Exitus Acta Probat

Chapter Seven: The Art of Seduction

It was possible she had just driven Zabini insane. She almost wished he would vomit in disgust, or laugh in her face until he cried. However, Zabini was sitting utterly still, all smugness vanished, staring at her with absolutely no expression on his face. They maintained eye contact, Zabini empty and unblinking, herself squirming in place.

She shifted from foot to foot as her previous blush crept up her neck hotly. The seconds ticked by. It felt like it had been an hour since she had blurted out that she wanted to seduce him, but Hermione knew it had barely been a minute.

"Er... Zabini?" she asked cautiously. "Did you... hear me?" Zabini finally blinked, and shook his head once, as if to clear it.

"Sorry, Granger, I think I went deaf for a moment. Could you repeat that?"

Her eyes narrowed. Was he messing with her? But no, he looked completely sincere. He really thought those words coming out of Hermione Granger's mouth were so implausible that temporary deafness on his part was a more likely reality.

"I... you really didn't hear any of it?" she asked desperately. She licked her lips nervously. Was the git really going to make her repeat it? Once was horrifying enough.

"Well, yes, I heard something," Zabini frowned, his brow furrowing. "But I clearly misheard you."

Hermione stared at Zabini, who was now looking at the table. Had he just muttered "wishful thinking" at the end of his sentence?

"You want me to seduce you?" she blurted out without thinking. Zabini's head shot up, his mouth slightly open in shock.

"You... did say that?" he gasped. It took a beat for it to sink in to both of them, after which the two had an impromptu contest to see who could blush more. Hermione figured she was winning. Quite frankly, it was shocking her face hadn't yet burst into flames.

"Possibly," she muttered, staring at her feet.

"But... why?" Zabini asked, astonished.

Hermione cautiously glanced up in time to witness Zabini's unfortunate return to form.

"I mean, I know I'm ridiculously handsome and witty," Zabini smirked, tilting his chair back onto its legs and putting his arms behind his head. "After all, who wouldn't want to seduce me? Couldn't control yourself any longer, could you Granger? Can't say I blame you for-"

"It's because of the repulsion!" she snapped, sick of his ego-driven smugness.

Something quickly flashed in Zabini's eyes that looked suspiciously like hurt, before a smooth, indifferent mask took control of his face. His chair banged to the floor, his arms re-folding in front of his chest.

"So you want to seduce me because I repulse you," he said coldly, his eyebrows arching.

"I... yes... I mean...no," Hermione stammered, flustered. "What I mean is, I want to seduce you because you are repulsed. By me," she clarified.

"You repulse me?" Zabini said evenly, his cool tone becoming icier. His eyebrows were threatening to fly clear off of his face. "You repulse me?" he repeated.

"Er...don't I?" Hermione asked, now thoroughly confused.

Zabini conveniently sidestepped the question.

"Granger, I thought you were supposed to be smart. You want to seduce me because you think I am repulsed by you? That doesn't even make sense."

Hermione's confidence returned. Making sense, after all, was what Hermione Granger did best. She pulled out the chair across from Zabini and sat down. She pitched her voice conspiratorially low, causing Blaise to lean forward.

"Do you remember how Professor Lupin and Harry and I were telling you about the order?"

Zabini nodded, his eyes intent on hers.

"Well, I have a mission that's a secret. You can't tell anybody about it Zabini," she warned. He nodded again. "Only Harry and Lupin know. See, the thing is, I need your help." She quickly glanced around to make sure they weren't surrounded by eavesdroppers. "It's a kind of... espionage mission. It's more important than anything the Order has done, and it's dangerous. I might have to know how to seduce someone who has no interest in me, which is why I need your help."

Zabini stared at her strangely.

"Okay Granger, so I understand why you didn't want to ask Potter, but why me?" he asked, frowning.

"Because I trust you," Hermione grudgingly admitted. Damn her blushing capabilities! She was staring at Zabini's left ear again. She chanced a peek at Blaise. His expression was unreadable.

"Oh," he said, his voice slightly higher-pitched than normal. He cleared his throat. "I'm assuming you can't tell me any more about this super-secret mission?" Hermione shook her head in apology. "There's a slight flaw in your plan," Zabini said, and now he was the one avoiding eye contact. "You don't repulse me."

"Not even a little bit?" Hermione asked in consternation. Zabini flushed.

"No." he was still avoiding her gaze.

