Why was he friends with this Wizard?
Blaise glared at the blonde across the table, watching as he pleasantly chewed his food, smugness oozing from every pore. Blaise longed to wipe that cheeky grin permanently from his face.
Draco had run Hermione off…again.
It was uncanny, the young Malfoy's ability to know the precise moment Blaise began to make any headway with the fetching Witch, so much so that he asked Hermione to check for any traces or lingering spells on his person.
He didn't tell her the reason, of course, and before he could provide her with a lie, Draco-sodding-Malfoy burst into the room complaining of the stench, insinuating Blaise had shagged some less-than-appropriate Witch without properly scorgifying the sheets. And it all went downhill from there.
Hermione finally scurried from the room midway through Draco's retelling of the time Blaise snuck the Carrow twins into the boys dormitory, which included a rather disturbing impression of Hestia's screams. 'Or was it Flora?'
Despite Draco's accusations, Blaise did not orchestrate his friend's 'kidnapping' and subsequent 'imprisonment' in order to impress Hermione. Was the additional face time with the Witch an added benefit? Of course. But he could do one thing for two reasons.
Truth be told, he was running out of excuses to speak to her at the Ministry.
It had been his decision to seek employment upon his return from America. He hadn't needed the money, but thought it a fit way to reinvent himself. A lot had changed since the war, and he found it necessary for people to see him changed as well.
American society and culture was not the same as back home.
Blaise expected to find the same sort of Pure-Blood community he had grown up among. But those views evidently never took root across the pond.
Without any established social ties or common belief structure in place to act as a stepping stone in Wizarding community of New York, Blaise was left with little to recommend himself.
He was not approachable. He never valued conversation and flattery, and that left him ill-suited for American Witches. So, he did what any respectable Slytherin would do.
He adapted.
He spent weeks studying the manners of Witches and Wizards and subsequently began mimicking that behavior. It worked flawlessly, and before long he had bedded more Witches than he cared to count. They didn't mean anything to him, after all.
But American life, he found, did not suit him, and after a year he found himself longing for home; so he returned.
He purchased a position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Things may have improved after the war but people take much longer to reform, and the galleon's worth had not diminished.
It was sheer coincidence he ever met Hermione Granger.
In his efforts to incorporate himself back into acceptable society, Blaise again drew on his powers of observation. He learned where to eat, where to drink, and what to say in order to draw people to him. It was much easier to form connections, he found, if hewas not the one to initiate conversation.
He no longer placed importance on blood status. Those views had served him well in his youth, but that was no longer the world he lived in. So with much effort and practice, he pushed his prejudices and subsequent urges to the back of his mind, building a barricade around them to keep them from surging forward once more.
It worked…most of the time.
Yes, the wall prevented certain words and actions from sullying his new persona, but they were still there, calling to him from the depths of his mind. He had no life-altering experience, no earth-shattering realization molding him into a new man.
It was a façade; A smokescreen; A necessary measure for survival. Or at least that was how it had all started.
Young Witches loved him. Or at least the idea of him. There was something so sinfully delicious about falling into bed with a reformed death eater. Not that he had ever been a death eater, but if you were in Slytherin during the war, you might as well have been. All he had to do was mention 'how wrong he had been' and their knickers were on his bedroom floor within the hour.
But over time, as with most aspects of Blaise's life, those Witches begun to bore him; their robes too tight and their heads too empty.
He wanted someone with more fire, more substance, more…something. So he began setting his sights on more stimulating quarry.
It was in his effort to gain the interest of a striking dark-skinned Witch that his life was truly altered.
Angelina Johnson had grown into a handsome Witch. She worked in his department and seemed a fitting challenge and change from his usual prey. He knew an objective such at this would require more time and effort. He didn't mind the wait.
He endeared himself to her the best he knew how and after several assignments together and a few working lunches he finally gained her respect and acceptance. He knew then that he need only wait for an opening and Angelina did not disappoint.
After a particularly boring meeting regarding the next Triwizard Tournament, Blaise, Angelina, Croans, and Persephone were chatting amicably as they walked the corridors back to their offices. To no one's surprise, their conversation moved to Quidditch. That's when Angelina mentioned needing a chaser for her weekly Quidditch match.
Blaise humbly offered his services. Not only could he ride in on his broom her savior, but it also provided him the opportunity to impress her with his skill at the game.
