Perspiration aside, Blaise did quite well on his practical and
moreover, he had done so with style. He bypassed the issue of
slippery hands by not using them; when he began to slow for descent, he
positioned himself in a lunge position on the broom with his arms out
on either side of him. It was an advanced move, one that few in
the class had mastered and therefore earned him a top mark as well as a
racing license. When Madam Hooch removed his blindfold, he was
pleased to see that Ron and Harry were both on their feet in the
stands, clapping and cheering. While he wasn't sure about his
personal feelings regarding the two (besides being pleasant enough to
placate his girlfriend), Blaise respected them both as broomsmen and
their approval was appreciated.
He had to admit that, for a brief and ugly moment, he had considered manufacturing an accident. Timed correctly, a fall from his broom would provide a small amount of pain but practically guarantee Hermione's appearance at his bedside, tearful and ready to reconcile. But he had his pride and other reasons to abandon that path besides. For one, he didn't want to be hospitalized in the last days of school. Also, he was certain that Hermione, in that infuriatingly reliable way of hers, would somehow find out and her wrath at being manipulated was quite simply not worth it. Slytherin girls would take it as a matter of course, or even be flattered at his extremes, but Hermione was not that sort of girl. Oh, she was capable of a fair amount of deception herself (which he admittedly found incredibly attractive) but romantic relationships were clearly not the arena for their exercise. After all, hadn't their argument been provoked by his desire for honesty in the first place?
Which, of course, reminded Blaise that he still needed to survive the Talk. He waited for the Gryffindor boys on the ground; there was no way he was approaching Hagrid's without an escort. The groundskeeper might be a gentle giant by nature, but that meant nothing considering he also lacked any concept of safety and logical proportion.
"That was wicked, Blaise," Harry said. "I try for my racing license after graduation. Shall we set up a match sometime?"
Blaise nodded absently, distracted by the way Ron was eying his broomstick.
There was wide-look on the redhead's face as he asked, "Blaise, you're not related to Bernadette Zabini von Bolt of the Munich von Bolts, are you?"
Harry looked at surprised. Ron had never seemed much interested in society and bloodlines.
"Aunt Bernie's my dad's sister."
"If you let me hold your broom, I'll let you marry Hermione!"
Harry blinked, trying to ignore any possible double entendres and the general wrongness of Ron's outburst as Ron reverently stroked the wood of Blaise's admittedly superior broomstick.
"Don't you see? Harry, It's a prototype."
Harry squinted then raised his hand to the broomstick to stroke it as well, "Is that a Hermes?"
Ron made a 'tsk' sound and corrected his friend in a prissy tone that reminded Blaise of a certain Malfoy of their acquaintance. "The 'H' is silent. It is a 'Ermes," the latest model from von Bolt luxury line."
They began the walk towards Hagrid's hut and Blaise shrugged stuck his hand in his pockets, deciding it would do him no good to try to take his broom back. It would let him formulate his plan of approach, anyway. "Early graduation present from my aunt."
Harry gave him a measuring look. "Right, then. About that wedding. You know, its traditional to give the bride's party," he nodded towards Ron, "which would, as Hermione's best mates, be us, naturally, gifts, right?"
After navigating past the pumpkin patch and the three-headed dog, Blaise allowed himself a deep breath while Harry knocked on the stout hut door.
"Ah, 'Arry an Ron. Got some fresh treacle tarts." The giant moved out of the doorway, to let them in. Ron surreptitiously punched Blaise in the arm to get his attention and then made a gesture that clearly translated into, 'Do not take the tarts under any circumstances. In fact, eat nothing. Drink nothing.'
"And who's this then? You'd be Blaise Zabini, fellow 'Mione's been smiling about last few weeks. None of her other ones ever came out. You /are/ a good one." Hagrid took Blaise's hand in his huge grip and squeezed it in a way he probably thought was friendly and non-threatening. Then he winked at him. "You treat her right, now. I know places in the Forest where they couldn't find you, assuming the centaurs left something to find."
Blaise stood very still while he hoped Ron didn't choose to disclose the fact that the couple was currently on the outs. But after a minute, his basic nature prevailed over fear and he smirked at Harry, as if to say, 'See, even Hagrid knew we were dating.'
Harry frowned but only sat down at Hagrid's squat table. "Hagrid, this is Hermione's book. Is she around?"
"You just missed her, actually. We were having ourselves a late tea. See, that's her cuppa. Funny. Not two minutes before you got knocked, she ran out the other door. Not like 'Mione to forget her books, is it?"
Ron looked at Blaise expectantly. Blaise suppressed the urge to curl his (sweaty!) palms in frustration. She had run away from him! How dare she, that lovely little twit! It was one thing for her to be studying and not crossing paths, particularly since he'd been confining his lurking to the dungeons, but quite another for her to be actively avoiding him when he'd already decided that the argument was negligible, they were going to fix everything, and all would be beautiful and springtime birdsong if had he to bribe all of Slytherin and half of the Hufflepuffs to make it happen.
He thought he hid his anger it rather well when he made his excuses to Hagrid then tore the book out of Harry's hands, claiming he was going to return it to his girlfriend.
He paused as he looked at Ron, who was still holding the Hermes. "You can hold onto that, but I hope you'll both get some studying done before you try it out. We still have one day of NEWTs, after all."