"Oh," she said, mildly disappointed, yet secretly thrilled at this unexpected revelation. Zabini was, after all, quite good-looking.

"Well, I could certainly think of worse people to seduce," she admitted graciously.

"Oh, be still my beating heart," Zabini drawled, deadpan. "We'll need to work on your compliments first thing, Granger."

"So you'll do it?" she asked eagerly, overlooking the slur on her schmoozing abilities.

"We-ell," Zabini said slowly, "I don't really like the thought of you using me to seduce some other bloke."

"It's not 'using' if you are a willing participant, Zabini," Hermione said in exasperation.

"Yes, yes, good point and all, but it's not the 'using' that bothers me. Use me all you want as your willing sex slave, Granger," Hermione snorted, "it's the you seducing another bloke part that's bothering me. Merlin Granger, I though you were intelligent!" He finished snappishly.

"You're jealous?" she gasped in astonishment. It seemed he was just full of surprises.

"Yes!" he bit out as if she were the slowest, most dim-witted person he had ever met. (And considering he had roomed with Crabbe and Goyle for six years, this was saying something.)

"If you are going to go seducing some bloke, it had better damn well be me!" Zabini pounded a fist on the table, his face flushed. It was clear the moment it registered to him what he had just said. "Oh, just kill me, Granger," he moaned in agony, slumping forward with his hand over his eyes. "Just 'Avada' me right now. I've just revealed feelings of all disgusting things, to the most Gryffindor-ist Gryffindor I have ever met, and then threw a tantrum like my name starts with 'Mal' and rhymes with 'toy.'

Hermione took pity on him, and sat down next to him while he repeatedly banged his head on the table.

"Zabini, you're being too hard on yourself," she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. She didn't want the poor boy to get brain damage, after all. "It's not like I want to seduce Rid- this person, after all. I might not even have to, it's just a back-up plan. And either way, I'm going to have to have someone help me learn how to do it. Wouldn't you rather have it be you than some other boy?"

Zabini paused in his relentless assault on his own skull. His head popped up, tilted to the side in deep thought.

"Excellent point, Granger," he said. Then swift as lightening, he grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her.

As Zabini's lips descended on her own, she squeaked in surprise at his abrupt change of heart. Zabini pulled away from her slightly, her face still in his hands, his eyes half shut.

"Lesson one," he breathed, "don't squeak when a bloke kisses you. It doesn't inspire us with confidence."

"Well, anyone would've been surprised, Zabini," Hermione snapped crossly, "the way you just--" he cut her off by kissing her again.

Her second squeak was quickly muffled when oh my god is that Zabini's tongue in my mouth? Their lips met again. Hermione found herself unconsciously leaning into Zabini, her hands playing with his hair, seemingly of their own violation. One of Zabini's hands had dropped to her back, rubbing her through her uniform. Her own hands were now wandering freely, gripping the fabric of his clothes and letting go. Blaise tugged her towards him, almost into his lap.

"WHAT are you doing?!" a hysterical, shrewish shriek pierced the atmosphere like a needle puncturing a balloon.

Hermione and Blaise leaped apart guiltily, causing their precarious position to collapse, along with themselves, onto a pile on the floor. They were in a tangle of limbs, a livid Madam Pince glaring overhead, hands on hips, her eyes flashing in mingled fury and disgust. Hermione was horribly aware that her current contact with Zabini was even more indicative of teenage hormones run amuck. She fervently prayed that he hadn't seen a glimpse of her knickers from where her skirt had drastically ridden up.

"Deviants!" Madam Pince shrieked. "Dirty little rats, incapable of using my books properly!" They scrambled up, hastily apologizing. Hermione yanked her skirt straight while Zabini feverishly threw his belongings into his bag. Madam Pince was ignoring all desperate attempts to placate her.

"Out! OUT!" she yelled. "I don't ever want to see you defiling my library with your disgusting lust-crazed antics again! And don't come to me with that 'Potter needs to defeat You-Know-Who' rubbish!"

Hermione and Blaise beat a hasty retreat as she continued to throw insults -and the occasional book- at them.

"This is entirely your fault, Zabini," Hermione snapped as they stumbled into the hall. "Now I can't ever go back to the library." Zabini was grinning.

"Did you see the look on her face?" he snickered. "I think that's the most action Pince has gotten in decades."

Hermione rolled her eyes and set off to Gryffindor tower, yanking Zabini along by the hand. Zabini curled his fingers through hers, a small smile on his face.

