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: People are going to hate me after this chapter. I've resigned myself to it, so I'm going to go and hide behind bodyguard!Blaise and his mug of coffee. If coffee be the drink of fic, read on...

THE IMPORTANCE OF ANCIENT RUNES
Chapter Five: In Which All Eloquence Escapes Blaise

At eleven thirty-five p.m., Blaise was still unsure how he had been dragged to the Three Broomsticks. Taking a swig of his seventh Butterbeer, he remembered: Pansy had very sharp nails, and Daphne was exceptionally good at the Bat-Bogey Hex.

Wishing that there were more alcohol in the drink, Blaise tried to drown out the noise of the pub with his own thoughts. He had learnt at the age of seven that there was enough to alcohol in Butterbeer to make a house elf tipsy. His mother had not been best pleased when Goolie, the Zabini's only elf, had been in a drunken state for nigh on three days.

"Blaise, are you going to dance or what?" Pansy tugged impatiently on the sleeve of his robe, and Blaise tried to shrug her off.

"Or what," was his reply. "I don't dance," he told her.

"Everyone dances," she insisted, trying to remain patient. "Even Daphne, and she looks like a scarecrow when she dances."

He looked at her darkly. "Do you really want me to make an idiot of myself?" The Slytherin girl, dressed in glittery pink robes, shook her head.

"Of course not. That would just be an added bonus."

"Pansy…" he warned. Pansy shrugged.

"Fine, be like that. I won't be kissing you at midnight, that's for sure." She returned to the dance floor, joining Daphne and Hermione. With interest, Blaise noted that Daphne did indeed look like a scarecrow being blown about by the wind when she danced.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise spotted Professor Mayfair attempting to give Professor Snape a lap dance; Blaise had anonymously sent a bottle of scotch over to the table that the professors were sat at, and they appeared to be getting through it quite cheerfully. Snape even appeared to be smiling. Well, Blaise assumed that he was smiling, but it could have just been trapped wind.

Whatever it was, the professors were suitably inebriated, i.e. they were not paying a blind bit of notice to the students.

Pansy's departure pushed Blaise back into his reverie, and he was trying to recall use number eleven for dragon's blood when Hermione took a seat next to him. "Having a good time?" she asked with a smile. The contemptuous look he gave her was his reply to this. "There's only quarter of an hour until midnight," Hermione said apologetically. "We can go back to the castle after that." A blush spread across her cheeks. "I didn't mean that like a proposition," she stuttered, "just stating a fact."

"I know that."

"Good."

"Did Pansy send you over to get me to dance?" he asked, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the loud music.

"No. My feet are hurting," she explained. "I shouldn't have worn high heels," she added. Blaise smiled.

"I wouldn't have pictured you as the type to own high heels."

Hermione leaned forward, conspiratorially. "I borrowed them from Daphne," she admitted with a grin.

"They make you look taller."

"Are you saying I'm short?" Hermione asked in mock indignation. Blaise winced at this.

"Is there a right answer to that?"

"Hermione, do you want to dance?" Justin Finch-Fletchley had appeared at their table, looking hopefully at the Gryffindor.

What is it with Hufflepuffs and the colour yellow? Blaise wondered as he took in Justin's yellow robes. He supposed that it was because yellow was a colour usually associated with happiness, thus tying into part of the Slytherin Code of Conduct: Ignorance is bliss. This is why Hufflepuffs are always so happy. It was not so much a way to live your life, but a helpful to keep in mind when dealing with member of the house of the badger.

"I, erm," Hermione looked helplessly at Blaise.

"What are you looking at me for?" Blaise asked. "I'm not your keeper."

For a moment, she looked disappointed, and then smiled brightly at Justin. "I would love to dance," she told him as she stood, despite the fact that she had told Blaise only moments earlier that her feet were hurting.

Something odd had just transpired, Blaise knew that much. When Finch-Fletchley had asked Hermione to dance, she had looked to him. Had she been seeking approval? Blaise certainly was not going to stop her from dancing with the Hufflepuff - Finch-Fletchley was harmless enough. He was a Hufflepuff, after all. Or had it been permission? In which case, things had become slightly more complicated.

If she had been seeking permission, it implied that he and Hermione were… not involved, exactly, but that they were…

Blaise could not even fathom it. There was no way in which he could think to put his relationship with Hermione into words. Even using the word 'relationship' was a little heavy going in his mind. They were friends and that was it. Hermione had even directly told him that she was not even attracted to him.

And he did not find her in the least bit attractive, either.

Of course not.

He pushed up the sleeve of his black robes so that he could view his watch. Five more minutes until midnight. Five more minutes until another year began. Five more minutes until Blaise could retreat to the comfort of his dormitory.

