Blaise didn't drink as a rule, but there was one day a year when he got royally pissed; the anniversary of his father's death.
Raide Zabini had been a troubled man, but an excellent father. He had been a largely built man with mossy green eyes, and always seemed to have a laugh ready to spill from his lips. Blaise's earliest memory was of sitting on his father's shoulder, and feeling as if he were on top of the world.
Raide, despite his aristocratic upbringing, had been a modest man. He had had no thought against kneeling in the dirt with his servants to perfect the lush gardens of his home in Italy. Villa dei Venti, Villa of the Winds, was his most favorite of homes bequeathed to him by his father.
The fact that Raide had been such a good man made the reality of his death all the more tragic.
His father had died dueling. Raide had managed to kill his rival, but had died himself of wounds from battle.
Raide had been his only family besides an increasingly absent mother. In his eleven year old mind, he imagined that his father had had his reasons. Even at his tender age, he knew that it had something to do with Ophelia. He was not surprised, but still completely shattered, to learn that his father had died because Ophelia had taken a lover. The man that would became her next husband, in fact.
Ophelia had never troubled herself with her small son. Blaise had even overheard the selfish witch once saying that she wished he had never been born. Oh, but never in his father's presence. Raide had been an intelligent man, but had had blinders over his eyes regarding Ophelia. He never seemed to see the witch's faults, only her beauty. She had had his father wrapped around her finger.
Ophelia was an excellent actress, pretending to adore her son before Raide, and shunning him as soon as his father's back was turned. With a child's wisdom, Blaise had always felt that his mother didn't like him. It had bothered him, but his father's love had been a balm to the child. They had spent long summer's together fishing, hiking, and riding horses. Raide had always made time for Blaise, even postponing the frequent business trips and meetings that his shipping business required.
Blaise, upon learning of his father's death, turned from being a laughing child into a small adult seemingly overnight. His arrogant mask perfected.
Blaise couldn't deal with his current situation. In spending time with Hermione, he had even forgotten what day it was. Upon his return to his room, he had chanced to glance at his calender: May third. Grief had hit him directly between the eyes. He had jotted a note on a scrap of paper, barely realizing what he wrote, and then Disapparated on the spot. He felt awful, like the worst of sons. Spending time playing games of wizards chess, walking the grounds of the chateau, and making Muggle treats like puppy chow instead of remembering that it was the anniversary of the day his mother had coldly told him that his father was never coming back.
He soon found himself in his flat in London, a half empty bottle of vodka dangling from one hand. He didn't worry that he would be disturbed; only one person, his lawyer, knew that he owned it. It was a decently sized dwelling, on the third level of one of his warehouses, and other than his villa in Italy, the place where he felt most comfortable.
The only other time he felt a similar sense of ease was when he was with Hermione Granger. The witch had managed to burrow past his common sense, and into his heart. Now that she was there, she didn't seem inclined to leave. He couldn't deny it any longer. He loved her and he couldn't make it stop.
How could he love her properly when he wasn't even man enough to get past his fear?
He raised the bottle to his eye, staring down inside to the clear liquid. There were no answers there, but that wasn't going to stop him from trying to drown away the confusion.
Hermione hadn't survived the war without learning stealth.
She watched from a safe distance as Jacqueline went through front door of the clinic, causing the tiny bell over the door to ring. The door was unlocked, but the windows were dark, the staff gone for the day.
Hermione crept to the door, grimacing at the mud that caked her ankle boots. One hand braced against the chill metal door, she slowly edged sideways peeking through the door. The overcast sky helped to make the inside of the building darker, but she could see Jacqueline walking through a doorway toward the back where security lights cut through the dimness.
Her curiosity piqued, Hermione walked around the building to the back door. She tried the knob, and found it unlocked. Slowly easing the door open, she tiptoed into the clinic.
The door that Jacqueline had entered seemed to belong to an office. Hermione eased down the hall, grateful of the rubber mats on the floor that muffled the squelching of her wet boots.
