Title: Firebrand Chronicles Book Two: After Dark
Summary: No one knew what awaited them upon returning to Hogwarts that year. No one expected a monster to attack the students, and certainly no one expected anyone to assume that Harry Potter was the party responsible. Blaise Zabini certainly didn't. This is his story. Book Two
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter any of its characters or events. They belong to J.K. Rowling
Published:10/6/08 – a chapter will be posted at least every other week
Author's Note:It has been several years since I have done any work on this story, and for that I apologize. However, it was never my intention of leaving it alone for so long and I do mean to finish it (write books 3-7 maybe 8) though that may take even more time. I did rewrite "Behind Closed Doors" (editing adding scenes and content, generally fleshing the story out) and while the story remains the same there has been a great deal added to it, so I feel the need to inform those who may wish to reread it.
As always feedback of any nature is appreciated and I hope you all enjoy reading what I have enjoyed writing.
Firebrand Chronicles
Book Two: After Dark
Chapter I
My name is Blaise Alexander Zabini. I am a wizard. We do still exist, though we keep our nature hidden from any non-magical beings. Fortunately that is not necessary when we're at school. What school you may ask? Well Hogwarts of course. And there is no better place I can think of to learn. Well except one year, my second year to be precise. If you're willing to listen I'll tell you the story.
The summer before my second year of Hogwarts started out perfectly for me. With Millard, my stepfather, away I was allowed to enjoy all of my preferred activities without interference, or the knowledge that I would have to see him later in the day. I went swimming, read to my kid sister Abby, hiked to and from the Parkinson's at my leisure, rode horses with Pansy, and continued my training with Dr. Fitzwilliam Gertz my sword and dueling instructor who, in addition to teaching me to use the wand and sword at that same time, now insisted I learn some acrobatics to improve my flexibility.
"The greater your range of movement, the better the reach of your sword, and when combined with your magical prowess . . ." Dr. Gertz often left the rest of that statement unfinished, but I got the point. My lessons, which I had been taking from a young age, had now been extended by an hour past what they had originally been set at. Fifteen minutes of various stretches; fifteen of jumping, rolling, spinning, and finally dodging the various spells Dr. Gertz flung at me (none of them dangerous); followed by a half hour of wand work; and finally an hour of everything previously mentioned combined with the sword. The good Dr. often stayed afterwards to talk with me for some time, occasionally taking lunch with the family. He had by this time become as much a member of our family as he was of his own. Often our conversations strayed far and away from our lessons, to politics, to my tenants (for three new families had moved into houses my father had long ago set up as rentals in the village), to our daily lives. Dr. Gertz was extremely pleased to inform me one afternoon that his Granddaughter Louisa had recently become engaged. A man prouder of his family I have yet to meet. For a short time, my family was at peace.
For three weeks I had days on end of pure bliss. Unfortunately Millard's return loomed constantly in the future, and when he returned he brought company, though the company he brought was not nearly as unwelcome as the man himself.
I had been out riding with Pansy, she on a white mare named snowflake golden blond hair streaming in the wind, myself on a buckskin named Dasher, when she spotted several figures by our front gate. "Blaise look there!" she called waving a hand in the direction of the two gentlemen who had just apparated onto the pathway outside the fence, the manor itself was covered in ani-apparation charms, and a shorter figure who had obviously been brought side-along. "Who do you think it could be?"
"Millard of course," I answered spotting the telltale red hair, "Come on, I'll race you!" and I heeled Dasher around and into a full gallop.
"Blaise!" she called attempting to gallop Snowflake after me, "Blaise wait . . . It's not a race if you've got a head start!" I could hear her catching up, Snowflake's hooves thundering across the field, but by that time Dasher had reached the fence that blocked the grass from the drive and I steeled myself for the jump, leaning with his body as Dasher made the leap from one side to the other without a hitch, before wheeling him around to face the visitors and dismounting in one fluid motion. For the first time I took a good look at those Millard had brought with him, relieved to find that I had a least one ally in the group, though he was the least important. Draco Malfoy stood beside his father smirking in his usual way. Behind me Snowflake's hoof beats came to a stop and there was a muffled grunt and a squeak as Pansy dismounted and opened the gate to lead the horse around.
"Zabini," Draco spoke before I even had a chance to open my mouth for a greeting. "I thought you didn't like to ride." For a moment his face perfectly mirrored his father's from the platinum hair and ice cold eyes, the way his smile crooked one corner of his mouth.
"Horses are completely different then brooms," I answered stepping forwards to shake his hand and offer the proper bow to Mr. Malfoy, "For one thing you can't fall as far."
"And we all know how Blaise fears to fall," came Pansy's giggling input. I turned to find that Charles had arrived and taken Snowflake's reigns from her as well as collected Dasher, and was now leading both back to the stables. A good man my groundskeeper.
