Mutiny!

Monday Morning: A Confrontation in Arithmancy

Someone was sitting in her seat. Not just any someone, though. A very Zabini shaped someone.

Hermione had arrived early for Arithmancy; per usual, preferring to get settled, her things piled neatly around her, before the throng of students arrived. And, of course, being very much a creature of habit, she preferred - no, expected - to sit in the chair she'd sat in, everyday, since the beginning of term. Second row from the front, second seat in.

Surely Zabini, reasonably bright, had noticed this before.

Willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, having never had many problems with the dark-haired Slytherin before, Hermione walked briskly up the center of the classroom, stopping just beside his outstretched, booted feet. "Interesting choice of seating," Hermione stated mildly.

Zabini lazily lifted his head, expression impassive, and said, "Quite." He glanced her over, eyelids drooping in seeming boredom, then returned his gaze to the open book in front of him.

Hermione tightened her arms around her books and cleared her throat to gain his attention again.

He yawned. "Is there something wrong, Granger?" he asked without looking at her.

"I'm sure you didn't realize, Zabini, but that happens to be my seat you're currently occupying." Hermione praised herself silently for the neutral tone of her voice.

"Is it?" he asked absently.

She had the distinct feeling that not only did he not care that he was sitting in her seat, but that he had no intention of moving. Whirling in frustration, she slipped into the third row, taking the chair directly behind him. She set out her Arithmancy book and notes, stacking three quills at the top of the parchment. She shifted in her seat, crossing her ankles demurely and folding her hands on top of her notes. She fidgeted, unclasping her hands to tap her fingers on the desktop, uncrossing her ankles to cross her legs, then uncrossing her legs to cross her ankles. She picked up a quill, brushing the feather end over her lips, her chin, the sensitive spot just below her ear. It was the same damn seat, only one row back, and she couldn't stand it.

She jumped out of the chair and swept around to face Zabini again. "Would you mind, possibly, choosing another spot to sit?"

He sighed, set his book down on the desk, and shifted his gaze up to her again. "I'm rather comfortable where I am, Granger."

"That's all well and good," Hermione said, her temper rapidly deteriorating. "However, as I said before, you have taken my seat."

He looked faintly amused, a hint of a curve tugging at one corner of his mouth. "I wasn't aware we'd been assigned seats," he said lightly.

Students were slowly wandering in from the hall and Hermione was reluctant to cause a scene. Lowering her brows into a straight line, scowling deeply, she turned and stalked away from him, dropping heavily into the third row seat.

For the first time in years, she was preoccupied in class, only vaguely hearing the professor's lesson. She could concentrate on little beyond the close-cut black hair of the Slytherin in front of her.

* * *

Monday Afternoon: Discomfiture at Lunch

Hermione dropped down at the Gryffindor table and nudged Ginny with her elbow. "Gin?"

"Hermione! What are you doing down at this end? Where's your crew?" Ginny asked, smiling over at her.

Hermione grimaced. Her crew, or rather, Dean, Seamus, Harry, Neville and Ron, were busy penning new and inventive pirate ditties in the library. "You don't want to know," she told Ginny, shaking her head. "I wanted to ask you, though; remember, before," Hermione started, "when you told me about Zabini... staring at you?"

"You mean, that day he was giving me evil looks?"

Hermione nodded. "Did you ever find out what that was about?"

Ginny took a sip of pumpkin juice and shook her head. "Not really. Although," she added, her eyes dancing, "it did make Draco deliciously jealous. Why?"

Hermione gritted her teeth and nodded her head towards the Slytherins. She watched Ginny's face; saw her eyes widen as she looked over at them.

"Well," Ginny said finally, "he's definitely not staring at me."

Hermione grimaced, determined not to glance over at Zabini again. "I was afraid of that," she whispered, embarrassment staining her cheeks.

"Rather persistent, isn't he?" Ginny queried.

Nodding, Hermione covered her face with her hands. "He hasn't looked away yet, has he?" she asked miserably, already guessing the answer.

"He's not doing anything but staring," Ginny said in wonder. "His plate looks untouched."

Hermione risked a peek through her fingers, and met his eyes across the room; liquid blue, focused yet completely unassertive. She found the total absorption without intensity disturbing, to say the least. In fact, it was bordering on the very edge of creepy.

