A/N: I'm so pleased and indeed humbled to see all the followers this story has gotten so far. And I don't think I've managed to thank all the kind reviewers who have stopped by, so, thank you very much! I hope you'll keep on reviewing.

2017/4/4 IMPORTANT UPDATE: Since uploading this chapter, one reviewer was so kind to make me aware of how easily my original story title "Fire & Coal" can, at first, be misinterpreted as something akin to racial stereotyping since we're dealing with an interracial (non-canon) relationship; where "Fire" can connote to Ginny's red hair and "Coal" to Blaise's dark skin. As I explained to the reviewer, it was not my intention since I, initially, tried to bypass such stereotyping by playing on the words and rather linking them to the personalities of the main characters (e.g. like well-known titles such as "Pride & Prejudice" allude to). But this, in turn, also made me realize that readers may not instinctively see that connotation because of said relationship. No matter my well-intended meaning with the original title and how much I try and explain it, it seems like a loophole and counterproductive at best, distracting from the story at hand.

I have therefore decided to change the title of my story to "Embers & Ashes", thus hoping to avoid the same interpretative problem arising and still retain some of what I feel this story is about and which I aim to stay true to, namely exploring the budding relationship between two former 'enemies' in postwar times.

I hope you understand my reasoning behind it and will continue to stay on, regardless. Thank you, again.

*Story edited 11-08-17*

Chapter 18: Positively Slytherin!

Whirling around Ginny saw none other than the Head Auror himself stepping out of the shadows; his cold, hawk-like gaze fixed on her.

What was he doing here? Surely, he could just have some of his lackeys surveying the hallways instead of lurking about himself?

She frowned. She really didn't like this guy.

"Sir," Ginny greeted him cautiously, eyeing his movements as he slowly advanced her, practically circled her, hands behind his back.

"How are you this evening?" he asked calmly, too calmly, while subtly inspecting her as if still trying to find some suspicious signs about her behavior besides being slightly worse for wear.

Was this a 'thing' among Aurors or was it just him – being overtly creepy?

"I am well, all considerate. Thank you… Sir," she replied warily, eyes narrowing at his consistent perusal.

Standing still, he took in her distrustful expression but continued as if nothing was amiss, "I had hoped to find you in the company of Mr. Zabini this evening. You haven't by any chance seen him, have you?"

Heat rising to her cheeks, she blurted out, "Why?", before realizing her mistake and cringed, blaming the alcohol's effects on her. Clearing her throat, she jutted out her chin, "May I ask why you think that I should know about Zabini's whereabouts, in particular?" she pointedly rephrased, adding another terse "Sir."

His stone-faced expression revealed nothing but kept on surveying her person. "I merely wondered where he presently kept himself, given the threat hanging around the school," he replied as cryptically as ever.

Pressing her lips together, Ginny felt indignation well up inside her at the idiotic stubbornness of this guy and his entirely unfounded smear campaign against Blaise. Hadn't he got it into his big, fat head yet that Blaise had absolutely nothing to do with that Dementor?!

And he clearly thought she was somehow colluding with him or covering up for him.

What exactly was his problem? He didn't actually think Blaise could have any lingering loyalties to his past ties, did he?

Hands on hips, she stared hotly back at the Auror. "Well, first of all, yes, I have seen him; we happened to run into each other just before we went to the party upstairs. Separately. I haven't seen him since. And secondly, I don't think you should 'trouble' yourself about the safety of Zabini, Sir. As far as I know he can take care of himself."

"Ah, yes, you would know that, wouldn't you?"

What presumably should have come off as a casual smirk along with his all too smooth voice came across as more of a predatory 'Gotcha!'-look on his austere, hard-lined face.

Seriously, did this guy have no chill at all?

"Yes," she retorted flatly, as if speaking to a slow-witted person, "Since I was with him when he single-handedly fought off the Dementor. Remember?"

"Exactly."

