Chapter Five: Never an Easy Win
Favoritism Blows
The rest of Blaise's 1st year at Hogwarts passed by with little incident. Well, except for a nasty rash she got before summer break. The girls suspected a quill Susan returned to Blaise had been laced with Pickleworm Sap. Blaise didn't want to believe her friend would dupe her at first, but Susan had been quite shirty since Christmas break. Blaise didn't have the venom in her to bite back though. Instead, she threw herself into her studies. The best vengeance she could think of would be flattening the whole lot of them when Slytherin takes the House cup for the 8th year in a row.
As Blaise lead study groups in her house, the ire of the students transferred from her to Potter and his misfit friends. All the other houses scorned the Gryffindors for losing 150 points, since they all wanted Slytherin beaten. Well, if they wanted that so much, why didn't they get off their lazy arses and read a book for a change? But of course they don't. She saw them all as a bunch of slackers who expected others to do the dirty work. Worse yet, these losers actually have the chutzpah to bitch when things don't go as planned.
Urgh, she hated them. And the more she hated them, the more points she earned for Slytherin. But did her professors praise her? Please. Had anyone in the faculty noticed her skills surpassed everyone in class? Oh, hell no. Everyone was too busy falling over themselves praising Granger or drooling over Potter. One would think they're the next best thing since bottomless drinks. But since Blaise came from a notorious wizard family, her talent was no surprise.
It was a joke. The love for Gryffindor was a bloody joke. Slytherin won the House Cup every year because they bloody earned it. They took their knowledge seriously. They were proud of their wizardry. It's not their problem the other houses couldn't compete … Oh, what's the use.
All of Blaise's hard work went unnoticed and unrewarded. Just when she thought her house won the cup (and she'd finally win respect from her peers) along comes Dumbledore.
At first, Blaise thought the antidote she took for her rash had gone straight to her head. Because there was no way, Gryffindor could earn enough points to tie even with them. Her shock turned to disgust when the beloved wizard turned the green banners floating around the Great Hall to scarlet. She refused to look at him after that. Instead, she sulked at her table with her classmates, scratching angrily at the rashes on her hands and neck.
Not only did Dumb-ledore reward Potter for his belligerent nosiness, the Headmaster dumped ten points on Neville's head for – get this – bravery?! What's so bloody valiant about selling out your friends?! Neville was all about saving his own arse.
If standing against one's friends was so bloody noble, why were her folks at the bottom of the totem pole? Dumbledore was the leader of the Order, why didn't he help her folks image? Well, he answered that for her. He was just like every other bigot in this school, in this world. And all this time … Blaise thought he was a friend.
She finally understood why her father had grown aloof to the wizard. Zon and Van had risked their lives for the Order yet Papa's still stuck serving an ungrateful Ministry. Ma's still a slave to her job and a slave to her paranoia. And Blaise lost both of them because they couldn't keep her safe on their own.
"Better luck next time, Snakeface!" Someone crowed from a different table. Draco gave the person the two-finger salute.
As far as she was concerned, Slytherin won that cup. She managed the impossible: helped Crabbe and Goyle pass their classes and earn points for the house. Potter just wandered about the grounds after curfew. But that's cool because he's Harry Sodding Potter: The Sweet Fanny Adams of Gryffindor.
But there was no one to complain to, and if she did complain, she'd look like a schmuck. Even Snape could only sulk at the faculty table.
"This's bullshit!" Blaise hissed rising from her seat. She walked out of the Great Hall and stomped back to the Slytherin dorm. She threw her hat into the fireplace and cursed loudly.
"Exactly," someone said from an armchair. Elle stood and walked over to Blaise.
"We didn't get the cup," Blaise said jerkily pulling at her hair. She wanted to break something. Elle exhaled slowly.
"I saw it coming frankly. Potter's affected everyone. I hate to tell you this, but I think Gryffindor's going to have a seven-year winning streak."
"But that's not fair!" Blaise sputtered. "I worked so hard! I did extra credit! I tutored my classmates. I earned so many points. I thought … I thought-"
"It'd earn you respect?" Elle hinted quietly. Blaise nodded sadly. "You know, Blaise, I see a lot of myself in you. Just like me, you learned nothing's fair the hard way. You just have to know that … deep in your heart … you didn't fail yourself."
