Footprints

Footprints 4: Stumble and catch

He stumbled down the steps to the Slytherin dungeons and was stared at curiously by many a house member. When he reached the door to the sixth-year girls’ dorm, he ran into a blond.

But not the blond he was expecting.

He blinked. “You’re not Pansy.”

The blond girl, Blaise Zabini, rolled her eyes. “Thank you for noticing, Potter. What the hell are you doing down here?”

“Came t’ meet Pansy,” the boy who lived replied.

Blaise crossed her long arms and raised an eyebrow at the obviously inebriated boy. “She got you drunk, did she?”

“Dunker ‘n th’ day is long,” Harry announced loudly.

She sighed and took the Gryffindor by the arm. “Why don’t you sit down for a moment. I can’t believe she actual thought this would work. You know she was planning to seduce you tonight, yes?”

“Yep,” Harry nodded.

“You know she’s only doing it to get back at Draco for leaving her for Ginny Weasley, yes?”

“Yes.”

She sighed again, as she led him into her dorm room, and sat him down slowly on her bed. “You know you’d regret it in the morning, right?”

Harry cast his hazy green eyes to the floor.

“Harry?”

“Yer right, ‘course,” he replied finally. He laid back on her bed. “M just drunk, I guess.”

She sat down next to him. “No excuse. You hate Pansy… why would you-” she stopped and stared at him. “It’s the war, isn’t it?”

He looked up at her. “Huh?”

“You were gonna do this to try and forget for a while… You would screw Pansy Parkinson just to forget about Voldemort.”

He sat up and stared at her. “You said his name.”

Blaise smirked. “No one in Slytherin gives a toss, remember?”

“M, Drunk, remember?” he asked stupidly.

“Harry,” She giggled. “You can’t be that drunk.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Drunk enough to want to sleep with Pansy… sober enough to realize you’re right… and smart… and hot.”

“Now, I know you’re drunk,” Blaise replied. “Hitting on two Slytherin girls in one night.”

“You are smart,” Harry said. “Smart enough to see right through me.”

“Oh, you’re not so tough to sum up.”

“Shallow, then, am I?” he joked.

“How is it that you can be so drunk, but still carry on a decent banter?” Blaise asked.

“You think this is impressive, you should see Hermione Granger,” Harry snickered. “But you are smart. And really, very attractive.”

“Bet you say that to every girl what tries to help you out of a drunken stupor,” Blaise replied. She started to get up, but he pulled her back down by the arm, and into a kiss.

Her rational thought shut down on impact. For a few moments, she forgot he was drunk, and that Pansy may burst through the door at any moment, and that she really ought not do this.

A few moments was all it took for Harry to have her lying down as he kissed her.

And then the alarms went off in her head, and she shoved him off and sat up.

He gave her a hurt, confused look.

“Maybe we’ll continue this if you feel this way when you’re sober,” she told him.

Harry stared for a moment and sighed. “You’re right,” he told her. He got up unsteadily. “Yer right. ‘M sorry, this was wrong of me. I’ll go.” He wobbled to the door, but Blaise groaned.

“Harry, stay here, you can barely walk,” she pointed out.

“An’ risk further humiliation?” He asked. “I don’t think so.” He turned to the door, and promptly slammed into it, and fell on his behind.

Blaise shook her head. “You have to open the door first, Potter.” She got off the bed, and hauled him to his feet. “Just sleep here. You can go back to your tower in the morning.” She helped him to sit on the bed again. “Are you alright?”

Just as he was about to answer, the door busted open, and Pansy stormed in.

“See?” Blaise said. “That’s how you open the door.”

Pansy glared at her roommate upon seeing Harry sitting on the bed.

“Good evening, Pansy,” Blaise said plainly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Pansy barked.

“Making certain Potter doesn’t do anything stupid,” Blaise replied, refraining from adding ’like you’ at the end of her sentence.

Harry looked from one blond to the other.

Blaise. Nearly as tall as he was, thin and lithe, with thick golden blond hair, steely gray eyes, and a sharp mind. She wore a button-down white shirt that was open, revealing an equally white tank-top, and a pair of green boxer shorts and her knee socks.

Pansy. Short, and thin as a rail, with pale skin and white blond hair, making her ocean-blue eyes stick out. Mentally thick as a brick. Her black shirt seemed skin-tight, and her green skirt was very short. She still wore a nice pair of heels.

“Out, Blaise,” Pansy snapped.

“It’s my room, as well, Pansy,” Blaise bit. “And I won’t leave you to make Harry an even bigger mess than he already is. You’ve done enough.”

Pansy glanced at Harry. “What do you want, Potter?” she asked seductively, lifting a bare leg onto the bed next to Harry.

Blaise groaned. “Tart.”

Harry glanced back at Blaise, and then Pansy, but ultimately back at Blaise.

“Blaise?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Think ‘m gonna toss.”

She sighed and handed him a small waste basket which he promptly threw up into. Blaise crossed her arms again, and Pansy glared, before storming out. Blaise sat down next to Harry, who looked up from the trashcan.

“She gone?”

Blaise nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Harry replied, tossing the can on the floor.

Blaise glanced at the discarded basket, and realized it was completely empty. Not a single drop of regurgitation had made its way from Harry’s mouth.

“You-”

“Faked it,” Harry replied.

She smiled.

++++

The Next Morning…

Harry Potter stumbled slowly up to the Gryffindor portrait hole, silently wracking his brain for the password.

“Well,” the Fat Lady snapped harshly. “Where have you been all night?”

The Fat Lady‘s sharp tone was enough to make his brain explode.

