Hey chat I’m doing. Not good. Gonna have to tap out for a bit to deal with my real job bc it’s insane out here. Will be back and hopefully finishing fics over the weekend thank u for your patience <3
Work is beating me up this week I fear :( current estimated dates for my other two Blaise’s Banquet works are Friday/Saturday for No More Tears pt 2 and Sunday/Monday for college hockey au. Sorry pookies 😭
Summary: One moment you’re minding your business browsing the aisles in Honeydukes, the next a round of Wildfire Whiz-bangs is exploding throughout the store. Clearly you missed a chapter because how on Earth did this all get pinned on you and Blaise Zabini?
Smoke, sulfur, and burnt chocolates were definitely not on your top ten list of scents you'd expect to find at Honeydukes. In fact, the popular candy shop was rather infamously known for its sickenly sweet, over the top treats that filled the air with notes of exotic spices, fruits, and sugars that rotted teeth just by inhaling the smell. Though to be fair, you also definitely did not expect to be cowering beneath the service counter of the candy shop as a round of Wildfire Whiz-bangs tore through the store with fiery determination either.
You supposed you should be surprised, but, after years spent at Hogwarts, nothing really shocked you anymore. This really was just another Saturday at Hogsmeade. With a sigh, you resign yourself to simply waiting out the chaos of above, hoping that someone with more than a few brain cells to rub together would eventually realize that vanishing spells were clearly making an already bad situation worse.
That's when another body ducks into your hiding spot, shoving you unceremoniously into the corner.
"Hey! Find your own spot. Move," you hiss, shoving back at the person who was very much invading your personal space.
"Shove off. I don't exactly fancy the idea of being burnt to a crisp," the person snaps back, twisting around to face you, a scowl clear across their face.
It takes a moment to place him, but you recognize the boy. Blaise Zabini. Trouble tended to follow him wherever he went. And by trouble you specifically meant Mattheo Riddle. Again, you probably should have been surprised, but Blaise Zabini being at the scene of the crime was about as expected as the centuries old rivalry between the snakes and the lions. And it was just your luck that he had to bring his problems to you. Admitting defeat (you didn't need his blood on your hands), you scoot over a bit giving him more room to take cover.
"So, I'm assuming you know who started this whole mess," you say dryly, trying, and failing, to ignore the way Blaise's leg was pressing up against you.
"No," he replies curtly, face remaining unchanged as he pointedly avoids making eye contact with you.
You raise a disbelieving eyebrow and Blaise must be able to sense your skepticism because there's a short pause before he lets out a low grunt, begrudgingly looking over at you.
"I don't know what happened. I ditched Mattheo and the rest of them when we got to Hogsmeade. Didn't feel like serving another detention for something I didn't do," he says.
You don't know if it's the sheer exhaustion laced in his voice, or the unanticipated sincerity in his eyes, but you believe him.
"Well. At least you acknowledge that Mattheo is a problem," you say with a sigh, trying awkwardly to lighten the mood as the sound of rogue explosives continues from above.
Blaise snorts and you swear you even catch a glimpse of a smile. You might have imagined it though.
"I live with them. I am no stranger to the fact that Mattheo has a nasty habit of making his problems, everyone else's problems." He pauses. "It's really Theo you have to watch out for though. He'll scheme right alongside Matt, but he's never the one that gets caught."
His words hang in the air. You couldn't remember there ever being a time where you'd heard Blaise string that many words together. You'd kind of always thought he was a quiet one. Always watching, analyzing, staying three steps ahead of everyone else. It had never occurred to you that maybe he was the one really worth talking to. The fireworks last for several more long minutes which you and Blaise spend in silence—aside from the occasional intake of breath when a loud crack sounds just a little too close.
When all the noise finally subsides, Blaise is the one to peek his head up above the counter first before extending a hand, wordlessly helping you to your feet. The shop is a complete and utter disaster. Rows and rows of shelves have been blasted over, boxes of product are scattered across the floor—burnt, torn, completely spoiled. Even the lights overhead were flickering, the occasional spark threatening to start a whole new problem.
"Bloody fucking hell." The words escape your mouth without a second thought as you stare at the carnage in shock.
You figured the damage would be bad. But this was brutal.
"There! It must have been them!" The voice you vaguely recognize as belonging to the shopkeeper rings out across the store.
Your head swivels as you look around, trying to spot the alleged troublemakers when you realize that the store is completely empty except for—oh. Oh no. The pieces seem to click for Blaise too, as he begins shaking his head.
"It wasn't us. We went for cover under the counter as soon as the fireworks started going off," he states as Minerva McGonagall appears next to the shopkeeper with her arms crossed and a glare already burning a hole through the two of you.
"Really?" The shop keeper scoffs. "Then how did you two know to hide straight away, hmm? And if you were hiding, how did you know it was fireworks being set off?"
"Well, the hiding part was mostly a result of our above average self-preservation skills, and the knowledge of fireworks bit probably came from the fact that we have functioning ears," you reply dryly, agitated by the fact you were being accused of something you clearly didn't do.
Beside you, you hear Blaise try to suppress a snort and can't help but feel pleased that you were able to amuse the boy once again, but that was far from your greatest concern at the moment. The shopkeeper doesn't look convinced. She turns to McGonagall, fists clenched and her mouth in a thin line.
"These two were here before all the explosions started, and they're still here now. I just know it was them and I demand something be done. They cannot be allowed to get away with something like this, my shop is in ruins!"
You have to feel a bit bad for the old woman, her shop had definitely seen better days. And really you couldn't blame her for being so upset. But it just wasn't fair that you were being blamed when you had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You stand there just stewing in frustration as McGonagall apologizes profusely for the wreckage, promising that everyone involved would be held accountable.
"What do you expect us to do? Pay for all the damages?" you ask, crossing your arms in defiance.
Looking around, your family definitely could not afford to essentially rebuild the entire store from ground up. And quite frankly they shouldn't have to. Because none of this was your fault. Blaise perks up a bit at the suggestion however.
"Yes! My mother would be happy to pay. We can cover all the costs, no need to even involve y/n," he says, a charming smile gracing his face even though the rest of him remains tense.
But McGonagall shakes her head.
"No, no, no, Mr. Zabini. I will not have you believe that you can just throw your family's money at problems to make them disappear. Absolutely not. You and y/n will complete volunteer hours. Here. Starting this week," McGonagall says sternly.
"But Professor, it really wasn't us," you try to protest.
"Well, unless you have the names of the students who did this, the evidence against you is strong enough—"
"What, her just saying she saw us so she knows we did it is enough? That's bull—"
"That is enough. Unless you would like to serve a detention as well, I highly recommend you stop while you are above water," McGonagall says coldly.
You want to argue more, but Blaise's hand on your wrist stops you in your tracks.
"It's not worth it," he mutters under his breath, giving your wrist a light squeeze.
You bite your tongue, but not before shooting a nasty glare the shopkeeper's way. Apparently finished with the two of you, McGonagall turns to working out logistics with the old witch, leaving you and Blaise to scurry off to await your fates.
Your first afternoon spent at Honeydukes was awful. You didn't want to be there. Blaise didn't want to be there. And the shopkeeper? You had words to describe her that would probably get your sentence increased by at least a few months. You had thought she was a sweet, little old lady before, but now she was just miserable to be around—constantly snapping at you and Blaise and ordering the two of you around, then getting upset when you did exactly what she asked. It was infuriating, and you could tell that Blaise was at his wits’ end too by the end of the day.
When you finally returned to the castle that night, you were exhausted. All you wanted to do was fall face first, down onto your bed and promptly pass out. But you had more work to do. A charms assignment, a full translation for ancient runes, 12 inches due for potions, you were going to be up all night. You knew Blaise would be up too. He pretty much had the same class schedule you did. These hours at Honeydukes would probably wear down on him too. Or maybe not. He'd always seemed a bit super human to you. Always above everything.
You force the mental image of Blaise out of your head, willing yourself to focus on the work in front of you. Worrying about him wasn't going to do anything to help you. In fact, it was kind of what got you into this whole mess in the first place. You shake your head to clear it. Focus. Charms. Right. Your quill is just about to reach your parchment when a sharp knock jolts you forward, splashing ink across the blank page. Damnit.
With a huff, you drag yourself across the dorm room, swinging your door open, ready to tear into whatever poor soul is waiting on the other side. Except—you blink. Blaise Zabini is standing there looking rather disheveled. A far cry from his usual clean-cut, pristine presentation, you almost don't recognize him. Gone is his usual perfectly crisp, white button down and tie, and in its place is a worn down jumper that had definitely seen better days. His trousers are loose and wrinkly and it appeared as though he hadn't even bothered to tie one of his shoes. In short, it looked like he'd been run over by a hoard of wild hippogriffs.
"Are you— are you alright?" you ask, unable to keep your shock from seeping into your voice.
"I'm fine," Blaise replies, deadpan.
You give the boy another once over.
"Are you sure? You look awful."
"Tactful as always," Blaise says dryly, ignoring the barb and pushing his way into your dorm without so much as an invitation.
You want to protest, but honestly you're too tired so instead, you close the door and turn to find Blaise seated on the very chair you had occupied just a mere minute ago. You still don't have the energy to fight it though.
"What do you want Blaise, I have so much to do," you find yourself sighing as you lean back against your door.
Blaise mirrors your movement, leaning back in the chair and raising an eyebrow as if to challenge you.
"If you're just going to sit there, I'm not doing this. Please don't waste my time," you huff, feeling yourself growing more and more agitated.
"I'm never a waste of time," Blaise replies plainly, still refusing to elaborate on why he had shown up at your door so late at night.
"Yes, yes. I know. You're god's gift to the world and you're better than everyone else. I should be groveling in your presence. Can you please tell me why you're here, or leave me to work in peace."
You can't quite read the look that flashes across Blaise's face at your words, maybe hurt? Begrudging respect? You can't tell, but Blaise opens his bag that you hadn't really noticed before and pulls out his own stack of parchment.
"We're going to work together," he says as if the decision had already been made unilaterally.
