Updates, updates . . . I'm so bad at this! Why am I so bad at this? Anyways, here is Chapter 11. Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven: I'm Dying to Meet You

Ginny grins at me through the gloom, the noise of the party merely a faint background from this secluded alcove. Somehow her grin feels warming. For a second it's like time is frozen, like I could just stay here forever, but then . . . then everything I've done, every way that I've failed, and every bridge that I've burned plunges into me like a knife to the stomach. Suddenly it's all I can do not to bolt.

Closing my eyes, I slide to the floor and try to keep myself together, to keep this polished and crisp exterior that I've fought so hard for intact. I shove my fingers through my curls and cling to them as if my life depends on it. I focus on something else instead: I focus on heat. I begin to push away everything. I push away the anxiety, the hurt, the fear, the depression, the guilt, and even the happiness I felt only a moment ago. I focus on pain, the searing pain that heat causes, the red-hot throbbing pain that follows you long after your skin burns. I focus on the colors of the flames, then set my attention to the hottest part of the flame: the blue. In my mind's eye I see a great blue flame surrounding my vision, flickering and forcing itself further and further—

"Woah." I open my eyes to see Ginny gaping at me. Following her gaze, I notice that my hand is glowing with blue light, steam curling up from it in faint wisps. In an instant it's gone, but it was there: it was real.

"I didn't know I could do that," I breathe, my hand still stretched in front of me.

"But you were trying to do it." Ginny shakes her head. It takes a lot of effort to cast wandless magic, and Ginny no doubt knows this.

"Not exactly," I clarify quickly, "I was trying to clear my mind." I find myself looking at the floor, almost afraid to meet her gaze.

"You really are depressed, aren't you?"

"Pardon," I ask, jerking my head up in surprise.

"Hermione: she said that she thought you might be. Said that she could tell just by looking at you. You and Draco both, actually. I guess it isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"What isn't all it's cracked up to be?" This conversation took a quick turn towards me and my problems.

"You know what I'm talking about."

She stares at my forearm, the place that we both know my Dark Mark lies.

"Yeah," I admit slowly, "I know what you're talking about."

Ginny wastes no time with her next statement: "So . . . are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Depressed?"

I sigh softly. There's just no beating around the bush with this girl.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Oh." It's Ginny who looks away from me this time.

Suddenly I stand up and hold out my arm. I don't for the life of me know what's compelling me to do this, but the next words that come out of my mouth cannot be mistaken.

"Dance with me."

"What?"

"Will you, Ms. Ginerva Weasley do me, Mr. Blaise Zabini, the honor of this dance?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Blaise. We need to talk about this! We need to talk about you."

Funny, because my personal life is the last thing I want to talk about, I find myself thinking.

"Ginny—" I begin before she cuts me off.

"—I know, I know. One year, at the start of next school year. But what if . . . what if it can't wait that long?"

"Please, Ginny, let me do this. If it's a mistake . . . just . . ." I trail off, losing whatever words I was about to say. The truth is that she's right. The truth is that it can't wait that long; that I'm unraveling at the seams. The truth is . . . complicated.

Before I can say anything else—if I was going to at all—Ginny shoots me a sharp look, takes my hand, and stands. She curtseys awkwardly and nearly falls over during the attempt. I think she's trying to follow pureblood etiquette.

I laugh out loud for a second before I remember that I'm hiding and slap my hand over my mouth.

"What?" Ginny demands.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just that you don't have to do all that. I really don't care about pureblood tradition. Joining the Sacred Twenty-Eight? That was always mother's thing."

"Blaise?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't dance with you."

"Okay." I take a step back and turn to take my leave from the alcove, not entirely sure what else to do when one's fellow party outcast rejects their offer for a dance

"Are you really that daft," she mutters, pulling me back by the elbow, "I can't hear the music, so I can't dance with you. Now, if you would follow me outside of this alcove—"

"—Nope, no way. I already explained why I can't be seen with you."

"Come on! Please? Can't I just make Harry jealous this one time? I'll bet even Hermione's doing a better job than me, and I practically had to drag her to get her to come at all. Don't tell me that someone dragged you into this?"

"Well . . ."

"Seriously? Who?"

"Theo."

"Theo, Theo, Theo . . . Theodore Nott," she questions, her eyebrow raised skeptically as though I were hanging out with the Dark Lord himself.

"That's the one."

"Seriously?"

"No, I'm lying to you."

"Are you?" Ginny makes the ugliest face I've seen in a long time.

"No, of course not. Not really the lying type. Charades? Yes. Flat-out in-your-face lying? That I don't like to do."

"I'm still not dancing with you."

"I kind of figured that. Oh well, I've probably been here long enough anyway. I should get back to my—"

"—Your brooding?"

"Which means what, exactly?"

"Nothing, nothing." Ginny grins at me mischievously and pulls back the drape covering the alcove.

"Well, Blaise," she continues with a smile, "When the year is over . . . let's just say that I'm dying to meet you—the real you."

And I'll be dying when I meet you. I think. Aloud I say, "Goodnight, Ginny."

