wind - Dramione

25

Hermione didn't think she would ever find herself standing on the steps leading to Blaise and Pansy Zabini's house, but there she was, unsure of what else she could do.

Nevertheless, she found herself waiting at the top step, frozen and unsure if she should knock and quite honestly oblivious to why she was there. The knuckles on her fist grazed the dark wood about a dozen times, none of which resulted in a real, firm knock. She stood there, building up her Gryffindor courage for a good 10 more minutes before finally swallowing the lump in her throat and knocking on the polished wood; and although it took a painful 5 minutes for Blaise to answer her knock, she remained stoic at the door.

"What do you want?" he inquired, apparently deciding that the niceties were a waste of time. She could recognize him holding something back in his voice, but she could tell that Blaise probably blamed her for Draco's arrest. Hell, she blamed herself as well, finally something to have in common. "I said what do you want?"

Hermione's mind blanked, forgetting any possible reason she could've been here waiting for Blaise Zabini to open his door when his best mate was on trial for murder.

"I um..." Hermione lost her breath, "Can I come in?"

Blaise hesitantly stepped aside for her to walk through the slim entrance.

The interior of the house was exactly what she would have expected. It was dark, windows were closed and clad in blackout curtains that fell from the ceiling completely down to the trimming connecting the wall to the floor. The only source of light was the very scarcely lit candles that sat on sconces at least 3 metres apart. It reminded her of Knockturn Alley. Dimly lit, any number of eerie magical artefacts, no doubt centuries old and possibly filled with the worst kinds of dark magic imaginable. There were dark paintings on the walls, black painted jewellery boxes and knick knacks that held a small but strong aura about them.

The front door opened up immediately to the living room, furnished with dark leather and animal skin rugs. Shelves and mantels about the room carried old books, faded with light and worn with time, along with cauldrons of every type of material she could think of. Different sizes and shapes, colours and finishes. Some were left standing alone, some were stacked into one another. Some were boiling, some simmering, others dormant and closed. Different sized bottles and decanters filled with potion ingredients, some of which were so rare, she had never seen in the flesh. What was it Draco said Blaise did for work again?

His wife was sitting on a settee across the fireplace, a book in hand. Hermione thought it must be impossible to read in this insufficient lighting, but Pansy was so engrossed in her book she hadn't noticed Hermione was inside her house until she spoke again.

"What is it you do for work?"

"And what business of that is yours?" Blaise replied snarkily.

"I didn't mean to step on anyone's toes," she whispered, cowering only the tiniest bit.

"Then don't, Granger," he growled, "Why are you here?"

The Zabini Apothecary she remembered. Draco had mentioned Blaise worked for his father's company and held the position of Potion Master. That explained all the cauldrons. As for the state of the rest of the house... She could never blame Slytherins for being Slytherins.

"I just..." Hermione took a deep breath. "I wanted to talk about Draco. I want to help him."

Pansy seemed to find interest in the conversation upon hearing Draco's name, setting down her book and moving to stand next to her husband in front of Hermione. Her arms were crossed, her silky hair long and pushed to one shoulder. She suppressed a cackle.