Serendipity

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters or any material from its universe. I'm just here to play with them and pretend.

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Happy midsummer! I'm not going to apologize for how long I've been gone, because all of you should know life gets crazy and I'm a sporadic updater, but you also know I'm not abandoning this story, so let's just continue, yeah?

Enjoy!

-Annie

Chapter Twenty

Bursting Bubbles

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.

"How do you find these places?" I wondered as I followed hurriedly after Ariana's quick form, weaving through different alleyways full of pawn shops, hole in the wall bars, and tattoo parlors. "Are we almost there?" I wrapped my jacket closer around my form against the nippy night breeze and threw a glance over my shoulder.

"It's a perfectly safe part of town, Hermit," Ariana assured me, rolling her eyes at my glance and my hushed tone. "You won't be mugged."

"I'm not worried about being mugged," I huffed indignantly. My hand strolled to my wand, even so, and Ariana gave me a pointed look. "It's just habit," I insisted, but Ariana just shook her head and skipped down another alley.

Our heels clacked against the cobblestone, echoing loudly off crumbling brick walls.

"It's just down these steps," Ariana informed me as we approached the back of a tall building.

I followed her, a tad anxious at our location, and stumbled unsteadily after her down a staircase. We came to a halt in front of a bright red brick wall covered in grafiti. Ariana tapped her wand against the decorative brick in a strange, snake-like pattern. The brick began to shift apart, revealing a violet door. Ari rapped her knuckles expertly against the door and tapped her stiletto impatiently.

"Password?"

I startled at the deep voice emitting from the door.

"Prohibition," whispered Ariana proudly, puffing out her bosom for extra measure.

The door swung open eagerly, allowing us passage.

"Welcome to Belladonna Speakeasy," greeted a bubbly and busty hostess dressed to the nines in a scarlet flapper dress and decorative beaded headband. Her red lipstick shimmered almost intimidatingly in the bedazzled, dimly lit, smoky atmosphere around us. "My name is Marjorie but you can call me GiGi. What are you dames in for this evening?"

There was a desk in front of her and a wall of bookcases to her right. Antique telephones, vintage jewelry, and dated photographs lined the walls and surfaces. It looked like we had just stepped into a 1920's shop.

"Absolute hysteria, the both of us," Ariana answered enthusiastically. "We're just simply off our rockers."

"Oh dear, that's quite the ailment," GiGi giggled, winking at us as if we were sharing some kind of secret, and scribbled something on a small card for each of us. It looked like a doctor's prescription. "We've got just the thing the doctor ordered for you dolls, just pull that lever."

Ariana did as she was told as I stood in my place, positively confused. The bookcase creaked as the lever dropped and began to slide aside, revealing an atmospheric 20's themed bar full of guests. Ariana pulled me to her and found us a booth in the corner.

"This is amazing," I enthused, still shell shocked by the experience.

"I thought this might be more to your standard," Ariana agreed, smiling triumphantly and scanning the menus on the table. "Let's get some drinks."

She flagged down another flapper exuberantly.

"What's your damage?" the flapper asked, smacking a wad of green gum between her teeth and giving us a playful wink.

"Hysteria," Ariana whispered secretively and the two women shared a smile. "I'll take a gin and tonic, please."

"Just a regular or the specialty Bee's Knees? I would highly recommend it if you haven't tried it. It's got a splash of honey and lemon," suggested the waitress.

"Ooo, that sounds yummy, I'll do that," gushed Ari.

"You got it, dollface. And for you, peaches?"

I paused for a moment, scanning over the menu of specialty cocktails and shrugged. "I'm not much of a drinker. What would you suggest?"

The flapper girl thought for a moment and then popped her gum. "I'd try the Fizzy Flapper. It's pretty simple but tasty."

I nodded my consent and our waitress blew us a kiss as a goodbye, skipping over to the bartender.

"They're having a burlesque show in a few minutes," Ariana told me, nodding toward the velvet curtains on the far wall. "I've heard they do all sorts of crazy acts in this place."

Eventually, our drinks floated over to us, just as the show started. It was a tasteful little show - an actual 20's burlesque instead of the mainstreamed, over sexualized version that was so common now.

"This is the best girl's night out you've drug me on ever," I told her with a smile. "I'm having a lot of fun, thanks for convincing me to go out."

"Life can be fun when you stop being a hermit," Ariana giggled, nudging me and beaming at my words.

