Hey guys, sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. Things have been a bit interesting of late and I'm sure everyone can relate. Pandemics are weird. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I'm really excited to post it now. Also, as I'm sure you're all aware, I'm not J.K. Rowling, and therefore I do not own Blaize Zabini, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, or any of the other characters I end up using. Happy Reading!
Chapter Two: The Games We Play
"Blaise Zabini!" Hermione screeched, slapping me so hard that my head jerked backwards. I could feel the sting of each of her fingers, the right side of my face throbbing. "How could you?" she demanded, slapping the other side of my face. I could have stopped her, but some part of me said that I deserved it, and I knew that she needed to get the anger out of her system.
"I'll get my just rewards eventually . . ." I moaned, rubbing my cheeks fiercely in an attempt at the method I saw Draco use when Hermione famously punched him across the face. Hermione was standing and pacing back and forth in a straight line at this point, but she paused from her about-to-be lecture and eyed me suspiciously.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Only that if I don't die, I'll end up in Azkaban for seven years at least, and that's assuming I never use an Unforgivable, which already isn't true. You see, I'm a Death Eater, and my soul isn't my own." That's what I wanted to say, but instead I ended up saying this: "You . . . look, I'm not sorry for what I've become, but it's not for the reasons that you think." Bloody brilliant, Blaise.
"You stupid Slytherin," she spat, literally, in my face. I didn't bother to wipe it off. "Don't you understand! He's a maniac! Voldemort is a maniac!" This surprised me, her blatant use of the Dark Lord's name.
"What do you want me to do? Break down crying and admit that he'll kill me if I don't obey? Tell you that I'm scared? Turn myself in to Azkaban?"
"No—"
"That's not what this is about, Hermione!" I'm standing as well and shouting at this point, centimeters from her face. I needed her to understand. "I'm not just some kid! I grew up a long time ago and I did it without anyone. I've played with fire before, and I will do it again. But . . ." my voice softened, "I can't guarantee that I'll make it out this time. It wouldn't matter—trust me when I say it wouldn't matter—except it's not just my life I'm playing with. Hermione, the fate of the world rests on my shoulders." Okay, so maybe I went a little too far with that one. Hermione started laughing.
"The fate of the world?" she smacked her knee, for dramatic effect I presumed, "No. Harry . . . Harry has the fate of the world on his shoulders. Dumbledore has the fate of the world on his shoulders. You? You're just some stupid, frightened child." And that was where she crossed the line. I'm not a violent person at heart, but I shoved her into the chair I'd sat her in earlier. Then I again placed my face centimeters away from hers and spoke as harshly as I could manage without raising my voice. I knew from experience that this was scarier.
"I'm going to tell you this right now, and I'm only going to say it once, so you better bloody well listen. Harry Potter is supposed to kill the Dark Lord, right, but's he's in over his head. Dumbledore . . . well I can't tell you what he's about to do because no one knows." I knew. "And therefore, I can't sit back and leave the fate of the world in their hands. I am Blaise Augustus Zabini, and I therefore have a plan, one that I need your help with. And no, it's not like when Ron or Harry need your help. I am wicked smart, believe it or not." I grinned as I backed away from her, positive she'd lighten up at my display of arrogance.
"Wicked smart, huh? Then how come your grades are always in the middle of the class?"
"You're a smart girl. Think about it."
"What . . . you don't like the spotlight?"
"It's not useful for me to be in it."
"So you're telling me—"
"—that the spotlight serves me no purpose?" I raised an eyebrow, deliberately missing her point. Then I winked at her and flashed a quick grin complete with an innocent shrug of my shoulders. "I . . . fail on purpose."
"What! Why would you do that? You could be expelled!"
"Oh, the horror." Then I dropped the dramatics and met her eyes in a desperate and silent plea.
"What does this plan entail—and I need all of it, including what you're doing and everything that you know."
"How do I know I can trust you?" Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow at me.
"You came to me. You came to me. If you need any more than that, know that I don't actually have feelings for Ron, I just can't hurt him. He's already hurting so much, and I just can't add to that." I could tell just by looking at her face how much she meant that and how hard it was for her to tell me. I was rather surprised that she told me anything at all, and this was enough for me to decide to risk it.
"Alright fine." Then I filled her in on the plan . . .