Blaise sighed. "I guess."
"Hey, if it helps, you earned my respect." Elle shrugged. "Just imagine: In the real world, there's no professor who'll stand up and give you your props. There's no one who'll point out your achievements. You have to do that yourself. And that's where these Gryffindors will fail. You don't learn anything from an easy win." She patted Blaise on the shoulder.
"Thanks, Elle," Blaise said with a smile. "I'm going to miss you … I think." Elle chuckled.
"I'm leaving you in charge of this house, Blaise. You know … I want to give you something," Elle mumbled and pulled out a long red sash from her cloak. She handed it to Blaise.
"I can't take this, Elle," she began. The Head Girl scoffed lightly.
"It's not even mine. I found it tucked behind the fireplace mantle. It had been there for a while. I found it handy in my years here, though I don't think I figured exactly how it works. I think some student left it behind years ago. Or maybe intentionally left it for someone to pass on."
Blaise examined the sash. Its red sateen shimmered under the light flowing from the windows. Gold thread had been embroidered along the edge.
"It's some cheesy, sentimental crap. I forget," Elle said eying the embroidery as well. "You can always examine it at your leisure. It's the properties that are wicked." She patted Blaise on the back. "Take care of my Alma Mater, will you, Blaise?"
"I will, Elle."
She watched the Head Girl walk towards the door, carrying the last of her luggage. Elle paused by the door and swerved back slowly.
"You know what the beauty of being in this house is?" She asked with a lazy smile on her lips. "It's the fact that, once you leave these walls, no matter what path you choose you're still a Slytherin. You can be a hippogriff poacher, a housewife, an Auror, or the incarnation of Evil Itself. This house won't disown you. That's the beauty of Slytherin. Any achievement is a feat. Tell that to the Ravenclaw who winds up selling dragon scrotum in Knockturn Alley." She tilted her hat to Blaise and continued through the door.
And after a year of catfights, detentions, double essays, and dismissed achievements; Blaise Zabini finally broke into a smile.
Twelfth Summer
Oma tried to make light of the situation, but Blaise wasn't in the mood to hear it. Oma had invited her to the island during summer break, but Blaise opted to stay in Creer Upon Libby. She rarely stayed at the manor though. Her new friends invited her to their homes. She especially took to Morag's comely home in Salisbury, just a ways off from Stonehenge. Millicent often went to Morag's home too.
Blaise also spent some time in London with Hong. Like Blaise, she left the island. She lived now with Junko in a loft by their store. The two girls spent a week together, helping in the boutique and venturing into Diagon Alley. It was in Diagon Alley where Blaise bumped into Malfoy. He barely said a word to her. His father didn't look too happy to see her either. The encounter left her suspecting the truce with Malfoy had ended. Either that, or Draco didn't want his father to think he was friendly with a Zabini.
Before going back to Hogwarts, Blaise turned twelve. She threw no party, preferring to spend the whole day under the shade of her Oak tree while Cedric practiced his secret Seeker moves. She got a card from Morag and Susan, who was on vacation with her cousin in Australia. Blaise hadn't gotten around to telling her dorm mates her birthday. Those details just never entered the conversation.
This had to be the first birthday Blaise experienced without Susan in the whole eight years she knew her. Susan didn't seem to hold anything against Blaise. Well, that's what she told her in the card. But Blaise would've preferred a misunderstanding to this. Because if Susan didn't hold anything against Blaise then the only other reason for their strained friendship would be: They're growing apart.
They could fix a misunderstanding with an apology. Growing apart felt much more permanent. Irreversible. Blaise knew it would happen the moment the Sorting Hat yelled Slytherin. Susan can't hold out from her dorm mates forever, just like Blaise couldn't. They'll make new friends. They'll adapt. And forget each other along the way. That's how it is.
But it's still a pain to admit it and watch it happen right in one's face.
