Blaise’s Second Feat, Chapter Two of When Literacy Attacks
by Flax, Sept 25, 2005, rated PG-13 (for a disturbing rumor)
I'm worried that I won't write another chapter, so I'm leaving this as a possible ending. All the intentions in the world can't write chapter three if chapter three doesn't want to be writen.
The characters and elements of the Potter universe belong to J. K. Rowlings.
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Granger felt every muscle she had tense. She carefully laid her pen down and took out her wand. Zabini had laid a small box on the table before her and taken the chair opposite her. “Malfoy thinks you’re still angry with me. So I told him that I’d apologize,” he said. Blaise looked the brunette in the eyes and smiled. She was so tense that he thought he could almost see her nerves beneath the skin, but that was to be expected. He had played a bit rough.
“What you did was wrong, Blaise,” she said, her hand shaking slightly.
It did not escape Blaise’s attention that she used his name. It was a good sign. “Then I suppose I shouldn’t do it again, Hermione” he purred.
“Do what?” she asked, her logic catching part of the vagueness in his offer.
“Sequels are never as good, anyway, don’t you think?” he remarked to her, relaxing visibly in his chair even though she had him at tense wand point.
“You stuck me in a book you sleaze!” hissed the witch. The wizard chortled to himself as if at some private joke.
“Did you have fun?” he asked.
“No!” the reply was immediate.
“Not in the book. I mean big picture: was it worth it?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes and considered her possible responses.
Blaise leaned across the table and captured her gaze in his. His hand pressed her wand down to the table, but not away from his person. “I don’t need a reply now, but for this to work, you’ll have to wear it and say the words ‘yes Blaise’ this Friday night around eight. Oh, and, the party’s only for a few hundred close friends of my family, so don’t tell everyone, because not everyone gets an invite.”
“A few hundred death eaters!”
“Do you speak Italian?”
“No.”
“Because it comes across as much more polite to ask about that in Italian.” Blaise’s smile shifted from canny to amused. “They think the British situation is insane, but if you want to chat about it, be a dear and try to learn Italian by Friday night.”
“What’s your game here, Zabini?”
He let go her wand, ceased looming over her side of the table, and returned to his relaxed sitting. He leaned back and considered. “It’s either rampant nationalism or I’m trying to make friends.”
“I’d hate to see you make enemies,” she snapped.
He looked triumphant, and said, “For giving me such a good exit line, I’ll give you one more detail: you will be my guest this Friday, and completely safe.”
“Like last Friday?”
“Exactly.”
“You and I may not share an understanding of the word ‘safe.’”
“You were not hurt.”
“It was wrong.”
Blaise considered and then offered, “And for that I am truly sorry.” Granger seemed to nod, and looked down to the box. She opened it, and inside was a ring. It was two flowers meeting each other off a shared stem which was the band. It was worked in enamels that looked like delicate watercolors. It lacked the obvious glaring wealth of Slytherin “power jewelry” – but it was still festive in a playful way.
Hermione looked up, but Blaise was gone. She figured she might as well get it over with, and so after a dozen detection spells, she put it on and nothing happened. She took it off, put it back in the box, and still nothing had happened.
So, she put the box carefully into her pocket and thought about what it could mean. After list of pros and cons, that she did not in this case commit to paper, Hermione decided that it boiled down to one thing: whether or not Hermione Granger trusted Blaise Zabini.
And as much as Hermione Granger wanted to, she did not.
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Friday night, Hermione sent the hoard of friends off and out while she went to read. Ron thought she was reading in the common room. Lavender thought the library. Harry thought some Arimancy study group had gotten together in the Great Hall. Ginny didn’t know exactly where, but knew Hermione wasn’t going to be social.
Hermione, however, had started testing the ring’s new ability to find her wherever she went. Whatever deserted room she went to, the ring showed up, nudging her hand. Work or rest, the ring box would suddenly get in the way. Hermione was also rethinking her decision.
She plain could not trust Blaise. But the ring box kept inserting itself into wherever she was, whatever she was doing. An hour before she would need to get dressed, it wasn’t the ring box, but a copy of the gooey novel he had left her in, but this time uncharmed. Hermione read it this time, feeling a bit safer now that she was outside the book, and realized that it really wasn’t that bad. As the genre went, this one was a light weight. Though it wasn’t her world in there, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.
