"interconnected part 3" by gingerbred
Oct. 4th, 2021 08:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
christmasspiritLavender Brown / Blaise Zabini
Ravenclaws: Edgar Martins, Carol Carmichael
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Professor McGonagall, Gryffindors: Seamus Finnigan, Ron Weasley, Fay Dunbar, Jack Sloper, Ravenclaw: Padma Patil
03 January, 1999. Lavender has some good news to share with Blaise, he thinks it's worth celebrating.
Written with oodles of love formywitch and erexen.
Originally Published: 2021-10-04 on LJ / DW
Words: 8.35 k
Rating: Mature
Characters: Lavender Brown (8G, no longer Ron's bit on the side (or anywhere else), she's begun seeing a certain Slytherin instead), Blaise Zabini (8S, highly intrigued by the duality of Lavender's nature), Ravenclaws: Edgar Martins (7R, Prefect), Carol Carmichael (7R, Prefect)
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Professor McGonagall (Headmistress), Gryffindors: Seamus Finnigan (8G fiery Reserve Beater, long time friend of Lavender's), Ron Weasley (8G, Lavender's ex, ex-Keeper, presently seeing Demelza), Fay Dunbar (8G, Reserve Chaser), Jack Sloper 7G (ex-Keeper, ex-teammate), Ravenclaw: Padma Patil (8R, Prefect)
The previouslies are very robust. If you've recently read the Christmas Spirit stories, skip them, if not, no worries, I've got you covered. You can find a links to the individual stories / chapters in the "christmas spirit index" (LJ / DW / AO3).
Having discovered Christmas Eve that Ron was cheating on her, an extremely hurt Lavender neglects to provide him with an alibi when he's accused of setting off Whiz-bangs in the school. As a result he's kicked off the team, which isn't great, sure, but then he isn't remotely as miserable as Lavender is in the days to come either. CS
Seamus sends Lavender a bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky to help cheer her up (at least he's trying). After rescuing Blaise from the hostile wands of Edgar Martins and his cohort of Ravenclaws with a couple of well placed Stinging Hexes, Lavender ends up consuming the Ogden's with the Slytherin on New Year's Eve. In the advanced stages of inebriation, they end up sleeping together ACoCE 2, and as the approaching full moon has Lavender's libido in overdrive, they continue secretly seeing one another in the days to come. ACoCE 5
Trying to keep Lavender's inner wolf satisfied has her and Blaise going at things rather... aggressively. Hoping to counteract some of the after effects, Blaise rather considerately sends Lavender a small package of potions and salves early Friday morning. Far from a Potions prodigy, she confuses two of the salves, however, much to her resulting... pleasure. Muscle Mender, it transpires, tickles rather fiercely. ACoCE 5
As part of their experimentation, Blaise and Lavender spontaneously try incorporating a bit of flogging in their games Friday night by means of Blaise's leather belt. Lavender discovers she quite likes the... um... process... erm... in full flight, as it were - that is to say, she enjoys being on the receiving end, her wolf prefers dishing out - but definitely not the results. She hates being even further marked - the scars are bad enough, thank you kindly - and she's absolutely horrified to see what she does to Blaise with the bloody thing. Trying to keep both aspects of her happy is proving more complicated than the Slytherin had ever expected, and he's enjoying the challenge immensely. ACoCE 5
The poor Bloody Baron accidentally floats in on Blaise and Lavender during one of their more enthusiastic... experiments ACoCE 4a and subsequently suggests to Blaise (at the earliest suitable opportunity) that there must surely be a charm to prevent that sort of thing. Zounds. ACoCE 4b
Blaise encourages a hesitant Lavender to speak to McGonagall - Professor McGonagall - about the eighth year prefect's position Hermione has left newly vacant. He even provides her with a number of compelling arguments why the Headmistress should do so ACoCE 2, but it isn't until Hestia irks Lav's inner wolf that she becomes riled enough to act on his advice. I 1
Blaise arrives at the Astronomy Tower before Lavender again, keen to get everything set up. In addition to his usual arrangements, he's removed his school robes, jumper and tie, hoping not to remind the Gryffindor of his House overmuch now that the holidays are over. If they're meeting to have sex, being out of uniform is presumably the least of his worries if they're caught, and as eighth years, they're likely to skate anyway, or at least: more so given one of them isn't a Slytherin. That did have a way of making a difference. A little nervously, he roles up his shirt sleeves and applies another unnecessary Warming Charm as he paces back and forth waiting for her to appear.
Lavender races in like a force of nature, grabbing Blaise and spinning them in circles before planting the most enthusiastic peck of his life on him. He really can't think of a better way to phrase it. It's not excessively passionate, not that. It wasn't meant to seduce, but it was wands down the warmest greeting he's ever had, and he thought he'd sort of become accustomed to her enthusiastic greetings.
She laughs when they come to a stop and beams up at him with the largest of grins, and then holds out her Gryffindor robes for him to see, which given the care he'd just taken to remove the indications of his House first strikes him as odd. There she stands in her Gryffindor jumper, with her Gryffindor tie and her Gryffindor robes in stark contrast to the inconveniently tight jeans he so loves seeing on her, although the uniform skirt presumably affords them some advantages... And then he finally notices the prefect's badge.
"Thank you!" she cries, still grinning ear to ear. "I owe it entirely to you."
He blinks for a moment trying to recall the last time someone gave him credit for something, completely aside from the fact that the premise is absurd. "Not on your life. You worked for that or you wouldn't have it." Which, fine, is true, except she'd never have thought to ask for it, and frankly with the excess of prefects just at the moment, it's possible Professor McGonagall might never have appointed another of the eighth years left to her own devices.
Lav's about to argue the point when he kisses her by way of congratulations, and she completely forgets what she'd meant to say. He rather loves that befuddled look it gives her, to say nothing of her breathlessness.
The kiss he places on her forehead in appreciation of that look could very nearly be termed 'affectionate'.
Slowly she begins to recall what she'd meant to tell him, interrupting her own story to ask if he isn't cold. He chuckles and twitches his wand, "I'm a wizard, remember?" before casting a Warming Charm on her as well. If that soon has her removing excess clothing, who is he to object? And if that thought has him casting a small variety of Privacy Charms, well he's learnt his lesson, hasn't he?
She resumes her recitation as she takes off her own robes and cardigan, Banishing them to the couch back while telling him cheerily all about her visit to the Headmistress - his idea, absolutely - and how that had finally led to the happy result.
He hesitates to mention he'd already caught wind of it, which makes his failure to spot the badge more quickly earlier a very poor showing. To be fair, he'd been more concerned with potential hidden messages behind the blatant display of gold and crimson, or even outright rejection, than with the news he was already aware of. When she finishes, he finally broaches it, primarily because his curiosity had got the best of him.
"Sloper knew somehow and told our table." Lav nods in understanding. Jack had come into the Great Hall with them and must have heard her and Padma talking, or simply noticed their new badges on his own. He wasn't a complete plank. "Dunbar was positively spitting nails..." Blaise had seen her stomp over to Lavender's table and the Chaser's final flounce from the room; he's terribly eager to know what transpired in between. He'd been a little concerned at the outset, the brunette had been beside herself when she'd left their table, but Lavender had seemed so relaxed throughout their encounter...
Lav laughs, "I have you to thank for that, too, you know. I just sort of... weaponised the stats you'd mentioned," and then she tells him all about it, taking his hand and pulling him onto their little couch as she does. She doesn't relinquish his hand again, toying cheerfully with his fingers instead. He finds he quite likes it.
"I have a bottle of Blishen's," he indicates the bottle he'd managed to organise currently standing on the small table he'd Transfigured. "I thought we might celebrate..." Technically when he'd arranged it, he'd simply thought he owed her that from the other night, but once he'd heard her news, a celebration seemed more in order. He can always get her another bottle. "Just remind me, if you would, that I still owe you one." Sober, his chances of remembering that are much improved, but occasionally things slip his mind, and the blonde has a way about her of making a good many things do so.
"I probably shouldn't... Well at least not much. Prefect!" she beams, waving a hand at her robes. "And it's a school night." And yet she's already reaching for one of the glasses. "A little shouldn't hurt."
That was proving one of the problems with having the eighth years still in school, they were too old for the rules, which in turn had been so relaxed for them as to be nearly pointless. Minerva will be pleased when the lot graduates and things can return to normal.
"You know there are perfectly good potions for that. Have as much as you like, we'll sort it before you leave." She likes the sound of that 'we'. Power couple. Definitely. She can totally picture it... if only he'd give it a shot.
With a very warm smile, she clinks their glasses, "Cheers."
They spend a little while talking about their evening, Blaise may be fishing a bit to see if the return to normalcy, school life outside of the hols, has in anyway changed her feelings about their... whatever this is. Only once he realises he's relieved to see it hasn't does it occur to him that it was rather strange to have couched it in terms of her 'feelings' in the first place. And yet on consideration, it was the right word...
Dunbar is a rather obvious launching point, and so he returns to her, telling a visibly gleeful Lavender about how her apparent rival had been unable to concentrate on the Moggie boys' conversation once Sloper had delivered the news of Lavender's appointment as their prefect. They'd reprimanded the Reserve Chaser a couple of times for not paying attention - Lav giggles - apparently they're having to restructure the team... There can be no mention of the team's reorganisation without at least obliquely referencing the Weasel, and while Blaise is too considerate - and too cautious - to do so, he's exceedingly pleased when Lavender has no qualms and fills in some of the missing pieces. Seamus had spoken about the issues earlier and she has the facts, but far more importantly, sitting here, holding Blaise's hand, celebrating the most significant academic victory of her schooling career... The mention of Ron doesn't upset her in the least.
