This will not have a regular update schedule and will probably be all over the place, since I'm writing it slowly currently. Chapters will sit around the 5000 word mark and will have different sections and so forth. I hope you enjoy.
Elbow resting on the table, face resting placidly in his palm, and fingers framing his face, Blaise Zabini looks the perfect picture of Pureblood poise, just casual enough that it doesn't look like he's trying. It cannot be denied that he has the appearance of a noble, picturesque down to the arrogant uptilt of his head and half-closed eyes. Arrogant and composed are two words that suit the Slytherin extremely well according to the majority of the population of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
(when three-fourths of a school see you as evil, why not pander to their expectations?)
A change appears to overcome the Great Hall as everyone rises, faces turning to those around them, mouths opening as numerous students attempts to make themselves heard over the din. Around Blaise, Slytherin rises from their seats, and he with them. Already the new fifth-year Prefects are gathering their respective first-years, the majority of which seem close to tears. Even knowing that Slytherin had been what he wanted, Blaise can recall being the same during his sorting. Three-quarters of the schooling booing you tends to do that. He's gotten used to that. Like he and all the other Slytherins, the first-years will soon learn.
"Follow us, please," Pansy Parkinson calls, voice quietening the Slytherins as the older ones shepherd the first-years into a small group. The other houses are almost out of the Great Hall; the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors leading their proud way through the main doors, the Hufflepuffs unordered chaos on the opposite side of the room.
Still, little attention is paid to them, and Blaise turns his focus onto his house. Draco Malfoy, pale and thin, takes the first few steps out of the Great Hall, the first-years two neat lines trailing behind him. Other Slytherins slip in front and behind the group. The seventh-years, the eldest and the strongest of the Slytherins, pave the way, even though – technically – it is Draco and Pansy who lead the first-years. Meanwhile, the second to fourth-years mill around the group of first years, leaving the rest of the house to claim a position at the back of the pack. The most dangerous position. Blaise, close to the very back but not too close, can already feel panic crawling up his neck and arms; his fingers itch for his wand.
Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass walk on either side of him, offering smiles that would look happy to anyone but those who know them. Not a single member of their trio feels happy, who would? The Slytherins move together in a system that protects their weaker members, in the middle, from others. There's usually no trouble from other houses, hasn't been in years.
(one year, though. one year changed it for them all. the marches started after that year.)
In this moment, there is no room for conversation. Dark skin and silence, Blaise keeps his head arrogantly tilted upwards. A sidestep from him, Tracey keeps her own head straight, eyes scanning the walls, watching for nothing, watching for everything. Two steps on her right walks Daphne, a wry twist to her smile; stunning beauty, a snake hidden by shimmering scales waiting for prey to come to her.
In this moment, all they have is the quiet, the echo of footsteps as the Slytherin House marches onward, keeping their silent vigil for enemies. The soft shuffling and brushing of robes are sounds easy to ignore, the portraits – not so much.
Blaise remembers little of his march in his first year at Hogwarts. He can easily recall the disgust other students held for him, his own clumsy fingers as he tried to maintain his grace in front of everyone. It's easy to feel the burning hate he felt back then, the wrath and anger that curls around his bones even now. Such emotions make it easy for Blaise to imagine turning his back on the society that does this to children, and – even now, years later – such fantasies make Blaise smile, amused. After all, society very much got what it deserved.
Not the Slytherins, though. No, never them.
They're close to the dungeons now; the number of portraits is decreasing. Blaise is thankful for it. Although portraits often turn their faces away, never bothering to look, too busy gossiping with their neighbours, it still makes him wish to bring out his wand and hex the portraits.
(hogwarts is meant to be the safest place on earth. it is not, for the danger inside is just as deadly as the danger outside. one just impacts what people care about and the other doesn't.)
"Curse them!" A voice shouts, angry and vengeful. Blaise walks past Elizabeth Burke's portrait without glancing at it. "Destroy them all, my Slytherins! Hex every one of them. Kill them for what they've done to me, what they've done to us all."
Her voice is quick to fade into the distance, the sound containment spell holding after years and years. It's always been there, as far as Blaise knows. Then again, Burke's portrait has always shouted and cursed too. He wonders, briefly, if she had always been like that or if her anger has twisted her into something else, someone else.
(they all end up like this; shouting themselves hoarse and carrying hate with them like it is all they know.)