She was thrilled, pulling him quickly toward her office so that she could fill him in on all the details. He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face.
That was the day Balise discovered not only that she was dating a Weasley, but that he had just agreed to walk straight into the lion's den.
The following Sunday he stood watching as Angelina pled his case. Quarrelling with the red-headed brood; demanding that they give her friend the chance to play.
Her friend.
Never had anyone fought so honestly and fervently for him. Never had anyone called him friend and meant it. And now here he stood, at the Burrow of all places. He might as well have shown up at Gryffindor Tower. It was during this contemplation on current predicament that he heard her speak.
"Don't worry. They'll let you play."
She was seated in a worn chair under a tall tree, legs tucked beneath her, a book in her hands. Her face was angled down, eyes focused on the open tome. She didn't seem to be paying him or the contending mob any attention, causing him to doubt if she truly spoke at all.
"George knows better than to oppose with her for too long. The others will approve once he does."
She turned the page, angling her chin as her eyes travelled, absorbing every word. The sun shone through the branches overhead highlighting her hair; A golden halo around a mass of curls.
It look longer than he liked to admit to recognize her. "Granger?"
She looked up, a tight smile on her lips. "Hello, Zabini." She wasn't pleased to see him. It was obvious in her demeanor and her expression. But her eyes, warm pools of honey behind dark lashes met his own dark orbs without a hint of timidness.
"Just filling in," he continued, and looked on as her eyes moved back to her book.
"Unless they like you," she countered.
"What do you mean?" As she turned another page, he found himself desperate for those eyes to be on him once more.
"It's Ginny's spot. She was just offered position on the Holyhead Harpies. It's unlikely she will be round often enough to hold her spot."
There was an explosion behind him, and he turned in time to see a ball of smoke rising high into the air from amidst the group, almost all of whom were grabbing their throats, coughing and wheezing for air.
"That would be George." Her words drew his attention away from the commotion, allowing him to watch as she stifled a laugh, her upper body bouncing as she did.
He swallowed hard. "Why don't you play?"
"I don't fly." Her words were short and firm.
He wanted to speak with her more. He wanted to ask why she didn't fly. Hadn't she learned? Perhaps she simply hadn't found the right teacher. Maybe he could teach her.
An image of him taking her on his broom flashed in his mind; An arm wrapped around her as he caressed her neck with light strokes and tender kisses.
But before he had the chance to speak, he felt himself being pulled away. Angelina, a triumphant smile on her face, drawing him further and further away.
The match had gone well. The Gryffindors' prejudice against him lessening upon witnessing his skill on the makeshift pitch.
Afterword they even invited him for drinks and he soon found himself enthralled by their comradery and high spirits.
They asked him to play again the following week and before long he found himself spending more and more time with the Gryffindors, all the while attempting and failing to gain approval of their princess.
That was around the same time he noticed his friend's decline.
Despite this focus on immersing himself in the new Wizarding society Blaise still held ties with his former life. One of those ties was Draco Malfoy.
A month after returning to England he read of the tragic accident at Malfoy Manor.
Aurors performed a full sweep of the Pure-Blood home, but the ancient manor held more secrets than they had men.
In an effort to stow away a few lingering dark objects, Lucius Malfoy met with a violent end and Narcissa, stricken with grief followed him soon after into the veil, leaving her son unrestrained to shoulder the grief.
Their deaths were mourned by few and celebrated by many. It was only a sense of duty that brought him to call upon the Malfoy heir.
At first he almost enjoyed the blonde Wizard's fall from grace; seeing the Wizard who had once been so proud and powerful fall so low.
You've no father to run to now, Draco.
They hadn't been friends. More like rivals. Rivals for status, power, Witches. But that feeling of righteousness did not last long.
Conceivably what Draco continuously said was right. Perhaps time in America had softened him, made him weak. But maybe Blaise simply saw his own fall from position and prestige of the old ways mirrored heavily in the cold and empty expression of his former housemate.
Whatever the reason, a cautious alliance was again formed between the two Wizards.
Regular correspondence turned to frequent dinners. Soon he spent most evenings at the Manor, talking about school and the war, watching as Draco fell further into the abyss. He was drinking more heavily, abandoning his practiced etiquettes, forgetting his social obligations and neglecting his own care.
