Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Much love to all my reviewers. Yes, there is a plot before we get to the romance. This surprises me as much as you, as I had no particular plot in mind when I began writing this; it just appeared out of nowehere. :)

THE IMPORTANCE OF ANCIENT RUNES
Chapter Three: In Which Blaise Considers the Colour Green

Blaise had never been overly fond of the colour green. This was somewhat unfortunate as it was not only one of his house colours, but also part of his family crest. Every morning, Blaise had to wake up to the colour green filling his line of vision: the canopy of his four-poster bed in this dormitory was green, as was the ceiling of his bedroom at home. He had arrived home from Hogwarts for Christmas in his first year to find that his parents had redecorated his bedroom in Slytherin colours. Clearly, they had seen this as some kind of treat.

Blaise did not.

As far as Blaise was aware, there were only a few Slytherins who actually liked the colour. Off the top of his head, he could only name Daphne Greengrass who wore the colour as if it was going out of fashion. Thinking back to the puce robes in Gladrags, Blaise decided that it probably was.

He had decided at the end of his first year that there were four types of Slytherins. The first group of which were those archetypal Slytherins whom the Sorting Hat described each year at the Sorting Feast. Draco Malfoy was one such Slytherin, full of house pride and pureblooded ideals.

The second group was that to which Blaise felt he belonged, the Slythclaws. They were Slytherins with Ravenclaw tendencies; they cared about how well they did in school and actually had some brain cells to rub together, unlike the Slythpuffs. Those Slytherins with Hufflepuff tendencies probably would not have known a cunning plan if it danced naked in front of them. No, these Slytherins were those who kept to the shadows and were actually the most likely to have friends from other houses.

The four and final group was, of course, those with Gryffindor tendencies. This was not necessarily a bad thing, and Blaise had decided that these were the people who would think up a cunning plan and then forget all about it and improvise.

Blaise supposed that if this were the case in Slytherin, the same would also be true in other houses. Take, for example, the Unholy Trinity that was Potter, Granger and Weasley.

Weasley was an archetypal Gryffindor as far as Blaise could see. In fact, he often reminded Blaise of a bad-tempered lion. Potter, on the other hand, was far harder to place than his companions were; Granger obviously had Ravenclaw tendencies, but the Boy Who Lived seemed to err more towards Slytherin. There were also times when he seemed quite Hufflepuff and, if the rumours about his OWL grades were true, he too showed Ravenclaw tendencies.

Speaking of Granger, Blaise was going to be late for the second of their weekly meetings. In the first, he would teach her Italian, in the second she would pass on McGonagall's knowledge of the Animagus transformation.

It was now the week before Halloween and the corridors had already started to be decorated for the special day. If you chanced to look up, you would most likely see several stay pumpkins floating along near the ceiling. The suits of armour that lined the corridors were also getting into the swing of things and had been enchanted to sing Halloween songs.

He padded almost silently along a secret corridor that ran parallel to the Charms corridor to the room where he met Granger. Their meetings were somewhat clandestine, especially this one. His teaching her Italian was somewhat understandable, but Hermione's tuition had to be kept strictly secret.

When he reached the room, Granger was sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, eyes closed. He coughed quietly, trying to catch her attention. Her eyes flew open and she scrambled to her feet. "Zabini! You're here already?"

"So it would seem."

"Oh, right." She pushed a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. "Where did we get to last week?" she asked, adopting a business-like tone.

"Some breathing exercises, I think. I haven't quite got the hang of them yet, though."

"It takes a while," she admitted. "Here, sit down and show me what you're doing." There were no seats in the room, so Blaise sat on the floor. Hermione sank down onto her knees, watching him intently.

In through the mouth, out through the nose, in through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the mouth… Blaise repeated this mantra to himself, lips barely moving. He was startled when he felt a hand on his chest.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"You need to relax," she told his quietly, avoiding his gaze. "You're too tense. Besides, you're concentrating more on the breathing than the transformation."

Blaise sighed. "I'm never going to get this."

"Yes, you will," Hermione assured him. "Even I can do it now, and I find relaxing more difficult than you'd imagine."

"How are you getting on with the transformation?"

Her eyes were curiously bright. "I think I'm getting there. I mean, McGonagall says I shouldn't practise as much as I do, because I'll wear myself out, but I think I'm getting closer."