Turning twelve was also a pain, being an age where the first signs of puberty usually showed. She scowled staring at herself in the mirror. In her opinion, all she needed was a penis and she'd pass for a boy. She wished she was sometimes. Boys didn't have to wear training bras or go through the embarrassment of … monthly visitors. Pretty soon, she'd have to shave various parts of her body, pop unsightly pimples, and basically kiss her tomboy ways forever. She hated it. She envied Cedric.
Cedric had mentioned the Weasley's had Potter visiting the Burrow. However, Cedric didn't drop by to say hello. He knew Blaise didn't think much of the Boy Who Lived, so he knew better than provoke her with such a touchy subject. He spent his summer with Shawn and the rest of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. She wished she could fly with them, drink butterbeer in the orchard, fart and burp without anyone telling her it's unladylike.
Staring at her reflection, she suddenly remembered Potter. Well, just his scar. His eyes, nose, and lips came afterwards. At first, Blaise couldn't decide what she thought of him. She summed him up as skinny, quiet, not too quick in the brain department, and temperamental. She had thought that he was okay. At least, a bit more pleasant than Malfoy.
But now she referred to him as The Boy Who Stole Her Glory. Dumbledore's pet. Potter could set a werewolf loose on Hogwarts and Dumbledore would still think the world of him. Draco already told her Potter helped smuggle a dragon in (or was it out?) the school. Well, Blaise didn't quite believe that one. Draco had a flare for drama.
Blaise groaned. Her thoughts jumped from Potter to Malfoy. What a selection. What's wrong with her? Pooter was a creep. Malfoy was a brat. Haha. Did she just call Potter, Pooter? She snorted loudly. Pooter sounded familiar. He's probably been called that before.
Now why would she think that? Blaise shook her head in disgust.
"Stop it, Zabini. You're only twelve years old. You got about ten more years before you obsess about boys," she mumbled to herself. The mirror laughed back at her.
Mama knocked on her door. "Sweetie, let's go or we'll miss your train!"
Blaise didn't get around to examining the sash Elle gave her, so she stuffed that in her pocket. After a last glance around the room, she jogged out of the house.
Her father had hailed the Knight Bus. It was a deep purple, stacked automobile contraption. Her trunk and Zephyr were already tucked away. Van kissed her quickly on the cheek and pulled her to her dad. As Blaise approached him, she had a sense of déjà vu seeing Papa standing by the bus.
"Hurry, Blaise. Just go to the back like last time. I'm going to say bye to your mum," Papa said helping Blaise step into the bus.
Like last time? But this was the first time she ever rode on the Knight Bus. Usually they'd commute to the station by carriage or the Travlas Orbs. Maybe Papa just jumbled his English again, she mused and sat in the very back.
Blaise drifted into a short nap on the way to the train station. She had a dream about playground swings, broken watches, and pink cows. In the dream, she brushed away some vines from a pool of black water. Something glowed at the basin and Blaise dipped her head into the water. That's when a crackling flash of green light jolted her awake.
"We're here," Papa said shaking her shoulder.
She stifled a yawn as she boarded the Hogwarts Express. Groggily she waved to Papa from the window. He smiled back then left in a pop! He, too, was also late for his commute to Durmstang. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, wondering what made her have such an odd dream.
The Other Redhead
Since Blaise wasn't in the mood to speak to the Weasley's, she had forgotten all about Ginny Weasley, the youngest. Well, until said person knocked on her cabin door.
At first, Blaise thought the red head belonged to Susan or Morag, either one she'd be happy to see. She didn't recognize the girl initially, and judging from Ginny's expression she didn't recognize Blaise either.
"Uh, hi," Ginny said. "I was just looking for my brother. I didn't mean to-"
"Which one?" Blaise asked after she identified the Weasley shade of red. "You're Ginny, right?"
"Uh, yeah," she replied. "And I'm looking for my brother Ron. He should be sharing a cabin with Harry Potter."
Why is it when people have to say his name it's always with that excessive drum roll, angels with trumpets, flying pigs: *!HARRY POTTER!* As if it's a statement on its own?! Blaise assumed people said it for that gasp factor. So was she supposed to gasp now and fall over herself to get on Ginny's good side?
