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hackthis_archive) wrote2004-12-13 04:48 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-12-13 04:48 pm
Entry tags:
HP: You Break it, You Buy It
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This story was supposed to be about Draco being bad at sex. But the story wouldn’t listen.
Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Harry bleeping Potter and Terry Boot in...
You Break it, You Buy It
Blaise had a secret.
A very important secret.
It was of the sort that could ruin lives and bring dynasties to their knees and change the workings of the universe. Or something to that effect. Blaise wasn’t given to dramatics, but really, this was A Very Big Secret.
And he had to tell someone.
Not because he was interested in snitching or gossiping, but because some secrets were simply too good to be kept to oneself. So he slipped out from underneath the heavy arm resting over his ribs, pulled on his robes, and went to go share the news.
*
Blaise had the sort of secret that could get someone hexed or killed or at the very least screamed at in a very shrill voice and put out of sorts for the rest of the day; and he had to share it, because Slytherins were not typically known for their discretion.
They were known for being promiscuous though, and he wrinkled his nose as he pushed aside the drapes of Theodore Nott’s bed and clambered through the hangings.
After a moment's hesitation in search of a clean corner, Blaise perched near Theodore's feet, casting a quick Silencio before prodding Theodore with his own bare foot. “Wake up.”
Theodore made a noise and rolled over.
“Wake up, now,” Blaise demanded. “We have to talk. There’s something that I have to share with you.”
Theodore grunted.
Blaise scowled and prodded Theodore again. Here he was with a secret to tell and Theodore wasn't listening.
It was infuriating; it was maddening.
One sodding orgasm from Terry Boot, and Theodore was good for fuck all.
Clearly this was what Blaise got for leaving a Ravenclaw to do a Slytherin’s job.
Deftly avoiding the rather obvious wet spot in the middle of the bed, Blaise poked Theodore in the ribs, but Theodore did nothing more than roll over on his other side.
"Are you listening to me?" Blaise hissed sotto voce even though he'd already charmed the surrounding area. "You're not listening to me. Theodore – Theodore -- Theo."
Still nothing.
"Theodore Marcellus Nott, wake up right now."
Theodore made another grunting noise, but rolled over and cracked open one eye. The bedclothes stuck to his bare chest, and Blaise had to take a deep breath to focus.
“Blaise, do you have any idea what time it is?” said Theodore rubbing his eyes. “I fancy a shag as much as the next Slytherin, but I do need to sleep on occasion.”
“Stop whinging,” Blaise said. “I have a secret to tell you -- about Draco.”
At his declaration, Theodore sat upright. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Blaise rolled his eyes. “Because you were too busy dreaming of shagging Terry Boot. And possibly Cho Chang.”
Theodore got a far-away look on his face, but he yelped when Blaise pinched an exposed part of his leg. “Mordred’s wand, what’s the matter with you?”
And so Blaise told him the secret.
And Theodore blinked. “You didn’t know that before?”
It was Blaise’s turn to blink now. “You did?”
“I thought everyone knew.”
“And you didn’t see fit to tell me?” Blaise was all incredulous disbelief.
“Well, it is a secret.”
Blaise glowered at Theodore.
He did have a point.
“How did you find out anyway?” Theodore asked.
“How do you think?” Blaise snapped.
“Oh. Oh.”
*
The next day at breakfast Blaise made a point of considering his fellow Slytherins and the way they interacted. Pansy was just as shrill as ever and Draco was just as fussy. Crabbe and Goyle seemed just as dense as ever, and Queenie ignored them all. It was the status quo with everyone pretending things were just fine –- but Blaise knew better.
Halfway through his bowl of porridge, Blaise caught someone’s eye, and it took him a minute to realise the person wasn’t staring at him -– but at Draco.
And not only was that person staring at Draco, but Draco was staring back. It was the sort of thing that Blaise wouldn’t have paid attention to normally, but since he was sitting right next to Draco he couldn’t avoid it when Draco started to grind his teeth.
And then Blaise got An Idea.
After breakfast, Blaise got up and followed the others out of the Great Hall, but instead of turning left for Transfiguration, he turned right and followed the Ravenclaws towards Arithmancy. Three rights, two lefts and one staircase later, Blaise managed to corner Terry Boot in the recessed doorway of a deserted classroom, which were really the best kind of doorways to have.