So a smart, gorgeous, deeply manipulative wizard promised she would be a guest and unharmed at his party. Said wizard seemed, and this is why no written list of pros and cons existed, to be setting her up to be around Draco Malfoy.
Hermione was at best conflicted about that.
Death eaters were sneaky, violent, controlling, mean, vicious, flagrant, uncaring, and insane politicians.
So far, Draco and Blaise seemed to only be sneaky politicians. So far.
So at the proper time, Hermione found herself clean, dressed, and ready for a party. She put on the ring of two flowers and balked. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
And nothing happened.
Fifteen minutes passed and still nothing happened. Hermione could see Blaise’s point, but still didn’t like this detail. “Yes, Blaise, I would like to come to your party as your guest,” she said, and then the ring tugged and her stomach twisted, and the port key had clearly worked.
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Everything felt out of kilter, as is often the case after a porting, but this time more than usual. Hermione had landed in what seemed to be a sitting room, and even though she had never been in an official sitting room, this seemed to Hermione to be one. It was like a living room, but without the used feel, and containing too many fragile valuables.
She further realized that she was wearing a mask. And a different dress. Granger removed the mask and saw it was a creation of feathers and glistening beads on a soft fabric background. It clung to her face but did not make her uncomfortable, so Granger put it back on. The dress, however, would not be one she would have chosen. Blaise had stuck her in the dress from that romance novel, and Hermione was not happy. A small voice in her head pointed out that the green of the dress was picked up nicely in the ring which was her port key, and Hermione decided to ignore the dress.
Zabini may be as annoying as both Weasley twins put together, thought Granger, finding the exit and entering a busy hallway. In the hall there were people all heading toward a room giving off music and light, and Granger followed.
A warm body didn’t simply bump into Granger, but plastered itself up against her back, wrapped arms around her shoulders and then said words into her ear. Hermione was surprised to feel relief to be making contact with Blaise.
“Welcome to my mother’s annual ball,” he said. “And a few details: when the ring comes off, you’ll find yourself back at Hogwarts. At midnight, you’ll pop back to Hogwarts. I don’t expect it, but just in case, the ring will tell me if you get into trouble,” he said.
Hermione turned to face him and looked over Zabini dressed as a fool. “You are my guest,” he continued, “and thank you for coming.” With that he started moving away into the crowd of other guests.
“What do I do?” she asked.
“Don’t think so much,” the fool replied with a laugh, and was gone to sight. Hermione allowed herself to be pulled along by the current of guests toward the ballroom. The next words reached her ear as a whisper from her host now gone, “And it’s a masque, so no one answers personal questions.”
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Hermione stood at the top of a stair, looking over a balcony onto the gathered guests who danced, chatted, ate and drank. A small chamber group played and the decorations were glistening. Hermione found herself mesmerized when she looked at them too long, and had begun to ignore the play of lights, flowers, architecture and shadows.
There were far more than a hundred people there, all in breezy whimsical costumes. All of them playing with how to be social while in these costumes. It looked like a lot of fun.
Gathering her nerves, Hermione headed down. She first wandered the food and punch tables, not pausing to chat. She took a deep breath, then, and paused to see what would happen. Would anyone chat with the stranger in a gauzy dress out of a romance novel? Not that they could be certain she was a stranger.
“Blaise said he’d be inviting some friends,” said a gnarled old Ent. Hermione’s eyes widened and she laughed away some of her nerves.
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, sir. I’m not sure I’ve ever spoken to a tree before,” she said, attempting a shallow curtsey.
“Hoom, hoom, hoom,” replied the tree, with a stiff bend at the waist. “Can I interest you in some punch, lovely lady?”
The lovely lady enjoyed playing the role when it felt safe, and said yes. She chatted with the stranger for quite some time about completely unpredictable, but unthreatening, subjects.
The Ent never asked her her name, but kissed her hand as he left. Hermione had a feeling that he knew who she was, but she still didn’t find him threatening. Just, well, pleasant.
Hermione, feeling confident now, looked about for someone else to chat with, but the knots of people had gotten tighter and Hermione didn’t see any openings. So she wandered until she found a seat, and then she watched the ensemble play and the dancers dance.
