A/N: Warning: This chapter mentions physical and mental torture and parental neglect.

Chapter 33: In the harsh light of day

Ginny had gone straight to bed, despite it was only early in the afternoon, and slept soundly until an empty stomach and a dry throat woke her up around supper time, bleary-eyed and rasping. She had stumbled to dinner and was ready to go down on her knees and thank the higher powers at the sight of steaming roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and baked carrots added mouth-watering gravy lining the tables in the Great Hall (which was odd given the after-effects of the alcohol should leave her quite nauseated). Quickly helping herself to an over-stuffed plate, she didn't really pay any attention to any prying eyes. Her unexplained absence as Head Girl might have been a subject of discussion though she doubted she could cause much of a stir for being away for less than half a day. She might be the Head Girl, but she wasn't perfect either. She could go on the rare bender every now and then... right?

After having gotten the last drop of gravy off her plate, she trekked up the stairs on ungainly legs and back to bed, exhausted and, for once, totally oblivious to the amount of homework laying waiting.

However, her body felt jumbled from the interruption and her alcohol-induced rest was replaced by a newfound restlessness. On the fringes of her consciousness her mind started retracing images behind her eyelids; the shock of seeing Dean again, Nott's crumbled face, Blaise's voice addressing him in a mixture of reproachful concern. The closeness of his dark hand poised against her pale one. Sharp features in blurred, yet achingly familiar shapes intersected and emerged from the depths; jarring memories of Riddle's power over her in her first year, next; Fred being torn abruptly away, Dean fleeing for his life into the woods, Neville writhing under the cursed hand of Alecto Carrow while Amycus, cackling, dragged Ginny, kicking and screaming, into another room, and Snape who stood by, cold and unmoving–

Bolting upright, the nausea had returned tenfold and Ginny veered right to retch over the side of her bed. Breathing raggedly, she wiped a hand across her mouth, grimacing down at the mess and blearily grappled for her wand on the bedside table, quickly Scourgifying the sick away and cleansed her mouth. She fell back onto the bed with a heavy sigh, trying to calm her breathing and stared up into the ceiling, still trembling in the aftermath.

Her consciousness had not touched upon those dark, buried memories in a long time. It was an odd out-of-body feeling. Like it hadn't been her who had gone through those frequent, drawn-out interrogations with the Carrows last school year. She had compartmentalized and distanced herself from the torture, the mental and the physical; repressed the faces of her friends and DA members who were dragged in and out; torn, defiant and defeated.

And yet, you are still here. You survived.

It's over. You're safe now.

...

Am I?

Eventually, she managed to slow her breathing and fall into a mildly restful slumber until dawn. With a woozy constitution, she went to class the next morning, skulking in her seat whenever she was reprimanded for her lack of preparation. When she was not, she could feel the disappointment roll off in waves from her superiors, presently in the shape of her stern-faced Transfiguration teacher, Professor Spinks, who, by first glance, could have been McGonagall's younger cousin.

Ignoring the spindly woman's glare, Ginny suppressed a groan, regretting not grabbing a Pepperup Potion after all. Kneading the knot between her eyebrows, she tried to clear her vision but looking down at the textbook, A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, she still only saw the fuzzy outlines of words and graphics. Even with copious amounts of bitter, black coffee this morning at breakfast, she felt the monstrous headache nagging in the back of her head, ready to spring forth and crack her skull open at any moment. She would be so much more in control if she could only predict her exact reaction to certain substances, but, alas, being a light-weight and suffering unstable sleep patterns apparently made it extra difficult to predict. Of course, chugging down Firewhiskey around noon the day before with only a light breakfast to go on would probably do most in.

Zabini caught up with her around lunch time as he tended to do lately. As expected, he bore no visible signs of a hangover. He flashed her a knowing smirk at her gruff demeanour but said nothing about yesterday or her appearance (thank Merlin!) and let her digest her food in peace; the little she could stomach on top of the heavy gorging from the evening before. She didn't bother to ask if he had been there, at dinner, and witnessed the slightly embarrassing display (now that she reviewed it in hindsight).

