A/N: A guest left a kind review in the hopes of not only Theo/Hermione happening but also for Ginny and Blaise to stop fighting and get together as well as seeing the whole meddlesome affair with the Ministry and the Aurors come to an end soon...

While I certainly appreciate the wishful thinking in any reviewer I get, I'm afraid I cannot promise anything for certain in the near future. It's a Slow Burn for a reason. *dodges rotten tomatoes and gives sheepish shrug* However, according to my timeline there are only five or so months until the end of their final school year, so some things will start to occur. Except Theo/Hermione. Once again, I apologize to those readers who expected this particular ship but I want to cement, once and for all, that I will not pair them off nor was it my intention from the beginning (though my evasiveness may have kept the hope alive..? In that case: My bad). I have other plans for those characters. I hope you'll stay put, nonetheless. Speaking of...

Chapter 24: Behind the tapestry

Theo shifted in his seat.

For two hours, he had been sitting quietly by himself at a lone table in the Library, stooped over another tedious Herbology essay. Despite his continued efforts to remain focused, it was a dull concentration, one that lulled him into a vagrant mindset, setting his quill to work almost automatically, hardly registering the committed words on paper. Words that he already knew in the back of his mind but didn't bother putting much thought into. It merely felt like copying sentences from one of the hundreds textbooks he had read and boundless classes he had attended throughout the school years, and even before that. After all, he was 'academically gifted but, regrettably, chronically indolent'. Much to the displeasure of his father once (though why that old bastard had given two Knuts about his career of all things only the gods knew).

Sensing a shadow across the table top, he lifted his vacant gaze from the same two sentences he had been staring at for the last ten minutes, and the sight of the tall Italian looming over him with an expression that brooked no excuses had him almost make a mess of his essay.

Sheesh, how long has he been standing there?

Theo put down his quill. "Blaise... Mate, what's up?"

Blaise's wide chest expanded in a sigh and he leaned over, unfolding and placing both arms on the table to gaze more probingly into Theo's uncertain expression.

"I should ask you the same, Theo," he retorted flatly, something in that deep lilt warning him off sidestepping whatever issue Blaise had with him.

Theo swallowed. "I'm not sure what you're on about, mate?" He winced when Blaise slammed one large hand down on the table in front of him.

"Enough," the Italian rumbled between clenched teeth, briefly closing his eyes. "Enough with the bloody 'mate'-speech and the bloody lies, Theo." Twisting back in his seat, Theo stared up at the other wizard, trying to discern the cause of his friend's third-degree interrogation. Leaning back as well, Blaise fixed him with a long look. "Tell. Me. About. Hogsmeade."

For a second, Theo's eyes widened into an almost comical expression before his Slytherin mask fell over his countenance like a shadow, all too well known by any former Housemate. "I have no idea what you on about," he murmured, feigning nonchalance as his gaze slid away.

Crumbling his hand into a fist, almost painfully so, Blaise held himself back from slamming it down a second time. Beneath his lashes, Theo's eyes were glued to said fist, betraying his uncaring exterior.

"Don't give me that, Teddy," Blaise gritted out, torn between wanting to throttle his friend and reluctant to spook him away. "I saw you."

Theo's head snapped up. "What?"

Dipping his chin in affirmation, Blaise continued. "I saw you scuttling off between the houses when the Prefects were in Hogsmeade. Funny that, because I recall you said you were otherwise occupied with homework and unable to come along that day." Surveying his friend's warring expression for a second longer, he lowered his voice, keeping it as temperate as possible. "What were you doing there, Theo?"

Theo opened and closed his mouth as his eyes flicked across Blaise's features. Nibbling on his lower lip, his gaze shifted downwards, uneasy to settle on one spot.

"I have nothing to say to you," came his faint voice.

Blaise frowned. He had only witnessed Theo like this once or twice in his life; whenever he or Draco had prodded long and persistently enough into one of his moods until he had finally relented and indirectly alluded to the state of his home life. The memory made Blaise want to retract his earlier volatile display.

Firmly, but consolatory, he reached over and grabbed one of Theo's bony shoulders. "Whatever is the matter, Theo, you can tell me." After a moment of unresponsiveness, he solemnly entreated, "Tell me."

Rising swiftly, shaking off his hand, Theo's delicate features had hardened into an impenetrable shell.

"No."

Still not looking at Blaise, he proceeded to pick up his books and papers and then hurried out of the Library with his shoulders bowed.

Perturbed by his sudden evasiveness, Blaise sat back on the edge of the table, questions roaming his mind. Wiping a hand down across his face, he felt drained. He knew he shouldn't have asked; shouldn't have stuck his long nose into Theo's business and 'attacked' him like that.

