A/N: Thanks should go out to my latest reviewer for lighting a match to my long-suffering muse, lying dormant for these last few months. It was just what I needed, I think, to complete this chapter.


Chapter 34: Little white lies

The days were rapidly approaching Easter break and Blaise's promise of taking her to meet his grandmother in Italy was ever pressing on Ginny's mind.

Well... Along with everything else.

She had only caught glimpses of Theo here and there, and never within distance of Blaise. It seemed the troubled boy strove to make himself as scarce as possible. She only hoped he wasn't getting himself into more trouble in the meantime until he and Blaise had sorted things out. Speaking of which...

Blaise, in his own self-possessed fashion, did nothing to allude to any sudden rift between Ginny and himself. Actually, it was all the more troubling. She almost wished he'd react in some way instead of putting on his effortlessly debonair persona each time they interacted, in public or otherwise. Every attempt she made to try and pick up from when they last spoke or confront him bounced right off his stoic veneer; as if nothing had changed, and he was as indifferent to her existence as before. To her own amazement, she felt a tiny bit slighted by this treatment. She wasn't sure why it suddenly meant so much to her. All she knew was that she didn't want smooth, aloof Blaise. She wanted...

What she wanted was to talk to him about the trip.

And then she found that she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to ask him again why he had invited her nor voice her reservations about it. The lack of closure only added to her building nerves.

In truth, she wanted to go. She wanted to feel the golden sun on her skin and inhale the sweltering Mediterranean air so often raved about by others who had been to Italy. In fact, she also felt a small frisson of anticipation at the prospect of Blaise showing her his native country but she wouldn't admit that to anyone.

Of course, first and foremost, she had some unfinished business to deal with at home. Whether or not Ron had already done her the 'courtesy' of dropping the bombshell, she had to deal with her parents on her own. She couldn't very well go on like this. She hadn't even told them about the Dementor attack or the Quidditch incident. It felt like she'd tried to shield them this entire year by only letting them in on innocuous and boring details in order to install as much normalcy into their daily lives as possible. To rest their minds assured. Even if it was through a white lie. It didn't sit well with her and it wasn't fair to her parents. Objectively and ideally, she wanted nothing more than to turn the lie into a truth, so that she didn't have to keep pretending anymore. Sure, she had thrown her parents white lies in the past; choosing not to share certain parts of her life like all teenagers did. But, now, it felt all the more poignant, all the more afflictive, throwing them a white lie after everything that had happened...after what they'd gone through; everything they'd lost... Her parents trusted her to get better; they gave her time and support; they expected her to tell the truth of how she was faring.

No, she had to somehow give them the most accurate version of what was going on in her life, if not the entirety of it. The reason for her holding slightly back still lay in the fact that she and Zabini hadn't exactly been completely truthful and trustful towards each other yet. What exactly were they? That 'small' detail seemed too precarious to voice, even to her parents.

Perhaps she should though? What could happen? They'd understand, surely?

She kept gnawing on her lower lip as she pondered upon the problem. Which, to be fair, wasn't such a big problem as she made it out to be. It was only her parents, after all. Wouldn't they be glad that she was finally started to confide in them again and seek out their advice?

Or would they be disappointed that she'd even gotten herself into this mess in the first place? Maybe it wouldn't help that she told them about what was possibly happening at school on top of that?

No, she had to find out more about the stuff with Theo first before she – and Blaise – told anyone else. So that they could be completely sure, like Zabini had been in favour of to begin with (loathe as she was to admit it, he was right).

And, in regards to the trip, she could likely segueing into the subject smoothly enough if it was over some dinner and wine. She always found her mum and dad to be more easygoing with their bellies full and no other present worries troubling them.

So, by her next weekend visit to the Burrow, she bought a nice Muggle wine for her dad (which he was always excited about) and some of her mum's favourite chocolate.

