1 – Stupidly Nice

'That will be all. You are dismissed.'

Hermione beamed to herself excitedly, knowing exactly which book she'd be needing for the 1000 word essay Slughorn had just assigned them.

'I'll see you guys at lunch, ok?' she told Harry and Ron hastily, too impatient to wait for their answers before she hurried out of the row they were seated in. Roughly squirming past Slytherins and Gryffindors alike (ignoring the Slytherin's disgusted cussing and the Gryffindor's indignant "Hey!"'s), Hermione just about threw herself out the classroom door ahead of the other students and began sprinting as best as she could with her hands full of textbooks and her robes flying along behind her to the library. She was going to have to hurry if she wanted the book, because no doubt other students would want – no, need – itfor their essays too. But, if Hermione acquired it first, she'd be doing everyone a favour. If she got it first, she'd get the essay done tonight and the book would be back on the shelves tomorrow for everyone else to share… without her breathing hot air down their necks and tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for them to finish with it.

Hermione barged through the large open oak doors of the sacred library exhausted. Panting and clutching at her side, she staggered between the study desks, dumping her books on a random one and then power-walking towards the bookshelves (If only running wasn't forbidden in the library!), all the while trying hard to remember which shelf she'd last seen the potions textbook on.

'C'mon, c'mon, c'mon….' she coaxed herself desperately as she hurried through the shelves; shaking her hands at her sides with nervous anticipation. If someone else got that book before she did… argh! It wasn't even thinkable. She'd have to put off doing the essay for another night, maybe even another week knowing the other, reckless students in her Potions class. Hermione turned into her fourth aisle, bumping against another student as he past her but not bothering to apologise in her haste to find her book. Perhaps she'd apologise for ramming past him if she saw the boy later.

Hermione's eyes widened, her hands froze mid-shake at her thighs and her furiously working legs jolted to a halt.

Feeling her heart plummet, Hermione bit her lip and slowly turned to see if what she'd glimpsed was true, and not some twisted mirage. She felt sick as her eyes slowly took in the tall, almost lanky form of – what was his name? Oh, yeah – Blaise Zabini calmly loping down the aisle towards Madame Pince's desk with none other than her book held loosely in his dangling hand.

Imbloodypossible.

Not able to control herself, Hermione let loose a number of very dirty swearwords she could only have picked up from the Weasley Twins under her breath. Her shoulders sagged and the breath she'd been holding dreadfully came out in one long, depressed whoosh.

'No, no, no, no, no, no, no…' she dry-sobbed softly, her feet – jittery with the disappointing loss - jiggling her body up and down a few times. Not at all like a tantrum throwing child.

A few yards in front of her, Zabini paused in his tracks amidst the study tables. His shoulders squared tensely and his head swivelled slightly in the direction of Hermione's now frozen body. Like an animal with the scent of prey, she noted fearfully.

Could he have heard her? Could he sense the animalistic thoughts that had crossed her mind when she saw him with her book? Was he affronted by her far from pleasant visions? Did he, being a Pureblood Slytherin, want to teach her a violent lesson for thinking such degrading things about someone with a higher social status?! Was she going to regret watching that mass murder movie with Ron?!

Pfft, Hermione thought to herself with false reassurance. O-of course not.

For one dreadful second all she could see was his ear, his smooth, olive-skinned cheek and the shape of his aristocratic nose. But then her eyes widened and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks as Zabini's whole lean body turned to face her, quivering (hopefully not visibly) next to a bookshelf. The ghost of a smirk played across his thin pale lips.

'Is there a problem, Granger?' he asked innocently, his silky voice somewhat daunting. Hermione gulped, licking her suddenly dry lips as she warily watched him backtrack towards her with an eyebrow lifted inquisitively.

'N-no,' she stammered embarrassingly, forcing a careless smile onto her lips as she shrugged her shoulders casually. 'No problem at all.'

Zabini nodded his head slowly, the smirk on his face growing more and more precise. Yet whether he believed her or not, he was quite clearly turning to leave when Hermione, confused anger unexpectedly pooling into her stomach, blurted out, 'But you're not even in my Potions class!'

Because he wasn't. And though she couldn't imagine what job he'd be wanting that didn't require a N.E.W.T in Potions, she'd never seen him before, so surely he wasn't in her class. And if he wasn't in her class, why would he be needing the book? Why shouldn't he agree to just lend it to her for just one night? Besides, even if he was in her class, how the bloody hell did he get to the library before she did? It was just unfeasible.

The smirk remained on Zabini's face, but the rest of his face seemed bored and condescending. A dark eyebrow arched higher over an even darker eye with a contradicting air, and Hermione instantly regretted saying anything at all.

