Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: This was based on a challenge. My prompt: "Angelina Johnson cries over Blaise Zabini." I had planned to make it dark, but it turned out …not, though it's not all flowers and fluffy little bunnies.


They were weaving in and out of each other's flight path, shouting derisive comments that were tossed away on the wind. She hurled the quaffle as hard as she could towards the central goal post. Miles Bletchley could have stopped it, Blaise reflected, but he had graduated the previous year, and the new boy was nearly as incompetent as Weasley. The shot went in, and the red and gold section of the stands erupted into cheers. Angelina Johnson, the scoring Chaser, turned her broom and left the scoring area.

The attention of the crowd was suddenly drawn in another direction. The Seekers were neck-in-neck, urging their brooms on after the glint of gold that hovered near the ground. As all eyes save four went to the Gryffindor side of the stadium. Blaise Zabini caught Angelina's eye and gave her a tiny nod. He was treated to a microscopic smile in return. Then a roar went up as Harry Potter hurtled toward the ground, holding the snitch above his head.


Lee Jordan had his arm around Angelina's shoulders, and he was yelling something in her ear. She couldn't hear him over the noise of her celebrating teammates, but it didn't matter. "Tempus," she muttered. 19:54. Angelina brushed the amorous Lee off and stared hard at Katie Bell, willing her to look up. When finally her friend met her eyes, she tapped her wrist, indicating that she had an appointment. Katie nodded, and Angelina wound her way through the scarlet-and-gold-bedecked crowd to her boyfriend, who was trying to sell a first-year what looked suspiciously like a ton-tongue coffee. Casting a quick spell to give them quiet, she ignored the startled midget and murmured, "I've got somewhere to go, okay?"

Fred Weasley, who (thought he) knew exactly where she was going, i.e. to the Quidditch pitch for some practice alone, as she was wont to do, kissed her on the cheek. "Okay. Don't get caught out after curfew."

"I won't." Angelina turned to the first-year. "Whatever it is, it's not worth the price he's asking." Her removal of the sound-bubble charm, immediately after that warning, drowned out Fred's cry of indignation.


When Blaise reached the Room of Requirement, it was deserted. He gracefully seated himself at one end of a leather couch and waited, staring at the ceiling. It was unnaturally smooth; the Room of Requirement didn't bother itself about things like cracked or uneven paint.

When Angelina joined him, she was beaming as though she'd just been told that Christmas was coming twice this year, and her grey eyes were alight. "Blaise!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Angelina."

Reaching his chair, she flung herself into the seat beside him and held out a dark-skinned hand. "Five Galleons. Don't think I've forgotten."

Blaise's right eyebrow shot up to join his left. "You invite me to an assignation because—and I quote—you "just miss" me, and the first thing you do is attempt to settle a debt? How romantic."

Angelina's teeth flashed against her dark face as she bared them in a grin. "I never pretended I was romantic."

"Doesn't it come with the red and gold tie? I always thought that Gryffindor boys are gifted with twice their share of that idiocy they call courage, and otherwise perfectly sensible girls get an overload of sentimentality."

Angelina quirked her lips. "Haven't spent much time with Ginny Weasley, have you?"

Her paramour inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Point taken."

Angelina opened her mouth to add something, but Blaise silenced her in the usual way. No, not by putting his hand over her mouth or shouting her down. The usual way for romance novels. Yes, he kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her.

Angelina gradually tilted backwards and Blaise inched forwards until he was leaning over her, grinning. He was unbuttoning the maroon blouse she had donned after the game, when she slapped his hand away. "Stop fumbling with my buttons, Blaise—" the insulted "I'm not fumbling!" was ignored, "—I have to go back to the tower soon, and I want the money now."

"You do realize what someone would think if he walked in right as you said that?" This, too, was duly ignored. "Actually, I don't have any money with me." At her glare, he leaned back and raised his hands before his chest defensively. "Hey, I thought this was a romantic meeting. Tell you what, double or nothing. We play you once more this year, at least. If Malfoy doesn't catch the snitch during the next Gryffindor-Slytherin game, I'll pay you twenty galleons. If he does, we call it even."