Thrilled (more by the sight of Ginny than the chocolate), her mum hugged the breath from her. "Just us and your father tonight, dear," she said, leading Ginny into the kitchen. "George couldn't make it." She put on a great show to sound untouched by the fact and Ginny smiled sadly, knowing George put up as many excuses as she did when it came to the frequent invitations to the Burrow. None of them could bear the melancholy that hung around the place despite their parents' efforts to put on cheery faces.

Entering the living room, Ginny found her dad stooped over his cluttered desk, tinkering with something as usual. He turned his head as she approached and his absentminded expression lit up.

Greeting her with a hug, he asked. "How are you, sweetheart? Everything good at school?"

The corner of her mouth flicked up, but she deftly avoided the truth of the question for the time being. "Well enough, dad. And you?"

"Oh, you know me," he answered good-humouredly, "always tinkering with the newest hobby of mine. Did you know: Muggles use so-called microwave-ovens with radiation to heat up food? And that ants are small enough to dodge the rays if put inside?"

She bit back a smile, indulging him. "Really? That's sounds interesting, dad."

"Doesn't it?" He nodded eagerly. "I never would have imagined."

She chuckled. "Neither would I." She handed over the wine. "Here. For you."

"Amazing! Capital! Thank you," he gushed, just as the doorbell rang. They looked at each other, puzzled.

"Maybe it's George coming anyway?" she ventured.

"Maybe. But he usually doesn't use the doorbell, does he?" He put down the bottle on the table and walked out to the entrance hall.

No sooner had he left than her mum entered the living room with a nonplussed expression. "You didn't tell us you invited Blaise Zabini, dear."

"What?" Ginny's heart flew up into her throat. "Why- why would you say that?"

"Because he's standing on the doorstep claiming you invited him to dinner. You should have told us, sweetheart. I would have made sure to make extra dessert."

Ginny was already halfway out the living room. What in the world was he doing here? "What did he say to you exactly?" she muttered over her shoulder to her mum who had followed behind.

"He said something about his plans being cancelled last minute..."

They rounded the corner to entrance hall and came face-to-face with said surprise guest as he finished whatever conversation he had been carrying on with her dad. He lifted his gaze and winked as her dad turned to her with an animated gesture. "Well, this is a surprise! Ginny, Blaise just let me in on the fact that the Italian fascists tried to collaborate with Grindelwald in the 1920s. Did you know?" he enquired.

She clenched her jaw, the question mostly going over her head as her eyes never left the Italian. "No. I did not."

Dressed immaculately in his dark dress ropes, Blaise bore a perfectly composed mien and directed a disarming smile towards her parents. "I thank you for the kind invite, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I am sorry for the delay and I hope I'm not intruding." Oh, you most certainly are! Ginny forcibly held back her tongue when she saw him produce a bouquet of flowers from behind his back and offered them to her mum. "For you, Mrs. Weasley. I had an inkling you might favour daisies."

Ginny was about to burst. How dared he show up here and try and charm his way into her parents' good graces! Her eyes darted between her parents' flummoxed faces.

"Well, then," her dad started. "I guess it would be impolite not to invite you in, after all the trouble you've taken." He moved out of his way as her mum thanked him for the beautiful bouquet.

Blaise inclined his head. "No trouble, at all. I am sorry if my presence is a surprise. I had thought your daughter would have told you?" His facetious tone went over the head of her parents, but not Ginny.

"Oh! Well," her mum looked between them from above her flowers, "it is somewhat of a surprise, I must admit. Ginny hasn't told us anything."

"Ah. I see." Blaise's perceptive eyes swirled back to Ginny whose lips had turned into a frown at her mother's pointed tone.

Remembering her manners, her mum slipped into her hospitable self and bustled inside the kitchen. "Oh, think nothing of it, dear," she addressed Blaise, "you're more than welcome to join us for dinner. We've got quite enough food, I believe."

Now with her parents out of earshot, Ginny harrumphed under her breath and glowered at the tall wizard standing in her parents' entrance hall. She marched up to him. "Just what the bloody hell do you think you are doing, Zabini?" she hissed.