The door was partially closed, but Hermione could just see into the small office. Her hand slapped to her mouth in shock. Shock that quickly transformed into anger.
Jacqueline was inside the office straddling Charles Martin, the veterinarian. The couple hadn't wasted time. Their mouths were fused together in a passionate kiss. Jacqueline's shirt and bra was carelessly tossed on the floor. Her jeans and heels being the only items of clothing she wore. Heels that were beyond impractical for the weather, Hermione thought in irritation.
Suddenly Charles moved, startling Hermione and she backed further into the hall. She only caught a glance of the man laying the girl back on his desk.
Hermione took the opportunity to escape, literally shaking with anger and shocked disgust.
Once back in her cottage, she reached for her magic mirror with a trembling hand. Rubbing a thumb across the surface of the mirror, she spoke Ginny's name.
The tiny mirror filled with red smoke as it tried to connect. The smoke faded and Ginny's face appeared.
"I should have just let my mirror ring," Ginny said, obviously still hurt from their last conversation. The witch was sitting in her pajamas on the couch in Grimmauld Place, her red hair in a lopsided knot. Hermione could hear Harry in the background talking to Ron, their voices too low to make out.
Hermione closed her eyes briefly, the pressure finally allowing a few tears to slide down her face. "Ginny, I'm really sorry I was a bitch to you. You didn't deserve it at all."
Ginny's face softened. "Accepted. What is going on, Hermione?" She asked in concern, walking from the room and shutting the door behind her.
"My life is total shit. I'm so confused and I don't know what to do. I just saw Jacqueline practically having sex." Hermione ran a hand through her hair, tossing the humidity enhanced curls.
"You saw Blaise and Jacqueline? I'm sorry, that had to have been hard."
"It wasn't with Blaise. It was worse. "
Ginny's brow crinkled in confusion. "Worse?" Hermione watched the conclusion click on the witch's face. "Oh Merlin! You saw her with another guy?"
Hermione nodded slowly. "She spends the absolute least time with him, and now I see just how "sick" she was. He deserves better," she ended vehemently.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to talk to her about it tomorrow. I need to know what she is doing. I can't let Blaise just marry her. He would be miserable. She doesn't know him like...," Hermione's voice trailed off.
"Like you do?" Ginny finished.
Hermione sighed. "It's not about me. It's about Blaise's happiness. I'm going to tell her that I think she should either set Blaise free or break things off with Charles. That's the guy she is cheating with. He works as a veterinarian in the clinic on the grounds."
"What about your job?" Ginny asked.
"I don't care. I really can't be here anymore. I'ts not healthy. I can't stay here hoping that Blaise will suddenly be hit by Cupid's arrow and fall for me," Hermione said softly. "I don't want to go back home yet. Do you think Harry would mind if I stayed at Grimmauld Place for a while? I don't think I can deal with my mother's questions right away."
"Of course not. Hermione, you are family. You are always welcome here. Hermione...do you mind if I talk to Harry about this. Not you staying of course...but he is worried about you. I don't think you give him enough credit, and you aren't as good an actress as you think. He can handle knowing about Blaise. Besides, it might give him more to think about other than how I'm decorating the house," Ginny quipped.
Hermione giggled despite her sadness. How she loved her friends.
The next morning Hermione woke before five o'clock, having tossed and turned the entire night. She packed all of her belongings and walked through the small house murmuring cleaning spells in her wake. She showered and dressed in her most comfortable pair of jeans paired with a plain white tee-shirt. At seven, she Apparated outside the small dining room and was gratified to find Jacqueline sitting alone, nibbling on a wedge of toast and staring into space.
Her stomach churning with unease, she paused in the doorway. She cleared her throat. Receiving no response, she stiffened her spine and walked into the room, crisply calling out a good morning.
Jacqueline jumped startled. "Oh, good morning, 'Ermione," the witch said with a smile.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "How are you feeling? You sure got over strep throat fast. Where is Blaise? Or do you even know?" Hermione tried to mask her hostility, but it managed to creep into her voice.