It was nice, Blaise had decided, having his dormitory to himself. Crabbe snored so loudly that Blaise was sure the floorboards shook. Goyle talked to himself in his sleep, although he was actually far more lucid when he was asleep than when he was awake. Blaise had actually managed to have several rather deep conversations with him while he was sleeping, in fact.

Then there was Draco. The Malfoy heir used so much aftershave that Blaise was surprised he had not suffocated himself yet. Not that he needed aftershave: Malfoy would not have known what facial hair was even if it had attacked him wearing one of Theodore's t-shirts.

Theodore Nott left clothes everywhere. Everywhere. However, if it were not for his clothes serving as a constant reminder of his presence, Blaise suspected that everyone would have forgotten about him by now.

Three minutes until midnight.

Is that a freckle on the back of my hand? Blaise wondered. He rubbed it. Nope, just a spot of ink. I wonder how that got there?

Blaise drummed his fingers impatiently on the tabletop. Could they just get this year over with? Three hundred and sixty five days was long enough as it was.

Two minutes until midnight.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy, warty Hogwarts, teach us something please… Blaise began to murmur the school song to himself to the tune that was currently being playing.

Whether we be old and bald, or young with scabby knees. He had always liked that line. However, he had never met anyone bald at Hogwarts yet. Unless Snape was secretly bald and was just wearing a bad wig. He would have to discuss that theory with Pansy and Daphne later.

One minute until midnight.

Daphne slid into the seat next to Blaise, a toothy grin on her face. The blonde giggled, staring at him, and Blaise suddenly felt self-conscious. Why was she staring at him like that?

He purposely directed his gaze toward the dancers. Hermione and Finch-Fletchley were far too close together for Blaise's liking. Was it just Blaise, or were his hands travelling lower?

Thirty seconds until midnight.

"Blaise?" Daphne asked softly, barely audible over the music. Blaise blinked.

"Yes?" he asked, still looking at Hermione and Justin.

Ten. Nine.

"Blaise, can I…"

Eight. Seven. Six.

"Yeah, whatever."

Five. Four.

Everyone was chanting now as the seconds ticked closer to midnight.

Three. Two. One.

Blaise gave a squeak of surprise as Daphne's lips descended on his, and his eyes flew open.

Just in time to see Hermione kiss Justin.

When Hermione finally found the courage to open her eyes, she immediately wished that she had not. Everything was yellow.

Everything.

Blinking, and struggling to push herself into a sitting position, Hermione looked around, wishing that she could clear the fogginess from her head. When she was capable of coherent thought, the first thing that occurred to her was that she was not in her dormitory. Nor was she in a bed.

She was fully dressed - thank God - and if she had to guess, she would have to say she was in the Hufflepuff common room. But how had she got there?

Hermione closed her eyes, primarily to block out the yellow monstrosity that was the Hufflepuff common room. Vague ideas began to pile themselves into Hermione's brain. Justin had offered to walk her back to Gryffindor when they had returned to the castle, and somehow they had ended up in Hufflepuff instead.

Then there had been kissing. And possibly some inappropriate touching.

Justin, who had managed to a few drinks from the inexperienced barmaid, had definitely been tipsy, and had eventually staggered off, mumbled something about needing to be sick. Needless to say, Hermione had not been very pleased about this. While she had been waiting for Justin to return, she must have fallen asleep.

Cracking her eyes open again, Hermione saw that Justin was nowhere in sight. Obviously, he had not returned last night.

As she stood up, intent on making a quick get away, Hermione winced - she had been wearing Daphne's high heels all night, and her feet were sore as a result. Bending down, she slipped them off, revealing bright red strips across her skin from where the straps had been digging in.

She decided to risk walking back to the Gryffindor common room barefoot, even though she did not actually know how far it was. Hopefully, once she had left this yellow common room, she would be able to get her bearings.

Once out in the corridor, Hermione practically ran back to Gryffindor Tower, her feet pounding along the stone floor of the castle. When she was safely inside her own dormitory, Hermione quickly divested herself of her robes and turned on a scalding hot shower in the bathroom; as nice a privilege as the Prefects' Bathroom was, there were times when only a shower would do.

Stepping under the hot water, she reached for the bottle of shampoo. How could she have been so stupid? Why had she agreed to go back to Hufflepuff with Justin? She had been in full control of herself, only having drunk pumpkin juice all evening - she had not even had any Butterbeer.

The only person she could recall drinking that particular substance was Blaise. As she worked her hair - not to mention herself - into a lather, she berated herself. Recently, her thoughts had had a habit of slipping onto the dark haired Slytherin. She had come to feel that he was not quite as unattractive as she had once told him. Not that she would ever tell him this; she knew perfectly well that it would only serve to inflate his ego.

