The following morning felt like a true party hangover, with my head spinning like a top on eternal rerun. I didn't even understand how I was able to haul myself out of bed, but I managed in the end. There were only two of us left in the girls' dorm – me, and a nosy little fifth year girl who asked me if I was having some sort of pre-marital love affair with Blaise Zabini.

"I mean, I won't tell her," she had promised, though there was that barely concealed glint of malice in her eyes.

"You don't have to not tell her anything," I snapped, climbing into bed. "I already told you. Blaise is just this pain in the ass that happens to be my friend."

"But, I mean," She had pressed on. "You guys always hang out. You look close. I mean, really, really close."

And you are really, reallystupid. "Of course we hang out. That's what friends usually do." I'd replied.

"Don't you find him the slightest bit attractive?"

"Sure," I'd snorted. "Like a monkey's behind."

We'd ended up leaving it at that. Anyway, I descended the cold steps into the common room, yawning as I pulled on a thick woolen sweater. Only the telltale embers of an overnight fire died in the room. The place was almost empty, as everyone had chosen to return to their families, save about a handful.

"Good morning, Blake," Blaise said cheerfully from behind me. Unlike myself, sporting a stuffy nose and popping ears, he seemed quite well – aglow, even. I decided to point this out.

"You're unusually chipper today," I raised my eyebrows.

"Of course I am! It's Christmas!" He rolled his eyes. I gave my forehead a hard smack – of course! How could I have forgotten?

"Oh, shit," I hissed angrily at myself.

"Looks like someone came unprepared for the holidays," He observed. "Lucky for you, I'm not expecting a gift of sorts from your pocket. Well, not yet. Anyway, but here – enjoy yourself, I suppose."

He tossed it so quickly I barely had time to react. The box nearly missed the tips of my fingers, but I held onto it.

It was small, no more than the palm of my hand in dimension. There was no card, just simple, thin golden string wound around it and knotted into an artistic ribbon.

"Wow," I whistled. "When did you have time to go shopping? And for me?" I wondered incredulously, tugging on the string.

"I don't waste all my valuable time being idle, thanks very much."

"I never said you did. Oh, sweet," I added, pulling out from the box a shiny gold bracelet, completely bare except for a singly charm dangling from the middle hook – a flat, silver letter 'B', I supposed, for Blake. "It's so pretty. But… well…"

Ever since the Katie Bell necklace shit incident, I'd been way apprehensive about jewelry, especially when it came from other people. Draco didn't seem like the "deadly cursed accessory type", but then again, h had played some part in it, which bothered me immensely. Blaise, as his friend, seemed to be an immediate candidate for suspicion, and decided to answer my unasked question at his own prompting.

"Not to worry," He assured me. "No curses or enchantments. If you must know, I bought it at the engraving shop for a galleon in Hogsmeade. Besides, admittedly, I'm not that good at magic."

I gave him a weak smile, and clasped the bracelet in my palm.

"Thanks a bunch, Blaise."

"Here, I'll put it on," He offered, walking over to me. With surprisingly delicate movements, he wound it around my wrist and linked the latches together. The gold reflected the thin sunlight streaming through the window.

"It's great. Thank you."

"Yeah well," He shrugged modestly. "I guess after a few months with someone like you, you kind of grow on me just a little bit. And I did feel kind of bad for basically forbidding you to come into intimate contact with Draco. Maybe I owe you. Just a bit."

"So," I said, trying to appear nonchalant. "Does that mean you take it back?"

He pursed his lips. "No way in hell. I am going to bind you to a wall of steel before anything happens."

"Like what?"

"Like if you do something really stupid, like kiss him, or-"

"Okay, forget I even asked."

"Seriously, Blake. I'm sorry that I seemed like some hellbent possessed maniac or whatever by trying to keep you away from him, but you have to trust me. The love of your life-"

"Back up, I don't-"

"Okay, the hypothetical love of your life," He rolled his eyes. "Should really be bumped off from the spot. You might find the romance pitifully one-sided. And to be honest, I don't fancy being in between the instance where you're crying on my shoulder while I'm listening to Draco hark on about how much he detests your incompetence and – oh, sorry."