Ginny poked petulantly at her steaming piece of steak and kidney pie, quickly loosing appetite looking at the dark-brown meat and sauce oozing from its centre. The pressing problem of Theo's revelation wasn't far from her mind but she had found herself more often than once pushing it to the back of her mind; as a result feeling increasingly conscience-stricken. There was no sign of the pale boy during breakfast and lunch, and she could not bring herself to inquire Zabini about him yet.

What exactly was Theo involved in? How many at school could be involved? The whole thing left a bad taste in her mouth.

Unwittingly, she peered towards the teacher's table, her eyes coming to rest on the carefree countenance of Zelenko. He appeared to be ingratiating himself with Slughorn who, for once, looked slightly confused by the level of charm send his way but tried his best to respond conversationally to whatever got the spark going in the young, handsome Professor's eyes. What could interest Zelenko so much that he'd be willing to indulge in a conversation with the Potions Professor?

Her gaze then slid down towards the end of the table where the Head Auror had taken up seat, presently engaged in a discussion with Warwick who stood beside his chair, leaning slightly forward. It looked serious but then again they were always serious and it was close to impossible to read their faces.

Shifting back her attention, she found, to her horror, herself staring directly into Zelenko's enigmatic gaze fixed upon her from across the crowded hall while he continued the light conversation with an oblivious Slughorn.

Quickly averting her eyes, fastening them on the half-eaten pie in front of her, she tried to mask her visible reaction to being caught and simultaneously wracked her brain about the look in his eyes.

"Tea?"

She looked over, belatedly realizing Blaise had spoken to her. "Huh?"

With a twitch to his lips, the Italian calmly repeated. "Care for some tea? Usually helps with hangovers." She blinked, slightly baffled by his considerate offer spoken in that cavalier fashion that usually grated her nerves. Right now her mind had honed in on the thought of a cup of freshly-brewed tea, abandoning her temporary brooding.

"Mm, yes please, that sounds nice, actually," she murmured in relief, absentmindedly pushing some hair out of her eyes and cracking her fingers with a small yawn.

His answering hum sounded vaguely amused as he too abandoned his humble meal (she wondered if he likewise couldn't quite stomach today's menu despite his collected visage) and stood, gallantly waiting for her to get up as well. "Let's find that cosy, little Room again and see if we can't get service there as well. And some privacy, hopefully." He directed an askance glance at their little-too-interested spectators.

Slightly flustered by his casual phrasing, she nonetheless decided to take him up on the suggestion. He seemed to have read her mind before she had known it herself. The Prefect common room was nice enough but compared to the perfect, cosy seclusion of what the Room of Requirement provided them with yesterday, the former stood little chance. She convinced herself that the fact that they would be the only ones occupying it bore no significant meaning. "Sure. Lead the way, Zabini."

He responded with a raised brow and his own private smile.

They left the Great Hall, as per usual ignoring the blatant stares and whispers from the other students, (and she really didn't bother to think about whom of the adults were tracking them as well), and made their way towards the stairs to seventh floor.

Peering up at him, her earlier ruminations returned. "How's... Theo?"

A shadow descended upon Blaise's brow. "Haven't seen him," came his reflective, somewhat clipped response. Ginny swallowed and gave a small nod. Honestly, she'd be a fool to think the two had already made amends. Still, no harm in hoping.

Now, there's a novelty: Rooting for the Slytherins to become friends again.

"How's the head?" He surprised her by sending her a sly look, the shadow momentarily lifted from his features.

She grunted. "Not funny, Zabini." He merely chuckled. "And how the hell are you not hung-over?" She eyed him speculatively. "You drank way more than I did."

He shrugged as they turned a corner. "Great constitution, I guess." Ginny looked up at him. He was smirking down at her, letting his eyes travel over her face, down her neck. She was about to scoff at his brazen confidence when she noticed something over his shoulder and came to an immediate halt, her expression turning wide-eyed. Blaise noticed the direction of her gaze and stopped as well.

"GINNY!"

She flinched and Blaise tensed. "So much for a moment's peace," she heard him mutter dryly.

Fuck. Two confrontations in two days? As if things couldn't get much worse! She folded her arms across her chest as she apprehensively watched the newly arrived approaching from the other end of the hallway; first Ron, bearing a thunderous expression, and then Neville, following behind with a sheepish look on his face.

"What are you doing here, Ron?" she posed tersely when her brother stopped in front of her, practically seething and shooting murderous glares in Blaise's direction.

