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christmasspirit01 January, 1999. Lavender and Blaise start the new year off with a bang. Or two. What better way is there?
Written with oodles of love formywitch. ❤️
Originally Published: 2021-04-22 on LJ / DW
Chapter: 4a
Words: 3.4 K
Rating: Mature
Characters: Lavender Brown (8G), Blaise Zabini (8S), the Bloody Baron (Slytherin's House Ghost), the Fat Friar (Hufflepuff's House Ghost), Mentioned: Professor Severus Snape (Potions Master, Head of Slytherin, and Deputy Headmaster), Professor Minerva McGonagall (Headmistress), Hermione Granger (Transfiguration Apprentice, Lavender's erstwhile roommate), Harry Potter (8G, the boy who lived to make Draco smile), Draco Malfoy (8S, nearly unrecognisable given all the smiling he's doing), Theo Nott (8S, dating Hestia Carrow), Hestia Carrow (7S, Chaser, victim of a werewolf assault), Edgar Martins (7R, Prefect), the DMLE (Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministerial Home of the Aurors), Rita Skeeter (Reporter for the Daily Prophet)
If you read the last chapter, skip to the part beneath the Slytherin scarf below, if not, no worries, all the crucial stuff is covered.
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal's maximum post length. It's been split in two parts.
THIS CHAPTER IS A TWO-PARTER. READ THIS PART FIRST.
01 September. "lavender's (eighth) first day of school" (LJ / DW / AO3) Lavender has been struggling to come to terms with what she views as her disfigurement from Greyback's attack during the Battle of Hogwarts. She runs into Ron, who is able to reassure her somewhat. That chance meeting leads to them rekindling their relationship (revealed in "christmas spirit").
24 December. "christmas spirit". (LJ / DW / AO3) Lav finds out Ron has been cheating on her with Demelza. She's every bit as thrilled as one might imagine.
24 December. "christmas spirit". (LJ / DW / AO3) Headmistress McGonagall arranges a talk between the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady. In return, she asks him to suggest in a roundabout fashion to both Lavender and Demelza that they could do better than a cheating Weasel.
30 December. "life goes on" (a couple of castle encounters part 1). (LJ / DW / AO3) At Headmistress McGonagall's behest, or so he took it, the Bloody Baron gives Lavender something of a literally lifeless pep talk on the subject of dating and appealing traits in suitors, and for lack of familiarity with the topic or the least bit of personal inspiration (to be fair, he hasn't courted in a millennium), proceeds to model it on the nearest wizard, an unsuspecting Blaise Zabini.
31 December. "out with the old" (a couple of castle encounters part 2) (LJ / DW / AO3) Lavender rescues Blaise from some idiot Turkeys who were harassing him, applying her healing Glamour to his split lip by way of first aid. Having bestowed Stinging Jinxes upon some of the aforementioned idiots in the process, Lav suspects it wouldn't be the greatest of ideas to celebrate Hogmanay with the Ravenclaws as originally planned. Blaise invites her to join him on the Astronomy Tower instead to watch the fireworks in Hogsmeade. Less than two days away from a full moon, a noticeably edgy Lavender introduces the Slytherin to her Patronus, and the two ring in the new year with a hamper of treats, copious amounts of Ogden's, fireworks and finally sex, at which point Blaise becomes rather better acquainted with her Patronus than he'd ever expected. "in with the new" (a couple of castle encounters part 3) (LJ / DW / AO3)
The Bloody Baron blinks once, twice and considers cursing - more silently than usual - to himself.
Hmm.
It's far from the first time, obviously, he's encountered students in flagranti delicto on his rounds; over the course of a millennium, anything else would have been highly improbable. But it's definitely the first time he's run into this particular couple. And certainly in this particular... constellation.
Duke of limbs there atop the lass... A Patronus attending to his thingumbob...
Zounds.
And as the ghost bobs there, contemplating the sight before him, he can't help thinking he probably had something to do with this, however inadvertently - decidedly that - and that this was almost definitely not the desired result of his chat with the young woman in question from the Headmistress' perspective.
Death’s head upon a mop-stick. He's for it now.
Clutching his chains as tightly as possible to his bloodied chest to ensure he makes no sound to disturb the young couple - not, mind, that they'd noticed the clanking upon his entry, but then they'd been... otherwise occupied and there had been rather a lot of shouting at the time - he retreats through the Astronomy Tower's nearest wall.
He really does have the worst luck.
At times - multiple, multiple times, but then he's really had quite a lot of time for it - he's had to wonder if he weren't cursed. It's not that he considers such a thing unfair or himself undeserving - of course not, he voluntarily wears his chains, doesn't he? - but it does seem like the sort of thing one should know, if one were cursed or not. That much at least would be fair.
Or perhaps that too were part of the curse.
Hmm.
Devious.
