This is not a love story. Not one that would be recognised as such, in any case. It is the story of a girl who had given everything and received nothing but kept on giving in the hope that, one day, a little of what she gave might be returned. This is the story of the tall, dark boy who shattered those illusions. This is the story of how Hermione Granger became the jaded woman we find, if we scratch at the surface.
***
She had just returned to school after the war. Her two closest friends hadn't been interested. They were famous. They had defeated Voldemort. What did they need with schooling? They could do anything they wished.
When she boarded the Hogwarts Express, she could feel their absence as keenly as, two years ago, she would have felt their presence. It was a less than pleasant feeling. But, she reflected, she would have to get used to it.
As she turned to make her way to the Prefects' compartment, she thought she heard a rustling behind her. However, when she spun round, reflexes much improved by her time spent camping in the war, she saw no one.
As she left, the Disillusioned boy grinned to himself. He would have fun with Granger this year.
***
Hermione found herself with unexpected, and rather unwelcome, company on the way to Hogwarts. Why Zabini had taken it upon himself to join her, she wasn't sure, but she was somewhat suspicious of the faint smile that remained fixed on his features throughout the journey. Suspicious and, as the time went by and he still smiled, somewhat intrigued. She made a mental note to watch him over the following weeks, realising neither that she would have done so anyway, nor that, in deciding so to do, she was playing straight into his hands.
When the carriage came to a halt, Zabini leapt out and offered Hermione a hand. I suppose, at this point, one must mention the fascinating expression of surprise, gratefulness and suspicion that came, unbidden, to her face. Seeing this, the boy – no, no longer a boy – the man smirked.
"I don't bite, Hermione."
She blushed, noticing, but choosing not to comment on his familiar use of her christian name. Zabini – Blaise? No, Zabini – was a perplexing mystery, and one she would dedicate herself to solving.
***
They were sitting at the back of the Potions dungeon, having been paired up by an overwhelmingly enthusiastic Professor Slughorn. Why he had chosen to pair up a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, she still didn't know. After all, they say old habits die hard: presumably this was inclusive of the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry.
But, to her amazement, there were no snide remarks, either about her house or her parentage. Zabini was perfectly pleasant to her throughout the lesson. He could even have been described as helpful. Until he started being confusing again.
"Hermione, I know that you don't like me, but this cold attitude of yours is growing rather tiresome."
"Zabini –"
"Blaise."
"What?"
"My name is Blaise. Personally, I find it infinitely more pleasant than my surname."
"Right, Blaise, then, in case you have forgotten, you and the rest of your house spent six years with me on the list of your top ten least favourite students. I have no reason to be anything other than cold towards you." The bell rang. Hermione had packed away her books and was halfway towards the door before –
"Is this to continue all year, then? You, of all people, refusing to give us a second chance?" She let out a slight noise of irritation before turning to face him.
"Say what you want to say, then, Blaise, I'll listen."
"Thank you. We'll work on the tone of voice later. Almost the entirety of Slytherin house had at least one parent who was a Death Eater. Had our families not received complaints about our treatment of muggle-borns, we would have been punished. I will not describe to you what 'punishment' entails, so don't bother asking. Those of us who didn't followed the crowd, because punishment at school was worse than punishment at home. At home, it is one-on-one. At school, it is fifty-on-one. My point is that I never bore any ill will towards you, never hated you, and did what I could to avoid the name-calling. I would imagine that many of my classmates acted for similar reasons to mine, though I cannot speak for Draco Malfoy. I am not asking to become your best friend. I am not asking you to declare undying love for me." Yet. "I am asking you to give me a chance."
Hermione, having listened to his speech, cursed him, silently. She had always done what was reasonable, what was good, but she still felt slightly mistrustful of the Slytherin. But there was always the possibility that he was being sincere. "One chance. Prove to me that that pretty speech wasn't a nice, elaborate lie." With which she turned and walked out of the classroom, leaving Blaise smirking to himself. "This will be much too easy."
***
They were in the library, pretending to write essays. In reality, he was wondering when to take his next move, and she was studying him, not suspicious anymore, but curious. Curious as to how she had always taken him to be one of 'the enemy'. Wondering how she could have misjudged him so greatly. He looked up and their eyes met. Brown on blue. She had never noticed his eyes before. Not like this. She thought she was drowning.
Then he looked away and smiled again. He seemed to do that a lot, she had noticed.
"You haven't written much, Hermione. Not liking it?"
"No more than you, Blaise. You don't appear to have even written the title yet."
"A small detail." He smiled, and she couldn't help but smile back. "Where will you be spending the holidays?"
"Here. In school. What did you expect of the bookworm?" she replied, teasingly.
"Exactly what I got," he admitted. "I'd imagine not many are though. Not this soon after the war."
"No. But I'd rather stay. Even after the battle, Hogwarts is almost a safe haven to me. I take it your going home, then?"
"No, I'm staying, just like you. Mother has found herself another husband. I'd rather not get involved." He grimaced.
"Not fond of your mother's husbands, then?"