The corners of his mouth crept into a smile as he leaned in; she could smell the expensive cologne clinging to his collar. "I figured you had to tell your parents sooner or later, and I wouldn't let you deal with them on your own, Princess."

Patronizing sod! "You bloody well could have, Zabini!" she growled under her breath. "I never asked for your help!"

"Why, you didn't have to, my dear."

She sent him a searing scowl. "I was about to tell them. You're not supposed to be here!"

Unfazed, he met her stare head-on. "Well... now I am," he countered, nonchalant.

"You... Ugh!" Spinning on her heel, she stomped away before she gave into the temptation of wiping that smug look off his face.

As she turned into the kitchen, her mother looked up from the pots by the stove. "Something the matter?"

Ginny stopped, suddenly remembering herself. "Ah, uh, nothing, mum. It's just...," she looked over her shoulder where Blaise had materialized in the doorframe, shooting her an expectant eyebrow. She scrambled for an explanation. "I, er... It's my mistake that I did not tell you before." Trying not to leak her worries into her appearance, she mustered an embarrassed grin. Just then, her father came back, carrying a book on Muggle history he no doubt intended to show to Blaise. She fidgeted as she carried on. "I had completely forgotten about inviting Blaise because it was so long ago and I had never imagined he'd actually make it." Subtly, she directed an accusatory glance at Blaise out of the corner of her eye.

The Italian merely chuckled. Chuckled. Uncrossing his arms, he stepped up beside her. "Well, I must admit it was a close call. My plans were changed very last minute." The roguish glint in his eyes might have been amusement at her expense but there was something in them that belied the lightness of his words. "But, as I said, I'm glad to be able to make it."

At a loss, Ginny was about to open her mouth when there was a sounding whoosh from the fireplace inside the living room and a familiar voice rang out: "Sorry, I'm late!" Closing her eyes, Ginny wondered if the universe was truly conspiring against her, just as George came sauntering into the kitchen, hands in his pockets. "I was held up at the store and didn't know if I could make–" He promptly froze at the sight of Zabini.

"George!" She stepped in pre-emptively. "You made it!" She practically hauled herself into her stupefied brother's arms who caught her belatedly.

There was a beat before George murmured. "So. I guess Ron was right?"

Her head snapped back. He was gazing knowingly down at her then shifted his eyes towards Blaise over her shoulder, dipping his chin. "Zabini."

"Weasley," Blaise returned, straight-faced. Nervously, Ginny glanced between them, unable to make out what they each were thinking.

"Well, dinner is ready," her mum intervened with a smile though there was more than a little confusion to her face. She waved her wand to set the dinner on the table and gestured for everyone to be seated. "Please, sit."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ginny complied. Blaise took a seat beside her and caught her anxious look out of the corner of his eye. Leaning in, he murmured, "Don't worry," (as if it was enough to reassure her), and then sent her a confident wink. Effortlessly, he segued into his charming persona, turning to her parents with a complement on the food. Ginny kept looking at him dumbfounded. She still had no idea what was going on or why he was here, but she preferred to hash out the mystery in private and not in the company of her entire –

"So... Zabini," George began once they were all seated, promptly causing Ginny's knife to slip from her grip and clang against her plate. "Why are you here?"

Everyone became very quiet. Not batting an eye, Zabini unfolded his napkin in his lap before leaning back with a warning smile that Ginny recognized. "Well, now that you're asking, Weasley..." She held her breath as the Italian took his sweet time responding, "I was invited, as a matter of fact."

"I see. So, you think my sister invited you because she needs a man to stand up for her?" Her brother countered flatly. Ginny opened her mouth, though she wasn't sure what she was about to protest; George's nosy inquisition or the fact that he somehow had guessed the real reason why Blaise was here when she hadn't. (And another thing: he kind of had a point but this wasn't really the time or the place).

