The Distraction
Hermione had been walking to charms class when she found her way blocked by someone tall. Annoyed, she tried to step around, not bothering to look up as she was already running late. Much to her dismay, whoever had blocked her path had clearly done so on purpose, because when she attempted to side step them, she found herself once again facing the same broad chest. Hermione huffed with annoyance and finally looked up, a few select explicit words on the tip of her tongue ready to go. But the words died in her throat as she realized who was blocking her path.
Blaise Zambini stood in front of her, tall and lithe, much like Theo.
He looked down at her, expressionless, as she stared back up at him, frozen. She had never been within six feet of Blaise Zambini, why would she have? Their respective cliques most certainly never overlapped. He was almost as mysterious as Theo had been when she first met him. She knew he was from a wealthy pure-blood family, and that supposedly his mother had been widowed six times over, under very suspicious circumstances. Hermione was also almost positive that his family loathed muggleborns. Regardless of the mystery that surrounded him, he had also been Draco’s sidekick when they had been younger; and while he may not have been the one hexing her or calling her a mudblood, he certainly never did anything to stop it, and she remembered seeing him howling with laughter after Draco had hit her with a particularly nasty jelly leg jinx, which left her unable to walk for over 16 hours.
Hermione held her breath and fingered her wand in her robe pocket, ready for him to shove her aside, hex her, or spit something derogatory at her.
Suddenly, his lips curved into a wide smile, showing off his stunningly white teeth which contrasted beautifully against his dark skin.
“Granger” he greeted her, as if they were old friends.
Had hell frozen over?
Hermione said nothing and eyed him wearily, it’s not that she inherently refused to trust any Slytherins, just specifically ones that had a track record of taking part in her humiliation as a child.
But if one Slytherin in her life had proved they were capable of growing out of their prejudices, was it such a stretch that maybe Blaise had too?
Hermione sighed, “Zabini” she responded flatly and with far less warmth than he had greeted her.
Blaise chuckled and placed his hand behind his neck, looking almost abashed. “I suppose I deserve some coldness, considering our… history” he admitted, his lips curving up in an apologetic smile, the tips of his canines peaking out.
Hermione crossed her arms impatiently, waiting silently for him to either reveal why he had blocked her path, or to get the fuck out of her way.
His eyes scanned over her, clearly noting her body language. Finally he dropped his smile, cleared his throat nervously, and placed an arm over her shoulder, ushering her over to one of the suits of armor so they wouldn’t be in the direct path of other students rushing to class.
She flinched when he initially touched her, but she allowed him to lead her. It was broad daylight, Hogwarts students and professors well within earshot, he wouldn’t be able to get away with anything even if he tried.
He released her shoulder and stepped in front of her again.
“Look, Granger, I want to apologize.”
Clearly hell had frozen over.
He shifted nervously and cleared his throat again. “I know I was a pratt when we were kids. I never should have let Draco do all those things he did to you, called you…”, his voice trailed off and his gaze shifted to the wall, his expression lost in thought.
Was that real remorse she was seeing? From Blaise Zabini of all people?
His gaze returned to her face, and she scoured his expression for any sign that he was lying, but both his body language and face reflected nothing but sincerity. His eyes remained calmly on her, and his position remained relaxed as he leaned against the wall of the castle, patiently waiting for her to respond.
“Why apologize?” she challenged, still uneasy. “As you said, we were kids, none of it matters, not anymore anyway. I appreciate your attempt at amends, I just don’t understand it. We haven’t shared more than a handful of words the last 7 years, and once we graduate, chances are we’ll never cross paths again. An apology, especially now, doesn’t make any logical sense”.
Blaise snorted, his face wearing a playful smirk once again. “Why? Because there’s nothing in it for me?” he retorted.
“Precisely” Hermione responded humorlessly, not entertained by his charm.
His smirk faded slightly, but he didn’t back down. “Does everything have to be a transaction? Why do you think I need something in return to make amends for being a prick when I was 13?”.
Hermione didn’t respond, she had learned from Theo that silence is the best tactic when trying to discern someone’s motives. It’s human nature to want to fill silences, and people tend to tell on themselves when given opportunity.
Finally his smirk faded all the way, and he leveled her with a cool stare.
“Honestly?” he whispered.
Hermione cocked an eyebrow and waited.
Blaise looked around them before pulling her farther down the hallway and into a secluded alcove. Hermione ran through a few of the dark curses she had mastered so that they would be fresh in her mind in case he tried anything.
Once he seemed convinced that they were out of earshot of anyone around, he cast a wandless silencing charm in the air around them, effectively silencing them from the rest of the world. Hermione bristled and plunged her hand back into her robe pocket, gripping her wand so tightly she could feel the vine patterns imprinting on the pads of her fingers. Did all Slytherins know wandless magic? She had assumed that the impressive wandless magic that Theo had displayed was few and far between.
