4/5 Slytherins Post-Hogwarts: Blaise Zabini

Fanfiction is becoming people’s primary form of entertainment right now because most media right now is so cheap, bland, recycled, and sponsored by people who love money more than the source material. Fanfiction is written for free by people who genuinely love what they’re writing about. That’s why it’s better. That’s why it’s more satisfying. Fanfiction is a home-cooked meal made for yourself and for your friends. Media today is junky fast food spoiled by too much grease and the knowledge that the people producing it are being criminally mistreated and underpaid. 

Welcome back to another episode of is this canon or did I just read it in a fanfic?

I have a date with the Chesapeake Ripper.

“Keep up, sweetheart. At the rate you fly on that old thing you’ll never catch the snitch.”

@hdcandyheartsfest Day 1: “sweetheart”

You make me sick. You damn hypocrites make me sick! Everybody knew she was in trouble. But we didn't do anything. All you good people. You wanna know who killed Laura? You did! We all did.

Twin Peaks (1990-1991) 1.04 - Rest in Pain dir. Tina Rathborne

Ron groaned and buried his face in his arms. Across the crowded common room, his best friend had just interrupted what appeared to be a rather impassioned rant by a certain dramatic blond prat by kissing him square on the mouth. It was, horrifically, an extremely effective strategy.

When she saw the source of his distress, Hermione reached over, patting him on the head in what was probably intended to be a comforting gesture. “At least it’s better than fighting,” she said conciliatorily.

Ron glanced back up to see that the pair were now snogging enthusiastically and grimaced.

“Is it?”

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt Better Than Fighting

embarrassing taste in men

Reblog and put in the tags what your anti love language is. What’s the one love language you suck at or don’t get

Written for day four @hpkinktober prompt Amortentia.

Thank you so so much to @rockingrobin69 for the wonderful beta and great cheerleading. You really helped my spirits.

Amortentia is fickle. It's a fickle potion, due to how its properties constantly change. The ingredients stay the same, Draco knows them like the back of his hand. But the smell changes — consistently.

He would brew small portions, to keep a few vials on hand. Wanting the shop to smell comforting, clean and welcoming with the potion happily bubbling in the far back, behind a closed door.

Everyone smelled something distinct, a sensitive nose to what was lingering around the bottles, trinkets and ingredients. All customers would comment on the fragrance of the shop, saying how lovely the smells always were. Many would comment on the familiarity, only changing the most miniscule amount. Draco always found that rather fascinating.

Were these people falling out of love? Did their heart split into two and the aroma linger on two or more objects of their affections? Draco always wondered and pondered. Others would stop in while browsing and compliment the new fragrance for today, making Draco aware of their own hearts wandering nature.

It was something to pass the time. Pure amusement when he would watch his customers’ eyes glaze lightly — the smell entrancing them for mere seconds. Shaking their heads and continuing on as if nothing had stopped them in their tracks.

He enjoyed this, but also did this for selfish reasons. His shop was home, and this helped solidify that notion. Smells being the closest to memory and emotion — Draco knew how his Amortentia smelled.

It never did change.

When Granger first walks into the shop, a tiny bell tinkling announcing her arrival, Draco is rather surprised. She asks about Valerian root, and what potions he has in stock for sleeping aid. He's still rather surprised she's even here, looking at his inventory and asking about proper sleep potions.

However, she does compliment how clean the shop is — and how gorgeous it smells.

"Like a crisp autumn morning and baked treats. A lot like treacle tart."

He knows his eyebrows raise to his hairline, and also knows she has to be smelling Weasley. Which is a little off-putting — but he thinks it's because Weasley has never really been his favorite person. He'd rather not know what he smells like.

Granger brings Potter into the shop a few days later. Draco finds it amusing how he ogles the crystals at one side of the shop, eyes wide with wonder. Poking at the magical plants in the corner and picking up a few potions for purchase.

Almost as if he hasn't been a wizard all his life.

They both walk towards the counter as Draco opens the till and the smell is so overwhelming that tears prickle his eyes as he raises a hand quickly to his nose.

"Are — are you alright?" Potter looks concerned and Granger has one brow raised in a quizzical expression.

"Yes — I thought I was going to sneeze. Pardon me."

Draco continues with their purchase, with the bouquet circling up and around his nose, filling his head and making him float.

It's broom polish, sandalwood with hints of citrus. Still the same after all these years —he just wasn't aware of who the potion portrayed.

Days go by, and he contemplates the idea of throwing away any and all of the potion that sits in his back room, behind the closed door. Wants to scrub the pearlescent liquid away and never have it trace his shop again.

But this smell — the one that smells of home and love. He's grown so accustomed to it, that he can't bring himself to toss the cauldron. Lets it simmer and sit like he always does. The incense and deep perfume still wafting throughout his shop as he sits in the back with the small sign on the door flipped to closed.

Granger is a regular now. Picking up items that she needs for additional health purposes, potions for Weasley and their tiny freckled baby at home. She's an interesting witch, though Draco will never speak that aloud to anyone — she invites him to the pub. His mouth hangs open and she smiles as he agrees and is now irritated with the predicament he's placed himself in.

He slides into the seat next to Granger as she passes him a glass of whiskey and a pint.

"I wasn't sure what you drank, so I grabbed the drinks I thought you might enjoy."

He smiles at her, and feels oddly at home.

Draco is well into his third pint when Potter stops by, sliding into the open seat next to him.

"Hello. Hermione did say that you'd be here this evening."

Potter grins and Draco's stomach jumps into his throat. He's never really been this close to Potter before and he smells exactly like his shop. He's mortified with himself and doesn't quite understand it.

The smell has never changed all these years.

"Did you work today?" Potter takes a sip from his glass, foam stuck to his beard as he dabs it away with a napkin.

"Earlier I did, yes." Draco sips on the small shot of whiskey, the burn sliding all the way down his throat.

"Ah, that makes sense — you smell just like your shop. It's like parchment and lavender. I always wondered how you made it smell so nice."

Draco chokes on the rest of his whiskey.