Her parents looked between the three of them. "What's going on here?" her mum queried with her dad adding. "Is there something we don't know, Ginny?"

"Clearly, there is," George murmured to himself.

Oh, Merlin. Already this was going downhill."Don't ruin this for me, George," Ginny hissed under her breath.

"Why? I think they ought to know."

"It's not your decision to make."

"Know what?" Her mum eyed Ginny and Blaise. "I think it's nice that you two have become friends."

"I think it's a bit more complicated than that," her brother casually rebutted, and Ginny snapped her head towards him.

She leaned forward with a harsh whisper. "What has Ron told you?"

George carried on eating, not bothering to look up. "Only the main facts."

"Oh!" she scoffed sardonically; ire, hot and liquid, rising in her chest. "The main facts? How do you suppose he's got any 'facts' from this at all and not just made up the whole thing from his rampant presumptions?"

"You know Ron."

"Indeed, I do," she guffawed mirthlessly. "And you chose the most 'opportune' time to tell me that you knew all this time?"

"Well, so did you." He finally looked up to fix her with a meaningful look. Oh, she loved George to bits but sometimes she wanted to wring his neck for sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

"Ginny," her mum interjected sternly. "Would you please let your father and me in on what is going on here?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at her brother. Seeing that she wasn't going to receive any help from him, at all, she exhaled heavily, letting go of some of her anger. Might as well lay it out there. She felt a brief pressure on her left arm and turned her head, surprised to get an encouraging nod from Blaise.

"I..." she started warily, looking at her parents again. She still hadn't come up with something adequate to say. "Well, you see... the facts are..." She swallowed, eyes darting between the curious eyes on her.

Her mum's face turned concerned. "Has something happened at school, Ginny?"

"I..."

"The thing is, Mrs. Weasley – Mr. Weasley," Blaise aptly came to her defense, "that I have invited her to spend a weekend in Italy with me at my family's estate this Easter holiday." His voice was the voice of unflinching calm, and you could practically hear the drop of a pin in the silence that followed as every pair of eyes became fixed on them. Ginny, completely stunned, gaped at the poised wizard beside her.

"I see," her dad responded after a moment before directing Ginny a small smile. "That's... that sounds wonderful, my dear. I think you should go. I hear Italy is marvellous around this time of year." Bless her sweet, absentminded dad.

"Arthur." Molly Weasley was less enthused. She eyed Ginny and Blaise more measuredly. "I am surprised, Ginny. You didn't tell us anything."

"I know what you might think..." All she wanted to do was to apologize but she didn't know what she should apologize for, really. There was a light touch of Blaise's hand against her own beneath the table and she lowered her gaze, startled by the gesture. He briefly tightened his hold; anchoring her decision to continue. "I haven't tried to cover anything up, or...or lie to you," her throat worked, "I wanted to go," she cast a furtive look at Blaise who met hers with one of pensive astonishment at her admission, "but I wasn't sure quite yet and I wanted your permission first, of course." Looking across her family, lingering on her mum's considering look next to George's indecipherable expression and her dad's soft, understanding one, the slight pressure of Zabini's large, warm hand was oddly comforting. Having never drawn physical or supportive comfort from each other before, not without the aiding of generous amounts of alcohol, and though her senses had been both doused and heightened in those instances, it was an altogether reeling sensation sober. She wanted to both lean into his touch and twitch and fidget, hyper-aware and unable to settle between the two. Finally, she pulled her hand back. She stared down at her lap, the seconds ticking by torturously slow.

"Gin, hon." She looked up. Her mum's eyes were gentle as she took in her conflicted appearance. "You know you should never be apprehensive of coming to us," she reached out to take the hand of Ginny's dad like he was a natural extension of that sentiment, and for a brief moment Ginny was fixated by the small gesture even though she had seen them do so hundreds of times before. "If you truly want to go, of course you may."

Her dad joined in with a jovial smile as he tightened his wife's hold and looked at Ginny. "Of course."

