Title: Just One Kiss
Summary: Blaise Zabini was a Slytherin. It was all anyone ever noticed about her. Until him. Until the man who changed it all…
Author's Note: Wow. My summary sucks. Mental note: must change summary soon. Anyway, sorry this has been so long in coming. Most of it has been written for a while, I just needed to flesh it out. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: This isn't mine. What, did you expect me to own it? This is called fanfiction for a reason. It's posted on this site for a reason. Get over it. This isn't mine. At least, not really.
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Chapter 3Blaise stirred in the bed, her hand—which had until then been tucked under her cheek—coming up to swipe at some imaginary fly or feather. She frowned in near-wakefulness, trying unsuccessfully to stay asleep. Somehow she thought it would be easier, that there was something happening that she couldn't stop, and that it wouldn't stop once it was set in motion. Whether it was good or bad…she didn't know.
But this was all unconsciously. When she awoke, nothing was wrong… In fact, things couldn't have been more right. She was actually having a good Christmas vacation. She was in a house where everyone loved each other (well…most of the time at least) and respected each other (again, most of the time)… And she had a crush on Charlie Weasley.
She blushed beat red, even though no one was looking at her. How embarrassing. Well, not really. He was good-looking, and he had a perfectly respectable job.
Blaise frowned. Wait a minute. How did she know whether he had a respectable job or not if she didn't even know what it was? At least, he looked as though he had a respectable job. Although where he got those dragon-hide pants… She sighed. She would have to find out.
She glanced at the other two beds; both girls, one red-haired and one brunette, were still asleep. It was only six or so in the morning, she noted, so it wasn't as though they were late. She was early. She always was; an early-bird, that is. It was rather… Well, annoying at times. While at school, she would usually go outside and take a walk. It was a nice way to stay in shape.
Blaise glanced out the window. It was a nice day. There was no reason why she couldn't take a walk today…
She walked down the stairs, being careful to step softly, not wanting to wake anyone up. As she neared the landing, she heard someone in the kitchen and headed towards it to take a look.
Mrs. Weasley was shuffling around, apparently getting ready for breakfast. She already had a few pans out and was currently mixing some batter with her wand. Blaise stepped into the kitchen. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley," she said, smiling at the older woman.
The witch looked up, her face breaking into a smile when she saw Blaise standing in the entrance to the room. "Hello, Blaise! How wonderful to see you again," she said, her eyes twinkling merrily. "I'm just making breakfast; you can have a seat at the table over there."
"Do you mind if I watch you?" Blaise asked shyly, watching wide-eyed as Mrs. Weasley finished mixing the batter and began pouring it onto an iron of sorts while also directing about fifteen potatoes to begin washing themselves in the sink. "I-I've never seen anyone cook before."
Mrs. Weasley's happy demeanor dropped slightly. "You haven't? Well, what about your house-elves? You never watched them?"
Blaise shook her head, forcefully dragging her eyes back to Mrs. Weasley's. "Mother never let me see the house-elves, not even when they cleaned my room. I caught a few peeks of them when I was younger, but didn't see any after that. I only just began seeing them again last summer. My parents died last spring…" Blaise trailed off, feeling slightly uncomfortable, unsure whether she should be sharing this with the older witch.
Mrs. Weasley seemed to be hanging on Blaise's every word. The potatoes had slowly stopped scrubbing themselves and the batter had stopped pouring. "I know, dear; I heard about it."
"Mrs. Weasley…" Blaise said, walking over to the table and sitting down slowly. "I've been wondering—what was my aunt like?"
The older witch paused, setting down her wand and turning around. Her eyes were glistening as she stared at Blaise. "She was a wonderful girl," she said softly. "I miss her… She was Sorted into Gryffindor, as I told you yesterday. It caused quite the uproar—the Zabinis are an old Slytherin family, nearly as old as the Weasleys are Gryffindor."
Blaise nodded. Her parents had drilled it into her since she'd turned five and begun reading. Hogwarts, a History and Elliston's Guide to the Pureblooded Families of England had been her first books.
"She was a wonderful student. I'm certain that, if she had lived to her seventh year she would have made Head Girl, beating even your mother, who was the only person to come close to Aileen in grades." Mrs. Weasley sighed. "She was two years younger than I was, as is your mother. I didn't know her very well at first, but she was ready to join the Order when she came of age—but that was before You-Know-Who had her killed."
Blaise blinked, tears at the back of her eyes for some reason. This woman—her aunt—had stood up to the Dark Lord and refused his offer… An offer she had probably known refusing would mean death. After all, that was how the Dark Lord worked. If you were among the elite to be chosen as a follower of Voldemort, no one expected you to refuse. And if, odd as it may have seemed to them, you refused… Death was the only way to make sure you didn't talk.