"Are we?" you ask, arms crossed as you tilt your head at the boy.
You weren't exactly opposed to the idea. Blaise was wicked smart, you knew he was right up there competing for top marks in most subjects. But he was also Blaise Zabini, and while he might be nice to look at, his reputation certainly preceded him. Though he had surprised you a fair bit in the few interactions you'd had with him so far.
"We are. Look, we both have a heavy course load this term and with all the extra hours we'll have to spend outside of Hogwarts, I've done the math and there's just no way we'll be able to get all of our course work done without working together," Blaise says bluntly.
As much as you hate to admit it, you know he's right. Just thinking about all the work you had to do before Blaise had knocked on your door filled you with dread. Looking at Blaise, you can tell he already knows he has you so you let out another sigh, throwing your hands up in defeat.
"Fine. But you're taking the lead on ancient runes. I'm horrible at it."
Blaise was exceptionally difficult to get a read on, you were coming to understand as you spent more and more time with the boy. For the first few weeks of your mandatory community service at Honeydukes, you had been particularly bitter and it seemed like Blaise was on the same page. It simply wasn't fair that you and Blaise were taking the hit for something neither of you had done, and you made sure to make that point perfectly clear. But for Blaise, nothing seemed to affect him. It was like he didn't even care.
As the weeks went on though, you came to find that you didn't really mind the work you were doing—it was actually a bit therapeutic. The reason you were there aside, it wasn't actually so bad and getting out of Hogwarts was a nice perk. And Blaise, well, you were making progress with him you supposed. He wasn't nearly as snarky with you as you'd seen him be with others and you could swear you'd caught him staring before. But he was still…aloof. Hovering, as if he could never quite find the right words.
When the two of you did speak, words between you and Blaise were exclusively related to work: what aisle was stocked with exploding bon bons, which price tags went with the fudge flies, who was going to take the arithmancy notes, and who was going to write up the summary on the 6th—or was it the 7th—Goblin War. So it was a surprise to you when Blaise was the one to bring up a topic outside of your usual subject matter. Of course it was quidditch.
It was something about Malfoy being his usual primadonna self on the pitch and Riddle and Goyle, the team's beaters, making a pact to use him as their moving target for the day. Apparently they bludgered too close to the sun and Malfoy went down. Dramatically. In your personal opinion, the boy probably had it coming, but you didn't voice that particular opinion. Blaise had just been venting and honestly, you were happy to let him do so. It made him so much more…human.
Of course you had to pick his brain for all the details, because please, it was hilarious, but Blaise insisted that he didn't know what Malfoy had said in the locker rooms that day to get Riddle so pissed off, or how Riddle had then successfully roped Goyle into the whole mess.
"Blaise, how could you not think to ask what got the whole thing started? Mattheo got Gregory to turn on Draco, I need to know everything that happened. This is historic," you'd insisted between giggles.
Something about the whole thing must have been infectious, because Blaise was smiling too now, and you'd decided then and there that you liked it very much when Blaise smiled. His whole demeanor softened, seeming to draw you in.
Of course the lousy shop keeper had had to go and ruin it all, snapping at the two of you to work more and chat less.
"Rest be assured, we will be circling back to this," you'd told Blaise before turning on your heel to continue stocking shelves.
And then Blaise actually did. Later that night when Blaise was once again at home in your dorm room, he'd turned to you, quill hovering above parchment, eyes lighting up as if he'd just remembered the most important thing in the world.
"I found out what happened between Malfoy and Goyle," he'd announced proudly, eyes gleaming as your face lit up.
"Tell me everything."
"Apparently Malfoy took the whole 'Goyle can't read' bit a little too far."
"You're joking."
You don't really remember a lot of that night because you and Blaise stayed up so late that you didn't realize that you hadn't gotten any work done until the sky started to turn light again. It was worth it though, because by the time the two of you were ready to head down to the Great Hall that morning, it felt like you'd known Blaise your entire life. It was strange to think that just a few weeks ago you'd known so little about him.
As the weeks stretch on, you develop a bit of a routine. Go to class, stop in the library, report to the Headmaster's office to floo to Honeydukes, grab a late dinner, wait for Blaise's knock on your door. It was nice. And your relationship, if you could even call it that, with Blaise was nice too. He wasn't always as snobbish as people made him out to be and really, his haughty attitude could be rather comedic at times. Not that you'd ever let him know that, his ego was already big enough for the both of you combined.
You feel a soft jab at your arm.
"Are you going to do your side, or are you going to make me do it since I'm clearly the more talented wizard," Blaise quips, a taunting grin on his lips as he glances down at you.
"Oh shove off, would you."
With a roll of your eyes, you quickly cast a levitating charm and watch as the last of the glittery, pink banners that normally decorated the shop floats up to its familiar position on the ceiling.
"I'd say we did rather good," you decide, standing back to admire your work.
You'd spent much of the day redecorating the shop and it was almost looking back to normal if you did say so yourself. And you did.
"Of course it looks good, I did most of it," Blaise teases, his smile only growing.
If you were delusional, you'd think the boy was flirting with you. In his own twisted way. So you roll your eyes again, and shake your head disapprovingly.
"What do you even do when you're not being an absolute headache," you sigh dramatically.
"Look pretty." Blaise's shit-eating grin is unmistakable now.
"Ugh. You deserve this place. We could put you on the shelf, call you eye candy," you scoff before fully thinking through your words.
"So you agree, I'm pretty?" Blaise preens, looking all too smug.
You needed to get this back under control.
"If I actually thought that, I wouldn't let you know. Your head is already too big as is."
With that, you quickly turn your back to the boy, hoping he'd missed the heat that was now creeping up to your cheeks. You really needed to get your head on straight. But it was hard. Now that you were actually thinking about it and watching as Blaise's lean, quidditch muscles flexed as he moved boxes around the shop—he really was the definition of a pretty boy. It was almost mesmerizing watching him.
Seeing Blaise sprawled across your bed had to be some kind of sick joke. It had been meant as just a lighthearted, harmless quip, but since that afternoon at Honeydukes, all you could think about was how freaking attractive the boy that you'd been spending all of your time with for the last several weeks was. Of course you'd always seen it, but now you just couldn't get it out of your damn head. You wanted to bang your head on the wall. Or climb him like a tree. You weren't sure which. But there he was, none the wiser, lounging on your bed like some kind of godly entity. Sick.
You really needed to clear your mind. Slumping back in your chair and silently chastising yourself for being so distracted, you crack open your potions textbook. Surely a deep dive into bezoars would take your mind off things, or at least be so dull you'll have no choice but to focus on not falling asleep.
Laying across your bed, scribbling away at a translation for ancient runes, Blaise was riding high. Your words "eye candy" echo in his mind as he writes. You thought he was attractive. His chest tightens at the thought. See, Blaise was many things. Observant and decisive were two of those things. And what he had observed for the past year was someone who was cheeky and intelligent and fit, and what he decided was that they would be his. You would be his.
Of course in order to make that happen, Blaise would have had to actually do something about it. And he always told himself he would, he just…never did. And his pride wouldn't even allow him to consider why that might be, but now he had a chance. You thought he was attractive. You might even like him. He would take it. For now.
Glancing up, Blaise had to stifle his in take of breath. You really were perfect in his opinion. And he had high standards. But looking at you now, the way your eyes slowly scanned the pages of your book, the soft curve of your lip as your tongue flicked out to wet your fingers as you turned the page, it was almost enough to make Blaise want to combust right then and there.
Instead he clears his throat, pulling your eyes away from your book and towards him, exactly where he preferred them.
"There's a quidditch game tomorrow," he mentions casually in that cold, steady tone that was so practiced it was basically second nature to him.
"Oh, exciting. Who's playing?" you ask, head tilting in a way that told Blaise he had your full, undivided attention. And he reveled in it.
"Slytherin and Hufflepuff."
"Right, well, good luck in case I don't see you in the morning."
There's a moment of pause.
"I thought you might like to come watch," Blaise finally spits out, desperate to hold your attention for even a few moments longer.
"Why, because you're playing?" you ask, a small smile playing on your lips.
"Especially because I'm playing," he responds with a cocky grin.
"I suppose I'll be there then."
Your eyes lock back in on your book and for once, Blaise thinks it might be for the best because his grin is now threatening to take over his entire face.
Blaise was thoroughly convinced that the world was on his side. It was a perfect day for quidditch—warm but cloudy enough that there was no sun beating down, barely a breeze, and stands packed with spectators. And of course there was you, right there in front surrounded by Pansy Parkinson and Lorenzo Berkshire. Oh. That might actually be a problem, but he would have to mitigate that particular issue later.
"Blaisey!"
Blaise is greeted by Mattheo with a thump on the back.
"Don't call me that," he monotones, his familiar scowl finding its way to his mouth.
"Oh don't be like that, I heard you finally got that special someone in the stands. Eh? Exciting day," Mattheo sings, voice intentionally loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the team.
Blaise was going to murder him later. Painfully.
"Oi, Riddle. Shut your trap and stop trying to sabotage your own team, yeah?" Flint shouts.
He was still pissed about Malfoy getting mauled, but at least ferret boy had been cleared to play today.
"Sorry, sorry," Mattheo relents, holding his hands up in surrender, but that troublemaker grin doesn't fade from his face. "I'll be expecting a thank you at the wedding though," he taunts quietly as he passes by.
The quidditch stands are crowded and you aren't exactly sure where you're meant to be as you're funneled forward through the wooden rows. Somehow you manage to end up right in the front, standing next to a girl with short, sleek hair and a brunette boy that looked like he could be on the cover of a magazine. Pansy Parkinson and Lorenzo Berkshire. You knew the two of them ran in the same circle as Blaise, but you weren't exactly sure how friendly they all were. It seemed you were about to find out though as Lorenzo leans forward on the rail to get a good look at you.
"You here for Zabini?" he asks. "Took him long enough, been wondering how long it would be before you started coming around."
You blink. You'd never talked to Lorenzo Berkshire before in your life and you had no idea what he was on about. Thankfully, Pansy comes to your rescue.