What is the plan? Well it's simple really, and by simple, I mean the complete opposite of simple. It starts out like this . . . Draco Malfoy isn't a Death Eater now, but I know he will be soon. I know this because he'll think that it's the best way to get rid of his father, he'll think it's the only way to get rid of his father. So, I jumped the gun first. I apparated directly into Malfoy Manor one night when Draco and his parents were off in Italy on "vacation", a mission for the Dark Lord that was most likely a way to get Lucius out of his hair. As I expected, Voldemort himself was there, and after getting over the initial shock of seeing that freak of nature, I approached him as boldly as I possibly could (which was pretty boldly, seeing as I didn't have much fear to hide) and demanded that he make me a Death Eater and allow me to succeed where others had failed. Why wasn't I afraid? Simple . . . I wasn't doing it for myself, I was doing it for Draco Malfoy and the rest of the wizarding and muggle lot of the world, something that would indirectly benefit me because I would still be alive.
Lord Voldemort was pleasantly intrigued by my confidence and did as I asked, though it hurt more than anything I'd ever felt before. My first mission—and basically last mission—was to dispose of a muggleborn couple that knew too much. I deliberately failed. The Cruciatus—my punishment—hurt even worse than the Dark Mark, but again I wasn't doing it for myself and I was exactly where I wanted to be: in the ranks, able to attend meetings, but out of sight and out of mind.
Anyway, Draco's going to become a Death Eater, and I already know what his mission will be, courtesy of a discussion I had the pleasure of overhearing during the last meeting. His mission will be to kill Albus Dumbledore. Obviously, I can't let that happen. Draco must be kept innocent and Dumbledore's too important. That's when we get to part two.
I have been collecting the ingredients I need to make one of the most helpful and complicated potions imaginable: Draught of Living Death. When Draco goes to kill Dumbledore—most likely in the Astronomy Tower where Dumbledore's been spending much of his time of late and is also much less secure than his office—I will be waiting. I'll hide in the shadows and force feed some of my draught to Dumbledore (he'll comply I hope), but in a low dosage so that it takes a bit for it to kick in. Then I'll step out into the spotlight, hit him with an Avada Kedavra (that I'll aim slightly behind him) and they'll all presume him dead. Of course, then I'll join the Ministry's Most Wanted List, but I'll be safely in the arms of the Death Eaters until I can come and revive old Dumbly.
After Dumbledore is discovered alive again, I'll be on the Dark Lord's Most Wanted List, but at that point I'll make a dramatic entrance at the Ministry and land myself safely in Azkaban. Will it be living death? Yes, but since I won't have killed anyone, I won't get the Dementor's kiss, and if I'm lucky at the end of the war, Dumbledore will vouch for me and I'll be released. Otherwise . . . well, I'd like not to think about that, but I guess that's a risk I must take.
Now we come to the part where I need Hermione Granger. Once I land myself in Azkaban, I'll be useless, but the war won't have been won. I could try to convince someone else to join my side of course, but Hermione's extremely talented and I think most likely to trust me as well. She will be on team Harry Potter/part two of Draco Malfoy.
Step one requires me to link her and Draco's mind using a Dark Spell I discovered in the restricted section of the library that I definitely didn't sneak into. This will of course suck immensely for the both of them, but it will keep Hermione safe while simultaneously providing Draco with a conscience and preventing Voldemort from seeing into their minds. She will try her best to keep Draco from killing Dumbledore, but I will "kill" him regardless. He will in turn eventually realize the error of his ways (though I rather suspect he'll learn that as soon as he receives the Dark Mark), and help team Harry by telling Hermione where the Death Eaters are and how to avoid them while she goes on another task of my choosing.
This task is to dispose of the Horcruxes (the two I've managed to locate in all my snooping and all the four remaining others if you don't count the diary that was already destroyed) that Dumbledore would be looking for if his hands weren't so full with the duties of war. Harry will of course think it's all his idea, but I thought of it first (just saying). Once all the Horcruxes are disposed of, Harry is free to rid the world of Voldemort. Then hopefully I'll be freed, but either way the world can live in peace again.
I'm not a hero. I never wanted to be a hero. I'm just content to do my part and it's really for the mostly selfish reason of Draco Malfoy that I started this plan at all. I could, of course, leave it to the professionals . . . but the "professionals" are Dumbledore—whom I don't entirely trust, Draco—who has terrible judgment that's blinded by hate and his father's prejudices, and Harry Potter—possibly the most overrated wizard of all time. No, I can't stomach those odds. I kind of knew this would happen, though, or at least figured that it would.
