(no subject)
Author: Irisri
Title: Habits
Rating: PG
Summary: Blaise complains about Hermione’s habits.
Prompt: My Choice - Habits
Prompts Complete: 16\50 (lions_serpents)
Pairing: Blaise/Hermione
Words: 1,108
Disclaimer: Way to young and small to own something as big as Harry Potter…
“That’s a disgusting habit, Granger.”
“What?”
“That!” He glared at her fingernails. “Not to mention, it’s not attractive at all.”
“I don’t care about attractiveness,” Hermione replied, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. “Must you criticize my appearance at all times? It’s immature.”
“Yes, I must. It’s disgusting! Biting your fingernails at your age, honestly.”
Hermione laughed. “You make it sound as if I’m eighty! You’re not much older than I, let me remind you.”
“But I don’t bite my nails, do I? And even more disgusting, you spit your nails out and leave them to litter the floor and spread whatever ungodly diseases you might have.”
“And what do you propose I do?” Hermione asked, entertained now by his gall.
“There are potions for such disgusting habits,” Zabini replied.
“Stop saying ‘disgusting’,” Hermione replied. “You’re over using the word.”
“It needs to be, especially with your habit,” he replied. “But back to the subject-and don’t try to change it again-there are potions for nail biting habits.”
“You must think I’m extremely dense, Zabini,” she replied. “Of course I’ve tried all the so-called working potions, along with a few Muggle products, and spent a fortune on all of them. None of them works.”
“Obviously, they didn’t work because you weren’t using them properly.”
“Obviously, I was using them correctly. I read the labels and instructions and followed them strictly to the book. It’s what I’m good at, you know, following orders. It’s why I work for you.” She smiled at him sweetly.
“Yes, well, as your boss, I’m ordering you to stop biting your nails! And stop littering the floor with them and spreading bacteria.”
Hermione smirked at him, waving at him innocently before turning back to her desk.
“Damn it, Granger!”
She turned around. “You’re the only person I know who doesn’t say ‘damn it’ as one word, Zabini. Must you separate them?”
“Granger, I am the only sane person on this earth. Didn’t I tell you to stop biting your nails? Are you going to make me threaten to fire you?”
Hermione turned back to her desk and dipped a quill in some ink. “It wouldn’t be a legitimate reason, Zabini. I haven’t spit any nails on the floor for a week now, so you can’t complain unclean conditions.”
“I’m your boss, Granger. I can fire you for whatever reason I want.”
“But you won’t,” Hermione replied absently, still writing.
“The hell I won’t. It disturbs me to see a body part destroyed, as if you’re ungrateful for them.”
“Your point?”
“My point, Granger, is that you are destroying a part of yourself, and in an essence, you are eating a part of yourself.”
Hermione rolled her eyes before tossing her hair back over her shoulder. It was a bother, her hair.
“Granger, have you ever had a manicure?”
“No, and I don’t want one.”
“Well, Granger, you’re getting one. Tonight.”
“What?!” She spun around in her chair. But it was too late; Zabini was already strolling away from her little compartment.
She was twisting her hair into a sloppy bun when her doorbell rang.
She walked over and opened it, only to be pushed aside by a briskly walking
Blaise Zabini.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m giving you a much needed manicure. I’m an expert anyway.”
“Yes, you being the slut of the office and looks perfection, you would know about that, wouldn’t you?”
He glanced at her, while placing assortments of bottles, filers, and cotton balls onto her table. “I’m the boss,” he said. “Being called ‘slut’ isn’t the term I would use.”
“It’s the term everyone uses,” Hermione said bluntly, “for you.”
“Because I’ve taken a few of my employees out to dinner, and took them to my bed?”
“Shall I make a correction and say nearly half of my floor that are females?”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m not here for sex tonight, so put your guard down, Granger.”
“I would never think you were,” she replied, crossing her arms. “But my guard is always up when I’m around Slytherins, just to warn you.”
He smirked. “Come on, Granger. Time to get your nails done.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I don’t recall saying I would get my nails done.”
