Disclaimer: Everything recognisable belongs to J.K. Rowling, and I am most certainly not making any profit from it.
The Astronomy Tower was, in the simplest terms, exactly what its name implied. During the course of the week, it hosted classes each night which, depending on the time of year, could begin as early as 8pm or as late as midnight.

Classes took place on the higher level of the tower, the level Hermione had gotten into the habit of frequenting in the very early morning. It was open to the air, and being the tallest point of the castle, had an uninterrupted panorama of both the sky and the countryside around Hogwarts. Some Muggle-born Astronomy students liked to joke that they could see the lights of Dundee on clear nights. This always managed to confuse Sinistra (whose memory was so filled with star charts and orbital paths that she had enough trouble remembering her student's names), who asked what sector Dundee was in, and whether it was a Muggle name for an otherwise familiar satellite.

There was another level to the Tower, though, below the battlements, which was infinitely more comfortable and less draughty.

This lower level of the Tower was deserted when she arrived, and the sun had almost set. Long slices of pale-gold sunlight, pouring in from the western windows, cut across the stone floor.

As she sat down on one of the long couches, Hermione wondered again why there was actual furniture up here. Particularly long, comfortable furniture. The staff couldn't really be that thick, or accepting, of what the aforementioned furnishings were generally used for.

That thought brought a number of unpleasant mental images to mind, and Hermione stood up again quickly to check for stains. Satisfied she was in no danger of sitting in someone else's secretions, she sat down again, and pulled her Potions text out.

She was re-reading the chapter they had been covering for the past few classes when Blaise appeared at the door of the stairway. She looked up and smiled faintly, unable to push aside a sense of unease. Her worry only increased when for probably the first time since she had known him, Blaise looked sombre. He cast a quick ward over the door, and a silencing charm.

"Hi," he said quietly, and walked over to her. Hermione watched him carefully, her nervousness plainly written across her face. He sat down next to her and chuckled.

"You look like you're waiting for me to pounce, Granger," a tinge of bitterness colouring the otherwise light tone of his voice. "Not all Slytherins are evil, Muggle-hating Death Eaters-in-training you know."

"Yes, I know…"

"Really?" he said, forcing a smile as he cut her off. "You must be the only one."

Blaise stood up and started wandering around the room restlessly. Hermione watched him.

"Zabini, stop. What's happened?"

He stopped in front of her and looked down. He started laughing, a nervous, strained sound that was both false and frightening.

"Oh Merlin, if a Gryff can tell something's bothering me, then I might as well jump out a particularly high window right now."

Hermione stood up, her forgotten Potions text tumbling to the floor.

"Blaise, stop it!"

Her use of his given name surprised him into silence, and he stared at her. She could see the fear in his eyes, and wondered frantically what to do. He didn't give her a chance to speak - he was against her suddenly, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, clinging to her.

"They refuse to take no for an answer," he whispered.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, and held him.

Other than a few candles Hermione had lit with a wave of her wand, the Astronomy Tower was dark. She was sitting on a couch, and Blaise was curled up beside her, his dark head in her lap.

"We should go," she said quietly, "other people will be trying to get in here soon. There may even be a class."

He didn't respond, just sighed quietly.

"Let's go find a classroom, Blaise. Where we won't be bothered."

He pushed himself slowly up into a sitting position, not looking at her.

"You know that if I tell you what's going on, it will only put you in a bloody great lot of danger. And don't give me any toss about your little adventures in the Golden Trio. You really have no idea how lucky the three of you have been. You particularly - you're a Muggle-born."

Hermione stiffened. "I'll have you know Zabini, I am -"

"Spare me the self-righteous tirade," he said, cutting her off sharply. "I know you're thrice as good as most purebloods. But that doesn't matter to some people, which you must have learned by now. It would be bad enough if you were just one of Potter's friends, but the fact that you're Muggle-born makes it ten times worse." She was silent, watching him watch the floor. "I don't agree with the propaganda. I personally think it's a load of bollocks, and I have no desire to turn into a pathetic, sycophantic little arse-licker like Malfoy. Slytherins are ambitious! We bloody well do things on our own, and the only way we agree to work with or," here he shuddered, "for someone else is if it's the best offer on the table. And I'm waiting for the best offer."

Hermione watched the candlelight pick out the highlights in Blaise's hair, and listened as he easily told her exactly what he thought, but in such a way that it could be seen to support either side.

"Above all else, I don't want to be owned, or claimed. Not by anyone." He looked up at her angrily. "By anyone, Hermione. I will make my own choices for as long as I safely can, and though I most certainly do not share certain views, I am by no means a noble, happy, shining Gryffindor. Nor will I ever be." His voice lowered, and he looked away. "And if I have to choose between my life and my beliefs…I'm not brave, and I will choose to live, however I can."

