"Oh, Blaise, thank you so much for tonight." His date simpered, stars in her eyes.
She was very pretty, in a conventional sort of way. All big lips and shiny hair. Earlier, he had hoped to experience the feel of those lips between his own, but if he had learned anything from tonight, it was that along with big lips came with big chatter.
Ten minutes in, he was ready to call it quits.
They parted ways that night, one ecstatic, the other grim. It took a lot of cajoling to get her off his arm, as she insisted that her chauffer drive him home. Fortunately, she was on a curfew (of which she was an hour late) and was promptly whisked off.
The possibility of a second date still hung in the air. Blaise, gentleman as he was, did not decline nor accept. But perhaps that would later spell his doom.
He made his way along the road, kicking at the rocks along the pavement. It was getting dark, and he had to be getting back to his summer home. But first, he wanted to walk around, get some air. Despite not able to use magical transportation (he would never ride the Night Bus), Blaise had his own means of getting home. His mother had provided him with a driver. He had a machine called a "cell phone" in his pocket, and was assured that the driver was on "speed dial."
The night air was dark and cold. Many stores seemed to have closed down, though restaurants remained open. This was the classy part of the city; it was clean, but still scarce of people at this time of night.
Blaise was fitted in a white turtleneck, dark wash blue jeans, and a winter coat with a fur trimmed hood. Despite being entirely Muggle, he had to admit they were comfortable and did much for his looks. As if agreeing, a crescent moon tilted down at him lovingly, shining its light on his best features.
Blaise quietly reflected on the happenings of the past hours. The Muggle world was ghastly. Their dinners were prepared by other Muggles, ones in white hats and white aprons. The food was slow in preparation, as chefs had the skills, but not the efficiency of house elves. When his date had spilled her drink - no matter how much Blaise's hand itched to pull out his wand and mutter a spell - a waiter was slow to get the mop.
Remembering the restaurant disgustedly, he found it was everything he had imagined it to be. Blaise had imagined primitive tableware and utensils. As a matter of fact, Malfoy had told him that they ate everything with their fingers. But the reality was far worse. Gaudy gold banners and white lace along the napkins, blindingly bright chandeliers and untalented musicians, the Muggles were a desperate race.
Unlike wizarding elitists, the Muggle elitists were uncouth and big mouthed. Purebloods were intimidating, self-aware, and talented. He was sure, if they had ever lost their money, they would be reduced to spluttering messes. Purebloods would keep their dignity right until the very end.
Needless to say, it was a poor showing.
Blaise stopped at the base of a tanned office building. An old sign proclaimed itself to be the home of "Huntington and Smith Law Associates." Like the other stores along the walk, no doubt it was closed and under lock and key.
"Bloody Muggles."
After speaking aloud, he had realized how deserted the area was. Street lights resonated as strongly as ever, yet there was no one around to appreciate their guiding light.
For those few blissful moments, Blaise was the last human on earth.
But all too suddenly, a strange twist occurred.
A girl suddenly leapt from an alley around the corner, then spotting a street lamp, began twirling around it. Skipping and flailing her arms, clapping her hands and stomping her feet, throwing her head back and laughing up a storm, she was drunk with madness.
So joyous was her demeanor that Blaise's apocalyptic allusions transgressed into a comparison of Adam and Eve. She was born dumb and naive, and had yet to pluck that bloody apple from the tree of knowledge. Who would be that snake come to corrupt her?
Dark streets were no place for a young woman to be traipsing about in, his mother had shared. It went without saying that being without company was a far worse position to be in. Years of etiquette instilled, he approached the girl.
She was still dancing under the lamp light. The artificial light gave her skin a sickly glow. Sickliness aside, the luminescence was blinding. Coupled with her sunny disposition, she was a human flashlight against the darkness.
Blaise wanted nothing more than to bludgeon her with a hex. These sorts always put him off; they were far too oblivious to their surroundings.
"Girl." He called.
Silver marbles peered back at him inquisitively. She didn't look too frightened, but looked disappointed, as if expecting a visitor.
As soon as he saw who it was, he wanted to turn tail and run. But she had already seen him. No, he resolved. He would not lose face in front of anyone.
"Blaise Zabini, hello. You can't be looking for the sprites too?" What a way to be greeted. Sprites in the Muggle world? Rubbish.
He shook his head. Looney was just as crazy during break as during school.
"Is that what you're doing? Searching?" Blaise admonished. "Looked like you were having a seizure."
"Oh, that was my ritual dance. The instructions are very specific, especially for this species. American sprites are shy creatures. They are rarely seen, but are privy to pearls."
She pointed to the string of pearls around her neck. "These were specially ground up from the banks of the Nile River, so they should be several times more effective."
He noticed, under the light, that she was also quite bundled up. She had on a shawl and skirt, of which he could see thick stockings peeking out from underneath. "Aren't you cold?"
