Chapter 28: A different tune

Having spent the weekend at home at the Burrow, being fussed over and pestered with questions by her mum and dad, Ginny was somewhat relieved to be back at Hogwarts. She felt like an ungrateful teen but all she really wanted was to be left alone for a small amount of time when she went home. Mostly, she found she couldn't fully relax in her own body. The responsibilities she had and gratefully threw herself into at Hogwarts were absent back home, and though this presented her with an abundance of leisure time, she only found herself more restless, more easily irritated by the smallest, most confounding of things. She tried to indulge in minor chores, old hobbies and some light reading in order to spend the time, but she quickly realized that the level of efficiency she had adopted from her bustling and scheduled life at school made short work of any such minor tasks, leaving her with empty hands and a new sense of restlessness.

More so, the stillness permeated the Burrow like never before. None of her brothers had come home nor had anyone else been available for even a short visit; George was busy at the store, Bill and Fleur were enjoying a belated honeymoon in the Caribbean, Ron and Hermione were on a weekend trip to Ireland to visit Seamus and Dean, Harry buried himself in workloads at the Ministry (unsurprisingly), Neville was visiting his parents at St Mungo's with his aunt and Luna was still off travelling the world.

Even Parvati had profusely excused herself, probably gotten herself a new bloke to salivate over. Ginny wasn't exactly let down; they would likely have run out of subjects to bond over soon enough.

In comparison, the trivial matters her parents discussed and occupied themselves with just seemed so... trivial given everything they'd been through, and yet, ironically, she longed for the feeling of normalcy such trivialities brought with them.

It seemed she was not about to find a balanced compromise to simply go on about her life any time soon. Not that she blamed anybody else but herself. She still couldn't explain to her parents how or why she felt like she did, hardly even to herself. They each had their own way of dealing with their loss, but putting it into words still felt so inadequate and unjust to the feelings themselves. To her, there were no words in the world that could aptly convey the loss of her brother. At least, it wasn't a skill she possessed.

Her loneliness was ever prevalent and she hated wallowing in it. It wasn't like she was too conceited to ask for some semblance of help, but she was too stubborn for her own good. She was set on dealing with her own problems herself. At least, for the time being. No need to make the people in her life more worried.

Passing through the corridor of the Prefect quarters on her way back to her own room as she ruminated on this, she noticed one of the doors standing ajar, the midday sun streaming out through crack. She stilled at the gentle tones reaching her ear from inside the room, playing in the background.

Hm. Definitely not your usual kind of music.

Wait. Muggle music? She had overheard her dad play something like it when he had tinkered with some of his many old Muggle radios in the kitchen.

How odd.

Unable to curb her curiosity of the rather wonderful tunes from inside, she stepped closer to the door and peered in through the crack – and couldn't have been more surprised to discover that the single inhabitant of the room was none other than Blaise Zabini.

With his back turned to her, he stood by one of the tables in the middle of the sunlit room, amongst a couple of opened boxes and one of those gigantic, ancient gramophones that Filch used to drag up for the Yule Ball. He was clearly engrossed in whatever he was perusing, his stance relaxed, and she took the chance to absorb the picture he made; the way his white shirt was perfectly tailored to fit his long, straight back, from the broad expanse of his shoulders down to his tapered waist. She flushed, recalling that she knew exactly how those hard muscles felt under her hands.

With the memory fresh in mind, she faltered by the door. Should she enter and simply face the music?

The irony of the question wasn't lost on her as she steeled herself and slowly pushed the door open, trying to appear somewhat cool and collected. The great oak door creaked, making her presence known and she swallowed.

Blaise didn't immediately react, still staring down the box, and merely drawled in an offhand voice. "Listen, an open door doesn't mean an open invitation to just– oh." He had lifted his gaze by now, his brow widening at the sight of her standing by the doorway. "It's you." She didn't exactly detect disappointment in his voice, but neither did she detect much else. Merlin, what was she doing?

She took a hesitant step inside. "I, um, I was just passing through the corridor by chance," she gestured over her shoulder and then peered over at the gramophone playing, "and heard the music and I just, um, got curious," she rambled off. "Sorry for barging in like this." Only now did she chance meeting his gaze full-on. "Want me to go?"

He quirked an eyebrow, the rest of his face remaining passive as he seemed to consider her. The awkwardness grew to the point where she seriously considered just bolting when he finally spoke. "It's fine." He turned his head back to the box before him. "You can stay." Somehow she gathered it was an admission he bestowed rarely and only on certain people.

Any mentioning of what had happened the night at the party was left hanging like a rain-filled cloud above them.

So, they were not going to talk about it, were they? Fine by her.

Tentatively, she stepped closer to one of the tables to look at the content of the boxes he was hovering about.

Huh. Vinyl records. Who'd have thought?

