The night of the dance came. Lavender's boyfriend decided not to go out of respect to her memory although almost all of us had began to forget about her. Tiny details. I couldn't remember the exact colour of her hair any more and her face was beginning to lose the personal touches that had been etched in my memory. Give it another six months and she'd be as anonymous as anyone else. I probably wouldn't recognise her if her corpse waltzed past me on the street, hair still frozen solid from the lake. That's how life goes, isn't it? You move on.
The night was frosty and colder than ever. Hagrid was kept busy freeing tiny songbirds from the branches of trees where they had frozen to the wood. His defreezing charms often came too late to see them and he cried as bitterly over the death of a sparrow as he had done over the death of Lavender. It wasn't that he was hard-hearted about Lavender, he just didn't value her life above the life of any other creature. That's just the way Hagrid was.
I wondered why the songbirds hadn't simply flown away from this hostile environment. Maybe there were some things you couldn't leave, even if they would kill you eventually. I wasn't really in the mood for the dance either. I kept to my plain green dress robes and tried in vain to flatter my wild dark hair. Didn't see that it mattered. Ginny would love me if I turned up with half of my face melted away from a Potions accident. She was that type.
Hermione was the first girl to emerge from their room. Her hair wasn't straightened, but fell in loose, sleek waves over her golden shoulders. Her robes were cut simply to show her gentle curves and the deep wine-red brought out the depths of her intelligent gaze. A simple touch of mascara, a dusting of gold phoenix dust around her eyes. She was too beautiful to be a date for Ron but she didn't care about things like that. Just like Ginny. "You look nice," Ron muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes and blushing intensely. She smiled. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"Of course, this is just because Fleur can't make it, ya know..?" Ron said in his typically gauche way, loud enough for the whole common room to hear.
"And because Krum's spending Christmas with his parents. Right," Hermione said firmly. They both looked at each other with a secretive expression I couldn't read. I remembered the kiss I had seen them share and smirked myself. One day, they'd come out about their relationship. And I hoped them the best.
"Harry?" Hermione was trying to catch my attention. "Ginny should be along soon- I helped her with her hair and she should be ready any minute. Ok if Ron and I go and get us a table?"
"Absolutely fine," I nodded and waited. Couples filtered through the room, all as brightly coloured and beautiful as the frozen songbirds outside. Then I saw her, and stood.
Ginny, a pure and lovely vision in simple gold robes that flattered her creamy skin and fire-blessed hair. Her figure was slight and straight with hints of curves to come showing beneath her loose clothes. She could have been a vision of a dark sorceress, a Slytherin temptress, but for the slight innocence that still showed in the way she shyly hid her exposed skin with a shawl. Her smile was a little unsure and I reached out to her.
"Ginny, you look beautiful," I said simply. She smiled and took my arm. "Shall we?" I asked as I lead her on towards the hall.
It was beautiful there. The sky was a steely gray but the candle lights softened it. The Gryffindor lion flaunted rampant above all the other banners. In Lavender's memory, I supposed. It was nice to see the Slytherins scowling anyway. Blaise popped back into my head, a faint reminder after a long absense. Ah yes. I scanned the sea of green and silver. Crabbe and Goyle appeared to be with each other- well, I supposed they couldn't find any other dates. Draco was with a pretty girl I didn't know the name of. Her burgundy hair was held up with a simple snake-shaped pin and her eyes were a clear violet. She looked surprisingly innocent for a Slytherin, but I remembered there were many other fine qualities that could put one into that house. Pansy was with Millicent and they looked surprisingly close. I had never seen Pansy with a female lover before and it surprised me. They looked good together. Millicent's once-heavy face was light and smiling and her dress robes didn't look quite so tent-like on her now.
Blaise was in the shadows, sat next to Marcus Flint, looking rather sulky. I should have guessed they'd end up together. Marcus's arm around Blaise's thin shoulders and a rather satisfied smirk on his troll-like face. It doesn't bother me any more, I reminded myself. If Blaise wants to sleep around.. well, who am I to stop him? He barely even knew I was alive anyway.
"Harry?" I turned, feeling a light tug on my arm. Ginny smiled up at me. "Shall we sit with Ron and Hermione?" She asked. I nodded my assent and followed her to the Gryffindor table where everyone was smiling and bathed in the golden radiance from the banners above. This is my life, here. With Ginny and Ron and Herminone, away from Slytherin. So why does it feel like something's missing?
The dance went on. There was a lingering alcoholic taste in the drinks and I wondered what they had put in to it. I thought Dumbledore disliked alcohol? Then I saw Seamus slip a flask under his cloak, a satisfied smile on his face. Well, who would have thought it of him? I sipped at it hesitantly and felt a warm glow seeping through me.
"You like?" Neville mouthed.