When the show was over and our drinks were empty, we were both buzzing happily. Slow jazz began to croon through the bar, making my knee bop up and down to its tune involuntarily.

"Let's go dance," suggested Ariana, pulling me out of the comfort of the booth and onto the cherry wood floorboards.

The fizzy drink had made me giggly and light on my feet and for the first time in months, there was no protest on my lips.

"For you, babydoll."

I cocked my head at the drink being set in front of me with hazy confusion.

"I don't think I ordered this," I protested, blinking up at our flapper waitress, whose name I had learned and already forgotten. I believed it started with a V? Or was it an R?

"No, sweets, it's from that gentleman over by the bar," explained the flapper with a coy smile.

"Oh my God, who?" Ariana gasped, flinging herself forward, suddenly alert. Her eyes roved over the row of people at the bar. "Is he handsome? Does he smell nice? Does he like books?"

Our waitress smiled patiently at Ariana's intensity before pointing the man out. He was tall and broad shouldered with dark hair and expensive robes. Something about him seemed familiar to me but my mind was too cloudy to figure it out.

"Well, tell him I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not interested," I said, pushing the glass back toward our waitress.

"It's already been paid for," she protested. "Are you sure?"

"She's only joking - " Ariana began but I clucked at her and shoved the glass toward the waitress again, more pointedly this time.

The flapper shrugged and with a ruffle of her feathered peacock dress, swayed away with the drink.

"Are you out of your mind?" Ariana rounded on me, looking appalled. "For Merlin's sake, you're going to die a spinster if you keep this up. Alone with your hundred cats."

My lips popped open in amused surprise. "I resent that. Besides, I only have one cat."

"You'll get more," Ariana huffed.

"I'm not interested in dating, Ari. I'm too busy with my work to meet strangers and force small talk over coffee."

"Honestly, at the rate you're going, your vagina is going to shrivel up and stop working by the time you're finally interested."

"I think you're projecting your own fears onto me," I said, narrowing my eyes at her. "Maybe you should take your own advice."

"I'm not getting drinks delivered to me," she sniped, growing moody at me turning the tables on her.

"Maybe you should be the one to send a drink to someone," I countered, shrugging. "Men like to be chased, too, you know,"

"Oh, shove your feminist drivel, would you?" Ariana grumbled, crumbling a cocktail napkin in her fist and tossing it at my nose. She straightened and puffed up her chest, scanning at the bar. "But maybe you're right, for once. Where's the bloke that sent you that drink? Maybe I'll snatch it back for myself."

I peered over the booths toward the bar and frowned.

"I think he left. I don't see - "

"Merlin's soggy bottom!"

"Ariana de Jean!" I gasped, rounding back at her with wide eyes. "What absurdity - ?"

She was staring straight ahead, transfixed, with her jaw dropped so low she could catch a frog in her mouth.

"Is that who I think it is?" she squeaked, practically bobbing up and down. "And he's - mon dieu, pinch me, it is him - Hermione, he's walking this way!"

"Who?" I blurted, turning around to follow her gaze.

My eyes widened as the man came to a stop in front of Ariana and me, drink in hand, and gave me an all too familiar crooked grin.

"You dated Viktor Krum. I still can't believe it."

It was several days later and Ariana had dropped into my office to grab lunch. She hadn't stopped gushing about Viktor since we'd run into him at the speakeasy Friday evening. To be honest, it was refreshing to have a change in conversation from what happened in France, from Draco and Blaise and the gala where her father went missing. To how I've been floundering the investigation of the missing persons from that very gala to an embarrassing level.

Since our fight, neither of us had mentioned any hard topics, which was both relieving and anxiety inducing. After all, we couldn't drink all of our worries away, and eventually we'd have to face the things that kept us up at night.

"We didn't really date," I argued, smiling fondly at the memory of my old friend. "He was more interested in me than I was in him. We were just friends."

Ariana scoffed just as there was a knock on my door. "Come in," she grumbled loudly and I shot her a look.

It's my office, I scolded her silently but she merely shrugged and stepped aside to allow the knocker to enter.

"Who was just your friend?" Harry questions, poking his head into the office.

"Hermione forgot to disclose to me that she was just friends with Viktor bloody Krum," Ariana answered, throwing up air quotations when she mentioned 'just friends', as if she still didn't believe me.