Yeah, because I didn't see that one coming. "Thanks for the heartwarming advice, Blaise. Not that it's necessarily helpful to me."

"It's just food for thought, Blake," He shrugged. "Brutal, but nonetheless true."

"You're mean to me. It's brutal, but nonetheless true," I replied. "And you know what? How about we stop talking about such a painfully uncomfortable topic, and really just enjoy the holidays?"

His face broke into a wide, attractive grin. "Right you are, Asher. Spot of breakfast, then?"

"Awesome," I agreed. Swinging an arm around my shoulders, he led me out of the common room and into the empty corridors. We passed by the familiar portrait of the sleeping dragon, making our way into the Great Hall. Lines of sunlight streamed in through the tinted windows, causing a winter rainbow to shine on the snow floors we walked on.

Entering the great hall was unusual – the mile long tables were empty somewhat, with only a few individuals finishing their heavy breakfasts. Blaise trooped me to the Slytherin table, where a dark-haired boy named Theodore Nott and two other (slightly stupid looking) friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle sat.

"Hey, guys," Blaise greeted them, swinging his long legs over the bench and settling himself down. Theodore Nott gave him a quick nod, and the other two let out a simultaneous, practiced grunt of no consequence.

"See you've got company, Zabini," Theodore Nott observed.

"See you haven't," Blaise retorted in an excessively charming manner. "Jealous, are you? Where's your girlfriend gone? Oh, that's quite right – you haven't got one."

"Love the personality," Theodore Nott said dryly. "Fetching, really."

I sat down as they had this little argument, piling my plate high with food.

"So, are you the Blake Asher that Draco's been tutoring for Potions Class?" Theodore leaned in on his elbows, raising an eyebrow.

"I guess so, yeah."

"Wow," He glanced at Blaise, who smirked annoyingly. "You're really not as bad as he made out."

"Meaning? I guess I don't look half as loony?" I snapped. "Thanks for that assessment."

"Wow, you're welcome," He replied smoothly. "Though I don't see why Draco would make something like that up. I thought you'd be a, I don't know, short, unattractive no-brainer with as much looks as the backend of a – point is, seems I was mistaken."

"Sure hope so," I snorted, torn between laughter and annoyance. I tore off a piece of toast and chewed on it thoughtfully, deciding now would be as good a time as any other to ask. "Where is Draco, anyway?"

Beside me, Blaise emitted a grave, heavy sigh.

"Honestly? Haven't a clue," Theodore Nott shrugged. "Always has business of his own of some sorts, that one. Missing half the time from practice nowadays."

"What does it matter?"

"He's a Seeker," As if I knew exactly what this meant, I nodded. "Bloody good one at that, actually. But, hey, when you've got more important things to do as he does, like when he-"

"Hey, Nott," Blaise interrupted loudly, just as I was growing hopeful for some sort of slip-up epiphany. "Heard you've got yourself a little outing tonight, am I right?"

"Of course you did, Zabini. You planned the route out," Theodore Nott smirked.

"Are you going to invite some girls?"

"All the year's out for holidays, so no."

"Well, you can invite Blake, she isn't going anywhere for sure," Blaise gestured to me. I swallowed my bread and cast him a threatening look, which was, of course, ignored. "She can keep a secret, I promise."

"Actually, to be honest, I don't-" But my lame lie of an excuse was quickly overlapped by Theodore's voice.

"Yeah, why not?" He said, shrugging. "How's about it, Blake? You drink, don't you?"

"Actually, no-"

"Of course she drinks," Blaise rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Nott."

"All right, all right. Keep it on," He raised his palms up in defeat, and then grinned at me. "Later, Blake."

"Wait, but I don't want-"

"Later, Nott," Blaise replied, patting my shoulder heavily. Theodore Nott gave me a nod and stood, walking out of the great hall flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Blaise, I really don't feel very comfortable hanging out with Theodore Nott," I informed him flatly as soon as the latter was out of earshot.

"That's too bad, man," He munched on a potato wedge. "He fancies you, that Nott. Odd, because of everything Draco says when he comes back from tutoring you. Nasty stuff."

"Oooh, can I guess? Does it have something to do with my incompetence, stubbornness, rudeness and overall exudation of the air of "freak"?"

