Diagon Alley was different in the late afternoon than it had been in the morning. The sun had shifted in the sky enough to cast long shadows from the buildings but was still up enough to give everything a warm glow. Gone were most of the harried shoppers, and nearly all the children were gone as well; instead, well-dressed adults were walking the streets leisurely as if they hadn't a care in the world. Hermione looked around with interest, her bag of books and school supplies swinging at her side as she walked.
"Where did these people all come from?" she asked Blaise. "Most of the shops are closing now, aren't they?"
"A lot of them are," Blaise confirmed. "These are just people out to go for dinner or entertainment, I suspect."
Hermione blinked. "It's not even five o'clock."
Blaise smirked. "What's the point of dressing your best for dinner if you don't take a bit of a stroll beforehand so everyone can see how good you look?"
Hermione rolled her eyes.
It was easy to see that these people were more the upper crust of the wizarding world. The robes were exquisitely tailored and detailed, and they were made from fabrics that looked expensive. Hermione's green robes were very nice, sure, but they were nothing next to the elegant green silk robes of a nearby witch, strolling along on the arm of a wizard wearing a cloak of blue velvet.
"I half expect to see the women strolling along with parasols," Hermione murmured, watching.
Blaise shot her a befuddled look. "What's a parasol?"
Hermione laughed but shook her head, and Blaise shrugged and let it drop. He guided her around the corner near Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, and Hermione stopped short at the street spilling out in front of her.
"…what's this?"
Blaise gave her a funny look. "Horizont Alley."
Hermione stared at him. "…you're not serious?"
"Did you think Diagon Alley was all the wizarding world had to offer?" Blaise asked her, now looking amused. "You never ventured past all the shops down here?"
"No," Hermione admitted. "This is… this is beautiful."
While Diagon Alley had charming shops and storefronts, Horizont Alley seemed much more laid back than its counterpoint. There were charming dining areas set out on the street in front of restaurants, all of which looked much nicer than the Leaky Cauldron. There were shops still on this street too, but they looked different – classier, fancier. Twilfitt and Tattings looked more like a chic boutique than the general all-purpose robes of Madame Malkin's. Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment looked considerably more specialized and higher-scale than any of the other shops she had seen selling wizarding devices. And… was that a theater, there?
"Come on," Blaise said, taking her hand and pulling her along.
He rounded another corner, and the street opened up into a large square. Blaise took her over to an outdoor seating area in front of a large place called The Hopping Pot.
"Here," he said. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
He vanished into the building, and Hermione used the chance to look around.
The large square seemed nice, Hermione evaluated – not quite as busy and as frantic as Diagon Alley, but also not as trendy and upscale as Horizont Alley. A nearby sign declared the square 'Carkitt Market', and not for the first time, Hermione wondered at the wizarding world's odd trends in naming things. There were many people strolling around, several of them stopping to chat with acquaintances around the square as they encountered each other. It felt like something out a period piece.
"Here."
Hermione turned to see Blaise returning, carrying two cups with him. He sat down across from her and pushed one across to her. The cup was warm in her hands, and the liquid inside smelled sweet.
"What's this?" Hermione asked.
"Warm butterbeer," Blaise told her. "It's good – different from the cold kind, but still very good."
Hermione had never heard of butterbeer before, let alone tried the cold kind. The liquid was warm and sweet, and it reminded her strongly of hot cocoa, only instead of chocolate, this was flavored with butterscotch. Hermione took another slow sip, letting the warmth spread through her throat and chest before putting the cup back down.
"Thank you. This is really good," Hermione said, and Blaise grinned.
"It is, isn't it?" Blaise said. "I prefer it to the cold kind, actually."
Blaise was much more relaxed around her now than he had been in school and in Flourish and Blotts, Hermione noted. He smiled easier, with actual grins instead of just smirks, and he seemed looser, less formal. She wondered if Blaise ever felt stifled by needing to behave in a very particular way in school and in Slytherin. She knew she did, and she often took refuge in relaxing around Harry and Neville, but she didn't know if Blaise had any friends not in Slytherin he could relax with.
"So," Hermione said finally, idly stirring her drink. "I'm officially under your protection now, am I?"
She was half-expecting Blaise to sit up and grow more formal. Offers of protection in pureblood society were not a thing tossed about lightly. But to her surprise, Blaise offered her a lazy smirk.
"Do you want to be?" he teased.
He winked, and Hermione flushed, prompting a laugh from him.
"Relax, Hermione," he told her, smiling. "It doesn't have to be some big production. I mean, it can if you want it to be, but it doesn't need to be."
