Harry's Murder

The first time I, Blaise Zabini, tried to kill Harry Potter, it was poison. I know I put the hemlock in that goblet. I marked the goblet to be sure he was the only one who drank from it (No need to kill random Gryffindors, at least not today.). I know he drank the entire cup of pumpkin juice; I watched him, but three days later he was still walking around Hogwarts without even so much as a stomach ache. Stupid living git!

The next time I tried to kill him it was a cursed owl post. Who expected the damn owl to deliver it to him in the bloody shower? Of course, the water rendered the exploding charm useless and the magical shrapnel included in the letter didn't result in so much as a paper cut. Stupid clean git!

The third through sixth times I tried to kill Harry, it was a rampaging chimaera in Care of Magical Creatures Class. It was sort of a theme week- spook the nasty thing as close to Harry as possible. (I had given up on worrying about collateral damage to Gryffindors or even Slytherins.) I knew he was good with creatures (he's always the first one to approach a new big nasty in class), but who knew the lion/goat/dragon thing would take to Harry like that? He was the only one who wasn't hurt by it that week. Stupid charming git!

Now, I've got it. I've hexed his firebolt. When he goes down to the quidditch pitch this morning to practice all alone, it will surge straight up until it reaches 200 ft. up and then shake him off. This I have got to see. You can't blame a girl for wanting to see all her hard work come to fruition can you? As I walk across the lawn I see that he is already flying, so I start to run. I don't want to miss the main event. I stop at the edge of the pitch and watch him circling in the air above me. It should happen soon. . . . Yes, there he goes, up, up, up! Wow, he's really got a good hold on that thing. I tilt my head further back to see better. Finally he drops, down, down, down. . . . Bloody Hell! I guess I should have remembered he was so good at summoning charms from the Triwizard Tournament. There he is landing safely on every towel the quidditch changing rooms contained until just seconds ago. Stupid talented git!

That's it! The last straw, I tell myself as I pull out the knife I brought along just in case this perfect plan failed and break into a run towards Harry. He's on his feet waiting for me before I get half-way across the distance between us. He is wearing a determined sort of smile on his face. He knew this was coming. He knew I was coming. Stupid intuitive git!

I reach him and thrust the knife at his belly hoping for a nice gut wound. He jumps backwards and quickly has my knife hand twisted behind my back. I struggle to free myself and we end up on the muddy ground, nose to nose, Harry on top holding my arms above my head at the wrists. My breath hitches as I find myself staring into endless, emerald eyes. Stupid alliterative git!

"Why do you want so badly to kill me?" he inquires, like he is asking me for the time or commenting on the 'dreadful weather we've been having lately'.

"Because, I want to win!" I snap.

"There's some kind of contest to see who can kill me?" he asks, disbelievingly.

"No, there's no contest, but if I can kill you I'm in, aren't I? The Dark Lord has to give me a place at the inner circle if I make you the Boy Who Finally Died, doesn't he?" I tell the stupid well muscled git.

"How come I don't believe you?" he queries, an amused smirk on his face. "Why are you really doing this?"

"I have to! I have to kill you before I . . . before I . . . ."

"Before you do what?" he murmurs.

"Before I do this!" I push up against him and bring our mouths together. Cold lips, warm tongue and the taste of tooth flossing string mints beguile me.

Stupid sexy git!