Considering Boot was a full three inches taller than him, he shouldn’t have looked as nervous as he did, but Blaise reckoned it had something to do with the wand Blaise was poking him in the chest with.
“I won’t keep you long,” Blaise said. “I abhor tardiness and I have Transfiguration, but I had a question for you.”
“If this is about Nott –“
“It’s not about Theodore.” Blaise waved his free hand dismissively.
“The Parkinson thing I can explain.”
Blaise blinked. “It’s not about Pansy either.”
“Queenie and I were only together that one time.”
Boot was, apparently, quite the tart.
“It’s not about any of them –“ Blaise interrupted. “Although I do hope you’re using protection for their sakes. This is about Draco.”
Boot licked his lips. “Um, no, can’t say I’ve ever had him.”
“You haven’t?” Blaise was understandably incredulous.
“Well I tried, but he said no.”
Blaise withdrew his wand slowly. “Draco said no?”
“Yeah – yes. He didn’t want to shag -- he did blow me once though, does that help at all?”
Blaise frowned. “No, you’re no good to me, now.”
And he turned around and walked away.
*
Over the next few days, Blaise conducted several more of these inquiries, on several other people, many of whom no one was supposed to know about. Draco really wasn’t very good at keeping secrets, and he’d told Blaise about most of his conquests, who, apparently, weren’t conquests at all.
No one came right out and complained –- but they didn’t seem to consider Draco a great loss either.
It was with an increasingly irate sensibility that Blaise was forced to consider taking drastic measures. And he would have –- had he not stumbled upon a rather intriguing little tableau in another of those fabulous recessed doorways that Hogwarts was so well-known for.
Except it appeared that this doorway wasn’t as recessed as the occupants thought, and Blaise considered them for several seconds before turning on his heel and leaving.
It certainly explained a lot about the secret.
*
Blaise had no use for Quidditch or Harry Potter, nevertheless, he found himself waiting outside the changing rooms after the Gryffindor practise, hoping he wouldn’t catch something from such close proximity to such an undesirable element.
When his prey finally emerged after entirely too long, Blaise was quick to the point, stepping directly into Potter’s path.
“This is your doing, isn’t it?” he said, dispensing with the pleasantries.
Potter gave him a rather confused look, which seemed to be the normal Gryffindor state of consciousness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said fumbling for his wand.
Blaise snorted. “I’m not here to hex you, Potter, that’s entirely too much work. I simply want to know how long it’s been going on and when we can expect it to be over.”
Potter paled slightly, and Blaise crossed his arms expectantly.
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Potter said.
Blaise rolled his eyes. “Look, it’s the great big dirty secret of the sixth years that you and Draco are buggering –- everybody knows that and that I don’t care about. What I care about is your deep, dark dirty secret -- namely that you’ve managed to turn Draco into someone who tops, and I want to know how, and why, you did that. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been entirely too lazy to ever do that much work.”
Potter coloured and then looked thoughtful for a moment, as though he were actually trying to engage his mind. Blaise wondered if his brain was about to come out his ears shortly or some other rot.
Potter looked around and lowered his voice. “I promised I would let him have the Snitch in the next match.”
Blaise sighed. “You’re entirely too honourable to ever fix a match, Potter, everyone knows that.”
“I told him the Ancient Peruvians thought men who could successfully top and bottom were meant to be great leaders; Hermione had this book called Great Buggerers of the Last Fourteen and a Half Centuries --”
Blaise stared. Potter sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Fine,” he said, “I told him I fancied him and wanted him to shag me rotten.”
Blaise shook his head. “You appeal to his common sense of pride and superiority to make him actually do work -- you’re a better liar than I gave you credit for, Potter. Are you certain you weren’t supposed to be a Slytherin?”
“It’s not a lie.”
“Of course isn’t not.”
“Zabini, really, it’s not.”
“Of course it’s not; don’t mention it. I’ll keep your secret about taking it up the arse from Draco, just fix him before you send him back.”
“What do you mean ‘fix him?’ How am I supposed to fix him?”
“I don’t know; I don’t care, but you’re not the only person Draco’s with, so sort something out.” Blaise said. “You broke it, now you can fix it.”
"He's not a broken toy," Potter protested.
"So, you say," Blaise tossed over his shoulder as turned and walked away. "I say differently -- so unless you want to keep him, I suggest you follow my advice."
