"Basil, you bloody peacock, what are you wearing?" Was the greeting Anja
gave us when we came through the door.
"Leftovers," He replied, somewhat cryptically. "You've my shirt."
I would have pointed out his obviousness, but the shock of the black room not being black any more and not having hundreds of handle less doors was rather too big. The room, which one week previously had been all black, including floor and ceiling, was now an office, with four desks and more paperwork than I had seen in all my years in the Hogwarts library. There was even some folded and stuck behind a painting of Barnabas the Barmy on the wall. The portrait of the less-than-sane wizard in purple robes with blue dots and yellow stars on seemed strangely appropriate in the Department of Mysteries.
"I know. Have you voted yet?" Anja asked, flipping through an old book mindlessly.
"Nope. Had to pick up this at King's Cross. Where's Linden?" Basil sounded cheerful even as I scowled at him for being referred to as "this".
"In the kitchen." Anja gestured at the door behind her.
There was a chair behind me, thankfully, because I collapsed on it and buried my head in my hands. The last few months of my life had made no sense whatsoever, and now it had gotten even worse. I'd gone insane, and due to the insanity I was being forced to work together with people who were even more insane. Anja's cigarette smoke invaded my nostrils and I waved it away, annoyed.
"Do you have to smoke those inside?" I asked, "Some people do try to breathe, you know."
"I can't do my job without them," Anja replied "Keeps my nerves from breaking completely."
"Ah."
Linden came out of what Anja had pointed out to be the kitchen, carrying a cup with a spoon in it, with a pack of paperwork under his arm. After some half-hearted clean-up work, he managed to excavate a chair and sat down, taking off his glasses and spooning something out of the cup and eating it. He was ignoring me, and everyone else. Basil came bustling out of the kitchen, carrying a teapot and muttering under his breath about the innate evilness of tea. Mad. All of them barking mad.
"Am I supposed to sit here all day?" I queried after about ten minutes of silence, broken only by Basil and his curses over the teapot.
"Oh, no, certainly not. I've a book for you to read." Linden sprang back into the here-and-now part of procedures. "Read the first chapter; it's on refocusing and gathering up stray magic."
The book was old and dusty, like most things in the Department of Mysteries. Just turning a page caused a large cloud of dust to surge up from it, and I spent most of the time coughing. The language used was old and complicated, so it took me some time to understand what they wanted to be said. It was all about being calm and tracing one's magic and gathering it up again. Load of rubbish, really, since it took me till the second chapter to learn how to do it, because some idiot had ripped out pages. After a while though, I got it good enough to round up enough stray magic to get my headache to fade.
I practised for a while, my headache fading more and more, until I didn't even feel it any more. It took me hours, but I finally got it. By the time I was done, it was well past dinner, and the only thing I'd gotten to eat was half a sandwich, from Anja around dinnertime. I was exhausted. It was hard to even keep my eyes open, but I had gotten the control-thing down to pat. I still couldn't perform magic properly without getting a headache, but now I didn't have it all the time. Slamming the book closed, I leaned over the table and buried my face in my hands.
"Tired?"
"You don't think?" I bit back at Anja, who leaned over me with a cup of coffee in her hands, "I've been leaning over this damn book since lunch, and all I've learned is how to exhaust myself most effectively. That coffee has better be for me, or I'm going to have another breakdown. What time is it?"
"Some hour after dinner." Anja shrugged. "And yes, the coffee is for you, though if you want another one, Basil threatens to quit. That coffee machine is nasty, apparently."
Greedily, I grabbed the cup and drank. I couldn't have cared less about Basil and his trials with the coffee machine, and after that coffee cup, I could finally open my eyes fully. Life was suddenly bearable again. Nothing looked as bad after coffee. Not even a three-hour lesson with Hagrid on Manticores and their mating habits was as bad after coffee-intake. I smiled at the world, which greeted me with a snort and a sigh courtesy of Anja. Linden appeared out of thin air next to her, though without the audible pop associated with Apparation, so I assumed he'd just stepped out from behind a bookcase or a stack of paperwork.
