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temporary insanity

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Women are strange, confusing creatures, and anyone willing to stand them was choosing a life of insanity for the rest of their days, as Blaise Zabini knows all too well.

Pressing his newly filled glass to his lips, he takes a hearty drink, already signaling for another round. Maybe if he got drunk enough he'd forget about the little surprise his not-girlfriend recently sprung on him.

What in Merlin's beard possessed him to fall for the quirky Ravenclaw of all people? Women in general were confusing enough, but Luna Lovegood?

Blowing out an annoyed puff of air, he glared ahead at the wall in front of him – charmed to bare expensive liquor in endless stacks, all of it just begging to be consumed and trying to convince him from within the shiny glass that contained them that the answer to his question lay at the bottom of them.

He shook his head. Not an alcoholic. Not an alcoholic.

Probably a raving lunatic, or perhaps on the verge of becoming one; it was hard to say sometimes especially with Luna in his life, her declaration ringing in his brain, "Nargles don't agree with pregnancy," she'd said, interrupting herself from her translation of runes to frown thoughtfully, hand over her abdomen. "I'd happily take something for the morning sickness if the Nargles didn't like the potion so much…"

To say he was dumbfounded was a gross understatement.

"P-Pregnant? What?"

She, as usual, didn't notice his stupidly stuttering self and went off in a tangent about her runes again as if she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

Sometimes he was reminded of Hermione Granger when she went off like that, the two women were in the Department of Magical Artifacts, and if it weren't for Luna's musings about some strange creature called a Feltix and its habit of eating hieroglyphics, he could have been persuaded to believe it was Granger before him, polyjuice-d and trying to take the piss out of him.

Except less than twenty minutes before Luna had agreed to do that thing she had read about in some muggle book (loaned to her by Granger, to his surprise), and that had required a certain level of skill and flexibility on both their parts. There was no way know-it-all, top-button-done, skirt-religiously-at-the-knee Hermione Granger would ever –

Luna had peered at him then, sweet dreamy smile gracing her ethereal features. "You know, Hermione suggested yoga would help."

Oh bloody hell. "Yoga" was practically code for –

"Pregnant?" He repeated instead.

In reply, she took off her top, and all the blood that drained from his face earlier found other places to be…

Not that he stopped panicking.

He'd been in a constant state of hyperventilating since, and that just wouldn't do. He felt as if he should be drinking Liquid Courage to get him through this, perhaps he should be on it constantly like one of those muggle drips. He was no Gryffindor after all. Liquid Courage would be just the thing for a recently cured (and therefore tentatively stable) commitiphobe, if there was such a thing. Surely with Liquid Luck there'd be Liquid Courage right? Right?

Eventually with his drink polished and no barman to lament his troubles to (honestly, wasn't that what they were for?), Blaise headed home, his thoughts reasonably in order as he entered his flat. The lights were all off except for the one in the kitchen, and he knew where Luna was.

Knowing her habit of wandering off and getting distracted by a million things (with at least half of them being the imaginary creatures she amused herself with), it was comforting to know that she was here, where after a long day he'd find her easily.

Turning the corner to enter the kitchen, there she was.

Sitting atop the counter beside the sink, a carton of ice-cream in hand and spoon in mouth; her long legs endlessly longer in her tiny cotton shorts, her translucent blonde hair in a messy bun with a carrot keeping it in place. As usual her expression was peaceful and calm, her eyes smiling at an invisible something in front of her.

For a moment, he simply paused at the door jam to watch her, to catch his breath and repeat the words that needed to be said, his heart quietly thumping against his ribcage.

It wasn't until the far away quality of her eyes slowly faded as if a veil was being lifted from her and she returned to him that his heart thundered furiously awake.

Her smile was dreamy as she greeted him, "Blaise."

"Marry me," he blurted, and inwardly he cursed himself. "Hello," that is the proper thing to say. Not –

"No."

"What?"

She shrugged, careless smile still in place before she hopped off the counter, ice-cream carton in hand. "Eat this with me."

"I…huh?"

Patient as always, Luna grabbed his hand and led him to wherever it was that she wanted him.

Still confused, he could only follow. "You-you said no." Perhaps he heard wrong? Maybe he got drunker than he thought? Surely she didn't just say –

"I did," she confirmed unperturbed. "Will you eat ice-cream with me?"

"Is this a pregnancy thing?" It had to be, there was no way she would say –

"Of course not, I've always loved ice-cream."

"Not that," he said, ripping his hand from hers in frustration. "You saying no, is that a pregnancy thing or -"

Looking at him in wonderment, as if he were the crazy one, she answered, "Oh no, I don't want to marry you."

"You're pregnant," he repeated slowly, "with my child."

She hummed, unconcerned. "Mmm, I am."

"But you won't marry me."

"If that was a question, my answer would be yes."

"Yes you'll marry me?"

"No, no I won't."

Taking his hand again, she continued to tug him along.

He wondered aloud, his tone guarded at his newly injured ego, "What exactly are we doing then?" What indeed. Meet, date, marry and have kids; wasn't that the order of life?

"After I eat this ice-cream?" Luna asked thoughtfully, "Sex maybe, pregnancy makes me randy."

His mouth opened and closed in disbelief.

Women, he decided firmly, are strange confusing creatures, and he was more than willing to plead insanity.