Title: The Troubled Ones
Rating: M
Story Summary: One-shots focusing on characters who deserved more from canon.
Chapter Summary: Blaise is not looking for redemption. Theo stole a car. Pansy regrets nothing. Alicia gets a job.
A/N: this one will have a part 2.
Blaise Zabini wasn't one to enjoy landscape panoramas but he also did not care for adding more excruciating time to this road trip.
So between vomiting his copious Southern French breakfast in Theodore Nott's pristine glove box or aiming his head through the window with no other distraction than glancing at the rearview mirror, Nott had made his choice for him.
"I know what you're thinking," Theodore announced, turning down the radio show he insisted on listening to every day. "Tragic, really, to be reduced to utter inertia, for hours, when we could have sprinkled some floo pwder or apparated."
Being met by Blaise's grudging silence, he continued, unencumbered. "Four wheels, the most mundane muggle transport. And so, not to disturb your lifestyle even more than the wizemagot already has, I got us this pure and filthy luxury. Equine power or something."
Blaise gritted his perfect teeth - natural alignment, no braces, thank you - before grudgingly sparing a reply.
"No, actually, I was cursing the fact that you're enjoying this ride far more than your breeding should allow you to."
"Well, you, my friend, better start sipping on that proverbial half-full pint otherwise, these twenty-four months are going to turn you into a bitter version of a certain Slytherin director. May his name not be invoked in vain."
"Fuck Snape and fuck you, Nott," Blaise yelled through the wind, before popping his head back in the car. "It's a fucking aberration that a wizard of my status has been forbidden from using magic for two bloody years, when you and Malfoy walk free."
"Oesophagus out of the vehicle please. Also, you have to admit the irony of depriving you of the very birthright our... muggleborn classmates were being tortured for, is a well thought equilibrium."
"If only I had anything to do with how they were being treated. I was minding my own throughout the whole battle."
Theo's attention span tended to diminish drastically these days. Not true, Blaise corrected himself. It started after the war, like everything else.
Theo had already turned the volume back up, hoping to cover the continuously outraged voice on the passenger seat.
"Zabini, are you hearing this?"Nott blurted, uselessly pointing at the radio.
Blaise didn't need to, he'd heard it all already. The rumors interlaced with a sensationalized version of factual truths.
He'd read everything about the Slytherin house's demise, especially his own.
Malfoy had been pardoned, with his blonde hair and his pale skin, he could do no wrong, or at least none that wouldn't be forgiven. Blame it on his young age, his abusive father. A withering mother and a combination of "but whom amongst us hasn't made bad choices?"
Zabini, was who. He had consciously and methodically planned each action with sound decisions.
Not being seen publicly with Draco, careful not to give personal opinions about any former students, avoiding showing off luxury and privilege.
Privilege. They attached that word to him like they didn't enjoy more of it than he could ever.
Pansy knew that. She would refrain from using key words the press chewed up and spat out every two pages. She was an intellectual, the kind that reminded him of his arrogant classmates, his haughty school friends. After all, she had been both.
They sparred with words, jousts of sarcasms with deep cuts of culture, making them feel superior to the masses.
She could have kept the trajectory but something changed. Cracked. Broke. Only, from his point of view. She'd use other descriptives. Clicked. Shifted. Fell into place.
She chose radio over paper. He saw her notebooks, she could have written a plethora of articles, been published by the most brillant magazines next to acclaimed critiques. She loved flipping her metaphorical finger therefore deciding to host a simple radio show instead.
Today, she would introduce a special guest. One that had been silent through and through.
"No, seriously, Did you hear how she introduced you?" Theodore strangled himself, refraining a scream or a laugh.
"No, it doesn't matter. I'm saying my piece and I'm out," Blaise admonished for the fifth time. Each one with a less detached tone and a hint of another feeling he couldn't identify.
"I know you're doing it for old time's sake. After all she used to be one of us and there's no us anymore. I get it. Call it loyalty, nostalgia, friendship."
Attributes rarely associated with Blaise. In his defense, every Slytherin alumni had gone soft. Truly, he would not be the first one to play chivalrous and help an old housemate make a career move.
"What's in it for you though? And don't feed me this I-want-to-redeem-my-image bullshit."
Blaise let a true laugh escape. Nott never believed in redemption. He preferred the comforting burden of carrying mistakes and terrible decisions, like a bottomless bottle to drink from. A flavorless gum to chew on.
"I want peace of mind. You know it. That thing you're entitled to. News, public opinion and everyone from barmaids to chauffeurs think I'm worse than Draco. And gotdammit I never attempted to finish off our old director."
"Who the fuck cares? And since when do you?"
Since Pansy had reached out, asking something similar. "Do you care enough to set the records straight, Zabini?" She'd say.
