I'm so sorry for the long wait, but I'm having problems with my computer,
and will have for a while, unless I can get my brother to fix them somehow.
Since he's terminally lazy, that won't be for another while. But I've
gotten all chapters up to the ninth written already; my only problem is
uploading them.
Thank you everyone for your reviews, they've been wonderful, *waves to Skoosie*. I hope you like this instalment of Slytherin Vengeance.
******'
Tick, tack, tick, tack, tick, tack.
That clock was really starting to get on my nerves. The last minute before class ended was going so damn slowly. I wondered what Professor Lucas might want with me, considering the fact that I had done nothing wrong. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the lesson ended. As everyone filed out of the classroom, I remained in my seat. Millicent clapped me on the shoulder in reassurance, and I smiled up at her, though it was forced. I hated getting into trouble with teachers, since they seemed to be champion grudge- holders.
Lucas sat behind his desk, staring at me for a moment, before he opened his mouth. I really didn't want to know what he was going to say, but I had no choice but to listen to him. It's not like you can ignore someone who's just about three inches taller than me and who's staring at you with red eyes. I'm freakishly tall, but Lucas beat even me. My mother must have slipped some growth-solution into my food when I was little.
"Mr Zabini," Lucas began, fixing me with what was the most disconcerting look I'd seen in years, "When you come to my class, I expect you to bring sufficient materials. That," He gestured at my burned book, "is not enough. If you show up in my class with that book again, I will be forced to dock points from Slytherin. Be warned."
Anger boiled in my mind. How dare he forbid me to use my own book? It was one of the very few things that had survived the fire, along with assorted useless trinkets and my father's shirt. The only reason I was still in possession of my broomstick was that it was stored in a shack some way away from the house. Glaring at him, but deciding not to lose any points for Slytherin on the first day, I nodded silently, and stood up, walking out of there without waiting for a dismissal. I was way too angry to deal with him right now. I was way too angry to deal with anyone. He didn't call after me, so I assumed that was it.
I stalked down the corridor to get to Transfiguration before I ran late. I did not want to face McGonagall's wrath on top of this, as she wasn't likely to make allowances for a Slytherin student. I realised I was already late, and started running. Curse be to all Defence teachers; and I'd started off liking this one too, and then he had to go and ruin it by saying something like that and make me furious.
*******'
I turned a corner and tried to stop before I hit the door to the Arithmancy classroom, but it was a failed attempt; I crashed into it head-first, and it yielded to my weight, letting me in and causing me to fall face first on the floor. I really, truly hate Thursdays. The class snickered at me as I got back up on my feet, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Potter and Granger both grinning. Scowling, I made my way to my seat, sitting down next to one of the apparently nameless Hufflepuffs and turned my attention to McGonagall.
"As I was saying before Mr Zabini made his spectacular entrance, this year will be much harder than before," She threw a disapproving look at me. "You will be having a lot more homework, and you will be learning more than you previously have. Hopefully, you will all be able to remember the information and spells once the exams roll around. I will take it personally if you don't pass your exams."
Great, another one who would hunt us down and kill us if we failed. Why didn't they just queue up and have a go at us now instead? It would make things so much simpler.
"This year, you will begin with the more complicated spells, to prepare you for your N.E.W.T's. You will start transfiguring larger things, such as chairs and desks, and you will be given assignments that I expect you to carry out creatively." She smiled quickly, a strange sight on her, "I have the outmost trust in all of you; you will be able to do it."
Well, isn't that nice to know. Why don't you sound a little more sincere next time, you old hag? Scowling to myself, I listened to her long and boring lecture, pretending to be interested. My thoughts were centred on Professor Lucas, though. I still couldn't quite get over the fact that he was going to remove points from me because my book was burned around the edges; I was sure my mother had written to Dumbledore about the fire and that he had informed all teachers of it. It would make sense, after all. But apparently she hadn't, because I was sure Lucas wouldn't have done what he had, had he known about it.
McGonagall's lecture faded into the background of my hearing, and I concentrated on not getting angry in the middle of class for no apparent reason. It was hard, really, considering that my self-control wasn't the best at the present time. It was rather shredded, to tell the truth. If I didn't pull myself together soon, my magic could become unreliable and act up on me. And I'd rather not wake up and find I've turned the room blue with pink polka-dots during the night. It would upset Draco, if nothing else.
"And that would be all for this lesson; remember to read through the first chapter of your books till next time; there will be a small test," McGonagall reminded us, before sending us off either to the next lesson or to dinner.
