Disclaimer: Neither own Shoot the Moon (Norah Jones) nor Harry Potter (J.K. Rowling, Twentieth Century Fox, Time Warner, and respective publishing companies). However, my intricate little ditty does belong to me.
The summer days are gone too soon
You shoot the moon
And miss completely
And now you're left to face the gloom
The empty room that once smelled sweetly
Of all the flowers you plucked if only
You knew the reason
Why you had to each be lonely
Was it just the season?
Now the fall is here again
You can't begin to give in
It's all over
There's a terrible pomp and circumstance when two purebloods of well-respected families get married for the first time. There were so many wedding heirlooms for the years that these families had existed, and to tie together so many purebloods by one link, welding together two entire clans and all their traditions, the ceremony mourned the loss of an entire separate lineage, but celebrated the union as they were becoming so rare these days.
It seemed as though in all this hysteria that Blaise had forgotten that Pansy and Draco were actually engaged. As Blaise brushed Pansy's hair back for her before they fitted the ancient champagne lace mantilla to Pansy's head. They pinned the flat veil edged in one large, long ruffle of lace to her crown, and Blaise couldn't help but remark how pretty a bridal glow made someone appear. Pansy was remarkably silent as Blaise buttoned the back of her dress. The beaded lace bodice had been dyed beige and a round hem below the waist attached to the full organza skirt that led into a Grand Cathedral train, roughly ten yards from the waist, and when Pansy turned, a vision of different shades of ivory, Blaise smiled faintly.
"I can't believe it." Pansy whispered in the privacy of the Parvati Patil House of Design's back rooms. "It's finally happening."
Blaise nodded distractedly, and Pansy continued on about the many traditions of the Malfoy and Parkinson lines, pulling all the way back to their roots in the Black and Hathvisham houses. Two girls scurried to Blaise's side, their wands following instructions they were extremely focused on. While Pansy's gown was soft and romantic, and going to be covered with a thin and gown-molding dress robe with bell sleeves and transparent fabric, it was apparent that Pansy intended for everyone to remember Blaise's place—behind her.
Blaise really wanted a cigarette. The sheath was off the shoulder with a beaded collar and it was body hugging in a silvery periwinkle silk, and beads draping across the bodice and then tightly hand sewn to every centimeter of the pencil skirt which tapered off below the knee, a beaded train following her. Pansy's soft blonde waves beneath her mantilla would contrast the sharp and undone up do she had in mind for Blaise's darker locks.
Blaise watched the quiet London street below as the two girls who had just practically been drawing the dress on her try to run some shoe choices by Pansy. "I was thinking of moving into the London place for a while…to get out of your hair…I'm terrible at this wedding stuff."
"But, Blaisie, you're my maid of honor!" Somehow Pansy didn't sound too devastated. "Oh, well, I'm sure Tracey and Daphne can handle it. Sounds like fun."
"Hmmm…"
"So…what happened Saturday night?" Pansy thought about her curves overflowing in her gown and what would make her look thinner…perhaps if she looked taller. "High heels."
"What do you mean?" Blaise exhaled, her fingers drumming on her beaded hip as a need for nicotine filled her blood. Shouldn't her witch blood be fighting the Muggle habit?
"No, not stilettos, I don't want to be teetering down the aisle, you nitwit!" Pansy exclaimed, looking back at Blaise, who looked cool in her gown. "I mean Oliver. I know you spent Monday with him."
"I did." Blaise's thighs tried to rub together, but the dress was too tight. It was then that she remembered Oliver still had her panties.
"Oh, Blaise, I'm so happy for you. I'm getting married and you seem to be working it out with Oliver…" Pansy cooed, applying lip-gloss to her lips with her fingertip. "Oh, I'm thinking you should be in open-toe kitten heels…beaded, to go with the ensemble…"
"Hmmm…" Blaise agreed absentmindedly.
"Miss Zabini? You have a visitor…a male visitor." Parvati announced upon entering in billowing robes, kissing both of Pansy's cheeks enthusiastically.
"It's Draco trying to see me in my dress! Blaise, go! And remember you're staying in the London suite tonight!" Pansy brushed her out, and Blaise rolled her eyes, struggling to strut across the room.
She exited and pulled the hairpin out of her hair as she closed the door with her hip. She was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't Draco.
"Oliver! How'd you know I'd be here?" Blaise exclaimed, standing on her bare tiptoes and throwing her arms around him, only hearing a split in her dress, some beads dripping onto the floor.