Feeling the tears starting to form in her eyes, Ginny gulped them back. "I know. Thank you." She felt foolish for having been so nervous in the first place. She was sure they had questions, in particular her mum, but for now she was grateful for being exempted the third degree.

She glanced back up just in time for her to see the look her mum sent George as if to say 'any objections?'; a message he unequivocally received by the looks of how his lanky shoulders hunched forward, studiously concentrating on shovelling more food into his mouth. None, it seemed.

Peering to her left, she found that Blaise too had chosen to concentrate on the dinner; she couldn't decipher what he was thinking. It was like a stone slinking down into her stomach and she quelled the sigh in the back of her throat. Meeting her dad's kind, curious gaze across from her, her cheeks flushed. Had he caught her looking at Blaise? She expelled a quiet bout of air, smiling shyly back before averting her gaze. She always underestimated her dad's perceptiveness. It was so unobtrusive, unlike her mum's, that she quite forgot he was there sometimes, seeing and perceiving the stuff that went on behind the scenes with all of them.

Returning to her food, they ate in relatively silence; once in a while sprinkling in compliments to the hostess on the food. Ginny felt a slow warmth settling within as the conversation eventually fell back into familiar rhythms; George and her dad sharing newfound hobbies and anecdotes about run-ins with weird costumers and members of the Ministry, while her mum half-heartedly shushed them for behaving badly in front of their guest, only making everyone laugh. She didn't bother to question what had made her family momentarily forget the previous tension. Whatever it was, she was sorely grateful for the distraction; it certainly was a weight off her chest. Even Blaise surprised her as he joined in with an earnest ease to his smirks and caught Ginny's eye every now and then, as if sharing a secret joke. There was a heat and a laughter there, stoking the low fire in her belly; at the way his sharp eyes and regal features relaxed and softened in the soft hue of the light, the good food and company. As the hours progressed, she felt the warmth spread through her system with every sip of wine and every spare glance he sent her way. No longer indifferent but... here.

"Everything alright?" Lifting her eyes, she once more marvelled at the disparity of the Italian who had turned his head to look at her; an attentive inquiry lighting his dark orbs. Swallowing the thick, fuzzy feeling forming in her throat, she nodded blearily and averted her gaze again, feeling his eyes lingering.

"Well!" Her mum's chirpy voice cut through the heavy atmosphere. "Who's ready for some dessert? Gin, would you care to help me, dear?"

The timing couldn't have been more opportune and Ginny quickly made herself scarce from the dinner table to help out in the kitchen. Once in a while, however, she couldn't help look over her shoulder at Blaise. Although he wasn't directly pulled into a conversation, she saw him paying attention to the topics flying across the table, smoothly inserting an apt comment or polite question here and there. He carried himself with just the right amount of ease and wit as one saw fit for a wizard aristocrat. If she didn't believe his ability to play the game before, she did now. He certainly had her convinced. Or, maybe, he was being sincere? Perhaps this was what the real Blaise looked like when he wasn't posturing or hiding away behind his arrogant mask – but actually having a good time...

"He seems like a nice boy."

Caught off guard by the comment, Ginny whipped her head around and stared at her mum by the kitchen sink.

"Um, it's not –" She was about to deny it when she caught herself, her eyes drifting back to the dark-skinned Slytherin, seeing the slip of a wry smile as he observed her dad and brother caught in an innocuous argument. She still didn't understand what he was doing here but, much to her own surprise, she appreciated his quiet show of support so far. "Er, yes, I guess, he is."

"How long?"

"Huh?" She flicked her attention back to her mum who had that infuriatingly all-knowing look on her face.

"How long have you known him, sweetheart?" She couldn't tell if her mother asked out of genuine interest or if she still held some reserve towards their guest.

"Uh, personally; since the beginning of the school year, but I kind of... knew of him before that."

"I see." Her mum continued to busy herself with the dishes and Ginny got the distinct feeling there was something she wasn't saying.