“Remind me to kill Blaise,” muttered a familiar voice, but with the pitch of beaten annoyance that Hermione had heard from him before.
Hermoine turned and saw the source of the voice, and it was someone who looked not at all like Draco Malfoy. “What are you wearing?” she asked, almost laughing out loud.
“Blaise’s idea of a joke. I’m here as a character that only a muggle would recognize.”
Hermione did laugh now. “But how could you know, so why does it matter?”
“Laugh it up. He dressed you in a muggle romance novel dress. You should ask him to borrow the book later,” said Draco with a smirk.
“A real femme fatale?” asked Hermione.
“A twittering innocent,” said Draco with derision.
“How boring,” said Hermione, undecided if Draco was talking about her or the role, but decided to go with the role as twittering and innocent.
“I swore I’d never wear lace again,” he said flopping down in the chair beside Hermoine.
Hermione batted at the cravat like Crookshanks a dangling sock. Draco glared. “So here you are, kind sir, and it’s so kind of you to visit,” she said trying to act in character.
“Insanity knows no boundaries, you know,” he replied.
“I find it odd,” said Hermione returning to a previous subject, “that I can’t place what your costume is meant to be.”
Draco glowered and tightened his smile. “Merchant Ivory hero. For some reason, I thought I was coming as an elephant. I think I would have preferred it.”
“You’d make an adorable elephant!” exclaimed Granger.
“For that I’ll get you a drink,” he said darkly, and got up.
Granger wondered who he thought she was, but he was acting like she was some sort of old friend or sister. And as such, he seemed to be a decent guy. The mask also must be altering my voice, she thought.
He was waiting for her response, and again Granger was surprised by the actual manners. Like he knew how to be decent. “Thank ye kindly,” she said.
“That was Middle English. The costume more requires Romance Novel Dribble.”
“What does that sound like?”
“I don’t quite know,” answered Draco, moving off to get them drinks.
“Then how would you know?” she muttered to herself, as he was already gone.
Hermione wondered if she was being dishonest. But it was a masque ball, she had been invited by his best friend and roommate, and no one was getting hurt. Hermione winced at her own logic.
A figure cast a shadow over her thoughts, and she looked up to see. The jester clicked his heels, and held out his hand. Hermione took it, and found it propelled up to her lips, which she then kissed, as if she were the gentleman. Blaise then flopped down in the chair beside her.
“I get kissed by all the best women,” he said with a leer.
“Who does he think I am?” asked Hermione.
“Dahlia Parkinson. They chat at all these things. Keeps them from having to actually interact with anyone. Avoidance. You wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Hermione glared fruitlessly at the jester beside her.
“How do you like the chandelier?” he asked, pointing above. “I did it myself,” he said in an undertone.
Hermione looked up. The chandelier was a giant silver network of orbiting mirrors and candles, rotating and twinkling. From the candles dripped what seemed like glowing silver wax, but it gleamed and fell until it faded, never touching the guests below. And the light was like moonlight, softly turning everything a gentle grey.
“It’s amazing,” said Hermione honestly. Blaise smiled at the praise.
They sat there a moment, Hermione looking up and Blaise looking out. Then he saw his cue and stood to go. “Have a good time, fair maid,” he said.
“I’m telling Draco,” she said, trying to sound resolute.
The jester smirked. He explained: “You’ll land at Hogwarts before you succeed.” He touched her shoulder gently for a moment, saying very softly, “And it would make an excellent exit line.”
“Not everything is a line,” she whispered back.
“I know,” he said, and moved off. He greeted Draco just out of Hermione’s range of hearing, exchanging pleasantries, and then cracking a joke or two.
“He hasn’t been this giddy in years,” said Draco to Hermione, handing her a cup of punch. It tasted like fruit.
“Looking forward to graduation?” guessed Hermione.
Draco seemed to wrinkle some before not answering, “Indeed.”
“The orchestra is nice,” offered Granger.
“And they won’t remember a thing in the morning,” answered Draco, blankly, staring nowhere.
Hermione froze. It hadn’t occurred to her.
“You can’t be worried that you’re being dirtied by hearing muggle musicians,” said Draco with a hard voice.
“I never said that,” replied Hermione, formulating her own question: “So why does it bother you?”