I got up and filed out of the classroom together with everyone else, and since McGonagall had chosen not to say anything about me being late, I chalked it up as her being a bit more forgiving on the first day, or not remembering that I was a Slytherin or something. Hopefully, I wouldn't lose any points for Slytherin that day. Now, before dinner, I needed to go and tell Snape about Lucas's warning. I had to find out whether he knew about the fire or if my mother hadn't told anyone.
Not many students know where the teacher's lounge is, but I'd learned about it from older Slytherins who had been there one time too many due to detentions. I've never had a bad enough detention to warrant a visit to the other teachers; I just got stuck cleaning cauldrons for Snape once, and of course, the infamous detention with Umbridge, and she never asked the other teachers about what they thought was best, even though she was the most recent addition to the staff. I hated that sorry excuse for a woman.
I knocked on the door and stood back, waiting. I tried not to fidget, to appear nervous, but I failed. Maybe it's some inbred characteristic of students to be nervous when they meet teachers, even when they haven't done anything. I know I always do. The door opened suddenly, startling me so bad that I took a step back before looking up at who it was.
Staring up at me from under steel-grey hair, was my favourite teacher of all time; Hooch. I mean, how could I avoid liking her? She taught flying classes, and was the first one to put me on a broom, ever. I smiled quickly, as however much I liked her, I was not blind to the fact that she had a temper.
"Mr Zabini? Is there any particular reason for your visit?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, is Professor Snape there? I need to see him," I replied.
"He is, wait just a moment," She shut the door in my face, probably not wanting me to see anything inside of the room, but I couldn't help but feel a bit insulted.
I leaned against the opposite wall, and waited silently. Snape always did take his time when he knew it was nothing too serious. I was usually not too bothered by it, but I was hungry now, and if Snape didn't get out right now, so that I could talk to him and go eat, I would break in there and demand they hand over whatever food they had. A bit irrational, but irrational was what I was when I was hungry. Alright, that is a sign I had eaten too little in the past hours; I used the word ´was´ more than twice in one sentence.
Snape got out of the teacher's lounge and was looking mighty annoyed at being disturbed. He spotted me and crossed his arms. This was not looking good; I had hoped to catch him in one of his rare less-than-horrible moods, but apparently I had failed to do so. Better get this done quickly.
"What, Mr Zabini, could be so important that you feel the need to disturb me before you have even had dinner?" Snape asked.
Ouch. My uncle knows me too well.
"I had Defence earlier," I replied, looking for a good way of phrasing it, "And I got told off for bringing my book. Of course, I could understand that, since it's pretty much burned, but I had thought Professor Lucas would know why. Actually, I had though all of you would know."
"Know what, Zabini?" Snape snapped impatiently, "Does this story have a point?"
"Yes," I glared at him, which might not have been a wise move, "It has. My book was almost burned to a crisp because my house burned down two days before term started. I never had time to buy new books, since I was busy with mourning my father, who never got out of the house."
My voice had grown progressively more hoarse and angry towards the end of my speech, and I was glaring at Snape as if it was his fault. Snape blinked, apparently shocked by my admission, and uncrossed his arms. I was just about to give up on him saying anything and go and eat my dinner when he opened his mouth. I concentrated on him again, after having turned my thoughts to food and less disturbing subjects.
"Sebastien is dead?" Snape asked. "How?"
"I told you; he got trapped in a burning house." I was losing my patience. "That tends to be terminal for ones health."
"But how? Why didn't he Apparate out?" Snape was asking irrational questions, not that I could blame him. What puzzled me was why he did it.
"I have no clue; he just didn't, and now he's dead," My eyes were beginning to water, and I hated myself for my lack of self-control. I would not let myself break down in front of Snape, or anyone else for that matter, and I stared off down the corridor, trying to blink back those accursed tears. "Well, I just wanted to know if my mother had written to you at all. I'll go eat now."
I could feel Snape's eyes on my back as I walked, but I didn't dare turn around. If I did, I was sure I would break down, and breaking down was not something I wanted to do now, or ever. As Mother always said, boys don't cry, and I wasn't about to. Not in front of anyone. I didn't even wait for an answer to my question; I needed to think about something else, and right now, I believed in dinner with a conviction more often reserved for religious fanatics.
*****'
For all the greatness of Hogwarts food, it tasted of nothing in my mouth. I stared at my plate for a while, not caring that I was getting strange looks from my fellow students. I could almost hear them whisper to each other; I never left my food untouched, and I always left the table with a clean plate. There was something wrong with me, in their eyes. There was something wrong with me, in my mind. I stared dully at my plate, pushing the food around silently. It was mashed potatoes and sausage, I noted.