"Not exactly, no. I might not mind if she hadn't had so many. I like to think I won't be like her." He looked at her. "When I marry, I will marry someone I love, and I will love them forever." His eyes seemed soft, gentle, somehow...welcoming. It was at this point, she would later realise, that she started to fall in love with Blaise Zabini.
***
It was Christmas Eve. They had been attempting to have a snowball fight, but had given up after it became clear that neither had very good aim. Or so Hermione had thought. Suddenly she felt a ball of cold and wet that she soon identified as snow sliding down her shirt. Screaming, she tackled the smug-looking boy beside her to the ground. They stayed as they were for what seemed like hours, but was, in reality, only a few seconds. Hermione's brain – or was it her heart? She wasn't quite sure – was screaming Kiss him! Kiss him! But the necessity for Hermione to take action became redundant as Blaise – reading her face as well as ever – leant up and guided her lips down to his.
She thought that kissing him was the most perfect thing she had ever felt. He was warm, and soft and gentle, and tasted faintly of raspberries, and at that time she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him. But, after a few minutes he pulled back, grinning apologetically and stating that he would become hypothermic if they didn't go somewhere warmer. And where he went, she willingly followed.
***
It was Christmas Day. They had exchanged presents in the Great Hall and had eaten Christmas Dinner together. He asked, knowing the answer already, if she would come with him for a walk. Her smile as she nodded consisted of equal parts bliss and love. She would go anywhere if he was with her.
And he knew it. He could take her anywhere, ask anything of her, and she would not refuse him. She needed him, in a way that she didn't yet realise was dangerous.
She wasn't surprised when their walk ended up at the Room of Requirement. She wasn't surprised when, after following him into it, he pulled her to him and kissed her again. She wasn't surprised when his hands found their way under her shirt. She was too lost. She had lost herself in her tall, dark, handsome Slytherin. But she was surprised when his hands refused to move further down her body. She was surprised when he would not allow her to move her hands below his waist. She looked at him, a look of confusion, mixed with a hint of hurt in her eyes. "Do you not want me anymore, Blaise?" she asked, like the naïve schoolgirl that somehow had survived the war.
He laughed. The sound was pleasant to her. If he could laugh, then nothing could be really wrong. "Of course I want you, Hermione. But we should wait. I doubt that you want our first time to be rushed and hasty and spur of the moment because we were both too desperate." He was being a gentleman. Of course he was. What she would later come to realise was that he had to be. He could not have pulled her in so deeply had he not acted a gentleman.
She kissed him and murmured against his lips, "I love you, Blaise." He bit back his smirk this time, and replied, "As I do you, Hermione."
***
It was New Year's Eve. Hermione and Blaise were sat together in the Room of Requirement. One of Hermione's arms was wrapped round Blaise's torso as they counted down to the New Year. They heard the clock strike twelve, and saw, from their perfect viewpoint, the fireworks display that Hogwarts put on each year at the request of its muggle-born students. And then his lips were moving against hers again, and all of that faded to nothingness. His kiss still had not lost its power to silence her and drive all thought from her mind. But somewhere, she knew that this time he would not stop her. This time she would be free to touch where she liked, above or below Blaise's waist.
Quite how her clothes came off, she would never be sure. She would know only that, at that moment, she could not have cared if the room had burst into flames, as long as Blaise never stopped. A sound escaped her throat. It was somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and she had never realised that she was capable of making such a noise. She was being teased. Blaise's hands were massaging her breasts, and his tongue was...was... She couldn't tell, and she didn't care. She only wished he would give her more... Of what, she didn't know, but Blaise did, for as soon as she asked, he moved his mouth up to kiss her and pressed his erection against her entrance.
"Please, Blaise..." she moaned, and he grinned that infernal grin of his before sliding into her. Hermione spent a few moments trying to get used to the feeling of being filled before Blaise started to move. She had never known that being on fire felt so perfect. The faster he moved, the closer she came to release, and, when release finally came, it felt to Hermione as if it had simultaneously taken eternity and no time at all.
When her breathing had begun to approach normal, she turned to Blaise and whispered "I love you." But he was, she thought, asleep.
When she woke up the next morning, he wasn't there. She felt her heart begin to break, but told herself that he must have had something to do. When she saw him at breakfast, he ignored her. When she tried to speak to him after lunch, the only response she received was "Fuck off, Granger."
For you see, Blaise had wanted simply to break her. Many of his close friends were either dead or in Azkaban, and what he wanted was to inflict on someone else the brokenness, the hopelessness that he felt himself, and who better to break than Granger, the bossy, know-it-all Gryffindor? The brains behind the so-called Golden Trio? Yes, Granger had been partially to blame for his loss, and therefore Granger would be the perfect person on whom to take his revenge.
You see, this could be thought to be a love story, though I myself would call it a life lesson. For Hermione Granger has not been the same since she fell in love with the man who broke her. She has been more wary, less trusting, and has given no one since him a second chance. So, as I said at the beginning, this is not a love story.