Still distracted...
Nov. 2nd, 2004 01:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skoosiepantsI have yet to vote, but had two cavities filled this morning. Ya know, up until 8 months ago, I never had a single cavity. And then there were three. I'd be suspicious of my dentist - as I've heard many stories about unscrupulous ones - if I hadn't been going to him my entire life. Kinda have to trust him on this one. Must be my steadfast refusal to floss. Too much effort for the lazy! Suppose I'll have to start, though, because the novacaine is just so annoying.
Anywho, I think I've got a tentative idea for a D/G Christmas fic, but I only have the beginning in my mind, and I'm not exactly sure where the hook is going to go from here:
****
On Halloween, Blaise woke up psychic.
It wasn’t entirely surprising, really, since his grandmother came from Gypsy stock and often turned a creepy Eye to strangers, her thick Sicilian accent lending credibility to her random premonitions – accents, Blaise had found, went a long way towards convincing the skeptical.
He didn’t have any sort of Italian accent, of course, having been raised just outside Wiltshire, but he woke up that morning knowing that Goyle was going to trip down the dormitory stairs, that Pansy would have a toothache by lunch, and that Draco was going to fall in love with the littlest Weasley. It was only a matter of time.
Sitting up in bed, Blaise cocked his head and cleared his throat, gaining Crabbe’s admittedly somewhat blear-witted attention. “Beware Horace,” he said, his voice forebodingly rough with sleep.
“Wha…?” The large boy’s face fell into a bewildered frown. “Don’ know a Horace.”
Blaise nodded sympathetically. “You will.” Turning to Goyle, he added, “Watch the tenth step, Greg. It’s a bit crumbly.”
Goyle rolled his shoulders in a shrug, then followed Crabbe out the door, lumbering towards breakfast. Blaise didn’t even bother straining his ears for the inevitable crash. Nonna never second-guessed herself, and had always cautioned Blaise that people would believe what they wanted to believe, and then eventually realize she was right. There was no use wasting breath.
Draco didn’t take the news of his future quite so passively. In fact, after the derisive laughter, he pretty much looked ready to kill Blaise for daring to open his mouth.
“Jokes involving me paired with any Weasley at all,” he said with deadly calm, “are not tolerated.”
Blaise drew a jumper over his head and ruffled his hair. “Hey, I don’t get to choose, mate. If I did, there’s no way in hell I would’ve pictured Longbottom’s naked shower accident.” He wasn’t all that afraid of Draco, even when the blond was in a homicidal snit. He knew his quasi-friend was mostly all mouth. Still, he eyed Draco’s twitching wand hand warily. “Would it help if I mentioned Potter’s upcoming humiliation at the hands of Snape and Mrs. Norris?”
“Snape and Mrs. Norris?” Draco seemed suitably intrigued. Then his eyes narrowed. “Is he going to catch the snitch this afternoon?”
Blaise rocked back on his heels and tipped his head to look at the ceiling. He hadn’t had a premonition about that, but… when had Potter not caught the snitch? Finally, he sighed and looked back at Draco. “I can’t predict at will,” he pointed out. He refrained from commenting that they both already knew the probable outcome of that day’s game.
“Still,” Draco grumbled, yanking on the ties of his boots. “Weasley?” His voice had dropped to a near whine, so Blaise knew his anger had flared out to merely annoyance.
He gazed at him silently for a few moments, sensing the impression of laughter and ginger hair and snapping brown eyes, faint traces of pine scent and hot apples, then said, nodding slightly, “By Christmastime. Christmas feels right.”
****
Eh. *shrugs* It's something.
I've gotten a bit more written to Nighthawk as well. I've got where I want it to go in my head, so it's just a matter of using the right words.
Anywho, I think I've got a tentative idea for a D/G Christmas fic, but I only have the beginning in my mind, and I'm not exactly sure where the hook is going to go from here:
****
On Halloween, Blaise woke up psychic.
It wasn’t entirely surprising, really, since his grandmother came from Gypsy stock and often turned a creepy Eye to strangers, her thick Sicilian accent lending credibility to her random premonitions – accents, Blaise had found, went a long way towards convincing the skeptical.
He didn’t have any sort of Italian accent, of course, having been raised just outside Wiltshire, but he woke up that morning knowing that Goyle was going to trip down the dormitory stairs, that Pansy would have a toothache by lunch, and that Draco was going to fall in love with the littlest Weasley. It was only a matter of time.
Sitting up in bed, Blaise cocked his head and cleared his throat, gaining Crabbe’s admittedly somewhat blear-witted attention. “Beware Horace,” he said, his voice forebodingly rough with sleep.
“Wha…?” The large boy’s face fell into a bewildered frown. “Don’ know a Horace.”
Blaise nodded sympathetically. “You will.” Turning to Goyle, he added, “Watch the tenth step, Greg. It’s a bit crumbly.”
Goyle rolled his shoulders in a shrug, then followed Crabbe out the door, lumbering towards breakfast. Blaise didn’t even bother straining his ears for the inevitable crash. Nonna never second-guessed herself, and had always cautioned Blaise that people would believe what they wanted to believe, and then eventually realize she was right. There was no use wasting breath.
Draco didn’t take the news of his future quite so passively. In fact, after the derisive laughter, he pretty much looked ready to kill Blaise for daring to open his mouth.
“Jokes involving me paired with any Weasley at all,” he said with deadly calm, “are not tolerated.”
Blaise drew a jumper over his head and ruffled his hair. “Hey, I don’t get to choose, mate. If I did, there’s no way in hell I would’ve pictured Longbottom’s naked shower accident.” He wasn’t all that afraid of Draco, even when the blond was in a homicidal snit. He knew his quasi-friend was mostly all mouth. Still, he eyed Draco’s twitching wand hand warily. “Would it help if I mentioned Potter’s upcoming humiliation at the hands of Snape and Mrs. Norris?”
“Snape and Mrs. Norris?” Draco seemed suitably intrigued. Then his eyes narrowed. “Is he going to catch the snitch this afternoon?”
Blaise rocked back on his heels and tipped his head to look at the ceiling. He hadn’t had a premonition about that, but… when had Potter not caught the snitch? Finally, he sighed and looked back at Draco. “I can’t predict at will,” he pointed out. He refrained from commenting that they both already knew the probable outcome of that day’s game.
“Still,” Draco grumbled, yanking on the ties of his boots. “Weasley?” His voice had dropped to a near whine, so Blaise knew his anger had flared out to merely annoyance.
He gazed at him silently for a few moments, sensing the impression of laughter and ginger hair and snapping brown eyes, faint traces of pine scent and hot apples, then said, nodding slightly, “By Christmastime. Christmas feels right.”
****
Eh. *shrugs* It's something.
I've gotten a bit more written to Nighthawk as well. I've got where I want it to go in my head, so it's just a matter of using the right words.