"Are you even authorized to make such an offer?" Hermione said, giving him a look. "From what I understand, these things involve the heads of families."
"I'm the head of the Zabini line," Blaise told her, quirking an eyebrow. "My Father died when I was two, you know. And the Zabini line is patriarchal. I mean, my mother's functionally the head right now while I'm underage, but officially, I am."
Hermione's first instinct was to offer him her sympathies for the loss of his father, only to remember that his mother had probably poisoned his father and caused his death. She doubted Blaise would want to address something so charged in public.
"Are some lines not patriarchal?" Hermione questioned.
Blaise shrugged. "Sure. Not many of them, granted, but some are matriarchal. The Shafiq family is the highest-standing one that I know of. I think the Bones too, maybe?" He considered a moment, before shooting her a smirk. "And, presumably, yours."
Hermione smirked, and Blaise smirked back. She liked that he knew her well enough to know she'd never give up her name for anyone else. Not after she was so determined to establish the name of Granger as its own Great House.
"So we're both the heads of our respective families," Blaise said, shrugging. "If you wanted to do a formal protection thing, we could. Or we can keep it loose and informal."
Hermione got the impression that Blaise generally preferred keeping things looser than the other purebloods of Slytherin. "What would that mean?"
"I mean, I'd still watch out for you, same as a formal agreement," Blaise said, "but I'd do it because I want to, not because of a formal magical agreement between two houses. There wouldn't be any magical consequences if I didn't try to protect you, like there would be with a formal thing, but then you also wouldn't have to swear fealty to House Zabini in order to be under its protection."
Hermione pulled back with a scowl. "Swear fealty? To you?"
Blaise smirked. "I didn't think you'd like that part."
Hermione considered, weighing the matter in her mind.
"We're both underage, so I'm not even sure if we can legally enter into binding agreements," she told him. "I think it's best we keep this informal, at least for now–"
"No problem by me," Blaise said with a smirk.
"–but it will be a mutual agreement," Hermione told him. "If I'm under your protection, you have to be under mine."
"I'll be under you anytime, Hermione," Blaise flirted, prompting a laugh from Hermione even as her face colored.
"No – really. Blaise, I don't need you to protect me—"
"That's not what Potter said," Blaise muttered.
"—so if we're going to do this, it will be as equals," Hermione informed him. "I will watch out for you, if you watch out for me."
"That's not really an offer of protection then though," Blaise argued. "That's more of an alliance."
"Then we'll be in an alliance of sorts," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "If we still protect each other, does the terminology really matter? Or just the end result?"
Blaise looked like he was wanted to object again. Hermione bit her lip, before trying a different tactic.
"Besides, we wouldn't call it an alliance, Blaise," she said softly, looking up to meet his eyes with hers. "We'd call it 'being friends'."
Blaise's eyes widened slightly, before his face softened.
"Alright, Hermione," he said with a sigh. He gave her a look. "But this means you have to tell me if you get seriously bullied again."
"Fine by me," she said, satisfied. Hermione had no problems with that. If she could have someone to count on when going up against those who had bullied her, she'd be much less likely to come out such an incident half-bloodied and weak.
"Blaise!"
A voice called out from across the market, and Blaise's back went ramrod straight. He let out a low groan, and Hermione gave him a quizzical look as she turned to see who had called out to him.
An absolutely striking woman was approaching him, a smile on her lips. Her robes were stunning, a deep violet velvet embroidered with small floral designs in silver thread, and they fit her in a very flattering fashion before flaring at the hips. She wore her hair loose in shining black waves down her back. Her eyes were a deep purple, and Hermione's eyes flickered back and forth from Blaise's face to the woman's, cataloguing the similar shape of their eyes, the identical slopes of their noses, and their black, wavy hair.
Blaise stood, reluctant. Hermione stood a moment afterward.
"Mother, may I present to you Miss Hermione Granger?" he said, gesturing. "Hermione is one of my classmates in Slytherin. Hermione, may I present my mother, Elora Zabini."
Hermione swept her a curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Zabini."
"Miss Granger," the woman said. She gave Hermione an evaluating look, taking in her hair and robes. "Are you and my son close?"
Hermione hesitated, not sure how to answer that.
"I would count Blaise among my closest friends," she told her honestly. "I was thrilled to run into him at Flourish and Blott's. As much as I treasure his letters, they still don't quite compare to talking to him in person."
The woman's eyes widened, a mischievous sparkle lighting them up.
"So you're who he's been writing to all summer," she said, with no little satisfaction.