She refused to let her panic show on her face even though her heart was beating out of her chest, and she gave Blaise her best impatient expression she could manage.
Blaise looked at her nervously, fiddling with the hem of his robes. Whatever he was about to tell her must be big, because the Slytherin princes didn’t make a habit of showing nerves.
“I’m in trouble” he blurted out, so rapidly that Hermione almost didn’t catch it.
She blanched, that had not been what she was expecting from him.
“Trouble?” she repeated back to him dumbly, her defensive wall dropping like lead.
He nodded and looked around them nervously again before taking a deep breath. “My mum wants me to take the mark” he said morosely.
Hermione felt her inner Gryffindor trying to rear its ugly head, to feel sorry for this boy, who was clearly trapped, so much like Theo. But she was determined to vet him, to stay vigilante. Theo had told her time and time again that everyone has an agenda.
“What does that have to do with me?” Hermione responded icily. The old Hermione would have been horrified at her coldness, but she couldn’t shake Theo’s voice in the back of her mind, “This is war, if you let your heart lead, you might as well dig your own grave right now Granger”.
Blaise looked at Hermione with a hopeless expression, and she felt her resolve slip slightly.
“Well, nothing really” he mumbled. “I just- I just don’t have anyone to talk to”.
Hermione scoffed.
“Is that so hard to believe?” he spat back, his tone taking on a desperate edge. “Slytherins are very aptly named, the dungeons might as well be a snake pit. Not a very friendly place for someone who doesn’t fit in.”
Hermione barked out a laugh, she couldn’t hold in her suspicion any longer. “Are you really trying to convince me that you don’t fit in amongst the other filthy rich pure-blood Slytherins?”.
“I used too!” he all but yelled back, his frustration hanging so thick in the aur it was palpable. “I used too” he repeated quieter. His demeanor felt like that of someone in mourning.
“That used to be enough… but now… unless your marked…” he stuttered, hanging his head and breaking eye contact. “Now, if you’re not marked, you’re an enemy”.
Hermione considered his words, feeling her walls melting little by little. What he was saying made sense and coincided with the bits and pieces that Theo had confided in her about what it was like on that side of the war. She knew that Voldemort was placing immense pressure on pure-bloods of Theo’s generation to take the mark, and it made sense that the fear would have divided the Slytherins into those marked and those not, at least not yet. And if there was anything that brought out her bleeding heart, it was someone who felt like an outcast. She had felt like an outcast for the majority of her life, up until very recently. It was only once Theo had started teaching her to be self-reliant that she started caring less about fitting in.
Hermione suddenly wished she was a ligillimens; sure, she had learned the basics of occlumency, but ligilimency was a totally different ball game. Everything would be so much easier if she could just peak into someone’s mind, see if they are being sincere or not. But seeing as that was not an option, she was just going to have to pick between giving him the cold shoulder and continuing on as if this had never happened - or, take a leap of faith. Hermione was not one to put any stock into faith, she believed in facts, what she could see and touch.
But very recently she had taken a leap of faith with another Slytherin, and he had surprised her. Who was to say that lightning couldn’t strike twice? She wasn’t looking for another lover, but a friend perhaps.
Hermione took a deep breath, deciding to roll the dice. She comforted herself with the notion that at least this time around, if trusting a Slytherin went belly up, she was much better equipped to handle herself than she had been the last time. Now she had an array of dark magic spells in her arsenal, as well as the goblin wrought silver blade strapped to her inner thigh, concealed just under her skirt.
“Okay Zabini” she said, with far less venom than before, and she held out her hand for him to shake.
A truce offered, if he chose to accept.
That damn blinding smile crept back onto his face as he reached out and shook her hand vigorously.
“Thanks Granger” he replied, his hand remaining on hers, even as they both stopped shaking.
She looked down at his hand enveloping hers, about to pull it back when he spoke.
“So, will you go to the ball with me then?” he asked, all shreds of the tortured, trapped boy gone, replaced by the confident and handsome Blaise that she was used to seeing.
Her eyebrows cinched as she thought of the best way to let him down.
“As friends, of course” he added, almost as an afterthought.
She opened her mouth to tell him no but stopped herself, shutting it instead with a snap. She was the one who had insisted that her and Theo needed to attend the ball with other people. Ginny knew something was up between her and Theo, and it was only a matter of time until others did too. Attending the ball with other people would take the heat off of them, at least for a while. Albeit, she hadn’t imagined going to the ball with a different Slytherin, they would still turn heads, and her fellow Gryffindors were sure to assault her with a barrage of questions and suspicion, but at least it wouldn’t be directed towards Theo anymore.