"To that general effect, yes," He put down his fork lightly, then turned to me. "I think you should take this advantage to forget about your interest in Draco."

"I am not," I replied hotly. "interested in Draco."

"Okay, okay, I see," He tapped his lip lightly. "Suppose that's not the reason why you blush whenever he's mentioned, am I right?"

I couldn't stop it – my cheeks turned so warm. "Look, I just want to know what he's trying to hide, okay?"

"And then what will you do Blake?" He demanded, frustrated. "What will you do?"

"Nothing! I just – I need to know, okay? It bugs me. Whatever."

"What do you plan to do, Blake?" He asked, his voice dropping to a purring whisper. "Do you intend to stop him from what he's doing, change him into a better man, thaw his heart so that he'll fall desperately head over heels for you, and in the process, you'll make him see the right path?"

I couldn't tell if he was making fun of me – his voice was so intensely low and serious that I had to take it as so. Pale, cold hands rose up and trapped my face quite tightly in between them. I made a sound that was a cross between surprise and disgruntlement.

"Or, will you accept him for who he is, stay by his side and help him to rise up to his full potential?" He leaned in and allowed his icy stare to freeze up most of my soul. "Will you approach him right now and confess your undying love for him, proclaim your true feelings and then completely win over his heart? Will you be his companion for life, his partner-in-crime, and promise to be with him in whatever may happen, in whatever he plans to do?"

A scary silence punctuated his case scenarios, and I felt my brain go numb. I meant to say something in either protest or reply (something really witty, like, 'huh?'), but he quickly beat me to it. Swooping down, he eliminated the gap and pressed his lips to mine.

Perhaps it would be appropriate to further describe the feeling – physically, emotionally, and mentally. Or, maybe, even just how it happened, how it went about, and how I reacted. It would be time-consuming, pointless, but entertaining, nonetheless.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to do it. The only thing that would sum it up would probably go somewhere along the lines of:

So. Fucking. Awkward.

It probably only lasted a few seconds, but those few seconds were coated with general uncomfortability. When he detached himself, he leaned his cool forehead on my burning one.

"Neither is a good idea, really."

And then he resumed his meal, as if nothing more than a gust of wind happened. I blinked about twenty thousand times that moment, watching him clear his plate with an expression of horror and shock.

"What was that for?" I croaked.

Avoiding the question pointedly, he said, "Hey, at least I know you don't swing that way!"

"Hey!"

"Jesus, don't take it so seriously, Blake," He ruffled my hair. "Stop dwelling on it. But if Theodore Nott kisses you later, you really have to participate more. You're falling just a little above boring."

"Oh my God," I snapped. "You-"

"Later!" He said cheerfully, swinging his legs over the bench and strolling smartly out of the great hall.


"D'you mind?"

I turned my head, squinting through the light fall of snow around me. I shook my head, and scooted over, brushing the snow on the bench with my butt. Harry Potter tucked his hands deeper into his coat pockets, and sat down beside me.

"What're you doing out here?" He asked me.

"I could ask you the same thing," I smiled slightly. "Just dwelling over a few things. What about you?"

"Same. Funny, I haven't seen you since Slughorn's party."

"Harry Potter," I snorted. "That was just yesterday."

"I know that," He laughed. "Seemed like a lifetime ago, though. The days are stretching over. Anyway, Happy Christmas, Blake. I've a little something for you."

Carefully, he extracted a small packaged from his pocket, and passed it to me. I weighed it out on my palm.

"You really shouldn't have."

"But I did," He nodded at it. "Go on, open it. It's not much, but I mean, it's useful. I hope."

Smiling, I tore out the wrapping and let the object fall into my hands. It looked like a small top that glowed rather ominously. I rolled it around my palm for a moment, while Harry explained.

"It's a sneakoscope, something like a dark magic lookout. When any untrustworthy person comes near it, it should start spinning. And whistling."

We waited for a while, and watched it as it lay quite still on my palm.

"I guess you're not untrustworthy," I grinned. "Thank you very much, Harry. But… I haven't really gotten anything for you."

"It's fine, Blake."

I pocketed the sneakoscope, patting the bulk in my coat. Harry leaned back and exhaled a wispy breath of steam.

