Hey guys. Here is chapter nine, in time for me to leave tomorrow for two weeks. It'll be a while for the next update, but hopefully worth the wait. :) I wrote another Draco/Hermione one-shot if anyone's interested... kidding. I love all you readers and reviewers; hearing what you think about the story is the reason it's come this far already, otherwise I certainly wouldn't have been motivated enough, as often happens with me. So drop a line, a suggestion, or just enjoy :) Until next time!
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Hermione sat anxiously through the last half of transfiguration, eager to track down Blaise at lunch. He had met her anxious gaze a couple times during class, but had only offered her a distracted smile. The rest of the time he kept his head down and concentrated on taking notes. She might have found the situation amusing, if her mind wasn't elsewhere. Usually she was the one with utmost focus and Blaise was the one who couldn't wait for lunch.
Finally, class ended. Hermione hurried to pack her books into her bag, looking up to see Blaise and Draco deep in conversation. She bit her lip, as Draco looked over to see her staring. He paused in what he had been saying, and Blaise turned to see what he was looking at. He shot Hermione a wink, and she glanced around the room, wishing everyone else would hurry up.
"Miss Granger, a word, if you will?" She jumped at the sound of McGonagall's voice. Attempting to hide her eagerness to leave, Hermione walked up to the front of class. She saw Blaise hesitantly follow Draco from class and felt her hopes crash.
"Yes, Professor?" She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
"I was wondering if you would perhaps do me a small favour," McGonagall began, observing Hermione over her glasses. "I've ordered something from a particular shop in Hogsmeade and it's just arrived this morning. But I need it by this afternoon at three o'clock and will be teaching lessons until then.
"I am aware you have a free period after lunch and thought perhaps you would be able to pick it up for me." Hermione swallowed; she found that whenever McGonagall asked a favour, it usually wasn't a question.
"Of course, I'll go as soon as I'm done lunch and bring it to you before three," she replied, smiling.
"Excellent," McGonagall said, checking her watch. She handed Hermione a slip of parchment with the shop's address on it. "Well, off to lunch." With that, she swept from the room, and Hermione followed.
As Hermione was late to lunch, the only available seat was between Ron and Ginny. Mentally pleading Ginny wouldn't make a scene, Hermione hesitantly took the seat.
"Oh Hermione," Ron began, turning to her, "Harry and I were just discussing maybe working on that charms project after lunch. You in?" He was looking at her expectantly.
"Actually, I've got to run an errand for McGonagall," she replied apologetically, biting her lip. "Maybe later this evening?" Ron nodded his agreement, satisfied. Hermione loaded her plate and began to eat.
"What was that you said, Hermione? An errand?" Ginny had joined the conversation, giving Hermione a meaningful stare, her eyes slightly narrowed. "What sort of errand?"
"An errand to Hogsmeade," she replied evenly, trying to keep herself in control.
"Uh huh," Ginny replied, looking and sound unconvinced.
"Why would I lie?" Hermione challenged, her eyes now narrowing as well.
"Oh, right, you're just all about the truth these days, Hermione, aren't you?" The redhead threw down her fork. The two girls smouldered at one another for an extended period before Ron waved a hand between them.
"What's going on?" he questioned, confused.
"Hermione has something she needs to tell the two of you," Ginny sneered, directed at Harry and Ron.
"You do?" Harry asked, looking bewildered at the heated exchange. "What is it Herms?"
"Nothing, Ginny must be confused," she replied, not tearing her gaze from the younger girl.
"Not even slightly," she replied coldly. "Hermione, we've been through this. You said you would tell them ages ago."
"I have to go," Hermione blurted, standing up from her barely touched lunch, and left the hall, eyes threatening to tear up from frustration.
-
Blaise looked up as Hermione walked past without so much as looking his way. He nudged Draco, watching as Harry and Ron questioned Ginny, who was glaring at Hermione's back.