What's more, as she's certain that achievement wouldn't have happened without the Slytherin, she truly is, she finds herself considering how supportive he's been. It leaves her thinking some about how she isn't used to having a partner to work with, functioning almost as a team. It feels too revealing to say as much, and so she settles on thanking him again instead. In light of the way she'd explained things about how she'd worked up the nerve to speak to the Headmistress, Blaise is quick to point out that she probably has her wolf to thank as well.
It's an odd thought, and she sits there mulling it over for a bit. Blaise just gives her the space to let her do so.
It's shocking to realise he's right, and she wonders if that isn't part of why she feels so good. Beyond the victory of winning the prefect's badge, she's somehow fundamentally more at peace with herself just now.
She suspects she has Blaise to thank for that, too...
It's a sudden and yet somehow utterly natural change that comes over her as she finally unleashes the wolf and practically attacks the Slytherin beside her, ripping the shirt from his chest in a single move. "We can fix it later," she tells him as buttons fly and she nibbles and licks and bites her way down his torso, not that he'd worried. He's been the one to remind her of things like that all along.
As surprisingly as the shift had come - and fine, he'd been startled - this is still the most natural thing between them, and Blaise simply surrenders to her onslaught, his pleasure soon very nearly as unbridled as hers.
Their first coupling is heated and fierce, and it isn't until afterwards when they're both spent and panting that it occurs to him the odd thing had been how long they'd sat there talking, and how strange that that had seemed no less natural.
Those thoughts are are still kicking around in his head when they go for a second round, and the fact it's a great deal more tender is probably related to that fact.
He'll miss her if she changes her mind about this.
Their third and fourth goes are largely about seeing that she doesn't. (The thought hasn't even crossed her mind, and had it, that certainly would have banished it.)
For the fifth - and he isn't at all sure he'll be able to fly his broom tomorrow, and doesn't care in the least, Keeping be damned - Lavender Summons a small jar of a Salve that looks suspiciously like something he'd sent her. The next thing he knows, she's Incarcerused his ankles again, and is liberally applying Muscle Mender to the soles of his feet.
The tickling sensation is unbearable, his laughs are very nearly shrieks. Hers are things of pure joy, and he thinks they may have found the solution for her reluctance to wield the belt. He's practically crying when she finally releases him, he's never seen the witch happier, and that includes when she was telling him about how she got the prefecthood. Without hesitation, he drills her into the couch, a fuck simultaneously savage and tender; it leaves her completely breathless and a little confused.
She's still trying to puzzle through what was odd about him tonight when he hands her her tumbler of Firewhisky, clinks their glasses and swallows it in one gulp. She's not quite that reckless, full moon or no, and drinks hers more slowly.
"Thanks," she tells him for the umpteenth time tonight, both of them a little unsure for what this time, and yet both have a suspicion it might matter.
He pours them each another glass of the Blishen's, phenomenal stuff, gulping his down before collapsing behind her on the couch and wrapping his long, lithe body around hers. When she finishes her glass, she cuddles her way deep into his arms and they lie there for a while, sated, neither feeling the need to speak or willing to break the peace that's settled over them.
Lav finally moves first, turning in his arms and beginning to cover his face in kisses that seem better suited to lovers than casual fucks, and yet, strangely, they fit so well here. He pulls her in closer and returns the kisses with just as much enthusiasm and a deep sense of relief he doesn't really want to examine.
Eventually she reaches for his cock and he laughs.
"Nothing doing, you insatiable siren. You're going to have to wait if that's what you want, I'm only human."
"I thought you were a wizard," she teases.
He pounces on her, and in one smooth move turns her over and begins tickling her mercilessly. "If you want that, that badly, there are potions," he tells her as she squeals in pleasure. "But then there are also so many other options those potions shouldn't be necessary. What would you like from me, witch?" And just like that, he stops tickling her and helps her up, and genuinely seems to mean it. She doesn't even know where to begin. Honestly, this was more than enough.
And she hasn't a clue how to say so.
She wants to sleep with him.
Except not precisely now.
What she really wants, is if he wants to have sex, to be the person having sex with him. She wants to be the person he reaches for.
It feels like a bad idea to try to vocalise any of that.
A really horrible idea.
A little shyly, and that's exceptionally weird when the wolf is so very there front and centre at the moment, she takes refuge in completely facetious teasing instead. Taking his length in hand, she coyly asks, "What happens if we applied the Muscle Mender?"
"Under no circumstances," he answers with complete conviction, then yielding to her playful tone, quips, "Most likely a hernia."
"Well we couldn't have that," she agrees, nestling herself in close to his side. It's strange having someone stroke his cock affectionately. Lavender isn't at all what he's used to. His member twitches from time to time as though it thinks a sixth round could be possible regardless of its medical inadvisability. Blaise knows better. He's well and truly done for the night, or at least for the time they still have together, hang school and all it entails. But he clearly won't be up for another round before they have to retire. That doesn't mean her night is over, however. Again he tries to interest her in some of those other options, and again she refuses his advances.
Briefly it leaves him concerned he's let her down. "I can bring a potion next time..." He offers, atypically unsure.
She laughs, which sends him spiralling for a moment, but she's quick as ever to catch him before he could fall. "Do they tickle?"
"Gods no. That's rather the point."
"Then I doubt I'd need them. You'd need them. Whichever. I don't usually... I mean, not that often... Full moon and all that." Which comes as a bit of a relief as he was generally rather proud of his prowess, so... There was that.
"There might be a market for that, you know. Tickling topical poitons..." she sing songs.
"That would be a 'salve'," he informs her with a soft kiss to her nose.
"I know that. But it didn't have the same ring to it." She wrinkles her nose in reply, which only makes him want to kiss it again. He gives in to that urge as well.
"Well in that case, by all means, to hell with accuracy."
"My thoughts precisely," she rolls on top of him and kisses his nose right back.
"Why wouldn't you just use a Tickling Jinx, or a Hex if you needed something stronger?" He asks.
"Precision," she answers with certainty. "Spells haven't anything like the precision, and if they did, they haven't the flexibility. A salve has both."
"You could use them with modifiers..." he suggests, but her withering glance puts a quick end to that rather wanting line of thought.
"So that should definitely be a thing," she informs him, "a Tickling Salve, because you don't really need or want all the Muscle Mender's capabilities, and of course there are always side effects to worry about..."
Blaise nods in mock sombreness, "Decided to go into potions development, have you?"
"Not at all," she laughs, because she'd happily dropped Potions at the earliest opportunity post O.W.L.s. "Just taking advantage of having a gifted potioneer at my disposal." She grins at him warmly.
He lies there regarding her for a moment, thinking about how Weasley is in the same N.E.W.T. Potions class with him. Quite evidently she doesn't see their academic capabilities as comparable. Blaise doesn't either, to be sure, but it's... gratifying to know she recognises he's a better student than the ginger. It's even less of a given considering she isn't in the class with them to observe that difference in their skills. Perhaps she recalls his abilities from the first five years of school when they'd sat Potions together. It's a little flattering to think she'd have noticed, and even better yet: remembered. Blaise's competitive streak nevertheless stirs to life, and he resolves to trounce the Weasel in every possible sense in Potions tomorrow.
And why stop there?
The Weasel is in Charms and Defense with both Blaise and Lavender. It probably makes more sense to humiliate him there. And now that he thinks of it, they have both courses on Mondays.
Tomorrow should be a great deal of fun.
He's trying to gauge how subtle the trouncing will need to be - he's inclined to think Lavender wouldn't mind some blatant touches here and there, at least if they were organic - when she resumes her narration of 'Potions According to Lavender Brown'. "And while we're on the subject, how dumb is it that Muscle Mender and the topical Pain Relief look almost identical?"
"Well they smell different," Blaise offers. "The Carnivorous Calendula has a sort of biting note, and when it's prepared like that..."
"Don't be silly. If people are buying the Salve at Slug & Jiggers prices, say, it's very probable they don't know enough to brew their own. And if they can't, they certainly aren't likely to be able to list the ingredients or how the various means of preparation affect them. Too ridiculous by half. Why on earth wouldn't you just change the colour of one of the salves?"
Blaise blinks for a moment, and rather annoyingly, the witch has something of a point. Not that there's much to be done about it, probably, at least not by him, but he files it away under sensible arguments. One never knows when those might come in handy.
"On the other hand, it's not like it causes too many issues if you switch the two Salves. They do largely the same thing."
"Oh, you'd think that, but Pain Relief doesn't tickle."
"Sure but that's not why you use the Mender. Normally." He can't quite suppress a glance towards his feet, "That's just a side effect."
"And that might not matter, until you apply it somewhere unexpected. Accidentally," she hastens to add, very eager to make that part clear.
All of this is sounding a little too specific for someone not particularly interested in potions, and as he'd sent her both Salves just the other morning...
"And would you be speaking from personal experience?" He asks, his brain already racing to picture the possibilities.
"Perhaps," she allows, not quite as forcefully as when she's volunteering her opinions. In fact there's a timid undercurrent to it that has him ready to do some pouncing of his own.
His pupils widen as he considers it further. He slides off their couch, sinking to his knees in front of her, pulling her closer to him to him to give her a deep and heated kiss. Without thinking, she spreads her legs to allow him closer, she likes the feel of him pressed against her, but he stops kissing her long enough to demand she tell him all about the mix up, in detail, and then proceeds to work his way down her chest.
He only gets as far as her breasts before she finishes.
Her first attempt is a sad and transparent effort to get out of this with a single sentence, she'd confused the two salves. (And it's clearly the fault of whichever dafty had made them the same colour or hadn't bothered labelling the beastly things.)
