It may be a while before I have a chance to update again. My teachers are doing that thing where they weed out the weak by seeing who gets crushed under the weight of their schoolwork. Hopefully I won't be gone too long, but flunking out to write fanfiction is probably not a good idea. So there you have it. I hope this chapter pleases.

"This is ridiculous," Blaise muttered, "We've been wandering around forever and my feet are in agony. They're probably not even in the castle."

"Follow that train of thought any further," Millicent warned him, "and your inner exhibitionist will really be showing."

Blaise shut up.

"I thought this would be easier," Pansy sighed, "I mean, they're always in the library, at least Granger is."

"Except for when it's closed, apparently," Millicent noted.

"I don't know," Blaise slowed his pace, "We didn't actually look inside."

"We couldn't actually look inside," Millicent chided, "Dumbledore and all the staff were milling around. Did you not notice?"

"Of course I noticed," Blaise snapped, "I'm not blind and deaf. I just–" he coughed, "I think we should have said something to Dumbledore."

"About the common room?" Pansy asked.

"Obviously."

"No," Pansy shook her head, "It wouldn't have done any good. He's useless anyway."

"Do you think," Millicent asked reluctantly, "that Potter and his gang were involved in whatever happened there."

"In the library?"

"Yes."

"Yes. Yes they probably were."

"So that means what exactly?" Blaise demanded, "That we should look in the infirmary? I think I heard Flitwick say that someone got hurt."

"In the library?" Pansy asked.

"Yes, in the library. What is your problem Parkinson?"

"Directionally disabled," Millicent murmured as Pansy snapped around.

"You! You are my problem. You with your slow walking and your constant complaints and your head so far up your own arse that you–"

Pansy gasped and leaned against the wall, "I'm sorry," she said through clenched teeth, "you feel this right? Tense? I just want to go back to the common room. I need to hear it. I need to go back and hear her poetry. I need to–" she inhaled slowly, "We need to find Potter and friends, right away. I'll go mad if I don't get one of Draco's drinks soon."

"Yeah," said Millicent as Blaise scowled.

"My head," he sniffed, "is perfectly placed. Which is more than can be said for any part of you."

"To the infirmary then?" Millicent increased her pace, expecting the others to follow her, "Before we end up sending each other there."

-xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx-

Ron was almost pleased when the three Slytherins entered the infirmary.

He wasn't really glad to see them in particular. He didn't like them. In fact, he very much disliked them. But their arrival was a distraction, and when he thought about them he could avoid his other thoughts. His other thoughts were dark, and wrong, and completely unlike him. Except that they were like him, obviously, or he wouldn't be thinking them. They made sense, when he really thought about them, when he just relaxed and let them pour into his mind. They were right. It was the only way. It would prove to her how much he loved her, how much she needed him. It was right; she would have to see that, even if–

"Weasley! Do you know where your sister is?"

His attention snapped to the three Slytherins making a beeline toward him, "How should I? I'm not her keeper."

"Well someone should be," Blaise stated, "You people belong in a–"

Millicent, who had started rolling her eyes as soon as Blaise had opened his mouth, took this opportunity to punch him in the gut, "We don't need to get into this right now."

No-one objected as Blaise doubled over.

Hermione's laughter sailed over to them, "He deserved that, though I would have preferred to do it myself."

Millicent shook her head sharply, eyes that had been glossed over focusing once again.

"I'm so sorry!"

Millicent had meant to apologise to Blaise, but found her words directed at Hermione, "This really isn't like me. I should... I feel ill, I should... can't back out now, umm."

Pansy grabbed Millicent's arm, digging her fingers deeply into the flesh. Millicent made no move to shake her off.

"We didn't do a clear-thinking charm," Pansy said in what was meant to be a whisper, but carried over the room, "We should have. We have to tell them something, oh what is it... I want to get back to the common room now. Have to tell them first."

"You idiots," spat Blaise, still clutching his stomach. He'd bit the inside of his cheek when Millicent had hit him. The pain focussed his mind.

"You, Potter. Your ginger girlfriend has set up house in our common room. Get her out. She's stinking up the place."

"What?" The cold, stony, almost-question came from Hermione.

She released Harry's hand and stood.

"She what?"

"She," Blaise could taste blood, "Is defiling our common room. She doesn't belong there. We don't want her there."

"Not welcome!" Pansy's addition was shrill; Millicent was staring at her own fist as though it had betrayed her.

"Make her leave!" Blaise stared into Hermione's eyes for a fraction of a second, then switched his stare to Harry.

"Make. Her. Leave." He said it slowly, with a hint of desperation that he would find too shameful to remember later.

"I'll go speak to her," Hermione said, turning away from Blaise and pushing the rising Harry back into bed. "You're ill, let me handle this. I'm her friend."

She kissed him once again, softly whispering, "relax" against his lips, then turned, her eyes void of anything, to look at Blaise for a moment, then swept, swiftly, with sylvan footsteps, out of the infirmary.

There was a collective sigh as the infirmary door shut behind her. Many of the room's occupants would have said it was a sigh of longing, but many of the room's occupants were not the type to examine their emotions very closely.

"I'm glad that's over," Pansy said, feeling strangely stunned, "We need to get back."

"Yes, I, Oh. Blaise, I am so sorry, I really didn't–," Millicent brushed off Pansy's hand, "Please, let me help you get back to the common room. I am so sorry."

Blaise backed away from her advances, sitting on a bed that he didn't notice was occupied by Ron, "No. Don't touch me."

He made sure to sit straight, "I'm fine. You hit like a girl. A girl made of bricks."

Millicent blushed, but didn't take offense to his comment.

"I'm so sorry, I–"

"Don't," Blaise held a hand up, "I don't think it was really your fault," he glared at her, "Though I probably should. I won't take any revenge."

"Oh, thank you," she gave something that may have been a sigh, or may have been a small chuckle, "I know I'd live in fear without your assurance."

"As well you should," Blaise dusted off his robe and stood.

"Come on," he said, heading over to where Pansy was loitering, "Let's get back to the common room."

"Yeah," Pansy smiled viciously, "I really want to see what's going to happen down there."

Before leaving, Millicent turned to Harry, "If your friend doesn't get your other friend out of our room, I am going to hold you responsible, and I'm going to make sure the rest of Slytherin house holds you responsible too. You will not enjoy that."

"If Hermione can't help Ginny – and she can – then I'll do it myself. If there are any problems, you and your friends can come back and get me yourselves."

"We're not friends," three pairs of voices rang out, but they held no malice.

"Slytherins," Harry said as he watched them leave, then turned to Ron, shaking his head in confusion.

"They're mad mate," it was the most lucid thought Ron had had in a while, before he remembered that he was speaking to his most loathed enemy, and turned away with a yawn.

"Yeah," said Harry, completely misinterpreting Ron's body language, "I'm pretty tired too."

He rolled on to his side, and, just as Hermione had told him to, he relaxed. As long as everyone stayed calm, everything would turn out alright.