"Told you something was about to happen," he commented, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. Draco smirked. "Looks like it's well on its way."
"Honestly, I think you two were dreaming to presume you'd be able to keep everyone in the dark in the first place," Draco replied, picking at his lunch.
"I'd better go find her," Blaise sighed, taking one last bite of his bread and leaving the table. As he walked by the Gryffindor table, Ginny Weasley gave him a loathsome glare and he raised an eyebrow, sneering back at her. Blaise surveyed the three Gryffindors with distaste, mildly reveling inside when Potter and Weasley also threw their best Slytherin-reserved glares at him.
When he emerged from the hall, he was shocked to see Hermione was at the far end of the hallway already. Taking a cautious look around, Blaise hurried to catch up to her outside of an unused office.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, and she gasped in surprise until she saw it was only him.
"What are you running from?" Blaise asked in a quiet voice, meeting her eyes. He smiled.
"Ginny," she scoffed. "I reckon she thinks she's in control of my life. She told Harry and Ron that I have something I need to tell them." Try as she might to stay angry, she was rapidly melting under Blaise's gaze.
"Why are you so afraid of them knowing?" he asked, almost whispered. He ran a hand through his hair, settling it on Hermione's shoulder. He took a step closer, deeply inhaling. "I think it's obvious that it's only a matter of time."
"I thought we agreed..." Hermione trailed off, looking away from his eyes.
"I know we did," Blaise said gently. "But I've been doing a lot of thinking. Is it really the end of the world if the rest of the school knows? I'm sick of pretending I don't care about you."
He ran his hand up her neck, tracing his thumb across her cheekbone. Tilting her head, Blaise pressed his lips to hers softly, wrapping his other arm around her back. Hermione responded, burying a hand in his thick hair, allowing the kiss to intensify. Once his words had sunk in, however, she pulled back, feeling stunned.
"This is irrational, Blaise," she murmured. "NEWTs start in a week. Surely we can wait a bit longer, and then we'll have much less to worry about."
Blaise frowned; this wasn't how he'd hoped for it to go.
"Are you ashamed to be seen with a Slytherin?" He couldn't help it, his eyes grew cold and his words came out a little sharper than intended. Hermione recoiled, eyes widening.
"Of course not, that's ridiculous. I just think there are a lot of considerations to take into account," she reasoned.
"Like Potter and Weasley," Blaise muttered pointedly. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, his robes and the top buttons of his shirt undone due to the warm weather.
"And Malfoy, and your mother, and oh, I don't know, the war?" Her eyes flashed and her brow furrowed and she jerked away from Blaise as though he'd burnt her.
"Draco has accepted this, my mother doesn't care what I do, and it's not as if I'm a Death Eater," he listed easily.
"Not yet you aren't," Hermione snapped, instantly regretting it as his gaze suddenly filled with hurt and anger."Blaise, I didn't mean–" She reached for his arm, but he ripped it away, shaking his head.
"Don't you dare," he said in a low voice, his tone shaky. "You know I don't want that."
"I know," Hermione replied, gently, wishing she could take back her last statement. He was staring rather fiercely into the floor. She felt miserable. "Well, I've got to go. I'll see you in Arithmancy later." She paused a moment, and Blaise gave a short nod, still looking resolutely away from her.
Hermione hurried from the room, her eyes burning, threatening to let loose. How could she have said such a thing? Blaise had every right to be upset with her. Regardless, she was still on a time budget for McGonagall, and had to hurry to get into Hogsmeade. As she walked, she couldn't remove the mental image of Blaise's cold eyes, completely shutting her out. She wanted to cry.
Before she knew it, Hermione had made it through the gates into the village, and reached into her pocket for the address her professor had given her. She didn't recognize the street name, and suddenly realized it could potentially take a long time to find the shop she was looking for.
