Chapter 7: Out of line

"What?" he drawled. "Potter's stamina not up to snuff?"

He had no idea how he had ended up with the Weasel girl once again – this time pressed against her delicious form outside the Prefects' Bathroom.

Oh, right.

Paloma, his 'special Hufflepuff lady friend', had bailed on him the last minute and it had been roughly three weeks of no extracurricular activity, exhausting Prefect duties and dealing with a certain red-headed someone during their weekly Quidditch introductions who kept giving him the silent treatment in a particularly grating manner, acting all passive-aggressive and snippy-faced for some utterly confusing reason. Yes, it was confirmed: He was literally losing his mind..! And he was bloody horny! A dangerous cocktail, indeed – especially when it came to trying to rail in that ball of fire inside of him which seemed to be on the verge of eruption at any moment.

So when another week had passed in stressful, unbearable tension and with no relief whatsoever (his 'little black book' hadn't been of any help…those bitches!), with the Weaslette as his only close female company, he had felt that ball roar like a caged lion. Unwilling company or not, she was of the opposite sex, an impossibly pretty and provocative one at that, and that was enough to set it loose.

He rolled his hips provocatively towards hers and leaned in much too close so that she could feel his hot breath against her ear, a devious smile playing on his lips and in his husky voice. "I wonder, Weasley, if you fuck as well as you put up a fight?"

Her reply came as a tightly coiled, hard little fist against his nose before he could react. He howled in surprise and pain and staggered backwards, clutching his bleeding noise, glaring at her red, angry face, while their eyes were shooting icy daggers at each other.

"You pig!" she cried, trembling with unchecked ire, and unconsciously shaking her hurt, blood-stained hand.

Fuck, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind, and now she had practically marked him physically. If anything, he was even harder than before. Hey, he couldn't help himself; every Slytherin had a small, sadomasochistic streak, whether it was physical or psychological or both. Not that he had any preferences when it came to pretty women; he'd even go for someone more demure like Looney Luna Lovegood for all her odd, fairy-headed eccentricities. The Gryffindor women were one of a kind, for better or worse, of course; the Weasleys even more so. But there was only one, female Weasley on Hogwarts and she was standing right in front of him right now, seething once again, pink tinges of anger on her freckled cheeks, and more kissable than ever!

He breathed hard – whether it was from the pain from his bleeding, broken nose or his sudden arousal he didn't know – and appraised her with newfound admiration. The girl could certainly pull a punch, not that he was ever in any doubt of that. He was never one for violent, instinctive behavior, considering it somewhat boorish, but this one he had coming. He had laid it on thick, coming on to her strongly and wrongly, he realized too late. Shite! Her eyes were definitely not anywhere near the same state as his were right now, far from it, actually. He had to do something to make this right before she stormed off again and gave him nothing but evil glares the rest of the week.

He fumbled for his wand and mumbled a quick Episkey towards his injury; feeling and hearing his nasal bone give a sickening crack, a numbing, lesser pain following, and then mumbled a Scourgify to get rid of the blood, making sure none were left on his robes. To his surprise, when he looked up, the witch was still standing across from him, still flaring her nostrils and with the same, burning fire in her eyes, but his gaze shifted to her hand instead, the one that hit him, and realized she'd sustained an injury herself by hurting him. He stepped forwards, only for her to take a quick step back.

"Relax," he said, "I was only going to take a look at your hand. It's injured." He gestured towards it. She looked a bit surprised at that and was about to inspect it, then seemed to come of other thoughts and stared angrily back up at him, wincing as she balled her hands and hid them behind her back.

"Don't think I don't know your game, Zabini," she snarled.

He stared at her in disbelief. "What? What game?"

"Yeah, you and your tricks with the ladies are getting old, you know," she winced again, but her burning gaze never wavered. "You toy with people; seduce and manipulate to get your way, being all charming and seductive one minute, only to chew and spit them out the next!" she practically spat. "Well, I'm not gonna be one of them!"

"Merlin's beard, this is not – I'm not –," he rubbed his head and sighed exasperatedly. "Can't you just give it a rest and let me look at your hand, you stubborn witch! Or, at least, go see Madam Pomfrey's? If you don't take care, you might get a permanent injury."

She was a bit taken aback by this; her rigid posture slackening somewhat and she opened her mouth but seemingly couldn't find a retort to his obvious, albeit surprising concern for her.

"Come on," he said calmly, gesturing towards the Infirmary. "I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey's. Let her look at it for you."

She did nothing but nod mutely, following him down the hallway in silence. The entire situation had changed within seconds and none of them knew exactly what to make of it or say to each other. The tension was charged, killing them for every step, every staircase they had to take. They finally arrived at the Hospital Wing on first floor and without asking Blaise followed her in and waited with her until Madam Pomfrey appeared. When she saw Ginny's hand she immediately wanted to know what had happened, of course, but before Blaise could say anything, Ginny quickly beat him to it:

"It was me. I hit Blaise, but it was for a stupid reason and I acted rashly, so I am to blame, if anything. Not him," she explained without a glitch in her voice. The older Healer's gaze swiveled skeptically between her and Blaise as if seeking confirmation. Blaise only stared down at Ginny in utter surprise. The little Weasley never seized to amaze him, even though he shouldn't be so surprised by her passionate, albeit false defense of another person, even a person such as himself. And he could swear the red-head had Slytherin blood in her veins sometimes! The girl could lie the pants off Dumbledore himself!

Whether Madam Pomfrey believed the story or not, she seemingly accepted the explanation and continued to see to Ginny's hand. Luckily it wasn't anything serious, since Ginny had worked up strong and resilient hands due to Quidditch training. Her knuckles were bruised and some of the skin was split and needed magical as well as natural healing, which - much to Ginny's remorse and protests - laid off Quidditch training for almost two weeks. Despite feeling bad about the whole episode, Blaise couldn't help smiling in secret at the ginger girl's vehement (and equally unsuccessful) protests to the Healer's unbending instructions. She came out from the Infirmary pouting and scowling and with her hand in gauze.

He walked silently alongside her down the halls, unsure what to say to her and fearing what she would say to him once she actually looked at him. Soon they came to the former Common room of Gryffindor where they both slowed down and halted in an awkward pause.

"Listen, about earlier –"

"Look, I'm sorry about –"

Blinking surprised at each other, realizing what the other was trying to say, they couldn't help smiling slightly.

Ginny looked away and sighed. "Listen, Blaise, I shouldn't have hit you. I –,"

"No," he spoke, holding up a hand. "It was my fault. I'm the idiot here. For saying those – things I said. I was only trying to rile you. And I deserved your fist in my face." He rubbed his jaw, a slight, but genuine smile playing on his lips. "You do throw a nice punch though, Weasley; that I have to say."

She blinked, then grinned up at him. "Well, I've told you before, Zabini: You are too smug and handsome for your own good. Messing up your pretty face is the only true way to get back at you." The teasing lilt in her voice was unmistakable and made him chuckle with genuine mirth. The tension between them had eased significantly, making them more at ease with each other; which was probably a first.

He scratched his neck, knowing it was too much to ask for her forgiveness despite everything and decided to make it up to her instead. "Well, I guess, I'll see you around?" he suggested tentatively, hopeful of her response.

She regarded him for a moment, then nodded and gave the smallest of smiles, but a smile nonetheless. A smile he could live on for the rest of the year, he felt, as they parted ways.

A/N: Of course, Blaise hasn't exactly put two and two together, yet, why he's acting like he does, but we shall see, won't we? ;) Thanks again for your interest in the story and the kind reviews. Keep 'em coming :)