Finally, the Slytherins come to a stop, grouping around a seemingly blank part of the wall. Hidden beyond the wall, behind the wall, Blaise knows, lies the Slytherin Dungeons in all their beauty. "Behind these stone bricks," Draco says coolly, drawing the words out and lingering on his vowels, "are the Slytherin Dungeons, which will be your home for the next seven years. Although, the wall here seems unmarred, it is not – to a Slytherin's well-trained eye."
"Look along the bottom of the wall here," Pansy directs, wand tip glowing as she rests it above the snake carved into the bottom of the wall. "This snake trails along the bottom of the doorway. It may appear faint, but it is there nonetheless. They say Slytherin himself charmed the snake to not allow enemies into the rooms. We've never had enemies enter, so I suppose such claims must be true."
The first-years shift their weight, observing around them, looking at the looming older Slytherins behind and around them, glancing at Pansy and Draco who wait in dark robes, polished badges resting on their chests.
Having decided that the pause has stretched for long enough, Draco speaks once again. "The snake shows where the door is, but entering it is up to you. There is a password that changes on a fortnightly basis, so one must keep an eye on the central bulletin board in the common room." A huffed sigh, barely audible, and Blaise shifts his weight to his heels, wondering when the new Prefects are going to let everyone enter. The whole of Slytherin waits in the dark hallway, having let the fifth-year Prefects explain everything, letting them prove that they deserve to be Prefects, letting the first-years take note of the power dynamics already at play.
"The password, currently," Pansy announces, a careful flick of her hand and the tip of her wand goes dark, "is aconite!"
Upon the password being spoken, the snake wriggles and disappears into the brickwork. In front of everyone's eyes, the brickwork peals back, the bricks turning sideways and – quickly – a hole in the wall forms and grows wider.
"It's just like Diagon Alley!" One first year declares excitedly, voice loud in comparison to the grinding of stones.
Leaning forward, Pansy smiles. "Where do you think they stole the idea from?" She stands upright, and steps into the common room, Draco at her side. The first-years hurriedly follow, looking about and tripping over themselves and each other. Tracey stifles laughter, and Blaise rolls his eyes. As first-years, neither of them had been any better.
Entering the Slytherin Dungeons feels like returning home to somewhere safe. Around him, Blaise can see the other Slytherins relaxing, shoulders lowering, muscles losing their tense posture, wands hidden once more.
(it is easy to hate what they have been reduced to. they are feared and so they are attacked, they are fearful because they know what they are seen as.)
Professor Snape, clad in black robes, peers down at them from his position in the middle of the room. As always, the man looms over everyone, dark eyes narrowed at the first-years, who quickly silence themselves beneath his steady gaze. Once again, Blaise finds himself disgusted by the man's greasy hair as is the norm, but he notices the dark circles beneath Professor Snape's eyes and finds himself ignoring his disgust.
They are all judged, on appearance, on intelligence. Their words are judged and so is their body language. Professor Snape has only strived to make himself remarkable in terms of intelligence, and disgraces the Slytherins by doing so. Nonetheless, it must take a certain bit of courage to ignore the emphasis people place on their appearance. He thinks that the Professor would hate being linked to courage. It makes him smile.
(you give what you get, snape should know that. he doesn't.)
"Greetings," Professor Snape drawls, words soft, causing everyone to lean forward to hear him. It's an effective method of ensuring he has everyone's attention, along with his intimidation factor. Blaise would applause Professor Snape if he didn't dislike the wizard so much. "I am pleased to see everyone has made it here today, and in one piece." He wonders if Professor Snape had been in Slytherin that one year before the marches began.
"For those of you who are new, I am Professor Snape, Head of the Slytherin House. I expect all of you to do you very best, earning points, not losing them. You reflect all of Slytherin and I expect all Slytherins, even you older ones, to be doing your very best this year, like every other year. Professor Umbridge, although new, is to be respected like how each of you respect your own peers. Any other announcements will be up on the bulletin board. The same rules apply from last year, if you need a meeting with me, you must set up a meeting. I do not have time for idle chats, and neither should most of you. Enjoy your evening."
"That was… something," Tracey says softly. "He's setting us all on Professor Umbridge, on influencing the Ministry."
Humming in agreement, Blaise looks around. "It could be helpful for those who want an in into the Ministry of Magic," he points out, also keeping a low tone.
