So I looked back at my story and I noticed that Blaise's character develops in a way that isn't really plausible, so I had this long mental debate about whether to fix it before moving on or not. Long story short, I will be revising most of the chapters and if you look back, you might notice that Chapter One has already been edited to my liking. However, I didn't want to completely stop writing the story. I already had this chapter written, so I'll just release it to you now.

Chapter Thirteen: Ashes

"Blaise," a voice shrieks as the door to the Room of Requirements swings open.

"Blaise!"

I try to sit up, but I still can't even manage to wiggle a finger.

"Zabini!"

And now I'm too stiff even to protest the hated use of my last name. I moan a bit, and my potential attacker (who I for some reason can't manage to identify) steps closer so lightly that I can barely hear it.

"Blaise Whatever-Your-Middle-Name-Is Zabini!"

My attacker suddenly decides to show themselves, leaning to stare into my face. It's Hermione, and though her voice seems stern, I can see the worry etched in her eyes whenever I catch a glimpse.

"Blaise are you okay?" She begins to shake my shoulders, though in my condition, it feels like a blob of jelly is smooshing against me, hitting one side and then the other.

"BLAISE!" I hear her breaths quicken in her panic, and I watch as she dart about the room as though looking for an answer.

"Blaise, tell me you're okay! You have to be okay," and then to herself, "I just wish I knew what happened."

There's no way I'll be able to explain anything to her because I still can't move, but eventually she seems to get the idea and sits down almost gracefully beside my head, gazing into my eyes as though searching for some sign of life.

I know she'll wait for me. It's just who she is. So, I close my eyes (Ha! I moved my eyes) and simply give in to the paralysis, telling myself that I refuse to worry about something that I'm telling myself is trivial. I don't expect it to work, but since it's working now, I guess the mind really can play tricks on the body.

I snap my eyes open, feeling the distinct brush of fingers through my hair. Hermione isn't even looking at me, though. It must be second nature for her to have to comfort people, what with all the trouble that Potter and Weasley seem to get into and the trauma that must follow, so I figure that it can't be all that weird that she's comforting me now.

Finally, I manage to pull myself up onto my elbows. Hermione jumps from the dream world she must have been in and pulls her hand away gently as though I'm a porcelain baby doll. She crosses the room and tosses a pair of jeans onto my lap along with a plain grey sweater.

"What's this for?" I manage to get out, though I'm rather disappointed by how frog-like I sound.

"Well, Blaise . . ." she considers slowly, as though unsure of herself, "You're kind of in your underwear."

Glancing down, I see the emerald underwear that I rather forgot I was wearing. Merlin, now she's seen me in my unders. I feel my face heat up and find myself looking anywhere but into her eyes.

"Th-th-those aren't m-mine." I stammer, weakly lifting my arm and shakily pointing at the clothing on my lap as I to avoid the underwear subject as best I can. And here I thought I was above being embarrassed.

"Oh, it's no trouble. I always have some extra clothing on hand for whoever might need it." Hermione Granger would have extra clothing for students in need.

I look down to see that my entire body is literally shaking, and I glance over at her, the words I need to say next faltering at my lips.

"Her-her-her . . . Hermione?" I finally get out.

"Yes?"

"I . . ." I stop. Hopefully this will allow my lips time to function again. "I can't stand. I . . . n-need your help getting d-d-dressed." And there we have the single most embarrassing words ever uttered by Blaise Augustus Zabini. What a year this has been.

Hermione is about to giggle, I can sense it, but then she stifles it, presumably because she knows that I'll die if she laughs at me. I may not be Draco Malfoy, but I am a rather proud person, not used to requiring help with my daily life, and certainly not help getting dressed. She gets up and with great difficulty on both our parts, manages to get me upright, though I have to lean heavily on one of the walls. Then she orders me around and, like a toddler, I step into my trousers and lift my arms up one at a time to wiggle into my sweater. Then she leads me over to a couch near the roaring fireplace and I collapse, panting as though I've just run a marathon.

