Disclaimer: As I sit here, revising Welsh in a struggle to pass my AS levels, and ponder the ownership of Harry Potter, a thought occurs to me: If I owned it, I wouldn't be sitting here revising. I'd be out partying. As I am not out partying, does that mean I don't own Harry Potter? Damn. goes back to revising

A/N: Written for a challenge on Fawkes Ashes. Waiting to be judged crosses fingers nervously

Thank you to my Beta, Cyropi, who also came up with Ditty. All credit for house elf names goes to her :)

I might need you to hold me tonight
I might need you to say it's alright
I might need you to make the first stand
Because tonight I'm finding it hard to be your man

- 'Hold Me', Savage Garden

Draco Malfoy sank into the elegant leather chair, his cold hands running over the intricately carved mahogany decorations inlaid in the arms. Reaching over to the perfectly matched table next to him, his delicate fingers found a glass. Without moving his gaze from the fire, he lifted it to his thin, sharp lips, and drunk. The level of wine slowly lowered, leaving only a slightly red tint to his lips.

He closed his eyes; long lashes floating gently down to rest on his defined cheekbones, hiding sharp, intelligent, and above all guarded silver eyes. Exhaling quietly, he appeared the image of tranquillity, except perhaps the hand was gripping the wine glass a little too tightly, and the eyelashes flickered a little too fast to project the image of sleep.

Not even a sharp rapping at the door caused Draco to flinch. Calmly opening his eyes, he turned to face the door. 'Come.'

The heavy door flew open, slamming back against the wall, and an angry woman stalked in. Her hair, darker than night, flew out around her as she marched over to Draco's chair, brown eyes flashing dangerously.

'Malfoy!' She kicked his foot, and he lazily moved it, crossing it over his other leg.

'What, Blaise?' he drawled, his voice icily cold.

'They just came back. Theodore said it had been decided.'

'It has indeed.' Draco set his glass down calmly, and stared at Blaise. 'And you know the result.'

Blaise folded her arms angrily, her black cloak swirling in righteous indignity around her. 'I'm not allowing it.'

Draco snorted, his platinum hair falling into his face as the sudden gesture shook his frame. 'And what can you do to prevent it?'

Blaise fell silent, her mute anger somehow stronger than the trembling rage emitted in her voice, that now shook her body.

'I thought so. You're powerless to do anything except be angry. You're a pawn in this twisted game of chess, as am I; and we must do anything we are capable of to protect our King.'

Blaise folded her arms tighter and huffed, shaking thick ebony locks into her tanned face. She maintained a steady, furious gaze with Draco, who appeared only mildly interested as he studied her.

'Blaise, sit down,' he said finally, reaching for his wand and conjuring up a chair, an exact replica of his own. Blaise fell back into it, throwing her legs over the arm and relaxing one arm over the other. The other arm fell into her lap, and she stared at it, occasionally straightening out her black velvet dress.

'There is nothing that can be done. Tomorrow, I will lead the armies against Dumbledore. We will win, or die with dignity, knowing that we have protected our master.'

'But why does it have to be you?' asked Blaise quietly, struggling to calm herself and remove emotions from her voice. Emotions complicated matters. That was the first thing you learnt.

'Because I am worthy. I have earned it, and a greater honour I have never been blessed with,' answered Draco smoothly, monotonously. 'Our Lord views me as the one capable to bring a victory to the cause.'

'Lucius should have done it, he could have got out of there easily, he could have come back and done this,' grumbled Blaise, calming. Draco's fists clenched.

'Lucius is a disgrace. He is still in Azkaban, when all others have escaped. He has gone insane from the Dementors. He will receive the Kiss, regardless of the outcome of tomorrow's battle. That is why I have to do it. The lack of choice is not important; I would have done it anyway. Mother took great pains to ensure I had everything that Lucius did not, and as our Lord's closest confidante, she has succeeded. Women are not capable of leading an army anyway; and I will not allow Mother to be placed in such a dangerous situation.' Draco tapped his wine glass, refilling it, and handing another glass to Blaise.

'I prefer white wine,' she commented, changing the wine with a short spell. 'And you know it, Malfoy.'

The use of his surname caused Draco to raise an eyebrow. He knew Blaise was angry with him, but he never expected her to be this angry.

'Blaise...' he said soothingly, hoping to win her over easily. 'We will win.'

'How do we know?' she asked furiously. Draco's ivory skin briefly gained a red tint; was she purposely trying to rile him? However, he breathed deeply, and the hot, angry, molten lead in his eyes cooled and returned to their usual emotionless silver.