'Aren't I?' Zabini objected in what may have been described as a purr. Hermione swore she heard mockery in his otherwise expressionless tone.

Alright, maybe it was time to reconsider. Was it possible that Zabini was in her class? Or was he just messing with her? He'd be a typical Slytherin if he was, and Hermione wasn't one to underestimate people.

'I don't know,' she confessed carefully, feeling ridiculous. 'Are you?'

Zabini made a noise, a cross between a satisfied harrumph and an amused snort. Hermione scowled in return. He held the potions textbook before her, and Hermione couldn't help but notice how much of the book his fingers seemed to be able to cover. Her hands barely covered the spine of such a book, yet Zabini's seemed to be mere centimetres from the edge.

'Was it the book?'

His voice jolted her out of her thoughts about his rather large hand (and what they say about large hands) compared to her own hands, which were tucked between her arms, folded over her chest obstinately. His bored tone still held that slight sardonic edge.

'Sorry?' she asked as her mind struggled to recall the words he'd spoken. But that challenge was soon replaced with the new one of keeping her face coolly composed as the stupid Slytherin smirked again. Zabini shook the book that he now held level with his head for unnecessary emphasis as he asked once more, 'Did you want the book, Granger? For the Potions essay?'

Now he was sounding far too innocent – as if he found her incomprehension entertaining.

Determined to 'keep her cool', and not wanting to accept the book (which she decided was way more trouble than it was worth) from the stupid Slytherin anymore, Hermione forced a bitter smile upon her lips and shook her head.

'No thanks,' she declined, her sweet voice cutting, flowing smoothly out of her twisted lips. 'You can have it.'

Hermione was beyond irked to see that the Slytherin's expression didn't change one bit and that his face was still wiped clean of all emotion, but for one eyebrow that now rose tauntingly. Her eyes narrowed and she shifted her weight onto the other foot, her face set in a stubborn mask of stone. She felt like she was in a Western Showdown.

The Battle of the Facial Expressions. Exciting.

Under no circumstances would she accept the book when he'd been so shamelessly mocking her. That would just be plain desperate. After all, it wasn't as if there weren't other informative books on the subject in the library.

Just none as good as that one.

'Oh no,' Zabini objected, his voice dripping with patronizing sarcasm, 'I insist. You can have the book Granger.' He offered it to her, but Hermione's arms stayed locked beneath her chest as she eyed the red covered book with a new suspicion. Maybe he'd hexed in when she wasn't looking and that's why he was being so almost-nice… Zabini rolled his eyes and shook the book a little, as if trying to tempt her.

'No.' She persisted stubbornly, taking a deliberate step away from the textbook he was waving in her face. 'I don't need it, Zabini.'

His eyes seemed to be laughing at Hermione.

'Ah,' he said smugly, 'but to me, it sounded like you wanted it pretty badly.'

Hermione glowered at him, her lip curling in a childish sneer when in actual fact she was embarrassed that he'd heard her string of foul language.

'Take the book,' Zabini said, sounding impatient now as he ignored Hermione's hateful expression. 'I'll just come and get it tomorrow.'

'How do you know I'll be done tomorrow?' Hermione challenged instantly, staring up at his tall form from behind large, guarded eyes.

Zabini stared right back, his black eyes candidly daring.

'Won't you?' he asked rhetorically.

Blast. He was right. Of course she'd be done tomorrow! Hermione glared at him but reluctantly took the book from his hands. It was impossible that he'd hexed it when she wasn't looking – because she'd been looking the entire time, she'd concluded. She refused to look up at his face because somehow, she knew he'd be smirking.

'Thanks,' she muttered grudgingly as she tucked the book under her arm, finally looking up to see him nod once in return before turning around and walking with a strange, cat-like grace she'd never noticed before, his hands hidden inside the pockets of his school trousers.

It didn't bother Hermione that he didn't say 'you're welcome' or even 'good-bye' before he left; in fact she didn't expect anything more. Because, you see, there was a reason she had never noticed Zabini in her Potions class before.

Blaise Zabini barely spoke at all. Barely showed emotion, even. As she watched him quietly slip out of the library, hardly noticed by anyone aside from herself, she remembered how Zabini was often described as a dark, even ominous character. And it was true. Almost every time she'd ever noticed the intimidating Slytherin, he was either greasing her (or someone else) off for looking his way, or just sitting and observing other people, a bored, dark expression on his face. Either that or he was studying. You'd think someone would have spotted him smiling once or twice, but no. Hermione was almost positive she'd witnessed the closest thing to his smile today when he'd smirked.

