A/N: *Edited 16/09/17*

Chapter 12: A cup of hot cocoa and infamy

The silence pervaded; not even a breath was heard, until Ginny slowly realized Blaise was still painfully gripping her arm in his half-shielding position over her on the dirty floor.

Wiggling a bit in discomfort she pulled him out of his stupor, making him practically bolt from the floor with an expression painted in obvious shock and fatigue.

He looked down in disbelief and wonder at his wand still clenched in his hand and then to the panther hovering in front of him, licking its 'fur' in an oddly serene fashion despite of what had just happened.

"What just – I –," Blaise stammered, not taking his eyes from his wand or the sight in front of him as if it was a mirage that would disappear in any minute if he blinked.

"Well," Ginny breathed in relief, feeling quite physically exhausted herself as she stood up and dusted herself unsuccessfully off. "It seems you can conjure a Patronus, after all, Zabini. All your fears of performance have been in vain," she stated half-jokingly until she saw his face, still covered in shock – and obvious fear. Sure, she had been dead-afraid herself when they came upon the Dementor (or rather when the Dementor came upon them!) but having used the Patronus more than couple of times already, she was more acquainted with the after-shock.

Still, it had been close. Too close this time.

She shuddered and cringed. Once again she had put her foot in her stupid mouth, not considering Blaise's first-time handling of such vile creatures.

Sobering, she quickly stepped forward, gently touching his rigid arm and felt him flinch as he shifted his gaze to hers, his widened pupils making his otherwise dark-brown eyes look entirely black. She felt her heart clench for a second time that day.

"Blaise, you've done good. More than good, in fact. It was bloody impressive that you were able to not only conjure a Patronus charm but a corporeal one at that! Few wizards have been able to do so in first try." When he continued to appear unresponsive, Ginny worried her lip and tried another approach. "We are alright, Blaise. We are alright. See?" she spoke softly, peering up at him.

She watched his Adam's apple bob nervously along his long, elegant neck as he stared down into her face, apparently still trying to come to terms with what had happened. Then he averted his gaze, giving a slight, stiff nod and shot a side-glance at the Patronus which now sat perfectly still, except the occasional swipe of its tail, watching him with interest.

She followed his gaze and understood why.

"Don't worry; you'll see it again."

She gave him a small smile, as he hesitantly directed his wand at it, not taking his eyes away from the panther as if taking in every single detail of it. The panther rose immediately at the silent gesture and took a couple of graceful leaps before it turned into the familiar silver-blue, smoke-like form of the charm and disappeared into the tip of his wand. Staring down at it in wonder for a couple of seconds, he quickly shook himself somewhat from his daze and pocketed the wand.

Realizing she still had her hand on his arm, Ginny quickly withdrew it and glanced down at her watch.

"Well, we still have an hour or so left before next class. We could take a quick trip to Honeydukes for some chocolate. It will help for any eventual after-effects of a Dementor attack." Okay, that was practically said in Hermione's voice, she scowled internally but Blaise hardly noticed, his absent-minded demeanor having returned. Perhaps he had taken a bit worse to the attack than she had expected.

Unable to help herself, she took his arm again in a friendly, reassuring gesture and though she felt a slight recoil of surprise in the taught muscles beneath the luxurious fabric she held on and guided him out of the stifling room, down the creaking stairs and out of the house into the frosty and rather barren late-autumn landscape.

In the not so far distant lay the familiar little clutter of houses that made Hogsmeade village. The wind had moved on and smoke rose cozily and undisturbed up from the chimneys, with the windows lit, shimmering slightly from the occupied rooms inside. She could practically taste the spiced, hot chocolate on her tongue.

Holding on to that sensation and breathing in the icy, invigorating air, she felt the after-effects of the incident slowly evaporating with her exhaling breath, coming out in puffs of white smoke.

"Come on," she said with a slightly forced cheer, fastening the House scarf around her neck, still gently taking the lead. His response was somewhat subdued as he idly trailed after her, their boots scraping against the hard ground as they went over the small hills to the path that led to the village. The peopled atmosphere enveloped her like a warm, familiar glove as soon as they reached in between the houses and she basked in its warmth, the nostalgic memory of her home at the Burrow shimmering in the air. She looked back at Blaise trailing behind her, wondering how his home life was like and whether he thought of it as fondly as she did of hers. Somehow, she highly doubted it.

