Title: Technically, a Suggestion

Author: SkoosiePants

"Let's get married."

Hermione spluttered, dropping the forkful of egg that she'd had poised to shovel into her mouth. "Let's what?"

Blaise yawned over the top of the Daily Prophet. "Get married. You know, tie the knot, have a big reception with good food and dancing. You'd like that."

"Is that really your idea of a proposal, Zabini?" she asked sternly, narrowing her eyes at him across their kitchen table.

"Well, technically," he said, ignoring her glare and taking a sip of coffee, "it was a suggestion." He rustled the paper and snorted. "Longbottom's finally been appointed Herbology professor. Seems he's been apprenticing for ages. You should send a note."

"Oh, should I?" she snapped. "Are you running my life for me now?"

He arched a brow, finally glancing up at her. "Again, merely a suggestion. No need to get tetchy, love."

"You, you..." She reached over and snatched the paper out of his hands, slamming it down on the table. "I can't believe you. Let's get married?"

"What?" He gave her a confused frown, his playfulness waning. "I thought it was a good idea. Maybe your parents will even start calling me Blaise instead of The-Monster-That-Seduced-Our-Little-Girl."

"They do not call you that," Hermione said, affronted.

"They think it, though. You know they do," Blaise said, looking suddenly uncertain. "Listen, Hermione, it's not that big a deal... just the next logical step, right?"

Hermione stared at him, incredulous. "Next. Logical. Step."

"Never thought I'd have to convince you to marry me." He gave a self-depreciative chuckle. "Should I list my glowing qualities? Tempt you?" Folding his hands together in front of him, he said, "Well, I'm healthy, have straight teeth, got all the limbs I was born with. My eyes are a nice blue, my hair, by your own admission, is sexy and silky. I get on well with Potter and Weasley and the rest of the crew. I'm spectacular in bed..."

"Spectacular?" Hermione interrupted, stifling a small grin. She was not amused.

"I've my own business," he went on, "and can make a decent cup of coffee. I'm even willing to clip Crookshanks' nails, despite risk of death. I'm reasonably good at crosswords, chess and remembering to do the dishes, and I’ve only broken one cup in the past month. I can recite all eight verses of Sweet Anna-Mae, and helped Longbottom work out the refrain of Rum, Rum, the Night’s Full of Rum, which was somewhat repetitive, I agree, but that’s the basic concept of pirate ditties anyway, you know...”

He wasn’t even looking at her now, she noticed, his eyes downcast as he traced circles on the oak table. Blaise was deep in a ramble. Blaise never rambled.

“...I’ve only forgotten our anniversary once, and that was when Draco was in St. Mungo’s, so you can’t really blame me for that. Certainly isn’t something you’d hold against me, I wouldn’t think...”

Blaise was nervous.

He didn’t honestly think she was going to refuse to marry him, did he? It was one thing to be put out with the way he’d gone about proposing, and quite another to shoot herself in the foot and say no. She wasn’t stupid, although he’d clearly gotten too caught up in his prattling to recall that fact.

“...And I know you dislike Cat, but you’ve put up with him for this long, haven’t you? Crookshanks pretty much ignores him now, too, so he really shouldn’t be a factor...”

“I’m not an idiot, Blaise,” Hermione interrupted him, her voice sharper than she’d really meant it to be. Although he deserved it, the dumb arse.

He glanced up and caught her eyes, his face slightly flushed. “I know that.”

“I’m not so sure,” she continued, getting up from the table and taking her dishes to the sink. Turning around, she leant against the countertop and crossed her arms over her chest. "You knew my answer before you started, didn't you?"

"Of course," he replied, but she spotted some uncertainty lurking in his eyes.

She sighed. "So start over," she prompted. "And do it properly this time."

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