Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I know, I know; you thought I was J.K. Rowling. Sorry to disappoint.
Like all ancient lines, the Zabinis had many customs. Some were good. Some were bad. He didn't know which was which; he wasn't able to look at it objectively, since he was part of the family and thus part of it all.
Well, maybe it wasn't so much of a tradition, since nobody really sought for it. But it just kept on surviving. Probably because each new member was brought up in such an environment that cultivated the tradition.
The tradition (Blaise tried his hardest to not think of it with a capital letter) was as follows. Every female member of the family fell in love – soul-searing, tearing, white-knuckled kind of love – with one person who then moved away/got married/became ineligible. They would then go through men like water, frantically trying to fulfill their familial duty by continuing the line, having many children and forcing them all to take the Zabini name.
On the other hand, the men of the Zabini family fell in love with one person who they knew from the beginning that they could never ever have. Never ever ever ever for nothing in the world would it ever happen. Mostly, Zabini men didn't reproduce.
Not surprisingly, the Zabinis were numerous, diverse, and very matriarchal (thanks to the efforts of the women).
Blaise was the first of his generation to go to Hogwarts. It was marvelous. For the first year. And then things got a little complicated.
The truth? The tradition hit. Feeling very smug to be a Slytherin and powerful (via his friendship with Malfoy), Blaise had been roaming the train looking for the food cart. Then – bang.
Collision.
A flash of softness before they both scrambled away from each other like little crabs. A quick whiff of flowers. A glimpse of a blushing face covered with freckles. Long red hair. A Weasley.
He'd heard about this falling in love, from his uncles (many of them). This wasn't exactly the same. After all, he was unique. But he remembered his favorite uncle, jolly Franco, going all distant in his eyes, and saying, 'Blaise,' he said, 'Blaise, when I fell in love and knew I couldn't have him, I felt only panic, desperation, wanting to just hold on to him that it would be worth it even if I had to keep him in a silver cage so he wouldn't run. And then I thought to myself, Frankie, I thought, what are you thinking? And then I wanted only the best for him, wanted to be so self-sacrificing and just want him to be happy, but I also was to be selfish, wanted him for myself…I struck up a friendship with him, I did, Blaise, and that was the best and worst thing I've ever done. But you'll see. You'll see, Blaise.'
At first, Blaise didn't think anything of the hot wave that swept through him. He just offered the girl his hand to help her up (and felt brave and noble by doing so), bought a lollipop for her, and brought her to a compartment so they could talk.
Talk they did. Ginny – it was her name – was intelligent, and though a good percentage of her conversation revolved around Harry Potter (Blaise felt a hot slash of jealousy, though he didn't realize it) she was a very good conversationalist. Carefully, he insinuated that he was a Slytherin, and she shrugged it off. She was an extraordinary girl.
They kept in contact. They became very good friends (Draco and crew didn't know) and they confided in each other.
Well. For a while, he dated Gretchen Halloway, a girl a year above him. Ginny was very proud of him, since she'd been dating Michael Corner for some months before. This was the end of his fourth year. With the Triwizard Tournament and the Yule Ball and everything else that was happening around that time. It didn't matter to Blaise. He'd worn Potter Stinks badges half-heartedly, jealous of Ginny's attention to the Boy Who Lived. It backfired, in a way; after seeing him with the flashing badge, Ginny hadn't talked to Blaise for a few weeks after. But she came over to him after the third task and sobbed over Harry's plight.
He held her and let her cry, rocking her gently and rubbing her back. The next day, he broke up with Gretchen Halloway.
Fifth year, he actually realized that he loved Ginny. Slowly, gingerly, he admitted it to himself (by carefully scratching tiny letters into his bedpost with a pocketknife) but when he finished and it sunk in – he remembered jolly Uncle Franco again. Over the next few days, his emotions cycled around and around. Desperate want to despair to delirious happiness that she was his friend to horror of the same; that he would be near and never able to touch and back to need.
