Chapter Four: I don't know what you get up to on first dates, Granger.
Hermione was meandering through the deserted corridors. The Hufflepuff prefect she was meant to be sharing the patrol duties with had fallen sick, so she was on her own for the night. She pulled her robes tighter around her body as a slight draft rustled at her clothing. She hurried along the rest of the corridor and (seeing as there was only ten minutes of the shift left) began to make her way very slowly back to Gryffindor Tower.
Turning into one hallway, Hermione gasped as she came to a halt with her nose centimetres from the backs of none other than Fred and George. They turned quickly, looking as guilty as three year olds with their hands stuck in cookie jars minutes before dinner. They opened their mouths to blurt out every excuse possible for being in the current situation, but Hermione got there before them.
"What are you doing?"
The twins gaped for a good few seconds before Fred answered simply, "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing," repeated George defiantly.
Hermione's eyes narrowed incredulously. "Right," she said slowly, "So then there's absolutely no reason why I shouldn't give you both detentions for being out and about after curfew." She nodded to herself, crossing her arms resolutely over her chest.
"Oh," said George, eyes wide and innocent. "Is it – are we past curfew?" He looked at Fred, seemingly surprised. "Oh dear," he said, having a pathetic stab at being sorrowful. "Oh, no. What a horrible mistake to make..."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You guys are fifty-seven minutes past curfew," she informed them tiredly.
"Fifty-seven minutes?" cried Fred, genuinely horrified. "Angelina's going to hang me! By the balls!" He swore viciously before sprinting off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. George watched his twin bail, his expression one of complete betrayal. He let his gaze slowly fall back on Hermione and bitterly explained, "He's got a Floo-date."
Hermione smiled in awkward understanding, not planning on letting both twins off so easy. George looked at her, eyes pleading with her to be nice just this once. No reaction.
"So," he ventured. 'You're looking exceptionally exquisite this evening, Hermione."
Oh please. Despite his obvious opt for flattering his way out of punishment, Hermione allowed the cheeky Weasley a small smile. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Yeah," George nodded with exaggerated seriousness as he began walking her in the direction Fred had just fled in. "But tell me, are you feeling as gorgeous as you look tonight?"
"Wait. Are you suggesting that I look hideous every other day?"
"What – No!" George turned a disapproving look onto Hermione. "You really need to get those self-confidence issues sorted out."
Hermione laughed. "Give it up, George."
"Give what up?" he feigned confusion, though he did it well.
"Give up trying to compliment your way out of detention!"
"Detention? Are we still on that? Come on, Hermione, that joke grew old thirty seconds ago!"
Hermione tried to give him a stern look, but her lips were still twisted in a smile. "You're not funny," she told him.
George's jaw dropped.
"You find me hilarious," he informed Hermione confidently.
"Hilarious? Going a bit far, aren't we?" George did tell thigh-slappingly funny jokes, but Hermione hardly wanted to feed his fat ego any more.
"Not at all!" George countered, a smug grin beginning to spread across his freckled features. "You put on that disapproving face but don't think I don't see the smile hiding behind it!"
Hermione glared at him, her lips pursing as she realized that was exactly what she did. But he didn't need to know that.
"And what about the Rejection of Romilda Vane?" George continued, waggling his eyebrows at her. "I know you think that was fun, if not funny. And so was fleeing that William dude. Now there is a bloke I honestly pity."
Hermione continued to stare at George sceptically as they turned the last corner and began walking towards the Fat Lady's portrait, her faint snores the only noise other than their slow, soft footsteps.
"And what makes you think you know me so well?" she questioned.
George grinned, his hands tucking inside the pockets of his school pants.
"Oh, I dunno," he said. "I like to think we have incomparably rare, astounding and refreshing... connection."
Hermione stopped in her tracks and laughed. "George," she cried, "we're not close enough to have a connection!"
But that wasn't entirely true. These days, the trio had been seeing a lot more of the twins. They shared many of the same classes, sat with them during mealtimes, they shared the same dorm as Harry and Ron and had pretty much become part of their 'group', along with Ginny of course. It was not longer a trio, but a ... hexa-herd.
