A Private RPG Between xsayhellosunshinex & Aviis. Woot.

[imgleft]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v478/illusiongraphix/Icons/Claise.jpg[/imgleft] A typical holiday for the rich Slytherin was to go home for Thanksgiving, but this year was a bit different. With some rather compelling convincing from the Ms. Pansy Parkinson, he decided to stay at Hogwarts this year. He wasn't too thrilled on visiting his mother and her new husband thing anyway, and it seemed that Draco Malfoy was all the more pleased that Blaise Zabini had decided to may attention to him for once.

What could he say? He was a pleaser. Or perhaps he was just bored.

Where it all began, is what Blaise was trying to point out. Laying on his bed, he knew himself to be naked save the comforter and a weight of someone on his chest. It began with fire whiskey, he thought in his hung over mind, his dark eyes lingering on the ceiling in a haze. The still-burning on his lips and nostrils told him that that was what led him to his predicament, alcohol being an Achilles heel of the proud Slytherin.

No no, firewhiskey was the last thing that caused this.. no, Blaise thought, it was Pansy. The girl was perhaps the only soft spot he had, brilliant in all traits except for her emotional attachments. She was attached to that Draco Malfoy and that was the only reason Blaise bothered with him at all. If both of them wanted him at the party, he would have to deal with Pansy's vehemence sooner or later, or so Blaise justified. It wasn't as though he hadn't turned down her attention before..

No, it did not begin with her. It was much broader than that.

It began with a fix. He had come home for Halloween to get a surprise. His father apparently had died, not that he had ever had thought much of him before, it wasn't much of a shock to the 17 year old. His mother seemed pretty thrilled with his inheritance, occupying herself with calculations at her desk, she told her son (with a poor example of acted sympathy) that Blaise's father, Robert, had died. He didn't even catch his last name nor did he really care. Blaise had known he had taken on his mother's last name when his parents divorced at birth, he hadn't even heard his mother breathe the name before.

"My father," Blaise recalled the word sounding very foreign in his mouth, he raised a dark brow, "..is dead?"

"It seems that your father left you quite a sum of money as well. Best go to your room, dear, and I will be sure to get it sorted and put in Gringotts for you.." her shrill voice lingered in his memory. Blaise trusted his mother completely, knowing that she had enough money of her own, there was no need to be concerned about his inheritance going anywhere. He decided to do as she said and turn to make his way toward his room. He needed to finish some homework anyway.. Blaise didn't even bother pondering the circumstances of his supposed father's death. Not a single question lingered in the apathetic teenager's mind.

But it was when he turned did he see a strange substance sitting atop the desk, peering over his mother's shoulder. No, it did not look like the gold or silver of Galleons or Knuts.. but there seemed to be.. paper? No wizarding money that he was aware of was made from strange rainbow-coloured paper such as this.

Walking up behind his mother, he discovered the secret she was trying to send him away for. There was no wizarding money inheritance, but what appeared to be rolls of muggle money.

To say the least, Zabini was a bit appalled by this particular secret. Being half blood was not something the prejudiced Slytherin had learn to deal with well. He had not spoken to his mother since, a month of introverted silence had come and now gone. And all Blaise could think was -- how filthy his blood was.

It was neither his affair with fire whiskey nor his relationship that Pansy that brought him here, noo. It was the meeting of a particular Gryffindor half blood that he just so happened to have sneered at the night before. Seamus Finnigan was his name, another filthy supporter of the unclean. Why he had thought of him the night of the party, even the brilliant Blaise Zabini couldn't acknowledge. All that he knew was that it was an open house party, and a very loose words had spread between them. Drunken words, a few bitter words, but honest ones none the less.

Blaise wasn't quite sure of all he had said to the Gryffindor alone in his dorm that night. The lanky Irish boy, for whatever reason in Blaise's wasted judgement, had seemed rather appealing the night before. All feelings of disgust were replaced with a need to dominant. All disturbing ideas of uncleanliness and loyalty were gone in some kind of drunken passion that Blaise couldn't really recall the next morning.

And here he was dozing in his bed, listening to the sound of his breath. It was in this recollection of the events before that Blaise finally gained his wits and sat up unsteadily, pushing the Gryffindor half blood off him rudely and sat back with a dark scowl about his face. "..wake up!" The Slytherin growled, dark eyes flickering to the door wearily for one of his house mates to enter at any moment.

A common thing among the Gryffindors was to find who it was ended up with the young Irish boy in their bed the next morning. It seemed that the older they got, the more frequently he was found in other boys' beds, hiding or sleeping, or just regularly passed out with no want to wake up and face a hangover. However, nobody would ever expect him to be stuck in bed with a Slytherin; a pathetic Hufflepuff, maybe. A drunken Ravenclaw, possibly. A prejudiced and hungover Slytherin? Not so much.

Even the Gryffindor didn't expect it; when he heard the gruff words he blinked blearily, looking up at the other a moment before sitting up a bit, his hips placed thoroughly against the bed, arms keeping him up. It wasn't a wonder that he was often found in the bed of another. He had a high alcohol tolerance and barely ever woke up with a hangover, for one, and for another thing; he was so incredibly flexible that any man, gay or in the closet, was interested in what he could do with himself.

Currently, he found himself naked and all he could think of was pressing closer to Blaise in an attempt to get warmer. However, he figured that would only piss him off more...but he couldn't really stop himself.

"Oi, jus' shuddup. Don't be so...o'erbearing.." He offered, "You'll make yer 'eadache worse." Because he could already tell that Blaise was suffering. Besides, he favored boys of different colors from himself, and he had to admit that the other was plenty attractive. Not that he had much of a prejudice towards anyone.

