Fic: It Started with a Book (1/2) *PG13* B/Hr
Title: It Started With A Book
Author: booknerdguru/FluteK
Pairing: Blaise/Hermione
Summary: It started with a book
Rating: PG13
Additional Credit goes to: JCRiddler for his awesome poems which I have utilized in this fic. CK Blake who first came up with the idea of Artist!Blaise.
Scritch, scritch went the sound of a graphite pencil rapidly sketching out an outline on a thick pad of good quality drawing paper. Soon you could see that what had started out as a few straight lines and a couple of squiggly curves had taken on the shape of a woman. Some delicate shading here and there, a bit of detail, and life was breathed into the portrait. The questioning eyebrows, the intense look of concentration, her chin resting in one hand as she worked over what she wanted to say, the normally wild, riotous curls bound up in a knot at the back of her neck save for a few wispy tendrils escaping their confinement. Her shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her school tie loosened, and her robes discarded on the back of her chair. Table piled high with books, spare parchments, inkpot and spare quills littered around her work area. A brief scrawl of his initials completed the brief sketch, along with a small quote from one of Byron’s poems, “Where thoughts serenely express, how pure, how dear their dwelling-place.”
Their relationship was odd to say the least, a bit eccentric even, having come from such radically different backgrounds and radically different worldviews. Yet for all the prophesying that it would never work out and that they’d only end up with heartbreak from friend and foe alike, their relationship had endured. But he was getting ahead of himself, telling the middle before the beginning. Their relationship had had an equally eccentric start to it.
It started with a book.
Which, in and of itself was not unusual considering the two involved, but this, this was a special book. A sketchbook, to be precise; a leather-bound standard sized sketchbook of good quality, a bit battered and bruised around the edges from constant use, but apart from that, there was no special characteristic that drew one’s attention to it. It was, in fact as unobtrusive as its owner. The book’s owner, one Blaise Zabini of the Zabini family, the winemakers, also known by class and housemate alike as the quiet Slytherin, the enigma; no one really knew quite what to make of him. He was not from a family loyal to Voldemort, but nor was he from a family loyal to Dumbledore, which made him an unknown factor to both sides. No one really knew anything about Blaise, apart from what he let them know. For instance, very few people knew that he was apart from being a brilliant student, an incredibly gifted artist. He dabbled a bit in music and in writing poetry and the like, but art, art was his passion, his love, his raison d’etre.
Like all of those possessed of the arts, Blaise Zabini had a muse that he worshipped. A fair-skinned, brown-haired, gorgeous goddess of a muse; he’d first discovered her in his fourth year at the Yule Ball held that year. So many people there in the Great Hall, no one noticed the quiet fourth year Slytherin sitting silently at one of the tables there, looking out across the dance floor and occasionally sketching away in his note book. He’d actually done several sketches that night, of the champions, the professors, and a few random dancers, but the best one out of that lot was by far the one of Krum and his muse dancing. Something about the lighting in that one spot and the music combined with the absolutely amazing way she had looked that night and the startling contrast of her delicate, natural beauty with the dark, brooding, Gothic appearance of her date. Just something about seeing them like so had touched some part of him deep inside and from that point on he’d been a different person. Cliché yes, but true, he’d found his muse and he’d more than willingly prostrated himself and paid homage to his goddess, abasing himself at her altar. To sketch her from the shadows, knowing that he as a mere mortal (and a Slytherin at that too) could never reach her. She was as unattainable as Helen. He couldn’t ever have her and yet it was unthinkable to not be near her, to not always see her…
His unknown and so far unrequited passion for the bookish Gryffindor had only seemed to grow with time and had remained a secret right up until his seventh year. It would have remained a secret longer had it not been for a couple of excessively nosy best friends, a Head of House who couldn’t keep his aquiline nose out of other people’s business and his cat familiar, Macavity, the bloody feline. He’d been quite happy to leave things the way they’d been, but no, Fate was against him this time, it seemed.
