A/N: Italian-English translation will once again appear at the end :)

Chapter 36: Astra inclinant, sed non obligant

Of course, their rooms were gorgeous. Absolutely, painstakingly gorgeous.

She shouldn't really be surprised – by the looks of the rest of the house – but she still had a hard time grasping the magnitude and grandeur of this place. Having come from the accumulated 'architecture' and highly eclectic interior of the Burrow, no matter how much she loved it, she couldn't help feeling excited about spending time in such magnificent surroundings as these. To indulge in the luxury a bit. Just for the time being.

She gasped out loud when she discovered her room came with a giant balcony no less, facing the glittering Mediterranean Sea and some of the olive-green mainland on the other shore.

"This is amazing!"

She instinctively steered towards it. Blaise, instead, threw his long body on the giant canopy bed – worthy of any eighteenth century king or queen – with a load groan.

"I guess. If you fancy all this rococo frippery," he grumbled, absentmindedly fingering the fluffy bedclothes.

Ginny came back in from the balcony, hands at her sides. "Will you stop being such a sourpuss! Can't you appreciate your – your luck just a little bit?"

He turned his face from where he laid sprawled on the bed and shot her an unconvinced look. "Hm, I thought you hated it when I acted like a 'pompous, spoilt, money-filled arse', wasn't it?" He smiled wryly at her affronted reaction of being caught by her own words, recalling the episode in question: A particularly biting exchange of words when she had discovered he secretly had been a member of an exclusive poker club for former Slytherin boys at the school. A club that consisted of gross amounts of bets and rather reckless dares subjected to the losers; often much younger students whom Ginny believed didn't understand what they had agreed to. He had laughed it off when she confronted him, much to her consternation, claiming that it wasn't as devious as she made it out to be and that the kids were well aware of what they went into, even thrilled by the prospect, though he had eventually promised to stay out of the games for a while.

"Well, yes, but–" she sputtered then threw out her arms, "but that was before I saw what your wealth actually looked like!"

His brow twitched and his face sobered. He raised himself a bit from the bed.

"Huh. I never thought you'd be like the rest of them, Weasley. Didn't think my money was such an obvious trigger for you." The words were spoken carelessly, glibly. Odd.

Ginny opened and closed her mouth in shock as she stared at his withdrawn profile. Moving a little closer to the bed, she frowned down at him.

"And I never thought you'd think so little of me, Blaise," she responded in a calm, yet beckoning voice, making him look back up at her. "You actually think I came along because you've got money?" She sat down on the opposite edge, facing halfway towards him. "I'm just," she searched for the right word, "slightly overwhelmed. Like any mortal soul from a humble background such as mine would be in these surroundings."

He stared into her eyes a moment longer; some indeterminable emotion passing through his gaze, then seemed to accept her clarification with a silent nod. She hummed, somehow relieved, and suppressed a yawn.

He caught it anyhow, a faint smirk replacing the tautness across his mouth. "Tired?"

She drew back, a little ashamed. "Perhaps a small nap wouldn't kill me. It was quite the Apparation, after all."

He chuckled. "When do you start listening to me, madam?"

She made a face at him. "But afterwards I will want to see everything!" she quickly inserted, shooting him a half-hearted glare.

"Alright, alright! The madam will have her requests accommodated to the fullest," he mockingly obliged with no bite and rose from the bed. "After the nap."

"Right after," she yawned with less resolve and lay down in the spot he'd just vacated on her bed, her body drowsy from the heat.

He made another softly amused sound and she could hear him moving away to retreat to his own room.

Still, his remark from earlier stayed with her as she started to drift off to sleep:

'I never thought you'd be like the rest of them, Weasley. Didn't think my money was such an obvious trigger for you.'

Why had he said it? He had sounded almost... upset? So strange, given he usually had no qualms flaunting his money and status to his own advantage. And now, he had been all passive-aggressive about her appraisal of his family wealth.

Why?

She tossed and turned in the heat. Her tired brain kept her occupied a little while longer before she finally succumbed.

X

"Buonasera, bambini*!"

