House Colors

The House Colors Series

Cha II II - Verde (Part I)



In all his six foot two inches of Italian glory, Blaise Zabini thought himself the criminal mastermind of Slytherin House. He was a beautiful specimen, with dark wavy brown hair that hung past his ears and constantly fell into his onyx eyes, browned skin and lush pouty lips with a set of teeth so white they gleamed. He won hearts with that smile, won them, used them, and discarded them when he bored of his prey. Very few people stood a chance against his charm, his androgynous good looks, or the means by which Blaise chose to “get things done” as he so fondly referred to the process by which he orchestrated things amongst the houses. Blaise took pride in his work, his cleverness had him slated to receive Head Boy status, and would have this year, had Draco’s father not have pulled the strings in fifth year when he still had some semblance of power within the school’s hierarchy to obtain Prefect status for his son. Not that there was anything wrong with Draco’s method of working the system, but unfortunately since his father had been incarcerated in Azkaban, his best friend had lost some footing within the house. The Slytherin’s still regarded Draco as their figurehead, but where Draco failed was in his ability to see ‘round corners and map out which steps to take in order to obtain his ends, which happened to be one of Blaise’s specialties.

Earlier this evening, for example, Potter had asked for an “arrangement” of sorts to be made so he could have some alone time with Draco so they could “er – get to know one another a bit better”. Bloody Griffindors, so much bravado when it comes to dueling with Death Eaters and defeating the Dark Lord, but when it comes to asking for a simple shag they get all bashful and start blushing and shuffling their feet. In any case, Blaise had realized that although Draco may very well have had feelings for Potter, there was simply no way to arrange a neutral engagement for both parties without the two lads attempting to hex each others bits off. So Blaise did what would come natural to any cunning Slytherin, he obtained a small sample of salvia divinorum extract – facilitated by Snape’s private potions stores of course, accessible only to the best in his NEWTs potions class or those persuasive enough to obtain the portrait password, meaning a select few of his Slytherin students- and spiked Millicent Bullstrode’s cauldron from which Draco was drinking. The dose wasn’t dangerous by any means, a few drops was all it took to give a slightly delirious kick to the younger Malfoy, but then Blaise had grabbed him and tossed him into the Slytherin oubliette for an alleged game of seven minutes in heaven with one supposed Pansy Parkinson (whom, by now, was probably shagging the daylights out of that gangly and awkward Weasley blood-traitor brat). It was by pure luck that Goyle, bless the poor halfwit, had gotten a hold of Potter before Pansy could have monopolized the situation for her own benefit. And so, Blaise had left the two to their sordid affairs in oubliette number three and had only just a few moments ago seen the pair stumbling off to the Slytherin dormitories looking delightfully disheveled with their robes half off and buttons mismatched.

Overall, it was turning out to be a reasonably entertaining evening. The portrait to Slytherin house common room had opened sometime after dinner, welcoming in their fellow houses for an impromptu gathering to celebrate a well-deserved study break. Hogwart’s four houses were presently stumbling around knackered out of their wits; socializing, dancing, snogging, and hopefully, many of these poor sods would be screwing each other come morning. Although, since it was rounding two now, Blaise assumed they’d be getting down to it reasonably soon – and the last thing he wanted to see were the Hufflefluffs fondling each other like giant pandas in mating season at the London Zoo. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken when glancing over to the corner near the portrait-hole he spied Hannah Abbott of Hufflepuff and Vince Crabbe, his second cousin, twice removed, of Slytherin house, divesting each other of their robes clumsily. Giant pandas, indeed.

In any case, Blaise had an agenda this evening. After setting down his empty bottle of lager he’d slid off from his perch on the banister, and had set off into the fray to find one disgruntled looking Hermione Granger. Minutes before he’d noticed her glowering at Pansy and Weasley as she dragged him off to the dungeons. By the looks of it, they wouldn’t remember a damned thing by morning and the Weasel would be inspecting his fresh welts, raw skin and lacerations with wonder and perhaps, possibly, well-deserved fear. Blaise had seen Pansy’s handiwork only once in the marks left on Adrian Pucey in the showers, the girl definitely had a penchant for pain.

