At long last, I have updated. This chapter's been done for a while, but I
want to get a bit ahead of you before I update. I'm writing chapter 13 as
we speak. Don't hate me too much, please?
*****'
Weekends in the Slytherin Common Room is never a very exciting affair. Slytherins tend to be a rather lazy lot, and weekends are used to laze about in the various armchairs and couches, or doing ones homework, if there was any. As weekend came only two days into the new term, there wasn't much homework, at least not for anyone who weren't in fifth or seventh year. I was sitting in an armchair just in front of the fire, once again stupidly giving myself nightmare-fodder. With one leg over one armrest and my back against the other, I looked, and felt, pretty lazy myself.
I'd slept for seven hours, which was more than I anticipated, and was pretty much awake. I was reading my copy of Hogwarts; A History, for what seemed the tenth time. I'd kept it in my school trunk, which had been stashed in a shed along with my broom, and therefore hadn't been consumed by the fire. Irony of fate, I guess, that my school things would survive when my, er, well. When other things didn't. I was deeply engrossed in my book, buried under some detailed description of the various odd rooms at Hogwarts. I hoped to find the Thestral room, just to see what its purpose was, if it had one. Thus far, I had come up with absolutely nothing.
Millicent was sitting across from me; flicking tiny pieces of parchment into the fire and watching them burn with a half-amused look on her face. I didn't want to read too much into that; you never know what psychological damages others might have, be they your friends or not. I had refrained from teasing her about her visit to Gaspar in the hospital wing, if only because she was capable of beating the snot out of me if she wanted to. If she hadn't been, I would have poked fun at her every chance I got. Yes, I'm cruel. Draco had taken his broom out to practise before the first Quidditch game, and Pansy was off somewhere with Tracy Davies, giggling about boys and other things girls like her cared about.
"I give up!" I said, closing the book with a snap, "There's nothing in there!"
"Nothing about what?" Millicent asked, looking up from her activities.
"It's not important," I shook my head dismissively, "Just something I got into my head. How's it going Cain?"
Cain, who was sitting on the rug next to us and scribbling furiously on his Potions essay, looked up from his work and smiled. He'd sat down there as soon as he came back from breakfast, and started writing. Apparently, his relations to his fellow first years had not improved from yesterday. Not that I had expected them to; it took more than a day to change people's minds. It didn't look as if he'd made an effort to talk to them either; they didn't even look twice at him. Maybe he was just more comfortable with older, or should I say, less prejudiced Slytherins. Some people are just like that.
"Good. I'm almost done with the first foot now," He said proudly. "I've only got a foot and three inches to go; then I'll be done."
"Good. Essays are never fun," I wrinkled my nose at him. "Practical homework, now then we're talking. I can't wait for some of that from the Defence class, even if Lucas is bound to assign some moronic homework we won't see the point of."
"Now, now, Blaise," Millicent murmured, "Lucas knows what he's doing; he's putting himself in respect by making us dislike him. A class that dislikes the teacher is easier to teach; they might glare at you the whole time, but at least you'll have their attention. Besides, he's brilliant; no one saw him on the first day, remember? He made himself invisible, and you know how hard that is."
"I saw him," Cain piped up, at the same time as me.
"God made two, I see," Millicent raised her eyebrow, before going back to her previous occupation.
Silence returned, and I stared into the ceiling. Interesting pattern, what with remnants of old paint and something that looked suspiciously like a nailed-up carpet on it, but not interesting enough to keep me distracted. Thankfully, Draco came in looking remarkably annoyed, before sanity completely deserted me due to boredom. I waved him over and he stomped his way across the muffling carpet with his broom thrown across his shoulder. That old Nimbus had been with him for a while now, and was starting to look a little worn around the edges.
He threw himself down in an ancient armchair, a relic from the time when silver spots were in, and grumbled to himself. I could barely keep myself from grinning; finally someone I could poke fun at without fear for my own health. Draco was always easy to manipulate, and even if it went as far as fighting, I was way ahead of him in Defence and Charms; he wasn't taking either. Besides, I was the House Champion of duelling.
"I gather the practise didn't go too well, did it?" I asked, raising my eyebrow and smirking.
"No!" Draco snapped, startling Cain so bad that he dropped his quill, "I couldn't practise on the pitch because Perfect Potter and his minions had booked the damn thing! I don't see how he could have gotten enough players for a full-team practise, since both his Beaters and his Chasers left last year. Bloody Gryffindors."
"Blaise got help from a Gryffindor yesterday," Cain piped up, looking reproachful.
