3 – Hiding

Hermione hurried down a long corridor, drawing her flailing robes tighter around her body and trying to keep her footsteps light. She'd spent the whole day doing this – running from a Hufflepuff fifth year named Lachlan Holmes, who was devastated when his toy bludger crashed through the library window and connected violently with Hermione's skull. He had apologized twenty-three times since, and still did not seem convinced that was enough. He'd bought Hermione Get Well Roses with an attached card that told exceptionally funny jokes. Hermione had thought this was very nice and had sent him a thank you letter via Pigwidgeon. But then he'd apologized publically in front of her Charms class – the one with Lavender and Pavarti in it. Rumours flew and poor Lachlan was still convinced Hermione held against him a grudge that he would surely perish because of.

Twenty-three apologies.

Oh yeah; Hermione was running. In fact – Hermione was fleeing.

Trying hard to contain her too-loud, heavy breaths, Hermione hauled herself around another corner, running on the tippiest tips of her tip-toes. She desperately towed open the heavy door to the Prefects Bathroom, after whispering the password which was almost drowned out by her gasping breaths. Already, she could hear the frantic, though lost footsteps of Lachlan just rounding the corner. She bolted inside the bathroom and snapped shut the door, not even bothering to try and soften the slam. She let her body fall against the door in relief and leant her forehead against the cool wood, a small smile starting to break out. She let herself slowly slide to the tiled floor as her heart began to return to its normal rate, a giggle escaping from her throat.

She was free. FREE!

She turned around, leaning her back against the door and letting her legs collapse out in front of her… and almost had a coronary.

'Sweet Merlin!' she gasped angrily to the tall teenager who stood languidly next to the large swimming pool of a bathtub, dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and nothing else. He was watching her with his face empty but for the amused quirk of his lips at the corner. Naturally, because Hermione was brought up to be embarrassed about these kinds of things, she blushed a brick red at the sight of his naked chest and instantly averted her eyes to glare instead into his dark cobalt eyes.

Bloody hell. Nice subtleness, Granger.

She decided to mask her embarrassment as anger and hastily snapped; 'You're not a Prefect!'

Zabini smirked.

'Neither are you.'

'I'm Head Girl. I'm allowed to be here,' She reminded him in a breathless voice, struggling to keep her haughty tone.

Zabini nodded, and Hermione took it to say 'fair enough'. She eyed him warily as he began to move closer, conveniently not noticing the water droplets that hung like Christmas baubles from his hair, and shone brightly against his naked torso.

'I take it you didn't come in here to take a bath,' Zabini remarked as he stopped a respectable distance from Hermione, though she still was forced to look up at him from her spot on the floor, which she was really regretting taking up. His hands were tucked in his pockets in his usual casual stance.

Hermione grimaced guiltily. 'You're right,' she admitted after a while, though did not say any more. Zabini was smirking again.

'Hiding from Holmes?' he asked smugly and Hermione instinctively scowled – a reflex that had developed over the last few days at the mocking mention of Lachlan's name. It wasn't really his (Lachlan's) fault, and she had nothing against him personally, just the fact that he was a bit too insecure for his own good. She'd said 'it's ok, Lachlan, really,' about fifteen times today in about fifteen different ways and three different languages. And after all this, Hermione had come to the conclusion that Lachlan was just a tad bit thick. She sighed inwardly at the mere thought of tomorrow.

'Yes,' she confessed dejectedly, but then remembered who she was talking to. 'Merlin – will you put on a shirt? You're in a public place you know!' she reminded him in her best Head Girl voice. Zabini merely looked at Hermione with that one eyebrow raised in a now annoyingly familiar manner. His look told her quite clearly that he thought her mentally impaired.

'Actually,' he drawled, 'it was quite a private place until you came barging in.'

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched as she struggled to think of something to say because quite frankly, she'd been burned. Seconds ticked by in which Hermione glared at Zabini thoroughly. In the end, she decided to mimic him in a squeaky, high-pitched and distorted voice nothing like his, because that had always been the best comeback when she was six.

