Who: Hannah Abbott, Blaise Zabini
Where: 8 Hufflepuff Way
When: 1 July 2001, morning
Hannah was sprawled rather comfortably across someone’s chest when she began to float towards consciousness. That wasn’t terribly strange, though. Just because she wasn’t much of one for lifelong commitments didn’t mean she booted men out of her bed or fled theirs immediately after sex. She liked to think the men she slept with were men that she at least liked enough to spend the night with. Just barely cracking her eye open proved that she was, in fact, in her own bed. Usually she wasn’t, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.
Sighing, she let her eye drift closed again. She hadn’t had any coffee yet and it was too early to contemplate the complexities of the morning after a one night stand right now. She’d think about it in an hour or two.
Waking up naturally without an alarm clock was always a pleasure, made even better by the feel of a warm body next to his and the knowledge of a night well-spent between the sheets. And on the couch. And the wall next to the front door. Blaise’s eyes opened, shoulders stiffening as the events of the previous night clarified. The light that peeked through the curtains was both familiar and different. It was his flat, but it wasn’t his bedroom.
That was blonde hair ticking his skin. Knowing that it was his gorgeous flatmate he had spent the night with didn’t make his arm feel any less numb where she was sprawled against him. He was going to have to move, that much was clear. It wouldn’t be quite so awkward with any other woman, though. “Hannah,” he whispered.
“Mmfph,” said Hannah, annoyed that Blaise was making noises at her. Couldn’t he see that she was sleeping? And comfortable? And not caffeinated? Honestly, he ought to know her well enough by now to realize that he was taking his life into his hands.
Wait. Blaise was making noises at her. Suddenly she remembered last night a lot more clearly. Every last extremely enjoyable (and likely incredibly ill-advised) moment of it.
She sat up rather quickly and rubbed her face with her hands. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Blaise sat up a little less quickly, carefully positioning himself and trying to will away any natural bodily functions that might, erm, arise.
This could be awkward or it could be really awkward, but Blaise’s head was still a little foggy from sleep and sex, so he couldn’t be sure how to proceed. “We need coffee, don’t we?” he decided.
Hannah had just reached the conclusion that coffee was going to be necessary if she was going to be able to think about anything other than just what (a lot) and where (all over the flat) she and Blaise had been up to last night, when he asked his question. Honestly, that sort of freaked her out. She ordered herself to remain calm. It was just casual sex. Not a big deal. They were both masters of the art, after all.
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “A lot of coffee.”
Blaise nodded, composing himself. None of his clothes had made it to Hannah’s room, he knew without even looking around. He’d lost them in the kitchen, he thought, though it might have been a gradual process as they made their way through the house.
Now he just had to get up and walk out of Hannah’s room. Blaise wasn’t shy about his body, but this was Hannah. It was weird, even after everything they had done last night. “I’ll go get dressed,” he said, rising quickly and heading towards the door.