Stopping short in front of Honeydukes, she spotted the hoard of people inside shuffling between the stands of candy and suddenly had second thoughts, thinking Blaise probably wasn't feeling particularly people-friendly at the moment – and, honestly, neither was she, now looking inside the cramped shop of boisterous customers and squeaking children.

"Ah, well, Honeydukes seems a bit crowded at the moment," she stammered, half-smiling, wincing at her own sudden nervousness.

Looking quickly around she spotted The Three Broomsticks and the sight of the cozy, lit-up little inn sent a relieved flare of familiarity through her rather weary bones and heavy limbs. The Dementor incident had taken its toll on her, too – more than she'd expected, actually, and the brisk, frosty walk from the Shrieking Shack had exhausted her entire being.

She gave a small sigh and gestured over her shoulder to Blaise.

"Come on, let's try The Three Broomsticks instead. I'm sure Madam Rosmerta has her hot cocoa ready for us. I'm just dying for a cuppa!" she grinned despite the cold and her weariness – or perhaps because of it – and he responded with a somewhat stunned, owlish look at her cheeriness but followed nonetheless as she started heading towards the pub. She just hoped there wouldn't be anyone there from school. She really didn't have the energy for any awkward socializing at the moment and she couldn't imagine Blaise did either.

They eventually reached the pub and entered, an invisible coverlet of bonfire-induced warmth hitting their half-frozen faces as soon as they opened the heavy door. Chattering voices were heard in the background and the rustling of pints and mugs by the bar, but it was one of the pub's more quiet days it seemed since it was hardly full.

She stepped fully inside, Blaise right behind her, and quickly spotted a secluded, people-free spot in one of the back corners. Turning to Blaise, she gestured towards the spot. "You go sit down over there. I'll just get our drinks and be back in a jiffy."

There was a minuscule pull by the corner of his wide mouth as he stared back at her but it was so slight that she would hardly call it a smirk. Still, for a second there, life came back into his eyes so that was something. He turned his head to the place in the corner she was gesturing towards and simply headed towards it without another response, his tall, broad-shouldered being slightly and unnaturally hunched – like he just wanted to disappear.

His presence did not go unnoticed, however. Several of the inn's few occupants had lifted their gaze when Ginny and Blaise first entered and clearly recognized the two, new guests and the bubbly chatter had turned into a suspicious whisper as they none-so-subtly gestured towards the two of them. They were, after all, 'celebrities' now. One famous, one infamous.

Ginny cringed and hurried up to the bar to order their drinks, hoping no one would make a fuss or announce their presence. She really couldn't deal with any hero-worship or slander, on either of their behalves, right now. She had noticed how Blaise had gotten some rather disturbing looks on his way down to their table and that people didn't bother to lower their voices while spewing vicious words about him as he passed. With his back turned she couldn't see how much it affected him, but the tension around his shoulders didn't lessen – that was for certain.

Ginny seethed, feeling a terrible need to whip some sense into those insensitive nitwits who dared speaking like that. But what had she expected, really? Entering a popular place like The Three Broomsticks, expecting privacy?!

As she got hold of their warm mugs of cocoa, she mentally berated herself for being such an idiot and exposing Blaise to such a toxic environment. Walking down towards their table, balancing the hot mugs in her semi-numb hands, she did however manage to shoot icy daggers at those pub guests she had spotted sending slurs in Blaise's direction. They quickly shut their gobs and looked away from her fiery glance as she walked by them, but no sooner had she passed before they stuck their heads together again, gossiping away. She all but growled.

Reaching their secluded corner, she put down the mugs and settled in the worn, high-backed leather seat opposite Blaise who still hadn't spoken or acted his usual self. He hardly looked at her. Anyway, she couldn't deal with his off-behavior before she had gotten her blood running again and dove eagerly for her mug. Sipping her hot cocoa, letting the familiar, creamy warmth and spices flow through her system, she soaked in the toasty heat of the pub through her rather thin layers of clothing, sparking life in her numb fingers.

She cast a second glance at Blaise who still sat stone-faced and quiet and she wondered briefly about what memory he had managed to produce to conjure the Patronus charm, but opted not to spring her inquisitive eagerness on him just yet, given his solemn stupor still lingered as after-effects of the Dementor encounter. Naturally. Still, shouldn't he be somewhat more pleased that he had been able to conjure one – and a powerful one at that! At the moment, he was just one brooding line away from outright sulking! He hadn't even touched his cocoa yet, but was just stirring it absent-mindedly, staring down into the brown, swirling pool, getting lost in it. Perhaps, it was just typically Slytherin to be a chronic killjoy in all aspects of life; they simply couldn't help themselves.