She started wandering away from the centre of the village, into the area where there were more residences than businesses. The street looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't recall how. The tall trees were blocking the sun, and Hermione suddenly felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She was about to ask for directions, when she saw that the next street over was her destination.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione began towards the street, finding the shop with relative ease and having no trouble securing the package. Smiling to herself, Hermione emerged back into the road.
She remembered how she had found the next road over so familiar; just a few doors down was the small pub that Blaise and Draco had once taken her to, where she had first tasted that mysterious black drink she'd given so much thought to since.
Though she knew she ought to return to school, her free period had hardly even begun and she still had plenty of time to make McGonagall's three o'clock deadline. She found herself outside of the front door, biting her lip nervously. The building itself reminded her of her row with Blaise, and she nearly turned away and ran. However, instead, she walked in.
Some inner stream of thoughts propelled Hermione to the bar, where she awkwardly took a seat, glancing surreptitiously around.
The white-haired old barkeep walked over, eyeing her up curiously.
"What'll it be, missy?" He asked, an eyebrow raised at her less-than-cool composure.
"Oh, nothing, thanks," she murmured, jumping. What was she thinking?
"Nothing," the barkeep repeated. "Are ye with the Ministry then? 'Ere to check on me business?"
"Oh, no, not at all," Hermione replied, shocked. "To be entirely honest with you, I have a few questions."
This wasn't what the old man had been expecting. He froze, taking another solid look at her.
"Let's 'ear it then," he murmured.
"Well," she began, feeling nervous. "I was here once before with some friends, and had a certain drink. I just cannot recall the name of it. It was black, liquor mixed with... something else."
The barkeep visibly jumped, now looking at her warily.
"And ye're sure ye aren't with the Ministry?" he asked, and she noticed he had a nervous tick.
"I'm positive," she replied with wide eyes.
"And 'ow did ye get 'old of this drink then?" he questioned, still looking as if he didn't quite trust her. Hermione sighed, wondering exactly how much information he was willing to hand out. Maybe this was pointless.
"Two, well, friends, of mine gave it to me," she replied.
"An' who might they be?" he asked, obviously not willing to let this go without a fight.
"Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini," Hermione murmured. She watched as the barkeep did a double take, his eyebrows shot into his disheveled hair, and he was suddenly looking at her closely, inquisitively.
"Why, you wouldn't be the young miss Master Zabini speaks of often, would ye?"
"I'm not sure, but I am seeing him, if that's what you're asking," she replied, hesitantly.
"Ah, yes, that'd be the one then. Miss 'Ermione is it? Sharp as a tack, 'e says." Hermione felt a sudden swell of pride; Blaise had told this man about her?
"That's me," she replied, flushing pink.
"That boy is quite taken with ye, if the word of an old barkeep is anythin' to go by," he informed her, and again, Hermione felt a flash of regret run through her at the way she'd argued with Blaise earlier. "Now, is this the drink ye referred to?" He conjured a small glass with black liquid in it, and Hermione took a very small sip.
"Yes, that's the one," she said, relieved that the man was now more than willing to help.
"Is called Black Magic, ye see," he started to explain, suddenly alive with story. "Ancient wizarding liquor brewed with a liquid form of raw dark magic. Oh, ye can't judge raw dark magic based on what certain practitioners of them dark arts make it to do." Hermione had slammed the glass down so hard it had shattered at the words dark magic, and the barkeep had vanished the mess with a leisurely wave of his wand. Hermione felt a wave of nausea coming on.
"What do you mean by 'raw' magic?" she asked, curious despite herself.
"Raw magic is what the body does before a child reaches 'is magical inheritance. Before the magic can be channeled through a wielding device and incantations," he held up his wand, and Hermione nodded, "it is considered raw. An' see, miss, traditionally, dark magic was nothing more than the opposite of light magic. Night to day; the other side of the magical Galleon. Everything in nature must 'ave its opposite.
"A wizarding liquor is complex to brew, much like potions; the best potioneers make the best drinks, as ye must know how the ingredients will react to each other, and to the drinker."