"Yes," I whispered back and drained the heated cup. The faintest blurring touched the crowds at the corners of my vision and I smiled. This was perfect, erase everything outside of my little world and take Blaise with those watching eyes with it. Ginny turned to me after my third glass and her eyes were the only steady thing in the swimming gold light. The centre of the universe, the world and all its people swimming around her in her fire-tinged hair. I shook my head. I had drank far too much.
Not as much as Neville though. I watched as he stood to dance with a far-too-elongated grin across his face and vaguely realised something bad was going to happen. My mind was pleasantly numb though, too numb for the shock of Neville hitting the floor to register until I heard the music grind to a halt.
Neville stood, a reddish splatter across his robes and I saw crimson on his hand, a frail glass stem protruding from it like the offshoot of some strange fruit. Blood on the dancefloor, blood on his injured hand, blood in the air as he shrieked and tried to pull out the glass. McGonogall was there in an instant, her concern giving way to anger as she examined the liquid. Her voice was as cold as the ice that coated the world outside when she spoke.
"There is alcohol in this drink,"
"I didn't know!" Neville sobbed, clutching his injured hand. Madam Pomfrey frowned and tried to lead him away. "I swear, I didn't know!"
McGonogall frowned. "Then who, exactly, thought it would be funny to do something so stupid and irresponsible?"
Poor Neville, as stupid as always, the one to suffer when someone else went wrong. She knew he wouldn't get drunk on purpose- we all did. But no-one thought to warn him and now it looked like we'd all get in trouble. Seamus was ashen-faced with remorse.. and fear. We could all see how it would look when he was blamed for spiking the drinks. And he was my friend.
A hazy movement caught my eye. Flint, slipping a flask of his own discreetly under his robes. I didn't stop to think. I bounded up from my seat before Seamus could own up. "Marcus Flint!"
The accusation sounded hollow and empty and I waited for McGonogall to ask me why I was lying. She didn't. I watch her glide across the floor as Neville was lead away, watched all eyes turn to Flint who was frozen in place.
"The alcohol, Marcus, if you will?" Flint shook his head frantically. Oh, he looked perfect, so guilty and worried.
"Wasn't me, Professor," He stuttered. Blaise looked bored as always.
"Accio flask!" I watched as the small container floated from under his robes. Should I be feeling remorse? I wondered, as he too was taken from the dance. He had been drinking but no-one except himself (and maybe one or two friends) had touched it. I shrugged. He deserved it.
The dance continued. Couples began slipping away discreetly. Ginny touched her forehead delicately and complained of a headache. Poor girl. Hermione lead her away after we shared a last, midnight kiss. Her mouth tasted sweetly of peach schnapps and strawberry wine and I wondered dizzily what Seamus had given us. The hall steadied itself and after a while I bored of the couples. Ron and Hermione explained they had to go and talk to "someone" and left. I wanted fresh air, but I didn't feel like going outside and risking meeting those two embracing in the silver frost somewhere. There was one place I always went at times like this though.
An old tower, once used for sleeping exchange students and guests. Not too far from the great hall, up the silently spiraling staircases and through abandoned corridors (the tower was empty at night and indeed most days). Within five minutes you came out on the top floor. Through a discreet wooden door marked "Cleaner's" (but no cleaner had ever been there, the sad remains of a once powerful locking charm still lingered and I wondered who had broken it) and out you came onto the very roof, above all of Hogwarts. The stars hung low and heavy in the dark-velvet sky. A ledge ran around three sides and the other was open to the bitter wind that cut through. A tiny shelter had been built there, a sad thing of worn stone. I had thought this my own private place for as long as I could remember.
But of course, there was someone there, with grey smoke wrapping around his shrouded face and black robes pulled around his slight form. He sat casually on the edge of the great drop, perched on the wide ledge without seeming to notice the strong night wind that cut through the air. The faint scent of smoke and salty air mingled in the wind and brought tears to my eyes.
"Blaise?"
He didn't answer, but the cigarette twitched slightly. I noticed how the cuffs of his robes fell over his small hands, lost in black material. I hadn't followed him for days and with a rush, all those secret nights came flooding back. Like a reformed junkie coming back to my drug. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and the addiction grow stronger. I wanted to just sit there and drink in the sight of him until dawn. But there was no invisibility cloak this time, no defence between us. I had to try though. I had to know.
I sat casually in front of him. His eyes were turned away, staring into the void before us. I wondered how long it would take to fall from here. Perhaps the wind might blow you into an ornamental weather vane and impale you there, perhaps it might blow you back into a window or throw you against the stone wall. One slip and we'd be gone, falling into a void with plenty of time to scream
"It wasn't us, you know," Blaise looked up at last. Tiny purplish lights pricked in his dark eyes and I wondered if they were really a very dark violet.
"I know," I confessed. His expression was as neutral and unreadable as ever. "Are you angry with me?"
"Why would I be?" A dark eyebrow quirked as he looked at me sideways. "A Slytherin would have done exactly the same in your position,"
"Yeah.. well, sorry," I had an urge to hurt him for some reason. "I guess I spoiled your night, hmm?"
