Chapter 8: A chance of civility and study
Okay, so they'd become civil towards each other.
That was more than what could be said of any previous confrontations where the pleasantries had been, at best, non-existent.
Actually, she found that Blaise was a surprisingly pleasant conversationalist. Who'd had thought? A Slytherin capable of making bearable, intelligent conversation! Well, he wasn't stupid, but then again, she had never really suspected that he was in the first place. Among Malfoy's gang, he'd always seemed to have more between the ears than all of them collectively, though he certainly didn't show it – not to speak of his cold, snobbish, supremacist attitude and womanizing tendencies doing nothing to soften that image.
They actually found something to talk about when the silence between them became too tense, though they still butted heads every now and then. They shared a common love of Quidditch, after all, and started meeting in the Prefect Common Room to go over Prefect duties, even meeting in the library to study together, given they shared many of the same classes, despite being in two different Houses. It happened almost naturally, wordlessly, as if their trails of thought led to the same, sensible conclusions, beginning with bumping into each other in the same sections of the library and most secluded spots to study. Almost as if it all had started with their first chance encounter in the Prefects' Bathroom that quiet, late Sunday afternoon …
Luckily, their encounters had lately taken on a positive note since then. Once when she left after a study session, he had leaned back in his chair, with his hands behind his head, humming contently. Ginny had caught sight of him and stifled a giggle as it reminded her of a big, black panther dozing in the baking sun. She wouldn't be surprised if his Patronus turned out to be a panther – or at least of the feline species. There was something unmistakably feline about him. She wondered if he had even managed to conjure a Patronus? Maybe she could ask … perhaps even be of help?
One of the times they'd met in the library by chance, in search of the same books for Slughorn's Potion class, they wordlessly settled down by the same table, studying in somewhat charged silence. Ginny had trouble concentrating on the book in front of her which primarily dealt with how to extract slime from a particular nasty, slime-producing creature - not nearly as interesting a subject as the one sitting across from her - and kept stealing the tall, dark-skinned boy curious, somewhat apprehensive glances.
She hadn't managed to quell her curiosity since their first encounter in the Bathroom; questions about him still floated around her head, disturbing her thoughts. She had tried not to let the boy be some puzzle she could make out – like Hermione probably would – but she couldn't help taking a basic, human interest in him. At least it was more than she ever had before.
"Zabini?" she prodded tentatively, giving him a sidelong glance.
He didn't look up. "Hm?"
"Um, can I ask you something?" She couldn't help feeling slightly nervous. Since when had she become like this?! Stop fidgeting, Ginevra Weasley! They had become civil around each other, lately; she would almost go as far as saying camaraderie towards each other. This was civil, camaraderie talk if anything. If he freaked out, he freaked out and she would take it from there. Besides, this was a harmless question… Wasn't it?
When he didn't respond, she took it as a sign to continue. "Have you ever been able to conjure a Patronus?"
Blaise stiffened for about a millisecond, then shrugged, still not looking up. "No. I mean, I haven't exactly tried … or been properly taught, I guess," he muttered with no further elaboration and instead buried himself further into the book in front of him, despite his attention seemed miles away.
"Oh." He was actually ashamed!, Ginny thought, surprised at his mellow response.
They continued studying in silence though she was still giving him strange looks. Blaise apparently felt them because eventually he sighed and shot her a dark look. "Will you stop staring, Weasley! I'm not your psych major. Give it a rest."
She was rather surprised by his blatant Muggle reference, never expecting he would have any willing knowledge of the Muggle-world, the bane of his existence. Or so she'd presumed …
He never seized to amaze her; dropping little hints of himself every now and then, although not intentionally it seemed, which made him all the more three-dimensional in her eyes. She cringed inwardly at her awful description of him. She hadn't meant it to sound so cold and clinically, like, she hadn't viewed him as entirely human before now. It was not like she was the biased, supremacist snob..! Wait. Maybe she was, just in reverse? At least, more prejudiced towards (former) Slytherins and Pureblood supremacists than she would have admitted. She had grown up with her brothers spewing slurs about the Slytherins and she had swallowed it whole: Slytherins were the bad guys and always would be. How awful to become the very thing she had hated!
She squirmed with shame in her seat which Blaise, unfortunately, happened to notice.
"What's wrong?" he asked, dark brows drawn together.
"Um, nothing," Ginny played it off, smiling hesitantly at him, not able to look him in the eyes. He seemed a bit taken aback by her timid smile thrown his way and still not quite convinced by her answer. Damn him and his sharp eyes!, she grumbled to herself. Now it was her turn to try and bury herself in the book in front of her, avoiding his curious glances.