Did he? That part was still left to figure out. They arrived at the studio and Theo turned off his enchanted watch, the radio show vanishing from their ears.
AstroProd, the letters read as they came in, greeted by two receptionists dressed in the casual muggle fashion.
A lot of wizards tried hard to prove openmindness by adopting non magical customs. Theo sniffled, a lofty expression painted on his face for everyone to see.
A technician placed headphones in Blaise's hands and indicated a chair in front of a microphone.
"Blaise Zabini, as promised, just joined us," a voice announced, coming from the chair opposite him. "I know some of you were skeptical but here he is, ready to tell the story we are craving to hear. This is Hidden Worlds with Pansy Parkinson. We'll be back after a short break from our sponsors."
—
Pansy had left space for a themed analysis on post-war emigration and slight disappointment in case Zabini didn't show up. But Blaise made good on his promises, mostly because he never promised. Easy. Except that one time. Not this time, for her show. No. That time, once before, in their old common room. Then, she really thought she had caught him off guard and yanked it out of him. Victory.
Arrogant illusion. Nothing caught Zabini off guard. In retrospection, she knew he must have thought about it every which way.
Seeing him brought back memories. The sort of pictorial flashes that made you forget to exhale, the heart that had been beating of its own accord for well over two decades, suddenly needing a reminder.
The war, she remembered, associating it with the image of him. Insidious memories those ones. Corpses in the dining hall. Not corpses. People. Students she knew. One she bullied. One she made cry in the bathrooms. Blood in the stadium's grass. Empty paintings. Enchantments in a night sky so bright.
"Blaise. Looking good."
Mundane. Flat. But undeniably true. Went without saying. Why did she feel the need to state the obvious?
He offered her a merciful smile, sparing her the usual sarcasm of their old house. A true gentleman.
"I have something for you," he said, foraging in his pocket.
She nearly gasped at the sight. Only because she was Pansy and had spent a lifetime masquerading emotions through absence of facial expression, she simply took the key he was handing. The key from that time in the common room. That time he had promised.
Yes, Blaise Zabini knew how to make an entrance.
"Let's dive in," she interrupted her own thoughts, saving herself from spiraling down the implications of this turn of event. "How does it feel to be an unforgiven Slytherin alumnus in a post-war world? Does it feel as lonely for you as it does for me?"
He shot her a long and sustained glance. Maybe he was surprised by her bluntness. But who would even blink at Parkinson being forthright for show? Maybe he had never thought of it through his own emotions.
"Well, Pans' I've always been lonely so, that's not what would come to mind first. It's fucking inconvenient is what it is."
"Not being able to blend in? Which you always did despite being the exact opposite of bland."
"Much like you trying to finish my thoughts right now, mistakingly, might I add."
"Well you're giving me halfass answers. My audience wants to know Blaise. You accepted to be on air and tell it all."
She wasn't annoyed at his unfinished thoughts. She was irritated with herself, being wrong in her guess.
"Don't lie, Pansy. You want to know more than they do. This is entertainment for them. They've formed their opinion about me. They're mainly waiting for me to dig my own grave while they revel in the self righteous ecstasy of being on the winning side of History."
Why did she crave to know so much? She had never been one for analyzing her own heartaches. Of course she had had to dabble in attempting to be more insightful after... everything. In her head it was merely maturity.
Stopped bullying others too weak to defend themselves. Mostly because she got bored and preferred attacking worthy opponents.
Stopped spending time with people for status. Mostly because Malfoy had chosen Astoria over her and she wasn't one for seconds. A good lesson learned early on.
Started doing something purposeful with her money. Mostly because radio host seemed entertaining. She could maintain her old high school persona for amusement. Here there was still a semblance of normalcy. Of order.
And she wanted to share it. She wanted to be Pans' again, one of the gang and Zabini was the closest she would ever get to it. Or the farthest, seeing as he didnt even care to humor her anymore.
She turned towards him, moving her chair to face his too neutral face.
"Why are you here if not for redemption or absolution?"
Good fucking question. And suddenly, he couldn't breathe. This chair, this studio this city were all too constricting. His body shot up, looking for air after a dive.
She quickly rose to her feet herself. "You're not leaving Blaise."
He glanced at her, a disgusted look on his face.
"This is not Hogwarts. Your little games are over."
"You promised Blaise. You promised."
It was right there, in her eyes. Despair. He hated being the life saver tossed at sea but he would hate to break the only promise he'd ever extended, much more.
And so he slowly sat down. Inhale. Exhale. The snare released.
Slightly tapping his fingers on the base of the microphone, he confessed the only thing that could make sense.
