After many, many, many, MANY days, a new chapter. I'm sorry it took so long, but I was writing a few other stories, as well as a new chapter for Unbroken Curses.

*****'

A few days went by, and Draco seemed to have learned something, since he didn't call the Muggleborns names nearly as often as he used to. Blaise was satisfied that he had learned his lesson, and didn't say anything more on the matter, and instead concentrated on his studies. The Christmas break was approaching, and the professors seemed to heap even more work on them than usual, as if they would forget everything they learned over the break.

Three days before he was going home for Christmas, Blaise ventured into the library again, in daylight this time. He was returning a few of the books that he had checked out on earlier occasions, and since Madame Pince had a lot to do with all other students returning books, she sent him out with directions to which shelf to put them on.

Therefore, he happened to be wondering around the shelves when he overheard Hermione talking to Potter and Weasley. He put ´The Life and Habits of Caradoc Dearborn´ back on the shelf and started eavesdropping.

"Come on, Hermione, it's only three days till Christmas break, please get out of the library?" Weasley pleaded.

"No, Ron I've got things I have to finish." Hermione explained patiently.

"Please? Just his once?" Potter asked.

Blaise smirked and moved around the shelf to where the three of them were standing, still trying to balance a rather high stack of books in his arms. As he had expected, Potter and Weasley were standing on each side of Hermione's chair, trying to cajole her into coming with them to do god knows what. She looked desperate, but somewhat resigned, as if she had already given herself up to whatever fate was awaiting her.

Without further ado, he dropped all the books on the table where she was sitting, and they landed with a satisfying resounding thud. Potter, Weasley and Hermione jumped, but when they saw who he was, Hermione relaxed again, and only raised an eyebrow. Potter and Weasley however, bristled angrily, as if expecting him to jump at them with his wand drawn.

He nodded at them, and picked up on of the books, starting to look for where he should place it. He put it on the correct shelf and turned back to the table, where he noticed that Potter and Weasley were still staring at him.

"What is it?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What're you doing?" Weasley demanded.

"Returning books. What does it look like I am doing?" Blaise forced himself not to be too sarcastic, since Weasley had a notoriously hot temper and packed a mean punch.

"That's not what I meant; what the hell are you doing here, at this table." Weasley emphasised.

"Ron." Hermione began.

"No, I believe I owe him an answer." Blaise held up his hand to stop her. "Weasley, as I told you, I am returning books, and since most of the books that I am returning is supposed to be shelved in this section of the library, I came here. I put the books on this table, since there is no other table in the vicinity, and Madame Pince would send me to the infirmary in a matchbox if I even contemplated the option of putting the books on the floor, however temporary. And seeing as she," He gestured to Hermione, "is a sensible person when it comes to books, I fail to see why she should protest against me using this particular table."

"I don't care what she thinks, I want you gone!" Weasley not-quite-shouted.

Blaise graciously ignored him and turned back to his books. Hermione, he noticed, was looking faintly annoyed at her redheaded companion's exclamation. When Weasley stepped around the table and grabbed him by his lapels, however, he could no longer ignore him. He raised an eyebrow at the redhead, still holding onto one of the books.

He was taller than Weasley, by a good few inches, and could therefore undisturbed look down on him. He raised his eyebrow again, knowing that it would infuriate not only Weasley, but Potter too, and he couldn't resist the urge to live dangerously for the moment.

"You don't care what I think, do you, Ronald Weasley?" Hermione interrupted his train of thought, her voice sounding absolutely lethal.

He smiled; he wouldn't want to be in Weasley's shoes right now. Weasley looked nervous and his gaze flickered to his fellow Gryffindor uncertainly.

"I, uh, I didn't mean that they way it came out, Hermione; I'm just worried about you, that's all." Weasley said.

"So you think I can't take care of myself either?" Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Yes, er, I mean no, of course not." Weasley started, but was interrupted by Potter.

"He didn't mean it, Hermione. He's just being an overprotective older- brother today; he gave Ginny a lecture about brushing her teeth this morning. Come on, Ron; Hermione can join us later if she's got things to do." Potter said, and Blaise noticed he seemed amused at his friends.

Potter probably had to do these things all the time, considering how often Hermione and Weasley argued. However, his prime concern for the moment was that Weasley still hadn't let go of his lapels, and he was feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

"Weasley, if you would." He gestured to his shirt.

