My first try at this ship. Hope you like it. I'm in two minds about Blaise being a boy or a girl. On one hand, I can see ´it´ as a boy, on the other, ´it´ works as a girl. In this, he's a boy. I don't write femmeslash; I can't make it seem believable.

WARNING; this is probably the sappiest thing I've ever written. You have been warned.


Hermione Granger was walking across one of Hogwarts courtyards, heading to the owlery. She had her cloak wrapped tightly around her despite it being the beginning of June, trying to avoid the rain that was pouring down from the leaden sky, but no matter how she tried, it found its way in through her collar and other openings in her clothing, sending unexpected chills through her body.

It hadn't rained like this in several weeks, but the flagstones were slippery and very hard to keep ones balance on, as they were overflowing with water. Clutched in her right hand was a letter to her mother, a weekly report of how she was doing in school, if she had a boyfriend yet, and if Harry and Ron were feeling well.

She had been forced to disappoint her mother on the boyfriend part, once again; neither Harry nor Ron was ever going to be her boyfriend. The rest of the Gryffindors in her year were already taken, and so were the majority of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. She had, in fact, given up on ever getting a boyfriend.

A sound made her look up from the ground and forced her to break away from her wallowing in self-pity. She was confused as to what had made the sound, until her eyes lit upon someone standing in the middle of the courtyard, seemingly oblivious to the steady rain.

It took a few seconds, but then she recognized the person as Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin student the same age as she was. He was standing on the wet flagstones; face turned up to the sky, apparently not caring that the rain was soaking him. He was wearing only a pair of black jeans and a white shirt, which was plastered to his back. His black hair, which normally fell in tamed curls, was now smeared down his neck. He looked so unlike his normal, immaculate self, but it wasn't that which drew her eye and made her stop to watch.

It was the fact that he was smiling. Not smirking, not a sinister grin; it was a genuine smile. Out there, in the pouring rain, he seemed happy. The raindrops ran down his face and arms, down his legs finally gathering in a puddle around his feet, which was quickly swept away by the rain.

It was strange to see him smiling. Whenever she saw him, in lessons or otherwise, he wore either a completely expressionless face, or a small smirk, which seemed to be the trademark of Slytherin, but she had to admit that his smile was a lot nicer than she expected. Not that she had ever thought about it, Blaise always kept in the background, letting Malfoy take the lead.

She had never even paid any attention to him before; he was just another face in the hallways, just another essay to collect and hand in to the teacher in class. He seemed flat, like a cardboard cut-out. But out here, under the grey sky, soaking wet and smiling silently, he seemed to come alive, becoming real to her for the first time in her life.

Suddenly, he turned his head and looked at her with those blue eyes of his. When he recognized her, he gave her a smile, contrary to everything she had been expecting. She'd though he'd lash out on her, insult her in true Slytherin fashion, but instead, he just smiled.

"Hello, Hermione." He said, calm as if she hadn't just been caught staring at him.

Hermione? No one in Slytherin called her Hermione. It was always Granger, or Mudblood, or chipmunk. Sometimes, it was Miss Perfect, sometimes Know-It- All. Even Teacher's Pet was an all too familiar nickname. But never Hermione.

"Since when do you call me Hermione...Blaise?" She asked, at the last second deciding to use his first name.

"Since I felt like it." He said, and returned to staring at the sky silently.

Growing curious, she took a step closer to him, looking up as well. He didn't give her a second glance, but his smile seemed to widen. She glanced at him, confused, but took another step closer.

"What are you looking at?" She asked quietly, not wanting to disturb him too much.

"The rain." He answered simply.

Now, she was very confused. He had come all the way here from the Slytherin Common Room, which was over half the castle away, not bothering to get his cloak, resulting in him getting very, very wet, just to look at the rain? Against her will, she found herself getting curious about this Slytherin outcast.

"Why? It's nothing but water, after all." She said.

Silence reigned in the small courtyard, as both its occupants watched the falling rain silently, one too afraid to voice her question again, the other holding the answer to himself. A few minutes went by, as Hermione joined Blaise in his silent watch, momentarily forgetting about the letter she was supposed to send. Suddenly, Blaise began to talk in a low voice, startling her.