Just watching the way he walked; with his head bowed, his dark, glossy hair falling over his equally dark eyes, his olive-skinned hands tucked into his pockets and his feet barely leaving the ground in some weird saunter that would have resulted in a disturbing Filch-like shuffle if performed by anyone else; it didn't really give off a very welcoming vibe.

Well, whatever. It was his problem, whether he wanted to socialise or not. But then again, in Hermione's opinion, social lives were overrated. Why would anyone rather spend a night on a blindingly lit dance floor rubbing against some sweaty person when you could easily be studying, sweat-free, to get Outstanding grades that would guarantee you open doors in every career path you could possible choose?!

She shook her head, bemused by the antics of her fellow seventh years. But then she remembered the book now tucked under her arm and her face broke into an incontrollable beam. So with her absolutely brilliant book in hand and a proud smile plastered on her full lips, Hermione scarcely refrained from skipping to Madame Pince's desk. She looked forward to a very productive night in front of the fire, with all thoughts of the daunting Slytherin gone from her mind.

…For now.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

'So there they were, covered in egg yolk from brainless head to toe and a muggle beater of all things in hand, and naturally, Mum just blows it.'

Hermione giggled as Ginny animatedly told her story, her expression exaggerated and her hands flying in the air energetically as the pair walked with Harry and Ron to class.

'What did she say?' asked Hermione eagerly, sure that it wouldn't have been pretty, knowing Mrs Weasley.

'What didn't she say?' retorted Ginny loudly, her hair flicking against her shoulders as her head bobbed up and down passionately with her words. Hermione grinned. 'I'll leave out the worse of it, but eventually, she goes; 'What in Merlin's name do you have in your hand?" Hermione snorted as Ginny put on a high pitched, crabby voice she assumed was meant to be Mrs Weasley. 'And the twins, stupid ugly brutes that they are, go; 'it's an egg beater, Mum – Dad says it beats eggs!' and then Mum's forehead looks like it's breeding wrinkles she's so confused, and goes 'Beats them at what?!" Hermione let out a bark of laughter at this point, unable to contain it any longer. 'Wait, wait,' Ginny hushed her happily, breathless by the fast non-stop pace at which she was speaking. 'And then Fred and Georgehold up their hands – egg yolk and all – and say 'That's what we're trying to figure out!"

Hermione threw back her head and laughed along with Harry and Ron, as the second youngest Weasley no doubt recalled his memories of the incident also.

'How old did you say they were again?' Harry asked and Ginny grinned.

'Only about thirteen or fourteen,' she replied, flipping her hair over a shoulder. The listening trio chuckled, shaking their heads at the Weasley Twin's foolishness.

'Alright,' said Ginny reluctantly as they neared a turn-off in the hallway. 'I'm off. See ya.' She pecked Harry's cheek, hugged Hermione briefly and waved to Ron before hurrying off down the next corridor, her bag on one shoulder and her brilliant red hair flying behind her. The trio then made their way down the winding staircase that led to the dungeons, trooping through the heavy wooden door and then filing into a row of seats towards the back of the classroom. The large, echoing room already had a few people in it, some sitting in small groups like the three Gryffindors, and others by themselves. As more people began to enter, Hermione pulled her textbooks and parchment from her bag and neatly laid them out on her table. She heard Ron scoff at what he probably considered goody-goody-two-shoes behaviour, but ignored him completely, looking down at her bag once more. She spotted the dark outline of the incredibly informative book that had let her finish her essay so quickly the night before and pulled it out. Maybe she could it lend it to Zabini now, since she knew he'd be borrowing it tonight anyway, and save both herself and Zabini the trip to the library after class. After all, it had been very UnSlytherinish of the boy to give her the book in the first place. Maybe she should return the favour. But she'd have to catch him after class, because Zabini hadn't arrived yet. Hermione placed the book on her desk. Beside her, Ron made another unamused noise.

'More books?' he hissed, taken aback. 'Merlin, Hermione – could you be any more of a nerd?'

Hermione rolled her eyes.

'You say that like it's a bad thing,' she muttered, mostly to herself.

'It is!' exclaimed Ron and Harry sighed as he realised this would be another tough afternoon to get through.

'Oh yeah?' Hermione shot back, her face flushing in annoyance. 'Well we'll see who's got it worse when Molly sees how many N.E.W.T.S you just missed out on this year, won't we?'

Ron glared at her, slumping lower in his chair and crossing his arms over his deflated chest.

