See part one for disclaimers.

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Section 7:

"Blaise!" she squealed, panicking immediately. What had she been thinking putting a silencing charm on her room like that? Had Blaise fallen? Was he hurt? Was he unconscious? Was he alive? Crouching down on the floor next to him, she rolled him over on his back and breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed that he was still breathing and appeared uninjured. Had he just been knocked out? Dashing back into her room, she grabbed her wand from the bedside table, planning to cast an Enervate, but her hands were shaking with nervousness and she managed instead to poke him in the forehead with her wand.

It worked just as well as an Enervate would have. Blaise's eyes blinked open and, after a few seconds, managed to focus on Hermione. "Morning, 'Mione," he mumbled before rolling over to go back to sleep.

Hermione's fear and worry melted into aggravation. "Blaise Zabini, what do you think you're doing?"

"Talk later," he moaned. "Sleep now."

"Oh, honestly!" she huffed, climbing over his body to get into the hallway. Blaise was absolutely useless before his first cup of coffee in the morning but it hardly seemed fair that she would have to wait for the coffee to percolate before she could find out what, exactly, he was doing camped out in front of her bedroom door. Ten minutes later, she returned with a mug of coffee, black with three sugars, just the way that Blaise liked it. (She was angry with him, but not that angry.)

Dropping down to kneel on the floor next to him, she held the coffee mug under his nose, noticing with satisfaction the way the familiar smell of the coffee made him stir. His eyes stayed closed, but his hand groped forward, searching for the source of the smell. She shivered when his fingers brushed against her arm, trailing down to her wrist and finally her fingers to remove the mug from her hand, but kept her grip steady until she could transfer the mug into his hand. With his eyes still closed, he propped himself up slightly on his elbow and raised the mug to his lips.

Hermione tried not to squirm as she watched him. No matter how sexy he looked all rumpled and half asleep and no matter how delicious he sounded when he moaned in appreciation at the taste of the coffee, she was still annoyed with him for a whole list of reasons, and she was growing quite impatient to know why she found him asleep in front of her door.

Then, of course, those crystal blue eyes blinked open and he gave her a sleepy smile, making it physically impossible for her to stay annoyed with him any longer. With a sigh, she rose to her feet. "I'll go make breakfast," she offered. "Why don't you do wash up?" Blaise nodded around a massive yawn and continued to sip at his coffee. Knowing that he would be worthless for movement, much less conversation, until he finished his cup of coffee, she headed down to the kitchen. A minute or two later, she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs before Blaise stepped into the kitchen to join her.

"I was thinking an omelet might be nice," she stated with forced cheerfulness. "Do you know if your..." What should she call the girl, Hermione wondered. His one-night stand? His brain-damaged tramp with experience shagging on stairs? His lover? Maybe even (perish the thought) his girlfriend? "...friend would object to bacon and cheddar?"

"My friend?" Blaise repeated, confused. "Oh, you mean Kelly? I took her home ages ago. She didn't stay all night." He saw no reason to bring up that he had stunned, obliviated, and mobilicorpused the girl to get her home. Hermione tended to get a bit temperamental when he used Slytherin tactics like that on people, and he didn't want to upset her.

"All the more for us, then!" Hermione replied brightly, mentally cursing a list of epitaphs her closest friends would have been shocked to discover she even knew. Saw her home, did he? No doubt, he walked her all the way to her door, wanting to spend every moment possible with her. Bitch. Tears sprang into her eyes despite her best efforts, and she hastily grabbed an onion out of the vegetable tray and began chopping it. Everyone knew that onions made her cry. It was a perfectly normal, chemical reaction, and it had nothing to do with the newest stress fracture Blaise had caused in her heart.

"Here, let me," a voice murmured softly in her ear, making her shiver in spite of herself as Blaise placed his hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly moved her to the side so he could take over chopping the onions, himself. Desperate for something to keep her hands occupied, Hermione broke a few eggs into a bowl and began beating them energetically. She was thwarted once again by those same warm hands closing on her shoulders yet again, this time leading her away from the counter to sit at the kitchen table.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Just onions," Hermione replied, swiping at her eyes. "You know that they always make me cry."

"And were you chopping onions last night?" Blaise countered.

Hermione's eyes widened in alarm. "But... but I cast a silencing charm!" This was bad. This was very, very bad. Because when she had cried herself to sleep, she hadn't restricted herself to wordless moans. Confident in the strength of her silencing charm, she had sobbed out her broken heart to Crookshanks, asking her furry companion over and over again why Blaise couldn't want her back. If Blaise had been able to hear her crying, then he must have heard the rest, as well.