"So what's going on between you and Blaise Zabini?"

I pursed my lips, suddenly interested in my snow-covered lap. "What're you talking about?"

"I didn't really miss your little scene in the Great Hall. No one did, actually."

"You're exaggerating," I frowned. "I think it was just to prove a point. I mean, he has a girlfriend, doesn't he?"

"What's your point?"

"What's yours?"

"Okay, okay," He sighed in defeat. "What about Theodore Nott?"

"What about him?" I challenged.

"You tell me!" He smiled, rolling his eyes.

"I think he's kind of weird." I shrugged nonchalantly.

"'Kind of' being the more operative phrase," He laughed. "But I'm curious."

"Everyone's curious, that's human. Proceed." I grinned.

"You don't fancy anybody?"

"Who told you that?" I rubbed my eye. "Of course I do. But you have to tell me first. Yours, I mean."

He let out a loud laugh. "No way, Blake!"

"Dude, come on!" I pleaded. "It'll be like a trade. A secret trading thing. Anyway, I bet you mine's ten times more embarrassing – no, a hundred times."

"I highly doubt it."

"Okay, wait, so what I know about this person is that she's a Gryffindor…"

His green eyes were glinting with a hint of mischief as he spoke. "Okay, okay. It's Ginny Weasley."

"Who's that?"

"She's this fifth year girl who-"

"Wait, wait," I said slowly, thoughtfully. Isn't Weasley the last name of-?"

"Yeah," He muttered. "She's Ron's sister."

"Woah. Total. Mindfuck." I said, awed. "So why aren't you guys hooking up at this moment?"

"It would just make things awkward between us," He admitted. "Besides, she's – ah, she's dating someone else."

"So what if she is?" I shrugged. "I'm sure you're ten times more fabulous, right?"

"I doubt that seriously," He chuckled. "But thanks for trying."

I sighed and adjusted my position uncomfortably. "Do I really have to?"

He shot me a meaningful look. "We had a deal. Spit it out, then."

"Please don't laugh at me, I can't take unspoken criticism," I pouted.

"What could possibly be more embarrassing than fancying your best friend's already-taken younger sister?"

"It's Draco Malfoy."

A pregnant pause ensued gracefully around us. An astounded expression seemed permanently planted on his face. His lips opened and closed wordlessly – it seemed almost certain that he was having a stroke.

"Draco Malfoy?" He whispered. "You're… You're not joking?"

"Well, no," I reddened. I realized this was the first time I'd ever admitted it to anyone – even to myself. It was embarrassing, but a wave of relief washed over me. However, this moment of false euphoria popped like a bubble when Harry Potter burst out.

"No way, Blake," He said angrily. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You can't like Draco Malfoy."

"I can't help it," I replied in my defense. "It wasn't so much a choice as it was an involuntary effect."

"Do you really want to fall in love with a Death Eater whose father is in Azkaban? Do you want to be with someone who just recently hurt an innocent student? Who wants to kill someone? Who is trying to find a way to get rid of me?"

"It's not fair to accuse someone who hasn't been proven guilty, Harry," I said, my voice quivering slightly. "Anyway, what the hell is Azkaban?"

"You've mixed yourself up in the bad lot, Blake," He warned me. "Liking Draco Malfoy would kill you. Literally."

I sat there, stunned at his words. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know what it is you have for Malfoy, but whatever it is, you have to stop," He shook his head. "Can you do that? For yourself?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. He stood up and brushed the snow off his clothes. "Where are you going?"

"Inside," He said flatly. "Stay careful, Blake. The next time he comes around, that might just start acting up."

He pointed to the bump of the sneakoscope in my coat, shaking his head and sighing.

"Merry Christmas, Blake."


I'd decided to sleep the afternoon off. Sprawled across the couch of the common room, I'd dozed in and out to the ever-present sound of a warm, crackling fireplace. I'd awoken to a couple of people going in and out, but paid them no mind. I'd nearly succumbed to REM when I felt a breath tickle my ear, and a soft voice whispered to me.

"Asher. Wake up."

My eyes fluttered open, and I found my face face-to-face with the familiar ice-blue pupils of Blaise Zabini.

"What's going on?" I yawned. "What time is it?"