I looked at him in surprise; it was pretty amazing that he dared to speak up in presence of Draco Malfoy, who was the unofficial King of Slytherin; at least of you listened to the younger students, when he didn't dare to even look at his year mates. Odd kid, that was. Too bad I was so fond of him, or I would have thumped him for telling Draco about that. I'd rather keep my business with the Gryffindors quiet, since Draco wasn't exactly their hero, nor were they his. Draco fixed him with a glare at first, and then looked at me in askance, obviously wondering what little, scrawny Cain was doing over with us.
"What's he talking about, Blaise? And who is he?" Draco asked.
"This is Cain Angevine, Draco," I introduced the two of them, "A newly acquired friend of mine, and what he's talking about isn't really important. I was having a dizzy-spell, and the only one around to help me was a Gryffindor."
I kept carefully quiet about which Gryffindor, since I knew Draco would have kittens about it if he knew it was Granger. I wouldn't mind if he hexed her one for the way she'd acted sometimes, but she didn't deserve what Draco would probably accuse her of. Probably unnecessary, but I did what I could to keep the peace. Draco looked at me suspiciously for a moment, before leaning back in his chair with a deep sigh and dropped his broom on the floor carelessly.
"I'm officially exhausted," He declared.
I rolled my eyes, but nodded. Draco can really over-dramatize things when he wants sympathy. I usually ignore him at these occasions, but sometimes I play along if I'm bored. There was no way he would ever be as exhausted as I had been the previous day, unless something happened to the world order. But with the world today, you never knew. I sat back and listened as Draco started to complain. Soon, we were joined by Pansy, who comforted Draco the best she could. It was rather nauseating to watch, and I settled down to help Cain with his homework instead; it seemed the sensible thing to do.
Saturday drifted past slowly and lazily, and was spent doing nothing but more or less sleep in the armchairs and play chess. I played against Millicent first, and narrowly avoided a loss, and then Cain, who was pretty good but no match to me. We only ventured out of the Common Room to eat. A boring day, as far as days went, but by now, I'd learned to appreciate boring days; it wasn't as if days would ever be boring with Potter around to shake things up.
*******'
There is something special about flying. There's a freedom to it that not all the Levitation Charms in the world could duplicate, a freedom that comes with the wind rushing around you and the slightly fearful feeling of the amazing heights and speeds. Me, I'm addicted to speed. I can't stand playing Quidditch, not at all, but the mere speed can have me in a daze for hours just thinking about it. Yes, I'm a dork when it comes to some things.
Against all reason, I'd woken up early on Sunday morning and decided that it was a good day for flying. I'd grabbed my broom and headed to the Great Hall to make a pit-stop for coffee before going to the pitch. The air was clear and crisp, but it would be a while before it was cold though, even this far up in Scotland. The sky was grey, but it didn't look as if it was going to rain. A fine day for flying, indeed.
I got to the pitch, and made sure my Silver Arrow wasn't going to fall to pieces on me, and kicked off. The rush of wind around me as I rose nearly took the breath out of me. As I gained altitude, I could see more and more of Hogwarts grounds. The trees shrank beneath me, and the air was getting progressively thinner. I levelled out, knowing that if I went any higher, I'd pass out. I could see Hagrid come out of the Forbidden Forest with his boar hound, and a group of students closer to the lake. A deep shadow beneath the water told the location of the Giant Squid, which stretched a tentacle above the surface and waved at someone, either at the shore or at me. I couldn't be sure.
I spent almost an hour flying before the thin air got too much; I was getting a headache. I made a break-neck dive down to the pitch again, disregarding that there was a big possibility that I might do break my neck, and pulled up just in time. It was like a Wronki's Feint, only no Snitch. I was rather proud of it, if I do say so myself. My feet touched the ground again, and I put my broom on my shoulder. I stood there for a while, staring at the leaden sky, not really thinking.
Flying was good for me; when I was up there, flying circles on my good old broom, I didn't think. I didn't have to care about anything, and when I did bother to think about anything but flying, it didn't seem to matter as much. It didn't bother me, somehow. I shook my head; I was getting too deep, even for myself. If I didn't watch out, I'd become a poet soon. That would be fun; spouting irrelevant poetry at inopportune moments for no reason at all, and then have to explain it. Or not explain it, whichever came first.
It was too early for lunch, and as much as I loved my friends, I didn't feel like spending hours playing Wizard's Chess with them at the moment, so I climbed the stands instead, and sat there. I didn't really have anything in mind; just to sit there and not do anything would be nice. I really should have gone to Snape and asked him to get me some books if I paid him, but I didn't feel like it. I could sneak someone else's book if I needed to.