"Eager to show me your knickers again, Zabini?" Oliver asked, pulling from her embrace with a grin.
"Merlin be damned, I hate this dress." Blaise looked around the richly decorated, chestnut couture shop and smirked. "Not your kind of place, is this?"
"Do you have a minute?" Oliver asked tentatively, and Blaise shrugged.
"Let me get out of this dress and we'll be good." Blaise said casually, turning back to the back rooms.
"Still stripping for me, Blaise? You're such a slut." Oliver teased, and Blaise turned, searching his eyes for a glimmer of belief in his statements.
Shaking it off as paranoia, she should've known he was plainly joking. She slipped back into Pansy's dressing room, unzipping her dress with the flick of a wand. "I've got to go, Pansy…a friend's caught up with me."
Blaise looked back at Pansy as she redressed, and the girl was lost in her own world of romantic whims. A week ago, this facial expression would have already been ass-paralyzing dull and Blaise would have rolled her eyes. Her features softened, smirk still ubiquitous, and she reached into her jacket's interior pocket for her cigarettes. She stuck one in her mouth, and for the second time in the day and her second time in several years, Blaise Zabini conceded that Pansy Parkinson was pretty.
Kind of.
"How the fucking hell did they manage to follow us to Scotland?" Blaise demanded as they sat at a Muggle London café with fish and chips. She spat, rather unladylike, and it landed right above a picture of the retreating backs of the pair as Blaise skipped down the path, Oliver pensively a few steps behind her, reading. There were more shots—including Blaise tucking a magazine into Oliver's belt and Oliver carrying her down the stone trail towards Hogsmeade.
"Well, at least they didn't get the pink knickers incident on camera." Oliver chirped, mouth half-full. "Let me see this."
Oliver laughed at the pictures a little poignantly. He could see why people were drawing their conclusions. "Old Spark Rekindles Close to Puddlemere Home."
The pair, both dressed in casual Muggle clothing, leaned back in their chairs across from each other, and they both had a paper coffee cup in one hand, and a tabloid magazine in the other.
Snap.
"It seems as though during the crazy hijinks of wedding-planning for close friends Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini finds time for a relaxing day trip—with ex-boyfriend Oliver Wood." Blaise rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. "Close friends."
"The two looked like the previous Saturday was only the beginning of a series of cozy reunions they seem to be staging all over the whole of Great Britain." Oliver's voice dipped to a quieter volume, "Muggle or Magic, there doesn't seem to be a day going by without the pair in each other's company."
"We're only proving them right, in their shallow little minds." Blaise muttered, polishing off her food.
"Visit me tomorrow, on the pitch." Oliver suggested, finishing off his coffee with a refreshed sigh.
"So you can get a mid-shower shag?" Blaise asked coolly, raising one eyebrow and then meeting his eye playfully.
"Implied, but of course, never enforced." Oliver retorted, leaning over on the table, arms crossed.
"As long as you bring a rubber ducky." Blaise whispered, and they both sat back, reminiscing of their days before, ducking in and out of the Muggle world to find solace and privacy.
Their eyes did not meet. There was something oddly sensual in the air, and Blaise detected the clean scent of laundry, combined with the baking and frying smells from within the hole-in-the-wall café. For some reason, although it terribly had nothing to do with her own home, it reminded her of the very sensation of being in a warm kitchen surrounded by the loving family she had never had.
"My mother very much enjoyed your gift the other day." Oliver said finally, standing up to clear their table.
"Hmm?" Blaise asked distractedly, rising to join him.
"The perfume. And I noticed it wasn't one of the ones of your dressing table, so I enjoyed it too." Oliver continued, pausing to smile at her. "Little Blaise—it's quite lovely watching how wonderful you continue to become."
"Do you mean to say that I wasn't wonderful before?" Blaise teased, following him, and after he threw their trash away, he turned and they collided delicately.
"No, not at all." Oliver said rather quickly, seeming out of breath.
Blaise realized it was he who smelled of clean laundry so radiantly…and minty toothpaste combined with the aftertastes of fish and chips. Of course, her own scent of fish and chips, minty toothpaste and Scotland weren't to be ignored and in that second of searing body heat, the scents blended, and Blaise was suddenly struck homesick in the oddest of senses.
"Well, you have to get on to practice, don't you?" She said suddenly, also sounding out of breath as she stumbled backward to break the air between them.