Blaise Zambini was not directly linked to a death eater the way that Theo was, being that Theo’s father was a notorious member of Voldemorts inner circle. Sure, Blaise’s family never hid their blood supremacist ideals, but his mother had never taken the mark as far as Hermione knew. Going to the ball with Blaise would raise eyebrows, but it wouldn’t have her blacklisted the way attending with Theo would. It was actually kind of perfect, going with Blaise would ensure that nobody missed her, it’s all anyone would talk about for a while, and while everyone was busy whispering about her and Blaise, she could continue learning dark magic from Theo, and no one would be the wiser.
“Okay” Hermione acquiesced, “as friends” she added sternly.
“Yes ma’am” Blaise responded, standing up straight and giving her a muggle salute and slyly sending a wink in her direction.
Hermione burst out laughing, seeing Blaise Zabini do a muggle salute was just too bizarre. Blaise’s resolve crumbled and he descended into laughter with her. It was easy. Friendly.
“So can I pick you up at your dorm at 7 then?” he asked after his laughing subsided.
“Sure” she replied, still struggling to keep her giggles at bay.
He graced her with one last blinding smile before he waved away the silencing charm and sauntered off.
Hermione stood there a second longer, reflecting on the bizarreness of what just happened. She shook her head in disbelief and looked at her watch, realizing with horror that she was more than 15 minutes late for charms class. She sprinted through the halls the rest of the way and ripped open the door when she finally arrived, only to have every head turn in her direction upon her entrance, including one very irritated looking Theodore Nott. She blushed as she realized that she had barged in while professor Flitwick had been mid lecture when she had burst in.
“Ah miss Granger, how nice of you to join us” Flitwick squeaked, “Please take a seat, quickly now, that’s it”.
Hermione shuffled over to the only open seat left, and of course, it was right in front of Theo. Throughout the entire lesson she could feel his eyes burning into the back of her skull. She briefly considered that maybe he was using legillimency on her, but she didn’t feel the telltale tickle, and he had never used it on her without her permission after they began whatever it was that was going on between them. She refused to look behind her for the entire lesson, and when Flitwick released them, she raced to the door before he could stop her.
Theo had been weird ever since the night they received their ball invitations. Hermione wasn’t sure what his problem was. Every time they spoke his tone was clipped and to the point, and it felt like he was avoiding her. She had been racking her brain and replaying that night over and over, trying to pinpoint when things shifted.
Perhaps he was getting bored of her, it would make sense. Theo had been with his fair share of witches already, and Hermione was assuredly not even in the same orbit as the skinny blonde model-esque women that threw themselves at him. Their tryst had probably just been a challenge for him, possibly something he could joke about with his quidditch buddies in the locker room. Hermione Granger, golden girl, Gryffindor princess, book worm, prude. She supposed it would make for a good laugh. She could picture it now, Theo and Marcus Flint, swapping stories about their most recent lays; the shock and awe in everyone's face as Theo proudly announced he had managed to bed potters best friend.
Hermione shook the thought out of her head, she refused to let it bother her. Theo was still training her, and that was the most important part, she wasn’t going to give him even more to joke about with his buddies by seeming desperate.
She silently vowed to herself to stop wasting anymore time thinking about Theodore Nott and instead focus on the future. She had things to do, midterms were coming up which she needed to study for, and they were in the middle of a war for Merlin’s sake, she certainly didn’t have time to wallow in her insecurities over a boy. And last but not least,
Hermione Granger had a dress to buy.
**********************************************
Hermione stared at herself in the floor length mirror in her room, barely even recognizing herself. Had she gone too far? Perhaps. The anger that she had felt while picking out her dress had faded somewhat, and now she just felt silly. Not to mention, the dress had cost her a fortune; money that could have gone towards aiding the resistance if it ever came to that. War is expensive.
She had been feeling like a woman scorned when she had purchased the dress in Hogsmeade, so she had bought the sexiest, edgiest dress she could find. A dress that would make her look nothing like herself. And boy had she found the perfect dress.
Black silk clung to her body, conforming to her like a second skin, creating the illusion of curves. The neckline dipped farther than what was appropriate for a school dance, and she was sure she would receive some scathing looks from disapproving professors. The dress was slinky and reached her toes, a daring split up the side giving others a peek at her freshly shaved legs and strappy black heels. With all the jogging and running that her and Theo had been doing, her skin now boasted a healthy tan, which Hermione had lathered with lotion and a little bit of shimmer so that she glowed, almost like a veela. Her favorite part of the dress though was the back.
The back dipped down farther than the neckline, plunging almost to the top of her bum, exposing her back and spine. She accessorized with a gossamer thin silver chain that draped down the middle of her bosom and split as her waist, meeting once again at her lower back and up her spine, just as it had in the front.