That's what comes from mixing with fucking emoting Gryffindors most of the time, a pedantic voice whispered in the back of his mind and grumpily he dismissed it. Perhaps the whole Dorne/Dementor-affair was getting on his nerves.

With a sigh, he slid his long body gracefully off the edge of the table, nearly bumping into a group of Fifth Year girls who had come around the corner of one of the bookcases. They only giggled, eyeing him up and down.

Usually, he would pause and flirt back for a while. Harmless stuff, really. Sure, he would not have said no if he found a willing one among them. Mostly they ended up with a quickie in the girls' bathroom before class. Just to take the edge off. But too often his hook-ups got too attached, demanding his attention afterwards, throwing their drunken arses at him at parties. OK, so he shagged them. Again. Who could blame him when they behaved so wantonly?

But then, he definitely dumped them.

Eyeing the girls with a cursory glance, he snorted and walked on. He was in no mood for it today.

Speaking of clingy 'exes', he had better settle things with Paloma. For good; though he harboured no great eagerness to do so. Yet, he was even more averse to have her sending him venomous glances for the rest of the school year, or, even worse, meddling with his affairs in order to get back at him. He honestly had no patience for anymore unnecessary drama in his life.

Why the thought on making good on the former Hufflepuff came to him right now, he had no clue, especially since he had just 'reminisced' on carelessly using and ditching girls.

Oh, that's right, his mind backtracked. Bloody conscience-stricken Gryffindors!

Fuck's sake. Being around any of them really did him no good. Maybe he should just go back to his old ways. Not that the thought brought him any greater pleasure. Not any longer. But, at least, back then, things were easier to separate.

With another snort at his own transgressions, he exited the Library and took the staircase connecting the library corridor to the second-floor corridor, two steps at the time. In the flickering light of the torches along the walls, his mind played back to the Hogsmeade trip and what had followed.

He sure wasn't comfortable with the fact that his destiny presently resided in the not-so-careful hands of Rowe and the unknown hands of that Auror Warwick (whom he still hadn't quite figured out). McGonagall was another case, of course, and though he had never held any warm feelings for the woman, he knew he at least could rely on her moral skill set to prevent him from being dragged to Azkaban by tomorrow on false claims. (Alright, he had adopted one of those dramatic hyperboles from Draco, but still...)

Speaking of another former acquaintance, maybe it was high time he visited his old, blonde mate up north to see how he fared. If he could get out of the tight-fisted clutches of that insufferable Rowe bloke for a moment or so, without being showered with accusations, that is.

With a low groan, he turned a corner, coming upon the Gargoyle Corridor and spotted a familiar redhead in midst of – no surprise – being interrogated by and/or arguing with said thick-headed Head Auror near the entrance to the Headmistress' Office.

Was that girl simply a magnet for trouble?

And why is it I choose to surround myself with difficult people?

Moving along the shadows of the sparsely lit corridor, Blaise made sure to draw as little attention to himself as possible as he crept closer. Not that he should be too concerned about it at the moment, since the two figures were far too engrossed in their specific stare-off. Still, with Rowe he could never be sure. Just like he never could with Snape or Mad-Eye Moody. He shuddered lightly at the memory of being the unlucky bastard caught by one of those two old bats' attention. However, hadn't he learned a thing or two from Snape? How to carry oneself like a true and reticent Slytherin; asserting oneself without even trying? Of course, Blaise hadn't inherited his natural charm from him. The thought itself was laughable; Snape had as much charm as a Flobberworm. Speaking of, it wouldn't surprise him if the Weaslette had picked up a thing or two from old Mad-Eye during her time in the Order; sixth sense and all that.

Still, Blaise crept closer to the rather déjà vu scenario, intercepting pieces of the 'conversation' between the agitated redhead who was standing with her back to Blaise, nose in the air, arms crossed and, presumably, a searing scowl covering her freckled brow, while Rowe was like a pillar; the very definition of an eagle observing its prey, his face set in stone:

"You've been allowed this much leeway. Don't think I won't keep an eye on you, Miss Weasley. Both of you." Blaise's ears pricked up. Were they discussing him as well? Oh, where's your brain at? Of course, they are!

"Of that, I have no doubt," he heard Ginny reply caustically. "Sir."

The Head Auror raised his brow with a miniscule twitch that would have gone unnoticed if you hadn't met him before. Still, his subtlest expression seemed to speak the loudest.

