A/N: Sorry this chapter was so long in coming. Finals week and Christmas shopping took up a sizeable chunk of my time. Also, response to "evil Ginny" was a little lukewarm, so I just have to say that things have to get worse before they get better for poor Ginny.
Dearest Romilda,
What an odd place Zabini House is! I vow, I never expected such a strange company as this. Stregone Zabini, the patriarch, is quite as religious as we had thought. One cannot move but for the red candles and crystals cluttering the corridors. His wife Civetta is quite fanciful and in a rather frail condition. Blaise, for his part, is much changed, and I daresay much improved. Indeed, this is certainly so, for we had a turn about the garden on our own after dinner one eve. I shall write more on this later. I look forward to your owl at your earliest convenience.
Your devoted friend,
Ginevra Weasley
With no small amount of trepidation, Ginny stood upon the threshold of Zabini House and hesitated with her hand on the knocker. In a moment, however, her Gryffindor courage took hold of her and she rapped sharply upon the weather-beaten mahogany door. Soon, a house-elf appeared in the doorway and squeaked:
"May Knobby helps you?"
"Yes," answered the girl imperiously, "I am Miss Ginevra Weasley. I've been hired as a governess for the children. Please inform the Zabinis straightaway that I have arrived. You may take my trunk now," she added.
With a snap of its fingers, the elf had magicked the trunk from the porch and into the house. Ginny cautiously slid her dusty traveling boots over the threshold and glanced around the dark foyer of Zabini House. Dozens of candles in red glass holders flickered eerily off the symbolic crystals beside them on floor-to-ceiling shelves: agate stood beside amethyst for healing, bloodstone stood out sharply against ubiquitous calcite, and moonstones studded the doorway, engraved with numbers sacred to Janus. Oh my, thought Miss Weasley apprehensively, Mr. Zabini appears to have gone a bit mad. Well, no matter. They're quite a wealthy family in any case. But what a dank house this is!
"Knobby shows you to your chamber now, Missy. Master has the supper in an hour." The house-elf spoke once more before motioning the governess to the stairs and leading her to a small but comfortable room, free of all religious objects save for a few small icons, in the house's west wing. Ginny gave a sharp glance of feminine inspection to the torn bed-hangings and water-stained upholstery and resignedly began to unpack her trunk.
"May all the gods bless this noble family and keep it in untainted wizard blood," Stregone Zabini intoned piously. "May blessed Ceres continue to keep our table rich in harvest."
"Praise be to the goddess of grain," responded the others piously, Ginny included, though she could not help but feel a bit ridiculous.
Feeling the cool pressure of Civetta and Amarina Zabinis' hands leave hers, Ginny finally opened her eyes and gazed down at the clear broth in the bowl before her. Unwillingly, she began to eat, finishing it well before the others and fully expecting a second course.
"So, Miss Weasley," drawled a voice cultivated with ennui that bespoke a life of the most indolent rakehood, "how do you find Zabini House thus far? I daresay it has pleased you?"
Rather surprised at having been addressed, Miss Ginny looked up from her water goblet and was at once quite disconcerted indeed for she found herself staring across the table into the wicked dark eyes of Blaise Zabini himself. "It has," she lied with easy grace. "My accommodations are most comfortable, thank you."
"Lovely," returned Blaise in a tone of subtle mockery. "Then I had no idea that you were such a religious woman, Miss Weasley."
"N-not as such," stammered she, rather flustered at his insinuations. "But I find it all quite, er, refreshing. Yes, all the tributes to the gods are very respectful."
"What charming sentiments, Miss Ginevra," interjected Civetta in her soft, faltering voice. "It seems to me that you shall be the best of governesses for the girls. Amarina, Lisavetta," she addressed her daughters. "Go up to the nursery with Miss Weasley. You must begin lessons straightaway. They can use our old wands," Civetta turned her attention to Ginny once more. "I know it's illegal, but Hogwarts is so much more competitive these days. I'd rather they knew the basics. All the other children will."
"Of course, Mrs. Zabini," murmured the girl deferentially, "I shall teach them a few simple charms if you wish. Come along, children."
The children rose, as did Blaise, and followed Ginny from the shadowy dining room toward their nursery.
"Ah, Miss Weasley, my parents may be gullible enough, but I am not so easily fooled."
When Ginny spun back toward the doorway, Blaise was leaning casually against it, his tall, lanky frame attired in a finely cut bottle green robe and an elegantly tied pearl grey cravat. "I'm sorry?" she returned coolly.
"Please, Miss Weasley, all the candles and crystals? This is no kind of place for a young adventuress such as yourself. I myself have a small bachelor's flat at Diagon Alley. Perhaps you ought to see it someday," he added in an offhand sort of manner.
Cheeks in high color from Master Zabini's scandalous words, Ginny could do nothing but glare at him, wand arm twitching slightly as she imagined him taken by her Bat Bogey Hex.
"I do so love Gryffindor ladies. That rash passion is often quite an asset."
"Oh clear off, Blaise!" Ginny's temper finally got the best of her.
"Now, now," muttered the young Zabini as he sidled up to Ginny, "is that anyway to speak to the son of one's employer?"
"I do apologize," she spat, "but I truly don't see why you feel it necessary to provoke me so!"
"I only do it because I care." Blaise trailed his large, warm hands up Ginny's back and over her shoulders, enfolding her from behind.
"That makes very little sense, Mr. Zabini."