"Dean told us," he bit out.

Bloody Dean.

"Or, more precisely, he let it slip on our night out," Neville chimed in from behind him, looking discomfited by the public scene they were making. This had clearly been Ron's initiative.

Bloody drunken Dean and his loose lips.

"I mean, what were you even thinking?" Ron was addressing Ginny again, gesturing wildly towards Blaise who appeared unimpressed by the accusatory tone. "I thought you despised Zabini? And what about Harry? Have you even thought about him in all of this, hm?"

Honestly, she had no patience or energy to deal with Ron's antics today. Feeling a vein along her temple throb dangerously, she pursed her lips. "In case you didn't get the memo, Ron: Harry broke up with me. And I don't think I need to explain myself to you what goes on in my private life."

"The hell you do if you're cavorting with his lot!" Ron yapped angrily. Neville stepped closer, ready to intervene, though she didn't particularly like the judgmental look in his gaze directed towards her either. As if she'd somehow become a slutty version of a scapegoat for their apathy towards everything Slytherin. Ugh!

"The hell I don't, Ron!" She retorted angrily. "You honestly came all the way up here just to tell me off?! I don't meddle in your affairs, so please stay out of mine." Merlin, he could be such a self-righteous arse sometimes! For once, she agreed with one of Blaise's old sentiments regarding her brother's temper.

Ron spluttered, his face and ears bright-red with indignation. "I bloody hell will!"

"Oh, no, you won't."

"Oh, I will."

"No."

"Yes."

"Nope."

Her brother was practically stomping his feet by now. "Yes! And don't make me say it again!"

Neville exhaled from the sideline and drew a hand across his face. "Okay, that's- that's enough, you guys. You're causing a scene." He shot a worried look around him.

"Bit too late for that, Longbottom," Blaise drawled from beside Ginny.

Ron pointed an angry finger at him. "Shot your gob, Zabini! Stay out of this!"

Arching an impervious eyebrow, Blaise peered back at him. "You're the one who dragged me into this riveting conversation by mentioning my name in the first place, Weasley."

If possible, Ron got even redder. "Fuck off, Zabini."

"Oh, come off it, Ron!" Ginny interceded. "Your quarrel is with me, not him."

Ron shot her a perplexed look at her defensiveness then narrowed his eyes. Oh, she knew what came next; the below-the-belt-big brother move: "I'll tell you what, Gin: Harry was mortified when he heard from Dean that you were dating Zabini," he sneered ugly. "He was practically sick when he heard." From beside him, Neville winced and piped up. "Actually, mate, he wasn't exactly sick because of–" but Ron heard nothing and continued unaffected. He was on a roll now. "You hear me, Gin? And you know what? I'll tell Hermione next. Just wait 'till she–"

"She already knows."

Ron appeared gobsmacked, and Ginny felt marginally satisfied by the fact that Hermione didn't tell him everything. "Her-Hermione knows?"

She nodded, adopting the cool expression of her pretend-boyfriend towering by her side, silently providing support, if inadvertently. "She is my friend, Ron; one of my best friends, and we tell each other things that we don't always involve others in. Not even family. I'm sure you do the same with your chums." For a brief second, her brother seemed highly offended by the notion that he wasn't let in on every single detail in her and Hermione's lives, then turned more or less chagrined and, finally, slightly ashamed.

Neville came up and put a cautioning hand on Ron's coiled shoulder. "Come on, mate. Let's get going. You can, um, pick up this conversation later, yeh?" He gave a coaxing smile which Ron didn't see since he was staring two angry holes into floor by their feet. Ginny let out a relieved sigh, quietly grateful for Neville's timely intervention. This wasn't the time or the place to carry out this confrontation (though, ideally, she'd rather be entirely free). Somehow, Neville was able to get the grumbling Ron into action and move him away. He sent Ginny a nod of understanding which she returned, though she sensed there was something more in his look. She didn't like to think about the fact that Neville was apprehensive about her choice either.

Ron turned to shoot her a final glare. "I'll see you at home, Gin. This isn't over." He lifted a warning finger at her before pivoting on his heels and following Neville out.

