Poor Hermione, Ginny reflected as she and Blaise retreated from the potion brewing area. After Draco had exploded at Blaise over a tiny mistake, he had banished both of them. He kept Hermione with him to work on the potion.
“It really wasn’t your fault,” she informed Blaise sympathetically.
“I don’t really mind,” Blaise shrugged. “I suspect Draco really wants Hermione to himself. Not that he’s aware of it.”
“Hermione and Malfoy?” Ginny asked, incredulous. “Never going to happen.”
Blaise shrugged quietly to himself. He seemed to do that a lot, Ginny noted. For the first time she wondered what he really thought. His face betrayed little of his emotions, yet at times she would catch him smiling or looking confused. She stared openly at him, trying to work him out.
He turned to meet her stare and Ginny could feel her face heat up. She quickly looked down only to peek back apologetically through her fringe.
“It must be miserable,” Ron drawled with his mouth full that evening, “sitting around in a library with a couple of Slytherins.”
“I do hope everything’s alright,” Mrs. Weasley added anxiously. Shooting a glare at her husband, she added, “If there’s even the slightest problem…”
“Molly, the whole situation is under careful surveillance. There are measures to ensure the girls’ safety,” Mr. Weasley replied wearily. After hearing of the arrangement, Mrs. Weasley had worked her hardest to come up with a different solution, but to no avail.
“It’s actually not that bad,” Ginny replied, twirling pasta around her fork.
Ron snorted to show his disbelief. Ginny scowled at him. Her brother had yet to develop sensitivity and tact, she could easily understand why Hermione would tire of him.
“Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked all of a sudden. Ginny sat up straighter and identified the reason she had felt more relaxed at dinner tonight. She hadn’t had to worry about Harry.
Ron gave a non-committal shrug. Hermione persisted however until Ron fixed her with a long knowing look. For the two old friends, words weren’t always necessary. The implications of their silent exchange seemed to have affected Hermione seriously, however. She stopped conversing at dinner altogether and later admitted to Ginny that she felt excluded.
When Ginny attempted to formulate a compromise between the two parties, Hermione just shook her head.
“They’re in the wrong,” she insisted, her jaw set. “They have to apologize. I can’t believe they would be doing so much without me! It’s not like I lured Malfoy in!”
By the third day, they had settled into a routine at the mansion. Each would sit on their respective couch and hide behind a book. At three they would congregate by the fireplace for tea. (Ginny was really starting to enjoy the lemon scones.) Someone would try to talk, but the whole scene was a bit of a farce.
Undoubtedly, Hermione and Malfoy would argue about who had nearly screwed up the potion the most and then retreat to the cauldron further their debate and prove some obscure point.
The fourth day, they didn’t even show up. Malfoy rushed in to collect a couple of teacups. Ginny opened her mouth to explain that Hermione liked two lumps, only to notice that Malfoy had already obliged.
She and Blaise watched him run off.
“Well, I guess it’s just the two of us,” Ginny started brightly.
Blaise just sipped his tea.
“Generally, when two are taking tea, they converse with each other,” Ginny snapped.
“Fascinating,” Blaise observed.
Ginny stifled a sigh of frustration. The roles had been reversed. Now, instead of catching Blaise watching her, she found herself observing him.
She couldn’t comprehend how he preferred quiet and solitude. She had grown up surrounded by bustle and chaos. At home, her feet rarely stopped moving. In the stillness of the Zabini manor, she found she had a chance to pause and catch her breath. The contrast was so great, she wasn’t even sure she could compare the two environments. Nor did she know which she preferred.
“He’s absolutely infuriating!” Ginny complained to Hermione. Her hands pulled at her hair in frustration. “The whole time we sat at tea, I had to coach him to talk!”
“Really? That’s just like Pride and Prejudice!” Hermione exclaimed.
“No it’s not!” Ginny protested. “You and Malfoy are more like it than I!”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “The book is all about mistaken impressions. I always knew Malfoy was a prat, and he hasn’t disproved me yet.”
“He knew you take your tea with two lumps,” Ginny argued.
“Well, he’s observant. He ought to be, as he’s second in the class,” Hermione argued.
“Where are my five sisters?” Ginny demanded.
“You got five brothers and Ron instead,” Hermione replied. “My sympathies about the last one.”
Ginny only scowled in reply.
The fifth day was a little better. They did manage to talk a little at tea. Ginny was stunned to hear that Blaise didn’t really follow Quidditch.
“The same thing happens game after game,” he’d explained, voice muffled by toast. He swallowed, “The Snitch is caught. Someone wins, another person loses. Occasionally someone dies and the red ball is tossed around a lot.”
“You’re joking.”
“What? Did I misunderstand the game?”
“It’s more than just a game. For one thing, you’re flying,” clearly Ginny expected that to be an argument by itself. “And you get the adrenaline rush from outracing others. You never know how the game is going to end. It’s the most exciting thing in the world!”
The passion she felt for the game was difficult to translate, however. Her judge remained unconvinced by her argument. He even had the gall to snort his doubt.
“You can’t know much excitement, then.”
“Alright, what do you love most?” she countered fiercely. She did have an ulterior motive, besides justifying Quidditch. She felt an acute desire to understand what fueled him.
“I don’t quite understand,” he frowned, perplexed.
“What’s your passion? What activity do you enjoy most?”
“I’m not sure you would really call it an activity…” he trailed off thoughtfully.
“What?” she persisted, she had moved to the edge of her seat. Blaise faltered as he stared into her eyes.
