irksome, know-it-all simper off her dial. "Hey, no judgement – been there, done that, ended up moving in with my boyfriend within a month of 'not dating' him! Just a friendly caution, my friend."

"What did Harry say about it?" The question bursts from Pansy's lips before she can censor herself. Morgana, I've played right into Pollyanna's complacent little hands. Dammit!

"Well, now... didn't I promise you both to respect your confidences?" Hermione taunts, before contradicting her own stance. "It's fine – Harry didn't say anything to me he wouldn't want you to hear, Pansy. He said he's never been this happy in his life. Ever. How do you like them apples? Huh?". She rocks back, nodding to herself.

"'Them' apples...? Hermione, are you feeling unwell?". Pansy tentatively places the flat of her hand against her friend's forehead to assess her temperature. "Are you… pregnant?".

"NO! Sorry, sorry," Hermione ducks her head, weakly smiling at their interested companions. She lowers her voice as she continues, "No, I'm not; and please, don't start banging that drum again… I was nervous for days after your last mini-lecture, OK? It's a famous line from a Muggle film, a guy bragging about getting a girl's number in a bar… never mind."

"You're an odd woman sometimes, Golden Girl," Pansy smiles. Despite her best efforts to appear nonchalant, effervescent bubbles of joy surge through Pansy's mind as she processes what Hermione's just told her.

I feel exactly the same… despite all the emotional turmoil I'm still working through, my relationship with Harry has already enriched my life in all the best ways.

Desperate to share her overspilling joy, Pansy whispers to Hermione, "Harry cleared out the top two drawers in his bedroom for my things – and one half of his wardrobe. He was so cute, Hermione – I think he was terrified of 'rushing' me, so he kept coming back to it in a roundabout way, like, "There should be some space in that top drawer if you want to keep your night-things in it, I hardly use it," and Kreacher spent a couple of days cleaning out and furnishing a little parlour for my 'especial use'," Pansy confides. "He even put a big vase of fresh flowers on the desk! Pink peonies – my favourite."

"Yep – you've moved in, and clearly Kreacher approves," Hermione grins. "Hmm, I wonder how Harry knew of your favourite flower?" she prompts. "Perhaps our boyfriends have been colluding…?"

"Well, I've seen stranger alliances," Pansy mulls. "And for the last time, I haven't 'moved in', I'm just spending time with Harry. How did last night's dinner party at the Manor go?".

Hermione grips Pansy's arm. "Speaking of strange alliances! Dad and Lucius spent the whole meal baiting and sniping at one another, it was incredibly awkward until we decided to simply ignore them. Narcissa, Mum, Ruibby and I holed up in the library to plan Mac's surprise birthday party while the males went to the billiards room… we kept our ears tuned for any blow-ups, but about half an hour later Draco burst in and drank three cups of hot tea in quick succession, rubbing his temples and muttering darkly about halfwits and Tabasco sauce? He refused to go into much detail, but apparently Lucy and Dad held some kind of dopey competition and ended up bonding over cigars and peacock deterrent techniques, if you can believe it."

"Hold up – Lucius and Barney are… mates? Are they playing at some kind of long con, Pollyanna?" Pansy demands, unable to reconcile the image of haughty Lucius befriending gregarious Barney. "No – I'm calling bullshit, honestly. That's just… too weird."

"Right?! Oh, and Draco wasted no time ratting on Mac for trying to smoke a half-stogie with them – Ruibby was not pleased," Hermione giggles. "I love Mac dearly, but he has a terrible tendency to insert himself right into the thick of any and every drama going."

The two witches peer down the row; Macdolas has commandeered Mrs Green's crochet hook and yarn, and somehow managed to get his thumb stuck into the beanie she's been working on. His gnarly little paw is flapping about as Mrs Green clucks her tongue and remonstrates with him to 'Stow ye stotin', ye silly billy!".

"See what I mean?" Hermione sighs, while Ruibby grabs hold of one of Mac's arms, Gelsy the other; Tavi keeps up a steady patter of excitable advice on how best to untangle the crocheting from the sulking elf. "Draco reckons Mac thrives on histrionics; he claims McGonagall is going to have to purchase a new filing cabinet just for the excessive quantity of reports and written warnings he'll generate."

They both burst into spontaneous laughter, rollicking to and fro on the hard wooden bench. Pansy is the first to recover, as she spots movement at the entrance to the changing rooms. "They're coming onto the pitch! Look – Harry's leading them out, Hermione. Go, Harry! THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND – HARRY POTTER!" she yells, standing and waving as she succumbs to the urge to literally shout her happiness to the rooftops.