"Well, I haven't seen Ron or his friend since last term. Sorry," Blaise said with a shrug. Ginny nodded curtly and began to back out of the cabin. Someone from the hall bumped into her, and a book popped out of her bag. It slid over to Blaise's feet.
"Opps! I'm so sorry!" Blaise heard Morag say. Ginny mumbled a reply and continued out the hall. Groaning, Blaise picked up the book as Morag peeked inside.
"Hey, Blaise!"
"Hey, Morag. Can you call Ginny back? She dropped her book." Blaise turned it in her hands.
"Ginny who?"
"The redhead you almost plowed over," she replied yawning. Blaise read the name etched on the book's cover, Tom Marvolo Riddle. That named sounded slightly familiar, but what threw Blaise off was that Ginny had some boy's journal.
Ginny ran back to their cabin. Her eyes widened when Blaise held up the journal.
"You dropped-"
"That's mine!" Ginny gasped and grabbed the book from Blaise's hand. She hugged the journal to her chest. "You should keep your nose out of other people's journals." The sneer she gave Blaise made the Slytherin's blood boil.
"I didn't read the bloody thing," Blaise snapped. "Next time don't carry anything if you're just going to drop it everywhere, you spacky berk."
Ginny turned away in a huff. Morag closed the door behind her and rolled her eyes.
"What a snot!" Morag sputtered. "She should be grateful she dropped that stupid book in your cabin! If it was up to Mill, she would've torn out pages and passed them around to all the boys she knew."
"I'll keep that in mind next time," Blaise said grittily.
It seemed like neither girl remembered the days when they attended each other's birthdays. Whatever the cause, Ginny Weasley didn't give Blaise a good impression. And Blaise's opinion of the girl didn't get any better.
It started during the Halloween Feast. Blaise wanted to go to the Great Hall but the staircase shifted on her. She tried to go back but it shifted again leaving her stranded on the 2nd floor. She had no choice but to circle around the whole floor to get to another staircase. On her way, she bumped into Ginny.
Blaise smiled at the girl, not really in the mood to act defensive. "Hey, Ginny. I wouldn't go that way, the staircase is gone."
"I don't need a damn staircase," Ginny snapped in a husky voice. Blaise backed away narrowing her eyes.
"I don't know why I even bother," she sighed. Suddenly, Ginny grabbed her robes.
"You're a Slytherin?" She demanded eying the snake insignia on her robes.
"Last time I checked … yes."
"The staircase is back here then."
"I just told you it left."
"Look. Just come with me."
Blaise had enough. "No, you look, Weasley. You've a lot of nerve bossing me around. I'm going where I bloody please. And if you tell me one more time what to do, I'm hexing you back to your mother's womb!"
Ginny stepped back and grinned back at her. The smile threw the Slytherin off, reminding her of Elle's smile before she hissed a curse. Without another word, Ginny turned away and continued down the corridor.
Blaise snorted to herself. She used to think Ginny was okay. But Morag was right. She's a snot! Blaise stormed down the opposite way of the corridor. So much for thinking she'd have a good week. At least, it had started good …
***
Just a few days before Halloween, Blaise had had her first actual run-in with Harry What's-his-face. It happened during a stormy Saturday afternoon. He had just finished his Quidditch practice, judging from his drenched scarlet robes and muddy trainers. His shoes squished by several Slytherins as he made for the Gryffindor Tower. Blaise was the single girl in the group.
When the other boys saw who was approaching, they couldn't resist. Before she knew it, Harry stumbled right for her. She had no choice but to brace them both in her arms. His scent of grass and rain mixed with her crisp perfume (a gift from Hong), making Blaise a little light-headed.
Harry's face burned as he glanced up at the girl holding him. Quite embarrassed herself, Blaise abruptly released him, leaving Harry to slip away. He managed one last glance before he ducked into a deserted corridor.
"You should've let him fall, Zabini." Avery and the other boys glared at her.
"I'll do whatever I see fit." She strutted away from them, ignoring the pounding in her chest. Okay, aside from Cedric, that's the closest she came to hugging a boy. And it was gross, Blaise told herself. She smelled of grass. Mud's on her robes. Her sleeves especially are all wet. It's as if she had been licked by a Saint Bernard.