Hmm.
Unsatisfactory.
He'd guessed as much, cheers, and he's scented blood.
"Where did you put the Muscle Mender?" he asks her between gentle nips to her nipples that soon have her squirming.
"You don't need to," she tries to put him off.
He laughs, "I think I do. And if it isn't an actual necessity, I certainly want to," he assures her as those bites increase in pressure and she moans. "Please," he begs, rather feeling like he does need this very much. "Please."
For half a moment she thinks that's her begging, because that echos her thoughts precisely, and it's vaguely disorientating to hear the pleas in his much deeper voice. Her legs spread wider and her feet lock behind his thighs ensuring both that he has better access and doesn't escape. He laughs again and pulls the closest nipple in a way that makes her moans scale an octave.
"Where did you put the Muscle Mender?" he demands again, and this time she's only too eager to respond.
It still takes her three more tries before he's satisfied with the answer, but then he'd guessed that as well. That was why he'd sent the Pain Relieving Salve, after all, knowing just how sore she'd be.
"And how did it feel?" He asks as he licks his way across the slight curve of her tummy, dallying at her navel on his way. It only takes her two attempts this time to find a reply that satisfies him.
"And what did you do about it?" he teases, his fingers between her legs now, doing their level best to tickle the truth out of her. She groans and flops back into the seat and his free arm hastens to pin her there so he can carry on unhindered, which he does with obvious relish. As his lips close on her clit, she finds herself telling him about how she'd pleasured herself after she'd confused the salves Friday morning. He peppers her with questions, his mouth and talented tongue and those probing fingers rewarding her frank answers, and soon the words come without hesitation. What does she like (she tells him), how does she do it (she actually shows him), what did she think about while doing it (she tells him that, too, and that was probably the most embarrassing of all)...
By the time she climaxes, he's half hard again and wondering if a sixth round actually could be in their cards. He regretfully dismisses the idea, but the effect she has on him is indisputable. He's very nearly as out of breath as she is and every bit as turned on.
Lavender doesn't do things like this. She's never spoken to a lover like that, she's certainly never... performed for someone like that. And telling him how she'd fantasised about him is nothing short of mortifying... And yet it's hard to say which of the two of them found it more exciting.
He kneels there catching his breath and inhaling her scent as deeply as possible in a way that wouldn't please her in the least if she had a better understanding of what he was doing. Then again, if she had a better idea of what it did to him, she'd most assuredly see things differently.
"Can I..." she starts uncertainly, not sure what precisely to offer. "That is to say, should I... Can I do something for you?" She finally manages, very obviously unsure of herself.
"Gods no," he tells her, rather more satisfied than he's likely to be able to convey.
"Are you sure?"
"Witch, I thought we were past that," he tells her as he joins her on the couch again, taking her in arm and pulling her as close to him as he possibly can. She can feel his cock twitch from time to time against her bum and thinks that must surely mean he might want another go. She tries to suggest as much and he laughs again. "But if you want more, you need only ask." He kisses her so deeply she sees stars for a moment, briefly forgetting what they were talking about. "But I have everything I want right here." His arm tightens around her briefly - almost possessively, but surely demonstratively - and she could swear her stomach fluttered a bit as he said that. She's begun to wonder if that isn't what people mean when they talk about their hearts. For her, it's definitely this weird feeling in her belly. She really can't believe that's just the difference the Lycanthrope's attack had made...
Except she's not at all sure why she's thinking of hearts to begin with...
"I just thought I ought to do something for you..." She rejoins.
He levers himself up so he can see her more clearly, gently stroking her tousled hair from her face. Seconds later, a wandless charm has rightened her unruly strands, and he laughs again, "You're undoing all my work."
He bends over and takes the closest nipple between his teeth again, sucking until she moans. He's grown quite fond of that sound. Only then does he let up, and tells her, "You're too concerned with tit," a quick nip punctuates the statement, "for tat." He laps at her breast for good measure, assuaging the residual pain from the tormented nipple with the flat of his tongue, and she's soon clutching his head to her chest.
He comes up for air, meeting her gaze, and she feels emboldened to simply ask him about why he doesn't want her to return the favour. "So to speak. You know what I mean," she half complains when he doesn't respond to her offer as she expects.
He simply laughs again, and it occurs to Lavender that he does that a lot, but that she doesn't feel uncomfortable when he does. She doesn't get the sense he's belittling her, which is something of an odd notion to have, but then she hasn't had the greatest of experiences, nor is she in the best of places. "It's not like I didn't get something out of it," he assures her.
"What do you get out of it?" If he's going to go there, then yes, she'd sort of like to know.
That makes him laugh again, and he finds himself trying to explain how it had made him feel, which he does in much the same fashion as he'd had her do with the Muscle Mender story, and ultimately succeeds in getting her rather hot and bothered, which of course very neatly illustrates his point. "I'd call that something, wouldn't you?" He asks silkily, his voice caressing her nearly as effectively as his hands do.
She's back to nodding dumbly, but he's clearly on to something there.
"And it's going into straight into my wank bank, by the way, which is repayment enough believe me." He kisses her gently as she begins to calm down again. "And this isn't and shouldn't be a strictly reciprocal process. Mutual pleasure in its more sensible forms isn't remotely about partners always feeling the same thing at the same time." Lav still doesn't look convinced, and it occurs to Blaise that this may be another issue of experience.
He knows she hasn't been with anyone during the full moon before, at least not since her change, and that might be affecting how she thinks of things, more along the lines of what she's used to than what presently is.
Fortunately he's an eminently confident young man and up to this conversation. "I think we need to have a chat about basic biology." The 'basic' has her worried that she really ought to know this, the 'biology' has her sure that she doesn't, but Blaise simply carries on. "We can fool around, and I'll most definitely enjoy it," almost automatically she's reaching for his cock again and he laughs as he intercepts her hand. She really does make him feel good, and not just physically. He kisses her fingers and continues, "But I won't be able to come again any time soon." She blinks at that admission, trying to understand it, worrying if she just doesn't excite him enough... "Eventually I won't even enjoy it anymore, it becomes frustrating, and sometimes even painful. I need a little time to recover before I'm ready to go again." She seems so worried that he tries it from a different approach.
"What's the greatest number of climaxes you and a partner have experienced in a roughly similar time frame before tonight?"
At first she just lies there blinking. For one thing, even though she'd rather not think of former lovers or compare them quite like this, not when she's naked in Blaise's arms, her first thought is neither Ron nor Gaston had the sort of confidence it must take to ever ask something like that. The next thought is that she'd come nowhere close with either of them, which might help explain Blaise's confidence. "Two, maybe three, depending on what you count, I guess." Blaise does his best to swallow the smirk that very much wants to plaster itself across his face. It can be exceedingly challenging taking the high road.
The next thought, now that Lavender is thinking along these lines, is that previously she'd generally been the hurdle to more sex. That 'two or three' had in no way been the rule. "Full moon," he tells her simply, recognising the issue immediately. That causes a brief moment of panic that he unfortunately doesn't address that once the moon passes out of this phase, there's no way she's going to be enough to satisfy someone who'd gone so many rounds with her now, without the lycanthrope's curse running through his veins at that.
"So believe me when I tell you - without potions or spells to the contrary - men eventually reach a point where they just can't anymore."
She sort of thought that was true for women as well...
"It can be. But it helps - rather - if your partners know what they're doing." It sounds unexpectedly kind. "So if I'm not responding? That's not in any way because of you, Lavender, that's me. And it's nothing unusual, or wrong, it's just... biology. All men have that response at some point. Do you understand?" She nods, a little reassured by his words, and gives him a small smile. He can't resist trying to get a bigger one out of her and quips, "Mind, with some men, that non-response comes much later."
She laughs. And then feels the need to kiss him, and does. He knows how to make her feel good, and she doesn't just mean the sex, although clearly he was something of a genius at that. She tries not to think about how he got that way.
"And if you're going to enjoy yourself with someone, you can't constantly be keeping score. It will take away from the enjoyment you could have had if you were just able to relax and enjoy yourself more. Pretty much by definition if you think about it." A soft kiss has her melting, but she thinks she takes his point.
He's right again, naturally, she's far too concerned with making sure the accounts were balanced, as it were. It's strange, but that had been so much of a thing with Ron... Such a point of pride. If he came, she had to, too. It's almost as though the mindset were contagious. A pang of guilt hits her for allowing her thoughts to wander there under these circumstances, but then it all speaks to Blaise's point, and frankly - intentionally or not - lets the Slytherin shine in comparison.
There had been one evening early last term when Ron had been so dead set on parity that he'd effectively insisted she climax, and she just couldn't. She'd eventually given up and faked an orgasm out of desperation so he'd finally stop and leave her be, because honestly? Everything had begun to hurt... And just like that she realises that's precisely what Blaise had been saying and feels a little more comfortable with things as they stand between them.
Huh. How about that?
And with the advantage of hindsight, her solution with Ron had been a colossal mistake anyway. The fallout from that evening had almost immediately bitten her in her heart-shaped arse, because although it had let her off the hook for the night, he took it as proof positive that she liked something she really didn't, and no amount of thoroughly mediocre sex or cajoling as he practically mauled her breasts in the months to come was able to convince him otherwise. It had been exhausting. She can't help thinking Blaise would read her the riot act if she ever did something that stupid with him. That's a rather nice thought, really. Nicer still is the fact that instead of just faking things as she had - there's got to be a spell for that - he'd been open and honest with her in a way she hadn't previously been able to be. That's... refreshing. And reassuring. It feels... healthy.
