Been a while again, it's shorter than the last, but I just needed to get this up and done. Review, thoughts, let me know what you think of the direction I'm taking it. This is Blaise's first introduction into the story.
Enjoy.
Weeks passed by without much incident. The Aurors kept to their promise of drilling the Hogwarts students until they were satisfied they could take on a stampeding horde of Death Eaters and dark creatures. It was apparent to Neville that evidently the Aurors weren't satisfied by a long shot, since the drills didn't stop. Although, with a small smirk, Neville congratulated himself silently on Confunding Dedalus Diggle to act as their bodyguard against the other Aurors. Hermione had beamed at him with pride before being hit by a Jelly-Legs curse. The lesson of that day was to admire each other's spell work once the fight was over.
It was the weekend before school was due to start. The young Gryffindors settled down for a late breakfast after their most grueling drill so far, which Mrs. Weasley dutifully prepared all the while muttering about the appropriateness of hexing children. Hermione sat stirring a cup of tea, unusually quiet. Neville had noticed and was wondering how best to approach the subject when Ron turned to her with a concerned expression and beat him to it. "You alright, Herm?"
Hermione looked up from her cup of tea, almost started. Most everyone else around the table also looked up, surprised that Ron had managed a thoughtful observation of his girlfriend, or whatever they were calling themselves. Hermione blinked for a second before responding. "Oh yes, fine Ron, I was just thinking..." she trailed off and directed her gaze at Harry, who slowly stopped eating and began to shrink slightly under the glare that was coming his way.
"Hermione?" Harry asked warily. When no response came, he wondered whether he needed to be making a break for the door, when suddenly Hermione started up again.
"I've been thinking," Hermione started, and broke off yet again. Ginny scoffed into her toast.
"Your brain never switches off, Herm." Hermione gave no indication that she had heard Ginny's comment, while Ron glared at her to be quiet.
"The DA. I think we should keep going with it this year. More than that, actually. We should pass on what the Order's been teaching us." Ron was again the first to respond, before Harry had even a chance to give his own opinion.
"That's a great idea! We can have drills, and stuff, like we've had here, and people can defend themselves!"
"But," Ginny interrupted, "the whole reason for the DA is gone. Umbridge is history, and we should get a decent Defense teacher now."
"But," Ron said, "Defense teachers won't be teaching all the stuff we've learned here." He sat back smugly, as Ginny was about to launch into a new argument, Hermione interrupted.
"That's not all. I also think," Hermione started before halting, and taking a deep breath, looking into the faces of her friends before continuing, "I think that we should work hard to get some of Slytherin involved."
A stunned silence greeted her words. Harry bore the same expression he'd had since Hermione had started, one of a deer caught firmly in the path of oncoming truck headlamps. Ron and Ginny seemed simply stunned into silence, while Neville looked at her thoughtfully. Mrs. Weasley, noticing the tension, quickly came towards the table armed with comfort and bacon.
"I think that's a very nice thought, dear," she said as she started doling out seconds, "but you want to be wary of how many people know Auror-level dueling techniques."
"What mum's trying to say, Herm," Ron said with a slight sneer, "is that we can't be teaching the Death Eaters what we know! We might as well open ruddy gates and let You-Know-Who teach Defense this year! Ow, mum!" Ron rubbed his head as he was caught firmly with a gentle tap across the head from his mother.
"Don't be flippant, Ronald." Mrs. Weasley moved away back to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the rest of the family. Hermione pressed on.
"I know we'd have to be careful. I think we should go through a list of Slytherins and see if anyone could possibly be trusted. Then approach them, and build up a relationship. Not like that, Ron!" Hermione gave Ron a withering glare as he spat his orange juice. "Besides. I find it hard to believe that every Slytherin is on V-Vol-.. You-know-who's side," she paused, embarrassed at herself for not using his full name, "just because they're a Slytherin! Wormtail was a Gryffindor. And I'll bet there's a Death Eater spy-child in Ravenclaw."
All heads at the table whipped up to look at her. Hermione's expression was the same, one of deep, consternate thought. The others varied in shock and horror, to complete disbelief. Ginny spoke up first. "And why Ravenclaw?" Hermione sighed, and ran a hand through her frizzy hair before turning to Harry with an apologetic expression.
"Now, Harry, no offense to you or anything -"
"That means I'll probably be really offended now," Harry cut her off sardonically. Feeble laughs came from the group and Hermione pressed on.