"'Lo, Linden. You voted yet?" Anja asked, not even blinking at his sudden appearance.
"Yes." Linden nodded, "Have you? It seems it's a three-way tie between us again."
"Vote?" I piped up, wondering what they could possibly be talking about.
"For Head of Department," Anja turned back to me, "We change our Head about twice every six months, and each time, we're permitted to vote, even though authorities never honour the result. We always vote for ourselves, so it really doesn't matter."
"Ah. Who is your Head now then?" This topic interested me; maybe too many years of playing politics in the Slytherin Den had affected me.
"Who is it? It's that Clayworth fellow, isn't it?" Anja asked her supposed- to-be superior Linden.
"Horatio Clayworth, to be exact. He's a good Head, aside from the fact that he's never been here." Linden shrugged, "I don't even think he knows where here is. He tries, I can give him that, but the administrative weight of being the Head of Mysteries certainly weighs him down. It's a lot of writing letters to people to reassure them that we are taking care of things, when we in reality aren't."
I was silent for a while, sorting out the information I'd gotten. I say, this was fun; politics had always been a hobby of mine, although politics on a small scale, like how to become the most popular in Slytherin. Determining who became Department Head was more complicated, and a lot more fun. No wonder Slytherins were so successful in the Ministry. Lucius Malfoy's ability to weasel his way into anywhere he wanted no longer seemed unreal.
"But why not make someone better Head of Department? Someone who knows who you are, what you do and why you do it. It's logic," I pointed out. "Even if the workload is bad, it can't be as bad as this; you've got paperwork in here pre-dating the Library of Alexandria's destruction."
"How? Even if we protested and campaigned of another, we'd never get it because we're underfunded and not as important as say, the Auror Headquarters." Linden pointed out, and Anja nodded. Basil appeared from the kitchen again, carrying a plate of what might have been his dinner and what might have been radioactive waste.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute; not important?" I protested, "Is this, or is this not the Department Potter broke into earlier this year? Is this not the Department where Malfoy Senior, known Death Eater, was captured? Did I miss something?"
"It is, but the Minister doesn't think Potter's important," Anja shrugged. "All he cares about his how much money he can earn on something, and whether or not it will make him look bad."
The smile on my face was so wide it hurt. Anja had just provided me with the perfect solution to their problem. Why I bothered to care about their problems and hardships I didn't know; the politics of it was too fun to stop now. They might be the most mentally unstable group of misfits I'd ever met, but they deserved better. Maybe it was because they were helping me that I felt I had to help them as well. Whatever it was, I was much too far gone to stop.
"Then, why not make him look bad? If we go to the press, and talk about how underfunded you are and what a threat that poses to the Ministry, don't you think we could get a better Head of Department?" I questioned, "Fudge would never accept that, though, and would counter with something worse."
"The Bulgarian Minister is running a campaign in the paper, petitioning for more money for the Bulgarian Ministry," Basil put in from his desk. "They're underfunded."
"And that, is exactly what we'll do!" I exclaimed, "Run an ad in the Prophet, in any other paper available, and get money, which will prove that we are useful for the Ministry, and Fudge has no choice but to give us a better Head!"
"´Us´?" Anja inquired.
"Well, you, but I'll help you." I sighed, "Honestly, I'm the only Slytherin in the area, aren't I? And as anyone knows, Slytherins are the best at these things."
"I went to Durmstrang, boy, and that's a whole school of Slytherins." Anja snorted derisively.
"Then you never had any competition, right? All Slytherins work to the betterment of their own situation, and means never stepping on anyone's toes, never earning enemies you could have done without," I rattled off, in full defence-mode. "Slytherins at Hogwarts though, have to fight the prejudices of Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, while at the same time playing their game well enough to work to their own advantage. We're just better. Don't be jealous; you're not to blame for it."
I expected her to growl and snap at me, but she merely smiled. A plan was beginning to form in my mind already, for how to solve the problems of the Department, and Anja not being mad at me for insulting me certainly worked to my advantage. Basil finished his dinner, and Linden removed his glasses to clean them. A silent agreement seemed to have been reached. I was allowed to help them.