Jacqueline looked confused. "Blaise left a note. 'E is in 'is flat in London. Something about business. And I don't think I really 'ad strep. That medi-witch was young. She probably diagnosed me wrong. I feel good today."
The gall! Hermoine wanted to scratch the gir'ls eyes out. She was finished with the games. "Okay, let's just stop evading here. I know that you weren't sick yesterday. I saw you."
Jacqueline's eyes went wide and her face paled. "What do you mean? I was in bed all day. Ask anyone."
Hermione's lips thinned in disgust. "Nice try. The house-elves will say whatever you want them to. Let's not quibble. I saw you with Charles Martin. How could you do that to Blaise?"
Jacqueline stood trembling, defensive. "What does it matter to you anyway? 'E is my fiancé not yours."
That stung. "I care because he is a decent man who deserves better. You should be ashamed. If you don't want him then set him free."
"It doesn't concern you. You would do well to remember your place. You are in my employ and if you want to remain employed, you will shut your mouth," Jacqueline said with venom dripping from her voice.
Hermione pushed her plate away and stood. "Fine, then I don't work for you anymore," she said, walking from the room.
"You are under contract! You can't leave," Jacqueline said from behind her, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
Hermione stopped, turning back. "So? Sue me then."
Jacqueline's bravado evaporated. "What are you going to do," she asked in a small voice.
"The right thing," she said before Disapparating from the hall.
Back in the cottage, she called for a taxi, grateful that the place even had a working Muggle phone.
Twenty minutes later, she was speeding away from the chateau and all of the happy memories she had made there.
It had been a tiring day. The emotional turmoil, the ferry back, settling into Grimmauld Place, and pretending that she was still in France whenever her mother called had contributed to her exhaustion.
She had wanted to go to Blaise right away, but Harry had put is foot down. He sat her down and demanded to be told the truth. She had finally broken down and told her story.
The wizard had run a hand through his messy black hair. "Hermione, you are like the sister I never had and I love you. I will support your relationship with any man that loves and treats you properly," he finally said quietly.
Hermione, overcome, had leaned forward and drawn him into a tight hug. "Thank you," she breathed.
Harry's mouth quirked a bit. "I don't get why it took you so long. I know that we aren't very old, but we stopped being children long ago."
"I was worried about the pureblood thing honestly. Blaise was so different in school. Not to mention the fact that it took me weeks to wrap my head around it. I was in denial for a long time," Hermione said.
"I don't let that pureblood superiority shite bother me anymore, Hermione. If you say that he is different I then I trust your judgment. So you are just going to go over and tell him everything?" Harry asked.
"If I have to," Hermione said steel in her voice.
"We are going to be there for you whatever you decide. And don't worry about Ron. I'll talk to him. I don't think that it will go as badly as you think. He's pretty happy with Lavender. I think it has mellowed him a bit," Harry said.
"Thanks," Hermione said. Finally looking around, she noticed that the walls were painted a loud mustard yellow. "So...um. Ginny told me that she was doing some redecorating," she said trying to summon a smile at the hideous color.
Harry only grimaced.
Hermione vaguely remembered Blaise mentioning the address of his flat in conversation he hadn't realized she had overheard, but it took her a few stops before she finally Apparated to the right place. She hoped that he was still there and that Jacqueline hadn't made up some story already. She would wager that the witch hadn't thought of one yet. She wasn't the smartest girl in the world.
Hermione was surprised when she finally stood in front of the flat. It was a warehouse made of red bricks with the small windows on the lower two levels, and larger ones on top. She figured that he was at home, because golden light shone through the cracks of the blinds that covered the window.
She tried the large metal front doors. They were locked and she couldn't see past the frosted glass set into them. The glass had a symbol etched into it: a black triangle with a stylized letter M that seemed slightly familiar.
Hermione, frustrated was about to Apparate back to Grimmauld place, when she noticed a metal stairwell on the side of the building.