"Taking me up to your room to corrupt me, darling?" he leered.

"No, I'm taking you to Harry's room," she said absently, while steering him through a group of gaping second years. "Seamus and Dean and Neville will be there as well," she added, oblivious to Zabini's growing delight.

"I had no idea Gryffindors were so kinky," Zabini said, his eyes dancing. "Really Granger, a five-some? I can see how four Gryffindor boys couldn't handle you, but I'm more than enough man for the job," he finished with an even more lascivious leer.

"Zabini, shut up," Hermione hissed, her eyes panicked and darting from side to side.

"Why? Can't handle the truth, Granger?" he smirked.

"One, you are making me ill, and furthermore, you're traumatizing the second years," she snapped.

"What?" he scoffed. "No one's paying attention to us."

This wasn't exactly true. After all, the Golden Girl of Gryffindor, best friend of Harry Potter, aka the Boy-Who-Lived, was walking hand in hand with a Slytherin.

Since the recent attacks, an unexpected positive effect had emerged from the ashes. Inter-house unity was at an all-time high. Ernie MacMillan had been spotted snogging Millicent Bulstrode behind a tapestry hanging in the third floor corridor. Zachariah Smith was seen spouting love sonnets to a dreamy eyed Luna Lovegood. And just this morning at breakfast, Dean Thomas and Michael Corner had outed themselves and their torrid affair.

Yet, a Gryffindor and Slytherin match-up was still a shocking development. Particularly in light of the fact that the Gryffindor in question was Hermione Granger, who had almost single-handedly stolen the House Cup from Slytherin a number of years.

Hermione ignored Zabini, who, apparently, lost all senses of perception after a single snog. They were clearly being gawked at, pointed at, and whispered about, and the sooner they could make it safely to Gryffindor tower the better. A sudden loud, choking noise arrested her attention.

Snape was standing frozen in horror, his face turning a putrid green, in the middle of the corridor ahead. Students scurried for cover at the look on his face. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He pointed a finger at the pair, his hand shaking violently.

"You..." he choked at Zabini, "and... and...her..." he looked at Hermione as if she were an unholy cross between a giant slug and a stink beetle.

Hermione scowled, while Blaise looked highly amused.

"Yep," he chirped to a queasy, swaying Snape, "ours is a miraculous love," he put his arm around Hermione and yanked her next to him. "I know how happy you are to see your favourite two students together, Professor. Stop trying to deny your true feelings. I know it's like a dream come true," he added, gleefully throwing salt into the wound.

Snape was now leaning unsteadily against the wall. His eyes narrowed to slits.

"Ten points from Slytherin for revolting taste," he hissed. Zabini appeared nonplussed. "And fifty points from Gryffindor for ruining my student," he snarled at Hermione with loathing. "I don't know how you did it, Miss Granger, but when I find out which illegal love potion you have been brewing, you'll be expelled!"

"Love potion?" Blaise said jubilantly. "If this is a spell, than I don't want the antidote!" And maliciously grinding salt into the open, festering wound, he laid a resounding "smack" on Hermione's lips.

She dragged Zabini off, done pushing their luck, with Snape's enraged howl ringing in their ears.

The Dark Lord's Hideout

Bellatrix Lestrange smirked as she drew a rusty dagger from inside her robes, a blood-soaked nail at her feet. The dagger was already covered in dried blood; some from her current victim, the rest from previous sufferers of her exquisite skills at torturing. A feeble whimper issued from the mouth of the boy in front of her. He had dark hair and eyes (not that you could tell with all the blood and grime covering him) and looked to be no older than fourteen, at best. He hung limply from stone wall upon which he was chained. Steel manacles wrapped around his wrists, his arms crossed and over his head, clearly only the chains were holding him upright. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't unconscious, although he was close to being so. A Hogwarts Uniform adorned his battered and bruised frame, hanging in tatters, revealing deep gashes criss-crossing along his chest. Blood was spattered all along the floor and wall around him.

Next to him was a girl with panicked, darting eyes, a girl who would be pretty were she not as filthy as the boy next to her. While some of the boy's wounds looked fresh, the dark haired girl's wounds were partially healed. Her arms, also bound above her head, were a mass of spectacularly blooming bruises, in various shades of colour. Some were sickly and yellow-green, others purple and blue, still others a dark red.

Bellatrix pulled her wand out into her left hand.

"Consanesco," she hissed with a wave of the slim birch rod.