Suddenly feeling the need to explain, Ginny clarified. "Well, I knew him around school, of course; everyone does. You must have heard of the Zabinis as well, haven't you?"

"I have, but his family lives in Italy, don't they?"

"Yes. As far as I know, he hasn't got any family members in this country."

"That's unfortunate. Must be very lonely around the weekends and holidays."

"Oh, I don't know; I'm sure he has lots of rich friends around," Ginny mused, darting another glance over her shoulder, suspecting her mum was closer to the truth than she had been in her own presumptions.

"Why, don't you know yet?" her mum teasingly rejoined and Ginny paled.

"Uhh..." Drat. She didn't, did she? She hadn't even bothered to ask. But how could she? Unless it was through an insult somehow. Now, that was a sobering thought. But... It was rather shameful to ask about such things and he guarded his personal life with tight-lipped reticence.

"I don't much care what circles he moves in but I assume he's picked up his general attitude from somewhere. Mostly, he's just vain and arrogant."

"And handsome."

"Mum!" she hissed.

Feigning ignorance, the matriarch shrugged. "Well, isn't he?"

Ginny made a gruff sound. "He's hard not to notice, I guess. For various reasons." And not all of them to do with his infamous 'charm', she grumbled to herself. "I sort of insulted him during my fifth year."

"Oh? I think you might have made an impression." Her mum smiled and Ginny balked slightly at the remark.

"I don't think so," she scoffed. "More likely, he just found even more reason to hate me. The feeling was mutual anyways," she muttered under her breath, vividly recalling just how deep that mutual feeling had run.

"So?" her mum queried. "What made you change your mind?"

"Sorry?"

Giving her a softly exasperated glance, Molly reiterated. "How did you two patch things up?"

Ginny scrunched up her nose. "I wouldn't call it that, mum. We just happened to be thrown together – incidentally – over the year; through Prefect meetings and what not. And then McGonagall apparently thought it a brilliant idea for us to teach the First Years about Quidditch together. And about Sirius..." Her voice faded as she realized where she was headed. Should she tell her now, or wait?

Her mum's eyebrows perked up. "Sirius? Well, that's a good idea, isn't it, dear? You're already teaching the young ones about the war, aren't you? Minerva probably thought you two would make a good team." She winked, finishing off cleaning a plate. Ginny gaped then snapped her mouth shut, grimacing. "I'm not so sure," she mumbled to herself.

"Well, either way; it doesn't strike me any of you hold on to those sentiments anymore."

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh, just making observations, dear." She smiled and handed Ginny the plate to dry off. Ginny simply stared at her with a dumbfounded expression. "I think it's nice that he invited you to Italy with him," her mum offered as she scrubbed a deep-bowled dish.

Ginny did a double-take. "You do?" It honestly sounded too good to be true coming from her.

Her mum nodded and gave a small smile. "I do, sweetheart. I trust you to know what you're getting yourself into, however." She turned to face her, her gaze emphatic.

Ginny floundered at the implication. "Er, we, um – we are just friends."

"Of course, you are, sweetie." She clearly didn't give two Knuts about that statement.

Ginny frowned, lost in thought before her mum distracted her by deftly swinging her wand, preparing the dessert to be flown into the dining area.

Ginny turned around and, for a second, she could have sworn Blaise's eyes had been on her. It might just have been a trick of the light. She shook her head in silent reproach at herself, and swung the ruby curtain of hair back from her face as she reclaimed her seat beside him. Why did she keep dreaming up these odd fancies? She might as well have been back in her First Year, lost in fairytale dreams of Gilderoy Lockhart.

Having barely finished her thought, Blaise leaned in, lips bearing the hint of a smile. "No third-degree hold-up out there, I hope?" His voice sent the small hairs along her neck rising, like a soft, warm, electrical current, almost in a purr whether intentional or not and she quickly shook her head.

