V
Yay! I finished. Now I can leave this tragic little mistake and hopefully write something decent. ...Well, try to.
A huge thankyou to the people who have left me compliments and suggestions. I hope those of you who are intersted get to read the end at last. Molto grazie.
JK, Bloomsbury, disclaimer, etc, etc.
Enjoy:
Blaise was whistling as he descended the stairs to the kitchen. Pansy yelled "Blaise wait!" as she spotted his head on the second to last bend.
"Morning babe!" His grin was far too wide for the hour.
"Who's the bird?" she grumbled, panting from a long run.
"I don't follow."
"You look like the cat that's caught the canary."
He smirked. "Not yet babe, but it's still early."
"Hmph. Tell me about it. Anyway, McGonagall asked me to get you. She looked pissed. You'd better hurry."
"Merlin! What've I done now?" Without waiting for an answer he took off in the direction of the first floor corridor.
Pansy stared after him. She grinned. It's too easy.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
She was making toast when Blaise returned, flushed and dishevelled. Better. That's what a boy should look like in the morning.
"I don't know what you're planning but it sure as hell better be good after the scare you gave me!"
Pansy glanced sideways at him. "Babe, I'm always good."
He put his stuff down in the corner. "Oh, I don't doubt it."
She reached for the butter, began spreading it on the toast. "Would you get the jam out?"
As Blaise stepped into the fridge he triggered a trip wire, causing the jam to to slop down over his head and shoulders. He turned blindly, brushing against the shelf where the eggs were and stepped out again. Pansy threw a container of icing sugar at him. His face went from red to white.
He just stood with his eyes closed, not even licking his lips. As the minutes passed, Pansy became concerned. Hesitantly she moved closer and, when he still didn't open his eyes, reached a hand toward his powdery cheek. "Blaise what's-" Her voice changed to a squeak as his arms came up without warning and crushed her to him. She squeaked again as she felt an egg broken against her neck and dropped down the back of her shirt.
Blaise began rubbing his jam-powdery face against her hair and forehead. She wrenched back out of his arms and grabbed the nearest item to hand- the milk jug- pouring it down the front of his robes. He growled and reached past her, procuring the pumpkin juice and throwing it at her. Perfectly pressed shirt tuned orange. "Why you-", closer to the fridge, she darted in and took the chocolate sauce in one hand, strawberry sauce in the other. We meet again.
As she stepped from the cold, her opponent emerged from the pantry, sugar and cocoa in hand. An arc of dark powder sailed through the air and coated her face and upper body. Eye's shut, Pansy blindly squeezed both bottles in his direction. He grabbed the strawberry sauce and she jerked her other hand out of reach. Blinking through the cocoa, she felt cold stickiness hit her throat and dribble into her bra just as she attacked with her remaining weapon. She grabbed at his hand and managed to capture it, whereupon he simply raised his other arm and poured the entire container of sugar down over the crown of her head. The chocolate sauce bottle sputtered and refused to squirt any more.
Panting, the combatants paused. They were inches apart; his hand, with sauce bottle, suspended over the open neck of her shirt, gripped round the wrist by her smaller fingers. Her other arm reached between his ear and lifted bicep, chocolate sauce bottle above his hair, mirrored by the sugar jar over hers. Their eyes slid together. Before Pansy could start to wonder just how much trouble she was in, his pupils flicked down toward her lips and he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.
Anticipating thought, her unconscious gently melded her lips to his and the chance to hesitate was lost.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
They both ignored Toby's imperious request. The appearance of McGonagall was another matter. Pansy followed her gaze around the mess in the kitchen, across Blaise and down her own figure. Oh crap.
"Mr Zambini, Miss Parkinson. What has been going on here?"
She glanced at Blaise. He looked blankly back at her. Crap! Crap! Crap!
"Miss Parkinson?"
"We were discussing...um..value, Professor. Quality or quantity. Um, which measurement is of more value that is...Professor." Blaise groaned under his breath. Well a fat lot of good you were!
McGonagall stared hard at her. "Is that so Miss Parkinson?...Very well. In detention, quantity is the key to effectiveness. You will both therefore spend the next month assisting in the kitchen as Blaise has been doing this week."
"Yes Professor."
"I suppose I needn't point out that there will be no more of this 'food-fighting' nor any behaviour that is... inappropriate for students within this institution. Please remember in future Miss Parkinson that you are, in fact, a prefect."
"Sorry Professor."
"Very well. I shall see you in class." Toby continued to glare as the professor swept out. He conjured cleaning equipment, raked them over with his glance, sniffed and disapperated.
Pansy turned back to Blaise, unsure what to say. He smiled at her. "Quality or quantity?"
"Well, we were... kinda."
"And was it quality babe?"
She was unsure of his meaning until she noticed the teasing grin he wore. "Hmmm... could do with some work."
He laughed out loud. "In that case, shall we hope that quantity is as effective as it is for detentions?"
I don't think a quantity of detentions have worked with you. But for once, Pansy was smart enough to use her lips for something other than smart arse comments.
As he pulled back to breathe she whispered, "does that mean we both win?"
He chucked and reached up to wipe a chocolate covered thumb across her lower lip. "I certainly hope so."
The End.