Title:Five Stages
Pairing: Harry/Blaise, Ron/Hermione
Summary: After the death of this mother Blaise is forced to pick up the pieces of his life and makes an important ally along the way. Not DH compliant.
A word on structure: Written for the 2007 sunandsmut exchange on LJ for irisgirl. Not DH compliant and is complete (4k words). A total of 5 parts and will be updated once or twice a day until complete. The chapter titles are based off the 5 Stages of Grief.
Authors notes: Chia pets are quite strange, but that is not the point of this note. I am still here! DH was most interesting except for epilogue which I thought kind of ruined the book. I think I will finish my WIP's quite soon...I am thinking abot it! But for now, I hope you enjoy this story.
A note: I do take constructive critisism if you would like to offer some.
Stage one: Denial aka Get pissed
Blaise stood in front of a door. It was an average door by any standards, slightly dented from one too many feet trying to kick it open, a nice deep brown; the handle was made of a sturdy metal alloy of some sort. There was nothing particularly outstanding or even noteworthy about this door.
His shaking hands pushed it open. Inside, his mother lay sprawled out on the pure white leather loveseat and still in her dinner gown. She wasn't breathing.
Blaise closed his eyes. This was not happening. Death did not happen to him, they happened to other people. This was all a terrible realistic dream.
When Blaise opened his eyes again, the body was still there.
Blaise walked into the first pub he saw after walking away from his house and threw a bag of money on the counter.
"I don't want to see the bottom of a glass," he said. The bartender looked at him with a questioning look, but stopped as soon as he saw the amount of money in the bag. The place was nice enough, Blaise supposed. A fire was burning cheerily in the background and the patrons seemed more likely to laugh and sing rowdy songs when they were drunk rather than throw a punch.
Blaise felt another presence behind him.
"Draco," he said, recognizing Draco's cologne instantly.
"I heard what happened," Draco said, taking the stool next to him.
"Yeah," Blaise said after a moment.
"I don't suppose you know what happened?"
"She was murdered."
"Maybe—"
"No," Blaise said, taking another swig of his drink. It was disgraceful really; he had never swigged anything in his life.
His mother would not approve.
"I think it would be wise to asses your allies at this point and realize that we are on the same side."
"Are we, Draco? I've seen and heard things that would discount this entirely." Blaise said cuttingly. Draco's face turned ugly.
"You're not even a real Death Eater, so I wouldn't count your information too accurately. However, I'm your friend so I will help you anyway I can," Draco said. Blaise nodded gratefully. Friendship was not a word that Draco threw around lightly.
"Help me find who killed her," Blaise said simply. Draco nodded and went back to his drink.
Blaise was pissed. There really was no other word for it. He wasn't tipsy or wasted or even inebriated; he was straight up pissed. Draco was long gone too…he was hitting on a witch fifty years his senior and wasn't looking too spry for her age either. It looked like one good orgasm would finish her off for good.
It was hot. Far too hot for the heavy velvet robes he was wearing. Blaise swiveled unsteadily on the barstool and saw the fire burning in the fireplace. Blaise was suddenly reminded of the Dark Lord's eyes. It was all too much.
"Someone put out the fire! It's too bloody hot in here!" Blaise said, carefully forming his words.
Nobody responded. Blaise carefully placed one foot on the ground to test its firmness before slowly sliding off the stool and promptly fell over.
"Watch it, mate!" the man said, catching him under the arms and hauling him back up. Blaise looked up at the man. Black hair and green eyes slid unsteadily before him. Blaise could feel the man's muscles tensing under him as he worked to pull Blaise up.
"Unhand me, urchin!" he yelled, lurching out of the man's grasp and stumbling toward the fire.
"Sorry," the man said, dropping him as though he were a hot potato.
Right, now how to put it out…water!
He grabbed a glass of amber liquid from a nearby table and threw it into the fire.
The fire roared a brilliant red; Blaise stumbled back knocking over a chair into the fire. It suddenly seemed everything was ablaze. The hazy fumes snaked around his ankles as he stumbled back. He fell hard on his arse. Shocked, he sat there watching the wooden tables and chairs burn in front of him.
He vaguely heard his name over the sounds of crashes and yelps of pain as people struggled to exit through the narrow door.
Blaise, Blaise. What are you doing? You must at least avenge your mother before you die; MOVE!
Blaise snapped back to reality.
"Help!" he cried desperately, trying to scramble backwards. As if by magic, the man with black hair appeared.
"This way!" he yelled, reaching his hand out. Blaise grabbed on and was led through the now wrecked room. They came out of the building hacking from the thick smoke that now permeated the air.
"Alright there?" the man rasped out. Blaise turned and looked at the man in the firelight.
"Potter?" Blaise said. Saved by a Gryffindor, his mother dead, and to top it off, he needed to piss! He had truly hit rock bottom, and it seemed as though the walls were as sharp as diamonds, cutting down his attempts to escape
Images flew through Blaise's mind before it all went black.
Blaise fell.
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