Days, nights and hours melted together, indecipherable time slipping through her slender fingers. Octavia didn't know how long she had been locked in the tower, and she couldn't even use the sunlight and moonlight to ascertain the length of her captivity. As she slept frequently, with no set time, she wasn't able to be certain of how long had passed since the battle at the abbey. It felt like weeks, though. Painfully long, tiring and tedious weeks. Perhaps months.
Draco sometimes visited her, but less frequently than she had expected. At times, she would wake in the four-poster bed, certain that she could sense his lingering peppermint aroma on the sheets that covered her, but there was never any sign of the man in the room. Perhaps he lay with her while she slept. Perhaps she merely imagined his fragrance.
Cracks in her mind were already appearing, and she found it difficult to concentrate on one thing for a mere minute. Books had been provided by Dobby, likely by extension of Draco, but she couldn't read more than a page at a time. Even then, she wasn't really reading the words, but scanning them whilst daydreaming instead. Initially, she had suspected that her food had been spiked with calming draughts or something of the sort, but the side-effects didn't cause the confusion she felt. It took her a while to realise that she was depressed.
Adding to her misery, Octavia found herself yearning for Draco's arrival every day. Was it every day? Time was difficult to keep track of.
Company was in short supply in the tip of the tower, so to say she was lonely would be incredibly accurate. During her three years on the run, whilst fighting a war, Octavia was hard pressed for moments of solitude. She had always been in the company of others, even when she longed for peace and tranquillity alone. So to be alone for such lengthy periods of time was taking its toll on her, to be sure.
All Octavia could do to fill her days was sleep, eat and bathe. All the while, her lazy mind was filled with blurry thoughts of those she loved. The fate of Hermione had yet to be learned by Octavia, so she was left to her horrid speculations. Pansy, she presumed, had been captured, but Draco never confirmed these theories. In fact, he barely spoke at all when he visited.
Draco mostly watched her as she gazed vacantly through the only window in the tower, or observed her as she sat by the fireplace, picking at loose threads on the rug. Concern seemed to be a permanent glint in his silver eyes when he was around her, but he didn't speak unless she prompted a conversation. At times she would ask a few questions here and there, but mostly she remained silent. It was too exhausting to speak; draining to think. It all made her impossibly fatigued.
So when the wooden door shook from a loud knock, Octavia didn't even stir in the bed she lay rugged up in. The sunlight outside poured into the dank tower bedroom through the dusty old window, illuminating the dust particles in the air, daring to disturb her rest.
Again, the knock sounded out at the door, but all Octavia did was roll over in the bed, pulling the thick blankets over her head sluggishly. Draco never knocked when he visited her, so she fleetingly realised that it wasn't him at the door, but she didn't care. She only wanted to sleep.
After two additional ignored knocks, the mysterious visitor succumbed to impatience, opening the door with a deep groan and creak. Octavia kept her face buried into her feathery pillows, thick duvets and blankets covering her head completely. The door closed with a click after a moment, steady footsteps approaching the bed she occupied. Once the footsteps stopped by the side of the bed, a sound that resembled a box being placed on the hard floor thudding softly through the otherwise silent air.
The mattress dipped to the side, causing Octavia to move with the slight gravitational pull, but she remained buried and silent. Drowsiness still plagued her, forcing her heavy eyelids to remain shut, but she listened to the newcomer, hoping that he or she would leave. Yet, a part of her felt soothed at the company, and she felt the urge to entertain her guest, but no energy existed within her to do such a thing.
"Not exactly a gracious host, are you?" Blaise's teasing drawl sounded out, Octavia stiffening beneath the blankets instantly. "I know you are awake, Tavs. Come on out."
Octavia scowled into her pillow, shifting further beneath the concealment of the blankets, silently declining his request.
"No?" Blaise teased. "Well, I suppose I will have to return the gift I brought you. Such a shame."
Ever so slowly, Octavia's slender fingers peaked out of the blankets, gripping them before gradually pushing them from her head. She turned her face to the side, her cheek resting on the pillow as she blinked sluggishly at the Italian seated on the edge of the bed, smirking at her triumphantly. Dazed hazel eyes scanned the bed slowly, not detected any signs of the present he spoke of. She scowled at him in complete annoyance and utter disappointment.
"You look an absolute fright, Tavs," Blaise mocked, his black eyes assessing her puffy, yet gaunt face.
"Where's my present?" Octavia croaked, her brows knitted together in offence.