Letting out a deep breath, she rolled her eyes. Ron might be her big brother and he was entitled to worry and feel protective of her – but how dared he show up like that, all of a sudden, and confront her at school with insinuations and unfounded accusations!

As if suddenly remembering Blaise's presence, she turned her head an inch to gauge his reaction. His immovable posture hadn't changed; he was staring after the boys with an unreadable mien before he sensed her eyes on him.

"Well, that was another interesting adventure," he jeered, as if nothing about the incident had affected him at all, and turned to her. "Seems it's all going as expected."

She blinked up at him, then ducked her head, expelling a puff of air. "Yeah... trust me; when you're around blockheads like my brother, this is daily dosage."

"Oh, I believe you." He wasn't smirking, in fact, it seemed rather like a smile, and it was throwing her off more than she figured it should. Maybe she was delusional; sometimes she even thought there was no change at all and silently scolded herself for trying to look for it so often when it clearly wasn't there. And then he went and did something wholly unexpected... smiling at her like this. "Come on." He had already started to move again, drawing her attention. "Unless you've changed your mind about our final destination?"

'Our'...

"No," she murmured, "no, I haven't changed my mind," and then huffed despondently. "Actually, I think it's my turn to ask for that stiff drink now." To hell with any present hangover!

Blaise grinned and reached out a large hand to clap her back with false cheer. "That's the spirit."

Choking a bit, she laughed meekly. How had her life come to this? Drinking in the middle of a school day with Zabini, of all people?

Oh, well. Things could be worse. Hell, they were already getting worse by the minute. First, Dean, and now, Ron and Neville confronting her at school about her 'romantic dalliances' and acting all puffed up and judgmental; as if she had suddenly turned fourteen again and incapable of making her own decisions. As if they had any right to question or change her mind! She could just envision the rest of her siblings showing up in a row to confront her. Huh. Ironically, that'd be the first time in a long time she'd see any of them.

And from what was happening at school – if Theo's daunting 'confession' was anything to go by – the old castle still hid a bundle of skeletons in its closets; old ones as well as new. Might as well start dulling the senses now before diving into it all.

Finding the Room again proved easy enough and, by chance, the interior remained largely the same, except for one or two changes here and there. For some unknown reason, the liquor cabinet had grown larger and the sofa arrangement more convenient for two people. It wasn't like she had consciously asked for it this time. Perhaps the Room could actually sense who frequented it since it could accommodate one's wishes so seamlessly from the smallest bout of magic.

"Ah," Blaise declared at the sight. "Home, sweet home." He steered right towards the cabinet and opened its doors, rummaging around and finally fished out the painfully recognizable bottle from yesterday. "Bingo."

Right.

Memories of the night before came rushing back to her. Leaning against the low back of the sofa on her left, she swallowed down the slight acidic burn in the back of her throat, suddenly feeling light-headed.

She sensed more than saw Blaise slowly sidling up next to her, moving with the grace of a panther; stealthy, observant, undaunted. Perhaps their little game of subterfuge had finally gotten under her skin and she had become gradually accustomed to his unexpected presence. There was something about the composed rhythm of his breathing that seemed to reassure her. How and why she had no idea.

She pressed her eyes shut and leaned slightly forwards.

"Hey," his broad hand came up to brush against her shoulder. It was strange; those deep timbers in his leisured voice.

"I'm... I'm fine," she breathed out though it wasn't very convincing. Blaise hadn't removed his hand, however, which by now settled between her shoulder blades in effort to still her raspy breathing somewhat. She half-expected the touch would have left her feel miffed but instead she welcomed the warmth of his hand.

"You sure?" He sounded mildly sceptical but not unkind. "You don't look so good, Red." The observation was free of his usual sardonic lilt; the words measured and solid. Breathing raggedly, she nodded and he hummed in thought.

For a while, they simply remained so; his hand drifting across her clothed back between her shoulders. She couldn't wrap her mind around the Blaise Zabini she had witnessed today and yesterday. Smug, considerate, frustrated, concerned, apologetic, haughty and now, comforting. She had never believed him to be the type to provide physical comfort for any unselfish reasons. Surely, he was not one for tactility unless it had a specific self-serving and often sexual purpose; every touch, every glance, every word carefully and tactically administered.