"Are we not going to mention the fact he just left us to deal with all the first-years?" Daphne asks, annoyance clear in her clipped words. "I don't want to deal with that!"
Shaking his head, Blaise tilts his head in the direction of the first-years, who are now being moved by the older Prefects to their new dormitories. With a hand covering her mouth, Tracey laughs. Although the three of them remain content in the common room, some Slytherins are retiring to their own dormitories, whilst others find friends and group together to talk.
"I don't know how the other houses survive," Tracey says, a moment after her laughter drains away. "They don't have a common room like ours."
"Agreed," Blaise replies as a yawn cuts him short. "That said, I suppose it looks fairly uninviting at first, especially at this time of night."
The trio pause, studying the common room, trying to perceive it from another perspective. Due to the sun having set some time ago, there's no light entering the lake windows. The dark and shadowy appearance of the lake makes Blaise uncertain, even though he knows that there isn't anything in the lake that would harm him from while he remains inside.
(ironic, perhaps, that he fears what could hide in the shadows, in the darkness, in what he – as a slytherin – is meant to be hiding in.)
Thankfully, the darkness of the lake is contrasted by the bright glass balls – containing lumos charms – steadily floating by the ceiling of the room. Blinking quickly to get rid of the spots decorating his vision, Blaise continues to study the room. How could someone not like it? The tapestries and portraits of famous Slytherins hang off most of the walls throughout the Slytherin Dungeons, not just the common room. Some talk and move, whilst others don't. They're welcoming, unlike the portraits outside the Slytherin Dungeons, unlike any of the other portraits in Hogwarts.
"Still don't see it," Tracey murmurs. "Does it look pretentious and rich? Is that the problem here?" They all know it isn't the issue, but they continue to look around as if that is the answer they're looking for.
Small mahogany tables with dark green furnishings blend in with the green sofas and dark wooden cupboards, which apparently can't be opened by magic or by hand. Sprinkled about the room are small, oak tables with chessboards, high-backed armchairs at either side. Naturally, they are also green. Relatively close by, the fireplace contains its never dying, roaring fire. The two lounges look comfortable, and Blaise knows they are very comfortable, and so are the pillows on the ground in front of the fire.
"It's a bit dark, I suppose," Daphne says slowly, "but it's rather warm and safe, comforting. Don't you agree?"
"For sure," Blaise replies. With a shake of his head, he breaks them away from the topic, knowing that going further will only take them closer to the truth they are all loathe to admit. "Do tell me, though, what's been going on in the wizarding world? I was away for the latter half of the holidays, and the Daily Prophet continues to be outrageously stupid and refuses to deliver itself overseas. We all know how closed off the United Kingdom is."
Daphne grins, wicked sharp, and leans partway across the table separating them. "There's so much," she says, eager to share her knowledge.
"You definitely missed some of the major events of this year," Tracey says, backing Daphne up. "The most major event of the year is, of course, Harry Potter's trial."
"He went on trial?" Blaise responds, shocked. He leans closer, arms uncrossing themselves. "Do tell!"
(harry potter, finally being held accountable for actions he has taken endangering lives over the course of a few years? such a thing is unbelievable. such an assumption is also wrong.)
"According to the Boy Who Lived himself, he called upon a patronus in front of a muggle to ward off Dementors who had approached him and were trying to attack. Our benevolent Headmaster took it upon himself to defend poor little Gryffindor, despite this being – apparently – his third offence of underage magic whilst in front of muggles!" Daphne eagerly reveals, eyes wide and bright. Hands laying flat on the table, Daphne continues, "Our esteemed Minister couldn't hide any of the news from the press, and managed make fifth-page news for his – and I quote here – 'disgusting behaviour that came from being ruled by his own subjective feelings'. Rumours have it that there are others vying for the position of Minister and it's likely one of them will win before three years have passed."
"Was it really such terrible behaviour?" Blaise asks, shifting back and crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I understand full well it's fifth-page news because Potter took up the earlier pages, but if I am recalling events correctly, it's not as if the courtroom is known for their objective opinions, is it?"
Sighing, and flicking her hair over her shoulder, Tracey complains, "You're missing the point, Blaise." The boy in question rolls his eyes, dismissing Tracey drawing out the vowels in his name and mispronouncing it terribly. "Fudge's bias ruling and authority has, not only been commented on, but has actually undermined him. Potter's political clout, his reputation only, now can undermine Fudge's position even if Potter didn't actually want to."
