Title: Truth Is

Chapter: 12

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you. Not HBP Compatable

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes:

Bene, sarò maledetto!"Well, I'll be damned!" (Italian)

Naturalmente! Of course! (Italian)

Umm, bad news, I'm in love with Ian Knight LOLso I don't know how this will end. If this does not end happily with BZ/HG together that means it will be a sequel. If this ends happily no sequel or if it ends happily Ian could always come back in the picture. So I don't know right now, I really don't. Please let me know what you think.


"Truth Is"


Chapter 12

(Four Days Later)


"How was your birthday, mate?" Blaise asked, glancing over at the blond as they took a seat on the couches that were nearest the French doors, which had a good view of the city, from in his room.

Draco Malfoy kicked his long legs onto the quaint table in front of him as he prepared to answer. "It went well enough. A month and a half away from you lot, was probably the best part, I spent a lot of time with my mother and Ginny."

"I'm surprised Ginny didn't tell you that your birthday was one day not one month," Blaise chuckled as one of the hotel's house elves brought them their breakfast.

"She attempted," he replied, a look of completely boredom etched on his face, "however, I took the opportunity to explain to her that Malfoy's have always had extended periods of celebration, since the very founding of our family, there is no need to kill tradition now."

"Malfoy," Blaise retorted, taking a short sip of his warm tea, "your birthday was the Jun 5 and today is -- what -- the twenty-second of July!"

Draco dismissed his words with the wave of his hand, sighing loudly before taking a long sip of his coffee. "Forget all the technicalities, the most important thing is that I chose to return."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, as the tiny house elf returned with the lunch they had requested to go along with the drinks, questioning, "As if you were needed here?"

"Oh, don't act as if you don't need me, Blaise," Draco retorted, self-importance filling his very tone, "if not me who would be able to understand all the debauchery and ravenous thoughts that cross your mind?"

Blaise frowned at the slightly stuck-up young man who sat in front of him. "Nice choice of words, Malfoy."

"If they stumped you, Zabini, pick up a dictionary," he retorted, looking down at the plate that the house-elf had placed on the table adjacent to where he sat, "so where is the beautiful Miss Carrington?"

"Shopping," Blaise replied, simply, "we haven't spoken much lately and I thought it would do her good to be away from me."

"Or possibly do you good to be away from her," Draco said, knowingly, choosing not to touch a thing on his plate, his nose rising just a tiny bit at the selections that they attempted to call food.

"Both," he admitted, not wanting to push the subject, "you know that."

"Soo," Draco began, drawing out the word so as to warn his friend that he wasn't through with his prying, "had any more of those mushy heart to hearts with our favorite Bush Baby?"

Blaise raised his eyebrow, holding back his need to laugh, as he picked at his breakfast. "Bush Baby, Malfoy what are you on? They are known for their large eyes not their bushy hair, you dimwit, what is wrong with you today. And no, no I haven't talked to her in quite some time, honestly."

Draco waved him away, chuckling to himself, saying, "I only said that to get your attention. But don't you think it's time? I mean, mate, things with Victoria are clearly over, don't you want her by your side before she does the honorable, Gryffindor, thing and sticks with Ian Knight?"

"What do you know?" Blaise asked, pointedly, looking up at his friend. The previous words of his old friend catching his attention, he wasn't one of the smartest Wizards in the class of 1998 for no reason and he knew that Draco Malfoy never made ignorant comments unless he was trying to catch someone close to him off guard. And all it took was that and the knowledge that he had just spent forty plus days with Ginerva Weasley to sound off the warning bell in his head.

Draco rose his arms in defenselessness, his gray eyes widening, as he exclaimed, "I'm not saying that I do know anything, I'm just saying that you might want to make your move sooner rather than later. That's all, mate."

Blaise glared at him, bending so that his elbows rested on his knees and he leaning toward Draco, his countenance intimidating the haughty Malfoy, growling, "What do you know, Malfoy?"

"I heard from a very reliable source," Malfoy began carefully, his cool quickly breaking under Blaise's heated stare, "nothing specific but I hear she's contemplating living up to her Gryffindor honor, Ginny let something slip about a talk with biggest Gryffindor mascot of all time -"

"Harry Potter," they both spat the same time.


Hermione stood at the doorway of a spacious flat not many miles from her hotel with the faintest feeling of apprehension settling at the pit of her stomach. She couldn't have told anyone what had possessed her to rise with the sun, take her breakfast down in the dining room, and vacate the hotel at exactly half past eight traveling in the direction of this very apartment. She thought back on her morning expedition, looking down at her watch as she waited on the willowy voice to approach the door. She frowned, thoughtfully, wondering if the ten-year-old morning person she remembered had turned into a late-sleeping twenty-year-old.

