Roommates

Six

Lost, Bathing, And A Meeting

"Oh, great," Blaise said sarcastically. "We're now stuck in Rowena Ravenclaw's bloody personal study." His stomach rumbled. "Sod it, I'm hungry."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, we can't do anything about that now, can we, Zabini?" she replied.

He glared at her. Looking around, he remarked, "I'd like something to eat." A plate of jammie dodgers appeared on a table to his left. "Lovely," he remarked. "Jammie dodgers. I despise them." The cookies were whisked away and replaced with a bacon-and-mayonnaise on rye sandwich. "Hmm..." Blaise's eyebrows went up. "This seems edible."

Hermione eyed it. "They sell those sandwiches everywhere in London," she said. "In the Underground, at museums, Starbucks..."

"'Starbucks'?" Blaise asked. "What in the world is a 'Starbucks'?"

"Coffee shop. Not really a café, but it does have sandwiches and the like," Hermione told him, taking half of his sandwich. "And I think that as long as we're in Ravenclaw's study, we might as well look around a bit."

"Oh, I wouldn't advise that, my dear," said an unfamiliar voice. They looked up at a portrait that hung over the desk.

"Who're you?" Blaise asked rudely.

The Stately Woman in the portrait sniffed at him. She sat like a queen on a blue stool, lace dripping on her blue gown and blue pearl necklaces adorning her neck. Her mountain of gray-streaked black hair was curled and piled on top of her head like a crown. Rings dotted her fingers, and a small white lapdog sat on her lap. Her face was that of an aged beauty, a matriarch deigning to sit for a few minutes to chat with her family. A few wrinkles crossed her face; most were laugh lines, but a few were worry wrinkles. Her sharp black eyes looked out from a hawk-looking face. "I," she said, "am Winifred Ravenclaw."

"Winifred Ravenclaw?" Blaise said, still being slightly rude. "I've never heard of you."

Winifred ignored him and looked at Hermione. "And, who, my dear, are you two?" she asked.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said, "and this is Blaise Zabini."

Winifred looked back at Blaise, this time a bit more graciously. "Oh, a Zabini!" she exclaimed. "I now realize your discourtesy, and can forgive you for it."

Blaise blinked at her. "What?" he asked, munching on his sandwich.

"Well," Winifred said, patting the dog's head, "you are a descendant of Herford Zabini, are you not?"

Blaise nodded. "My several-times great-grandfather," he said.

Winifred said, "he is --was-- my brother. I married into the Ravenclaw family from the Zabini's."

Blaise blinked again, this time a bit more confused and shocked. "Um," he said. "All right."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering, shouldn't we look around a bit?" Hermione prodded.

"My dear," Winifred said, "my daughter was rather prone to booby-trapping things sometimes, because that Godric," she laughed, "was a bit prone to snooping through everyone's things. He meant well, poor fellow."

"I'm sure he didn't," Hermione muttered. Looking back up at the portrait, she asked, "Your daughter? Rowena Ravenclaw?"

Winifred smiled. "Yes. Rowena was my youngest daughter. Lovely girl. Full of brains."

"Oh," Hermione said. "Could you please tell us how, exactly, we could get back to our rooms?"

"Oh, yes, my dear," Winifred said. "You go down that hallway and turn right..."

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They got back into their chambers, tired but excited about their discoveries. Both went to prepare to take a shower and as they left their rooms they saw each other in bathrobes and holding towels.

"Oh," Hermione said. She motioned to Blaise. "Go ahead, really, I can wait."

Blaise nodded. "I'm going to take a bath, can you wait that long?"

Hermione smiled. "Of course, do go ahead."

Blaise flashed her a brief smile and went into the bathroom.

Hermione heard him splashing around for a bit before he started to sing.

"Wake up, Wake up, Wake up,
Yeah, so tired of waiting, waiting for ourselves
Wake up, Wake up, Wake up,
Yeah, so sick of waiting, for us to make a move

Are we meant to take the pain
Should we sit around and wait
All we need is to say all the words that
I never liked, you make us hate

Cause every day we're getting older
And every day we all get colder
We're sick of waiting for our answers

Wake up, Wake up, Wake up,
Yeah so tired of waiting, waiting for ourselves
Wake up, Wake up, Wake up,
Yeah so sick of waiting, for us to make a move..." Blaise sang.

She shrugged, and went into her room and closed the door.

Blaise sighed as it shifted to the next song, a bouncier in tone, but slightly more serious, due to the lyrics, song. It cycled through the song list and paused, midair, before Blaise said, "Play."

He finished washing and got out of the tub, which emptied itself without waiting for him to act. He shrugged at it, pulled his bathrobe on, and went out to knock on Hermione's door.

Knock, knock, knock. No response. "Granger!" Blaise called, leaning against the door jam, trying not to get too dizzy after being warm, and then, suddenly, cold, due to not enough heating in a thousand-year-old castle.

The door swung open. Hermione stood in the doorway, frowning and still in her bathrobe. "What?" she snapped.

Blaise was taken aback. "Sorry," he apologized. She was rarely snippy, and when she was, it was when she had been disturbed from something, someone, or some task that was important to her or someone else. "Just wanted to tell you that the bathroom's free."

"Okay," Hermione said. He didn't move. "Was there anything else?"

"Huh?" Blaise asked, shaken out of staring at her bedpost. "Oh, no. I'm just a bit tired, that's all. See you in the morning."

