Hygienic

Hermione Granger was running a soft bristled toothbrush along her teeth with such vehemence, that you would believe her poor canines (or her gums for that matter) had done something wrong. She wasn't actually "running" the toothbrush against her teeth, but perhaps it could be called scouring maybe. Maybe they had started to plot their world dominance with their silver-plated cavity fillings and wax, mint-flavoured floss.

"Merlin, Granger, I didn't taste that bad," came a spat from the conjoined bedroom. Hermione popped her head around the corner, pulling the purple, plastic toothbrush from her mouth. She looked like a rabid animal with her mused hair, wide, questioning eyes and foaming mouth.

"Oh, no. You taste...erm...wonderful," a spray of toothpaste foam accentuated her "ful." She stuck the toothbrush back in her mouth and scrubbed some more.

"You lie," shouted the figure who was slouching on the crimson loveseat.

Hermione looked back at him and glared. She spat vividly into the sink. Vividly because, although this slouching figure couldn't see the spittle, he could very much hear it, vividly.

She walked back into the room, holding a cloth to her mouth, no doubt removing the foaming white suds from the entire lower-half of her face.

"I do not," came her muffled cry. The offending figure, sprawled against one arm of the couch shot her a withering glare.

"Then I don't see why you've been scrubbing away all of your leftover gum tissue for the past..." he glanced at the clock, "Four minutes."

Hermione shrugged. "I felt dirty," she said, turning back into the bathroom.

The sinewy boy hoisted himself off of the couch in one swift movement and walked to the doorway of the bathroom in three long ones. He leaned against the frame as he watched the Head Girl cup water in her hands, take a sip, throw her head back and gargle.

"Dirty? You feel... dirty," he asked her. Hermione looked at him through the corner of her eye. She closed her mouth and leaned over the sink to spit the water out in one quick, direct stream of water. He watched in fascination.

"You know, I could never do that," he mused. Hermione raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"It's easy." She shrugged. He shook his head and redirected himself to the previous quarry.

"Dirty?" he asked again. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Zabini. Dirty, filthy, disgusting, squalid, nasty, desp-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. And may I ask you why you must harm my precious, egomaniac psyche by suggesting that you feel, after a most fantastic snogging session...dirty?" he said, narrowing his eyes. Hermione turned to him, leaning on the counter-top with one hand.

"It's just a way I get. I get this feeling that I need to do something, clean something to make myself feel better. And brushing my teeth always helps," she said, shrugging.

Blaise opened his mouth to say something then closed it. There was a pause and Hermione grabbed a bottle that looked like what could have been a Family-Size portion of liqueur. If they made Family-Sized portioned liqueur bottles. The liquid inside was transparent orange and the label contained big, block letters of a word that started with an L. Hermione twisted off the top and put her mouth to the rim, she tipped her head and the bottle back, taking a quick gulp.

"Easy there, kid," Blaise said with a laugh. Hermione glared at him and swished the liquid around her mouth.

"So are you saying that your perpetual scrubbing and...mouth cleansing had nothing to do with me?" he asked.

Hermione's eyes got big and she started waving her hands and bouncing up and down. A whining sound came from her throat. She started to bounce in circles. Blaise straightened from his leaning-stance and watched her in worry-cross-fascination.

Finally, after what could have easily passed as a minor seizure, Hermione spat the liquid into the sink. A potent odor reached his nose of what smelt strongly of... some diluted version of oranges.

"Merlin, Hermione. One- are you alright? Two- What is that. It smells bloody terrible," Blaise exclaimed.

"It's mouthwash. And I know... it tastes even worse. And I'm fine," Hermione said after gargling a bit more water. Hermione turned to him and grinned.

"I feel much better," she said pleasantly. Blaise gave her an astounded look.

"After you purged your mouth of any plaque and did an interesting I'm-on-fire dance, you sure you have any remaining live tissue left in your mouth?"

"Nope, I'm pretty sure it's all in the sink," she said, leaving the bathroom after wiping her mouth on a washcloth once more. Blaise followed her out.

"Good. Now, you can grow a phlegm culture in there," he muttered. This got a laugh out of Hermione who collapsed on the loveseat, exactly were Blaise had been sitting. He huffed.

"You're in my spot," he said, standing in front of her. Hermione shot him an innocent look.

"Oh, my, I'm terribly sorry. I think I'll mourn right here," she said with a cheeky smile. Blaise glared at her.

"No, really. That's my seat," he said with a firm, serious look plastered on his face.

"Oh, dear, seeing as this is my loveseat, located in my room, in my private quarters, I could hardly concur," she said, resting her chin in her hand.

"I have been sitting in that exact spot for the past eleven Wednesdays and thirteen Saturdays without failure. That spot has permanently contoured to my exact physique with such specialty and comfort that I and only I could ever find solace in such a seat. And I am not kidding when I say I would sit right on top of you if this meant I could sit in My Spot," he said with a throaty growl on the last words.

Hermione began to giggle at his ramble and shrugged. Blaise made move to sit atop of her. She squealed.

"BlaiseBlaiseBlaise!" she cried. "Don't sit on me! Doing that would ruin this exact contortion for forever!" she rushed out. Blaise paused and straightened himself.

"You're right, Granger. In that case..." he trailed off and leaned over to scoop her into his arms in which he lifted her (not without high-pitched protest from the scooped) and tossed her to the opposite side of the loveseat. He then promptly situated himself in "His Spot". Hermione was glaring at him from her crumpled spot. After some huffing and mumbling (in which only inquired smug smirks from the scoop-ee), Hermione straightened herself.

"Would you feel dirty again if I kissed you?" Zabini inquired casually. Hermione laughed a bit.

"You make it sound... completely in the wrong context, Blaise," she said, turning her head to him. "I feel dirty when I haven't done any work, laid around in sweats and snogged my lover for hours on end." Blaise nodded like he understood, but the expression on his face said otherwise.

"Yeah, you harlot," he stated. Hermione's bottom lip jutted out in mock pout. Blaise scooted from his situated spot on the couch and cupped her chin to kiss her gently.

"Yeah, but you're my h- Merlin! That stuff tastes disgusting!" he exclaimed. Hermione sighed and shook her head.

"Then go brush your teeth."