A numbing sensation filled Hermione's stomach as she ran down an alley way. The tears wouldn't even fall. Her back scraped the wall as she collapsed the floor, the dirt and grit fouling her shorts.

Her chest soon ached with the sharp position of her knees, but she couldn't bare to move them. No-one was there to hold her so she would have to. Ignoring the clamminess of her palms, and the increasing pinch of her ribs, she drew her knees closer. Letting her forehead fall against them. Hiding her face to this wretched world.

It was cruel. Not knowing what to feel or to think. But crueller still, when there was no one to aid you.

But who did she want to aid he? Harry or Ron? Ginny perhaps? But how would Hermione explain why she was so devastated? Maybe if Malfoy would find her and apologise? But she wasn't with Malfoy. She hates him. And has done since their first year.

'But a teacher?!'. She would have to tell Harry about this. He would know what to make of it at least. But then how would she explain why she followed him? 'He might not ask considering the state of news itself', she reasoned weakly.

She shook her head tiredly, she was stuck in a vicious loop. The more she and Draco argued, the more ferocious became their little 'antics'.

She stretched out her legs, and lay her head back against the wall. Perhaps she could just forget this year and go back home. It would make things far easier. Plus, she could still see her friends during the holidays over the burrow.

At once, her anger flared. Her pride screamed at her for being such a coward. This wasn't how a Gryffindor solves their problems. Her head began to throb with the strain of her indecisive thoughts.

Her eyes so desperately wanted to cry, but her mind wouldn't let them. It left them dry and sore,

which only made her more frustrated and upset. The sorrow that filled her had Hermione drowning, it was an impossible situation for the bookworm.

She'd been petrified, turned back time, helped on horcrux hunts, duelled until death, and been tortured repeated times by Deatheaters. But still, all the pain seemed belittled by what she felt now.

The wind had picked up, and bullets of rain kissed the floor around her. She wrapped her cardi tight around her, and with heavy steps, made her way back to her room.

***

Hermione's breathing hitched and stopped continually, unable to find a steady rhythm. She had no idea why her heart sank into her stomach when she saw Draco with another person, she should have just snorted and pitied the girl that fell for his false charm.

The sky seemed to mirror her aggravation. As with her mounting anger, the rain became heavier, and wind stronger. The cold bit her fingers, and made her bare legs itch, none the less making her mood more helpless.

Her usual positive outlook had been beaten to a pulp, and now hid in the dark corners of her mind. Her feet blindly leading the way, not bothering to avoid the puddles and slippery drains that lay before them.

She felt too tired to be angry, but understood that if she were to face Malfoy it would soon change.

Her delicate hand gently pushed the door the pub. She eased it forward, trying to conceal the creak.

Her face fell, and Hermione never thought she'd see the day where she would want to swear at herself.

She shuffled through the door, and paused for a moment. Blaise didn't look up, but she knew he had heard her. Reluctantly, she made her way over to the comfy couch he must have transfigured, and hovered by the left arm.

He was reading the Prophet, his black eyes narrowed and his eyebrows knitted together. His face the picture of concentration.

He didn't look up, but patted the seat beside him. Awkwardly, Hermione sat down, trying her best not to make the seat bounce. She hated it when people did that when she was reading.

Shaking his head, he chucked the prophet into the some-what calm fire, turning his body to face Hermione's quite politely. There was no smile. No small offer of affection. Just exasperation.

Hermione let her eyes fall to her clammy hands, then continued to look around the room. It was only then that she realised just how damaged the fire place was. It was practically crisp. The heavy timber beams completely charred, threatening to fall to the floor. If you were to pick a splinter from it, it could very well be used as writing utensil.

Zabini cleared his throat politely, and in turn Hermione drew her face to look at him. He offered a gave smile, though there was still a slight dent in-between his eyebrows. He was still thinking something over.

She watched as he used one of his many dreadlocks to tie the others back in a low ponytail, then crossed his ankles and leaning back in his seat. "I know what Draco is doing right now". He felt rather than heard the sharp breath she drew.

"But I refuse to justify his actions. Are you okay?",

"Of course I'm fine". She didn't intend for her voice to be so sharp but the bitterness just seemed to seep through. "I don't care about Malfoy", she spat his name like poison. "He is nothing to me".

Her hostility wasn't aimed at Blaise, but even now he could feel the tension. He shuffled lightly on his side of the coach, warily looking anywhere but in Hermione's direction. She half expected him to start whistling like you see in the films.

"I don't know what to tell you".

"Give me some answers". She opened her mouth again, but it shut just as quickly, the perfect imitation of a Ronald. The cogs and wheels in her head started turning, hell Blaise could practically hear them.

"I know you can't tell me what's going on with Draco…". He turned abruptly, not liking where this was going. "But I know you two are in a similar situation, if you could tell me what's….different about you, then I could work out Malfoy by myself".

There was an eerie silence that hung in the air, something that wasn't expected from someone as calm and collected as Blaise. He twiddled his thumbs, eyebrows knitting, unknitting, and then reknitting together.

Gingerly Hermione moved closer to Blaise, resting her small hand on his two. "It will be between you and I, no one else. I promise". And she meant it. Hermione spoke with her eyes more than with her words, holding Zabini's gaze ferociously.

His eyes lit up, and he nodded firmly to himself. Grabbing Hermione's wrists, gently but firmly, he hauled her back out of the pub. He took lengthy strides, his powerful legs propelling both him and Hermione forwards.

After what seemed the fourth time she had almost fallen over, he moved his hand to innocently hold hers, giving her the supportive balance she needed at this speed. They almost glided down the cobbled street, the murky puddles seemingly untouched by their footsteps.