"Right." Oliver agreed hastily, and he hesitated forward, his movements like a stutter. He pulled her awkwardly into a hug, but the lingering of it on both their parts ached them both just a little. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow then. Practice is over at five."
Blaise nodded, suddenly realizing how cold it was outside. They both stood in silence for a moment, and then broke into uncomfortable grins and waved goodbye and split their separate ways.
As soon as she was around the corner, Blaise stopped, closed her eyes and sighed. She continued but with a more massive heart, made of a consistency that was once light fluff but had somehow gotten whipped into a heavy cream that weighed her down as she walked.
Blaise sighed happily when she opened the thin blue curtains of the curved window. Her room in London was simply exquisite. Steps led up to the floor-to-ceiling window set in the curved wall, and thick, bright green silk curtains cushioned the thin blue, and then there was a long balcony over a very exquisite garden. The room was light, and airy, and although had a very cozy air around it, was distinctly modern and fresh.
It was morning. There was something about having a whole apartment to herself—or rather, just away from Draco—that made her so peaceful. Blaise was freshly showered, teeth just brushed, face cleansed, exfoliated and moisturized, lips glossed and eyes lined. She closed the bright blue orbs and took in the scent of the place.
Something was off. The room felt right—decorated with her quirkiness in mind, her favored lightness of heart, and the few cozy touches that secretly reminded her of the room she had occupied whenever she visited Oliver's parents' house, and it felt right, she thought as she threw down a round silk floor pillow from the pile and sat on it. She stuck her tongue out, seeing if the air was poisoned. No…it seemed fine. And it was usually silent around here, so that wasn't what was odd—
It smelled like Scotland. That was it. The last time she had put on perfume in here, Draco had just given her that snooty perfume and the few visits after that, the scent still lingered. But the place was clean of any smell, except for Loch Ness.
A smile stretched across Blaise's face as she stood only to throw herself backwards back onto the bed lazily. It was so wonderful here.
It had to have been mid-afternoon. Blaise was used to waking up with a rigid schedule, being there with Pansy exactly at seven thirty, waiting for Draco at the breakfast table. Blaise yawned and stood, not bothering to put back anything. At home, she had to be meticulously neat. She walked out of the room and towards the large kitchen, grinning at the thought of making herself a bagel instead of having a rather filling and fully balanced meal.
Sitting on a stool and thickly spreading cream cheese on her bagel, she looked up at the clock. It was three o' clock and her hair wasn't dry.
Blaise grabbed one half of the bagel and went into Draco's study, where she knew he had a stack of Portkey request cards. She filled one out with a random quill lying about, dipping it into violent purple ink, and snapped her fingers. The exquisite and expensive owl's cage, complete with automatically refilling food and water dishes, self-cleaning charms, and several different commands for the cage's locks, opened with a silent fluidity. The superbly fast and handsome resident of the cage flew to the desk, sticking out his claw eagerly. Quickly she tied the request form to his claw and rushed to the window, sending up the sash and watching the snowy owl speed out with delight.
She sat back in Draco's chair idly, finishing off her bagel half before walking out, not at all noticing a tattered contract sitting near the stack of Portkey request forms.
"So…Wood…when were you going to tell us about your little reunion with Zabini?" Terrence Higgs asked casually as the all-male Puddlemere United team trudged into their locker room, all sweating profusely.
"Don't see how it's any of your business." Wood replied shortly, and they all knew the instant he had said it he didn't mean it as harshly as it had come out.
The Puddlemere United team was a very rowdy bunch of boys; all from different houses and different years of Hogwarts. But they all had something passionately in common—they loved Quidditch, and cared not for anyone who stopped them from it, which included the likes of You-Know-Who. They actually cared for each other a great deal, having made it up through the Reserve team nearly all together.
"Right then." Ethan Reed declared joyfully. "She's a feisty little bugger, I warn you."
"Shut up, Reed, what would you know?" Higgs snapped. Higgs had been captain for several years, ever since Wadock had retired, and he was very protective of Zabini, as it were. He had taken her immediately under his wing in his final year at Hogwarts, and only liked talking to Wood about her. "So when did you two start hanging out again?"
"There's nothing really going on." Wood answered bashfully as everyone sat down to remove their body armor. "We've always been friends."