"Ignore him. Bloody idiot, that one," she sighs as if it were a common disclosure she gave out often.
Lorenzo seems completely unfazed by the comment, so maybe it was.
"You know the rest of the team?" Pansy asks, making easy conversation.
You didn't want to seem ungrateful, but you were surprised by how willing these two were to ease you into their little group.
"I know a few of them. A bit hard to tell though from this distance," you reply timidly.
"That's fine. Only thing you really need to know is which one Zabini is anyway. But look down there," Pansy points to the group of boys in emerald green down on the field. "Obviously that one is Blaise, I'm sure you're familiar," she says with a smirk, "The two he's standing with are the other chasers Nott and Pucey. Then the blonde who's not paying attention? That's Malfoy. The two next to him are the beaters, Riddle and Goyle. And that last one who's been monologuing this whole time is the team captain Flint. He's the keeper."
Your eyes follow Pansy's movements as she lists off each of the players, doing your best to soak in the information. Seemed easy enough, especially once Pansy put a name to the faces you hadn't quite recognized. Pansy and Lorenzo bicker back and forth some more as you watch the players on the field get ready to begin. It had been a long time since you'd come down to watch a quidditch game.
Once the game starts though, you realize that there was one thing you hadn't taken into account when accepting Blaise's invitation to the match. And that was his quidditch uniform. Sweet Salazar, you hoped no one noticed you salivating over the way his robes clung to him as he soared through the sky. And every time he flew past you caught a glimpse of that cocky smile of his that was growing to be all too familiar. It was definitely worth coming out.
The match is a quick one, and according to Lorenzo, the matches against Hufflepuff usually are. By the time Malfoy finally catches the snitch, Slytherin had already scored enough points that it wouldn't have even mattered if Diggory had been the one to catch the snitch first. You can't quite bring yourself to hoot and holler like Enzo when the match finally comes to an end, but the way Blaise's eyes find you as soon as the whistle blows tells you that you didn't have to. He knows you were there and he's the only one that matters.
After, you stand with Pansy and Lorenzo and wait for the team to trickle out of the locker room. Draco is one of the first ones out and when he spots Pansy, is quick to scoop her up into a hug. Mattheo and Greg are next, quickly joining Lorenzo off to the side where he's busy chatting up some of the Hufflepuffs. Then, finally you see him—hair still damp, either from sweat or a shower, but practically glowing as he spots you waiting there for him.
There's nothing grand or romantic about the way he saunters up to you, and there's no sweeping hug like when Draco greeted Pansy, but you can't help but feel your heart flutter as Blaise appears before you, perfect as always.
"Did you enjoy the game?" is the first thing Blaise asks, his hand brushing the back of yours as he stands in front of you.
You feel yourself short circuit for a split second at the contact before quickly recovering.
"Yeah. It was fun. You looked good out there," you hear yourself mumble as you try desperately to cling to the feeling of Blaise's skin against yours.
"Did I?" Blaise preens, that shit eating grin appearing once more.
He'd been doing that a lot recently. Smiling. Or at least a lot more than you'd ever seen. Not that you had really noticed before of course.
You reach out and give the boy a light shove on the shoulder.
"That's not what I meant," you reply as heat rises to your face, but even you can tell there's no sincerity behind your words.
"It's alright if it was." Blaise's voice is lower now. Hungry almost as he takes a step closer.
You feel your heart stop while your mind races at a mile a minute, repeating Blaise's words in your mind over and over making sure you heard right. That you weren't imagining it. But before you can respond properly, a voice calls out, pulling Blaise away while words sit at the tip of your tongue. All you can do is watch as Blaise turns away to rejoin the rest of the team, throwing one more parting glance your way before his face returns to its typical stoney expression.
You would think that, with its magical organization system, the Hogwarts library would be much easier to sort through. Yet here you were on what seemed like a wild goose chase, trying to track down the one book that would help you to complete your transfiguration essay. You'd been searching for nearly forty minutes now and it really was frustrating because the more time it took for you to find the blasted book, the more time your brain had to microanalyze every interaction you'd ever had with Blaise Zabini. You were driving yourself mad.
"What do you think the chances are that Zabini completely fumbles, despite everything we've done?"
Wonderful. And now your delusions were causing you to hear voices talking about Blaise out loud. Would you ever escape—wait. You take a step closer to the shelf, holding your breath as you try to hear through the rows of books.
"He better not. You know how hard it was to sneak those fireworks into the school? Told him today that I expected a thank you at their wedding. Course he doesn't know that we're the masterminds behind it all yet. Expect he'd be a little more grateful if he did, yeah?"
That voice you distinctly recognize as belonging to Mattheo Riddle, and, peering through the gaps in the shelves, there he was sat directly across from none other than Lorenzo Berkshire. But fireworks? Whose wedding? What did Blaise have to fumble? Your brain goes into over drive, straining to put the pieces together, and when it all starts to click you let out a breath you didn't realize you had been holding. Huh. You could confront the two right then and there, but instead you decide to take your new found discovery and file it away for later.
As it turns out, 'later' would actually be later that night. It's dark out when Blaise finally knocks on your door. You were expecting it of course, but this time he marches in with his usual confident swagger before you even have the chance to roll off your bed.
"Hey," is all he says as he drops his book bag on the ground before taking a seat next to you on the bed.
The mattress dips beneath him causing you to slide towards him until your legs are pressed against each other. You're not sure if you should curse gravity, or thank it.
"Hi," you squeak out, acutely aware of how close the two of you are sitting.
"Did you ever finish that transfiguration essay? I thought we could swap ideas," Blaise says, bending down to pull out parchment and a quill.
Your mind stutters at how inhumanly calm Blaise is while sitting so close that you could smell every individual note in his expensive cologne.
"Yeah, but, I don't think I want this to end. Once we've stopped going to Honeydukes and have more free time again," you blurt out. No plan, just words cascading out of your mouth.
Blaise doesn't even look up, just continues scribbling his name onto his parchment.
"That's fine. This arrangement has been working well."
You shouldn't feel surprised at this point, but you were always a little bit stunned by how nonchalant Blaise could be at times.
"No. I'm saying I think I like you," you try again, hoping to get your point across.
"Obviously. What's not to like?"
If it weren't for that obnoxious smile that had grown on you so much over the past weeks you'd have thought he was being an arrogant prick.
"You're an absolute headache. You know that?" you pout, giving the boy a smack and jolting his quill sharply across the page.
With a wave of his hand, the parchment and quill are magicked back into his bag as Blaise turns to face you know, eyes burning.
"A good looking one though, hm? That's what you were going to say this morning no?" he asks, as he slowly moves closer.
You shake your head no, but you both know that it's a lie.
"I decided that you would be mine a long time ago. It was just a matter of getting you on the same page, so of course you like me, you've always been mine."
You simply don't have the words to respond. All you can do is remember how to breathe as your eyes fully train in on the way Blaise's mouth moves as he tells you exactly who you belong to. And then that mouth is on yours and you forget how to function all together.
It's soft and sweet, and much more gentle than you ever imagined Blaise capable of being. As the kiss deepens, you feel Blaise pull you closer, hand sweeping against your thigh, guiding it until you're seated on his lap. His lips trail down your jaw, your throat, fingers pulling at the neck of your jumper as he nips at your collar bone.
"Blaise."
His name slips out from between your lips—breathy, airy and Blaise growls. His touch feels like it's burning away at your skin yet you still press yourself against him, desperate for the feeling. His mouth finds yours once more, kissing you until your lips are swollen and you're left gasping for air. When you finally pull apart, Blaise is looking up at you with something that can only be described as pure, unadulterated admiration.
In that moment you wonder how long Blaise had had his eye on you. How long you'd unknowingly pulled his attention. How long you'd occupied his thoughts, driving him mad just as he had been to you these last few weeks. You'd have to find out another time.
You shift your weight in Blaise's lap until you're at eye level, a teasing grin pulling at your lips. One that clearly said 'I know something you don't'.
"Blaise?" you ask, voice sing-song as you look at the boy with wide, innocent eyes.
"Yes, angel face?"
You feel your nose scrunch up.
"Is that a no?" Blaise chuckles, breath warm against your cheek.
"We'll circle back. But I heard the most interesting thing this afternoon in the library. Do you know what it was?"
Blaise shakes his head.
"I'm sure there are lots of interesting tidbits to pick up in the library, sweet cheeks."
You give him an unamused look.
"That's just bad and you know it," you huff, giving the boy a quick peck on the lips. "Now hush, I know who set off those damn fireworks at Honey Dukes."
Blaise raises an eyebrow and you can tell you have his interest piqued.
"It was your beloved teammates. Riddle and Berkshire. They outright admitted to it in the library earlier. Were worried you would fumble after 'all the hard work they did' to get you some alone time with me," you chirp, giving Blaise a playful poke on the shoulder. "Said you should be thanking them."
"Is that right?" Blaise asks, eyes suddenly dark as his expression becomes unreadable.
You feel yourself hesitate at the change in Blaise's demeanor and it seems like Blaise picks up on the shift because his face immediately softens again.
"I'll have to handle those two myself," he mutters. "But first—"
His hands make a trail down from your waist, dragging tantalizingly against your thighs, and hooking behind your knee caps before he yanks you close once more. Your arms wrap around his neck as a laugh escapes you. It's quickly smothered though as lips collide and you find yourself lost in a hazy bliss once more. You decide in that moment that if Blaise isn't going to thank his friends for framing the two of you, then you just might.
…But probably not.
big, big thank you to @puddlesoffrogs and @i-await for the beta reads🫶🏽
Summary: Blaise finds himself missing you in the heat of July.
Warnings/be aware: kissing, fluff
A/N: my first contribution for Blaise’s Banquet, hosted by the amazing @i-await !! Inspired by Sweet Heat Lighting by Gregory Alan Isakov.
