Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or his little friends or even the ridiculously complicated world he lives in. Those are J.K. Rowling's toys; I'm just borrowing. Lovely Ms. Rowling, please don't sue!

Furthermore, I don't actually own the personalities behind Blaise, Eddie, Daphne, or any other characters I'm stealing from Daphne Greengrass and the Sixth Year From Hell (and other stories in the series). Their names belong to Jo, but their characters are most definitely the property of WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot. I'm just messing with them and putting them into yet another slightly alternate Harry Potter universe.

On to the story!

I'm waiting for him to show up, but I don't think he's coming. I tap my foot against the floor, waiting, but there is absolutely no way he's going to come.

Not that I want him to. Right?

The hallway is empty and dark, so the echoes from the tapping seem even louder. I'm not completely certain as to where I picked up this habit, although I think my father might have had something to do with it. Mum had said he was a very impatient man, just like me. When I think about him, though, all I can see are a couple of brown eyes and an overlarge nose.

I'm still waiting, and I don't like to wait. My own tapping is driving me insane, multiplying in the echo, but I can't seem to stop.

"You know, that can annoy some people."

I turn, and there he is, tapping along with me, mimicking my every move.

It's hot.

* * *

If my life were any emptier, it wouldn't even exist. I've heard the Mudbloods talk about their pathetic lives before they found magic, how happy they felt when they discovered they weren't just freaks—well, so they might think, anyway. Even they're more fulfilled than I am.

Maybe that's why I didn't turn away when Daphne first gave that audacious suggestion.

Daphne. A foul mouth, those enrapturing eyes, that cute, heart-shaped backside. She gives me what I want; I give her what she wants. Sometimes money, sometimes protection.

At the moment, she's kneeling in front of me, but things have been different these days. Carmichael is a wonder, and somehow the vicious little orphan doesn't match up anymore—and she doesn't even seem to be trying anymore. She raises an eyebrow, and I'm flooded with apprehension.

"I know."

Bollocks.

"You don't know anything," I mutter, turning her face to look at me. She's beautiful, but I need more.

"I saw you last night, standing in the Charms corridor, tapping your foot like I know you're itching to do right now." Her smile is caustic, and I mentally stamp the impatient urge further down in my brain. "And I saw who you were with. Maybe I just have a little too much estrogen to be your type."

I'm not gay!

"I'm not gay, Greengrass!"

"Oh, really? Then just what were you and Eddie Carmichael doing together?"

I search my brain for an answer, anything that could make her shut up. "We were . . . I was . . . he asked me to . . . to help him sell his merchandise. The fake tools he has to stimulate learning, you know the ones, Baruffio's Brain Elixir and the lot."

"And you had to meet after hours in the dark of night, the way you and I are now?"

My cheeks aren't reddening. I trained in the art of self-control long ago. "I can't be seen with a Ravenclaw like him. I have a reputation to uphold."

"So you tested his elixirs . . . in the dead of night, in the loo on the third floor. I could hear you, you know. Moaning and panting and begging him for more. Which surprised me, you know, because you've never bothered begging me for anything. He must be good.

"I bet it wouldn't be good for your reputation if what you're doing got out there. And your mummy dearest would be heart-broken, wouldn't she?"

"Shut up," I say coolly, hoping she's not close enough to feel my heartbeat. "You don't have any proof. Nobody would just believe the word of the likes of you."

"All I'm saying, Zabini, is that you'd better watch your step. Maybe I don't have proof now, but I will."

I want to curse her, to strike her, anything to make her shut her mouth and forget what she's witnessed. Instead, I pull her lips to mine and prove to her how much I love women. When she's kissing, she can't talk.

A/N: Yes. It's short. And it hasn't been edited and it's surprisingly angsty. Updates on this will be short but swift, because I'm writing for a Writing Marathon on the Muse Bunny and can only write so much at a time. I'm also trying to kill a couple of birds with one stone here by getting in some practice for my Bleddie slash story, which is my birthday present to funnieduckie.

Thanks for putting up with me, anyway! You might just like this.

^_^