Dissatisfied with her obstinacy, he assessed her stoically. "Hm, yes, well. I may not have the complete power to restrain your movements within this school given your stature and favour with the Headmistress. But if you value your credentials, after you finish school as well, you will do well in keeping away from that boy and stay on the straight and narrow path from now on."

Ginny gaped. "Are... you threatening me?"

Rowe sent her a wholly unsympathetic and stiff smirk. "Well, I wouldn't quite call it that, Miss Weasley, since I haven't actually threatened you." The promise of a "yet" lay heavily in the air, and Ginny swallowed some of the burning anger clogging her throat. "Good day to you, Miss Weasley," he finished off, turned around and walked away.

That piece of– !

The second she surged forward, arms extended to claw out the eyeballs of the dunderheaded git, an arm shot out of the blue and wrapped itself firmly around her waist, halting her struggling form.

"Hold your Hippogriffs, Weaslette," an amused voice spoke near her ear, sending a tendril of surprised recognition curling through her belly.

"Let. Go. Of. Me, Zabini," she snarled up at him, her hand clamping down on his larger one to unfurl the long fingers at her side. The fact that she had recognised him almost instinctively was something both of them noticed but neither was quite ready to give much thought.

He merely chuckled and tsked at her and the action caused a slight vibration from his chest that ran all the way through her own as his warm breath brushed her hair. His grasp loosened infinitesimally but without letting go, inflaming her spite. Against the wall of his body, the scent of expensive cologne seeped through the crispy white shirt he wore, and she froze as she became all too aware of the lack of physical distance between them. An odd desire of having his lips press against the sensitive patch of heated skin along her neck hit her dumb in her chest and she squirmed against him.

"I said: Let go of me, Zabini," she warned between gritted teeth and he finally eased his hold on her, teasingly, letting her step away from the sturdy enclosure of his frame and catch her breath. She scowled up at him and was met by his usual cool and bored perusal, though it was a mask she'd learned to decipher by now. There were flashes of a piqued curiosity hiding in those dark pools whenever he gazed upon her.

"My, my, if looks could kill," he drawled. "You should be a little more grateful. In fact, I think I just saved you from being thrown in Azkaban for manslaughter. Of the Head Auror, no less. Now, we couldn't have that, could we? The famous Head Girl and war heroine in jail?" He tutted.

"You– "

"Ah, yes," he jeered dramatically, "I have saved you once again. It seems to be our fate to meet like this, Weasley, however much we both may wish it otherwise."

'Saved', my arse. She snorted indelicately, having no patience for his convoluted talk and still simmering over his overly presumptive 'hands-on'-interception earlier.

"Give me a break," she muttered.

"Gladly," came the sardonic reply. "But that would entail you and I actually staying out of trouble and it hasn't worked out so well, so far, has it?" He quirked an eyebrow and she pressed her lips into a thin line, realizing she had no real retort to his more than accurate description of what had happened to them the past couple of months.

"Yeah, well," she started sullenly, "but he–" she pointed incensed down the hallway where the Auror had disappeared, "was being a right tosser, you know!? He still hasn't laid away his suspicions about any of us!" Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her temper boiled. "And then the berk goes on to claim that I have some sort of complex; that I am actually seeking out danger – or asking for trouble or whatever – which apparently entails getting my head knocked in by a bloody Bludger!"

He fixed his eyes upon her, this time serious, masking his surprise. "What happened?"

"What, you haven't already heard?" she replied in disbelief that the rumours of the hexed Bludger hadn't reached the entire school already. Zabini's awaiting demeanour told her he really was uninformed of today's episode. She rubbed her neck. "Um, well, I sort of flew into some trouble at the pitch today..." By the impatient flicker that crossed his gaze, she quickly reworded her account. "Someone hexed a Bludger. To hurt me or likely even...kill me. I'm not sure," she stammered bluntly and carefully observed his reaction.

Though Zabini could not be called expressive, unless he turned the charm on that is, certain tell-tale reactions escaped his otherwise carefully controlled behaviour on the rare occasion: A slight widening of his large cat-like eyes. A flash in those obsidian orbs. A twitch by the corner of his full mouth. A muscle ticking in the cut jaw. (With cheekbones such as his, he really should be more careful than he already was. Despite all his likely excessive me-time in front of the mirror, was he even aware how much they could give away?).

"I see," he simply said, in a way she could only gather as him being stunned.

She looked away with a small shrug. "Yeah."

How was one to respond really? With 'Are you OK?' Perhaps, but she was tired of the same platitudes time and time again. Though she understood perfectly where the sentiment was coming from, she had been on the receiving end of them ever since...ever since Fred...

