Hey guys! Another oneshot, this time starring Ginny and Blaise! This is a sort-of sequel to Mistletoe, Champagne and a Suspicious Situation, but you don't need to read that if you don't want to. However, if you do, you'll see the connections. This has been in the making for about a week now. I normally wouldn't take so long but schoolwork is killing me. I haven't got any time any more! Today's Friday, though, so I got a bit more time for writing. GinnyXBlaise. Enjoy, R&R!
I slumped onto the table with my head in my hands. Things with Dean were worse than ever, with fights every single day. And about the smallest of things! I hated it when he helped me through the portrait hole. He blew up if I tried to help him with Quidditch or homework.
And the worst part? A certain Slytherin had been catching my eye lately. Slytherin. It was like… declaring my love for Professor Snape!
"Are you all right, Gin?" Hermione asked, touching my shoulder gently. I lifted my head to smile at her, my lips already forming the lie.
"I'm fine, 'Mione. OWL year is tiring, I've no idea how you survived!" I exclaimed, trying to draw the attention off myself and onto exams, something I knew Hermione could discuss endlessly. I groaned inwardly as I realised I'd just dug myself a grave. But to my surprise, she simply said, "It'll be over soon. Six months to go."
I sighed. "Six months is a short time to you? It seems like this year is going on forever."
"Yes, it does," she said absently. I looked up and followed her gaze to where Won-Won and Lav-Lav were… tied up.
"He's a prat, Hermione," I told her with a roll of my eyes. "He doesn't know what he's been missing these past few years. If he's stupid enough to pass up a girl like you – which, obviously, he is – then he's not worth it."
"Leave Won-Won and Lav-Lav alone?" she asked in a baby voice.
"You got it," I replied. She saluted me and I laughed. "And who makes out in the library, anyway?" I asked in disgust.
"Them, obviously," she replied. Then, "What are you working on?"
"Ancient Runes…" I murmured absently, flipping through a Rune dictionary.
"Oh… I'd love to help you, Gin, but Harry's calling me over… got to rush. But I can see Blaise Zabini over there, he's quite good at Runes, only second to me. Shall I call him over?"
"No!" I exclaimed. And catching her weird look, hastened to moderate my tone. "Erm – I doubt he'd really want to tutor a fifth-year Gryffindor."
"I've seen him tutoring quite a few times before… I'll go and call him over," she decided, standing, hooking her bag over her shoulder and striding off.
"'Mione –" I called, but she didn't pay attention.
I watched resignedly as she crossed to where he sat and tapped his shoulder to get his attention, and strained my ears to hear the conversation.
He whipped around with a scowl on his face, that only deepened when she saw who it was. I could almost hear Hermione's eyes rolling.
"Yes, Granger?" he asked in a brusque way.
"Mind tutoring Ginny?" she asked, straight off. I had expected her to beat around the bush quite a bit, but she went straight to the point.
"Erm – what?" he asked, startled by the directness of her question.
"Will you tutor Ginny? Ancient Runes," she repeated, a bit slower. His eyes flicked to me and back, his expression unreadable. He thought for a moment, looking at his book as he considered. At last, he folded down the corner of his page and snapped the book shut, standing up.
"Fine," he said. "Is that all?"
"Yes. Thanks, Zabini," she said with a smile. His scowl softened slightly at it and I found myself wondering what there was between the two. "I'd help her myself but I have to run."
"Anytime, Granger," he replied, already heading in my direction. I repressed an irrational urge to smooth my frazzled hair down and forced myself to remain calm as he approached.
Now, I'd like to say I tried not to let my distaste show on my face. That I treated him with cool politeness. But that would be a lie.
First off, I felt anything but distasteful.
And second, I sort of had to stop myself from jumping him. He had those sort of unfair good looks, the type that turned every girl's heart inside out and back again. Stupid good-looking half-Italian. Dean… Dean was good-looking, but I had to say it, Blaise beat him at every corner. A small twinge of guilt burned in my stomach as I remembered what I had done. I had been brought up to always, always be honest. And the honest thing to do was here was to break up with Dean.
