Legal disclaimer: The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.
Warning: Characters discuss the aftereffects of the Battle of Hogwarts.
Thank you for the proofing/beta/feedback/general encouragement: Aya and Crissie!
Stacked with: MC4; Spring Bingo; Snicket Fence
Individual Challenge(s): Slytherin MC; Gryffindor MC; In a Flash; Ethnic & Present; Fall Leaves
Bonus challenge(s): Chorus (Ladylike; Not a Lamp)
Tertiary bonus challenge(s): NA
Word Count: 851
Spring Bingo entry information
Space Address: 4B
Prompt: Renewal
Glass Houses
He kicked off his shoes and swung his legs onto the bed, flopping onto his back. He felt as if that simple Sorting Ceremony had tapped and drained him like a maple tree. Not a single first-year had come to Slytherin. Not one. Even the youngest Greengrass daughter had broken five generations of family tradition and gone to Hufflepuff, refusing to meet the eye of anybody sporting a green tie. Blaise had tried catching Slughorn's eye for the whole feast, and the old man hadn't eaten a bite.
He rolled onto his side, but the bed where Draco should have been laying with a copy of The Prophet was so empty that he reverted to his back. It reminded him of how alone he was, how strange he was. The only Slytherin to have come back to redo seventh year, because his mother had insisted that a pretty face needed a full mind.
He stared at the ceiling and shut his eyes before the empty dorm could start closing in on him… How could a place be both too big and too small all at once?
Don't complain, he told himself. This isn't sad. Your people aren't here, but they're mostly alive. That's not true throughout this castle.
It didn't help him sleep.
He took to walking around the castle. Filch and the professors had become extra vigilant and worried for their pupils, which lead to more patrols. This complicated his nighttime excursions, but it was as if he was addicted to them. He liked the risk, the air against his cheeks, the quiet, the breeze through his hair, and the way that the moonlight bounced off the grounds. It had been a New Moon on the night of the battle; the sky had been completely different, and so Blaise could nearly pretend that the castle was completely unchanged.
Of course, he shouldn't be so romantic. He did nearly get caught a few times. That was how he'd come to hide in the same broom closet as Hermione Granger.
"Don't," he hissed when she reached for her wand.
She seemed to recognize him, then. It was silly, they'd been in classes together for years, but Granger herself had tuned out this term.
They held their respective peaces while patrol passed them.
"What are you doing, running around the castle at night?" Granger asked.
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Well, neither could I."
Granger sneered. She rolled up her sleeve and exposed a scarred upper-arm and the word MUDBLOOD.
"What's your excuse?"
"It's empty," Blaise said. "Back there."
Granger's shoulders slumped.
As it turned out, Granger knew how to get into the kitchens to get them tea after hours. Blaise, meanwhile, had Professor Sinistra's spare key to the astronomy tower. They had a rather good routine set up, so comfortable that they didn't bother changing out of their pajamas. For Blaise, the astronomy tower was far less claustrophobic than the dormitories. Usually they did homework, but something about the night sky did wonders to untie his tongue and they slipped into conversation. Real conversations, like real people.
"I know I shouldn't complain about the aftermath of all of this," Blaise said. "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones and so on."
Granger bit her lip.
"I feel like Slytherin House is broken," Blaise said. "I know I won't get any sympathy from you…"
"Don't say that," Granger said. "Maybe you will."
Blaise swallowed. "Slytherin House… is my home. It's one of the four cornerstones of this school, and it was full of people with big plans and big personalities and big lives ahead of them. All of that is irreplaceable, or it should be, but Slytherin's been gutted. So many mistakes were made, bad choices too, but… it wasn't all bad. I don't know how we'll ever recover."
Her hand rubbed at her arm, where Blaise knew the scar lay under her grey jumper. "You know, I went to St. Mungo's to see if I could get this removed. At first I wanted to be brave about it, but that was too much work around the clock. The Healer who told me it wouldn't be possible also told me that scar tissue was still tissue, and I've been thinking about that a lot."
"I'm sorry that scar is there to stay," Blaise said.
"I'm not," Granger said. "Usually. When I can remember that healing doesn't mean getting rid of the broken parts. I think the same must be true for Slytherin. It's not a bad house. Ambition should be rewarded, ingenuity too. I know those are why I'm still alive. That doesn't change the fact that you're all walking on broken glass for now, but you'll rebuild."
"I'll try not to cut my feet in the meantime," Blaise smiled.
The next morning, Granger was sitting next to Ginny Weasley at breakfast. Blaise took his cup of tea and got up, crossing the Dining Hall to the Gryffindor table.
"Excuse me?" he said. The Gryffindors turned around to scrutinize him. "May I join you?"
Looks were exchanged.
"About time, Zabini," Granger smiled, shuffling over.