Besides, clearly she was OK. Shaken, mad even, but OK. And it wasn't like she and Zabini were each other's 'guard dogs' or anything. It wasn't like they needed to care or worry about each other. They certainly didn't need to verbalize it and constantly affirm it with each other. She shuddered inwardly at the saccharine imagery. Actually, the only thing that linked them was basic human decency and a sense of moral obligation. An unspoken agreement that they were in this thing together (merely by chance) ever since that Dementor turned up out of the blue in the Shrieking Shack. If looking out for one another meant protecting their own hides then why not?

Yes, she concluded with herself: It's about survival. About getting out on the other side as whole as possible and still be able to look yourself in the eyes in the mirror each morning. That much she had discovered about herself and the former nemesis and serpent in front of her since being thrown together with him.

She observed him as he gazed back.

"So," he prolonged the vowel, "I guess it... didn't succeed?"

With a wry mien, she quipped, "It didn't, no. For some reason, every Counter-Spell I threw it glanced off, and I managed to evade it for as long as possible until Warwick swooped in and put a stop to it."

"Warwick?" he repeated in mild surprise. She nodded and he hummed. "Always there to save the day, isn't she?" It felt like more of an observation than a question.

"Zelenko was there, too," Ginny interjected. Why did I say that? Why should he care?

"Ah, your Professor," Blaise intoned smugly.

Ginny harrumphed, crossing her arms. "He is not my Professor." You know he isn't, she continued in her head. You heard it. You said it. Blaise's small infuriating smirk only twitched from her reaction. "Besides, he was behaving entirely odd."

"Was he now?" His way of picking at things with his Slytherin scepticism was starting to get on her nerves, even though she might even share some of his suspicions.

"Yes, well," she replied tartly, "he wasn't exactly humble about his role in witnessing the Bludger go after me and then alerting the Aurors. Just in time, mind you. Most of all, his presence there was just odd."

"At the pitch?"

"Yep. It was training day today and as you might have noticed, it has been raining cats and dogs. Storm and thunder and all that. Not a favourite weather of mine to play in, but well, you know; you've got to do it."

He gave a low hum in agreement. "Certainly not a weather you'd want to be a spectator in, for any reason other than the Finals."

"Exactly," she said. "So: What was he doing there?"

They looked at each other in pregnant silence and whatever small and insignificant reservations they each had had about the guy but brushed off at the time, suddenly re-emerged and connected like pieces of a puzzle in the space between them.

It was as if a cloud lifted from a part of her mind. If Zabini had noticed something too...

She was about to open her mouth when Blaise emitted a low grunt in the back of his throat, looked around and grasped her arm, squashing her protests. He led her to the tapestry halfway along the corridor concealing a narrow staircase leading to the ground-floor. Here he pulled the drapery aside and pushed her behind it. She stumbled a bit in the dark, aware of the staircase just by the edge of her feet.

Well, at least, they could be sure to have no eavesdroppers here. Hardly no one used it as a short cut.

Casting a temporary Muffliato on their surroundings, Blaise turned to her, crossing his long arms. "So. You think he had something to do with all this?" Ginny knew he referred to the Dementor, Dorne and the hexed Bludger appearing within close time range of each other.

She shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe? He is the newest member among the staff and no one seems to know a lot about him."

"Yeah, blame it on the new guy," he said in a mock-cheer. "I like this kind of game. So original."

She ignored his gibe and thought for a bit. "Maybe McGonagall would know? She must be the one to employ him, right?"

"And no one fools the old goat."

She raised a caustic eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, sorry about that, but you can't disagree with me on the fact that McGonagall is one tough nut to crack," he retorted drily. "If someone tries to fake their way into the school in some pathetic fashion like our possible pretender, 'Mr. Zelenko', here, she would see right through it."

She sighed but silently agreed with him. "Well," she started, "you can't disagree with me that you don't like him particularly much either?"

After a beat, Blaise scratched his neck, and surprised her by relenting. "I guess this means we should keep an eye out for him – without him seeing us spying on him." With a long-suffering sigh, he drove a hand down across his face. "Boy, am I getting tired of all this shite."

"You're one to talk," she snorted. "You're not the one who gets tailed by him or has to deal with his 'winning' personality each time."

"Oh, come now," he responded with a sarcastic edge. "It's not exactly like being chased around by Quasimodo, is it now?"

She pulled a face. "Even if he was the most handsome serial killer in the world, it's still a hard pass, thank you very much."