Not to mention the fact that he was a bad influence on her. Compared to before she had started to work with him, she drank about ten times more coffee. Whenever she was around him, she felt… flirty? That was probably how Pavarti and Lavender would describe it. The banter between the two of them was exhilarating, almost, and she found herself looking forward to their encounters more than she should have. She was both physically and mentally exhausted from studying and the Animagi training, yet the thought of seeing him seemed to dull it a little: there were times when he was an arrogant Slytherin and times when he was very much a teenager. It was intriguing, really.

Rinsing her hair, she wondered if Blaise was in a similar position to hers right now. Was he regretting that kiss with Daphne at midnight - even Hermione had seen that - and trying to rinse himself of the experience? Was he in the shower, washing that dark hair of his?

Her thoughts suddenly drifted to something else.

No, Hermione, she scolded herself. Don't think of naked Blaise. That's very bad. Very bad indeed.

Blaise only looked up from his Potions essay when a copy of the Daily Prophet was shoved under his nose by Pansy. It was January the third, and already Blaise was tired of the new year.

On New Years Day, he had slept until nearly three in the afternoon before he had risen, showered, gone down to the Great Hall, consumed a vast amount of coffee and then headed back to bed again. Since then, he had repeated this pattern before deciding to get his Potions homework over and done with. That way, he would be able to concentrate on something other than Hermione.

She has no right to invade my thoughts like this, Blaise thought bitterly, underlining part of his notes. Not that she was using magic to worm her way into his head, no, it was as though she had become the only thing that Blaise could think about it, and he could not stand it for a moment longer.

She was infuriating. She annoyed him. She goaded him. She teased him. She treated him like a brother. She was not even pretty.

But somehow she had ingrained herself into Blaise's consciousness, and that image of her and Justin kissing on New Years Eve was permanently seared on his eyelids. Why did Hermione kissing that… Hufflepuff annoy him so much? It was not really up to him who she kissed, but Blaise had a sneaky suspicion he knew why he was feeling like this.

Jealousy.

Not all things Muggle were totally lost on the wizarding community. One such thing was Shakespeare. Blaise's mother had a particular passion for the bard, and a quote kept rolling around Blaise's head: Beware jealousy, tis the green eyed monster that doth mocks the meat it feeds on.

Or something like that. Blaise had never been too good at remembering quotes exactly. Except for one. That proverb that Hermione had written in his Christmas card. He remembered it word for word.

"Blaise," Pansy said impatiently. He looked up at her.

"Pardon?"

"Just look at this." She prodded the Daily Prophet with a pink fingernail.

KRUM FOUND the headline read, and for a moment Blaise was relieved; Hermione had been worried about the Quidditch star ever since she had found out that he was missing. Then he felt sick as he read the next line: Quafflepuncher Seeker Murdered: Death Eaters suspected.

Blue eyes quickly scanning the article, Blaise looked at Pansy in panic. "Has Hermione seen this yet?" he demanded.

Pansy looked worried for a moment. "Erm, I don't think so. She wasn't at breakfast this morning."

She wasn't at breakfast this morning. Come to think of it, Blaise had not seen Hermione at mealtimes for the last couple of days. Even he had managed to show up at the Great Hall when everyone else had, but her seat had remained suspiciously empty. He had seen her a few times in the corridor, but never at meals.

Blaise picked up the paper. "I'm going to go find her," he announced. Pansy shook her head.

"Daphne's already gone."

"Why?"

Pansy looked uneasy. "Look, Blaise, I don't mean this in a bad way, or anything, it's just that me and Daphne have noticed you and Granger get a bit… weird when you're together. I don't really know what's going on with you two, and I'm not really sure I want to know, but maybe you should keep your distance from her for a bit. Clear the air, you know?"

The dark haired boy settled back into his chair. "Yeah," he muttered, "I know."

The next time that Blaise saw Hermione was at dinner that evening. She looked pale and drawn, and he could tell that she had been crying. Her hair was pulled into a scruffy ponytail at the base of her neck, and her robes were crumpled and crease. She looked pale and drawn, and she merely inclined her head as a greeting.

She sat next to Blaise, pushing her food around her plate more than she ate it. When she did eat, she chewed slowly, as though she did not really want to be eating. Blaise passed her a bread roll wordlessly.

Hermione took it with a small smile, breaking it in half and beginning to pick at it.

"Viktor's dead," she said simply. She looked at him, brown eyes dull. He nodded.

"Yeah."

"I think I'm getting close," Hermione announced brightly when Blaise arrived for their Animagi lesson. It was the night before the rest of the Hogwarts students were to return. She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, and Blaise could not help but notice the dark circles under her eyes. That morning at breakfast, Blaise had been too preoccupied with getting a cup of coffee to contemplate her appearance.

