AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey you stinking Beezlebubs. This is your jezebel speaking. Whazzup? Newfound colloquialism located in my body's hard-drive. Annoying, yet acutely amusing. Enough with that. Here's the fearful, loathe, dreaded third chapter. That's right, run for your virtual lives. It's here. So, sit back, relax, and let the madness and chaotically one-dimensional characters and structurally-retarded plot line deliver you into the hands of the worst brain aneurism you're likely to ever have.

It's a doozy.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine if it belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Mistaken Liaisons

Chapter Three: The Meating

Two hours later, Draco finally stretched and glanced at the kitchen clock. It was an odd clock with two hands, but on the end of one hand was a picture of Blaise and at the end of the other was a picture of some girl; Draco supposed it was his roommate.

"I should probably get going, then." He said, turning back to Blaise. Blaise furrowed his brow. "Where are you going to go?" he asked curiously. Draco shrugged. "Back to the inn, I guess. I've been looking for a job, but no one wants to hire a former Death Eater. Loads of people still believe I am a Death Eater." He exhaled heavily through his nose, standing.

Blaise stood as well and blocked the doorway. "In that case, you're not going anywhere. You're staying here with us." He said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Draco arched an eyebrow, eyes wandering to the back of the flat, which had been eerily quiet for the past two hours.

Blaise followed his gaze. "She won't mind…well," he paused, thinking "she might…no, she probably will…but even if she does, she's far too in love with me to say no." he put on a wide-eyed, innocent and yet sensual face that had led him through the knickers of almost half the population of Hogwarts. Draco snickered heartily, remembering the puddles of girls that had resulted from that look back in Hogwarts. "You sure?" he asked, heart beating irregularly; he had no inn to go back to.

Blaise shrugged. "You can camp in my room; I'll take the couch." Draco moved to protest but Blaise held up a silencing hand. "I sleep there all the time when people come and stay with us. Besides, though you're the biggest bastard I've ever met (and remember, I used to be involved in politics, so that's saying something) you're Slytherin. I insist," he added, as Draco opened his mouth to say something.

Draco smirked somewhat stiffly. "Thanks, mate." Blaise grinned back, a little uneasily. "Don't thank me just yet. You haven't met my roommate yet. She's not the easiest person to live with." He said carefully, just in case she was listening in on their conversation…he wouldn't put it past her.

Draco arched an eyebrow sophisticatedly. It was a trick all Slytherins learned if they weren't already schooled in the fine art of elegance. "Who is she?" he asked curiously. "Do I know her?"

Blaise shifted restlessly, his dark gaze skewering the doorway to the back of the flat, as if staring hard enough would enable him to see through the woodwork. "Erm…you might." He said shiftily. Draco was immediately suspicious. "She went to Hogwarts, didn't she?" he asked. Blaise nodded.

"Please tell me you're not expecting me to share a flat with the filthy Mudblood." Draco pleaded. Blaise snorted, half with humour, half with relief. "No, no. It's not her. No, she wasn't in our year, so you might not remember her…" Blaise was wondering if this was a good idea; he knew perfectly well that Draco knew her.

"Well, who is it?" Draco asked impatiently. Blaise's eyes darted to the back of the apartment again. "Erm, it's…er…well…" he wondered what was making him so nervous; she would understand. Draco should understand; they were both adults now…

"Iknowit'sstrangebutmyroommate'sginevraweasley." Blaise mumbled unintelligibly under his breath. Draco blinked. "What?" he asked. Blaise took a deep breath. This is ridiculous, man. He was your best friend, she is your best friend, they're both grown, mature adults, they can handle this one thing, there's no need to get so uptight.

He took a deep breath. "I know it's strange and you're going to think I'm completely insane, but my roommate's Ginevra Weasley." He said steadily.

Silence.

"WHAT!"

…

Ginny flinched as someone shouted from the living room. She wiped her running nose and eyes, trying to fix the red streak that had jumped across her canvas at the sudden noise.

After a few seconds fruitless struggle, she gave it up and began to integrate the streak into the picture. It was not a happy picture; slashes and swirls and dark clouds sprinkling droplets of rain-paint all over the half-finished canvas.

She was in one of her moods again. Temperamental as hell, she earned the title of Weasley. When she was really pissed she shouted and fumed and screamed, but never cried. Crying was something she'd gotten over after years with six rough older brothers, as well as delicacy and her timidity, much to her mother's disapproval.

But when she was upset, she went to her canvases. She had dozens; small ones, medium ones, long ones, square ones, every shape and size; she got whatever she could afford. Right now she was rather depressed and moody for no good reason and that made her even angrier; she left Blaise alone because she was sure she'd lash out at him and that was just something she didn't want to do.

Oddly enough, even with six older brothers, all their significant others and children, childhood friends, school friends, and friends from her work, Blaise was Ginny's best mate. Everyone thought it strange; a man and a woman best friends.

Ginny had just managed to smear blue paint across her cheek and was trying to wipe it off when another loud explosion of human noise detonated in the living room. Curious and pushed out of her depressed funk, she quietly pushed the door handle down and slid out the door.

She tip-toed down the narrow hall, avoiding spots she knew where the floorboards creaked, and stopped just short of the doorway leading to the living room. She could hear two voices, both male. She knew one was Blaise and listened interestedly and brazenly at the door, tuning into the conversation.

"Are you insane?" that was the alien voice, yet it struck a chord in Ginny somewhere; she knew that voice, but it didn't match up to any that she recalled. She heard Blaise snort. "Well, yeah." He scoffed. Ginny felt herself grinning; dried paint at the corner of her mouth cracking as her lips twisted up.

"Of course you are, but honestly Zabini? A Weasley? That little scraggly carrot-headed bean sprout that worshipped Potter and feared her own shadow? However do you manage?" Ginny bristled, almost baring her teeth. There was only one voice, one person, one complete and utter bastard who could manage to form her name with such a banging level of disgust.

She strode into the room, head held high on her strong neck, looking absolutely composed and haughty for someone with yellow paint halfway up her right nostril.

"Hullo, Malfoy. Care for a spot of tea?"