-end-
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Words written for
yuletide: 481This story was supposed to be about Draco being bad at sex. But the story wouldn’t listen.
Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Harry bleeping Potter and Terry Boot in...
Blaise had a secret.
A very important secret.
It was of the sort that could ruin lives and bring dynasties to their knees and change the workings of the universe. Or something to that effect. Blaise wasn’t given to dramatics, but really, this was A Very Big Secret.
And he had to tell someone.
Not because he was interested in snitching or gossiping, but because some secrets were simply too good to be kept to oneself. So he slipped out from underneath the heavy arm resting over his ribs, pulled on his robes, and went to go share the news.
Blaise had the sort of secret that could get someone hexed or killed or at the very least screamed at in a very shrill voice and put out of sorts for the rest of the day; and he had to share it, because Slytherins were not typically known for their discretion.
They were known for being promiscuous though, and he wrinkled his nose as he pushed aside the drapes of Theodore Nott’s bed and clambered through the hangings.
After a moment's hesitation in search of a clean corner, Blaise perched near Theodore's feet, casting a quick Silencio before prodding Theodore with his own bare foot. “Wake up.”
Theodore made a noise and rolled over.
“Wake up, now,” Blaise demanded. “We have to talk. There’s something that I have to share with you.”
Theodore grunted.
Blaise scowled and prodded Theodore again. Here he was with a secret to tell and Theodore wasn't listening.
It was infuriating; it was maddening.
One sodding orgasm from Terry Boot, and Theodore was good for fuck all.
Clearly this was what Blaise got for leaving a Ravenclaw to do a Slytherin’s job.
Deftly avoiding the rather obvious wet spot in the middle of the bed, Blaise poked Theodore in the ribs, but Theodore did nothing more than roll over on his other side.
"Are you listening to me?" Blaise hissed sotto voce even though he'd already charmed the surrounding area. "You're not listening to me. Theodore – Theodore -- Theo."
Still nothing.
"Theodore Marcellus Nott, wake up right now."
Theodore made another grunting noise, but rolled over and cracked open one eye. The bedclothes stuck to his bare chest, and Blaise had to take a deep breath to focus.
“Blaise, do you have any idea what time it is?” said Theodore rubbing his eyes. “I fancy a shag as much as the next Slytherin, but I do need to sleep on occasion.”
“Stop whinging,” Blaise said. “I have a secret to tell you -- about Draco.”
At his declaration, Theodore sat upright. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Blaise rolled his eyes. “Because you were too busy dreaming of shagging Terry Boot. And possibly Cho Chang.”
Theodore got a far-away look on his face, but he yelped when Blaise pinched an exposed part of his leg. “Mordred’s wand, what’s the matter with you?”
And so Blaise told him the secret.
And Theodore blinked. “You didn’t know that before?”
It was Blaise’s turn to blink now. “You did?”
“I thought everyone knew.”
“And you didn’t see fit to tell me?” Blaise was all incredulous disbelief.
“Well, it is a secret.”
Blaise glowered at Theodore.
He did have a point.
“How did you find out anyway?” Theodore asked.
“How do you think?” Blaise snapped.
“Oh. Oh.”
The next day at breakfast Blaise made a point of considering his fellow Slytherins and the way they interacted. Pansy was just as shrill as ever and Draco was just as fussy. Crabbe and Goyle seemed just as dense as ever, and Queenie ignored them all. It was the status quo with everyone pretending things were just fine –- but Blaise knew better.
Halfway through his bowl of porridge, Blaise caught someone’s eye, and it took him a minute to realise the person wasn’t staring at him -– but at Draco.
And not only was that person staring at Draco, but Draco was staring back. It was the sort of thing that Blaise wouldn’t have paid attention to normally, but since he was sitting right next to Draco he couldn’t avoid it when Draco started to grind his teeth.
And then Blaise got An Idea.
After breakfast, Blaise got up and followed the others out of the Great Hall, but instead of turning left for Transfiguration, he turned right and followed the Ravenclaws towards Arithmancy. Three rights, two lefts and one staircase later, Blaise managed to corner Terry Boot in the recessed doorway of a deserted classroom, which were really the best kind of doorways to have.
Considering Boot was a full three inches taller than him, he shouldn’t have looked as nervous as he did, but Blaise reckoned it had something to do with the wand Blaise was poking him in the chest with.