"Do you know what your form is yet?"

The Gryffindor shook her head. "No, but… it's like I know it's there, just waiting for me. I've started having dreams, but I can't remember them when I wake up. I think that when I dream I know what it is. What about you?"

"It's just a fuzzy blur," he admitted. "Sometimes I wonder if I actually have one at all." She shook her head at this.

"No, everyone has an animal form. Just not everyone can access it, though."

"Maybe I'm one of those people," Blaise said sullenly.

"I meant Muggles, actually. Although," she continued, "there is a fascinating chapter in a book I've been reading about Native Americans and…"

"Granger, I don't care about Native bloody Americans."

"All I'm saying," Hermione went on, "is that you shouldn't lose hope; you've only just started."

Blaise was pleasantly surprised when he got the draft of his Ancient Runes coursework back from Professor Mayfair - she was full of praise for his work and had written several comments suggesting books that he could look at for extra information. There was one suggestion, however, that Blaise planned to ignore:

Perhaps you and Miss Granger should consider sharing ideas as you are both doing the same essay. You both have some very interesting ideas and could benefit from discussing them.

Not a chance. That would mean spending even more time with Granger, and Blaise was not sure that he could stomach that. She was not quite as insufferable as she had been at the start of the year, but she still grated on his nerves. She was still a know it all, but she had a soft side and, Blaise suppose that, in the right light, she was actually quite pretty.

Wait. Stop right there. Where had that thought come from? Granger was not in the slightest bit pretty: even on a good day, her hair looked as though there had been a small explosion and she did not seem to care even a little bit about her appearance. Also, her eyes were far too brown. Granted, she had scrubbed up pretty well at the Yule Ball that one time, but one time in five and a bit years was nothing.

Then again, she had managed to snag Viktor Krum as her date to the Ball. This thought actually angered Blaise slightly; were the boys from Hogwarts not good enough for her? Blaise tried his hardest to dismiss this thought from his mind. Viktor Krum was a world famous Quidditch player - if he had asked Blaise to be his date he probably would have said 'yes'.

Apart from their biweekly meetings and Ancient Runes, Blaise saw very little of the Gryffindor prefect. She had the uncanny ability to fade into the background, and he was sure that he spotted her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall less and less frequently.

Digging his spoon into his bowl of porridge, Blaise's attention was brought back to the Slytherin table by an insistent voice at his side.

"Blaise? Blaise?"

Oh no. Not Pansy Parkinson. What did she want? "Hullo, Pansy," Blaise greeted the prefect dully, enthusiasm completely lacking from his voice.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Go ahead."

"In private?" She actually sounded quite worried. The dark haired girl picked up an orange from a bowl on the table and began to pick nervously at the skin.

Blaise sighed. "Can I finish my breakfast first?" he asked.

"Of course."

He had never seen her like this before - normally she was all confidence and lip-gloss, but today Blaise noted that she was not wearing even the smallest amount of make-up. She looked younger than normal, he decided. Scared, even. Something was bothering her, even he could tell that much.

When he had finished his last mouthful, he dropped his spoon into his bowl and stood. "Come on, then," he said in a low voice.

She led him into a nearby classroom. "Thanks, Blaise. I really needed to talk to someone."

"Why couldn't you go to someone who knows you better?"

"Because they won't listen to me. You're a good listener, Blaise. Not like Daphne who'll go and blab everything a moment after I've told her, or Tracey who's driving me mental at the moment." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Millicent would probably laugh," she said.

"Probably," Blaise agreed. Millicent was somewhat cynical when it came to affairs of the heart, which was what Blaise presumed this to be. "What about Draco?" When Pansy was not with her girly gang, she was hanging off Malfoy's arm.

She looked uneasy. "He's part of the problem, actually."

"So what did you want to talk about?"

Panic flashed across her dark eyes. "If I tell you, you can't tell anyone, Blaise. Promise?"

"I promise." Was it just Blaise, or was Pansy getting more melodramatic by the minute?

"I want to break up with Draco."

Well, that was certainly unexpected. Just the night before, Pansy had been clinging to her boyfriend's every word, practically worshipping the ground he walked on. "Can I ask why?"

