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there were a lot of things in the wixen world that should be illegal, but just.. aren't. like the reductor curse, and the memory charm, and love potions — which harry thinks you're definitely under the influence of considering the fact you're friends with malfoy.

you seemed to follow the blond around everywhere, sticking to his side like honey coated fingers. but you weren't just like malfoy's goons in the way crabbe and goyle were - no, unlike them, you actually thought for yourself. and although malfoy never really listened to you when you offered insight or snappy advice, you didn't leave. that irritated harry to no end.

it wasn't just because he thought you deserved a better friend than that arrogant prat, and it wasn't like draco treated you that badly compared to others, but because harry could never have that same bond with you. trust him when he says that he's tried, but you just hated him. like really hated him.

you got paired with harry in potions after professor snape abruptly decided 'actually, you fools need your potion partners to be switched around because blah blah blah blah —' harry wasn't really listening until the greasy haired man called out his last name paired with yours. for the past month, he's been trying to connect with you — trying to figure out what you liked, what you didn't like, what kind of jokes made the corner of your lips twitch upward.

and he swears he's been making progress, slowly inching towards his goal (whatever that was, all he knew was that it revolved around you), despite the fact you have continuously been giving him hell. you called him names like it was your favorite hobby, recoiling every time your fingers brushed his, and other times you just completely ignored his presence unless it was absolutely necessary that you spoke to him.

you scoffed every time he opened his mouth, and it made harry consider to just stop talking altogether. you were mean to him — and as pathetic as it sounded, harry could always feel the blood rush to the tips of his ears when you called him dumb or stupid.

yeah, that sounded about right. harry was stupid. stupid for liking the way you styled your hair, stupid for admiring your handwriting, stupid for wondering what your palm would feel like against his — would it be warm? cold? soft? he wonders if you noticed him staring at your lips during another one of your interactions.

that was around two days ago. you weren't with malfoy at the time, but you were looking for him, and in doing so, you bumped into harry j. potter.

you narrowed your eyes at him, your irises glinted in the sunlight, and your mouth curled into a condescending smirk. it felt like you always had a scowl on your face, did you ever smile once in a while? does draco make you smile? could harry ever achieve that?

whatever insult you threw fell on deaf ears, and once you'd realize that, you huffed and walked past him, bumping his shoulder with a "see you 'round, potter."

he blinked and turned around slightly too late. "oh - yeah, uhm. bye." he stammered, hand raised in an awkward wave, you were already far enough that harry was sure you hadn't even heard him. a smile creeped its way to his face in the same manner heat traveled to his pale cheeks, coating it in a rosy red.

you had bumped his shoulder and said "see you around." had this encounter been about a month ago, you wouldn't have even bothered to try and annoy him with a shoulder bump, and you called him by his surname rather than some variation of dumbass. progress.

harry james potter aka no. 1 yearner of the century. actually love him sm why is he kinda underrated in his own fandom. idk this might be ooc im tired.

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Routine.

synopsis blaise doesn't understand you, and he'd like to

pairing blaise zabini / gender-neutral reader

content warnings none

author's note i haven't got much to say other than i love blaise, and i wish people wrote for him more. anyway, this is heavily inspired by schroeder and lucy from peanuts. no use of y/n.

In one of the quiet corners of the Slytherin common room resided a grand piano. It was an area at Hogwarts that Blaise was particularly fond of; he'd been playing the piano since he was around eight years old, and it was quite nice to be able to continue practicing away from home. Unfortunately, you had grown a liking to that piano as well. Although, it wasn't specifically the instrument or the spot that you liked, but rather the boy who was always there, hunched over the ivory keys.

You couldn't have made it any more obvious that you fancied Blaise, he'd wager that at least half of the student body already knew. You were insufferable, too much of an open book and yet ridiculously hard to read, like a foreign note or Franz Liszt's compositions — deliberately difficult. Blaise never quite understood you, not in the way he could understand sheet music.

If he had one lead guiding him in the mystery that is you, it'd be your routine. It was something he had kept in mind a while back when he noted how strangely consistent you were.

On Saturday afternoons, you would make your way to the cushioned stool placed behind the piano ─ it wasn't always there, but nobody dared to touch it now, let alone move it. That was your spot. Then, you would prop your arms up on the closed fallboard and settle your head in them, cheek squished against your forearm as you talked Blaise's ear off about everything and nothing. Other days, you simply hummed along to whatever melody he had improvised, but most of the time, your absurd questions and hypothetical musings served as lyrics to the piano's tune.

Today was the latter.

"Let's say that we're married," you paused in thought. That was usually the start of most, if not all, of your imaginary situations. "And you come home one night from one of your concerts where you performed a piece for your fans."

Blaise hummed absentmindedly, hands and eyes still glued to the grand piano. He could picture that; becoming famous for his own original compositions certainly wasn't a bad pursuit. Not that he played for anyone but himself, however the prospect of being admired and appreciated for his musical talents did appeal to him.

"And I walk over to greet you warmly like the wonderful spouse I am ─ but then, I spot a red lipstick stain on your collar, and I would say," You slammed your fist against the fallboard, sitting up straight as you narrowed your eyes at Blaise whose hands flew up from the keyboard, brows raised and bemused at the sudden outburst. "─ Who were you with!?"

...First of all, what?

It took Blaise a few seconds to even start to process what you meant, and another few to wonder if you've gone mad. He blinked and frowned, "Are you insinuating that I'd commit infidelity?" The audacity on you to accuse him of such crude actions, he'd never stoop so low.

"Well, would you?" You shot back sharply.

Blaise huffed, returning to where he had left off on the piano before you had so rudely interrupted his focus. Yet, he couldn't resist making a retort. "If I were to cheat, I would at the very least have the decency to clean my collar, or change shirts."