She blinked. Wow. This guy was certainly persistent, she'd give him that. What exactly did he want from her? A big confession of some sorts?

Bloody likely!

"I'm not sure what you want me to say, Sir," she stated with an innocent shrug. "I've told you all I know in the Headmistress's office. And I'm sure Zabini would say the same to you if he was here. All we want is for the Dementor to be caught, if I'm not wrong? I can't see what neither Blaise nor I can do to help the search any further, other than doing as instructed as Prefect and Head Girl, respectively. The job is evidently up to you Aurors to capture dangerous, magical creatures, isn't that so?" She smiled placidly up at him, secretly amazed at her own ability to form any kind of cohesive sentences presently.

Clenching his jaw, the Auror's eyes turned to slits, likely screening her visage for some kind of scheme, and gave a non-committal grunt, clearly not being able to disagree with her on that point.

"Yes, well, we shall see about that," he grumbled, a statement that belied the issue was far from concluded but at least gave an air of finality to their conversation.

Finally, she breathed inwardly, looking forward to quiet her pounding temple.

"I bid you good evening, Miss Weasley." He gave a curt nod, his flinty gaze staying on her a couple of extra seconds, enough to send a chill coursing down Ginny's spine, before turning and walking languidly down the shadowed hallway and disappear to where he came from.

No, she definitely didn't like that guy or what was spinning in that dunderheaded...head of his. He was up to something, that was for sure.

Wincing, she hunched over, placing her hands on her knees once again. Oh Merlin, her brain! It felt like it was going to jump out of her head and skedaddle down the corridor any time now. She groaned out loud when it took a turn for the worse. Ugh. Terrific.

For a second her brain chose so conveniently to play tricks on her, letting the swirl of rancorous emotions form some weird sort of conspiracy theory to explain her current state of being: That the Head Auror himself had somehow managed to spike her drink. Charmed it before it was handed over the bar counter. Planted the bartender. Whatever.

Ludicrous, she knew.

She thumped her temple (and immediately regretted the move) for being so stupid to even come to such theories. After all, she was a lightweight and hadn't really had alcohol for a long time until this evening, so it might as well just be her under practiced body taking its toll to the strong liquor. It wouldn't surprise her if the explanation was as simple as that nor that she, per instinct, refused to believe it. Damn it, if she didn't have the tendencies to a suspicious mind herself!

Willing those no-good thoughts away, she managed to calm her breathing; the throbbing in her head somewhat decreasing as she swallowed the cool, spacious air surrounding her and let the silence of the corridor invade her mind.

It would be some time before she'd touch Firewhiskey again, she vowed to herself.

"You alright there, Weasley?" a familiar voice droned from behind her, making her yelp and whirl around in surprise for a second time that night.

This time she was faced with an all too pleased-looking Blaise Zabini leaning between the pilasters along the shadowed wall near the entrance to the Tower. His eyes had clearly been somewhere…else on her body because it was now travelling slowly up her torso before reaching her face, a sly smirk playing on his lips. A momentary shiver surged between her legs at the darkened, glittering gaze she found there.

What was it with men and sneaking up on people? Seriously!

And when did he get here?! Were the forces conspiring against her or something? She just had to run into Blaise Zabini of all people everywhere she went, didn't she?

Yet, compared to recent company, his presence was, admittedly, a welcomed one. She felt almost...relieved to see him, before mentally smacking herself. Ohh, no, Gin, don't you dare go down that road!

She forcibly righted herself with an exasperated sigh, instinctively readying herself for a confrontation of some kind, as she caustically eyed the Italian by the wall.

"Lurk much?"

He gave an uncharacteristic grin that lighted up in the dark surrounding him – as if it was the most expectant and adorable thing she could have said, making her nerves tingle with something else than befuddlement at his sudden appearance.

"Nah. Just taking a break from the hubbub upstairs."

"Really?" she replied in disbelief. "I thought it was your thing?"

"My thing?" One brow rose visibly at the latter word.

