Special thanks to hpgryffin (*gasp*, not the same hpgryffin who's the brilliant writer of "Artificial Passion"?! I love your Blaise!), Redmeadow, ncgal, and Malfoy Snogger for being kind enough to review.

Warnings: male/male relationships, euphemisms, and clichés (I'm sorry, but I just can't help myself!)

          "I'm full," I stated contentedly, pushing away my plate and hurriedly wiping my mouth with a napkin.

          "Never waste food," Ron chided, as he scooped the remains of my half-eaten apple pie onto his plate. "You sure ate fast today, what's the rush?"

          I took a deep breath and prayed for the best. An angry Ron was about as scary as a cross between a jealous Veela and a charging hippogriff. "I'm meeting Blaise Zabini in the library."

          Ron's hand that was holding his fork stopped in midair. He blinked and set down his utensil gingerly. "I sorry, I must've misheard you. You did say Blair Zabini, right?"

          "No, I said 'Blaise'. B-l-a-i-s-e."

"I see," Ron said, his voice becoming strained. "Are you sure you're talking about Blaise?" he asked desperately. "After all, Blaise and Blair do look a lot a like."

I glared at him. "I'm definitely talking about Blaise. You know, he's the male Zabini twin."

          Ron shook his head disbelievingly. "Blaise Zabini? He's a stupid, insufferable, self-absorbed git who'll try to seduce you to the dark side!"

          Thankfully Hermione decided at this point to interfere. "Honestly Ron, do you even know him?"

          "I know that he's a Slytherin!" Ron retorted heatedly.

          "You really shouldn't stereotype people like that!" Hermione replied, becoming shrill. "Just because he's a Slytherin doesn't mean he's a mini-Death-Eater!"

          Ron scowled.

          Hermione glowered back with equal intensity.

          I decided to leave before green light began shooting out of their eyes.

~*~

          Blaise was sitting at a table by himself, but throngs of girls who would occasionally glance in his direction and break out in giggles occupied all the tables surrounding him.

          With Hermione's words still ringing in my ears, I decided to approach him cautiously. I cleared my throat self-consciously, causing him to look up from his book. My line of attack was set: ask exactly what his motives are, what he plans to accomplish…

          Wow, I had always thought he had deer eyes, but up close they were a shocking shade of green. No, the word "green" did not give his eyes enough justice, but trying to define the exact hue of his brilliant orbs would be like trying to convey the beauty of a rainbow using only a black marker.

          "Since when did you have eyes the exact shade of midsummer's sunlight on a field of clovers?" I demanded, too upset over the fact that I would have to rethink my conceptions of him to think about what I was saying.

          "Since when did you have eyes the shade of winter moonlight on shadowy emeralds?" he returned, a smiling tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked at me quizzically. "I'm surprised you noticed though, most people don't… or chose not to. I have to say your description has been one of the best I've ever received." He paused briefly. "Then again, normally only silly love-struck girls give me compliments about my eyes." He paused again. "Do you always use euphemisms like Draco uses hair-gel?"

          Realization of what I said slowly began to sink in as I sat down in the chair besides him.

          "I'm sorry," I muttered as I felt the tips of my ears go crimson. "I didn't mean what I said."

          Blaise pouted. "Oh I'm hurt," he declared dramatically. "You mean my eyes aren't the color of midsummer's sunlight on a field of clovers?"

          I felt my face burn. "No! I mean yes, yes they are, but I didn't mean to say that! Arg, I had this whole conversation planned out inside my head and now I can't remember a single word of it."

          Blaise smiled. "Life is complicated. It can never be as simple as the inside of your head."

          I smiled back, feeling more at ease, simply because Blaise's philosophy struck me as very 'Hermione-ish'. Wait… did Blaise just insinuate that I was simple minded?!

          "Have you started on Professor Snape's assignment yet?" he continued, still being 'Hermione-ish'.

          I shook my head, still angry about the 'simple' comment but too distracted by the newly discovered fact that Blaise had scattered golden buttercups in his field of clover eyes to do anything. (Well, except admire said eyes and think of more intolerably sappy euphuisms.)

          "Tsk, tsk, Potter. And you managed to get into his elite N.E.W.T.s class how? But that's why we're here, and why we will continue to meet every night- there is no way I am letting you ruin my outstanding grades with your abysmal Potion skills. Now, do you anything about Amourelle?"

          "It was invented by Morgan le Fey," I offered. "And it involves the use of a milpreve."

"And what, exactly, can you tell me about milpreves, Potter?" he asked, sounding mildly surprised.

          "It's a druid stone. Kings of the otherworld, goddesses, and powerful folk wore them a long time ago. But now they've come to represent the power of the fays."

          "The power of the fays," Blaise repeated absentmindedly. "But some have chosen to throw it away."

          "Why would one ever consider that?" I asked disbelievingly. "Milpreves are great agents of power! Such stones are incredibly rare, and only go to those who are destined for them! Abandoning one's stone would be like disregarding one's fate!"

