By the Hands of an Artist

"By the Hands of an Artist"

By C.K. Blake

The sound of the water lapping at the shore was peaceful. Slowly she stretched, her arms gliding over the cool grass, as she stared up at the rich indigo night sky, sprinkled with stars. She let out a small sigh, and her breath crystallized just short of the warmth of her lips. She could feel the rich earth against her back and it thrummed with life, as did everything around her. She'd once thought it was magic, but she now understood the difference between life and magic, one was more potent than the other.

She closed her eyes and the world faded away, as she slipped into the place of her deepest thoughts. She was blanketed in the night sky, embraced by nothing, and a part of the heavens. She smiled at the freedom that she felt, picturing herself flying through the night, and not fearing anything, not even heights. She moaned when another entered her thoughts, heat rising in stomach as well as flooding her cheeks. Her fingers itched to run through the hair that was so dark that it blended in with the night. She wondered if it felt as silky as it appeared, and her breath caught as she looked into his eyes, so dark, and strangely alight with magic.

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He was tired of being overlooked except when someone needed their essays written in a hurry, and he was tired of them all lording it over him that he'd once been one of Draco's lovers, nothing more than a conquest. No one knew him. No one knew about the familiar itch he got in his left hand that indicated the urge to draw. No one noticed when he slipped from the dungeons in the late hours of the night and headed outside to be by himself, away from the world for a few moments.

On this particular night, the itch in his left hand was intolerable, and he felt drawn toward the lake. He looked skyward, and knew that there had to be a reason that he was being pulled toward the lake. He fell into step with his urges and his eyes widened as upon the ground near the shore of the lake he noticed a girl with honey touched skin and rich curly chestnut hair framing her face and trailing on the grass. Her eyes were closed, and her expression one of rapture.

He quietly sat down a few feet from the girl, and taking his sketchbook from under his arm and a stick of charcoal from his pocket he began with lines and curves, delicate shading, working with little strain on his eyes as it was a three-quarter moon on a cloudless night. There was plenty of light to work by.

It didn't take long before he had the image of the girl caught on paper, her delicate arms lifted about her head, fingers splayed in the grass, hands palm up, her face caught in a most delectable look of desire, her neck long and supple, and the sketch fading out just below her shoulders.

He set the drawing aside and looked at the girl for a while, and his heart began to speed up as he heard her moan, and then her right arm slowly began to move until her right hand was trailing up under her blouse, stopping upon reaching her right breast and cupping it, as her back slowly arched forward. His eyes widened as her other hand began to drift down, upon reaching her stomach the fingers of her left hand toyed with the hem of her skirt, trailing to the side, and then he heard the sound of a zipper, and another moan from her throat.

He quietly crawled to her, placing his arm just about her left shoulder and next to her head, careful not to disturb her, lest her eyes open too soon and she stopped. Taking a quick breath he dipped his head until his lips met hers. He ran his tongue over her lips in the hopes that she would open her mouth to him. Luckily she was on the verge of another moan just as he kissed her, and her mouth was open to his. He slipped his tongue in between her lips, and felt her stiffen beneath him. He opened his eyes, unsure of when he'd closed them, and his dark eyes met her startled toffee colored ones. He slowly withdrew his mouth from hers, and shyly turned his head away.

The girl had frozen, her hands still, the right on her breast, the left just shy of dipping below her skirt. Her breathing grew even more rapid, and he was attracted to the sound, his head once again turning so that he was facing her.

"I'm surprised that you don't have a book with you," he spoke softly, and tried to look away as he felt warmth rise to his cheeks.

For a moment she didn't know what to say or even do, as she was currently in a rather compromising position and he was leaning over her. "Oh Gods, what are you doing out here, Zabini?" she snapped, and both winced at the harshness in her tone.

"I come out here to draw sometimes. One could ask the same of you Granger, but then again your position beneath me is explanation enough. I never thought you to be an exhibitionist," he said, his voice soft and deep.

"I'm not an exhibitionist," she replied and began to move her hands, her fingers trembling as she tried to zip up her skirt.

"Please," he whispered, and his tone caught her attention as he continued. "Don't stop. I rather like watching, actually I wouldn't mind joining in..."

He once again dipped his head until his lips met hers and his hand took hers away from the zipper. She hastily turned her head toward him, and saw the growing darkness in his eyes. She lifted her hand and gingerly drew her fingers down his cheek. His breath paused in his throat at her touch. She drew in her breath and a small smile tugged at her lips as she spoke, "You're real. You're here and you're real...Blaise."

"You know my name," he said, and looked at her, his expression one of awe. "Say it again."