"Let's put it this way, Wood." Reed began, throwing an arm around Wood's bruised shoulders. "I'm friends with you, but I wouldn't be caught dead smoking with you at a private table at a party, skipping in Scotland with you, putting a magazine in your belt, being scooped up in your arms, or enjoying an intimate lunch of fish and chips with you, and I'm only talking about the past few days—I'd never give you late night massages with takeout, even in my hotel room. Hell, I'd never do anything with you, Wood—at least not in public."
All the guys guffawed, and Wood rolled his eyes, pulling off his shirt
"He has a point, mate." Higgs chimed in, peeling his own shirt off.. "For once."
"I happen to be extremely philosophical." Reed defended himself, standing up on a bench. "There once was a woman from Surrey—"
"Oh, don't start!" Several of the team's members demanded nearly in chorus, and at that moment, Alicia Spinnet led Blaise Zabini in.
"Christ, Spinney, you could give a man a little warning!" Higgs exclaimed with a distinct flush growing over his Quidditch-red face, modestly pulling his shirt back on.
Alicia scowled and said, "Wood, you have a visitor."
Blaise waved at Higgs a little wave of acknowledgement.
"Oy, Spinney…" Higgs muttered as he followed the team's blonde assistant manager out of the locker room.
"Higgs, you smell."
"Oh, Spinney, I'm sure you can handle it."
The boys all laughed faintly as the pair exited, and Blaise stood rather uncomfortably in the doorway. Oliver smiled weakly at her and tapped at the space Higgs had left unoccupied across from him.
"Get here alright?" Oliver asked
Blaise nodded. She waved at the guys she had come to know through many travels, but turned back to grin at Oliver. "I came for that mid-shower shag."
"I wouldn't do that in public," Ethan began merrily, a twinkle in his eye, "With Wood either."
After saying that, the boys of the Quidditch team: Ethan, Kevin, Sam, Jerome, and Brian, magically seemed to disappear to the showers.
"Well, my ears are burning." Blaise said simply after a moment, and she suddenly became very aware of exactly how sweaty and undressed Oliver was. She turned away heatedly.
"It may be due to the fact that you're turning red, my dear." Oliver muttered with a grin. "Oh, come on, Zabini, don't act so virginal. You've seen me more naked than this."
'But that was when we were dating.' Blaise wanted to say, and the thought occurred to both parties.
"So why am I up here, again?" She asked on an exhale, looking around nervously, primly sitting in the midst of perspired-on Quidditch clothes and equipment.
"So we could…you know…have a private talk, away from the cameras." The idea sounded silly even as it rested on Oliver's tongue. A droplet fell onto a shoulder Blaise's jacket had just revealed. "Your hair's still wet."
Blaise nodded. "Didn't get up until two thirty today. 'Twas quite proud of myself, I was."
Oliver smiled and shook himself out of it. "Want to go get some food at my house?"
"Still living with your parents, Wood?" Blaise asked with a grin.
"No…" Wood mumbled in a false sarcastic and whiney voice.
"Go shower, you wanker. You smell." Blaise demanded with a bright smile, putting her hands beside her hips and leaning forward. He followed her orders silently and she picked up the magazine beneath her hand. She began reading the tabloid, not extremely interested in the pictures of her lunch with Oliver yesterday, and flipped to read the secrets of Pansy's wedding.
The sounds of the shower now the only thing being heard, besides some off-key singing of some Muggle rock tune, Blaise felt a little better. She was in quiet, and quiet was for once a lot more comfortable than in the clamor of rowdy boys.
The soft sounds of kissing suddenly reached her ears, and Blaise sat up, alert. Passionately entangled, Terrence and Alicia moved awkwardly into the locker room, and Blaise cleared her throat. The pair broke apart, and appeared to have been in a heated argument the last time she had seen them.
"Right then…" Blaise whispered, her eyes directed towards the floor as she stood. "Could the two of you just remember to tell Oliver I'm waiting outside? …didn't mean to interrupt…"
"Zabini!" Terrence cried faintly and none too sincerely. "Christ, I'm sorry, Spinney."
"Higgs, you smell." Came the cold reply as Alicia tried not to fight a grin. She pushed him towards the showers. "Go on! Tell Wood as you boys try to keep away from each other's sex appeal."
"Right-o, then, boss…" Terrence whispered, pulling her in gently for a quick kiss and then walking backwards towards the showers, stumbling over a shin guard, but still looking arrogantly happy.
Draco Malfoy sat up as Pansy rode him happily, their skulls smashing together. "Where's Blaise, Pansy?"