The air was stale in Zabini Manor even in the late hours of night, just as hot and miserably sticky as it had been while the sun was in the sky. Outside, the full moon glowed and the stars flickered in the midnight sky, dancing until they were overcome by jagged bolts of blue light. Sudden cracks of heat lightning lit up the atmosphere, highlighting the vast tracts of land around the Manor, seemingly emphasising the house’s isolation in the English countryside. The ordinary hoots of owls and late-night rustles of leaves were unheard even through the Manor’s open windows, the usual nocturnal creatures seemingly silenced in their quest to escape the heat and the stormless lightning.
Inside the house, a single occupant suffered the sweltering weather. While the rest of the Manor lay dormant, dark and shuttered, rays of light from a solitary bedroom pierced the midnight air.
Blaise stared up at the vaulted ceiling as he lay in his bed, his silk sheets cast aside. Even his skilled cooling charms were easily overcome by the canicule. He’d surrendered to the loathsome July weather, brooding in his misery. Listlessly, he turned his head, glancing out the French doors that led out onto his balcony. The night sky and his own translucent reflection stared back.
The emptiness of the bedroom betrayed the fact that Zabini Manor was hardly Blaise’s home. He was merely passing through this place, counting down the days until September. His school trunk sat alone, tucked into a vast walk-in closet, but he often visited it. Afternoons ticked by as he eyed the ebony-stained wood and the silver hardware, thinking of the upcoming school year.
Normally, summer wasn’t so bad. He’d often spent the months traveling with his mother or visiting the Malfoys. This year, though, his mother had brought home a new contender for the title of Mr. Zabini just in time for Blaise to return from Hogwarts. June had been filled with the discomfort and frustration of trying to accommodate yet another stranger in his mother’s house, spending hours in his room as he avoided the arrogant smirks and prideful glances of the interloper. Blaise couldn’t understand why the blokes all looked so satisfied with themselves – they were always gone within the year, accompanied by a scant explanation from his mother and an uncomfortable silence that filled the crevices of their conversations for a time.
Mercifully, his mother and the stranger had left for Cote D’Ivoire together on the second of July. Being left out of the family holiday scarcely bothered Blaise at first. However, as midnight threatened to turn the twenty-fourth into the twenty-fifth, the silence of the Manor began to feel like a taunt. He and Draco had used and abused the empty house in about every way imaginable throughout the month, throwing parties every night of the week and inviting everyone they knew. But when the lights turned off and everyone went home, he was met with the same hollow solitude, reminding him yet again that he was alone. Like a monster under the bed in the mind of a child, the emptiness hid away until the weary hours of night, when it slipped out to invade every crevice of the place.
When he couldn’t stand the silence anymore, he dipped a hand into his school trunk and pulled out a bundle of letters. Your handwriting danced across each page, and he could practically hear your voice speaking to him as he read the words stretching across the parchment. Though you were away on your own holiday with your parents and sister, reading the descriptions of the sights you’d seen and the stories you’d sent him about your family’s adventures helped quell the emptiness in his chest.
For much of his life, he’d scarcely given the idea of love a passing thought. Perhaps it had earned a cold laugh from his lips when Nott or Berkshire was down bad for some girl, but little more. The revolving door of Messrs. Zabini in his mother’s house had created little doubt in his mind that “love” was little more than a passing notion, a matter of convenience or a temporary impulse soon to be disposed of.
Then, Blaise met you.
You were his assigned dueling partner in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He wasn’t sure what deep-seated masochism had made him fall for the person required to throw hexes and jinxes at him from across the classroom, but every little combative flicker in your eyes and incantation from your lips intrigued him all the more. In October, he found himself looking forward to a class he’d previously held in little regard. By November, he was practicing spells in the Slytherin common room just so he could impress you the next time he saw you. But in December, he found himself facing the prospect of a change in partners as Professor Snape stood at the front of the classroom, frowning and telling his students that they’d make lousy duelists if they only learned one person’s style of combat. So he did what any normal person would’ve done.
He pretended to be struggling immensely in a subject he was consistently acing so that he could be tutored by you.
When you agreed to help him, he felt like he was on the top of the world. The thought of having no more reason to talk to you every week had created this horrible, suffocating feeling in his chest that he didn’t quite understand, but was relieved to have pushed aside for a few more months. However, it quickly became apparent that Blaise did not need help with Defense Against the Dark Arts. He easily grasped every concept you explained to him, and he was terrible at pretending otherwise.
But to his surprise, you kept showing up to each scheduled tutoring session, even once you’d run out of lessons to teach. At first, the two of you did the Defense homework together or revised for your exams. Then, you started just talking, spending hours in the library or one of your common rooms telling each other about your days and laughing about the ridiculous drama that was always in the air at Hogwarts.
In February, during one of those rambling conversations, you confessed to Blaise with a soft voice and downcast eyes that no one had ever bought you flowers before. He couldn’t fathom the thought that no one had shown you the treatment that you deserved. The little downturn of your lips and sadness in your ordinarily confident eyes invaded his mind until he was ready to make a fool of himself just to make you happy. The Slytherin who’d once only had an icy laugh to offer at the thought of love was suddenly spending his waking hours thinking of ways to spoil you. You came back to your dormitory on Valentine’s Day to a bed full of the most flowers you’d ever seen in one place, sitting in the arms of a stuffed bear taller than your headboard and as wide as the mattress it was sitting on.
By March, most of your study sessions consisted of more snogging than studying, which Blaise considerably preferred to Defense Against the Dark Arts.
When Blaise said goodbye to you for the summer, his chest felt like it was liable to split in two. The lump in his throat as he wrapped you in his arms at Platform 9 ¾ was, frankly, embarrassing. Although you assured him that the time would pass quickly and the two of you would be reunited in no time, every day that stood in the way of holding you again seemed to pass more slowly than the last. The formerly jaded heir to the house of Zabini now laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, your face flashing through his mind over and over as he desperately tried to wish away the month of July
In the distance, another jagged bolt of heat lightning flashed through the sky. The wind whipped across the open acres of the Zabini estate, threatening a thunderstorm and sending branches knocking against the doors to the balcony. Blaise rolled over in bed, thoughts of you still running through his mind as the wind howled at his back.
The echoing knocks against the French doors grew louder - more insistent.
Frowning, Blaise sat up abruptly. That wasn’t the sound of leafy branches scraping the balcony. Someone was knocking at the door. Taking ahold of the wand that was perched on his bedside table, he stood, slipping across the room and toward the French doors. In the darkness, he couldn’t discern anything but the shadowy shape of a figure standing on his balcony.
Just as he began to point his wand, another crack of light appeared in the sky. The face peering back at him through the door was your face. Your skin was glistening with sweat from the excruciating temperature and your hair was stuck to your forehead but it was you all the same.
“How –” The word fell from his lips in a rush as he hurriedly closed the rest of the distance between you two, throwing the doors open. He was greeted by the sweet smell of your perfume and your bright, beautiful smile as you looked back at him. Before you could so much as step over the threshold, his arms were around you, clutching you as close to him as he could possibly manage.
“How are you here?” His voice was muffled as he spoke into your hair. He could scarcely believe this was real. Every wish he’d made in the emptiness of the Manor had suddenly come to fruition.
“My parents had Ministry business in London.” Your face was pressed into Blaise’s chest, and he felt your grin widen as he pressed kisses into your hair. “My sister said she’d cover for me if I wanted to see you while they were gone and, well…here I am.”
“But the anti-Apparation wards…” He trailed off, still not understanding how it was possible that he was holding you in his arms.
“I can fly a broom, you know.” Blaise finally released you to see you smirking playfully up at him. “Perhaps I’m not as great as you, Mister Chaser, but I do manage. It’s not like it was difficult to find the place.” You waved a hand at the enormous Manor house with a laugh. “In fact, it’s rather hard to miss.”
“You flew halfway across the country to see me?” Gone was any trace of the arrogance that most of the wizarding world associated with Blaise Zabini. He was staring at you with unbridled bewilderment.
“I was worried!” You held your hands up in an emphatic gesture. “You sounded so…empty in your last few letters. I hated the idea of you all by yourself in this big house.”
“You are…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he stared at you in wonder. “Come here.” Taking a hold of your waist, he pulled you towards him, crashing his lips into yours.
You twined your arms around his neck, a little whine slipping from your lips, and he groaned unabashedly. He longed to lose himself in you and never resurface, to drown himself in the taste of your lipgloss and the smell of your perfume. Every one of his senses was overtaken by you and he couldn’t imagine a better reality than the one he was experiencing right this instant.
“We should go inside,” you finally murmured, your voice shaky and breathless. “ I think it’s about to storm.”
Any awareness of the heat lightning in the air had slipped into the deep recesses of his mind the moment Blaise saw your face, but he realized with a start that you were right. Hot wind blew threateningly across the balcony and in the silence, he heard the first low rumblings of thunder in the distance. “Come on, love.” With a gentle hand at the base of your spine, he guided you through the open doors.
Despite the heat, Blaise clung to you as the two of you collapsed into his bed, stroking your hair tenderly while you laid your head against his chest. You clutched his other hand in yours, playing with the silver rings on his fingers as you spoke in low voices and watched the incoming storm through the windows.
“Did your mum tell you when she’ll be back?” There was a hint of hesitation in your tone, seemingly afraid of the answer that he gave as he shook his head. The sadness in your gaze as you glanced back up at him made his chest ache – he desperately wanted to assure you not to worry about such things.
“It’s alright.” He shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance. “Rather them be away than have some strange bloke here.”
A furrow appeared between your eyebrows that he immediately tried to smooth away with his thumb. A rumble of thunder filled the silence as you chewed on your bottom lip. Then, after a moment, you finally spoke. “We should go somewhere together.”
Blaise let out a low huff of amusement. “Where?”
“Anywhere.” He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear as you glanced up at him. “Anywhere that’s not a massive, empty house where all you can hear is your own thoughts. We can get on our brooms and go to the sea, or the city, or some Muggle suburb where we can watch the neighbors argue about the latest gossip. Just…somewhere else.”
“‘S alright now.” His lips curved upward into a smile. “You’re here.”
“You sap.” You crinkled your nose at him, but you were grinning from ear to ear.
His eyes softened. “We can go wherever you want.”