Aw, darn it. She was so bad at being aloof and mean; it was almost unfair.

Zabini gave a snort of uncontained hilarity and Hermione swiftly turned her back to him, pressing her ear dedicatedly against the door to listen for Lachlan's footsteps. It was the first time she'd ever heard Zabini make any noise associated with amusement, but the fact that it was at her expense made her wish she could have lived a life of considering herself lucky to have witnessed a smirk.

'That's some great wit you've got there, Granger,' remarked Zabini, and Hermione noticed his voice was once again blank but for the teeniest hint of mockery that she did not appreciate.

'Shut up,' she barked, wondering if the smoke billowing from her ears was visible. 'And go put a goddamn shirt on!'

'If it bothers you that much,' complied Zabini, walking to a bench and picking up a grey tank and slipping it over his head. Hermione stared at the tiles as she forced herself to listen to the eerie silence outside the door.

Suddenly, Zabini was right behind her. Stupid gosh darn silent Slytherin.

'Granger. Move. As much as it appeals to me, I've better things to do than spend the afternoon in the Prefects Bathroom with you,' he said, staring down at her impatiently. Embarrassed as she was from his sarcastic comment, Hermione shot upwards, making Zabini take a surprised step back as she covered the door with her body.

'You can't go!' she cried in alarm and for a second, Zabini's coolly composed face faltered as his eyes widened in astonishment. But that was only for a second.

'Why not?' he asked impassively.

'Because if Lachlan sees you come out, he'll most definitely have a peek inside here just to check if I'm here too and then it'll be like I'm the Pope and Lachlan's come for confession! He'll say 'I'm sorry' about twenty times verbally, and then hand me a card and a teddy bear and a bouquet of roses that all sing the cursed words over and over in different pitches about thirty-seven times. And then he'll insist on walking me to my dorm!' She paused to take a few deep breaths, looking pleadingly at Zabini. 'You can't leave,' she heaved, refusing to admit to herself she'd sunk to the level of begging. '– not yet.'

Zabini merely stared at her for a while. And then he pushed her aside and Hermione was afraid he was going to walk out anyway, but he just leaned forward and pressed his ear to the door also. She stared at the Slytherin in amazement, and wasn't surprised when the corners of her lips lifted in a stunned but pleased smile.

She crouched down a little so that she could also press her ear to the door, careful to make sure no part of her body was touching the Slytherin, eventually giving up on the awkward position and sliding down onto her haunches, so she was level with Zabini's knee. They listened in a silence that wasn't at all awkward, like Hermione had dreaded it would be, but more anticipating. Lachlan's footsteps were approaching.

'Hermione…' she heard him calling despairingly. Unwillingly, Hermione's eyes slid up from beneath her lashes to notice Zabini's smirk, which she had known would be there. She still sneered at him and looked back down at the tiles, pressing her ear firmer to the door; sure that Lachlan was only one or two metres from the door now. It was at times like these that she thoroughly wished that she invested in the Weasley Twin's products more, so that she might have a pair of Extendable Ears on her.

She held her breath as Lachlan's soft, shuffling footsteps slowed to a stop for a few brief seconds. Did he know about the Prefects bathroom? More importantly – did he know the password to the Prefects bathroom? Above her, Hermione thought she heard Zabini sigh impatiently but couldn't be sure, the sound was so quite it could have easily been her own shallow breaths. Although, when she peeked another look up at the uncharacteristic Slytherin, he did have that blank look of utter boredom on his face. But then again, that blank look of utter boredom was always there. In some form or another.