"Yeah; partying, picking up girls, being at the center of attention and just your average kind of jerk. You know; all the stuff you attention freaks usually crave?" she gibed.

"Hardy har har," he responded dryly. "You're a right lark tonight, Weasley, you know that?"

Hm. He doesn't rile easily tonight, she pondered. What's up with him?

"And you are a creepy, arrogant bundle of joy tonight, Zabini. Almost didn't recognize you there. Feeling alright yourself?"

"Fit as a well-polished broom," came his cocky reply.

I bet you are, she thought and harrumphed, "Oh, get your act together, Zabini. It's getting pathetic."

He merely chuckled from his spot in the shadows. "Says the tough-as-nails war heroine and Quidditch Captain who's dry-heaving after two shots of Firewhiskey."

She gaped. "You saw that?"

"Oh yeah, I saw," he chuckled briefly again, adding to her embarrassment and irritation at having been caught by him. She did not put much more thought into the fact that he must have kept a close eye on her for most of the evening. He must have hid himself well in the crowd somehow.

"For what it's worth," he continued, his demeanor taking on a more solemn note, "I think Zelenko is a git." Her eyes widened as he went on in a low voice that had an unusually earnest tone to it, "He doesn't know shit about you and has no right to presume anything." Followed by an awkward beat, he muttered, "Don't let that jerk get to you, Weasley. You're worth ten of his kinds."

Wha–?

Her mind was in a spin as she stared dumbfounded at him.

How could he possibly have heard all that?

Had she even heard correctly right now?

And why did he even care what some low-life Professor – barely a stranger – had said to her? It was hardly more than some stupid, cursory, and, frankly, ignorant words thrown her way about her aspiring profession. She had had worse. She could take it.

But all she could manage to utter in response was a quiet, "Um, thanks…Zabini… I think."

Shrugging noncommittally, as if wanting to shrug off the suddenly much too pronounced, uncomfortable emotion hanging in the air between them, he merely gave a tight nod in return.

Still eyeing his shadowed form contemplatively, Ginny wondered if he had ever paid anyone an earnest compliment – if indeed he was in earnest – and not expecting anything in return. It was an uncommon trait among Slytherins, after all. But, honestly, sometimes, one wouldn't know where the façade began and the personality ended with that lot.

Perhaps sensing her unmoving, intensive perusal of him, he uttered an impatient sigh as though trying to deflect any sense of insecurity, and his trademark, arrogant smirk was back in place, ready to gain the upper hand.

"By the way, I couldn't help overhearing some of what you said to Rowe. Positively Slytherin what you did back there, Weasley," he drawled, looking like the cat that got the cream. "I must say, I'm impressed."

She scoffed as she crossed her arms across her chest, rocking back on her heels, and glared at him. "You're enjoying this far too much, I think." Pursing her lips at his obvious amusement, she quickly backtracked and retaliated, "So, where's Blondie Blond? Some important charity event for rich people she needed to attend to instead?"

For a moment he gave her a blank look. "Huh?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. Was he really that forgetful about his womanizing? "Your date, dumbass! The snooty one clinging to your arm like poison ivy the last time we saw each other. Remember?"

"Ah." He merely shrugged as if she had just informed him what time it was. "No soddin' clue," he said, lapsing into an informal tongue which was new to her ear. "I guess off with her mates to the party. Probably somewhere by the bar or snogging a Sixth Year, go figure."

Ginny arched a disbelieving eyebrow and gave a slight chortle. "Well! So much for The Great Zabini: The Chick Magnet!"

His head shot up, eyes narrowing. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged, unable to let a gleeful feeling – of getting a rile out of him – bubble up inside of her, humming in step with the alcohol. "Only that I had expected you to have laid them all down by now."

He stepped forward, all cool, imposing self-confidence. Now partly out of the shadows, he was momentarily bathed in a silvery-blue light from the windows and moonlit sky above, only enhancing all his magnificently carved features. "Been thinking about that, have you?" Eyes twinkled dangerously. "About me… getting it on?"