Helena and Rowena were both equally likely suspects. Quite naturally. He wonders if the air is cleared enough that he could ask the Grey Lady... With a sinking feeling it occurs to him that, even if she were so inclined - oh he never ceases to amuse himself, because frankly that doesn't sound very much like the witch, at all - Helena is no longer in any position to undo anything she'd once cast. Brilliant. Which means he'd most likely need the Headmistress first to intercede once more, and then to perform the requisite spells...
This is going swimmingly.
Cursed.
Clearly.
Hmm.
He's mulling over where he went wrong this time (on consideration, most likely in not convincing the Headmistress that he was not the ghost for this assignment) and just how much trouble he'll be in when Professor McGonagall inevitably discovers this development. Hmm. Fortunately he's pragmatic enough to recognise there won't be any consequences worth the mention, but he does so hate to disappoint... And then he deliberates what this might mean for the talk he was supposed to have with Miss Robins... Perhaps his inadequacy, now amply demonstrated, could save him from from needing to have that conversation as well...
For a fleeting moment that would have terrified half the school had they seen it, he brightens, briefly flashing something that was presumably supposed to have been a smile, but more accurately could be described as 'nightmare fuel'. Swooping Evil has nothing on him. But then he thinks it through as he drifts down the corridor.
Ah.
In that event he'd have to explain the situation in order to consult the Headmistress - obviously; he really must focus - and he most assuredly won't be reporting the couple...
Slytherin's Serpent, no, he'd take their secret to the grave, were he not already... Oh!
Fine, then he simply won't breathe a word of it... Ha!
That was a good one. He hasn't used that joke all week. He slays himself, or would do if only he were still alive... Oh! Goodness, he's on a roll tonight. He wonders if he can tell that one to Sir Nicholas without going into any details...
He does like a ghost who can appreciate a bit of fun. Unfortunately Sir Nicholas was all too apt to lose his head...
Well, perhaps not entirely.
"First time a Patronus 'has tickled that pear, eh?'" Lavender sounds pretty smug. The joy abundantly clear on her face at having been someone's - no, Blaise's - first at anything takes any sting out of it, and those were more or less his words she was repeating anyway. He probably wouldn't object even if he hadn't just had what might be one of the best climaxes he's ever enjoyed. But he has, and at the moment he's far too satisfied to care.
"Yes," he admits readily as he lies there holding her, trailing his nose along the shell of her ear and dotting her neck and shoulder with kisses. She knows perfectly well he'd never even seen a Patronus before, and Merlin knows, he's always been happy to experiment. His hands can't seem to get enough of her, running up and down her body, and yet the gentle crush of his arms never abates. Lav savours the attention, relishing the signs of his very obvious interest. For the moment at least. She has no expectations here.
After tonight, Blaise would be less certain about the fleetingness of that interest, but that's a conversation for never.
"My arse is heart-shaped, by the way," she informs him rather cheerily. Having climaxed quite spectacularly earlier, she's obviously recovering faster. Not that he isn't occasionally absurdly (and sometimes inconveniently) prideful on the matter, but once again, it fails to bother him in the least. Orgasms can be frightfully pacifying in that way.
"Hmm?" He pauses in his liberal administration of affection, not quite following.
"And I resent any implication it's pear-shaped," she adds good-naturedly, not sounding particularly put out.
"Your arse is absolutely glorious," he's quick agree, or at least he thinks so. She may not have actually made that assertion. He doesn't care. He runs his nose along her sweat slicked neck before nuzzling it in her hair and inhaling deeply. "A thing of great beauty," he sighs just thinking about it.
She laughs a clear, bell-like laugh that rings out and has his bollocks and cock twitching again and he pulls her closer. His. At least for the moment. He, too, has no expectations. But he's so content at present that that lack doesn't signify. He doesn't even care if the new position means she can feel what she does to him. Hell, given the witch in question, it might even be advantageous.
She shifts that glorious arse of hers against him provocatively as if to prove that point.
"And 'tickling the pear'?" She giggles. "I so knew that was a thing," she's back to sounding rather pleased with herself, but he doesn't take her meaning and tries now to concentrate. More difficult than usual, what with the curvaceous blonde, naked in his arms and smelling very much of the sex they'd just had. He finds the scent intoxicating, or at least, he's pretty sure it's her scent and not the stupid silly amounts of Ogden's he's had. Perché non entrambi?
"What's that?" He asks, levering himself up a little so he can see her better. He's pleased to note, now that he has a less obstructed view, that her Patronus isn't still sat there looking at him like her next meal. Merlin.
"'Tickling the pear'," she prompts. "I knew it must be a thing."
