"Question two: what's your favourite colour?" Blaise narrowed his eyes and assessed her. She wasn't curious about something as simple as his list of favourite things. No, she recognized what she'd just put him through and was going easy on him now. Her bloody Gryffindor compassion had kicked in…which meant she had no intention of exploiting his TWN, as a less-then-scrupulous Slytherin might were the situation reversed. Knowing that didn't help to alleviate his anxiety much, for he also understood that although she seemed rather benign now, she would abuse his name if the conditions were right. His little kitten had sharp claws when provoked.
"Purple." He indicated his shirt with a tug. "Next."
"Give me the run down on your family. Question three: how many Zabinis are you?" Sighing, he slumped back down into the cosy chair, having paced himself out and resigned himself to his fate. "There are seven children. I have five sisters and one brother, and I'm dead in the middle of them all. The eldest, my brother, is twenty-three. The youngest is ten. My mum's a Black Widow, and my dad barely escaped her web. We're pure-bloods, the lot. Next."
"You have an older brother, hmm?" She seemed piqued by that little fact. "Does he look like you?"
Blaise shook his head. "None of my siblings come from the same father, so technically we're all half-brother and sisters. My dad was from Morocco. The rest of my siblings are as white as you."
"Well, well, well," she breathed, tapping a finger against those pretty lips of hers in consideration. "You might have to introduce me to big brother someday. Maybe he'll prove to be much more considerate of a girl's needs."
Inside his chest, Blaise's heart locked down, squeezing tight. The thought of his lioness sidling up to Lorenzo, who was all charm and charisma personified, positively infuriated him.
"Are you growling?" his partner asked with incredulity.
"What's your next bloody question?" he demanded between gritted teeth. "I want out of here pronto. I need air."
She looked at him askance. "Question four: do you hate me?"
"No."
It was the truth. He didn't hate her. Not at all.
What he hated was that she despised him. Clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth, Weasley pondered that, and her last question. "Hmmm… Let's see… Question five: what's your favourite memory from Hogwarts? In other words, what one thing will you remember for the rest of your life when you leave here next weekend?"
Blaise's heart slammed under his ribs; he was physically shaking in fury now. He pursed his lips and angrily stared at her, not wanting to reveal any more hidden parts of his soul, but knowing he had no choice. The spell on the cards was going to force this one since he'd chosen to answer the first question and not forfeit.
And hell, it wasn't like she'd just stripped him of his last defense in getting out of him his True Wizarding Name. What more could she do to him now that she'd totally unmanned him? "You," he softly stated, livid inside that he was obligated to say this out loud. "On your broom this last game, when Potter caught the Snitch and won the Cup for your House. The rain had just stopped and the sun had peeked out through the clouds, and the light was glinting like fire off that crimson hair of yours as it blew about in the wind. Your eyes were bright and shining with happiness and your smile was so fucking beautiful that it hurt to look at it." He stared at the white shag rug beneath his feet, wishing he had the magic to command his feelings to die out as assuredly as his pride was doing right then. "All I could think in that moment was how you were like that Tonge painting of the redheaded angel dancing in the air, temporarily keeping the storm at bay." He closed his eyes, awash with rioting emotion. "You hovered at my side when the game was called, then turned to me and said–" "'It was fun, Zabini,'" she whispered in remembrance across the space between them. "'I'll miss you.'"
His head jerked up, their eyes met, and in her lovely dark gaze were wavering tears.
"It's you I'll never be able to forget," he admitted, fighting the catch in his throat. "You'll haunt me to the end of my life, Ginevra."
Emotionally naked, exposed as a fraud, Blaise knew in those seconds that there was nowhere left for him to hide. None of his Slytherin training was going to save him from this fall.
With his heart bloodied and raw, he stood up and stormed from the room in irrational self-hatred, slamming the door behind him.
"Hey, mate, anything wrong?" Theo asked him as he retook his previous seat on Slytherin's side of the sofa in the main room.
Everything's wrong, Blaise wanted to scream. It's over with now. She knows!
"Nothing," he replied instead, turning away his friend's concern.
Laying his head back on the cushions of the couch, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and cursed himself a fool, seriously considering quitting the game.
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