Oh boy. Okay. This one is long, but hopefully worth it! I don't want to hold you up too long with an author's note, I only want to say thanks so much for the kindness you've all been extending to me since I started. I wish I could reply to the guest reviews personally (as they've all been so incredibly wonderful to read) but all I can do is say thanks up here — so thank you! And thank you to everybody else for your time in reading, favouriting, following, and everything in between. I hope January continues to treat you all well!
~ Anna =)
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's wonderful wizarding world — not mine. Heidi Zabini's attempt to stumble through it — mine.
Edit: For those of you early birds who noticed my rather strange phrasing of a sentence - what can i say, it's LATE and i've been working on this for a while lmao. I hope it gave you the laugh you deserve today. I think i had some tears streaming at one point.
Thanks to Malfoy's absence, I had rather predictably been placed with Anthony and Terry for the week, which is how I had come to find firsthand that Anthony Goldstein was not overly-thrilled with the fact that I'd stood him up, even if it had been due to emergency circumstances. The wall of formality that had seemed to come down after our dates was now permeating every interaction we had, no matter how small. I'd take any bit of formality over the hostility I was getting from my own housemates, however. None had spoken a word to me since the original incident, not even Hermione. It made for a rather lonely set of days, with few people to speak to but the patients and Pomfrey herself, who usually had me helping with things that were either extremely mundane or extremely alarming.
On this particular evening, she'd sent me on a quest to find fresh linens for the beds. I returned to the sight of Greengrass pawing at Malfoy's bandages, Pansy beside her.
"Excuse me," I snapped, chucking the pile of linens I was carrying onto the nearest bed, momentarily forgetting it was taken. Rose Zeller, who had been brought into the hospital wing after a particularly stubborn immobilizing hex, grunted as they collided with her face, and I found myself too occupied to give her an apology. "Don't touch his bandages, you'll ruin them!"
Pansy turned around just as I approached Malfoy's bed.
"Zabini, what are you doing here?" Her eyes travelled down my apron which, despite having been clean when I put it on three hours ago, bore the mark of many traumatizing experiences since then. "Is that vomit on your apron? Why would you wear that, it smells absolutely horrible! Are you some sort of cleaner?"
"Excuse me? I'm clearly here to assist Madam Pomfrey with healing patients. I'm in the Healing program, remember? I actually made it past the first day, unlike some of us."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, you're very important."
I was distracted from composing a retort by Greengrass, as I noticed her lean frame hunching over Malfoy, clearly fiddling with something.
"Parkinson, could you tell your suddenly deaf friend to please stop touching the comatose patients?"
Daphne straightened up and cast me a most icy expression.
"I'm fixing Draco's bandages; they're crooked."
"They absolutely are not crooked!" I said shrilly.
They were, in fact, extremely crooked, and it was one of few times this week that I was relieved Malfoy was dead out of it, since it prevented him from growing aware of the fact that I had to use liberal amounts of sticky tape to be able to replicate what Pomfrey had showed me. I tugged his covers out from her grip and pulled them back into place to hide my sloppy work.
"Is there a reason you're here, Greengrass? Decided to finally check yourself in for your head condition?" I sniped.
"I'm obviously here to see Draco."
"Obviously," I mimicked, having nothing clever left to say.
Rose Zeller gave a loud groan and I realized she was struggling under the weight of the pile of linens I had dropped on her. I gasped and rushed over to remove them.
"Can I get something to eat?" croaked Ritchie Coote from the bed beside her.
I cast an uncertain glance at Parkinson and Greengrass, who had now pulled chairs up to either side of Malfoy. Getting him a snack entailed leaving the room to search for something edible, which would give Greengrass plenty of time to hold the legally-binding wedding ceremony she was clearly here for. It was only my utmost devotion to Healing — and also the fact that Ritchie once called Malfoy a monumental prat for mocking my ascent to the Gryffindor Quidditch team — that allowed me to give in to his request.