"All I'm saying," George clarified from the other end of the table to some unknown question, peripherally catching both their attention and breaking the momentary spell, "is that he had a specific request I couldn't accommodate." He received an austere look from the elder Weasleys as he continued unaffected. "I'm really not into those types coming or hanging around my shop, anyhow."

"Who?"

They all looked over in surprise at Blaise who had spoken. Apparently, he too had taken note of the particular subject of conversation; his tone severe.

George blinked before seemingly deciding it was a fairly innocuous enquiry. "Oh, just some shady guy... One of those types hanging out near Knockturn Alley, coming around asking for dope." Ginny's ears pricked up. Blaise frowned.

"George!" her mum protested.

He simply shrugged. "What? It's a well-known fact." The matriarch merely pursed her lips, displeased.

"Those poor kids shouldn't even be there in the first place," she shook her head, face cast in sympathy. "It isn't a place to hang out."

"Well, it is, mum. Face the fact. Some are just too far out to be able to pick themselves up by the bootstraps."

"At least, they should get help somehow."

"That's why they come to me, I guess."

"George," Molly quietly chastised, "you can't be serious. You are not helping, are you? Truly?"

He shot up his hands. "Hey! Truly, I. Am. Not."

Arthur hummed, stroking his chin contemplatively. "There has been talk at the Ministry of establishing some social programs, but I'm not sure the more conservative members are willing to give our money and charity for cases involving Muggle substances."

"Drugs?" Ginny piped up, immediately cringing at how dense she sounded. Of course, drugs, stupid.

"That's right," her father smiled genially at her, never one to belittle her spur-of-the-moment curiosity. "Some members have argued the case since the 80s but it was postponed each time, with others arguing it was something the Muggles had invented and thus needed to solve themselves, even though we had several cases of substance abusers within our young Wizarding community already." Ginny was struck by the solemn turn of her father's expression and wondered if he had actually come across or known any victims himself while working in his department.

But that's silly... Why should he?

The quietude that fell around the table was soon interrupted by Mrs. Weasley's voice announcing coffee would be ready in a spell while she proceeded to bustle them all inside the living room and clear out the empty dessert plates.

Blaise quickly pulled her aside, drawing her into the hallway furthest away.

"It might be our guy."

Bewildered, Ginny blinked up at him. "Hm? What?"

"The guy. The one who has been showing up at your brother's store." His gaze became insistent. "He might be able to lead us to the trail from where the drug-ring starts."

She gaped. "You're serious?" He nodded, his face entirely serious, as if the evening's warmth and ease seeping into his skin had completely vanished, like dew before the sun, the moment George mentioned the addict turning up at his store.

Bloody George, she grumbled to herself. And a bloody (lucky?) coincidence.

Faltering, she tried to think of the implications of taking on such a task. They would have to not only track the guy down (they didn't even know who he was) and then... what? Infiltrate a drug-ring?

"I know what you're thinking," Blaise interjected flatly before she could say anything. "But what else have we got? Theo won't tell us anything." He pressed. "He won't. Trust me." There was a resigned finality to his voice and Ginny begrudgingly conceded to his point.

"Alright," she murmured. "Then what do we do?"

"Well, now we know where to start, don't we?"

"Yes, but we're two soon-to-graduate students from Hogwarts, Blaise. We're not even eighteen yet."

All she got was an unimpressed arch of one eyebrow. "So? Your point being?"

"That we're not exactly equipped to this sort of task," she hissed under her breath. "If it had been on Hogwarts only, we may have been able to...'spy' on someone. But Diagon Alley? Maybe even London? Who knows how far this goes? We can't just skip school to spy on someone who may or may not turn up! Do we even know what we're throwing ourselves into here? Shouldn't we rather alert someone else? Some, I don't know, professional?"

He just kept regarding her, unmoving, but she had a feeling that some of what she'd said was sinking in; if he hadn't already thought about it himself.

"Okay. Alright," he muttered, jaw clenched, and darted a glance above his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening. "But I don't trust anyone else to do the job for us. Not even your daft brother or your boy-toy Potter."

