slumber

Title: This Charming Man
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Roger/Blaise
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 580 words
Summary: Play. Pause. Fast Forward. Rewind.
Additional Notes: Written for

ccharlotte. *kisses* Also for

fanfic100, for the prompt Who?

It's a crowded enough place and a busy enough day, with enough of spring to lift their spirits up with distractions of gossip and teasing, but it isn't difficult to notice his attention's wandered away. She smirks and nudges him on the arm, and he flashes her an easy grin. He sets down his drink, pushes his chair back, and stands up to leave.

She follows with her eyes, because watching Roger Davies stalk his prey has never failed to amuse her, and a corner of her mouth lifts in approval when he turns to face a younger, smaller, prettier boy.

play.

He climbs into the portrait hole of their common room much later than he should have, the buttons of his uniform uneven and tie slightly askew.

"Must have been amazing," she muses nonchalantly, turning the page of her Potions text.

"Hm?"

"What's his name?"

He pauses by the fireplace, brow furrowed. "He didn't say," he replies finally, looking thoroughly confused.

"That amazing?"

"Rookie."

"But pretty."

"Yes. Gorgeous."

pause.

A professional team hires him out a short while before he leaves school, and the pub is crowded, blued and bronzed.

He is distracted, but there is no prey.

fast forward.

He drags her out of work to watch the final match for the Quidditch Cup one year after she leaves school, two years after he does. It’s the first time their House is in the finals since they could remember, and she turns to him in excitement after five successive goals.

She is torn between being appalled and being amused when she realises he is no longer there.

“Beneath the Slytherin stands, against the post, just as Slytherin caught the snitch,” he tells her later, appearing from out of the crowd, breathless and smug with the swagger that comes after a successful fuck. He wrinkles his nose. “Then his friend came to get him.”

“Still nameless, though?”

“Ah, shit.”

pause.

She reads the report on the Sunday edition of the Prophet late in the afternoon just as she receives his Owl, which comes in days later than intended.

fast forward.

He’s a little early for his Floo, and he picks up The Daily Prophet off the rack to pass the time.

“Decent shot,” he murmurs to himself, eyes scanning the rest of his article before he turns the page in what he knew was a vain attempt to find something more interesting.

pause.

She hands the tawny owl something to nibble on, stroking his feathers absently before tying a scrolled up note to his leg.

rewind.

“…promising young Chaser from Pride of Portree…”

Hey, I guess I ought to tell you.

“…two-year contract with the New York Nifflers…”

My manager says it’s a good move. They’re a brilliant team.

“…American League welcomes this new addition…”

I leave by International Floo this Sunday. No need for an entourage. Really.

She huffs in reply, reading the rest of the paper with a cup of coffee.

“…family, are throwing a lavish ball tonight, in order to celebrate the recent…”

Roger, you ass. I saw you in the paper today.

“…youngest Healer in the Association, and the first in the family of…”

Take care of yourself, and good luck!

“…parents claim it their proudest moment, and could not ask for more…”

pause.

His Owl flies up to him, distracting him momentarily. He tucks the paper in his back pocket and unties the note.

And his name’s Blaise Zabini.

fast forward.

He grins.

stop.