Who: Blaise & Padma When: Tuesday, 25 November Where: library Rating: G What: gift giving, pretense of poetry and study
A lone book lay on the table in front of Padma, a slim tome, unusual in colour, the cover shifting and changing. She found the effect pleasing, and had chosen it from the shelf for that very reason. No homework awaited her, only the book, and a few sheets of parchment and quill. Hushed and eager conversations took place about the library, but Padma hardly noticed, settling deeper into her own thoughts as she opened the book, and raised her quill.
Madame Pince was occupied with helping younger students find the books necessary to complete their assignments amidst her usual stern admonishments for silence. These went mostly unheeded, and so Blaise had no problems speaking a moment after dropping into the chair next to Padma's. "What are you writing?"
Quill poised yet above a blank sheet, sadly uninspired, Padma turned slightly to look at Blaise. She smiled. His was a good face to see. "Nothing, as of yet. And your business?"
"Distraction," he replied simply, plucking the quill from her hand and moving the book closer to himself. hello padma, he wrote haphazardly, and smiled a bit secretively at her.
A warming grin in return, Padma leaned closer, coaxing the quill out of his hand and writing a tidy message of her own, Shall I admire your pernmanship? She would not mind, so very much, observing the careful motions of his fine fingers as he wrote.
yes. He placed the quill that he'd retrieved from her briefly back onto the table, and reached into his bag, pulling out two packages wrapped in brown paper. When opened, one package revealed a hand-crafted non-magical journal, thick with unlined pages and a note written on the inside. May you never need to use the inside cover of a library book for your poems again. -- Blaise A. Zabini, November 1997. The second box revealed a fountain pen, charmed to never run out of ink.
Head inclined slightly, Padma's eyes moved hesitantly from the wrapped packages to his face. "For me?" She whispered, hoping she was not being too presumptuous.
"No, actually, I thought I'd get them for Madame Pince. Yes, for you," he smiled. "Open them?" He was restraining himself from opening them himself, in his excitement, and showing her what he'd given her. He'd always enjoyed giving gifts to those that he liked best, and she was no exception.
Tearing gently the corners of brown paper, Padma's fingers brushed against fine leather. She peeled the wrapping free as quietly as possible, pressing an open palm against the cover of the journal as though to absorb the potency within. She imagined. The second package was opened, the pen cradled in her right hand, a good fit. Her other hand moved to clasp his, resting still on the table. "Thankyou," she whispered, voice feathery, eyes betraying deep movement within.
Her reaction was subdued, which he'd expected. Truly, he would have been disappointed and more than a little bewildered if she'd reacted as he thought Parvati would, with squeals and giggles and loud exclamations. Fingers lacing with hers, his smile turned a little hesitant and shy. "You like them?" He was unsure why this answer was so important to him.
In response her fingers tightened, pressed against his palm as she wanted, just then, to embrace him. "Very much," she breathed, the pen placed across the journal cover, a pleasing contrast. "Very." A moment, and her lip was caught between her teeth in thought, in control.
Blaise smiled fully then, bringing her hand to his mouth and placing three or four kisses on her fingers. Part of him wanted her to ignore him and start writing immediately, while the greater part wished to have her undivided attention for the rest of the evening. It was rapidly becoming unpleasant to leave her continually at the door to Ravenclaw Tower. The realization startled him. He inhaled sharply, and covered his disorientation with a question, only slightly related. "What do you wish for Christmas?"
At this Padma laughed. "I am numbed already with gifts; I shall have to tell you another time." The thought of his company was persistent, but she forbade the sentiment from forming on her lips. She removed her hand carefully from his grasp, though the motion had little to do with the giggling second year at the adjacent table.
He settled more fully beside her, deciding upon an hour or two of study rather than the trek back to his common room. "Will it bother you if I do homework here?" Already his hand was reaching for his Arithmancy text and a roll of parchment. "I promise I won't be a distraction."
"Will you mind if I am?" Padma grinned, the journal opened and pen in hand. "I haven't any homework."
