fallen.
Feeling thoroughly depressed, Hermione slumped her head on her folded arms and sighed loudly enough to turn a page on her notebook. Of course she couldn't continue avoiding Draco forever. It was inevitable that they would have to meet sooner or later to show him the letter she had drafted to send to Lucius's contact.
But until then, there really was no need for them to be seen together any more than usual. And what was usual for them was five minutes of bickering during prefect meetings or the odd, brisk, hallway exchange.
This was her school, dammit! She was still Head Girl and she didn't like having to dodge behind corners every time the pompous, blond git walked through a doorway. Merlin knew there were already enough lower form girls trailing and giggling like ninnies in his wake.
If only they had more time. If only he would agree to work through their problem after school was finished. If only he wasn't so distractingly good looking. If only-
"Whatever it is, you look riled enough to take on sixth year detention for me this evening," said a smooth, slightly lilting, male voice.
Blaise Zabini was standing over her. His dark almond shaped eyes were warm with amusement. The Head Boy's badge pinned on his chest caught and reflected the sunlight that filtered through the lead-light windows behind her.
Hermione idly wondered if he ever polished it quite as much as Percy Weasley had done during the latter's tenure.
She blinked up at him, but was quick to shut her book in what she hoped was a casual manner. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Depends," he countered, the start of a smile appearing on his face. "How long have you been staring daggers at that book?"
"I stare at all books that way," said Hermione wearily. She pulled out a chair for him. "You're not at lunch?"
Blaise declined the chair and instead, perched on the edge of the table, crossing his ankles and stretching out his legs as he watched Hermione pack up her notes. "I wanted to catch you before class. You forgot to sign on next week's roster. Weasley was kind enough to bark your likely whereabouts to me when I asked him at lunch. Apparently I wasn't the only one looking for you."
"Bother." Hermione tapped her forehead in admonishment as she took the paper from Blaise to sign. "Sorry. I completely forgot. I'll take this evening's detention if you have better things to do."
Blaise blotted her signature before folding the paper with deft fingers and pocketing it. "I'll survive, though I always have better things to do than watch Dennis Creevey make calf eyes at Roberta Carstairs. And you are allowed the occasional lapse, Granger. Especially since school's just about over."
Hermione watched him from the corner of her eye, wondering if perhaps all Slytherin boys were born with an overdeveloped 'elegance gene', or if at some point, an assigned mentor had taken them aside to teach them how to move and talk like they did.
Or then again, perhaps not. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were exceptions to the rule-- thick and blundering, as opposed to lithe and fluid.
Blaise was nearly the same size as she was, perhaps just a bit taller and was a sleek and coltish. Not so different from Draco, Hermione supposed, except that Draco was probably more panther than racehorse.
She had come to know Blaise well over the year. They worked well together, a fact that was not overlooked by the Faculty. Within three months of their instatement, McGonagall declared them to be the most efficient school captains since Molly and Arthur Weasley.
Blaise was also quite easy on the eye, Hermione had to admit. He had inherited the warm skin and dark, exotic eyes of his mother. In a school comprised mostly of students of Anglo Saxon backgrounds, his looks tended to draw admiring glances.
But while girls watched Blaise with warm appreciation, they tended to watch Draco with something akin to reverence. No wonder the boy had an ego so large it had its own climate.
There was also the fact that despite house differences, Blaise had always been a dependable partner, if not friend to her. If she had to fall drunk into the bed of a charming Slytherin, she could have done much worse than Blaise Zabini.
And alas, she had.
"Defence with Lupin now," Blaise reminded. "We' d be having another blessed free period, only Snape's not letting him spoil us." There was a pout to his voice.
This