Ginny lowered her voice through a growl. "He's NOT my 'boy-toy', Zabini – and don't say that about my brother! Of course, I trust them!"

Another coolly, incredulous expression. "You're sure you have earned back your brother's trust then? Even Potter, I suspect, can't be too overjoyed by the fact that you're doing all this with me; you pretend-boyfriend," he jeered none-too-smugly.

Ugh, how she hated when he was right! But... maybe she wasn't the best 'persuader' at the moment.

Pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly, she sighed. This entire evening had left her more confounded than reassured. First, Blaise's surprise gate-crashing; proceeding to smooth-talk her parents, even smoothing out George's feathers to some degree, and leaving her all flushed and confused by the end of dinner. And then back to this, again; reminding her how dire a situation they'd left the school in, with them the only ones knowing, probably. "Then what's your suggestion?" she replied tersely.

Blaise straightened, folding his arms with a pensive frown. "Let me think about it. I think I might be able to come up with a solution."

She snorted. She couldn't help herself. "What? No quick thinking this time, Zabini?"

He fixed her with a dark glare.

"Hey, what's the hold-up out here?" came George's voice behind them as he stuck his head out into the hallway. "You're not brainwashing my sister into some scheme to undertake the Ministry, are you now, Zabini?"

"Fuck off," Blaise responded gruffly over his shoulder.

"Suit yourself," George quipped with a shrug, eyeing Ginny. She signalled him that she was fine and to not get involved. He didn't seem to fully onboard with the idea but nonetheless retreated. "Oh, and I should say from mum that coffee's ready whenever you're ready," he sing-songed as he left, making Ginny scowl.

"I better be off," Zabini announced, surprising her.

"What? Why?" Why are you suddenly so averse to him leaving?

"I think I've overstayed my welcome, don't you?" He turned towards the main entrance. "Tell your parents farewell for me, will you? And thank them for a delicious dinner and tell them that I'm sorry for leaving before coffee and without goodbye's."

"Well... what about.." she faltered as she followed behind.

He turned around just before reaching the door. "What about what, Weasley?" The shrewd gleam had returned to his eyes as he regarded her.

Fidgeting slightly, she thrust her hands behind her in order to still them. "Um, I was just wondering about... you know, the trip..."

Arching one elegant eyebrow, a slow smirk crept up on his lips. "Oh, you mean 'our' little trip to Italy? The one you had so many reservations and concerns about? Or the one you secretly want?"

She floundered at the double-meaning in his words. She felt like he could see right through her. And what was she supposed to say to that?

Well, maybe do as he says and make up your mind, Ginny.

"Okay."

What?

"Excuse me?"

"Okay, Zabini. I'll go with you."

What the actual fuck?

Where had cautious-Ginny gone and who was this person?! She almost regretted agreeing to it the moment she'd said it, but she couldn't very well take it back now.

The grin that spread across his sculpted features was positively, infuriatingly, shit-eating (even worse was his bad attempt at suppressing it); his eyes glinting with victory. "My, my, Weasley. You've finally come to your senses, it seems. Wouldn't have expected it."

"Shut up." She simmered. "I said I'd go, didn't I? Don't choke on your massive ego."

Shocking her by paying no heed to her barb but instead stepping forward, grin still in place, eyeing her with a sparkle in his eyes, he leaned down, so close the warmth of his cologne once again assaulted her nostrils, and lowered his voice. "And I look forward to proving you wrong."

...Wrong? Wrong about what?

Before she could form a response to the enigmatic statement, he had backed away, exiting the Burrow and shut the door behind him, leaving her standing alone, open-mouthed and baffled in the hallway.

She was actually going to Italy. With Blaise-fucking-Zabini. Who'd have thought? Certainly not her. She would happily have slapped anybody's face for even suggesting it. Once upon a time.

She expelled a heavy sigh, rubbing her tired brow. So much for telling her parents the truth. It would just have to wait, wouldn't it?