They were both silent, and finally, Blaise looked up. Hermione was clearly angry. Her eyes were fierce, and her hands were clenched into fists. "Why," she asked, "have you already given yourself up for lost?"

He smiled bitterly. "You honestly think I can get out of this alive and un-Marked?"

"Have you even thought of asking for help?" she cried, jumping to her feet. Blaise looked startled.

"Well, I am talking to you -"

"Don't be so dim, Zabini! What on earth can I do? I'm only a student. Why haven't you asked Dumbledore?"

Blaise's face darkened. "I'm not a Gryffindor, Granger. And since your entire House lives in an ivory tower, and hasn't noticed the blatant favouritism that goes on, let me tell you about it. Do you remember the Leaving Feast in our first year? How us wicked Slytherins were first told we had won the House Cup, only to have it snatched from under our noses in the most hurtful, humiliatingly cruel way possible? We were children too, you know. Some of the first and second years cried on the train home. And Slytherins learn very quickly not to go to any Professors, with the exception of Snape, with a complaint about another House because ninety-nine percent of the time we will be blamed, regardless of what has actually happened. So no, Hermione. I am not going to go to Dumbledore, because although he may well treat you and your Gryffindor friends like his own bloody grandchildren, I somehow doubt I'd be looked upon as favourably."

Hermione sat down, chastened and pale. She had never even thought of what happened at the end of their 1st year as anything but justified and fair.

Blaise was stiff beside her.

"You're right," she said in a small voice. He said nothing. "Maybe…maybe you could talk to Snape?"

Blaise snorted and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Bad idea. He's very supportive of his Slytherins, but there are rumours about his…loyalties, most of which are very well founded…"

Hermione looked up at him, and was shocked at the bleakness written plainly across his face.

"No, Snape isn't…Blaise, trust me. He's on our side."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked quietly, still staring ahead.

"I just am. You'll have to believe me."

He shook his head. "I don't know…that'd be a really big chance to take…"

"Do you have any other choice?"

Blaise looked at his hands, clasped loosely between his knees. "No, I suppose I don't. But not yet. It mightn't get any worse." Hermione looked skeptical, and he smiled faintly. "If things do take a bad turn, I'll go to him."

"Promise?"

Blaise smiled.

Halloween came, and Hermione actually managed to forget about her supposed Arithmancy problems. Mostly because she was concerned about Blaise of course, but it helped that a few days before, when she was packing up her satchel after Arithmancy, she over-heard Stibbons showing Vector the work he had done on the infamous equation. To her amazement, Vector had laughed, and told him his work was all wrong, because that particular problem was unsolvable.

Hermione had almost dropped her inkbottle. She had stuffed her remaining books into her bag without looking up and scurried out of the classroom, only to burst into giddy, relieved laughter once she was safely in the corridor.

Even without her worries about Arithmancy, Hermione remained just as tightly wound. She simply focused more of her energies on worrying about Blaise. It bothered her that there was no easy solution. She couldn't go to Dumbledore - it was quite clear that Blaise wanted nothing to do with the Headmaster. That also meant the rest of the Order was out of the question. She knew she couldn't reveal its existence to Blaise, particularly since he had made it quite clear he was more concerned about his own well-being than choosing sides. So what other options were there? The answer wouldn't be in a book somewhere in the library, so research was disconcertingly pointless. She couldn't ask Harry or Ron, because brave as they were, they'd only be suspicious of Blaise and over-protective of her. They were already starting to worry at her caginess, and the bags under her eyes weren't helping to dissuade them.

Hermione sighed and dropped her quill. She was supposed to be finishing a report for Potions, but she just couldn't concentrate on anything other than Blaise.

Ron, sitting in an armchair opposite her, in front of the common room fire, looked up. "What's wrong?"

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "Nothing, really. Just exhausted, and my hand is starting to cramp up."

"Nothing out of the ordinary there, then," Ron said mildly. She opened her mouth to protest, but he grinned. "I'm just taking the piss, Hermione. Really, you've got to stop putting so much sugar in your tea, it's making you jumpy."

She grinned back. "You're probably right. I think I'm just going to go to bed, though."

"Right. Sleep well."

"Thanks," she said, gathering up her papers before heading up to her dorm. "Night Ron, Harry."

Harry looked up from an armchair a few feet away and smiled at her as she walked past and up the stairs. Ron watched after her, a faint frown on his face.

"Do you think she's actually going to sleep?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"I hope so," Harry murmured. "She looks so tired all the time."

Ron nodded silently, and looked back at the book he was reading, only to read the same page, over and over, till he finally went to bed.