He merely chuckled and Ginny felt like strangling him. Why did everything have to be so frustratingly casual and nonchalant with him? Couldn't he see the seriousness in this without it having to be about saving his skin or his reputation for once? Which, by the way, it kind of still was...

"What about our shared stalker, the 'Head of All Aurors'?" Blaise jeered, interrupting her bitter train of thought. "Isn't he one to consider when we start to take special interest in Zelenko, all of a sudden? And don't tell me that hawk won't have his eyes and ears – and that includes all his little lackeys – glued on us until the end of our days."

She huffed under her breath. "Don't be so dramatic." He just sent her a knowing look. "OK, yeah, I agree that he is not one to be underestimated," she bit out, feeling frustrated by the continuous tightening of the snare they had walked into.

At least, Blaise wasn't entirely indifferent to their situation.

She worried her lower lip; an action Blaise wasn't entirely indifferent to either but his shifted attention went over her head. "I guess we just need to be careful, don't we?" She emitted a low groan. "More careful than we've been so far around the Aurors."

He pursed his lips, only halfway believing her plan. "And Warwick?"

"What about her?"

"Well, she seems a little looser than Rowe –" here Ginny raised her brow to new heights, "I said 'a little'," he harrumphed, and then, more under his breath, "honestly, no one should go around measuring scales of gaiety based on bloody Aurors. My point is; she could prove an even greater risk."

Ginny threw him an exasperated mien. "Get to your point, Zabini. Stop talking in riddles."

He growled. "I'll get there if you just stop fucking interrupting me."

"Fine."

"Fine." He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just don't underestimate her either. She is obviously put on our 'case' by Rowe, and I have an odd inkling that she will integrate herself more firmly into our lives from now on. And before we know it, bam, she'll have just the right piece of material to incriminate us."

She rolled her eyes. "Again with the dramatics. Besides, only the guilty fear judgment – and we are not guilty."

"I'm serious, little Weaslette," he bit back. "I don't think you've quite got the seriousness of the situation."

Gaping at him, her lungs felt stifled in the tight space. "I understand it perfectly well, Zabini. In fact," she returned, poking one finger into his chest, firm muscle twitching beneath the fabric, "I think you are the one who hasn't quite got the seriousness of the situation."

"She's a wild card. Admit it." He said it with such conviction, she almost believed him. Regarding her with a deadpan expression, he noted, "You've come to respect her, haven't you? Especially after today."

Swallowing, she glanced away, and taking her silence as a 'yes', Blaise let her stew in her own inner turmoil. They stood there for a while, still a bit too close for comfort, brooding on their shared problems accumulating.

Seemingly fed up by the gloomy atmosphere, Blaise uncrossed his arms. "So," he droned again, stepping closer, practically crowding her with his bigger body within the small space between the tapestry and the staircase. "You're sure you are feeling alright after your little near-death-experience? Nothing I should be worried about?" There was a glint in his almond-shaped eyes, like a cat playing with its prey, enjoying watching it squirm underneath its claws. Or he was merely trying to suss her out; ensuring his own arse was covered given today's event? She could never rightly tell when he was like this.

Apparently, they weren't quite done distrusting one another.

Making sure to guard herself against any further bodily contact, she crossed her own arms and glared up at him. "Quite sure, Zabini. But thanks for the concern. I really appreciate it," she retorted snarkily.

He drew back a little, surprise and amusement oozing from behind his cold mask, regarding her a bit before drawling, "Well, then. I guess matters here are finished?"

"For now." It was stated airily but with enough weight behind the words to remind him of the seriousness behind their agreement.

He nodded, apparently getting the message, though the amusement hadn't quite slipped his aristocratic features. With a mock-salute, he turned and stepped down the narrow stairs, wordlessly lifting the Muffliato. "See ya, Weasley," came his smooth baritone as he descended and disappeared down the steps.

Expelling a loud sigh, Ginny leaned back against the wall for a second before righting herself and whipping the tapestry aside to step out into the still empty corridor.

She had only walked a couple of steps when she felt a peculiar sensation of being watched. Stopping for a second, her brow furrowed as she turned to take in her surroundings. They lay just as empty and quiet as before. Shaking off the feeling – Hogwarts was, after all, haunted by several known ghosts and who knew what gossip ran among the paintings – she continued down towards the other end, wondering whether she was getting truly paranoid or had just developed some sixth sense since the war.

Maybe they were just two sides of the same coin...

A/N: *clears throat* I'm not going to apologize for Blaise's crass language in this one. If you thought he's was all mellowed by now, well, you thought wrong. Not entirely, but hey, he's a complex bloke who used to be quite the arse, and you don't just simply change the stripes of a tiger, do you?