Name: Run Away
Pairing: Hermione/Blaise Rating: PG (G)
Canon: Unlikely (Fanon Blaise, though purely for imagery sake)
Summary: Hermione runs away from what she doesn't understand. As if he would let her.
Disclaimer: No characters/places/events from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series are mine.

AN: So...I haven't written anything for months and this is what I finally came up with after forcing myself to just write. It is unbeta'ed and critique/advice/tips is/are always welcome. I hope this is enjoyed by somebody... A cliche warning might be advised. Though I should hope I wrote it well enough to not be bad despite being cliche.

It was late, well past midnight, when Hermione was still pacing the corridors. The position of Head Girl had its benefits, she decided, as she turned a sullen glare on Filch's cat. Three hallways, THREE hallways she'd followed her for. Mrs. Norris could try, just try Hermione willed her, to turn her in. It would be futile, for she had permission to patrol the halls during the night. However unusual the hour, she did have reason. Hermione Granger always had reason for her every action.

Tonight she sought peace in solitude, hoping that one would lead to the other. Except for her brief run in with Mrs. Norris, she had found solitude. But restless solitude was worthless. She debated searching for sanctuary in the library but second thoughts found her grimacing at the idea of books in her current state of agitation.

Books were inadequate in lending her knowledge or comfort in circumstances dealing with feelings. Emotions.

Still, couldn't somebody help explain to her what in the founders' names he was thinking?

That word, love. It was thrown around far too easily for her tastes. A fortnight ago shed overheard Lavendar, outside the entrance to the Gryffindor common room (where Hermione had been giving her assistance to Harry on a particularly difficult Transfiguration paper regarding chocolate frogs, Addlemaeus Munns, doves, and muggle magician shows), swear to Zacharias Smith that she loved him and then just the previous night she'd been told by Ginny that Lavendar was now openly smitten with Dean Thomas. Was that really love? It couldn't be, could it? In this modern day? Then again, she couldn't really base her opinions on Lavendar, that foolish girl.

Hermione turned a corner, fidgeting with the edges of her cloak, before whirling in the other direction and striding away faster than before.

She couldn't help that he was Head Boy and had the same freedom as she to patrol the halls at will.

Her short hair frizzed angrily, brushing he shoulders with each jolting step. She'd cut it to donate it and received merciless teasing about it. It was even less tame than before, though she reasoned that it was worth it.

She still wasn't sure if the person she'd left behind in that hallway was. Could he really be worth it?

As she heard footsteps tailing her own and gaining, she realized that she hadn't left him behind after all; however she stubbornly refused to stop or slow her gait.

"Hermione!" and the sharp tug on her left hand pulled her out of motion.

"What, Blaise, WHAT?" Her dry eyes wished for tears so they wouldn't have to look upon his face with such clarity, but they had no more left to spend.

"Hermione listen to me. You don't even have to answer my words but, bloody hell, just listen to what I'm saying, what I've already said. If you're going to run away from me it had better goddamn be for the right reasons. I love you Hermione. I fell in love with you over this past year. Unrequited or not at least understand that I do love you. I love the way you nibble on the inked end of your feathers and the way you sneak looks over my shoulder to see what I'm reading or what I've written. I love your sense of honor and your courage and I love your short cut hair. I love you Hermione and everything that you are. I..." He wanted to go on but he'd lost the rest of his words somewhere on their way out.

When even her eyes gave him no response and the silence grew stone cold, he dropped his arm and turned to walk, shoulders straight and head high, back in the direction of their shared common room.

"Blaise..." and she ran and caught his sleeve. She didn't know whether she was wrong or right, just that if she ran away a second time, there would be no third chance. "Blaise, would you...would you ever run away from me?" She knew it was hypocritical. She knew it was a faulty question. Circumstances, after all, were always liable to change - you couldn't answer for 'ever.'

But his chin lifted for a second as if in understanding. As he turned towards her, he pulled her to him and embraced her; she leaned her head into his shoulder and held her arms between them. "Never. I will never run away from you, Hermione."

Many moments later, after just being held, she lifted her head so that her eyes clearly met his. Her arms crept up to his shoulders as he waited in patience for her to take this initiative. She leaned forward, gently pulling his head down to meet hers with a hand tangled in the curls of his silky black hair.

As her lips met his mouth, he knew, and so he said when they came up for air, "And if I have to, I will chase you every time you run away."

She whispered into his ear, with a faint smile ghosted across her face, "I do believe that I wont be running away anymore, and I shall listen." Moving so that she could look him in the eye once more, "I am listening." With that, she let her head fall against his chest as she listened and heard his heart beat.

And she believed.