****'
It was pitch-black outside when I finally came back to Hogwarts. Linden had let me borrow the book, though he'd disguised it as a collection of History of Magic anecdotes. He'd forced me to practise the controlling even more after the coffee-break, and now I could control it even in my sleep, that I was sure of. The book went on to ridiculous lengths about control, and practising it until it became a habit that couldn't be broken. It was hard and exhausting, but I grit my teeth and told myself I would do it. That breakdown had been way too frightening.
There had been nearly no one on the train ride back, except for a snoring heap of rags in the corner. I'd curled up and slept some myself. My head didn't hurt any more, but I was so bone tired that it was hard to keep my eyes open, even in the cool night air of late November. I pushed the door to the castle open, intent on heading directly to my bed, but stopped just short of the stairs down to the dungeons, halted by a voice.
"Zabini, what are you doing up at this hour, alone?"
Amazing how Granger managed to be everywhere, and managed to put so much anger and irritation into one sentence. I turned around slowly, to give me some time to plan my reply. Right, raise eyebrow, check, smirk, check. Intelligent reply, no, still nothing. Damn. Granger was standing on the top of the stairs, still in full school attire and the prefect's badge gleaming on the robes, looking incredibly annoyed. Sometimes, I wondered how she found the patience to be mad at everyone for breaking rules.
"I am going to my dorm, to sleep." I said, "Or at least I was until you decided to stop me."
After a whole week of just watching her, I could tell I'd made her furious. Her eyebrows knitted, her mouth started twitching and a muscle beneath her eye ticked. I was too far away to see the latter, but I knew anyway. Making her angry was a small triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.
"Go back to your dorm before I take points from you," Granger snapped, spinning around and hurrying off towards where I assumed the Gryffindor Common Room was.
Something fluttered down the stairs, just as I turned and caught my attention. A scrap of paper, folded many times and scribbled on with black ink. I picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket, intending to read it as soon as I was back in my dorm, and walked down the stairs. I really needed to sleep, and come up with a decent excuse to tell Millicent and Agnes and everyone else, just in case Lucas hadn't already.
******'
I spent that night sharing the Common Room with Theo, who snored like a herd of wild hippogriffs. The stairs had, when i reached the Common Room, seemed like an impossible thing to mount, and I'd collapsed in an armchair. The book was lying at my feet, and I'd curled up impossibly, legs over the armrest an back, and my back leaning against the opposite armrest. My head was tucked in against my chest, which earned me a spectacular crick in the neck, or so I discovered when Theo shook me awake the next morning.
"Blaise? Blaise, come on, wake up!"
"Shut up, Theo, I am awake," I mumbled, opening my eyes and peering at him. "Stop screaming; I haven't had my coffee yet."
"Sorry," Theo smiled, "I'll just go see if Agnes is awake then."
Finally a Slytherin boy with his head on straight, as opposed to Gaspar and myself. Gaspar couldn't see that Millicent was head over heels with him, and I was the most messed up Slytherin since Lucius Malfoy. At least Theo realised when a girl fancied him, which Agnes obviously did. I didn't know what it was with me and my habit of setting everyone up, or at least matching them up in my head, but I did, and could pass many boring hours that way. Stretching and hearing my back pop, I uncurled myself and stood up.
"Finally back from London, are you?"
Ah. Millicent. I should have known. She was rather like Granger in that aspect; being everywhere, that is. She was standing at the top of the stairs, coming down from the girl's dormitories, tapping her foot with a smile on her face. It was a nasty smile. It was the kind of smile a killer certain of its victim would wear just before a kill. I never was good at pulling off the innocent face.
"Yeah." I nodded.
"Lucas told us you went to London to settle something with your family's lawyers," She continued, looking a bit uncertain now, "What with your house and all."
"Mhm. Look, Millie, I know you worry about me, but I really don't want to talk about that, please?" I requested with my best pleading voice.
"Sure. We could talk about something else. Like why you've been staring at Granger all week." The razor blade smile was back.
