A/N: I've been itching to write this pairing, to be honest. Also, nothing that isn't strictly canon (like the War itself) is canon in any way (I guess you'll see). Also, this story is a mess because it was finished somewhat before 2 AM and I had no idea what I was writing. Anyway. Enjoy!

Huge thanks and virtual cookies to Queen Bookworm the First (Queenie/Sanchita), petethehotdog (Pete), and Firediva0 (Kristen) for helping with the story, and special cookies to isaacswolfsbane (Ned/My Alternative Self) for keeping me awake while finalising my idea xD

Beta love: Another batch of virtual cookies go Queen Bookworm the First (Queenie/Sanchita), LittleMissXanda (Xanda), and agentmoppet (Ellen) for being awesome and helping this mess of a story :)

Word count: 2181 (according to MS Word)

QLFC Round 7: H.M.S Overworked & Under-appreciated – Blaise/Hermione

Bonus prompts:

· 8. (word) addicted

· 14. (dialogue) "This isn't safe… or legal, for that matter."

· 15. (word) scarf

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Music History Assignment #1 – Melody task: Write about a member of the Golden Trio.

Addicted

Everybody is addicted to something—alcohol, drugs, another person, or a certain activity or object. These addictions are part of what makes us ourselves, shaping us into who we are. They are there, in the back of our minds when we make decisions, when we interact with each other, when we live our daily lives.

In Blaise Zabini's life, these life-dictating addictions were his own memories. Memories of destruction, of death and gore, of that familiar feeling of icy fear in the pit of his stomach—fear for his and his peers' lives. Even though the war had ended over three years ago, he still had the instincts that sharpened his senses whenever he heard a strange noise, and of course, that inner urge to hex the person nearest to him while he tried to merge into a crowd.

Over the years, he had somewhat accepted that the remnants of these memories would stay with him until the end. Not attempting to get rid of the past that haunted him had turned his life into a hollow shell of what it used to be. Every colour he saw seemed duller than before. The motions of his days were almost automatic, and it was hard for him to find solace in anything, really. Sad, some would call it.

As such, he wasn't quite sure how or why he ended up in that particular Muggle cemetery on that particular day, staring at his second stepfather's tomb in his comfortable bubble of silence for what felt like hours. Yes, the weather was terrible, the cloudy sky painting the scenery grey and gloomy, and still, it felt fitting.

Blaise didn't expect anyone—or anything—to turn up and interrupt his lonesomeness, but he couldn't help noticing a glimpse of something gold—which wasn't a frequent colour in a graveyard. Interest having been sparked, he strolled closer, and soon saw that it was a gold-red striped—Gryffindor-coloured, he thought—scarf. The bright colours of the cloth stood out to Blaise; it felt somewhat… misplaced.

Must not have been out under the sky for long, he concluded.

Slowly, he reached for the scarf, the soft fabric feeling foreign against his calloused fingers as he pulled it closer. The sweet scent of a mixture of cinnamon and apples hit his nostrils as soon as he started scrutinising the scarf for any clues about its owner. Having not found any names on the cloth, Blaise decided that he'd better just leave it on the grave, hoping that the owner would find it sooner or later, when he caught a glimpse of a name on a nearby gravestone.

Granger.

The name was all too familiar—after all, who hadn't heard of the Brain of the Golden Trio, Hermione Granger? Not that Blaise was ever close to the girl, per se. Yet, it wasn't an everyday occurrence that more than one witch or wizard had a relative rest in the same graveyard. So, his intrigue got the better of him as his eyes scanned over the tombstone's carvings.

Jane Margaret Granger

1957–1998

Blaise's initial thoughts were that it must have been Granger's mother, and that was the reason why she had visited the graveyard on this particular day. Of course, her mother was a Muggle, so she'd be buried in a place like this.

Before he could finish his thoughts, though, a voice interrupted him.

"She died on this day, three years ago," a shaky female voice said, and as Blaise spun around, he saw Hermione Granger herself, her hands crossed in front of her body, which was slightly shaking from… something. Either the cold or suppressed sobs—Blaise didn't know.

"Sorry for your loss," was all Blaise managed to answer. His own voice felt somewhat foreign to him—it had been a long time since he'd talked to anyone.

"No, it's okay. I just… I guess I just wanted some alone time," said Hermione, sighing.

"I didn't want to interrupt you or anything. I just…"

Hermione shook her head. "I was just about to go anyway; don't worry. I'll see you later." Just like that, she Disapparated with a soft pop.

Blaise, not having fully comprehended what had just happened, moved his gaze down onto the brightly coloured scarf.

She forgot it.

After a moment spent deep in thought, Blaise tucked the cloth into the pocket of his leather jacket, and with a newfound motivation to take it back to its owner, he made his way out of the cemetery.

~oOo~

Throughout the next few weeks, Blaise would often catch a glimpse of Hermione, more often than not, while at work in the Ministry. Blaise worked at the Department of International Magical Cooperation as an intern, which wasn't the best job he could imagine, but it was certainly better than nothing. Despite his neutral stance in the war, he had it almost as hard as former Dark Side supporters when searching for a job. Most of the time, his day consisted of the same, boring tasks, which he would do almost automatically. It was only during his lunch breaks that he would see the bushy-haired Gryffindor.

Every time he saw her, after a moment of hesitation, he would decide to approach her, only to find that she had already disappeared. Through the Floo Network, in the elevator, or anywhere else. He could search for her all he wished, but he would never find her.

Some other times, he would see her walking down Diagon Alley, or ordering a drink in the Leaky Cauldron with either Potter or Weasley. Of course, even Blaise knew that none of these were the best moments to talk with her.