Glancing back up to gawk his reaction to her sniffing around his stuff, she caught a glimpse of his eyes darting away from her and continuing his inspection of the box in front of him. She took his noncommittal mood as a moderately welcoming sign to chance another peek into his selection of records, noticing that many of the covers were worn by years of use. Interesting.

She riffled through the selection at hand; Erik Satie, Händel, Tchaikovsky, Vivaldi. Muggle artist names that vaguely rang a bell. Classical music, if she wasn't much mistaken. She peered up from under her eyelashes, observing him quietly. So odd for a presumably self-professed Muggle-hater to possess something like this and yet, the more she got to know him, the more she realized it wasn't that odd. He had already proven to hold well-informed knowledge of Muggle history, beyond the normal scope taught in Muggle Studies which shouldn't have held much interest for someone like him in the first place.

And, of course, he would have a preference for classical Muggle music of all Muggle genres. It was just so… him. The haughty, regal, Italian Slytherin. A 'cultural connoisseur' before anything else. Having more than likely already mastered the classical arts of the Wizarding World, as only Pureblooded aristocrats would be taught to do from an early age. Not to mention, looking like he himself had been carved from marble and meant to stand in temples; an aesthetic ideal one could only hope to strive for; destined to be admired. A 'classical geek', indeed. She bit her lip, stifling a snicker at his predictable but rather adorable proclivities that he probably wouldn't dare confess out loud himself. Well, besides to those few he confided in, perhaps.

Huh. Guess that included her now, somehow, didn't it? Really, he could have told her to sod off already if he wanted to. But he hadn't. So far.

She had been so distracted by her musings that she belatedly caught the amused look on his face.

"What?"

Surreptitiously he led his eyes slide to her and inclined his head towards the collection she was standing over, a smile hinting on his lips. "Any favourites yourself? Or, let me guess, not your kind of music?"

He had been teasing her, the jest utterly banal and innocent, really, but what was most notable about the comment was the lack of supercilious drawl, and instead a light-hearted mirth hid in his words, leaving her momentarily stunned. It was probably the first time she had heard Blaise say anything reflecting genuine and unassuming warmth, his own amusement notwithstanding. He seemed all of a sudden at ease, the tautness around his eyes as of late making way for the remarkable sight of actual laugh lines. Whatever derogatory things she had ever said about his cold, marbled beauty evaporated. In this early light from the long, slim windows, bathing the room in an encompassing, soft light, he appeared to be ethereal and yet more warm than she'd seen him before. He seemed, for a vibrating and all too breathtaking moment, happy.

Could she say that about herself?

Perhaps, for the moment, she could.

Letting out a shaky breath, she retaliated playfully with the little she knew of Muggle music. "What, no Muggle rock?"

Chuckling softly, he looked down while lifting his eyebrows in admission and muttered. "Well, let's just say, I'm not opposed to some psychedelic rock or new wave once in a while. The good ones, mind you." He gestured to the unopened box on her left.

Opening it, she found old records of The Rolling Stones, Jefferson Airplane, The Stooges, Led Zeppelin, The Clash and Pink Floyd among others.

"Hm, I remember my brother Charlie being really into this stuff," she mused as she recalled an incident of her brother eagerly explaining the Muggle genres across the barrel of whirring music charging against her from his room at the Burrow.

"Ah. The one with the dragons in Romania, right?"

Surprised by his ready knowledge, not to mention ability to distinguish her brothers from one another when most failed, she replied somewhat stunted. "Yeah. That's the one."

She ducked her head, unable to hide a proud smile tugging at her lips. There was so long between Charlie's visits and she hoped that whatever career she aimed to land in the Quidditch business that it wouldn't interfere too greatly with his annual visits to the Burrow. Even better if she would have the liberty to visit him more often once she was of age and means of her own. Oh, she could hardly wait for that!

Looking up she saw Blaise studying her with an inscrutable expression before it fell back into its usual mask and his attention returned to the box before him.

The easy atmosphere aside, she knew the dragon in the room had to be addressed at some point. Her nerves were starting to get the better of her. For a brief second, she considered diverting the issue into that of Zelenko and Rowe once more. It seemed the safer choice, but she knew he would become suspicious if she did. After all, nothing new had surfaced regarding the two men's respective circumspect behaviour since she and Blaise last discussed it behind the tapestry on the second-floor.

She cleared her throat, diving head-first into the real question that had been on the tip of her tongue since she stepped inside the room. "So... What are we going to do about Paloma and Clarence?"

In her head, she admitted it was a roundabout way to skirt the subject of their heavy make-out session in front of practically the entire school. Still, a girl could only hope he'd catch her drift.

"You are not going to drag me into some matchmaking scheme, are you now? Because I can tell you already, I am not interested in being your partner-in-crime this time," he responded drolly.

She flustered. "No, I'm not talking about that. I'm–" She waved a hand vaguely at the air. "I'm talking about the fact that we pretended to be, well, together in order to get rid of those two."

