AN: I don't own Harry Potter, as I'm sure you all know by now.
The door slams behind me, and I don't look back, just stride angrily down the corridor. I know my blouse isn't completely buttoned and my skirt is creased, but right now, I don't care. I can't take this any more – I just have to get away from Blaise Zabini.
I know what you're thinking, we've had a lovers' tiff. Well, we haven't. You have to be in love for that to happen. Sure, we share a bed on occasion, but it's nothing more than alleviating a physical need. You don't know what I mean? Sorry, I'll put it in simpler terms then. We screw. We fuck. We have sex. There's no emotion behind it, it's just something we both need.
So, why am I so mad tonight? I'm sick of being called by my surname, or those nauseating terms of endearment he keeps coming up with. Just once, I'd like him to use my name. Hermione. It's not like I'm asking much, is it? Not when I cater to all his mad urges, like when he wants to do it in one of the classrooms, or after curfew, or out in the grounds where anyone could see us.
Just once, I want him to acknowledge who it is sharing his bed. Yes, I know I'm the last person you'd ever expect to carry on a relationship like this, but that's just how things turned out. Sometimes, I can convince myself it's all I need.
I've got no delusions about what he wants from me, none at all. We made that plain when we started on this thing we have.
…………………
Back in the room she'd just stormed out of, Blaise Zabini sat on the bed, shocked. He'd known she was irritated by the names he used, but they'd become more and more necessary every time they were together. It helped him stay emotionally aloof, pretend she hadn't wormed her way into his heart and taken up residence there.
"Hermione, I'm so sorry."
AN: That poor little blue button needs to be clicked. It's lonely.