Title: Whimsical Impossibility (1 of 1)

Author: flax

Date: August 22, 2005 This was written back when I was using a Yahoo group for prompts. I don't know if that group still exists.

Rating: T

Combo: HG/BZ

The characters and phenomena of Hogwarts belong to Rowlings. This un-cannoical moment and blip of closure is mine. This is an impossibly happy version of Hogwarts.

Hermione didn't have time. And she didn't have a good back up plan. Getting the book planted in her bag had not been part of her plan. Her plan, and a good plan it was, was to work with Zabini to find where his Charms book was now and then to backtrack from there as to who was framing her. The backtracking thing wasn't starting where Hermione had intended.

So the book went from her shoulder bag to her hand, to the other hand, to the first hand, while her eyes darted about her own room. The best plan was probably to throw it out her own window. Which should have worked, but it bounced off thin air and landed back on her own floor. Then there was the knock at her own door.

"One moment," she called, giving up and planning to be honest. She left the book middle of her desk and opened the door.

"We need to talk," she said defensively to Blaise standing there.

"Hello, Blaise. Why, hello Hermione," he replied, walking in and looking about.

"You've seen rooms before," she said, being defensive for other reasons.

"But yours has such a lovely view," he said, making himself at home and sitting on the window seat, feeling for a window guard. Finding the open window charmed, he leaned against it comfortably. "So what do we need to talk about?"

Hermione waved at her desk while looking at Blaise. While tidy and organized, the desk clearly suffered from being too small. "Someone planted it on me. I don't know how it got here."

"And I thought every dorm came with a desk. You're saying it was planted on you?"

"Blaise," she said annoyed, turning to the desk, to point at the incriminating notebook. Which wasn't there. But there was a neatly folded copy of The Daily Prophet.

"It was there. I put it there."

"Oddly enough, I can still see the desk. Or do you mean the newspaper?"

"First I tried to throw it out the window."

"I'm glad you didn't succeed. Someone could get hurt. Or do you mean the newspaper?"

"It bounced back into the room." Hermione looked at Blaise suspiciously.

"Well, you can't mean the newspaper. Unless you do."

Hermione glared at Blaise some more.

"Don't look at me," he said, "I figured it out and was coming to tell you."

Hermione continued with the aggravated silence.

"Malfoy. It's Malfoy you want to kill."

"And why do I want to kill Malfoy?"

"Until I pull that notebook out of your possession in some sort of intimate setting, it's just going to keep retreating to your person."

"I'm going to kill Malfoy."

Blaise smiled. Then he stood, stretching his legs. He looked Hermione over, making her nervous. "I don't see any book like lumps about your person."

"Hey," she said gruffly. He smiled again.

"If you'd like to prove it, I wouldn't complain," he purred while looking over the rest of her room.

"Uhhhh," she replied, aiming for gruff but rather spluttering.

"Wherever it is, it is where Malfoy's spell put it and not where you put it," said Blaise still gazing about. "And it's not going to be found until I find it and pull it out," he finished.

"You're going to be killing Malfoy, too, right?" said Hermione.

"Why?" he asked, giving her half a look and half a smile.

"Dead, you're both dead," she muttered.

"If you really want me out, tell me," he said with a trace of nerves.

"Why is Malfoy doing this?"

"Because he likes us, duh," answered Zabini. When Hermione rolled her eyes, Zabini laughed. "OK, he likes me." Hermione looked nervous at her feet. Zabini felt her bed and beneath her pillow. "Aha!" He said, pissing off the witch.

"My life is not a treasure hunt," she said, taking back the boring pulp novel about cats and talking trees and putting it back beneath the pillow. Blaise looked at her. "Crookshanks needs a story before bed," she said blandly.

Zabini smiled, leaning down and whispering into her ear, "I don't mean to treat your life as a treasure hunt, but you are such a closed book. Everything is interesting." His fingers traced her jaw line gently while she resolutely looked down.

"Help me find the book and end this spell, and I'll let you help me set up Malfoy," he offered, seductively. That comment got him a gaze from the brown haired witch. A gaze obscured by the brown hair, but it was a start.

"And what are you going to do to Malfoy?"

"Force him to seek out and introduce himself to Luna Lovegood."

"You want to humiliate him," she asked in a small voice.

"No. I want him to start forming real relationships beyond his old friends." The witch was now looking at him nervously. "All we can give each other is a push and an opening."

"And that is what this is?"

"From his perspective, yes."

"And yours?"

"Cats and talking trees?"

"Blaise, I don't know you."

"Are you willing to find out?"

Hermione was about to say yes when he kissed her forehead, bee-lined for her drawers, opened a few and felt around until he came to a yellow sweater. Out came the sweater, out came the notebook.

Blaise smirked at her. She glared back.

"You took my notebook? How un-Hermione-Granger-like," he said.

"That's not even my sweater!" she said getting comfortably huffy this time.

Blaise looked it over and laughed. "It's mine. Have we moved up to the point of borrowing clothing, Granger?"

"Blaise-" she said, pausing as he moved into her personal space.

"I believe you owe me a forfeit," he murmured.

"Would you like an autograph?" she asked with as much pert as she could muster.

"Maybe next time," he said softly. Then he kissed her gently.

After the kiss he touched her face gently and murmured something she didn't quite hear.

She opened her eyes to see him leaving. "I didn't owe you that kiss. I never took the book. You should be getting your forfeit from Draco."

Blaise looked back and smiled. "If I took something not mine, then perhaps you should come take it back, Hermione." And he left.

Hermione paused to think. This wasn't all bad. So.

From his corner, where maligned he had read Meno quietly, Crookshanks paused a moment to glare. That stranger had just taken his human's library book.