The first person to figure it out had been one of his best friends, Millicent. They’d been studying for a Charms essay in the library or rather Milli had been studying, he’d been trying to discreetly sketch his goddess from under the table. After the third or fourth time she’d noticed his attention drifting off to something else; she’d finally (under pain of torching his art supplies) got him to show her what he’d been working on. To say she was shocked would have been an understatement, though most of that was due to the fact that she hadn’t known he’d gotten that good with his sketches and the fact that he occasionally used her and Theo as models. There were sketches of various landscapes and the like; he even had one of Snape giving a lecture in there. But Fate being the fickle mistress she is known to be, the sketches that Milli enjoyed the most were the ones of his goddess. She’d stumbled on one of his most recent sketches of his beautiful muse. It’d been a nice, crisp September day with the leaves just starting to turn their various colors down in Hogsmeade. She’d been wearing this sweater and jeans combo, along with this cute little cap and scarf. Her cheeks had been all rosy from the slight cold winds and there’d been this cheery smile of hers that lit up her entire face from within with this inexplicably happy glow. Milli took one look at the drawing and hustled him off to one of the private reading alcoves to both compliment him on his skills and berate him for being so foolish as to fall for a Gryffindor and not just any Gryffindor at that too, but a sainted member of the Golden Trio at that too. What the hell had he been thinking? It had certainly not been with his brain…
The second person to find out had been, to his eternal mortification, Snape. And he had his formally best friend and now dire enemy, Millicent to thank for it. After berating him soundly for forever it seemed, she’d just shaken her head and dragged him back to the common room to finish their studying. The next afternoon, he’d been sitting calmly on one of the Quidditch stands, trying to relax a bit before dinner when he’d been summoned to Snape’s office. Apparently his ex-friend had gone to him because she was worried about his ‘unhealthy obsession with the Gryffindor.’ As he was vehemently protesting this unfounded accusation (made by someone he was never going to speak to again, the dirty, rotten traitor that she was) to his House Head, who for some reason was particularly horrified that one of his Slytherins was enamoured of the Gryffindor. Looking back now, Blaise supposed he could have actually found some humor in the situation and that he had his bloody feline whatever to thank for it. Milli had waving his sketchbook around and one of his looseleaf sketches had fallen out; only to be pounced on by Macavity and once Blaise had extricated it from his cat’s grasp, had had it quickly removed from his hands by Snape. Blaise froze, knowing that any minute now Snape’d start yelling at him about his fascination with his muse once he saw the sketch. Oh bloody hell- that was the one with the poem on the back too…bugger…he’d been particularly inspired that day, coming up with a small poem to go along with the portrait of her sitting quietly in one of the library alcoves, the light shining through the window creating this sort of glorious nimbus around her. Her feet tucked under her as she just sat there, completely immersed in her book….
Does she love me?
Does she hate me?
I just want to know!
If I could disguise myself
As a girl, she confided in
All just to know
Does she even see me?
Does she even know I’m here?
Does she know I care…
For her?
I love her better than
A bee loves its flowers
Than a pirate loves his gold,
An’ better, than the trees love
The cool midnights showers
She is the one that I love.
She is greater than necessity
Greater than possessions
Better than pleasures
She is, the best part of me.
Surprised when after a minute or two, no such lecture came…Blaise looked up to find his Head of House studying him with this unreadable expression. “Miss Granger, Mr. Zabini? The Gryffindor you are--…”
“Obsessed with” Millicent cut in, ignoring the angry glares from her former friend.
“How intriguing Mr. Zabini.” Snape said, “The way Miss Bullstrode was carrying on, I was afraid it was Potter or even worse Weasley that was the object of your affection, shall we say? I am relieved to find it is Granger and not one of the other two; quite frankly I was at a loss on how to explain that to your parents.”