"There's Draco who had to choose between killing and dying. He was saved in extremis. Somehow became a martyr although he didn't sacrifice shit. There's Nott who could bask in the luxury of indecision, being neutral in a war of extremes. Nothing changed for him. There's you, Pansy, who escaped the worst, making little compromises with your conscience. And there's me."
"What happened to you Zabini? How did you negotiate your survival?"
She had to know.
He wanted to tell her. Really. Honest to Merlin. He just didn't want to tell the world. But that was the deal he'd made.
"Maybe it was a mistake, not to be seen with Draco. Obviously."
He was edging, buying time, leading her on. She helped him.
"Malfoy. Son of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy née Black. He, as you may recall, has been judged victim and survivor by the Extraordinary Council," Pansy dottily reminded her audience then slightly turned to her former friend.
"How could they forget? He is on every tv couch there is."
"You weren't seen with me either or Theodore Nott. You broke up with the first girl you've cared about. You just up and disappeared."
An irritated sigh escaped Zabini's mouth. "She wasn't."
"Still. Some of us even thought you joined the resistance with that Dumbledore's army. I never believed it. And now that your sentence has been leaked by the press, no one will speculate about which side you were on."
"My sentence is definitely not representative of what I did during that time. They just needed to punish someone and it was of bad taste to blame students stuck in a school, against their will or not, so they picked me, one of the rare Slytherins who escaped."
"Why won't you tell us then? Clear your name."
"I've changed my mind," he announced, barely surprising himself. He'd never been certain to go through with it. "I never cared for public opinion, why should that change just because of how magnified it is now?"
She knew she wouldn't be able to convince him this time. His traits had changed, resolute.
She scheduled a pre-recorded skit and disabled her microphone. "Will you tell me in private?"
He stood, towering her with vengeance. "I would have, if you hadn't bargained with me to broadcast it first. I was looking for my friend. Not a fucking advertiser. You haven't changed a bit."
It hurt. As it should have, she thought. She'd hurt many more.
"Is that your last word?"
"No," he said. "Now that you have the key. Use the money, find something else to do. You're bad at this, clearly. You didn't get the grand reveal advertised."
War hand't made everyone nicer and thoughtful. Some had morphed into spiteful little shits. Like Zabini here, she decided. All in all, she was lucky not to have changed much. It was the better deal. No loss, no trauma to jolt a new personality.
She shrugged."That's the risk with a loose canon like you. Thanks for holding onto the key for me. You've been a good friend and I haven't. Bet that pisses you off even more."
How easy it was to fit into her old mechanisms.
"Go to hell."
"Remember we've all been there already. And contrary to popular belief, we haven't made it out."
She turned, registering the presence of Nott, gingerly slipping into a seat and starting speaking, live, to the public.
"Hello. My name is Theodore Nott. Ever considered the problem child, although you might start realizing the entire Slytherin alumni list is malfunctioning. I stole a car today. Certainly not because I needed it or because I could. Well that yes, but mostly because I like to make the best of a a fucked world where rules sometimes don't apply. See the government is way too busy with reconstruction to care about me thieving a muggle transport..."
She tuned him out. Ever the entertainer that one. She should offer him a contributor position.
She hadn't trusted herself to use her trust fund, asking Blaise to hold on to her codes in a physical box, hidden in her vault. She wanted to do without, prove it to herself, to all the others who only saw her as the one who suggested selling the Chosen One to Voldemort. She wasn't sorry. She wanted to be. To appease the haters, to feel closer to normal. But why should he have lived while she risked dying? What made his life more valuable than hers and countless others? Maybe she didn't want to change at all. Maybe her efforts were nothing more than sheer hypocrisy, peer pressure to pass as a good person.
She wasn't bad for wanting what made sense to her.
"You're right. Blaise. Fuck redemption. Crush absolution."
To that, Nott came to a halt, busy as he was discussing French immigration law, his second residence in Nice and international bank accounts. "Hold on," he warned. "The sinners are about to make up."
"I'm leaving," Boise said."I'm taking the car. Nott, I assume you're staying here. Try not to shag one another."
"Not happening," they both replied.
So it was a fifty-fifty percent chance. General life boredom and identity crises often prompted people to get naked in front of people they shouldn't.
In the background he heard Theo urging him to wait, that he didn't even know how to drive and that the car had been reported stolen.
Blaise did not care. He should have. This was reckless. But that was the thing with injustice, criminal injustice specifically. It sometimes led to worse actions. Taunting fate, tickling your lack of luck. He just wanted to see a friend. A real one. Admitelly he needed a therapist but he already had seen one twice in ten days and she had insisted they did not exceed a certain amount of sessions per week because dependence, avoidance, stuck points and all that Jazz. He'd offered to pay double, talk online - a real stretch by the way, using muggle technology - but she'd simply offered a conciliant smile and stood her ground.