It was highly unusual to see the otherwise so zealous, confident, red-blooded Weasley girl giving nervous glances, asking bumbling question, squirming in her seat and giving him hesitant smiles. He couldn't help thinking something was going on; despite she played it off as nothing. She didn't fool him. She was an excellent liar when something was at stake, so what was this? Not that he had known the girl long, at least, not privately, but he could sense something was definitely wrong. Maybe it was just being around him? They had, after all, been on opposite sides for so long, recently playing this silly cat-and-dog game that – although he admittedly found it a guilty pleasure while it lasted – saw as something rather childish and unproductive in the long haul. Hadn't he just gone through all that exhaustible, brain-racking time in order to even come to the realization that he wanted something more than constant banter? To actually establish something close to a civil relationship with the Weasley girl?! He had no intention of backing away now.
He rather liked talking to her and being in her company. There were still moments of silly, hot-headed arguments and where he felt an undercurrent of undiscovered tension between them, but he hadn't had further time to ponder upon it. They'd almost come to a silent agreement that since they kept bumping into each other as well as sharing many of the same classes, they might as well meet up and study together, talk Quidditch training and Prefect duties. No offense to Theo - who was smarter than most Slytherins although he hid it well and whom he'd studied together with so far - but he was glad for the diversion (mainly from Theo's inexhaustibly dirty mind), especially when the diversion came in a pretty, female shape with sharp, fiery, caramel-brown eyes. He realized he felt oddly sated and thrilled at the same time after an encounter with her, but most of all: alive. He felt alive with her.
It came with a cost, of course. He actually had to play friendly around her. Ugh. This was not something he'd signed up for, being all 'concerned' and all that sentimental crap. Given the state of her injured hand, he'd even surprised himself by offering to take notes for her to Slughorn's classes, obviously seeing how she stubbornly tried to keep up – despite Madam Pomfrey's warnings to keep it rested – resulting in nothing but half-done, hardly readable notes. Don't ask him why he did it; the words sort of flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. Perhaps it was partly out of a budging worry for her injury to get worse and partly out of sheer irritation because of her damn stubbornness to not worry enough herself. So he had helped alright. Not like he enjoyed it or anything. He wasn't used to give. He didn't sign up for being her shrink either, but, at present, he couldn't deal with her fidgeting much longer.
"Just spit it out, Red. I can take it. I think we've pretty much covered all the worst insults by now, don't you?" he grumbled but couldn't put quite as much bite into his words as he wanted to.
She gave him a hesitant look, biting her lip. "Well, I know, we're not exactly the best of friends or anything," at that he scoffed loudly to which she just rolled her eyes and continued, "but I would like to well – um – help. If you want to, of course."
"Help?" he looked at her incredulously. "Help with what? What are you talking about?"
"Well… if you need someone to teach you how to conjure a Patronus. Properly," she shrugged. He still stared at her with a mystified look. For a moment, she thought he was actually softening up to her offer of help but then something in his eyes hardened and he shook himself out of the momentary daze, scoffing.
"Huh, as if I need your help, Weasel! No thanks! You'll probably try and trick me in some of your humiliating Gryffindor ways and get back at me that way. I'd rather get help from Longbottom than you, and that's saying something coming from a Slytherin!"
She scowled. "Former Slytherin! And former Gryffindor here, remember? No need to be hostile, Zabini. I was only trying to offer you my help since you don't seem to run around many people who can actually conjure a Patronus. My bad for trying to be friendly, apparently. Won't happen again." She fixed her eyes back to her book, feeling her gaze could burn through the pages. He was still such an arse sometimes!
He stared at her scowling face, realizing how wrong-footed he had responded to a rather harmless request, but he had only reacted instinctively: he didn't want her pity or help with something he was sure he could never do anyway. He didn't want to look like a complete and utter failure in front of her when he wouldn't be able to conjure a Patronus. He knew, because he had tried. Of course, he had tried. Albeit, only a couple of times, but when the stubborn spell simply wouldn't so much as spark no matter how 'happy' a memory he tried to think of, he quickly abandoned the idea of ever trying again, not wanting to humiliate himself any further. Okay, so it was a bit childish giving up so quickly, having not been taught properly in the first place, but he simply couldn't bear the thought of confirming his inability to conjure one. He had heard of dark wizards – Voldemort's followers especially – being unable to. He had never been an outright follower but he had been on the wrong side; lived too long in horror, hate and darkness to have any true happy memories. He had never had any particular happy childhood or youth, nor any real, close relations to build such memories from. Not with his mum (or any of her husbands, for that matter), not the girls he had bedded and dated, not even with his friends in Slytherin. Had they ever really been friends?, he wondered and thought of his present relationship with Theo.