"Do you think he's all there in the head?" Ginny whispered.

Hermione tore her gaze away from him, dropped her hands, and straightened her back. She wasn't going to let it bother her. Her behavior that morning had been bad enough. Imagine, getting all bent out of shape over a desk chair. Even though it had been her desk chair. Which he'd refused to vacate despite her polite request that he do so. Damn him.

"There's nothing wrong with him," Hermione told Ginny. "He's just determined to drive me crazy, I'm sure."

"But, why?"

"Because," Hermione said, clenching her hands into fists, "he's figured out how."

* * *

Monday Afternoon: A Confrontation in Ancient Runes

Hermione had made the worst possible mistake.

She had arrived extra early for Ancient Runes. She had settled, happily, in her usual seat; third row back, first seat from the aisle. She'd set out her books and quills, neatly placing her knapsack under her chair.

But it was entirely and completely a mistake. Obviously.

Because Blaise Zabini sauntered in only minutes after her, unconcerned, and sat at the desk directly behind hers. He stretched his legs out, pushing her knapsack forward and up against the backs of her ankles. She could feel his eyes, lukewarm, on the back of her head. Staring. Again.

Her second mistake, of course, was turning around to confront him.

He had been leaning forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. Clutching the back of her chair, her bushy curls settling around her shoulders, she realized that it was the closest she'd ever been to the Slytherin... just inches, really. And he had a fine line of black that rimmed his irises, making the blue an almost aqua color in the dim light.

So then she found herself staring at him. Which was bad news all around.

He was handsome, she supposed, if one went for that square jawed, aquiline nosed, full lipped, brooding, ruggedly perfect sort of male. And, she admitted, he was breathtakingly swarthy. An image of him in a billowing white shirt, open to the waist, tight black breeches and knee-high pirate boots flitted briefly past her mind's eye - a lethal cutlass tucked into a wide red sash at his waist as he laughed into the salty wind.

But his eyes... his eyes; they contrasted everything, light to dark. They were utterly fascinating.

Hermione heard a soft 'ahem' to her left and she felt her face burn, realizing that she had been silently fixated on Zabini for far too long, and that the room was rapidly filling up with students. Zabini gave her a small, knowing smirk and she tore her gaze away, turning to face the front of the room.

She glanced briefly over at Seamus and Dean. Both boys were sporting wide, curious grins, their eyes laughing at her discomposure. She ignored them and straightened in her seat, determined not to let either of the Gryffindors, nor the Slytherin behind her, distract her from another class.

Which, of course, was nearly impossible. Not with the warm gaze of Zabini heating the back of her head. And certainly not with the occasional snickers spilling across the isle from Seamus and Dean.

* * *

Monday Night: Aboard the S.S. Seventh-year Boys Dorm

Hermione clasped her fingers around her bare toes and leaned back against the edge of Ron's bed with a sigh, idly listening as the boys argued about Quidditch and Malfoy... or maybe it was chess?

She was having trouble focusing, her eyes blurring the words in the large tome, Practical Arithmancy, which sat on her lap. Her problem, admittedly, was that she couldn't help thinking of Zabini, damn him, and how she suspected his hair had the tendency to curl. If he would just grow it out, letting the dark tresses fall rakishly over his forehead, she was sure he'd be a match for Capt--

"Oi, Hermione, are you humming 'A Pirate's Life for Me?'" Ron asked, grinning as he rolled over onto his stomach, absently scratching his newly grown beard that apparently made him feel more 'authentic.'

"'Course not, Ron. It sounded more like..." Harry took a deep breath and boomed out in a false baritone, "Fifteen men on a dead man's chest. Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum. Drink and the devil had done for the rest. Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum!"

"Are we singing pirate songs again?" Seamus asked, walking into the room with his bath towel slung over a bare shoulder. "Ah, Hermione, my sweet. I should have known." He snapped his towel at her arm and she scowled over at him.

"Remind me again why I hang out with you guys?"

"Because we're your faithful crew, Cap'n," Seamus replied, giving her a jaunty, two-fingered salute before pulling on his pajama top.

"And because you keep hoping to see us naked," Dean added with a smug smile.

"I have seen you naked, Dean," she pointed out.

Dean shook his head. "Only a glimpse, Hermione. And it's kept you panting after me for years."