Ginny dated Harry Potter. When the fool broke up with her (and Blaise heard it all) it was the worst day of Blaise's life, seeing her so heartbroken, but most of all the guilt, because he was feeling glad that she wasn't going out with Harry Potter anymore. Well, maybe he was exaggerating – the worst day had been when Ginny had been in the Chamber of Secrets. But it seemed plenty bad – it put the too-old look back in Ginny's eyes, the one that Blaise couldn't heal.
When Ginny asked – pleaded – for Blaise's help in the war effort, he didn't refuse. He couldn't. Not only was it to help the side of the war that Ginny fought for (and that he believed in, he supposed), but he found it difficult to turn Ginny away. Even when she told him that all his skill at posing would come in handy this time.
So he went to Harry Potter. 'Harry Potter,' he said, 'Harry Potter, I want to spy for the Order of the Phoenix.'
Harry Potter asked him why. Blaise answered, 'Harry Potter, I wanted to kill you,' he said, 'Harry Potter, my world has revolved around your girlfriend since I bumped into her on the train. Harry Potter,' he said, 'this is my family tradition.'
Harry Potter was thinking cowardice. Blaise knew that he was; in fact, every day he asked himself 'why am I such a coward? Why can I not tell her and move on?'
It was tradition.
Blaise started to spy. It wasn't hard to rise in the hierarchy; Voldemort was aching for intelligent material, and if nothing else, Blaise was intelligent, and hadn't been a Slytherin for nothing.
He loved the thrill of giving information that saved someone, successfully concealing his identity for another day (Occlumency, Occlumency, Occlumency!), seeing the spark of gratitude in his new friend Harry Potter's eyes. That spark was hard to come by.
Of course, he didn't like when he was wrong, or too late, or Voldemort went on a single strike. No one liked that but the genuine Death Eaters. People died because he had been too late, couldn't get the information, had to withhold something so he wouldn't blow his cover – but more lived. That and Ginny got him through the weeks.
All good things must come to an end. Voldemort launched a sneak search for treachery, using the Dark Mark to rip through Death Eaters' minds while they were asleep and defenseless. Blaise didn't notice that Voldemort had caught him. The next Death Eater convergence, Blaise was singled out. Tortured to the brink of death, and yet still conscious. It was too late for any Healer, even the most skilled, to save him.
Harry Potter had had a vision. He Apparated in with a squad just as they were all finished. They left Blaise on the floor for Harry Potter to scavenge.
After setting his squad to make the area safe, Harry Potter rushed to Blaise's side. He cradled the lolling head on his lap, casting spell after spell that had no effect – he couldn't save his friend – his friend –
Slowly, painfully, Blaise made his mouth move, though he had no air to speak. Harry Potter watched – watched – Blaise mouthed, he said 'Harry Potter,' he whispered, any possible sound floating off to silence an inch from his mouth, 'Harry Potter, take care of Ginny, I love her, you know, I never told her, I was too cowardly, even though I thought I might break it, the Tradition, but I love her, don't take her away from me, just –'
In his delirium, he imagined Harry Potter to be pleading with him to stay, didn't he know how much that girl loved him? As a brother, sure, but isn't that better than nothing, Blaise? Isn't that better than nothing?
But Blaise didn't hear. He was losing his grip. He didn't make a sound. Suffering in silence, painful silence – that was his path, his destiny, his creed –
He just hoped that one day, not too long from now, there would be a Zabini who would break Tradition. A Gryffindor Zabini. Willing to tell their loved one how they felt, face-to-face, and then able to move on. Blaise just wished that it was him – though he loved Ginny with all of his heart and wouldn't give it up, it was just too… much… trouble… and he really ought… to get over it –
In maybe his last moment though he didn't know it at the time, Blaise thought – my whole life has been built around someone who doesn't love me back. How pathetic is that? Pretty damn horrid for – a –
Straining to pull one last lungful of air, Blaise never finished his thought. Because Ginny was there, laying a narrow hand on his forehead, and at that simple recognition – he gave up.
People cried. But if Blaise found some consciousness after death, he cried more for the ironic, farcical, melodrama he had been living in: and he could maybe have made it real if he had only courage.
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