"Which assignment are you doing?" Blaise asked me. I was so lost in thought that he had to repeat the question before I got it – I was too busy glaring at Hermione. I didn't know how or why, but I felt like she had set this up. Surely she hadn't seen –
No. It wasn't possible.
"A study of Zaira and their scrolls and people," I replied absently, fingering a roll of parchment. I scowled at mr Rune dictionary. Stupid, useless thing.
"I've helped two people with the exact same assignment," he informed me. "I did it myself last year."
"I've never seen these Runes before," I mused. "We didn't learn about them in class, so it's odd that she just assigned it to us."
"I think the idea was to make you team up with a sixth- or seventh-year," he said quietly. "With You-Know-Who back, they're promoting inter-house and inter-grade unity more than ever."
"Well," I said with a satisfied smile. "I think we fill both those categories, don't we? You're a Slytherin, I'm a Gryffindor. I'm in fifth year, you're in sixth." He flashed me a quick, heart-melting smile and I was abruptly thrown back in time to Slughorn's Christmas party.
"Hermione, you ready?" I called as I knocked on her door. It swung open and I stepped inside.
"Almost… Ginny, can you do my make-up?" she asked from the bathroom. Sighing, I dropped my purse on the bed and pushed open the bathroom door.
"You don't even want to go with McLaggen, Hermione, why are you making an effort?"
She shrugged. "Since this whole date was to get Ron back, I think it's only fair that I should look nice while I use him."
"Giving him a treat, you mean?" I asked with raised eyebrows. She avoided my eyes.
"Not exactly. But I'd feel guilty if I didn't at least make an effort." I applied some foundation to her face and layered it evenly with the brush, adding extra to the dark circles under her eyes.
"You need to stop studying so much, Hermione," I sighed as I added yet another layer of foundation and powder to the underside of her eye. "Your eye-bags have bags. I don't know if I can even fix this!"
"Just do what you can, Gin," she told me, examining her reflection. I brushed a light dusting of blush onto her face and left her to do her lipstick, eyeliner and mascara.
"Gin, you are a lifesaver. I don't know what I'd do without you," she told me as she grabbed her purse. She linked her arm through mine and we set off for the party.
Snatching a glass of Butterbeer from a passing waiter's tray, McLaggen wandered off, Hermione trailing behind with a tortured expression. I took a glass too and looked around for someone to talk to. I spotted Luna across the room and started to make my way towards her, but stopped when I noticed her companions. Harry was there; I had been so glad when he'd invited Luna. But what stopped me in my tracks was a distinctive, scrawny, large-eyed fraud with beads hanging off her. I did an abrupt about turn. One of the many things Hermione and I had in common was our dislike of Professor Trelawney. We had both deduced ages ago that her "predictions" were nothing but guesswork and a shoddy aura of mystery.
I sighed, wishing I had brought Dean along. Things may have not been all cream and roses between us, but anything would be better than skulking around and exclusive Christmas party… by myself.
Leaning back against the wall, I sighed again, for what felt like the fiftieth time this evening. A shitty end to a shitty day. I brightened a bit at the thought of going home the next day but my mood darkened again as I spotted Blaise Zabini across the room.
I was one of the few people who were invited because of talent. Hermione and I were the only ones, actually. The others had all been picked for their relatives. Zabini was no exception. His mother had apparently been married seven times already, each of her husbands vanishing under suspicious circumstances and leaving her Gringott's vault fuller than ever. It was true, Zabini had been blessed with his mother's undeniably sexy good looks (and was über rich), but that was no reason to treat everyone like a piece of Bowtruckle shit.
Oh, Merlin. I scowled as I watched him make his way through the room, closer to me. I downed the last of my Butterbeer in one gulp and set the glass to the side, retreating a bit further into the corner. And all the while, Zabini was getting ever closer. I suppressed a laugh as I thought of Malfoy, who although was very well connected, wasn't connected enough. Or talented, for that matter.
"Weaselette," I heard a deep voice greet from my right. I didn't bother to conceal my scowl.