"Oh, I felt so sorry for her," Mrs. Weasley sighed again, potatoes chopping and a pot coming to a boil on the stove. "First when I saw her sister's reaction after she was sorted, then when I heard the Howler she got the next day. And so many times after that, when she disappointed her family in one way or the other. The last time, obviously, was when she stood by her beliefs and refused You-Know-Who… If only because she hadn't been allowed to live out even a half-life." Mrs. Weasley glanced at her, immediately rushing over and giving Blaise a hug. "I'm sorry, dear. I got ahead of myself, I suppose. It's just that I haven't thought about her in so long, and now, you're sitting there, and you look just like her… It's a little difficult for me, but I can only imagine how hard it is for you."
"It isn't that bad, Mrs. Weasley, really. I didn't even know I had an aunt, and I'm grateful to you for that. I only wish she were alive today," Blaise said, looking out the kitchen window as Mrs. Weasley stepped back from her and looked her in the face.
"Well, I'm certain whatever is ailing us—" Mrs. Weasley's mouth turned up here—"can be taken care of with a cup of tea. I'll get right to it."
"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."
"Call me Molly, dear."
"Molly, then."
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Blaise had excused herself from Molly not two minutes earlier, to take her tea in the backyard when Ginny had stumbled downstairs half-awake and mumbling about being famished. Not that she didn't like Ginny, of course, it was just that, after such amazing revelations she needed some time to herself.
So, her entire family had not been evil. Only her mother and her mother's parents. Her aunt, apparently, had some good qualities—certainly good enough to be Sorted into Gryffindor, in any case.
Not that being Slytherin was bad, she reasoned. After all, she was Slytherin and she didn't consider herself evil. And in fact, she couldn't think of a single person in her year who was actually evil. Pansy was nice, though quiet, Draco was smart, smarmy, snake-like, and sarcastic, Crabbe and Goyle didn't have a brain between them—and to face the facts, you really needed a brain to be evil—and she…well, she knew, instinctively, that she wasn't evil.
But then, evil was such a hard to define word. She always thought of killing kittens and finding pleasure in it as evil, especially because it seemed like such a Dark Lord thing to do. Surely it was that simple…
Seven years in Slytherin House, however, had shown her that nothing could ever be that simple.
"Such a serious expression on a seventeen year old makes me worry. What could ever be so horrid?"
Well, if it wasn't Charlie Weasley. He was wearing trousers—not dragonhide, unfortunately—and a jacket with the collar turned up, his hands tucked into his pockets.
Of course, she was similarly avoiding the chill, which hadn't occurred to her until that moment. She shifted her toes experimentally in her slippers, a self-mocking smile coming to the corners of her mouth as she worked feeling back into them. It still hadn't snowed, but it was certainly cold enough to.
"Oh," she said flippantly, waving a hand through the air, "Nothing too terrible."
"That's good," he said. "It would be a pity to have heavy things weighing on your mind at your age."
"At my age? What's so special about my age?" Blaise asked, putting a hand—the one not holding her tea—on her hip.
Charlie shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and balancing on the balls of his feet, leaning forward slightly before falling back again. "I remember seventeen as a good age. It would be a pity to waste it."
"It is a good age," Blaise agreed, letting her hand fall from her hip and taking a sip of tea. "Boys are finally starting to get a clue and the bittersweet end of our Hogwarts era is near, making everything that much better."
"Precisely how I felt about it…" he agreed. "Except, of course, I had a clue a bit before that." He grinned at her.
"Of course, that's what you would say," she parried back at him, enjoying the light argument more than she would have imagined. "All you boys think there's nothing wrong with you whatsoever."
Charlie grinned, opening his mouth to respond, when a loud voice cut into their conversation.
"Breakfast!" Molly's voice came from the house.
"Excellent," Blaise sighed. "I'm starved." She started to walk towards the house, albeit slowly, as Charlie followed a step behind her.
"Mum's the best cook around, and her boiled breakfast potatoes are excellent."
"I hope there are still some left by the time we get inside," she laughed, as she heard the stairs pounding from the rest of the Weasley brothers.
"Don't worry," Charlie said, taking a few quick steps to get in front of her and open the door so she could walk through.
Blaise flushed lightly, trying to tamper her attraction to the older wizard. She wasn't even out of school yet… he probably didn't see her as anything more than, well, his brother's friend's friend. Which was, in fact, all she claimed to be. How old was he, anyway? He was probably much too old for her. Before she could stop herself (what kind of Slytherin was she, that she kept blurting things out?), she asked. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-five," he replied easily.
Luckily, they walked into the dining room and she was saved from saying anything further by Bill, who immediately came up to talk to Charlie. Although she was certainly thrilled for any conversation she was able to have with him, her mind went blank too often in his presence. As his brother pulled him away, Charlie looked back at Blaise and gave her a wink and a smile, wordlessly apologizing, she was sure.
She smiled back before going to join Ginny and Hermione, who had saved a seat for her between them. It was going to be an interesting Christmas holiday.