Eventually, Lachlan's footsteps echoed into silence but Hermione held still in her crouched position, her breath bated as she waited for him to unexpectedly yank open the door she leant against, yelling 'Gotcha, Hermione! I'm sorry!' in a horrifically proud and smug voice, with an equally horrifically fake, happy face. After a few seconds of silence, Zabini pulled away from the door, the leg of his jeans brushing against Hermione's bum, making her stiffen and blush a bright red. Not even a quarter of a second later, Hermione felt a cool wetness plop against the back of her burning neck, both surprises making her topple back on the balls of her feet to land unceremoniously on her bum, a small squeak escaping her lips.

'What?' asked Zabini blankly as she glared up at him from her position on the floor, his hand already on the doorknob. Hermione wondered if he was planning on saying goodbye before he left, maybe in the form of a nonchalant 'see ya'?

'You dripped on me,' Hermione grumbled accusingly, wiping the water off her neck with the back of her neck. 'Why didn't you wipe yourself off properly? – Last time I checked, the just-walked-through-the-Niagara-Falls look was not in. I mean, you come from the rich family of Zabini, right? So it's not like you can't afford a good functioning towel…'

Hermione's angry mutterings were cut short as Zabini made a soft, rasping noise – and she could actually see a smidgeon of his teeth. She squinted at him curiously, wondering if he was experiencing some sort of fit.It took a while to realize that Zabini was smiling, his lips stretched and upturned into the strangest lop-sided smile she'd ever seen, though she couldn't help but note that it suited his face very well, and that the strange rasping noise was his laugh. She blinked at him rapidly from her spot on the floor; not bothering to close her slightly gaping mouth as Zabini seemingly recovered from his little laughing episode and went back to his amused smirk. And then, she did something that she didn't even know she had instructions in her mind to do: she smiled at a Slytherin. It was a tentative, surprised smile, but it was still a smile and it was a smile that lingered on her face long enough to be noticed.

Ok – this was just getting down-right out of hand. She was fraternizing with the enemy. Yet – what was a little smile? Surely she was not that prejudiced. They'd somewhat successfully shared a book hadn't they? So a sharing a smile wasn't that big of a step.

Oh, who was she kidding? This had to stop.

As Hermione was holding the vivid discussion in her head, Zabini wondered back to the bench with all his belongings on it and picked up a rather fluffy and soft looking white towel, ruffling it through his hair shortly before he slung it over his shoulders. He raised an eyebrow with another wry smirk, obviously trying to telepath-ify the word 'happy?' into Hermione's mind. She nodded approvingly and another goddamn smile leaked onto her lips, but she was able to control this one and quickly locked it away. Zabini's hair was now sticking up every which way and as Hermione picked herself up off the floor, her hand was suddenly itching to reach up and smooth it down. She shoved it behind her back, clasping it tightly in the other hand. What was wrong with her?

'Bye,' she chirped quickly, as Zabini picked up a backpack – probably containing clothes, shampoo and other bath products – and began doing his weird saunter-shuffle towards the door. She swiftly stepped out of his way, keeping her traitorous hands locked behind her back and forcing a sweet, innocent smile on her face when he looked at her strangely for the sudden, rapid movement.

'Thanks for not leaving before,' she continued in her trying-to-be-nice voice. '… It was rather…' Why couldn't she just have left it at thanks? Now she had to find a word to describe the nice thing he'd done for her, and for some reason, her mind just wouldn't let the word 'nice' do the trick. '… Well… it wasn't something I expected from you – or any other Slytherin for that matter. In fact, I'm surprised I didn't just walk right out and surrender; I was pretty convinced it would have had the same result. I mean, it was very uncharacteristic in my opinion and –'

She caught Blaise's raised eyebrow, and then her eyes flicked down to his hand again, clutching at the door knob. Obviously, he couldn't wait to leave and had no idea why she wouldn't shut up. Well, neither did she. What the bloody hell was wrong with her?