Not as coordinated as the Slytherin would have liked, he wobbled unsteadily on the bed and fell on his back upon contact with Seamus. The hungover, headache-ridden teenager pondering just lying there a moment longer, but shook his head in retaliation and hastily shoved the boy off him once more.

The room swam in a haze, his sense of balance was muddy and disoriented, but he managed to find it pants none the less (his underwear being impossible, as they just happened to be green much like the rest of the room, and he had no will to search).

Finding his wand, he pointed it at the door and muttered, "Mobiliarbus" and it slammed shut. With another incantation the door locked. He was sure Draco wouldn't take to being locked out of the shared dorm, but it seemed to early to worry about it.

Slumping against the bed, hands embracing the edge, he kept his ivory back toward Seamus in complete speechlessness. Staring listlessly forward, the impact of the situation was forming a picture in his deluded mind, he put a hand to his forehead, looking a little less predator-like, he glared quietly over his shoulder at the Irish boy.

Here he was, Finnegan, very naked and half-conscience next to him. He wasn't going to just let him lay there, sleep in a little as though he were some kind of lover. "Wake up, mudblood," he hissed again threateningly, his own voice pounding in his head, "or I am going to curse you out the three story window."

His blood pounded in his ears, Blaise Zabini, the most nervous he had ever been, faced it with animosity.

Seamus groaned inwardly upon hearing the other's voice, but his own mind was pain-free for now. The boy was such a skilled drunkard by this stage in his life, coming from an Irish family, so he no longer obtained the hangovers that could kill a herd of sheep. Looking upon the other boy, the only thing that left his lips at first was a snarky comment, his accent thick with his fresh awakening.

"Mm...an' aren' choo jus' a brillian' ray o' sunshine this mornin'?" He rubbed at his eyes, as if some kind of foreign light had obstructed his clear vision and that would get rid of it. Sitting up slightly, he yawned wide and made sure he aimed his morning-after breath at the snappy Slytherin sitting near him.

"An' I wouldn' go throwin' that word around wit' me no more." He spoke without sense, for his brain was still fuzzy from the rude awakening. "After all, you're the one with fifty million dollars in muggle money sitting in Gringotts." Another good thing about his heritage; he could remember most everything he did and heard and said in his drunken stupor once he had sobered up.

"An'...even worse 'an that?" He gave a sick, cocky grin, "I know that if you don't screw me senseless when I wan' it...the whole school, including Draco Malfoy, is going to know about your secret heritage. Now, either fuck me into submission or lemme go back to sleep." He'd never say such words to someone if they didn't give him a perfectly good reason. But..Blaise had been particularly cruel to him so far, and he really had no right to. What gave him the right to say "mudblood" and persocute against him, while Blaise himself was the same damn thing? It was like the people who told him that muggle Hitler had been a gay jew who persecuted both gays and Jews.

Seamus had nothing to lose, this is where they stood apart. What did he have to lose by sleeping with him? Maybe a few weird looks from his friends, but not everything like Blaise. What did he have? His reputation, his money, his family, and all of that would be squandered on this one honest night, that to Blaise's horror, had revealed his heritage.

All ready he could picture ties being cut from the Parvati family, be a laughing stock. The Slytherin quidditch team would inevitably have something to say to their prejudiced Chaser finally having to go back on his word.

Which, in all honesty, was still the same. In some part of him, he still didn't believe it. He was still pure blood. A month of silence with his mother was his escapism. That money wasn't his. His mother had many men in her years.. maybe she got confused.

But the threats hovered in the air between them. And Blaise was silenced for a moment, Zabini simply glaring at the grin that leered at him. This Finnigan didn't know what he was getting involved in..

And slowly, Blaise seemed to deflat, quiet like a predator as he decided to crawl across the bed toward Seamus, dark eyes peering at the Irish boy. He hovered above Seamus, in thought, taking in his form as though really considered one of the suggestions made. He touched a calloused hand to the boy's chest, pads of his fingers ascending until finally, with a sudden movement, his curious hand became a grip around the Gryffindor's throat. A wand was raised to his Adam's apple.

He spoke through his teeth. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kill you and make your death a cover up, mudblood," he spoke through his teeth, tilting his head. The words Avada Kadavra was ticking like a bomb on hislips. Not that he knew how to actually use it, he thought himself capable with the fire in him right now. The wand shook lightly.

Seamus still looked so nonchalant; like this was an average, every-day occurance for him. And with his own cocky attitude and penchant for sleeping with whoever had the idea in their head to have him, well, it probably wasn't too new. Especially since the thought of sleeping with Slytherins caught his body on fire and definitely made him find whoever he could find attractive.

"Mm...'t's simple, Blaise." He offered softly. A sigh passed his lips as if the other was too dense to understand the complicated innerworkings of his mind. "You wouldn' just toss around that 'L' word to any 'mudblood', now, would you?" The look in his eyes was sincere; a hardly pleading look, but one that pointed out that he was right. "You might 'ave been drunk, but I wouldn' think a man of your stature would kill the person that, the previous night, had uttered so many kind things to. I remember it pretty clear." He added on. Too many years with that Granger girl had turned him into a rather good debater, in his own mind.

"There were at least two instances that you said you loved me." The way he looked, it was hard to tell if he was only bluffing or telling the truth. He looked innocent and truthful as the day he came out of the womb. Then again, he had just dropped a bomb on Blaise's parade; forget the rain.