"But think about it. If I'm a Ravenclaw, then I'm going to think logically. And I'll only have public information to guide my decision. So, I can weigh the odds of an incredibly powerful, feared and malevolent Dark wizard like You-Know-Who, being defeated by a teenager who barely knows anything about the Wizarding world because of his upbringing, and spends far too much time injured in the infirmary for his own good. Now," Hermione kept going despite the angry looks the Weasleys and Neville were starting to give, "you could conclude that the Headmaster is helping Harry, and that You-Know-Who has always been afraid of him. Or, you could conclude that it wouldn't be enough. I'm just saying that this is how some people may look at the situation."
Ron started up, his face becoming an angry shade of purple. "You can't seriously think that?" Hermione scoffed at him.
"Of course I don't, Ron. But that's because I'm here, in the middle of it. I'm talking from the point of view of the regular person." Just as Ron was about to interject, Harry looked up from the table top he'd been staring at, and spoke quietly.
"She's right. The only way to stop that line of thinking is to convince everyone else that we can win, yeah? And part of that means not trusting or mistrusting based on House membership alone." Hermione beamed at him. Harry went back to looking at the table in thought. Ron deflated in the chair, his drive to argue the point gone.
"I still don't trust the ruddy snakes," Ron grumbled. Hermione leaned a hand over to rub his shoulder comfortingly.
"And we shouldn't until they earn it. But we have to start figuring out who to approach." Harry took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He knew the day would be long, and arduous.
Blaise Zabini sat quietly at the mahogany bureau in his room. Feather quill in hand, he contemplated the charms homework in front of him with an attentive eye. Behind that lay stacks of more paper; some homework, some of it newspapers, and some merely to pass the time over the summer. The expansive house and gardens are nice, to be sure, but even open grounds can seem claustrophobic when you never leave. Unlike most other students, Blaise made no trip to Diagon Alley for school supplies - his uncle believed that the Zabinis should consort only with those of 'appropriate station.' And that, given the current climate (as his father euphemistically said) the Zabinis should concern themselves more with matters at home, than directly in the public eye. What his uncle meant was that You-Know-Who could call on him at any time, and he didn't want to miss the summons. Blaise snorted to himself, the mockery of his father's desperation to please hiding his fear for the future even from his own conscious thought. The sound of a house elf's pop pulled Blaise from his musings.
"Master Blaise's presence is requested in the entrance hallway to greet guests of the house!" The elf looked up with almost fearful eyes, as if waiting for inevitable reprimand. Blaise sighed and said nothing, silently pushing himself away from his work and walking slowly downstairs.
As Blaise descended he made out the forms of the Avery family having their coats taken by another elf, with worn smiles that didn't quite reach the eyes. Blaise took a moment to groan silently to himself before straightening himself and plastering a pleasant smile of his own onto his face.
"Blaise, my boy! You remember Mr. and Mrs. Avery, of course." Blaise's uncle Gennaro was full of bluster at having guests in his home. Technically, the home of Blaise's father, but since his, and his subsequent step-father's untimely deaths, his uncle had taken the mantle of head of the family. And managed to ensure that the deaths of these men were always recorded as accidental. Something he made sure his mother never forgot. Blaise descended fully down the steps and into the Avery's view.
"Of course. Sir, madam. A pleasure to welcome you to our home once again." Blaise made a short, but formal bow before the couple. They nodded in appreciation.
"Such a lovely home it is. And tell me, young Blaise, your studies go well?" Gennaro looked over Mr. Avery's shoulder at Blaise, with an unnatural grin and an encouraging expression. Blaise resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Yes, sir. One E at OWL level, the rest were Outstandings." Avery nodded with approval.
"A talented boy. Soon you will put those talents to good and proper use, as is the duty of all pureblood in our society!" Avery's slimy hand patted firmly on Blaise's shoulder. Blaise withheld a shudder.
"Blaise," Gennaro started, "Go fetch your mother, and tell her that we will dine in the banquet hall." Blaise nodded, turned once again and bowed to the Averys, and walked away to the smoke room where his mother spent her afternoons. He heard his uncle's voice slowly fade into the background as he walked. "Renata keeps to herself normally, but I'm sure she'll be thrilled to have you here!"
Entering the smoke room the air was thick with incense and flavoured tobacco. Blaise breathed deeply, allowing the scent to fill his lungs, and searched out his mother in the haze. She often obscured herself from vision in here, Blaise suspected on purpose. "Mother?" he called.
"Yes, Blaise?" Renata Zabini's voice floated from about the middle of the room. It was quiet and soft, layered with sad tones, as if caught in continual grief.