Weasley dropped his lapels and followed Potter out of the library, but not before sending him and ´you-better-be-careful´ look, which made him suppress a chuckle which threatened to escape.

"Protective bastard, isn't he?" Blaise ventured while he continued sorting through the books.

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she looked up from her book, and watched as he stuffed a heavy volume into an already overstuffed shelf.

"Protective, yes, bastard, no; his parents were firmly married when he was born." She said.

Blaise snorted as if to disregard her comment and started picking through the pile that Draco had heaped on him before he left for the library.

"I was referring to his personality, not his parentage." He said.

"Shut up." Hermione suggested, scowling.

"That was an exceptionally lame comeback, even for being you, Hermione." He commented, "Hey, would you look at this; I don't even want to know what Draco used this book for."

He held up a thin volume with the words ´Why I Like To Do It With Girls´ printed on the red cover. Hermione scowled and turned a page in her book.

"Since when do you call me Hermione, Baldrick?" She snapped back.

"Since I got stuck with you for four hours in a bloody closet." He smirked, ignoring her choice of name for him.

"And I'm supposed to call you Blaise then?" She asked.

He honestly hadn't meant to call her by first name, it had just slipped out, but not it felt right to do so. He smirked; if the Slytherins could hear him now, bantering easily with a Gryffindor, they would carry him off to St Mungo's.

"As long as you don't call me Baldrick or whatever it was." Blaise shrugged, when he found he didn't really mind. "Where did that come from anyway?"

"Obscure Muggle reference." Hermione shrugged.

"If you're sure." He replied indifferently and went back to his books.

"Of course I'm sure; I'm Muggleborn you twit." She muttered before turning a page again.

The aisle was silent for the better part of the hour it took him to put all the books on the correct shelves, and there was an odd sense of peace that not even the sudden appearance of Mrs Norris could disturb.

*****'

Harry and Ron had finally gotten her out of the library and even to join them in their annual snowball fight. She was going home from Christmas, while the boys were staying, and she wanted to make the most of her last days at Hogwarts.

When the last day came, Hermione was sitting between her two best friends, laughing and exchanging gifts that they swore not to open until Christmas Eve. They did this every year, unless they were all staying at the Burrow, where they would exchange Christmas gifts on the actual day.

"Hope you like the present, Hermione." Ron said, grinning.

"Oh, I'm sure I will; I wonder what bookstore it is this time." She grinned back, and Ron and Harry looked slightly guilty; for the last two years, they'd gotten her a buy-what-you-want card, filled with whatever money they could spare.

Harry was about to say something, but closed his mouth again when he looked over Hermione's shoulder. In fact, all Gryffindors fell silent as they looked behind Hermione. She looked at them in askance, but since none of them said anything, she turned around to see what had silenced them. And nearly fell out of her seat.

Coming from the Slytherin table was Blaise Zabini, looking as if he walked up to the Gryffindor table every day, and that it was nothing unusual. In his hands were a wrapped package, about the length of his forearm, and a third as wide. Hermione raised an eyebrow, and he gave her an almost invisible wink. He sat down beside her on the small stretch of bench between her and Harry, making him nearly sit in her lap, and handed her the package, seemingly oblivious to the glares he was receiving from the surrounding students.

She accepted the package with a raised eyebrow, and started tearing off the wrapping paper, after a questioning glance at him. He nodded, and soon she had torn all the wrapping paper off. Inside was a cardboard box, brown and very damp, but by some unforeseen miracle managing to hold together.

"You got me a wet cardboard box, how sweet, and a very, very disturbing way." She said, looking at him uncertainly, when it hit her; she knew exactly where he'd gotten the idea. "Oh, wait. You have a very twisted sense of humour, don't you?"

"Of course." He smirked and patted her on the head. "But I must be off; my parents are waiting."

With that, he extracted himself from the in between the Gryffindors and headed towards the doors. Hermione scowled after him; box in her hands, slowly dripping water down on her sweater. Then, an evil grin seemed to take over her features and she turned to Harry, who shied back at her expression.

"It's payback time." She announced, placing the box in her bag, as she pulled out a book and set off after Blaise.

Harry and the other Gryffindors watched her go with a rising sense of horror. When Hermione had that expression, she was planning something that would turn out rather nasty for the receiving end of her plot.

****'

She caught up with Blaise out in the entrance hall; he was standing by the doors with a man that was unmistakably his father; the same slightly curly hair and the same intense blue eyes, although his father's hair was lighter than his own. They looked so much alike, although Blaise was taller than his father. They were just about to leave, so she sprinted across the hall.