“Secrets,” he replied simply. Ginny blinked, confused.
“Knowing other people’s secrets,” he elaborated.
“What’s so great about that?” Ginny queried.
Exasperated, Blaise explained, “You understand a person then. You know how they think, what makes them tick. Then they become predictable, their actions seem rational. Oh, never mind, you probably don’t understand.”
“No, I do,” Ginny cut in hurriedly. More than you know, she added silently, thinking of her own observations about Blaise.
Blaise nodded and picked up his book again. Ginny felt despair to see him quickly retreat after they had just made so much progress.
“I have a secret,” she blurted, anything to keep him from disappearing behind that book.
“Most people do,” he replied. “What’s yours?”
“That’d be telling,” she grinned mischievously and grabbed her own book, disappearing behind. She smiled to herself that this time she was the one to cut off the conversation, not him. Blaise just stared at her for a few minutes, trying to figure out what had happened. Then he gave himself a private little smile and returned to his text.
The next day she brought her mini Quidditch team replicas, another gift from Fred and George. Blaise was more interested in the charms on the players than the actual game. The only bit he found interesting was when the blue Seeker drowned in his tea cup, looking for the snitch that was inside.
“Dash of lemon, please,” she asked, holding her hand out for her own tea. She felt mildly disappointed that Blaise did not know how she liked her tea. Flustered, she chased the superfluous thought from her head.
As he leaned over to hand her the teacup, their hands brushed. His hand shook and he ended up slopping tea onto her.
“Oh!” Ginny exclaimed. She set her cup down and grabbed a napkin to blot out the mess.
“Sorry,” Blaise mumbled.
“No need, it happens to everyone,” Ginny brushed his apology away with a wave of her hand. “Why do you always offer tea, anyway?”
“I don’t really know what else to do with people, other than feed them,” Blaise confessed.
“Here I thought small talk was your forte,” she grumbled, more to herself.
“Not really my thing,” Blaise shrugged. Feeling a bit playful, he added, “Besides, you can be sure of a conversation starter when you pour tea on someone.”
“I know of some far more effective conversation starters,” Ginny replied with eyebrows raised. “They include ‘Hello, how are you?’ and Quidditch, or the weather.”
“I’ve never heard of them. It’s probably because I was emotionally deprived as a child, no real mother and all,” Blaise explained dully.
Ginny stared at him, unsure what to say.
“You can blame pretty much everything on that, you know,” Blaise informed her. His face was still smooth and blank, but she could have sworn that she saw a twinkle in his eye.
Ginny felt the corners of her mouth quirk. Trying desperately to contain her laughter, she pursed her lips together. Blaise gave a small frown in her direction. It was clear that he, too, was trying to hold back a laugh.
That was too much for Ginny, she burst out in laughter.
“That,” she gasped. “Is. Such. Bollocks.”
Blaise started to laugh as well. A deep, rich laugh that was at odds with his cold demeanor.
“I’m serious,” Ginny rejoined. “The only reason that excuse gets you anywhere is because no one can prove otherwise.”
“You don’t think that I had a bad childhood?” Blaise inquired.
“I think,” Ginny said, exasperated, “that you are throwing yourself a huge pity party.”
She enunciated this point by poking him in the chest. Her playful eyes told him that she was not accusing. He cottoned on.
“Well, it’s a very lonely party,” he stuck out his bottom lip in a bit of a pout. This drew another laugh out of Ginny.
“You’re horrible! Do people actually buy that act?” she giggled as he deepened the pout with puppy-dog eyes. Elation rose within him, this was the first time he had made anyone laugh. It felt immensely relieving not to have someone pity him. He had always felt the burden of those unwanted stares and whispers.
“Always handy if you want an extra galleon,” he smiled.
Ginny just rolled her eyes in response. A sudden thought struck her and she changed the flow of the conversation.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did.”
“Stop acting as though you’re six!”
“I think you’re selling me short, that comment required the brains of a ten-year-old.”
“Stop avoiding the subject!”
“What subject?”
“I wanted to ask you a question!”
“Why can you never remember what you were thinking right before you fall asleep?”
“Huh?”
“You said you wanted a question.”
“No! I’m going to ask the question. Oh, this is getting ridiculous! Why did you kiss me?”
Blaise swallowed his hot tea a bit too fast the wrong way. He coughed and sputtered for a minute before finally speaking again. “Pardon?”
“Ages ago,” Ginny clarified. “Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?”
“I know what you meant, but why do you care?” Blaise asked. Inwardly, he felt like curling under a nearby rock for eternity. This is why he was never spontaneous, the consequences always came back to humiliate you.
“Because…” Ginny bit her lip. “I just…care.”
Blaise gave her a measured look, she really wanted to know. She wasn’t going to use the knowledge to take advantage of him, either. He couldn’t help but feel slightly surprised that she didn’t already know. Maybe she had guessed and wanted confirmation?
Focus, he thought to himself. She was expecting an answer.
“Because…” he let a breath of air out of his cheeks. “Because I like you.”
Ginny’s response was rather unexpected. Her eyes seemed to light up and a small, sweet smile rose to her lips. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a triumphant crow.
“Finished!” Hermione declared victoriously, marching in between the two and shattering whatever moment there had been.
A/N: Okay, so I'm going to apologize for taking so long in between updates. I have the rest of this plot mapped out! (Again) But this time I think it's final because I've sort of started working on a sequel. I'll try to get to Influence of Wolfsbane by next week! Please, please, PLEASE review!