I first gained suspicion during my second year, the year the Chamber of Secrets was opened. I was working on a foot about the Dark Lord's rise to power that I was supposed to be writing. I had finished most of the work and was busy botching it to the perfect level (that year was the one in which I discovered the perfect score range to rest in), when I happened upon a bit of information that surprised me—Voldemort's body had never been found. This reminded me of Harry Potter and his claims that he'd seen Voldemort during his fight for the Sorcerer's Stone. I began to wonder how on earth someone could survive the killing curse. I knew, of course, that Harry had survived it because of his mother's love or something like that, but since it was deflected and hit Voldemort himself, how had he survived? This led me to my first perusing of the restricted section, and to the library at Malfoy Manor. Both places were a little dangerous for a second year, but everyone seemed too busy to be bothered by a few books missing here or there.
Whilst reading these stolen books, I came upon the mention of a dark spell that was used to make a Horcrux. Being in my second year, I had no idea what those were and so I brushed the idea aside. But zoom forward to the summer of my third year on a trip with my mother to France for her 3rd and certainly not final wedding, I discovered yet another thing that I wasn't supposed to know—what Horcruxes do. I was wandering through the old mansion where my mother's fiancé's mom lived when I felt a strong tug from a dark room. In the room rested an old spinning wheel, a spinning wheel that I felt like I had to touch. But when I did touch it, I felt so much anger and hurt that it broke the control I had over myself and I beat it until it was destroyed, at which time I heard my step-grandmother's low growl behind me. She told me that I was killing her and forced me into an Unbreakable Vow before telling me that I'd just destroyed her final Horcrux. It was then that I knew how Voldemort had survived, but I had no idea how many Horcruxes the Dark Lord had made.
I spent the rest of the summer scared out of my wits and trying to reason my way out of the conclusion that I'd made, but it stayed on my mind all throughout my fourth year and into the beginning of that summer. It was the end of that year when I realized that Dumbledore knew something, something that I needed to know. So, I confronted him, demanding to know everything about the Dark Lord's certain return. He told me nothing of course, but all that did was make me curious. I decided that summer to pay a little visit to Godric's Hollow—the place of Dumbledore's birth but more importantly the place where Voldemort had been defeated the first time. It was there that I stumbled upon Bathilda Bagshot, the one witch that knew anything about Dumbledore. It was a rather long shot, but I was willing to do anything to find out anything at that point. Bathilda was a hidden wealth of knowledge about Dumbledore but knew literally nothing about the Horcruxes, a great disappointment to my fourth-year self.
My fifth year gained nothing interesting, but after seeing Potter's terror and indirectly hearing the story of Cedric Diggory's death, I realized that Voldemort had already returned and that if I didn't act quickly, the entire world would suffer immensely. It was then that I decided to join the Death Eaters as a spy for myself. It was also then that I used my first Unforgivable, the Cruciatus, when I was laughed at by the members of the Death Eaters who were present that terrible day. That was enough to prove my worth, and enough to sear into my conscience and decide to do whatever it took to bring Voldemort down—and this time for good.
I lay in my bed with my eyes closed, breathing in the embarrassment of the day I just finished. I convinced Hermione to plant a picture of myself—shirtless and winking in one of my over-the-top smolders, a rose in my mouth, and the word "always" signed in my best handwriting at the bottom—on Harry's pillow. I planted an identical picture on Draco's pillow, and we both charmed the rooms to transmit the sound across the entire castle and the pictures to disintegrate the moment they were taken out of their rooms. It had been hilariously funny to hear them shriek, and I still can't believe that Hermione did it. She probably still feels sorry for me and what I'm sacrificing. Of course, she's still Hermione and will most likely be getting after me for botching more homework. Hopefully she won't be too upset when I tell her that I've been advised to get a desk job as a secretary at some place where no skills are necessary, that way next year's N.E.W.T.s aren't really going to matter. This would have bothered me in, say, my fourth year, but I've long since given up on a future for myself.
It's funny how much you can get away with when you realize that you only have about a year left to truly live. I never, ever make a fool of myself except in front of Draco and I rarely even make my existence known period, but I'm sure everyone will be trying to find out who I am tomorrow, especially when I snog the living daylights out of some poor girl to prove that I'm not gay. Sure, I have no future planned for myself, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to let my reputation die.
I finally fall asleep, dreaming of Azkaban and hoping that I'm not screaming. Dementors scare me almost as much as the kiss they give, and I've only encountered them once from a distance when they chased Harry all those years ago. Azkaban is packed with them, ready to crush the hope of anyone foolish enough to possess any. The last thought I remember thinking is that I should practice using wandless magic to keep the Dementors at bay while I'm in there.
So there you have it . . . chapter 2. Please, please, please leave a review. I haven't gotten any yet, but I'm really thankful for those of you who read last week's chapter, and will always welcome new readers with open arms. Thanks guy! Byeee!