It was only when he led her to the shrieking shack did Hermione question his motive of bringing her. Dragging her, she corrected herself. He stopped by the ancient tree they had sat down by earlier that day, looking around them hastily before rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

His hand was still gently folded over hers, squeezing every now and then out of excitement. Hermione stood fairly patiently, curiosity and fear eating away at her better judgement. By this time, Blaise was practically jumping up and down.

"I need to concentrate" he said with broad smile. "There are only a select few who know about this so you must keep your promise". Hermione nodded her head in agreement, his excitement infecting her also.

His eyes closed, but even with the lids shut, the iris glimmered beneath. His skin faintly glowed, and he puckered his shapely eyebrows. Hermione almost took a step back, the glow of happiness that was shining on his skin was getting brighter.

Behind him ivy burst from the earth, and began coiling desperately around the ancient tree. Hermione grabbed Blaises hand with both of hers, squeezing them desperately. He merely barked with laughter in reply.

She hadn't noticed before that there was a clear space where all the foxgloves were earlier. She watched hypnotically, as the deep emerald ivy continued to tangle around the trunk, twisting and curling in every direction, till there was no bark to be seen. Blaise raised his free hand, and with it, the foxgloves reappeared from the dirt. It was like watching nature in speed motion. The flowers went through the motions of being a seedling, then growing to there full height of flower in about 3 seconds.

They sprung out of the ground all around them, the perfume overwhelming and infectious. She had never witnessed such events, or Infact read of them. The vibrant colours spilled over onto the grass that was now growing beneath her very feet. It grew thick, and luscious. Already entertaining glistening morning dew.

A content, chucking Blaise Zabini stood next to her. Relishing a gawking Hermione Jean Granger.

"Your doing this?" she breathed. The words barely made themselves past her lips she was so enthralled with what was happening. He nodded merrily in reply, squeezing her hand with gratitude. Lilies and roses joined the foxgloves, gracing Hermione with their presence.

When each flower burst from their bud, a miniature explosion of pollen seemed to erupted, releasing a stardust like powder into the air. It swirled thickly on the non-existent wind. Kissing the many flowers the dust passed on its way. Overwhelmed, Hermione collapsed to her knees. She had never witnessed something so beautiful. Of all her years at Hogwarts this type of magic was never mentioned anywhere.

Hot tears welled up, and she turned to Blaise and smiled. How could she thank him? He trusted her enough to share this rare gift with her. The progress of the greenery slowed, but continued to spread towards the forest behind them. The sound of breaking ground echoed around them, each rumble marking the life of a new flower.

"Should I explain?". Hermione could only nod her head a bit too enthusiastically. He laughed with her, and with each chime, a new flower rose from the ground. She noticed, and looked at him expectantly. Her thirst for knowledge riper than ever.

"The growth mirrors my mood. If I'm happy, or at peace, this will happen" he waved his hand around them. Signalling nature to take its well earned bow. "It's taken me a great while to get to this point. To be with this level of control. And I'm just thankful I can share it with someone". He smiled bashfully her way, innocence playing across his handsome face.

"I think somehow I should be the grateful one". Hermione was laughing. It flowed free from the throat, mixing with Blaises. "So are you fully in control?".

"No, I don't think I will ever be. Of course I will have a good amount of control, but I personally believe that it should be that way. It's wrong for a human to be able to control or manipulate nature. Some things should be left to their own devices".

Hermione nodded solemnly, she understood precisely. "How long?"

"Two years now". With this Hermione's eyebrows flew up to her forehead.

"Even during Hogwarts? Before the war?"

"Well, yes. But the war has a lot to do with it". His face darkened slightly, as did the scenery around him.

"Was it difficult?"

"Very, learning to control this during school was…" He couldn't even find the words to express his emotions. So Hermione simply took his other hand in hers.

"I was the only one I knew that had this type of gift. I looked everywhere for books that had even the slightest information on this sort of magic. But nothing. Not even down Borgins and Burkes!".

"Learning to control it was tiring aswell. And at first my moods were the first to change. If I was angry nature would die around me, I couldn't go near the Black lake for the first year".

Hermione sat quietly, the knowledge of his circumstance slowly sinking in. A million and one questions burned her mind, but how could she ask them? What if he wasn't ready?

"How did it happen?" she decided.

He frowned gravely, and slowly the grass began to wilt and turn yellow. "Before the war, when Voldemort had first arose in our fourth year" Hermione didn't flinch at Voldermorts name, but was quite surprised to hear Blaise use it, "He began recruiting one might say, he wanted, in a sense, new-old magic. Something that was only down to myth". She watched silently, unsure of how he meant 'recruited'.

"My family, pureblood as we are, have never been involved with that side of history. Never a follower, or Deatheater. But, as with every pureblood family, ours has…stories one might say".

"Stories?"

"Yes well, pureblood families are old, they root back to the beginning of magic, they all do. So with it, as each generation comes to pass, events must happen. Like curses between families, and just old age rumours ect. But, some families were magically stronger or more valuable than others in Voldermorts eyes. Ours being one of them".

"He un-earthed stories that even we didn't know of. It was something that had been lost over time, never spoken of because of it's rarity".

Hermione took in a deep breath. Of course she was bright, but when it came to ancient truces and pureblood codes she didn't understand it. She was muggleborn after all. "What was this something?".

He looked over, his head cocked to the side slightly. Holding her breath Hermione awaited the answer.

"Element Control".

"What?!" Hermione just about managed to splutter. A smile pulled at Blaises lips as he watched her eyes bulge.

"What?" she repeated, more to herself than to him. When Blaise next spoke, it was as if to a crowd, a commentators air to his voice.