You laid nose-to-nose with Blaise, whispering into the late hours of the night as rain began to pour down onto the Zabini estate, finally banishing the oppressive heat. Plans for adventures floated through the air, offering excitement for the days ahead. When you finally fell asleep, it was in his arms. He watched your eyelids flutter and droop and your body relax, grinning as you snuggled closer to him. Finally, he closed his own eyes, the knot of emptiness that had lived in his chest having finally vanished.
Credits: images ltr: Pinterest here, Spotify, Pinterest by austecel here | divider by @saradika-graphics here
As lovely as Louis Cordice is, he notoriously does not have many pictures to use in moodboards. So, as part of my survey, I had respondents vote on their favorite alternate face claims for Blaise. I then made Pinterest boards of the top four for easy reference during the event (linked in each name) and I will keep adding pics throughout. Lmk your favorites!
Désiré Quadjo Mia
Malwyn Burkhalter
Reece King
Mukasa Kakonge
Enjoy, and also let me know if there's any others you'd like me to add! I have a few more boards on my page for extra options.
+ Massive shout-out to @yuunarii-arii for helping me TONS with the pinterest boards (and moodboards)! Thank you sm lovely x
Avoiding stereotypes in writing is not about never letting a character fall under them; it’s about keeping them complex and three-dimensional rather than a caricature. A character can be stereotypical, but that shouldn’t be all they are.
Disclaimer: I am by no means an expert on the subject. Everything compiled here was written by black voices sharing their experience, and I am simply putting it together in a readable format. This is by no means a comprehensive list, either. I am only mentioning the things I think may potentially come up in a Blaise fic.
And a reminder that it’s okay to make mistakes. Apologize, learn from it, move on, etc.
General Tips:
1) Do not erase his heritage by ignoring his race. It is not offensive to state that he is black when describing him. It is far more offensive to ignore that fact. This goes for all black characters.
Side note: for general writing, stating an introduced character's race is always a good idea. White should not be the "baseline".
2) Do not be afraid to sexualize him. There is a common misconception that sexualizing=objectification. In fact, some writers are so afraid of the accusation that they're fetishizing POC that they refuse to write about them through a sexual lens altogether, which helps no one. Just make sure to describe things other than solely his skin tone.
Blaise is gorgeous. Don’t be afraid to talk about it!
3) Try to avoid using desserts to describe skin color. ESPECIALLY things like cocoa/chocolate/coffee. (Think about it.) Use these instead.
4) Avoid the exasperated, overused “white people” quip.
5) Familiarize yourself with stereotypes so you can avoid them.
I'm gonna go ahead and list some common stereotypes. A reminder that this does not mean he cannot act this way!!! Or like this thing, or whatever else. Just consider why you are using it, and whether it is because of his skin tone or his personality.
Personality Stereotypes:
-Hypersexual
-Wise
-Unfaithful
-Angry/Aggressive/Loud/Violent/etc
-Irresponsible (especially about parenting)
-Responsible (sometimes his ONLY role in a fic is to be a typical ‘mom friend’)
-Sassy (the comedian friend)
Note: See how a lot of these contradict each other? You can’t avoid all stereotypes. Just don’t reduce him to only stereotypes. + Context matters :)
Interest Stereotypes:
-only listens to jazz/rap/rnb/etc
-only eats spicy food, or cultural food
-overly materialistic (especially about gold/chains)
-automatically being sporty. or specifically, playing basketball/american football/boxing (let's be honest. Blaise doesn't usually strike as the overly athletic type. Can you really see him doing any of those sports?)
Misc:
-Big lips (a common appearance stereotype)
-Sidekick (black characters are often delegated to the sidekick role)
-The pet name “ma” or “mammy”
Couple issues there. First of all, “Ma” as a pet name is very much not a British thing, so why would he be saying it? “Mammy” can sometimes refer to an offensive term that was used for enslaved black women in domestic roles, in the US. It is also sometimes used to refer to a mother by Irish people, but unless you headcanon Blaise as Irish as well (technically possible), it shouldn’t be used period.
-Absent father
This one is inevitably going to come up due to Blaise’s father canonically not being in the picture, but it shouldn’t be used for Blaise himself.
-Drug abuse
General drug usage is fine, seeing as many people portray the Slytherin Boys as the type to drink/smoke/do party drugs, but abuse is a more sensitive subject, and it would be extremely dubious if you find yourself headcanoning him as the only one doing drugs.
Hopefully this helps ease any anxiety about accidentally hitting stereotypes, please feel free to let me know if I missed any you’ve seen. Also, if you’re a writer who is unsure if something they put is offensive, feel free to reach out if you want a second opinion. x
Event Taglist:
The Harry Potter franchise does not give much information about Blaise; much of what is given is debatable and vague, and most of it is optional.
This is a quick, at-a-glance summary of what is canonically known, as told from Harry’s POV.
Quick reminder that authors are free to take creative liberties wherever they would like. They are not beholden to the canon. <3 Especially since Harry can be an unreliable narrator.
Blaise Zabini
Played By: Louis Cordice
Born: Between 1 September 1979 and 21 April 1980.
If you are like me and would prefer a specific date to use, one option is 1 October, which is Louis Cordice’s birthday.
Quidditch Position: Chaser (according to the movies)
Nationality: Likely British
Descent: Likely Italian and African
Appearance:
Blaise is described as a tall, attractive black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes.
Personality:
• Intelligent
⇒ As seen by his attending N.E.W.T.-level Potions class, meaning he scored either an Exceeds Expectations or, more likely, an Outstanding for his O.W.L.s. His other scores are unknown.
• Snarky
⇒ Draco: “He invited Longbottom?”
⇒ “Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there,” said Zabini indifferently.
• Arrogant/Vain
⇒ Ginny: “Yeah, Zabini, because you’re so talented . . . at posing. . . .”
⇒ "Even Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features. "
• Particular
⇒ Pansy: "Even you think [Ginny’s] good looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"
⇒ Blaise: "I wouldn't touch a filthy blood traitor like her whatever she looked like.”
• Quiet (even when contemptuous)
⇒ "Zabini gave a tiny little cough that was clearly supposed to indicate amused skepticism.”
⇒ “Zabini shot him a filthy look that Harry returned with interest.”
⇒ He also shrugs instead of answering Draco.
• Derisive
⇒ “And you think you'll be able to do something for him?” asked Zabini scathingly. “Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?”
• Irritable
⇒ “What’s wrong with this thing?” said Zabini angrily as he smashed the sliding door repeatedly into Harry’s foot.
⇒ "It was fortunate that Goyle and Zabini were snarling at each other. . ."
History:
Blaise’s mother is a “famously beautiful witch” who has been married seven times. Supposedly, each husband’s death occurred both under suspicious circumstances and left the already wealthy Ms. Zabini and her son with more money (though this is a retelling from Harry’s point of view, not necessarily Blaise’s own words).
It is implied that none of Blaise’s relatives are death eaters, as that is why Theodore Nott was not in the Slug Club.
Relationships:
It is unclear how Blaise feels about Draco. On one hand, he sits with him, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle on the train, and is spotted with them in the Slytherin Common Room via Harry’s map. On the other hand, he’s shown to be quite hostile towards him.
He, to no one’s surprise, does not like Harry Potter, even actively glaring at him after the Slug Club.
Random Facts:
Blaise was last to be sorted in his year, due to his last name.
In the books, Blaise’s whereabouts during the battle are not mentioned. He may have been one of the Slytherins who returned for the final part of the battle, or one of many who left to Hog’s Head through the passageway in the Room of Requirement.
His last name is Italian, from “Zabino”.
Similar to Draco, he often referred to people by their last name (including Nott).
He, like all Slytherins, owns a serpent tie pin and a serpent heirloom ring.
Blaise’s gender was originally unknown. Several translated editions actually made him female. There was a lot of debate among fans about his gender until confirmation, which occurred in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
It is up to the author whether or not the events in the movie Deathly Hallows: Part 2 are canon. Because of the arrest of Crabbe’s actor, all of Crabbe’s parts were given to Goyle, and by extension, all of Goyle’s parts were given to Blaise. Hence it can be debatable whether or not you should treat this as canon, since none of it happened in the book and was not originally meant to happen in the movies.
Divination was stupid. Theo knew it. Enzo knew it. But unfortunately for the two of them, Daphne Greengrass did not. She was quite the believer in fact—spending hours charting stars to gauge compatibility, gazing into her crystal ball, and practicing her palm reading. A load of bollocks and a complete waste of time in Theo's opinion, but, he wasn't a monster and so he humored his friend, content in blocking out Professor Trelawney's incessant babbling for an hour at the start of his mornings.
Theo was just admiring how particularly gray the walls of the castle were looking this fine afternoon when a sharp elbow to the ribs pulls his attention back to the old bat's class. Theo shoots a glare Enzo's way as he rubs his wounded ribcage pointedly. To only further his agitation, Theo notices that Trelawney is now stood directly in front of him extending a deck of tarot cards to him as she blinks her wide owlish eyes at him expectantly.
With a deep sigh and a rather dramatic eye roll, Theo plucks a card from the deck and hands it back to the witch without even bothering to glance at it. Trelawney doesn't seem to mind much though as she inhales sharply, a grin that seemed much too wide for her face forming as she flips the card back to Theo.
"Yes, yes. Just as I predicted dear boy. Just as I predicted. The Two of Cups!" She announces proudly, brandishing the card out towards the class.
Daphne squeals.
"Oh Teddy—"
"Don't call me that."
Daphne ignores him.
"How exciting. How romantic," she continues, clearly far more interested in the pull than Theo was.
She pulls out a script of parchment, finger tracing down the lines of notes until she finds what she's searching for. Then she shoves the parchment under Theo's nose.
"Look there. The Two of Cups—signifies mutual attraction and deep connections. A representation of kindred spirits in the early stages of falling in love. That's so romantic," she gushes, continuing on in her notes.
Enzo snorts doing a horrible job trying to stifle his laughter. Theo glowers, not even wanting to deign such a ridiculous concept with a response. This was ludicrous. The whole thing. Theo had been attending Hogwarts for well long enough to know that there was not a single present student in the school that he would even dignify having a romantic relationship with. He can't help but shake his head and scoff at the mere idea.
