Opposites attract

Detention with Zabini

November 3rd 1996

Ron's POV:
Stupid Malfoy always getting me in trouble! That foul git—now while everybody's at Hogsmeade, I'm stuck here going to detention. I mean, it wasn't my fault he tried to call Hermione a mudblood. Not my fault the wand just slipped into my hand.

Not my fault he's set on being a You-Know-Who supremacist.

The corridors are already getting darker underneath the warmth of candle mantles. I'm quite sure I'm late for detention. Detention, detention, detention. I can hear heels click-clacking further into the hall and my gaze drifted upward. From my perspective, I see Umbridge up ahead.

"Late for detention, hm? That's another three evenings for you!"Umbridge said, that annoying giggly squeak she does accessorizing her sentence.

How'd she know? Old frog-face. I think she's set on making everybody's lives miserable. But that's beside the point.

For detention I'd been told to clean the prefects bathroom—a terrible punishment, but not the worst for hexing another student. I suppose I'm right for doing so anyway. Malfoy got what was coming to him.

I made my way to the prefects bathroom, empty handed beside a pail of soapy water. My thoughts are quickly interrupted when I hear footsteps walking close behind. I spin around to see... Zabini?

"Gosh, just my luck." I mutter quickly underneath my breath.

"Don't think I want to be here scrubbing bathrooms with you either, Weasley."

He pushed past me and walked inside. I roll my eyes and walk in after him. I just really want to get this over with.

I stood beside him and the both of us exchanged a glance of silent agreement—to take over opposite ends of the bathroom. This'll probably be the only thing we'll ever agree on. With my free hand, I ran my fingers through my fiery hair. It's going to be a rough evening.

I walk over to my end and set the pail down, the water jiggling and almost splashing onto my loafers. Then I roll the sleeves of my cardigan up. In my movements, Filch had stepped in to give us sponges and a toothy smirk—amused by our predicament. I know Zabini's itching to call him a Squib.

As we scrub, Zabini breaks the silence by muttering in his low, posh voice, "What could someone like you have done to get in detention?"

Someone like me?

"Malfoy hasn't told you, huh?" I smirk, the curl of my lips and the small breathiness of a laugh almost changing my tone.

Zabini raises an eyebrow, "..That doesn't answer my question now, does it."

My smirk fades. I couldn't help my pent up frustration with him and his kind.

"Maybe because all you pure-bloods ever care about is status and purity."

That remark earned a small moment of silence between the two of us. And then Zabini dared to break it again.

"We're not all like that, y'know. Slytherin pure-bloods. We say the same things about Gryffindors, the headmasters' favorites." Zabini says mockingly, "All you red and golds see is black and white."

Then things went silent again. And all we focused on was the task at hand. We didn't dare utter another word as our unenjoyable time went on. My arm grew rather sore as I scrubbed the dirtied tiles of the bathroom, keeping a distance from Zabini. He cleaned one side of the room while I cleaned the opposite.

I couldn't help but steal a few glances at Zabini—his features sharpened by focus. Every once in a while he'd look over, feeling the weight of my gaze, and I'd divert my attention immediately. He's real irritating being so aware of everything. He's irritating doing anything, really.

When we finish our portions of the bathroom, I'm quite enthusiastic to leave. Zabini dropped his sponge into his pail of water and left fairly quickly. Oh, who cares about Zabini? I'm done with detention! For now, but still!

But my curiosity contradicts myself.

As I'm walking back from detention, I can't seem to get my mind off of what he said earlier.

"We're not all like that, y'know?"

I knew this was true, of course. Hermione was always rambling on about how great Pansy was and that we should set differences aside. Hermione always knows what to say.

As if the moving staircase sensed my presence, it moved with a low rumbling sound, and I made one step after the other.

"Balderdash." I firmly say.

The Fat Lady's portrait swings open and I walk into the common room, where not a lot of people hung around despite it being so near curfew.

Two of the few I see are Hermione and Harry playing chess near the fireplace. Hermione's brows are creased, very focused on the game. I almost chuckle at the sight of her being almost stumped. Harry has an amused, cheeky grin curled on his face. They don't seem to notice I came in.

My eyes drift to the opposite end of the common room. On the other side I see Neville and... Theodore Nott?!

I couldn't help but stare—never would I ever see Neville talking with a Slytherin. A Nott to be exact. I wouldn't have noticed who he was if it weren't for him having his bloody Slytherin sweater on.

I try to ignore my confusion and curiosity and walk over to my friends.

As I sit down next to Hermione, Harry perked up.

"Hey, how was detention with Zabini?" Harry queried.

"How d'you know Zabini was at detention?"

Hermione then added to the conversation. "He was sent for beating up a Ravenclaw that tried hexing a Hufflepuff."

I raise an eyebrow at this, my head tilting in confusion. Harry nods at my reaction. He must've been confused as well.

Then I thought of what Zabini said about us Gryffindors. Seeing black and white. Complete bollocks. Now apparently Zabini was morally grey?

Pfft. He couldn't possibly. He's a prat.

But when Harry had a go at me at chess, my mind couldn't help but wander. Wander in places I don't think it should. The curious crevices. Instead of thinking of pieces and places, I had one big question in my mind:

Did Zabini really care about others? Not to mention a Hufflepuff?

My distracted mind wound up with Harry winning the game. What's bloody happening to me? It's like I'm in Divination all over again.

"Good game, mate."

"Yeah." Was the only thing I could murmur as I unboxed a package of Bertie Bott's.

I glance over to the opposite side of the room where I previously saw Neville and Nott chatting. Nott was gone now and Neville sat on an armchair reading a rather boring looking book. The Daily Prophet magazine beside him looked considerably more interesting.

I turn my attention back at my friends, glancing between them before setting down the half-empty Bertie Bott's box next to the chess set.

"..'m feeling tired. See you up in the dorm Harry."

To that Harry hummed in response and pushed up his circular glasses.

I get up from the couch and walk my way around and up the stairs to my shared room. Really I just needed to think. Think the hardest I've ever thought in my sixteen years of living.

As I lay in bed, I couldn't help the contradicting thoughts about Blaise swirling in my head. I slowly drift to sleep with the thoughts of Zabini last in my mind.