"How do you mean, Potter?"
"Marcus. Detention. You not getting any tonight. I know what you're like," Rather more venomous than I wanted. He seemed to bring out an angry side to me.
"..Doesn't everyone?" There was no self-pity in that statement. We sat in silence, but it felt rather comfortable even with the barbed insults. "Anyway, it's not like Marcus owns me. I'm free to be with whoever I want,"
"Nice to see you're the loyal type," I wondered if the sad, thin traces of alcohol in my bloodstream gave me the courage to carry on. "So, do you come here often?"
If he'd been muggle-born, he'd have laughed at me. Possibly not the most original chat-up line, but I meant it quite genuinely rather than as a come-on. I had came here often on solitary nights when my thoughts needed clearing and I wanted to know if he'd sat and reflected where I did, to relax or to have his thoughts frozen by the bitter wind. I wanted to know if a pale shadowy ghost of his presence had still lingered here.
"Sometimes," winter-cool voice, of iced over lakes and songbirds frozen to the core.
"Me too," A pause "So you aren't in a real relationship then?" How subtle. Potter, you astonish yourself.
"We fuck around. That's supposed to be it," Blaise replied in his usual, neutral tone. Gods, it made it so hard to read his emotions.
"Possessive type, is he?"
"Why are you so interested? And yes, he is,"
"I've been watching you for a long time,"
"...Oh," A silence. "You... want something, Potter?" Empty dark eyes suddenly smouldering in the thin silvery light, like live coals. The end of my wand sparked into golden light. I wanted to see him properly by a light less deceitful than moon and stars. It illuminated his face and cast shadows under his effeminate features. Dark-red, sticky lipstick the shade of a cherry lollipop. Liquid-black lined eyes. The purple specks were deeper than I had though, the colour of bruises dancing in his eyes. A smile that looked decidedly dangerous. I pushed aside a strand of black silky hair and was ashamed to feel my hand tremble. His smouldering dark gaze tilted up at me. Did I really want this? Ginny's plaintative gaze flickered for the merest second and then was extinguished as I leaned forward and gently touched his cold, cool lips.
I tasted ice, a bitter lingering of alcohol, ashes and faintly salty tears. There was something chemical about it, the drugs that Blaise was rumoured to live on, making up his own unique taste. You could tell a lot about someone from a kiss. Ginny tasted of spices and honey and sticky toffee, a sprinkle of fiery cinnamon. Kissing her was comforting, her sweet soul seeping into your mouth. Kissing Blaise was every bit as comforting as deep-throating a loaded gun or kissing a poisoned blade, and every bit as intoxicating as heroin. I explored deeper and felt a decidedly more expert tongue than Ginny's dance with mine. He felt strangely brittle, like holding an statue of glass, or ice. I ran my hands over his angled shoulders and through soft, aniseed-scented hair, around a too-small waist. His own hands were roaming over me with an expert touch, sliding under my robes and teasing my skin with his icy fingertips. My breathing sounded clumbsy and laboured and I felt his lips quirk in a slight smile. Heat rushed through me and I crushed his slight figure to me, felt him melting and reshaping as we fitted into each other's angles. Cold hands stealing under my robes already impatient with foreplay. I wanted it.. wanted nothing more than to lose myself in his icy beauty. But then I felt myself pull back. If I wanted a quick fuck I'd have got it long ago.. when we slept together, it would be under my rules and when I knew he wanted more than this
Blaise pulled back, dark eyes confused and a little angry. "What's wrong, Potter? Can't get it up?"
"Just.. not yet," I tried to put my arm around him, but he shrugged it off impatiently. "I do want you, of course I do. I have done for so long.. but it's not right yet,"
He looked furious now. "This could be your last chance, Potter. I don't have any trouble finding someone to fuck me,"
"Blaise.. you're beautiful, but you have issues," I bit my lip anxiously. He wouldn't thank me for saying this. "You sleep around, you do drugs.. when we have sex, I want to know that you actually.. well, do it because you like me. Not just because I'm there, or-"
"Forget it, Potter," He spat back and stood. "There won't be another chance. Goodbye,"
"Where are you going?" I called. My voice trembled in the bitterly cold night air.
His answer drifted back to me as he stormed down the stairs. "To see if Flint's escaped from McGonogall yet!"
I pulled my knees up to my chest and sat thoughtfully. I wanted to chase him, touch him, take him.. everything that he wanted, I wanted to. But the way he acted just seemed to me like there was something wrong, under his surface. I wanted to get below that and see what poison lay beneath.. there was something not quite right about Blaise Zabini. And I knew there was some connection then, under the cool disinterested stars. Something perhaps that he'd prefer to running back to Flint, the over-possessive Flint who treated him like a particularly expensive toy. I wanted Blaise but I wanted to heal him too.
I was sat there for a long time before I realised I had forgotten all about Ginny and how she fitted into it.