It wasn't long before the Greengrass girl ended their arrangement, her family publicly declaring the termination of their engagement and denouncing all ties with the Malfoy name.
Draco didn't seem to care.
That weekend he was at the Burrow again, sat stiffly as Ron read the headline out loud. His voice was gleefully and soon the others joined in laughing at and mocking the blonde.
His blood boiled.
He had yet to reveal his friendship with Draco, thinking this newfound bond with the Weasleys still too fragile to survive such an announcement.
But as he compared Draco's misery and deterioration to the joy and love this family was privileged to he exploded, unable to hold his tongue any longer.
It was the first time she met his eyes without a trace of malice.
Weeks went by and before long Draco's abuse and neglect of his home and house elves was reported to the Ministry.
He was drink at the inquiry, and didn't even seem to notice when Ministry Officials came to collect the creatures from his home.
Hermione worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Beings. She was well aware of the situation.
The following day they met in the lifts and she asked after Draco. Blaise could tell it was difficult for her, to bring herself to show concern, no matter how forced, for her childhood bully.
He did not usually speak the business of others, but despite the way she almost choked on the words, her eyes were genuine and soft.
Slowly, the two began to form a sort of friendship, smiling and nodding politely as they crossed paths at the Ministry; engaging in benign small talk at the Burrow. Her acknowledgement and approval washed over him like a warm bath, but just the same once it was gone, he was left cold and shivering missing her warmth and longing for that feeling once more.
Truth be told, he did not know much about her. Every opinion or idea of her during school had been tainted by her dirty blood. But now. Now he saw her as an intelligent and passionate Witch.
Sundays with the Gryffindors did not provide him with enough time or quiet to have a proper conversation with her. He loved watching her eyes come to life, full of fire and passion as she spoke of her work or a new book with her friends. She was carefree in those moments. Why did she never speak to him in such a way?
He found any reason he could to visit her during the week, but she was always so busy, working to champion this cause or that underappreciated being. Her hair a mess and her desk piled high with work.
He asked her to lunch, using the pretense of needing to get out of the office, but she always declined. She was working through lunch, or had plans to meet Harry and Ron. If there wasn't something so oddly intoxicating about her, Blaise would have given up long ago.
Her friends were loud and abrasive, often overtaking the conversation when they found themselves lost in whatever topic she brought up. They were not smart enough for her. They could not keep up with her intellect.
He could.
Her eyes were always warm, but he longed to see the spark of laughter and joy he had seen that first day at the Burrow directed at himself. She never gave him that. More often than not, when they spoke, they spoke only of Draco.
Still he continued his weekly visits to her floor, sometimes missing her, but always looking for her. He tried to move their conversations away from Draco, but beyond that he had little excuse to interrupt her workday.
Determined to move their friendship forward, he resolved to no longer use the abysmal state of his friend as reason to speak with her. The last thing he wanted was her pity. He wanted her to want him as he did her.
He ignored any other Witch who looked his way, as if in doing so Hermione would somehow know his intention toward her. In the end; however, it had been his downfall.
A month later, humiliated and rejected, it was only desperation that brought him to again knock on her door. He hadn't seen her in weeks, hadn't visited the Burrow nor stopped on her floor.
But with every other avenue explored and Draco Malfoy at his worst, Blaise Zabini begged for assistance from Hermione Granger.
He had arrived at Malfoy Manor, as he did every evening arms full of take away he knew Draco would not eat, only this time the blonde was nowhere to be found.
Blaise searched every room and corridor, every balcony, every cupboard to find them all empty. Somewhat unnerved, he made his way outside and began searching the grounds. It was here that he found the blonde unconscious on a stone bench.
He was caked in a thick layer of mud, briars from his mother's rose bushes, long forgotten, stuck out from beneath the hardened coating. His face was scratched, his knuckles bloodied and broken. No shoes. No cloak.
What had he done?
Taking him inside, he cleaned and tended to his wounds. He was competent at best in healing magic, but it would be enough. Draco never woke, only twitching and mumbling nonsense words as Blaise saw to him.
This has to stop.
Blaise sent the appropriate owls, reaching out to former classmates he thought might take an interest in Draco's declining health.
He received no replies.
He considered contacting Saint Mungo's, but thought better of it. He was not certain he would survive Draco's fury should he awake there.