"Hullo," came a soft voice, thickly accented as the door came flying open and the thin brunette came into sight, "my I help you?'

Hermione smiled, at a loss for words, did she interrupt something? And suddenly she just began to babble, her embarrassment magnified greatly by this brunette beauty whose green eyes twinkled with kindness. "Oh, gods, this must be the wrong door! I must be daft to come visiting at such an early hour, I'm sure he's not even awake, even if this was Marco's flat. Do accept my apologies -- "

"This is Marc's flat," the brunette replied, with a giggle, amazed at how quickly that halted the other woman's talking.

"Oh, wow," Hermione mumbled, her embarrassment magnified, "well, I guess I could ask if he's in."

The other woman only had time to laugh before a tall, Adonis of a young man came stepping beside her still chewing on a bagel, asking as he approached, "Who is it darling? My damnable brother isn't back is he? I told him earlier that he ought to be working -- good morning?"

"Blaise is working," she said simply, the feeling in the pit of her easing as she replaced the sight of the handsome man with her memory of a bright eyed ten-year-old that she had feel in love with the moment they met. Marco had been his brother's shadow and Hermione had seen so much of Blaise in him that she couldn't disconnect her adoration for the younger man. "At least, I think he is."

"Hermione?" Marco exclaimed, his eyes widening, as he bounded out the door, stilling holding his bagel high, and pulled her petite frame into a hug. "Bene, sarò maledetto!"

"Marco, Marco, Marco! What is this?" she beamed, as he pulled away and she was given time to look the handsome young man over. "My how you've grown up."

"Yea," he chuckled, giving himself time to look her over as well, "I'm in Mediwizard training now, my life is no longer just about being a Zabini heir."

"A Mediwizard? I never thought," Hermione said, as he took her hand as guided her through the door and just as she crossed the threshold she caught glimpse of the brunette who had answered the door. "Marco, do you want to introduce your friend?"

"Oh, gods, Hermione, yea," Marco sighed, flustered, as they turned to the tall, small framed young woman, "Hermione, is this my girlfriend, Amara Xanthopoulos, and Amara, this is Hermione Granger, and old family friend."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Hermione," Amara said with a smile, as the two women shook hands.

"It's a pleasure, Amara," Hermione replied, all apprehension gone, suddenly Marco began to lead them toward the couches.

"Would you like some coffee, tea, or I think we have some pumpkin juice, too?" Amara asked, while Marco and Hermione sat down, before she made her way back to the kitchen.

"No thanks, I've already had breakfast," came Hermione's polite reply.

"Some coffee, babe, if you don't mind?" Marco asked, as he finished off the bagel in his hand.

"I don't mind," Amara replied with a chuckle as she dismissed herself and made her way to the kitchen.

"Marco Manuel Zabini," she gushed, as she looked over at the boy now man who sat before her, "apparently three years is too long."

"It's certainly has been a long time," Marco replied, finally giving her the once over, taking in everything from her domesticated hair to the curve of her calf muscle as it compensated for the pumps she wore, "I'm sure Antonia would scold me for my lack of social etiquette but you look good, thinner, but good."

Hermione chuckled at the mention of the oldest, and most uptight, Zabini sibling; Antonia was such a stickler for social propriety that most people thought the Zabini's to be some ancient royal Italian family. "Oh, I think even Antonia would understand right now."

"Papa, told me that you worked for the Ministry and the ICW in Britain," Marco stated as he conjured up a napkin to clean his fingers of the remains of the eaten bagel.

"Yes," Hermione sighed, not wanting to think of it anymore than she had too, "well, at the turn of the year I had no idea that I'd be doing all of this, quite honestly."

"That's what Blaise said," he replied, quickly finishing wiping off his hands, deciding it was best to change the subject, "you know, I met your fiancé."

"Ian?" Hermione questioned, unbuttoning the three buttons on her blazer. "What ever for?"

"Well," began Marco as Amaya brought him his cup of coffee and then proceeded to excuse herself to the kitchen to finish work for one of her courses, "I met Ian and his father, Walton --"

"Walter," she corrected quickly.

"That's right, Walter," he chuckled, as he continued on, "because I'm doing my internship and residency at St. Mungo's and apparently Ian heads up the selection for the new candidates. He's quite a nice guy actually."

"Why England? Spain has some of the best Wizarding Medical research facilities in the world and I know any hospital in Italy would love to have one of their own working there," Hermione asked, as he began to fix his coffee exactly to his liking.

"Honestly, I chose England because of Blaise," Marco answered, before taking a long sip of his coffee, "I've been in Spain two years, none of my family lives here and going home to Italy would be going home to the hierarchy. First will always be Blaise because he's the oldest living son and then there is Antonia and Sienna, according to society, leaving me to a quiet, respectful, nod. No thank you, I chose St. Mungo's because my brother would be there and I figured we could make our own Zabini legacy in Britain."