Now, however, without her robes on and her bushy hair pulled up into a high ponytail, he could see just how thin she was. Painfully thin was how he would describe her, in fact. Despite their growing friendship, Blaise wondered if it would be out of line for him to enquire about her health. Not being able to find the words to ask her, he settled for, "That's great." Then, he added, "Do you know what your form is?"

She looked abashed at this. "Well, I think so; I don't really want to say, though, in case I'm wrong." He nodded in understanding.

Hermione handed him a book. "Professor McGonagall gave me this to look through. We've pretty much covered the first few chapters, chapter seven's quite interesting." The book was old, and the spine was coming away from the book. The title of the book had been worn away and when Blaise opened the book, its pages were yellowed and delicate with age. Tiny writing covered the pages, intricate diagrams interspersed with the text.

Settling himself down, Blaise sat cross-legged and began to carefully turn the pages in search of chapter seven. He found it eventually, the small writing almost illegible.

When an Animagus first completes the transformation into their animal form, there are often several difficulties that face the witch or wizard, the first of these being their clothing.

Many Animagi over the centuries have reported that they frequently found that their attire did not make the transformation with them, resulting in nakedness when resuming their human form. However, after practise, this only happens when an Animagus wishes to lose their clothing.

Blaise looked up at Hermione. No, he warned himself sternly, don't think about naked Hermione. Bad thoughts, very bad thoughts. Perhaps he should make himself scarce when she finally made the transformation; he thought that Hermione would not particularly want him to see her naked.

"You look like you're constipated," he commented, seeing the expression on her face: a deep cleft had appeared on her forehead from where her eyes were screwed tightly shut. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at him indignantly.

"You're not helping, Blaise."

"Wasn't trying to," he retorted lightly, trying to focus his attention back on the book and not on thoughts of naked Hermione. Bad thoughts, Blaise. Don't think of that.

The other difficulty is far more problematic. Often, the mind of the animal can overwhelm the witch or wizard the first time the transformation is completed, resulting in the…

Blaise reached no further than this, however, before he heard a loud pop. His head snapped up in surprise, and he found a small tabby cat standing where Hermione had been only moments before. Blaise quickly scrambled to his feet. There was another pop and Hermione was back.

"I did it!" she whispered hoarsely, her eyes wide. "Blaise, I did it!" She practically leapt on him, almost smothering him in a hug. "My heart's racing," she told him breathlessly. Her breath tickled Blaise's ear, and he tried his best to quell any primal urges that had arisen.

Mine too, Blaise thought, arms wrapped around her. He pulled back - if she stayed in that close proximity, he was afraid that certain complications might arise, so to speak. Damn hormones, he cursed inwardly. "Well done," he told her, too stunned that she had actually done it to be any more eloquent.

"I have to do it again," she told him in a rush. The dark rings around her eyes looked even more pronounced now. She looked as though she could collapse at any moment.

"Perhaps you should rest, Hermione." Blaise could not hide the concern in his voice. "You're obviously exhausted."

"I have to do it again," she repeated, more firmly this time. The look in her eyes was purely feral and, for a moment, Blaise was scared of her.

"Hermione…"

He was too late, though and, a pop later, a pile of clothes was at his feet, Hermione's Animagus form struggling to disentangle herself from them. Squatting down, he gingerly picked up the cat. Hermione purred contentedly at his touch, but as he went to stroke her head, she suddenly lashed out at him, her claws leaving three red stripes down his cheek.

The Slytherin gave a yell of surprise and pain and, as he clasped his hand to his face, he dropped Hermione. The cat hissed at him, tail raised, before running out of the room.

"Fine, be like that then, Hermione," he grumbled, removing his hand from his face. He looked at his fingers; she had drawn blood. She'd be back in a minute, he was sure, embarrassed by her lack of clothes and upset with herself for hurting him. With a growl of frustration, Blaise picked up the book Hermione had given him.

Often, the mind of the animal can overwhelm the witch or wizard the first time the transformation is completed, resulting in the consciousness of the Animagus being repressed.

Upon finishing this sentence, Blaise's blue eyes looked in panic at the pile of Hermione's clothes that was still on the floor, then at the door through which she had run. Not for the first time that night, all eloquence escaped Blaise:

"Oh, bugger."

Thank Yous: Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter four - Chaos-Fyre-Elf31, draconas, Sam Fisher's Wife, fire goddess, Raye-Rei, Lillianna-Rose, Flame Dancer, i-h8-sclub, ShimmeringEvil, Lousie, Spitfireness, mydream and Procella Nox-noctis.

A note regarding the lavender-scented bubblebath: I'm sure that a lot of people were looking forward to Blaise and his dungeon-flooding plan. I've chosen not to write it as it does nothing to advance the plot in any way. However, it will be alluded to in the story, and I may write a cookie at some point: keep an eye on the O&U cookie jar at FAP.

Love and hugs and coffee,
silverphoenix