Telling Snape, or anyone, about my father's demise was steadily getting harder. In the beginning, it had hurt so much it was agonizing, and I wanted nothing more than for everyone else to feel the same, and so I told them willingly. Now, when I needed to tell someone, I could not get the words out properly. I choked on them, swallowing them up. And I hated myself for it. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. A bitter smile crossed my face; if nothing else, the screaming would wake the school up from its dazed feeling of security.
Millicent sat next to me, and knowing better than to speak to me when I was in one of my moods, asked nothing of my strange behaviour. She just ate her dinner and kept close to me, if I would snap out of it and wish to talk to her. I appreciated that; she's a good person to have around when you're depressed. She can stop you from committing suicide, if nothing else. She's good at that. Pansy and Draco were sitting further down the table, talking to each other. Apparently, love blinds you so much that you can't even notice your best friends anymore.
I don't blame them for loving each other; they deserve it, more than anyone else I know. But it stings a little that they didn't listen to either me or Millicent any more. I shook of the contemplations of love, as those paths remained unthread by me, and looked over at the Gryffindor table. Looking at the Gryffindor table is a good thing is you wish to be distracted; there's always something happening there, be it food fights or the constant break ups-make ups of the Unholy Trinity. Speaking of which, Potter was looking a bit out of it.
He was paler than normal, and he always looked as if he spent the summer in a cupboard. He was staring blearily down in his food, just as I had been a few moments earlier. Maybe he'd been having nasty dreams or something. Probably of his break-in into the Department of Mysteries. Someone died in there, if you trusted the rumours. Black, some said, while others swore by a random Death Eater. Either way, Potter had been looking like hell when he came back out of the hospital wing, and hadn't even tried to rise to the bait when Draco threatened him. There was something wrong with him as well.
Hell, there was something wrong with everybody. There was something wrong with me; my father was dead, my mother barely looked at me anymore, and I had to spend my summer nights comforting my sister that there was nothing wrong, and lie to her face. Millicent was forced to be someone she wasn't, because her parents couldn't take a daughter that didn't fit the rigid rules of the pureblood society. Pansy's mother wants her to be perfect, even when she fails time and time again. Draco's father wanted him to be cruel and cold, a picture-perfect copy of himself. Potter tried to be the hero, but fell short of it. Weasley, always the side-kick, had given up on trying to do something for himself; he got everywhere by riding on Potter's coat-tails. Granger, while working hard and being smart, would never fit in completely at Hogwarts; she was a Muggleborn, and every pureblood, even the friendly ones, had some degree of dislike for those who weren't fathered by wizards. There was something wrong with the whole damn world.
I pushed my food away and stood up, intent on getting back to the Common Room and get some sleep. Despite a good night's sleep the previous night, I had yet to re-establish a proper sleeping-pattern. I hadn't eaten much, but I wasn't hungry anymore. I hadn't been too hungry to begin with, even though I had been ravenous before talking to Snape.
*****'
The Common Room was quiet. No one was there; everyone was still eating, even Nott, who almost always was present in front of the crackling fire. I collapsed in a chair, too tired to climb the stairs to my dormitory, and stared into the flames. The yellow, red and orange flickered in front of my eyes, and coloured the otherwise dark Common Room a dark shade of red. I tore my gaze away; the crackling fire reminded me too much of the accident. I guess there would be no more late-night studying in the Common Room for me then.
Large banners with the green and silver snake of Slytherin on them were hung across the walls. When I was younger, in first year, I used to spend my evenings trying to figure out how they were made; they're big enough to cover the floor of the Great Hall, and even then, you'll only need about three of them. Even though our Common Room is located in the dungeons, and it is damn cold there in the winter, it's cosy, in a Slytherin kind of way. I have no clue about how the other House's Common Rooms look, but I've heard how people talk about ours; they all honestly believe that we have a torture chamber down there, with spikes and iron maidens and whatnot. Stupidity has ceased to amaze me, at least for now. One never knows what might happen tomorrow.
No, tomorrow might be wildly different. In my case, I hoped it would be. I played idly with my shirt-sleeve, wondering of the soot-stains would ever go out. They probably would if I washed it, but they would always be there, in a sense. Kind of like a scar, which remained long years after the wound, the stains would never go out, not in my mind. I lost myself in thoughts, in insane ramblings, which I often did.