I came back, however, to a scene more unnerving than the one I had left. While Pansy was sitting silently with her nose in a Witch Weekly, Daphne was now stroking Malfoy's hair. I poured Ritchie a glass of water to have with his sandwich, trying to turn my back to the scene so that I wouldn't say anything controversial.
"Hurry up and heal, sweetheart," I heard her murmur to him. I rolled my eyes, making them sting even more from the sleep deprivation I had brought upon my body these past few days. "I miss you terribly; it just hasn't been the same without you. Every time I'm in the Great Hall and I see that empty spot at the table…"
I clamped my tongue between my teeth to keep from relaying the fact that he'd hardly ate in the Great Hall for weeks, and that there were about a million empty spots at every table every day seeing that the chairs were one long bench.
"I can't wait for you to be up and about again so we can have our little talks," she purred. "Like the one we had at Christmas, at Blaise's house, when he invited us over for that party and you had your arm around me the whole—"
"New Years," I snapped, unable to restrain myself.
"What?"
"He wasn't with you on Christmas. You're referring to New Years."
Daphne glared at me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pansy resurface from her magazine, eyebrow raised.
"How would you know what he was doing at Christmas?" asked Pansy.
Ah. So this is why I wasn't supposed to talk on impulse.
"I—I never said I knew what he was doing at Christmas," I said, trying desperately to fabricate something believable. "I only said that what she's describing happened on New Years because I was there and I saw it. With you, might I add."
"No," pressed Pansy, further confirming that she was much less stupid than I had thought she was all these years. "You said 'he wasn't with you on Christmas', which obviously implies that you know exactly where he was."
"Parkinson, you're being—"
"Where was he then, Zabini? Was he spending the evening with you?"
Daphne looked somewhat alarmed at this, which, I was pleased to note, clearly meant that it wasn't completely impossible a concept to the outside world.
"We were fighting," I blurted. It was a half-truth, but a truth none the less. "That's how I know he wasn't with you — he was spending the evening picking on me. I don't exactly like to talk about it; it was a rough evening for me, as I'm sure you both know by now."
Daphne exchanged a glance with Pansy, who shrugged and nodded, returning to her magazine. Just then, Madam Pomfrey re-appeared with a cartful of supplies.
"Miss Zabini, are you still here? I told you to leave at seven! Dinner's almost over. Run along and get yourself a helping before it disappears."
Disappointed, I took off my apron and put it in the dirty linens basket where it promptly vanished. I despised the concept of dinner in the Great Hall for a slew of reasons lately, not the least of which was the fact that four faces at the Gryffindor table would almost certainly be glaring at or ignoring me. Staying in the hospital wing and watching Greengrass attempt to copulate with Malfoy would be no less irritating, however, so I saw no better option but to leave.
I'd taken to eating dinner in the Room of Requirement, where I'd use homework to kill time before Pomfrey would let me come back into the wing again. I'd usually make it through half of my Potions and Transfigurations homework before she could be convinced that I had taken a long enough break, and this evening was no different.
When I walked back into the hospital wing, however, I was alarmed to find Narcissa Malfoy grabbing me roughly by the shoulders.
"You!" she snarled, nails digging into my flesh despite the thick fabric of my jumper. "If you think I won't have you tried by the Wizengamot for this, you are mistaken, girl. I don't care whose daughter—"
"Mrs. Malfoy!" barked Pomfrey in a tone I had never heard her use. "I will not have you speaking to—"
"Look at what these deplorable children did to my son," said Narcissa in a murderous voice. "And tell me once more to adjust my tone, I dare you."
Madam Pomfrey was not one to be assuaged, however.
"Your son is well on his way to being completely recovered from his injuries. The coma is simply out of mercy, not necessity. If you would like him to be conscious for any future bleeding should it occur, I suppose it can be arranged. I certainly don't recommend it, but my recommendations are neither here nor there with you, it seems. As for Miss Zabini — I personally find shouting threats at the girl who helped save your son to be in poor taste, but taste seems to be irrelevant to you. I know one thing for certain, however: you will not continue to threaten volunteers in my hospital wing."