"Quite a good bit of flying there, Mr Zabini," A pleased, but sharp voice said to the side of me.
My head snapped around so fast it must have looked hilarious, and I had my wand half-way out before I even realised it. Madame Hooch watched me with a peculiar half-smile, and sat down beside me. I relaxed again and put my wand back in my pocket. Hooch wouldn't try to attack me, unless I insulted the noble sport of warlocks, otherwise known as Quidditch. I nodded a greeting and affirmation to her, and then returned to staring out over the grounds.
"What sort of broom do you fly?" She asked.
"A Silver Arrow," I shrugged, and handed her the broom, "It was a gift."
"Silver Arrow? Good broom that," Hooch nodded, inspecting it as only professional Quidditch players could, "I learned to fly on one of those. But you've made adjustments to this, haven't you, Zabini?"
"Yeah. It's faster than the regular edition, and can go much higher," I smiled a bit. Trust Hooch to discuss brooms at every chance she got, "I like living dangerous. I've put some Preserving Charms on it too; I don't want it to break. There're no spare parts to buy for it, and it's been a ling time since they stopped manufacturing these. A shame, really."
"Yes, it's such a good broom. Never have they made one that's safer and more reliable than the Silver Arrow," Hooch shook her head, "If it wasn't for my work here at Hogwarts with fostering the next generation of Quidditch players, I'd be off making brooms by now. Speaking of Quidditch; why haven't you tried out for the House team? You're good enough to beat any Chaser out there only on your speed."
I was uncomfortable. I knew it was her ambition to foster the best Quidditch players in the world and that she would gladly have cheered for me if I played, but I didn't want to. Quidditch rules were too rigid for me; I wanted to fly, not play a silly game on broomsticks, and that was, when you got right down to it, what Quidditch was. A silly game on broomsticks, with high liability to break bones.
"I don't want to; I don't like the rules. It would be nice for Slytherin to win this year though; Potter's kept his winning streak up for too long." I said, taking my broom back. "But our team's looking bad. I want to see that Cup in our Common Room at least once before I graduate."
"Yes. I remember when Slytherin won the Cup when I went to Hogwarts," Hooch was getting decidedly misty-eyed, "Old Thaddeus Flint wouldn't stop bragging for weeks after a game. Not that I blame him, he was a great captain. Ravenclaw had to put up a hard fight to win those days."
"Thaddeus Flint?" I asked, "Any relation to Marcus Flint?"
"Yes. Grandfather, as a matter of fact. The Flints always seem to be one generation ahead. My mother went to school with Thaddeus' grandfather." Hooch nodded.
"Hmm." I mumbled. There wasn't really much else to say.
Slowly, it began to rain. Raindrops splashed down onto the stands and on us, soaking my hair and clothes. I was glad I didn't wear glasses; I could only imagine how horrible that would be. Hooch bid me goodbye before making her way back to the castle. I didn't move. If I didn't get myself out of the rain, I might catch pneumonia, but at the moment, I didn't care the slightest. Illness was definitely preferable to going back inside and face the questions of my friends, demanding to know where I'd been. Sure, concern was nice and all, but they could be overbearing.
I sat there in the rain for a long time. It had been too long since I had any decent time for myself, and besides, making my way back to the castle and jumping in all the puddles was fun. I must have looked nothing short of silly, but I was having fun, and didn't care about it. I was dripping wet from head to toe when I reached the castle doors, and more than a little muddy. I opened the doors, which stuck something horrible in the humid weather, and stepped inside. Right onto Filch's newly-swept floor. I dripped mud right onto it, and stood there for a moment, looking sheepish.
I've never seen Filch so mad; not even that time in second year when Mrs Norris was Petrified. He went purple, and sputtered for several seconds before gathering whatever wit he had left and glaring at me. He drew himself up in his full height, which was still a head shorter than me, and prepared to scream at me.
"Zabini!" He yelled, "How dare you put your filthy feet on my clean floor? You'll have detention for this!"
"Sorry Mr Filch," I mumbled in what I hoped was a sorrowful voice. To tell the truth, I didn't care if I got detention or not; I had all day, and since it was Sunday, they were bound to give me detention right away. I could spend the rest of the day scrubbing cauldrons; it would give me something to do.
"You come with me now, Zabini," Filch hissed, his face twisting into a nasty grin. "The Owlry hasn't been cleaned in a long time now; it could use a good scrubbing."