I could have been sitting there for hours; I had lost track of time and space, when Millicent sat down beside me. She didn't say anything; she just waited. She's good at waiting too. I've seen her sit for hours, staring at the water when we've gone fishing, not moving and scarcely even breathing. When there's a role-call for the champion waiting-experts of the world, she won't even show up. She'd be waiting for them to come to her.
"He said I wasn't allowed to bring my book to class anymore," I said, referring to Professor Lucas. Millicent nodded her head, urging me to go on. "Said I had to bring sufficient material. I was so angry then I could have strangled him. I didn't tell him though. Mother didn't write them, so they don't know. I told Snape though, so he'll probably tell the other teachers. I'll need to go to Hogsmeade and buy the other books soon; there's no way they'll let me come to class without any books at all."
"Do you know when the next Hogsmeade weekend is?"
"No," I shook my head, "I don't. There's no notice on the board either. But if I ask them to, I might even get to go there beforehand. And if not that, I can probably send money with a teacher who can buy them for me. It doesn't really matter anymore."
It doesn't really matter anymore. It didn't. Books were just details; what mattered was getting through. I wanted to be able to sleep without seeing the flames before my eyes. I wanted to close my eyes and not see my father's smile in my mind. I wanted to breathe without choking on smoke and soot. I wanted to forget. I shook my head; I didn't want to think anymore. I kept my eyes on the carpet, not daring to look at the fire, not daring to look Millicent in the eye, in fear of breaking down. Damn it, I didn't need this right now! I didn't need it, period.
"Go to bed, Blaise. You need to sleep." Millicent advised me, "I'll see you in the morning."
I nodded goodnight to her, and headed up the stairs. I dodged the creaking step, and opened the door to our dormitory, too distracted to care that I was walking straight through Crabbe's dirty laundry. I stumbled, but kept going. I needed to brush my teeth before going to bed; otherwise I'd wake up feeling like I'd slept with a mouthful of cotton. I hated that feeling.
Bathroom lighting is always too intense, and the bathrooms at Hogwarts were no different; I could see every line on my face, despite the fact that I was much too young to have lines. It made me look old. I brushed my teeth slowly, not having the energy to put into doing it any faster, and stared at my reflection. I had been doing that a lot lately; staring, that is. Maybe it was an after effect of sleep deprivation. I knew lack of focus was one of them, at least. I finished brushing my teeth and left the bathroom again.
I had undressed, gotten under the covers and prepared to sleep when I discovered I wasn't even close to tired. I spent the next few hours staring up into the ceiling. I could not sleep, no matter how I tried; I closed my eyes, only to open them again, even though I didn't want to. Even when I managed to keep my eyes shut, my mind was entirely, completely and annoyingly awake. It raced across a million different topics, none of them interesting and none of them important. Most of them didn't even have something to do with my present situation. It was horribly annoying.
I heard Draco come in and settle in his bed. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand; a quarter to ten, around the time when I would still be down in the Common Room studying normally. Another hour passed and Crabbe and Goyle came along as well. I still could not get any sleep. Of course, I wouldn't be sleeping around this time normally either, but seeing as I had gotten very little sleep the previous night and none the two nights before that, I should at least have been a little tired. But I wasn't.
Another hour. And another. Soon, it was three in the morning, and I still hadn't slept. I gave up. I simply couldn't lie down anymore doing nothing, so I got up. I wandered over to the window and sat on the window sill. It wasn't as if there was anything else to do in the middle of the bloody night when one could not sleep. I could have gone out in the corridors and looked for curfew-breaking Gryffindors, but it didn't feel like I'd have any luck with that. Besides, who knew what happened to the corridors at three in the morning; there'd been rumours about rooms and changed places and the ghosts having balls. Not to mention the rooms covered in fussy cloth and the swirling patterns on the carpets. Hogwarts was a strange place, and even more so at night.
The grounds were empty, so there wasn't much to look at, except the Thestrals who flew up above the forest every once in a while. They hovered for a while in the moonlight, before disappearing between the treetops again. I was bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. I was so bored that I was spending my time at three in the morning, watching grass grow. If it was possible for me to be any more bored, I didn't want to see it. My brain was dribbling out of my ears in boredom as it was.
I spent the rest of the night counting stars and naming trees, not getting any sleep at all. I managed to name at least twenty trees, before giving up on it as hopeless, and concentrated fully on counting stars. I got to ten thousand three hundred and twenty nine before dawn. I had a head for mathematics. Though I'm sure I counted every star twice before I was done.
