Who: Blaise and Lavender Where: Great Hall When: Wednesday, 26 November, 1997 What: H-O-S-T-I-L-I-T-Y Rating: G, but with a bit of language Status: Complete
A cup of tea, a Charms textbooks, and a giant roll of parchment made up the entirety of Lavender's afternoon in the Great Hall. She had quite lost track of time, and the hours had slipped past as she worked on the essay she had due later this week. She was actually sitting at the Slytherin table, knowing she would catch hell if any of her Housemates saw her but hating that the Gryffindor table was always so loud, no matter what time of day it was. She was at the very end, near the fireplace, wrapped in a warm shall as her ink-spattered hands flew over the parchment.
"There is a part of me that sincerely doubts that, should someone other than I notice where you are sitting, you would be welcome here for any period of time." Blaise pitched his voice for Lavender's ears only as he sat across from her, spreading his own quill, ink, parchment, and text over the table. "This is, of course, regardless of how well you decorate our table."
Her revelry broken, she looked up in surprise at Blaise. She hadn't even been aware of his existence until he had spoken. For all she knew, he could have been siting there for hours. "Decoration? Very progressive views on women there, Zabini."
Ah, he's damned either way with this one, he thought. "Indeed. I prefer them pregnant and barefoot... or sprawled across my bed," he deadpanned, playing to the extreme stereotype of misogynists the world over. He rolled his eyes slightly and cracked open his text. "Why are you over here?"
Ah, he's damned either way with this one, he thought. "Indeed. I prefer them pregnant and barefoot... or sprawled across my bed," he deadpanned, playing to the extreme stereotype of misogynists the world over. He rolled his eyes slightly and cracked open his text. "Why are you over here?"
She wrinkled her nose in disgust, shaking her head as she looked back down at her paper. "That's nauseating." She said, rolling her eyes. "It's quieter over here."
"Amazing that Molly Weasley survived so long," he said idly, wondering why she would have been willing to be almost continually pregnant for nearly a decade. "Ah, so the so-called enemy is preferable to the noise of Gryffindors." He shrugged then, and began reading for his essay.
"I'm pretty sure Molly Weasley has the right to do whatever she damn well pleases with her body." She said, looking back up. Why must someone always interrupt her focus when she was finally being academic? "You're only the enemy if you decide to be a prick...and you're well on your way to being the enemy."
Blaise narrowed his eyes slightly. "Please, do tell me how I might avoid being the enemy," he stated. "I find myself being perfectly civilised, and am facing uncalled-for hostility. I sincerely doubt that I am the one who is being the 'prick.'" His quill fluttered in his hands as he twirled it like a baton. "Molly Weasley certainly has the right to do with her body what she chooses... but why she would choose to be nearly continuously pregnant for so long is quite beyond me. However, I shall respect her decision." If not her children.
She sat back and twisted her hair into a bun, sticking a spare quill through it to keep it in place as she tried to regain her studying-composure. "Well, I'll be sure to let Padma know just how progressive you are."
"You're too kind."
She rolled her eyes again, making a little noise of disgust before returning to her paper. Honestly, were all Slytherins just completely useless? She's like to see one prove her wrong.
Blaise studied her, quietly, for many long minutes, nearly hating to interrupt her once again. "May I interrupt you once more?" he asked quietly, laying his quill to mark his place. "Why are you hostile towards me?" Towards him, not his House. He wondered if she would know the difference.
She looked up at him, frowning. "Maybe it's because you keep interrupting me?"
"I apologise." Simply said, and then his belongings were gathered again and thrust into his bag. "Do forgive me. I shan't do it again, and I shall leave you to your studies... at the Slytherin table." He was confused, for he found no remembrance of ever insulting her or misbehaving towards her.
She snorted derisively. "Merlin, you people act as if it's made of platinum and you're hiding the secrets to immortality over here."
He stiffened. You people. "It is a wonder that anyone has ever said a nice word about you, Brown," he said after a moment. "To me, you've been nothing but rude and condescending. I should hope that the same can't be said for me." A slight nod, and then he was gone, to endeavour to put aside the anger and animosity she'd risen in him.