She went back to the dorm to change; humming Depeche Mode's Somebody the whole way.
***
Blaise shook the memory of Potter from her head. She looked forward to watch their Quidditch team slaughter the rest of them. With the new brooms, hopefully Slytherin would concentrate more on technique than on sabotage. The other houses considered them as cheaters. But Blaise reckoned if they had the money, they'd buy new brooms for their teams too, in a bloody heartbeat.
They all make me so sick, she thought grimly. Who are they to judge? They're not saints. As if they've never wanted anything for themselves. But they make us the scapegoats for their own guilty pleasures. I hate it. I just wish they'd all bugger off.
Still seething, she rounded the corner to find Mrs. Norris blinking up at her. Blaise had never met an animal that didn't like her … Except this putrid fur ball. The cat curved its spine and swished its frizzy tail.
Master … punish them all … Blaise heard the cat's inner voice hissed.
"Shit!" Blaise groaned. She dodged the water on the floor, and considered hiding in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. But Mrs. Norris perched herself on the light sconce and hissed. A hulking shadow coursed along the wall dimming the whole corridor. Damn, it's Filch! The caretaker and his cat had Blaise trapped on both ends. She turned away from the bathroom and scrambled for another door that she hadn't seen earlier.
"Please, please, get me out of here," she whispered as she twisted the knob. She stumbled through the door just as Mrs. Norris yowled outside. Blaise closed her eyes in relief and leaned against the door. Instead, she fell right on her back.
She found herself staring up at the black, foggy October sky. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she slowly sat herself from the ground. Taking a quick look around her, Blaise found herself in the midst of the Forbidden Forest.
The Handy Sash
"When I said, Get me out of here, you didn't have to take it literally!" She hissed to no one in particular. Fumbling her way in the pitch black, Blaise hopped cautiously over the stones and bulging roots. "Oh, shit, shit, shit. ACK! Shit." She groaned.
Something growled not too far away. Blaise stiffened and reached for her wand.
"This's not good," she sighed. Again, she cursed Weasley in her mind. If the girl simply said, Hey, Blaise, Filch's cat's over there so it's better to go this way, then Blaise wouldn't be in this situation. Ha, who was she kidding? She wouldn't do anything Ginny Weasley said to save her life.
"Point me," she directed her wand. She followed its subtle glow slowly. She didn't want to attract the attention of the mystery growler. She'd heard all sorts of nasties lived in the forest. Malfoy swore he saw a vampire kill a unicorn once. Blaise had to believe that one, because she doubted Malfoy would be creative enough to imagine a unicorn slaughter.
The evening breeze made her shiver. She should be in the Great Hall up to her eyebrows in fudge and pumpkin pie. Instead, she had just a dimly lit wand, muddy combat boots, and a thin knitted sweater. Her lips trembled numbly. She shoved her right hand into her pocket to keep it warm. And, for some strange reason, her pocket was warm. She pulled out her hand to find it wrapped in the red sash.
Blaise pulled the sash off her hand and shook it loose. The sash magically widened, letting her tie it snugly around her neck. It draped over her shoulders like a cape. The warmth brought new life to her stiff limbs. Feeling comfortable now, she trudged on through the forest following her wand's point.
She walked in the dark for several minutes, not sensing the castle anywhere close. The forest grew eerily quiet leaving only the sound of Blaise's feet crunching against the grass. She knew the forest expanded acres around her, but she had begun to feel claustrophobic.
The trees leaned in too close to her even the crickets fell silent. Moonlight seeped faintly through the foliage basking the forest in a cold bluish green, while the darkness bled through the fog. The shadows casted grim expressions on the trees, like the disfigured masks of the theatre. Every minute or so, she'd hear a twig snap in the distance. A cold sweat dotted across her lips. But she walked on, telling herself there were worse situations to endure.
Suddenly, she heard a soft crooning from behind a wall of vines. It sounded like there was a creek behind the vines too. She must be near the lake. She split the vines with a Diffindo spell and hopped through.