A light went on in his head, hurting his eyes as he remembered the password.

He flipped the painting his middle finger and said “Stardust.”

The Fat Lady, appalled by sixteen-year-old’s gesture, opened up with a sound of indignation.

Harry sighed and stumbled into the Common room, where Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Prefect, and one of Harry’s best friends, sat on the couch with her homework.

“Harry!” She cried, getting up. “Where have you been?! Ron, Ginny and I have been worried sick! We tried to find you when we were leaving Hogsmeade last night, and-”

Harry snatched at his head and shook it gently. “Not so loud, Hermione,” he muttered.

“Harry, have you been drinking?” she asked.

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Where did you wake up this morning?” Hermione asked, putting a hand through his black hair. “You look awful.”

“Thank you,” he bit sharply, but regretted it immediately. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to do that. It’s been a weird, weird morning. I’m going upstairs.”

She nodded, and watched him walk up to the boys’ dorm.

He walked into his room to find his other best friend, Ron Weasley , sitting on his bed, surrounded by homework. “Oi, Harry,” Ron said, looking up with questioning blue eyes. “Where the hell have you been?”

Harry sighed and threw himself onto his four-poster. “I don’t know if you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” Ron smirked. “You look horrible, by the way.”

Harry looked over from his bed to his mirror. He did, indeed, look terrible. His black hair was even more disheveled than normal. His thick glasses were crooked, and his green eyes were glazed over. He was missing the sweater he recalled wearing the day before and was left in wrinkled, black slacks, which, he noticed finally, were unzipped, and an equally wrinkled white t-shirt.

He glanced over at Ron. Clean, red hair, falling in his huge blue eyes, wearing nearly the same outfit as Harry, except that his t-shirt was black, and his clothing wasn’t as wrinkled.

“I think I slept with Blaise last night.”

Ron stopped scribbling on his parchment and gave his best friend the look of the confused Weasley. “What?”

“I woke up this morning in the Slytherin sixth-year girls’ dorm.”

“You sure you didn’t sleep with Pansy?” Ron asked with a slight snort.

Harry turned a glare on his best friend. “I woke up on Blaise’s bed.”

Ron snickered. “I told you,” he said with a shake of his head. “I told you if you drank too much you’d regret it.”

“Oi!” Harry cried. “You drank just as much last night!”

“The difference is that I can hold my bloody liquor,” Ron replied. “And even if I couldn’t, I’d have Hermione to help me stumble up to bed.”

“Or take advantage of you,” Harry muttered. “Whichever came to mind first.”

A very annoyed throat cleared itself, and Harry looked up to see Hermione standing in the doorway.

“Well, if it isn’t the scarlet woman, herself,” Ron snickered.

She rolled her eyes, and sat on his bed. “So… who do you think you slept with?” She asked Harry.

“Blaise Zabini,” both boys replied at once.

“That’s not so bad,” Hermione commented. “Could be worse. You could have slept with Pansy.”

Harry glared. “Thank you.”

“So when are you going to talk to her?” Hermione asked.

“Never,” Harry replied.

Ron blinked. “Huh?”

“This is just too embarrassing,” Harry explained. “I figure if I never speak to her again, it’ll never come up, and I can forget about it.”

Hermione shook her head. “Won’t work, and you know it.”

“I can try,” Harry snapped.

And so Harry Potter spent his entire week avoiding and ignoring Blaise Zabini the best he could. She tried to speak with him, but he wouldn’t have it.

Until Friday.

He was the last one in the astronomy tower after Professor Sinistra’s last class, packing his belongings up when she walked in, and stood in front of his desk.

He looked up at her, and immediately looked back down.

“Harry.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Harry replied.

“When was the last time we spoke, Harry?” Blaise asked.

“Last weekend, I suppose,” Harry muttered, turning quite red, rising to his feet.

“Yes, that sounds about right,” Blaise replied. “Now… why is that, I wonder?”

“Because… I don’t see you very often?” Harry offered nervously.

“No, Harry Potter, I don’t think that’s it,” she said, poking his harshly in the chest with a long, perfect finger.

“Well, it is a bit awkward, isn’t it?” Harry blurted out, his voice cracking just enough to convey his Jumpiness.

She blinked, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s awkward?”

“Well… last weekend… the night we…”

She shook her head. “Wait… what are you- oh.” She took a step back. “Oh!” She smiled. “Harry, we didn’t do anything. You passed out in my room. Nothing happened.”

She mentally kicked herself for lying. She should have told him.

“Oh,” he said, turning even redder. “Oh, bloody hell. That’s such a relief. Thank Merlin.”

Her smile fell quickly, and the look she gave him was obviously an insulted one.

Oops.

“Why is that such a relief, Potter?” she asked. “What, the Slytherin girl not good enough for you, is that it?”

Harry sputtered. “I… you… we… it’s… I…”

She glared harshly. Those huge gray eyes like boiling acid being dropped onto his head. “Today, Potter.”

“Well, it would have been a mess!” Harry cried. “I was really bloody drunk, Blaise! It’s not that you’re not…” he trailed off, his face was starting to turn the color of Ron’s jumper. “I mean it’s… you’re… really…

VerymuchanicepersonandI’dhatetoloseyouasafriendover…That!”

She stared at him.

“And thank you… for not letting me do anything stupid,” he said, finally. “Or… anyone stupid… the one thing I do remember is who got me that drunk in the first place.”

She smiled slightly and shifted her bag on her shoulder and began to walk away. “Good-bye, Harry.”

He sighed. “Blaise, wait.”

She stopped, and turned to him curiously.

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

She smirked at him and shrugged. “Yeah, alright.”