"Your society is awfully backwards," Blaise replies. "Honestly, I thought fair trials were a common thing in our world. Considering we're not like muggles with their oppressive ways and little thought of justice."
Flapping her hand, Daphne dismisses Blaise's statement. "This is your society too," is all she says to address the issue. "Now, due to the trial's publicity, it becomes common knowledge that the Ministry attempted to hide the news of the Dementors not being under Ministry control. Well, everyone simply has assumed that it was a rogue Dementor, which is the story that the Ministry are claiming to be true."
"Nonetheless," Tracey continues for Daphne, "this has raised fears regarding whether or not Dementors are viable guards for Azkaban. Minister Eldritch Diggory and his old campaign has been brought back."
"Eldritch Diggory?" Blaise echoes with a frown. "Minister back in the 1700s, wasn't he? He managed to get himself re-elected for Minister and became well-known for…"
"For campaigning to have the Dementors removed from Azkaban due to the fact they were created by Dark Magic and that Lethifolds were manipulated and experimented on to create the Dementors by Ekrizdis," Daphne hurriedly explains. "You know that, Blaise."'
"Yes, and I'm tired," Blaise says, barely stopping himself from snapping at his friends. "You know that I don't do well on little sleep."
"You used to," Tracey comments, eyes flicking to Daphne and then back to Blaise. "But years ago, we all managed to stay up late and not find ourselves exhausted. Anyway, the campaign was led by old Minister Eldritch Diggory, but was given strength by the committee formed for it. The committee went around attempting to propose alternative solutions in regards to the Dementors, including removing the Dementors from Azkaban. However, they faced tremendous opposition as people feared that the creatures would invade the mainland. Did I get that right?"
"Italy doesn't have to deal with this," Blaise says, a teasing smile on his face. "You people and your problems."
"Like Italy doesn't have its own issues," Daphne replies, tone warring between laughter and anger. "Back to today, rather than two centuries ago. Dumbledore's previous advocation that the Dementors were untrustworthy meant that many wizards, who'd been worried about the Dementors previously, supported the committee along with the Headmaster's own supporters – you know the ones. An Act was put forward in Wizengamot to remove the creatures from Azkaban and find a way to destroy them. Even though the Act didn't garner enough support to pass and was ignored, the committee continued to have articles in newspapers for the following week!"
"The Wizengamot seems to be rather active these past holidays," Blaise comments. "Let me guess – there's more going on."
"The politics are definitely fighting for power," Tracey confirms with a nod. "Rita Skeeter has been outright criticising Potter and the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts. As such, those preferring them have become dissatisfied with the Daily Prophet, now being overcritical of it. Others, on the other hand, are agreeing with the propaganda in the Daily Prophet – oh, don't roll your eyes at me Daphne, you know it's propaganda too! – disbelieve Potter and old Dumbledore, and have come to trust the Ministry intimately."
"The Daily Prophet is only utter rubbish and propaganda for those without brains," Daphne retorts, nose in the air. "We all know this, just because we are of superior… superior…" She casts a wild look about. "Damn Merlin's beard, I've forgotten the word!"
"Intelligence, perhaps?" Tracey offers, smiling.
Daphne nods. "Yes. That. As I was saying, just because we are of superior intelligence, we know the truth. Oh, I really did lose it, didn't I?" Blaise, too busy smothering laughter, waves his hand and Tracey smirks. "Well, moving on then. As we mentioned earlier, our current Minister has lost a lot of power and authority, especially in the Wizengamot, often his every action is being criticised. I bet there'll be a new Minister sooner than everyone else expects."
"Even with Skeeter's criticism of Potter and Dumbledore, there's been a major fall of belief in the Minister's government. By attempting to persecute the Boy Who Lived Twice – a major public figure and loved by everyone – there's been a huge surge of distrust in the Minister. Such a bad mistake has even Slytherins recoiling away. No one wants to be caught up with the Minister when he finally falls from grace," Tracey says.
"You won't believe what group also resurfaced!" Daphne adds, leaning forward, a tap on the table stopping Tracey from spoiling it all.
Leaning closer in response, Blaise uncrosses his arms and lays hands flat on the table. "Let me guess – with Potter claiming the Dark Lord is back, the Order of the Phoenix has reopened their wings?"