"God, do you know how to kill a mood." Pansy whispered, dipping her head for a scorching kiss. Draco threw her off of his lap.
"Seriously, Pansy, where's Blaise? She hasn't been at meals for the past few days." Draco said in earnest, pushing off the silk sheets from around his knees.
"She skips meals sometimes." Pansy muttered off-handedly, still wrapped in a passionate daze, and she crawled across the bed to get back into Draco's embrace. He pushed her away.
"She doesn't need to. If anyone needs to around here, it's you." Draco stood and pulled on a long velvet chord near his bed to call one of his house elves.
"Draco Malfoy!" Pansy exclaimed hotly.
"Blinky, where is Miss Zabini?" Draco practiced casually, and Pansy's eyes narrowed.
"I've forgotten." Pansy said through gritted teeth, "I gave her permission to go live in the London apartment for a while. She herself admitted she's no good at this wedding stuff and only wanted to be out of our hair. I see now that she's never quite so."
Draco ignored her and in his anger, stalked out of the room and instead of into his study, was in Pansy's frilly boudoir of minty green and glittering pink. The four tabloids strewn across the table didn't surprise him. Pansy read them with great joy, especially since most of the people featured were fairly good friends of hers, and she loved to see them publicly humiliated. The one on top was the least recent; featuring a fairly large photo of Blaise and Wood at his party Saturday night…it was Sunday's edition.
Draco sat down on one of the low, puffy chairs near the table and he glared at the Sunday tabloid…only to see that the Monday tabloid featured pictures of Blaise and Wood sitting outside his house in Scotland…that the Tuesday edition featured pictures of them walking peacefully in Scotland, and that this very morning's copy had pictures of them eating lunch together in London…and in a fairly close embrace towards the supposed end of the supposed date.
Why the fuck had Pansy just let her run off to London? Lord knows what kind of trouble she could get into there. Look what she was already doing.
Draco stormed back into the bedroom to give Pansy a piece of his mind, but she seemed to be packing.
"I can't take this anymore." Pansy said shrilly, and Draco noticed she was dressed. "I can't let you be so preoccupied with your thoughts of her and let her throw her life away for you when you're supposed to be getting married."
"Do you mean for me to dissolve my contract with the Zabinis?" Draco asked dimly. "I won't do that."
"What I mean is that your contract with me is hereby dissolved. It is quite obvious that you're strangely enamored with her and if you won't allow her anyone but yourself, you are quite free to do with her what you please, because I will no longer stand in the way of this painful charade!" Pansy picked up some random perfume bottle and threw it at him.
Draco ducked, but the scent had been released into the air. He recognized it. It filled the room suddenly and his eyes narrowed. "Where did you get that?"
Draco looked at the table where she had picked it up from. Although the bottle no longer in tact, the gold and ebony stairs leading up to it were still recognizable.
"Blaise gave it to me before she left." Pansy whispered, kneeling down to pick up the pieces of black glass that had shattered on the floor. "Oh no…"
Pansy crawling around helplessly and wretchedly—Draco had never thought the picture quite below her. But for the sake of sentiment?
Suddenly, Draco realized the impact of her words. "You're leaving me?"
Pansy suddenly looked up from the mess she had made, eyes narrowed. "As long as evidence shows that you can't completely love me, Draco—I see no reason to get married."
As she swept her bags away, heading towards the exit, she turned back to him. "Here I was, thinking I was so lucky to not only have an incredible best friend of Blaise, but also thinking how extraordinary it was to actually be in love with the man I was going to marry."
Blaise could barely concentrate on the dinner before her.
It was Thursday. The sixth day she had spent more than six hours in Oliver's company. Her leg itched and she couldn't stand this lunch much longer.
"I think—" Blaise said in an unusually high pitch. "That I'll be going home for today."
The Puddlemere boys all exchanged grins. "Alright." Said Terrence, winking at Wood. "Well, boys, she's got the right idea. No practice today, so rest up."
"Huh?" Blaise asked rather dimly as she stood up in a flustered huff.
"Well, it's the night before the game. Tomorrow we'll be drilling like crazy, but the boys deserve one night off, wouldn't you think?" Terrence inquired with a twinkle in his eye, and Blaise suddenly didn't feel her plan was working out too well. She had planned to rush off, casually congratulate Oliver the following night after the game, and then see how much time she could stretch between them without seeming like she was avoiding him.
"Right."