"I do understand that," she replied, with a smile, remembering the Marco of old, the one whom that 'social hierarchy' had rendered almost silent, "I like the idea of you working for Mungo's, I'm sure you'll love it, it's one of the oldest and most advanced hospitals in the world."

"Yea, that's what I keep trying to tell Amara," Marco replied, causing a questing gaze from Hermione, "she wants to return to Greece and practice."

"Oh," moaned Hermione, biting her lip, "and you've applied to work in Britain."

"Exactly," came his reply, before bringing the cup to his lips again, "but then again things may work out, we'll just have to wait and see."

"Ever the optimist, eh?" she quipped, her eyes taking in the perfectly arranged room around her and saw the distinct markings of a well-brought up wizard.

Marco chuckled, his soft brown eyes giving her the most enchanting look that she had ever recieved from a non-romantic acquaintance. "Naturalmente! You see, I learned it from this girl I met when I was ten and I believe she was seventeen."

Hermione smiled, her mind wondering back to that warm spring morning when she had first laid eyes to last of Cara Zabini's sons, chuckling to herself, "My how things do change."


"What's going on?" Blaise asked, as he stood at the threshold of the bedroom, glancing around at the open luggage and the piles of clothing that were littering the bed and every hard surface to be seen.

Victoria glanced up at him as she pointed her wand at a drawer causing it's contents to spill into the small handbag that she held. "What does it look like, Blaise."

"You can't be leaving, Vicky," Blaise stated, as he stepped into the room, opening one of her closed bags when he reached the bed. "You said you would stay through the trip to Spain."

Victoria glared at him, cursing his use of the nickname that hadn't been used in three years and quickly zipped the bag in her hand before saying, "Honestly, Blaise, I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

"Victoria, why now? Why not wait until Hartley can make a formal statement to the press and do major damage control, for both of us?" he asked, quickly taking the folded clothes from the bag that he had opened and sitting them back on the bed.

"Stop that," she hissed, pushing him away from the luggage and placing her clothes back in it, "Conrad Hartley couldn't do enough damage control to make me want to stay. I am so sick and tired of doing things your way, I'm making this move on my own!"

"Conrad could make your move back to the States a whole lot easier, Victoria," Blaise replied, running his fingers through his hair. As he watched her scurry around the room, her blond locks flying about her, he wondered would it be so bad if he let this personal matter be made by him and not his Minister of the Press.

"Nothing could make going home easier, Blaise," Victoria snapped, looking up at him only long enough to send a nasty glare at him, "we still failed and I'm going to have to look my daddy in the eye and tell him I was wrong and that he was right, that you and I could never work."

"Please, Vicky," Blaise begged, calling upon an old familiarity that the two had lost early into their relationship, "for me, just stay for me. I really need the public on my side right now, my poll numbers are bad enough as it is!"

"Stop calling me that!" she growled, halting only long enough to throw a pillow his way. "Blaise, do you know how selfish you sound? If I stay and you make the announcement I'll look like the bad guy and if I leave now, making no personal statement, the blame won't be placed on anyone."

"Victoria, I know it's going to be hard with the media circus that this is going to create but we have to do this the right way, the mature way," he said, as he leaned on the tall Cherry wood vanity.

"So the right way just has to benefit you? Bull, Blaise, utter bullshit! I'm so tired of living by your rules, can't you do something for me for once?" Victoria asked, halting her packing to bring her blue eyes to his troubled countenance.

Blaise bit his bottom lip as he searched her baby blue's for something that he had no name for. He crossed his arms over his chest, took a deep breath and asked, "Where are you staying tonight?"

"I'm apparating to my sisters home in New Orleans and then tomorrow I'm flooing to my daddy's estate in Texas," she whispered, looking down long enough to fold the robes that lay slain messily atop the pillows.

"Vicky," he began, sincerely, running his hand over his chin, "you do deserve to leave with your dignity. So when the time comes say whatever it is that you need to say, truth or otherwise."

"Thank you," she answered softly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips, wishing that she didn't think him so handsome when he was brooding, "but all I'll ever say is that things didn't work out the way we wanted them too, nothing more. Because I truly wanted this to work, Blaise, I truly did."

"I know you did," Blaise retorted, with a pained sigh, "and I'm sorry that I couldn't be who you wanted me to be."

"Don't apologize now, Blaise," Victoria replied, her voice full of scorn, as she closed an open drawer beside her, "it's far too late for either of us to be repentant for the wrongs we've committed. Now it's time to deal with them."

