Disclaimer: My second Boy!Blaise Zabini fic. More thestral bashing. Oh, my Blaise has such angst. Anyway… third person! Woo! And more angst! And more on David (Blaise's brother).

Oh, I love it so.

Broadwaypoetess

PG-13, again, I guess. Some messed up humor, rough language (yay), sad imagery.

Sixth year. (Recommended: read "Hate" first.)

Why, David, why?

Blaise Zabini stretched, his back slowly arching, his arms outstretched, head thrown back, and mouth wide open in a yawn, ivory teeth flashing. It was around midnight and he had finished all of his homework: his Potions essay on the twenty essential uses of Lithuanian dragon saliva combined with Russian vampire fingernails, his star chart for Astronomy, his review sheet for the Transfiguration test, and the his translation of Vladsidius Dracula's speech to the nomadic dragon tamers for Ancient Runes. He yawned again, in a small satisfaction for getting all of his work done and possibly taking a shower and a break from all of his homework for a few nights. A lank lock of hair fell in front of his face. He yawned again. He could probably try to go to the Slytherin bathroom. It was only up the right passageways leading out from the Common Room. The lone Slytherin yawned again. He could always try that tomorrow morning and fight with Draco and a handful of other Slytherin boys that cared about hygiene, but why wait? He would probably wake up late anyway. Blaise yawned let again, his teeth reflecting the light from the fire, deciding on safely putting his homework away in the dorm first.

He descended the stairs, blinking away sleep, plopped his books on his bed, grabbed an old t-shirt and a change of boxers and headed for the showers. Tiny sconces on the walls lit, blue flames making the obsidian walls and steps just barely visible. Blaise opened the door at the top of the stairs, the silver handle as cold as the snow falling outside. He entered one of the male stalls, undressed, and turned the water on so hot that steam began rise, reflecting off the marble tiles. He held out his hand under the metal serpent dispensers, oozing soap, shampoo, and diluted bubotuber pus from their fangs. After scrubbing his body raw and removing all the grime that his curls accumulated since the last time he took a shower, he snatched one of the green towels hanging dry in the changing area of the stall. He changed into his t-shirt and boxers and tossed his dirty clothes into the laundry bin instead of leaving them on the floor like the rest of the boys that were accustomed to House Elves. He trudged back down the stairs to the Common Room, then to the Boys Dormitories, running his long, thin white fingers through his hair, untangling it like he normally did in the mornings. The Slytherin moved his books and work into his bag and wrapped himself into the satin sheets.

And he dreamt.

The sky was a brilliant purple and he was dancing in a field of tall, blue grasses with a pretty, short, and curvy woman with multi-colored hair and a nose ring. Butterflies with black wings and white bodies fluttered about, occasionally spewing brilliant green fire at Draco and Pansy, who were squeaking in fright. Then it happened, ruining Blaise's blissful moments, it flew, eating the butterflies and the exotic woman, its vampyric teeth dripping blood, its ebony wings beating loudly, endlessly beating, the drums of the wings and Blaise's heart, and amidst the pounding was a cry:

"Blaise! Blaise! Don't look, don't look at me… Blaise! Blaise! Get Mum and Dad, no! Wait… Leave! Blaise, I'm dying don't look, dammit!"

And the cry softened into a whisper…

"Oh fuck, fuck, Blaise… I'm leaving now… Blaise, Blaise, please… give me a hug… Oh Blaise, Blaise, I'm so sorry. I don't want to leave you right now…"

The whisper became a body. A shaking, weeping, damp body holding onto a ten-year-old boy. The voice of a man weakening to the tone of a toddler.

"Blaise… oh God, is Mummy there? Oh God, oh God…"

And the soft quiet answer as hands rested on the damp babe and the ten-year-old man.

"Mummy's here, boys. So is Daddy."

A gruffer voice, breaking with tears, as this new voice touched them both, hands by the mother.

"Daddy's here, David."

The weeping, moaning body stopped for a moment.

"It's not bad… I love you… Mummy…Daddy… Blaise… It's not so bad… I can see stuff… it's not so bad… I'm… tired…"

He stopped all movement. He slept. And the ten-year-old started to shake.

Draco Malfoy woke around 5:30 in the morning, and he was not happy. He arrived at the Common Room around 10:30, mere hours before because he was merely pointing out how the Gryffindors girls combined will never be as attractive as Pansy and he simply commented on the bloodlines of many of the Gryffindor harlots were not as clean or respectable as any of the Slytherin girls (who hadn't heard about Lavender Brown and the Durmstrang boys?!), and as a result of his views, Saint Potter made a move to attack him, but Draco was on the offense first. Apparently, the Head of the Gryffindor Harlots and Mudbloods spotted this and gave him a long detention cleaning the animals that were going to be used in the weeks Transfiguration classes. Bitch.