And she really appreciates the trust that entails.
She's regarding him with a touch of wonder by the time he continues, "Do you think you can promise me to stop trying to keep track like that moving forward?"
A little nervousness returns, not as much as it would have if they weren't lying there, limbs entwined, skin still sweat-slicked from sex and quite obviously enjoying each other's proximity.
"Does that mean you want to try to keep seeing each other like this?" She asks, not because she's too thick to understand the implications of his question, but because she'd just like the reassurance of hearing him actually say it.
Adorable that she could think he might want to stop. That he might be able to stop. Merlin, if someone tried to take her away from him, he'd probably hex them where they stood, and he knows a number of fairly unpleasant hexes. And on consideration, it might pay dividends to begin practising those without a wand...
"I had no intention of stopping, had you?" He assures her casually, because he's the quintessential Slytherin and it's difficult to know just what he's thinking. She's still nervous for all the reasons she'd had before, and a couple of new ones seem to have made the list tonight, but on the other hand the very idea of not giving it a try has her stomach clenching in a way that very nearly hurts.
"I thought we could give it a go. Even if things become too... if they don't... well even if it's too difficult," she's a craven coward pretending it's that and she knows it, "we could always pick things up again around the next full moon." His stomach briefly relocates to his throat as he considers not seeing her for another three weeks or more. Or worse: seeing her daily and yet not being able to have her again come nightfall... Lavender continues, completely unaware of the effect her words have on him, "but I thought it would be nice to at least give it a try. Maybe we can make this work out?"
He rolls her over putting himself on top and presses his body, hard, against her, pleased at the way she seems to naturally welcome his weight. With an incredibly thorough kiss she can feel right down to her curling toes, he seems to seal their deal. They're both laughing when they have to stop for air, which doesn't make the breathing any easier, not that either seems to mind or even notice.
Her feet have already anchored his legs in place, and they lie there just catching their breath together.
But Blaise is practical.
"You'll have to try to be more subtle," he tells her. "No staring at meals," he chides. "Or in class!" Comes the slightly horrified addition as the thought just occurs to him.
Lavender has the decency not to laugh, because he's right obviously. "So how do we do this?"
He Summons his satchel of potions, quaffs a Sober-Up and offers her one as well. "First and foremost, we'll need to be careful about attracting attention." It probably helps that from her new seat in the Great Hall, he's not remotely in her line of sight. He's glad she's still in his, though. Well they can probably afford the risk that presents; he's far more circumspect by nature.
He gives her a wry look as he gathers what's left of his shirt. A bit of Transfiguration - well, perhaps more than just a bit - and it's largely back to normal. She looks rather pleased with herself at the recollection of how she'd shredded it. He's no less pleased, to be frank. He likes being wanted. She drinks her potion and begins getting dressed as well, while Blaise Summons some errant buttons. "We need to be smart about things," he tells her as he pockets them. "We can't leave any traces."
He Reducios the bottle of Blishen's, which she stows in her robes with a soft, "Thanks," as he finishes getting dressed, Vanishes the tumblers, Cleans and Banishes the furs and returns the couch and table to their original states and storage. Within moments, there's no sign they'd been here and they're ready to leave.
"When should we meet tomorrow?" She asks.
"After curfew I think. We'll be able to avoid most people that way. We'll just have to worry about the patrolling Prefects, some Professors on their rounds..."
"Well, them and the Astronomy students..."
"Right, we'll need to make sure we avoid the times when they come and go to class..."
Lavender begins laughing. "Blaise, where do you think their class meets?"
"That's...
"Bugger." Well that was something of a brain fart. Obviously they meet here. The name was something of a giveaway, wasn't it, never mind the fact they themselves have had the class together here once a week for seven and a half years now.
"Bugger indeed," she smiles.
"We'll need to meet somewhere else..."
"Obviously," she smirks.
"Any ideas?" he asks, still marvelling at his stupidity.
"Just the one, but I strongly suspect Harry will be making use of it with Draco. Sorry... Oh! There's a large alcove down by the kitchens no one seems to use. It even has seating." She knows this because she'd taken most of her meals there for the first month or so of classes last term.
An assuredly windowless alcove in the basement seems a poor substitute for the rooftop with its magnificent views, but he doesn't have a better suggestion. The Ravenclaws had had rooms of their own on offer, and by and large, he'd kept his attachments to people from his own House. It's strange to think he's unprepared for this eventuality.
"We'll meet at the kitchens then and I'll show you the way," she smiles up at him. It's difficult to refuse that smile, so he nods. And should he come up with something better before then, they can always change their plans.
Possibly because she doesn't want their evening to end, or maybe it's because she's actually serious about his learning the Charm, she nudges him and hands him her wand. "You still need to practise the Patronus."
He's not eager to leave either and makes a sincere stab at it. It goes better than it had the previous night, but he still can't produce anything more than a series of blue sparks. Lavender doesn't seem discouraged, however, so he decides not to be either. Presumably it helps that he isn't as keen on seeing results as she is, and easily half the point is standing there with her arms wrapped around him, guiding his hand and listening to all the sweetly encouraging things she has to say, not to mention her ideas of what might constitute happy thoughts...
As they finally end the practice session and he goes to give her back her wand, he pauses for a moment. "Are you sure this is such a great idea? My using your wand so much for this?"
"How so?" She asks. She'd offered it, after all.
"The user trains the wand. Having two regular users like this could corrupt all the work you've already sunk into it."
He's right, as usual, and so she considers it seriously. Seven and a half years of teaching the wand how to respond to her magic is a non-trivial investment, especially for people their age. They've practised the Patronus Charm rather a lot the past few days, and yet her wand hadn't felt sluggish at all. She gives it an experimental flick, and purple sparks fly off the tip in a generous shower, as brilliant and colourful as ever. Maybe even more so, but she's in a good mood, and that has a way of making a difference. "I don't think it's doing any harm," she shakes her head. "My wand seems to like you," she smiles.
"Well just bear it in mind and keep an eye on it, would you?"
She smiles even more, privately quite pleased with his concern. It's nice that he doesn't just think about his needs, too. "I'll let you know if I see any changes," she promises. "We could reevaluate then."
They both go quiet for a moment, neither liking what must come next, but there's no putting it off anymore. It's getting late, and they have classes tomorrow morning.
"Shall I walk you back to the Tower?" he finally asks instead of just doing it as he had on the nights before, because as much as he'd like to, and thinks he ought to, both because it's safer and he feels it's the gentlemanly thing to do (plus it's really rather become their thing), deep down he knows it isn't the best of ideas now that everyone has returned to the school... Still, he'd rather leave it up to her than outright refuse her the escort.
So he asks.
Lav smiles gently, picking up on at least some of his thoughts. She's better at that than most people give her credit for. "It's probably smarter if I walk myself back. There are a lot more people out and about than there were just yesterday." Patrolling prefects not the least of them. She's right of course, he's right of course, but he sighs regretfully as he places a soft kiss on top of her head. She entwines her fingers with his, and takes a deep breath, the regret equally plain in her voice, and says, "I'll go first then, should I? In case anyone is in the corridor?" He prefers it slightly to leaving her up here alone and nods, and then has to watch her disappear down the stairs. He's not sure why, but it feels worse than watching her vanish through the Gryffindor portrait hole.
After a few minutes pass, he follows her down, turning left instead of to the right as she had, to make his way down to the dungeons. It had been a trip he'd made from her Tower alone on the previous nights as well, but somehow this feels more solitary.
Unfortunately he's not quite as alone as he thinks.
"I couldn't tell who that was, could you?" Edgar Martins whispers to his fellow seventh year Ravenclaw prefect as they watch the unidentified woman head down the corridor away from them.
Carol Carmichael shakes her head as she peers after the retreating form. There's something familiar about her, but she just can't place her. "No, but the Astronomy Tower? Kinky."
"I wouldn't think anyone would go there..." Edgar agrees.
"Well not except the Slytherins," she giggles.
"Definitely wasn't a Worm, though. Headed in the wrong direction. Probably not a 'Puff either for the same reason."
"Unless the 'Puff were taking the longer way around to the sett..." But she's inclined to agree with her housemate that it isn't too likely. That leaves a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. "They could have been making a tribute?" She volunteers as to the purpose of the visit. He laughs.
"If it were that they'd go to Dumbledore's grave and hardly the site of his murder. Unless they're celebrating the sacrifice itself that is..."
"In which case it would definitely have to be a Slytherin, or how many dark sacrifice rituals can you name?" Carol laughs at the absurdity. They're still teasing each other when Edgar grabs her arm and claps his other hand over her mouth.
"Shh!" he whispers, dragging her into the nearest alcove. He's lucky she trusts him or she'd hex him right then and there. Probably. Fine, she'd need to reach her wand first, but then he'd be toast.
A moment later she hears whatever it was he had, and goes quiet trying to make out more. Soon enough it becomes obvious, it's the sound of footfalls on the nearby stairs. The Ravenclaws wait in nearly palpable suspense until a figure finally appears in the corridor.
"Zabini!" Edgar hisses in her ear. She nods, confirming his identification.
"So it wasn't a spell then..."
"Unlikely. Shagging, more like, the randy manwhore, and not with another Worm either." His venom might just be tinged with envy.
"Interesting," she nods.
That wasn't remotely his word for it.
He glares at the Slytherin's back as it disappears down the corridor in the direction of the main staircase.