Her charming and inscrutable classmate returned and Hermione could not read his face. “Waste of a good obliviate,” he said with a cold laugh. He took Hermione’s hand and pulled gently.
“Dance?” he asked. “They won’t remember tonight, but we will.”
“I can’t dance in this dress,” said Hermione, covering her worry.
“I promise to dance around your feet, as always,” murmured Draco,
“I dance just fine,” said Hermione hotly, hoping Dahlia Parkinson would do the same.
“Yes, dear,” replied Draco, spinning her in tiny circles.
Hermione was fairly sure that Draco wasn’t dancing quite properly, throwing her off a trace. So she did the same, and also aimed for his feet some. Though she was never successful, they did laugh and relax.
The clock was chiming quarter to when Hermione realized she was going to have to say something.
“I’ll walk you to the hall,” offered Draco, and Hermione agreed. It was a hall of portraits, all men, all gentlemen, all serious, all very posh.
“The ‘My Last Duke’ hall. I’m still creeped out,” murmured the young man.
“Those eyes,” said Hermione of one portrait. They were the eyes of the ent. But the ent had a kinder smile.
“Blaise’s fourth father?” asked Draco with a slight frown. “The dead Mr. Simmons? What of him?”
“Just noticing his eyes,” said Hermione nervously.
“And there they are. But off with ye, and good night,” said Draco, his voice sounding tired. Hermione dropped a small curtsey, smiled, and pulled off the ring. She found herself disoriented from another port key, back in her clothes, without the mask, standing in Hogwarts once again, listening to a clock chime midnight. But she was standing in Draco and Blaise’s room.
Draco and Blaise’s room. Because she’d seen it before. But maybe all Slytherin rooms look alike. Hermione examined the shelves, and even pulled down a text book. It had Draco’s name in it. Hermione put it back fast. The first door she opened clearly led to a bath and shower. That door she closed fast. The other door would not open. Unnerved, Hermione put the ring back on and said “Yes, Blaise,” but nothing happened. “No, Blaise, and get me bloody well out of here,” she then said. Still nothing happened.
There was a popping sound behind her; Draco had returned.
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Hermione turned, squared her shoulders and told Draco she was going to kill Blaise.
Draco, on the other hand, had his wand out and was making sure this was Granger. Mostly satisfied, he asked her “what was the wrong answer that Snape was looking for in the trick question on last week’s test?”
“The one about clover paste?”
“Yes.”
“Mint flowers,” she answered. “Mint flowers would have changed the sizing of the results but not the efficacy.”
“Maybe you’re Granger,” said Draco, his wand still out. “So what’s the thirty seventh word on the hundred and forty seventh page of our Arimancy text? Not this edition, but the edition coming out next year?” he asked, his teasing persona back, but the wand still out.
Hermione huffed, and gestured at his door. “I can’t get out,” she said.
“I asked a question,” he replied.
“Twit,” she replied, “T. W. I. T. twit.”
Draco ceased pointing his wand at his companion, but did wave it some. He stood there then in his regular face, his regular pants and shirt, looking much more like himself. “Did you have fun?” he asked.
“Where?” asked Hermione, trying to cover.
Draco blinked in annoyance. “I did miss that it was you before, but it’s all obvious now, Granger,” he answered.
“I had fun,” she said sheepishly. “I was surprised Blaise asked me. I should thank him. Will he be back soon?”
“He’ll probably be there all weekend. Would you go again?” Draco looked at her like a science experiment.
“Are you asking me out?” she replied, trying to figure out her answers.
“I’m wondering how a brain like you who doesn’t have pure blood parents looks at what went on tonight.”
“It was a party.”
“A party. How enlightening. So, say, the bit about the band doesn’t bother you? But I don’t know for sure what will happen there. Maybe life is perfect in Italy and no one ever gets obliviated.”
Granger chewed over her answer.
Malfoy, still looking at her like a hungry hawk watches a field, added, “A lot of muggles are paid fees, sign contracts, and it’s all on the up and up, except they don’t remember it in the morning, and don’t realize they’ve forgotten it.”
“First off, I’m surprised that pure bloods would hire muggles in any capacity.”
“Servants or the like. Not as guests. Maybe you’re more like a pure blood than I ever realized,” he added.