Hermione hurled Ron's pillow over at him, but he ducked it easily, chuckling at her unusual show of temper. "What's got you all wound up, love? Captain Carstairs not up to his usual form?"

"No, no, no," Seamus said, shaking his head. "That was the last book. Now she's on to... whatshisname... Rafael."

"Azrael," Harry corrected. "Captain Azrael St. John."

"Azrael? Wasn't he an angel or some sort?" Ron asked.

"Nah," Dean shook his head. "He's the evil cat on that Muggle cartoon with all the little blue monkeys."

"Not monkeys, Thomas. Smurfs," Harry said, smiling proudly at knowing this bit of information.

Hermione's gaze bounced from one boy to another. Seriously, why did she put up with it all? The Love on the High Seas romance series were books she read on the sly, late at night or in the early morning hours before dawn. They were supposed to be her secret. Her one retreat. Her one Fanciful Pursuit. Something she discussed with absolutely no one.

So, of course, everyone knew.

The boys had taken to sneaking into her room, stealing the books out of her trunk, and reading them aloud to each other; all in the pretense of laughing about how silly they were and teasing her mercilessly about them, of course. It wasn't as if, of their own volition, they'd dubbed her captain and made themselves her crew. Oh, wait. They had.

"I still like Drake Wickham best, with his golden blonde curls and bronzed, hairy chest. So dashing," Seamus batted his eyelashes and held the back of his hand against his forehead, falling in a faux swoon upon his bed.

"Oh, what will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor..." singing at the top of his lungs, Neville burst into the room, chest puffed out, a black patch over his left eye, "...earl-lay in the morning?"

"Not strictly a pirate song, Neville, but a good go," Harry praised, applauding.

"Yeah," Ron added, "the eye patch was a nice touch."

Beaming, Neville took a low bow.

Hermione dropped her head onto her knees, knowing that once they got started, they would be at it until she left the room. Why, why, why did she put up with it? Of course, the thought of helping Parvati place curling charms all over Lavender's head made her skin crawl. And heaven forbid Parvati got near her with any sort of glamour charm. She'd looked like a circus clown for almost an entire day the last time she had gotten winged by a rogue spell.

No, the boys were infinitely better than those two bits of fluff.

And then there were Ginny and Brandy, clearly two bulbs who weren't screwed in tight enough. They had their moments, of course. And, Hermione thought, warming to the idea, they might be some sort of help with the Zabini situation. Ginny did have her finger on the pulse of the Slytherin house, so to speak.

When it came right down to it, though, dealing with Ginny and Brandy had to be better than watching Harry and Dean hurl 'Arrrs' and 'Me mateys' and 'Ye scurvy dogs' over the prone body of Seamus - that night's designated tied-to-the-mast-wench.

It was all purely for her benefit, they assured her. Yeah, right.

* * *

Tuesday Evening: A Confrontation in the Library

Hermione very nearly started banging her head against the doorjamb in frustration. It was after dinner. It was a weeknight. She was supposed to be, at that very moment, cracking open her Potions book; ensconced, comfortably, at the end of the third long table from the right. Only, once again, Zabini had set up camp in her seat.

She'd managed, by some miracle, to avoid him for most of the day, but apparently her luck had just run out. Gritting her teeth, she stepped into the library and marched directly toward the annoying git. Maybe Ginny was right. Maybe he wasn't all there.

"Zabini," she snapped, beyond being polite.

He lifted his head and watched her in silence, his gaze pinning her to her spot. Those eyes... they twisted her insides and she had to brace herself to keep from shuddering.

She took a deep, fortifying breath and scowled at him. "I'd appreciate it, Zabini, if you'd get your arse out of my seat."

A faint smile graced his lips, but he remained stoically silent, not making any move to relinquish her chair.

"Damn it, say something!" she hissed under her breath, aware that Madame Pince was watching them with a disapproving eye.

Arching a brow, he said softly, "Words are highly overrated, Granger."

"Really, Zabini? Words?" She nodded her head to the book he had been engrossed in when she'd approached.

He shrugged, unruffled. "Talking, then."

She bent over, placing her palms onto the tabletop, resting her weight on the flat of her hands. "Would you like me to write it down, Zabini?"