“Well you are, your nails are disgusting and are in need of some serious help.”
“No,” she said automatically.
“Granger, please don’t fight with me. I will win. I always win.” It was said without anger, and a lot of patience.
“No you won’t,” she replied stubbornly. “Not this time.”
“I always win, Granger,” he repeated.
“I’m not getting my nails done,” she said hotly.
“Yes you are.” Their eyes held in a war.
Hermione was so intent on beating him in their childish staring contest, she didn’t notice Zabini’s wand coming out, so the next thing she knew, she was being levitated to the chair and tied to it with invisible ropes.
“Let me go!” she yelled fiercely.
“No,” Zabini replied calmly. “You’re getting your nails done.”
“Damn you to hell, you fucking bastard!” she said.
“I may be that,” Zabini replied calmly. “But I’m still winning the war, Granger.”
“The battle, Zabini,” she said hotly. “But most definitely not the war.”
He chuckled and reached out for her hand. And waited. “Give me your hand, Granger.”
“No,” she refused.
He sighed and leaned over, lifting her hand onto the table.
She looked away, hating the way she liked the way their skin clashed, chocolate against vanilla, white against black.
He said several spells, and she felt her nails grow longer. He filed away at the ragged cuticles. He did a number of things after, but she couldn’t tell what they were, or what they did.
“There!” He said finally.
She looked at her nails, and she had to wonder if those were her hands. Now, they were at least a centimeter away from her fingers, shining and perfect looking.
“Lovely hands, if you would let your nails grow,” he pointed out.
“I told you that I didn’t want a manicure,” she murmured.
“And I knew best, didn’t I?”
She looked up at him, then back down. “Of course you do,” she said with a sweet smile. She put a hand on his cheek, caressing it, and then she put her nails against his face and dug them down his cheek, leaving behind a thin trail of torn skin, blood already starting to surface.
“You fucking bitch!”
She looked at him smugly. “See Zabini?” she asked. “I won the war.”
The next day, the whole office was wondering how their boss had acquired four long bloody streaks against his face.
Title: Habits
Rating: PG
Summary: Blaise complains about Hermione’s habits.
Prompt: My Choice - Habits
Prompts Complete: 16\50 (lions_serpents)
Pairing: Blaise/Hermione
Words: 1,108
Disclaimer: Way to young and small to own something as big as Harry Potter…
“That’s a disgusting habit, Granger.”
“What?”
“That!” He glared at her fingernails. “Not to mention, it’s not attractive at all.”
“I don’t care about attractiveness,” Hermione replied, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. “Must you criticize my appearance at all times? It’s immature.”
“Yes, I must. It’s disgusting! Biting your fingernails at your age, honestly.”
Hermione laughed. “You make it sound as if I’m eighty! You’re not much older than I, let me remind you.”
“But I don’t bite my nails, do I? And even more disgusting, you spit your nails out and leave them to litter the floor and spread whatever ungodly diseases you might have.”
“And what do you propose I do?” Hermione asked, entertained now by his gall.
“There are potions for such disgusting habits,” Zabini replied.
“Stop saying ‘disgusting’,” Hermione replied. “You’re over using the word.”
“It needs to be, especially with your habit,” he replied. “But back to the subject-and don’t try to change it again-there are potions for nail biting habits.”
“You must think I’m extremely dense, Zabini,” she replied. “Of course I’ve tried all the so-called working potions, along with a few Muggle products, and spent a fortune on all of them. None of them works.”
“Obviously, they didn’t work because you weren’t using them properly.”
“Obviously, I was using them correctly. I read the labels and instructions and followed them strictly to the book. It’s what I’m good at, you know, following orders. It’s why I work for you.” She smiled at him sweetly.
“Yes, well, as your boss, I’m ordering you to stop biting your nails! And stop littering the floor with them and spreading bacteria.”
Hermione smirked at him, waving at him innocently before turning back to her desk.
“Damn it, Granger!”
She turned around. “You’re the only person I know who doesn’t say ‘damn it’ as one word, Zabini. Must you separate them?”