Ah. I should have known that question would come up. It wasn't as if it was particularly easy to miss my new habit. Scratching my neck, rather embarrassed, I tried to come up with a reasonable explanation. At the moment, the watch-here-because-she-watches-me excuse seemed kind of flimsy, and the long hours in the library really didn't have a reason. I had established on the first day that she was looking at me; all I had to do was find out why. And Millicent was smart enough to see through my lies. Better tell the truth.
"Well, Agnes told me she'd been looking at me lately, and I decided to watch her, to find out why. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to have a reason." I shrugged. "So I watched some more. She still didn't have a reason, at least not an obvious one. The only thing I learned was how spectacular a Weasley-Granger fight is up close. No almighty slaps, but well raised voices. Good blackmail material that."
"Blaise, you're rambling." Millicent pointed out, "Go ask her why, instead of stalking her, please?"
"Oh yeah, let's watch me go right up to Granger, right under the noses of Weasley, Potter and that mad Irishman, and ask her why she's stalking me. Sounds like a wonderful plan. Right up there with planning my funeral, which we would need to do," I snorted and shook my head, "No thanks, I'll handle this my way."
Moving towards the entrance, something bumped against my leg. Reaching down into my robe-pocket, I pulled out the piece of folded paper I'd found last night. Unfolding it and reading what was scribbled on it, I realised it was Granger's handwriting. It was the list I'd suspected she was writing every time she looked at me. But it wasn't just a list with my name on it, which I'd come to expect. At the top of the list, in Granger's overly neat handwriting, was the words ´Death Eater Suspects´, and a list of names, including Draco's, Gaspar's, Millicent's, Pansy's, Crabbe's and Goyle's and written last, with a lot of lines under it, my own. All in Granger's neat and precise writing, with additional notes, such as the ´uncertain´ behind Gaspar's name, and the ´definitely´ behind mine. That ´definitely´ was alarming. Granger was convinced I was a Death Eater.
Anger would be too light a word to describe what I was feeling. I saw red, and crumpled the paper up in my hand. My hands were shaking. Slowly, I straightened up, and stared out into thin air, imagining things I wanted to do to Granger. Roasting her over an open fire was a good start. I was fairly trembling with rage.
"I think that it is time I teach little perfect Granger a lesson in reality." I said quietly. "She's lost her grip on it."
Millicent was left standing with her mouth wide open as I walked out, intent on finding and possibly killing Hermione Granger. I didn't care now that I would probably end up in a crumpled heap on the floor, bleeding in places I didn't even know I had; Granger needed to be set straight. Rage had taken over my brain completely, and I had stopped thinking. All I could focus on was that damned piece of paper, and Granger's perfect handwriting.
******'
My anger didn't fade as I raced through the corridors, paper crushed in my fist. A few Hufflepuffs were forced to scramble out of my way; I paid them no mind, but headed for the library. It was still early in the morning, but Granger would most certainly be in the library. Even if she wasn't, I could wait. Madame Pince looked at me disapprovingly when I came into the library, but I was too far gone to care. Looking around, I realised Granger wasn't there yet. I settled down at her favourite table, and waited. I could wait all day if I had to, and for this, I surely would.
She came in an hour later, carrying an impossibly heavy book bag. Pince greeted her with a smile, which she returned, before heading towards the back of the library and her usual table. Which I was occupying. The crumpled up paper was lying on the table in front of me, black ink standing out like blood on snow. The bizarre comparison made sense in my less-than- sane state, as I had been imagining various bloody deaths for Granger over the last hour. She was whistling as she went, looking at the shelves. Suddenly, she stopped and started going through her bag, looking for something.
Looking for her list.
"You should keep better track of your belongings," I spoke up, fighting to keep my voice calm, "They might end up in the wrong hands."