After their much-needed rest, they were once again ardently greeted at the bottom of the giant staircase by Aurelia who had changed into a new set of flowing clothes, headscarf and glittering silver bangles. Much to both Ginny and Blaise's surprise, animated voices could be heard nearby, the clinking of crystal glasses, laughter, music and the smell of expensive perfume and heady tobacco hovering in the air.

"Have you rested well? The heat is quite stifling this day – especially if you've just come from Scozia*, no?" The tall, elegant witch clasped her hands excitedly together. "But ah! I have a surprise for you, i miei giovani, quelli belli*! I have arranged for a small gathering this evening; only good friends and neighbours and such, of course!"

Blaise emitted an exasperated sigh. "Nonna, must you really throw a party at this moment?"

The bangles around Aurelia's slim wrist chinked as she waved him off. "Tch! Blaise, il mio bambino*; a little party never hurt nobody," she laughed; the voluminous halls carrying its musical echo, and she continued, unaffected by her grandson's disgruntled mien. "I want to introduce you to all my very dearest friends!" That didn't seem to appease Blaise's misgivings and Ginny wondered why. "And would you know? I found the most magnifico aragosta* at the market –"

Glancing up at Blaise who was looking flatly at his oblivious grandmother prattling on about the various courses she was serving, Ginny nudged his arm. He shifted his slate eyes down to her, some of their hardness dissolving at the sight of her cajoling expression. Heaving a sharp bout of air, halting Aurelia's chatter, he gave in.

"Alright, fine. It doesn't seem like twenty dragons, much less myself, could stop you," he groused and remarked pointedly, "even if I very much want to, Nonna."

He winced when Aurelia practically tackled him in a bony hug. Ginny had to bite down hard on her lip in order not to give her amusement away. He scowled down at her from over the top of his grandmother's shoulder.

"Magnifico! Eccelente! Ah, miei cari amici*! Quanto sei meravigliosa*!" Aurelia gushed as she released him and kissed their cheeks enthusiastically once more. "And, now, for your clothes! I have the most bellissima dress for you, Ginevra, my dear! I hope you will allow me to gift it to you?"

Astonished, Ginny looked from Aurelia's keen face to Blaise who bent his head to her ear to explain. "My grandmother has a past in design. It's easier just to go with it than to resist, believe me."

Glancing back at her, Ginny smiled politely. "Thank you kindly, Aurelia. You really shouldn't have but I would gladly accept your gift."

If Aurelia's fine-boned features could have brightened any more, it would have become the sun. "Fantastico!"

Before Ginny knew it, her casual combo of a pale-blue shirt, grey slacks and white sneakers transformed themselves into a lovely, forest-green cocktail dress and a pair of pointed black boots. Ginny gaped, speechless. The dress was appropriately fitted for someone her age, yet with a mature cut that made her feel oddly bold. I wonder if Aurelia is just that good or if she put a tiny confidence-booster spell in the fabric for my benefit, she thought to herself but said nothing.

Aurelia gauged Ginny's reaction and gestured to the large mirror in the hall. "So? What do you think?"

Ginny's eyes widened, seeing the result in full perspective. Given that she had worn her hair down and had had absolutely no make-up on before, the subtle change of styling made all the difference: her hair now hung loosely curled over one shoulder and she wore a light coating of make-up; nothing too dolled-up, but simple and complementing of her natural looks.

Aurelia, looking pleased with her work, then waved a hand in the direction of Blaise. His clothes (which weren't exactly informal; Ginny had never seen him dress casually) were instantly transfigured into a handsome set of evening robes that accentuated his tall, tapered build. Aurelia certainly had an eye for this stuff. Ginny eyed the beautiful stickpin broche on his breast; an intricately bejewelled pomegranate, and wondered if it had any significant meaning to the Zabini family name. It seemed almost too precious, too personal, to be merely a trinket. Before she could ask, however, she was cut short by Aurelia.

"Now, cari figli*, come greet our guests!"

With a resigned sigh, Blaise looked down at Ginny, lowering his voice once more. "Sure you're up for this?"