'We know. Dumbledore's army is weak, it has yet to recover from our last assault. Most of the Weasleys have been destroyed, and Longbottom and Snape, two of their main researchers and Healers, are in the dungeons in the Malfoy chateau in France. It will not stand.'

'So sure,' laughed Blaise bitterly. 'So sure, and so proud. What makes you so confident, Draco Malfoy? How does your mind work?'

'For others to know is to sign my own death warrant,' smirked Draco, his mature face seeming oddly childlike at the gesture. Blaise thought back to that first day at Hogwarts, where she had first seen that smirk, fallen for that face, and learnt of a wider world outside her closeted existence.

That smirk had been the last thing she'd seen as a pure woman.

Oh she had never been innocent; an innocent Slytherin was as likely as a Death Eater wearing pink. Well, she amended silently, apart from Pansy Parkinson. No, innocence was a thing to be lost in the cold dungeons, a thing to keep the nights short and the beds warm.

She had returned tainted from that induction, a one-on-one meeting with Voldemort himself, and her hands were stained red with blood, her robes drenched, her face pale; the screams of Muggles echoed in her ears. She had lost what little she had left of her innocence; and had learnt how to kill. Blaise Zabini, Murderer. On the way home, not strong enough to Apparate, she had clutched at her left arm, envisioning the Dark Mark glowing, radiant with evil, shouting to the world that she had killed someone.

And not just any someone. Upon her induction, Blaise had been instructed to remove a 'snake' from their nest. Bellatrix had fought well, screaming her defiance with every deadly curse sent her way. But the aging Death Eater had lost not only her mind, and as Blaise won, Bellatrix lost her life.

That night, as Blaise had been sick into the toilet, as the blood washed off her hands and robes but not her mind, Draco had been the one to sit with her, comfort her, encourage her. The last thing she had heard before the searing pain of the newly cast Dark Mark on her arm had sent her into unconsciousness was 'I'm proud of you.' From Draco Malfoy, this was the highest form of praise.

The next day, he had thrown her forcibly from Malfoy Manor, announcing coldly, cruelly, that he wouldn't be seen dead with a woman like her.

That had hurt worst. She still hadn't forgiven him for that, or even said what she had wanted to say. Maybe now was the time to say it.

'Say it.'

His voice cut through her thoughts like a curse through Muggles. She looked up, slightly intimidated. But then, he always knew what she was thinking.

'Say what?' she asked, sticking her chin up defiantly. He may know she had something to say, but she'd be damned if he forced her to speak.

'Whatever's on your mind.' Draco nonchalantly imitated her position, throwing his legs over the arm of his chair and staring at her with a mocking glare.

'I have nothing on my mind, Malfoy, so stop irritating me. Why not tell me what's on your mind instead? What you're thinking? Are you wondering about tomorrow? Whether you'll lose? Or die? What do you see, Malfoy, when you look at me? Are you seeing the last person you'll ever have a civil conversation with before Potter kills you-'

'Quiet!' he roared suddenly, cutting off her hysterical tirade. 'I see a hysterical woman with no self-respect whatsoever, to cause such a scene for no reason!'

'I have plenty of reason!' shrieked Blaise back, jumping defensively to her feet. 'I have more self-respect too! I'm not the one who hates myself and my father so much that I'm practically throwing myself at the feet of the enemy, begging to be killed-'

This time, it was a harsh slap that cut her off, knocking her to the floor. Draco stood, face pinched and white, eyes flashing more dangerously than even the Dark Lord's did. At that moment, for the first time ever, Draco Malfoy scared her.

'I said quiet,' he hissed, reaching down and grabbing her arm. Hauling her to her feet, he shook her violently. 'We will win, of course we will, and Lucius has nothing to do with this, nothing at all!'

Blaise was pale with shock and refrained from making any more comments. When Draco was in this mood, he was deadly, and she was terrified.

His wild eyes finally locked onto hers, and for a split second, Blaise saw the fear he felt.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. Draco stared at her, unseeing, and crumpled to the floor. A sob shook his frame, before he buried his face in his robes. Blaise could see him trying to regain control, trying to become the superhuman that the Death Eaters saw him as. With her heart full of sadness, resignation, she finally understood Draco.

'Sh,' she soothed, sinking to her knees and wrapping her arms around him. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.' Draco's voice was cold. 'I chose this, and I will see it through to the end. I will defeat Dumbledore, and remove the last of Potter's protection. Then our Lord will defeat him, and we will rule.'