Blaise approached her, for the first time in months, without the urge to shake her, he stood next to her, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes washed over her unblemished face and her perfect figure, wondering why things couldn't have been different. He reached up to touch her cheek, watching as her eyes softened and she visibly took a sudden breath, he could remember the first time he'd noticed her attraction to him, four years before. She had been just child when they had began this game, at 18 she had been beautiful and sensual in ways that she was just beginning to understand and somehow Blaise had fallen under her spell, somehow he feared he had ruined her.

Blaise had a multitude of things pouring through his brain, after three years of living a lie, he had an encyclopedia of things he had been waiting to say when this very moment came. Yet, all he could bring himself to say was one sentence that would never be enough. "I hope you get your happy ending, Victoria Carrington."

"Me too, Blaise," she whispered, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears as his hand fell from her cheek and she thought that it would be last time that she'd ever feel his touch upon her skin, "me too."


"Hermione," Ian said stiffly, as he entered the room, removing his robes as he walked past her while she sat the wide mahogany desk in the living area.

"Ian," she replied, looking up at him, noticing the frustration straight away, she watched him silently as his jaw visibly jumped.

Ian stopped mid-stride, turning his sandy brown eyes to her, defeat written all over his face. He sighed and bit the bottom of his lip while he began to loosen the tie around his neck. He stared at her a moment before he spoke, "I'm tired of fighting, Liebe."

"I am too," Hermione answered, laying her quill on the parchment and giving him her full attention.

Ian pulled his tie off, tracing the faint lines with his fingers, as he said, "I feel like every time I say something to you or you say something to me it's going to spark an argument. And I don't like us being like that, it's not us, Liebe."

"I wish," she began, lowering her lashes in response to something akin to guilt, "I could say this wasn't my fault. I wish I could blame this on someone else or something else but I can't, Ian, I'm sorry."

Suddenly a smile came over Ian's statuesque features, the corner of his perfect lips lifting just enough to carry it to his eyes. He reached her within a moment and he took her strong chin in his hand, gazing into her eyes as he said, "You are beautiful, Liebe."

"Don't, Ian, please," she groaned, more like whined, trying her best to rescue herself from the cauldron of emotions that the man could evoke from her.

"Do what?" he asked, tracing his thumb across the sensitive skin of her bottom lip.

"Look at me like we haven't been angry with each other for the past three weeks," Hermione demanded, as she fought to control her composure and reached up to grab his wrist before he could trace her lip again.

Ian chuckled, like she was nothing more than a child and he hadn't just had the threat of defeat in his eyes. "We may have been fighting but I still loved you, no matter what happened, you know that."

Hermione frowned, she rose to attempt to face him on a level ground but that was impossible because without her pumps she was just two inches past five foot and Ian was more than a foot taller than she was. She gazed up into in his eyes and wondered how she could feel so torn, so confused. They had something so good that she could barely believe it to be true and she actually had thoughts about giving it up for something that had already burned her once. He brought both his hands up to rest on her arms, pulling her a little closer when she spoke, "I don't deserve you."

"Nonsense, Liebe," he replied, with a grin, leaning in to kiss her on the forehead, "you deserve everything you want. So talk to me, what do you want? Be honest . . . there is nothing you could say that would make me love you any less."

Hermione's eyes widened as she searched his face for some hint of deception, she found none, sighing, she realized that she never had. "Ian, when I was at Hogwarts all I wanted was to find someone to love who would love me back. And now I fear – I fear that I've found two someone's."

The look on his face didn't change, he didn't let her go, but his eyes softened and a sudden sadness filled his eyes, a sadness that Hermione had never seen before. And suddenly she felt weaker than she would ever admit, a Gryffindor woman was never one to be a weeping damsel in distress but that look in Ian's eyes honestly made her want to weep. "Liebe, if I returned to England . . . would it make your dilemma easier?"

"My mind and my heart are saying different things, Ian," she whispered, the first tear making it's trek down her cheek, causing him to pull her near, "my mind says if I get away from both of you I could figure this out but my heart, my heart, Ian, says that I don't want to be here without you."

"I just want you to be happy," he spoke gently, running his fingers through the tamed curls that hung down her shoulders, "and I would leave if that is what it takes."

"If I knew what would make this better, I would tell you," Hermione sighed, wrapping her arms around him, relaxing as she snuggled in the warmth of his arms, "I don't want to be unfair to you."

"I know you don't," Ian replied, kissing the top of her head as he attempted to keep himself in check, he had never imagined that hearing her say it would pain him so, "I would end it right now if I thought all of this was deliberate."

She looked up, closing her eyes once she found that she could see nothing more than his throat and the tip of his chin, asking, "Do you honestly want to be with me, Ian?"

"Liebe," he whispered, the resolve in his voice breaking as he tightened his hold on her, "I want to be with you so much it hurts."