"Ah, yes, good old Krum," hummed Harry, tapping his chin. "Hermione's very first boyfriend."

"He was not my boyfriend," I sighed, rolling my eyes.

"He certainly wanted to be," Harry countered. "He was your first kiss, though."

"WHAT?" hollered Ariana, slapping her hands on my desk.

"Ari," I chastised, glancing toward my office door and trying my best to hide the ruby color swiftly rising up my neck.

Harry chuckled at the exchange, bringing my attention back to him.

"Did you need something?" I questioned pointedly, silently shooting him a message that if he continued to talk about Viktor Krum, I would end him. "Ariana and I were just about to head to lunch."

I couldn't help but notice the way his gaze shifted to Ariana and how his throat tightened. I felt something hard and large plummet inside my stomach. He'd found something. Something about the case.

"Is it about my dad?" Ariana asked quietly, quickly picking up on the building tension in the small office. "It's about him, isn't it?" She glanced back and forth between me and Harry and crossed her olive arms over her chest. "Well?"

"Er—well, not quite, but it could be a starting point," Harry answered carefully, caught off guard by her sudden intensity.

"What is it? What have you found out?" Ari interrogated.

"You know that I can't disclose that to you, Ariana," Harry explained.

"He's my father," she bristled, turning to me for help.

"I'm sorry, Ari, but Harry's right," I reasoned, hating the guilt spewing inside my stomach as I said it. "No matter how much we want to, we can't disclose official investigation material until we have something solid to notify you of. It's for everyone's protection, please understand that."

"Explain it to her then," Ariana commanded, poking Harry hard in the chest, "and then do your job and find my father."

Harry nodded stoically and Ariana stepped back, blinking back angry tears. She turned toward me, unable to even look me in the eye, and shook her head.

"Ari—"

"Just stop," she interjected, holding up her hand. "I can't do this, Hermione."

I bit my lip, nodding at her in understanding even though all I wanted to do was hold her and encourage her that everything was going to be okay.

"Go with Wonder Boy," she clipped in my direction and skewered Harry with a glare. "We'll have lunch another time, when one of you finally gets your head out of your arse and gets me some bloody information."

My office door shuddered behind her and just like that, our happy little bubble burst.

"There's someone Peakes wants you to investigate," Harry announced gravely. "We will be working closely with your department from now on, so I'll be observing the interrogation. She says it is urgent."

I straightened my robes and followed him out of my office.

My stomach whined in pitiful protest.

Fueled by Ariana's angered outburst, I spent the rest of the day locked in a cold, dark room down the hall from my department playing mind games with the man I was in charge of interrogating.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" the man hummed bumptiously, setting his stubbly square chin and narrowing his beady eyes at me in amusement. His hands were restrained by magical binding, of course, so his intimidation game was purely psychological. Unfortunate for him, I was the experienced investigator in the room and knew how to play psychological warfare much better than he did.

"Should I?" I countered with a simper, cocking my head to the side and wetting my bottom lip. "You look positively average to me—there's certainly nothing special about you from what I can see."

I sneered inwardly in triumph as his nose twitched, as if he were smelling something rancid. I'd bruised his ego.

"The alleyway," he spat at me, mimicking my cocked head. "In Paris? With that blood traitor scum."

I cleared my throat, glancing down at my notes and pretending to scribble something down. He looked different in shackles and prison robes than he had in the alley, but I did recognize him. The lean bodied man I'd stunned. The one that inflicted the Cruciatus curse on my mother.

"And does this blood traitor scum, as you so poignantly put it—really, quite poetic phrasing—have a name?"

The man responded with a toothy yellow grin and sat forward as much as he could to lean across the table separating us. Tendrils of unwashed dark hair slipped over his right eye and he gleamed at me proudly. The law enforcement official standing guard cleared his throat in warning.

"Malfoy, luv," the man snickered.

The muscle in my chest tightened at his name. I tried hard not to glance toward the mirror opposite me, where Harry and my boss were observing behind.

"Do you mean Draco Malfoy, then?" I questioned calmly, expertly showing no emotion.

Something roiled hot and bleating in my abdomen at the rumble of laughter that spilled from the prisoner's mouth.

"You consider him a blood traitor," I repeated, tapping my quill against my chin thoughtfully. "Interesting."

His dirty fingernails clacked against the table, like an itch he couldn't scratch.