"I'm fine, really. My family has a long running resistance to the cold. I believe we are distantly related to the now extinct Turnegills of Scotland." Blaise inwardly rolled his eyes. "But the question is, are you cold?"
Now that she mentioned it, he was shivering rather badly. Nothing a quick Incendio wouldn't fix up. Oh, wait. He cursed. The no-magic rule.
"I see you are as incorrigible as ever. How has this summer been treating you?"
She smiled vaguely. "Like a pillow against a cheek. Very comfortably."
Blaise nodded. "You have your wand?" No use staying if she could handle herself.
"Yes."
"Know how to use it?"
"Yes."
He would be surprised if she didn't. She was friends with Harry Potter. In her fourth year, she had held her own against Death Eaters (in the dark, he had heard). Somehow, by the end of the year, Looney Lovegood had become infamous as one of the top ten best duelers at Hogwarts.
Hm. No damsel in distress here. He turned to leave, but stopped again.
Sighing, Blaise faced her once more.
"And you're expecting someone?"
"Yes, actually! My father! How did you know?"
"Oh, because he said he's running late. Wanted me to take you back home. We're taking a Muggle car. That sit fine with you?"
A nod.
"And I've got candy, lots of candy. You'll have some, won't you?"
An eager nod.
He had no idea how long she had been waiting for her father (in this dark, abandoned alley) but she seemed compliant enough to follow a guy she hardly knew. Eager to see the good in people; loyal to a fault. Salazar Slytherin, he wanted to throttle her!
"I lied."
As expected, Luna was confused. She stared at him for awhile.
"I knew."
"What?"
"I knew you were lying." A childish answer from a childish girl.
"Really."
"Yes."
But still, she was a Ravenclaw. She was not book smart in the way Hermione Granger was, but was rather, he anticipated, of the creative and perceptive variety.
She tugged on her wool scarf uncomfortably. "Please, wait with me?"
Who was he to refuse a lady? He wouldn't. Well, unless they were Muggles, Muggle-born, Muggle sympathizers, magical creatures, fat, ugly, poor…the list went on.
Luna Lovegood most definitely made that list. She was a category all her own. So why am I still here? He wondered to himself. It was unlike him to stay (willingly) so long in the presence of a person he found so detestable. Blaise chalked it up to natural curiosity, as would usually be accustomed to an individual the likes of Luna Lovegood, and the long absence of magical properties and persons in an unfamiliar environment.
Without hesitation, the handsome teenager picked up his heel and did an about face.
"Where are you going?" called Luna.
"Home."
And he really meant it. As soon as he could, he would be hitching a ride back to London, back to the wizarding world.
Blaise went on walking at a sure pace through the night, until he was secure in his mind that if were to look back, there would be no blonde poof of hair flitting around a lamp post like a firefly among the shadows.
As soon as he reached the nearest bus stop, Blaise collapsed against the bench. Stupid, stupid, stupid…he wanted to get away from Looney so bad that he had walked himself into exhaustion. With great effort, the young wizard wrenched the cell phone out of his jeans pocket and called the speed dial that would connect him to the driver.
"Mr. Zabini," answered a gruff voice on the other end. "You require my services?"
"Yes, pick me up at…" he scanned the street names, "the corner of 21st and Maine."
"Right away, sir. Will that be all?"
Blaise paused. Was she still waiting there? He pursed his mouth in great consternation. No, she couldn't be. It was almost one o' clock in the morning. She would be an idiot to remain there. Then Blaise remembered whom he was talking about. He mentally slapped himself.
"After I am dropped off, report to a place called," he paused, recalling the name. "…Huntington and Smith Law Associates, there might be a girl there, mark my words might. She's a scrawny little beanpole of a thing, so you might have to squint your eyes a little, but if she is present, you are to drive her to any which location she requires you to. If she refuses, you have my permission to drag her to the car, kicking and screaming if need be, and send her to my house."
Sandhurst listened, soaking all of his instructions in. It was a strange request, and his twenty five years at this job had not prepared him for such an eccentric employer. This almost bordered on kidnapping! But he also knew that the boy could not be any older than sixteen, so there was nothing to take seriously. The girl was probably someone he was smitten with. The driver almost clapped his hands gleefully.
Finally, there was an exciting side to this job!
"Also, I must warn you, she is armed. Believe me, it may not be a knife or a gun, but it could be just as worse. But do not worry. You will be richly compensated for any losses you may acquire, be it limbs or dignity."
Grinning from ear to ear at the teenager's humor, Sandhurst replied in the affirmative.
Oh, young love!
"Also, one more thing…do not, under any circumstances, tell her Blaise Zabini was behind this! Tell her you are a friend of her father's. And if she is not there, report to me straight away and you may go home. After either objective, forget anything I have just said to you, and pretend like this never happened."
As he exited the car, Blaise's worries were finally put to rest.
Come the Hogwart's school year, Luna Lovegood would be present to see the first day of school. He would not be responsible for her untimely death; he would not be the last one to see her alive.