Angelina snorted. "Deal. I don't understand why you keep betting on Malfoy, though."

"House loyalty. Gets me every time. Besides, he could get lucky."

"When Muggles fly!"

"You do know they have flying contraptions, right?"

Angelina sat up and rebuttoned her shirt. "Blaise Zabini, Muggle expert." She didn't say, Just like Arthur Weasley, perfect though the sarcastic comment would have been. When they were together, the name Weasley was taboo. Ginny, Angelina's friend, was the only exception to that rule.

"If we hurry, we can slip back to our rooms between prefect rounds."

"And if we don't hurry, we could have another snog before you have to go back to being the perfect little Gryffindor."

Angelina shot Blaise a sharp look, but his face betrayed none of the bitterness Angelina sometimes suspected he felt. "Alright, then."

Much, much later, Angelina detached herself from Blaise and made herself once more presentable. "Do I look alright?"

"I preferred you before."

She gave him another one of her trademark looks, and was halfway out the door when his soft voice called her back. "Yes?" She knew what was coming. Every time, he tried to say it, and every time, he choked on the words. He's got too much Slytherin in him.

"I… nothing."

"Good night, Blaise."

"Good night, Angelina."


They were weaving in and out of each other's flight path, shouting derisive comments that were tossed away on the wind. She hurled the quaffle as hard as she could towards the central goal post. Miles Bletchley could have stopped it, Blaise reflected, but he had graduated the previous year, and the new boy was nearly as incompetent as Weasley. The shot went in, and the red and gold section of the stands erupted into cheers. Angelina Johnson, the scoring Chaser, turned her broom and left the scoring area.

The attention of the crowd was suddenly drawn in another direction. The Seekers were neck-in-neck, urging their brooms on after the glint of gold that hovered near the ground. As all eyes save four went to the Gryffindor side of the stadium. Blaise Zabini caught Angelina's eye and gave her a tiny nod. He was treated to a microscopic smile in return.

Then Blaise crumpled and toppled forward off his broomstick. Its job done, the Bludger zoomed off towards the Seekers, who were still hurtling upwards.

Angelina screamed, but her voice was lost in the crowd. Plunging downward, she landed only a few seconds after Blaise had hit the ground, where he lay oddly askew. She looked frantically around, but no one seemed to have noticed that only twelve players remained in the air. Madam Hooch was hovering high up, just out of bounds, keeping out of the way but ready to step in if either seeker decided to foul.

Thank Merlin, she could see his chest rising and falling. He's not dead, he's not dead. Yet.

"Episkey!" Whether the healing charm had any effect or no, Angelina couldn't say. She held her wand aloft, crying "Relashio!", and a fountain of sparks erupted from her wand.

When Madam Hooch landed a few seconds later, she had to have help to pry Angelina from Blaise's chest. She was holding him tightly, choking on her sobs. She was otherwise perfectly in control of herself, explaining the circumstances through her tears, but she wouldn't leave Blaise until the Weasley twins bore her away. Overhead, Malfoy, seeing an opportunity to prove himself a cold-hearted bastard, caught the snitch.

Wiping away tears, Angelina explained to a supportive Fred that she had just been so startled, so surprised. "I thought he was going to die. Not even a Slytherin deserves to die like that, and I… I really thought he was going to die." It was, after all, the truth.


Three days later, Blaise Zabini emerged from the hospital wing none the worse for wear. Passing Angelina Johnson in the hallway on his way to his first class after his infirmary stay, he didn't stop to talk to her, didn't glance in her direction. But had anyone been watching closely, they might have noticed him give her an almost imperceptible nod, and might even have seen her flash him the smallest of smiles in return.


A/N: Well, I think this turned out well, though it was nothing like what I intended to write. I could have made it more dramatic, but I was in a mood to write a frothy little bubble.