"Uh, I don't think it is, as such," he breaks it to her between soft kisses to her checks and forehead and hairline. "It's not even a figure of speech, really. It was more of a metaphor?" She seems so crestfallen at that - it's too silly really - that he crooks a finger under her chin, lifting it until she meets his gaze. A few more gentle kisses across her face follow and then he suggests, "But we could make it one if you like." Post-coital Zabini is clearly the best of all possible Zabinis, and she wishes she'd encountered him before. His offer is greeted by another gleeful giggle and she rolls and pounces on top of him, snagging his lips with hers and kissing him deeply.
That feels different somehow, after the fact, so to speak, when one isn't working up towards something. More intimate. He wouldn't have initiated it, but finds himself happily returning anything she chooses to give.
Her kisses truly weren't in service of any goals, an end unto themselves, and they lie there simply enjoying one another's proximity. It makes for a nice change. For them both. But as time passes and the after effects of their orgasms fade, Lav begins to feel a little exposed and sits up to search for her clothes. She finds them neatly draped over the back of the loveseat - quite impressive for a Divesto - and reaches for her cloak first to cover up.
"Are you cold?" Blaise asks, refreshing his Warming Charm on her that really shouldn't have faded by now. He's still plenty warm enough, but then the witch had seen to that quite thoroughly, hadn't she?
"Uh, no, just..." she fails to explain. As she pulls the cloak around her, hiding herself from view, he thinks he understands. In fact, it was hardly surprising, really. She'd managed to be both less and more restrained than he's ever encountered previously in combination in a single person.
"Have you ever had sex during this phase of the moon before?" He asks her straight out, his hands tracing reassuringly over her now covered arms. She blinks, taken aback by his directness, but then Zabini isn't known for holding back.
"Not since the attack," she replies, which is the only thing that really made the lunar cycle relevant. She'd avoided the full moon with Ron, too worried how he'd react. And he hadn't wanted to during her monthlies, either, and in the end it had felt rather like manoeuvring through a minefield, and just as complicated as planning a siege.
Blaise doesn't tease her about being her first, which comes as a relief - although she should wonder why she'd expected it - instead he tells her over and over again she was wonderful. Amazing, really. Somewhat nervously under his watchful eyes, Lav continues to recover more of her clothing. Still finding such uninhibited behaviour somehow unseemly, she's quick to assure him she isn't usually like this as she pulls her togs on, failing to see the irony of those assurances in light of his praise.
"There's nothing whatsoever to be ashamed of, Lavender. You were absolutely phenomenal." He sits up behind her, one of his still naked legs on either side of her. It's exciting, but also a little intimidating, and she isn't quite sure how she feels about it.
She'll be even less certain when he pushes the next boundary.
He's not going to convince her, he knows better, and so he changes direction, coming at her issues from another side. "If you don't mind my asking," that never bodes well, "where were you bitten?" At this point he's seen all there is to see of the witch, and she was flawless, nary a scar on her.
She blinks again, but he's so matter of fact about it, and most people avoid the topic and that just makes things awkward, too. Nibbling her lip - nerves, plain and simple - she shrugs and evades, "Glamours." And then she huffs a dry huff of sardonic laughter and adds, "I'm a witch, remember?"
His smile is warm, "I'm not likely to forget." She thinks he means less her magic than the fact she's female, but she'll take it. He's unexpectedly... nice. And then he grows a little more serious. "I think at this point I can safely claim a certain degree of acquaintance with your body." She goes crimson in agreement, what she presently lacks in Gryffindor boldness she apparently compensates for in House colour. "A glamour shouldn't eliminate the scars, merely make them next to impossible to see."
He's right of course, and she points out he was, erm, focused on her left side. "The scars are on my right." It's a relief to just be able to say it. He knows, she knows he knows, and there's no pussyfooting about. Somehow that's a relief.
Vaguely he recalls feeling something above her right breast. Admittedly he'd been rather distracted by that magnificent breast at the time, but he can't say that something, whatever it was, had been particularly worthy of note. He suspects if he can make that clear to her, it would solve half the problem. The other half is unquestionably a matter of resolving things with her inner wolf. That promises to be more complicated.
He rather likes complicated. He's fond of a challenge.
The talk of glamours calls something to mind. Lav, suddenly remembering, looks at him in horror, "Merlin, how's your lip?"
He just laughs. She makes him do that a lot. "Having nearly broken my cock," more blushing, "... torn off my finger, sprained my wrist, and strained a fair few muscles in my arm..."
"Drama llama," she interjects weakly, otherwise too busy dying of mortification.
"... I said 'nearly'," he chuckles, but her objection stands. He continues unfazed, "... you're worried about my lip." She blushes just as furiously as possible, so becoming, but he quits his teasing and answers more seriously, "I only noticed it once or twice, your Glamour really seems to help, and anyway, it was so worth it." He leans in and for the first time he initiates a kiss on the lips and soon she's whimpering into his mouth.
So responsive. Gods.
It isn't long before the heat builds sufficiently that he's able to coax her back out of her robes.