"I believe yours is a distraction I will not mind," he conceded, matching her grin. Blaise opened his inkbottle and checked his quill before studying the first problem he was set. It was difficult, however, because his eyes kept straying from his parchment to the scratching of her pen on paper.
dreamer given, Padma wrote neatly, in praise for sleepless nights. She paused, considering the concentrated figure beside her. Classes were not so difficult, as he was not so close. Here she seemed even to feel his warmth. Head inclined to the page once more, Padma continued, i find a line to call and chorus my own, a sketch, a telling palm.
Consciously, he kept his eyes from the words that she wrote, respecting the privacy that he'd thought she'd enjoy from the gift. Still, he hoped that she would occasionally share her poems via the magical journals, as he thought that they often were clearer windows into her head than an entry. And then, with effort, he put his concentration to his homework, the problems engulfing him until he was only marginally aware of Padma beside him and the noise (albeit a quiet noise) of the library.
Pen smooth and sure in her hand, Padma wrote slowly, a breath held is felt in the body whole, the burn of want and waiting. She glanced pointedly at Blaise, the focus conveyed in his features, and looked quickly away again. She crossed her legs under the table, foot grazing slightly against his calf.
He felt the touch, feather-light, through the fabric of his trouser-leg, and looked at her, studying her profile for a moment before returning to his homework. He glanced up twice more before catching her eyes and smiling.
Padma welcomed the expression, arms curling possessively around her writing. She knew a retreat to her common room was in order, with many of the other students slowly departing, but she remained seated, appreciative of the companionable silence. Bending, the words came more easily, now, the eye roams and knows, the iris many-glittered. A pause. caution has no place.
Blaise moved sharply, exchanging the Arithmancy text for Charms and the reading that was required for the next class. His arm dropped across the back of her chair. Several minutes later, he realized that the library was relatively empty, save for the two of them and Madame Pince, who was walking steadily towards them, her mouth puckered into the familiar disapproving scowl. Hastily he began packing his bag. "Nearly curfew," he observed. Then: "As I don't wish to have a certain Ravenclaw prefect take points from Slytherin for breaking curfew, I would like to walk you back to your common room now, rather than later."
Stowing her own things, the new journal with considerable care, Padma nodded, rising. "I would like the company," she said softly.
Her hand secure in his, he led her from the library. Content to let the comfortable silence hang between them, he behaved himself the entire walk, deliberately not thinking of the last time he'd spent an appreciable amount of time with her -- and therefore thinking of nothing else. He grinned. "I shall ask you again in three days what you wish for Christmas, and again three days after that," he said. "But after that, I shall... rely on my instincts." He teased her, only because as he took giving gifts to his mother seriously, so he took giving gifts to Padma.
Slowly climbing the stairs that confronted them, Padma smiled, a warm expression that brightened her face entirely. "I rather like the sound of that last." Their footfalls matched against the stone. "I hope to know soon where I shall be spending the holidays."
"I wish there were a way for you to visit me in Vienna," he murmured, sure that would be where he would spend his break. He'd gone there nearly every other year, after all. "I should like you to meet my mother, and her you."
Padma stiffened at the mention of his mother, though not for the reasons she might have done so several weeks earlier. She wished, earnestly, that the woman would be as surprising as her son. "It is not entirely implausible," Padma spoke softly after a moment, though there was little hope in her words, and more than a share of resignment.
However, he would take that hope and write his own mother, seeking permission for a visit from Padma. "She will like you." He refused to think that his mother may not; she would, end of story. "But this is where I must leave you. Again." A small laugh escaped. "I forever lose you to your common room."
"I am loathe to enter, as the Quidditch game this coming weekend is the loud and frantic gossip of choice." This was the least of her reasons. "I shall persevere."
He leaned over to leave a final thought. "Sit in a corner, and think of me. Nothing of Quidditch will bother you then," he teased, adding a kiss to his remark. "Enjoy your journal, Padma." He turned then, to return to the Slytherin common room and the mundane.