Perfect Marks
By Rurouni Star

A/N: Er. Quick, huh? Don't get used to it, I'm afraid. It's probably just because I have a bad luck thing about leaving off at thirteen. Makes me uncomfortable.

Also, clearly I was just screwing around with you all last chapter. I like to think I'm not quite thattrite.

Fourteen.

Hermione remembered to breathe.

"The wards only work as long as your bloody door's closed," Zabini muttered a bit tiredly, flicking his wand away from her throat and putting it up. "That you've survived even this long is a miracle, frankly."

Hermione felt a little of the pressure lift from her chest, even though her jaw was aching. "Sorry," she said weakly, stepping back almost submissively to let him back inside. The acquiescent gesture seemed to surprise him dimly, though he stepped through all the same.

"Let's finish up the circle," he said shortly, his voice still strained with discomfort and touched with a bit of anger.

"No," Hermione said. "Not yet. Look, we have to talk, Zabini-"

"You want me out, I want to go," he cut her off irritatedly. "I understand that, but I've got a job to do, and no one said I had to like it. Even you have to admit that you'll be somewhere unfortunate without a paddle if I don't finish the damned counter-curse."

"Zabini-" she tried again, feeling distinctly ill-at-ease, but he interrupted her again.

"-which is my fault anyway, and we both know it's the case, so you can stop stepping around it politely, because I said I was going to keep you alive and kicking, and I am going to keep you alive and-"

"Zabini!"

He stopped, scowling in her doorway. Hermione reached over to close the door behind him.

"I'm sorry," she said. And immediately felt a good deal better.

Zabini blinked. And in spite of herself, she found it very nearly adorable. Infatuating, really. Entirely stupid of her, especially considering he'd just stormed out of her house. "I said some things I shouldn't have," Hermione told him. "And I was the one to press the issue, in any case."

A simple apology seemed to have taken the wind out of his sails. For once, instead of looking carefully neutral, he looked... stymied. Stunned.

And very human.

"I might have understood something," she told him, somewhat sheepishly. "Even if I'm wrong, I thought you ought to hear a few things, because- well, just because." Hermione cleared her throat nervously, well aware that this was about to be an awkward conversation. "I... I think quite a bit of you. Er. That is- I have for a bit, all things notwithstanding- and I- oh, dear." She could feel her face heating up terribly.

Blaise wasn't helping. In fact, he looked something close to frozen in place. Apparently, this was not something they studied in Auror training. In fact, she had it on rather good authority that Mad-Eye personally advised against dealing with the opposite gender at all.

"I thought- I thought about how much work it must have taken to get- to be- I mean,especially as a Slytherin- oh, that didn't come out right, did it?" Hermione desperately hoped she wasn't digging herself into nearly as deep a hole as she was beginning to suspect. She hurried on in a bit of a panic, trying to find the right words. "And I wondered, you know, I- mostly why you did it, and I didn't even begin to understand until you were around a bit more. And once I did, it made me feel like a bit of a useless person compared. I mean- I mean-" Oh god.

He was still staring at her. "Granger," he said slowly. "I am not at all certain what you just said. I think it sounded vaguely complimentary, but I can't be certain." She opened her mouth to try and fix things, but found herself stalled by the fingertips that were suddenly grazing under her chin. "Did you get yourself a concussion in the half an hour I was gone?" he asked suspiciously, noting the bruise on her chin.

"Hungh?" She felt her eyes glaze over a little at the feel of calluses drifting over her neck. Oh, articulate. Very articulate. Winning, even.

"You're not inspiring a good deal of confidence in me," he muttered, grabbing her gently by the shoulder and steering her toward the kitchen. "Where do you keep your bandages?"

"C-cupboard. Next to the fridge." Weren't they just- having a heart-to-heart, or something? Or half of one? Or an attempt at half of one? How could he be so-

Hermione caught a slight reddish tint to the tan on his cheeks. And the entire debacle of the day – the week, even – fixed itself in a heartbeat. Oh, she thought, noting the strange fuzzy glow that had overtaken her head. That feels nice.

Of course, it could have been a concussion.

"Sit down," Blaise sighed at her, the tension much less present between them now. She obeyed almost automatically, as he moved to pull a little box of butterfly bandages down from the shelf. When he pulled one out and knelt down in front of her with narrowed eyes, she nearly forgot to breathe. When he reached out to set it gingerly to her chin, she did forget.

"Clumsy," he muttered, the slight flush already subsiding from his face.

"Not usually," she breathed, surprised at her own ability to mount a defense.

When she didn't continue for a time, he looked up at her uncertainly. "...I'm sorry too," he said. "I can't think of a good excuse for my behavior. I certainly shouldn't be leaving you alone, at the least."

Hermione swallowed. She didn't realize she'd caught his fingers between hers until his face changed to a peculiar expression. "I think you're a good person," she said, finding the words she'd been looking for very belatedly. "You're better than me, Zabini. The only brave things I've ever done have been for people I loved. And you- you risk your life all the time for people you might not even like-"

Blaise was much, much closer. She was trapped, and he was close enough for her to breathe in his scent, and she wasn't complaining.