On second thought, I should have stayed in bed. Scrubbing bird droppings wasn't my idea of fun. I trailed after Filch, making sure to put a lot of mud on the clean floors, just as a petty revenge for the detention. Cleaning the Owlry, I say. Of all things, it had to be that. At least he hadn't taken my broom. Yet. If I knew Filch right, he would, as soon as he got the chance. He's a petty man, always has been. He hates all of us students, and all of the teachers except Snape, who he grovels in the dust for. And even then, he dislikes Snape. Odd, that one.
The Owlry was, the say the least, filthy. I can't believe how much filth owls can produce. Filch gave me a nasty smile when I wrinkled my nose, and took a step back, standing just outside the door, with his hand on the doorknob. Gods, how I disliked that man.
"I'll be back in two hours, Zabini, and by then I want it so clean I can eat off the floor." He informed me, "And no magic."
I rolled my eyes, and leaned my broomstick against the wall. I didn't want it getting filthy, after all. The owls looked as if they were glaring at me from their perches, all but one who was circling the room and hooting excitedly. I squinted at it, but stepped out of the way. I liked my hair clean, thank you very much. The owl was tiny, and looked nothing short of insane. I shrugged, and got to work with scrubbing the floor.
The floor was covered in a thick layer of straw and filth, making it very hard to know what was supposed to go and what was supposed to stay. I pushed it around for several minutes, before realising it was entirely possible to clean the whole place in two hours, and Filch wouldn't come back earlier than that, and that I could just use magic to clean it. I shook my head at my own stupidity, and pulled out my wand.
"Scourgify," I said, swishing and flicking it quickly, and watched as the filth and mud disappeared, leaving only clean straw and somewhat confused owls.
I sat down on the windowsill, intent on waiting until Filch returned. The insane owl fluttered around my head, hooting like mad, and I watched it circle. I recognised it, but only vaguely, and couldn't for the life of me remember where I'd seen it before. It just seemed absolutely insane, and had these too large eyes, even out of proportion for an owl and that's saying something, which were staring at everything. May it had had too many owl-treats when it was...smaller. It certainly wasn't big now.
I turned my attention to the window, and watched the raindrops make their way down the windowpanes. I was sure I saw one trying to make the silhouette of a man dancing fandango, but it disappeared. I stared out the window instead, at the grounds and the Forbidden Forest. I saw a Thestral emerge from beneath the treetops and circle for a while before diving again and vanishing. Too bad it was raining; otherwise I would have gone out there again to fly. I wanted to see how high I could go before my broom gave out. Not a sane idea, I know, but fun nonetheless.
Maybe I'd go flying after the rain; the air would be much clearer than before the rain, and much better to fly in. Just to see how far I could see up there. Just for fun. There was something breathtaking about the clear air that high up. It seemed purer, somehow, better than the one closer to the ground. And the amazing freedom was just so mind-blowing. Whoever said flying was overrated has clearly never flown. Not on a proper broom at least, not in a proper way. The flying lessons, with all due respect to Hooch, were dull at best and deathly boring at worst.
I lost track of time, sitting there staring out at the rain and the sky, and only came out of my daze when Filch opened the door suddenly. I scrambled to my feet and tried to look as if I had been hard at work for the last two hours, and apparently I succeeded, because he only nodded and left again. I snatched up my broom and left the Owlry, my stomach growling. I needed lunch.
*******'
I've proven it; Slytherins are the laziest breed in the universe. At noon, lunch, whatever you wish to call it, Millicent, Draco, Pansy and Gaspar were still asleep. The only Slytherin who was reasonably awake was Cain, and he was sitting there and pushing his food around. I messed up his hair as I passed, snatching a sandwich on the way; I had no time to eat a proper lunch. I wanted to get out and fly. I completely ignored the fact that it was raining; I wasn't going to melt, and I'd never flown in rain before, not properly, since I wasn't on the Quidditch team and didn't have practises on insane times of the day. Like three o' clock in the morning. Not even the Gryffindors were that dedicated.
I ran through the rain out to the pitch, splashing as much as I could in the puddles on the way. I felt like a little kid again, out jumping in the puddles and getting myself wet despite my mother's strict orders about the opposite. I straddled my broom and kicked off again, shooting upwards through the rain. The heavy raindrops splashed on my shoulders, and soaked my clothes through, plastering them to my shoulders and torso. And I laughed.
I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.
I turned my face upwards, closed my eyes, and smiled into the sky.