"Hey, Blaise, wait up!" She shouted.

He turned around and spotted her, and cringed slightly; he seemed to know she'd be mad about the trick he pulled, but he stood his ground waiting for her with an eyebrow raised. She screeched to a sop in front of him, and he waited until she caught her breath, and then she pushed the book she was carrying into his hands.

"Here you go." She said, still slightly breathless.

He looked at her, and then down at the cover of the book. ´How To Untransfigure Your Feet; When Hexes Go Bad´ was written across the cover in neat green letters. He raised the other eyebrow. Why did she give him a book on Transfiguration? Wait; the book he'd read when she'd blown up and attacked Malfoy had a French title which translated into ´Alas, I have Transfigured my feet´ in English.

"Alright, now I'm convinced you're a Slytherin in disguise." He told her, smirking.

"Shh, don't tell them." She said, putting a hand over her lips and looking around her, "They'll never catch me alive!"

She grinned insanely, and he took a step back, turning to his father but never looking away from her face, while wearing a rather hesitant smile.

"Father, could you please owl St Mungo's and tell them one of the patients of their ward for the criminally insane has escaped." He said.

"Hey, one good turn deserves another." Hermione grinned, and patted him on the head, something she had to stand on tip-toes to accomplish. "Have a nice Christmas."

With that, she turned and walked off towards the Great Hall again, leaving the two of them behind. Blaise turned the book over in his hands, an actual smile creeping over his features.

"Well, I'll be damned." He mumbled. "She actually had the guts to get me back."

"Get you back on what?" His father asked.

"A long story, Father, a long story. It all begins with the library." Blaise replied.

"Well, she did say that one good turn deserves another, so what did you get her?" His father asked, interested.

"A wet cardboard box," Blaise said, and marvelled at his own ability at keeping a straight face.

"A wet cardboard box." His father repeated, "Blaise, you have a long, long way to go."

"If you say so, father." Blaise smirked.

And the two of them walked out the doors, Blaise clutching the book under his arm and looking rather amused. His father was shaking his head, looking as if he didn't know what to do with his son.

******'

Hermione sat down in her seat in the great hall, and grinned evilly; she knew Blaise would have a hard time explaining this one to his father. Hopefully, he'd even have to explain it twice, and that would make for a perfect revenge on a Slytherin, the masters of worming their way out of explanations.

The Gryffindors were throwing her curious, and not a little apprehensive, looks, but she ignored them; they were no doubt speculating in whether or not Blaise was her boyfriend, which only proved how thick they really were. Had Blaise been her boyfriend, he would sure as hell not give her a wet cardboard box for Christmas, nor would she have told them that she was extracting revenge on him.

"Hermione, what was that?" Ron asked hesitantly, as if he was afraid she might blow up.

"What was what, Ron?" She shot back, playing oblivious.

"What did that Slytherin do at our table?" He demanded.

"He handed me a cardboard box, my Christmas present, which is as good a present as anyone can expect from him. I thought you were capable of vision with those eyes of yours. Didn't you see him?" She asked.

"Of course I did, but that's not the point! Why the hell did he give you a present?" Ron was nearly shouting now.

"Because he's an insufferable, sneaky, sarcastic bastard with a severely twisted sense of humour." Hermione smiled sweetly. "Now, with your curiosity satisfied, you can go back to your breakfast and eat in peace."

Ron and Harry looked at her uncertainly, but did as she said because they knew how angry she would get if they pushed too far. And this was definitely one of those moments when they would do better to keep well away from her; else she'd snap and hex them.

Hermione picked in her food, lost in thought. She was going back home today, to stay over Christmas. Two weeks without lessons. Two weeks before she could annoy the hell out of Blaise Zabini, as had been her practise over the last few days, again. In a way, she'd miss it. It was strange, she admitted that, but somehow, it had been fun to shoot her insults at him and know that he wouldn't be offended enough not to laugh.

She smiled; maybe she'd owl him over the holidays with a long and detailed letter about nothing in particular, just to annoy him, asking about how his feet were doing. She'd never let him live that one down.

*****'

Ending Notes; it took a little longer than I thought is would, but I've been away, and I've got several other stories up and running too, so I had o choice but to put this one on a short hold. Don't worry though; I'm continuing this as fast as possible.