"Blaise..." she breathed, and he dipped down for another kiss, this time her arms coming around his shoulders, her fingers running through his thick, dark, silky hair.

He began to trail kisses down her chin and across her jaw, until he reached her throat and the kisses became gentle love bites. She moaned at the feel of his teeth nipping at her tender flesh. His hand found it's way under her blouse and squeezed her bra-covered breast. She arched into his touch, and soon found that her hands had a mind of their own as they frantically began tearing at the buttons of his shirt, until the ripping of cloth filled the air, but neither cared as they began to undress each other in a frenzy, ties and shirts, blouses and bras, trousers and boxers, skirts and knickers, all being shed, as something began to manifest between the pair.

He took each of her hands in his own, fingers interlocked, the backs of her hands pressing into the grass as her head rolled back against the ground and she cried out incoherently as he pressed his arousal against her. Her body arched up and she whimpered, knowing that she needed something, but too frazzled to know what it was exactly.

"Please," she pleaded.

"What do you want, Hermione?" he breathed into her ear, and again she whimpered.

"Anything," she bit out in a moan, and he nuzzled her neck with his nose until his teeth sank gently into her collarbone, and he freed his left hand to guide himself within her. Her body arched into his, feeling the beginning of him at her opening. He paused and looked down at her, and realization nearly choked him.

"You've never done this before," he said huskily.

Everything seemed to change in that moment as her eyes widened and she appeared to sober. She looked from his face and then down his body, her eyes widening as she saw his arousal posed at her entrance. Fear laced with desire shot up her spine as her cheeks heated with color, and she couldn't bear to look at him anymore so she turned from him, closing her eyes tightly.

She heard him sigh above her, and feared that he would ridicule her over her lack of experience, but instead his words were soft and gentle. "Hermione, look at me," he whispered, and she turned to face him, and then slowly he began to push himself inside of her.

Her eyes widened at the strange feeling of him moving inside of her, and she moaned, and then winced as there was a moment's discomfort. He paused and looked down at her, watching her face and waiting for a sign before he continued. Once her expression softened and her toffee colored eyes met his dark ones, he continued until he was completely engulfed by her. He bent down and gently captured her lips in worship as he began to pull out of her, so slowly, so agonizingly slow, and when he entered her again she rose to meet his thrust. His hands soon found their way to her hips, as he began to lose control and quickened his pace.

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"Oy, Harry," Ron Weasley said as he looked at his best friend.

A dark haired boy with striking green eyes and a lightening bolt scar on his forehead looked up in acknowledgement at his ginger-haired friend. "Yes, Ron?"

"Do you think Mione would go to the End of the Year Ball with me?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Don't know mate, just something you'll have to ask her."

"Why would she refuse? It's not like she's got a boyfriend," Ron pointed out.

Harry snorted. "Better not let her hear you say that, and since when have you liked Hermione? I thought you were over that old crush. What happened to that Ravenclaw with the big knockers?"

Ron rolled his eyes and then growled, "Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Harry tried to cover up his laughter with a coughing fit as he looked at his distraught friend. "You were dumped for Finch-Fletchley? I thought everyone wanted to date Gryffindor's Keeper. I even heard rumors about Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson being interested."

Ron nearly choked at the thought. "WHAT?!"

Harry didn't even bother covering up his laughter this time, there was no point.

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A decidedly distasteful individual with dark hair, and a decidedly sneaky look even by Slytherin's standards warily approached the revered Slytherin Prince. Said Slytherin royalty ran his eyes over the individual before sighing wearily and with a flick of his hand asked, "What is it, MacDougal?"

"Well, I was wondering where Blaise was. I need an essay done before third period tomorrow and he's so good at writing them, Draco..." MacDougal answered.

Draco Malfoy lifted an eyebrow in response to the use of his name by the simpleton. "And why would you think I know where he is?"

MacDougal swallowed thickly. "Um... Uh, well, everyone knows he fancies you, and he's always about when you are."

"Are you suggesting something about me?" Draco asked, a tone of defense in his voice as his silvery-grey eyes narrowed at the boy.

"No! What could I possibly be suggesting?" the boy before him began to cower.

With a snap of Draco's fingers Crabbe and Goyle appeared by his side and the boy paled visibly. Draco sneered at the reaction and then spoke in a cold airy tone, "I didn't think so. Although you do raise an interesting point concerning his whereabouts, now be gone."

The last statement was followed by an annoyed shooing gesture on Draco's part, and without pause MacDougal made himself scarce, leaving Draco to wonder just where Zabini had gotten to.