"I wouldn't say that," he said with a swallow. His voice was very slightly hoarse.

If he doesn't kiss me in the next moment, Hermione realized, I'm going to take matters into my own hands. I won't even have a choice. I'll simply do it.

Blaise leaned himself forward slowly. She closed her eyes with a sharp intake of breath.

"-Friday," he said suddenly, pulling back abruptly.

Hermione might have let out a noise. She opened her eyes, feeling frustrated and cheated. "Friday what?" she said, a little embarrassed at the tone in her voice.

"It's Friday," he said, standing back up again and brushing at his robes. "You're supposed to be meeting your parents for dinner tonight."

And? AND?

A moment ago, Hermione had been feeling quite amiable toward him - but right now she was contemplating strangulation.

"You're still cursed," he added, as though reading her mind. Well... probably not. Had he been reading her mind, he would probably have had a more significant reaction to those suggestions Lavender had implanted there.

"In which case, I can't possibly go," Hermione said, rather reasonably, she thought. Hint. "And even if I could go, technically, it wouldn't be the best idea to go off on my own when you're here, as you said-"

"Well naturally, I'll be coming with you," Blaise said with a blink.

There was silence for a moment, while Hermione contemplated this incredibly unexpected turn of events. I believe this is called role-reversal, she thought to herself, a bit petulantly. I don't want him to meet my parents. I want him to kiss me again. How hard is that to understand?

"I wouldn't want to be rude," he continued, oblivious to her thoughts. "I was invited, after all, and while your mother jogged on the conversation before I could reply, I believe she'll have taken it as a yes-"

"She what?" Hermione's eyes widened, and she leapt to her feet, thoughts of lips and such forgotten. Well, somewhat. Temporarily. "And you didn't think it might be nice to inform me of this?"

Blaise looked a bit taken aback. "I... you know, I didn't much think about it, I suppose. Things happened."

"Things-" Hermione cut off, suddenly flushed. "Well, that- but she didn't even tell me!" Weren't mothers supposed to inform their daughters about things like that? 'Honey, your Aunt Lynn is going to be having a baby boy soon', 'Honey, you're going to a magical school in September', 'Honey, I invited the man you're having illicit thoughts about to have a night of awkward social interaction with us'-

No, she thought suddenly, her heart sinking a bit. Her mother wouldn't even have thought of it. She was impulsive and absent-minded. And she'd probably expected Blaise to say something on the matter to Hermione, at that.

"The circle was nearly done, in any case," Blaise said, looking distracted. He glanced toward her. "Do you need a hand?"

A sneaky, shameless part of Hermione encouraged her to say yes. Fortunately, that part of her was much, much smaller than the more dignified and truthful part that made up the majority of Hermione Granger. "I should be fine," she said, getting slowly to her feet. "It was just a- OW!" She hissed as her foot caught on the chair leg, jamming her knee into the table. There was a long pause, while she slowly regathered the shreds of her dignity. "...you know," she observed through clenched teeth. "I'm not going to miss the random accidents."

"And you're sure they're really a result of the curse?" Blaise asked her, false curiosity coloring his voice. It took her a second to find the good-natured humor in his tone. It surprised her a bit to think it might have been there the entire time.

"Ha, ha," Hermione responded dryly, now acutely aware of a few of the things she had rambled to him in the past quarter hour and quickly doing her best to repress the memory of them. She had always been told that sexual attraction would turn her temporarily stupid when it hit. Only now did she really believe it.

His hand closed on her elbow to guide her into the den, then, and she found herself very suddenly quiet.

"...sit down," he said, gesturing toward the unfinished circle. Then, after a thoughtful moment: "Carefully."

Hermione followed instructions, stepping away from him and lifting each foot slowly over the chalk-markings so as not to smudge them. Blaise, for his part, gave the circle a last glance-over before sitting down himself, his robes settling behind him.

"It's really easier to break spells around dusk," he murmured to himself, tapping the chalk against the floor with a frown. "I suppose a waning moon does nearly as good. And we are a good ways from Tuesday, otherwise this would be a devil."

"Does that actually hold in practice?" Hermione asked curiously, unable to stop herself. "Curses and Tuesdays, I mean. I know there's a fluctuation of weekly energies, but I was always under the impression it was incredibly weak."

Blaise shrugged, tracing another line into the formula now. "In small spells, you're right – it's negligible. But curses this complicated, with so much power behind them... it does add up." He frowned, and scratched in another line. Then, with a blink: "I believe we're done. Wait- no, give me a moment." He pulled a folded up piece of parchment from his pocket and unfurled it, consulting and comparing the two.

Hermione did her best not to fidget, as he stood up to work his way around the circle, looking at each section in turn. It was difficult. In point of fact, it was nearly impossible. There was something to be said for being thorough, though, so she did her best not to interrupt him.

There were a few marks made. Another prowl around the circle. And another, just for good measure. Hermione tried to console herself with the idea that the nightmare was nearly over.

Finally, Blaise nodded to himself. The parchment was tucked away; he drew his wand.

"Try not to do anything sudden," he told her. Hermione nodded slowly, and closed her eyes tightly.