She gave a slight nod. "I think I've fallen for someone else."

"And does he or she feel the same way?"

"It's a he," Pansy seemed amused more than insulted by Blaise's insinuation. "And I think so."

"Who is it?" Colour flooded Pansy's cheeks at this question, and her reply came out in a squeak.

"Ron Weasley."

"Blaisiekins, you've got a face like a wet Tuesday. What's the matter?" Millicent sat on the wall beside Blaise. They were in the central courtyard of the castle, which was nearly deserted as it was lunchtime and the majority of the students were in the Great Hall eating. Blaise had decided to skip lunch and was sat out on a wall reading.

Millicent, never one to miss a meal, handed him a sandwich; by the looks of it, she had already eaten her own lunch. "Something the matter?" she asked again when she failed to receive a response.

"Millicent," Blaise asked, somewhat urgently. "Are you sane?"

"As far as I'm aware, yes. There are probably people who would argue that I'm not, though. Why?"

Two very bizarre things had happened to Blaise already that morning. Firstly he had inadvertently thought of Granger as pretty (he could barely even think the word without a shiver up his spine) and then Pansy had told him she was shagging Ron Weasley. Granted, she had not used the word 'shagging' but, come on, he was a Weasley. Where else did all those little red haired babies come from?

"Someone told me that they fancied someone from a house that they shouldn't and I was wondering if it was just me, or if the world has started spinning backwards." He took a bite of his sandwich, looking at Millicent to assure him that, yes, the world had starting spinning in the opposite direction that morning.

She seemed to understand. "Ah, so Granger finally admitted she's got the hots for you, did she?"

"What?" A half-chewed piece of sandwich landed several metres away and Millicent wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"She hasn't then?"

"What do you mean Granger 'has the hots' for me?" Blaise demanded in a low hiss.

"I thought it was rather obvious that she fancied you."

"She does?" Blaise asked weakly.

Millicent nodded, looking at Blaise appraisingly. She tilted her head to one side. "I can't quite work out what she'd see in you, though. You're a bit… thin, I suppose. You've got nice eyes," she added helpfully.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Are you sure you're not mad?"

"I dunno. If I say I am, will you stop asking?"

Blaise stared desolately at the half-masticated piece of sandwich, thinking that it was a waste of perfectly good sandwich; it had been cheese and tomato, his favourite.

At their Italian session, Blaise's mind was on anything but pronouns, and he found himself staring at Granger, trying to work out whether Millicent's claim was true. Did Granger fancy him? He could not quite tell. She seemed as business-like as ever and she twice asked if there was anything on her face because she kept looking at her.

"Are you sure there's nothing on my face?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Look, Granger," Blaise said in a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance, "I'd have told you by now if there was."

"There's no need to snap at me," she said harshly. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I think I need some fresh air," he told her. "Is it alright if we cut tonight short?" She nodded, watching as Blaise swept out of the room in a swish of black robes.

Something very odd is going on with him, a bemused Hermione thought as she collected her books together. Just as she was about to extinguish the candles, something shiny caught her eye. Stepping towards it, she realised it was Blaise's watch; she had noticed that he had a habit of taking his watch off when he was bored.

Not that she watched him, or anything. Of course not. She was not some kind of stalker, after all. He was just… well, interesting, she supposed. Different from the other Slytherins in a good way.

Stop thinking about him, Hermione, she scolded herself. Nothing good can come of thinking about Slytherins.

When she returned to the Gryffindor common room, she was quite disheartened that Harry and Ron had not noticed her absence. She had not seen either of them since lunchtime, and the two were now engrossed in a game of wizard's chess. They were so engrossed in their game, in fact, that they did not even look up to greet her when she took a seat next to Ginny and Dean. All she got was a mumbled "'Lo, Hermione," from Harry and a grunt from Ron.

There was no "Where've you been?" or even a joking "Pince kick you out of the Library, then?" Just a grunt. How bloody typical.

"It's nice to see you, too," she said snidely, at which Harry actually raised his eyes giving her an apologetic glance. Ron, however, seemed more concerned with what his sister and her boyfriend were doing.

"Take your hand off her leg, Thomas," he warned, still scrutinising the chessboard.

"Ron!" Ginny protested, but he ignored her. Dean reluctantly moved his hand.