Slowly, he pushed back from the table and rose from the chair, closing his book simultaneously. Hermione straightened and took a small step backwards, suddenly aware that Zabini towered over her, almost as tall as Ron but with much more substance - wider shoulders, broader chest, thicker arms.

He leaned down until their eyes were level, catching one of her hands in his. "Don't bother," he said.

Don't bother? Don't bother with what? She was frozen in place; her eyes wide and startled, her skin tingling from the smooth brush of his thumb over the underside of her wrist. He was close, so very close, to her mouth and she briefly entertained the horrifying, thrilling thought that he might kiss her; move forward to close the scant distance between their lips.

But he didn't. No, he only smiled at her, released her hand and walked away.

Hermione, still quite stunned, her heart thumping unnaturally hard and fast, watched him push open the library door and leave.

* * *

Tuesday Evening: Common Room Conversation

"All right," Brandy said, dropping down onto the couch next to Hermione. "We've got the scoop."

"What scoop?" Hermione asked, moving over to make room for Ginny.

Both girls grinned at her.

"On Zabini," Ginny said.

Brandy nodded. "He's a Lone Wolf."

"Capital 'L,' capital 'W,'" Ginny added, illustrating with her fingers.

Still slightly rattled from her encounter with the Slytherin in the library, Hermione stared at them blankly. Finally, she asked, "An animagus?"

Brandy rolled her eyes. "No, love, a Lone Wolf. As in a loner; quiet, keeps to himself," she lifted a brow, "dangerous."

Hermione forced herself not to squirm at the gleam in Brandy's eye. "And...?" she asked.

"And, what?"

Hermione sighed. "Why has he been staring at me?"

"Oh. That." Ginny glanced at Brandy.

"Yes, well, we're not quite sure."

"Not sure," Hermione said slowly. "So...the only thing you can tell me is that he's a Lone Wolf? That's it?"

"That's all Draco would tell me," Ginny pouted.

"And Hock, the little dear, was no help at all," Brandy said, referring to the younger, Hufflepuff Zabini. "Intent on protecting his brother, no doubt."

"Protecting him from what? Me?" Hermione slumped down on the sofa, disappointed that the two girls hadn't obtained more information.

"Are we entirely certain," Ginny said thoughtfully, "that he's even sane?"

Brandy snorted. "This coming from the girl who has Mrs. Ginny Snape elaborately scrawled all over her Potions notebook."

Ginny pulled a face. "I haven't added any, at least, since Draco. Well..." she admitted, sighing, "except for that time he showed us how to properly flatten squid tentacles. I couldn't help myself; he was using a tenderizer, for Merlin's sake, and a dagger the size of--"

"I was certain you'd have a few Mrs. Ginny Malfoy's on there by now," Hermione chimed in.

"I'm not so sure about that," Ginny said nonchalantly, twirling a lock of red hair around her index finger. "I mean... I do love him, of course. But, really, can you see me married to a Malfoy? Producing little Malfoy heirs? Our son would probably pop out as a miniature replica of Lucius, pimp cane and all."

Brandy eyed her suspiciously. "Not so sure he loves you, are you?" she asked knowingly.

Ginny blushed. "He's never actually said it," she mumbled, "but I'm sure..."

Hermione reached over and squeezed Ginny's hand. "He's besotted. I can--"

"Ahoy, Hermione!" Seamus called as he passed in front of the girls, blatantly interrupting their conversation.

Hermione pressed her lips together in a fierce scowl.

Seamus ignored her disgruntled look and continued across the room, singing quite loudly, "Stick Anna-Mae in the 'old, they all cried; she'll scream if she's tied te th' mast! The sea wind is 'ard on a fair wench's skin. Shove 'er below so she'll last!"

The three girls watched as Seamus did a little jig before hopping through the portrait hole. After a slight pause, Brandy cleared her throat and said, "So... Zabini..."

"I'm telling you," Ginny said. "Zabini's just..." she tapped her head with a fist, "not all there. Sort of like a taller and infinitely better looking Goyle."

Hermione shook her head. "No, there's something going on with him."

"Stalking is a viable explanation," Brandy pointed out. "He could be unnaturally obsessed with you, you know; just waiting to pounce on you and kidnap you, holding you captive until you agree to be his love slave--"

"Or kill you if you refuse, stating that if he can't have you, no one can!" Ginny interrupted excitedly. "That," she added, "would be fabulous."