He shook himself out of his misgivings and stared back at the affronted red-head in front of him, suddenly softening to her earlier act of – what he just now realized was an act of – genuine concern. He wasn't used to have people feeling concern for him like that. And he'd acted like anyone else in his situation probably would have if being handed the concerned offer of help from their former enemy: like a complete arse!
He cleared his throat, knowing what he had to do but feeling entirely uneasy about this whole apologetic side of him that had only first begun since his encounter with her. Damn her! Yet, he couldn't put as much feeling into it as he once could. For some reason her opinion of him mattered, and, truly, who was he kidding to think anyone else would ever show concern like this for him again? Every instinct in his body told him to run and hide. But he couldn't just run, could he? It would be so easy to run …And why not? It wasn't like he owed her anything. He grumbled and squirmed internally; his pride battling a conscience he thought long gone. But no, he couldn't just run from the issue, run from her like always, when she was the only one – besides Theo perhaps – who actually saw something else than the façade and showed any damn, genuine interest in him besides his money and status, could he now?! Damn!
He swallowed his pride, almost choking. "Listen, Weasley," he tried calmly, though her eyes didn't budge from the pages in front of her - which by now should have burned to ash under her gaze, he reckoned. "I was an arse just now. I am – um – sorry about that. I guess I'm not in the habit of receiving any kinds of help – not in the least from a former enemy of mine." He halted, not sure what to say next. 'Forgive me' seemed a little too strong but he was willing to try if it could change her attitude towards him. Gryffindors and Weasleys were famous for holding grudges, after all, but he hoped the Weasel girl at least had a bit more brains than any of her oafish brothers. He gawked her reactions and to his inner relief they seemed to shift.
To say Ginny was surprised to hear his honest, nearly humble tone and outright apology would be the understatement of the year!
She barely managed to keep her jaw from dropping to the floor and looked up from her book, only to be surprised again by being met by his open, almost vulnerable gaze. She had never seen him let his guard down like this before and would never have thought it would happen in front of her of all people! He seemed so genuine in his apology, despite his obvious discomfort and unfamiliarity with the act of apologizing (typically Slytherins). The fact that he didn't lay it on thick was a giveaway for believing his sincerity. Slytherins were infamous for their ability to pretend and manipulate to get their ways, but the way Blaise had spoken and looked at her seemed so raw, nervous and highly unusual without his smirks and teasing looks. Could it be true that the famously cold, inscrutable, former Slytherin had let his guard down, swallowed back his pride (for a moment) and given a sincere apology to a Weasley and former Gryffindor, no less?! She wanted to pinch herself.
"I – I guess it's alright," she stammered, still staring at him in pure shock. "Apology accepted, I mean. I – um –"
Blaise chuckled a bit. "My, my, I never thought to see the day when the infamous, confident and self-righteous Weasley girl would be lost for words." He said it with his usual teasing lilt but without any bite to his words.
Ginny closed her mouth and huffed. "Oh come off it, will you! I was just taken by surprise, that's all." She shot him a curious look. "And it really should be me wondering about your response. I never thought to see the day a Slytherin gave a sincere apology – to a Gryffindor and a Weasley, no less?" she pushed back, repeating the baffled words in her head.
Blaise's face contracted into his usual look of pinched disgust. "Please! Don't be delusional! That wasn't even the case!" he retorted as if utterly affronted by the mere suggestion.
"No?" she lifted an eyebrow and gave a teasing smirk. He blinked at her, then opened and closed his mouth in a highly uncharacteristic manner before turning away and giving a grumbling huff, cursing under his breath something about 'Bloody Gryffindors!' and 'Damn, self-righteous Weasels!'.
She couldn't help chuckling out loud at his grumpy (you could go as far as call it pouty), somewhat conceding demeanor, though she sensed he wasn't all that affronted by their little, mutual tease. It was just his Slytherin side taking over, being all insulted and defensive. Previously, she would have found it childish and irritating, but now she found it to be rather … adorable. Especially, because it was him.
"So," she drawled, having slightly sobered but couldn't keep the teasing lilt out of her voice as she smirked at his scowling, downcast face, "when would you like us to start?"
He whipped his head towards her, frowning in complete confusion. "What?"
She shrugged, nonchalantly picking at her nails, her smirk practically growing devious. She was certainly enjoying having the upper hand and rattling the former and ever so stoic, arrogant Slytherin for once. "Why, teaching you how to conjure a Patronus, of course!"
Blaise closed his eyes and groaned, grapping his head. "Bloody hell."
This was going to be a long year.