Her senses trained in on the imprint of his palm and she breathed in one final time. "Blaise... I'm fine now. Thanks." The words came out hesitantly, bearing a significance that she had not voiced since the Dementor incident, and his hand stilled, as if belatedly realizing it as well.

Slowly withdrawing it, his voice ran uncharacteristically low, teetering on the diffident. "Right." Distracting them both from the suddenly heavy air, he Transfigured the whiskey he had placed on a side table into a steaming cup of tea and Levitated the cup in front of her. She shot him an astonished look. He merely shrugged. "It'll help."

She grasped it and inhaled the aroma of the tea. Lavender. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes in reverence, already feeling its soothing effects settling her stomach. "This is wonderful. Thank you." The words tumbled from her lips and she opened her eyes to see his sly expression back in place. He did a small theatrical bow, making her want to roll her eyes but found she actually was grateful for his timely Transfiguration, no matter her impulsive desire to go for the alcohol first. Once again, he seemed to have known her heart before she had herself.

The fireplace crackled in the background, enfolding the dark room with a softly induced silence. Blaise crossed his arms across his chest and seemed appeased by letting her enjoy her beverage without finding another one of his own. Perhaps his need for the talked-about liquor had merely been a smokescreen?

"So..." Blaise droned. "Care to tell me what happened?" Her eyes snapped to him. He arched a knowing eyebrow. "Something has made you all rattled since lunch, recent display of brotherly affection aside."

"Um..." She hadn't thought he had noticed. The contrasting image of Zelenko's piercing gaze across the Great Hall flitted across her retina. "I – I was just..." She emitted a sigh, staring into her teacup. "I was simply thinking about what Theo told us yesterday and I... I mean, it's just weird, is all."

Blaise gave a sound of concession. He knew what she was getting at. Somebody had to be involved. Yet, he still had to hear from Draco and whatever sordid details the blond wizard had managed to dig up. In truth, Blaise was more distrustful towards the presence and behaviour of the Aurors. How could an entire army of Aurors be unable to catch a single rogue Dementor or ex-Snatcher, for that matter? They had been here for months now and literally accomplished nothing, other than reinforcing their own stereotype of looking vaguely suspicious of everyone within their vicinity. They had even failed to protect Weasley and the rest of her team against a hexed, presumably murderous Bludger. Their innate incompetence in things that actually mattered was truly astounding!

Still, peering over at Weasley's wan face, he had an inkling there was more weighing on her mind. Blaise shifted to cross his long legs. However much he abhorred the idea of asking, he didn't much care for the sombre expression on her delicate features. "Something else is bothering you, isn't it, Red?"

She squirmed a bit, gripping the porcelain handle of the cup as she stared bleakly into the space in front of her. "I..." Her voice sounded small, so very small. She raised her head and he observed her profile, surprised to glean the vulnerability surfacing in her amber eyes. "It's-it's nothing. Just a nightmare... of sorts. It's really nothing."

Blaise raised one eyebrow curiously. He was far from convinced.

She swallowed. He really wants to know? Starting again, she stammered. "It was about last year... what happened during..." She left the words hanging there, murky and prickly, like deadweight in the air. His brow furrowed and he turned to cast a reflective glance into the solemn room.

"With the Carrows?" he spoke sotto voce. An icy tendril ran down her spine. She gave a stilted nod. He returned her gaze, something else fuelling his expression. "What…happened? Exactly?"

Quickly glancing away, Ginny forced herself to form the words. If she couldn't talk to Blaise about it – after what they'd faced together already – then who? All of her absent friends? She worried her lip and cleared her throat, trying to abate the rising queasiness, as she started to recount slowly. "We... we were brought into interrogation, each of us at a time, and..." she briefly closed her eyes, "sometimes it would be the two of them or just one..." Here she faltered, and, taking a deep breath, she started again. "They used every excuse to drag us in; their favourite pastime as you well know," she shuddered, "and Snape only barely managed to keep a leash on them, but, I guess, even he could only do so much without drawing unwanted scrutiny to his motives." The atmosphere in the dimly fire-lit room was laboured, pared. "I– I'm not sure how long it lasted. I never really got a sense of time in there. Sometimes it felt like minutes, sometimes hours. They liked to – play with us, with our minds, and they'd use every method as long as it didn't outright kill us, although they likely didn't care if it did." She exhaled heavily, leaning forward, her shoulders hunched. "I don't know about the others. We- we never really talked about what happened in there, to each of us... I only know that Amycus tried– he tried to..." feeling herself blanch at the mere thought of what that wretched man had said and done to her, her grip on the sofa turned white-knuckled and she forcibly steeled her voice, "but he never succeeded." Dropping her shoulders, it felt like a weight had been simultaneously lifted from her chest and caved it in. How could something as simple as relaying those events take the breath from her like that?