Hermione stared at the two girls, eyes wide. "What are you talking about?"

"Hermione, love, you have to loosen up." Brandy patted her arm. "We're not saying it would be great if he killed you... but having a guy romantically obsessed with you? That could be fun."

"Are you kidding me?" Hermione said, frowning at them. "If you've put Zabini up to something..."

"Honestly," Brandy assured her, "we haven't done a blessed thing. He's obsessed with you all on his own."

"He isn't obsessed with me," Hermione nearly shouted, frustrated with them. "He just--"

"Enjoys staring at you."

Hermione sank lower into the cushions. "Well, it's not as if he's been following me around or anything."

"No, he's just staring at you."

"And sitting in your seat, when possible," added Ginny.

"Right," Hermione said, straightening. "Which proves that he's trying to drive me insane."

Brandy looked skeptical. "For what possible reason, Hermione?"

"Kicks? Torture the Muggle-born? Who the hell knows?" Hermione shouted.

Ginny and Brandy both leaned away from her, stunned.

"Whoa, love." Brandy took hold of her arm again. "Calm down."

"I've never seen you so frazzled," Ginny said in amazement.

"He's driving me insane." She furrowed her brow and shot a scowl at each of the girls. "And you two are not helping matters any."

Brandy gave her a confused frown. "Of course not, love. That wasn't the point. I thought you knew that."

Hermione nearly took hold of the ends of Brandy's hair. She gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"'Helping matters,' Hermione, is beyond boring," Brandy stated. "We're here to have fun. We're here to make sure you have fun. Zabini," she continued, grinning, "is a perfect target for your fun."

"My fun," Hermione repeated, almost mechanically.

"Aren't you the pirate queen, Hermione?" Ginny leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially; "Here's your chance for a little adventure and intrigue - fun."

"Adventure," Hermione whispered. Fun, she thought. This game with Zabini could be fun.

"It's fun if you want it to be," Brandy said, as if reading her thoughts.

"Honestly, Hermione," Ginny grinned over at her. "It doesn't matter what Zabini really wants - drive you insane, kidnap you for his sex slave." She shrugged. "What matters is what you're going to do about it."

Brandy relaxed against the arm of the couch. "Give as good as you get is what I say."

Hermione, understanding dawning, gave them a slow, slightly mischievous smile. If Zabini thought he had her all figured out, well, he had another think coming.

* * *

Wednesday Mid-morning: Hiding in the Bathroom

Hermione was going to kill them. Ginny and Brandy were dead girls walking. She was going to strangle them each with their own hair, then heave their bloated bodies into the lake for the giant squid to eat. They were squid food.

Oh God, she could hardly stand the embarrassment! The look on Neville's face, his eyes so round with disbelief. The twin visages of Dean and Seamus: horror warring with mirth, and winning. Ron's mouth open in shock; strangled noises gurgling out of his throat like a beached fish. And Harry! Poor, dear, sweet Harry... She was afraid he would never be the same. Why had she ever listened to Ginny and Brandy? Why?

It had started out innocuous enough. She had stared Zabini down. She had flirted with her eyes. She had smiled coyly at him from across the room. But then she had... with the fruit... and that banana... oh God! She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't think about it. It was just too horrible for thoughts.

But, of course, she had been thinking about it for the past two hours. She had struggled through Arithmancy, refusing to even acknowledge Zabini, even though she knew he'd been smirking over at her during the whole class. Advanced Transfiguration had been a complete nightmare, with the crew obviously still shell-shocked - Harry perhaps beyond repair. She'd barely escaped to the bathroom without being cornered by them.

Hermione ruthlessly kicked out Moaning Myrtle and shut herself into the third stall from the window, her normal hideout. She settled herself on the back of the toilet, dreading Herbology - which would convene in less than twenty minutes - and mentally listed all the horrid ways she could make Ginny and Brandy pay. She could set her crew on them. However, seeing that they weren't strictly 'real' in the high seas sense, and thus lacked the actual means to turn the girls into shark chum--

The bathroom door slammed shut, echoing through the acoustic chamber. "Hermione?" a voice called. A male voice. There was also, she noticed, a distinct lack of "Ahoy" in the greeting.