With Dean and Ginny clearly wrapped up in themselves and Ron and Harry wrapped up in their game, Hermione could not help but feel alone. "So… I hear Malfoy outed himself in the Great Hall earlier - him and Crabbe have been involved for quite a while, apparently."

"Uh huh," agreed Harry with a nod. "Me too."

"You've been involved with Crabbe? I never knew he was so sexually alluring. There must be something in the water in Slytherin," Hermione continued, starting to get exasperated now, "because I've been told that Pansy Parkinson has started dressing like a man and wants to be called 'Paul'."

To Hermione's surprise and amusement, this actually caught Ron's attention and his head snapped up. "What?" he demanded.

"Oh, so you were listening."

He blushed. "Sorry, Hermione, I… well, I was a bit distracted." He gestured towards the chessboard.

"So I see." Hermione pursed her lips; this was getting ridiculous. "Well, I'm going up to bed. Goodnight, everyone."

As soon as Hermione had disappeared up the stairs to the girls dormitories, Harry looked up. "She does know it's only half past seven, doesn't she?" he asked. Ron shrugged.

"I dunno. There's something odd going on with her."

The next three weeks or so were fairly uneventful for Hermione. Harry and Ron had a combined total of seven detentions between them during this time, for which they lost Gryffindor seventy-five points. Hermione, however, earned a total of ninety-five in this time - she had begun to keep track - so it evened itself out in the end.

To Hermione's interest, there was a pretty spectacular scene in the Great Hall one morning when Pansy Parkinson had broken up with Draco Malfoy. He had started yelling at her calling her a 'frigid slag' and other such obscenities before she had cursed his hair off. He was, in fact, still bald and had just the downiest of growth where it had started to grow back.

Zabini was still acting strangely around her and Hermione desperately hoped that he had not started to fancy her or something like that. That would be… strange. After all, he was a Slytherin. She supposed that he was not too bad looking - a little thin and gangly, perhaps - but he was still a Slytherin. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor would be just plain wrong.

Not that she had spent any time thinking about this, of course. No, not at all.

A bright pink and glittery envelope landing on her breakfast plate the Thursday before the Christmas Hogsmeade visit sparked a flurry of interest at the Gryffindor table. In fact, Seamus nearly choked on the sausage he was eating. Hermione gave him a strange look.

"What is it?" she asked, gingerly picking up the letter. Even after all this time, she still was not accustomed with all the traditions of the wizarding world.

"Quafflepunchers," Andrew Kirke, who was sat to the left of Seamus, breathed in awe.

Was it just Hermione or did that sound rude? She slid a nail under the flap of the envelope, prising it open. Inside, she found a letter and a photograph. Blinking up at her from underneath bushy eyebrows and wearing flamboyant pink robes was Viktor Krum.

Ginny practically snatched the photo from Hermione's fingers, and it soon found its way to Seamus and Andrew who gazed at it in an almost loving fashion. "Boys," Hermione muttered, unfolding the letter.

In his slanted handwriting and almost perfect English, Viktor explained that he had just been signed to the Quiberon Quafflepunchers in France. In celebration of this, he was wondering if Hermione would join him in Hogsmeade the following weekend. Hermione quickly tucked the letter inside her robes. It was probably best if no one else knew about this.

"Is it from Krum?" Harry asked through a mouthful of egg and toast.

"Don't speak with your mouth full," Hermione chided. "Yes, it is."

"What does he say?"

"He got signed to the Quafflepunchers," Hermione said blandly, reaching for a jug of milk.

"Is that it?" Ron asked, taking the photograph from Seamus. He pulled a face. "The great ponce signed his photo," he said, handing it back to Hermione.

"That scrawl is probably worth more than your entire house, Weasley. Be careful he doesn't steal it, Granger."

Looking over her shoulder, Hermione saw Draco Malfoy stood there, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Oh, look," Harry commented dryly, "there's something pink and shiny at our table and Malfoy practically comes running." This prompted sniggers from several of the surrounding Gryffindors and, oddly enough, Crabbe and Goyle.

The nearly-hairless Malfoy looked quite flustered, muttered something along the lines of "Sod off, Potter," and then flounced away. Even Hermione had to smile at this. Clearly, Malfoy was somewhat touchy about the subject of his sexuality; one of the rumours floating around the fishbowl that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was that Pansy had dumped him because he was more attracted to Blaise Zabini than Pansy.