Narcissa frowned at this and turned to me with a glimmer of uncertainty in her icy blue eyes. "What do you mean 'helped save your son'? What ridiculous fantasy is this?"
"Oh yes. If she hadn't performed a string of advanced, risky spells on him, he'd have been no more than a ghost by now," said Madam Pomfrey, and I was somewhat honoured to find her beaming proudly at me. "So I suggest you be a little more grateful."
"I do not care what you suggest. I will be here every single day until my son wakes up, tending to him whether you like it or not, and don't dare think otherwise."
Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms.
"Good. Perhaps then Heidi can take her very well-deserved break from doing so."
Suddenly feeling a little more exposed to Narcissa Malfoy than I'd have like to, I cleared my throat awkwardly and tried to come up with a way to play off my involvement.
"I help with everyone, not just Malf—"
But she turned on her heel and walked brusquely away before I could complete my sentence. I sighed, remembering the inconvenient promise I had made a few months prior…
If something is to happen to me, I need you to speak with my mother. I need you to speak with her and convince her to go to France. I don't care how you do it, Zabini, just make sure she goes to that damn treatment centre.
I excused myself to Madam Pomfrey, before hurrying out of the hospital wing. It took me a few uncertain turns down various corridors before I caught sight of Malfoy's mother once again.
"Mrs. Malfoy! Could I speak to you a moment?" I called out after her, slightly winded from rushing through the castle. She stopped walking and turned to me, eyebrow raised.
"Can't you see I haven't got time, girl?"
I nodded, trying not to keel over. I really needed to participate more in the drills at Quidditch practice…
"I understand. It's just … just that Draco asked me to," I panted.
She drew her thin blonde eyebrows together.
"That is an interesting thing to call my son."
"It's a bit too celestial for my liking, but you seem to enjoy it," I joked. She did not smile. "Really, Mrs. Malfoy, I won't take long. It would feel wrong if I didn't speak with you, seeing as he asked me to in confidence."
She pursed her lips in distaste, but relented. "Very well, we'll go to the village; I refuse to stay in this castle any longer whilst it is being run by that stupid, decrepit old man."
"Only … only I'm not sure I'm allowed to leave the school grounds."
She rolled her eyes and began walking away.
"On second thought, I'm sure it's fine," I said, darting after her.
The walk to Hogsmeade was by far one of the most excruciatingly awkward encounters that I'd had with her in my life. I had absolutely nothing to say in the way of small talk, as even 'how have you been' seemed to be a touchy place to go all things considered.
"So are you … are you going anywhere soon? Like for a holiday?" I asked.
"No," she replied stiffly.
"Right. Good. Probably best to stay put. You know, with present circumstances being the way they are."
She stopped short and turned to me. "Meaning?"
I could feel myself start to sweat despite the February air. "Meaning nothing," I said. "Other than the fact that … you know … with your husband—"
"Speak of my husband once more and I will be cutting this very short," she warned me, and I had the good sense to complete the rest of the walk as silently as I had begun it.
An even more troubling situation presented itself when we'd finally reached the village and found that our options for a civilized, indoor chat were two pubs (which I figured it was best not to suggest) and Madam Puddifoot's during Valentine's season.
"What do they serve in this 'Puddifoot's' place?" she asked coldly as we stepped through the door. An unenthusiastic-looking cupid grabbed a handful of confetti from a basket and threw it in her face, eliciting a shriek. He then did the same to me without waiting for me to close my mouth, and I had to struggle hard not to swallow some by accident.
"I think it's mostly— ugh." I tried to discreetly reach into my mouth to extract a piece of pink confetti. "I think it's mostly some hot drinks, sweets, and a generous side of romantic disappointment. I'm not sure if the menu's been changed for Valentine's Day, though; I haven't been here much," I admitted.
Narcissa swatted away the fat cupid and straightened her travelling cloak.
"Fine. Let's make this quick."