"Zabini," I muttered, refusing to look at him. I blinked as something vaguely cylindrical and filled with a fizzy liquid. I blinked again and managed to focus on the flute of champagne this time around. "Thanks," I grumbled, resenting Zabini for making me thank him. I watched from the corner of my eye as he tossed his back in one gulp, eyebrows slightly raised.
"It's not strong," he answered my unspoken question. "Not after you've had a taste of Firewhiskey." I took a tentative sip of the champagne and licked my lips thoughtfully. I didn't like the taste much; nor did I like the slight burn, but after a few more sips, I became accustomed to the tart, slightly sweet flavour. The bubbles and the burn gave me a burst of confidence and I threw the remaining contents of my glass down my throat in much the same way Zabini had before. I set the empty flute down on the table and with a nod of thanks, sauntered away to find another corner – and this time, I hoped no one would interrupt.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I felt a hard stare on my back. My glare, which seemed almost permanent these days, deepened even further as I spun around to stare at the culprit.
"Any reason you're stalking me, Zabini?" I asked sweetly with one eyebrow cocked.
"I'm not stalking you, Weasley," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I was on my way to the table to get some more champagne." I looked behind me, and there was the table, laden with entrees and drinks of every colour. There were even what looked like Jell-O shots, something Hermione and I had tried once. It was a Muggle drink, and it was quite strong. There was an Age Line around it, of course. Seventeen and above only. Zabini reached for one, downing the red drink in a quick gulp. He watched me amusedly as I blushed, realising my mistake. Dumping the empty shot glass on the table, he moved a bit closer.
"Next time, Weasley," he murmured. I strained my ears to listen; I could barely hear over the chatter and music. "Don't assume things. You'll only make a fool out of yourself. Seems to be rather a talent in your family, doesn't it? Your brother manages to do it even without anyone's help," he taunted. My hands clenched into fists, but I forced myself to smile sweetly. Even though I was at odds with Ron, it didn't mean I'd let someone insult my blood without repercussions.
"Right, because your family is so perfect, right Zabini?" I snapped, clutching my purse tightly. "Snooty, noses in the air. I wonder people don't see up your nostrils. Would your mother be ashamed that you're talking to blood-traitor filth like –"
"Don't," he began in a dangerous tone, "talk about my mother."
"Oh, aw. Is it a sore topic?" I asked mockingly. "Poor baby, what did she do to you?"
"Fuck off, Weaselette, before I hex you," he snarled, the tip of his wand letting out small sparks in his anger.
"Wow, temper," I snickered. "Keep it in check next time, love. And just for the record…" I added over my shoulder as I walked away, "… I'm not scared of you." I left him fuming there and went to spoon up a ladle of punch, leaving him fuming behind me.
"Oh, he's not going to be a pleasure to be around later," a voice groaned from beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the speaker, a Slytherin by the name of… Paylor Thanne, I think it was.
"You here as his date?" I asked her, taking a sip of punch. It had an interesting flavour, fruity and sweet, yet with a slightly tart aftertaste. It also had something sharp in it – mint or something, that gave it a zing.
Paylor laughed. "Yes, but only because I didn't want to spend an evening alone with my dorm mates. I really don't want to know the explicit details of their late-night escapades." I grimaced along with her, handing her a cup of punch. She looked surprised by the gesture, but accepted it, taking a sip. She swallowed with a distasteful look and I sent her a big question mark.
"Mint," she explained. "I'm not allergic, but I don't like it."
"So, you were saying?" I prodded.
"Right. So, Zabini asked me to go with him – in his words, 'You're one of the only normal girls here. Would you do me a favour and come with me so that obsessed fangirl twits won't irritate me any more?'"
"So very sweet," I simpered sarcastically. "You said he's going to be a prat later tonight?"
"Boys," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "All you have to do is begin a sentence with 'your mother'." I looked over to where Zabini was skulking against the wall and took a meditative sip of my drink.
"I think I should go apologise," I decided reluctantly.
"You don't have to," she assured me, "but it would be nice."
"Oh, dear Merlin," I sighed. "What has the world come to? I'm doing favours for a Slytherin," I groaned, with a grin at her to show that I was joking.