All the color drained out of her face as the pieces came together. She had been sure that she cast a sound barrier that would keep sound from going out just as thoroughly as it would keep sound from coming in, but if she was wrong... if she was wrong, then Blaise must have been able to hear her from the hallway, even though she hadn't been able to hear him. Hermione could picture it all so clearly. Blaise came up the stairs with his tramp and heard her voice through the door, saying, no sobbing his name. The tramp probably heard it as well. That must have been why she didn't stay the night. Hermione knew that Blaise was a reliable friend; even though he didn't want her, he still wouldn't want her embarrassed in front of his date. So he took the brain-dead trollop home, and then returned to his post outside her door.

He heard her say everything: everything about how she felt for him and how badly she wanted him and how it hurt when he wanted every girl in the world who wasn't her. He heard her cry herself to sleep over her broken heart for him. Knowing him, he probably intended never to mention it to her and let her keep her pride. But he had been tired (from all the shagging, a malicious voice in her head reminded her,) and after a while of leaning against the door, he had fallen asleep. Once she tripped over him that morning, he knew there was no way he could pretend that it hadn't happened, so he was going to have 'the talk' with her now and let her down easy.

She cringed at the thought of the conversation to come. He'd tell her he was 'flattered' that she felt so strongly about him, and that he was sure that one day she'd find the right person for her, someone who could 'appreciate' her. He say that he hoped this wouldn't affect their friendship because her friendship was 'so important' to him. If she was exceptionally unlucky or fate was just exceptionally cruel, he might even try to fix her up with someone else. She shuddered at the thought. No. She wouldn't let that happen. She wouldn't let any of that happen. If Blaise wanted to have 'the talk' then fine, they'd talk, but it would be on her own terms.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you would listen at keyholes," Hermione stated, staring down at her hands that kept twisting and untwisting a napkin. "It was part of your training for a long time, and I know you hate it when people keep secrets from you." Blaise made a sound as if to interrupt, but Hermione dared to glance up into his eyes for just a moment, long enough to say, "Please, let me finish, and then you can have your say. Please, Blaise?" He nodded his agreement and she dropped her eyes back to her hands, and continued.

"Please believe me when I say that I never intended for you to hear anything that you heard last night. And if Kelly overheard any of it," Hermione grimaced at the thought, "please apologize to her for me, as well. I know some of the things I said about her were harsh and unfair. Even at the time, I knew I didn't know her well enough to judge, but it was... difficult seeing you with her and I needed to blow off some steam, and I figured that venting to Crookshanks was harmless enough. I don't want you; either of you; to think I'm some emotionally distraught madwoman or that I'm having some kind of nervous breakdown."

Hermione looked down at the shredded napkin in her hand and realized that it was not, perhaps, the best proof of her stable state of mind. Dropping the napkin hastily, she twisted her hands together to keep them still. "Just because I have feelings for you, doesn't mean that anything has to change, with our friendship or with anything else. You don't need to 'comfort' me or 'console' me or 'let me down easy.' I never had any expectation that you would ever feel about me the way that I feel about you. I certainly can't blame you for being attracted to witches who are far more beautiful and glamorous than I could ever hope to be. I promise, I won't behave any differently, and I don't have any expectations that you'll change anything, either. In fact, the very best, the very kindest thing that you can do for me, as your friend, is to let this go and try to forget it. Can you do that for me, Blaise? Can you do that?"

Blaise was suddenly certain that he knew exactly how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole. Suddenly, up was down and black was white and everything that he understood to be true was contradicted and it was not painful or strange or unpleasant at all, but stupendously wonderful instead. He liked the rabbit hole, he decided. And just because his world as he knew it had just gone topsy turvy didn't mean that he didn't enjoy the change.

To his credit, let it be said that he did try to correct Hermione when she jumped to the conclusion that her silencing charm had been insufficient and that he had heard her crying in her room. He had tried to interrupt, but she had told him to let her finish what she needed to say and he, having no idea what was coming, had agreed.

He'd give five years off his life for a transcript of what exactly she had said to that cat of hers in her room the previous night, but the way she explained was enough to give him the gist of it, and it was more than enough, more than he had ever hoped. She had been crying over him. As much as he hated the thought of ever being the cause of her pain, he must admit that a sizeable part of him rejoiced at the knowledge. She cried over him because she wanted him and thought she couldn't have him. She cried because it hurt her not to be with him, just like it hurt him not to be with her. She cried because she... did she? She hadn't said she did, and he needed to know. Steeling up all of his courage, Blaise looked Hermione straight in the eye and spoke.