"Oh lighten up Teddy, heaven forbid you let Daphne have this," Enzo snickers, clearly enjoying the discomfort the whole thing brought Theo.
It was easy for him to say. It wasn't his love life being carefully dissected by their mystic enthused friend.
Being the new student at any new school was always going to be nerve wracking. But being the new student at a new school in a whole new country was significantly worse in every aspect. Whispers float down the corridors, your name echoing off the high ceilings of the castle, and eyes flicker towards the ground as you pass as if they hadn't just been staring shamelessly the moment prior. Normally the stares wouldn't bother you much, but the constant hushed voices were beginning to be unnerving. Your lips tighten as you move swiftly through the halls and you can't help but feel a bit self conscious as you smooth out your unfamiliar, deep blue robes.
You weren't exactly enthusiastic about your new school to begin with. It was different—of course it would be—but no matter how much you had prepared yourself for all the changes, it just hadn't been enough. Like really, they let a ratty, old—albeit sentient—hat determine house placements? You hadn't wanted that thing anywhere near your head, but it just couldn't be helped. Then, once you had been placed into your house, you come to find that yours is the only one in the entire school that requires you to solve a freaking riddle just to get into your damn room. Asinine. And to top it all off, the wretched school was literally impossible to navigate because the staircases, apparently, were also sentient and did whatever the hell they wanted.
All that to say, when you finally collapse into a seat in the back of, what you hoped was the History of Magic classroom, you were more than a little miffed. With an agitated huff, you try to stay invisible as more students begin to file into the classroom, taking their seats closer to the front. As seats fill, the extra buffer of breathing room melts a bit of the tension in your shoulders. When your professor—a ghost you notice dryly—begins to write on the chalk board, you finally feel yourself start to relax, pulling out a roll of parchment from your bag and carefully copying down each line.
Just as you're about to finish—The Gargoyle Strike of 1911—the classroom door swings open once more and a boy with brown hair and dark, calculating eyes saunters in. You're content with giving him a quick, uninterested glance before getting back to your notes, but unfortunately for you, the boy is rapidly approaching. His bag hits the floor next to you with a dull thread and you feel your lips turn downward into a frown as you look up at the boy once more in annoyance.
You watch as the boy's mouth opens as if to say something, but then his eyes meet yours and you watch him freeze, mouth agape for a moment then two. Just as it's becoming a bit uncomfortable, he seems to awaken from his trance looking shaken, brows furrowing as if he were wondering why on Earth he was just standing there like a fool. Still though, he tilts his head awkwardly—chin gesturing towards the rest of the class—and for the first time you notice that every other seat in the room seems to be occupied. With a sigh of defeat, you wordlessly turn back to the board, preparing to scramble to write down whatever you'd missed just now, content with simply ignoring this boy's existence for the the rest of class.
"A 'wildcat strike' refers to a stopping of work by unionized workers without authorization from the union. In 1911 the wildcats were winning, meaning things were moving in favor of the gargoyles—"
Good god this was horrible. You weren't even ten minutes into your first day of this new class and you already wanted to throw yourself off the top of Ravenclaw tower. It seemed as though many of the other students in class felt similarly as one of the boys sitting a few rows in front of you lets out a concernedly loud snore. You have to choke down a snicker as your eyes flicker up to the ghost at the front of the room, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn't care.
"That's Finnigan. There's a running bet on how long it'll take him to fall asleep after Binns starts monologuing," the boy next to you murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You turn to look at the boy, surprised to hear him speak after all, and for the first time take a good look. Shit. He was hot. You don't really get the chance to dwell too much on it though because he speaks again.
"That one next to him is Thomas. Any second now he'll start piling things on top of 'em. See how high the stack gets before it falls over or Finnigan wakes up. Whichever comes first."
As if on queue, the boy next to the snoring kid carefully places a thick text book on his friend's back. Then another. It's like you can't look away as you watch on in morbid fascination.
"They friends of yours?" you find yourself asking as the boy, Thomas, adds an ink well to his tower.
Your desk partner snorts.
"Hardly. Lions and snakes don't exactly get along," he says smoothly.
You have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but you don't want to ask. Instead you continue to watch as a bag of Bertie Bott's jelly beans, three quills, a sweater, and someone's pet frog is added to the pile. A potted plant is about to be placed on top when a sneeze sends the whole thing crashing to the floor. Professor Binns doesn't even blink as he just continues on. Finnigan's head shoots up as he takes in his surroundings once more, shoulders slumping when he apparently realizes where he is. Understandable.
The rest of class is an absolute drag as you flit in and out of different thoughts and daydreams. Anywhere was better than here, listening to this ghost drown on. If he were any less interesting, you're sure the entire class would die of sheer boredom and be cursed to haunt this very classroom with the old professor. Doomed to be subjected to the very thing that killed you all in the first place for all eternity.
After what you're certain is the longest hour of your life, class finally ends, but to your dismay, you realize that halfway through class you'd simply given up on taking notes. Dammit. As though reading your mind, the boy next to you slides his parchment towards you. His notes are impeccable. Perfectly neat rows in dark ink with not a smudge in sight.
"I can get them back tomorrow," he says simply, before returning the rest of his materials into his bag.
You open your mouth to thank the boy, but before you even get the chance he's gone in a swoosh of emerald green and black.
The whole thing leaves you a bit stunned. It was the first real interaction you'd had with, really anyone at your new school and you couldn't tell if you'd completely blown it or not. He'd seemed decent enough, whoever he was. And that's when it occurs to you. You hadn't even bothered to ask the boy's name.
"Mmm. What was their name again?" Theo asks, trying to appear nonchalant as he inserts himself into Enzo and Daphne's conversation.
The three of them occupied their usual spots inside the Slytherin common room, the soft glow of green flames painting their faces as their voices mix in with the other echoes of the dungeon. Enzo eyes Theo suspiciously, noting that—despite the unbothered front he put on—Theo's fingers couldn't seem to stop tapping anxiously against his knee. See, usually when Enzo and Daphne were participating in their daily debrief, Theo was staring off into the abyss, pointedly ignoring them. So it didn't take an intuitive genius to pick up on the sudden spike of interest he was showing.
"Y/n. They're from America," Daphne says helpfully, seemingly oblivious to the way that Enzo was trying to dissect their friend's inner most thoughts.
"Why all the interest? They catch your eye? Are you two already falling into the early stages of love?" He taunts when he isn't able to get a proper read on his friend.
Theo's heart stops beating in his chest for half a moment before he juts out his chin defiantly.
"All anyone will talk about. Just curious to know who all the fuss is about," he retorts, forcing his voice to remain steady as he continues to stare ahead, avoiding the curious glances of his friends.
He can tell Enzo doesn't quite buy it, but that simply isn't his problem to worry about at the moment.
So they were from America. Huh.
Truthfully, Theo didn't know much about America. Hadn't ever really cared to find anything out. He was familiar with Ilvermorny of course. Which was presumably your former school, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Maybe he'd ask you about it tomorrow.
Assuming he didn't freeze up again at the mere sight of you. Salazar's ball sack that had been bloody embarrassing. Theo couldn't think of a single other time he'd ever frozen up like that, brief as it had been. Usually Theo liked to consider himself to be quite suave. Charming even, if he did say so himself. And he did. It was completely unlike him to be rendered speechless. Especially not by the mere presence of someone with a pretty face.
But it simply hadn't been his fault. How was he supposed to expect that some great, higher power was going to reach deep into his inner most thoughts and desires—pull together every single physical trait that Theo could possibly fantasize about—and combine them all into one single heavenly creature, and then plop them down right next to him in History of Magic of all classes.
Fate was cruel.
And speaking of fate, there was also all that nonsense from Divination that morning to think about. Theo leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Surely the fact that batty, old Trelawney had predicted that he would fall in love was a complete coincidence in relation to him practically being prepared to propose to the new student in History of Magic a mere few hours later. How could it be anything else? Divination wasn't real. The whole class had been so close to being completely scrapped so many times that you either had to be a fool, or Daphne to believe in it.
Okay, so maybe Theodore was starting to believe it. A little. But what was he supposed to think as he watches you drag your feet through the door scowling? He feels his chest tighten as the two of you make eye contact and he watches as you make your way over to him.
"This seat taken?" you ask, already dropping your bag to the floor. "Didn't take you as one to be into this kinda stuff," you say conversationally as you pull parchment and a quill from your bag.
Theo scoffs, rolling his eyes.
"I'm not," he assures, "But Daph is," he adds, head tilting as he gestures to his friend.
He watches as your eyes dart over to the pretty brunette sitting happily between him and Enzo, assessing.
"Oh. Are you two?" The question lingers on your lips and Theo is quick to shake his head no.
Salazar he was being stupid. Of course you would assume—Why was he being like this?
"Nah. No. Daph's an old friend. Enz and I are just here for moral support. And an easy O." Theo hears himself drawl. "What about you? Training to become a seer?"
"Hardly. This was the only elective left that fit into my schedule apparently."
Salazar's balls you were perfect, Theo thinks to himself as Trelawney comes sweeping into the room. Her eyes are closed and her fingertips are pressed against her temples as she swooshes around the room, humming lowly.
"I feel new energy. An unfamiliar presence. You!" Trelawney screeches in her trembly voice, stopping in front of a poor, innocent Hufflepuff with an accusatory finger hovering dangerously close to their eyeball.
Theo can't help but let out a dry snicker and is delighted when he sees you out of the corner of his eye trying to hold back a laugh too. When it's clear to the old professor that the student in front of her had actually been present all year, her eyes scan the room, finally coming to a stop when they rest on you.
"Ah, there you are my dear! Your energy feels so concentrated on this side of the room, it simply drew me over," Trelawney babbles as she makes her way over. "Now let's see here. Palms up dear, palms up, let me have a look."