******'
Ending Notes; four chapters, and I've just finished the first day of school. Jeez, I'm going to be sitting here in ten years, still writing, because I'm not even going to be finished with the second part. I'm on over my head, but damn, I'm having fun.
Thank you everyone for your reviews, they've been wonderful, *waves to Skoosie*. I hope you like this instalment of Slytherin Vengeance.
******'
Tick, tack, tick, tack, tick, tack.
That clock was really starting to get on my nerves. The last minute before class ended was going so damn slowly. I wondered what Professor Lucas might want with me, considering the fact that I had done nothing wrong. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the lesson ended. As everyone filed out of the classroom, I remained in my seat. Millicent clapped me on the shoulder in reassurance, and I smiled up at her, though it was forced. I hated getting into trouble with teachers, since they seemed to be champion grudge- holders.
Lucas sat behind his desk, staring at me for a moment, before he opened his mouth. I really didn't want to know what he was going to say, but I had no choice but to listen to him. It's not like you can ignore someone who's just about three inches taller than me and who's staring at you with red eyes. I'm freakishly tall, but Lucas beat even me. My mother must have slipped some growth-solution into my food when I was little.
"Mr Zabini," Lucas began, fixing me with what was the most disconcerting look I'd seen in years, "When you come to my class, I expect you to bring sufficient materials. That," He gestured at my burned book, "is not enough. If you show up in my class with that book again, I will be forced to dock points from Slytherin. Be warned."
Anger boiled in my mind. How dare he forbid me to use my own book? It was one of the very few things that had survived the fire, along with assorted useless trinkets and my father's shirt. The only reason I was still in possession of my broomstick was that it was stored in a shack some way away from the house. Glaring at him, but deciding not to lose any points for Slytherin on the first day, I nodded silently, and stood up, walking out of there without waiting for a dismissal. I was way too angry to deal with him right now. I was way too angry to deal with anyone. He didn't call after me, so I assumed that was it.
I stalked down the corridor to get to Transfiguration before I ran late. I did not want to face McGonagall's wrath on top of this, as she wasn't likely to make allowances for a Slytherin student. I realised I was already late, and started running. Curse be to all Defence teachers; and I'd started off liking this one too, and then he had to go and ruin it by saying something like that and make me furious.
*******'
I turned a corner and tried to stop before I hit the door to the Arithmancy classroom, but it was a failed attempt; I crashed into it head-first, and it yielded to my weight, letting me in and causing me to fall face first on the floor. I really, truly hate Thursdays. The class snickered at me as I got back up on my feet, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Potter and Granger both grinning. Scowling, I made my way to my seat, sitting down next to one of the apparently nameless Hufflepuffs and turned my attention to McGonagall.
"As I was saying before Mr Zabini made his spectacular entrance, this year will be much harder than before," She threw a disapproving look at me. "You will be having a lot more homework, and you will be learning more than you previously have. Hopefully, you will all be able to remember the information and spells once the exams roll around. I will take it personally if you don't pass your exams."
Great, another one who would hunt us down and kill us if we failed. Why didn't they just queue up and have a go at us now instead? It would make things so much simpler.
"This year, you will begin with the more complicated spells, to prepare you for your N.E.W.T's. You will start transfiguring larger things, such as chairs and desks, and you will be given assignments that I expect you to carry out creatively." She smiled quickly, a strange sight on her, "I have the outmost trust in all of you; you will be able to do it."
Well, isn't that nice to know. Why don't you sound a little more sincere next time, you old hag? Scowling to myself, I listened to her long and boring lecture, pretending to be interested. My thoughts were centred on Professor Lucas, though. I still couldn't quite get over the fact that he was going to remove points from me because my book was burned around the edges; I was sure my mother had written to Dumbledore about the fire and that he had informed all teachers of it. It would make sense, after all. But apparently she hadn't, because I was sure Lucas wouldn't have done what he had, had he known about it.
McGonagall's lecture faded into the background of my hearing, and I concentrated on not getting angry in the middle of class for no apparent reason. It was hard, really, considering that my self-control wasn't the best at the present time. It was rather shredded, to tell the truth. If I didn't pull myself together soon, my magic could become unreliable and act up on me. And I'd rather not wake up and find I've turned the room blue with pink polka-dots during the night. It would upset Draco, if nothing else.
"And that would be all for this lesson; remember to read through the first chapter of your books till next time; there will be a small test," McGonagall reminded us, before sending us off either to the next lesson or to dinner.