She took off her cloak and shoved it into the hands of Madam Puddifoot herself, interrupting her jovial greeting. I followed her to a table in the corner, opposite the one I'd sat at with Anthony. Stiffly and silently, she flipped open the fuzzy pink menu and pursed her lips at the contents.
"Can I get you two a little something sweet to start?" asked Madam Puddifoot cheerfully, clearly choosing to be the bigger person in the sort of way that Narcissa Malfoy seldom appreciated.
"No. I want a coffee, and I want it black. If so much as a single sugar crystal makes its way into it, you will remake it. I want it hot, but no so hot that my tongue burns. Spoon on the side for stirring."
I squinted, trying to figure out what exactly she'd be stirring if she took her coffee black.
Madam Puddifoot's joyful smile fell slightly. She turned to me. "Yourself, dear?"
"I'll take a hot chocolate, but maybe with a little extra pump of syrup if I could? And some extra whipped cream, if it's not too bothersome?"
Narcissa's eyebrow crept up as she scanned me. I swallowed nervously under her scrutinizing gaze.
"Er … sugar-free syrup. No whipped cream."
Madam Puddifoot gave a small 'tsk' and jotted down my order. She reappeared with our drinks soon after. We were two of very few patrons now that it wasn't a Hogwarts weekend.
"Alright then," Narcissa said, looking very bored. "What is it you've been instructed to tell me by my 'son'?"
I furrowed my eyebrows at the strangely scathing way she'd said son, and soon realized the reason behind it when I opened my mouth to speak.
"I understand you've tricked me here to relay some sort of threat to my family from Harry Potter. I just want you to know that you've gotten yourself into far larger a mess than you think. My husband may be in some unfortunate circumstances, but the Ministry of Magic has certainly not ceased to be a friend to this family."
I blinked slowly, trying to come up with an appropriate response, but all I could give was a garbled, confused chortle.
"I … I don't think you understand how … Harry doesn't really get his friends to entrap — well, anyway! I um … I actually am here because of something your son asked from me."
Narcissa frowned. "I wasn't aware that you two had made a habit of asking each other for favours."
"Not often," I lied. "But given the circumstances of what happened with the Manor—"
"I assure you, nothing that that Skeeter woman writes about the Manor, or my family, or my personal affairs, carries an ounce of truth."
"Dra — Malfoy is extremely worried for you. I'm sure you know that."
She stiffened, coffee cup halfway to her mouth.
"I do."
"I'm not sure that you know just how much. And I… I just really wouldn't want him to have to go through something so painful as losing you," I concluded, staring hard into my cup of sugar-free, cream-less hot cocoa.
"I find that hard to believe coming out of the mouth of someone who once tried to drown my son in the river Seine."
"Right, well, there was a bit more context to that one I think, but—"
"I don't understand," Narcissa admitted. "Are you and my son some sort of … friends now?"
"No," I said. "Well, maybe 'some sort'; some very strange sort. And temporarily, I hope, because I really can't keep up this charade for much longer."
"Charade?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.
"It's been a complicated year, Mrs. Malfoy. Let's just leave it at that."
"I suppose that's for the best. I hardly find the gossip of sixteen year olds riveting," she said. "I am interested to find out, however, why exactly Draco would confide in you in such a way?"
"Look, I might not be a very good friend to your son, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't care what happens to him at the end of all this. Nobody should have to feel the way he's felt this year, or go through what he's gone through. And he—" I was very alarmed to find my eyes welling with tears. This was the last thing I wanted his mother to see. "I only mean … only that he really wants you to do what you two spoke about at St. Mungo's. He really wants you to go to that treatment centre in France, Mrs. Malfoy. He needs you to go. And — and if you're worried that he'll be all alone, then I promise you he won't. At least, I'll try to prevent that to the best of my ability as his very strange sort of friend."
Narcissa scanned my face in an analytical, detached manner, and it made me even more self-conscious about the burst of emotions I had just shown her.
"You're a bizarre girl, Heidi Zabini," she concluded. "I must admit that, knowing what I know about Estella and Robert, I find it most surprising that you turned out this way."