The Fat Friar decides to take a turn about the castle. He isn't a particularly restless ghost and tends towards the sedentary, for which Helga knows he'd been ridiculed enough, as if he weren't doing his fair share of the patrolling in the school. But perhaps there was something to it. Somewhat typically, with the start of the new year, he's resolved to better himself and address that deficit. If previous years are any indication, the students needn't worry about his rounds for more than a week. Just at the moment however...
Feeling the need for a bit of fresh air - such fancies must be Nick's influence, it's not as though one could feel it, and he hasn't had need of breath in nearly a millennium - the Hufflepuff House ghost floats his way towards the Astronomy Tower. It's grown more appealing, to his mind, since the likelihood of encountering students there - and thus being forced to take some manner of action - had vastly decreased a few years ago. Ah, well, quite right of course, perfectly understandable that they shunned the place, the little lambs, but as far as he and his fellow ghosts were concerned, it made the tower rather more theirs these days.
He's near to their preferred wall of entry - being a ghost rather fortuitously enabled one to overcome many of the castle's architectural shortcomings - when the Bloody Baron greets him with a low hiss, "Friar."
"Why, Baron," he exclaims cheerily in surprise. "A happy new year to you. Would you care to join me on the roof? The night is marvellously clear, and with the moon very nearly full, we should be able to see for miles..."
The Baron has an all too clear idea just what the Friar might see by that moonlight, and he needn't look any further than the tower itself.
"I thought I'd wait for the Headmistress," he answers suggestively, neglecting to mention that he meant to wait till morning to fetch her to see to the damage duelling students had caused in one of the corridors. "Peeves has been at it again," he adds, by way of non-explanation, a statement that was conveniently always true and completely irrelevant. The Baron generally feels better when he tells something like the truth.
"Oh," sighs the Friar, picturing the work that might entail all too clearly. A little regretfully he asks, "Will you require any assistance?"
"No, we'll manage," the Baron replies, typically stoic.
"Ah. Quite. Then I'll just..." The Friar bobs there uncertainly, casting about at a bit of a loss for an excuse. Peeves can be such a plague. The cleric immediately scolds himself for the ungenerous thoughts, not that it makes them any less true. He sighs again. Forgiveness. Forgiveness is key. "If you're sure you won't need me..."
"There's no need for you to trouble yourself," the Slytherin ghost assures him. "Perhaps the view from the Bell Towers might be more to your fancy?"
"Oh! Capital! Excellent suggestion," the Friar proclaims hastening to take his fellow spectre's recommendation. "I'll be on my way then. A very good evening to you..."
"Good evening," the Baron wishes the retreating figure, pleased with how tidily he'd sorted things. If only his charges weren't so frightfully careless. The living could be so trying. Not, mind, that the dead were all that much better...
"Bitch in heat??" She objects once they've finished, the indignancy returning in force. Funny, really, as she'd liked the expression so much in the moment, but then, he's noticed that's interlinked.
His fingers trail along her ribs, exposed once more. "Too much?" he responds, perfectly willing to compromise and far from invested in the expression. He'd used it simply for her reaction, and he'd had no complaints on that front. At the time anyway. He doesn't rub it in, she knows perfectly well how she'd howled. But then quite evidently she and the wolf aren't always of the same mind.
A touch embarrassed and a good deal softer in tone she replies, somewhat hesitantly, "Well, maybe only use it when we're in full... erm... flight?"
He graciously refrains from pointing out that that was precisely when he'd used it, cheers, and that he most certainly hasn't at any other point in time. He wouldn't dream of it, his mother would have his guts for garters. Instead he smiles his winning smile that makes Lav's knees weak - how fortunate she's horizontal - kisses her gently and assures her, "I think that will work for me."
She may just be purring; under the circumstances, the wolf decides to let that faux pas pass.
The story is mirrored on Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.
Other works by gingerbred can be found on Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.
ADDITIONAL STAND ALONE ONE SHOTS PLANNED FOR THIS UNIVERSE.
Written with oodles of love for
mywitch. ❤️Originally Published: 2021-04-22 on LJ / DW
Chapter: 4a
Words: 3.4 K
Rating: Mature
Characters: Lavender Brown (8G), Blaise Zabini (8S), the Bloody Baron (Slytherin's House Ghost), the Fat Friar (Hufflepuff's House Ghost), Mentioned: Professor Severus Snape (Potions Master, Head of Slytherin, and Deputy Headmaster), Professor Minerva McGonagall (Headmistress), Hermione Granger (Transfiguration Apprentice, Lavender's erstwhile roommate), Harry Potter (8G, the boy who lived to make Draco smile), Draco Malfoy (8S, nearly unrecognisable given all the smiling he's doing), Theo Nott (8S, dating Hestia Carrow), Hestia Carrow (7S, Chaser, victim of a werewolf assault), Edgar Martins (7R, Prefect), the DMLE (Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministerial Home of the Aurors), Rita Skeeter (Reporter for the Daily Prophet)
If you read the last chapter, skip to the part beneath the Slytherin scarf below, if not, no worries, all the crucial stuff is covered.
