A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read my story. This was written for Finals Round 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Just a quick note for the judges: my prompt was the letter B, specifically Blaise Zabini, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Bowtruckle, and Balloon.
To Achieve Their Ends
The Slytherin Common Room was warmer than Blaise would have expected upon descending into the Dungeon. The windows thrummed with a piercing chill, but the stone walls were as inviting as the blazing hearth in the corner. The depths of the Black Lake cast an unnerving glow across the leather sofas, but for the most part, Blaise was pleasantly surprised by the space. Malfoy, a small boy with a pinched face and reflective hair, seemed just as pleased.
"This is just as father described," he boasted to the surrounding throng of first years. "He spent a lot of time in the Common Room, you know. He said it was a welcome break after putting up with the other Houses during lessons, isn't that right Crabbe?"
A meaty boy next to him nodded gruffly, and Malfoy hardly wasted a second before droning on about his father once more. Blaise honestly couldn't care less about Malfoy's father or the fact that he had once used a stolen Bowtruckle to pick the lock on the girls' dormitory. Malfoy seemed to think that he did, though, so it was quite a few minutes before he lapsed into silence.
When he finally did, Blaise, in all of his eleven-year-old superiority—a superiority that could match Draco Malfoy tit for tat—thanked Merlin above for insinuating silences.
The throng of first years had lapsed into quiet as they examined the room around them. Malfoy, however, as seemed to be his schtick, broke the silence after just a moment.
"Zabini!" Blaise was positive that he would never appreciate the sound of his name coming from such a conceited pair of lips. "I don't believe we've officially met. I'm Draco Malfoy." No shit, Sherlock. "Where are you from?"
"My mum's family lives just outside of Mulhouse, but I grew up in Liverpool." Blaise could hear his mother's voice nagging at him to return the question, to be friendly, dear, but Blaise was ready for the niceties to cease so he could fall into bed and sleep soundly for the first time in weeks. His mum's newest beau had the voice of a wheezing ballon stretched too tightly at the neck. Sleep had become scarce in the Zabini household as the man never seemed to tire of talking about himself.
Blaise couldn't wait for his mother marry the dolt and move on. He was becoming rather stale, if you asked the eleven-year-old.
Blaise let out an awkward huff as he realized that Malfoy had continued speaking. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I said why haven't I heard of you before. Did your parents go to Hogwarts? Surely they've mentioned my father if they did."
How many times was it possible for an eleven year old to roll his eyes in one night? It seemed that Draco and Blaise were racing each other to whatever number that end goal might be.
"All of my family's gone to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France. I'm the first in my line to go to Hogwarts."
Malfoy raised a brow at this, and he pushed himself up from the couch in order to swoop in on Blaise.
"Well, let me be the first to welcome you to Hogwarts, Zabini." Blaise almost snorted. He'd been welcomed by no less than a dozen people over the last couple of hours. "A word from the wise—you'll soon find out some local wizarding families are much better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." The blonde boy held out a hand, and Blaise studied it for a moment. It almost pained him to do so, but he reached out his own hand nonetheless. Blaise felt his pride slip down his throat like a wad of chewing gum. The boys shook hands briefly.
"Thanks, Malfoy," he said with a nod. "I'll appreciate any help you can give, if I'm honest."
Draco beamed. Blaise, on the other hand...
He just tried not to vomit on his new school shoes.