"What—if you don't mind my asking—happened?" she questions after a long and slightly awkward pause.

"I . . ." I hold up a finger and attempt to slow my breathing. "I saw Draco."

"He's been so terrible to you and I'm so sorry," she bursts out suddenly. My guess is that her link to him is making her feel personally responsible.

"But why have you been avoiding me?" she continues, "I've been looking and looking! And you look so . . ." Sympathy washes over her face.

"Awful?"

"Well, now that you mention it . . ."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I really am. Theo was right. Somehow he almost always is. I shouldn't have allowed myself to become so isolated. It's done neither me nor the people around me any bloody good. I shouldn't have shut you out and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. I should've tried—"

I put a finger to my lips. "Trying harder wouldn't have helped."

Hermione closes her eyes in a drawn-out blink before starting slowly, "You said you saw Draco. What did he do this time? And I really am sorry . . . about how he's been acting."

"Hermione, I'm a Slytherin. I got over it." I try to sound as masculine as I can, but I end up having a coughing fit instead. "It's not Draco in general, it's just that . . . he was crying. Like really crying, and I suddenly felt like reconciliation with him was going to happen (I swear I'm going soft). But then . . . Harry-Bloody-Potter came crashing in and actually very nearly killed him."

Hermione gasps. "Harry! I need to speak with him about this . . . he really should be more careful, less quick to jump to judgment—"

"NO!" I shout suddenly, surprising myself and feeling even weaker as I sink further into the cushions, "I mean . . . no, please don't. He can't know I was there . . . I stunned him. Anyway, Snape's got it all taken care of by now I'm sure, I just . . . he told me to leave and I . . . I just came here, you know, and suddenly I can't move, like I'm paralyzed or something."

Hermione nods her head, apparently unsurprised by this turn of events. How would she know that I was going to be paralyzed?

"Have you been taking that Draught again?" She narrows her eyes at the word "draught".

Suddenly I'm quite defensive, "What? How did you know I took one at all?"

She merely shakes her head. I doubt she takes too kindly to the use of potions as the remedy for everything, but there's no point in lying to her.

"Yeah . . ." I admit slowly, "I just use it to sleep though . . ." I shudder at the recollection of running like a madman through the halls recently, and add, "I won't be taking it again."

"Good. How much sleep have you gotten in the last three days without it?"

"Um . . . maybe three hours?"

"That probably explains the paralysis, then. I've never advised the use of such potions, as they generally tire the user so much that they're worse off than before, though I suppose you already knew that. What with the added stresses of your mission and then seeing Draco like that . . . and then you cast that spell like you did . . . it'd be enough to knock out a camel. I'm rather surprised that you managed to get here at all."

I'm not about to tell her that I can't seem to manage to get the potions to brew right with the rubbish ingredients and instructions here at Hogwarts and that therefore I wake up running around like a mental person. I also don't know how I'm going to regain my strength as I can hardly sleep a wink on my own these days. This could be bad . . . weakness could be the death of me at a time like this.

"You're worried, aren't you." Hermione stares at me appraisingly and slowly nods, agreeing with her own statement.

"I just . . . I can't sleep. Whenever I try it's just nightmare after nightmare, but without sleep I don't know how well my plan is going to turn out." Neither of us say a word, but she's probably thinking somewhere along the lines of what I'm thinking, though hopefully minus the expletives.

Suddenly she straightens and smiles a bit. "I've got it!"

"What." I have a feeling that I'm not going to like this.

"You'll just sleep here, and I'll stay next to you. If you wake up screaming or something, I can help calm you down."

"No." I say flatly. I do not want Hermione Granger to see me waking up from nightmares screaming like a little girl.

"Blaise . . ."

"NO."

"Blaise Zabini, do you want the entire wizarding world to die out? Because that's what will happen if your plan fails. And your plan will fail if you're so tired that you can't even think straight." She looks so fierce that I'm almost scared.

"Okay. I'll do it. We can give your idea a try."