He stared hard at her. Was this really worth it? Was she?
The answer to that question was obvious and required no serious consideration: everything inside of him called out to have Ginevra Weasley. For the last two years, he'd stood back and seethed in helpless frustration watching her dally with other boys, barely restraining his need to do violence upon the competition. The day after she'd given away her virginity to Potter, he'd almost committed murder, in fact, having felt the shift in her sexual aura and instinctively known what it had meant. That day, something deep inside him had despaired and raged at the lost opportunity to own that important piece of her. Now his desperation had reached a peak. He was a man on the edge, and he had to have her, and this game gave him the only legitimate excuse. If he quit now, he was certain she wouldn't let him anywhere near her ever again, especially after that spanking, and then he'd end up becoming the monster he feared he might be for too many years so he could just take what he wanted. If things went that far, he'd hate himself forever. No, there was no choice but to go on.
"Fucking, buggering hell!"
"You said it," his partner cheerfully agreed. "So, I guess this means you'll be dropping out of the game now? Too bad. A shag is hardly worth the risk, though, huh?" He heard her stand up and make her way to the door. "I'll just tell the others and make your excuses. Ta-ta, Zabini!"
He heard her turn the knob and panicked. "Shut the fucking door! We're not done here," he snarled and stood up, pacing back and forth, feeling a muscle in his eye twitch in irritation. "Fine, I'll give you your answer."
It took her a good twenty seconds to move, as if she were too shocked to comprehend what he was about to do, and then she quietly closed the door and came to sit back on the edge of the mattress, waiting. He put his hands over his face again, refusing to look at her, unable to believe he was about to make what would be, he was quite sure, the biggest mistake of his life. "Take the Oath first," he stipulated. "Right now. Swear on your power as a witch that you will never, under any circumstance, reveal my True Wizarding Name to another for as long as your soul walks the Earth, whether in life or as a ghost."
His partner raised an eyebrow at that. "Extreme, but fine." She held her hand up over her heart. "I, Ginevra Molly Weasley, do hereby swear upon my power as a witch and a practitioner of magic that I will never, under any circumstance, reveal Blaise Zabini's True Wizarding Name to another soul for as long as my soul walks the Earth, whether in life or as a ghost."
There was no glow, or fireworks, or sound of a ringing bell, but the Oath she had just undertaken would certainly now bind her powers to it as firmly as if she had signed a magical contract before the entire Wizengamot. It was the best he could ask for, since an Unbreakable Oath wasn't an option, as they'd need to include a third party to bind them, and then they'd have to explain all of this mess to that person…which Blaise had absolutely no intention of ever doing.
His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. "MERDA!" he swore in Italian, then turned and pointed an emphatic finger at the little redhead sitting on the mattress and claimed her right then and there as his own. "Tonight, I'm going to fuck you hard for this, Weasley—all over this sodding room! I'm going to own you, body and soul! And after this bloody game is over, I'm coming after you for more, I swear it! You're mine!" Ginevra waved him on. "Sure, sure. Whatever. Spill it or forfeit already. We're wasting time."
Gritting his teeth, Blaise ran a hand one more time over his closely-shaved head, shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "My given name is Blaise Alessandro Zabini." He turned and looked his woman dead in the eye. "My True Wizarding Name is Blasius Cyne Sovrano Zabini. It means 'Fiery Royal Ruler.'"
To his surprise, his lioness did not laugh. Instead, she looked rather shocked that he'd actually done it.
In truth, he was, too. He was feeling a little ill over the whole thing, in fact.
Weasley opened her mouth, and Blaise knew—just knew—what she was going to say. "Don't you dare," he warned, giving her a stern frown. Blinking with faux innocence, looking entirely too scrumptious for his sanity at the moment, she absolutely dared.
"It's a very nice name, Blasius."
At the tingle along his spine at the speaking of just one of his three magical names, Blaise started swearing his head off. He paced back and forth, feeling utterly defenseless.
What had he done? Had he finally gone insane?
"Tsk, tsk, Zabini. Language," his auburn-headed minx mocked, smirking. "Now we're even. You made me vulnerable, and I've made you vulnerable. We both have secrets about the other we're never going to tell anyone else. I think that's more than fair."
She would, as the situation appealed to her Gryffindor sensibilities. It rubbed his Slytherin ones all wrong, though.
He swore some more, again in Italian so she wouldn't understand him.
"Are you quite done?" she inquired. "We should move on, because this round's almost over and I still have four more questions to ask you."
Blaise stopped cold, turned to her and gaped. How could she continue on after having so fantastically manipulated him? Didn't she realize that now she could just use his name and order him to quit, and he'd have no choice but to obey? Fuck, was she really that naïve that she had no idea of the power she now held over his will?
Weasley had the audacity to shrug, clearly not understanding the look he threw her way. Either that or she was intentionally ignoring the two-thousand-pound elephant in the room in favour of torturing him further.
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