A/N: Longtime reader of FF, first time publishing my FF. Unbeta-ed. Any feedback is welcome!

They were complete opposites. She was fire; he was ice. She was bold, reckless, brazen; he was stealthy, cool, composed. Chaos and order.

There were nights where she would throw dishes at the wall, shouting, while he would stand there, silently blinking as the fragments of porcelain crashed onto the floor. There were nights where he would come home only to stare at the flames in their fireplace with a drink in his hand, while she snuggled up against him.

He kept her grounded while she lifted him up. He was the only one of many who could hold her down. She was the only one of many who challenged him at every turn.

"Why are you like this?" Blaise had asked her one night after she had gotten into a nasty row with some pure blood witch at the Ministry event they had attended together. They had been seeing each other for only a few months by then (and had only been exclusive for the past five weeks).

"I don't know!" Ginny shouted her response, her hands in the air. "I don't know why, I just get so angry." She sighed. "Maybe it's because all of my life people looked down at me–the runt of the impoverished, blood-traitor Weasley's," she admitted. "I'm so tired of those pure blood snobs who think that they are better than everyone, I just don't have the patience to let that shit slide anymore." She continued, "Look, I get it, I'm a lot. If you can't handle it, I completely understand."

To her surprise, he made his way across her kitchen and kissed the living daylight out of her.

"Where do you go? When you're here but your mind is someplace elsewhere?" Ginny had asked as her head rested on his shoulder as they lay in his bed. They had been dating each other (exclusively) for almost a year now when she brought up his occasional habit of staring out into the distance.

Blaise was quiet, but despite her short fuse, she said nothing as she waited for his response.

"It's hard for me to talk about," he finally volunteered. Ginny nodded as she continued tracing patterns on his naked chest.

"That's ok."

A month went by before he brought it up again. They were cleaning dishes together when he suddenly spoke up.

"I never was a Death Eater, but I did a lot of things I'm not proud of," he admitted to her. "I know rationally it doesn't make sense to dwell on the past, what's done is done, but sometimes I just get lost in my regrets, recalling the choices I had and the decisions I should've made but didn't."

She dropped the plate she was drying on the counter and came over and hugged him from behind so her cheek was pressed against his back.

"I love you," she told him. He should have known better than to argue with her when she employed that fierce tone in her voice.

He scoffed. She immediately pulled away.

"What?" she snapped.

He turned to face her, shaking his head and folding his arms.

"You don't know the things I've done."

Her eyes narrowed. "I was there, I think I have a pretty good idea of what you did."

"Obviously not, because then you wouldn't be here."

"If you could go back, would you do things differently?"

"Bloody Salazar yes–"

"Then that's all that matters. You were just trying to survive."

"So were you, but you never cast an unforgivable."

"It's not a fucking competition. It was war, there was no black and white. You can't keep blaming yourself for things that were out of your control."

"... You're not going to back down from this one, are you?"

"Nope."

"Fuck, I love you."

"Much better."