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal's maximum post length. It's been split in two parts.
THIS CHAPTER IS A TWO-PARTER. READ THIS PART FIRST.
Previously:
01 September. "lavender's (eighth) first day of school" (LJ / DW / AO3) Lavender has been struggling to come to terms with what she views as her disfigurement from Greyback's attack during the Battle of Hogwarts. She runs into Ron, who is able to reassure her somewhat. That chance meeting leads to them rekindling their relationship (revealed in "christmas spirit").
24 December. "christmas spirit". (LJ / DW / AO3) Lav finds out Ron has been cheating on her with Demelza. She's every bit as thrilled as one might imagine.
24 December. "christmas spirit". (LJ / DW / AO3) Headmistress McGonagall arranges a talk between the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady. In return, she asks him to suggest in a roundabout fashion to both Lavender and Demelza that they could do better than a cheating Weasel.
30 December. "life goes on" (a couple of castle encounters part 1). (LJ / DW / AO3) At Headmistress McGonagall's behest, or so he took it, the Bloody Baron gives Lavender something of a literally lifeless pep talk on the subject of dating and appealing traits in suitors, and for lack of familiarity with the topic or the least bit of personal inspiration (to be fair, he hasn't courted in a millennium), proceeds to model it on the nearest wizard, an unsuspecting Blaise Zabini.
31 December. "out with the old" (a couple of castle encounters part 2) (LJ / DW / AO3) Lavender rescues Blaise from some idiot Turkeys who were harassing him, applying her healing Glamour to his split lip by way of first aid. Having bestowed Stinging Jinxes upon some of the aforementioned idiots in the process, Lav suspects it wouldn't be the greatest of ideas to celebrate Hogmanay with the Ravenclaws as originally planned. Blaise invites her to join him on the Astronomy Tower instead to watch the fireworks in Hogsmeade. Less than two days away from a full moon, a noticeably edgy Lavender introduces the Slytherin to her Patronus, and the two ring in the new year with a hamper of treats, copious amounts of Ogden's, fireworks and finally sex, at which point Blaise becomes rather better acquainted with her Patronus than he'd ever expected. "in with the new" (a couple of castle encounters part 3) (LJ / DW / AO3)
Friday, 01 January, 1999
The Bloody Baron blinks once, twice and considers cursing - more silently than usual - to himself.
Hmm.
It's far from the first time, obviously, he's encountered students in flagranti delicto on his rounds; over the course of a millennium, anything else would have been highly improbable. But it's definitely the first time he's run into this particular couple. And certainly in this particular... constellation.
Duke of limbs there atop the lass... A Patronus attending to his thingumbob...
Zounds.
And as the ghost bobs there, contemplating the sight before him, he can't help thinking he probably had something to do with this, however inadvertently - decidedly that - and that this was almost definitely not the desired result of his chat with the young woman in question from the Headmistress' perspective.
Death’s head upon a mop-stick. He's for it now.
Clutching his chains as tightly as possible to his bloodied chest to ensure he makes no sound to disturb the young couple - not, mind, that they'd noticed the clanking upon his entry, but then they'd been... otherwise occupied and there had been rather a lot of shouting at the time - he retreats through the Astronomy Tower's nearest wall.
He really does have the worst luck.
At times - multiple, multiple times, but then he's really had quite a lot of time for it - he's had to wonder if he weren't cursed. It's not that he considers such a thing unfair or himself undeserving - of course not, he voluntarily wears his chains, doesn't he? - but it does seem like the sort of thing one should know, if one were cursed or not. That much at least would be fair.
Or perhaps that too were part of the curse.
Hmm.
Devious.
Helena and Rowena were both equally likely suspects. Quite naturally. He wonders if the air is cleared enough that he could ask the Grey Lady... With a sinking feeling it occurs to him that, even if she were so inclined - oh he never ceases to amuse himself, because frankly that doesn't sound very much like the witch, at all - Helena is no longer in any position to undo anything she'd once cast. Brilliant. Which means he'd most likely need the Headmistress first to intercede once more, and then to perform the requisite spells...
This is going swimmingly.
Cursed.
Clearly.
Hmm.
He's mulling over where he went wrong this time (on consideration, most likely in not convincing the Headmistress that he was not the ghost for this assignment) and just how much trouble he'll be in when Professor McGonagall inevitably discovers this development. Hmm. Fortunately he's pragmatic enough to recognise there won't be any consequences worth the mention, but he does so hate to disappoint... And then he deliberates what this might mean for the talk he was supposed to have with Miss Robins... Perhaps his inadequacy, now amply demonstrated, could save him from from needing to have that conversation as well...