"Drink, Blaise," she bid him, hoping to spur him into action instead of staying in this highly unnerving, catatonic state he had been in since leaving the Shrieking Shack. "It'll help, I promise you." She leaned forward with a small smile, trying to catch his eyes.

He looked up, eyes distant, and flinched slightly but seemed to come out of his daze again. Grabbing his mug and lifting it hesitantly to his lips to sip from it, he suddenly seemed to change his mind and chose to chunk down the hot liquid in great, big gulps, making Ginny squeak in horrified surprise as she instinctively reached out to pull at his arm and stop him from his apparent suicide mission.

"Are you mental?! Blaise, that's dangerous!" she all but exclaimed in the quiet pub, pulling the mug away from him in time as he stared back at her with wide, stunned eyes, gulping and wincing from the obvious internal burn but still said nothing.

"I should take you to Madam Pomfrey's, you oaf! What were you thinking?!" she berated him, worried sick that he had hurt himself seriously and tried to do so intentionally. Only Merlin knew why?!

"I –" he croaked then stilled and looked away in shame, his tall, otherwise so poised, collected body squirming in the worn, burgundy-colored leather seat.

She blinked at him in utter confusion, trying to get her head around his strange behavior.

It couldn't only be because of what had just happened in the Shrieking Shack … could it? He must have had worse experiences during the rise of Voldemort than encountering Dementors! Things he was forced to witness – or – or do …

Ginny gulped and roamed her eyes over the dark wizard in front her who, at the moment, looked more like a small, shaken boy than a powerful, elegant young aristocrat. Despite his always polished countenance, she realized that he, too, had been visibly marked by the entire ordeal; dust covering his black sleeves and sitting in the crevices of his suit, smudges of dirt on his hands and face, the latter having taken on a grayish complexion with darker circles under his eyes as if he was ill. His Italian genes clearly didn't take well to the cold, Scottish weather either.

"Are you alright?" she pressed in concern.

"I'm – fine," he hissed with forced control, still hoarse from the burning cocoa, and cleared his tender throat, his eyes averting her inquisitive gaze. He was obviously not fine.

Ginny huffed. "Owlshit! You're not fine! You just downed a cup of burning hot cocoa, you dimwit! I'm getting you to Madam Pomfrey's right now!"

She started to get up, but a strong hand clamped down on her forearm, halting her.

"No, you don't!" he rasped angrily, looking properly and clearly up at her for the first time. "I'm fine, Weasley! Stop your incessant fussing and sit back down!"

He tucked at her arm, making her tip back into her seat, then quickly withdrew his hand as if he had been burned.

She leaned back and crossed her arms across her chest, shooting him a dubious look. "Right. Well, sorry for the concern. Just thought you might wanna be able to use those 'charmer pipes' again one day."

He lifted one neat eyebrow in arrogantly amused disbelief.

"Really, Weasley? 'Cuppa', 'jiffy', 'charmer pipes'?! Since when have you turned into my grandmother who thinks she can make up 'cool, hip' words?"

"Oh shut it, Zabini," she huffed but failed to bring any significant malice into the words. She was too relieved to see him back to his old self – even if said self was a pain in the arse. And she didn't even know he had a grandmother – one whom he evidently was in contact with. For as long as she had known him (albeit not that long), he held everything personal closely guarded.

Unaware of his slip, Blaise shrugged as if indifferent to her bite, though clearly amused, and placed his elbows and long arms on the table in a more relaxing pose, his broad, lean shoulders still slightly rigid. A smirk slowly formed on his lips and she couldn't help smirking back.

They were rather silly, weren't they?

Rolling the hot mug in the palms of her hands, she stared down into its content, contemplating on her earlier musings about his memory. She couldn't quench her curiosity and feeling that they had come to some sort of tranquil understanding, would it be that bad to ask him now?

She glanced up at him, seeing he had his eyes fixed upon his clasped hands on the table in a different sort of pensiveness.

"Was it – was it a very good memory?"

His dark eyes shot to hers, first in question then a whirlpool of indefinable emotions swamped them though his face remained carefully blank. Quickly looking away, he wrung his sinewy hands.

"Um, it just – happened, okay? I hardly know how it happened myself," he mumbled in a strained voice.

Ginny frowned in disbelief. "But you must have thought of something significant for it to be such a powerful spell?" she pressed.