"I'm not adopted. I've already asked."
Narcissa, to my great surprise, laughed for the first time I'd seen in ages. I realized then that that's where Malfoy got his smile from — the one he only gave out if something truly amused him.
"I said you were strange, not that you were a biological impossibility. I know very well that you weren't adopted." She drank the last of her coffee and dabbed at her mouth with a bubblegum pink napkin. "Well, I suppose it's been an interesting evening." She pulled out a handful of coins and put them down on the table.
"Are you leaving?" I asked.
"I was planning to, unless you need me to accompany you back to the castle. I appreciate it's dark out, and Estella wouldn't much like you making the journey alone."
"But will you do it?" I pressed.
"Do what?" she asked.
"Go to France?"
Narcissa scoffed. "I hardly think it's appropriate for you to go snooping into my personal plans for recovery. This is between me and my son."
I tried not to look as hurt as I felt. She was right, of course; this wasn't my family, and Malfoy wasn't my … well, anything really. I supposed I had my own family issues to tend to, anyway.
"Well, thank you for listening, I guess. And for the hot chocolate. If I had my coin purse with me, I'd have—"
"I appreciate it was difficult coming to me with this. I disagree with many of the things you do, Miss Zabini, and I will certainly continue to do so, but I would be lying if I said that your words tonight have not been of value to me, or that I don't appreciate the concern you've extended to my son. Perhaps it would have been best, of course, if you weren't such an adamant supporter of those that are determined to bring my family misfortune in the first place."
She gave a curt nod and collected her travelling cloak, leaving me at the table alone. I felt like I'd been simultaneously slapped and hugged.
"For what it's worth, dear, I wouldn't listen to a word that came out of that woman's mouth about you," said Madam Puddifoot some minutes later as she came by to scoop up the coins Narcissa had left on the table. "I think you're built beautifully. Nice and sturdy, like an athlete. And the top half's nothing to scoff at either!"
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Some days later, as I struggled into the hospital wing under the weight of the many lesson materials that I'd taken for Malfoy, I found myself facing an empty, neatly made bed. I dropped the stack of books and parchment, and did an alarmed three-sixty around the room.
"Where's Malfoy?" I asked Madam Pomfrey, pushing back the hangings on a few beds as if I'd expected him to be hiding there.
"He was discharged this morning," she said.
"But — but why didn't anybody come get me?"
The matron looked somewhat perplexed by my question. "Why would I come get you, dear? You were in class."
"Well, how did he look? Did he look out of it?"
"He looked just fine, Miss Zabini. I hope you aren't suggesting I discharge my patients before ensuring their full recovery?" she asked, looking somewhat offended at the idea.
I shook my head and gathered everything back into my hands, muttering an embarrassed apology.
Where the hell had he gone?
I knew he hadn't shown up to lessons, and that he hadn't been in our room when I'd gone in to drop some homework off. He could be in the Slytherin quarters, of course, or in the Great Hall — neither of which I had a particular inclination to check. I had gotten into the habit of going downstairs to the kitchens and finding my food there, since it meant I was able to avoid facing the fact that I was now effectively friendless.
Cursing under my breath, I dropped off the pile of books upstairs and went to my most dreaded part of the school.
The Great Hall was at its busiest at this hour, the tables freshly brimming with food. My mouth watered as I scanned the options from afar — I saw shepherd's pie and massive cuts of steak, battered fish and piles of chips. By the time I got to the kitchens, they usually only had the cold stuff left, and although it tasted alright, there was nothing like a friendly chat over some warm soup.
I flicked my gaze to two heads of fiery red hair; they stood out the easiest in the throng. Ginny was laughing at something Ron was saying, Hermione not too far off from her, doing the same. Suddenly, my eyes hit Harry's. The speed with which his smile left his face confirmed the fact that the mere sight of me was enough to significantly sour his mood.