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He was buried deep within her, her body convulsing around him when he stiffened and felt the pressure building within him until he spilled inside of her. Her legs tightened around him, drawing him deeper as he came, and she cried out his name over and over, as he crushed her to him and groaned into her neck. When they were both spent he slowly pulled back and looked down at her, her body appeared to glow and was glistening with sweat in the moonlight. Her lips were chapped from having been thoroughly kissed, and her eyes had darkened, her hair was scattered about her in wild abandon, and she was beautiful, one of the most beautiful creatures he'd ever laid eyes on.

She withdrew her legs as his hand began to trail up and down her stomach before rising to her breasts and circling first one and then the other with his fingertips. He leaned down and their lips met, her head rising to keep their lips together as she opened her mouth to his, and their tongues warmly greeted each other.

Once they broke apart from the kiss, Blaise smiled and sighed, as he looked at the girl he had his arms around, seeing a wanton nymph before him. "You're so beautiful," he said, and she looked up at him, a faint rosy hue alighting across her face, and he lifted his hand to stroke her warm cheeks.

"So are you," she replied.

He snorted in amusement. "I'm beautiful?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Is there something wrong with me thinking you are?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "No, it's just uncommon for a man to be thought of as beautiful. That is usually a sentiment reserved for a woman..." he paused as he noticed her shiver. "Perhaps we should get back inside. It is rather chilly out."

She drew in her bottom lip and gave it a nibble before nodding and looking around for her clothes. She quickly pulled on her knickers and skirt, and then grabbed a shirt, and noticed that some of the buttons were missing on it. Her cheeks burned, as she held out the shirt to Blaise. He grinned, took it from her and then handed her the white lace bra that had been shed in their flurry to undress each other.

"I'm sorry about your shirt."

"Don't worry about it. I have others, and besides a simple mending charm could fix it," he replied.

"I don't know what came over me really, or how you snuck up on me..." She then fixed him with a raised brow of her own and noticed the sketchbook lying on the ground not far from her.

She pulled on her blouse, stood, buttoned it and walked over to the drawing. Once she had her blouse adjusted she bent down and picked up the sketchbook, and felt his body pressed against hers as together they slowly straightened and his arms ran up and down hers. Her hair fell about her face in a curtain that he couldn't see through as she looked at the drawing, and he heard a faint gasp escape her lips.

"This is how you see me?" she asked.

He took a step toward her left and pulled her hair back so that he could see her face and then smiled. "Beautiful, are you not?"

She looked at him, her mouth agape in shock as she simply nodded. "How long were you watching me?"

"I've watched you since fourth year," he replied, and then turned away, "But things were different then. I was different then, innocent before seduced by that bastard."

"What bastard?"

"Draco," Blaise said, and looked at her, awaiting her reaction, and he winced when his sketchbook slipped from her hands to land on the ground, but he noticed with relief that none of the pages were damaged. "He has a way about him. I couldn't resist. He thinks he has a claim over me, but he never did. Only you. He wants you, you know."

"What? Are you saying that...? And Malfoy wants me?" she squeaked out.

Blaise looked heavenward and then returned his dark gaze to her toffee one. "Yes, Draco and I were lovers, is that so hard to believe? He wants to claim you, though. He used to talk about it all of the time in his sleep, about claiming you and then dismissing you once he was finished so that you were left wanting him, always wanting him. I hated hearing him say those things. I tried to leave his bed one night, but he had it charmed, and I found myself magically tied to the bedpost upon attempting to leave his side. Bloody prat."

"Am I just a conquest to you then?" she asked, as she cocked her head to the side, her eyes sparking dangerously.

He shook his head. "Never. Just someone I've always wanted to know, and was too shy to take the opportunity to properly introduce myself. But you've watched me as well. Haven't you? Who were you thinking about before I kissed you?"

He smirked as the color returned to her cheeks; he found that he liked making her blush. She tried to avoid his dark eyes, but he had his answer. "It was me."

"Yes," she snapped. "It was you, all right. There you have my secret, and we've had this night together. As you said earlier it's chilly out, perhaps it's time to go inside."

She began to walk away but he reached out and grasped her hand, pulling her back toward him, his arms circling her in an attempt to prevent her from escaping. "I want more than this night, Hermione. I want you. You are so much more than I expected. More than just books and cleverness, more than a potentially good conversationalist. Go to the ball with me?"

Once her eyes locked with his, she found that she couldn't turn away from him, no matter how hard she tried. He bent down until their lips met and she whimpered against his lips before succumbing to the kiss with a growl as she returned it fiercely. "Yes," she breathed when they broke apart, and then Blaise gathered his sketched book as she fiddled with her tie and then his. Once they looked as decent as possible under the circumstances they walked back to the castle together, and parted with a kiss at the stairwell that led to Gryffindor Tower before they both snuck away to their respective common rooms, careful to avoid getting caught by teachers as it was rather late.