Hermione knew she was being tested here, but couldn’t get what Draco was aiming at. And could not pin down where Draco was coming from. “I liked the people,” said Hermione finally. “And as Blaise’s guest, I didn’t think it right to make a scene when nothing obvious was going wrong.”
Draco looked her over and then seemed to accept her answer in a sad way. “It’s funny which portrait you noticed,” he finally said. “Mr. Simmons was very wealthy, but he turned out to be too trusting.”
“What happened,” asked Hermione.
Blaise spoke from behind Hermione, startling her something fierce. She jumped about to see him there, leaning back on a book shelf. “It’s rumored that mother had me kill him,” said Blaise nonchalantly. “Have you ever heard anything so frightful?” he asked.
“That shirt,” muttered Draco, throwing another shirt at Blaise. Blaise caught it and simply threw it back.
Hermione was nervous, but the mountain of data was definitely pointing in new directions in her mind. “What was that?” she asked.
“What?” asked Blaise.
“A shirt?” followed Draco.
“Ingratitude,” answered Blaise.
“Helpful guidance,” corrected Draco.
“I look good,” said Blaise, posing.
“In a cartoon world,” commented Draco.
“Home sweet home,” replied Blaise.
Hermione put her hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“We’re barely warmed up,” put in Draco.
“We usually go for hours,” finished Blaise with a grin.
“Worse than Fred and George,” muttered Hermione to the two men who huffed.
Hermione thanked Blaise for the lovely evening and the kind invitation. Blaise held up her hand which was wearing the ring again. “Keep it, if you like, but realize that it does let me keep track of you,” he said, curling her hand over his and kissing her knuckles one last time.
Draco grumbled.
“Then take her home. You can’t have a pretty woman in the room and expect me not to flirt,” said the black haired man, looking into Hermione’s eyes. She blushed and looked down.
Draco waved Hermione away from Blaise, toward the door, and she thanked Blaise again. He politely thanked her for attending.
Draco didn’t need to drag Granger down the corridors of Slytherin this time. This time he escorted her. When they got to the portrait of the Fat Lady, Draco pulled her aside and looked like he was trying to find serious words.
“Did Blaise kill his father?” asked the young woman in a very small voice.
Draco looked at Hermione and finally replied. “Some things need to be sensed. Because the words go wrong. So yes. Yes he did.”
Hermione froze and looked into the face of what might be her enemy. But her enemy only seemed overwhelmed by it all, also.
Draco leaned in and kissed Hermione gently on the cheek. She leaned against him as well. Then they parted.
“I don’t think Blaise has any further plans for us,” murmured Draco.
“That’s probably for the best,” said Hermione.
Hermione went to pull away, but Draco held her hand. He looked aside before coming to what he wanted to say. Then he looked Hermione in the eye and said very softly but seriously, “Don’t loose the ring. I think he’s made three others, and he doesn’t give them out freely. He is an impossible friend, but … he is still a true friend.” With that, Draco let her hand go.
“And you?” she asked in a whisper. Draco held up a hand where there was a simple enamel ring.
“Or do you mean, am I a true friend?” he asked, grinning again. “That you’ll have to ask Blaise. I’m fairly sure that my own answer would be biased.”
“Blaise would be biased too,” she reasoned.
“Because of his bias, he can have an on something like that.”
“So I’ll never know?”
“Not if you want unbiased knowledge. Because that does not exist.” Draco let his right hand play in the hair on her shoulder. The teasing light returned to his eye. “But if friendship is tasteful advice regarding clothing,” said Draco with interest, “then you’ll find me much friendlier than Blaise.”
“I didn’t incinerate Blaise’s dress for being inappropriate or provocative,” scolded Granger.
Malfoy grinned more.
“Malfoy?” she asked.
“I’m imagining something here, hold on…” he said.
Hermione pulled his face to look at her eyes and not over her shoulder. He kissed her gently and whispered good night. She let it happen, wishing him a good night as well, and went into the portal to her tower.
The Fat Lady was not amused by the hour of Miss Granger’s return. But still, she let Miss Granger in, considering the other option which stood there having just said farewell to her. Hermione happily slept in the following morning.
the end of chapter 2: "Blaise's Second Feat"
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