"GO, HARRY! YOU'VE GOT THIS, DUCKIE!". She pretends not to hear Hermione apparently dying of hilarity after hearing her pet name.

"MY BOYFRIEND HARRY POTTER IS GOING TO KICK ARSE TODAY! WATCH AND WEEP, BITCHES!"


Here we go. Blaise adjusts his grip on his broomstick, tuning out whatever motivational crap Draco is spouting.

"There's no 'I' in team", "catches win matches", "this game is eighty percent perspiration, twenty percent motivation" – well, that's bound to be quite a stinker. What's our team name again? The Renegades? Blaise checks the temporary logo on his Transfigured purple robes. At least lilac's my colour… ah, no need for modesty – every colour suits me, right? Well, maybe not mustard yellow… nah, I can totally pull that off, too…

"Zabini! What did I just say, about the Dopplebeater Backbeat Defence?" Draco's sharp voice interrupts his merry daydream. "We're relying on you Beaters to clear the way out there. You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?".

"It's the move where we work together to smash a Bludger with extra force, when the rest of the team needs more time to regroup," George Weasley helpfully mutters from the side of his smiling mouth. "Except with a back-hand smash. Malfoy's taking this pretty seriously, hey?".

"He's always been an intense git," Blaise agrees. "Thanks, George."

To Draco, he replies, "Gotcha. Smash the Bludger to kingdom come – no worries." He adopts a stern expression, though his exhilaration at soon finally seeing Gus in the crowd works against him. "Well? What are waiting for? Go, Team Rebels!".

"We're the Renegades, Blaise," Chaser Maghella Weaver snickers behind him. "Just stay focused on keeping those Bludgers off us, and you'll be fine," she assures.

"Let's do this!" Chaser Angelina Johnson high-fives Chaser Puck Brady, who stares at him sympathetically. "Zabini, look sharp and follow George's lead."

Keeper Cordelia Kedward encouragingly slaps him on the back as she zooms out the door.

Why is everyone treating me like a flying handicap? Blaise pouts. I know what I'm doing; I just get a little distracted, occasionally–

"Blaise – for the love of Snakes, get out there!" Draco all but catapults him out of the sheds. Zipping around the lower outskirts of the pitch, Blaise's eyes immediately seek out his support crew in the stands. Still no sign of Gussie… I hope she's alright –

"Hey, Blaisey!" Gus's husky voice sings out from behind. "Ready for a good old-fashioned trouncing? Time for the Enforcers to bring the Renegades in for questioning, I believe."

Only his cat-like reflexes save him from toppling off his broomstick, as he turns to goggle at Gus – my Gussie, dressed in a tangerine orange Beater's uniform – with that (similarly attired) prick Kolton Faulkner flanking her. Oh, shiiiiii

"'S'up, Zabini? Cat got your tongue?" Faulkner grins unpleasantly, clearly chuffed with Blaise's degree of gaping bewilderment. "Damn, I'm going to enjoy this game," he shifts a little closer to Gus, leaving barely an inch or two between their hovering broomsticks. "You should have worn head gear, Zabs – you're going to need it."

Zabs?! You sly, abbreviating fucker. Quashing his impulse to plant his fist firmly into Kolton's stupid face, Blaise regains the power of speech.

"Hi, Gussie – you look amazing," his admiration and awe infuse the heartfelt statement. Blaise chuckles wryly at the look of arch triumph emblazoned across her beautiful features. "You got me good, huh? Serves me right for being a sexist dickhead. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. That's the only concession I'm giving you today, though; I hope you brought your 'A' game, Blaise," Gus warns, showing off with a sudden full Twirl. "Good luck," she winks, before buzzing over to her starting position. Faulkner loiters a moment longer, all pretence of good humour vanished.

"Watch yourself, dickhead."

"You watch yourself, arsemonkey." Blaise surreptitiously flips him the double bird as the Auror flies off. Well, that was mature. Gus claims he's just a friend, but that shitbird wants to be more – I can tell. Fat chance, fathead. His blood pressure rockets in line with his possessiveness. It's OK – she doesn't want him… she wants you. She said so. Focus.

Stretching and shaking his neck and upper arms, Blaise grins and smiles as he acknowledges Tavi and Mrs Green's screams and howls of support. Choosing not to participate in their boisterous cheers, Gelsy remains sitting primly… though he is pleased to see her wily smile as she strenuously shakes a couple of glittering violet pom-poms. Hermione and Pansy barely spare him a glance, avidly concentrating on their boyfriends' progress in the air.