"Five to midnight. You've been knocked out, practically." He grabbed my elbow and pulled me up. "Let's get going, then."

I looked at him in confusion, and he let out a heavy breath.

"Good God, Blake Asher. You haven't forgotten, have you? Of course you have," He clicked his tongue. "You and I are sneaking out for a little excursion. Remember Theodore Nott?"

Oh, frick, yeah. "Do I really have to?" I whined. He yanked me to a semi-proper standing position, looking reproachful.

"Oh, you are not chickening out of this one, Blake. Put on your coat, and let's be off, follow?" As he said this, he pushed my overcoat into my arms. Grumbling, I slid my arms into the thick sleeves, wrapping my body with the wool. No sooner had I finished fastening the last button, Blaise took my wrist and half-dragged me out of the Slytherin Common Room.

"Why are you so excited? All you're going to do is drink and freeze to death," I wondered.

"I've been cooped up in this place for too long. I need a damn break," He replied. I meant to ask something else, but he whipped out his wand and tapped the stone wall to his left. "Give me a bit of light."

"A bit of what?"

"Light," He repeated impatiently.

"Okay, but how? I don't have a flashlight."

"Your wand," He snapped, looking at me like, for the first time, he realized I was bonkers. Sheepishly, I pulled out my wand from my jeans pocket.

"Lumos," I whispered, feeling like a class-one fool. The tip of my wand glowed brightly, casting light over the dark corridor. I watched Blaise run his hand over the wall, his fingers tracing movements over the cracks.

"Specialis Revelio," He murmured, and the wall shimmered to reveal a small stone passageway.

Obviously, things like these are normal around here.

"In you go, love," He prodded me with the tip of his wand. I shook my head, mortified.

"No way, man. You first."

"Aw, are you scared, Blake?" He teased. "D'you want me to hold your hand as you sob your girlish tears?" I made a face at him.

"Fuck you, asshole."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'll have to take a rain check."

I squared my shoulders and stepped into the passageway, stooping to avoid hitting my head on the low ceiling.

"Well, don't just stand there, idiot. Start walking already," He ordered, clearly amused. I took a few steps in, holding my breath as I did so. Suddenly, I grew blind – the light from my wand had extinguished, and the entrance had sealed itself shut. Instinctively, I let out a sound that suspiciously reminded me of a shriek drowned in a heart attack that caught inside my throat.

"Blaise?" I called out, my voice panicked.

A cold hand gripped my wrist tightly, and I jumped.

"Relax, I'm right here," Blaise's voice echoed through the darkness. "The passage probably kills magic. Never mind, just follow me."

It wasn't too difficult to do this; his grasp never left my skin, and I was pulled all the way. Still it felt like forever had ended when we finally emerged from the darkness, out into the harsh chill of the outdoor night.

"Wh-where a-are we-e?" I demanded, my teeth chattering. Blaise turned to me, grinning mischievously.

"Out of grounds."

A few yards away, a fiery orange fire blazed, helping three figures huddled around it to keep from the cold. Loud chatter carried from there to our ears by the wind drew us closer. Theodore Nott, holding a bottle of something that looked suspiciously like vodka was the first to notice us, lifting a hand to wave us over.

"Hey, you made it alright!" He greeted.

"Yeah, no thanks to you. I think Asher's blood has turned solid already," Blaise chuckled.

"Hey, Blake," He winked roguishly at me.

"Hello," I answered flatly.

"I saved a seat for you – here," He patted a patch of grass (that looked nothing like a proper seat should) beside him. "Come and warm yourself."

"Go on, Blake," Blaise urged, pushing me. Stiffly, I sat down.

"Introductions," Theodore announced, gesturing to his companions. "Adrian Pucey, he's on the Quidditch Team. Thomas White, son of the Head of the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry. You already know Blaise, of course."

"'Sup," I mumbled. A sound of assent rose up.

"I suppose now is a good time to break out the alcohol," Adrian Pucey smirked, rummaging through what looked like an ordinary school bag, and pulling out four glass bottles, similar to the one previously in Theodore Nott's possession. H began to pass them around, and held one out to me.

"What is it?" I asked in a small voice. He and Thomas White burst out in loud guffaws.