Ginny shrugged. "Might be fun. Why not?"

Opening his mouth as if to say something, to perhaps warn her what she was in for, he seemed to think better of himself.

"Very well." He held out an arm for her to take and she sent him her silent thanks, placing a hand in the crook of his elbow. Admittedly, the thought of meeting all the classy friends of the Zabinis felt a little intimidating.

They trailed after Aurelia through one of the grand hallways, lit by enormous chandeliers, and entered a ballroom at the size of the Great Hall. Ginny swallowed soundly and Blaise shot her a meaningful glance; his grandmother never held small parties. Just the sheer number of people in the room took her breath away. All were dressed in magnificent ropes and garments and with stylish hairdos (glitter, white feathers and silver seemed to be the fashion among the rich, Italian community); busy chatting, smoking and sipping champagne. Still, the Zabinis were, indisputably, the best-looking individuals in the crowd. Aurelia stood out in her colourful silk-ropes and with her magnetic persona, soaking up the light like a golden sun. Blaise, too, seemed to be made of another matter entirely and, for one so young, he effortlessly commanded the attention of the room from the way he kept receiving appreciative glances from everyone who parted way for them.

Squeezing her hand slightly in the crook of his arm, Blaise caught her stunned attention, leaning close. "You alright?" The warmth of his body seeped through her; his eyes inquiring. "Sure you don't want to go? I'm certain my grandmother won't be offended if we sneak out already – no one has even noticed–"

"BLAISE! MY BOY!"

He was brutally cut off by a booming voice belonging to an opulent, elder gentleman steering directly towards them. Sprouting an impressive beard, and with one monocle in front of the left eye, he held out his arms, spilling half the content of his champagne glass in midst of his enthusiasm.

Blaise winced but quickly schooled his features into a neutral mask. "Piano teacher from my childhood," he explained strenuously out of the corner of his mouth. She quirked an eyebrow. The idea of a younger Blaise dutifully taking his lessons in classical music cut quite the adorable picture, and she hid a grin as she gazed curiously at the gentleman.

"Come here, young man! I haven't seen you in a mileage! Is this your lady friend? Bellissima! Now, where have you kept yourself, my boy? Not humid, old Scozia all this time, I hope, no?" The older wizard barked a laugh. "Happy to be home in the warmth again, aren't you?" He clapped a fat hand on the broad expanse of Blaise's shoulder though he could hardly reach Blaise's impressive height. "Good to see you! Good to see you!"

Blaise merely pursed his lips in a tight smile, curtly greeting the man who didn't wait around for any idle repartee but merely made a beeline to the table of food on their right.

Ginny stifled a snicker. "Guess it's too late to bail now that we've been spotted." All she received was a withering look from her chaperone though he couldn't muster enough heat behind it to quell her amusement. Quite the contrary.

Just then, Aurelia, who had temporarily left them to greet guests, returned with glasses of champagne and proceeded to lead them into the crowd to mingle – much to Blaise's inner exasperation.

Ginny put on a brave smile but felt wholly awkward in the fine company of tall, elegant witches and decorated wizards, with their manicured hands, smelling of rich perfume. She felt like she was a rare butterfly caught under a pin; the way they stared at her whenever Aurelia or Blaise introduced her.

They acted civil enough – in that slightly snobbish, reserved and over-polite way you might expect high-class society would be. She couldn't honestly tell the reason why. She was hardly internationally famous. Maybe they had heard of the Weasley family name? Surely this lot knew every Pureblood heritage in the Wizarding world and would be aware of her particular heritage. In any case, they still treated her oddly coldly and smarmy. Steeling herself, she decided she truly didn't care whether they were all Pureblood believers or what they thought of her fame or her family.

Finally, the repeated introductions and scrutiny came to a much desired end. Aurelia had spotted some 'other dear friends', as she put it, arriving at the other end of the room and promptly kissed their cheeks and left them to their own devices once more.