Snape had thought he had a thing for Potter or Weasley!? Oh Gods, may the floor open up and swallow him whole; that was almost worse than his muse finding out that she was in fact, his muse and then rejecting him outright. Blaise wanted to die and it wasn’t helping that She-Who-Shall-Never-Be-Named-Again was standing behind him trying to choke back her laughter or that the effing cat was trying to crawl up his pant leg.
Still struggling to contain her laughter, the Evil Wench set his sketchbook on Snape’s desk and indicated that he should open it. To say that Snape was shocked was something of an understatement; he was absolutely blown away by the skill in which his student had captured Miss Granger. Each sketch, some colored in, some not, was accompanied by either a quote or another brief poem….It was clearly apparent to the Potions Master as it had been to Millicent that Mr. Zabini had some very deep, very strong feelings for the Gryffindor girl. It showed in every aspect of his sketches. He looked up at the lanky teen, standing there, shoulders slouched, hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks, pencil behind his ear, glaring ferociously at Miss Bullstrode who was sitting one of the desks, smirking back at Zabini. “Mr. Zabini, I congratulate you. These sketches are very well done and I believe that you have captured your subject quite excellently. Now if you don’t mind, what is Miss Granger to you exactly? If I’m not mistaken, you don’t really run with the same groups, so to speak.” Snape ventured.
Blaise’s mind whirred furiously before he settled on the pure and simple truth, “She is my muse, Professor.” He stated plainly. Snape’s eyes widened in the slightest amount, he’d not expected that answer and it was clear from the shocked look on Miss Bullstrode’s face that she hadn’t expected this either. A passing fancy perhaps, but for the boy to claim her as his muse, well that certainly explained a great deal now about Mr. Zabini. He cleared his throat, “And how long exactly has she been your muse?” he asked quietly, still trying to process this newest information.
“Since the Yule Ball, fourth year, Sir.” Blaise answered wearily. He was drained from this revelation, the pressing weight of his secret lessened now that he’d shared it with someone else. Snape nodded, “Very well, Mr. Zabini. You may go now and best of luck with your pursuits.”
“Thank you, Professor.” had come Blaise’s quiet response.
That had been at the beginning of seventh year, ever since then it seemed like the good Professor had gone out of his way to purposely throw the two of them together for projects and other assignments. His excuse was that he thought that they might make an excellent team, both being exceptional students. He was not disappointed, Mr. Zabini and Miss Granger proved to be exceptional partners. They worked extraordinarily well together and soon enough most of the rest of their professors in the classes that they shared had paired them up together as well. Such was the beginnings of a beautiful friendship.
This deep friendship had lasted all through their seventh year and all through their respective apprenticeships. His in Potions and the Dark Arts, he’d then gone on to become head of his division at the Ministry. Being an Unspeakable was quite fun really, some of the time. Not to mention the whole “Unspeakable” thing was just a front for the Society of Mages to be able to work more ably within the legal, ‘normal’ parameters of the government. He’d achieved the rank of Knight Mage Commander during the war and due in part to his membership in the Midnight Enclave and his services rendered during the Final Battle, he reported only to the Pueri Fortuna and the General Council.
Hers had been in Charms and then Mediwizardry. She was now just finishing up her last year of her Healer internship with Lady Eelysa Garrett, one of the foremost Archmage Healers. She currently held the rank of Lieutenant Protector, and she’d played a most pivotal part in the Final Battle, being one of eight chosen to protect the Pueri Fortuna. Four Pueri Fortuna with two chosen Protectors each made for a sacred coven of twelve and it was through the shared power flows of the coven that Harry and Ginny were able to defeat Voldemort for once and all.
Their relationship had continued to deepen and they’d just naturally begun to get closer and closer, but their romantic relationship hadn’t really begun until one day after the final battle.