"The whole lot of them are," he hissed, growing agitated at my indifferent tone.

"Could you expand on that a bit more?" I pressed, crossing my legs.

"That Malfoy whore and her coward of a son."

I bit back a pained swallow and resisted the urge to clear my throat.

"For being pardoned," I assumed and his nose twitched again.

"For betraying the Dark Lord," he snarled at me, beady eyes searing into my own. "They should all be six feet under, just like their beloved Lucius."

"Ah, yes." I nodded stonily, but my eyes flickered toward the observing mirror, toward Harry. "But you aren't just referring to the Malfoys, are you? That's why your little play group threw a temper tantrum at that gala in Paris, correct? Why you attempted to kidnap Blaise and Nicola Zabini."

The toothy smirk returned and his throaty chuckle followed close after.

"So you do remember me," he whispered excitedly. Despite my discomfort, I locked my eyes with his.

"Am I to assume that you believe the Zabini family to be blood traitors, as well?"

His smile widened.

"And Claude de Jean?" I hedged.

"Like I said. The lot of them."

The interrogation room fell silent except for the scribbling of my quill. I glanced down at my notes, realizing I'd circled Draco's name three times.

"We aren't a play group."

Surprised, I glanced back up at the man sitting across from me, and furrowed my brow.

"You called us a play group," he reminded me acerbically.

"So I did," I played along, flipping my notes over and setting them aside. "A little play group, I believe, is what I said. One that tantrums like spoiled children."

His fingers curled into fists and for the first time, he sat back in his chair and straightened his spine, regarding me coolly.

"We aren't little," he assured me and something about the way he said this made needles scrape down my intestines. "It's silly of you to underestimate our power. You'll never be able to defeat us."

"Voldemort is dead, need I remind you," I said simply with a slightly amused lilt to my voice. At the mention of Lord Voldemort, the man grew still. "No amount of crashing charity galas or blowing up villages in Egypt is going to bring him back. He would find your antics quite pathetic, as well."

"How dare you speak his name," he seethed, "you despicable, trashy mudblood whore - "

Slapping my hands down on the table, I threw back my chair so violently that it slid back and crashed against the wall behind me. I leaned in so that my nose almost touched his.

"I helped kill your precious bastard idol. I'll do what I please."

He immediately dissolved into raucous laughter. "There's the sparky lil' witch from the alleyway. How's your mum, dearie?"

I had his collar in my hands in a flash, bringing him nose to nose with me, the wooden table our only barrier. My wand shoved deeply into his jugular and he gagged between sputtered, surprised laughter.

"Granger, that's quite enough."

There was a cough from the doorway and I turned to see that Harry and my superior had entered the room. Peakes looked furious, thin lips spread tightly in a firm line, beady eyes glaring down at me.

"Branson will be taking over for the rest of the afternoon," Peakes informed me tightly. It was only then that I noticed a third person enter the room.

I opened my mouth to protest but she skewered me with a heated scowl. "If you want to keep your job, I'd suggest you unhand the criminal and leave the premises for the day. Now."

Embarrassed that I'd lost my cool, that I'd let some Death Eater wannabe get under my skin like that (in front of my boss, no less), I shoved the criminal away from me as if I'd been burned. Still laughing, he toppled over his chair and fell to the floor. I pocketed my wand with haste and fixed my hair.

"Break him," I grated out to the man taking my place as investigator, fist clenched at my side. "Take him for all he is worth. Do not stop until we have answers. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," the investigator murmured, blinking rapidly at my tone. "Of course."

"Potter, Peakes snarled, raising her voice with a viciousness that made me jump. "Escort Miss Granger from the Ministry."

I nodded at the guard who stood back to let me out of the room, and shoved angrily past him, Harry following suit.

I stalked the halls toward the lifts, my plum robe unzipped and billowing out dramatically behind me, showing off the olive green pencil skirt and ruffled cream blouse I was sporting underneath. My sensible heels clacked against the polished hardwood in my wicked haste.

"I understand your frustration but she can't let you back in there. You lost your cool."

I sent him a withering glare, flexing my fingers against the wand still clenched in my bony white fist. He pressed the 'down' button and stepped aside to let me enter the lift first. I stomped inside, not even bothering to politely greet the others in the lift like I normally would do.

To hell with professionalism.

"Are you going to follow me home, too?" I seethed through gritted teeth as Harry dipped into the lift beside me.