Cheeks red, she pressed her lips together firmly and refused to answer the summons, preferring not to talk to anyone until she absolutely had to - or ever again. But the persistent clomp of boot soles got louder and closer to where she'd hid.

She started when the metal door in front of her clanged open, and nearly fell off the tank she was perched on, her feet slipping off one side of the toilet seat. Zabini stood in front of the stall, arms crossed, eyes fired with...anger? What, in the name of Merlin, did he have to be angry about? She was the one who'd completely humiliated herself and behaved like a total buffoon in front of the entire hall. She was the one who was going to live on in infamy between the pages of Hogwarts: A History, tenth edition, as the Exhibitionist Witch of the class of 1999. She was the one who'd managed to seduce the entire male student population with a piece of fruit!

Hermione took a deep breath and straightened, mustering up as much dignity as she could; which, admittedly, wasn't a lot considering where she was sitting.

"That was a pretty trick you pulled at breakfast," Zabini drawled. He shook his head and ran a hand over his cropped hair. "You're a bloody twit, do you know that?"

Hermione blinked. "I am not a twit," she said, affronted.

She watched the anger fade from his face, leaving traces of amusement lurking in his eyes, his lips twitching with contained laughter. "I can't believe you did that."

"Don't you dare laugh at me," Hermione snapped, covering her embarrassment with temper.

Zabini shook his head again, his mouth grinning wide. He gave an exaggerated sigh and said, "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

Hermione made as if to stand and launch herself at him before remembering her feet were resting precariously on the rim of the toilet beneath her. She settled for growling and baring her teeth instead. "What the bloody hell do you mean, 'do with me?'"

He shrugged and hedged closer to her, his shins brushing the tips of her shoes.

She spied a predatory gleam in his eye and hastily leaned away from him, pressing her back up against the tiled wall above the tank. "You," she accused scathingly, "have the social acuity of a rabid squirrel!"

He chuckled, bent forward abruptly, wrapped one brown arm around her waist, and hauled her petite form up and over his shoulder like an ordinary sack of flour.

For a moment, Hermione hung there upside down, stunned, gripping the back of his robes. "What are you doing?" She shook her head, flipping her hair out of her face as she reared up.

He tightened his hold around her thighs and backed out of the stall.

"Blaise," she said, squirming in his grip, trying in vain to reach her wand. "Blaise... put me down!"

"Calm down, Granger," he said, smacking her smartly on the behind.

He started down the bathroom isle, obviously headed for the door, and Hermione struggled harder to get free, pounding her fists on his back. "Blaise, I swear, I'm going to start screaming if you don't put me down right now."

"You won't scream," he said calmly, pushing open the bathroom door.

"Oh, won't I?" She took a deep breath, opened her mouth...

"You'd be too embarrassed to scream."

Hermione snapped her mouth shut with an audible click. Damn it. She sighed and reluctantly eased against him. All the blood rushing to her head wasn't exactly a pleasant feeling. His hands on her legs on the other hand... She couldn't help acknowledging a small flutter of excitement in her stomach. If she closed her eyes, she could almost taste the sting of sea air, almost hear the raucous cries of a rowdy crew as a handsome pirate carried her across the deck to his quarters below.

It wasn't until they passed the Potions classroom that she realized where he was taking her and that her musings hadn't been that far off. "Oh no, Zabini," she cried. "We've a class to get to."

"Well, if that's your only argument," he shrugged his shoulders, shifting her weight slightly. At the end of the long corridor, he paused and said, "Sea dog."

She heard the sound of stone grinding against stone as the wall in front of them opened. "Zabini!" Hermione kicked her feet out, trying to dislodge herself, but he had too firm a grip on her legs. "Zabini, I'm not going in there," she said as he ignored her and carried her into the Slytherin common room. "We have to get to class!"

"I've some more interesting lessons in mind," he said, humming under his breath.

Humming? Was he humming...? "Where did you hear that?" she demanded, clutching the cloth at his waist.

"Sweet Anna-Mae?" he asked idly. "Your crew was kind enough to teach me. Longbottom can pen quite the ditty."

"My crew?" she asked, shocked at their betrayal. Mutiny! Her mind cried. "I'll kill them! I'll kill you all!" She fought wildly in his grasp, rage piling irrationally on top of humiliation.