For a fleeting moment that would have terrified half the school had they seen it, he brightens, briefly flashing something that was presumably supposed to have been a smile, but more accurately could be described as 'nightmare fuel'. Swooping Evil has nothing on him. But then he thinks it through as he drifts down the corridor.
Ah.
In that event he'd have to explain the situation in order to consult the Headmistress - obviously; he really must focus - and he most assuredly won't be reporting the couple...
Slytherin's Serpent, no, he'd take their secret to the grave, were he not already... Oh!
Fine, then he simply won't breathe a word of it... Ha!
That was a good one. He hasn't used that joke all week. He slays himself, or would do if only he were still alive... Oh! Goodness, he's on a roll tonight. He wonders if he can tell that one to Sir Nicholas without going into any details...
He does like a ghost who can appreciate a bit of fun. Unfortunately Sir Nicholas was all too apt to lose his head...
Well, perhaps not entirely.
"First time a Patronus 'has tickled that pear, eh?'" Lavender sounds pretty smug. The joy abundantly clear on her face at having been someone's - no, Blaise's - first at anything takes any sting out of it, and those were more or less his words she was repeating anyway. He probably wouldn't object even if he hadn't just had what might be one of the best climaxes he's ever enjoyed. But he has, and at the moment he's far too satisfied to care.
"Yes," he admits readily as he lies there holding her, trailing his nose along the shell of her ear and dotting her neck and shoulder with kisses. She knows perfectly well he'd never even seen a Patronus before, and Merlin knows, he's always been happy to experiment. His hands can't seem to get enough of her, running up and down her body, and yet the gentle crush of his arms never abates. Lav savours the attention, relishing the signs of his very obvious interest. For the moment at least. She has no expectations here.
After tonight, Blaise would be less certain about the fleetingness of that interest, but that's a conversation for never.
"My arse is heart-shaped, by the way," she informs him rather cheerily. Having climaxed quite spectacularly earlier, she's obviously recovering faster. Not that he isn't occasionally absurdly (and sometimes inconveniently) prideful on the matter, but once again, it fails to bother him in the least. Orgasms can be frightfully pacifying in that way.
"Hmm?" He pauses in his liberal administration of affection, not quite following.
"And I resent any implication it's pear-shaped," she adds good-naturedly, not sounding particularly put out.
"Your arse is absolutely glorious," he's quick agree, or at least he thinks so. She may not have actually made that assertion. He doesn't care. He runs his nose along her sweat slicked neck before nuzzling it in her hair and inhaling deeply. "A thing of great beauty," he sighs just thinking about it.
She laughs a clear, bell-like laugh that rings out and has his bollocks and cock twitching again and he pulls her closer. His. At least for the moment. He, too, has no expectations. But he's so content at present that that lack doesn't signify. He doesn't even care if the new position means she can feel what she does to him. Hell, given the witch in question, it might even be advantageous.
She shifts that glorious arse of hers against him provocatively as if to prove that point.
"And 'tickling the pear'?" She giggles. "I so knew that was a thing," she's back to sounding rather pleased with herself, but he doesn't take her meaning and tries now to concentrate. More difficult than usual, what with the curvaceous blonde, naked in his arms and smelling very much of the sex they'd just had. He finds the scent intoxicating, or at least, he's pretty sure it's her scent and not the stupid silly amounts of Ogden's he's had. Perché non entrambi?
"What's that?" He asks, levering himself up a little so he can see her better. He's pleased to note, now that he has a less obstructed view, that her Patronus isn't still sat there looking at him like her next meal. Merlin.
"'Tickling the pear'," she prompts. "I knew it must be a thing."
"Uh, I don't think it is, as such," he breaks it to her between soft kisses to her checks and forehead and hairline. "It's not even a figure of speech, really. It was more of a metaphor?" She seems so crestfallen at that - it's too silly really - that he crooks a finger under her chin, lifting it until she meets his gaze. A few more gentle kisses across her face follow and then he suggests, "But we could make it one if you like." Post-coital Zabini is clearly the best of all possible Zabinis, and she wishes she'd encountered him before. His offer is greeted by another gleeful giggle and she rolls and pounces on top of him, snagging his lips with hers and kissing him deeply.
That feels different somehow, after the fact, so to speak, when one isn't working up towards something. More intimate. He wouldn't have initiated it, but finds himself happily returning anything she chooses to give.
Her kisses truly weren't in service of any goals, an end unto themselves, and they lie there simply enjoying one another's proximity. It makes for a nice change. For them both. But as time passes and the after effects of their orgasms fade, Lav begins to feel a little exposed and sits up to search for her clothes. She finds them neatly draped over the back of the loveseat - quite impressive for a Divesto - and reaches for her cloak first to cover up.
"Are you cold?" Blaise asks, refreshing his Warming Charm on her that really shouldn't have faded by now. He's still plenty warm enough, but then the witch had seen to that quite thoroughly, hadn't she?