Daphne flops back, sighing. "You knew that."
"Daph," Blaise replies, "Potter is claiming the Dark Lord's back and Dumbledore is backing him up; it'd be a surprise if an old war group didn't arise."
Pursing her lips, Daphne clicks her tongue. "I suppose. It does mean all the allegiances are being reconsolidated and so forth. I've gone to so many parties, you would not believe. Malfoy Senior has made more appearances at parties and functions over these holidays as well."
"Some worry in the Pureblood society?" Tracey asks, cracking a grin. "We know you're with us, Daph. Don't worry your pretty little head over it." Daphne rolls her eyes, but the smile she sends Tracey's way is content.
Deciding to turn the news away from gossip, Blaise brings the others' attention to the newest addition to Hogwarts. "What do you think of Professor Umbridge? I'm assuming she's aiming for more power due to the Ministry's loss of power, thinking she can pander to the students' wishes and have more Purebloods on her side."
Chuckling, Tracey says, "I think it'll work out more for us than it will for her. I haven't actually heard of her, though. Daph?"
"She attempted to get some anti-werewolf legislation through the Wizengamot, but it quickly failed," Daphne replies slowly, eyes staring dully at the ceiling as she thinks. "She's somewhat important as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic."
Blaise lets out a low whistle. "She's essentially second-in-command of the Ministry then, only really answerable to the Minister. I think I've heard of her briefly. She was described as 'spectacular with her words and her actions; the witch has intelligence and deserves every eye to be on her' in the Daily Prophet."
"She's known for her intelligence and political savviness," Daphne confirms. "The Minister trusts her to carry out his will, and I bet you ten galleons that the Minister thinks he's infiltrating Hogwarts, when really the Headmaster is positioning Umbridge to be out of the way!"
"Bad bet," Tracey says. "I might not know this Umbridge woman, but I'm willing to bet my chocolate frog card collection that she thinks she's in control and she's not. You heard that speech she said earlier, didn't you?"
"Guess we'll find out in our first class with her," Blaise says, masking a yawn with one hand.
"Anything happen overseas Blaise?" Daphne asks. "Surely something interesting must have happened in Italy, or wherever you were this time. It was Italy, wasn't it?"
Blaise inclines his head, "Yes, we went back to Italy again. We didn't do much," he says. Hands clasped in his lap, he rubs the signet ring. He's aware the other two can't see it, and as such don't understand why his lips tilt upwards. The ring declares him friend, family, and ally of the House of Savoy; he had earned it only on his last trip in Italy due to his position as potential heir to the Zabini family. "Not much happened, as I'm still underage there. However, I do have to go back for Samhain."
"You're missing your birthday?" Daphne says, aghast. "When do you come back? Do we get to celebrate with you that week at all?"
"No, unfortunately, and I can't very well not go."
"This is terrible, Blaise, we're going to have to celebrate the following weekend! Only you would have the luck of disappearing from Hogwarts during Samhain, when they have those blasted muggle decorations up. Honestly, they've forgotten where our origins lie!"
"You know what I could really do without this year, Blaise?" Tracey asks, completely ignoring Daphne's outburst. Blaise raises an eyebrow. "A rant on why Samhain and Halloween are two different celebrations, one that is a distinctive magical celebration and the other, which remains a perverted and warped celebration for muggles of what once was. I feel like we don't need such a thing to occur on a yearly basis for five years. Don't you?"
Laughing, Blaise says, "I, for one, was all up for finding a way to silence such a rant, but you said such use of magic was a terrible waste. You sure you're not warming up to the idea?"
"Guys," Daphne says, rolling her eyes and standing up with a huff. "If that's how you're going to be, I will see you tomorrow morn."
Hiding yet another yawn, Blaise stands up, stretching his arms towards the charmed lights. "Perhaps we all best be heading off to bed, I'm sure we're all tired. Besides, it's back to a school timetable. No more sleep-ins, Tracey."
"You do something once, and no one ever lets it go," Tracey bemoans to no one in particular. "But yes, good idea, I'm beat. Night Blaise."