Ravenclaws: Edgar Martins, Carol Carmichael
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Professor McGonagall, Gryffindors: Seamus Finnigan, Ron Weasley, Fay Dunbar, Jack Sloper, Ravenclaw: Padma Patil
03 January, 1999. Lavender has some good news to share with Blaise, he thinks it's worth celebrating.
Written with oodles of love for
mywitch and erexen.Originally Published: 2021-10-04 on LJ / DW
Words: 8.35 k
Rating: Mature
Characters: Lavender Brown (8G, no longer Ron's bit on the side (or anywhere else), she's begun seeing a certain Slytherin instead), Blaise Zabini (8S, highly intrigued by the duality of Lavender's nature), Ravenclaws: Edgar Martins (7R, Prefect), Carol Carmichael (7R, Prefect)
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Professor McGonagall (Headmistress), Gryffindors: Seamus Finnigan (8G fiery Reserve Beater, long time friend of Lavender's), Ron Weasley (8G, Lavender's ex, ex-Keeper, presently seeing Demelza), Fay Dunbar (8G, Reserve Chaser), Jack Sloper 7G (ex-Keeper, ex-teammate), Ravenclaw: Padma Patil (8R, Prefect)
Previously:
The previouslies are very robust. If you've recently read the Christmas Spirit stories, skip them, if not, no worries, I've got you covered. You can find a links to the individual stories / chapters in the "christmas spirit index" (LJ / DW / AO3).
Having discovered Christmas Eve that Ron was cheating on her, an extremely hurt Lavender neglects to provide him with an alibi when he's accused of setting off Whiz-bangs in the school. As a result he's kicked off the team, which isn't great, sure, but then he isn't remotely as miserable as Lavender is in the days to come either. CS
Seamus sends Lavender a bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky to help cheer her up (at least he's trying). After rescuing Blaise from the hostile wands of Edgar Martins and his cohort of Ravenclaws with a couple of well placed Stinging Hexes, Lavender ends up consuming the Ogden's with the Slytherin on New Year's Eve. In the advanced stages of inebriation, they end up sleeping together ACoCE 2, and as the approaching full moon has Lavender's libido in overdrive, they continue secretly seeing one another in the days to come. ACoCE 5
Trying to keep Lavender's inner wolf satisfied has her and Blaise going at things rather... aggressively. Hoping to counteract some of the after effects, Blaise rather considerately sends Lavender a small package of potions and salves early Friday morning. Far from a Potions prodigy, she confuses two of the salves, however, much to her resulting... pleasure. Muscle Mender, it transpires, tickles rather fiercely. ACoCE 5
As part of their experimentation, Blaise and Lavender spontaneously try incorporating a bit of flogging in their games Friday night by means of Blaise's leather belt. Lavender discovers she quite likes the... um... process... erm... in full flight, as it were - that is to say, she enjoys being on the receiving end, her wolf prefers dishing out - but definitely not the results. She hates being even further marked - the scars are bad enough, thank you kindly - and she's absolutely horrified to see what she does to Blaise with the bloody thing. Trying to keep both aspects of her happy is proving more complicated than the Slytherin had ever expected, and he's enjoying the challenge immensely. ACoCE 5
The poor Bloody Baron accidentally floats in on Blaise and Lavender during one of their more enthusiastic... experiments ACoCE 4a and subsequently suggests to Blaise (at the earliest suitable opportunity) that there must surely be a charm to prevent that sort of thing. Zounds. ACoCE 4b
Blaise encourages a hesitant Lavender to speak to McGonagall - Professor McGonagall - about the eighth year prefect's position Hermione has left newly vacant. He even provides her with a number of compelling arguments why the Headmistress should do so ACoCE 2, but it isn't until Hestia irks Lav's inner wolf that she becomes riled enough to act on his advice. I 1
Sunday, 03 January, 1999 - the evening after the full moon
Blaise and Lavender on the Astronomy TowerBlaise arrives at the Astronomy Tower before Lavender again, keen to get everything set up. In addition to his usual arrangements, he's removed his school robes, jumper and tie, hoping not to remind the Gryffindor of his House overmuch now that the holidays are over. If they're meeting to have sex, being out of uniform is presumably the least of his worries if they're caught, and as eighth years, they're likely to skate anyway, or at least: more so given one of them isn't a Slytherin. That did have a way of making a difference. A little nervously, he roles up his shirt sleeves and applies another unnecessary Warming Charm as he paces back and forth waiting for her to appear.
Lavender races in like a force of nature, grabbing Blaise and spinning them in circles before planting the most enthusiastic peck of his life on him. He really can't think of a better way to phrase it. It's not excessively passionate, not that. It wasn't meant to seduce, but it was wands down the warmest greeting he's ever had, and he thought he'd sort of become accustomed to her enthusiastic greetings.
She laughs when they come to a stop and beams up at him with the largest of grins, and then holds out her Gryffindor robes for him to see, which given the care he'd just taken to remove the indications of his House first strikes him as odd. There she stands in her Gryffindor jumper, with her Gryffindor tie and her Gryffindor robes in stark contrast to the inconveniently tight jeans he so loves seeing on her, although the uniform skirt presumably affords them some advantages... And then he finally notices the prefect's badge.
"Thank you!" she cries, still grinning ear to ear. "I owe it entirely to you."
He blinks for a moment trying to recall the last time someone gave him credit for something, completely aside from the fact that the premise is absurd. "Not on your life. You worked for that or you wouldn't have it." Which, fine, is true, except she'd never have thought to ask for it, and frankly with the excess of prefects just at the moment, it's possible Professor McGonagall might never have appointed another of the eighth years left to her own devices.
Lav's about to argue the point when he kisses her by way of congratulations, and she completely forgets what she'd meant to say. He rather loves that befuddled look it gives her, to say nothing of her breathlessness.
The kiss he places on her forehead in appreciation of that look could very nearly be termed 'affectionate'.
Slowly she begins to recall what she'd meant to tell him, interrupting her own story to ask if he isn't cold. He chuckles and twitches his wand, "I'm a wizard, remember?" before casting a Warming Charm on her as well. If that soon has her removing excess clothing, who is he to object? And if that thought has him casting a small variety of Privacy Charms, well he's learnt his lesson, hasn't he?
She resumes her recitation as she takes off her own robes and cardigan, Banishing them to the couch back while telling him cheerily all about her visit to the Headmistress - his idea, absolutely - and how that had finally led to the happy result.
He hesitates to mention he'd already caught wind of it, which makes his failure to spot the badge more quickly earlier a very poor showing. To be fair, he'd been more concerned with potential hidden messages behind the blatant display of gold and crimson, or even outright rejection, than with the news he was already aware of. When she finishes, he finally broaches it, primarily because his curiosity had got the best of him.
"Sloper knew somehow and told our table." Lav nods in understanding. Jack had come into the Great Hall with them and must have heard her and Padma talking, or simply noticed their new badges on his own. He wasn't a complete plank. "Dunbar was positively spitting nails..." Blaise had seen her stomp over to Lavender's table and the Chaser's final flounce from the room; he's terribly eager to know what transpired in between. He'd been a little concerned at the outset, the brunette had been beside herself when she'd left their table, but Lavender had seemed so relaxed throughout their encounter...
Lav laughs, "I have you to thank for that, too, you know. I just sort of... weaponised the stats you'd mentioned," and then she tells him all about it, taking his hand and pulling him onto their little couch as she does. She doesn't relinquish his hand again, toying cheerfully with his fingers instead. He finds he quite likes it.
"I have a bottle of Blishen's," he indicates the bottle he'd managed to organise currently standing on the small table he'd Transfigured. "I thought we might celebrate..." Technically when he'd arranged it, he'd simply thought he owed her that from the other night, but once he'd heard her news, a celebration seemed more in order. He can always get her another bottle. "Just remind me, if you would, that I still owe you one." Sober, his chances of remembering that are much improved, but occasionally things slip his mind, and the blonde has a way about her of making a good many things do so.
"I probably shouldn't... Well at least not much. Prefect!" she beams, waving a hand at her robes. "And it's a school night." And yet she's already reaching for one of the glasses. "A little shouldn't hurt."
That was proving one of the problems with having the eighth years still in school, they were too old for the rules, which in turn had been so relaxed for them as to be nearly pointless. Minerva will be pleased when the lot graduates and things can return to normal.
"You know there are perfectly good potions for that. Have as much as you like, we'll sort it before you leave." She likes the sound of that 'we'. Power couple. Definitely. She can totally picture it... if only he'd give it a shot.
With a very warm smile, she clinks their glasses, "Cheers."
They spend a little while talking about their evening, Blaise may be fishing a bit to see if the return to normalcy, school life outside of the hols, has in anyway changed her feelings about their... whatever this is. Only once he realises he's relieved to see it hasn't does it occur to him that it was rather strange to have couched it in terms of her 'feelings' in the first place. And yet on consideration, it was the right word...
Dunbar is a rather obvious launching point, and so he returns to her, telling a visibly gleeful Lavender about how her apparent rival had been unable to concentrate on the Moggie boys' conversation once Sloper had delivered the news of Lavender's appointment as their prefect. They'd reprimanded the Reserve Chaser a couple of times for not paying attention - Lav giggles - apparently they're having to restructure the team... There can be no mention of the team's reorganisation without at least obliquely referencing the Weasel, and while Blaise is too considerate - and too cautious - to do so, he's exceedingly pleased when Lavender has no qualms and fills in some of the missing pieces. Seamus had spoken about the issues earlier and she has the facts, but far more importantly, sitting here, holding Blaise's hand, celebrating the most significant academic victory of her schooling career... The mention of Ron doesn't upset her in the least.
What's more, as she's certain that achievement wouldn't have happened without the Slytherin, she truly is, she finds herself considering how supportive he's been. It leaves her thinking some about how she isn't used to having a partner to work with, functioning almost as a team. It feels too revealing to say as much, and so she settles on thanking him again instead. In light of the way she'd explained things about how she'd worked up the nerve to speak to the Headmistress, Blaise is quick to point out that she probably has her wolf to thank as well.
