A/N: Once again. . .review, review, review XD

The Seventh Year

Chapter 5

The Screaming and the Declaration of War Discovered

The scene in the Heads' common room approximately seventeen minutes later was not pretty, to say the least.

Erin yelled frequently, but very rarely with any genuine hints of anything stronger than annoyance. What she was doing now was the result of pent up frustration and confusion, and Marisa knew she would be apologizing for it later. After a considerable rant directed at Sophie and Marisa, she finally attempted to find the culprit.

"Draco Malfoy, you get down here right now!" she screamed, storming into the common room. Marisa just shook her head.

But he was nowhere to be found.

"Where is he?" she gritted out, now pounding on his door. "Why isn't he here? How could he get into my room and we couldn't get into his?"

"He's probably hiding," Sophie advised. "I would be hiding too."

Draco's entire hallway, doorway, and entranceway from the common room was now plastered with pictures of Erin, all laughing, blowing kisses, or brandishing peace signs. And Erin's whole half of the twin's room, her hallway, doorway, and entranceway, were all plastered with a smirking, sneering, and gloating Draco Malfoy.

"Serves you right," Sophie muttered as Erin threw up her hands and pelted back up the stairs for the notes she had been looking for in the first place.

Marisa just gave Sophie a look, and when Erin reappeared, she stated. "You like him."

"I do not!" Erin growled, looking offended. "How could I? That is ridiculous. I mean, he is attractive, but not my type. At all."

"Lies!" Marisa crowed. "You do. You do like him. Just admit it."

The conversation only devolved from there (Do too! Do not! Do too! Falso! Vero! etc.).

Finally, Erin threw up her hands in frustration and dragged Sophie with her out of the portrait hole so that they wouldn't be late for the meeting.

"True," Marisa muttered to their retreating backs.

Erin threw her wand back at her, hitting her twin's shoulder.

"Oh," Marisa mused, picking the instrument up and sending sparks after her sister, who yelped. "Might have missed that. Thanks!"

No sooner had the portrait closed did it swing back open, revealing a smirking Blaise Zabini. "Aren't you supposed to be at that meeting, ink-arm?" Marisa sneered.

"You forget, I am no prefect," he told her, sauntering in and situating himself comfortably on the couch opposite from the one Marisa sank herself into. "When do you think they'll be back from that awful mess?"

"You mean, who will be an awful mess when they get back?" she returned. "Because I am leaning heavily on your best mate. What do you want?"

Blaise laughed at Marisa's characteristic bluntness. "Maybe I just wanted to relax for a while, away from blithering idiots who can't understand the word 'bigotry.'"

"I don't know what 'bigotry' means," Marisa stated, very seriously.

Blaise gave her a hard look. "Your seeming ignorance of so-called 'big' words only fools your sister," he groused.

"Wrong," Marisa snorted. "What do you want?"

"Can we do potions homework?" Blaise suddenly beamed beatifically. "This is a neutral zone."

"Now only the second legitimate one in the entirety of Hogwarts," Marisa conceded. They had usually been doing their homework in the library. "Fine."

Blaise was silent for a moment as he fished out his homework and drew out his books. The reclusive but destructive Ravenclaw had certainly appealed to the previously austere and somewhat withdrawn Slytherin when he had first come to Hogwarts. While both Marisa and Blaise would describe Draco and Erin as hating each other, to a certain extent, the two of them had fallen out of hatred somewhere in Blaise's third year. Marisa had always done advanced potions, so she was usually in Blaise's classes, and the two of them had silently began to do homework together while shut up in the library.

Marisa had an awful temper, however, so Blaise learned—after a few black eyes and a broken collar bone—to be careful of angering her beyond the point of reason. They weren't friends exactly—it was very hard to become friends with Marisa Benzene—but she tolerated him to some extent, and that was something.

She was particularly sensitive to comments regarding right and wrong, good and evil. She had a very clear-cut, black and white view of the world, and Blaise shouldn't have gotten her riled up on the train. It was just so amusing sometimes, though.

He had also learned that Marisa controlled herself much better when she was around Erin, or when she was with only one or two other people.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. "Now what do you want?"

He gave her a twisted grin, and wished, not for the first or last time, that he had had as much fire as she did within her soul while he was being frozen within the Dark Lord's grasp. "Can't figure out the practical applications of a nitric distillation of Acromantuala serum."

She rolled her eyes and sighed, "That's because there are only two, genius."

"This whole talking thing is getting better and better," he grinned, and Marisa flared.

"No."

Marisa truly didn't like talking. When Blaise had stopped being so shy in his fifth year, she had shrank back from him. It had taken over a year for him to convince her to hold conversations of decent length with him, albeit insult-laden and condescending conversations.

In his opinion, Ravenclaws were fine. Like Loony. She was fine. He just had a problem warming up to Gryffindors, so it was a good thing Marisa was the one who had roped Hermione into studying with them more than four years ago, or Blaise would never have considered 'bigotry' a word he knew either.

Now, in the aftermath of the downfall of his mother's idol, he was grateful to Marisa and to Hermione for their silent impact on his reassessment of the world. He had been lucky. Not quite as lucky as Draco, because he had had a male role model advocating for reason and the discarding of nonsensical pure-blood ideals, but he had still been lucky. He had been able to survive under the thumb of the Dark Lord, while making sure he wasn't actually doing anything against his moral code.

He had had a moral code. He had been very lucky indeed, and in the aftermath he was set free. His and Draco's survival techniques had paid off, and now they were free.

Marisa was giving him an odd look, so he laughed softly, and said, "You are a lovely woman, did you know that, Benz-Deux?"

He was rewarded with a deep scowl and a pillow in the face. "Better and better," he repeated.

A/N: Draco will reappear in a few chapters. . .unless Erin kills him of course. . .