Hermione had found this particularly hilarious, and had even asked Blaise about it at the end of one of their meetings. Blaise had gone a particularly bright shade of red.

This was exactly what he had been dreading; she had somehow found a way to ask whether he was single or not. "Look, Granger, I've, erm, I've been meaning to talk to you about this for a while now. I know you find me attractive and everything, but I really don't see anything happening between us." This was said in a rush, and silence hung in the air while Hermione digested this information.

Blaise anxiously awaited her reaction. He hoped she would not break down in tears upon hearing that his heart did not belong to her: he had no idea how to cope with a crying teenage girl, especially a heartbroken one. There was that time he had had to calm down Millicent after the current object of her affections had insulted her, but she had not been so much heartbroken as in a murderous rage. However, to his immense surprise, Hermione did the one thing he had not been prepared for.

She started laughing.

"You thought that I… that I thought you were… oh, Blaise." She managed to choke out these words between giggles, clearly tickled pink by the idea that she fancied him. She tried to sober herself up, and asked, "Where would you get an idea like that?"

"Just… around." Blaise could practically feel the heat emanating from his cheeks.

"Oh." She smiled. "I suppose you're quite attractive… in the right light. I suppose. To some people." She seemed quite embarrassed at this point. "Thank you for trying to let me down gently, though," she added, kissing him on the cheek. "That was sweet of you. I'll see you in Ancient Runes." With this is left, leaving a slightly dazed Blaise behind.

Let me get this right. Blaise was trying to sort through the exchange that had just transpired. First, she tells me that she doesn't like me, and then she says that I'm unattractive, and then she kisses me. Blaise shook his head with a sigh.

"Girls."

"So, Hermione…" Ginny Weasley had linked her arm through Hermione's smiling brightly at her. "Are you coming to The Burrow for Christmas?"

The Weasley family had been using 12 Grimmauld Place as a temporary residence for the best part of a year now. Molly Weasley, however, had become increasingly homesick for their own abode, and so had declared that the entire Weasley clan would be home for Christmas. Hermione assumed that Percy Weasley, who had estranged himself from his family, was excluded.

"Actually, Gin, I was planning on staying at school this Christmas."

Ginny's face dropped. "But Mum's expecting you! She'll be so disappointed."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I have so much work to do. I'll be able to get so much more done if I stay. Besides, with the twins around I think I'd spend more time shedding feathers than studying."

The redhead was clearly disappointed. "Are you sure?" she asked hopefully, although she pulled her arm away from Hermione.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"That's a shame, I was kind of hoping that…" Ginny trailed off into a mumbled and Hermione was sure that she heard the words 'purple blob'.

"Pardon?"

Looking slightly sheepish, the youngest Weasley said, "I was sort of hoping that maybe you and Ron would…"

"Would what?" Hermione demanded, trying to keep her voice quiet.

"You've been flirting all year and I…"

"Flirting! Since when?" Hermione was perplexed to say the least. Had she been flirting with Ron? Arguing with him seemed to be a better description. Ginny seemed as confused as Hermione.

"But I thought you fancied him!"

"And I thought he was more interested in chess than me," Hermione admitted as they turned a corner and emerged in the Entrance Hall. "Ginny, and I mean no offence, but your brother has the emotional maturity of a squirrel."

"I suppose you're right," Ginny said. A sly smile spread across her face. "You don't have your eye on anyone else, do you? I'm willing to offer my services to help you get a boyfriend."

Hermione was aghast at the idea of this. "What are you, Ginny? My pimp?" Ginny's brow furrowed.

"What's a pimp?"

The Gryffindor prefect shook her head. "Never mind."

Thank Yous: Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter two: jiayi, peng8noodles, Dunebird, A GraBini Fan, Procella Nox-noctis, Rinzae, MsLessa, Chaos-Fyre-Elf31, Lousie, IsLaNdMoChAgUrL, Fire Goddess, Charolastras, ShimmeringEvil, JeanB, SkoosiePants, mydream, lochmon, CarEtoDreaM and PhantomTzipora.

Love and hugs and coffee,
silverphoenix