Blaise found herself staring into the bulging blue eyes of a man … with blood dribbling from his chin. He had been eating the sides of a warthog. She grimaced. The creek she thought she heard was actually the man lapping the blood. The face snarled at her showing rows of razor-sharp teeth. She first thought he was some kind of savage wolf troll, until she saw the rest of him.
He had the torso and front legs of a lion. Its claws dug deeply into the slain hog's side as the beast leaned forward. Blaise had to call it a beast, because the man's expression twisted grotesquely distorting the human features. It snarled at her raising its scaly scorpion tail above its head. When she saw the giant stinger, she realised the beast was a Manticore.
Her throat seized inside her. Blaise edged back slowly as the Manticore growled at her, foaming soapy red saliva at the mouth. She knew no charms that could subdue the creature since its skin repelled almost all known spells. Her eyes darted to the beast's sharp black claws to its stinger. One sting from that would cause instant death.
Her stomach turned when she realised her wand was useless. She had to make a run for it. She pinched a bead off her belt, rubbing it nervously in her fingers as the Manticore stalked closer to her. It sniffed the air tracking her scent. Blaise cursed herself for wearing perfume. The one bloody time she decides to be girly-girl and this's where it gets her.
Suddenly, the beast leapt into the air. Blaise flung the bead meeting it halfway and snapped her fingers. The bead exploded in the Manticore's face blinding it. It landed awkwardly on its forelegs as Blaise ran frantically through the forest.
Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she jumped over the tree stumps and boulders. The Manticore chased after her roaring after each tree it crushed. Blaise flung more beads over her shoulders, but the Manticore simply gained more momentum. She ran towards the moon, hoping it'd take her to the lake.
Suddenly, she slipped down a ravine and found herself knee deep in a bubbly stream. Splashing through the water with the Manticore close behind, she followed the brook until it ended in a steep drop. The waterfall led right into the Hogwarts Lake. But only sharp rocks waited below, the water too shallow for her to survive the jump.
With a shudder, Blaise faced the Manticore. And before she could reach for another bead, the stinger struck her shoulder. It pushed her under the brook. The water rushed into her lungs. She twisted against the pressure and managed to swim to the edge when the Manticore lifted its tail.
She leaned against a boulder, trying not to cough. The Manticore splashed in the water searching for her body. Blaise patted her shoulder, pinched her cheeks. She could still feel. She was still alive. Suddenly, the Manticore swerved and rounded its gaze on her. She rolled away just as the stinger plowed into the ground. Immediately the grass and ivy shriveled into dust. This gave Blaise an idea.
As the Manticore struggled to wedge itself free, Blaise stumbled over the uprooted and dismembered trees it had charged past. She found a sturdy branch and clutched it tightly in her left hand. The Manticore finally yanked its stinger free and pivoted towards Blaise.
"Auri clava," she whispered transforming the branch into a golden club. The creature aimed its tail again. It lashed out just as she swung the club. The impact walloped the stinger straight into the Manticore's own eye.
Howling, it sunk to the ground. It thrashed weakly as it burned into a statue of solid ash. Blaise dropped to her knees, shivering from the ordeal. With a sigh from her lips, the ashes blew away leaving no trace of the beast.
Pity swept over her. Manticores were rare creatures. They were dangerous, but there's some beauty in that mixture of man, lion, and scorpion. What if that was the last one on this Earth? She blamed herself for its abrupt end. If she only listened to – No. That Manticore would've killed her – But that's its bloody instinct! Blaise shook her head angrily. She had to stop thinking like this.
She turned her attention to her shoulder. It felt tender, so it definitely struck her. So why was she alive? She used her wand to light the spot and she saw the red sash/cloak had actually shielded her. The only trace of the Manticore's sting was a large, violet bruise. But the skin hadn't been broken. The only bloodshed came from scratches the thorns gave her as she had scrambled through the forest.
"Unbelievable," she murmured. This flimsy, satiny thing saved her life?! She made a mental note to truly sit down and study this magical fabric. Maybe the tiny embroidery was more than a sentimental musing. In the meantime, she had to get out of this place.
She tiptoed to the edge of the cliff. She saw the dock where she boarded in 1st year, but no boats. She'll just have to resort to hitching a ride from a Kappa or a Squid.