Ginny caught a breath. Another flute of champagne replaced the empty one in her hand by Blaise (snatched from one of the Levitated trays hovering among the guests) and she gratefully accepted it. He helped himself as well and downed its contents like it was a welcomed Potion to rid himself of a bitter aftertaste. Clearly, he didn't fancy these kinds of parties either which was somewhat of a mind-boggle to Ginny since he put on a damn convincing show of someone who thrived in these environments.

In contrast to her welcome, he'd been met by flattery and high praise. In particular for his role in the war; making him out to be some kind of crafty anti-hero who had been clever enough to pretend to go along with Voldemort in order not to be killed, yet, in the end, turned away when it mattered. Oddly, both Blaise and Aurelia had simply humoured them, or laughed the matter off, quickly moving on to other subjects or people; neither outrightly contesting nor denying these remarks. Maybe they had heard it all too many times before?

And, while there was, undeniably, some truth to it – as she had come to learn herself – Ginny was more apprehensive about the way these people spun the truth to somehow reflect their own moral principles. She'd bet her old aunt Muriel that none of these rich folks had ever lifted a finger to do anything in their lives, except saving their own skin. Supposedly friends' of Aurelia, they didn't appear to own a fraction of Aurelia's vivacious, offbeat personality. Likely they were all just rich contributers to her charity club whom she had to invite.

Ginny sighed. She peered towards the high-ceiled windows facing the night-blue sky with a sudden longing for the quiet, open sea air. The air inside was too stifling and noisy to inhale fully.

"Want to go outside?"

She looked up and met Blaise's inquisitive gaze. Once more, he seemed to have read her mind, perhaps mirroring the desire himself. She nodded.

They steered towards the balcony through the crowd when Blaise's entire frame suddenly went rigid. The reaction was so visceral that Ginny snapped her gaze up, about to ask what was wrong, when she saw his hard-set expression and the direction of his gaze. Someone had arrived at the party whom he had not expected to come. Turning her head, she didn't have to guess twice who that person was:

She wasn't sure she'd seen a more beautiful witch than the one currently coming towards them, easily rivalling the presences of Aurelia and Blaise. Despite being a good head shorter than the two, the woman held herself tall and proud, and there was something about her aura that made it near impossible to tear one's eyes away as she glided through the crowd.

So, there probably was truth to the rumours of Veela blood running in the family.

Mrs. Zabini was, contrary to Aurelia, dressed in a sleek, dark dress that fit tightly around her lithe body and with a sharp, plunging neckline showing off her glowing skin. Her haircut was closely cropped to her head; smokey make-up accentuating her large eyes and striking, cat-like features that appeared strangely ageless. Two diamond earrings dangled from her ears, and though diminuative in size, Ginny was positive they cost more than her dad's lifetime of earnings in the Ministry.

For better or worse, Blaise's mother inhabited all the qualities of the Zabini heredity; the same cool, regal magnetism and poised bearings. But there was something ruthless about said magnetism. Something Ginny would go as far as call predatory... even fatal. It promised to pull you in and finish you off before you had a chance to realize you'd been enthralled in the first place.

Something she would have been inclined to apply to Blaise as well. She could definitely see the resemblance, physically.

Looking back at Blaise now; taking in the sharp carving of his profile, the hue of his skin against the light; dark eyes, fixed on his mother, flashing with warring emotion, those were not the words she would use to describe him any longer.

She tore her eyes away, flustered by the unexpected redirection of her thoughts.

Just then, Mrs. Zabini came to a stand in front of them, a good distance apart, along with a posse of fashionable people (admirers, no doubt) flanking her. She had her eyes trained on her son, only cursory acknowledging Ginny.

If the room hadn't been infused by the frolicsome chatter and music from the party, Ginny was sure a sturdy block of ice would have formed itself between the two parties who were now staring at each other in charged stalemate. She glanced between the two of them, anxious about what sort of confrontation was about to unfold.

"Son." Mrs. Zabini sounded lofty, almost bored, despite her voice being smooth and rich. It was unclear what the woman was actually thinking or feeling as she appraised her estranged son; her symmetric face an imperceptible mask.