Mounting the stairs, she reached a good sized wooden door. There weren't any windows on this side of the building, and only a small light over the door served to dispel a portion of the darkness.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione knocked on the door.
"Fuck off!"
That was definitely Blaise's voice, Hermione thought. Determined, she knocked on the door harder.
The door was suddenly ripped open, "I thought I said fuck─." He stopped. "Hermione, what are you doing here," his voice was slightly slurred.
Hermione started a bit. That wasn't the welcome that she had expected.
Blaise sighed, and pulled her inside where Hermione finally got a good look at the wizard.
He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed. There was a dark stubble that had grown on his face, and he hadn't bothered to shave it.
"Oh Merlin, Blaise. What is wrong with you?" she exclaimed.
Blaise laughed cynically. "Life, Hermione. That and I'm bloody pissed."
"But you don't drink, right?" Hermione asked, worried.
"Today I do, but enough about me. Tell me; how did you find me? Only one person knows about this place, and I know he sure as hell didn't tell you," Blaise said walking across the flat to his refrigerator. From the freezer, he removed a frosty bottle of vodka and proceeded to pour a good amount into a tumbler.
"Like some?" he asked motioning toward her with the bottle.
Hermione's nose wrinkled. "No, and it looks like you have had more than enough."
She took the time to glance around the open planned flat. Blaise had large black leather furniture and the place was all glass and metal. A far cry from his home in Italy, but somehow still reminiscent of the man. Her gaze settled on a steel table set against the wall. It seemed loaded down with pieces of crystal.
I wonder what he is doing with all of that, she thought, but she forced her curious mind back to the matter at hand.
"I didn't mean to disturb your privacy, Blaise, but I have to talk to you about something," she drew in a breath and continued. "Jacqueline is cheating on you. I saw it with my own eyes."
Blaise's eyes widened a bit, then he literally shouted with laughter. "Oh that is rich. My day just keeps getting better."
Hermione was shocked. "Don't you care?"
He shook his head. "Even if I did, there isn't anything I can do about it."
"What do you mean? Of course you can do something about it. You can leave her!"
"No, I'm not going to leave her," Blaise stated simply.
Hermione's shoulders drooped. "You love her that much?" she asked quietly.
"No, I don't love her at all. That isn't how it works when one is in my position," he said walking to the divan and sitting down with a sigh.
Hermione sat down next to him. "Blaise, you deserve so much better than her. A solid relationship with someone who can love you."
He looked into her eyes, his own dark eyes sad. "Love isn't something meant for me."
"Yes it is. You can have it if you want it," Hermione said, her meaning quite clear.
He closed his eyes. She was ripping him bare and she didn't even realize it. "That only works if the love is mutual," he lied.
Hermione flinched. "I...I know we never said anything, but I know you feel it. I can feel that you feel it." She grabbed his hand. "I have to believe if it's this strong for me that you feel it too."
He slid his hand away from hers. He ran his hand through his hair, weary. "Go home, Hermione."
Hermione wasn't ready to quit fighting yet. "Do you remember what happened on Christmas? How you met a girl at a party. You waltzed with her and spent hours talking." She looked down. "You made love to her," she finished quietly.
Blaise was shocked. "Jeanette?" he breathed.
Looking into his eyes, she raised a hand and smoothed the wrinkle of confusion from his brow.
"You don't have to settle for a false love, with a false girl, when you can have the real thing. I love the mysterious man that I met that night. I love man who can't stand to lose a debate. I love how you go mad over anything sweet. I love your voice. I love how your dark eyes, seem endless, but most of all, I love the heart that you try so hard to hide," she said leaning toward him, the last words breathing against his lips as she took them in a soft kiss.
He reached between then and slowly pushed her away. "Hermione, I'm sorry, but I can't do this. I'm engaged. You have to leave."
She felt like he had just ripped out her heart and stomped on it. Tears fell from her eyes, and she began to sob. She rose, and with one final look back at him, she Disapparated.