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I never get what I want.

Hop on a Weasley and grind; the details will work themselves out.

...Not hardly, thanks. Ron wants to snog Lav Lav, so he can fuck off. Literally, I suppose.

I have reservations about it. That I can't sort out clearly. You, apparently, have sorted out your priorities on that front.

Mutual consent, mutual understand, mutual satisfaction, everybody walks away with good memories and sometimes bruises in interesting places.

Also, there are at least seven Weasleys.

See, now that sounds reasonable. But for now I'm not sure creating a list of exploits would be in my best interest. Speaking of which, I found out yesterday that apparently, boys can be quite touchy about the whole...not monogamous sort of thing. I swear I nearly was murdered. Over a kiss. Honestly.

That is so true.

Any boy who thinks a relationship grants him control over a person's sexuality should be dumped immediately, and then castrated for the good of witches and wizards everywhere.

I do think you are now my favourite person to talk to.

Even if you'd abhor that.

Become a bore and I'll just hex your mouth away, which would simply give you a chance to practice your wordless magic, so, really, we'd both win.

Now, now, don't start with silly threats. What is it with boys getting off on hurting the poor Mudblood?

Besides, I thought I was always an insufferable bore. Beware, I might take a compliment out of that.

Have I ever actually called you a bore?

Not in words. But I think there's a great deal you don't say. What is it, "exercise for the reader", that's what you love to say? But I can't even see myself holding much appeal in conversations up till now, unless to entertain yourself with my...damn, what's the Gryffindor sort of thing, the bravery and muscling through nonsense I stuck so firm to. Not that there isn't a time and place for all that, but...it's different now.

I suppose this should all make me a bit nervous.

Perhaps you've managed to divest yourself of that nagging insecurity. However will you drive yourself now?

I'm not sure. But I seem to be managing.

Yes, you do, don't you?

I am.

A little bird told me you're trying to get in Harry's pants, you know.

Everybody always seems strangely well informed on my comings and goings. How very curious.

Harry doesn't keep secrets well. Surprisingly.

And Harry, naive as he is, suggested that you're friendly enough to give me the Slytherin common room password. You wouldn't happen to be that friendly today, would you?

No, I'm afraid I'm not feeling quite that friendly towards you. I suppose I might tell Potter if he asked especially nicely. Do you think he will, Hermione?

I could see about that. What exactly are your intentions for Harry?

People are forever accusing me of ulterior motives lately, when the obvious answer is staring them in the face.

Yes, yes, you want to shag him, very good, but you're a Slytherin, one can't be too careful.

Your words can be shockingly scathing, Zabini, I don't want him hurt.

One day, a Hufflepuff is going to stab you all in the back and, when they do, I'm going to offer you a glass of firewhiskey and not say a word.

I don't doubt that. Yet I can't seem to shake the ingrained fear. Gryffindor has taught me well, I suppose.

Do you want my help to get Harry?

Help, don't help, hinder -- the choice is yours.

Here's a clarification; if I help you, will you help me?

I suppose you'll just have to find out.