Blaise hurries to take his place, unable to take his gaze off Gus. Her Beater's outfit emphasizes her strength and beauty, her long legs flexed and her shoulder muscles tensed as she expertly balances on her broom. Damn, she's gorgeous… I could watch her fly all day–

One long blare of the silver whistle as the referee releases all four balls into play from the central circle. Gus and Kolton swoop onto the nearest Bludger, immediately firing it in his direction.

Whump! Blaise dodges most of the impact, his jaw singing as the heavy ball grazes his chin. Oww…

"Zabini, on your six!" George hollers, seconds before the Bludger returns to plough into his ribs. "Wake up, Sunny boy!".

"Sodding hell – I'm awake now!" Blaise groans. What did Draco say, about a time limit for this match…? I really should have paid more attention. Also… I could be in for a world of hurt.

Grimacing, Blaise steadies his grip on his bat before he abandons his pride and screams for George to cover him.

Why did I ever think this would be fun?!


Saturday 28 March 2003: PM

George Weasley bids him farewell, leaving Blaise alone in the shower stalls. Sticking his sore head back under the lukewarm spray, Blaise moans as he is finally able to give voice to his many aches and pains. Was that a friendly Quidditch match, or all-out warfare? Thank Merlin Draco finally snaffled the Snitch and pulled me out of the line of fire. He prods gingerly at his bruised eye socket. That bastard Faulkner was lucky the referee missed his blatant elbow to my cheek. Dirty pool, indeed.

Blaise smiles as he considers how the Enforcers' unexpected loss bent Kolton's beak out of shape. Harry didn't seem too fussed… the bloke's got it bad for Pansy, he made a beeline for her as soon as we'd all finished shaking hands. I don't know which of them looked happier, actually.

I hope Gus doesn't think less of me for being an – well, let's say, 'erratically brilliant' Beater, he sombrely ponders. I certainly had my arse handed to me on a platter today. At least she didn't seem to delight in the stuffing being pummelled out of me.

"Zabini? Have you drowned in there?". Blaise skitters away from the taps at the sound of Gus's voice, snatching up his towel to wind around his hips. He secures the 'garment' just before she rounds the corner.

"Gussie! What if George or Puck were still in here? Or Draco?" Blaise squeals. "Just give me a minute, alright?". He can't meet her eyes as an unfamiliar emotion takes hold. Am I feeling… self-conscious? Me? I guess being mercilessly hunted around the Quidditch pitch for the last ninety minutes might have dinged my self-assurance a tad. Keeping his back turned, he begins to sidle toward the cubicle containing his clothing.

"Untwist your knickers – I saw George and Puck leave, and Draco bolted out of here as soon as Hermione Disapparated home, OK? I gave you plenty of time to make yourself decent – Blaise, your ribs!" Gus gasps; her cool, nimble fingers stroke the huge bruise along his side as he freezes mid-step. "Why didn't you see the Healer? Our Keeper Amy did, and she only had a split lip," she chides. The palpable concern in her voice clogs his throat.

"Didn't– I didn't want to be late. For our picnic," he rattles out, automatically closing his eyes as she gently runs her hands over his bruised skin. "Gelsy can fix me up when we get home tonight."

"By Rowena, Blaise – your health is more important than a few sandwiches and home-made lemonade! Stay still – I'm healing you right now." Gus whips out her wand, chanting "Episkey" until she is satisfied that every wound and contusion is repaired.

"But they're really good sandwiches, Gus; Gelsy even garnished them with a sprig of parsley," Blaise wisecracks, chancing a quick peek at her frowning face. "I'm fine, really. Thank you, Gussie."

He carefully slides his left hand onto the sweet curve of her jeans-clad hip, loving how warm she feels. He sucks in a startled breath as she mimics his movement, resting her palm on his taut stomach, just above the thick towel's upper edge.

"Isn't it tradition, to award the victor a kiss?" Gus languorously asks, settling her other hand on his damp chest. "Congratulations, Blaisey."

Breathtakingly aware of every tiny detail of the woman before him, Blaise's anticipation reaches hitherto unknown heights. The world narrows down to the few square feet of their interaction. Frightened to speak – Gods, I'm petrified to breathe too loudly – lest Gus change her mind about bestowing him a kiss, Blaise keeps perfectly still, only his long dark eyelashes jittering as he watches her shuffle ever nearer.