"My grandmother used to tell me a story when I was little. It was a story about the rain, and how every raindrop was a piece of someone's dream; dreams that shattered and broke, but never really faded." He said. "I used to sit in her lap and look out the window when it rained, and sometimes we even went out in the rain and got ourselves soaked. It became a ritual; something we did every time it rained. I used to cup my hands and gather the raindrops in them, and then I'd show her, and she would tell me that if I believed enough in my dreams, even if they never came true, they would become raindrops on day and fall on other people's heads."

"That's beautiful." Hermione said softly.

Blaise flashed a brief smile, never turning his eyes from the sky.

"It is, or at least, I think so. When I came to Hogwarts, I thought everyone walked outside in the rain, but when the other Slytherin's teased me when I did so, I wrote to my grandmother, asking her why they were so mean to me. She told me that they had never learned what raindrops really were, and that I shouldn't care about them. So I didn't. I still go out whenever it rains, though."

"But don't you ever get cold?" She asked, looking at the state of his clothes.

"Of course, it's the only setback of getting wet. I don't mind much, though. I can always change to dry clothes afterwards, and heating charms aren't that complicated to perform. I usually avoid using them, even if I get cold; it takes away something from the experience. But enough about me and my raindrops; what are you doing out in the rain?"

He hadn't turned his head from the sky through the whole speech, and didn't do so now. Even though Hermione never bothered to answer Slytherin's when they asked about her business, she felt compelled to do so now. Blaise hadn't asked her in the snide tone his House-mates used, nor had he sounded like he wanted to ridicule her; he had been genuinely interested.

"I am on my way to the owlery, to send a letter to my mother, but it's no hurry." She shrugged, not really wanting to leave.

"Does she still want to know if you have a boyfriend?" Blaise asked, finally turning to look at her.

"How did you know about that?" Hermione asked, suddenly defensive.

"You forgot a letter in the library once, and I found it. I didn't really mean to read it, but I had to, to find out whom it belonged to. When I did, I handed it to McGonagall. She glared at me; I don't know why." He admitted.

"You did? Thanks; it was nice of you to make sure I got it. My mother always gets nervous when I don't write to her at least once a week, and she is still pestering me about boyfriends." Hermione couldn't help but chuckle a bit, remembering her mother's frequent questions.

"You don't have a boyfriend? Why not?" Blaise sounded honestly surprised.

"Because I haven't found someone I can talk to about anything else than Quidditch yet." Hermione said sadly.

It was true; no matter how much she tried, even if she spoke to Ravenclaws, the main topic of conversation seemed to be Quidditch. If it wasn't that, it was complaints about how much homework they had.

"No, we seem to be a little restricted when it comes to talk, don't we?" Blaise chuckled. "But there are a few of us who can actually recognize a book when we see one."

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend you." Hermione hurried to say.

"It's alright; I'm not offended. I might be a boy, but I'm not blind."

They stood in silence for a while, Hermione staring intently on the sleet- grey sky, not wanting this conversation to end, and at the same time berating herself for thinking that way. Blaise was a nice guy, now that she'd talked to him and seen him for more than a Slytherin, but that was no reason to fall head over heels with him and stand out in the rain until she got a cold.

She mentally kicked herself; she couldn't have a crush on Blaise, they had only been talking for maybe fifteen minutes. Nothing can happen in fifteen minutes. Besides, even if she did have a crush on him, he would probably go inside after she left and laugh himself silly over how naïve she was.

She heaved a sigh; she had to go, no matter how much she wanted to stay; Ron and Harry were probably looking for her by now. They could be so annoying at times; they didn't understand that she needed time for herself as well as for them. She couldn't always be there for them, and she refused to be the eternal tag-along. Sometimes, she wished they would get themselves girlfriends, so that she would get some peace and quiet.