"Uh, no, just..." she fails to explain. As she pulls the cloak around her, hiding herself from view, he thinks he understands. In fact, it was hardly surprising, really. She'd managed to be both less and more restrained than he's ever encountered previously in combination in a single person.
"Have you ever had sex during this phase of the moon before?" He asks her straight out, his hands tracing reassuringly over her now covered arms. She blinks, taken aback by his directness, but then Zabini isn't known for holding back.
"Not since the attack," she replies, which is the only thing that really made the lunar cycle relevant. She'd avoided the full moon with Ron, too worried how he'd react. And he hadn't wanted to during her monthlies, either, and in the end it had felt rather like manoeuvring through a minefield, and just as complicated as planning a siege.
Blaise doesn't tease her about being her first, which comes as a relief - although she should wonder why she'd expected it - instead he tells her over and over again she was wonderful. Amazing, really. Somewhat nervously under his watchful eyes, Lav continues to recover more of her clothing. Still finding such uninhibited behaviour somehow unseemly, she's quick to assure him she isn't usually like this as she pulls her togs on, failing to see the irony of those assurances in light of his praise.
"There's nothing whatsoever to be ashamed of, Lavender. You were absolutely phenomenal." He sits up behind her, one of his still naked legs on either side of her. It's exciting, but also a little intimidating, and she isn't quite sure how she feels about it.
She'll be even less certain when he pushes the next boundary.
He's not going to convince her, he knows better, and so he changes direction, coming at her issues from another side. "If you don't mind my asking," that never bodes well, "where were you bitten?" At this point he's seen all there is to see of the witch, and she was flawless, nary a scar on her.
She blinks again, but he's so matter of fact about it, and most people avoid the topic and that just makes things awkward, too. Nibbling her lip - nerves, plain and simple - she shrugs and evades, "Glamours." And then she huffs a dry huff of sardonic laughter and adds, "I'm a witch, remember?"
His smile is warm, "I'm not likely to forget." She thinks he means less her magic than the fact she's female, but she'll take it. He's unexpectedly... nice. And then he grows a little more serious. "I think at this point I can safely claim a certain degree of acquaintance with your body." She goes crimson in agreement, what she presently lacks in Gryffindor boldness she apparently compensates for in House colour. "A glamour shouldn't eliminate the scars, merely make them next to impossible to see."
He's right of course, and she points out he was, erm, focused on her left side. "The scars are on my right." It's a relief to just be able to say it. He knows, she knows he knows, and there's no pussyfooting about. Somehow that's a relief.
Vaguely he recalls feeling something above her right breast. Admittedly he'd been rather distracted by that magnificent breast at the time, but he can't say that something, whatever it was, had been particularly worthy of note. He suspects if he can make that clear to her, it would solve half the problem. The other half is unquestionably a matter of resolving things with her inner wolf. That promises to be more complicated.
He rather likes complicated. He's fond of a challenge.
The talk of glamours calls something to mind. Lav, suddenly remembering, looks at him in horror, "Merlin, how's your lip?"
He just laughs. She makes him do that a lot. "Having nearly broken my cock," more blushing, "... torn off my finger, sprained my wrist, and strained a fair few muscles in my arm..."
"Drama llama," she interjects weakly, otherwise too busy dying of mortification.
"... I said 'nearly'," he chuckles, but her objection stands. He continues unfazed, "... you're worried about my lip." She blushes just as furiously as possible, so becoming, but he quits his teasing and answers more seriously, "I only noticed it once or twice, your Glamour really seems to help, and anyway, it was so worth it." He leans in and for the first time he initiates a kiss on the lips and soon she's whimpering into his mouth.
So responsive. Gods.
It isn't long before the heat builds sufficiently that he's able to coax her back out of her robes.
The Fat Friar decides to take a turn about the castle. He isn't a particularly restless ghost and tends towards the sedentary, for which Helga knows he'd been ridiculed enough, as if he weren't doing his fair share of the patrolling in the school. But perhaps there was something to it. Somewhat typically, with the start of the new year, he's resolved to better himself and address that deficit. If previous years are any indication, the students needn't worry about his rounds for more than a week. Just at the moment however...
Feeling the need for a bit of fresh air - such fancies must be Nick's influence, it's not as though one could feel it, and he hasn't had need of breath in nearly a millennium - the Hufflepuff House ghost floats his way towards the Astronomy Tower. It's grown more appealing, to his mind, since the likelihood of encountering students there - and thus being forced to take some manner of action - had vastly decreased a few years ago. Ah, well, quite right of course, perfectly understandable that they shunned the place, the little lambs, but as far as he and his fellow ghosts were concerned, it made the tower rather more theirs these days.