'Of course.' Blaise felt herself being pushed away, and sighed. 'Draco, don't hate me. Please...'

'Blaise, you are my closest ally, but that is all.' Draco lifted his head from his robes and shook her hand from his shoulder. 'An ally. Death Eaters have no friends, or lovers. Merely people who are beneficial to their cause.'

'And is that all I am?' Blaise felt her heart start breaking.

'That's all you've ever been,' Draco confirmed, staring directly at her as he uttered the lie. 'And that's all you'll ever be. I wouldn't be seen dead with someone as emotional, temperamental, and as female as you are.' Only he could make your gender an insult against you.

'And who made me this way?' Blaise was trembling, tears building up in her eyes. 'Who taught me to use my femininity to get my own way? Who taught me that unpredictability was an asset, and taught me to use it so? And who helped me learn that emotions were useful when manipulating weak-willed men? I am what you made me, Draco, so why do you hate what I've become?'

Draco looked away, unable to meet Blaise's desperate stare. 'I don't hate you.'

'Then why?'

'Because I hate myself for tainting you so.'

As the words sunk in, Blaise couldn't contain herself any longer, and she flung her arms around Draco's neck. 'Don't!' she ordered, and the sheer force of her words was enough to stun Draco, to dry the words before they left his mouth. 'Don't you dare!'

'Blaise-'

'Hush!' she commanded, and pulled back. 'Don't you even think about hating yourself, Draco. I don't. I chose this life, as you did, and as long as you are my-' she paused to choose the right word, and her mouth twisted in disgust, '-ally, then I will never regret my choice. You didn't taint me, Draco. I tainted myself.' For you, she added silently, knowing it was futile to even think the words.

'Blaise. Please detach yourself from my neck.' Draco's eyes were closed, his face wore a pained expression, and Blaise drew back hastily.

'I apologise,' she said frostily, her eyes almost entirely black in her anger, her disappointment, her heartbreak. 'Please forgive me for my momentary weakness.'

'Malfoys don't forgive.'

Draco lifted his hand, snapped his fingers, and a cowering house-elf appeared in the doorway. 'Please escort Miss Zabini to the gate.'

Blaise lifted her head arrogantly, emanating the haughty pride that only an aristocrat possesses. 'Goodbye, Mister Malfoy. I am sure I'll have the misfortune of working with you again.'

Draco waved his hand, and Blaise had no choice but to follow the house-elf. In the doorway, she paused, and the white image of Draco, almost drowned in shadows, hit home.

'Draco...' she whispered, and a small movement from him indicated he could hear her. 'You said you wouldn't be seen dead with me... what about alive?'

Draco's head lifted slightly, and for a moment she thought he would say something, but the insistent tugging of the house-elf on her robes distracted her. 'Please follow Ditty, please Miss.'

'Very well.' Blaise pulled herself together, and turned to leave. A few footsteps down the hallway, and Draco was calling her back, holding her sleeve, staring at her.

'What did you say?' he demanded. Ditty was banished with a swift kick, and as the echoes of the high-pitched squeal faded, Blaise was in his arms, crying.

'I'm sorry,' she said again, wondering why she was apologising so much. 'I didn't mean to.'

'Blaise.' His voice was gentle. 'What did you say?'

Her voice, whilst as gentle as his, was quiet. In little more than a whisper, she repeated herself.

'You said you wouldn't be seen dead with me. What about alive?'

And then Draco was crying, his head buried in her shoulder, his hands stroking her long, dark hair. 'Alive is beneficial,' he whispered, and the implications hit Blaise harder than a Cruciatus.

'Draco,' she whispered, her hands finding themselves at his neck, stroking the ends of his hair, shining white in the darkness.

'Blaise?' Their knees gave way, and with a gentle kiss to her cheek, Draco sank to the floor once more, with Blaise in his arms.

'Yes?'

'Hold me?'

This simple plea reminded Blaise of their first year once more, when Draco had retained some innocence, a childlike view of the world. She complied immediately, already in love with his suddenly gentle self, and held him close. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she leaned back against the wall. And they stayed that way, black and white, the picture of monochromatic love, whispering sweet nothings to each other throughout the night. The echoes of Draco's words hummed in every corner of Malfoy Manor.

'Hold me...'

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Distract me from revision with a review telling me how much you like/love/hate the fic :) Accursed Welsh poets! Atomfa, Cilmeri, Gail, fu Farw... please! begs