Theo watches amused, ignoring the weird kissing faces Enzo is making at him, as you sigh but still present your palms facing upwards to the professor. Her bony talons quickly engulf your hands, her eyes fluttering shut once more as her head tilts back, a low hum starting once more.
"Yes, yes. How interesting," the hums get louder as the professor's fingers dig into the lines of your palms. "I see. In the darkest hour, a dark shadow, it will over take you. Consume you."
Trelawney's eyes snap open and Theo watches her face melt back into a warm smile as she gives your hands one last squeeze.
"Welcome to class dear. We have much to learn, so much to see!"
Theo finds that he rather likes the way his heart swells when you turn to look at him, brow raised as you shake your head ever so slightly as if to say, 'what a nutter'.
"How many freaking goblin rebellions is it going to take before the British Ministry finally takes the hint and leaves those poor goblins alone?" you huff, slamming your books a little too loudly onto your table in the library.
You can feel Madam Pince attempting to burn a hole through your back as she glares at you, but you ignore her.
"Probably at least—" Theo checks his notes from the day's lesson, "six or seven. Unfortunately not every revolution to rid oneself of British rule is successful," he teases lightly.
You glare at the boy pointedly.
"I'm not even particularly, patriotic," you grumble, the word actually quite sour on your tongue, "but nothing brings Americans together quite like our mutual hatred of the British."
"Mmm. Do let it go on record now that my family is Italian," Theo replies dryly.
Theodore had very quickly become your closest friend at Hogwarts. From that first day in History of Magic the two of you just seemed to click. It also definitely helped that not only did he share your dry sense of humor, but he was also insanely smart, and very easy on the eyes. You'd been worried for a split second when he first introduced you to Daphne Greengrass, a familiar turning in your stomach that you'd quickly identified as jealousy flaring up, but it had been quickly squashed when Theo assured you that they were indeed just friends. But that was neither here nor there. You and Theo had become practically inseparable in the month that you'd been at your new school, much to the chagrin of his friends. You liked them too of course, and they'd been good sports about welcoming you into their little group, but with Theo it was just easy.
You slide your potions notes across the table just as Theo hands over his Charms essay for you to look over. No words exchanged, but you were both perfectly in sync. Easy.
It's far past dark when you finally push your chair back, the old wood scraping against the floor, and you force yourself to stifle a yawn.
"Alright. I'm calling it a night," you announce as you begin packing up your books. "I should head back in case it takes an hour to get that damn eagle to open up the common room door again."
You hear Theo let out a snort at your last comment. He'd heard well and good your complaints about that stupid hunk of metal.
"Guess I'll head out as well. Mattheo has been complaining that he never sees me anymore, but he's just mad he can't copy my notes anymore."
The two of you quickly gather the rest of your things, slinking out of the library right as Pince begins making her rounds to toss the last lingering students out before closing the doors for the night. The walk to Ravenclaw tower is made in comfortable silence as you walk side by side, both of you trying to ignore the way the back of your hands were brushing against each other as you went. When you finally arrive, a whole group of students in black and blue are outside the door when it swings open. Not wanting to miss your chance, you toss Theo a smile over your shoulder before disappearing with the crowd of students through the door.
As soon as you enter your room, you dump your bag on the ground at the foot of your bed, trade your stiff school uniform for a more comfortable track set, and turn right back out the door—a disillusionment spell on the tip of your tongue. You move silently against the walls, retracing the same steps you'd just taken, leading your right back to the library. It's dark now—you knew from experience that as soon as the clock hit ten, Pince was out the doors. You lift your wand, ready to cast the usual alohomora but tonight something stops you. Call it a gut feeling. You grip the handle of the heavy, wood door and without so much as a squeak, the door swings open. Huh. Maybe the cranky librarian had been in such a rush to leave she forgot to lock up.
Without giving it so much as a second thought, you slip through the doors, following the familiar path that lead you right to the heart of the restricted section of the library. Really, you often found yourself wondering, why on Earth did they have a so called restricted section, and then not even bother to put up a single ward to keep students from entering? Wasn't very restricted if they asked you. Your fingertips brush over the spines of different books as you pass through the shelves, pulling one from the shelf every so often if it catches your eye. The silence of the empty library was deafening, but you relished the way you could hear your footsteps echoing on the tile and the rustle of pages turning as you flipped through your nightly finds.
You're on your tiptoes, straining to reach a large tome from the top shelf when you catch sight of a dark shadow appearing out of the corner of your eye. God, you hoped it wasn't that old man Filch. He wasn't as bad as everyone made him seem, you'd been able to talk him out of snitching on you thus far, but it kind of ruined the mood. Your hand drops to rest on the handle of your wand as the shady figure draws closer and you prepare to throw one of your books its way just in case.
"What are you doing here?" the confused voice of Theodore rings out just as you're about to launch your copy of Moste Potente Potions at his head.
You feel your shoulders sag in relief. You hadn't been scared of course. Just vaguely alarmed. Then you let out a laugh.
"And what's funny?"
"Oh, nothing. Just Trelawney and her whole 'A dark shadow is going to overtake you' spiel," you snicker. "And what do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you ask rather indignantly, turning back to focus on the book that was just out of your reach.
"I come down to the library at night all the time," Theo replies, crossing his arms defensively.
"Well it's obviously not all the time because I've been here every night this month and I've never seen you down here," you reply casually.
You can practically hear Theo rolling his eyes at you.
"Well of course not all the time, Filch would start getting—sorry did you say you've been here every night? How has Filch not caught you?"
You shrug your shoulders noncommittally, glaring up at the book that seemed to be just taunting you.
"He has a few times, but we usually just chat for a little and then he'll send me on my way."
You don't see the absolutely stunned look on Theo's face.
"You chat? With Filch. About what?" Theo asks incredulously.
You let out an exasperated sigh.
"The weather. Cat toy recommendations for Mrs. Norris. His mother's retirement in France. I don't know, we chat about a lot of things."
You still aren't facing Theo, but if you had been, you probably would have laughed at the completely gobsmacked look that was written across his face.
"Now will you be useful and get that book down for me?" you ask, foot stomping impatiently on the ground.
Still too shocked to respond, Theo reaches up over your head, placing one hand on your shoulder for balance as he easily plucks the book you'd been reaching for off the shelf. Just as he's about to hand it to you though, it seems he comes back to his senses and that smug grin that you'd become so familiar with recently finds its way back to his lips.
"Uh uh uh, where's my reward?" he teases, holding the book just out of reach once more as he smirks down at you.
"Reward?" you ask dryly, looking up to raise an eyebrow at your friend.
Had he always been standing so close?
"I'm a Slytherin. I don't do something for nothing now," he says, voice like honey in your ears.
"What do you want?" you ask, eyes narrowing.
Theo tilts his head as if pretending to think.
"A kiss."
You blink, shoulders shrugging as you turn to face the boy properly. Seemed fair enough to you. You were definitely getting the best end of the deal. So you tug on the collar of Theo's sweatshirt, before crashing your lips into his. His lips are warm and soft and that's all you take note of before pulling away quickly. Theo is clearly stunned once more so you take the opportunity to finally get your hands on the book you'd been eyeing this whole time.
"Thanks Theo!"
Theodore Nott was dangerously close to never brushing his teeth ever again. Because you had kissed him last night. In some sudden, stupid burst of confidence he had asked you to kiss him and you did. It had been a complete joke—Theo hadn't even remotely considered that you'd actually do it, but you'd grabbed the collar of his jumper and then your lips were on his and he knew he was well and truly done for.
"Theo. Theo! You need to get your act together mate," Lorenzo grunts, elbowing his friend to get his attention.
"What? Stop that," Theo mutters, batting his friend away from him.
"Seriously. You're acting like a love sick puppy."Brie
Theo glares.
"Would take one to know one," he snaps, falling back in his seat with a huff.
Now it's Enzo's turn to narrow his eyes.
"I'm going to choose to ignore that because you're just upset that you didn't kiss y/n back," he responds.
Theo's eyes bulge at the bold—albeit correct—observation.
"Can you keep your bloody voice down?" he hisses, eyes flickering about to make sure no one had heard.
Luckily, you had only just entered the divination classroom so at least Theo was safe for now. Or maybe not.
"Morning," you say brightly giving the group a small wave and taking your usual spot next to Theo.
Theo opens his mouth to respond but, Salazar you smelled good today, and your lips, god your lips looked soft and pink and, the words feel caught in Theo's throat. Somewhere in the distance he can hear Enzo snickering obnoxiously, but all Theo can do is stare at you dumbly. This was mortifying. As soon as he figured out how to move again Theo was launching himself straight off this bloody tower.
"Hey, do you want to sneak into the library again tonight?" you ask casually, laying your things out on your desk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you were about to send Theo into cardiac arrest.
Of course I'll sneak back into the library with you. Especially if it means you'll kiss me again, Theo wants to say. But he has at least a little bit of dignity left, so he straightens himself in his chair, trying to maintain at least somewhat of an air of nonchalance as he finally strings a sentence together.
"Sure."
Okay, so a sentence might be giving himself a bit too much credit, but it was better than sitting there gaping like a daft idiot. You seem satisfied with his answer though as you turn to face the front just as Trelawney waltzes into the room with her usual dramatic flair. Theo drifts in and out of the lesson as Trelawney rambles on about tea leaves and the placement of tasseography symbols. He tried to focus. Really he needed to, because the alternative was his gaze finding its way to the curve of your lips and the way your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek as you furiously scribbled down notes.
The gentle sound of metal clinking on china pulls Theo wholey back to class as a spoon taps impatiently on the teacup in front of him as if urging him to drink. Glancing around he sees most of his classmates were already bottoms up. Drinking down the rather bitter liquid, Theo carefully places his cup back down in front of him, peering disinterestedly at its contents. Just looked like soggy tea leaves to him.
Trelawney insists on moving about the room though, dissecting the meanings inside each little cup and leaving behind a trail of utterly befuddled students in her wake. When she finally reaches Theo, he can visibly see her begin to vibrate with excitement as she moves his cup around in her hands, swishing the tea leaves back and forth.
"Look there, dear. Do you see?" she asks giddily, shoving the teacup back in Theo's face.