"I just have one question, Hermione. Will you answer it for me?" Head hanging in shame, Hermione nodded. "Do you love me?"

Hermione's head shot up, the look on her face a mixture of shock and embarrassment. She was clearly stunned that someone she considered to be a friend would drag out her humiliation to such an extent, and Blaise could tell that she wanted to refuse to answer. He watched, more than a little amazed, as Gryffindor bravery and honesty won out in the end. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, looking him straight in the eye.

"Yes," she answered bluntly.

Blaise's face broke into an irrepressible, beaming smile. "Good," he breathed before crossing over to her in what was certainly far less than a second, grabbing hold of her to yank her into his arms and seal her lips with his. For a moment, Hermione allowed herself to melt into his arms. His mouth was warm and tasted like coffee with too much sugar. She didn't even like the taste of coffee, but on him, it was delicious. Everything about him was delicious from the warm softness of his lips to the smooth movements of his tongue to the leashed strength of his arms wrapped around her waist, aligning her body with his. He smelled good and tasted good and dear god in heaven, he felt good. Hermione took a moment to relish her own fall down the rabbit hole before common sense reasserted itself and she forced her mouth away from the magnetic pull of his.

"Blaise," she gasped out breathlessly, "what... what is this? What's going on?"

"This is me loving you," he whispered in her ear, planting a series of soft, wet kisses just below it, making her shiver. "This is me loving you so much..."

"Just because of last night?" she managed to ask, doing an admirable job of forming complete sentences, considering the way her entire body was trembling with pleasure.

"I've loved you for so long," Blaise answered, "but it wasn't until last night that I let myself believe that I stood a chance. That's why I camped out at your door."

It was a lie, of course, but Blaise vowed to himself as he pulled her mouth back to his that she would never know that. He'd certainly never tell her. She'd be furious with him for letting her confess her feelings over the kitchen table in the misguided belief that he knew them already, and the absolute last thing he wanted was for her to be furious at him. If she was angry, she probably wouldn't let him kiss her again, and great Merlin's ghost, he didn't think he could live if he couldn't keep kissing her. The lie didn't weigh too heavily on his conscience. After all, if he had had any idea that she loved him, he would have camped out on her doorstep and forced her to admit it ages ago.

Hermione apparently approved of the lie because she started participating much more actively in the kiss. When her hands snaked between their bodies to rub his crotch, his knees went weak and he stumbled back into one of the kitchen chairs. Hermione gave him a wicked grin before climbing onto his lap, straddling him so that she could position her hips perfectly to rub against his while continuing the kiss him into a hopelessly-in-love puddle of mush.

Blaise slid his hand up the back of her tank top and they both moaned at his touch against her bare skin. It felt like heaven, and they both knew that if they went much further, they'd pass the point of no return.

"Is this okay?" Blaise asked nervously, needing reassurance that she wanted this as badly as he did. After all his time spent pursuing Hermione look-a-likes, it was hard to believe that he actually had the chance to have her. He wasn't about to bollux it up by pushing her too fast.

"Okay?" Hermione repeated dazedly, arching back into his touch. "Yes. This is okay. More than okay."

"You like it, then?" he questioned hopefully.

Slowly coming out of her Blaise-induced haze, Hermione's lips curled up in a smile. "I feel like I've been struck by lightning."

Still uncertain, Blaise smiled back at her nervously. "Do you think you might like to be struck by Lightning some more?"

"Oh yes," she answered, her grin growing wider as she deliberately ground her hips down against his. "I'd love to be struck by Lightning again, and again, and again, and ag—" She was cut off by Blaise's lips pressed against hers and her tongue soon grew far too occupied in playing with his to object to the interruption.

She whimpered when Blaise pulled away, and tried to pull him back in, but he slid both of his hands into her hair, holding her in place so he could look right at her face when he spoke at last.

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he whispered.

"I love you, Blaise Zabini," she answered, lifting her hand to stroke his cheek. "As I have since I was sixteen years old." Blaise's eyes widened in surprise and Hermione's fingers slipped from his cheek to his lips to keep him from speaking. "We'll discuss that later, love," she promised. "For now, I'm ready for Lightning to strike some more."

THE END