The man spoke with such fervour, such passion, that Hermione was drawn in, and found herself truly fascinated. He was clearly much more than a simple bartender.
"I heard somewhere that it's dangerous to mix liquor with magic," she stated after a pause, biting her lip.
"Aye, it can be. That be why I'm cautious who is interested in the drink. A drink like that, the results lie in the intent. Dark magic 'as been manipulated for many, many years now, through the dark arts. It depends on the caster of the spell, and much the same case exists 'ere. Dark magic can do things beyond the capabilities of light magic, if the intent is good. This is why so many enjoy the drink.
"'Owever, if I gave ye a bottle, and ye were to pass it to an enemy, the magic becomes manipulated to yer will and purpose. It will do to the drinker what ye wish."
Hermione felt her frantically racing brain come to a satisfied halt. Blaise wouldn't intentionally have done her any harm, even if she wouldn't know the exact effects of what had happened. There would be none.
But then she froze. At the party with Blaise, they'd been drinking other liquor. The only time she'd had this Black Magic drink was before the party, when she'd been given it by Malfoy. Who was much more likely to have offered it to her with malicious intent, and laugh about it later. After all, she had been shocked that he had given her anything in the first place. She still hardly knew him; it was certainly something he would do.
The barkeep was staring at her, his eyes sparkling. She gave him a nervous grin, and he continued on.
Hermione took an immediate liking to the old man. He was knowledgeable, fascinating to listen to, and highly amiable. He didn't seem to judge anyone based on ability, blood, or family. It was only too easy to get caught up in conversation with him.
She learned his name was Billy Jenks, and that potions had been his first love. He had a wife named May, going on forty-three years of marriage, and three grown kids. And he had known Blaise and Draco since they were fourteen; some of the stories he recounted made Hermione laugh out loud, her temporary rift with Blaise forgotten.
She told Billy about her dilemma between Blaise and her friends, and Billy had just sighed and winked.
"Yer friends might be upset with ye, 'Ermione, but the 'eart wants what the 'eart wants, and friends learn to accept that."
Suddenly Hermione realized how long she'd been sitting there. She frantically searched out the time and learned that she had missed the first half of arithmancy, and had only twenty minutes to get the package back to McGonagall. She said a hasty farewell to Billy, promising to come back again, and hurried off back to the school.
Hermione made it back, out of breath, just as McGonagall's class was let out. She quickly delivered the package and turned in the direction of the arithmancy classroom. Her class had also just been dismissed.
"Where have you been?" Blaise asked in an undertone as she passed. He looked anxious.
"I'll tell you in just a moment," she replied, biting her lip. "I've got to speak with Professor Vector quick."
She walked into the room where the professor was still organizing her materials and apologized, explaining how she had been on an errand for Professor McGonagall. She received the homework assignment and quickly left, hoping Blaise had not gone far.
He was leaning against the wall, head down, his hair in his eyes. He looked up as she walked out, his expression neutral and impossible for Hermione to read.
"Perhaps we should talk," she remarked, feeling suddenly nervous.
Blaise opened his mouth to speak, just as Professor Vector bustled out of the room. She took a curious look at the two students, standing close and staring at one another. She gave the pair a brisk smile and continued on.
"I agree," he replied, brushing the hair from his face. "I hadn't realized you felt so... strongly about certain things."
"I didn't mean to say it, Blaise, you must know," she whispered, feeling the sense of loss wash over her again. Blaise was regarding her as if she were a stranger. He gestured to the now empty classroom and Hermione took the hint, walking in. He closed the door behind him, then locked it.
"Where were you this afternoon?" he asked, breaking the tense silence.
"McGonagall asked me to do her a favour; I went into Hogsmeade to pick up a package."
"The whole afternoon?" He raised an eyebrow.
"I... I got caught up," she murmured. Did she want him to know she'd been investigating?