"Mother." Blaise ground out the word with practiced glibness, as if it merely conveyed a regrettable, yet unavoidable fact of their relationship.

"How pleasant to see you again, Blaise." A silken inflection in his mother's tone belied the affectionate words and held the faintest hint of an accent, yet her English was impeccable, to the point of studied.

Ginny could sense Blaise battled to retain an unresponsive front; every muscle in the arm she was holding straining. At a loss as to how to best appease him, she stroked a soothing thumb across the fabric of his sleeve and felt relieved when some of his tension abated. Still, a muscle in his jaw ticked while he watched his mother like a hawk.

"I would say likewise, mother, but since you are the one who has been absent for most of my grown-up life, I cannot return the sentiment," he answered with deadly composure.

"Blaise," Ginny pleaded quietly beside him, gazing concernedly up at his stiff frame.

"So," came Mrs. Zabini's melodic drawl, completely ignoring her. "You have finally found someone worthy to bring home?"

Ginny flinched. Really? This is how the woman chooses to greet her son? No 'how have you been?' or 'I've missed you' or 'did your trip go well?'

"You should be one to talk, mother," Blaise cautioned darkly. It was only to rile his mother but, nonetheless, a snippet of hurt cut through Ginny. Maybe he didn't intentionally mean to put her in the same careless category of conquests as his mother's many husbands? Nonetheless, it was one thing being disregarded by Mrs. Zabini. Quite a different thing was Blaise doing it.

Just then his arm came around Ginny's waist in a light, reassuring grip and her stomach flipped. "Mother, I do not think you've had the pleasure of meeting my date." Oh. Turning fully towards her, he pierced her with a singular gaze: "Ginevra Weasley."

Ginny swallowed, staring up at him. He was so close she could observe every nuance of his usually shuttered eyes. There was a flicker of an appeal in them, cleverly disguised as a flirtatious glint to everyone else. She hardly had time to ponder the fact that she could instinctively tell the difference:

Of all the things, the ever cavalier, composed Blaise could possibly fear; this was it. It was why he kept everything under lock and key; not letting anyone too close to the truth. Why he didn't want to talk about his mother. He didn't want the reminder. He hated everything she represented given the fact of their familiarity and wanted to distance himself from her actions.

His own mother.

Only he didn't believe anyone would see it. She could see it in his eyes; he wanted Ginny to believe him, even though he didn't believe it himself.

Yet, incredible as it was, Ginny did believe in him. That he was not his mother.

Why, she had gone with him to Italy, hadn't she? She had been introduced to his grandmother, and now, his infamous mother. In turn, he had even introduced himself to her parents and been civil to George.

When all things were said and done, you don't just do that on a whim, no matter how spontaneous the action seems at the time, if you do not feel something other than distrust and dislike towards a person.

Besides, he seemed to be trusting her...

And she knew this much: He could have abandoned her for his own selfish cause when it mattered the most. When the Dementor attacked and everything escalated from there on. Unknowingly or not, he had not. He had made the choice not to. And it made all the difference in comparison to the impression of his ice queen of a mother.

Dazedly, Ginny was drawn out of her reverie by the soft, golden hue of Blaise's eyes shifting towards his mother again, turning hard. The latter was still standing there, watching them with subtly calculated interest.

"That is nice for you, I am sure." The corner of Mrs. Zabini's sharply painted mouth slid upwards. She did not sound the least bit sincere. Her eyes travelled to Ginny, finally taking her in properly, but all Ginny felt was a cold shiver across her skin from being scrutinized by the witch. "Weasley, was it?" The witch displayed a set of perfect, white teeth, the same way crocodiles smiled as they lay in shallow water, waiting for their oblivious prey to walk into their path.

Ginny squared off her shoulders and gave a curt nod, refusing to rise to the bait. "It is."

Mrs. Zabini made a vague hum, her eyes still trailing up and down her form. Ginny resisted visibly shuddering. "Weasley..." She deliberated the name. "I think I have heard of you."

Sure you have. Breathing in slowly, Ginny forced a smile. "Oh?"