It's an odd thought, and she sits there mulling it over for a bit. Blaise just gives her the space to let her do so.
It's shocking to realise he's right, and she wonders if that isn't part of why she feels so good. Beyond the victory of winning the prefect's badge, she's somehow fundamentally more at peace with herself just now.
She suspects she has Blaise to thank for that, too...
It's a sudden and yet somehow utterly natural change that comes over her as she finally unleashes the wolf and practically attacks the Slytherin beside her, ripping the shirt from his chest in a single move. "We can fix it later," she tells him as buttons fly and she nibbles and licks and bites her way down his torso, not that he'd worried. He's been the one to remind her of things like that all along.
As surprisingly as the shift had come - and fine, he'd been startled - this is still the most natural thing between them, and Blaise simply surrenders to her onslaught, his pleasure soon very nearly as unbridled as hers.
Their first coupling is heated and fierce, and it isn't until afterwards when they're both spent and panting that it occurs to him the odd thing had been how long they'd sat there talking, and how strange that that had seemed no less natural.
Those thoughts are are still kicking around in his head when they go for a second round, and the fact it's a great deal more tender is probably related to that fact.
He'll miss her if she changes her mind about this.
Their third and fourth goes are largely about seeing that she doesn't. (The thought hasn't even crossed her mind, and had it, that certainly would have banished it.)
For the fifth - and he isn't at all sure he'll be able to fly his broom tomorrow, and doesn't care in the least, Keeping be damned - Lavender Summons a small jar of a Salve that looks suspiciously like something he'd sent her. The next thing he knows, she's Incarcerused his ankles again, and is liberally applying Muscle Mender to the soles of his feet.
The tickling sensation is unbearable, his laughs are very nearly shrieks. Hers are things of pure joy, and he thinks they may have found the solution for her reluctance to wield the belt. He's practically crying when she finally releases him, he's never seen the witch happier, and that includes when she was telling him about how she got the prefecthood. Without hesitation, he drills her into the couch, a fuck simultaneously savage and tender; it leaves her completely breathless and a little confused.
She's still trying to puzzle through what was odd about him tonight when he hands her her tumbler of Firewhisky, clinks their glasses and swallows it in one gulp. She's not quite that reckless, full moon or no, and drinks hers more slowly.
"Thanks," she tells him for the umpteenth time tonight, both of them a little unsure for what this time, and yet both have a suspicion it might matter.
He pours them each another glass of the Blishen's, phenomenal stuff, gulping his down before collapsing behind her on the couch and wrapping his long, lithe body around hers. When she finishes her glass, she cuddles her way deep into his arms and they lie there for a while, sated, neither feeling the need to speak or willing to break the peace that's settled over them.
Lav finally moves first, turning in his arms and beginning to cover his face in kisses that seem better suited to lovers than casual fucks, and yet, strangely, they fit so well here. He pulls her in closer and returns the kisses with just as much enthusiasm and a deep sense of relief he doesn't really want to examine.
Eventually she reaches for his cock and he laughs.
"Nothing doing, you insatiable siren. You're going to have to wait if that's what you want, I'm only human."
"I thought you were a wizard," she teases.
He pounces on her, and in one smooth move turns her over and begins tickling her mercilessly. "If you want that, that badly, there are potions," he tells her as she squeals in pleasure. "But then there are also so many other options those potions shouldn't be necessary. What would you like from me, witch?" And just like that, he stops tickling her and helps her up, and genuinely seems to mean it. She doesn't even know where to begin. Honestly, this was more than enough.
And she hasn't a clue how to say so.
She wants to sleep with him.
Except not precisely now.
What she really wants, is if he wants to have sex, to be the person having sex with him. She wants to be the person he reaches for.
It feels like a bad idea to try to vocalise any of that.
A really horrible idea.
A little shyly, and that's exceptionally weird when the wolf is so very there front and centre at the moment, she takes refuge in completely facetious teasing instead. Taking his length in hand, she coyly asks, "What happens if we applied the Muscle Mender?"
"Under no circumstances," he answers with complete conviction, then yielding to her playful tone, quips, "Most likely a hernia."
"Well we couldn't have that," she agrees, nestling herself in close to his side. It's strange having someone stroke his cock affectionately. Lavender isn't at all what he's used to. His member twitches from time to time as though it thinks a sixth round could be possible regardless of its medical inadvisability. Blaise knows better. He's well and truly done for the night, or at least for the time they still have together, hang school and all it entails. But he clearly won't be up for another round before they have to retire. That doesn't mean her night is over, however. Again he tries to interest her in some of those other options, and again she refuses his advances.
Briefly it leaves him concerned he's let her down. "I can bring a potion next time..." He offers, atypically unsure.
She laughs, which sends him spiralling for a moment, but she's quick as ever to catch him before he could fall. "Do they tickle?"
"Gods no. That's rather the point."
"Then I doubt I'd need them. You'd need them. Whichever. I don't usually... I mean, not that often... Full moon and all that." Which comes as a bit of a relief as he was generally rather proud of his prowess, so... There was that.
"There might be a market for that, you know. Tickling topical poitons..." she sing songs.
"That would be a 'salve'," he informs her with a soft kiss to her nose.
"I know that. But it didn't have the same ring to it." She wrinkles her nose in reply, which only makes him want to kiss it again. He gives in to that urge as well.
"Well in that case, by all means, to hell with accuracy."
"My thoughts precisely," she rolls on top of him and kisses his nose right back.
"Why wouldn't you just use a Tickling Jinx, or a Hex if you needed something stronger?" He asks.
"Precision," she answers with certainty. "Spells haven't anything like the precision, and if they did, they haven't the flexibility. A salve has both."
"You could use them with modifiers..." he suggests, but her withering glance puts a quick end to that rather wanting line of thought.
"So that should definitely be a thing," she informs him, "a Tickling Salve, because you don't really need or want all the Muscle Mender's capabilities, and of course there are always side effects to worry about..."
Blaise nods in mock sombreness, "Decided to go into potions development, have you?"
"Not at all," she laughs, because she'd happily dropped Potions at the earliest opportunity post O.W.L.s. "Just taking advantage of having a gifted potioneer at my disposal." She grins at him warmly.
He lies there regarding her for a moment, thinking about how Weasley is in the same N.E.W.T. Potions class with him. Quite evidently she doesn't see their academic capabilities as comparable. Blaise doesn't either, to be sure, but it's... gratifying to know she recognises he's a better student than the ginger. It's even less of a given considering she isn't in the class with them to observe that difference in their skills. Perhaps she recalls his abilities from the first five years of school when they'd sat Potions together. It's a little flattering to think she'd have noticed, and even better yet: remembered. Blaise's competitive streak nevertheless stirs to life, and he resolves to trounce the Weasel in every possible sense in Potions tomorrow.
And why stop there?
The Weasel is in Charms and Defense with both Blaise and Lavender. It probably makes more sense to humiliate him there. And now that he thinks of it, they have both courses on Mondays.
Tomorrow should be a great deal of fun.
He's trying to gauge how subtle the trouncing will need to be - he's inclined to think Lavender wouldn't mind some blatant touches here and there, at least if they were organic - when she resumes her narration of 'Potions According to Lavender Brown'. "And while we're on the subject, how dumb is it that Muscle Mender and the topical Pain Relief look almost identical?"
"Well they smell different," Blaise offers. "The Carnivorous Calendula has a sort of biting note, and when it's prepared like that..."
"Don't be silly. If people are buying the Salve at Slug & Jiggers prices, say, it's very probable they don't know enough to brew their own. And if they can't, they certainly aren't likely to be able to list the ingredients or how the various means of preparation affect them. Too ridiculous by half. Why on earth wouldn't you just change the colour of one of the salves?"
Blaise blinks for a moment, and rather annoyingly, the witch has something of a point. Not that there's much to be done about it, probably, at least not by him, but he files it away under sensible arguments. One never knows when those might come in handy.
"On the other hand, it's not like it causes too many issues if you switch the two Salves. They do largely the same thing."
"Oh, you'd think that, but Pain Relief doesn't tickle."
"Sure but that's not why you use the Mender. Normally." He can't quite suppress a glance towards his feet, "That's just a side effect."
"And that might not matter, until you apply it somewhere unexpected. Accidentally," she hastens to add, very eager to make that part clear.
All of this is sounding a little too specific for someone not particularly interested in potions, and as he'd sent her both Salves just the other morning...
"And would you be speaking from personal experience?" He asks, his brain already racing to picture the possibilities.
"Perhaps," she allows, not quite as forcefully as when she's volunteering her opinions. In fact there's a timid undercurrent to it that has him ready to do some pouncing of his own.
His pupils widen as he considers it further. He slides off their couch, sinking to his knees in front of her, pulling her closer to him to him to give her a deep and heated kiss. Without thinking, she spreads her legs to allow him closer, she likes the feel of him pressed against her, but he stops kissing her long enough to demand she tell him all about the mix up, in detail, and then proceeds to work his way down her chest.
He only gets as far as her breasts before she finishes.
Her first attempt is a sad and transparent effort to get out of this with a single sentence, she'd confused the two salves. (And it's clearly the fault of whichever dafty had made them the same colour or hadn't bothered labelling the beastly things.)
Hmm.
Unsatisfactory.
He'd guessed as much, cheers, and he's scented blood.
"Where did you put the Muscle Mender?" he asks her between gentle nips to her nipples that soon have her squirming.