"For a fay, there are even harder choices," he whispered softly. His eyes seemed to be focused on a vague middle distance, somewhere between here and a place far away. "We all have shadows, is it not so? And we must all choose how to use our shadows. We must choose whether to be content or unhappy. The ancient magic of the moon or the striving, aspiring way of sorcery."

"Blaise," I started, unsure, but wanting to pull him from the darkness in which the words grew.

He continued as though he didn't hear. "Cernunnos, the antlered one, gave Morgan that advice shortly after she first arrived in Avalon."

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

Blaise blinked, and his dark eyes once again focused on me. "You don't understand, I don't understand…" And then so softly I had to strain to hear, "and neither did she."

"You are related to her," a mix between a statement and a question, as I carefully studied his profile, trying to see the family resemblance that Hermione said was so evident in his twin.

"You think I look nothing like her," Blaise said with a lazy smile. "But that is because you have not seen the true Morgan le Fey." As he spoke he retrieved a silver mirror from his pocket. The mirror was small, yet noble, with the words 'Draco Malfoy' written elegantly in calligraphy across the top. "He is far too concerned with his hair," Blaise offered as an explanation when I looked at him curiously. "Besides, I put it to better use."

The mirror was like a silver pool in the palm of Blaise's hand. "Show me what I want," he murmured as he slowly slanted the mirror. In the depth of the mirror, shadows began to swirl and slowly part, revealing the reflection of a lovely young girl, shining with the sheen of faery power. Her brow was willful, her skin was as perfect as porcelain, her hair was sable smooth, and her eyes (one a brilliant green, the other a dusky violet) bright and intelligent. It was uncanny, the resemblance between her and Blaise.

"That's Morgan le Fey?" I asked in shock.

"The way she was when she was our age," sadly nostalgic, yet with spoken with underlying fondness.

"How are you doing that?"

"It's called scrying."

"Where did you learn to scry?"

"The fays taught it to me."

 "What can you scry?"

"Images of all things real- although it may show something long past, or yet to come."

"The past?" I could feel my throat tighten. Was it possible? "Could the mirror show me my parents?"

The look on Blaise's face darkened. "It would not be wise to."

"But you could. Please Blaise. Please…" my voice cracked painfully.

Blaise looked at me and his mouth tightened into a thin line, but nevertheless he complied.

The shadows began to swirl once again, and this time they separated to reveal the shocked expression of a handsome young man with messy black hair that stuck up in the back and the joyous, yet slightly nervous, expression of a young woman with dark, thick auburn hair and startling emerald eyes. My parents… The powerful ache of half joy, half terrible sadness began tugging at my heat.

"You're pregnant?" my father whispered hoarsely. "I'm going to be a father?"

 My mum nodded shyly.

 "This is great!" my father shouted. "We're going to be parents! Are you having a girl? Let's name her Alyssa! No, Bridget! Wait, Cassandra is nice. Maybe Dana. What about Evangeline?"

"Before you go through the whole alphabet James dear, I think the baby's a boy. How do you feel about the name Harry? Harry James Potter. It's a good, strong name- like the good, strong man he'll become." My mother sighed dreamily. "I've always wanted a little boy with your black hair," she said as she ruffled my father's already messy hair.

"But your nose," he returned, gently planting a kiss on the bridge of her nose.

My mom giggled. "Your charm."

"Your eyes."

"Your smile."

"Your compassion."

"You sense of mischief." She frowned. "But hopefully not."        

          They both laughed and the image began to fade.

          "No!" I cried. "Bring them back! Show me my parents again!" I shouted, not caring that we were in a library.

          "Don't you dare raise your voice and order me around like some lowly house-elf," Blaise hissed harshly. "Only a favored few have the privilege of seeing a fay scry. Do not make the mistake of angering me."

          His icy tone and expression made me flush, but I refused to let the matter drop.

          "Teach me," I demanded like a spoilt child. "Teach me to scry."

          "You have dreams and visions. You do not see lies, but instead, much hateful truth. But the truth that scrying reveals hurts a hundredfold times more, dagger-sharp, because they are of you and your loved ones." Blaise's voice was slowly melting as he spoke. "I have seen the Morrigun doing her grisly task of washing dead bodies in nights of the dark moon. The water ran dark with blood- the blood of my family." His eyes closed mournfully. "So even if I had the power to, I would not teach you this fearsome craft."

          Guilt bubbled inside of me, for causing the intense look of sorrow and exhaustion on his face.

          "I'm sorry," I began. His eyes opened, and as he pocketed the mirror he smiled a smile that was too brilliant to be real.

          "We have gotten off topic," he pronounced. "Amourelle…"

          "Blaise," a cool voice drawled. "Perhaps you have forgotten about your detention tonight with Professor Snape?"

Additional Disclaimer: Most information concerning Morgan le Fay, Cernunnos, milpreves, and scrying in this fic was obtained from I am Morgan le Fay, owned by Nancy Springer and her publishers. The line "Life is complicated. It can never be as simple as the inside of your head" is from Hana Yori Dango.  I am not making any money off this, and no copyright infringement is intended.