******'
Ending Notes; anyone who catches the Queen reference in this chapter deserves a big cup of hot chocolate.
*****'
Weekends in the Slytherin Common Room is never a very exciting affair. Slytherins tend to be a rather lazy lot, and weekends are used to laze about in the various armchairs and couches, or doing ones homework, if there was any. As weekend came only two days into the new term, there wasn't much homework, at least not for anyone who weren't in fifth or seventh year. I was sitting in an armchair just in front of the fire, once again stupidly giving myself nightmare-fodder. With one leg over one armrest and my back against the other, I looked, and felt, pretty lazy myself.
I'd slept for seven hours, which was more than I anticipated, and was pretty much awake. I was reading my copy of Hogwarts; A History, for what seemed the tenth time. I'd kept it in my school trunk, which had been stashed in a shed along with my broom, and therefore hadn't been consumed by the fire. Irony of fate, I guess, that my school things would survive when my, er, well. When other things didn't. I was deeply engrossed in my book, buried under some detailed description of the various odd rooms at Hogwarts. I hoped to find the Thestral room, just to see what its purpose was, if it had one. Thus far, I had come up with absolutely nothing.
Millicent was sitting across from me; flicking tiny pieces of parchment into the fire and watching them burn with a half-amused look on her face. I didn't want to read too much into that; you never know what psychological damages others might have, be they your friends or not. I had refrained from teasing her about her visit to Gaspar in the hospital wing, if only because she was capable of beating the snot out of me if she wanted to. If she hadn't been, I would have poked fun at her every chance I got. Yes, I'm cruel. Draco had taken his broom out to practise before the first Quidditch game, and Pansy was off somewhere with Tracy Davies, giggling about boys and other things girls like her cared about.
"I give up!" I said, closing the book with a snap, "There's nothing in there!"
"Nothing about what?" Millicent asked, looking up from her activities.
"It's not important," I shook my head dismissively, "Just something I got into my head. How's it going Cain?"
Cain, who was sitting on the rug next to us and scribbling furiously on his Potions essay, looked up from his work and smiled. He'd sat down there as soon as he came back from breakfast, and started writing. Apparently, his relations to his fellow first years had not improved from yesterday. Not that I had expected them to; it took more than a day to change people's minds. It didn't look as if he'd made an effort to talk to them either; they didn't even look twice at him. Maybe he was just more comfortable with older, or should I say, less prejudiced Slytherins. Some people are just like that.
"Good. I'm almost done with the first foot now," He said proudly. "I've only got a foot and three inches to go; then I'll be done."
"Good. Essays are never fun," I wrinkled my nose at him. "Practical homework, now then we're talking. I can't wait for some of that from the Defence class, even if Lucas is bound to assign some moronic homework we won't see the point of."
"Now, now, Blaise," Millicent murmured, "Lucas knows what he's doing; he's putting himself in respect by making us dislike him. A class that dislikes the teacher is easier to teach; they might glare at you the whole time, but at least you'll have their attention. Besides, he's brilliant; no one saw him on the first day, remember? He made himself invisible, and you know how hard that is."
"I saw him," Cain piped up, at the same time as me.
"God made two, I see," Millicent raised her eyebrow, before going back to her previous occupation.
Silence returned, and I stared into the ceiling. Interesting pattern, what with remnants of old paint and something that looked suspiciously like a nailed-up carpet on it, but not interesting enough to keep me distracted. Thankfully, Draco came in looking remarkably annoyed, before sanity completely deserted me due to boredom. I waved him over and he stomped his way across the muffling carpet with his broom thrown across his shoulder. That old Nimbus had been with him for a while now, and was starting to look a little worn around the edges.
He threw himself down in an ancient armchair, a relic from the time when silver spots were in, and grumbled to himself. I could barely keep myself from grinning; finally someone I could poke fun at without fear for my own health. Draco was always easy to manipulate, and even if it went as far as fighting, I was way ahead of him in Defence and Charms; he wasn't taking either. Besides, I was the House Champion of duelling.
"I gather the practise didn't go too well, did it?" I asked, raising my eyebrow and smirking.
"No!" Draco snapped, startling Cain so bad that he dropped his quill, "I couldn't practise on the pitch because Perfect Potter and his minions had booked the damn thing! I don't see how he could have gotten enough players for a full-team practise, since both his Beaters and his Chasers left last year. Bloody Gryffindors."
"Blaise got help from a Gryffindor yesterday," Cain piped up, looking reproachful.