After what seemed an eternity, Blaise's voice broke through the gloomy stillness. "Is... Is there anything I can do?" His tone was stripped from its usual vain guile; wary disquietude hinting on its edges.

She turned her head and stared at him. Somehow, his perceptive, taut expression was more than she could bear. Feeling her eyes beginning to water, she tore them away and blinked frustratingly. "I don't expect you to be here to coddle my mind, all of sudden, Zabini," she spoke harshly, angrily wiping the tears from her face. He could take it. "I don't need you to tell me it's all going to get better. Because that's just shite."

"I had no intention to do so," came his subdued respond. She didn't know what to do with that. Couldn't he throw some scathing remark back in her face so that she could channel all this anger she didn't know what to do with? Couldn't he act like he didn't care like he used to?!

"You know, my mother..." he surprised her by speaking next, pausing as if to brace himself as he glanced away with a blank look, "she never really bothered with the fact that I knew – I knew about her dealings with her ex-husbands. She didn't care if I was right there, seeing her poisoning their minds, their food, their souls, going from one gullible victim to the next. And I just stood silently by and did... nothing." The breath expanded in his wide chest, his voice hard and posture turned stiff.

For a second Ginny merely gaped at him, thoroughly thrown by his confession. He swallowed thickly and she watched the Adam's apple bobbing along his elegant throat. Never had she heard Zabini talk about his mother, let alone pour his heart out like that. She didn't know if she should feel shocked or proud by being the one he had chosen to confess this to. Most of all, she just felt sad for him. Utterly, devastatingly sad. He had just been a small boy when he had watched his mother begin to leave a literal trail of discarded bodies behind her. And all the vile gossip following in its wake... She could hardly imagine the horror of growing up with a single parent like that. It left her feeling hollowed out; his distress loaded upon her own, yet he had somehow, intentionally or not, managed to distract her enough from her own pain.

Blaise didn't know why he just said that. Perhaps something about her baring her soul like that had him thinking about his own load that he had been carrying around...

Merlin's balls, he was becoming a right pathetic wimp by being near the former Gryffindor. Why the fuck did I just confess all that to her?!

He felt her hand come up and timidly touch his shoulder and the contact was like an electric current through his upper body. He turned his head and met her gaze. The corner of her sad mouth quirked up in a tentative smile.

"It's... okay, Blaise."

He shook his head in disbelief. How could she even think any of this was okay? He felt his shoulders roll with sudden withheld frustration; against everyone, his mother, the school, the press, the entire fucking universe. "No, it isn't."

Her dainty grip on his shoulder tightened for a split second as if she knew exactly what was on his mind. "I know. None of this is. But I know you couldn't do anything."

He scowled. How could she be so forgiving about this? "Bloody hell I could, Weasley!" She looked at him wide-eyed yet somehow didn't remove her hand from his shoulder. "Have you forgotten what we did? We laughed. We just stood there, laughing at you, when they dragged you in by the hair. We did nothing even though we knew." He pierced her with a wild, incensed look as if to spark some sort of equally repulsed reaction from her. She endured his gaze unflinchingly and he secretly couldn't help but marvel at her resolute, inner strength; her ability to muster such conviction when she needed to. Foolish girl. Couldn't she see that he wasn't the type to be forgiven?

"And yet I cannot make myself condemn your actions," she reiterated, removing her hand, leaving an empty print on his shoulder. "I don't see the use of it anymore." Lifting her head towards the ceiling, she sighed. "I could spend the rest of the year – the rest of my life, I guess – blaming everyone who didn't step in, every one of the DA members who eventually gave in, but I simply cannot do that anymore. I'm just too... tired." She tipped her chin down. Sniffing, she wiped her nose, withholding the tears threatening to return. He found he couldn't look away when she turned her gaze back to him. "No matter how much you dislike it, I forgive you for it, Blaise. I want to."