So, when Draco's dreams of he and Pansy dancing about wearing masks and having a small army of fire-breathing Muggle-torturing purple stoats wreaking havoc in Buenos Aires, were interrupted by Blaise falling off his bed and becoming tangled in the sheets and curtains, and whacking into Draco's bedside table, Draco was REALLY angry. He swore at Blaise, took a shower, swore at the other slumbering Slytherins for not being awake for attacking Blaise (who probably would have slept through vibrant Muggle beatings even if the Muggles were shrieking in their ears), and swore at Blaise again for waking him. He went to the girls dormitories, thanked Salazar Slytherin for disregarding the rules that forbid the boys to enter the girls dormitories, swore at the idiot second year, Jessica Cassius, for not being Pansy, swore at the second year girls' dorm for not being the sixth, swore at the sleeping Pansy for not waking up, and returned to his dorm, only to find that it was 6:00 and still too early for breakfast and too late to sleep. Draco anger began to swell and his porcelain skin turned a violent shade of purple and kicked what he though was Blaise's head, when in all cruel actuality it was the bedpost.

When Blaise finally awoke, he studied his alarm clock, examining the numbers and why his alarm didn't sound. It took a while for him to process that there were only 30 minutes left of Breakfast. Blaise untangled himself from the mass of material, changed, found a comb under his bed and quickly untangled some locks with the comb and his fingers, and pulled his hair back into a black ribbon, hiding what he decided not to comb for a narcissist fear of frizz.

And his day went on. Quietly handing in his homework early at the end of every class, quietly taking his notes, silently working in a vain attempt to not bring attention to himself. The Slytherin who enjoyed Muggle Studies.

But as the gears in his head were storing and sealing information, Blaise's mind was reeling with the sounds and touches of David's death. A dying man holding on to his little brother in a tight hug, his nails digging into a child's back with the hope of clinging onto the boy would bring him back to life and away from death. And the touch of their parents holding onto them.

Blaise was trying his damnedest to put the thoughts away, and he almost succeeded at dinner. He was the last to arrive and to leave dinner, because he was discussing his History of Magic grade with Professor Binns, trying to get the ghost to realize how important it was for Blaise to raise his grade from an 88%, a high "E", to a 90%, a low "O" which was much more satisfactory in his parents' eyes.

After eating some duck and reviewing his History notes, his book slipped, and as he stooped to pick it up, he glanced out one of the windows and saw it. A thestral. In a flash, the nightmare came. The fear, his crying big brother, his rock and source of strength, David, was gone. It just flew past the window, the damned creature, the Reaper's stallion. The sky was black and but the moonlight allowed him to see it, the hideous organism.

He shook as he placed his books back into his bag, and he left the Great Hall, he legs seeming heavy, his eyes no longer seeing. His body walked on and on throughout the castle, his feet carrying him up and down moving staircases. Then he stopped moving. His body was on the Astronomy Tower. Cold air gently kissed a few loose wisps of his ebony curls and a few still softly falling snowflakes caressed his cheeks. He couldn't feel nature's love, only his own agony over the loss of his David.

His lips parted and a broken sound escaped.

"Why?"

His legs shook and they turned into sand; he crumbled to the ground, weeping.

"Why, David, why?"

His body shook, and he writhed in the snow, his body damp with cold snow and hot tears.

"Why?"

He repeated his lament for what seemed like an eternity. Black boots crunched the snowed, black robes lightly swaying a little in the breeze, and vapors from a Irish coffee were slowly dying in the cold. Professor Snape was standing behind Blaise, watching his anguish. He thought briefly on how to make his presence known. He took a long, loud sip of coffee. Blaise started, flustered.

"Who's there?! I- I- I was only… Professor? I was only… just…"

Blaise stammered, trying to invent a reason for being outside at night on the Tower.

"Sir, it was… extra credit. Professor Sinistra…"

Snape raised his hand to quiet him, his eyes turning to the full moon. Two thestrals flew in gentle circles around each other in the moonlight.

"Do you see them, Mr. Zabini?"

Blaise stood up, knees shaking, he held onto part of the rampart to steady himself.

"Of course I do, sir. You remember David. You taught him. He was almost Head Boy."

Severus Snape let a smile escape his lips. David Zabini was one of his favorites. An excellent Potion brewer and even tutored those struggling with Potions in his House. He remembered David writing small notes after the conclusions on his essays questioning the uses of grounded fairy wings and if Potion brewers have studied their effects, both as a drug and a medicine and its minor healing properties. And the other notes asking whether or not he listened to Blue Oyster Cult once he left Hogwarts. He continued to smile, remembering how he would write in his fine handwriting that his mother and father send their regards and friendship.