I could feel my heart pounding through my chest, the disappointment growing. All he had to do was gesture me over. The smallest head nod. The tiniest wave. I'd have run back to them in a matter of seconds. Instead, he slipped his gaze from mine as if he hadn't met it in the first place, and reinstated his smile as he scooped a handful of chips onto Ginny's plate. Merlin above, what would it take to —
"Ow! What the fuck!" I exclaimed as somebody pushed me roughly forwards, leading me to nearly tip over in the process.
"Am I supposed to wait until you decide to move your gargantuan body through this doorway? Which, by the way, is a feat unto itself by the looks of it."
It was Malfoy, risen from the dead like I had prayed he would. Shit. He looked good.
"Well? Are you in or out, Freakface? You're in everybody's way."
I frowned.
"Malfoy, are you alright? You're acting a bit …"
"I see you haven't been skipping too many meals since I've been gone," he announced smugly. A nearby Slytherin giggled.
"What?"
"A change in regimen might make it a bit easier to get your broom off the ground, if you know what I mean."
"Excuse me?" I demanded, dumbfounded.
He smirked and turned to make his way to his table.
I don't know if it was the worry I had spent on him, the sleep deprivation, or the generally shit turn my life had taken, but I found myself absolutely sparking with fury.
"Say that again, Malfoy," I shouted after him. "No, really, I dare you!"
He stopped short in his tracks, and wheeled around with a most classically malicious smirk. I hadn't seen that one for months. I certainly hadn't been spotting it lately when I'd been waking up with his arms around me. Without hesitating, I gave him a good, strong shove which, to my disappointment, he absorbed almost entirely without moving an inch.
"You absolute prat!" I snarled as I went for him again. Heads were beginning to turn. "You complete, absolute tosser of a human being! I spend all week—"
"Fuck, Zabini, get off me!"
"I WILL NOT."
He tried fruitlessly to get me to stop slapping every inch of him I could find. I saw from the corner of my eye that Harry had stood up, and was absorbing the scene with a concerned frown.
"Blaise, collect your fucking sister!" yelled Malfoy over his shoulder as he tried to protect his abdomen from my jabs.
"All this bloody effort with you and it still gets me nowhere!" I snarled. "You don't even know the week I've had!"
Managing finally to extricate himself from my kicks and jabs, Malfoy brushed himself off and left for his table, shaking his head and muttering something offensive.
Harry sat back down, as did my brother. Katie Bell mouthed 'are you okay?' at me, which I half-heartedly nodded at. I praised my lucky stars that there were only a few teachers at the head table, and that neither McGonagall nor Snape were among them.
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"Morning, Zabini," said Malfoy the next day as he settled down comfortably in the seat beside mine.
"Wanker," was all I could bring myself to reply. I refused to meet his gaze, but could see him quite well from the side-eye I was throwing his way.
"So." He turned to me smugly. "Looks like we have a lot to discuss, if what I heard from Pansy and my mother is any indication."
My stomach dropped. What had he heard from Pansy?
"Rumour has it you punched Scarhead in my honour."
"Don't worry, I won't be doing much in your honour any longer," I spat, flipping open my Charms textbook.
"Rumour also has it you're eating your meals in toilet stalls."
I threw my hands up in frustration. "You do something once and then suddenly everybody thinks it's a 'thing'! I didn't want to waste time going to the Room of Requirement that day and risk not coming back down in time to make sure your bandages — er … in time to make sure all the patients were doing alright."
"Is it true you've lost your friends?" he asked, and I was surprised to find him looking somewhat serious.
I tried to play this off with a scoff. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"I absolutely would not. Have you seen the way you spiral out of control when you so much as suspect that somebody dislikes you? You don't have the backbone for a relationship gone sour, Zabini."
"Excuse me? You are a relationship gone sour. Mind you, it soured basically out of the womb, but still. I think I've done just fine not being liked by a ferret such as yourself," I said importantly, returning to my pre-class skimming of the day's readings.
"Oh yes, you've done so well with it that you started smuggling me food and demanding to be my friend."
I stiffened.
"Don't tense up like that, Zabini, I never said I didn't appreciate it."