'I won't judge you again,' Hermione concluded abruptly, deciding this was the best way to end her blabbering speech without making herself more of a fool. Cheeks on fire, Hermione awkwardly stuck out her hand for Blaise to shake. For a few seconds, it seemed Blaise was analyzing Hermione's face, scrutinizing it for any trace of hatred or trickery in her friendly gesture. But then, is face wiped clean of any emotion – making it irritatingly unreadable – he gently and smoothly placed his hand in Hermione's. She was surprised how warm his hand felt – like she'd been convinced it would ice cold – and that it wasn't as disproportionally giant as she had observed before – just a mighty lot larger than her own. She half-expected him to grip her hand too hard on purpose, possibly break a few bones, but the two shook hands briefly with a polite lightness. His eyes seemed to burn into Hermione's, and it annoyed her that as he was probably one of those people who saw everything a person was thinking in their eyes – and Hermione could see nada in his black ones, which suddenly weren't as daunting as before. It hit her that his eyes had never been necessarily blank, just so deep; like a swirling mass of black liquid – quite like what she'd felt she was floating in when that toy bludger hit her in the head – that it had the illusion of being emotionless: too confusing and mysterious to hold any readable feeling. And suddenly, daunting took on a whole new meaning for her. Those eyes – even Blaise himself – were not scary, just too unreadable and mysterious to be decoded by just one simple glance, one single conversation. Suddenly, it was all very intriguing.

When they let go it was another thing that stupidly surprised Hermione, like she'd been anticipating having to search for hours to find her small hand in Blaise's own massive one. When Hermione's hand fell back to her side, she ripped her eyes away from Blaise's, the movement jolting her mind out of its fascinated, thoughtful state and suddenly remembering where it was and exactly who's eyes it'd been engrossed in for a little too long. Aw, Merlin, this was just stupid now. She had to get away from him – and fast, before her every moral and principle about associating with Slytherin's was shredded into tiny bite-size pieces.

'Cool,' said Zabini in regard to Hermione's apology, and then his smirk had appeared on his thin lips once more. 'So can I go now?'

Hermione blushed again, nodding fervently.

'Sure.'

She watched, still feeling ridiculously embarrassed for coming across so eager-to-please and stammer-y, and insecure and so… vulnerable. Urgh. What happened to all the Gryffindor courage? Or didn't that cover good come-backs and a strong, clear voice?

She noticed that although Zabini had opened the door and although he was standing in the threshold of the cavernous bathroom and the empty hallway, a hand still gripping the polished brass doorknob, he was not making any movement into the deserted corridor. Hermione shot him a questioning look as he himself looked at her pointedly. He rolled his eyes impatiently.

'Go on,' he said edgily, jerking his head into the hallway, 'Ladies first, right?'

Hermione could not stop her eyes widening in amazement. Zabini's vacant expression became dry.

'What?' she asked casually, denying her obvious moment of surprise, though refusing to even sway towards the door he held open for her.

'It just fills me with such exuberance to know how much credit you give me,' he said sarcastically. 'What – Slytherins aren't allowed to have manners, either now? That's harsh, Granger. Especially for someone who just promised to be less judgmental a few seconds ago.' She could tell by his wry tone that he wasn't offended in the slightest, maybe even slightly amused, so Hermione made a face at him.

'You've gotta give me more credit for trying,' she protested and he shrugged, still standing in the doorway. 'Besides, we can't leave at the same time. If someone saw us – well, I've got enough rumours going around about me and Holmes waiting to be exterminated. You and I emerging out of the Prefects Bathroom together – what with you so wet and me all – well, I suppose I'm dry – but the point is, Lavender and Pavarti would have a field day.'

Zabini nodded slowly in understanding, though his face was as impassive as ever.

'Right. See ya, Granger.' And then he slinked silently into the hallway and was gone. Hermione counted to twenty under her breath after the peculiar Slytherin left before traipsing out the door happily; sure she would be able to get to Gryffindor Common Room – her safe zone from Lachlan – without running into the insecure bastard. She was practically skipping down the corridor, leaping around a corner, before she froze, depression threatening to take over her entire life in that second that she saw him.

'Lachlan… Hi.'