Blaise grinned widely at her, on the verge of laughter at her sheer predictable greediness. Her short curls concealed most of her face, a few strands stuck to her temples and cheeks from the sheen of sweat covering her. But he saw the hazel eyes narrowing at his grin, the lazy and faint indignation seeping from her perspiring pores.
Dim hazel eyes watched as Blaise pushed himself from the bed and retrieved a plain brown box from the floor. It was relatively large in size, cube in shape, and emitted the strangest scratching noises. The box also smelled a bit like urine. Octavia wanted to move closer to the intriguing parcel, but found that she didn't possess the energy to do so. Instead, she watched from the bed, laying sluggishly still, curls fanning over her weary face, blankets concealing her frail figure.
If one thought Octavia to be frail and sickly before, they hadn't seen her in captivity. The food that Dobby brought three times a day went barely touched, as she had entirely lost her appetite. Not even the generous provisions of out-of-season strawberries could tempt her.
"This is your gift," Blaise smirked, seating himself beside her on the bed, facing her as he placed the box on the matters. "It comes with conditions, of course."
"Conditions?"
"You must eat every meal that is brought to you throughout the days," Blaise stipulated, inspecting his perfectly manicured nails distractedly. "You must bathe at least once a day, dress appropriately, and be as productive as possible. That means less snoring and drooling, Tavs."
"Is it from you or Draco?" Octavia frowned, watching the box as it trembled slightly. Her interest was definitely peaked, but she just couldn't summon the strength to move closer to it.
"Draco has permitted the gift," Blaise drawled, unfastening his black robes. "But it is from me, of course."
She watched with vacant eyes as he slipped the Death Eater robes from his toned body, tossing them carelessly on the mattress.
"Honestly, Tavs," Blaise complained, sniffing the air. "When was the last time you bathed?"
"This morning," Octavia croaked. "I think."
"Could've fooled me," Blaise muttered under his breath as he unfastened the top button of his black shirt. "It reeks in here."
"How long have I been here?" Octavia whispered, hazel gazing at his face from beneath clusters of blonde curls.
Blaise's gaze met hers, pity flashing in his black eyes as his stony features softened marginally. She watched as he licked his plump pink lips slowly, as though contemplating a difficult puzzle. After a moment, he sighed quietly, shifting closer to her in the bed.
"Two weeks," Blaise answered coolly, but the concern in his black eyes conflicted greatly with his crisp tone. "You were asleep for the first week. It took time for your body to rejuvenate. It seems that you've made quick work of reversing your restored health, however."
"Where's Draco?" Octavia croaked, frowning as she tried to wrap her head around the time that had passed since her capture.
"Indisposed," Blaise shrugged casually. "Preparing for his ritual."
The shivering box caught her hazy attention again, her brows furrowing deeply as she watched it quake. Blaise followed her gaze, a smirk playing at his pink lips as his black eyes lit up.
"Do you want to open it?" Blaise asked seductively, playing on her weakness for gifts.
A barely noticeable nod was all the response he required.
"Then you will have to unbury yourself from these disgusting blankets," Blaise smirked, but eyed the musky duvets and sheets with distaste.
They weren't unattractive in appearance or design, but reeked of sweat and drool, presumably unwashed for some time. Blaise was certain that Dobby would have been faced with a great challenge in washing the linen, due to the incessant napping of the blonde in the bed.
Octavia didn't shift in the slightest, however, continuing to melt into the mattress as she gazed at the quivering box. Blaise rolled his eyes before pulling the blankets from her body, the blonde making no sounds of protest. His black eyes swiftly scanned her skinny body, clad only in modest black underwear, her skin a little on the pale side. Well, paler than normal at least.
"Dobby!" Blaise called, successfully revealing Octavia from the sheets.
The house-elf apparated into the bedroom, right by the bed, with a loud crack.
"Yes, Master Zabini?" Dobby bowed deeply, a long crooked nose grazing the floor.
"Clean the bedding," Blaise ordered.
The house-elf nodded anxiously, prepared to argue that it was difficult with Octavia still in the bed, but was silenced before he could even utter his words. Blaise scooped his arms beneath Octavia's body, hauling her up against his muscular chest. She rested her cheek against the soft fabric of his grey sweater as he pushed himself from the bed and carried her over to the armchair by the roaring fireplace. The house-elf quickly set to stripping the bed for the first time in a week.
Blaise settled the lazy girl into the armchair, waving his hand to conjure a woollen blanket before draping it over her. She would be cold, despite the flames in the nearby fireplace, due to the fact that she was only dressed in underwear.