"I'll take you home, Blaise." Oliver offered quietly, and Blaise's fears were suddenly quelled.
This affair wasn't getting ridiculously out of control…because if it were, the way the couple was looking at each other would make her bored, not uncomfortable.
"Right."
"How incredibly you this whole suite is." Oliver exhaled with relief as Blaise let him in.
"What did you expect?" Blaise asked on a whisper, closing the door behind her.
"I don't know…something more like your place at the Mansion." Oliver muttered, trying to keep his envy out of his voice.
"Nope." Blaise chirped, the sunshine of the afternoon dying to quench her thirst for light.
Oliver followed her a little bit, not finding it at all odd that her old-fashioned bed seemed to be in the center of the room. The thoughts of the bed, however, made him blush.
The room seemed a bit off for some reason, and there was something oddly uncomfortable about it. There was something lacking in the atmosphere, but Oliver didn't say anything.
Blaise tossed down a blue silk floor pillow near the side of her bed, and hopped up onto her bed eagerly, sitting Indian style. "Sit, Oliver."
"Yes, ma'am." Oliver sat rather awkwardly, his bum cushioned by the pillow and his legs sticking straight out. He was kind of discomfited until Blaise put her hands to work on his shoulders.
Oh, his bruised shoulders, how she always could make a symphony out of the noise they cried out. There was something within those magical palms that were laced with soothing and comfort that Oliver, without this private knowledge, otherwise never would have been able to associate with her. A serene smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and the same feeling pulled his eyelids down, his neck arching as he took in the relief of the pain. Oliver's thighs and arse also twitched, but he wouldn't very well admit that to her for fear her audacity would have her soothe them too, and then they'd be in a right mess. Oliver grinned at that thought. Oh, how she did make him cocky. Oliver needn't have asked about his arms, because somehow with the fondling of his shoulder bruises, her handiwork somehow spread down through them.
"Feel alright?" Blaise whispered in his ear. If he hadn't been up until that point, her whisper probably would have healed him. There was something distinctly sexual about it, and he wouldn't ignore it this time. At the same time, it dripped with concern—the combination was utterly delectable.
He moaned and nodded, and Blaise sat up erectly, something shooting through her with animal instinct. "Good then." She breathed, standing up and sauntering across the room.
A languid simper stretched across Blaise's face, and she closed the blue curtains of her bedroom. She turned to face him, primal nature fighting her cautionary tactics. "Does this remind you of anything?"
She shed the zip-up hoodie she had been wearing. "Sunlight…clean room…the two of us."
Oliver shuddered as Blaise sauntered in front of him, tank top and sweats, ponytail and plain. Her features softened as she looked up at him, drawing him in with her intake of breath, like he were her oxygen, as if he were her air. "What have I been doing?"
Before Oliver could cheekily suggest something extremely nonsexual, she pulled his head closer to hers by a handful of hair, and tight lips crashed together, and in no time, Blaise had pulled him onto the bed with such terrible force that it hurt him.
"Gods, I've missed you." Blaise admitted in a terribly low tone, stripping off her tank top. Oliver could only agree as she pulled off his jumper. "I can't tell you how much."
"Don't then." Oliver squeaked, tugging at his shirt. Christ, did he have to wear so many bloody layers in the winter?
He suddenly realized she hadn't put on a bra. The girl was going to give herself a cold. The idea made him smirk.
She looked up from where she had been frenziedly trying to undo his belt buckle. "What's so fucking funny?"
Oliver reached above him just slightly, his large hands equivalent and cupping her breasts. "Naughty girl's going to get herself sick soon."
A flash of hardness sped through Blaise's eyes and out of them almost as quickly as it had arrived, and she shuddered, shaking it off. "Probably."
She had never been one for word-battling, game-like sex. She imagined that if she ever had done anything with Draco (again, she shuddered), it would have been that way.
Oliver studied her, where her fingers had stopped their busywork, and her face looked rather blank. Removing his hands from her breasts, they worked behind her and down towards the small of her back, and he pushed her towards him for an open-mouthed kiss.
Blaise shut her eyes forcefully; kissing him with such fervor he was afraid she would bruise herself. It wasn't until the tears began falling that he figured out why she was so desperate to get that little tongue of hers in his mouth.
"Blaise—are you alright?" Oliver sat up, and their skulls smashed together. By now, Blaise was completely holding back her tears now, and it was searing her throat. She was straddling his lap and her arms were wrapped around his neck and never before had he seen her so delicate. Even after their first and only time together, she had seemed so blissfully happy that she radiated confidently. But now— "I see you don't really want to do this."