"Are you alright?" he asked, looking suddenly worried. He had evidently mistaken her unwillingness to elaborate as some fearful or unpleasant happening.
"Oh, yes, nothing bad," she assured, smiling faintly. Whether or not he was upset with her, he was still concerned.
"So," Blaise began again after a pause. "I didn't intend to freak you out at lunch by saying I didn't care who knows about us."
"I know. And I didn't intend to insinuate anything about you in the war. Honestly, it was the worst thing I could have said, and I didn't even mean it." Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes, her brow furrowed.
"I know," he murmured, taking her hand. "I know you have reasons other than Potter and Weasley."
"My reasons are cowardly, Blaise," she replied instantly. "I thought a lot this afternoon, about what you said earlier. And you're right. I want this to be real, and it can't be real if we're constantly sneaking around to be together. I'm going to tell Ron and Harry this evening, and after that, I don't care who finds out."
Blaise stared at her for a moment, comprehending. Slowly, a smirk, then a true smile graced his features.
"Yeah?" he asked softly.
"Yeah," Hermione repeated, and hardly blinked before she was enveloped in a crushing hug, laughing at Blaise's reaction. When he pulled back, he planted a kiss on her lips and met her gaze, his hands on her shoulders.
"What made you change your mind?" he asked.
"I suppose it was in part to do with my getting caught up in Hogsmeade this afternoon. I'll just say I had a long chat with a new friend, and he reminded me to follow my heart," she remarked mysteriously, grinning at Blaise's raised eyebrow.
"Maybe I would rather not know," he said uncertainly.
"Probably." Hermione winked at him.
"And maybe I'm going to kiss you now."
"Probably."
And he kissed her, hard, and with what little conscious thought that remained, Hermione figured that really, what was the worst that Harry and Ron could do to her? Then Blaise's tongue was on hers, and his hand was in her hair, and she suddenly found that thinking about Harry and Ron was particularly unnecessary at the moment.
-
Hermione steeled herself as she walked into the Gryffindor common room, her two best friends at her side, after dinner. They were to finish a charms project, and Hermione had decided to allow the homework be completed before she put the two of them in a bad mood. Which she was certain the news about her and Blaise would do.
She was distracted the entire time, and more than once Harry or Ron had asked if she was alright.
"Of course; just tired," she'd reply with a smile. Once the assignment was finished, the three put their books away and lounged in front of the fire, enjoying some rare and valuable relaxation time.
Hermione was enjoying the silence far more than she had hoped, as it had been a long time since the three had last sat around the fire, silently but comfortably, just them. However, she was now finding herself almost eager to tell them, whether or not they would accept her admission.
She plotted the best way to begin, the best ways in which to soften the blow, or to potentially prevent any fights from escalating. Suddenly Ron stirred.
"Think I might go for a fly," he commented, making to stand.
"Wait, Ron," Hermione blurted, forgetting her careful thought process. "I need to tell the two of you something, and if I don't right now I don't know when I'll next get the chance."
"What is it, Herms?" Harry asked, leaning in toward her.
"I've been seeing Blaise Zabini." Her eyes widened at her own not-so-subtle delivery, but she felt a large weight lift off her chest all the same.
The two boys gaped, mouths open, for a tense moment.
"Oh, that's funny," Harry finally said, laughing a little. "Almost had me for a sec."
"Oh!" Ron said, catching on. "Yeah, that was good! Hermione dating a Slytherin." He was laughing harder now, enjoying the 'joke' with Harry.
"I meant it, you two. We've been together a while. He's really quite nice." She added the last for good measure. The grins instantly fell from the boys' faces.
"Zabini, Hermione? You're not joking?" Ron furrowed his brow, turning red. She shook her head negative and Harry coughed loudly.
"Do you realize who Zabini is best mates with, Hermione?" Harry asked quietly, and she could tell he was fighting to keep his tone even.