Hermione watched him go into his room, a bit worried about him. She shook it off, however. Slytherins were never very straightforward, and Zabini was one of the oddest ones she had met to date. She shrugged, closing the door behind her as she went to take a shower.

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The next day was hectic; Hermione barely knew how she made it through her classes and the two hours of N.E.W.T. studying with a group of Ravenclaws.

As she slumped into the Gryffindor-patterned couch, she groaned. They had a Prefects' meeting that night. While she liked Prefects' meetings, she had looked forward to a night alone, relaxing and thinking of nothing but herself and, perhaps, Crookshanks.

Crookshanks, however, did not seem to be thinking of Hermione at all. He was nowhere to be seen or heard, until Hermione heard Blaise yell from his room.

"Get out of here, you bloody cat!" His door crashed open and he held Crookshanks at arm's length, sneering at the cat, who seemed to be purring, of all things. He dropped the cat onto Hermione's lap where she was sitting on the couch. "Keep your disgusting, shedding beast out of my room," he said, looking at Crookshanks with an awful expression on his face. "He almost bloody shredded my favorite MMD cover."

Hermione held Crookshanks near to her. "Sorry," she said. "I'm sure he didn't mean to, did you, Crookshanks?"

"Whether or not he meant to, please keep him well away from my things," Blaise said, still eying the cat. "If he had, I wouldn't be able to get another till Christmas, and even if I owled Mum, she wouldn't know which bands I like or where to get them, even if I told her."

"Wait a second," Hermione said, backtracking a bit, "what's a 'MMD'?"

Blaise sighed. "I can't really explain. Here." He summoned the MMD from his room and it flew and he neatly caught it, muttering the activating words. He set it to a song, and closed his eyes as the opening riff sounded. His head started to move with the music.

Hermione muffled a laugh as he moved. But as he began to sing along softly, she listened more closely to the lyrics.

As the song played out, Blaise lowered the volume as another song started to play. "I'm not sure why I like this," he said, looking at the rotating disk. "It's interesting, I think that's why." He looked at Hermione. "I find music fascinating."

Hermione nodded. "It's really a nice MMD, or, at least, what I've heard was." A grin flickered over his face. "Um, do you remember that we have a Prefects/Heads meeting tonight?" He cursed, far more so than she'd ever heard him before. "Zabini!" she exclaimed.

He laughed. "Another five Galleons for me, then," he said. When her shocked expression changed to inquisitive, he went on, "Draco bet me five Galleons that you wouldn't react. I said you would. Five Galleons to me."

"That's twice you've bet on me," she muttered darkly.

He laughed again. "No, Gryff, not just you. The first time was you and your friends, Potter and the-- er, and Weasley."

Hermione was, she admitted to herself, a bit hurt that it wasn't just her that was singled out. But her hurt was fazed out by anger that the Slytherin Duo would pick on them. "Really, Zabini," she scolded, "must you bet? It's a bad habit and I dislike it, especially when it's about me."

Blaise's mouth twitched. He tried to hold back a grin, but failed. "Really, Gryffette," he said, lounging on the Ravenclaw chez lounge. "D'you honestly think that your scolding will make any difference? I'm not one of your precious friends, you know." He leaned right next to her face. "I am not so easily swayed from my plans, purposes, wants or needs." Returning to his former position, he said, "While you are smart, and know a great deal about your friends and many other people, I find that you pretend to know a great deal about me, when, in fact, you don't. You know no more about me than I know about your prat boy toy, Weasley-"

"Wait a minute!" Hermione exclaimed. "I'm not dating Ron!"

"You're not?" he said, surprised. He cocked his head, peering at her. "You're not. Interesting. I was wrong," he murmured to himself. "But even though, I don't appreciate people --or, namely, you-- pretending to think that they know everything about every fiber of my being, mind and soul. You really don't."

"I know," Hermione said. "I never said I did."

"Ah," Blaise said, holding up a finger, "but you acted like it. I'm not a mind reader. My sister, Lilithe, is, but I'm not. I can't decipher every little action or word you say into my language, the infinitely less important language of men, as I am told by all three of my sisters, plus my mother."

"You have three sisters?" Hermione said, surprised. "I didn't know that."

"Yes. Lilithe is the oldest. She's married to a wizard in Naples. I'm an uncle," he said proudly. "My second sister, Zel, is going to Vienna University of Witchcraft and Wizarding. And June is in her fifth year at Beauxbatons."

"Wow," Hermione said. "I'm an only child, though I always wished I had a little sister."

"Don't," Blaise said dryly. "They are no fun, trust me."

Hermione laughed, but stopped when there was a tapping noise on the entrance portrait. She glanced at Blaise. He shrugged. "Come in," he yelled. She looked at him, mouth agape. "What?" She said nothing. "What'd I do?" Sighing, he went to the portrait and opened it for whoever had knocked.

Ron, Lavender Brown, Ginny, a boy named Theo, and the two newest Prefects for Gryffindor came in.

"Nice digs," Ron said approvingly to Hermione.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Blaise. "Thanks, Ron. We rather like them."

"We? We who?" Ron asked, looking around. "Oh. Zabini. Hello."

"Hello, Weasley," Blaise replied, not looking at Ron, but at the ginger cat slowly making its way into his room. "No, cat!" he exclaimed. Crookshanks darted towards Blaise's room. "I said no!" Blaise dove onto Crookshanks and pushed him aside as he closed his bedroom door. "Stay out, kitty. Or else." Brushing himself off, he turned to the Prefects. "If you'll follow me to the meeting room," he said, the gracious host.