"Bloodthirsty, aren't you?" He chuckled, easily staying her flailing limbs.

"You'll be first on the gibbet, Zabini," she growled, twisting his robe beneath her fingers. She'll show them; make an example of them all. Go behind the Captain's back will they? Suddenly, she froze. Mutiny? Gibbet? She was babbling as if she actually believed... She sagged against him, her anger seeping out of her. "You better put me down, Blaise," she said, resigned. "I think I've had a melt-down from all the blood flooding my brain."

"Almost there," he said as he easily hefted her weight up the stairs and down a short hall. Throwing wide the door to a dorm - his, she supposed - he strode across the room and stopped in front of a green draped bed, dropping her unceremoniously in the middle of it.

She sank down into the soft folds of his covers, pushing her wild hair out of her face, and glared up at him with narrowed eyes. "Would you like to tell me what this is all about, Zabini?"

"I thought that was obvious," he gave her a toothy grin, "Captain." He sat down on the edge of the bed, drawing the curtains around them, then stretched out next to her, catching her hands and threading his fingers through hers.

It was then she realized she could hear a subtle creaking, like a ship on her moorings, and the faint cawing of hungry gulls. The sharp tang of salt air swirled around her, a breeze barely stronger than her breath ruffling the ends of her curls. When she gazed at the canopy above his bed, all she saw was blue; the endless blue of a clear sea sky.

She looked over at Zabini, who was studying her face intently, a small smile on his lips but a trace of vulnerability haunting his eyes. She licked her lips and squeezed his hands in hers. "Blaise," she said softly, "you did this for me?"

His smile broadened. "Who else? Those scurvy dogs you call a crew?"

"But... why?"

He shrugged and let go of her hands. "Because they never would." He reached into his robes and pulled out a folded note. "For you," he said, pressing it into her palm.

Hermione sat up and curled her legs underneath her, opening the note that had "Captain" written in block print on the front.

Te our fair Cap'n,

Hermione cringed at their attempt at pirate-ese.

Befer ye go cryin' mutiny, know that, as 'Arry rightfully pointed out, Zabini does bear a strikin' resemblance te Cap'n Azrael St. John. Although Seamus would rather ye find yerself a match fer Wickham, ye won't find either with us. We're cuttin' ye loose, love. Ye deserve better than the bunch o' bilge rats we turned out te be.

Yer faithful (ex) crew,

Red Beard, Dread Thomas, The Irish Terror, The-Boy-Who-Went-Sailing, and Longbottom Silver

"So... they put you up to this?" Hermione asked, waving the note in front of Zabini's face.

"Actually," he said a bit sheepishly, "I asked them for help."

"You did?"

His cheeks tinged uncharacteristically pink and he ducked his head. Was he blushing? Hermione thought, incredulous.

"How did you put it? I have the 'social acuity of a rabid squirrel?'"

She arched a brow. "The staring was a bit creepy, you know."

"It got your attention, didn't it?" He tugged on her arm, pulling her back down onto the bed next to him.

She settled against his side, gazing up at the enchanted canopy. "Got me angry, more like," she murmured.

"Anger, you know," he said, leveraging up onto his elbow, his face hovering mere inches above hers, "is considered a passion."

Those eyes... "You have the most beautiful eyes," she breathed, saying the words she'd wanted to say since she'd first gazed into them.

He lifted his hand to brush the soft pad of his thumb over her cheek, and dipped his head to cover her lips with his own. She sighed into his mouth, bringing her hands up to curl her fingers into the short hair at his nape. A lazy, liquid heat snaked through her body, kicking up the rhythm of her heart; she could feel the blood rushing through her veins; humming in her ears... humming? No, it wasn't humming, she thought idly.

It was singing.

She giggled against his lips, pulling back slightly. He slid his head into the crook of her neck, breath warm on her skin, his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. "I swear it wasn't me," he said, his voice muffled by her hair and laughter.

Hermione slipped her arms around his broad back and watched as two gray and white gulls flew overhead, a wide smile on her face. The voices of Ron, Dean, Seamus, Harry and Neville drifted faintly on the wind, amid the gentle lap of water against the hull...

"...Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho! We kidnap and ravish, and don't give a hoot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho! Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me..."