He then decisively, but always politely, closed the door behind him and stomped, but with utmost dignity, after his fugitive broomslayer.
Had he closed the door less forcefully and more slowly, he would have seen the incredulous exchange of looks between Hagrid, Ron, and Harry only to be broken by Ron's exclamation.
"Bloody hell. They're made for each other."
He had to admit that, for a brief and ugly moment, he had considered manufacturing an accident. Timed correctly, a fall from his broom would provide a small amount of pain but practically guarantee Hermione's appearance at his bedside, tearful and ready to reconcile. But he had his pride and other reasons to abandon that path besides. For one, he didn't want to be hospitalized in the last days of school. Also, he was certain that Hermione, in that infuriatingly reliable way of hers, would somehow find out and her wrath at being manipulated was quite simply not worth it. Slytherin girls would take it as a matter of course, or even be flattered at his extremes, but Hermione was not that sort of girl. Oh, she was capable of a fair amount of deception herself (which he admittedly found incredibly attractive) but romantic relationships were clearly not the arena for their exercise. After all, hadn't their argument been provoked by his desire for honesty in the first place?
Which, of course, reminded Blaise that he still needed to survive the Talk. He waited for the Gryffindor boys on the ground; there was no way he was approaching Hagrid's without an escort. The groundskeeper might be a gentle giant by nature, but that meant nothing considering he also lacked any concept of safety and logical proportion.
"That was wicked, Blaise," Harry said. "I try for my racing license after graduation. Shall we set up a match sometime?"
Blaise nodded absently, distracted by the way Ron was eying his broomstick.
There was wide-look on the redhead's face as he asked, "Blaise, you're not related to Bernadette Zabini von Bolt of the Munich von Bolts, are you?"
Harry looked at surprised. Ron had never seemed much interested in society and bloodlines.
"Aunt Bernie's my dad's sister."
"If you let me hold your broom, I'll let you marry Hermione!"
Harry blinked, trying to ignore any possible double entendres and the general wrongness of Ron's outburst as Ron reverently stroked the wood of Blaise's admittedly superior broomstick.
"Don't you see? Harry, It's a prototype."
Harry squinted then raised his hand to the broomstick to stroke it as well, "Is that a Hermes?"
Ron made a 'tsk' sound and corrected his friend in a prissy tone that reminded Blaise of a certain Malfoy of their acquaintance. "The 'H' is silent. It is a 'Ermes," the latest model from von Bolt luxury line."
They began the walk towards Hagrid's hut and Blaise shrugged stuck his hand in his pockets, deciding it would do him no good to try to take his broom back. It would let him formulate his plan of approach, anyway. "Early graduation present from my aunt."
Harry gave him a measuring look. "Right, then. About that wedding. You know, its traditional to give the bride's party," he nodded towards Ron, "which would, as Hermione's best mates, be us, naturally, gifts, right?"
After navigating past the pumpkin patch and the three-headed dog, Blaise allowed himself a deep breath while Harry knocked on the stout hut door.
"Ah, 'Arry an Ron. Got some fresh treacle tarts." The giant moved out of the doorway, to let them in. Ron surreptitiously punched Blaise in the arm to get his attention and then made a gesture that clearly translated into, 'Do not take the tarts under any circumstances. In fact, eat nothing. Drink nothing.'
"And who's this then? You'd be Blaise Zabini, fellow 'Mione's been smiling about last few weeks. None of her other ones ever came out. You /are/ a good one." Hagrid took Blaise's hand in his huge grip and squeezed it in a way he probably thought was friendly and non-threatening. Then he winked at him. "You treat her right, now. I know places in the Forest where they couldn't find you, assuming the centaurs left something to find."
Blaise stood very still while he hoped Ron didn't choose to disclose the fact that the couple was currently on the outs. But after a minute, his basic nature prevailed over fear and he smirked at Harry, as if to say, 'See, even Hagrid knew we were dating.'
Harry frowned but only sat down at Hagrid's squat table. "Hagrid, this is Hermione's book. Is she around?"
"You just missed her, actually. We were having ourselves a late tea. See, that's her cuppa. Funny. Not two minutes before you got knocked, she ran out the other door. Not like 'Mione to forget her books, is it?"
Ron looked at Blaise expectantly. Blaise suppressed the urge to curl his (sweaty!) palms in frustration. She had run away from him! How dare she, that lovely little twit! It was one thing for her to be studying and not crossing paths, particularly since he'd been confining his lurking to the dungeons, but quite another for her to be actively avoiding him when he'd already decided that the argument was negligible, they were going to fix everything, and all would be beautiful and springtime birdsong if had he to bribe all of Slytherin and half of the Hufflepuffs to make it happen.
He thought he hid his anger it rather well when he made his excuses to Hagrid then tore the book out of Harry's hands, claiming he was going to return it to his girlfriend.
He paused as he looked at Ron, who was still holding the Hermes. "You can hold onto that, but I hope you'll both get some studying done before you try it out. We still have one day of NEWTs, after all."
He then decisively, but always politely, closed the door behind him and stomped, but with utmost dignity, after his fugitive broomslayer.
Had he closed the door less forcefully and more slowly, he would have seen the incredulous exchange of looks between Hagrid, Ron, and Harry only to be broken by Ron's exclamation.
"Bloody hell. They're made for each other."