He nodded stiffly, almost formally, at someone standing behind me in the lift.

"You need to calm down," he pressed quietly, wrapping a warm hand over my fist, wrestling my wand out of my vice-like grip.

"Am I being detained now, too?" I snapped, jerking my arm out of his grasp. My wand sparked threateningly, tiny flecks of golden-rod yellow and sunburnt orange shattering chaotically into the lift walls.

Harry sighed helplessly, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Good Godric, I'm not trying to arrest you," he growled, gesturing toward the sparks sputtering from my wand. "But you are going to get someone hurt if you don't calm down."

"He's right, darling," a familiar voice drawled. "Your hair looks like you've been napping in the electric chair."

My breath caught, lodging itself painfully in my throat and my eyes jammed shut against my will. Locking my spine, I glanced behind me slowly, praying I was imagining him.

A shock of blond hair, a cocky jut of a chin, a thunderstorm brewing gray and cold in his eyes.

A beat passed.

Was he really standing there, acting as if nothing had ever happened between us and yet as if we were the best of friends in one bloody fell swoop?

"Now you want to speak to me? Now?" I confronted him, hating the emotion warbling through the cracks in my tough exterior. "Do you have something else you want to say?"

Harry clutched at the ache between his eyebrows. "Herm - "

"Kindly shut up, Harry," I grated, never once taking my eyes off of Draco's steadily paling face. "Well, darling? Anything else you'd like to remark on other than the state of my hair?"

His tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously and he opened his mouth, as if to say something, and then promptly shut it, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed audibly. I could practically taste him.

"Hm, nothing?" I continued and when he remained silent I shook my head. "I thought not."

The lift binged cheerfully, its doors springing open to allow us out onto the first level. As I began to step out, Draco caught my hand, the look in his stormy eyes pleading. A small jolt flickered beneath our grazing palms and the familiar sensation sent my insides spiraling. My jaw grew slack and blood rushed in my ears, the bustling of the first floor disappearing almost completely.

"I - " he released and then sighed heavily, pinching his eyes closed. Shaking his head, he simply gave my hand a gentle squeeze and released me.

Just as our hands fell limply to our sides, Harry noticed I hadn't stepped out with him and turned to glance between us in puzzlement.

"Coming, 'Mione?" Harry called, reaching for my elbow. He furrowed his brow at Draco, who simply nodded and gestured for us to pass him.

It took everything I had inside of me not to turn my head and look back at him as Harry steered me toward the Floo network.

"What was that about?" Harry questioned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I clipped, grabbing a fist full of Floo powder and stepping into a fireplace. "I just need to be left alone."

"I'll update you when I can," Harry promised.

I responded by flinging the sooty powder to the ground and disappearing in a swallow of green flame.

Evening had arrived forgivingly quick, bringing with it a storm as dark as how I felt. Black clouds rumbled in from the west and dispersed across the sky, accompanied by torrential sleet and wind that threatened to rip the shutters off of buildings.

I stepped through my fireplace in a tired, angry daze, immediately ripping my robe off and flinging it to the side with a rough grumble. Just then, a shock of lightning illuminated the darkness of my flat, throwing the den into soft gray hues. The hair on the back of my neck tickled my scalp with a twinge of warning that had me immediately on edge. When a thunder-wave clapped aggressively against the black night, I was not the only one to jump.

There was someone sitting in my armchair, legs crossed.

Slowly, I withdrew my wand, heart and adrenaline hammering, and pointed it toward the corner.

A pair of large hands drew themselves up in slow, lazy surrender and another shock of lightning caught the glimmer of two brightly polished Italian leather brogues.

"No need for violence, princess."

I sagged against the mantel, just as a familiar drawl muttered, "Lumos". My den now completely lit, Blaise directed his wand at the fireplace I had just slunk so moodily out of and lit the fire. Its warmth crackled and hummed comfortingly against my legs.

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" I turned on the Italian, arms crossed against my chest. "And why were you sitting in the dark like some creep? I could have killed you!"

"You don't have the willpower to kill my beautiful face," Blaise dismissed me. "And is that really any way to greet a guest?"

I gave him an indignant huff. "Guests are invited over. You are breaking and entering, which is a crime."

"It's not my fault you have all these fancy wards and yet can't even be bothered to lock your front door."