I looked at him in surprise; it was pretty amazing that he dared to speak up in presence of Draco Malfoy, who was the unofficial King of Slytherin; at least of you listened to the younger students, when he didn't dare to even look at his year mates. Odd kid, that was. Too bad I was so fond of him, or I would have thumped him for telling Draco about that. I'd rather keep my business with the Gryffindors quiet, since Draco wasn't exactly their hero, nor were they his. Draco fixed him with a glare at first, and then looked at me in askance, obviously wondering what little, scrawny Cain was doing over with us.
"What's he talking about, Blaise? And who is he?" Draco asked.
"This is Cain Angevine, Draco," I introduced the two of them, "A newly acquired friend of mine, and what he's talking about isn't really important. I was having a dizzy-spell, and the only one around to help me was a Gryffindor."
I kept carefully quiet about which Gryffindor, since I knew Draco would have kittens about it if he knew it was Granger. I wouldn't mind if he hexed her one for the way she'd acted sometimes, but she didn't deserve what Draco would probably accuse her of. Probably unnecessary, but I did what I could to keep the peace. Draco looked at me suspiciously for a moment, before leaning back in his chair with a deep sigh and dropped his broom on the floor carelessly.
"I'm officially exhausted," He declared.
I rolled my eyes, but nodded. Draco can really over-dramatize things when he wants sympathy. I usually ignore him at these occasions, but sometimes I play along if I'm bored. There was no way he would ever be as exhausted as I had been the previous day, unless something happened to the world order. But with the world today, you never knew. I sat back and listened as Draco started to complain. Soon, we were joined by Pansy, who comforted Draco the best she could. It was rather nauseating to watch, and I settled down to help Cain with his homework instead; it seemed the sensible thing to do.
Saturday drifted past slowly and lazily, and was spent doing nothing but more or less sleep in the armchairs and play chess. I played against Millicent first, and narrowly avoided a loss, and then Cain, who was pretty good but no match to me. We only ventured out of the Common Room to eat. A boring day, as far as days went, but by now, I'd learned to appreciate boring days; it wasn't as if days would ever be boring with Potter around to shake things up.
*******'
There is something special about flying. There's a freedom to it that not all the Levitation Charms in the world could duplicate, a freedom that comes with the wind rushing around you and the slightly fearful feeling of the amazing heights and speeds. Me, I'm addicted to speed. I can't stand playing Quidditch, not at all, but the mere speed can have me in a daze for hours just thinking about it. Yes, I'm a dork when it comes to some things.
Against all reason, I'd woken up early on Sunday morning and decided that it was a good day for flying. I'd grabbed my broom and headed to the Great Hall to make a pit-stop for coffee before going to the pitch. The air was clear and crisp, but it would be a while before it was cold though, even this far up in Scotland. The sky was grey, but it didn't look as if it was going to rain. A fine day for flying, indeed.
I got to the pitch, and made sure my Silver Arrow wasn't going to fall to pieces on me, and kicked off. The rush of wind around me as I rose nearly took the breath out of me. As I gained altitude, I could see more and more of Hogwarts grounds. The trees shrank beneath me, and the air was getting progressively thinner. I levelled out, knowing that if I went any higher, I'd pass out. I could see Hagrid come out of the Forbidden Forest with his boar hound, and a group of students closer to the lake. A deep shadow beneath the water told the location of the Giant Squid, which stretched a tentacle above the surface and waved at someone, either at the shore or at me. I couldn't be sure.
I spent almost an hour flying before the thin air got too much; I was getting a headache. I made a break-neck dive down to the pitch again, disregarding that there was a big possibility that I might do break my neck, and pulled up just in time. It was like a Wronki's Feint, only no Snitch. I was rather proud of it, if I do say so myself. My feet touched the ground again, and I put my broom on my shoulder. I stood there for a while, staring at the leaden sky, not really thinking.
Flying was good for me; when I was up there, flying circles on my good old broom, I didn't think. I didn't have to care about anything, and when I did bother to think about anything but flying, it didn't seem to matter as much. It didn't bother me, somehow. I shook my head; I was getting too deep, even for myself. If I didn't watch out, I'd become a poet soon. That would be fun; spouting irrelevant poetry at inopportune moments for no reason at all, and then have to explain it. Or not explain it, whichever came first.
It was too early for lunch, and as much as I loved my friends, I didn't feel like spending hours playing Wizard's Chess with them at the moment, so I climbed the stands instead, and sat there. I didn't really have anything in mind; just to sit there and not do anything would be nice. I really should have gone to Snape and asked him to get me some books if I paid him, but I didn't feel like it. I could sneak someone else's book if I needed to.