It was time to hurry up and wait. And hope that he knew exactly what he was doing.

I trust the Auror casting this spell, Hermione told herself mentally. I do. I do, I do. Everything will be fine.

Had he not personally informed her it was stupid to trust him, not so long ago?

No! I, um. Trust. Yes. Absolutely.

She could hear his footsteps moving softly. Slowly. His voice murmuring, low and just beneath her hearing.

A little flutter of panic slipped up from her stomach into her throat. She couldn't breathe. She wanted to – to move, to get out, to jump up and dive into a corner somewhere. She could feel the spell around her straining; the invisible connections holding tenaciously to the surface of her skin, like another layer of her body. He was trying to make it let go. It didn't want to let go.

"Za-Zabini-" Her voice choked a little, with growing panic.

"It's fine," he said, his steps echoing in her ears. "Stay still."

The air in the circle was growing thick with magic. Intellectually, she knew it shouldn't have impeded her breathing, but in truth, she was beginning to hyperventilate.

"That's not going to help," Hermione heard him say. "Keep your breathing steady. If you have a good rhythm, it will make things go more quickly."

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, trying to obey. She really did want to. Anything that would get rid of the black cloud that had been hanging over her for so long was desirable. But her body was having quite a bit of difficulty complying with those desires of hers, and the sticky feel of the dark spell was highly distracting.

A tiny whimper slipped out when she heard him make a gesture, and felt the spell begin to peel off her.

"Still," he said again, trying to keep his voice low. "Keep still, Hermione. It's going well."

It didn't feel 'well'. It felt like any moment something was going to hold on too tightly, and pull off the rest of her skin along with the undesirable bits.

Was this what happened every time you unraveled a curse? Did it always feel this- this awful, this disgusting and dangerous? She had been able to anticipate every part of the process before now, but it was quickly entering the territory of the non-theoretical now. She had been afraid of normal practical exams. And this was hardly something on the order of changing a hedgehog into a pincushion.

Hermione suddenly remembered Blaise's hesitation with Transfiguration, and felt still less confident in spite of herself.

"You're not breathing," he told her, and she could hear the frown in his voice. "Relax. Take a deep breath." There was a slight pause, while another edge of the curse uncurled. "I know what I'm doing, Hermione."

Oh, she thought somewhat hysterically. I bet you say that to all the girls.

"If you pass out," he told her blandly, "we are going to have a problem." His mild tone did nothing to disguise the truth of the situation. 'A problem' was likely an understatement, considering that one wrong move might smudge the painfully accurate circles he had sketched on the floor of her den.

Hermione took a very halting breath. Shortly, the spell began to pull apart again. Slowly. Very... slowly.

"Breathing goes in two parts," she heard him mutter. Then: "Let it out. Good. Keep breathing, now. I can't keep telling you."

"I'm breathing," Hermione managed. "You see? I'm breathing. I couldn't be talking if I weren't breathing." At least the tone had less of a hysterical edge than she could have expected.

"Very good. You've mastered the basics of being a human being. Try not to regress too much from here."

The slick, clinging feeling pulled itself off of one of her fingers. Hermione took a shuddering breath.

0-0-0-0-0

On second thought, perhaps he should have done something more to relax her before this.

Blaise sighed a bit to himself as he stepped slowly around the circle, pulling the spell off in layers as he went. Really, this was the easy part, after the circle. It was more of a routine curse, once you got past the Arithmancy, though it required a delicate touch. It was one of the few things he could safely say he was more qualified to handle than Mad-Eye was.

Hermione, on the other hand, seemed petrified by the whole process. He supposed it could be a bit discomforting if you hadn't experienced it before. He had somewhat naturally assumed it was something she had dealt with before, considering the very colorful way she'd spent the past few years of her life. His mistake, once again. He would have to feel bad about it later.

Note to self: take nothing for granted.

It was one of the first things he'd been taught. After number one, which involved vigilance, constant, and an exclamation point at the end.

Another layer of the spell broke off, slithering away from the woman in the circle. She let out a little whimper again, and he cursed himself silently.

"We're getting closer," he told Hermione reassuringly.

"It doesn't feel like it," she managed, eyes still screwed tightly shut, hands clenched white in her lap. At least she wasn't hyperventilating anymore.

"I'll buy you an ice cream later," Blaise said, managing to make his voice sound lazy and unconcerned. "With sprinkles on top."

"A brand new book," she corrected him, taking another shuddering breath. It was beginning to steady out now. "Something muggle. Fantasy. Entirely ridiculous."

"Only if you behave," he responded dryly. Then - "Breath. In, now."

Hermione obeyed, if only from instinct. She had that thing about authority. He quickly discarded that thought, as it would inevitably lead to distracting things if he concentrated on it for too long. She'd been two inches away from him only a half-hour or so back, after all.

No, no. Curse. Delicate, evil, dark curse.

"How- how long is this going to take?" Hermione asked him, squirming just a little as another layer peeled off. "I mean. An estimate. Roughly.Something."

Blaise considered the question, twirling his wand about a bit.

"...another hour. Perhaps two."

Hermione let out a strangled noise.

"I'll make it two very ridiculous muggle books," he reassured her.