Mr. Malfoy nodded his head in return to my bow and then leisurely followed Millard's thin frame up the drive, the torment of my existence chatting animatedly about how Lucius's influence was sure to help push the new flew regulations past the committee for transportation regulation. His curly red hair blew slightly in the wind as he tilted his head down to speak, being the taller of the two men.
"How about you, Pansy?" Draco asked offering her his arm, which she took wearing her brightest smile, "which do you prefer? Broom or horse?"
"Oh I don't know Draco!" she batted her eyelashes," it depends on the company I suppose." About that time the two adults stopped in their stroll up the walk and turned to face us.
"Blaise!" Millard called and I winced, reminding myself that it was for Abby's sake I tolerated his existence, the poor child believed him to be her father. "Blaise what has been placed on the lunch menu today?" his tone was polite due to the present company and I tried to answer civilly for the same reason.
"I supposed it depends on whether or not Abby got to Bert before anyone else could voice a request."
"And if she did?" Mr. Malfoy asked amusement tinting his voice.
"Then we'll be having peanut butter sandwiches with bananas and milk." I answered leading the way to the front hall door, "That is of course, unless you would care to wait for something else. Bert will prepare food more to your taste upon request." Millard suppressed a snort. Bert seldom did anything the man required.
"Bert is your cook?" came the inquisitive reply.
"Oh no, Lucius, Bert is the boy's house elf. Vitoria won't employ a new cook. Hasn't employed anyone new in the house since the boy's father died. Superstitious I think. Still, the elf does well enough."
True there were only three human employees in the house at the time. Janice, of course. The elderly witch had once been my nurse, now she was Abbey's in addition to housekeeper. Of course due to her advanced age most of the housekeeping fell to Bert, not that he minded. In addition to Janice was Charles, groundskeeper and groom (though he had help now and again from a Muggle boy in town), and Dr. Gertz my sword and dueling instructor. Millard had in fact lied to Mr. Malfoy when he claimed no one new had been employed since death of my father, Saxton Zabini. Dr. Gertz, though a dear friend and long employed had only been with my family since my seventh birthday.
Fortunately Abby hadn't reached Bert to request lunch first, Mother had. She had seen the party from an upstairs window and taken care of the matter immediately. The meal turned out to consist of soup and garden salads with fresh baked bread. The elf himself served the meal bowing respectfully to all present, (somehow forgetting Millard altogether while appearing to be busily serving Mr. Malfoy who sat in the place of honor) and muttered to me quietly, "Bert does hope this is suitable, sir. Bert did not know what Master desired and time was short. Bert does have wonderful roast in the oven if Master's guest wish to stay for dinner."
"Yes thank you Bert." I managed when he let me slip a word in. "You've done very well, you may be dismissed." Mr. Malfoy gave me a strange look as Bert bowed out of the room. Draco, Ignoring my kindness to my apparent inferior (I say apparent because personally I regard house elves in general very highly. They are among the most loyal beings I have ever met,) changed the topic to Quidditch which the two of us discussed at length ignoring Pansy's continual rolling of her eyes. It seemed that with the graduation of Terence Higgs the spot of seeker had opened up on the house team, and Draco had been practicing almost nonstop since school let up, in hopes of securing the position for himself.
"The only problem is," he confided between bites of salad, "I don't always have someone handy to throw things for me. Crabbe and Goyle can't manage a broom well enough to present a challenge, father has so little leisure time to spend that I hate to ask him to waste it on me, and Mother dislikes the game altogether. Zabini, perhaps you might manage . . ."
"You had best ask Pansy if you want help, Draco," I answered before he could petition further. "She's better than I am on a broom. I will, however, be perfectly happy to watch from the ground and offer any advice I think necessary."
"Yes the grounds are quite extensive," Millard's voice rose in excitement completely overwhelming our conversation, "and that's not even including the portion of property currently containing rentals. I was planning on parceling them up. Sell some, rent the others. Muggle's pay anything you know."
"You'll do no such thing!" I snapped cutting him off.
"Excuse me, dear boy, I think you have forgotten who is master of this house!"
"OH?" I stood from my seat placing my hands flat upon the table and leaned forwards to look him directly in the eye. Millard stiffened in his seat as if he desired to rise as well in order to tower over me. "Shall I summon Bert and you can discover what his answer is?"
Millard's face drained of blood before turning a brilliant shade of purple in anger he dared not act upon with company present. Mother arched an eyebrow at me over her teacup but said nothing. Mr. Malfoy's look was appraising. Pansy only rolled her eyes, she'd seen it all before, but Draco grinned. Before he could say anything, however, his father spoke.
"Vitoria, pardon me if I am in error," Mr. Malfoy started folding his fingertips together, "But I was under the impression that the late Saxton left you everything when he died."
"He left me the current bank account and the family gems. The lands, the house, and the elf with them, were willed to Blaise, though his Grandfather acts as steward until his seventeenth birthday. I believe he wanted the property to remain in his family line, though if my son never marries that line will be dead anyway."