"Quite a good bit of flying there, Mr Zabini," A pleased, but sharp voice said to the side of me.
My head snapped around so fast it must have looked hilarious, and I had my wand half-way out before I even realised it. Madame Hooch watched me with a peculiar half-smile, and sat down beside me. I relaxed again and put my wand back in my pocket. Hooch wouldn't try to attack me, unless I insulted the noble sport of warlocks, otherwise known as Quidditch. I nodded a greeting and affirmation to her, and then returned to staring out over the grounds.
"What sort of broom do you fly?" She asked.
"A Silver Arrow," I shrugged, and handed her the broom, "It was a gift."
"Silver Arrow? Good broom that," Hooch nodded, inspecting it as only professional Quidditch players could, "I learned to fly on one of those. But you've made adjustments to this, haven't you, Zabini?"
"Yeah. It's faster than the regular edition, and can go much higher," I smiled a bit. Trust Hooch to discuss brooms at every chance she got, "I like living dangerous. I've put some Preserving Charms on it too; I don't want it to break. There're no spare parts to buy for it, and it's been a ling time since they stopped manufacturing these. A shame, really."
"Yes, it's such a good broom. Never have they made one that's safer and more reliable than the Silver Arrow," Hooch shook her head, "If it wasn't for my work here at Hogwarts with fostering the next generation of Quidditch players, I'd be off making brooms by now. Speaking of Quidditch; why haven't you tried out for the House team? You're good enough to beat any Chaser out there only on your speed."
I was uncomfortable. I knew it was her ambition to foster the best Quidditch players in the world and that she would gladly have cheered for me if I played, but I didn't want to. Quidditch rules were too rigid for me; I wanted to fly, not play a silly game on broomsticks, and that was, when you got right down to it, what Quidditch was. A silly game on broomsticks, with high liability to break bones.
"I don't want to; I don't like the rules. It would be nice for Slytherin to win this year though; Potter's kept his winning streak up for too long." I said, taking my broom back. "But our team's looking bad. I want to see that Cup in our Common Room at least once before I graduate."
"Yes. I remember when Slytherin won the Cup when I went to Hogwarts," Hooch was getting decidedly misty-eyed, "Old Thaddeus Flint wouldn't stop bragging for weeks after a game. Not that I blame him, he was a great captain. Ravenclaw had to put up a hard fight to win those days."
"Thaddeus Flint?" I asked, "Any relation to Marcus Flint?"
"Yes. Grandfather, as a matter of fact. The Flints always seem to be one generation ahead. My mother went to school with Thaddeus' grandfather." Hooch nodded.
"Hmm." I mumbled. There wasn't really much else to say.
Slowly, it began to rain. Raindrops splashed down onto the stands and on us, soaking my hair and clothes. I was glad I didn't wear glasses; I could only imagine how horrible that would be. Hooch bid me goodbye before making her way back to the castle. I didn't move. If I didn't get myself out of the rain, I might catch pneumonia, but at the moment, I didn't care the slightest. Illness was definitely preferable to going back inside and face the questions of my friends, demanding to know where I'd been. Sure, concern was nice and all, but they could be overbearing.
I sat there in the rain for a long time. It had been too long since I had any decent time for myself, and besides, making my way back to the castle and jumping in all the puddles was fun. I must have looked nothing short of silly, but I was having fun, and didn't care about it. I was dripping wet from head to toe when I reached the castle doors, and more than a little muddy. I opened the doors, which stuck something horrible in the humid weather, and stepped inside. Right onto Filch's newly-swept floor. I dripped mud right onto it, and stood there for a moment, looking sheepish.
I've never seen Filch so mad; not even that time in second year when Mrs Norris was Petrified. He went purple, and sputtered for several seconds before gathering whatever wit he had left and glaring at me. He drew himself up in his full height, which was still a head shorter than me, and prepared to scream at me.
"Zabini!" He yelled, "How dare you put your filthy feet on my clean floor? You'll have detention for this!"
"Sorry Mr Filch," I mumbled in what I hoped was a sorrowful voice. To tell the truth, I didn't care if I got detention or not; I had all day, and since it was Sunday, they were bound to give me detention right away. I could spend the rest of the day scrubbing cauldrons; it would give me something to do.
"You come with me now, Zabini," Filch hissed, his face twisting into a nasty grin. "The Owlry hasn't been cleaned in a long time now; it could use a good scrubbing."
