Current mood:	disappointed
Entry tags:	*fic, character: blaise zabini, character: hermione granger, fandom: harry potter, genre: general, genre: mystery, gift, rating: pg, ship: hermione/blaise

In Confidence
Title: In Confidence
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Hermione/Blaise
Rating: PG
Word Count: 705
Summary: “What do you really want, Zabini? I don’t like playing games—especially not with Slytherins.”
Author's Notes: For vegetasbubble, who requested Hermione/Blaise, candles and Quidditch, and romance. This may possibly be very bad, and isn't really romance at all. Seems Writer's Block has decided to move in for a while. Bah. I hope you like it anyway, hon - and sorry for the horrendous wait!

In Confidence

There are candles on the Quidditch pitch, set in the grass not to enhance a mood but to light her way. Unwavering in the wind, the flames outline a narrow path; Hermione follows it to the center of the field, where it abruptly ends. She holds out her wand before her, wary even in this soft setting, and she listens for any hint of movement. The note she received is not signed, and she has seen enough deception in the past seven years to warrant alarm with her curiosity.

“Hello?” she calls out loudly.

A whisper of movement sounds throughout the grass.

Hermione’s eyes widen in anticipation. “Show yourself,” she says. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if—”

“There’s no need to threaten me,” a low voice informs her.

She turns, and a figure steps into the candlelight to accompany the words.

“Zabini?”

One hand is relaxed at his side, the other hovering near his pocket. He faces her, but his eyes do not waver from her wand until she relaxes her grip.

In spite of herself, she arches her brows. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”

He nods, almost bored. “That was the idea, Granger.”

“What do you want?” she asks.

“To talk to you.”

Hermione is even more bewildered than before. “But out here? Surely, you could have owled me, or found me after class. I’m afraid I don’t—”

“I couldn’t have done around so many people.”

She shakes her head indignantly, looking at the trail of candles. “This is hardly inconspicuous, if you were going for a clandestine meeting.”

“How so? We’re the only ones that can see them.”

Surprised, she bends to look closer at one of the candles.

“I’ve been watching you,” Zabini tells her as she does so.

“And now you want to talk to me.”

He shrugs, appearing mildly annoyed—though not necessarily with her.

“I want to know if you’re different.”

She straightens. “From what? All the other bossy, meddlesome Gryffindors?”

He does not answer.

“You oughtn’t to bother. I can assure you, I’m just as bossy and meddlesome as everyone says.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Her frustration is rising. “What do you really want, Zabini? I don’t like playing games—especially not with Slytherins.”

“I…” He hesitates. “Do you listen?”

“Of course I listen,” she retorts. “I’ve ears the same as you, haven’t I?”

“But will you listen? If I talk to you, that is.”

“That depends.” Intrigued, she allows herself to step closer to him.

“On what—?”

“Why are you asking me?” she interrupts. “Why not Malfoy, or one of them? I’m sure they’re all salivating to hear your innermost secrets.”

“I don’t know you,” he says simply, “and Draco couldn’t care less.”

She fails to see the logic in this, and tells him so.

He sneers at her, however, his teeth bright against his dark skin. “It doesn’t have to be logical. It’s just easier this way. All I want is a few hours.”

“I have no reason to give them to you—I hardly trust you.”

“All the better.”

“I don’t—”

“Or do I frighten you?” he taunts.

Her eyes narrow. “Of course not. I simply don’t understand why you’re so insistent upon telling a complete stranger—”

“I don’t have anyone else, Granger. Obviously. All I want is a few hours, and then I won’t have any further use for you.”

Hermione is startled to find herself considering. She is logical, to be certain, but there is a reason she was placed into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw.

After a moment, she nods.

“How noble. I suppose you’re not really any different, after all.”

He mocks her, but she sees his shoulders relax, the tension in his countenance vanish.

“I warned you,” is her only reply.

The moon rises over the Quidditch pitch to illuminate them both. Hermione watches Zabini carefully, but any intent of harming her seems to have passed from his mind.

“What do you want to talk about?”

He stares at her, eyes cold for the entirety of a minute, and then he glances down at the candle beside his feet.

“I’m…” he begins slowly. “I’m going to tell you something about my mother…”

THE END