"Well, no matter. I shall give you a chance to make it all up to me," his arrogant mouth whispered against her ear. As his lips trailed down her neck, he continued, "Meet me in the gardens after dinner next eve. Perhaps I might show you the grounds?"
Hesitantly, Ginny agreed, feeling it best to comply with the wishes of her employer's son.
"Good. See you then." Blaise let her go so abruptly that she felt as though Nearly Headless Nick had floated straight through her, so cold was the sensation.
Ginny glared at his retreating form and turned toward the nursery in a huff.
"Ah, the lovely Miss Weasley. Right on time." Blaise had seated himself beneath a gnarled old apple tree near the French doors that led from the ballroom. He stood with some effort, snapping the gold cover of his pocket watch closed. "I had rather hoped my performance in the corridor last afternoon would not deter you."
Ginny stared at him incredulously, wondering if Blaise Zabini was truly apologizing for something. "No, I assure you I am not that delicate. I had six brothers growing up."
"Had?" Blaise offered her his arm, covered in the velvet of his dinner-robes and they set off for the old hedge maze. "Why the past tense, Miss Weasley?"
"I have not been home in a very long while," she admitted. "I grew weary of the poverty and the taunts over their blood treason. My eldest brother married a girl from Beauxbatons. I read in the Daily Prophet that they had a daughter. Charlie is courting a Muggle from the village…"
"Ottery St. Catchpole?" Blaise queried.
"Oh… why yes. You impress me, Mr. Zabini. I do not recall mentioning that."
"You didn't," said he, "but carry on."
"Percy got a job with the Ministry and moved out. I've not seen him in ages, but I don't believe he has been home recently either. The twins run a joke shop at Diagon Alley…"
"Bloody eyesore, that," grumbled Blaise under his breath.
"And…and my brother Ron is dead." Though she made great effort in suppressing it, Ginny's voice still wavered with emotion.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Master Zabini offered automatically. "What happened to him?"
"He died in the war," she sighed heavily. "The Death Eaters killed him while Harry and Hermione destroyed the Horcrux in Hufflepuff's cup."
"I see." Blaise paused. "I see. But why then do you wish to yoke yourself to the very society that killed him?"
"Perhaps if we had not joined with Dumbledore and his motley band, my brother would still be alive."
"Perhaps so, but I simply cannot imagine Prewett descendants joining forces with pureblood society," countered the youth.
"With the Dark Lord, do you mean?" Ginny was careful not to refer to the late wizard as 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.'
Blaise gave a half-chuckle. "Well yes, I suppose. Although I rather think that Death Eaters and Muggle-lovers alike are glad to see him gone. He served our cause well, but there are not many Death Eaters who enjoyed his torture and of course his sadism in general." He paused, recalling the countless times he had seen Voldemort inflict the Cruciatus Curse upon his own followers. "But please accept my condolences for your brother. The Second War only strengthened my belief in the absurdity of such conflicts."
Feeling her eyes sting at the mention of Ron, Ginny cried abruptly, "Oh, let us change the subject! Please, Master Zabini, I've had enough depressing talk for one evening."
He took her gloved hand in his and pulled her behind a large stone monument. "Miss Weasley, I would prefer you to call me Blaise."
Ginny stared at him in utter shock. "You do know that I was ruined by the half-blood Harry Potter himself?" she blurted before seemly restraint took hold of her.
"I heard rumors to that effect my sixth year, but please, do not worry over it on my account. I would expect better from a Slytherin girl, but I always make allowances for Gryffindors. It is a house ruled solely by emotion, I should think. Even the colors, those warm and tawdry hues, speak of ardor and illogic."
"I suppose," murmured Miss Ginevra, though irritation nettled at her breast.
"Oh, do not be insulted!" exclaimed the young wizard in consternation. "I do not mean to speak ill of you, but rather that I understand your indiscretions with Potter. I trust you harbor no tender feelings for him now?"
Coffee eyes averted, she answered: "No, only disappointment and a touch of shame. And anger, naturally. He married poor Ron's fiancée."
"Not Hermione Granger?" inquired Blaise in surprise. "I had always thought the two of you were great friends."
"She was… and I miss her. But she is Muggle-born…" Ginny could not bring herself to call Hermione 'Mudblood.' "…and her husband is a half-blood. I could not associate with that sort now."
Blaise regarded her with a sad sort of amusement. "No, I suppose not."
Miss Ginny grinned wryly at him. "Really, Blaise, you are a depressing sort, are you not? In the space of a half-hour, we've discussed the war and my old friends. Is this what you dragged me out to the gardens for?"
Giving her a rakish grin, he replied, "Certainly not, Miss Weasley," and bent his head slowly and pressed his lips to hers with aching gentleness at first, and, when she deepened the kiss, tangled his fingers in her silky auburn hair.
Ginny was fully aware of his well-muscled form, smelling faintly of vanilla smoke and French cologne, overpowering her small, wiry body. "Oh gods, Blaise," she sighed as his lips found the curve of her shoulder. "But wait!" she pushed him away from her. "You must know that however rashly I acted with Harry, I have no intention of indulging in any more brief flirtations. I've had quite enough of scandal."
"Of course," he answered roughly, seizing her by the arms and crushing his mouth to hers again.
When they finally broke apart, he offered the girl his arm and led her back toward Zabini House.
Just before they parted Ginny called out, "Well, Blaise, I suppose I should give you leave to call me Ginny."