"You don't need to," she tries to put him off.
He laughs, "I think I do. And if it isn't an actual necessity, I certainly want to," he assures her as those bites increase in pressure and she moans. "Please," he begs, rather feeling like he does need this very much. "Please."
For half a moment she thinks that's her begging, because that echos her thoughts precisely, and it's vaguely disorientating to hear the pleas in his much deeper voice. Her legs spread wider and her feet lock behind his thighs ensuring both that he has better access and doesn't escape. He laughs again and pulls the closest nipple in a way that makes her moans scale an octave.
"Where did you put the Muscle Mender?" he demands again, and this time she's only too eager to respond.
It still takes her three more tries before he's satisfied with the answer, but then he'd guessed that as well. That was why he'd sent the Pain Relieving Salve, after all, knowing just how sore she'd be.
"And how did it feel?" He asks as he licks his way across the slight curve of her tummy, dallying at her navel on his way. It only takes her two attempts this time to find a reply that satisfies him.
"And what did you do about it?" he teases, his fingers between her legs now, doing their level best to tickle the truth out of her. She groans and flops back into the seat and his free arm hastens to pin her there so he can carry on unhindered, which he does with obvious relish. As his lips close on her clit, she finds herself telling him about how she'd pleasured herself after she'd confused the salves Friday morning. He peppers her with questions, his mouth and talented tongue and those probing fingers rewarding her frank answers, and soon the words come without hesitation. What does she like (she tells him), how does she do it (she actually shows him), what did she think about while doing it (she tells him that, too, and that was probably the most embarrassing of all)...
By the time she climaxes, he's half hard again and wondering if a sixth round actually could be in their cards. He regretfully dismisses the idea, but the effect she has on him is indisputable. He's very nearly as out of breath as she is and every bit as turned on.
Lavender doesn't do things like this. She's never spoken to a lover like that, she's certainly never... performed for someone like that. And telling him how she'd fantasised about him is nothing short of mortifying... And yet it's hard to say which of the two of them found it more exciting.
He kneels there catching his breath and inhaling her scent as deeply as possible in a way that wouldn't please her in the least if she had a better understanding of what he was doing. Then again, if she had a better idea of what it did to him, she'd most assuredly see things differently.
"Can I..." she starts uncertainly, not sure what precisely to offer. "That is to say, should I... Can I do something for you?" She finally manages, very obviously unsure of herself.
"Gods no," he tells her, rather more satisfied than he's likely to be able to convey.
"Are you sure?"
"Witch, I thought we were past that," he tells her as he joins her on the couch again, taking her in arm and pulling her as close to him as he possibly can. She can feel his cock twitch from time to time against her bum and thinks that must surely mean he might want another go. She tries to suggest as much and he laughs again. "But if you want more, you need only ask." He kisses her so deeply she sees stars for a moment, briefly forgetting what they were talking about. "But I have everything I want right here." His arm tightens around her briefly - almost possessively, but surely demonstratively - and she could swear her stomach fluttered a bit as he said that. She's begun to wonder if that isn't what people mean when they talk about their hearts. For her, it's definitely this weird feeling in her belly. She really can't believe that's just the difference the Lycanthrope's attack had made...
Except she's not at all sure why she's thinking of hearts to begin with...
"I just thought I ought to do something for you..." She rejoins.
He levers himself up so he can see her more clearly, gently stroking her tousled hair from her face. Seconds later, a wandless charm has rightened her unruly strands, and he laughs again, "You're undoing all my work."
He bends over and takes the closest nipple between his teeth again, sucking until she moans. He's grown quite fond of that sound. Only then does he let up, and tells her, "You're too concerned with tit," a quick nip punctuates the statement, "for tat." He laps at her breast for good measure, assuaging the residual pain from the tormented nipple with the flat of his tongue, and she's soon clutching his head to her chest.
He comes up for air, meeting her gaze, and she feels emboldened to simply ask him about why he doesn't want her to return the favour. "So to speak. You know what I mean," she half complains when he doesn't respond to her offer as she expects.
He simply laughs again, and it occurs to Lavender that he does that a lot, but that she doesn't feel uncomfortable when he does. She doesn't get the sense he's belittling her, which is something of an odd notion to have, but then she hasn't had the greatest of experiences, nor is she in the best of places. "It's not like I didn't get something out of it," he assures her.
"What do you get out of it?" If he's going to go there, then yes, she'd sort of like to know.
That makes him laugh again, and he finds himself trying to explain how it had made him feel, which he does in much the same fashion as he'd had her do with the Muscle Mender story, and ultimately succeeds in getting her rather hot and bothered, which of course very neatly illustrates his point. "I'd call that something, wouldn't you?" He asks silkily, his voice caressing her nearly as effectively as his hands do.
She's back to nodding dumbly, but he's clearly on to something there.
"And it's going into straight into my wank bank, by the way, which is repayment enough believe me." He kisses her gently as she begins to calm down again. "And this isn't and shouldn't be a strictly reciprocal process. Mutual pleasure in its more sensible forms isn't remotely about partners always feeling the same thing at the same time." Lav still doesn't look convinced, and it occurs to Blaise that this may be another issue of experience.
He knows she hasn't been with anyone during the full moon before, at least not since her change, and that might be affecting how she thinks of things, more along the lines of what she's used to than what presently is.
Fortunately he's an eminently confident young man and up to this conversation. "I think we need to have a chat about basic biology." The 'basic' has her worried that she really ought to know this, the 'biology' has her sure that she doesn't, but Blaise simply carries on. "We can fool around, and I'll most definitely enjoy it," almost automatically she's reaching for his cock again and he laughs as he intercepts her hand. She really does make him feel good, and not just physically. He kisses her fingers and continues, "But I won't be able to come again any time soon." She blinks at that admission, trying to understand it, worrying if she just doesn't excite him enough... "Eventually I won't even enjoy it anymore, it becomes frustrating, and sometimes even painful. I need a little time to recover before I'm ready to go again." She seems so worried that he tries it from a different approach.
"What's the greatest number of climaxes you and a partner have experienced in a roughly similar time frame before tonight?"
At first she just lies there blinking. For one thing, even though she'd rather not think of former lovers or compare them quite like this, not when she's naked in Blaise's arms, her first thought is neither Ron nor Gaston had the sort of confidence it must take to ever ask something like that. The next thought is that she'd come nowhere close with either of them, which might help explain Blaise's confidence. "Two, maybe three, depending on what you count, I guess." Blaise does his best to swallow the smirk that very much wants to plaster itself across his face. It can be exceedingly challenging taking the high road.
The next thought, now that Lavender is thinking along these lines, is that previously she'd generally been the hurdle to more sex. That 'two or three' had in no way been the rule. "Full moon," he tells her simply, recognising the issue immediately. That causes a brief moment of panic that he unfortunately doesn't address that once the moon passes out of this phase, there's no way she's going to be enough to satisfy someone who'd gone so many rounds with her now, without the lycanthrope's curse running through his veins at that.
"So believe me when I tell you - without potions or spells to the contrary - men eventually reach a point where they just can't anymore."
She sort of thought that was true for women as well...
"It can be. But it helps - rather - if your partners know what they're doing." It sounds unexpectedly kind. "So if I'm not responding? That's not in any way because of you, Lavender, that's me. And it's nothing unusual, or wrong, it's just... biology. All men have that response at some point. Do you understand?" She nods, a little reassured by his words, and gives him a small smile. He can't resist trying to get a bigger one out of her and quips, "Mind, with some men, that non-response comes much later."
She laughs. And then feels the need to kiss him, and does. He knows how to make her feel good, and she doesn't just mean the sex, although clearly he was something of a genius at that. She tries not to think about how he got that way.
"And if you're going to enjoy yourself with someone, you can't constantly be keeping score. It will take away from the enjoyment you could have had if you were just able to relax and enjoy yourself more. Pretty much by definition if you think about it." A soft kiss has her melting, but she thinks she takes his point.
He's right again, naturally, she's far too concerned with making sure the accounts were balanced, as it were. It's strange, but that had been so much of a thing with Ron... Such a point of pride. If he came, she had to, too. It's almost as though the mindset were contagious. A pang of guilt hits her for allowing her thoughts to wander there under these circumstances, but then it all speaks to Blaise's point, and frankly - intentionally or not - lets the Slytherin shine in comparison.
There had been one evening early last term when Ron had been so dead set on parity that he'd effectively insisted she climax, and she just couldn't. She'd eventually given up and faked an orgasm out of desperation so he'd finally stop and leave her be, because honestly? Everything had begun to hurt... And just like that she realises that's precisely what Blaise had been saying and feels a little more comfortable with things as they stand between them.
Huh. How about that?
And with the advantage of hindsight, her solution with Ron had been a colossal mistake anyway. The fallout from that evening had almost immediately bitten her in her heart-shaped arse, because although it had let her off the hook for the night, he took it as proof positive that she liked something she really didn't, and no amount of thoroughly mediocre sex or cajoling as he practically mauled her breasts in the months to come was able to convince him otherwise. It had been exhausting. She can't help thinking Blaise would read her the riot act if she ever did something that stupid with him. That's a rather nice thought, really. Nicer still is the fact that instead of just faking things as she had - there's got to be a spell for that - he'd been open and honest with her in a way she hadn't previously been able to be. That's... refreshing. And reassuring. It feels... healthy.
And she really appreciates the trust that entails.
She's regarding him with a touch of wonder by the time he continues, "Do you think you can promise me to stop trying to keep track like that moving forward?"
A little nervousness returns, not as much as it would have if they weren't lying there, limbs entwined, skin still sweat-slicked from sex and quite obviously enjoying each other's proximity.