He's near to their preferred wall of entry - being a ghost rather fortuitously enabled one to overcome many of the castle's architectural shortcomings - when the Bloody Baron greets him with a low hiss, "Friar."
"Why, Baron," he exclaims cheerily in surprise. "A happy new year to you. Would you care to join me on the roof? The night is marvellously clear, and with the moon very nearly full, we should be able to see for miles..."
The Baron has an all too clear idea just what the Friar might see by that moonlight, and he needn't look any further than the tower itself.
"I thought I'd wait for the Headmistress," he answers suggestively, neglecting to mention that he meant to wait till morning to fetch her to see to the damage duelling students had caused in one of the corridors. "Peeves has been at it again," he adds, by way of non-explanation, a statement that was conveniently always true and completely irrelevant. The Baron generally feels better when he tells something like the truth.
"Oh," sighs the Friar, picturing the work that might entail all too clearly. A little regretfully he asks, "Will you require any assistance?"
"No, we'll manage," the Baron replies, typically stoic.
"Ah. Quite. Then I'll just..." The Friar bobs there uncertainly, casting about at a bit of a loss for an excuse. Peeves can be such a plague. The cleric immediately scolds himself for the ungenerous thoughts, not that it makes them any less true. He sighs again. Forgiveness. Forgiveness is key. "If you're sure you won't need me..."
"There's no need for you to trouble yourself," the Slytherin ghost assures him. "Perhaps the view from the Bell Towers might be more to your fancy?"
"Oh! Capital! Excellent suggestion," the Friar proclaims hastening to take his fellow spectre's recommendation. "I'll be on my way then. A very good evening to you..."
"Good evening," the Baron wishes the retreating figure, pleased with how tidily he'd sorted things. If only his charges weren't so frightfully careless. The living could be so trying. Not, mind, that the dead were all that much better...
"Bitch in heat??" She objects once they've finished, the indignancy returning in force. Funny, really, as she'd liked the expression so much in the moment, but then, he's noticed that's interlinked.
His fingers trail along her ribs, exposed once more. "Too much?" he responds, perfectly willing to compromise and far from invested in the expression. He'd used it simply for her reaction, and he'd had no complaints on that front. At the time anyway. He doesn't rub it in, she knows perfectly well how she'd howled. But then quite evidently she and the wolf aren't always of the same mind.
A touch embarrassed and a good deal softer in tone she replies, somewhat hesitantly, "Well, maybe only use it when we're in full... erm... flight?"
He graciously refrains from pointing out that that was precisely when he'd used it, cheers, and that he most certainly hasn't at any other point in time. He wouldn't dream of it, his mother would have his guts for garters. Instead he smiles his winning smile that makes Lav's knees weak - how fortunate she's horizontal - kisses her gently and assures her, "I think that will work for me."
She may just be purring; under the circumstances, the wolf decides to let that faux pas pass.
The story is mirrored on Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.
Other works by gingerbred can be found on Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.
ADDITIONAL STAND ALONE ONE SHOTS PLANNED FOR THIS UNIVERSE.
(no subject)
Date: 2021-04-22 07:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2021-04-22 10:35 pm (UTC)I adore the internal thoughts running through All of the various consciousnesses, The Baron is hilarious in how he cracks himself up, his humor tickles my funny bone. Of course his existential crisis is amusingly confusing.
Lav's human reaction to 'heated' moment comments, to which her wolfie side wasn't bothered, giggle worthy. So much handled in this bit. Hoping Blaise is successful in teaching Lave that not everyone is as superficial as Weasel.
(no subject)
Date: 2021-09-26 03:13 pm (UTC)I think the Baron has begun to fade. The older ghosts are less present than the younger ones, and I think sticking around so long as made them fade. It's like memories you no longer access; they become harder to get to. Some things are so deeply ingrained they're habit or reflex, and the ghosts probably often couldn't tell you why they do this instead of that anymore. But maybe that will change if people begin to interact with them more?
I like the idea that both Lavender and Blaise are superficial, too, but in their own ways. That maybe those ways are more compatible? That maybe it's advantageous to be around people who don't judge you for certain traits? If they aren't helping you shake them (and wouldn't it suck if everyone were reduced to a single "optimal" type?), then at least it must help to be around people who don't see it as a flaw and count it against you.
(no subject)
Date: 2021-04-22 11:01 pm (UTC)Drama llama!!! :D
OMG the Fat Friar. You give so much life to these characters that are only mentioned a time or two in canon, and I AM HERE FOR IT!
This pair is soooo delightful and delicious and ready willing and eager! Frankly, they each deserve each other. I can't wait to see Ron's incredibly envious reaction :D
(no subject)
Date: 2021-09-26 03:18 pm (UTC)I think they could do great things for each other just where they are in their lives right now. It doesn't need to be forever to be beneficial, but then again, if it's beneficial enough, why shouldn't the future be open to them? Our girl deserves some happiness.