You gasped, standing up so abruptly that your stool nearly toppled over, with your hands on the cover of the piano as you leaned forward. "So you're saying you would cheat on me!"

"I never said that."

Blaise glanced up to see the corner of your lips twitch into a sneer, or a pout ─ he can't quite decide which one suits you better. You scoffed, but your glare softened as you begrudgingly backed down. "Whatever." You muttered bitterly, as if to say that you were done with this conversation, but Blaise knew it was truly because you had no argument left.

You always picked fights with him ─ ones you rarely ever finished, he'd like to add. Then, you would sulk or grumble about it for maybe a minute or two before some other topic stole your attention and you were rambling on to Blaise again. It reminded him of Rubato in sheet music; it was a technique that Chopin and Beethoven implemented into their works quite frequently, and something Blaise used to struggle to get right. But unlike with you, he's got it down pat now ─ he could probably play Rubato on the piano whilst wearing a blindfold. But you were nothing like an instrument, nothing like what Blaise could practice over and over 'til he got it right.

He lets his gaze linger on your face.

Blaise could recall the first time you spoke to him. You strode into the Slytherin common room with a fixed motivation, a stubborn determination in your steps as you dragged a stool to the grand piano. The specifics of when it was are irrelevant, but Blaise can easily conclude that it was likely around first or second year as he could remember the boyish roundness of your face quite vividly, and the eagerness laden in your high-pitched, child-like voice when you said, "Hi, you play the piano really well—my cousin's mother's friend plays piano too! We have something in common, d'you fancy getting married?" or something like that... Alright, maybe he's exaggerating, but really, that's what you sounded like to him!

It was simply history after that. You came by every Saturday without fail, and Blaise hasn't got the faintest idea of how you hadn't grown tired of his snide remarks yet. Your perseverance impressed him more than he'd like to admit, and quite frankly ─

"Blaise!"

Your voice cut through his thoughts like the blare of an air horn. You were standing upright now, and judging from the way you crossed your arms with an exasperated sigh as you impatiently tapped your foot, you had already called his name a couple times when he'd zoned out.

Blaise tilted his head, brows knitting together as his hands slowed to a halt on the piano keys. Silence now filled the atmosphere of the Slytherin common room, and when he opened his mouth to ask where you were going, you had already cut him off.

"I said I'm off to bed." You clarified, tone sharp with mild annoyance.

Already?

"Uh ─ why?" He fumbled rather unintelligently.

You made a face that Blaise could only assume meant 'are you seriously asking me that right now?' and he felt as though he shrunk under your gaze. He would never tell you, but you could be incredibly crabby and intimidating at times.

"Blaise, it's late ─ almost past curfew, actually." You gestured to the clock above the fireplace, ticking away into the hours of the night. Only now did Blaise notice how empty the common room was; everyone had already gone to bed. He also failed to notice how dark the view of the Black Lake had gotten, the windows were painted a nice pitch black.

"Honestly." You rolled your eyes. "It's seems like all you musicians lose track of time when you practice."

He didn't know you knew other musicians — well, maybe aside from Nott, but as far as Blaise knew, you didn't hang out with other instrumentalists.

He watched you turn on your heel to walk back to your dormitory, and just as you were a couple feet away, you looked back at the pianist from over your shoulder. You gave him a rare smile — a genuine one, the kind that made the corner of your eyes wrinkle in the same way it did whenever you were simply admiring him during class. "Goodnight, Blaise. Don't stay up."

And you stalked off, leaving Blaise to sit there staring at the spot you once occupied. He quickly shook off the bewilderment that had clung to him, fixing his composure. Blaise scoffed and rose from his seat, he trudged up the stairs to his own dorm. Who were you to tell him what to do?

This might suck, but it's been in my drafts for a while.

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dating george weasley . . . 💭

✧ his love language is acts of service. peeling oranges for you, holding his hand over sharp corners so you don’t hit your head, pouring your drink before he pours any for himself, and yes — he knows the sidewalk rule. you’ll even find that things you had mentioned needing to do will be done by the time you get around to it. he enjoys helping you anyway he can.

✧ he just has a romantic soul. molly raised him to be a gentleman, and that’s what he strives to be for you.

✧ he carves your name / initials into his broomstick. during quidditch matches, he will always keep an eye out for you in the stands, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t try to show off a bit for you.

✧ he will always lend you his clothes, but especially if you’re in a different house because seeing his favorite slytherin in gryffindor colors makes him all giddy no i’m not projecting.

✧ alternatively, he will constantly try to steal your clothes, wearing your shirt right in front of you like it belonged to him.

✧ he remembers everything about you. your favorite color? your childhood pets name?? the one very niche book you only mentioned once??? all of the above (and you will absolutely be finding that book in his bedroom after the fact).

✧ he loves just being close to you. he’s not overly touchy, but if you’re sitting together, his arm or knee is brushing against yours, or if you’re standing in the hallways, he’s standing behind you with his chin on top of your head or your shoulder.

✧ so much playful banter. he will constantly flirt with you like he isn’t already dating you, and if he makes you blush, you will never hear the end of it until he starts blushing and you get to tease him for it.

✧ he’s the slightly more shy twin (which isn’t saying much when you look at fred), so he will get bashful if you compliment him enough.

✧ he isn’t huge on public displays of affection.

✧ grand gestures are a big deal for him, however. leaving love notes in your textbooks, running straight to you after winning a quidditch match to lift you up and spin you around, waking up extra early to meet you outside your common room every morning (or in front of the fireplace for the gryffindors out there).

✧ when he kisses you, he always cups your face with his soft hands (surprisingly soft for a quidditch player, may i add).

part 1 / ?