"Night Tracey. Night Daph," Blaise replies, giving the pair a wave as he turns towards his own dorms. After separating from the pair, it's only a few metres he has to traverse before he's entering his own dorm. Unlike some of the other years, there are only two dorms for the Slytherin fifth years – one for females and ones for males. Still, Blaise isn't too surprised that there are only two dorms. After all, the fifth year Slytherin group is rather small – only twelve or so.
The door is dark with a silver five on it, and Blaise takes a second to appreciate the shining silver number – swapped with last year's four. As always, the door opens silently, swinging inward on quiet hinges.
Despite growing up around magic all his life, it never fails to amaze him how the dorm appears so small from the outside. There's some charm on the room that makes it much larger on the inside, although Blaise doesn't know what charm it is. Sans the new number on the door, the room is the same as it always is. Leaf green curtains hang from four-poster beds, each with ebony framework. The left-hand side of each bed has an ebony-wood beside table, with a trunk at the end of each bed. Opposite Blaise, the far wall is all glass giving a murky view into the lake.
"Zabini," Draco greets shortly, a downward twist of his lips is the only sign of his discontentment.
"Good evening, Malfoy," Blaise returns as he sits down on his bed – opposite Draco's own bed and caught between Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, both respectable wizards in their own right, both connected at the hip. "Is there reason to be concerned over something?" Raising an eyebrow, Blaise clearly questions the Pureblood's current predicament.
"Professor Snape hasn't designated anyone with the Quidditch Slytherin Captain," Draco says with a quick glance sideways as he crosses his arms. "Can you believe it? This means there's no Quidditch practice or trials organised just yet. Moreover, we don't even have a team currently!"
"And if there's no Captain, there's no trials to create a team," Theodore Nott adds from the bed beside Draco.
Nodding in understanding, Blaise thinks back to Quidditch over the past few years. Obviously, there'd been no Slytherin Quidditch team last year due to the Triwizard Tournament, and no one had worried about creating one. The previous year – their third year – had Marcus Flint as Quidditch Captain, and had also been the year there'd been no one really wanting to play; aside from Draco. The result had been that Flint had a team that were more or less forced into playing – hence why Gregory and Vincent had joined.
"It's not fair that just because of some stupid Tournament last year that there's no Quidditch this year. My father will–"
An abrupt silence falls as Draco cuts himself off, a familiar saying trailing off. It's a phrase Blaise has heard often at Hogwarts, and it makes him uneasy to hear his peer cut himself off. Malfoy Senior likely can't help Draco in Hogwarts or has his hands full – one or the other.
(slytherins look for opportunities and strike as quick as a snake.)
As a member of the Zabini family, Blaise is well aware of his family's business attempting to expand in the United Kingdom in a bid to expand internationally. If Blaise attempts to rectify the problem with the inter-school Quidditch competitions, Draco will be in debt to him, and thus owe Blaise a favour. Favours are valuable – especially if one holds onto them for long enough.
There's no clear end to the conversation – but Gregory and Vincent return from the bathroom, toothbrushes in hand, and so Blaise collects his own toiletries and heads towards the bathroom. Someone shoulders past him into the shower, and – frowning – Blaise catches a glimpse of blonde hair before one of the three shower doors shut. Unusual, yes, but he wouldn't be surprised if this whole school year goes rather unusually. Besides, showers are an easy place to hide in and ignore all façades and masks.
Brushing his teeth, Blaise considers what he knows. Professor Snape is unlikely to do anything, instead leaving it to the students, which means it's probable that Slytherin will end up with a very similar team to the one from two years ago. A team that would easily lose any of the Quidditch competitions this year. Maybe they would be able to win one game, potentially two, but against the powerhouse Gryffindor Quidditch team? They'll lose.
If they want to have a chance this year, someone will have to step up and organise everything. It would be a lot of work, and possibly ruin the reputation that Blaise has been carefully cultivating for years. Nonetheless, Blaise's position in Slytherin is lower on the hierarchy, given to him only for his Pureblood heritage and well-maintained grades. Whilst it may not be a good position, it's very much what he has been working towards – underestimated, overlooked, and not used for power plays. Despite such a position, the chance of it changing – even ignoring any Quidditch issues – is high, if only because of Blaise's upcoming sixteenth birthday and the position of Lord hovering over his head.
Spitting the toothpaste into the sink, Blaise catches his own gaze in the mirror, dark eyes on a dark face. "Guess I'll be stepping up this year," he says softly, a smirk on his face. The mirror doesn't reply, but his reflection does wink.