"I'm asking a Gryffindor for a favour!" she retorted, mimicking my tone. We both chuckled, enjoying the oddness of the moment. I set my punch cup down and turned, squaring my shoulders and heading over to where Zabini lounged back.
His expression cooled considerably when he saw me and I felt an irrational sense of nervousness as I approached. What could he do to me at a very public Christmas party?
"Zabini, I –" my voice broke a bit and I cleared my throat before starting again. "Zabini, I apologise for my comments about your mother. It was wrong of me, and for some insane reason, I actually feel guilty about it, Merlin knows why, considering you Slytherins seem to have to scruples about insulting my parentage…" I trailed off as I noticed frantic halting motions from Paylor. "Right. Ahem. Well – do you accept my apology?" I asked, looking up into his dark eyes.
"Why should I?" he questioned with an aggravatingly calm expression on his face. He spun neatly on his heel and strode off, leaving me gaping in disbelief before my mind caught up to my body and I ran after him.
"You can't -!" I exclaimed, latching onto his arm and yanking him to a halt. He wrenched his arm out of my grasp, his stare cold and forbidding. It told me that I was no better than the shit on his shoes and it made my blood almost boil with anger. I reigned it in with difficulty, trying to speak past the hard little lump of anger in my throat.
"I – I apologised! Do you know how hard that was for me? You can't just – just walk away!" I exclaimed.
"I just did," he informed me quietly. "And I'm just about to –"
"Hell, no," I snapped, dragging him into a corner. "I am not letting go until you accept my apology," I told him, my small hand firmly attached to his forearm. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I noticed that it was very well-muscled, especially so for someone who didn't play Quidditch.
"Make me," he said with a smirk – every Slytherin seemed to possess one -, leaning closer to my face. I smiled sweetly back at him and raised a hand to grab the neckline of his robes – and then Hermione appeared. Cursing my bad luck, I gave her a reproachful look before my brain caught up and I fixed my expression. She looked confused for a moment but handed us drinks, smiling in a strained sort of way. I studied her somewhat frazzled appearance. No doubt she'd spent the whole evening avoiding McLaggen.
"What are you guys chatting about?" she asked lightly. Zabini shot her a suspicious look, but accepted the glass she held out.
"Oh, this and that. Lessons… Quidditch…" I said, a little too quickly. While I didn't want to hurt Hermione by glaring at her, Zabini had no such scruples, sending her a look filled to the brim with animosity.
"How are things with Dean, Gin?" she asked me, and I immediately panicked. What did she know? With a slight glance at Zabini, I decided on honesty. A smaller version of the truth, anyway.
"Pretty rough," I told her sadly. Her eyebrows lifted in shock – she'd probably expect me to say that everything was perfect.
"Tell me about it later, all right?" she said understandingly, laying a gentle hand on my arm. I looked at her gratefully for not pushing the issue in front of Zabini.
"So, Zabini," she began. I smiled at her confidence; alcohol did wonders. Her eyes focused briefly on something to behind us, on my left. Her expression abruptly became panicked and she ran a hand through her hair. "Shit, I have to go," she muttered, before spinning on her heel and darting away. I shot Zabini a look of utter bewilderment. He reciprocated.
"What the bloody hell –" he began, in a tone that suggested Hermione should be locked up in a padded room. But I shushed him and waited as a tall, blonde, arrogant Quidditch player appeared at my side.
"Seen Hermione?" he asked, panting slightly. Poor sod, he'd have been chasing her around all night. Zabini opened his mouth to reply but I beat him to it.
"She said she needed to use the restroom," I lied smoothly, sending Zabini a significant look. He closed his mouth and waited until McLaggen was out of earshot.
"What was that about?" he asked me. I sighed.
"Ron's being a right idiot, so she asked McLaggen to the party to make Ron jealous," I explained. His face turned to an expression of shock.
"You look exactly like Harry did at dinner time," I informed him. He scowled, not liking the comparison to the Chosen One, and sighed impatiently. I found myself impressed with his patience, he hadn't moved away, when he could have a while back.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye and noticed him staring in another direction. Not bothering to see what he was focused on, I flicked my fingers in front of his eyes. He blinked, his eyes swivelling around to look at me. "Yes?" he said, mockingly polite.
