I don't own Harry Potter.
Sixth Year: Morality
Since the stint in the Slytherin dungeons, Padma had yet to exchange two words with Blaise. The closest they'd come to conversation was in the hallway, when he'd stepped on her foot – she didn't know if it was by accident or on purpose – and apologized curtly. She said nothing in response. Her anger at him was like a vengeful collection of tidal waves nearing the surface, close to boiling over and with every exchange she had with Blaise, getting closer.
The atmosphere at Hogwarts had changed over the course of the summer, growing darker and gloomier, even more so than before. Students grew apart, separating into the two groups that would define them even more than their houses – the Light Side, with Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and the Order of the Phoenix, and the Dark Side, with Voldemort intent on securing a victory for the first time in many years.
Padma and Parvati's parents had tried to remove them from school, but Padma sided with her sister over her parents, for once, and asked to stay at Hogwarts. If something were to arise, if they needed to fight for what they believed in, they wanted to be there.
At the Zabini house, things were very different. Each day, Blaise defended his mother to angry Howlers, letters sent by civilized Owls, and in-person visits. Some were their old friends – the Malfoys, the Crabbes, the Goyles – requesting that they join up with the Dark Side, recruit Blaise not as a Death Eater, but an ally. Others, like the Weasleys, were adamant about Dumbledore's leading them to freedom. But neither Blaise nor his mother would be taken in. From birth, he had been taught that self-preservation was of the utmost importance. Choosing to remain neutral was one of the most dangerous paths one could take, but once the War was over, it guaranteed their survival.
While both Padma and Blaise's decisions were made outside of Hogwarts, it was what occurred inside that made a world of difference. Each day, Light and Dark did battle with each other, whether it was in the form of severed friendships, covert hexes in the hallway, or outright fistfights perpetrated almost entirely by Gryffindors and Slytherins. The sky grew dark, and so did the students' spirits.
"Did you hear?" asked Terry. Padma put down the book she was only pretending to read and looked up at her housemate with a raised eyebrow. The rest of the common room was buzzing with activity, with Ravenclaws of all ages perched on every piece of furniture they could find, not, as Padma was, reading, but conversing spiritedly.
"Hear what?" she questioned. Unlike her sister, Terry could always be counted on for accurate information. It was a sad realization but a truthful one.
"Apparently," he replied, eyes flitting over her book for a moment – it was a Ravenclaw quirk, to examine each other's choice of literature – "Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater."
Padma's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, a Death Eater?" she repeated. "He's only sixteen – he isn't even of age!"
"I heard it from a Slytherin, in the corridor," shrugged Terry. "I figure they don't lie about those sorts of things."
"Which Slytherin?" Not all of them were on the Dark Side, she hoped.
"I think it was Zabini," said Terry thoughtfully. "Perhaps he's one as well."
Her stomach lurched. "I have to go, Terry," she said abruptly, and abandoned the book entirely. Her friend's brow crinkled in confusion, but when he asked her what was wrong, she only said she needed to get something to eat, and then left, the portrait door slamming loudly behind her. It went unnoticed by her housemates, but Terry was suspicious. He wasn't a Ravenclaw because he was dim.
The next morning, over a warm breakfast and a cold disposition, owls flew, delivering mail to select students. One of those students was a sullen Blaise Zabini, who, after severing all contact with his secret friend, had become very bad-tempered. But it didn't matter much – Slytherins were meant to be that way. Draco made it a point to stare glumly into his oatmeal each morning. Only Theo was at least halfway chipper, but it had soured considerably from what he was known for the year before.
When a simple white envelope found its way into Blaise's hands, he was at first unbothered. It wasn't until he saw a familiar script peeking through the translucent paper did he realize who it was. With a new enthusiasm, he opened it and unfolded the short note.
Third floor. The Armoury. 9:30.
Three short phrases. Cold. Emotionless. Padma was all business.
He glanced over at the Ravenclaw table. She wasn't even looking at him.
The Armoury was a long stretch of hallway dedicated entirely to the many suits of armour that provided an intimidating if not nerve-wracking air to an otherwise bright corridor. But because the light was provided by the natural sun that coursed through the half-circle-shaped windows, Blaise stood in the semi-darkness. There was no sunshine that morning.