"Please!" Ginny scoffed mockingly, but not liking the way this was going and shot back, "Since I find you alone, I guess you haven't been 'getting it on', as you so charmingly put it. Phew! The girls must be so relieved, I bet!"

"Who says I haven't?" he countered with a teasing leer, jutting forth his lean hips, hands in pockets and drawing attention to his crotch.

Her eyes widened for a fraction as her stomach plummeted, but she managed to play it off in seemingly disgusted incredulity. "Yeah, right, Zabini. Even you couldn't have managed that in such a short time!" When his only response was a wolfish smirk and contradicting gleam in his eyes, she faltered, coming up short with what to say. "And – even if you did, um– well, the last thing I need to end my already brilliant evening is listening to any sordid details about your latest booty call, thank you very much!"

Her chest heaved slightly, drawing his attention for a sultry moment before his gaze settled back on hers; the air suddenly thick enough to cut in despite the low room temperature.

Momentarily flummoxed, she quickly righted herself. "Look, just because your date has gone awry, doesn't mean you should hide here in the shadows and jump the bones of the next poor girl who comes along. That's just– creepy, Zabini. Even for you."

Surprising her again by taking no heat to her barb, his eyes were now positively black in the dark hallway, smoldering embers reflecting around the orbs.

"I've only been waiting for the right chance to do so," he uttered enigmatically, as if more to himself than to her, eyes dropping to her lips.

An unsettling feeling plummeted to her stomach. What was he on about?

Stepping closer again, virtually into her personal space, he bent forwards until his sultry mouth was mere inches away from her ear, letting a buzzing trail of breath hit the sensitive skin of her neck. "Because I think you do want to listen. Very much so," his lips barely ghosting across her overheated skin, "I think you want to be that poor girl whose bones I jump."

What the –!

That did it!

Stepping back and out of his crowding – and way too heady – presence, she scowled up at his amused face, recognizing the telltale, glazed-over glimmer in the dark pools of his almond-shaped eyes and realizing that the great, ever so composed and cold Blaise Zabini… was drunk!

She didn't think she had ever seen him drunk.

Despite the situation and his coming on too strongly, she was rather impressed by how he was able to hold his liquor as he stood there; as rank, relaxed and smug as ever. She shouldn't be that surprised, really, that a Zabini was – if anything – always elegant; in whatever he or she did. A git, mind you, but an elegant one.

Ugh. That didn't even make sense! she snorted to herself.

"You're drunk, Zabini," she quipped, trying to find the upper footing again (if she ever had it).

He smiled lecherously, proudly confirming it. "Tell me something I don't know, Weaslette."

"Don't call me that!"

Stepping closer once more, "Then what should I call you? Little Weasel?" he taunted softly with a sobering mien as he lifted a hand to gently touch the lock of hair framing her face, "Red?", drawing closer still, eyes hooded, "My little… lioness?" The latter almost said in a purr.

Heart jumping in her throat at his words, she backed away, only to hit the hard surface of the wall behind her. Before she knew it, he had trapped her there, an arm on each side of her, leaning in so far that his lips could touch the shell of her ear and lower – if he wanted to.

Not that Ginny wanted him to.

No. Certainly not. He was an arrogant, insufferable Slytherin sleazebag who was currently drunker than her Aunt Muriel at Christmas dinners! (Which really wasn't the kind of image she would like to have in her mind right now).

And she was not – nor ever – about to 'get it on' with the number one ladies' man of Hogwarts! That was for sure!

Then why hadn't she moved?

Admittedly, she felt a little hazy from the alcohol still coursing steadily through her system. Well, that's what happens when you choose vodka and a double Firewhiskey over some fruity cocktail, she supposed. And leaning back against the cool stone wall for support did feel relaxing – especially since her legs seemed to have gone all jelly-like.