Hermione. She cared for the wellbeing of all creatures, no matter how wretched. Perhaps she would care. Could she? She seemed supportive enough of his concern for the blonde. Though he did not miss the way she still sometimes winced at his name.
He wrote the letter four times before finally sending his owl on her way. He received her reply a week later.
She never told Blaise the reason she agreed to help the Wizard who in his youth caused her so much pain and hardship. But she did agree.
She said it wasn't for him, it wasn't for Draco, but then...for whom?
It was yet another thing that drew him her. She was a puzzle. And he was good at puzzles. But yet, he still could not figure her out. She was so passionate and honest. She demanded respect, but declined attention.
She was plain and beautiful and forbidden.
He had to have her. Just once. Maybe forever.
Time spent after work and on weekends visiting the Burrow gave him more opportunities to interact with the Witch. For someone who did not live there, she spent a tremendous amount of time with the Weasleys.
Although he was now there for Draco, his concern and attention was undesired. Draco spent his time flying or locked away in his room. He was miserable and infuriating all the same, but he wasn't drinking.
That, Blaise supposed, was something.
"How do you keep doing that?"
"Whatever do you mean?" The blonde across from him looked up innocently, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a delicate sip. Merlin, even the way he drank was infuriating.
"You know precisely what I am referring to."
"A bloke has to have some sort of entertainment in a place like this. What else would you have me do?"
"You know, you might actually like them if you ever even spoke to them aside from saying something nasty."
Draco's gaze narrowed. "She's really got a hold of you, doesn't she?" Blaise didn't reply. "Any closer to removing those knickers?"
"Shut up!"
"I'll take that as a no." The smirk returned.
"No thanks to you," Blaise chided.
"No thanks to yourself," the blonde retorted. Draco dropped his fork, sneering as an owl crashed into the nearby window and moved to stand. "If you had any real charisma or charm the task wouldn't be near this easy."
"I said, shut up." He pressed his hands firmly against the table as Draco retrieved his broom.
"She will never be yours." The callous Wizard's words cut deep as he returned his attention to Blaise. "She sees right through you. You may smile and flatter her. You may say all the 'right' things to show her that you are a changed man."
"I'm warning you, Draco."
"But at the end of the day, you are simply a snake. You may shed your skin, but underneath you are just like me. And Granger will never - "
"ENOUGH!" Blaise stood swiftly, the fronts of his legs hitting the table and causing the dishes on its surface to rattle. He reached for his wand, relishing in the surge of magic he felt course through him; A curse on the tip of his tongue.
Brown eyes met grey, and he was simultaneously dismayed and maddened by the icy expression which met him.
The grip on his wand loosened. "Do you feel….anything anymore?"
"I feel plenty."
"You weren't always like this."
"Life is pain, Blaise. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something." And with that, Draco turned calmly and made his way outside.
Still full of anger and nowhere to unleash it, Blaise followed shortly after, exerting as much energy as possible in glaring at the blonde as he soared overhead.
"Lover's quarrel?" Her voice floated weightless through the air.
She was in her chair beneath the tall tree again. It had never occurred to him how such a position, sat alone in the open, could at the same time be so well hidden. He never noticed her there, not until she spoke.
"There's more hate than love between us these days," he explained through clenched teeth.
"I don't know about that. I think you'd have to love him very much to put up with him."
"He doesn't have anyone else."
"Doesn't matter." His head jerked in her direction and his heart dropped when he found her eyes again focused on the book in her lap. "Just because he was alone does not mean that you became obligated to befriend him. Simply because you were friends in school - "
"We were not friends." He enunciated each word.
"Ah. Yes. Slytherins don't have friends. My apologies." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes severely.
"I mean, we weren't friends….then. We are now."
"I know." Of course she knew. She was Hermione Bloody Granger. Brightest Witch of her year. No knowledge was beyond her reach.
"He's insufferable."
"I know that too. But I suppose, when you've been as alone as he has been all your life, you don't know any other way to be."
"Don't tell me Hermione Granger has forgiven Draco Malfoy."
"Of course not!" Her eyes shot up, her mouth dropping open in outrage at the thought; until she caught the glint in his eye. She heaved a sigh and looked to the sky. Blaise followed her gaze to the silhouette of the Wizard in question.
"He's not alone anymore. He has a choice to make now. Just as he did up on that tower, and the stakes are just as great."