"You're so sexy, Blaise… especially now, when you're not trying to be," Gus purrs, her fingertips setting him aflame with the tiniest of rotations; she watches in fascination as his lower abs contract and relax with every miniscule sweep. "I guess I expected you to be blasé about the whole sexual attraction thing, given our inequal levels of experience… but you're amazingly receptive, aren't you?".

"To– to you– I'm receptive to you – of course I am," Blaise somehow manages to rasp a reply. "I burn for you, Gussie. I've never felt like this with another woman, ever. It's not a line… please believe me, la mia splendida ragazza."

"What does that mean?" she wonders, so near now that he can clearly note the darker bark-brown ring around each of her stunning topaz irises. "'La mia splendida ragazza'? I can guess the splendid part, but 'ragazza'?".

"It means 'my gorgeous girlfriend'," Blaise whispers. "I'd love to make it the truth, Gussie." He holds his breath as it is her turn to freeze. Why did I have to blurt out that?! I'm an overeager idiot, obviously. His heart crumples as Gus remains rooted in place. Just as he miserably decides he's gone too far, her mouth urgently crashes onto his.

Elated, Blaise follows her lead. Finesse forgotten, he tangles his tongue with her darting one, sucking hotly. Her hungry hands seem determined to inventory every inch of his flesh, starting with his tight belly. It takes all of his willpower to not thrust mindlessly against her as she squeezes, strokes, and even scratches his bared skin with her short nails. Blaise's hands tremble as they settle on her shoulders, lightly gripping at the soft cotton of her simple black t-shirt.

I'm being thoroughly ravished by this enchanting, amazing, ever-surprising witch – and I just want more and more, he muzzily decides. Her teeth nip his earlobes; he turns his head to grant her greater access to the banded muscles of his throat and neck. Her nips turn to love bites, each sending a flare of insanely intense desire back to his rhapsodic brain.

"Eeeeeeeeeeee," Blaise whimpers, as Gus thirstily maps her hands across and down his broad back, her fingers plucking at the soft material barely shielding his buttocks – and rock-hard phallus. Sweet Aphrodite, I'm in danger of losing all control.

"Gussie– wait–" he spins her around, so that her back is resting against the outer wall of the small cubicle. "Let me kiss you back, tesoro," he captures her roaming hands, moving them to his shoulders. "You taste so good."

She tastes like honey, real honey, licked off a warm wooden spoon in an Italian farmhouse on a sultry summer afternoon. Blaise slowly licks at her panting lips, keeping his dark eyes open as he drinks in her flagrant arousal. His thumbs rub against her collarbones, his palms flattening against the upper swells of her bounteous breasts. "Is this OK? Shall I stop?" he whispers against her mouth.

"No – please – please touch me, Blaise. Touch my breasts," Gus groans. "Not just the tops… don't stop, tesoro."

Hearing Gus call him 'sweetheart' in Italian kicks Blaise's engulfing passion up a whole other gear. His hands move to cup her ripe globes over her shirt and bra, loving the way they fill his big hands. He watches her face intently as he flicks at her nipples through the dual layers, taking her pleasured moans as assent to keep exploring. Gus's fingers weave together to hold the back of his head in place as he leans down to kiss the valley of her cleavage.

"More, Blaise – pull it up, I want to feel your mouth on me," Gus impatiently insists, arching her back in ardent invitation.

Despite her restlessness, Blaise takes his time folding up her shirt; he reveals her beautiful bosom like a man uncovering a rare masterpiece from beneath a drop cloth. Hands quivering once more, he tugs down the cups of her plain black bra, easing the wide straps further along her shoulders as her glorious breasts pop free of the supportive apparel. Blinking furiously, Blaise takes another moment to soak up the magnificent picture she presents.

"Well? Don't just stand there, Zabini," Gus bosses, pretending a bored yawn. "Some lothario you are – you look like you've never seen a pair of tits before."

Blaise shakes his head forcefully, recognizing the nerves beneath her naughty teasing. "I've never seen your perfect, beautiful, wonderful breasts before, Gussie. I'm humbled, and greatly honoured," he solemnly declares. "You're absolutely gorgeous, Ms Gilmont."

Gus closes her eyes, thrusting out her chest again in silent supplication. Blaise traces his index fingers around her cupid-pink areolae, fascinated anew as her nipples pebble and swell. So responsive…

"You like that, Gussie? Wait until I place my lips on you, tesoro," he says, struggling to hear his own hoarse promise over the hammering of his excited heart. Emboldened by her keening moans, Blaise feathers his thumbs across her nipples, finally rubbing them with all his fingertips.