"What is it, she asks," Thomas White snickered.

"Bloody joker, this one," Adrian Pucey agreed.

I stared, dumbfounded. Only Theodore bothered to inform me, saying, "It's firewhiskey. Strongest alcohol they make today."

"Can I die drinking it?" I asked worriedly. Theodore Nott chuckled.

"Only if you're not careful," He pushed the bottle into my hands. "Bottoms up, Blake."

Across me, Blaise offered me a quick thumbs up. I assumed he thought I was handling it well, despite my obvious terror.

Everyone had begun drinking – even Theodore Nott was silenced, gulping down his drink. Slowly, I raised my bottle's rim to my lips, and took a first, cautious sip.

You know that part in the Twilight Series, when that Bella Swan chick rambles on about how, when she turned into a vampire, she felt like she was on fire, burning to a crisp, practically shriveling to a mass of lumpy, used charcoal, etcetera? Well, you know, don't hate on that bitch, because the feeling sucks. Because that was probably the best way to describe the feeling of firewhiskey in my body – except, you know, I wasn't dying (I think), and I sure as hell was not turning into a really hot and sexy blood-sucking monster that sparkled in the sunlight (Jesus, this sucks. I don't even get to hunt bitches and moan about an eternity with Edward screwing Cullen after this crappy feeling? Give me a break).

Tears sprang into my eyes, and I felt like my entire throat had just caught fire. I felt like I was being dryly suffocated on the inside. I was pretty sure that my entire body was caught in a wildfire, and that I would for sure spontaneously combust any moment in. I hacked out a heavy, urgent cough, gasping for breath. Not even the cold of the midnight winter could save me from the experience.

"Are you okay, Blake?" Nott asked, detaching his lips long enough from his bottle to talk to me.

"I think I'm going to explode," I choked.

"First time?" When I nodded, he said, 'Then don't worry, the feeling passes. And when it does, it'll feel great."

"How long?"

"You'll be good after the first couple of bottles."

That long? "No thanks." I mumbled. Resentfully, I planted the bottle down on the ground, shaking my head in refusal.

"You have no fire in you, Blake Asher," Blaise commented. "Excuse the pun."

"I have no love for nursing hangovers," I retorted.

"Suit yourself," He shrugged, and downed the rest of his drink.

The night wore on, and the wind quieted, the chill of the winter pressing down on us. Everyone around me grew more and more intoxicated, to the point of slurred words, attempted suicides and a disturbing attack via Theodore Nott's lips on my cheek.

"I'm going back," I announced loudly, and quite angrily.

Blaise, who seemed the least affected by far, looked up at me with dazed eyes.

"I'll go with you," he offered, making to stand.

"No, that's okay, Blaise. Thanks," I waved him down. I foresaw I'd be the one lugging his dead-weight body into the school, and not the other way around.

He nodded, eyes bleary, and disappeared; his head a right angle from his neck as he threw it back to down his firewhiskey.

"How about a good night kiss, Blake?" Theodore Nott hiccupped. Pointedly ignoring him, I pulled on my coat, bid them goodbye, and walked off towards the castle.

I couldn't find a way to use that secret passageway we had before, so I was ultimately forced to peruse the main entrance. Tiptoeing through the halls made me feel like a spy, minus the awesome background music. It felt a little safe, traveling through the dark, until, of course, my miniscule amount of luck ran out.

"Who's there?" A stream of light soon followed the hoarse voice of caretaker Argus Filch up ahead. His lantern swung around, casting a yellowish glow about the corridor. "Come out, and show yourself!"

As if it could give me away, I held my breath and ran blindly in the opposite direction. His footsteps echoed loudly, and I could swear he was right behind me. A deep sense of dread filled me as I realized I had no idea where to go.

I stood, lost beyond belief, in the middle of a fork in the road. Argus Filch seemed to be everywhere at once.

"Asher?"

My head snapped to the left – Draco Malfoy stood there, apparently thunderstruck by my presence.

"I'm gonna get you now," Filch's voice cackled from behind me. In a moment of panic, Draco grabbed my sleeve and pulled me aside. Dragging me along, he walked so quickly through the corridor, I felt like I was running a marathon. His silent footsteps came to a halt as he stopped at the turn of the corner. With one cold, pale hand, he covered my mouth, as if my life were escaping my lips.