He opened his mouth to protest but found he couldn't get a sound out. He realized, begrudgingly, that her sincerity had rendered him speechless. Or perhaps it was due to the lightness in his chest in the aftermath of his own confession. Bugger. Snapping his mouth shut, he grumbled in mild annoyance, unwittingly extracting a small smile from her.

Fine. Let her have her forgiveness if it's so damn important to her.

He felt her eyes on him and despite his vehement refusal, an unfamiliar warmth started to spread within his chest, igniting a tiny shiver across his skin. Since when did she have the ability to reduce him to this? Where had his confidence suddenly gone?

However, she didn't take advantage of his faltering inaction nor did she tease him about it. He certainly would have in a similar situation.

...Wouldn't he?

Ginny silently took in the former Slytherin as the unguarded moment left him exposed; warring emotions flitting across his regal features, unable to settle in one place. She recalled the aftermath of the Dementor incident, at the inn, when she sat across from him, observing his belated reaction to the attack.

It seemed so long ago now.

She acknowledged that nothing between them was as easily explained as mere belligerent tension anymore. What she had realized already during Christmas couldn't be as simply explained as that. Whatever feelings she had formed towards him, they were not simple.

However, she wondered why it couldn't be simple between them? Or if it already was; they were just too stubborn and hot-headed around each other to see it or admit it?

Blaise Zabini was indeed the first person she could think of who would grab for the simple solution.

So would you, an inner voice remarked and she stilled within her musings, unwittingly admitting to it.

Yes. She would have. Once.

Everything had changed with the war, she argued with herself, coming to a harsh conclusion: Nothing was simple anymore.

But maybe things could become simple with him? The voice innocently countered and she gritted her teeth in annoyance.

Oh, shut it!

But, perhaps they had started chipping off each other's coat of armour, almost naturally; simply by working together?

They might just, deep down, have accepted it. Of finally having found someone strangely complementing to their own stubborn independence. An odd, wary relief that beckoned to be explored underneath all the empty slurs and hollow animosity they kept charging each other with, in order to keep up some kind of shield. Whatever was left of it. Most of the time, she felt like she was more of a shell of herself than really anything else.

But they had been in a war, hadn't they? They had survived, for crying out loud! Not many could prize themselves so lucky. And the pair of them now made one of the most (in)famous people in the Wizarding World and yet, Ginny had never felt more alone and isolated. 'Outed' in the media, however celebratory most of it was, unlike Zabini's situation. And, most of all, feeling helpless against it all. Or the feeling itself. She couldn't pinpoint it exactly. She could give no concrete evidence to why she shouldn't feel better. She moved forward, did her best and still she felt stagnated, alienated in her sense of life. Sluggishly aware of things that passed through her life and then moved on. As if standing like an outside observer looking in. She was becoming painfully aware of the things that didn't happen in her life and the things that could, but could only respond with a dull sense of acquiescence.

Why did it even matter?

Sometimes, when she looked at Blaise, she saw streaks of that same desolation reflecting behind all that leer and swagger; when he would momentarily look away, caught in a rare, unaware moment.

They were resigned to their respective fates, perhaps. Not ungrateful but not exactly appeased. Just existing. Why it should be so different from anybody else who had suffered through the same as them, she couldn't answer. And she couldn't answer why – of all people's magic – her own magic chose to become entangled with that of a boy she hardly knew.

But... whatever they had gotten themselves into; they were in it together now.

"Weasley?"

She looked up to see the subject of her thoughts peering down at her with a small frown on his face; a searching flicker in his direct gaze. Here, in the dimly fire-lit room, all by themselves, she noticed his eyes weren't simply black nor dark-brown, but instead a vivid array of embers against the blackish brown, like a Tiger's eye gemstone, that drew her in and made her forget where she was, forget to breathe. She had watched, up-close, how he turned to look down his nose at people; superior and impartial. Always with that practised concealment in place, letting people clash against solid ebony for all eternity if he chose to do so. He could still aim those perceptively scathing and glib notes with perfect precision towards others; exerting that graceful roll of his eyes that only the Wizarding upper-class could master. But she hadn't been able to overlook the almost indecipherable segueing from how his eyes tended to fix on her; the callousness of his manner replaced by a teasing edge that seemed only reserved for her. Sometimes a sobering curiosity, as if he found himself enjoying their banter a little too much, leaving him mystified and conflicted, unaccustomed to the sensation.