"Don't you have clothes?" Blaise quirked his brow, tucking the blanket beneath her bottom.
"Yeah," Octavia whispered, glancing over at the set of drawers.
Blaise followed her gaze for a moment before sighing and conjuring a wooden chair. He flipped it to face the armchair she sat in before he seated himself, observing her with palpable concern.
"When was the last time you ate?" Blaise frowned, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
"I dunno," Octavia shrugged, her eyelids drooped, evidently exhausted. But he wasn't surprised; she obviously ate nothing at all, so her energy stores would scant at best.
"Dobby, bring us tea and sandwiches," Blaise drawled, not tearing his black eyes from O's sickly pale face. "Strawberries and cream, too."
"Yes, Master Zabini." The house-elf responded before he disapparated, taking the damp linen with him.
Blaise watched as she gazed at the fireplace, her brows furrowing and unfurrowing repeatedly.
"I'm not hungry," Octavia whispered after a moment, as though only just hearing Blaise's demands of the house-elf.
"I don't care," Blaise responded coolly. "If I have to imperius you to eat, then I will."
Octavia frowned, meeting his gaze, noticing that his jet-black hair fell over his forehead, brushing against his brows slightly. He was so similar in appearance to the Blaise she had once known, but so very different, she realised. His olive complexion was identical to what it had been in the past, his long lashes the same, his black hair the same. But his dark eyes possessed a hardness that hadn't been there years ago, and his build had increased in toned muscles, taller and wider than before. Yet, he looked at her like he would have done back at Hogwarts if she were sick. He looked at her with concern.
"Why are you here?" Octavia asked, her voice hoarse and gravelly.
"Draco cannot attend to you at the moment, so I am here on his behalf," Blaise shrugged nonchalantly, reclining in his chair.
"You can take me away from here," Octavia whispered, her dazed hazel eyes gazing at him. "You can help me escape."
"I'd lose my head if I did," Blaise smirked. "I think we can both agree that it's my best feature, and I'm quite reluctant to lose it."
She wasn't surprised, but couldn't help but be disappointed. Nodding in understanding, Octavia returned her gaze to the fire, watching as the flames danced and licked fiercely at one another.
"Where would you go?" Blaise asked after a while. "If you could escape, where would you go, Tavs? It's over. We have won. There's no escape, and there's nowhere to go."
Octavia flinched as he said 'we', the harshness of the reality slicing at her brutally. We. Blaise supported Draco and Harry, she knew that, but hearing that word come from him was surprisingly agonising. She would never fail to feel betrayed by the man in front of her; the man who had once been her best friend.
A loud crack ripped through the room, Dobby arriving by the pair at the fireplace. The house-elf bowed in a respectful gesture of greeting before placing a tray of beverages and snacks on the coffee table. As the house-elf scurried over to the bed to complete changing the sheets, Blaise pulled the coffee table toward him, moving it to rest between their two chairs.
"Eat." Blaise commanded, his tone suddenly sharp and authoritative.
"Fuck you." Octavia croaked lazily, not tearing her gaze from the flames in the fireplace.
"You wish, Tavs," Blaise grinned widely, slipping out his wand. "I'm way out of your league."
Before she could spit out a half-assed response, Blaise flicked his wand and whispered an unforgivable: 'Imperio.'
A warm sensation washed over her, taking away all despair and misery, submerging her in a cloud of contentment. A dreamy smile tugged at her cracked pale lips, her hazel eyes glazing over as she met his gaze, blinking expectantly at the handsome Italian.
"Eat." Blaise ordered, tapping his wand against the rim of the tray to further emphasise his demand.
The blonde with hollow cheeks leaned forward in the lumpy armchair, retrieving a sandwich from the tray with a smile on her face. Blaise poured them a cup of tea each as she ate, remaining silent whilst she remained under the command of his spell. It wasn't the preferred action in getting her to eat, but it was far better than watching her wither away to nothing.
By the time Blaise had finished his cup of English Breakfast tea, Octavia had managed to eat three triangular sandwiches and half a bowl of strawberries. He would have liked her to eat more, but if he forced her to continue, he ran the risk of her getting sick from over-consumption.
Waving his wand, Blaise lifted the unforgivable from Octavia silently, slipping the wooden stick back into his pocket. His dark gaze remained on her face as the spell seeped away from her body, but her hazel eyes seemed to retain a vacant glaze. She didn't shriek, scream, hiss insults or throw her usual sass his way. She just sat there, her expression blank and aura as depressing as they came.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Blaise drawled, placing his empty teacup on the tray.