Some of the boy's open wounds seamlessly melded back together, as if they had not been there at all. He jerked fully awake, his face a mask of blank terror, and resignation.

Bellatrix placed the tip of the dagger delicately under his chin, the flat side of the blade facing upwards, tilting his head, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"You know you deserve this, don't you Malcolm?" she said in a low purr. She sounded almost pitying, a regretful tone to her voice, a mournful look about her face. Malcolm knew better. She was just like a vindictive, overgrown cat, toying with her pet mouse. She felt no sorrow for him at all. Her dark eyes looked eerily blank, an endless chasm to the madness lurking below.

Malcolm opened his mouth and tried to speak. Failed. Spat out a mixture of blood and saliva and tried again.

"Yes."

"And why is that, Malcolm? Why is it I waste my precious time, teaching you a lesson?"

Because you are a psychotic loon who is enjoying this? Was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit the urge back. He certainly wasn't suicidal.

"I failed the Dark Lord," he croaked instead. The girl with long, usually shiny hair that was currently matted and clotted with dried blood watched him with wary eyes. Bellatrix's rage would be taken out on both of them if he failed to answer correctly.

"Yes," Bellatrix said softly, now lightly running the dagger down his throat. A thin trickle of blood followed where the tip had been. "That much, is obvious. But how, little Malcolm? How have you failed our Master?"

He swallowed, hard. Bellatrix was drawing circles in the hollow of his throat, where the blood was beginning to pool.

"I left behind a fellow Death Eater," he said, then stupidly continued in a panic when Bellatrix pressed roughly at his Adam's apple. "But Lady Bellatrix, I thought he was dead! I swear! I wouldn't--"

She silenced him with a swipe of her dagger across his cheek. He shrieked in pain when a flap of skin fell loose from his face.

"Still haven't learned, I see," she said, her eyes now burning with an unholy fever.

A twisted smile played on her thin lips. Granted, this had only been the second time she asked questions. Before, they had been tortured in silence. Well, silence from their tormentors. They had been screaming in agony. She glided over to the girl, whose eyes were round as galleons with terror.

"And what about you, Parvati? Do you know why you are here?"

The frightened girl opened her mouth to reply, when she was cut off by the heavy dungeon door swinging open. Bellatrix sighed in exasperation when she saw her husband stroll in, his face a thundercloud.

"There you are," he said irritably, "I've been looking for you everywhere." He scowled hideously.

Bellatrix was intrigued. Ever since Azkaban, Rodolphus had been listless and lacking fire, the manic energy that had fuelled his every action. What could possibly have enraged him so? The only thing she could think of was---

"I'm going to murder that horrible Weasley brat, Bellatrix, I mean it, I don't care what the Dark Lord does to me, it will be worth it!" Rodolphus spat out a stream of profanities, and agitatedly stalked closer to her, rubbing his face with his hand.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, and turned towards her husband, but not before idly swiping her dagger down the chained girl's collarbone. A yelp came from the girl, whose shirt began reddening further where Bellatrix had cut. The Lestranges ignored her.

"What did the little slut do now, dearest?" Bellatrix asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rodolphus clenched and unclenched his fists, clearing itching to punch the absent Dark Lord's wife.

"Throwing a tantrum, as usual," Rodolphus groused, gritting his teeth. "Some rubbish about her diary gone missing or something, she's blaming everyone and everything for its disappearance."

"She probably left it by the toilet again," Bellatrix mused.

Rodolphus threw himself down on a couch he conjured from midair in a huff.

"Well, yes, that's where I looked first, but it's not there! I even looked between her dream journal and her charts of her monthly cycle--"

A loud snicker sounded from the girl. Bellatrix flung the dagger at her without looking, and it imbedded itself in her hand. She screamed an agonized wail.

Bellatrix lounged next to Rodolphus on the couch, and trailed her fingertips along his arm.

"Darling," she drawled, "don't trouble yourself with that insufferable nuisance. I have taken care of it. I know how she bothers you and--"

Rodolphus sat upright in a flash, his eyes blazing.

"Bella, did you do it? Did you--"

"Yes," she cut him off with a grin. "I sent it to the Potter boy. He will no doubt be seeking revenge at any time."

Rodolphus stared at her as if they were in the middle of the desert and she was a tall glass of water. Without speaking, he lunged towards her, knocked them over on the couch, crushing her below him. Her eyes sparkled wickedly. With the girl's screams of misery echoing in their ears, he ripped his wife's robes open violently.