The spell broke when he leaned back with a sigh. "You know what? I think we deserve a break."

She blinked, nonplussed by the sudden shift. "A– a break?"

"Yeah, you know; some time away from all this."

"What... what do you mean?" She honestly had no idea what he was on about.

A glint flashed in his pupils, his velvety voice going a couple of octaves lower. "What do you say to a trip to Italy during Easter break?"

She gaped at him. "Uh...wh– Italy?"

"Sure. My grandmother runs the family estate. She will probably want to be there to greet us once we arrive." Faintly amused by her obvious confusion, he cajoled with practised ease. "Don't you want to go somewhere warmer and sunnier than cold, old Scotland?"

Well, she couldn't argue with him on the latter but she was so entirely taken aback by his offer in the first place; she couldn't wrap her head around what he was actually saying. "But... why? Why me? Why not just go by yourself?"

Huffing, he held himself back from visibly rolling his eyes. "Why do you insist on making everything so difficult, Weasley? Most people would jump at the chance of going to Italy."

Worrying her lower lip, she deliberated the offer. Admittedly, it sounded awfully tempting to get away for a while but she hesitated regarding his exact motive. Then another pressing question blurted out of her: "What about Theo?"

His jaw hardened. "What about him?"

"Wouldn't you like to stay to sort out things with him?"

He harrumphed. "I don't see why it can't wait. Theo is a big boy. He doesn't need me to be his bloody nursemaid everywhere he goes."

"But wouldn't it be better to–"

Blaise groaned. "Will you or will you not come with me to Italy, Weasley?" he interrupted impatiently. "Make up your mind."

"Well, I...," she waffled, reluctant to give him an answer. "I mean... Wouldn't that sort of make it, this, official?" She posed hesitantly. "Meeting your grandmother?"

He raised an unruffled eyebrow. "I don't see why that is of any importance?"

"I...I'm not sure I'm comfortable leading her on like that, Zabini."

Shrugging, he reflected listlessly. "She is not one to make much of a fuss about such things."

Absorbing his meaning, she shot him a dry glance. "What, because it's such a frequent occurrence for her to be presented with one of your latest conquests?"

Blaise chortled, "Your jealousy is cute, Red," ignoring her disgruntled sniff. "No, more like not bothering to ask into unimportant details. That's kinda what I like about her." His eyes gained an almost wistful gleam. "I think you'll like her too." Ginny silently gawked at his statuesque profile.

Did he really want her to meet his grandmother? He still hadn't told her why. What was the point of leading more people on; people close to them? It was just more lies piled upon each other that they'd have to deal with sooner or later; something Ginny wasn't looking forward to, at all. And she didn't particularly like the idea if being one in a hundred different girls he brought along to Italy on the promise of getting a much needed vacation.

"So?" She found his dark, discerning gaze fixed upon her again, at odds with his casual tone of voice. "What'll it be?"

Her brow furrowed. "I'm still not sure I can decide here and now, Blaise. There are loads of things I need to consider before I go with you to a foreign country... My parents' consent, for one thing." Seeing his expression tighten in mild exasperation, she quickly beat him to it. "I'm not just one of your usual birds, Zabini," she bit out. "I don't just drop everything the minute you tell me to." She sent him a final glare.

A muscle in Blaise's jaw ticked before he relented. "Fine." Uncrossing his arms, he stood up straight and she had to swallow for a second, seeing him looming over her with an almost unforgiving stare. "But just so you know," he added with glacial inflection as he moved towards the door, "I have never brought anyone to meet my grandmother before." He exited it and left Ginny staring bereft after him, two red spots forming along her cheekbones.

A/N: It took a looooong while but I was finally able to piece together this heavy-weight of a chapter. It was something of an emotional roller-coaster ride. I don't feel like the subject of their traumatised pasts have now gained full closure but, at least, the can of worms have been opened a crack; made their hearts lighter. Some honest talk – even between supposed 'frenemies' – can only be for the better, right? Let me know what you think.