The effect would have been comical, if I hadn't been planning her funeral. Her head snapped around so fast that her unruly hair looked just like the mane of a lion. A lion on a bad hair day, but still a lion. I didn't go through any fancy eyebrow raising or glaring; I just sat there and looked at her. Anger, fear and shock flashed over her face in quick succession, as she set eyes on the paper, her damn list, on the table. It was obvious she was not happy about me having got hold of it. Well, she had only herself to blame. I was going to enjoy this. Picking the paper up and pretending to read it, I watched out of the corner of my eye as she became even more nervous.
"This was an interesting read, Granger." I traced my name with my fingers, "I am curious as to how you came to these interesting conclusions."
"I-I-I'm..." She stammered, clutching her bag and staring at me in fright.
"Completely wrong," I finished for her, my anger returning, "I can see how to suspected Draco; his father is a Death Eater himself, and he's never been what you might call nice. But Gaspar? The only thing Gaspar has ever done to Gryffindors was when he was a third year and he hexed one of them for insulting his mother. Millicent was attacked by your so-called best friend, Weasley. The only people on this list who could possibly bear the Dark Mark after graduation is Goyle and Crabbe. And why, I pray, is my name underlined several times?"
"I....I don't." She stammered some more, just for good measure. "I can't, I mean, I didn't."
"Your grip on the English language is slipping Granger, as is your grip on reality." I informed her, "It is a simple question. Why have you underlined my name several times, and written a definitely behind it?"
"I'm sorry," Granger backed away, and I realised I was standing up and walking towards her, paper still in my hand. She backed up against a bookcase, and stared up at me with nothing but fear in her eyes. Almost unconsciously, I put my hands on either side of her head and trapped her.
"No you're not, not yet." I shot back, "Answer the question, and then I might consider you forgiven."
"It's just that, after the disappearances," She spoke haltingly, clutching her book bag to her chest nervously, "Harry thought we should start looking around for Death Eaters. Snape was snatched from within the castle, so it had to be an insider. I thought I would make a list of likely suspects."
"That still doesn't explain my name," I glared at her, "As I remember it, I spent the night that Snape disappeared in Professor Lucas's office, talking about my detention. I must have missed the kidnapped by minutes."
"You've been behaving suspiciously," She nodded, as if to assure herself. "You've been scratching your arm a lot, and lurking around in strange places."
"Scratching my arm a lot?" Now that was confusing, because I remembered doing no such thing.
In the face of my confusion, Granger must have seen an opportunity. She ducked down under my arm and headed for the doors as if there were demons on her tail. I was left standing in the library, alone, and leaning with my forearms against a bookcase. The list was still in my hand, the ink smudging and staining my hands. Sighing heavily, I leaned my forehead against the bookcase and closed my eyes. I had been frighteningly close to another breakdown; I could feel the books shake under my hands as I leaned against them. They settled down, still trembling somewhat, and I noticed I was breathing as if I had been running.
The lump in my stomach could be nothing but fear.
*******'
Ending Notes; there's a little Blaise/Hermione interaction for y'all.
"Leftovers," He replied, somewhat cryptically. "You've my shirt."
I would have pointed out his obviousness, but the shock of the black room not being black any more and not having hundreds of handle less doors was rather too big. The room, which one week previously had been all black, including floor and ceiling, was now an office, with four desks and more paperwork than I had seen in all my years in the Hogwarts library. There was even some folded and stuck behind a painting of Barnabas the Barmy on the wall. The portrait of the less-than-sane wizard in purple robes with blue dots and yellow stars on seemed strangely appropriate in the Department of Mysteries.
"I know. Have you voted yet?" Anja asked, flipping through an old book mindlessly.
"Nope. Had to pick up this at King's Cross. Where's Linden?" Basil sounded cheerful even as I scowled at him for being referred to as "this".
"In the kitchen." Anja gestured at the door behind her.
There was a chair behind me, thankfully, because I collapsed on it and buried my head in my hands. The last few months of my life had made no sense whatsoever, and now it had gotten even worse. I'd gone insane, and due to the insanity I was being forced to work together with people who were even more insane. Anja's cigarette smoke invaded my nostrils and I waved it away, annoyed.
"Do you have to smoke those inside?" I asked, "Some people do try to breathe, you know."