Blaise groaned. "Mum—"
"Hush, Blaise," she told him. "You have been so wrapped up trading secret letters all summer without telling me who they were for. I'm not about to miss the opportunity to get to better know your new friend."
Blaise's face flamed, and he looked down at the table while his mother took the seat to his left. Hermione sat back down on her side of the table cautiously, not quite sure what she was getting into.
"So, you are Hermione Granger," his mother prompted. "Of the Dagworth-Grangers?"
"I'm afraid not, Ms. Zabini," Hermione said. "I'm not—"
The beautiful woman cut her off with a wave of her hand, before giving her a beautifully puzzled look.
"Mizz?" she questioned. "What is Mizz?"
"Ah," Hermione said, faltering. "It's… it's a title of respect for a woman that doesn't depend on her marital state."
Ms. Zabini continued to look politely puzzled, and Hermione elaborated, hesitant.
"The title 'Miss' is only used when a woman is unmarried," she said. "And 'Mrs.' is only appropriate when a woman is married. The title 'Ms.' is used for a woman regardless of her marital status." She paused. "It's especially useful when you don't know what other term of address would be appropriate for a woman, or if you prefer not to define women by their relationships with men."
Ms. Zabini stared at her for a long moment, before she began to laugh. Her laughter was rich and charming, and Hermione felt a stab of jealousy. She wished she sounded like that when she laughed, instead of like some weird human-hyena hybrid like she sometimes feared.
"Oh, I like this one," Ms. Zabini declared to her son. Blaise's face reddened further, and he sank lower down in his chair. Ms. Zabini turned back to Hermione. "Anyway, you were saying…"
"Ah, that I'm not of the Dagworth-Grangers, ma'am," Hermione replied. "Just the Grangers."
Ms. Zabini tilted her head. "Is that a branch family?"
"It's not, mother," Blaise groaned. "Mum, just leave it."
Ms. Zabini raised her eyebrows. "A half-blood, then," she said, dismissive.
"New Blood, actually," Hermione corrected, taking a deep breath to settle her irritation. "If we must discuss such crass things as bloodlines in the open streets."
"'Crass'?" Ms. Zabini said, giving Hermione a sharp look.
"I was under the impression you were interested in meeting your son's new friend, not in determining her breeding potential," Hermione shot back.
Ms. Zabini recoiled, as if stung. "I was only inquiring after your heritage—"
"You were, until you presumed to remark I must be a half-blood," Hermione said, her voice strong. "There is a decided difference between asking because you think you might be familiar with someone's family, and presuming certain things about them based on something so arbitrary as blood."
Hermione held Ms. Zabini's gaze steadily. Neither of them faltered.
"Hermione is a New Blood, mother," Blaise said quietly from her side. "She's the first of her line."
Ms. Zabini broke away to look at Blaise, frowning. "First of her line?"
"She's to be the founder of the Granger House," Blaise said. "Magic itself touched her directly. There's a prophecy about it and everything."
Mrs. Zabini turned back to Hermione, her gaze now calculating.
"I've never heard of a New Blood before," she said.
"I'm not surprised, Ms. Zabini," Hermione said blandly. "There hasn't been one for centuries, after all."
"But you claim you are-?"
"I broke Dumbledore's Transfiguration record my first day of classes," Hermione said, smiling wanly. "I earned the highest marks in my class this year. I'm not just claiming anything, Ms. Zabini – I'm declaring."
A family at a nearby table got up and left next to them, and the young child haphazardly tossed its cup in the direction of the trash bin, uncaring that it missed. Hermione scowled, and with a gesture, the cup flew up and into the trash can. Hermione despised it when people littered.
"Hermione's been sorted into Slytherin," Blaise stressed. "Slytherin, mother. You don't really think the Sorting Hat would sort her there if she were just some Muggle-born, do you?"
Hermione highly doubted she was the only person with Muggle parents to ever be sent to Slytherin. She suspected ones who had gone before her claimed to be halfbloods - the result of illicit affairs with wizards, perhaps. But if Blaise wanted to presume, he could.
Ms. Zabini was looking thoughtful, her eyes on the cup Hermione had thrown away.
"I have never heard of such a thing before," she said slowly, "but that does not mean it does not exist. And my son seems quite taken with you."
She settled a brilliant smile on Hermione, and Hermione felt her breath taken away. No wonder Blaise's mother had managed to snag seven husbands, even with her history – she was truly beautiful, the kind of beauty that men sailed ships for and went to war over.
"Now," Ms. Zabini said, smiling, her eyes sparkling and devious. "Do tell me about what all my son gets up to in school."