As the weeks went by, a certain feeling of desperation started bubbling inside Blaise's stomach whenever he saw the girl. It felt odd, at first. He wasn't used to intense feelings, having lived as a shadow of himself for the past three years, wrapped up in his own inhibitions, his inability to let the past go.

But he needed to find her. He wanted, needed, to talk to her. Not only to return the Gryffindor scarf but also to talk with her, to find out more about why she was in the graveyard on that cloudy day. Yes, it did seem foolish to get so worked up because somebody else visited the graves at the same time as him; still, trying to reach out to the girl was almost exhilarating—something Blaise hadn't felt for so long. If he was going to be honest with himself, it was what made him feel the most alive these days.

Yet, nothing lasts forever. Nothing, and certainly not intrigue.

Two months later, and Blaise decided that it was time to give up.

~oOo~

The clanking sound of his shoes echoed through the empty halls of the Department of Mysteries. It was dark, very dark, so he couldn't see much despite the dim light that was emitting from his wand, but it wasn't much of a problem. He knew where he was heading, and that was all that mattered.

"This isn't safe… or legal, for that matter," came a sudden voice from his right. Blaise furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "So, don't."

"Don't what?" asked Blaise from the nothingness, as it was the only thing he could see in the dark. Instead of an answer, he heard fumbling noises from the general direction of the voice, and soon, another bubble of frail light appeared not two metres away from him. And none other than Hermione Granger was the one holding her wand in front of Blaise.

"If you came because of the new Unspeakable invention, then don't. It's not… it's not worth it. Please, trust me on this one," Hermione said, her voice laced with a mixture of uncertainty and a hint of panic.

"Granger? What are you even doing here?" asked Blaise.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, a painful expression contorting her face. Taking a deep breath, she answered. "I wanted to do it. I wanted to clear out certain memories with this new potion they made—not all of them, only a few. The most painful ones, you know? And then… I didn't do it."

"So I shouldn't either?"

"No, you shouldn't. Look, I don't know what happened to you that made you decide to erase memories, but I'm sure it's not worth it. It's never really worth it," Hermione said, her voice hollow as if her mind was somewhere else.

"Yeah, you don't know me. We talked once, after all. What if I said I had it worse, and what you see as 'not worth it' is more than a passing mistake on my part?" Blaise said with a cutting edge to his voice. "What if I said that not doing it wouldn't be worth it?"

"I'd tell you that you'd regret it," Hermione answered.

"Funny you should say that," came the answer, "because of course, it wouldn't be worth it for you. You didn't have to plead to multiple people to get a job with which you can live by. You didn't lose most of your friends in the war, only to remain alone afterwards. Also, you weren't treated as an outcast by the wizarding community despite not even fighting in the war. You never experienced any of these."

"You don't know me either," Hermione said, although her voice was less fierce than it had been before. It was as if something had cracked inside her. "Maybe I didn't have trouble finding a job, and maybe I wasn't an outcast after the war, but I lost not one, not two, but many of my friends as well. And if that's not enough, I lost my mother as well. I lost her after Death Eaters had found my parents' location in Australia. In Australia." A single teardrop made its way down the girl's cheek. "Maybe one day you'll understand what I mean by this, but don't try to redeem yourself by erasing your memories. Maybe now, you think that Obliviation will keep you safe, will make you able to let go, but…" she sniffed, "it won't."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Blaise shook his head, turning towards Hermione with a questioning glance.

"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione answered, her voice weak and shaky, almost defeated. "Look, just one more thing. Tonight, before deciding not to erase the pain, I realised something. You know, your memories make you who you are. Even the bad ones. And… I think that even if you feel like living is just not worth it anymore… it still is, somehow."

Blaise hung on to her every word, for a reason he himself couldn't comprehend. Maybe, just maybe, it was that miniscule part of him that still hoped for a better life, that still hadn't given up. If this part of him existed at all, that is.

"I just… If you can, think this through once again, okay? I won't stop you, if you still want to do it, though." She turned to leave, the dim light at the end of her wand getting farther and farther away from Blaise, who could only stare at the back of the girl. Then, a thought hit him.

"Wait!" he said, and Hermione stopped in her tracks. "I have something with me that's yours."

"Something that's mine?"

"Yeah, your scarf. The Gryffindor-coloured one. You left it in the cemetery, about two months ago, and I've been trying to give it back to you ever since." Blaise scratched the back of his head, trying not to look sheepish. "I kind of wanted to talk to you, but you always disappeared."

"Oh," said Hermione, startled at the honesty. "Thank you. I've been looking for it for ages."

"Speaking of which, are you free for an afternoon coffee tomorrow?" asked Blaise, trying to maintain the conversation while his mind buzzed with all the information that he had just heard. He was so sure beforehand that getting rid of his memories would be the best way to end his struggles, as nothing else had seemed to work. Now, though… he was more conflicted than ever. Which was the more worth it? Starting off fresh, or trying to repair something that's already been broken so many times, but still had the hope to work well, maybe even better, if fixed correctly? He wasn't sure anymore.

"Depends. Are you still planning on Obliviating yourself?" asked Hermione. There it was, the question that Blaise had been contemplating. And either way, he was to make a life-changing decision.

"Maybe next time," answered Blaise after a final, long look at Hermione. His curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't bring himself to make such a drastic decision after the girl's outburst. It would have been… absurd.

"Then yes, I do," Hermione said, cracking a sad smile.

Right then, living with his addiction didn't seem like such a bad idea. If there was one thing he'd learned from Hermione Granger, it was that he couldn't let it take over him.