“I won’t keep you long,” Blaise said. “I abhor tardiness and I have Transfiguration, but I had a question for you.”
“If this is about Nott –“
“It’s not about Theodore.” Blaise waved his free hand dismissively.
“The Parkinson thing I can explain.”
Blaise blinked. “It’s not about Pansy either.”
“Queenie and I were only together that one time.”
Boot was, apparently, quite the tart.
“It’s not about any of them –“ Blaise interrupted. “Although I do hope you’re using protection for their sakes. This is about Draco.”
Boot licked his lips. “Um, no, can’t say I’ve ever had him.”
“You haven’t?” Blaise was understandably incredulous.
“Well I tried, but he said no.”
Blaise withdrew his wand slowly. “Draco said no?”
“Yeah – yes. He didn’t want to shag -- he did blow me once though, does that help at all?”
Blaise frowned. “No, you’re no good to me, now.”
And he turned around and walked away.
Over the next few days, Blaise conducted several more of these inquiries, on several other people, many of whom no one was supposed to know about. Draco really wasn’t very good at keeping secrets, and he’d told Blaise about most of his conquests, who, apparently, weren’t conquests at all.
No one came right out and complained –- but they didn’t seem to consider Draco a great loss either.
It was with an increasingly irate sensibility that Blaise was forced to consider taking drastic measures. And he would have –- had he not stumbled upon a rather intriguing little tableau in another of those fabulous recessed doorways that Hogwarts was so well-known for.
Except it appeared that this doorway wasn’t as recessed as the occupants thought, and Blaise considered them for several seconds before turning on his heel and leaving.
It certainly explained a lot about the secret.
Blaise had no use for Quidditch or Harry Potter, nevertheless, he found himself waiting outside the changing rooms after the Gryffindor practise, hoping he wouldn’t catch something from such close proximity to such an undesirable element.
When his prey finally emerged after entirely too long, Blaise was quick to the point, stepping directly into Potter’s path.
“This is your doing, isn’t it?” he said, dispensing with the pleasantries.
Potter gave him a rather confused look, which seemed to be the normal Gryffindor state of consciousness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said fumbling for his wand.
Blaise snorted. “I’m not here to hex you, Potter, that’s entirely too much work. I simply want to know how long it’s been going on and when we can expect it to be over.”
Potter paled slightly, and Blaise crossed his arms expectantly.
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Potter said.
Blaise rolled his eyes. “Look, it’s the great big dirty secret of the sixth years that you and Draco are buggering –- everybody knows that and that I don’t care about. What I care about is your deep, dark dirty secret -- namely that you’ve managed to turn Draco into someone who tops, and I want to know how, and why, you did that. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been entirely too lazy to ever do that much work.”
Potter coloured and then looked thoughtful for a moment, as though he were actually trying to engage his mind. Blaise wondered if his brain was about to come out his ears shortly or some other rot.
Potter looked around and lowered his voice. “I promised I would let him have the Snitch in the next match.”
Blaise sighed. “You’re entirely too honourable to ever fix a match, Potter, everyone knows that.”
“I told him the Ancient Peruvians thought men who could successfully top and bottom were meant to be great leaders; Hermione had this book called Great Buggerers of the Last Fourteen and a Half Centuries --”
Blaise stared. Potter sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Fine,” he said, “I told him I fancied him and wanted him to shag me rotten.”
Blaise shook his head. “You appeal to his common sense of pride and superiority to make him actually do work -- you’re a better liar than I gave you credit for, Potter. Are you certain you weren’t supposed to be a Slytherin?”
“It’s not a lie.”
“Of course isn’t not.”
“Zabini, really, it’s not.”
“Of course it’s not; don’t mention it. I’ll keep your secret about taking it up the arse from Draco, just fix him before you send him back.”
“What do you mean ‘fix him?’ How am I supposed to fix him?”
“I don’t know; I don’t care, but you’re not the only person Draco’s with, so sort something out.” Blaise said. “You broke it, now you can fix it.”
"He's not a broken toy," Potter protested.
"So, you say," Blaise tossed over his shoulder as turned and walked away. "I say differently -- so unless you want to keep him, I suggest you follow my advice."
-end-
no subject
I can dream right?
no subject
Yes, but thankfully it's all death and destruction and one of them dying without them ever getting together. Certainly no happy shagging. I've only read two stories in the last six months.