"Your mouth – Blaise, please," she repeats, her eyes snapping open, pupils wide and darkened to treacle-brown. "Now."

Utterly ecstatic to be given such a comprehensive go-ahead, Blaise rushes to comply. He firmly cradles each beautiful breast in his hands, bending his head to latch onto first her right nipple, then her left, spurred on by Gus's eager cries and her fingers convulsively yanking at his hair and ears, holding him in place.

Oh, Gussie… my beautiful warrior… mia feroce bellezza. He glories in every one of her pleasured sighs and grunts, shackling his own feral desire and aching loins. Not here – not now. Before they both reach the point of no return, Blaise regretfully bequeaths a final torrid kiss to each breast and scrupulously affixes her clothing back into place. He cannot resist lacing his hands around her waist and nibbling at her neck, though.

"What– why– no–" Gus gripes, rearing back to glare at him with passion-glazed eyes. "I didn't say to stop!".

"Gussie, we're still in the changing rooms of the Ministry's Quidditch pitch – and I'm clothed in a slipping white towel," Blaise chuckles. "One last kiss, before you skedaddle and I get appropriately attired for our picnic, hmmm?".

He embraces her tightly as their mouths fuse, giving and taking in equal measure. Blaise is lost to the heady rapture of the experience until an angry male voice breaks the spell.

"Get off her, you pig!". Rough hands rudely yank him away, sending him skidding across the slippery floor. Blaise struggles to maintain his balance and his dignity, his left hand somehow keeping the towel locked in place as he bangs into the tiled shower wall.

Faulkner stands between them, his not inconsiderable bulk heaving, face furious. "Leave, Gus – I'll take care of this prick."

"Kolton Faulkner – if you so much as BREATHE on my boyfriend again, I'll knock you into next year," Gus snarls, using the wall to propel herself in front of a winded Blaise. "I don't know what it is you thought you saw – but we were just kissing, you dolt!". Her dishwater blonde ponytail flicks as she disbelievingly shakes her head. "What the hell do you think you're doing here, anyway?".

Kolt the Dolt… oh, yeah. Blaise crosses one leg in front of the other, smirking fit to kill.

"Gus, you can't be serious – he's a sleaze and a cocky fool, you hate guys like that," Faulkner counters, walking closer. Blaise straightens, quite prepared to abandon the towel in favour of teaching this interfering turd a lesson.

"Stop – I don't need or want you to act the overprotective big brother, Kolton. If you can't – or won't – be respectful to Blaise, you're no longer welcome in my life. Get out." Gus's sensual mouth is flattened in a hard line as she points to the door. "You heard me."

"We're partners, Gus – don't be like this, huh? So you got your head turned by a pretty boy – it happens. It's OK, I'm the one who'll be here when it all falls apart." Kolton spreads his hands in an aggravating gesture of condescending magnanimity.

"I won't say it again, Kolt. If you continue to be patronizing and uncivil, I'll ask Harry for a partner reassignment on Monday. Goodbye." Gus continues to glower at Faulkner as she threads her fingers through Blaise's.

"Fine. You made your bed, Gus." Kolton's mouth works violently, before he abruptly swivels on his heel and charges outside.

Gus keeps her head bowed, slight aftershocks of the fraught confrontation vibrating her tall frame. Her handhold tenses and relaxes.

The full implications of Gus's ferocious defence – and her strident proclamation – finally seep into Blaise's consciousness. She claimed me as her boyfriend… she put me ahead of her friendship, and her partnership… I can't believe it.

I'm going to be the best damned boyfriend ever – you bet I am. Delicately casting a kiss to the crown of Gussie's blonde head, Blaise murmurs, "Thank you, tesoro. For everything. I won't let you down… I promise."

Her tone a little uneven, Gussie replies, "You're a bit scared of me now, aren't you? Good… you should be."

Laughing softly, Blaise nods, before pressing together their foreheads. "Just the teeniest bit. Let's go enjoy our picnic… la mia bellissima ragazza."


Italian translation:

Andiamo! – Let's go!

mia feroce bellezza – my fierce beauty.

la mia bellissima ragazza – my beautiful girlfriend.

Geordie translations:

Aye, dinna get your breeks in a bind – OK, don't get your trousers in a knot.

aal reet – all right

a right canty surprise – a delightful, pleasant surprise

Aa dorsn't say more, nee – I dare not say more, no

Sleekit bugger – smooth fellow

Atwix – between

Pelt away – hurry away

Stow ye stotin', ye silly billy! – stop your bouncing, you goose [affectionate].