"Does that mean you want to try to keep seeing each other like this?" She asks, not because she's too thick to understand the implications of his question, but because she'd just like the reassurance of hearing him actually say it.
Adorable that she could think he might want to stop. That he might be able to stop. Merlin, if someone tried to take her away from him, he'd probably hex them where they stood, and he knows a number of fairly unpleasant hexes. And on consideration, it might pay dividends to begin practising those without a wand...
"I had no intention of stopping, had you?" He assures her casually, because he's the quintessential Slytherin and it's difficult to know just what he's thinking. She's still nervous for all the reasons she'd had before, and a couple of new ones seem to have made the list tonight, but on the other hand the very idea of not giving it a try has her stomach clenching in a way that very nearly hurts.
"I thought we could give it a go. Even if things become too... if they don't... well even if it's too difficult," she's a craven coward pretending it's that and she knows it, "we could always pick things up again around the next full moon." His stomach briefly relocates to his throat as he considers not seeing her for another three weeks or more. Or worse: seeing her daily and yet not being able to have her again come nightfall... Lavender continues, completely unaware of the effect her words have on him, "but I thought it would be nice to at least give it a try. Maybe we can make this work out?"
He rolls her over putting himself on top and presses his body, hard, against her, pleased at the way she seems to naturally welcome his weight. With an incredibly thorough kiss she can feel right down to her curling toes, he seems to seal their deal. They're both laughing when they have to stop for air, which doesn't make the breathing any easier, not that either seems to mind or even notice.
Her feet have already anchored his legs in place, and they lie there just catching their breath together.
But Blaise is practical.
"You'll have to try to be more subtle," he tells her. "No staring at meals," he chides. "Or in class!" Comes the slightly horrified addition as the thought just occurs to him.
Lavender has the decency not to laugh, because he's right obviously. "So how do we do this?"
He Summons his satchel of potions, quaffs a Sober-Up and offers her one as well. "First and foremost, we'll need to be careful about attracting attention." It probably helps that from her new seat in the Great Hall, he's not remotely in her line of sight. He's glad she's still in his, though. Well they can probably afford the risk that presents; he's far more circumspect by nature.
He gives her a wry look as he gathers what's left of his shirt. A bit of Transfiguration - well, perhaps more than just a bit - and it's largely back to normal. She looks rather pleased with herself at the recollection of how she'd shredded it. He's no less pleased, to be frank. He likes being wanted. She drinks her potion and begins getting dressed as well, while Blaise Summons some errant buttons. "We need to be smart about things," he tells her as he pockets them. "We can't leave any traces."
He Reducios the bottle of Blishen's, which she stows in her robes with a soft, "Thanks," as he finishes getting dressed, Vanishes the tumblers, Cleans and Banishes the furs and returns the couch and table to their original states and storage. Within moments, there's no sign they'd been here and they're ready to leave.
"When should we meet tomorrow?" She asks.
"After curfew I think. We'll be able to avoid most people that way. We'll just have to worry about the patrolling Prefects, some Professors on their rounds..."
"Well, them and the Astronomy students..."
"Right, we'll need to make sure we avoid the times when they come and go to class..."
Lavender begins laughing. "Blaise, where do you think their class meets?"
"That's...
"Bugger." Well that was something of a brain fart. Obviously they meet here. The name was something of a giveaway, wasn't it, never mind the fact they themselves have had the class together here once a week for seven and a half years now.
"Bugger indeed," she smiles.
"We'll need to meet somewhere else..."
"Obviously," she smirks.
"Any ideas?" he asks, still marvelling at his stupidity.
"Just the one, but I strongly suspect Harry will be making use of it with Draco. Sorry... Oh! There's a large alcove down by the kitchens no one seems to use. It even has seating." She knows this because she'd taken most of her meals there for the first month or so of classes last term.
An assuredly windowless alcove in the basement seems a poor substitute for the rooftop with its magnificent views, but he doesn't have a better suggestion. The Ravenclaws had had rooms of their own on offer, and by and large, he'd kept his attachments to people from his own House. It's strange to think he's unprepared for this eventuality.
"We'll meet at the kitchens then and I'll show you the way," she smiles up at him. It's difficult to refuse that smile, so he nods. And should he come up with something better before then, they can always change their plans.
Possibly because she doesn't want their evening to end, or maybe it's because she's actually serious about his learning the Charm, she nudges him and hands him her wand. "You still need to practise the Patronus."
He's not eager to leave either and makes a sincere stab at it. It goes better than it had the previous night, but he still can't produce anything more than a series of blue sparks. Lavender doesn't seem discouraged, however, so he decides not to be either. Presumably it helps that he isn't as keen on seeing results as she is, and easily half the point is standing there with her arms wrapped around him, guiding his hand and listening to all the sweetly encouraging things she has to say, not to mention her ideas of what might constitute happy thoughts...
As they finally end the practice session and he goes to give her back her wand, he pauses for a moment. "Are you sure this is such a great idea? My using your wand so much for this?"
"How so?" She asks. She'd offered it, after all.
"The user trains the wand. Having two regular users like this could corrupt all the work you've already sunk into it."
He's right, as usual, and so she considers it seriously. Seven and a half years of teaching the wand how to respond to her magic is a non-trivial investment, especially for people their age. They've practised the Patronus Charm rather a lot the past few days, and yet her wand hadn't felt sluggish at all. She gives it an experimental flick, and purple sparks fly off the tip in a generous shower, as brilliant and colourful as ever. Maybe even more so, but she's in a good mood, and that has a way of making a difference. "I don't think it's doing any harm," she shakes her head. "My wand seems to like you," she smiles.
"Well just bear it in mind and keep an eye on it, would you?"
She smiles even more, privately quite pleased with his concern. It's nice that he doesn't just think about his needs, too. "I'll let you know if I see any changes," she promises. "We could reevaluate then."
They both go quiet for a moment, neither liking what must come next, but there's no putting it off anymore. It's getting late, and they have classes tomorrow morning.
"Shall I walk you back to the Tower?" he finally asks instead of just doing it as he had on the nights before, because as much as he'd like to, and thinks he ought to, both because it's safer and he feels it's the gentlemanly thing to do (plus it's really rather become their thing), deep down he knows it isn't the best of ideas now that everyone has returned to the school... Still, he'd rather leave it up to her than outright refuse her the escort.
So he asks.
Lav smiles gently, picking up on at least some of his thoughts. She's better at that than most people give her credit for. "It's probably smarter if I walk myself back. There are a lot more people out and about than there were just yesterday." Patrolling prefects not the least of them. She's right of course, he's right of course, but he sighs regretfully as he places a soft kiss on top of her head. She entwines her fingers with his, and takes a deep breath, the regret equally plain in her voice, and says, "I'll go first then, should I? In case anyone is in the corridor?" He prefers it slightly to leaving her up here alone and nods, and then has to watch her disappear down the stairs. He's not sure why, but it feels worse than watching her vanish through the Gryffindor portrait hole.
After a few minutes pass, he follows her down, turning left instead of to the right as she had, to make his way down to the dungeons. It had been a trip he'd made from her Tower alone on the previous nights as well, but somehow this feels more solitary.
Unfortunately he's not quite as alone as he thinks.
"I couldn't tell who that was, could you?" Edgar Martins whispers to his fellow seventh year Ravenclaw prefect as they watch the unidentified woman head down the corridor away from them.
Carol Carmichael shakes her head as she peers after the retreating form. There's something familiar about her, but she just can't place her. "No, but the Astronomy Tower? Kinky."
"I wouldn't think anyone would go there..." Edgar agrees.
"Well not except the Slytherins," she giggles.
"Definitely wasn't a Worm, though. Headed in the wrong direction. Probably not a 'Puff either for the same reason."
"Unless the 'Puff were taking the longer way around to the sett..." But she's inclined to agree with her housemate that it isn't too likely. That leaves a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. "They could have been making a tribute?" She volunteers as to the purpose of the visit. He laughs.
"If it were that they'd go to Dumbledore's grave and hardly the site of his murder. Unless they're celebrating the sacrifice itself that is..."
"In which case it would definitely have to be a Slytherin, or how many dark sacrifice rituals can you name?" Carol laughs at the absurdity. They're still teasing each other when Edgar grabs her arm and claps his other hand over her mouth.
"Shh!" he whispers, dragging her into the nearest alcove. He's lucky she trusts him or she'd hex him right then and there. Probably. Fine, she'd need to reach her wand first, but then he'd be toast.
A moment later she hears whatever it was he had, and goes quiet trying to make out more. Soon enough it becomes obvious, it's the sound of footfalls on the nearby stairs. The Ravenclaws wait in nearly palpable suspense until a figure finally appears in the corridor.
"Zabini!" Edgar hisses in her ear. She nods, confirming his identification.
"So it wasn't a spell then..."
"Unlikely. Shagging, more like, the randy manwhore, and not with another Worm either." His venom might just be tinged with envy.
"Interesting," she nods.
That wasn't remotely his word for it.
He glares at the Slytherin's back as it disappears down the corridor in the direction of the main staircase.
(no subject)
Date: 2021-10-05 06:39 am (UTC)Thoroughly excellent communications between them. Sincerely appreciate the honesty and clarity they share. This is becoming my new head canon.
You've turned my view topsy turvy.
(no subject)
Date: 2021-10-09 12:30 pm (UTC)Thought it would make for a refreshing change, it's not like there aren't plenty of things you can still bollocks up... 😋
😃 (I'd say 'job done', but it's clearly not. 😘)
(no subject)
Date: 2021-10-06 03:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2021-10-09 12:30 pm (UTC)