Moving closer, Mrs. Zabini continued her offhand perusal and it was only Blaise's steady arm around Ginny that prevented her from retreating from the advance. "You are one of those little spitfire friends of that Potter boy who killed the Dark Lord. Are you not?" It wasn't a question so much as a rhetorical remark.

A collective, stunted silence followed. Apparently, several guests had stopped to listen in on the conversation and now their attention was riveted by the tension in the air.

Ginny stared at the handsome witch returning the stare with a challenging spark. It was only just then she realized that the woman's eyes were a deep-shaded violet colour. "E-excuse me?"

It seemed to be the exact response that Mrs. Zabini had hoped for. She gave a little, sharp smile. "I thought so. I have seen you in the papers. I read what you had done. Quite the little heroine you are."

She felt Blaise's arm tightening around her, the ire coiling in his veins leeching into her.

"If you are implying if I helped Harry, and my friends and family, to take down the tyrannical monster who threatened their lives and the existence of our world, then yes, I did," Ginny countered unshakeably, meeting the woman's scrutiny head-on.

Mrs. Zabini smirked unkindly and, for a moment, it was a jarring sight. Ginny had seen it mirrored a hundred times on Blaise's face. However, Blaise was not smirking now; his jaw tightly clenched and eyes flashing.

"What are you getting at, mother?" he interjected, a little harsher this time. He saw right through her posturing: She was up to something, as per usual.

His mother laughed, startling Ginny with the sound as it sounded exactly like Aurelia's, yet all the more worrisome coming from the former. With archly superiority, she cast a knowing glance around her simpering posse. Ginny very much wanted to wring their snooty necks.

"Oh, simply, my dear boy, that I fear you have gone and found yourself quite the self-willed, little catch among the uncultured herd at that awful excuse of a school you attend." Her purple eyes danced mockingly as she eyed Blaise, then Ginny. "Had I known my own son would one day rub shoulders with her lot, I would surely have insisted you attended Beauxbatons."

So, she has heard of the Weasleys, Ginny raged on the inside. However, before she could speak up and give the woman a piece of her mind, Blaise took an intimidating step forward.

"Do not make the mistake of presuming to speak to me in a manner that reflects any kind of parental concern. You do not have it in you, mother. Believe me." Blaise's glacial voice cut through the stir and Ginny shuddered in secret glee at how the snobby faces of his mother's sycophants paled. Blaise didn't flinch for one second, his face full of beautiful, controlled anger. "I have tolerated enough of your facile attempts to exert dominance over me or my friends through the years. I will have none of them anymore. And none in front of her."

Ginny swallowed at the vehemence in his voice, her heart twisting as she watched his profile, cut in undiluted disillusionment. His mother was completely out of line but it disturbed Ginny even more that he was used to it, given how infrequently he saw her. There certainly was no lost love between mother and son.

The cool, ageless beauty of Mrs. Zabini reflected nothing other than a cold, insensitive being in Ginny's eyes. But, for the first time, there was a reaction from the woman; her face clouded over and her violet eyes glittered.

"I see." Then, as if it never happened, the shadow lifted and her expression melted into a light, beatific smile which was wholly unsettling. "Well, now. None of your dramatics this evening, Blaise." She tittered overbearingly and everyone within the vicinity, except Ginny and Blaise (Aurelia was still lost in the crowd), laughed along with her, their eyes glued to the way Mrs. Zabini's attractive features lit up under the chandeliers. She made a sweeping gesture and from the way she immediately commanded everyone's attention one would have thought she was the host of the party. "After all, this is a festive evening – all for you, my son. And your date, of course." Her eyes settled on Ginny, who fidgeted uneasily.

Blaise stood back, arms falling listlessly down his sides, features stony as he stared at his mother effortlessly wrapping Aurelia's unsuspecting guests around her little finger.

No matter what he did – no matter what he said or how he said it – she always, somehow, managed to turn it against him and to her advantage.

Could he never escape her?

Wordlessly, he summoned a flute of champagne from a nearby tray, brought the glass to his lips and downed its contents in one swift take.