He heard the footsteps just before nine-thirty, measured and quiet. Then, Padma's shadow appeared around the corner, followed by her in her corporeal form. When she saw him waiting, a few minutes early, she didn't look surprised. Even after a year, her awareness of his habits had not lessened.
They stood in silence for a moment, many metres away from each other, before Padma closed some of the distance and spoke.
"Is Draco Malfoy a Death Eater?" she asked him quietly. He blinked once. Her question had come entirely out of the left field, which was strange. She was usually so predictable. He'd liked that about her, once.
"Why do you want to know, Padma?" he responded, shifting his weight. While it wasn't exactly secret, Draco's activities under Voldemort's wing, Blaise wasn't about to admit openly to what was supposed to be Draco's problem to handle.
Her face shifted left slightly when he spoke her name, as if she'd been slapped. "It's important," was all she would say.
"To who?"
"To me," said Padma, and when she stepped closer in emphasis, her face becoming illuminated by what light ventured into the hall, Blaise was surprised to see her eyes bright with tears.
"Padma?" said Blaise quietly. "Do you think I'm a Death Eater, as well?"
She jerked her face away from the light once more. "Just tell me, Blaise. Please." She choked on the last word, and he realized just how much it meant to her to hear his answer.
"No," he said simply. She heaved a deep breath, but whether it was in relief or annoyance, he couldn't tell. It was too damn dark. Why in Merlin's name had she asked to meet here, of all places? There were plenty of secret areas around the school that provided the required light needed to have a conversation.
But when Padma raised her eyes, it occurred to him that she had chosen it purposefully.
"You're with them, aren't you." Her tone was measured once more. The emotion that had saturated it for the one word had dissipated. Blaise was marginally impressed by her control.
"No," he said once more. "I've chosen not to take a side."
She scoffed. "Do you know what danger you're putting yourself in, not choosing?"
"I'm aware," he said, controlling his own voice, forcing out the irritation and defensiveness. "It's what's best for me."
"You're selfish," she whispered, not giving him an ounce worth of notice. "You don't care who gets killed. Just as long as you survive."
He swallowed, and suddenly, he was thankful for the darkness. "That's not true," he said softly.
"How do I know that?" demanded Padma, her shout echoing off of every available wall in the corridor. "How do I know you wouldn't kill me just so you could get out unscathed? How do I know you wouldn't kill your own mother to –"
"I wouldn't!" he snapped. "You don't understand, Padma – you've never understood! Seven years we've known each other, and you still don't understand! It isn't about us or them, Dark or Light, any of that! I choose not to fight because I refuse to sacrifice myself for a hopeless cause!"
"How on earth is it hopeless?" Padma shot back, insulted. "We can do it – Harry is brave, he knows –"
"He's sixteen! What in Merlin does he know?"
"More than you," she hissed. "He knows that we're all depending on him. He's willing to sacrifice himself for that hopeless cause –"
"Are you?" he asked her, and she stepped back in surprise.
"Y-yes," she stammered out. "I am."
"Why?" Blaise couldn't help asking. Padma looked bewildered, as if the answer was so obvious even a dimwit could figure it out.
"Because it's the right thing to do," she said.
Blaise absorbed her response. It was as if she was nine years old again, innocent, wide-eyed, curious about the world. But the Padma in front of him was sixteen, wise beyond her years. She should have known by now that the odds were stacked against her. That the world wasn't a beautiful place. That the choice she made now would affect her in every way.
He thought his decision was the best one. But when faced with such a simple, childish belief – what the right thing to do was – he was forced to question his.
For a moment, he was unsteady on his feet. Then he found his footing and turned, leaving Padma alone in the Armoury with what she thought was right and what he did.
A confrontation, yes, but not as explosive as one might believe. Instead, it is a quiet pondering of what they know of themselves and each other. The way an intelligent Slytherin and an intelligent Ravenclaw should converse. Hope you enjoyed! Sorry about the late-ish update! ~ dp