“Granger, I am the only sane person on this earth. Didn’t I tell you to stop biting your nails? Are you going to make me threaten to fire you?”
Hermione turned back to her desk and dipped a quill in some ink. “It wouldn’t be a legitimate reason, Zabini. I haven’t spit any nails on the floor for a week now, so you can’t complain unclean conditions.”
“I’m your boss, Granger. I can fire you for whatever reason I want.”
“But you won’t,” Hermione replied absently, still writing.
“The hell I won’t. It disturbs me to see a body part destroyed, as if you’re ungrateful for them.”
“Your point?”
“My point, Granger, is that you are destroying a part of yourself, and in an essence, you are eating a part of yourself.”
Hermione rolled her eyes before tossing her hair back over her shoulder. It was a bother, her hair.
“Granger, have you ever had a manicure?”
“No, and I don’t want one.”
“Well, Granger, you’re getting one. Tonight.”
“What?!” She spun around in her chair. But it was too late; Zabini was already strolling away from her little compartment.
She was twisting her hair into a sloppy bun when her doorbell rang.
She walked over and opened it, only to be pushed aside by a briskly walking
Blaise Zabini.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m giving you a much needed manicure. I’m an expert anyway.”
“Yes, you being the slut of the office and looks perfection, you would know about that, wouldn’t you?”
He glanced at her, while placing assortments of bottles, filers, and cotton balls onto her table. “I’m the boss,” he said. “Being called ‘slut’ isn’t the term I would use.”
“It’s the term everyone uses,” Hermione said bluntly, “for you.”
“Because I’ve taken a few of my employees out to dinner, and took them to my bed?”
“Shall I make a correction and say nearly half of my floor that are females?”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m not here for sex tonight, so put your guard down, Granger.”
“I would never think you were,” she replied, crossing her arms. “But my guard is always up when I’m around Slytherins, just to warn you.”
He smirked. “Come on, Granger. Time to get your nails done.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I don’t recall saying I would get my nails done.”
“Well you are, your nails are disgusting and are in need of some serious help.”
“No,” she said automatically.
“Granger, please don’t fight with me. I will win. I always win.” It was said without anger, and a lot of patience.
“No you won’t,” she replied stubbornly. “Not this time.”
“I always win, Granger,” he repeated.
“I’m not getting my nails done,” she said hotly.
“Yes you are.” Their eyes held in a war.
Hermione was so intent on beating him in their childish staring contest, she didn’t notice Zabini’s wand coming out, so the next thing she knew, she was being levitated to the chair and tied to it with invisible ropes.
“Let me go!” she yelled fiercely.
“No,” Zabini replied calmly. “You’re getting your nails done.”
“Damn you to hell, you fucking bastard!” she said.
“I may be that,” Zabini replied calmly. “But I’m still winning the war, Granger.”
“The battle, Zabini,” she said hotly. “But most definitely not the war.”
He chuckled and reached out for her hand. And waited. “Give me your hand, Granger.”
“No,” she refused.
He sighed and leaned over, lifting her hand onto the table.
She looked away, hating the way she liked the way their skin clashed, chocolate against vanilla, white against black.
He said several spells, and she felt her nails grow longer. He filed away at the ragged cuticles. He did a number of things after, but she couldn’t tell what they were, or what they did.
“There!” He said finally.
She looked at her nails, and she had to wonder if those were her hands. Now, they were at least a centimeter away from her fingers, shining and perfect looking.
“Lovely hands, if you would let your nails grow,” he pointed out.
“I told you that I didn’t want a manicure,” she murmured.
“And I knew best, didn’t I?”
She looked up at him, then back down. “Of course you do,” she said with a sweet smile. She put a hand on his cheek, caressing it, and then she put her nails against his face and dug them down his cheek, leaving behind a thin trail of torn skin, blood already starting to surface.
“You fucking bitch!”
She looked at him smugly. “See Zabini?” she asked. “I won the war.”
The next day, the whole office was wondering how their boss had acquired four long bloody streaks against his face.