But anyway, to tell the truth, Hermione did feel much closer to George than before, and she didn't even regret it. But again, he didn't need to know that.
Yet George seemed to know her statement was pretty much bullocks, or he acted like it as he clutched dramatically at his chest and took slow, staggered steps towards Hermione.
"Ouch," he remarked softly. "Like a knife through my heart. And here I was thinking we were to elope the day after graduation."
Hermione laughed before biting down on her lip nervously. George was moving a bit too close for comfort.
"Besides," he continued. His voice had grown deeper – huskier, if she dared analyse that far. He was so close now that she could count each separate freckle on his face. She felt herself begin to draw back. "If it's proximity that you want, well..." he smirked in a way that Hermione's hormonal, misbehaved part of her mind instantly deemed seductive. Her heart thundered distractingly in her ribcage as George's warm hands placed themselves on her hips, puller her closer into his body. Her eyes were wide as she watched him murmur, "... Let's just say I can provide for your needs."
He had to admit, pressed up like this against Hermione's small, quite curvy body was like heaven on earth. Her face was all flushed; making her huge, brown eyes stand out like farts in a muggle church.
But then George began to think maybe teasing Hermione like this wasn't really the bestest idea. He was holding her so tightly that everything of hers was pushed up against everything of his and as he'd already established: it felt nice.
Too nice.
Hermione looked up at George with her large chocolate eyes and her lips parted to say something. George gulped.
"George," she whispered in her soft voice and he was really, really starting to regret starting this. But then, not to his disappointment, she smirked and said, "Yeah, no."
She pushed him away, and he proudly noticed that she failed to mask a reserved smile. George's lips tugged into a rugged grin.
"That's cool," he muttered nonchalantly. "I have to get to my dorm anyway."
He answered the Fat Lady's lofty inquiry of "Password?" and was just about to clamber in when Hermione stopped him.
"Don't forget – you'll be having a date with Professor McGonagall tomorrow night." George's expression dropped. "Five-thirty, Detention chambers. Be there," she winked flirtatiously as a joke.
"Ah, shit," said George. "It blows, because I know you're not even kidding."
"Don't worry. Fred'll be there too," she smiled with mocking enthusiasm before giggling at his lack of.
"Right," he muttered forlornly. "So I guess that means you're not feeling as magnificent as you look tonight."
"Shut up and go to bed, George."
"Remind me again why we chose today of all beautifully sunny days to spend an hour with our noses in Potions textbooks?"
Blaise let the book flop in his hands. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. She'd been waiting for him to finish reading that half a page for the last ten minutes.
She'd been tutoring the Slytherin for a nice half hour in the library when suddenly, in quite a child-like manner, he'd looked up and noticed there was a sun in the sky behind the window.
"What a bright, sunshiny sun," he'd observed, interrupting Hermione's lecture on the distinct features of a spiderbark tree. And from then on, it had been nice day this and nice day that until eventually, the two had headed out to enjoy the 'nice day' by the lake.
Big mistake.
Hermione hadn't been able to get Blaise to concentrate since. Over the course of their first tuition class and this one, the second, Hermione had discovered that although he was actually quite intelligent, he was entertainingly immature sometimes. Entertaining, because it was obvious he thought he was the most mature, developed thing on Hogwarts campus. But not so much that he rivalled Draco Malfoy. Oh, Merlin forbid. Hermione would have quit her volunteer work after the first minute.
Blaise also seemed to lack the shrewd trait of many Slytherins, though he certainly did have the ambition (he'd told her all about how he planned on building a banking empire to rival that of Gringotts).
She stretched and wearily answered his question. "Because you have Quidditch every other weekday."
Blaise frowned. "What about Friday?" he asked, his dark eyebrows slanting at the middle. "I don't have Quidditch then."
"Friday we're going to Hogsmeade, remember?" she reminded, picking up another book and running her finger down the contents page, looking for something for them to spend the next five minutes devotedly studying. "Besides, aren't you spending the night with Lydia?" she asked absent-mindedly, referring to his rich, snobby little Slytherin girlfriend who'd cut their tuition short last time.