On second thought, I should have stayed in bed. Scrubbing bird droppings wasn't my idea of fun. I trailed after Filch, making sure to put a lot of mud on the clean floors, just as a petty revenge for the detention. Cleaning the Owlry, I say. Of all things, it had to be that. At least he hadn't taken my broom. Yet. If I knew Filch right, he would, as soon as he got the chance. He's a petty man, always has been. He hates all of us students, and all of the teachers except Snape, who he grovels in the dust for. And even then, he dislikes Snape. Odd, that one.
The Owlry was, the say the least, filthy. I can't believe how much filth owls can produce. Filch gave me a nasty smile when I wrinkled my nose, and took a step back, standing just outside the door, with his hand on the doorknob. Gods, how I disliked that man.
"I'll be back in two hours, Zabini, and by then I want it so clean I can eat off the floor." He informed me, "And no magic."
I rolled my eyes, and leaned my broomstick against the wall. I didn't want it getting filthy, after all. The owls looked as if they were glaring at me from their perches, all but one who was circling the room and hooting excitedly. I squinted at it, but stepped out of the way. I liked my hair clean, thank you very much. The owl was tiny, and looked nothing short of insane. I shrugged, and got to work with scrubbing the floor.
The floor was covered in a thick layer of straw and filth, making it very hard to know what was supposed to go and what was supposed to stay. I pushed it around for several minutes, before realising it was entirely possible to clean the whole place in two hours, and Filch wouldn't come back earlier than that, and that I could just use magic to clean it. I shook my head at my own stupidity, and pulled out my wand.
"Scourgify," I said, swishing and flicking it quickly, and watched as the filth and mud disappeared, leaving only clean straw and somewhat confused owls.
I sat down on the windowsill, intent on waiting until Filch returned. The insane owl fluttered around my head, hooting like mad, and I watched it circle. I recognised it, but only vaguely, and couldn't for the life of me remember where I'd seen it before. It just seemed absolutely insane, and had these too large eyes, even out of proportion for an owl and that's saying something, which were staring at everything. May it had had too many owl-treats when it was...smaller. It certainly wasn't big now.
I turned my attention to the window, and watched the raindrops make their way down the windowpanes. I was sure I saw one trying to make the silhouette of a man dancing fandango, but it disappeared. I stared out the window instead, at the grounds and the Forbidden Forest. I saw a Thestral emerge from beneath the treetops and circle for a while before diving again and vanishing. Too bad it was raining; otherwise I would have gone out there again to fly. I wanted to see how high I could go before my broom gave out. Not a sane idea, I know, but fun nonetheless.
Maybe I'd go flying after the rain; the air would be much clearer than before the rain, and much better to fly in. Just to see how far I could see up there. Just for fun. There was something breathtaking about the clear air that high up. It seemed purer, somehow, better than the one closer to the ground. And the amazing freedom was just so mind-blowing. Whoever said flying was overrated has clearly never flown. Not on a proper broom at least, not in a proper way. The flying lessons, with all due respect to Hooch, were dull at best and deathly boring at worst.
I lost track of time, sitting there staring out at the rain and the sky, and only came out of my daze when Filch opened the door suddenly. I scrambled to my feet and tried to look as if I had been hard at work for the last two hours, and apparently I succeeded, because he only nodded and left again. I snatched up my broom and left the Owlry, my stomach growling. I needed lunch.
*******'
I've proven it; Slytherins are the laziest breed in the universe. At noon, lunch, whatever you wish to call it, Millicent, Draco, Pansy and Gaspar were still asleep. The only Slytherin who was reasonably awake was Cain, and he was sitting there and pushing his food around. I messed up his hair as I passed, snatching a sandwich on the way; I had no time to eat a proper lunch. I wanted to get out and fly. I completely ignored the fact that it was raining; I wasn't going to melt, and I'd never flown in rain before, not properly, since I wasn't on the Quidditch team and didn't have practises on insane times of the day. Like three o' clock in the morning. Not even the Gryffindors were that dedicated.
I ran through the rain out to the pitch, splashing as much as I could in the puddles on the way. I felt like a little kid again, out jumping in the puddles and getting myself wet despite my mother's strict orders about the opposite. I straddled my broom and kicked off again, shooting upwards through the rain. The heavy raindrops splashed on my shoulders, and soaked my clothes through, plastering them to my shoulders and torso. And I laughed.
I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.
I turned my face upwards, closed my eyes, and smiled into the sky.
******'
Ending Notes; anyone who catches the Queen reference in this chapter deserves a big cup of hot chocolate.