Not enough.

Fuck this.

He promptly summoned the whole, opened bottle of champagne by the coolers, uncaring of the whispers and looks he got, and took a large swig. Then another – until he had downed most of it, meanwhile throwing his mother baleful glares as she continued to draw attention to herself.

He had had about enough.

"Come on. Let's go." He turned away and pulled a flummoxed Ginny with him, leaving the empty bottle on one of the tables on his way out.

"But – what, er–" She stumbled a bit as she tried to match his long strides. He grabbed her hand and deftly weaved them in and out of the crowd, careful to steel his gaze on nothing in particular and not to make too much eye-contact in case anybody felt a bit too chatty. He was in no mood for anymore surprise greetings.

"Blaise," Ginny spoke up. "Where – where are we going?"

"Outside," he grounded out. "Thought you wanted that?"

"Erm, yes, but –"

The half-hearted protest died on her lips the second they exited the crowded atmosphere of the ball room and got out into the open night air through one of the last doors to the giant balcony circulating the floor. Her mouth fell open as she took in their surroundings, momentarily distracted.

"I could strangle her." Taut disgust coated his voice.

She stiffened slightly. "Blaise..."

He pressed on, low and solemn. "No, listen: I'm sorry about what happened with my mother in there. I didn't want to put you on the spot like that. I am sorry for making you feel uncomfortable." He stilled for a second. "But... you know... I meant it. She had no right to speak to you that way." Her heart jumped at the sincerity of his voice.

"Nor should she talk to you that way," she echoed and looked at him, searchingly.

He shrugged, brows knitted together. "I'm used to it."

"Still..." she reiterated. "She shouldn't."

He turned his head and their gazes locked, the dark-brown flecks of his iris flickering.

The fact that she had become privy to a very private incident; something of his life that he strove to keep from most people, other than Malfoy and Nott perhaps, didn't escape her.

Prying her eyes away from his stirring – and much too intimate – stare, trying to compose herself, she let the moment sit silently between them; soaking in their beautiful surroundings enveloped in the dark, warm Mediterranean night and the sweet smell of cypress.

She stared out at the glittering ocean and exhaled. "I certainly don't miss the Scottish Highlands right now."

If Blaise was thrown by the sudden shift, he didn't let it on. After a beat, he emitted an agreeing hum and moved around her, coming to a stand on her right, peering out across the darkened landscape in quiet contemplation. She sensed the subject of his mother was far from over; some of the evening's tension still clung to the wide expanse of his shoulders, even as he breathed out, slowly. Swallowing, she watched him furtively as he turned his gaze skywards. She mirrored the motion. It truly was a spectacular sight; the wide-open, starry night sky.

"Did you know," he said, after a little while, "that my family motto is 'astra inclinant, sed non obligant'?" The words rolled off his tongue with the same sonorous ease as he mastered his native language. In the sweet, hushed air they seemed to take on a life of their own, floating into the dark-green softness of the night, dissolving. Ginny inadvertently shivered, and he continued, tone subdued. "It is an old Latin phrase, meaning 'the stars incline us, they do not bind us'. Muggles think they invented it, of course, but it actually goes back to Hermetic writings from our earliest kin."

She looked at him, bemused. He was not in the habit of waxing poetic. She had half the mind to respond with some teasing sarcasm to the fact that it wasn't some haughty Pureblood phrase that encompassed every past prejudice about him and his family she'd ever thrown at him. However, she refrained, arrested by the moving sight of the sparse moonlight from above and the reflection in the glittering sea below that caught in his dark irises, making them seem otherworldly, even from where she stood beside him. Of course, she knew he was probably more academically gifted than she ever had been – in that frustratingly effortless way he could be – and she continued to find herself secretly surprised by the scope of his wit and comprehension.

He cut his eyes to her, a wry smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "You probably thought it'd be quite different, didn't you?"

She opened her mouth to reply but, too stunned that he'd beat her to it, no words formed.