"Oh you said a lot more than that yesterday in the Great Hall," I pointed out.
"You mean when I was trying to show Potter he has no reason to get his knickers in a twist? What was I supposed to do, give you a tight, warm hug in front of all your friends so they could punish you some more for 'fraternizing' with me? You don't need to go through that, and I don't need to go through you going through that."
I felt myself cringe as I realized the truth about our interaction the evening before.
"Luckily," continued Malfoy, "you had very cleverly deduced my intentions, and did not at all use an unnecessary level of force on my freshly-healed, somewhat scarred torso, thereby leaving a nice set of bruises for me to deal with."
I winced.
"You were calling me fat! I still had the look your mother gave me when I was ordering at Madam Puddifoot's burned into the backs of my eyelids." I lowered my voice so that Anthony, who I noticed looking back at me, wouldn't hear us. "You're alright, though? I didn't hurt you too badly?"
Malfoy snorted.
"Are you finally ready to take my offer to meet upstairs and talk after class, or do I need to get bled a second time?"
"Of course I'll meet with you," I said. "I'm sorry for not doing it … for not … that evening—"
"S'fine, Zabini, no need to get tragic," he said with a smirk, just as Flitwick entered the room and began lecturing.
As the class went on, I found myself with immense trouble concentrating. It started when I noticed the light in Flitwick's airy classroom catch his face at just the right angle. I don't know if it was the potions we'd been feeding him, or the fact that he was finally forced to rest properly for once, but there was some sort of quality about him that I somehow hadn't noticed before and it made me want to —
I jolted slightly as Malfoy's hand flew to my parchment. In one fluid motion, he scratched out the word Otttolaringgus and replaced it with its correctly-written counterpart. I looked at him in what I can only imagine was shock.
"You're going to want to copy this lesson down properly, Zabini," he muttered. "Unless you like me beating you on exams."
I tried my best to re-orient my focus to the front of the room, but even though my eyes were looking in the right direction, the feeling in my chest only grew. The smell of his cologne was starting to make it difficult to do anything other than picture terribly unkosher things.
I suddenly found myself jumping a foot in the air at the feeling of a hand grazing my thigh under the table.
"Shit, sorry," he muttered, before pushing back his chair to peer under the desk. "Can you get my bag out from under your chair?"
Trying (and most likely failing) to appear nonchalant, I reached under and freed the strap of his schoolbag from my chair leg.
"Thanks," he said, slinging it over his shoulder.
"Where are you going?" I called after him in alarm.
"Upstairs to the bathroom. Why, do you feel like coming to join me?" he drawled.
"Obviously not!"
Sniggering, he left me to pack my things in preparation for Potions.
"This is ridiculous," I mumbled darkly as I shoved my textbook into my bag. I'd fail all of my classes at this rate, if all I could do was stare at him all day! This was no way to live. The mental torture needed to end. It needed to end today.
I grabbed my belongings and rushed to the seventh floor. I found him in the bathroom alone, washing his hands.
"Malfoy," I said, announcing my presence.
He looked up at the reflection in the mirror.
"What the—?"
He turned to me with a grin.
"Alright, Zabini, I think we need to lay down some boundaries, yeah?" he said, wiping his hands with a small towel. "I recognize that you're probably only trying to be a good friend and watch my back, but I promise I can still take a piss by my fucking self. Don't worry, I checked all the corners for Scarhead. I doubt he strikes in the same place twice."
There were a million ways that I could relay to him what had been going through my mind these past few weeks — I could tell him in a complicated metaphor, or a long-winded story, or explain to him that we could never share a bed again due to a massive conflict of interest: more specifically, my very conflicted interest in him — but I knew he'd just interrupt me anyway. I needed to keep it simple for once. He needed to understand perfectly.
"We're not friends, Malfoy, remember?" I said as I strode over to him.
Without waiting for another round of plausible deniability to play out, I grabbed his tie to bring his face in line with mine and put my lips firmly where they'd been craving to go since the first time they'd been there.