"No." he replies flatly, not even bothering to examine the wet leaves.
"Look closer."
Theo's nose is practically inside the cup now and he can hear you and Enz snickering on either side of him. Traitors. When he still doesn't say anything, Trelawney lets out a huff, sticking her crooked finger into the cup and speaking slowly as if explaining something to a small child.
"Right there. Don't you see?" she asks, as if it should've been the most obvious thing in the world. "An axe—" she swirls the cup to the side. "And a butterfly."
Theo stares blankly at the old woman.
"Use their notes and figure it out," she finally huffs in exasperation before sweeping off to another table.
As soon as she's gone and Theo makes eye contact with you he can't help but chuckle as Daphne scowls at the two of you.
"Look," she sighs, shoving her notes across the table for Theo to read.
The Axe—problems overcome
The Butterfly—success and pleasure
Wonderful. More nonsense. That was the problem with divination—the definitions were so broad they were basically meaningless. Overcoming problems and success? That could be about anything. Theo pushes the parchment back to its owner with a shrug. He'd just do what he always did and make something up for the assignment.
Shadows loom against the dimly lit walls of the library as you and Theo wander through the shelves together. Theo had been quieter than usual tonight. To be fair, he wasn't usually the most talkative person ever, but you had had to push to get your usual banter out of him. He clearly had something on his mind. You don't push though. That was something you both appreciated about each other—just being there together was enough.
Once you both have a sizable stack of books pulled together you tuck yourselves away in one of the back corners of the restricted section. Far enough that not even Mrs. Norris would bother to wander all the way back. You find yourself curling up next to your friend, legs pressed together and shoulders brushing as you cast a soft lumos charm just bright enough to illuminate the pages of your books as you read. The quiet is nice after a long day of navigating the crowded halls and classrooms of the school. Hogwarts was definitely a lively place, and you hadn't realized just how much you missed having some peace and quiet until you'd snuck out of Ravenclaw tower that first night.
"Do you think divination might not be completely useless?" Theo asks a while later, breaking the silence.
You look up in surprise before glancing down at the book he's reading—Divination Through the Ages: A Skeptics Guide—your eyebrows furrowing in thought. If you were being honest, you'd always thought that divination was, to be polite, dumb. In fact, you'd been rather pissed when your head of house, Professor Flitwick, had told you that it was the only class that would fit in your schedule. But you didn't think that was what Theo wanted to hear at the moment.
"I mean, all forms of magic have their unique uses I suppose," you reply carefully, wondering where this was going.
Theo just hums in response, continuing to finger through the pages of the book as you watch with curiosity. Finally, with a deep breath, he snaps the book closed and turns to face you. It's clear he wants to say something as you search his eyes which seem to be getting ever so slightly closer by the second. You can't help the way your eyes drop down to his lips as his tongue glides across his bottom lip nervously. They're so close now you can practically feel the way they had pressed against your own last night. However brief that encounter had been. When you finally tilt your head back up to meet his eyes once more, your nose brushes his and you feel your breath hitch. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was about to kiss you right now.
And then his lips are on yours and you feel your body go limp as he pulls you into him, your eyes fluttering closed as he molds you to him. Your book slips from your fingers with a dull thud as it hits the ground, but you hardly notice. Theo's lips are just as warm, and soft, and utterly intoxicating as you remembered them to be. You can feel Theo smiling against your lips as he pulls you impossibly closer and you forget where you are, what you were doing, everything except what it feels like to be held in Theo's arms.
When you finally break apart, it's your turn to blink in stunned silence as Theo gazes down at you, his breath warm against your cheek.
"Ever since you arrived, everything that divination has told me has come true," Theo says gruffly, clearly not pleased to be having to admit it.
You couldn't blame him. The two of you had kind of bonded over how unseriously you both took the class. Still though, you tilt your head, inviting him to continue.
"The first day we met—that morning in divination, a deck of tarot cards told me I was going to fall in love."
A dry laugh escapes Theo's lips as he pulls back, eyes trained everywhere but at you now. Which is probably for the best as you feel tendrils of heat creeping up into your face.
"I didn't believe them of course. Thought it was pure rubbish."
Your heart stutters for a moment before your eyes land on the book Theo had been reading so intently up until now.
"Hm. And did something change?" you ask cautiously, not daring to get your hopes up.
"Well, the soggy leaves in my tea this morning kind of implied that I should get my act together if I wanted any sort of success, so—" Theo lets out another wry laugh, though there's no humor in his voice. Just a nervous undertone that you can tell he's trying to mask.
"Well did you? Fall in love that is?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy around Theo for the first time.
There's a beat of silence where you can practically feel your heart trying to tear its way out of your chest. You hadn't quite realized just how much you wanted this until it was staring you in the face. Or rather anywhere but. Then Theo meets your eyes once more.
"I think I could. If I'm not half way there already."
His words melt every bit of tension you had been feeling previously as you let out a breath that you didn't know you'd been holding.
"I think I'm half way there too."
Everyone say thank you to the beta readers @simplyastra and @nottendo 🫶🏽
there is a level of seduction that exists beyond the body. something less tangible, and perhaps more potent. anais nin understood this idea about how desire does not begin with touch but with language, perception, and the sharp electric pull of a mind that challenges and excites you. in her journals, desire is not just a physical hunger but a hunger of the intellect, an unraveling of thought before an unraveling of the body. to be drawn into someone’s mind, to feel their thoughts press against your own, can be more intoxicating than any physical closeness.
Hello my lovelies, the long-awaited Blaise Appreciation Event is underway! I'll be posting official event stuff under #blaise's banquet official, while all submissions can be tagged #blaise's banquet.
We are still taking requests! If you would like to submit a request, or participate as a writer, you can do so here (or DM me).
(For those of you who enjoy communities, you should also check out @leeny-leens' new Zabini Manor.)
Huge, huge shout-out to @obsessedwithceleste, who has spent hours helping me and reassuring me as I obsess (lol) over the specifics of the event; she's been an angel. Big thanks as well to @nottendo, @ravenclaws-stuff, @simplyastra, @yuunarii-arii, and @puddlesoffrogs for putting up with my rambles and million drafts!
Lastly, my DMs are always open for any questions anyone may have. Don't be shy! <3
Personally, if you feel called to make my fics accessible to readers who don’t speak English, I think that’s super awesome. Seriously, I appreciate anyone who is willing to do that work. However, please, please, please just ask first. I like being aware of any versions of my fics that may be floating around on other sites. I know that messaging people can be scary, I promise I’m not going to yell at you, please just reach out and ask for permission.
Additionally, the Wattpad user who reposted translated versions of my Theo fics also pulled my image banners from the original posts and reposted those as well. This is a big deal for me personally because both of those banners contain photos that I took myself of my own university campus when I was a student. In the original posts, I disclosed which photos were mine, and included credits and source links for the photos that were not mine. My policy with those photos have always been to please provide credit if you would like to use them, and although the fic was credited to me, none of the images were credited to the original poster (mine or otherwise). Again, please honor my blog policies if you would like to use any content of mine.
I know this may seem like a weird sticking point, but I pour so much of myself into this blog and these fics. It was a really jarring experience to see stories of mine plus my own university campus staring back at me from someone else’s page without me being aware of it. I know that fic reposting is something that does happen from time to time and unfortunately something that writers do need to be on the lookout for, but please guys, just honor writers’ blog policies. These stories are something we create for free and respecting our wishes for how our content is used makes the experience so much better for everyone.
Translated works without permission (mine and possibly other tumblr authors)
3 of my works have been translated without my permission and it is among the 373 translated tumblr fics on this Wattpad account @ Mel_Potter_Black. Based on my case with them, I have a feeling that they also have not approached and asked for permission from a lot of tumblr authors.
Their translated works include: 186 Theodore Nott fics, 40 Percy Jackson tumblr fics, 50 James Potter fics, 25 Luke Castellan fics, 49 Mattheo Riddle fics, 23 Draco Malfoy fics.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
First and foremost, I have explicitly stated on my pinned Tumblr post that I do not want my works translated or redistributed elsewhere.
Long story short, there were a lot of red flags that this account has displayed.
They blocked someone who had questioned them if they had my permission to translate my works.
They have never even reached out to me asking for permission.
They translated my works even though I have stated very clearly that I do not want my works translated.
They never replied to me and even deleted my comment politely asking them to remove my work because they never had my permission and that I don’t want my works translated (though, fortunately they did remove the translated works as asked, so at least that’s the plus side). This once again wiped clean evidence of permission issue on their account, very much continuing a “covering up their track” behavior.
They also translated one of the original author’s usernames into Portuguese too, which is strange and improper crediting because that defeats the whole point of crediting overall, as readers won't even be able to trace back to the original author at all (especially if you are not linking to the original work or the original author’s page, which they are not doing).
Given their highly questionable and suspicious behaviors to my case (did not ask for my permission, translated works from an author who does not want their works translated, attempted to hide the fact that they have never gotten permission from me (the original author), blocked those who question it, shows signs of improper crediting), I have reasons to suspect that many tumblr authors of the other 370 translated works on this Wattpad account also do not know that their works have been translated, and that this Wattpad account have translated without their permission and/or improperly credit them.
I did contemplate for a while whether to write and publish about this too. However, I feel like it’s all too suspicious for me to just ignore and 300+ fics is a lot. Also, the fact that they straight up blocked the person who questioned if they had my permission implied that they must feel like what they are doing is not right.
So…if you are a tumblr writer of any of the characters mentioned above (especially Theodore Nott because 186 is INSANE if most of them don't have the original author's permissions and/or authors don’t want their works translated), just be aware that your works may have been translated without permission. And if the issue of translation without permission is personally important to you, maybe check to see if your works are on their account and ask them to take it down if you want to.
PS. Though, please don’t send them death threats or something like that. They could be a child who doesn’t know any better for all we know.
Horrified to find that SEVERAL of my fics have been stolen by this account despite my explicit disclaimer asking for my works not to be translated without consent.
Furthermore this user has incorrectly given credit to other tumblr users for MY WORK.