"You okay there, Weasley?" his deep voice hummed just above her head, mirroring his words from before, but only now giving them a new meaning. Looking up she met Blaise's obsidian eyes swarming before her own bleary ones and gulped as she felt a drowsy, but nonetheless unmistakable throb between her legs. Heat pooling in her belly. A vague voice in the back of her thumbing head told her they had been here before but that this felt distinctly different. The warm puffs of his breath fanning over her face gave off a burned, woodsy smell of the liquor she herself had consumed earlier, mixed with the pressing heat of his body, his own, entirely masculine scent, sent shivers down her spine.

Or maybe it was just the cold hallway they were standing in?

"I– "

He was close.

Very close.

So close she could take the time to truly study and admire how high his cheekbones went, the long, sculpted chin, the both sleek and broad lines of his nose, the specks of gold and amber in his black, hooded eyes, seeming to want to swallow her whole. His mouth… her eyes tracing the perfectly shaped Cupid's bow of his full upper lip –

Why could she somehow never find the proper words to describe his lips, she asked herself in dozy frustration, eyes focusing in on said topic, now suspended just centimeters from her own.

Her head swamped with stirring images; she couldn't stop herself. Damn her drunken brain!

But… if he looked this hungry, this intoxicating, in every sense of the word, merely from leaning in close, then how would he not look when he –

Ginny gulped.

She had never really allowed herself to imagine what he really must look like – be like in… in bed. Maybe for this very reason? Because she feared what that exact image would do to her; what venturing over that threshold would mean.

She almost went cross-eyed from staring up at his face mere inches from hers, the memory of their sudden kiss in the Prefects' Bathroom, the hard, warm press of his body against hers flashing before her eyes. She wanted to close her eyes and imagine those same, firm lips consumed, burning across skin like wildfire – like they were made for that particular task alone. Those magnificent panther-like features contorted with pleasure, eyes black and all-consuming, head bent forwards then backwards in throes of all-male ecstasy, exposing his throat and bobbing Adam's apple, his deep, Italian lilt cursing through and expanding the pleasure, those long, corded muscles of his neck and shoulders, a drop of sweat slowly sliding down across his criminally toned torso to –

Merlin help her!

She was really and properly buggered, wasn't she? (Or just really drunk?)

And by the proximity and mere looks – however intoxicated – he gave her, she had an odd feeling he somehow was too.

Pulled inevitably towards each other.

Magnetized.

Oh, yes. She was truly fucked.

Oh. She hadn't quite expected her own bodily reaction to that particular word. Merlin... She bit back an audible moan.

What could only have been a few seconds seemed to stretch to minutes, hours, as they just stood there, hovering near each other, as if waiting for the other to react.

Blaise inhaled deeply, something seeming to dawn in his otherwise inebriated gaze, his eyes boring into hers.

"Weasley," he murmured, an undecipherable note to her name that seemed to come from deep within his chest, surprising himself, like a rumble of a rousing volcano; a gush of his hot, sweet breath wafting over her, clouding her judgment, and made her elicit something close to a whimper as the heat in her belly swirled, and the pulse between her legs throbbed painstakingly once more. A stirring within her chest, to the very tips of her breasts, threatened to make her arch against him in dangerous need of closeness and with a suppressed moan she fought to hold herself back.

No.

She squirmed against the wall, both their breaths quickening and intermingling as whatever distance existed between them started to close in, however much their rational minds fought it. Or didn't?

It was all so confusing. Fuzzy. Whether from the alcohol or the moment… or both. What was the right thing to do? What was the wrong thing to do? She couldn't rightly remember any longer. She knew she should, but all she could think about at the moment was how she would kiss him, touch him –

In a hypothetical scenario.

Of course.

Not this one.

This was–

This was …

"Blaise!"

They started and drunkenly jumped apart, facing the source of the voice that had so brutally ripped them out of their daze – much to both Ginny's disappointment and relief, feeling her breath leave with him as Blaise pulled out of her personal space.

