Oh dear people, I do not own Harry Potter! Shock of the century, that, isn't it?
The next day, as Blaise watched Ginny and pretended not to, he began wondering what was really so wrong with being a Weasley. Of course, he could think of lots of last names he'd rather have, but it really wasn't Ginny's fault. She couldn't help it. She hadn't chosen what surname to be born with. And, without realizing it, Blaise crossed out number three on his Things That Are Wrong with Ginny Weasley list. And his mind instantly went to work on number two, much to Professor McGonagall's disgust.
McGonagall didn't, of course, know what it was that was making Blaise Zabini pay so little attention to her class, but she did know that he seemed very distracted, which was odd. Blaise Zabini did not love Transfiguration, but he was an intelligent boy who normally did well in most classes.
But Blaise wasn't thinking about Transfiguration. He was thinking about Ginny Weasley being a Gryffindor, which, was that really any more her fault than being a Weasley was? After all, she hadn't said she wanted to be in Gryffindor, at least not in Blaise's presence, and it was the Sorting Hat that chose which House you would be in. And anyway, all of the Weasleys were in Gryffindor, it was like a rule of nature, and so it basically came with being a Weasley, which wasn't her fault. And number two was struck off the list, leaving only number one: She was a blood traitor.
But that came with the Weasley thing too, didn't it? It was the way she had been brought up, and Blaise, who was almost always honest with himself, knew he really didn't care if she was a blood traitor or not. She was Ginny, and that was all that really mattered.
He reached this conclusion during break, as he was walking down towards the lake. And there Ginny, standing alone under a tree, leaning against the trunk. His stomach twisted as he saw what could only be tear-streaks on her cheeks.
But he walked on. He could not stop and talk to her, ask her what was wrong. For a moment he felt an unreasonable resentment towards Dean Thomas. Why wasn't he there, comforting his girlfriend? Not that Ginny Weasley needed to be comforted by Dean Thomas, really, but still it was just wrong that any girl would stand alone and cry when she had a boyfriend somewhere.
Frustrated and angry, Blaise slammed his fist into a tree trunk-and instantly regretted it. His hand was throbbing. He doubted it was broken, but it did hurt. He grimaced wildly.
It was at this moment that he heard someone calling: "Ginny! Where are you?"
He looked up to see Hermione Granger coming down from the castle, looking around for Ginny. He decided she must be blind; Ginny was in plain sight. Not to him at the moment, but she must be to Granger. It didn't occur to Blaise that Ginny might not have the appeal for Granger that she did for him.
"I'm here, Hermione," he heard Ginny saying.
Blaise watched Granger head towards Ginny until she was out of sight, and then, knowing that Ginny would hate him if she knew, pulled out his Extendable Ears and with a low "Go!" sent them in the direction of the two girls.
"-wrong?" Granger was saying.
"Dean and I-we've just split up. Well, I just split us up." Ginny laughed a little shakily.
Blaise's brain seemed to have quit working. He wasn't at all sure if he had just heard what he thought he had.
"But-why?" he dimly Granger asking.
Then he was riveted on Ginny's reply.
"Oh, you know, it just wasn't working… We actually had a row-he's always trying to help me climb through the portrait hole and things-I can help myself!" Ginny's fiery spirit seemed to be returning, and Blaise was glad.
"But you were crying," Granger said.
Blaise scowled. Shut up, Granger. Don't make her unhappy again.
"I know, isn't it ridiculous?" was Ginny's response.
"Why?" Granger asked.
"Because!" Ginny burst out. She calmed herself. "When we split-well, we were both furious. I didn't cry then. But just now, I came out here-Seamus and Dean are over there, and I saw them-they didn't see me. But Seamus was talking and talking to Dean and Dean was just sitting there, not saying anything or anything and looking so bloody miserable-I don't know, I just began crying. And if that isn't ridiculous, I don't know what is!" She ended in a half-sob that made Blaise clench his fists, and then grimace at the pain.
Granger made a soothing noise and Blaise could just imagine her hugging Ginny. For an extremely odd moment he envied Granger.
"We'd better go back to the castle," Ginny said several seconds later. "Break's almost over."
"All right," Granger responded.
Blaise watched the two of them walk towards the castle, pulling in the Extendable Ear and stuffing them into his pocket. Then he got up and headed for the castle too.
Several days later, after classes and dinner in the Great Hall, Blaise was sitting in the Slytherin common room, staring at the fire, thinking.