I balked at him, treading over to the front door, which was indeed unlocked. With a sigh, I locked the door and kicked off my shoes.

"I'm not really in the mood for company," I hinted, heading over to the cabinet I kept my liquor and teas.

"If you are looking for the whiskey, I finished that," Blaise said, draping his legs over my coffee table. My eyes narrowed in on the empty decanter on the counter.

Huffing again, I strode over to him and swatted his knee. "Get your grotesque limbs off of my table. Honestly, where are your manners? Were you raised by wolves?"

"Somebody's had a trying day," Blaise clucked, dropping his legs to the rug. "Need a drink?"

"I would but someone drank the only thing I had left!" I cawed, grabbing his empty glass and slamming it pointedly on top of a coaster. "That was expensive, too."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I'm not that ungrateful, darling. There's wine chilling in the fridge."

"Don't call me that," I snapped, trudging toward the fridge. "And take off your damn shoes - you're being incredibly rude."

I heard him grumbling something under his breath as he untied his shoes and plucked them off his feet. I stuck my head in the fridge, noticing there wasn't just wine in the fridge, but two shelves worth. Whites, roses, reds, even a sparkling peach.

"Uh - not that I'm complaining... but - that's a lot of wine," I stammered, plucking a bottle of chilled rose.

"I'm supposed to help narrow down the favorites."

I jumped, not realizing Blaise had entered the kitchen and was now standing next to me, inspecting the bottle I'd chosen. He made a skeptical face and shrugged, popping the cork out with a fluid motion of his wand. I handed him two wine glasses and he poured a heaping amount in both, handing one back to me and taking the other for himself.

"The wedding," I assumed, and we both made a face. "Isn't that more of the groom's facility? To help with wedding decisions, that is."

Blaise clinked his glass against mine and we raised our glasses to our lips. The wine definitely hit the spot after the day I'd had, but it was a bit too floral for my taste. We both cringed, gave each other a studying gaze, and knocked back the rest of our glasses. I silently gestured for him to pick a different wine to try.

"Well, Draco's been - how can I put this kindly - accommodatingly un-opinionated in that realm. Astoria wants second opinions and since Draco hasn't been around much, that leaves me to pick up where he's left off."

He handed me a glass of deep purple red, raising his glass as I sipped. "Cheers, mate."

"I like this one better, but it might be a bit too bitter for a wedding," I said. "Also, Draco is a prat. It's not your wedding."

"Don't remind me," Blaise grumbled under his breath.

"If I were Astoria, I'd wring his neck," I continued, my tongue heavy from the wine. "He chose to marry her after all - he should be equally involved. It shouldn't fall on you."

Blaise raised his eyebrows at the bitter twang my tone had taken and I reddened into my glass.

"Astoria isn't you," Blaise remarked. "She's too much of a people pleaser."

"Don't remind me," I muttered, pouring my glass to the rim. I plucked the sparkling peach bottle from the fridge and a crisp white and levitated all three bottles to the coffee table, trailing behind them with my glass.

I plopped into the cushions of the couch, resting against the arm and sipping greedily at my red wine, blinking back the moisture from my eyes as I peered deeply into the fire.

"Precisely why I thought you'd be the best person to get drunk with," Blaise stated, sitting a cushion away from me with his own glass. "You and I aren't that different."

I eyed him, feeling the wine starting to hit me, and listened to the rain pelting the windowpanes. He looked as sullen and defeated as I felt, maybe more.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Blaise stiffened, eyes widening at me. I'd caught him off guard, and not in a good way. For a moment he looked as if he might cry, and then he cleared his throat, turning it into an uncomfortable laugh, which slowly turned bitter.

"Zabini's don't fall in love," he responded hollowly, his signature smirk not reaching his cold, dead eyes. He knocked back the rest of his wine and poured himself a heaping glass of white zifandel.

"I don't believe you," I said, passing him my glass to refill. He sneered at me but didn't meet my eyes. "I saw Draco today, just before I got home, actually. He made a comment on my hair."

"Wanker."

I snorted, coughing the bubbly zifandel back into my glass so as not to choke. It sloshed along my chin and down the opening of my blouse.

"Watch your mouth," I scolded him teasingly as he passed me an expensive handkerchief from his pocket.

His eyes darkened, watching as I set my glass down on the coffee table - on a coaster of course - and dabbed my mouth with the back of my hand, blotting the moisture from my blouse with the other.