"Are you going to accept my apology?"
"No." came the short reply.
"What? Why?" I demanded.
"Oh for Merlin's sake… fine," he sighed, rubbing his right temple, the spot where I myself often got headaches from the strenuous fifth-year schedule. "I'll accept your apology."
"Good," I grinned. But instead of moving off, I stayed where I was, feeling like there was something else I needed to say. He didn't move, either, staring down at me with a contemplative expression.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay," I repeated. He nodded, spun on his heel and lifted his leg to walk away – but didn't.
Or couldn't.
He cursed as he teetered on one leg, coming close to falling but looking like something was preventing him from doing so. Still swearing under his breath, he planted his foot back on the ground and looked up with an expression of dread. I slowly followed his gaze, already knowing what I would find.
Fucking mistletoe.
"Try moving," Zabini suggested in a strained voice. I lifted my leg experimentally and tried to step sideways.
I couldn't move.
"Oh, Merlin," I groaned as I regained my balance. "We're stuck until we kiss."
His dark eyes moved to mine and I involuntarily sucked in a breath. Merlin, he's handsome, I thought, a little bit dazed.
"Might as well get it over with, then," he said with a shrug. I picked up something different in his voice – nervousness? Awkwardness?
But Zabini didn't get awkward… did he?
But I had no time to think anymore, and I had no options left… his face drew closer, eyes locked on mine.
And both our eyelids snapped shut as our lips met. Mine burned from his kiss, like there was fire in his lips. My hands involuntarily slid up to the collar of his dress robes and tugged him closer.
He paused against my mouth for a second before kissing me again, softly. Then he pulled back, looking confused. "I – what? Weasley…" he ran a hand through his hair, lips slightly swollen. I stepped back, noticing that I was free from the enchantment over the mistletoe.
"It was a one-time thing. It never happened," I said quickly. He nodded with an oddly torn expression. I took another step back.
"I – I should go," I stammered, and strode away quickly, shaking. What was wrong with me?
"Weasley. Weasley." A pause. "Ginny!" I snapped to awareness, my eyes focusing on the beautiful boy in front of me. I had seen Mrs Zabini from afar and I couldn't stop myself from wondering who exactly the father had been. Surely she alone couldn't have created something so good-looking…
"What?" I asked, ripped out of my flashback.
"You spaced out. For quite a while," he told me, the look on his face promising me misery. I waited for it. "Fantasising about me?"
I groaned. "Get over yourself. I wasn't thinking about you." But even as I said it, I knew with horrible certainty that a blush was making its way onto my face. I stared down at my half-finished Runes essay, willing the blush to disappear.
"You're going to burn a hole through that essay," Zabini warned.
"Are you going to make stupid comments, or help me with it?" I snapped, albeit rather feebly. It lacked my usual verve.
"Losing your touch, Ginny," he said, surprising me with his use of my first name. "That one didn't even sting."
Honestly, was the boy reading my mind or something?
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "Listen, thanks for coming over to help… Blaise, but I'll figure it out myself," I sighed, shoving my books haphazardly into my bag and standing. I snatched the offending essay up in one hand, resisting the urge to squash it.
"Why?" he asked in shock. I ignored him, heading for the library doors. Just as I was passing through, a hand stopped me, grabbing me around the elbow. I faced him, eyebrows already raised.
"Yes?" I asked, in much the same tone as he had that night at the Christmas party.
"Why are you leaving?" he demanded.
"Personal reasons," I said vaguely, hoping it would suffice.
It didn't.
"Like?" he challenged. I snorted and jerked my arm out of his grasp, striding away. He caught up with me easily and pulled me into a deserted corridor.
"Explain. Now." He commanded.
"Yeah, because you using that tone is going to make me spill," I said as sarcastically as I could manage with him pushing me up against the wall.
"Ginny – what? Just say it."
"No."
"Ginny – "
"No."
"Please, Ginny?"
"No."
"Ginny…" he trailed off warningly.
"What?" I asked sweetly. He smacked a hand to his forehead in frustration.
"Why the hell are you avoiding this?" he snapped.