His fist slammed onto the table, making her jump in surprise. "Dammit, Weasley! Can't you just let it be?! Forget about it, alright! I don't want to talk about what happened!" he growled, still shifty but no less vehement.

"Okay. Alright," she muttered, stunned at his outburst. The more she saw the side of 'angry Blaise', the more confused she became.

She sighed inwardly as silenced tension once again suffused the air between them.

Back to square one.

"Blaise?! Merlin's beard, what are you doing here?" A rather shrill female voice cut through the air like a knife, making both of them flinch and look up to see a Seventh Year girl coming towards them, drawing several curious looks from the occupants of the inn.

She reached them and instantly put a hand on Blaise's shoulder. Ginny couldn't help but frown at the overly familiar way in which she was touching him, barely acknowledging Ginny with more than a quick, snooty once-over.

Blaise shot the tall, pretty girl a slightly stunned look. "Oh, um, hi Paloma."

"Why, 'hi yourself'!" Paloma scoffed and rolled her eyes dramatically. "You haven't contacted me in ages, you oaf! What have you been up to? And don't you give me one of those pathetic Quidditch excuses!"

The way she caressed his arm clearly spoke differently than her put-on tone of voice and made Ginny want to gag.

"Um, out and about. You know," Blaise gave an indifferent shrug, averting his gaze from both of the staring girls, clearly not thrilled about having run into her. Ginny pursed her lips at his feeble attempt of a brush-off.

"Clearly." Paloma shot an icy look at her, making Ginny arch a questioning eyebrow.

What the heck was her problem?!

"Well, yes, I've just been busy with lots of things this term, okay?" Blaise quickly interjected, feeling the bad air in the room and really not having the energy for one of Paloma's tantrums at the moment. Why had he ever hooked up with that girl?!

"I see that," Paloma spoke with venom in her voice, still not taking her eyes from the astonished red-head sitting in front of him.

A strong, dark hand shot out and gripped the wrist of the hand on his shoulder.

"Quit it, will you! I don't have the time or the energy for one of your scenes right now, Paloma!" Blaise hissed under his breath.

"Well!" she flared, clearly affronted as her voice rose, "I guess you are over and done with me then!? Taking up new, young and fresh meat, are we?" Her non-too-subtle gesture towards Ginny made him want to throttle the obnoxious former Hufflepuff.

"Sod off, Podsworth!" he growled tightly, releasing her arm with enough force and show of disgust to make her wobble slightly and her mouth open in sheer, outraged surprise. Her gaze hardened as she looked between him and Ginny, before she snapped her mouth shut into an angry, tight line and pointed an accusing finger at Blaise, though he refused to deign her a look.

"You go right ahead and fuck all the Weasleys you like, Zabini! I don't give a damn! You miserable, lowlife, man-whoring sod!" she snarled furiously, making Ginny flinch at that last, all too familiar description as she watched Paloma's otherwise pretty face turned into an ugly, twisted mask of hurt and anger.

And with that, the older girl whipped around and staunchly made her way through and out of the inn, drawing a bunch of looks and whispers behind her.

Blaise's hand tightened around his empty mug, cursing the girl for making a scene and putting him on the spot in front of not only Weasley but the entire inn – and cursing himself for being so stupid not to break it off with the former Hufflepuff earlier when he had known something like this would eventually happen. He couldn't quite look at Ginny, almost fearing her response; the silent tension wavered thicker in the air than before, but luckily she said nothing, simply scooted the mug in front of her awkwardly between her hands.

"Well then," she eventually sighed with as much dispassionate flippancy as she could muster, looking at her watch. "There's about twenty minutes till class. Maybe we should be getting back?"

Blaise still hadn't looked up but simply nodded solemnly and quickly rose from his seat.

They made their way out of the pub, trying their best to ignore the continued stares and whispers of its nosy inhabitants. Both felt too physically and emotionally exhausted to deal with anything at the moment.

Reaching the castle felt much quicker than the road to the Shrieking Shack, despite it was actually a longer way. They said nothing to each other the entire time, lost in their respective thoughts, and when they got inside the Hogwarts walls, Blaise quickly made his excuses and shuffled off before she had a chance to say – well, to say what exactly? That it had been a great day?! That they should do it sometime again soon? Well, they would have to, but she couldn't imagine either of them looking much forward to it.

She sighed, staring off towards the direction he had disappeared; desperately wishing the day of their dreaded, planned trip would arrive sooner than later so they could get it over and done with.

That was the only reason she wished for it to happen soon …

Wasn't it?