I got up and filed out of the classroom together with everyone else, and since McGonagall had chosen not to say anything about me being late, I chalked it up as her being a bit more forgiving on the first day, or not remembering that I was a Slytherin or something. Hopefully, I wouldn't lose any points for Slytherin that day. Now, before dinner, I needed to go and tell Snape about Lucas's warning. I had to find out whether he knew about the fire or if my mother hadn't told anyone.
Not many students know where the teacher's lounge is, but I'd learned about it from older Slytherins who had been there one time too many due to detentions. I've never had a bad enough detention to warrant a visit to the other teachers; I just got stuck cleaning cauldrons for Snape once, and of course, the infamous detention with Umbridge, and she never asked the other teachers about what they thought was best, even though she was the most recent addition to the staff. I hated that sorry excuse for a woman.
I knocked on the door and stood back, waiting. I tried not to fidget, to appear nervous, but I failed. Maybe it's some inbred characteristic of students to be nervous when they meet teachers, even when they haven't done anything. I know I always do. The door opened suddenly, startling me so bad that I took a step back before looking up at who it was.
Staring up at me from under steel-grey hair, was my favourite teacher of all time; Hooch. I mean, how could I avoid liking her? She taught flying classes, and was the first one to put me on a broom, ever. I smiled quickly, as however much I liked her, I was not blind to the fact that she had a temper.
"Mr Zabini? Is there any particular reason for your visit?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, is Professor Snape there? I need to see him," I replied.
"He is, wait just a moment," She shut the door in my face, probably not wanting me to see anything inside of the room, but I couldn't help but feel a bit insulted.
I leaned against the opposite wall, and waited silently. Snape always did take his time when he knew it was nothing too serious. I was usually not too bothered by it, but I was hungry now, and if Snape didn't get out right now, so that I could talk to him and go eat, I would break in there and demand they hand over whatever food they had. A bit irrational, but irrational was what I was when I was hungry. Alright, that is a sign I had eaten too little in the past hours; I used the word ´was´ more than twice in one sentence.
Snape got out of the teacher's lounge and was looking mighty annoyed at being disturbed. He spotted me and crossed his arms. This was not looking good; I had hoped to catch him in one of his rare less-than-horrible moods, but apparently I had failed to do so. Better get this done quickly.
"What, Mr Zabini, could be so important that you feel the need to disturb me before you have even had dinner?" Snape asked.
Ouch. My uncle knows me too well.
"I had Defence earlier," I replied, looking for a good way of phrasing it, "And I got told off for bringing my book. Of course, I could understand that, since it's pretty much burned, but I had thought Professor Lucas would know why. Actually, I had though all of you would know."
"Know what, Zabini?" Snape snapped impatiently, "Does this story have a point?"
"Yes," I glared at him, which might not have been a wise move, "It has. My book was almost burned to a crisp because my house burned down two days before term started. I never had time to buy new books, since I was busy with mourning my father, who never got out of the house."
My voice had grown progressively more hoarse and angry towards the end of my speech, and I was glaring at Snape as if it was his fault. Snape blinked, apparently shocked by my admission, and uncrossed his arms. I was just about to give up on him saying anything and go and eat my dinner when he opened his mouth. I concentrated on him again, after having turned my thoughts to food and less disturbing subjects.
"Sebastien is dead?" Snape asked. "How?"
"I told you; he got trapped in a burning house." I was losing my patience. "That tends to be terminal for ones health."
"But how? Why didn't he Apparate out?" Snape was asking irrational questions, not that I could blame him. What puzzled me was why he did it.
"I have no clue; he just didn't, and now he's dead," My eyes were beginning to water, and I hated myself for my lack of self-control. I would not let myself break down in front of Snape, or anyone else for that matter, and I stared off down the corridor, trying to blink back those accursed tears. "Well, I just wanted to know if my mother had written to you at all. I'll go eat now."
I could feel Snape's eyes on my back as I walked, but I didn't dare turn around. If I did, I was sure I would break down, and breaking down was not something I wanted to do now, or ever. As Mother always said, boys don't cry, and I wasn't about to. Not in front of anyone. I didn't even wait for an answer to my question; I needed to think about something else, and right now, I believed in dinner with a conviction more often reserved for religious fanatics.
*****'
For all the greatness of Hogwarts food, it tasted of nothing in my mouth. I stared at my plate for a while, not caring that I was getting strange looks from my fellow students. I could almost hear them whisper to each other; I never left my food untouched, and I always left the table with a clean plate. There was something wrong with me, in their eyes. There was something wrong with me, in my mind. I stared dully at my plate, pushing the food around silently. It was mashed potatoes and sausage, I noted.