The younger boy didn't spare the situation he had interrupted much thought but looked rather relieved at having found Blaise. Ginny vaguely recognized him to be one of Theo's mates from earlier.

"Thank Merlin I found you!" he said breathlessly. "Listen, you've got to come! You've got to help! Theo's gone bonkers! He's totally out of it!"

Blaise seemed to come to his senses at the mention of Theo's name, standing up straight and turning fully towards the boy. "What has he done now? Where is he?" he demanded.

The boy shrunk back, hesitating in his next answer and Ginny couldn't really blame him. Blaise could cut an intimidating figure.

"I, um, last time I saw him he was in the boys' dorm, trying to transfigure Thomas Bullsby from Sixth Year into a pig and sent him out of the window, because he said he wanted to prove to Lewis Allcut from Seventh Year who is Muggle-born that pigs can fly," the boy rattled off, twisting his hands nervously. "I'm not sure how it went on from there or if they stayed there, because I ran for help – to find you."

Blaise's strong-lined jaw clenched. "Bloody hell, Theo," he grumbled to himself, and Ginny could see the wheels turning, trying to get through the alcohol-induced fog in his head.

"Should– should I go find a teacher?" the boy piped up.

"No!" Blaise barked, making the boy flinch again before the Italian stepped closer to him and lowered his voice in stern vehemence. "No teachers. I'll deal with this." Without a spare glance back at Ginny, Blaise clamped a hand down on the boy's shoulder and said: "Show me to him."

Nodding nervously, the boy turned and started walking hurriedly down the hallway with Blaise following close behind, a deep-set frown having replaced his earlier flirtatious mien as his long legs carried him forward with tense determination. Before she knew it, they had reached the corner to the stairs and were gone.

Ginny let out a deep breath she didn't know she had been holding, letting her pounding head fall back against the wall and shut her eyes close.

Damn him!

Once again, Zabini had managed to rile her good and proper up and then just left her there; standing bewildered against a wall with her head screwed on the wrong way, heart beating wildly and legs wobbly.

But could she really blame him this time? It was rather a noble act to come to his friend's rescue, wasn't it? She couldn't tell how serious it sounded, but apparently Blaise – who knew Theo best, after all – thought so since he didn't want any teachers involved. He could just have given his usual derisive scoff and said Theo only had himself to blame; that he wasn't his keeper.

But he hadn't. He really cared. If not for Theo's safety, then for his reputation – or his own, since everybody knew they hung out together most of the time. Either way, he had wanted to help. That, at least, had to count for something.

The image of him and the way he had looked at her tonight flitted across her foggy mind, making her whimper in restrained desire and confusion. She was tired of waiting; waiting for something she hardly even knew what was or had any inkling what she was supposed to do about it. And there he was. Playing hide-and-seek with her. Giving her mixed signals. Or was she doing that?

For crying out loud! She couldn't wrap her head around him. Make up her mind about him. Them! And his mouth, that sinful smirk that promised–

Ugh!

There you go again! Stupid Ginny!

And damn him!

And his stupid mouth!

Again!

She was so dizzy and drunk and, frankly, exhausted from the entire evening's dealings that the only thing she could think of doing was letting her heavy head meet her nice, comfy pillow in her nice, comfy bed. Godric, yes.

With one last great exertion she pushed herself off the wall, reeling slightly, brain feeling like a soggy cotton ball in her head, and then turned to pad down the empty hallway towards her sleeping quarters, hoping her feet would guide her most of the way so that she did not manage to get lost.

Whatever important stuff she needed to decide upon – decide regarding Blaise – she could do so tomorrow, after all. Hopefully, the worst thing that could happen was waking up to a merciless hangover.

Right now, that seemed the most definite conclusion she could draw from tonight's events.

A/N: And here we finally reached it, as promised from the very start of this story; a bit of fluff to soothe your long-suffering souls. But worry not, dear readers, it is only the beginning ;)