Knowing Ginny had ditched Dean Thomas had, at first, made him feel exultant. She was single, she was free-and suddenly his thoughts had jolted to a halt. Free to do what, exactly? Free to be his girlfriend? He laughed humourlessly. Being Blaise Zabini's girlfriend was not high on Ginny's list of things she wanted to do-Blaise was quite sure of it. And he didn't blame her. Up until a certain amount of time ago, the idea of Ginny Weasley and himself as a couple would have made him laugh derisively. But now…
He shook his head. It was getting later. Several people had gone to bed, but Pansy's gang was still there. He didn't notice them. He knew that some people would have found it odd that he was trying to think in the common room, but he didn't think it was. There was, simply, nowhere else for it. It was afterhours, so he couldn't, legally, go outside. As for his dormitory, well, there were two places that he could have gone in there. One of them was one of the wide, cushioned windowsills, but he found that extremely unappealing, the idea of sitting, staring at the moon was so cliché, he refused to consider it. The other was his bed, and that was little more appealing. He did not want to try to think lying in the dark in his four-poster, listening to Crabbe and Goyle snoring. Blaise couldn't think if people were snoring in the same room. It was impossible. But all these thoughts were far from Blaise's mind as he sat in front of the fire, staring at it and thinking about Ginny Weasley.
The next few days after he had eavesdropped on that conversation between Granger and Ginny he had watched Ginny closer than usual-and tried harder than ever to hide it from her. But he also watched everyone he saw come in contact with her. And Blaise saw things that many people-especially Slytherin people-wouldn't have.
He saw the way Dean Thomas watched Ginny and tried not to. He saw how many boys watched Ginny Weasley-and he was quite sure she wasn't going to be single very long. He saw the way Ginny laughed and sparkled-especially in a certain boy's presence. And, most of all, he saw the way that certain boy acted in her presence. For a blind man could have seen that Harry Potter fancied Ginny Weasley-and Blaise Zabini was not a blind man. He was a Slytherin sixth year who happened to be keeping a very close eye on that particular red-haired Gryffindor fifth year and anyone she came in contact with. He did not know how much more he saw than most people would have. He did not realize that very few people could see that Harry Potter fancied Ginny Weasley-that, in fact, there was only one person in the castle aside from himself who was quite sure of this-not counting Harry Potter or Ginny, of course. Blaise only saw that every time Potter and Ginny were together, both of them smiled oftener, laughed easier, and seemed, always, to be in high spirits. And for the first time in his life, Blaise knew what heartache meant, though he would have rejected the idea as cliché. And he realized he cared a great deal more for Ginny Weasley than even he had realized.
But he saw something else, too. He saw that Potter, when he wasn't around Ginny, looked unhappy.
It was at this moment, just as he was wondering why in the name of Merlin Potter was looking unhappy now-now when Ginny Weasley so obviously fancied him, that he heard an annoying voice saying:
"Hi Blaise!"
He knew who it was. Pansy and Tracey weren't annoying, and they wouldn't bother him when he was trying to think. Daphne might have been on occasion, but even she knew better than to chatter at him when he was sitting alone by the fire, so obviously thinking. As for Millicent, she had long ceased being merely annoying, by now she was perfectly maddening. And no other Slytherin girl would approach him like that. It had to be Anastasia.
He didn't look away from the fire. With one part of his mind he realized that it was Friday, that tomorrow was Hogsmeade, and Anastasia's reason for seeking him out was likely that she still didn't have a date. But the other greater part of his mind was wondering what to say, wondering it a bit sluggishly. He was still trying to think of Ginny, Potter, and such things.
But before Blaise could think of anything to say, before Anastasia realized he wasn't responding, someone shouted across the common room:
"Anastasia Runcorn! Come here!"
Anastasia obliged, albeit reluctantly.
Blaise felt relieved. Tracey Davis wasn't quite the most amazing girl in the world, but she came pretty close. He wanted to go on with his earlier thinking, but his train of thought had been quite rudely interrupted. For several seconds he did not really think of anything, and then he remembered what he had been thinking about.
But none of it really matters, he told himself. Because, no matter if Potter was absolutely ecstatic or totally depressed, it was still Potter who Ginny Weasley fancied, and not Blaise. Not Blaise.
That hurt, more than Blaise would ever admit to anyone. He was too used to having every girl he was even slightly interested in being absolutely fascinated by him, he admitted it to himself quite freely. And maybe that was why Ginny Weasley seemed so much better than all those other girls. Or maybe it was just the forbidden fruit all over again. Really, that didn't matter much either.
The only thing that really mattered was Ginny Weasley.
Blaise moved restlessly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands loosely between them. He did not notice that the common room was almost deserted. He would not have cared if he had noticed.
Then someone sat next to him on the dark green and black leather couch. He knew without looking that it was Tracey, for with her she brought her own unique fragrance. Blaise didn't know what exactly it was that Tracey smelled like, but he liked it.
Tracey touched his arm, and then quickly withdrew her hand.
He looked up to find her dark blue eyes looking at him. He looked back at the fire.
"Do you mind me interrupting you?" Tracey asked.