"I'd rather watch yours."

My heart caught as his fingers tipped my chin upward to face him. The wine made things fuzzy and slow and his lips were on mine before my brain comprehended that he was even that close to me. At first, I responded somewhat dreamily, enjoying the feel of his lips against mine - soft and foreign and different and warm. Something sticky sweet spread down my chest, creeping toward my thighs, like melted honey. Startled, something clicked in my head and I drew back, blinking rapidly at my surroundings.

"What are you doing?" I questioned, pressing my palms against his shirt when he made to kiss me again.

"Kissing you, darling," Blaise hummed, smirking at me.

"I told you not to call me that," I forced out, thinking of Draco and feeling a terrible cramping pain strangling the organs in my chest cavity.

"What are you going to do about it, darling?" purred Blaise. His warm, long brown fingers slid enticingly up my bare leg, creeping up under the hem of my skirt.

"You're drunk," I pointed out, grabbing his hand forcefully.

"As are you," Blaise echoed, toying with a lock of hair. His finger grazed my ear, causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps. "You like that?"

I swallowed. He took the pad of his thumb and drew it slowly down my bottom lip, digging the fingernails of his other hand into the skin of my thigh.

"Come on, darling. Don't you want to just forget for a while? Feel something good instead of the bullshit?"

Yes, I pleaded silently. Take it away, please.

"Don't call me that."

"Or what?" Blaise challenged. "Darling."

Smack.

I bucked forward, shoving him back into the sofa and relishing triumphantly in the way his breath whooshed out of his lungs in his surprise. He trailed his fingers across his cheek, eyes foggy and excited.

"You slapped me?"

With a swift movement, he shifted me onto his lap so that I was straddling him, grasping either side of my hips, eliciting a small squeak from me.

"I like that, princess. Do it again."

I grabbed a thick patch of his dark hair in my fist and yanked it, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. He groaned, in either pain or pleasure - maybe both.

"I'm not your princess and I don't care what you like," I whispered harshly into his ear. His fingers pressed firmer into my hip bones and a deep growl tore from his chest, making my skin buzz.

One of his hands left my hip and circled around the back of my neck, hooking me forward and pulling me into him. We locked lips again, this time more urgent and expert, clashing and gnashing and tearing at each other's flesh in a passionate, angry sort of tango.

It felt good to have his hands on my body, to have my mind clear for the first time in months. No Draco, no Astoria, no Ron, no Ariana or her father, no work obligations, no crazed Death Eaters. Just caramel and melted honey and hard muscles.

We battled each other's bodies on the hearth next to the fire, then the kitchen table, and then my bedroom door, taking our frustrations out on each other in the best sort of way, pausing only to share more sips of wine.

With a giggle, I levitated the remaining bottle of wine from the coffee table into my bedroom and let him shut the door behind us.

My head was pounding.

Or was that the thunderstorm?

Bang. Bang. Bang.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

I shot upward, flailing around for my wand, my heart and head thudding in alarm. My hand connected with my bedside lamp, crashing the empty bottle of peach wine to the floor where it shattered. I flinched, turning my light on and clutching my wand to my chest.

When had I fallen asleep? How had I gotten under the covers?

I reached across the bed and noticed it was empty except for a note.

Hey Cupcake,

Thanks for a much needed and fun ;) night.

Don't worry, nothing went too far, I can assure you.

I may be a Slytherin but even we don't take advantage of drunk women.

I'm glad we could help each other forget about all the bullshit for a while.

Drink this elixir when you wake up and it will beat your hangover's arse.

xoxo pet

-Blaise

I groaned and laughed at the same time, glancing toward the blue capped bottle he'd left beside my pillow. I could not believe I'd just gotten hammered and made out with Blaise Zabini.

And despite my awful headache, I did feel better -

BANG!

"Good hell," I exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

That definitely wasn't the thunder and it certainly was not my headache. It was coming from my front door.

I grabbed my robe from the back of my door, only then realizing I was still in my work clothes, wine stain and all, and drifted hesitantly toward my front door, my wand hand shaking.

"Who is it?" I shouted.

The person behind the door sobbed in response.

Concerned and still armed, I unlocked my door and swung it open fast, hoping to catch the person outside off guard.

Another sob echoed through the rainy night as a young woman gazed up at me through a curtain of matted, soaking claret hair.

"...Ginny?"