He lifted his head and presented her with a deadpan stare. "You mean," he rephrased with deliberate slowness, "when you came charging at me with that deft little idea of yours?"

Blast. "No. I mean, yes, but..."

A subtle shift appeared in his eyes accompanied by the crooked tilt of his lips. "I get where the fascination is coming from, Weasley," he practically purred, "but if you wanted to 'get on my good side', all you had to do is ask."

Clenching her fists, she was close to biting her tongue off from spewing a myriad of colourful terms his way and instead crossed her arms. She ignored his flirtatious taunt and bit back, "Fine. Let's just keep up the pretense then, shall we?"

His eyebrows hiked up to new heights.

Where the hell did that come from? She had been partly goading him to protest to the idea but was just as surprised to realize that she was partly serious about it as well.

"So," he inquired after a second or so of steadfast scrutiny, a slow half-smile of disbelief stretching his lips, "you want to follow through with this?"

A defiant sensation swelled in her chest. "Sure," she stated with a flippant shrug of her shoulders, though, on the inside, it felt like one of her brothers' Tiny Twisters had just been let loose.

With the current assortment of records in his hands quite forgotten, the Italian turned his full attention towards her and the effects of it had her swallowing her defiance. His obsidian eyes sparked, and she was clueless to whatever was going through his mind presently, managing to hold herself back from biting her lower lip in chagrin.

"Well, then," he drawled, the words a low rumble in back of his throat, as he stepped closer. "I think it's only fair I return the favour."

"W-what?" The arms across her chest loosened, thoroughly distracted by his predatory advance.

He took a nonchalant stance in front of her, absently inspecting another stack of vinyls on the table beside him. "If you do this to help me keep the unwanted attention of Podsworth at bay, then I think I can do the same for you regarding that milksop of a Head Boy. Fair is fair, I think." He left the words suspended in the air then moved his charcoal eyes to meet her bemused ones. "Don't you?"

She found her mouth had gone dry, trying to come up with some witty response to throw him off but realized she had stepped right into that one herself.

It would put some of the pressure and regret regarding Clarence off her, yet deep down she sensed it wasn't really what prompted her to even consider his proposal. In fact, the issue of the Head Boy couldn't be farther from her mind at the moment.

As if he could read her exact thoughts, he smiled conspiratorially and the flash of teeth set off the flickering light in the endless pools of his eyes. Reaching out his hand, his velvety voice travelled in the small space between them. "Shake on it?"

She should have laughed at such a lame gesture – at his sheer audacity! – but, as usual, nothing Blaise Zabini did could ever be considered lame. She partly resented him for it. The way he had posed the question; the warming look in his eyes, staring into hers, challenging her to take it, made her insides buzz, spreading to her skin. There seemed to be a new curious understanding forming between them, fusing with the sensation of his earlier light attitude, the easy banter. Distantly, her ears registered the music travelling so sweetly throughout the room and winding itself around them, like a soothing blanket against frazzled nerves.

She blinked and looked down at his large, pristine hand.

What was she even doing? This was Zabini. Whatever he had in mind in that scheming brain of his, it couldn't be good.

However, she could surely deflect it. Whatever it might be.

...Right?

Inwardly cursing herself, she nonetheless reached out to accept his waiting hand, a tendril of thrills coursing through her skin at the press of his warm palm against hers, strong fingers closing around her slimmer ones. A flash of their last intimate encounter – sensuous lips against her own, a shared gasp threatening to name the unnamed between them – sprang to the forefront of her mind just as callous pads briefly brushed the rapid pulse at the inside of her wrist.

Her breath caught and she retracted her hand.

They held each other's stare for a minute. A question started to form in his eyes but before it came to fruition, she stepped back, away from his heady presence.

"Right. So, see you around then, I.. guess," she croaked, meeting his eyes halfway, not quite absorbing his expression, and quickly retreated to the door.

Exiting it, she practically jogged down the hallway, trying to calm her beating heart. She was not about to wait around for him to catch up with her or call her back before she'd had at least five cold showers, and she wasn't even sure that was enough to do it.

Hm. Since when had this been a particular problem for her?

Since you just agreed to act as Zabini's girlfriend, a voice in her head growled back and she wanted to smack herself for being so daft. Instinctively, she thought of all the ways he would flaunt the fact that she had 'surrendered' herself to a Slytherin and thoroughly enjoy humiliating her in front of everybody when the morning came. She hated that she could never really know where she had him.

With a sigh, she admitted she was getting tired of this game. The 'old Ginny' would surely have brought various devious methods into play and given him a run for his money. But, oddly, she didn't want to do that anymore.

The question was: What did she want instead?

The unspoken answer churned in her gut, and, once more, she squashed it down with a brute strength that kept surprising her, making her feel even more unsettled. Still, she felt her last resolve waning.

How long could she keep this going?