Part 2 forthcoming following a brief vacation by author
For Name/Pen Name: silverphoenix
Pairing of the fic you want: Blaise/Hermione
Rating(s) of the fic you want: Any
3 - 5 Things you want your gift to include: Established relationship between the characters, post-Hogwarts, a secret to be revealed, happy ending
What you don’t want your gift to include: Mistletoe
Author: booknerdguru/FluteK
Pairing: Blaise/Hermione
Summary: It started with a book
Rating: PG13
Additional Credit goes to: JCRiddler for his awesome poems which I have utilized in this fic. CK Blake who first came up with the idea of Artist!Blaise.
Scritch, scritch went the sound of a graphite pencil rapidly sketching out an outline on a thick pad of good quality drawing paper. Soon you could see that what had started out as a few straight lines and a couple of squiggly curves had taken on the shape of a woman. Some delicate shading here and there, a bit of detail, and life was breathed into the portrait. The questioning eyebrows, the intense look of concentration, her chin resting in one hand as she worked over what she wanted to say, the normally wild, riotous curls bound up in a knot at the back of her neck save for a few wispy tendrils escaping their confinement. Her shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her school tie loosened, and her robes discarded on the back of her chair. Table piled high with books, spare parchments, inkpot and spare quills littered around her work area. A brief scrawl of his initials completed the brief sketch, along with a small quote from one of Byron’s poems, “Where thoughts serenely express, how pure, how dear their dwelling-place.”
Their relationship was odd to say the least, a bit eccentric even, having come from such radically different backgrounds and radically different worldviews. Yet for all the prophesying that it would never work out and that they’d only end up with heartbreak from friend and foe alike, their relationship had endured. But he was getting ahead of himself, telling the middle before the beginning. Their relationship had had an equally eccentric start to it.
It started with a book.
Which, in and of itself was not unusual considering the two involved, but this, this was a special book. A sketchbook, to be precise; a leather-bound standard sized sketchbook of good quality, a bit battered and bruised around the edges from constant use, but apart from that, there was no special characteristic that drew one’s attention to it. It was, in fact as unobtrusive as its owner. The book’s owner, one Blaise Zabini of the Zabini family, the winemakers, also known by class and housemate alike as the quiet Slytherin, the enigma; no one really knew quite what to make of him. He was not from a family loyal to Voldemort, but nor was he from a family loyal to Dumbledore, which made him an unknown factor to both sides. No one really knew anything about Blaise, apart from what he let them know. For instance, very few people knew that he was apart from being a brilliant student, an incredibly gifted artist. He dabbled a bit in music and in writing poetry and the like, but art, art was his passion, his love, his raison d’etre.
Like all of those possessed of the arts, Blaise Zabini had a muse that he worshipped. A fair-skinned, brown-haired, gorgeous goddess of a muse; he’d first discovered her in his fourth year at the Yule Ball held that year. So many people there in the Great Hall, no one noticed the quiet fourth year Slytherin sitting silently at one of the tables there, looking out across the dance floor and occasionally sketching away in his note book. He’d actually done several sketches that night, of the champions, the professors, and a few random dancers, but the best one out of that lot was by far the one of Krum and his muse dancing. Something about the lighting in that one spot and the music combined with the absolutely amazing way she had looked that night and the startling contrast of her delicate, natural beauty with the dark, brooding, Gothic appearance of her date. Just something about seeing them like so had touched some part of him deep inside and from that point on he’d been a different person. Cliché yes, but true, he’d found his muse and he’d more than willingly prostrated himself and paid homage to his goddess, abasing himself at her altar. To sketch her from the shadows, knowing that he as a mere mortal (and a Slytherin at that too) could never reach her. She was as unattainable as Helen. He couldn’t ever have her and yet it was unthinkable to not be near her, to not always see her…
His unknown and so far unrequited passion for the bookish Gryffindor had only seemed to grow with time and had remained a secret right up until his seventh year. It would have remained a secret longer had it not been for a couple of excessively nosy best friends, a Head of House who couldn’t keep his aquiline nose out of other people’s business and his cat familiar, Macavity, the bloody feline. He’d been quite happy to leave things the way they’d been, but no, Fate was against him this time, it seemed.