A moment of tension passed, and we waited for Filch to walk away, muttering unhappily in his disappointment. Only then did Draco release my lips – when he did, a confrontation was already in order.

"What the hell," he demanded. "Are you doing, Asher? Are you fucking stupid?"

"Oh, God, thank you," I gasped, my voice shaking. "Shit, I was so butchered if –"

"Do you mind telling me why you're sneaking around?"

"I just came from outside."

"Outside," He echoed, looking angry and murderous.

"With Theodore Nott and-"

"Oh, that lot," He shook his head. "Yes, Nott told me. Also that you would be there. Obviously, he didn't bother considering my advice to him."

"What advice?" I asked.

"I kindly warned him to stay away from you," He replied in a heartbeat.

"Why? I'm not contagious, don't worry," I spat out resentfully.

"The reason is none of your concern."

"What were you doing outside, anyway? It's way too late for prefect patrol."

"That," He said darkly. "Is none of your concern either."

"You were sneaking around as much as I was," I accused.

"Hardly," He snorted. I was merely returning to the common room for a good night's sleep. Which, of course, was ruined by you, thank you."

"But where from?" I pressed.

"Mind your own business," He turned away. "Good night, Blake Asher."

He made to walk smoothly away, but I called out to him.

"What the hell is your problem?" I growled. "You're such a two-faced hypocrite."

His voice was cold when he spoke. "Strong words, little girl."

"You're totally getting on my case because I'm out the same time as you? That's rich, dude. You can't even own up to the fact that you're doing something bad – and it's not just some one-time thing either. You've been out so many times they should leash you."

"And this official information comes from someone who… is following me?"

"You're so conceited too!" I said hotly. "Why can't you just get off my back? Why do you go around telling people I'm, like, stupid? I'm not, okay?"

"You aren't stupid, Asher. You're just remarkably ignorant, and a little bit air-headed. Which gives your dull personality a little more flavor, though I must admit the seasoning's a bit strong." He scoffed.

"I'm not ignorant. I know you're hiding something."

"I don't need to divulge all my secrets to you, Blake Asher. Just retreat into your fantasy world, and live your life in the bliss of ignorance."

I stepped up to his back, which was straight and cold-postured.

"You know what? I don't even care anymore."

His head tilted a fraction. "Sorry?"

"I don't even care what you're hiding anymore. I seriously can't even give a damn," I announced. He turned to me, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

"You are beyond drunk."

"I have been so intent on trying to figure out your secret. I've even tried to crack Blaise, which, by the way, hasn't worked. I keep thinking about what it is that you're doing so religiously at night. It's driving me crazy. You're driving me crazy," I shook my head. "But I am totally giving up. I am so done with trying to understand you. I don't care if you think I'm retarded, or whatever it is."

"If it rocks your boat," He snorted. "I don't care."

"But I just have to tell you. I can't figure out why, but I can't stop thinking about you. I keep thinking it's because you piss me off-"

"I'm not too interested in this subject matter."

"I really actually don't care if you are. But you're listening to me," I replied. "So you just have to know, that I sort of had this epiphany as to why that's so."

"Congratulations. Shall I shake your hand?" He said drily.

I have no idea where I got the balls to do it. Maybe the amount of firewhiskey I'd consumed had begun to take its toll, albeit slightly delayed. Whatever it was, I found myself stepping up to him, my face tilted up to look into his eyes, which were deep grey storm clouds. I raised my trembling hands to his face, my fingers brushing the cold skin of his cheeks. In a burst of emotional adrenaline, I leaned in and met his lips with mine.

It only took a brief moment, enough for, at most, one blink. Pulling away, he leaned his forehead against mine, his expression completely unreadable. I thought for a while, something miraculous would happen, and for once, I could feel that things went well.

"I need to go."

Detaching my hands carefully from his face, he set them gently down on my side. He backed away, fixing his collar and clearing his throat.

"Have yourself a good night, Blake Asher."

And all he did was turn around, and resolutely walk away.


Author's Note: Holy FUUU-

Draco, how could you even. On Blake's behalf, please grow some balls.

Tell me what you think!

Aimee