He glanced up at her briefly, but once again returned his eyes to the flames. He shrugged. "Thanks for…earlier."
He could hear the smile in her voice as she responded. "It was my pleasure, actually." She sounded as if she meant it. Tracey's tone was more apt to be kidding than sincere when she spoke to him and the change took Blaise by surprise.
"Blaise, I want you to ask me to Hogsmeade," Tracey said clearly.
Blaise looked at her. She was looking at the fire now, smiling just a little. It was such a Tracey thing to say that he smiled too.
"Why don't you ask me?" he replied.
She looked at him then, her smile widening. "Because I want you to ask me."
"Why? So you can tell people that Blaise Zabini asked you out?" He regretted the harsh words almost as soon as he spoke them. He knew that whatever Tracey's reasons were for wanting him to ask her, they were not so she could boast about it.
Tracey looked away quickly, but not quickly enough. Blaise saw the hurt in her eyes and felt surprisingly guilty.
"No," she said quietly. "That's not why."
"I know," Blaise said.
Tracey did not respond. Her face, turned towards the fire, was expressionless, and her thick blonde hair swung forward so that Blaise couldn't see her eyes. He knew that she was trying to not let him see that she was hurt.
He cautiously laid a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I know you wouldn't go around talking about it."
There was no response from Tracey.
He hesitated. "Tracey? You angry with me?"
She pulled her arm away from his hand and he was sure she was angry with him. But she pushed her hair out of her face and smiled at him; a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Of course not," she said. "But are you going to ask me?"
"As friends or…?" His hands were clasped again.
She laughed then. "It's up to you."
"Okay, then. Um, will you go with me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" He raised his eyebrows at her, irrationally relieved to see her eyes laughing at him again.
She laughed again. "Of course I will. Now poor Anastasia's the only sixth year girl without a date. Not counting Millicent."
Blaise laughed. "Has she ever had a date?" he asked rhetorically. "Who's Daphne going with?"
"Terence Higgs." Tracey laughed and shrugged. "The secret here is: he asked me first. But that is a deep dark secret and you must definitely never tell Daphne. She'd probably club me over the head."
Blaise laughed. "I doubt it."
"You'd be surprised. Anyway, it's late, and I'm tired. And so are you, by the way. See you tomorrow." And she headed off towards the girls' dormitory.
He stood and stretched, wondering if she thought he had asked her as friends or as something more. He shrugged, he wasn't sure he knew himself. He was thinking of Tracey Davis as he climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitory, but it was Ginny Weasley who dominated his dreams.
Saturday morning came and Blaise, coming down from the boys' dorm, found Tracey waiting for him dressed in dark jeans and a soft dark green off-the-shoulder blouse over a tight white tank. Several blonde strands had escaped from her ponytail and curled against her cheeks, and it struck Blaise that she was actually quite pretty.
"By the way, thanks for asking me," Tracey said lightly once they were past Filch and heading down the road.
"You deserved it," he replied, rather distracted by the sight of Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom walking together several hundred feet in front of them.
Tracey laughed. "So where are we going?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Where d'you want?"
She shrugged back at him. "I don't know. Madam Puddifoot's?" And she laughed again, knowing full well that Blaise hated the place.
"Sure…" he said sarcastically.
They entered Hogsmeade and Tracey looked around interestedly.
"Zonko's?" she suggested.
"It'll be really crowded, but sure, why not?"
They went in. It was really crowded, like always, but Blaise liked it, also as always. Crowded though it was, Blaise didn't see Ginny Weasley and her friends. He wondered if they weren't there or if they were and he just wasn't seeing them.
They left Zonko's without seeing them and headed for the Three Broomsticks, where they found a table in the corner to drink their butterbeer.
"You're upset, Blaise," Tracey observed, looking closely at him.
"I'm not," Blaise growled, hastily transferring his gaze from the red-haired Gryffindor who had just entered to his butterbeer.
"Yes, you are." Tracey seemed undisturbed by his growling.
"I don't want to talk about it," Blaise said.
Tracey studied his face before answering. "All right then. Where else do you want to go?"
Blaise entered the Slytherin common room behind Tracey. Once inside, they both paused and looked at each other.
"I'm sorry," Blaise said suddenly.
She raised her eyebrows. "For what?"
"I was kind of…grumpy today."
"Yeah, you were." She laughed. "I had fun anyway."
He grinned a little. "Okay, good."
"I'm tired," she said. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Blaise."
"'Night, Tracey," he said. He watched her leave before heading towards the boys' dorm.
He hadn't had a good day. It had seemed that wherever he and Tracey went, Ginny Weasley either was there when they came, or came before they left. It had been a little disconcerting. He wondered if Tracey hadn't noticed anything. She hadn't said anything.