The first person to figure it out had been one of his best friends, Millicent. They’d been studying for a Charms essay in the library or rather Milli had been studying, he’d been trying to discreetly sketch his goddess from under the table. After the third or fourth time she’d noticed his attention drifting off to something else; she’d finally (under pain of torching his art supplies) got him to show her what he’d been working on. To say she was shocked would have been an understatement, though most of that was due to the fact that she hadn’t known he’d gotten that good with his sketches and the fact that he occasionally used her and Theo as models. There were sketches of various landscapes and the like; he even had one of Snape giving a lecture in there. But Fate being the fickle mistress she is known to be, the sketches that Milli enjoyed the most were the ones of his goddess. She’d stumbled on one of his most recent sketches of his beautiful muse. It’d been a nice, crisp September day with the leaves just starting to turn their various colors down in Hogsmeade. She’d been wearing this sweater and jeans combo, along with this cute little cap and scarf. Her cheeks had been all rosy from the slight cold winds and there’d been this cheery smile of hers that lit up her entire face from within with this inexplicably happy glow. Milli took one look at the drawing and hustled him off to one of the private reading alcoves to both compliment him on his skills and berate him for being so foolish as to fall for a Gryffindor and not just any Gryffindor at that too, but a sainted member of the Golden Trio at that too. What the hell had he been thinking? It had certainly not been with his brain…
The second person to find out had been, to his eternal mortification, Snape. And he had his formally best friend and now dire enemy, Millicent to thank for it. After berating him soundly for forever it seemed, she’d just shaken her head and dragged him back to the common room to finish their studying. The next afternoon, he’d been sitting calmly on one of the Quidditch stands, trying to relax a bit before dinner when he’d been summoned to Snape’s office. Apparently his ex-friend had gone to him because she was worried about his ‘unhealthy obsession with the Gryffindor.’ As he was vehemently protesting this unfounded accusation (made by someone he was never going to speak to again, the dirty, rotten traitor that she was) to his House Head, who for some reason was particularly horrified that one of his Slytherins was enamoured of the Gryffindor. Looking back now, Blaise supposed he could have actually found some humor in the situation and that he had his bloody feline whatever to thank for it. Milli had waving his sketchbook around and one of his looseleaf sketches had fallen out; only to be pounced on by Macavity and once Blaise had extricated it from his cat’s grasp, had had it quickly removed from his hands by Snape. Blaise froze, knowing that any minute now Snape’d start yelling at him about his fascination with his muse once he saw the sketch. Oh bloody hell- that was the one with the poem on the back too…bugger…he’d been particularly inspired that day, coming up with a small poem to go along with the portrait of her sitting quietly in one of the library alcoves, the light shining through the window creating this sort of glorious nimbus around her. Her feet tucked under her as she just sat there, completely immersed in her book….
Does she love me?
Does she hate me?
I just want to know!
If I could disguise myself
As a girl, she confided in
All just to know
Does she even see me?
Does she even know I’m here?
Does she know I care…
For her?
I love her better than
A bee loves its flowers
Than a pirate loves his gold,
An’ better, than the trees love
The cool midnights showers
She is the one that I love.
She is greater than necessity
Greater than possessions
Better than pleasures
She is, the best part of me.
Surprised when after a minute or two, no such lecture came…Blaise looked up to find his Head of House studying him with this unreadable expression. “Miss Granger, Mr. Zabini? The Gryffindor you are--…”
“Obsessed with” Millicent cut in, ignoring the angry glares from her former friend.
“How intriguing Mr. Zabini.” Snape said, “The way Miss Bullstrode was carrying on, I was afraid it was Potter or even worse Weasley that was the object of your affection, shall we say? I am relieved to find it is Granger and not one of the other two; quite frankly I was at a loss on how to explain that to your parents.”
Snape had thought he had a thing for Potter or Weasley!? Oh Gods, may the floor open up and swallow him whole; that was almost worse than his muse finding out that she was in fact, his muse and then rejecting him outright. Blaise wanted to die and it wasn’t helping that She-Who-Shall-Never-Be-Named-Again was standing behind him trying to choke back her laughter or that the effing cat was trying to crawl up his pant leg.