'She doesn't know what she's talking about,' he grumbled darkly to Harry, who winked at Hermione as the redhead stared darkly at his cauldron. 'I'm actually fairly confident I'll be getting a few E's at least…'

Just then, a large, rowdy group of Slytherins jostled themselves into the classroom, their reckless noise drowning out every other conversation in the room. Naturally, Draco Malfoy headed the group, though he wasn't talking or playing around with anyone, just marching superiorly ahead of the others with Pansy Parkinson clinging pathetically to his arm. The couple were flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione watched, full of bitter hatred, as Malfoy led his posse to one of the middle rows on the other side of the classroom (The Slytherin Side). He sat at the table in the middle of the row whilst the rest of the Slytherins filled the seats around him, surrounding him like Auror's surrounding the Minister for Magic, not that he ranked anywhere near that standard. She was sourly eying the lot of them, not bothering to disguise her disgusted expression, when all of a sudden she noticed someone seated in the shadows of the very back corner of the classroom.

Fancy that! Blaise Zabini was in her Potions class!

And there he was, sitting as cool as a cucumber and looking as bored as if he'd been sitting there for hours. But Hermione was sure he hadn't. He couldn't have even been seated for more than a minute, because he hadn't been there when Hermione had scanned the room upon her arrival, and he most certainly hadn't entered as part of the Malfoy Cronies, so he must have come somewhere in between. But when? Hermione hadn't seen or heard the silent Slytherin's arrival, and she doubted anyone else had either. Her mouth scrunched to the corner as she marvelled at the soundless grace he seemed to move in. What a wonderful talent to possess; Hermione knew someone like Harry would definitely appreciate it.

But how Zabini got to the classroom didn't matter. What did matter was that he was there and Hermione could hand over the Potions book before class even started. She took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face, letting the air of her breath out in a long silent, controlled exhalation. She stood up, picking up her book and nudging her way past the still muttering Ron and Harry, who caught her eye questioningly.

'I have to give this book to Zabini,' Hermione nodded in the boy's direction as she explained hurriedly, knowing Slughorn could enter the class at any moment. Harry made a confused face, but didn't say anything more as Hermione continued through the seats and onto the Slytherin Territory. Her heart beat ominously in her chest.

She skipped up the gentle slope of steps to the back of the classroom and then – without hesitation – slipped into the last row. One by one, the voices in the classroom went silent, as all attention was nudged onto the Gryffindor who had dared cross the barrier between houses.

Of course, Zabini had seen Hermione approaching and now watched her with a blank, unreadable expression on his face which she refused to let get to her confidence, which was threatening to fall out from beneath her from the pressure of knowing that she had over fifty pairs of eyes on her. She swallowed hard and forced herself to look at Zabini. She smiled in a friendly smile as she approached him, but the sight of her gorgeous grin which must have dazzled him into forgetting to return it.

Yeah. Right.

'Zabini,' she addressed him and he nodded in greeting.

'Granger.'

Hermione awkwardly thrust the book into the space between them for him (and every other student in the dungeon room) to see, offering it to him with a polite smile and ignoring the self-conscious prickle on the back of her neck.

'Here,' she handed the book to him which he took, his jaded expression never faltering as he held the old texts in his lap, his feet propped up on the brace between the legs of his table. 'It's that Potions book you lent me yesterday,' she explained, in case someone had jinxed him with a memory loss spell. 'I thought I'd save us both the trip to the library. You'll just have to return it under my name.'

Zabini stared at the book in his hand and nodded, slowly thumbing through the pages.

'I told you you'd be finished today,' he remarked in a voice that clearly stated 'I was right and you were wrong' whilst still maintaining it's cynical 'couldn't care less' demeanour. Hermione glowered and a flood of regret flowed through her body.

'Oh – give that back!' she snapped through gritted teeth, snatching the book from the Slytherin's hands and holding it possessively against her chest as she marched away, not bothering to avoid the chairs which scraped loudly against the stone floor as she barged past them. She stormed down the aisle, muttering incessantly about ungrateful Slytherins with ridiculously big hands and stupid smirks and smug comments like they knew everything in the whole entire world, both muggle and magic. And as she angrily spun on the spot and began storming back to the silent boy watching her with expressionless eyes, the book swinging in her clenched hand, she muttered things about stupid Gryffindors and their stupid need to do good deeds and stupid Slughorn for ever setting that essay anyway, and most importantly, stupid, stupid Zabini for beating her to the book yesterday, because if he hadn't been so stupid neither of them would be in the current position!

As she gracelessly threw the book back into the Slytherin's lap, she ignored his raised eyebrows and leaned forward so that she could glare him right in the charcoal black eye.

And people thought he was intimidating. Pffft.

'You're just real lucky I'm so bloody nice!' Hermione hissed menacingly at the dark-haired boy, ignoring the amused chuckles and disgusted snorts that erupted from her far from little audience. Hermione shot him one last scowl, which he deflected with a smirk that appeared at the corner of his mouth, and she furiously made her way back to her seat, which she sat in for the rest of the lesson, fuming.