She saw Blaise in the corner of her eye; he still stood there, not saying a word, and not moving an inch. She smiled; to think that a Slytherin was sentimental enough to stand out in the rain, watching the raindrops, just because of a story his grandmother used to tell him. It was strangely endearing to see him display emotions like that. Sighing, she decided it was time to go.

"I should go; my mother will want my letter." She said, but didn't move.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blaise nod.

"You probably should." He agreed, but there was a hint of regret in his voice.

Suddenly, she noticed something.

"Blaise, you aren't watching the rain." She said.

"No." He said simply.

She turned to him, to see him watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. For a split second, she thought that Harry and Ron could find her if there was anything she had to do, and that she could stay here with Blaise for the rest of the rain, of not the rest of the day. But then she remembered how furious her friends would be if she spent the day where they couldn't find her.

Wanting Blaise to know she'd appreciated their conversation, she took a step towards him.

"Thanks for the conversation." She said simply, and because she felt daring, leaned up to kiss him on the cheek instead of shaking his hand, as she had planned to do.

Blaise, however, had other ideas. His eyes widened as she leaned up, but regained his bearing quickly, and just before her lips touched his cheek, he turned his head, so they met his own lips.

The world seemed to freeze for a second, before Hermione, blushing furiously, broke away. She started to stammer an apology, but Blaise put his finger on her lips.

"Hush. Don't apologize; there's nothing to apologize for. If I didn't want to kiss you, I wouldn't have turned my head." He said gently.

"But -"She began, but once again, he cut her off.

"No, I don't want to hear it; I want you to listen. I didn't expect you to come out here when you did; but I secretly wanted you to. When you came, I nearly choked and stammered. Thankfully, I managed to avoid that. Remember I told you that I read one of your letters by mistake? Well, I didn't return it to McGonagall immediately; I kept it." He paused for a moment.

"Why?" She asked, getting over her confusion.

"Because I wanted to read it," He said simply. "I have always been curious about what goes on in your head, and the letter was a perfect opportunity to find out. I know it was wrong of me to read your private things, but there was a reason I was sorted into Slytherin. And after I read it, I became even more curious. In fact, it became more than mere curiosity; it became what can only be described as an obsession. You might have wondered why I always kept in the background?" He asked.

"Ye-es." She admitted.

"It was because I thought the best way to learn anything about you was to eavesdrop. I didn't have the guts to walk up to you and ask you. I didn't have the guts to tell you."

"Tell me what?" She couldn't help it; she was intrigued.

To tell the truth, she was more than intrigued; she was dying to know why Blaise had taken interest in her. He never seemed to pay any attention at all to her, to hear that he had actively eavesdropped on her to find out more about her was shocking to say the least.

"Tell you that I love you." He said simply.

Her brain went into overload. He loved her? But why? She was hardly that interesting, was she? And she most definitely didn't feel the same. But she had been talking with him for over fifteen minutes without insulting him, as was her habit when dealing with Slytherins. But she had kissed him and only broken away because she felt like she was throwing herself on him. But she had kissed him.

That was where her logic broke down. It didn't only break down; it packed up and left through the window. The only two things that fit in her overheated brain was that Blaise had told her he loved her, and that she didn't feel like it was all that unwelcome. In fact, she didn't mind at all.

She didn't mind at all.

Uh oh.

She blushed brightly, but couldn't force back a smile at the thought that he loved her. She had thought herself unlovable, and that that was why she didn't have a boyfriend. Apparently, she had been wrong. She was loved, and she had a feeling she loved him back, be he ever so much a Slytherin

Blaise smiled at her, and bent his head down again, and kissed her, apparently not minding that she hadn't answered. She didn't mind either; answers could be given later.

When he broke away again, he had pulled her closer and was now holding her around the waist. Her own hands had somehow found their way around his neck, and her face was flushed.

"It seems like your mother will have to stop asking about boyfriends, doesn't it?" He said, smiling slightly.

"It does." She agreed.

He pulled her close once more, and she met him halfway. Harry and Ron could take care of themselves; she had other things to do.

Some time later, a letter fluttered forgotten to the ground, coming to rest on the wet flagstones. There it lay until it was washed away by the rain.