Still struggling to contain her laughter, the Evil Wench set his sketchbook on Snape’s desk and indicated that he should open it. To say that Snape was shocked was something of an understatement; he was absolutely blown away by the skill in which his student had captured Miss Granger. Each sketch, some colored in, some not, was accompanied by either a quote or another brief poem….It was clearly apparent to the Potions Master as it had been to Millicent that Mr. Zabini had some very deep, very strong feelings for the Gryffindor girl. It showed in every aspect of his sketches. He looked up at the lanky teen, standing there, shoulders slouched, hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks, pencil behind his ear, glaring ferociously at Miss Bullstrode who was sitting one of the desks, smirking back at Zabini. “Mr. Zabini, I congratulate you. These sketches are very well done and I believe that you have captured your subject quite excellently. Now if you don’t mind, what is Miss Granger to you exactly? If I’m not mistaken, you don’t really run with the same groups, so to speak.” Snape ventured.
Blaise’s mind whirred furiously before he settled on the pure and simple truth, “She is my muse, Professor.” He stated plainly. Snape’s eyes widened in the slightest amount, he’d not expected that answer and it was clear from the shocked look on Miss Bullstrode’s face that she hadn’t expected this either. A passing fancy perhaps, but for the boy to claim her as his muse, well that certainly explained a great deal now about Mr. Zabini. He cleared his throat, “And how long exactly has she been your muse?” he asked quietly, still trying to process this newest information.
“Since the Yule Ball, fourth year, Sir.” Blaise answered wearily. He was drained from this revelation, the pressing weight of his secret lessened now that he’d shared it with someone else. Snape nodded, “Very well, Mr. Zabini. You may go now and best of luck with your pursuits.”
“Thank you, Professor.” had come Blaise’s quiet response.
That had been at the beginning of seventh year, ever since then it seemed like the good Professor had gone out of his way to purposely throw the two of them together for projects and other assignments. His excuse was that he thought that they might make an excellent team, both being exceptional students. He was not disappointed, Mr. Zabini and Miss Granger proved to be exceptional partners. They worked extraordinarily well together and soon enough most of the rest of their professors in the classes that they shared had paired them up together as well. Such was the beginnings of a beautiful friendship.
This deep friendship had lasted all through their seventh year and all through their respective apprenticeships. His in Potions and the Dark Arts, he’d then gone on to become head of his division at the Ministry. Being an Unspeakable was quite fun really, some of the time. Not to mention the whole “Unspeakable” thing was just a front for the Society of Mages to be able to work more ably within the legal, ‘normal’ parameters of the government. He’d achieved the rank of Knight Mage Commander during the war and due in part to his membership in the Midnight Enclave and his services rendered during the Final Battle, he reported only to the Pueri Fortuna and the General Council.
Hers had been in Charms and then Mediwizardry. She was now just finishing up her last year of her Healer internship with Lady Eelysa Garrett, one of the foremost Archmage Healers. She currently held the rank of Lieutenant Protector, and she’d played a most pivotal part in the Final Battle, being one of eight chosen to protect the Pueri Fortuna. Four Pueri Fortuna with two chosen Protectors each made for a sacred coven of twelve and it was through the shared power flows of the coven that Harry and Ginny were able to defeat Voldemort for once and all.
Their relationship had continued to deepen and they’d just naturally begun to get closer and closer, but their romantic relationship hadn’t really begun until one day after the final battle.
Part 2 forthcoming following a brief vacation by author
For Name/Pen Name: silverphoenix
Pairing of the fic you want: Blaise/Hermione
Rating(s) of the fic you want: Any
3 - 5 Things you want your gift to include: Established relationship between the characters, post-Hogwarts, a secret to be revealed, happy ending
What you don’t want your gift to include: Mistletoe