"Yes, I know him and Malfoy are mates..." she began, feeling at a loss for words. She suddenly felt the need to defend him. "He's not that bad, this year. I think he's–"
"The Quidditch pitch!" Harry suddenly shouted, comprehension dawning. "That's why you were so keen to make sure he was alright from the accident!"
"I was keen because it wasn't an accident, Harry," she said sternly. The last thing she needed was this debate again. "I know this is hard on you two, but you need to trust that I know what I'm doing and that Blaise makes me happy."
"I don't care if he makes you cake on Christmas morning, you can't date him!" Ron suddenly broke in, his face turning redder by the second.
"Oh, I certainly can, Ronald," Hermione replied, folding her arms over her chest. "You two refuse to see past the Slytherin title to realize that they are only human."
"And like they haven't taken every possible opportunity to ridicule us for being Gryffindor!" Harry threw back. "You, too! How many years have they called you rotten names?"
"Draco and Blaise are not the same person, Harry. Blaise has never, in my very sharp memory, called me any such names." She pursed her lips, staring at the two boys. So far they had done or said nothing she hadn't expected.
"Draco, she called him," Ron commented to Harry, a look of disbelief on his face. "I can't believe this. Hermione, this is absolutely ridiculous; what are you thinking?"
"Plenty, Ron, and right now I'm thinking that you're being a brilliant arse," she fumed, standing up. "I wanted to tell you two, because it's been bothering me to keep secrets from you, but I am not going to sit here and be yelled at, so I will be on my way, and you two had better think about this, because I am serious about it."
With that, she left the Gryffindor common room with one last look at Harry and Ron's angry, hurt, and stunned faces, slamming the portrait behind her. She quickly apologized to the Fat Lady, who had been napping soundly, and started walking toward the Slytherin dorms, a faint smile on her face.
Harry and Ron would take some time. And if they decided not to come around, she could do the same. And come NEWTs, they would be frantically apologizing, suddenly accepting of her and Blaise in exchange for study help. She wasn't sure yet whether or not she would oblige.
With that thought, a small bounce entered her step. Harry and Ron upset with her, she could deal with. She was used to that. This odd new form of liberty was something entirely different, and she quite liked it. Perhaps she would even stay with Blaise tonight. After running patrols, of course.
Hermione entered the Slytherin common room, ignoring the dark glare Pansy Parkinson was giving her, made her way to Blaise and Draco's dorm, and knocked on the door.
Draco opened it. He raised an eyebrow and looked behind him.
"Now isn't the best time," he stated, turning back to her.
"What do you mean? Is Blaise here?" she asked, her spirits deflating rapidly.
"He is." Draco paused. "I'll ask if he wants to see you, hang on."
Before Hermione could ask what he meant, the blond was gone. Hermione waited impatiently for him to return, her brain spinning wildly with thoughts. Had something happened? Was Blaise not alone? She swallowed heavily, brushing that thought away.
"He's in his room." Draco was back, looking as disinterested as ever. But there was a faint edge to his tone, and Hermione began worrying again. She walked down the hallway, gently pushing the door to Blaise's room open.
He was collapsed on his bed, his face buried in his pillow and Hermione froze, not expecting this. He rolled over when she entered, offering a sardonic smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at him.
"Everything's peachy," he grumbled. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was tousled beyond non-magical help. Then he frowned. "I'm glad you're here."
"What happened?" she asked simply, leaning over to run her fingers through Blaise's unruly locks.
"I've received a letter from my mother," he said bitterly. His eyes were cold and harsh. "All about how she's decided her support lies with the Dark Lord, and her and her husband think it's best if I do too... and if I choose a more proactive means to do so, they will be pleased."
His eyes were nearly burning a hole in the ceiling.
"You mean..." Hermione's whisper broke. She couldn't say it.
"Yeah. They want me to join him. If not, who knows; maybe I'll be disowned."
Her eyebrows flew into her curly hair, fear clutched at her throat, and Hermione found herself sufficiently lost for words.