He hadn't meant for his voice to sound as hard as it did. "No, I really do, it's just…"
The thing that had been wrong in the air suddenly reeked even more, and this time, Oliver could tell they both could smell it. She tried looking him in the eye happily, and her tears pulled her eyelids down and Oliver saw it there in those bright blue orbs, the bright blue that was streaked across this room—
His possession of her. No, not Oliver's…Draco Malfoy's.
Oliver wanted to throw her off his lap. Her touch was scorching him; tearing at his heart and making his head throb with pain. After all this time, even regarding the two years they had barely spoken to one another—this week had led him to believe that she could still be his.
She was such a fucking tease.
Oliver tried to be reasonable. It was quite probably that while she had grown up quite a bit, she was still under Malfoy's lock and key until that contract was up—or until he let go of her so harshly she couldn't help but face reality.
And unfortunately, that appeared, regardless, to be at least two years off in the distance. "Right then. Um…" Oliver reached for his shirt, and Blaise tentatively climbed off of his lap, standing there and still choking back sobs, but even she knew, as Oliver did, that anything Oliver did to comfort her would hurt them both. "I'll be seeing you."
He pulled on his shirt rather forcefully, grabbing at his jumper blindly.
"Right." Blaise whispered, finally letting her tears openly fall as he left the room, door open. She'd brushed them back in his presence somehow, without fingers, without a wand. She took the walk up to her window and pulled the thin curtains closed, and pulling the silk after them. She stood with much strength, although her head hung low and her back arched a little, and was determined not to continue crying. How could she continue to do this to herself? Blaise bit her lip back until it began to bleed, and she spat it out on the curtain.
The curtain was a vivid green.
Draco Malfoy stormed through his front door, and collided with Oliver Wood, who didn't look too pleased. Both men nodded at each other, gave each other a cold stare, and went their separate ways.
He marched through to Blaise's door and found her with her back to it, naked from the waist up.
"I won't have you seeing him anymore." Draco said flatly.
Blaise's head nodded.
"And there will be no more of this sobbing about, dragging yourself over to bleeding Scotland to cheer yourself up. My engagement is broken and as such are your reasons for being here."
Blaise nodded again.
"Right then." Draco said in a quieter voice. The words seemed to spark something in Blaise's memory that made her shoulders shake. He didn't continue. He didn't feel he needed to—in fact, for the first time, Draco felt tact—and if he continued right now, he knew he would break her beyond repair.
He turned and closed her door after him, and was surprised to see Oliver Wood standing there, looking pensive and a bit angry all at the same time.
"Well," Draco sneered, "Go on!"
Oliver Wood glared into Blaise's door and then, turning on his heel, stormed out, Draco following him.
Blaise suddenly remembered that very late in her seventh year when some guy her roommate Millicent had fallen madly in love with, a townie Half-blood that worked in the bar, had taken Millicent's virginity and then sent back all of her owl-posts. The girls crowded around Millicent, all having been rejected by at least one person in their lives, and Blaise remembered being so wrapped in envy of Pansy Parkinson, and bitterness equally directed towards her, at the time blaming Pansy for putting Blaise through all the situations similar to Millicent's that she hadn't really been paying attention until Pansy had said, (Blaise remembered thinking that this was stereotypically slutty, even for Pansy), "It's only sex, Millie."
And at that moment, Blaise saw the supple, unblemished cheeks of Millicent's face, her strong shoulders, and her soft hair. Millicent had stopped sobbing long enough to look up at Pansy and the other girls, her handkerchief nearly soaked with tears and their uglier brother from the nasal region, and in a choked whisper, had said, "It's never only sex. No matter who you are or how many times you've ever had it, it's never only sex."
It never struck Blaise until suddenly right then that the beauty she had seen in Millicent that day was a basic human backbone—courage, values, and romantic whims—all shining through the ugliest Slytherin girl in that year. The thought only made her more upset and Blaise twisted, stretching and rolling like a cat during a pleasant nap, and she withdrew into a little ball in her own sheets, the scent so detached from her. She realized why the sense had seemed off—it smelled of Draco every centimeter of the apartment. The sheets were silky and reeked strongly of prejudice and pain, and Blaise knew she had no escape for the moment. So silently, she began to cry.
To be continued…