"Too bad I can't fly a broom," she mumbled eying the twigs strewn around her feet. The red sash stirred on her shoulders. Blaise unclasped it and it stretched itself on the ground. It levitated several inches beside Blaise. She slid onto it and the red sash/carpet soared over the lake dodging the waves and the spritzes from the aquatic plants.
Blaise landed at the front of the castle's steps as the red sash curled back around her waist. Looking up at the huge doors, bitterness suddenly swept her. Something told her she wouldn't be awarded 60 bloody points for slaying an otherwise invincible beast. No trumpets would greet her at the door, no green flags flying over the Great Hall's ceiling.
"Whatever," she sighed and pushed the doors open.
The house elves already cleaned the Great Hall to her dismay. So not only was she nearly killed, but she had missed the Halloween Feast as well. Blaise dragged herself back to her dorm. She cursed loudly when the staircase swerved on her again. She trudged a couple of steps down the new floor when she heard voices come from a supposedly empty classroom.
"Do you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"
"No. Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."
Potter and Weasley, Blaise acknowledged. What they heck are they up to now? Unlike Draco, she didn't ruddy care frankly. But what Ron said annoyed her. She shuffled quietly past the door when Potter spoke again.
"The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber Has Been Opened … What's that supposed to mean?"
Blaise's eyes widened. Did they mean the Chamber of Secrets? She walked briskly down the corridor, Oma mentioned someone died from that but it was never proven … Suddenly her watch chimed. Blaise covered it with her hand as the door from the classroom opened. She ran back to her dorm before Potter or Weasley could see her.
"Blaise! Where the devil have you been?" Millicent demanded pulling Blaise into their room. She choked when she saw Morag sitting on her bed.
"Morag?! What are you doing in our dorm?" She stammered.
"Safety precautions," Millicent mumbled. "Don't tell the other years. It's just … the Heir of Slytherin would take care of his own, right? I mean … Morag's as much a pureblood as the rest of us, right?"
Blaise stared at each of her dorm mates. Pansy sat on the edge of her bed biting her nails while Millicent paced a hole in the rug. Her other two dorm mates, Daphne and Katrina, huddled on the bench by the window. Everyone had pale expressions as they talked over each other.
"Of course," Blaise assured them, forgetting her ordeal at the forest. "The Heir wouldn't hurt anyone in this house, even you, Morag. From now on, you're an honorary Slytherin. If anyone argues with that, tell them to speak with me."
"Blaise, you still didn't tell us where you've been," Mill said eying the twigs and spiders tangled in her hair.
"Oh, I just fell asleep by the lake." She sighed tiredly as Morag pulled a leaf from her mane.
"In this cold?"
"I had a warm cloak." Blaise shrugged, combing the junk out of her hair. She changed into her sleepwear as the girls talked over the night's events. It alarmed Blaise to hear Mrs. Norris had been attacked in the very corridor she had escaped. But she didn't have the energy to analyze it tonight.
"I wonder who the Heir is," Pansy said shivering in her gown. "Do you think it's someone in this house?" They all glanced at each other. "It said Enemies of the Heir, Beware. Not Mudbloods or Muggleborns, but enemies in general. So how are we safe?"
"At least, you're purebloods," Morag sniffed. "My blood's all mixed. I … I hope I'm not next."
Blaise bit her lip. "You all are safe. Pureblood or not. The Heir won't harm us. I promise." She suddenly yawned. She placed the earmuffs on her head to block out the rest of Mill's banter. The rest of the girls did the same. Millicent rolled her eyes.
"Honestly, people. My snoring's not that loud."
"Sure it isn't," Morag snickered as she threw the covers over her head.
Blaise fingered the sash tied along her waist. It seemed stupid to promise their safety, but as she had said it, she really did believe it.
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Thanks for all the reviews and to everyone who joined the group. I'm happy to say that the next chapters will be about Blaise the teenager. I appreciate the honesty in your opinions. The backstory still ties into the original plot. I think the only dramatic changes were I changed Blaise's father's name to avoid confusion and Morag's sorting.