Not So Bad

~*Not So Bad*~

by Keelie

How can I convince you that you're not really alone,

And I know exactly what you are going through.

Nothing is certain, but there's one thing I know,

Never underestimate what love can do.

--BBMak, "Love is Unpredictable"

Blaise Zabini was mad.

The day had started off on the wrong foot when her dormmates had awoken her at the ungodly hour of seven a. m.-- on a Saturday! It had worsened as she comprehended the fact that Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Emilee Nott were going to spend their entire morning in the bathroom, primping-- and that primping took up a hell of a lot of space.

When she had finally gotten a chance to shower, she'd been out of her Morning Unique shampoo and was forced to use Pansy's rose-scented kind. Dead set on not following the crowd, Blaise didn't mind professing the fact that she loathed roses.

Next, Blaise discovered the house elves had neglected to launder both her regular robes and her school robes, so she was actually dressed Muggle. A Slytherin dressed Muggle. At least it was all black-- black flared pants, black wedge shoes, black wraparound shirt-- but that was small comfort.

Upon arriving to the Great Hall, Blaise's mood declined even more. The Slytherin table was devoid of any sort of decent breakfast food, with only the unwanted dishes left behind. How on earth was a girl supposed to function without hot, cinnamony porridge?

So now, stalking along a fourth floor corridor, glaring at the disgusting piece of toast she'd been reduced to nabbing from the Ravenclaw table, it was safe to say that Blaise was having a very rotten day.

As she passed a large painting of Helga Hufflepuff, beaming in all her ditzy, blonde, badger glory, Blaise glared at her toast. "I hate toast," she complained aloud. Even raspberry jam didn't help the matter. "I hate it, I hate roses, I hate morning, and I hate--"

THUD.

Being knocked to the ground by strange people.

Blaise barely had time to register a flash of red and the gleam of wire before she landed on the wood floor, her toast sailing into the air and hitting good old Helga smack in the face.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Blaise exploded, slamming both hands against the floor. "Couldn't someone watch where they're going, for once? Oh yes, all in good fun, knocking innocent girls and their whole wheat breakfast about! Did you ever stop to consider the fact that those girls and their breakfast might mind?"

Blaise stopped her tirade a few seconds too late.

Oh God. What if I just told off Snape-- or worse, McGongall. Nothing will get me out of the four detentions and negative fifty house points she'd love to assign me. God, I'm daft!

Blaise looked up, praying.

Well, well, well, there is a God.

It wasn't a teacher.

But when she realized who it was, she retracted her last thought. Well, maybe there's a God, but not a very smart one.

It was a Gryffindor, and "The Boy Who Lived," at that.

Oh well, perhaps there's a slight upside. I can finish my yelling, after all.

As her fellow sixth year scrambled about the floor, Blaise spit out, "So! Potter! You think you're so bloody good you have the right to nance about, giving no thought to females, portraits, or toasted bread? So damn high and mighty, Mr. Godric Gryffindor reincarnated, that you can just ignore everyone else? Well, guess what? I have news for you, Potter! You aren't!"

Harry Potter just gaped at her in shock. "I-- Blaise-- you-- sorry-- running around and-- sorry--"

"You astound me with your witty repartee," Blaise cut in sarcastically, taking a deep breath and trying desperately to get control over herself.

Potter was still staring at her as he got to his feet, straightening his red jumper and jeans. "I'm sorry," he managed, and hesitantly stuck out a hand.

Blaise ignored it and clambered up unassisted. A few red-gold waves had escaped from the black silk scarf she had fashioned into a headband, and she hurriedly fixed them. As she retied the scarf, Blaise noticed Potter hurrying over the portrait of the Hufflepuff founder. To her immense surprise, he appeared to be trying to pry the infamous piece of toast off Helga's perky nose.

"I-- uh, here," he mumbled as he got a grip on the soggy bread and pulled it away. Purple goo oozed down Helga's cleavage and onto her low-cut yellow dress. She was too busy winking and fluttering her eyelashes to notice.

"Forget the damn toast!" Blaise exclaimed, and spun around to leave. She felt a hand on her should and was suddenly facing a pissed-off Gryffindor.

"What the heck is your problem?" he demanded furiously, albeit quietly. "I apologized twice for accidently knocking you over, I tried to give you a hand up, and I got you the bloody toast that you ranted and raved nonstop about. Are you really such of a bitch that you can't be civil to anyone?"

Blaise narrowed her eyes at him. "Great. An indignant, self-righteous Gryffindor. One more thing to add to my list of why today sucks royally."

"Oh, shut up!" Harry yelled, and Blaise was so shocked that she complied. "You think your life sucks? Well, let me enlighten you, Miss Prissy Rich Bitch! You, at least, have parents! In case you didn't know, Voldemort murdered mine! You don't have to worry about said murderer returning to kill everyone sane in this world, do you? Or worry that you're constantly putting your friends lives in danger by being close to them, but are too bloody selfish to care! You have a goddamn perfect life!"

It was then that Blaise uttered the phrase she never thought she would in front of any Gryffindor. "I'm sorry."

Harry removed his specs and rubbed a hand over his face. Suddenly, he looked a lot older than sixteen. "No, it's okay," he muttered. "Look, it doesn't matter. Can we just forget I said that?"

"Well, we could," Blaise replied. "But, um, maybe we could talk about it later? Maybe tonight?"

She gave herself a mental slap in the face. Oh God, I did not just ask Harry Potter out!

Blaise was wondering if she'd ever have control over her mouth again.

Harry slid his specs back on, and Blaise noticed his eyes for the first time. They were a deep emerald green, so brilliant that they had her immediately hating her blue ones. "What do you mean?" he asked hesitantly.

Shut up! Blaise commanded herself. Shut the hell up!

"We could go for a walk by the lake?" That mental slap had now traipsed into the realm of a mental duffing up, but unfortunately her mouth didn't appear to have gotten the memo.

Harry nodded, slowly. "Or maybe Hogsmeade? We're allowed to go this weekend."

Blaise nodded, too, wondering vaguely how ridiculous this would seem to an uninformed onlooker. "Um, okay. I guess I'll talk to you tonight?"

"Yeah."

They both turned to walk away, but Blaise had a sudden thought. "Potter, don't you dare bring me roses! I can't stand them!" she called over her shoulder.

He let out a little laugh. "I should have known. Lilies, then?"

Blaise, laughed, too, as she headed down the hall. Even though she didn't really understand what had sparked their conversation (and, more importantly, their date planning), she'd realized a few things.

Namely, that today (and a certain emerald-eyed Gryffindor) weren't so bad, after all.