"Why the hell are you pushing this!" I retorted, trying to shove him off, to no avail. I couldn't help sniffing inconspicuously. He smelled amazing.
"Because I think I have a right to know!"
"What the hell!" I shouted. "What on earth gives you the right to demand an explanation for my actions? Bugger off!"
"Because I kissed you!" he bellowed. I shrunk back slightly, before my Gryffindor courage stood up and roared in protest.
"So what?" I screamed. "I told you, it won't happen again, now let it go!"
"No! I want to know why you've been avoiding me!"
"I haven't –" the lie died in my throat as the past week back at Hogwarts flashed through my head. See Zabini in the library, take an abrupt detour and find information another way (i.e. Hermione). See him in the corridors – studiously avoid his eyes and dart into a secret passageway as soon as possible. Feel his eyes on me in the Great Hall – finish dinner as fast as possible and run out.
"Yes?" he prompted, a tad smugly.
"Fine. I've been avoiding you," I said resignedly.
"Yes, we've established that," he reminded me. "Now will you explain or not?"
"No."
"What the hell?"
"No, okay? I don't owe you!" I said loudly.
"I haven't been avoiding you! I kissed you, so that you could get away from the mistletoe! You owe me. How many circumstances can you think of where I would kiss the Gryffindor spitfire?"
"None."
"Exactly. Now tell me!"
"No!"
"Just bloody tell me, Ginny!" he shouted, dropping all attempts at patience.
"Because I'm too attracted to you for my own good, and because things with Dean are already bad enough!" I shouted, sick of the argument. There was a silence as he processed this. It was almost deafening after all the shouting.
"Ginny…" he began slowly. I closed my eyes. I already knew what was coming. "You know that… it can't happen. You know that, right?"
"I'm not stupid," I snapped, my eyes flickering open. "You don't need to tell me I'm not good enough for you; I know it already."
"Not good enough?" he repeated, sounding outraged. "We can't do this because… think of who your brother is! Think of who your brother's best friend is! Think of who my best friend is! I want you, Ginny, so badly. But… we can't."
He lifted his arms and I stepped out of their cage, staring at the wall pensively. "I understand," I said in a low voice.
"Ginny…" I turned around at his tone, and he was looking ashamed.
"Hey," I said gently, taking hold of his shoulder. "I get it. I know the circumstances are against us. It doesn't matter. We'll move on."
"Right," he said, but he didn't meet my eyes. I leaned up on tiptoes, mustering my Gryffindor courage.
And when I kissed Blaise Zabini for the second time in my life, felt his lips, warm and soft and tasting of something spicy and dark… I had a few revelations.
For starters, I had to stop avoiding Blaise. I had to stop looking for him, too. And I most definitely had to stop kissing him.
Secondly, I needed to cut all thoughts of boys from my mind. OWLs would be my focus, no matter who drew my eye (even if that someone was a painfully handsome half-Italian), I would stay away.
And thirdly, I needed to break up with Dean. I wasn't being fair to either of us by letting this go on. Things between us were fragile and our relationship needed to end. As soon as possible.
But when he pulled back, only to kiss me again, all thoughts were chased from my mind. He kissed me ever so gently and I actually felt my knees tremble slightly. His hands were light on my waist, and when he pulled back, his expression was almost unreadable. But if I looked closely, I could just catch that edge of regret in his dark, endless eyes.
"Catch you later, Blaise," I said to him cheekily, stepping back. I knew he could see it in my eyes too.
I fully intended to stick to my rules. No boys, only OWLs. I broke up with Dean later that night – by mutual consensus. He'd wanted it, too.
But my rules were shattered after the Quidditch final. My attraction towards Harry had been growing ever stronger and things just snapped. We began dating, and life was good, besides the omnipresent threat of You-Know-Who.
But something nagged at me, itched at me until I almost wanted to scratch at myself until it stopped. A little twinge in my heart. A missed beat here, a pounding there.
It happened every time Blaise Zabini smiled at me, and even after I left Hogwarts, and moved on from him, I often wondered why.
Did all those kisses and smiles really start from a Christmas party and some mistletoe?