"Naturally, Mr. Zabini, I remember your brother."

"Then, sir, why did you ask me if I see them?" Blaise asked, spitting out the last word.

Severus Snape stopped smiling. He remembered the ache in his chest when he learned that a former student died. One of his favorites. He remembered sitting at home and receiving the owl. He contacted his wife immediately, a paternal compulsion to see if his own family, his son and daughter, his sisters, his sister-in-law, and nieces and nephews were all right. When she reassured him in from her house, hundreds of miles away that the Snape household was perfectly intact, he told her. He told her that the Zabinis, the couple that protected them from possible Auror attacks, had lost a son, it felt as though Severus lost his own child. He remembered his wife's stunned silence and her whispered, "I'll tell your sisters," as he slowly pulled his head from the fires.

It was Severus' turn to be inarticulate. He remembered when he first saw thestrals, when he and his older sister watched their mother die at St. Mungo's. He remembered his friends, lost to Auror violence, extremist Dumbledore supporters, and one close friend to overdose after the funeral of Lillian Evans. He remembered his younger brother, covered in blood, his only brother, crawling beside him in the streets, struggling to reach their home, before he gave up and collapsed soon dying.

Yes, Severus Snape knew what it was like all those hard years of having to deal with thestral sightings, and the students entering Hogwarts who could see the winged horses. He remembered how long it took him to accept the deaths and how long it took him to not have his eyes water in despair or hate when he saw the black horses.

"Do you see them now? What they are doing, Mr. Zabini?"

Blaise's bloodshot eyes glared into Professor Snape's.

"They're tormenting me. They're eating me inside."

Severus remembered these feelings all too well, but he remained looking at the two thestrals dancing in the air, disregarding what Blaise had said.

"There's a beauty in it."

"No, not if you remember why you can see them, sir."

Severus let out a small sigh.

"Look," he pointed at them, Blaise turned a small bit, but still endeavoring to fight the curiosity, "The thestrals are mating. It shows…"

"That sex exists in the afterlife?" Blaise inquired, bitterness in his voice.

"That life continues after death."

Blaise turned and saw the thestrals dancing in the air.

"I know that," he muttered, his throat dry.

Severus stared into Blaise's eyes. Black boring into blue.

"Then try to start experiencing it."

Blaise left go of the rampart. He stared back into Professor Snape's eyes. There was understanding and compassion there, so unlike the Potions Master that seemed so cold and soulless in the classroom. There was something there that so reminded him of his father. A disciplinarian, yet at times compassionate. And through this comparison, the loss of David was slowly beginning to heal. The thestrals didn't create all the fear and hate that they used to bring. He looked at his Head of House, and brought himself to say it, after concealing it from the castle for so long.

"My brother David is dead."

Severus Snape nodded.

Blaise's voice cracked.

"Can you walk me back to the Slytherin corridor?"

Severus smiled.

"Of course, Blaise."

Fin

I want to clarify a few things about my view on Snape. I believe that he and his wife joined the Death Eaters a few years after leaving Hogwarts. I pictured the Wizarding World in the late seventies was a time of chaos and confusion. They joined because Voldemort made promises like protection for families, money, and giving those from broken homes (like Severus' family) a place to belong. But of course, when Voldemort's true motives were revealed, Snape's wife grew frightened, as did his sisters and brother that he helped take care of when they were still living with their father. I concocted this awesome idea of Death Eater safe houses where the innocent families would hide. Also, Aurors were more vicious and over zealous in Dark Wizard catching. So, as a result, many Death Eater families left the country and refuse to go back in fear that their children would be hunted by Aurors.

Er, but something in there sounds MS. Probably because something akin to that has been done in other fics with a Mary Sue.

But, if reviewers want it, I'll try to write something describing it. (But, then again, JK Rowling hasn't finished the books or Snape.)

So…if enough people like this and want me to write a Snape pre-teaching fic I will.

Other Blaise fanfic ideas:
Blaise talks with some of David's friends.
BlaiseLuna
BlaiseHermione
BlaiseRandom Slytherin OC girl (that hopefully won't be considered MS)

Special thanks to EagleDayDream who beta-ed this. (And who also read my first Blaise fic.) Yes, my run-on sentences are awesome…and "Dumbledore terrorists." Hey, who says Aurors can't become corrupt?

And one final note to Eagle… "Well, think of all the Snape-daughter Mary Sues. 'Hi, ya'll, I'm Mary sue, I'm 19 and from America and I'm an Auror, the youngest one and I'm dating Fred and George.' Now, my Snape kids will be totally Muggle raised, not go to Wizarding School and randomly stop by in my fics and say 'Yo, Dad! What's up? Hey… food!' Oh yeah!"