Chuckling softly, he turned his head towards the scenery again, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the stone railing. "There is a rumour about it having been changed at one point back in the 1500s, around the time when the Christian Muggles first started their witch-hunts." Another shudder went through her but, this time, for quite different reasons. "I think the old one said something about... stoicism. That 'stoicism alone ennobles' or something other in Latin, I'm not sure," he mused out loud.

She huffed a bit. "Honestly, that phrase would have surprised me less," she mumbled before she could stop herself.

He blinked and looked at her. To her surprise, a rush of laughter, deep and throaty, left him; the warm brown of his eyes sparking. It was certainly a sight to behold; Blaise Zabini genuinely laughing, unguarded. She could feel the heat spreading through her stomach the longer he gazed at her with that look in his eyes. No sardonic undertones. Just pure and undisguised mirth. It was oddly... intoxicating.

"Well," she tittered, trying to deflect from the strange sensation, and failing over her tell-tale flush. "It's just so predictably pretentious of you... isn't it?"

A slow gleam surfaced in his irises, reminiscent of the shameless flirt that Ginny sometimes forgot he was, though there was a softer note to it than she remembered. She steadied her breath and cleared her throat.

A husky chuckle escaped his lips and she was relieved when he finally lifted his gaze away from her burning face to the sparkling sea again.

There was this strange quality to Blaise: the playful and debonair intermixing with something sharp and reflective. In turn, she had never had the opportunity to observe him for this long in his native surroundings and there were brief moments when he allowed himself to let his guard down, especially when they were alone like this. She could hardly let herself admit it but it felt like a rare gift to be able to witness around the stoic Italian. To think she would ever find herself in the position of regarding the Italian's presence companionable. But... it was. The tension of being with him out in the open felt new. Nothing she could define, for sure. But it felt tangible.

Peripherally, the music from inside the ball room changed. It was a rather enthralling piece, one she hadn't heard before, and for a moment she was swept away by its musical notes.

"Care to dance?"

She couldn't have been more astonished by the hand Blaise held forth. She looked up at him, questioningly.

"I didn't want to ask you inside since we were already being scrutinized by everyone," he explained, his deep-brown eyes trained on hers, a faint, unreadable smile playing across his lips. "I guessed you wouldn't like being put on the spot any further."

She swallowed audibly and took his hand, transfixed by the warmth enveloping her as he turned towards her, closer than he already was, and placed his arm around her middle, loose yet steady; slowly moving them in step with the calming music.

Letting herself be lulled into the rhythm of the music and the dance, she tried not to think about or unravel her tumultuous emotions tied to the owner of the body presently holding her.

She could sense his magical aura; rolling and merging with hers, and shivered, quite naturally. He looked down.

"Cold?"

The reverberation of his voice rumbled through his chest and she felt the briefest brush of chin at the top of her head, his warm breath caressing her neck. She shook her head, despite seeking his heat, almost involuntarily, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. She couldn't tell how long they moved to the music; she certainly didn't realize when the music from inside stopped and complete stillness, except for the buzzing cicadas and the gentle lapping of ocean waves, settled around the place.

If not for the sudden, ominous announcement coming from inside the ball room, pulling them abruptly apart, and with a burning question crushed in the back of her throat, she briefly wondered what his answer would have been, had she asked.

Why me, Blaise?

Why did you bring me here?

But it was too late now, wondering what would have happened or not happened there on the balcony; the unspoken question drifting away into the heady seclusion of the Italian night, and a new, bone-chilling, magical atmosphere descending upon the place.

A/N: English translation:

*Buonasera, bambini = Good evening, children
*Scozia = Scotland
*i miei giovani, quelli belli = my young, beautiful ones
*aragosta = lobster
*Grazie mille = thank you very much
*miei cari amici = my dear friends
*Quanto sei meravigliosa = how wonderful you are
*cari figli = dear children

Furthermore, I like to imagine Mrs. Zabini to look a bit like British actress Tracy Ifeachor as seen in the TV show The Originals. She definitely stunned me the first time she appeared on the screen and, to me, would be a PERFECT fancast for Mrs. Zabini.