He could revert to his old ways. Smash and crash. Binge and cringe. But what a fucking hypocrite would that make him then? And Merlin did Blaise love to feel and actually be superior. Lecturing Pansy to stoop as low as her was simply not a viable option. Righteousness required suffering more often than not. Blaise was not accustomed to being wrong.
He was known to do the most ridiculous things to achieve such a lofty goal. Which is why, when he received an owl from Minerva McGonagall, he did not reflexively throw it out the rolled down window, like anything coming from the flaming pile of shit that was Hogwarts, Ministry of Magic controlled entities or any authority closely or loosely related to the fucking running joke that was his current life.
—
Alicia Spinnet trailed her fingers on the stuffed fabric of the chair's arm where she was uncomfortably sitting. McGonagall had always made her nervous. Having graduated from her first university degree did not, in fact, ease her fear of being the recipient of one of the director's notorious death glares.
"I must say, Ms Spinnet that I find your enrollment in an organizational psychology Master's positively wonderful. I commend you."
The thank you leaped from her throat like a croak. She coughed, shifted on her seat and elaborated.
"I appreciate you thinking about me for your new wellness program implementation."
"Few of your graduating class peers have continued their studies. Understandably so, but nonetheless. You are the perfect candidate to help my current students live a healthy lifestyle."
She needed the experience, wanted the relief. Relief of doing something. Taking action. She'd done nothing for others her entire life, especially after the battle. She had always been good at focusing on her goals, never letting distractions pull her astray. She'd picked her degree based on guilt. Worked through her issues, dove into her own shit - as her internship supervisor called it - and figured she could reconcile both her needs and self-image by carrying on that path.
"I hope I can be worthy of your trust and confidence in my abilities, Professor. I..."
"Minerva. Please. We are coworkers now. Peers."
The director offered her an encouraging smile as Dumbledore's portrait behind the seat, sagely nodded his acquiescence.
"Right, hum. I hear you have other returning alumnae. May I ask whom?"
"Mr. Warrington. Mr. Wood. Ms. Chang and... will you excuse me?"
The insisting knock on the door stopped as she opened it and followed Mr. Filch outside for an emergency on the quidditch field.
Alicia reflexively checked her phone, a new muggle addition to her life, quickly turned necessity.
From Blaise: "Do you work today?"
"Isn't it mad that this sentence is now part of your vocabulary by sole virtue of frequenting me?"
From Blaise; "It is. Tragic, really. I could remedy it. Fund your dreams."
"I'd love that but the power imbalance would eventually murder this burgeoning friendship. So no. And yes, this means you're more important to me than money."
From Blaise: "Well that's only because you still love the novelty of your job. Owl me when that gets old."
"You still can't accept the fact that you are using a phone, can you? So... did you tell the world? Or at least Parkinson?"
From Blaise: "No" shrugs emoji. "I did not tell her my alibi for not being in Hogwarts during some of my last year was, in fact that I was on suicide watch for weeks and inpatient for months. Although I'm sure she'd find the alcohol and drug use rehab so mundane... but that was only part of it, wasn't it?"
"Well, maybe your priorities have shifted. Maybe you care more... hold on, McGo is back. In her office right now. Talk later."
She often wondered how her friends would react at her interning in a mental health facility, meeting none other than Blaise Zabini as a patient and slowly finding common grounds. Of course she made sure to never be his therapist. Problem was, she could never tell the truth to her friends. Not before he revealed his own story.
Blaise was funny, spirited. Cynical and disillusioned but who wasn't now? She sure tried not to be, taught others to foster brighter emotions.
"Where was I? Oh yes, our last guest is Mr. George Weasley," The director announced and Alicia's heart sank.
The last time she saw him they fought. She fought with Angelina too. Seeing George was always difficult. They could all feel the missing presence of Fred and George tried his best to make it easier on others.
"Really? He always said he'd never come back here."
"Yes..." she sighed. "Mr. Weasley may have a hard time coming back here. I hope you'll be able to help him in some way too. But he volunteered actually. No letter was sent to him."
So he was moving forward. Just like her. Just like Blaise. That left Katie. But today wasn't the best day to think of her best friend's problematic behavior patterns.
"Shall we walk around the castle as we speak? I really want you to observe the changes and start thinking about your new role by soaking in the environment. The others are already here, waiting for us."
"Excuse me?"
She thought she'd have time to mentally prepare to see them all. She wasn't ready.
"Are you ready?" Minerva asked again, completely dismissing her surprise.
She rose to her feet, suddenly nauseated. In a few minutes she'd start her first real job and attend a makeshift high school reunion all at once. Angelina's sarcastic comment from their last fight rung in her ears. "Welcome to the real world Alicia. Now you can finally stop judging me."