In Which Ron collects his thoughts

The Chinese food was really good.

Really, Ron decided.

Almost as good as pizza.

Almost.

Pizza was good.

But nothing was as good, (though alcohol and snogging Susan Bones came in a close second.)

In this way Ron Weasley found himself thinking about the lack of Chinese food. Or was it the lack of Susan? He scratched his head.

Both.

He had yet to really talk to Susan after their display and she didn't seem to be making an effort to find him. Half of him felt somewhat guilty towards Terry; but that always happened. Terry would come onto Ron, Ron would then run off, scared shitless and sometime within the next couple of hours extreme guilt would set in, closely followed by thoughts somewhere along the lines of. 'He was just being friendly.'

Ron was at times incredibly stupid; according to Terry it was one of his more endearing qualities. Terry also said that Ron's taste for Cherry Cola was-

Ron shook his head violently. Since when did Terry come into Susan thoughts?

He didn't, Ron decided.

He went back to sipping on his Guinness, which had, (for reasons unknown,) a clover on the top of it, which was slowly melting into the froth. Ron's thoughts turned for a brief second to Seamus.

Scary.

Where had Susan got too? She was a good snog and would probably take his mind off his grumbling stomach. Sometimes Ron would eat and eat and eat, and yet he was still hungry. He always suspected involvement from Malfoy. Everyone knew magazines were evil. Even Malfoy, although that never stopped him.

Ron was sat alone in the kitchen, separate from the other friends, in order to collect his thoughts on the evening, over all it had been quite fun, he supposed. Certainly no one had acted much out of character.

He stood up suddenly, setting his drink down and wondered into the lounge. Really, collecting thoughts was overrated. Snogging Susan was much better.

He entered the lounge and looked around; Blaise was standing in the middle, looking highly anxious. Everyone else was sitting in small groups chatting and drinking, (or else reading 'Cosmo' with such vigour that pages were falling out.) Hermione was once again conspicuous only by her absence.

But it was Susan who Ron was on the look out for. He spied her chatting and giggling with Ginny and Harry. Making a swift decision he walked briskly across the room towards her, past the sofa and-

"Hello, Ronald," a purr of a voice was in his ear and he was being bodily restrained by a hand on his arm.

Shit.

He'd forgotten about Boot.

In Which Blaise is sorry

Hermione's feet carried her up the stairs at an alarming rate. It was perhaps because of the somewhat manic and stunned expression on her face that her feet were carrying her in this way.

Or perhaps it was the fact that Blaise Zabini was running all of six inches behind her.

Hermione dashed through her halfway, knocking into her washing hamper, and bursting into the bathroom, swiftly locking the door behind her. She leant back onto the door and closed her eyes, panting hard. A second later she heard Blaise crash into the door, and was nearly knocked off her feet.

"Let me in, Hermione," came his muffled yell. She squeezed her eyes shut; hoping somehow to blank him out. Her hopes were lost as several seconds later his voice reverberated again.

"Let me in, Hermione. Please." The please almost did her, but she soon came to her senses.

"Go away, Zabini." Hermione sighed and slid down the door onto her knees. She really wasn't coping well with anything that evening. She had completely let herself go and her dinner party was a mess. To hear what she had heard, that Blaise loved her made her feel neither happy nor sad. In fact it made her feel rather sick to the stomach.

"Hermione- please, we need to talk," his voice was softer this time and detached in a way which made her want to cry.

"I, I don't know what to say," she said, honestly, her voiced slightly cracked. She hadn't it but Blaise had clearly heard.

"You don't have to say anything, you don't have to return my feelings, but if you blank me I'm broken."

Hermione giggled softly into her hands- really it was so corny, but so true- and she knew it. She heaved a shallow sigh and reached up to unlock the door, before shuffling away from it.

The handle clicked round and the door opened to reveal Blaise, pink in the face and awkward looking.

"I'm sorry," he said honestly, looking at his feet. Hermione smiled into her hands.

"For what?"

"For loving you, for letting you hear it light that. You deserve better, Hermione." He was standing up, looking directly at her, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly.

"You haven't anything to be sorry for. I shouldn't have run." Hermione stated, she looked up at him and smiled gently.

"But I'm not sorry for making love to you." Hermione's head jerked upwards.

"Neither am I."

There was several seconds of silence.

"Pull me will you?"