Hermione felt as though she were walking on clouds as she gave the portrait of the Fat Lady the password, but her clouds quickly dissipated as she walked into the Gryffindor common room and heard the voice of one of her best friends.

"Oy! Mione, where've you been? I've been meaning to ask you something," Ron Weasley said as he waved her over toward the fireplace, and looking around she saw that the common room was empty except for the two by the fire.

Harry was sitting in the chair across from Ron and her stomach flip-flopped as she noticed Harry looking at her strangely, and she wondered if she looked any different. Ron of course looked as oblivious as ever. "I was just wandering about, you know, to clear my head a bit," she replied quietly as she took a seat in the chair next to Ron and across from Harry.

"That's good," the redhead replied with a nod. "Bout time you give those books a rest."

Hermione began to fidget under Harry's scrutiny, but was distracted when Ron asked her something in a nervous rush, "Would you gototheballwithme?"

"What?" she asked and sat forward in shock. "You want me to go to the ball with you? But I... I'm going with someone already."

"And who might that be?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged and blushed. "You'll just have to wait until the ball to see."

"Where were you wandering about, Hermione? You don't get quite so flushed just wandering about, unless you met someone," Harry continued.

"I don't see where that's any of your concern," she snapped huffily and then stood up before heading toward the girl's dormitories.

Ron looked after her in shock and disappointment, and Harry's gaze was filled with suspicion.

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Hermione awoke the next morning, her body ached, but she couldn't help the smile as she remembered the night before. If she closed her eyes she could almost feel his lips and hands again. She groaned as she stretched and then gathered her clothes and school robes before heading toward the bathroom for a shower.

Once she was fresh from a shower, dressed, and with her teeth brushed, she headed downstairs, and ignoring Harry and Ron, she headed out of the common room and toward Great Hall, her two friends trailing behind her, and wondering why she suddenly seemed so different.

Upon entering Great Hall for breakfast her eyes wandered to the Slytherin table, color rose faintly to her cheeks as she noticed Blaise sitting off on his own at the end of the table. He looked up and gave her a wink and a small grin before she turned away to head toward the Gryffindor table. Once at the table she sat facing the Slytherins and began filling her plate with sausages, eggs, and a croissant, her appetite more than what it usually was as she was ravenous after her last night's excursions.

Of course as she ate she kept looking at the Slytherin table, and noticed the looks that Blaise was getting from Malfoy. She sighed and a small smile crossed her lips as she realized that she'd saved Blaise from whatever hold Malfoy had on him, as Blaise kept stealing glances at her.

"What are you so cheerful about, Mione?" Ron asked, and she nearly choked on her croissant.

She reached for her goblet of orange juice and took a few sips before answering, "Just glad to know I have one up on Malfoy, is all."

"And what might that one up be?" Harry asked.

Hermione only chuckled and shook her head, and both Ron and Harry exchanged a look as they saw for the first time a completely Slytherin trait surfacing in Hermione...

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Blaise sighed as he placed his schoolbag down at one of the desks in the common room, and fell back into the chair provided with the desk. The day had been long. History of Magic was exceptionally boring, and he found that his gaze was continuously drawn to Hermione's very shapely back as she was leaning forward dubiously taking notes. He'd nearly botched a potion earlier, and he didn't even want to recall the disaster that had been Transfiguration, but still a grin passed over his lips at the thought of the night he shared with a certain witch. Had it really only been the night before?

As he was pulling out parchment, quills, an inkpot, and one of his texts from his bag to begin his homework he noticed a shadow hovering over him. He closed his eyes, mentally bracing himself as he turned his gaze upward to look into the suspicious silvery-grey gaze of Draco Malfoy.

The fair skinned platinum haired boy was positively seething as he noticed the small changes in Zabini. Was he actually glowing?! He now stood before the boy and was prepared to demand an answer, the most incriminating piece of evidence clutched in his hand.

Blaise's eyes widened as he noticed his beloved sketchbook in Draco's hands. Draco suddenly opened it and flipped it to the most recent drawing, of an impish girl with her arms stretched above her head, wild curly hair fanned about her on the ground, an expression of rapture on her face, her eyes closed. Draco held the drawing up for Blaise to see and then growled, "Bloody hell, Zabini. Who the fuck is she?"

Blaise let out a relieved breath as he shook his head and smirked at his former lover, before he answered:

"She is a wild nymph, who has explored her hidden nature. Last night she was touched by the hands of an artist."

End.