Telling Snape, or anyone, about my father's demise was steadily getting harder. In the beginning, it had hurt so much it was agonizing, and I wanted nothing more than for everyone else to feel the same, and so I told them willingly. Now, when I needed to tell someone, I could not get the words out properly. I choked on them, swallowing them up. And I hated myself for it. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. A bitter smile crossed my face; if nothing else, the screaming would wake the school up from its dazed feeling of security.
Millicent sat next to me, and knowing better than to speak to me when I was in one of my moods, asked nothing of my strange behaviour. She just ate her dinner and kept close to me, if I would snap out of it and wish to talk to her. I appreciated that; she's a good person to have around when you're depressed. She can stop you from committing suicide, if nothing else. She's good at that. Pansy and Draco were sitting further down the table, talking to each other. Apparently, love blinds you so much that you can't even notice your best friends anymore.
I don't blame them for loving each other; they deserve it, more than anyone else I know. But it stings a little that they didn't listen to either me or Millicent any more. I shook of the contemplations of love, as those paths remained unthread by me, and looked over at the Gryffindor table. Looking at the Gryffindor table is a good thing is you wish to be distracted; there's always something happening there, be it food fights or the constant break ups-make ups of the Unholy Trinity. Speaking of which, Potter was looking a bit out of it.
He was paler than normal, and he always looked as if he spent the summer in a cupboard. He was staring blearily down in his food, just as I had been a few moments earlier. Maybe he'd been having nasty dreams or something. Probably of his break-in into the Department of Mysteries. Someone died in there, if you trusted the rumours. Black, some said, while others swore by a random Death Eater. Either way, Potter had been looking like hell when he came back out of the hospital wing, and hadn't even tried to rise to the bait when Draco threatened him. There was something wrong with him as well.
Hell, there was something wrong with everybody. There was something wrong with me; my father was dead, my mother barely looked at me anymore, and I had to spend my summer nights comforting my sister that there was nothing wrong, and lie to her face. Millicent was forced to be someone she wasn't, because her parents couldn't take a daughter that didn't fit the rigid rules of the pureblood society. Pansy's mother wants her to be perfect, even when she fails time and time again. Draco's father wanted him to be cruel and cold, a picture-perfect copy of himself. Potter tried to be the hero, but fell short of it. Weasley, always the side-kick, had given up on trying to do something for himself; he got everywhere by riding on Potter's coat-tails. Granger, while working hard and being smart, would never fit in completely at Hogwarts; she was a Muggleborn, and every pureblood, even the friendly ones, had some degree of dislike for those who weren't fathered by wizards. There was something wrong with the whole damn world.
I pushed my food away and stood up, intent on getting back to the Common Room and get some sleep. Despite a good night's sleep the previous night, I had yet to re-establish a proper sleeping-pattern. I hadn't eaten much, but I wasn't hungry anymore. I hadn't been too hungry to begin with, even though I had been ravenous before talking to Snape.
*****'
The Common Room was quiet. No one was there; everyone was still eating, even Nott, who almost always was present in front of the crackling fire. I collapsed in a chair, too tired to climb the stairs to my dormitory, and stared into the flames. The yellow, red and orange flickered in front of my eyes, and coloured the otherwise dark Common Room a dark shade of red. I tore my gaze away; the crackling fire reminded me too much of the accident. I guess there would be no more late-night studying in the Common Room for me then.
Large banners with the green and silver snake of Slytherin on them were hung across the walls. When I was younger, in first year, I used to spend my evenings trying to figure out how they were made; they're big enough to cover the floor of the Great Hall, and even then, you'll only need about three of them. Even though our Common Room is located in the dungeons, and it is damn cold there in the winter, it's cosy, in a Slytherin kind of way. I have no clue about how the other House's Common Rooms look, but I've heard how people talk about ours; they all honestly believe that we have a torture chamber down there, with spikes and iron maidens and whatnot. Stupidity has ceased to amaze me, at least for now. One never knows what might happen tomorrow.
No, tomorrow might be wildly different. In my case, I hoped it would be. I played idly with my shirt-sleeve, wondering of the soot-stains would ever go out. They probably would if I washed it, but they would always be there, in a sense. Kind of like a scar, which remained long years after the wound, the stains would never go out, not in my mind. I lost myself in thoughts, in insane ramblings, which I often did.
I could have been sitting there for hours; I had lost track of time and space, when Millicent sat down beside me. She didn't say anything; she just waited. She's good at waiting too. I've seen her sit for hours, staring at the water when we've gone fishing, not moving and scarcely even breathing. When there's a role-call for the champion waiting-experts of the world, she won't even show up. She'd be waiting for them to come to her.