Blaise snorted, his nose crinkling in disgust. "Nah," he said offhandedly, "I broke up with her."
"Oh." Maybe she shouldn't have bought that up.
"Yeah. Kind of unavoidable after I walked in on her with someone else. A woman, as well."
"What?"
He laughed. "I'm kidding." He leant back against the beech tree with an arrogant smirk. "No woman would swing that way after being with a Zabini."
Hermione snorted. "I'm sure."
"No, but seriously. Lydia's not a lesbian. I don't think. It just wasn't working."
"Huh."
"You don't care, do you?"
"Not particularly, no."
Blaise grinned to himself. "You've earned my respect, Granger."
"For not caring?"
"For not faking."
"Oh, finally my life is worth living." Only now did Hermione look up from the book, grinning so that Zabini would know that the playful banter was indeed playful.
He was grinning wryly. "So tomorrow's free?"
Her expression turned scandalised. "No!" she retorted.
Blaise stared back, looking bemused. "Why not?"
"Because I have a life!" she cried defensively. Surely he didn't expect her to give up a Hogsmeade trip for his tuition?
"Now that you have my respect and all that, yes I know. I thought we'd moved on from that conversation?" Hermione scowled and Blaise smiled lop-sidely before surrendering. "Alright, alright. I'm done. No tuition on Friday." Suddenly, he asked, "But how about dinner?"
Hermione almost gagged on air.
"That was out of the blue," she remarked after composing herself. Her mind still processed his nonchalant words.
"I'm being serious." His smile was slight, but his dark eyes – so unlike George's (though she had no idea why she was thinking about him) – were warm and clear.
A veil of uncertainty began to smother Hermione's thoughts. "You mean on a date?" she asked.
"Yeah. Why not?"
"No!" she scoffed.
Hey, there were her sensible thoughts.
"Besides," she continued. "I'm sure there's some kind of unspoken rule that demands you remain sorrowful and celibate for a period of days after a break-up."
"Celibate?" Blaise raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. "I don't know what you get up to on first dates, Granger, but –"
"Oh sod off, you know what I meant!"
Blaise grinned, his white teeth bathed pink and orange from the sun setting over the lake. "I'll look that up in the book of Unspoken Rules. But in the meantime, I guess we'll just have to settle on a friendly dinner."
"Zabini..."
"Oh come on," he persisted, his head tilting to the side. "Just a friendly dinner – how bad can it be? I mean, we have fun right?"
Unfortunately, this was true. Hermione hadn't had a dull moment whilst tutoring the charismatic Slytherin. But she didn't actually fancy him – did she? She didn't get weak knees, or giddy heart beats when he smiled at her and she doubted she ever would. But he was nice, charming, and she'd miserably failed trying to convince her mind he wasn't completely fit…
Echoing dully through the Hogwarts campus, the clock chimes rang out the end of another evening hour. Hermione grinned, feeling triumphant, and began gathering her books.
"Ha!" she mocked. "Your hour's over." She rose to her feet, leaving a protesting Blaise on the floor.
"Whoa – wait a second," he called as she turned away from him. "What about our date – dinner! What about our friendly dinner?"
Hermione shook her head, smiling as she continued walking. "I'll think about it," she called over her shoulder.
"What, you're mind's capable of memorising entire pages of a textbook, but you can't splutter out the answer to a simple yes or no question?" Blaise called back, also getting to his feet as he watched her leave.
'I've got homework to do," she told him, ignoring the jibe. She turned to grin at him, hugging her books to her chest as she walked backwards slowly. Was she being flirty? Most definitely. And she felt good.
She watched as Blaise ran an olive-skinned hand through his dark hair, shaking his head. "You told me you already finished your homework for today," he yelled.
Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from giggling. What a little minx she was. "That doesn't mean I can't start tomorrow's!"
'You're a little bookworm!' Hermione heard Blaise's faint voice sing-song as she pattered up the stone steps to the castle. He was still standing under the tall beech tree.
Hermione shook her head and laughed softly, turning on the step she was on to sing back, "Who's getting you O's in Potions!"