"It is an instinct of us all I suppose," Mr. Malfoy leaned back in his chair completely relaxed, "to want to preserve our way of life."
"So it is." Mother nodded. Millard only grunted in reply.
The morning following this confrontation I awake to the enormous force of something rather large and moderately heavy canon-balling into my stomach. Fortunately for the object in question a tiny excited voice cried out before I could react in anything more than a strangled grunt.
"Blaise, story day, up, up, story day!" the giggling laughter of my baby sister echoed around my bedroom.
"Abigail," I groaned, trying in vain to move her from my aching abdomen. "It's not time yet."
To this the only reply was "story day!" my enthusiasm was not helped by the fact that my cat, Bandit, chose that exact moment to pounce on my feet, claws extended and feline fangs sinking through the covers to bite onto my big toe. My cry of pain was overpowered by an equally loud shriek of laughter. "'an'it come story day too!" Her blue eyes sparked with laughter set off by the relatively dark nature of the rest of her complexion.
Story day was what Abby called the weekly outings to the Muggle library that Janice took her on. Once in the small building she would listen to the librarian read a short tale while sitting on piles of pillows joined by other small children, and when the story was finished she would pick out as many books as she could convince us to bring home. None of them ever had the same topic and I'm convinced that Abby chose her books based solely on the vibrancy of the illustrations. The more vivid the colors the better and the longer she begged to take "dis one!"
As much as I enjoyed reading to her, this morning I wished more than anything that the practice had never been started. Janice had come down with the flu the night before and rather than see Abby miss her promised trip into the Muggle world (though I was an infrequent visitor myself,) I had agreed to take her, believing that a single trip to and from a library could not cause much harm, nor be too difficult for me to manage without causing much notice. However judging by the morning light that peeked around the edge of my curtains I knew it was still much too early for me to begin the promised venture into town.
"What time is it?" I groaned and Abby wiggled her way off of my stomach so that I could turn and view the clock that sat on my bedside table. "Abby, its six o'clock. Your story time doesn't start until ten."
"No story day?" she looked so sad with her little lip pushed as far forwards into a pout as she could manage that I saw nothing for it and swung my feet out of bed.
"Breakfast first, and then we have to dress up like Muggles." Surly there must be some way to stretch those two actives for four hours. And indeed I ordered a breakfast so complicated from Bert that we lost at least one hour to its preparation. Another thirty minutes went to the hitching of a small child's carriage to the back of the old bicycle that sat in the car barn. Magic being forbidden with in the sight of Muggles and Abigail being too small to ride a horse there was no other option. If we had been visiting other wizards I would have ventured to flew to the wizarding inn of the town square, but as the flew network always left telltale signs of ash, and as I had no wish to explain what a little girl not quite two would be doing near a fire place, that option was out as well. Which is why I was messing around with a Muggle bicycle.
I managed to waste another large chunk of time searching for suitable Muggle clothing to wear.
Unfortunately my usual wardrobe was as unsuited to Muggle outings as it had been the year before when we had needed clothing for the short journey to the school train. Abigail had a single dress she wore for library day, a simple blue cotton frock with yellow sunflowers patterned so they seemed to grow up the skirt, I however had no such article, and unfortunately I had out grown the plain clothing that had been used the year before. Though Mother supposed my black school uniform trousers might pass in a pinch. That still left the fact that no single shirt I owned could pass for any length of time. They were either obviously tailor made especially for me, contained enchanted logos, or composed of fabric no reasonable Muggle boy would wear.
It was Abigail, remarkably enough, who solved that problem. Some fifteen minutes before we were to leave she appeared once again in my room this time dragging a long sleeved black and white striped shirt behind her. "Pay dess up, Blaise!" she said when I took the shirt from her. It was plain, made of cotton, and it fit.
Shortly after Abby was settled into the passenger wagon and I was riding both of us down the drive on the Muggle bicycle. Soon enough we were turning onto the country lane that lead from our house into the Muggle village virtually a straight shot to our destination.
Sometime later, hot and dusty from the trip I parked the bicycle in front of the library. I got a few odd looks as I unbuckled Abby and took her into the children's room, but I attributed it to Janice's absence. We settled down on some pillows near the front of the story semicircle, and the elderly librarian took her seat, an old stool, in front of the audience. To my surprise it was the very woman who had led me to the book on Nickolas Flamel the year before. Same cat's eye spectacle, same flyaway hair, and same loafers. Only the dress had changed. Today it was green. Soon enough she was reading a story about a mouse who wanted to hide a giant strawberry from a bear, and at the end all the children got a berry of their own to take home, or in Abby's case eat on the spot.
Fifteen minutes later we were leaving, Abby still chatting about the bear and the berry as she held onto my hand. My other arm was around the stack of books she had chosen and I was attempting to rebalance them without letting go of Abby's hand, when I walked headlong into someone and dropped the entire pile.