She had lined her eyes with a thick layer of khol, smudging it the way that Ginny had attempted to teach her in 6th year. At the time, Hermione would have never dared to wear makeup that edgy, but now it complimented her look perfectly. Wicked. Sultry.
The final thing Hermione changed was her hair. She had considered spelling it smooth, or in gentle waves like all the popular girls did. But Hermione didn’t want to be popular, and her hair had always been her defining feature. She had already lost so much of herself the last few months, and she felt it was important to keep something the same, to ground her and remind her of who she was. So instead of smoothing her curls, she added some shimmery product and teased them until they came alive, framing her face in wild ringlets.
As Hermione continued to stare at her drastically changed appearance in the mirror, she realized that the pure hearted 11-year-old that believed that love would always conquer evil was gone. The naïve girl who had clung to every word Dumbledore preached about the power of choice, and choosing to live in the light, was dead. It had happened so quickly that Hermione hadn’t had a chance to mourn her, but was there really any time to mourn in war?
Hermione was something different now, something in between. She wasn’t evil, but she wasn’t good either. She supposed she fell somewhere in the middle. Somewhere between light and dark.
She pictured herself at 11 years old, the joy on her face when the sorting hat had yelled Gryffindor, the first time she lied for Harry and Ron in the girls bathroom after they had subdued the troll, the warmth she had felt the first time Harry had called her his friend. All the happiness and warmth that living in the light had brought her.
Then she thought of all the sad memories of her time at Hogwarts, the first time someone called her a mudblood. The blank expression on Cedric Diggory’s face when Harry brought him back from the graveyard, dead. The way she had felt watching Ron choose Lavender over her, time and time again.
She gathered up all those memories, regarding all of them one last time, and then let them go. If she was always comparing who she was now to who she used to be, she would never have the strength to become the person she could be, the person who could not only survive the war, but help win it.
She was no longer naïve enough to believe that we war could be won without personal sacrifice, without getting blood on her hands. Believing in the power of love and light wouldn’t be enough, not this time.
She looked back at reflection in the mirror with new eyes, refusing to spend any longer feeling insecure. The girl that looked back at her was a temptress, Aphrodite reincarnate. Once she freed herself from reservations, she felt sexy, a little evil even.
She was missing one last thing.
Hermione conjured a black mask that covered the top half of her face. From afar, it looked like a plain black mask, but up close you could see the illusion. Hermione had recreated the black smoke that stuck to Theo when he apparated and morphed it into a mask. When she moved her face, the smoke would move with her, clinging and dripping from her just like it had the first time she had witnessed him apparate.
She was ready.
Hermione looked at the clock, it was three minutes to 7, perfect timing.
She quickly pulled up the leg harness that Theo had gifted her that had a pocket for both her wand and blade on beneath her dress, and spelled it with a Disillusionment charm for good measure.
She rushed out into the shared living room, ignoring the pang she felt upon realizing that it was empty. She let herself stare at the empty chairs for only a minute before collecting herself and walking out the front door.
She nearly collided with Blaise for the second time that week; he must have been waiting for her right outside the door she realized. He turned around when he heard the click of her heels against the stone floor, mouth open and ready to greet her.
When his eyes settled on her, no words came out of his mouth, but his mouth stayed open as he appraised her. She felt his gaze shift slowly from her face, down her chest, hesitating on her cinched waist, and finally down to the slit in her dress.
“Merlin Granger” he finally choked out.
Hermione did a cheeky spin for him. “Too much?” she asked with a playful smile on her face.
“No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” he answered immediately.
Hermione blushed, she couldn’t help it, nobody had ever called her perfect before.
Blaise stood up straight and offered his elbow to her in a very old fashioned, very flashy gesture. “M’lady” he offered, his composure only fracturing slightly at the silliness of it all.
Hermione giggled and took his elbow and allowed him to lead her, they weren’t even at the dance yet and she was already having fun. Something about Blaise put her at ease, he was nothing like she had expected. He seemed very laid back. Maybe lighting could strike twice, maybe there was goodness in him, just like Theo.
Her smile dropped at the thought of Theo. As frustrated as she was with him right now, she couldn’t deny the obvious; she missed him. She always knew that eventually he would grow bored and move on, but she had never imagined that it would hurt as much as it did. She gripped Blaise’s elbow harder as a fresh wave of rage crested over her.
As they approached the great hall, she could hear an orchestra playing, muffled by the oversized wooden doors. Blaise paused before them, turning to Hermione, a playful smirk on his face.
“Ready Granger?” he asked.
“Call me Hermione” she responded, matching his playfulness with a smirk of her own. She wasn’t looking for another lover, but what was the harm in a little shameless flirting if it helped distract her?
Blaise’s smirk morphed from playful to sinful, and his eyes darkened.
“Hermione” he repeated back to her slowly in a deep voice, a devilish smile creeping onto his face, and pushed open the door.