I climb the many flights of stairs to the Room of Requirements—my room, I guess—and am panting by the time I get to the top. I'm not sure when I allowed myself to get so out of shape, but I realize now that I've made my problems worse by wallowing in them. Theo was right: it does me no good to be alone. In an instant, I switch directions and head back down the flight of stairs, directly towards Slytherin Commons.

It's suddenly so clear now. My plan, it's—

"—Blaise!"

Wham! I feel my body bounce backwards and am almost expectantly waiting for the crack of my head against the stone steps and the blackness that will surely follow. I wonder if dying will hurt, and I wonder how it's possible to have screwed up so badly as to die without having saved your best friend first.

The crack, the blood, the blackness . . . they never come. As swiftly as I fell, a hand grasps mine and I dangle, my head mere centimeters from the step that would almost definitely mean brain damage and quite possibly mean death. Who is this my savior and yet also very nearly the cause of my demise?

"Blaise, I'm . . . oh my gosh I almost killed you!" Before me gawks none other than Hermione Granger, her jawline visibly shaking as she helps me into a sitting position. Without so much as a word of encouragement, she plops down beside me in all her finery, probably just having left Slughorn's Party herself.

I've missed you, I think to myself, allowing a faint smile to spread across my face. I glance over to see her staring at me, a look of concern eating any other expression her face might have carried.

"Blaise, I . . . what did I do?"

"You already said, you 'almost killed' me." I chuckle awkwardly, followed by a loud swallow.

Hermione nods resolutely before changing angles. "You look . . ." her voice trails off, leaving me to wonder what she couldn't bring herself to say.

I laugh again, only this time it's a bitter laugh. With a flick of my hand, my wand is out of my pocket and the Glamour Charm that I had reapplied is removed, leaving only my naked face, which I know looks a bit like if death and malnourishment had a child.

Hermione gasps and brings her hands to my chin, turning my head to get a good look and running her fingers down my face to check for the especially sullen parts. The longer she spends studying me, the wider her eyes get and the more of her bottom lip disappears into her mouth as she chews almost methodically into it.

"Blaise," she begins again, "What . . . what happened to you?"

I glance around at our surroundings, wary of passersby overhearing things that needn't be known. "Come with me," I mutter. I grab her by the forearm and begin gently leading her back up the flight of stairs and towards the Room of Requirement.

When we're safely inside, I turn to face her. I'm telling her the truth. I might not tell her everything, but I'm not lying anymore.

"Hermione, I . . ." I'm going to tell her. I'm going to say . . .

"I can't do this right now," I blurt.

What? You can't do this right now? You idiot! But despite these thoughts, I find myself running farther than I realistically should be able to run in my current state, but I guess panic is good for some things after all. Down the stairs, out the front door, running and crashing through anything that gets in my way. I don't even know where I'm supposed to be going, but my legs seem to have a mind of their own. I want so badly to turn around and face her, to tell her everything: how sorry I am, how much I need to not be alone . . . but I won't give myself that chance. I can't fathom why.

As I slow down to a halt, I find myself staring out over the Black Lake. The stars twinkle so beautifully out here. How did I never notice that? I lower myself to the ground and lay back, taking in the sky. I can almost ignore the faint light coming from the castle and forget about the people inside. I can forget about everything and everyone I've hurt so much.

I can forget Hermione and her sweetness that isn't this stupid childlike sweetness, but rather something that exists with caution. She's quite bright, but she never allows herself to become conceited. She might not lose that, that almost innocence, if I stay away.

I can forget Ginny and her open and fierce curiosity. She wants to know the secrets behind everything, and strangely she wants to help me. I didn't think that there was that much to the Spitfire of Gryffindor, and I'm hoping that I can back out quickly enough for her to keep that.

I can forget Theo and his cautious approach to everything, the calm and cool demeanor he tries so hard to keep up. He is ashamed of his father, but he doesn't seem to notice that he's a good man himself. He has been trained up in prejudice, and yet somehow . . . somehow he is so much more than his surroundings. If I leave him alone, he might move on and salvage some of his life. He won't be caught up in some risky plan. He might even survive the coming war without me.

And most of all, I can forget Draco. I can forget the lost boy who is trying so hard to be what he thinks he ought to be. He who has fallen so far, who has done so many terrible things to the people around him, to the people that he's been told are beneath him. All I've done is drive a wedge between us and make him more alone than he's ever been.

But as much as I wish that I could spare them, as much as I want them to be okay . . . I can't do it. I know now more than ever that I can't do it alone, that I can't plot the demise of the Dark Lord alone. So, willing or not, I'll be dragging them all into this. Hermione and Theo know their parts, Draco never had a choice in it, and Ginny? She has gotten too close to Harry Bloody Potter not to be dragged into this mess somehow.

Despite this resolution, I find myself wondering not for the first time what the point to all of this mess was in the first place.

Thanks for reading. Hopefully I'll update . . . you know what, I'll update eventually. We'll just call it "keeping up the suspense"..