Chapter 4 – Loss of the Gryffindor Golden Girl

The next three days came and went without all that much notice for Hermione. Dumbledore had visited the common room she shared with Draco yesterday, and when he entered he'd banished Draco to his rooms. He'd then spoken to Hermione, conveying that he hoped that the discovery of this information wasn't going to affect her school work. She screamed, "How could it not!" and ran into her room. The next morning, she i didn't /i go to breakfast.

She'd spent most of that day in the library looking at various books in the restricted section, she had the permission, of course, she'd just asked Dumbledore, and he felt bad enough to let her. She found herself drawn to the books associated with the Dark Arts, and amused herself by looking up various hexes and curses that she could use in her drawings of Harry and Ron.

Hermione returned to the library early the next day and stayed through breakfast. As usual though, she couldn't just busy herself by looking for the words in italics (that's how they wrote the curses), she needed to know the origin, the purpose, the creator and virtually everything about it, then she'd have the satisfaction of using it. After a while she gravitated towards the Unforgivables, she found a large volume titled The Unforgivables: A History of the Most Immoral Curses In Wizarding History , it was, apparently, one of Wilbert Slinkhard's less known books. Just as she was pulling it off the shelf she found that she was due in the muggle studies classroom, a far distance from the library, in ten minutes. She put the book aside, hoping no one would see it, and intent on coming back later to read it. She never noticed the Slytherin boy from her muggle studies class walk by and pick it up.

Blaise watched her calmly, intent on finding out what the hell she was doing in the restricted section, and when he discovered it, he was surprised, and thoroughly pleased. He grabbed the book and checked it out at the desk without so much as a second glance from Madam Pince; she knew he was too far gone to save with just a few words anyway. He stuffed the book away in his bag and headed to his first class, oh today would be joyous.

By the time he'd reached the classroom Granger was only a few steps ahead of him, and they took their seats simultaneously, both of them thinking about the book. The lesson was boring, something the both of them knew. Hermione went back to drawing pictures, pictures that were even crueler than the last time. She took note of the boy next to her staring at her intently, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how.

She shot him a glare; he was a Slytherin after all. He just smiled. Hermione turned away pretending to be annoyed, but she paid close attention as he reached into his bag and pulled out the very book she'd been viewing in the library minutes before.

She jumped up, ready to exclaim that he'd been spying on her, and that that was an invasion of her privacy.

She never did get any words out, and her classmates looked at her like she was crazy. The professor, of course, was now addressing her, "Do you need something, Miss Granger?"

"No, Prof- actually, yes. I'm not feeling all that well, could I, perhaps, go back to my rooms? I'll make up the lesson another time."

"Mmm. Certainly, Miss Granger. It's not necessary for you to make up the class, Miss Granger, youare Muggle-born. Go on back to your rooms; you look quite distressed, would you like someone to escort you?"

Before Hermione could respond that she would be fine on her own, the Slytherin boy jumped in, "I'll take her, Professor. I've learned this already, and I'm sure no one else could afford to miss this lesson."

Hermione looked practically horror struck, but kept her opinion to herself by not allowing her facial expression to change. She couldn't believe this prick, she didn't even know his name and apparently he was following her, spying on her and now he was walking her to her rooms. What kind of conspiracy was this?

She feigned a smile for the sake of her professor as the Slytherin grabbed her bag and proceeded to leave the classroom. The door closed with a click behind them and the boy looked around. Seeing no one he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her into the nearest empty classroom.

"We should talk." Blaise said to her.

"Yes, certainly. That'll be nice. First off, why the hell can't we talk in my common room? We could get caught here or-"

"We won't get caught, Hermione. And I'm not taking chances; Draco is off this period, more than likely he'll be throwing darts at pictures of…you…in his room or something. He can't know."

"He can't know what, exactly? And darts are a muggle game, you twit."

"I'll get to that. And Draco's more muggle than you think."

She was puzzled. Malfoy, Muggles? It doesn't fit. She'd just have to wait apparently. But right now she had another question.

"Well, fine. Secondly, what the bloody hell is your name!"

He extended his hand, "Blaise Zabini, Slytherin seventh year. Friend of Draco Malfoy. Son of a Death Eater. Student extraordinaire." He smirked, it was uncannily similar to that of Malfoy and it gave her the willies.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, but I'm not, Hermione."

"Alright, Zabini, then what the bloody hell are you stalking me for?"

"Stalking. Hmm. I don't consider it stalking, but whatever floats your boat, Hermione."

She looked at him quizzically. "You're a Slytherin…"

"Very good."

"You called me, Hermione…"

"I see they made you Head Girl because of your remarkable intelligence."

She shot him a glare, but continued, "Slytherins don't call me Hermione."

"Well, this one does."

"You're confusing me."

"Yes, I noticed that, but I don't see how this could be confusing you. Honestly, all I dragged you in here for was to find out why you've been drawing those pictures. They are nice pictures, mind you, but I'm still curious as to why Gryffindor's Golden Girl wants toAvada her whole house, and very many of the teachers I might add."

"They've been being mean, that's all. It's nothing but a petty spat between friends."

"See, now there's where I don't believe you, Hermione," he said her name with flair, and she prayed to Merlin that he'd stop; it was scaring her, "You see, Malfoy is always a git to you. Yet I've never seen his face in one of your drawings."

Hermione huffed, she'd been quite careless with her drawings, but she couldn't take it back now. And she was certain she still hated the duo.

She shot him a glare, "Well maybe if you weren't such a slimy Slytherin git who can't mind his own bloody business you wouldn't have so many questions!"

"I know you hate Scarhead and his lap dog, Pauper, as well as all their loyal followers, the only thing I don't know is why. Care to tell me? I thought not. In the mean time, here's your book, I took it out for you, and I daresay it's quite good."

She looked dumbfounded.

Blaise couldn't help but think 'This'll be slow-goings, apparently. Although I can't say I didn't expect it.'

"I'll be in touch, Hermione. Be a dear, and don't mention this to Draco, you know us Slytherins, we don't stop until we find out what we want." He shook his head, "And I don't think I'd be all that far off in saying that Dumbledore and Potter have lost their Golden Girl."