"He said I wasn't allowed to bring my book to class anymore," I said, referring to Professor Lucas. Millicent nodded her head, urging me to go on. "Said I had to bring sufficient material. I was so angry then I could have strangled him. I didn't tell him though. Mother didn't write them, so they don't know. I told Snape though, so he'll probably tell the other teachers. I'll need to go to Hogsmeade and buy the other books soon; there's no way they'll let me come to class without any books at all."
"Do you know when the next Hogsmeade weekend is?"
"No," I shook my head, "I don't. There's no notice on the board either. But if I ask them to, I might even get to go there beforehand. And if not that, I can probably send money with a teacher who can buy them for me. It doesn't really matter anymore."
It doesn't really matter anymore. It didn't. Books were just details; what mattered was getting through. I wanted to be able to sleep without seeing the flames before my eyes. I wanted to close my eyes and not see my father's smile in my mind. I wanted to breathe without choking on smoke and soot. I wanted to forget. I shook my head; I didn't want to think anymore. I kept my eyes on the carpet, not daring to look at the fire, not daring to look Millicent in the eye, in fear of breaking down. Damn it, I didn't need this right now! I didn't need it, period.
"Go to bed, Blaise. You need to sleep." Millicent advised me, "I'll see you in the morning."
I nodded goodnight to her, and headed up the stairs. I dodged the creaking step, and opened the door to our dormitory, too distracted to care that I was walking straight through Crabbe's dirty laundry. I stumbled, but kept going. I needed to brush my teeth before going to bed; otherwise I'd wake up feeling like I'd slept with a mouthful of cotton. I hated that feeling.
Bathroom lighting is always too intense, and the bathrooms at Hogwarts were no different; I could see every line on my face, despite the fact that I was much too young to have lines. It made me look old. I brushed my teeth slowly, not having the energy to put into doing it any faster, and stared at my reflection. I had been doing that a lot lately; staring, that is. Maybe it was an after effect of sleep deprivation. I knew lack of focus was one of them, at least. I finished brushing my teeth and left the bathroom again.
I had undressed, gotten under the covers and prepared to sleep when I discovered I wasn't even close to tired. I spent the next few hours staring up into the ceiling. I could not sleep, no matter how I tried; I closed my eyes, only to open them again, even though I didn't want to. Even when I managed to keep my eyes shut, my mind was entirely, completely and annoyingly awake. It raced across a million different topics, none of them interesting and none of them important. Most of them didn't even have something to do with my present situation. It was horribly annoying.
I heard Draco come in and settle in his bed. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand; a quarter to ten, around the time when I would still be down in the Common Room studying normally. Another hour passed and Crabbe and Goyle came along as well. I still could not get any sleep. Of course, I wouldn't be sleeping around this time normally either, but seeing as I had gotten very little sleep the previous night and none the two nights before that, I should at least have been a little tired. But I wasn't.
Another hour. And another. Soon, it was three in the morning, and I still hadn't slept. I gave up. I simply couldn't lie down anymore doing nothing, so I got up. I wandered over to the window and sat on the window sill. It wasn't as if there was anything else to do in the middle of the bloody night when one could not sleep. I could have gone out in the corridors and looked for curfew-breaking Gryffindors, but it didn't feel like I'd have any luck with that. Besides, who knew what happened to the corridors at three in the morning; there'd been rumours about rooms and changed places and the ghosts having balls. Not to mention the rooms covered in fussy cloth and the swirling patterns on the carpets. Hogwarts was a strange place, and even more so at night.
The grounds were empty, so there wasn't much to look at, except the Thestrals who flew up above the forest every once in a while. They hovered for a while in the moonlight, before disappearing between the treetops again. I was bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. I was so bored that I was spending my time at three in the morning, watching grass grow. If it was possible for me to be any more bored, I didn't want to see it. My brain was dribbling out of my ears in boredom as it was.
I spent the rest of the night counting stars and naming trees, not getting any sleep at all. I managed to name at least twenty trees, before giving up on it as hopeless, and concentrated fully on counting stars. I got to ten thousand three hundred and twenty nine before dawn. I had a head for mathematics. Though I'm sure I counted every star twice before I was done.
******'
Ending Notes; four chapters, and I've just finished the first day of school. Jeez, I'm going to be sitting here in ten years, still writing, because I'm not even going to be finished with the second part. I'm on over my head, but damn, I'm having fun.