My entry for the Slytherin Competition! Blaise Zabini has been such an elegant muse, I hope I did him justice. Probably not though. Enjoy!

You stretch out, languorously, on the couch in the Slytherin common room. Eyes rake your sprawling form and you smirk; it seems that your mother's genes have been...lucrative. The common room is dark this evening, only lit by the one fire as it's late and all homework has been long forgotten. In the flickering fire light you gaze at the faces you know so well. You know them better than you know your own. And you don't really tire of looking at that.

But tonight you tire of looking at them. Those cold-blooded snakes. You don't hate them, in fact, some of them are as close to you as brothers are, but being cunning can be tiring, even if it does come naturally. Not knowing who to trust can be frustrating too.

Voldemort is back, you think as you let your eyes close, confident that no-one would dare do anything to Blaise Zabini while he relaxes. In front of the boys you refer to him as 'the Dark Lord' as they would find it impudent to call him by his true name. They're terrified, especially with so many of their parents living in his pocket and desires of being a Deatheater living in their hearts. That's not for you though. Of course you're scared of him, even if you don't want anything to do with him. Everyone is. He could kill your Mother as much as he could kill anyone else's. And your Mother is the only person you really care about.

The boys don't actually know that much about you. They think you're just one of them, albeit much more attractive. You're eyebrow quirks in amusement while your eyes are still shutters against the busy common room. They have no idea that your Mother is the most important person to you. They don't know that her husbands have beaten you senseless and that your Mother had become bruised and bloody trying to save you. In your nightmares you see her contorting from the Cruciatus and you're stuck back in that five year old useless-useless body wishing to help her.

They don't know you talked to Salazar when the nights were at their longest and darkest. Rubbing your bruised ribs you turned to the only man your Mother ever relied on. Now he was the only man that you could rely on. He didn't talk back, obviously. But when you walked into your Mother's bedroom (only when her current husband wasn't completely sociopathic – you didn't have a death wish) you could swear that Salazar would wink at you from the portrait above the bed. Salazar knew that you understood your Mother only wanted the money, she'd never told you directly but her comments about Slytherins being superior ('really Blaise, you have to know how to get what you want!') hinted at the truth.

When you got to Hogwarts you drew eyes at the sorting. Not just because you were striking even at eleven, but because you were called last. Throughout the sorting, you remember, you watched in disdain at the quaking children. 'By Salazar, they're pathetic!'. But when it came to your turn to put on the hat, you were just as nervous. What if the hat didn't put you in Slytherin? Mother would be so disappointed. Of course she wouldn't show it, but she revered Salazar as did you. The hat barely touched your head when it shrieked out your desire. Avoiding the blows had given you some valuable training in cunningness it seemed.

Being in Slytherin was everything you expected...and different. It was strange. Everyone loved you, unless they were jealous of your popularity with the witches. You didn't understand, witches weren't on your mind until at least third year. However, while they loved you, they were filled with so much hate. You learned to act like you hated the other houses, whilst you actually thought what Michael Corner said was interesting and Parvarti Patil was exquisite. Ginny Weasley, well, she was gorgeous but that was never going to work; even if she wasn't a Gryffindor from a Blood Traitor family, she still only had eyes for Potter.

That was another thing that bothered you about Slytherin. The incessant hatred of 'Blood Traitors' and Muggles. It was now so ingrained in your head that you had to fit in with the boys, derision was natural, second-nature. You sometimes hated yourself when a derogatory response was taken up by the younger years. Muggles weren't bad. Oh, how you'd muttered angrily to Salazar about that, again (obviously) with no reply. There wasn't a portrait you could comfortably go and speak to, and you would have been a bit shy actually talking to the man who was so eminent for so many years.

Your Mother's kindest husband had been a Muggle. He'd treated you much better than any of the others, even when he knew you were magical. Your Mother had sourced a rich and available man who had no family ties, just like all the other times. She'd been ready to live with this man, and marry him until she was ready to dispose of him. It was only when she fell in love that she told him about her magic. She'd managed to live like a Muggle (something which she despised) for the thought of the money; she wanted to provide for Blaise in the future, so her name lived on.

You remember when she told him – the only time you'd seen your Mother scared. Lying on the couch, you shift your weight as your remember. There had been the whole issue of proving it and Robert had looked incredulously on. His stunned silence forced your Mother to leave the room. It was then you spoke up.

"Are you angry, Robert?" Your voice must have given away how scared you were that your respite from beatings was to be snatched away.

Robert chuckled and beckoned you forward with a finger, "I always knew something about your Mother was magical, Blaise," he pulled you onto his lap. "It's all going to be okay."

And it was okay until the morning you woke up to find your Mother crying. She never cried. Robert hadn't woken up that morning and it wasn't her doing. The Black Widow had been ready to settle down. A Slytherin finding love with a Muggle was obviously cursed and not meant to be. You'd been so scared for her in that time, scared of her. She was more ruthless than ever now.

You'd never been able to hate Muggles since then. With every derisive comment, his face would appear, burnt onto your retinas as the only man other than Salazar that you had completely trusted.

The Common Room had grown quieter and your eyes flicker open. It was nearly empty, only Draco and Pansy sat in the corner. A small smirk twitched your lip and you abruptly pulled yourself up. Time for bed, you thought, time to stop dwelling on things you can't change. 'Melancholy, self-examining sod you are Blaise Zabini'.

You pull the covers over your body and thank Salazar, because you've not had too bad a life, not really. Not even with the beatings, you've opened your mind and had faith in people. Not bad for a Slytherin. Another smirk stretches out, like a cat unfurling from a nap, now what was that about not being House prejudiced? You should really stop with the smirking though, it's getting to be a habit.

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