"Uncle Gennaro wanted me to inform you that the Averys have arrived for dinner." An unladylike snort came from where the voice had been. "He also wishes for you to serve dinner, in the main dining hall."
"But of course," his mother's voice continued in a drawl, "nothing less for the emissaries of the Dark Lord." Blaise stayed silent. The haze began to clear, and Blaise could make out his mother's face sitting on a red velvet armchair, alone in an island of fog. She turned her dark eyes to him. "Have they said anything… of note?"
"They asked about my studies. Suggested that my 'talents' will be put to good and proper use. As all good pureblood do." Blaise betrayed no emotion in his voice. His mother looked away.
"Gennaro," the name was said with scorn, "would have nothing less for you."
"And you, Mother?" Blaise asked with trepidation. The tension in the room thick, as it was every time this subject came up. His mother laughed, an unhappy sound.
"You know me better than that, Blaise. Come, let us not keep our… guests, waiting." She stood, and walked out of the fog and past Blaise, a hand reaching out to grip his shoulder in protection and love as they began to move together, their facial masks in check, ready to greet the poison that made itself comfortable in their home.
"A wonderful spread, Gennaro!" Mark Avery was smoothing the crumbs of food from his dinner jacket obnoxiously onto the Zabini's floor, the plates of food in front of him bare save small bits of gristle and bone. Greasy thin hands grabbed a golden goblet of wine, and sipped delicately. Rachelle Avery looked over to Renata, who had kept her eyes fixed to her plate, and her mouth shut throughout the dinner. "Your son is turning out well," she began, "you must be so proud." Renata looked up with a smile of sincerity and blank, uncaring eyes.
"Blaise would have made his father proud." Mark Avery looked Blaise over, and pursed his lips before looking directly back to Gennaro.
"Gennaro, of course you are aware of the, ah, latest developments in the world at large." Gennaro's eyes widened, and he hastened to nod in assent. "I would be curious," he continued, "to hear your thoughts on the subject as the head of household." Gennaro looked between Renata and Mark for a moment.
"I, ah, well. I think you remember where I stood years ago. Nothing has changed…" Gennaro trailed off, looking almost lost. Mark smiled broadly, his hands stretching in a gesture of acceptance.
"I'm pleased to hear that! And so will others that we both know." Mark looked at Gennaro meaningfully. Rachelle was studying Renata carefully, who was swirling tea in a small china mug.
"You've been awfully quiet, Ren. Don't you have any opinion?" Renata looked up almost lazily at Rachelle, still stirring the tea with her finger.
"My brother has always done what was best for the family. Isn't that right, Blaise?" Blaise looked up, by contrast to Renata, in complete surprise. Having so far managed to avoid making any mention of politics or Dark Lords throughout the entire course of the dinner, to have his mother address him directly on the topic was a shock, to say the least.
"Er - of course, mother. I trust my uncle completely." Mark and Gennaro both beamed, while Rachelle Avery continued to look studiously at the other two Zabinis. Renata stood, finally, abandoning her tea untouched.
"You must excuse me, I am feeling so tired. Blaise, would you escort me to my sitting room?" WIthout waiting for response, Renata began to sweep away. Blaise stood, nodded politely to his guests, and followed at a brisk pace.
Once inside his mother's smoking room, Blaise shut the door behind them. "Mother, did you have to ask me that at dinner?" Renata sighed and sat down in her armchair, taking a cigarette from her pack and lighting it.
"Yes, Blaise, I did. You were being quiet and suspicious. 'Good purebloods' are meant to sing the praises of You-Know-Who and shower love on their emissaries." Blaise frowned.
"But - "
"None of that," Renata interrupted him with a stern expression. "You are a talented wizard. A perfect recruit for the new generation of Death Eaters. If it looks like you don't want to take that path, you will draw unwanted attention to us. Keep up appearances, always, or our lives are forfeit." Renata leaned over and took a small envelope from her end table. She handed it to Blaise, who looked at it curiously. "Give that to your headmaster. If anyone asks, I am concerned about your underachieving grades."
"My underachieving - " Blaise looked at his mother, both hurt and confused, before getting the point. He pocketed the letter, and turned to leave.
"Blaise," his mother called after him; Blaise stopped and turned to look at her. "Be safe this year." He nodded once, curtly, and left.
I'm already working on the next part of this, so the next update shouldn't be that far away. Review, comment, etc. I know that the length of this one won't match up, but really, I had a bit of a hard time bridging between her and the start of the school year. Hopefully I shall get back up to snuff soon. And thanks for the positive reviews on the last chapter.