Blaise had been waiting for a situation like this, he’d brooded and mulled over the fact that the little mudblood was outstripping him in every single class, no one had even come remotely close to their grades at OWL level. Granger, despite the impurity of her blood, was as equally skilled as a witch and Blaise was a wizard. It frustrated him beyond words. So, Blaise had sought about bringing her downfall about as subtly as he could, and what better way to usurp the girl than by seducing her, pinning her writhing form beneath him and buggering her brains out before crushing her spirits and any possible chance of a relationship with the Weasel – although at this point, he seemed to be doing a right good job of quashing his chances without Blaise’s interference.

It would be as simple as stealing the snitch out from beneath Cho Chang’s nose. Providing of course, that Blaise had tried out for his house’s seeker position, which he hadn’t, it was just yet another of Malfoy’s penchants he could write off on his lengthy list of ‘I will screw you over for hogging the limelight’ IOU’s.

Blaise walked through the crowd a few paces, pausing by one of the bedecked tables to pick up two tumblers and a fresh bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, and casually slid against the dungeon wall behind a flushed, fuming Hermione Granger. “Hello, Hermione,” he said softly behind her ear as he set down the glasses on a nearby table and poured out an ample amount of the firewhisky into each. She snapped around forcefully, nearly spilling the contents of the glass Blaise held out to her down his front. “Oh! I’m so sorry Blaise, you startled me,” she flushed further, a definite trace of anger still lingering in the Head Girl’s tone.

“That’s quite alright,” he said, “fancy a refresher?” a slow straight-toothed grin spreading across his face in a manner which had turned the panties of half of Ravenclaw’s seventh year class to sodden messes. He offhandedly added a glacius charm to the glasses, creating a few perfectly formed ice cubes.

Granger blinked and appeared to shake herself, still apparently distracted by the Weasel’s abrupt departure with unexpected company. Nonetheless, she accepted the glass with a nod and turned to stand by Blaise’s side and survey the revelry. Over the last seven years, Blaise had watched the muggle-born blossom into something of a beauty, albeit, she was still no veela, but the slight-statured girl standing next to him had filled out somewhat in ways that had made her demurely appealing. He estimated she stood about five foot six; she was extremely slim, with a delicate bone structure and curves in all the right places. Not overly voluptuous, nor under-developed, she was well-proportioned, he mused, below her school robes. Tonight she had taken a few measures to see to her otherwise plain appearance, usually, she did not go to any lengths to tame her wild mane of bushy hair or apply any cosmetic spells. This evening he found that her honey brown tresses were smoothed, hanging over her shoulders, and there was a slight blush to her cheeks and throat. As she sipped from her glass, her lips left a faint pink smudge behind its rim. Blaise smiled to himself, pondering where exactly he’d like to see more pink smudges left behind from her mouth.

“What are you grinning at?” she said, nudging him. The two students had a certain degree of familiarity between them after all, on numerous occasions they had debated complex arithmancy theories and the meanings of obscure ancient runes, having shared the two classes together since third year.

“Just considering the irony of it all, really. You put everyone together in one common room, despite obvious house rivalries, introduce a bit of drink and suddenly it’s a love-fest,” he grinned down at the girl, “of course, with certain exceptions”. He gave her a pointed look and she flushed again. “I couldn’t help but notice you standing over here by yourself glaring daggers at that sod Weasley”. Points for sympathy surely, he reflected.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” she blustered shaking her head vigorously. Blaise watched bemused as the ice cubes in her glass tinkled forcefully together. Placing a long-fingered, tanned hand at the small of her back he dipped his head to whisper in her ear. He was just close enough to let her smell the scent of his skin, “why don’t we go somewhe lit little more quiet and you can tell me about it” he looked at her imploringly, onyx eyes widening slightly giving the impression that he knew more than he was letting on. “Though I wouldn’t mind watching you hex the bastard so badly he wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a week when he gets back up here,” he winked reassuringly, keeping his head dipped to watch her facial expression more closely. It was a practiced, intimate gesture he’d learned by watching his own father for many years. He watched as her expression softened slightly, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards to reveal two faint dimples in her apple-blossom cheeks.

She nodded almost imperceptibly; there was still hardness to her eyes when she peered up at him. Blaise didn’t doubt for a second that Granger didn’t trust him fully, the girl was too clever for her own good after all, but then again, Blaise wouldn’t be taking these measures if it weren’t a challenge. Granger was most definitely a worthy conquest. It was unfortunate; however, for Zabini that he never for a second thought the girl he was planning to seduce could possibly possess her own agenda.



(Part II of Verde TBC)

Chapter III: Ruadh in progress