They were laughing when they reached the third floor of their building and opened the door to their flat.  Hermione was adamantly denying she was interested in the romance novel for any reason other than research when she stepped into their living room and saw Blaise Zabini on their couch.  He’d helped himself to some of the lemonade Draco always kept around, and his impossibly long legs were stretched out with his pointed shoes resting on their table.  She had to fight the urge to shove his feet to the floor.  Her parents had been adamant that you just didn’t do that, and she sniffed to herself that his upbringing, however drenched in excessive galleons, had missed basic manners.