"I hate you," Octavia mumbled, her voice so quiet he barely heard her.
Blaise quirked his brow before tutting in disapproval.
"Well, we both know that isn't true," Blaise drawled coolly. "Still; words can hurt, Tavs."
Flicking his tanned hand in the air, Blaise summoned the brown box to levitate toward them, Octavia's attention transferring to the gift she had forgotten all about. It was so very difficult for her to remember and concentrate. So very difficult.
Blaise pushed the tray to the edge of the coffee table, making enough room for the box as it landed gently where the tray had been.
"Your gift," Blaise declared, reclining in his chair with an air of arrogant nonchalance.
An uninterested expression remained on her face, but she shimmied closer to the box and pulled apart the top regardless. Once the cardboard flaps were separated, revealing the contents of the parcel, Blaise smirked proudly. For a light glimmered in her hazel eyes the moment she peered inside the box, a smile daring to twist at her cracked lips.
"Name it what you will," Blaise smirked, his dark eyes swarming with triumph. "Just don't use my name. It's bad for business."
Octavia dove her hands into the box, grabbing the small dog from inside before pulling it out gingerly. An adorable little Pomeranian puppy wriggled in her hands as she manoeuvred it closer to her, placing the pup on her lap gently. It was absolutely tiny; so small that it could fit in Blaise's empty teacup.
Blaise reached into the box, removing the final object from within. He extracted a small wicker basket containing a variety of items, from puppy training pads and dog toys, to an old photograph of the Slytherin clique back at Hogwarts and a worn leather diary. Blaise tossed the cardboard box onto the floor before placing the wicker basket on the coffee table, Octavia's attention solely focused on the small ball of fur on her lap.
Black eyes watched as a small smile tugged at pale cracked lips, the puppy chewing away on Octavia's index finger. He had suspected that something cute and cuddly would pull her out of her trance. It was difficult to be depressed when in the presence of a puppy … and him, of course.
Glancing at the watch on his wrist, Blaise realised that his time with her was coming to an end. He had business to attend to in the drawing room with the Lords. Preparations had to be seen to for the final ritual.
"Tavs," Blaise said, clicking his fingers to catch her attention.
Octavia blinked, as though momentarily forgetting his presence, flickering her gaze to his.
"Dobby will feed the dog twice a day. Everything else you require for the pup is in this hamper," Blaise informed, gesturing toward the wicker basket on the coffee table. "In it, you will find some of the belongings that were in your backpack the night of the battle. Not everything has been returned to you."
Octavia frowned, something sparking inside of her as she noticed the worn diary in the basket. A strange sensation threatened to pierce through her daze, something familiar but dangerous. A glimmer of life … or was it hope? Yes. It was hope.
"Only your diary and the photograph received Draco's approval to be returned to you," Blaise explained. "The clothes have been discarded, of course. They were ghastly, but will be replaced with finer attire."
Octavia nodded slowly, her mind churning lazily, finding its once functioning abilities. Blaise stood from the chair, extending his hand toward the bed as his robes soared toward him. He snatched them mid-air, his dark eyes never leaving the strange expression etched onto Octavia's features as she gazed curiously at the wicker basket.
"You will be permitted to keep the dog and your belongings only if you adhere to the conditions I mentioned," Blaise drawled, slipping on his robes fluidly. "Once you are healthy, you may be allowed to leave the tower and explore the manor under supervision. Isn't that better than what you have been doing?"
Frowning, Octavia glanced up at him, the puppy still chewing away at her finger.
"Just because your side lost the war," Blaise said, "doesn't mean you have to relinquish your happiness. Take it day by day, Tavs, and you'll be yourself in no time."
With that, he extended his hand and performed the nostalgic action of ruffling her curls. Except, unlike the times before all those years ago, Octavia didn't scowl or swat his hand away. He appeared to notice, and certainly seemed a little put out at her lack of huffy reaction.
Giving her a once over, Blaise hummed in disapproval – or was that disappointment? – before he turned on his heel and sauntered out of the tower room, leaving Octavia locked inside, but not alone. This time, she had company.
Glancing down at the content puppy, Octavia tilted her head, feeling the life burning inside of her, increasing in strength second by second. After a few moments, she allowed a small smile to twist at her dry lips, hazel eyes sparkling with something totally dangerous.
"I will call you Hope."