Fly in the Web [open]

[Blaise Zabini]

"Oh, Blaise, dear, have you met Charles?"

"Charles? What happened to Ranius?"

His Mother's laughter echoed in his mind as a short, balding man with a handlebar mustache stepped up to him. He was just like all the others. Old, and blinded by his mother's beauty.
He just hoped she would make this one a right sight quicker then the others and get it over with.

"It's a pleasure, Charles."

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It was no surprise that he had managed, once again, to find himself outside. The brisk September air ruffled his touseled hair as he strode, purposefully towards the lake. Thoughts clouded his mind in the same way that the fog was clouding over the grouds. It was a dreadful feeling, not being able to see clearly.

He'd been fourteen when he had met Charles. Charles, like all of the others, was just another victim, a fly caught in his mother's web. He wouldn't ever say so, though. He cared for his mother too much to say a word against her. Well, maybe not a word but he would not and could not speak of the things she'd done. Instead, he thought of them.

He paused briefly, reaching into the pocket of his robes to pull out a small silver tin. It was the exact length of a cigarette and had enough room for two rows of five. He opened it and pulled one such thing out, placing it between his lips as he slipped the tin back into his robes. He patted the front pockets of his trousers then.

"Bloody hell where is that blasted thing?"

Frowning, Blaise patted his shirt pocket and felt a small smile tug at his lips at having been able to find the silly contraption. Ah, there it was. He flicked it and the flame erupted from the end of it.

Almost delicately, he held it to the end of his cigarette and inhaled, relishing the way the smoke furled away from the tip. Ah, that's much better. He thought to himself as he came upon the rocky outcropping he'd been seeking. He found his niche and rested his back against the worn surface of the boulder as he exhaled, sending a ribbon of blue gray smoke furling into the air.

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[Daphne Greengrass]

Even if Daphne's eyes had been closed, she would have been able to tell who was heading in her direction, to the lake. She was a very avid people watcher, and as such, she had basically memorized the sounds of specific people's footsteps, the way they breathed when they walked, the sounds they made. These subtleties, minute details no one even acknowledged under any other circumstance, were what made her unique: she could pick up almost anything. So of course, even before the infamous Mr. Zabini came loping toward her with his unmistakable gait, she knew it was Blaise who would soon be joining her.

His company wasn't unwanted. Daphne would have to admit that out of the number of boys at school she found desirable (that number countable on just three fingers), Blaise was quite possibly at the top of her list. Unfortunately, he was apparently quite the ladies' man, and she didn't handle infidelity well. It usually translated as 'Daphne, I like you just dandy and all, but you really aren't cutting it for me.' And by goddess, Daphne did hate being inadequate, especially in a man's eyes. Ever the perfectionist, Daphne would never allow her man to cheat on her.

She would not have been surprised if he didn't immediately detect her presence. After all, she was rather well-hidden, if she did say so herself. The thin red, spaghetti-strapped sun dress she wore, a rather irrational choice of clothing given the weather, blended in with the bright palette of colours that blossomed on the tree whose branches she was perched strategically upon, veiling her adequately. She had scaled the tree with expert skill, sitting with nearly perfect regal posture on its two thickest limbs, and if not for her dove white skin and honey-coloured hair, she would have blended in nearly perfectly. Rather than keep him guessing if the feeling of being watched was just in his imagination or reality, she eased herself a little over the edge of the outermost branch and gracefully leaped from the tree. She landed a perfect, barefooted landing in the cool grass.

"Care to give up a light, doll? I always return the favour." Daphne's tone was light and playful, reflecting the smile her lips had blossomed into. Blaise would probably have something derogatory to say about her use of the word 'doll' in reference to him (they always did), but that all the better for her amusement purposes. She laughed softly, "In one way or another."

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