"I can't do my job without them," Anja replied "Keeps my nerves from breaking completely."
"Ah."
Linden came out of what Anja had pointed out to be the kitchen, carrying a cup with a spoon in it, with a pack of paperwork under his arm. After some half-hearted clean-up work, he managed to excavate a chair and sat down, taking off his glasses and spooning something out of the cup and eating it. He was ignoring me, and everyone else. Basil came bustling out of the kitchen, carrying a teapot and muttering under his breath about the innate evilness of tea. Mad. All of them barking mad.
"Am I supposed to sit here all day?" I queried after about ten minutes of silence, broken only by Basil and his curses over the teapot.
"Oh, no, certainly not. I've a book for you to read." Linden sprang back into the here-and-now part of procedures. "Read the first chapter; it's on refocusing and gathering up stray magic."
The book was old and dusty, like most things in the Department of Mysteries. Just turning a page caused a large cloud of dust to surge up from it, and I spent most of the time coughing. The language used was old and complicated, so it took me some time to understand what they wanted to be said. It was all about being calm and tracing one's magic and gathering it up again. Load of rubbish, really, since it took me till the second chapter to learn how to do it, because some idiot had ripped out pages. After a while though, I got it good enough to round up enough stray magic to get my headache to fade.
I practised for a while, my headache fading more and more, until I didn't even feel it any more. It took me hours, but I finally got it. By the time I was done, it was well past dinner, and the only thing I'd gotten to eat was half a sandwich, from Anja around dinnertime. I was exhausted. It was hard to even keep my eyes open, but I had gotten the control-thing down to pat. I still couldn't perform magic properly without getting a headache, but now I didn't have it all the time. Slamming the book closed, I leaned over the table and buried my face in my hands.
"Tired?"
"You don't think?" I bit back at Anja, who leaned over me with a cup of coffee in her hands, "I've been leaning over this damn book since lunch, and all I've learned is how to exhaust myself most effectively. That coffee has better be for me, or I'm going to have another breakdown. What time is it?"
"Some hour after dinner." Anja shrugged. "And yes, the coffee is for you, though if you want another one, Basil threatens to quit. That coffee machine is nasty, apparently."
Greedily, I grabbed the cup and drank. I couldn't have cared less about Basil and his trials with the coffee machine, and after that coffee cup, I could finally open my eyes fully. Life was suddenly bearable again. Nothing looked as bad after coffee. Not even a three-hour lesson with Hagrid on Manticores and their mating habits was as bad after coffee-intake. I smiled at the world, which greeted me with a snort and a sigh courtesy of Anja. Linden appeared out of thin air next to her, though without the audible pop associated with Apparation, so I assumed he'd just stepped out from behind a bookcase or a stack of paperwork.
"'Lo, Linden. You voted yet?" Anja asked, not even blinking at his sudden appearance.
"Yes." Linden nodded, "Have you? It seems it's a three-way tie between us again."
"Vote?" I piped up, wondering what they could possibly be talking about.
"For Head of Department," Anja turned back to me, "We change our Head about twice every six months, and each time, we're permitted to vote, even though authorities never honour the result. We always vote for ourselves, so it really doesn't matter."
"Ah. Who is your Head now then?" This topic interested me; maybe too many years of playing politics in the Slytherin Den had affected me.
"Who is it? It's that Clayworth fellow, isn't it?" Anja asked her supposed- to-be superior Linden.
"Horatio Clayworth, to be exact. He's a good Head, aside from the fact that he's never been here." Linden shrugged, "I don't even think he knows where here is. He tries, I can give him that, but the administrative weight of being the Head of Mysteries certainly weighs him down. It's a lot of writing letters to people to reassure them that we are taking care of things, when we in reality aren't."
I was silent for a while, sorting out the information I'd gotten. I say, this was fun; politics had always been a hobby of mine, although politics on a small scale, like how to become the most popular in Slytherin. Determining who became Department Head was more complicated, and a lot more fun. No wonder Slytherins were so successful in the Ministry. Lucius Malfoy's ability to weasel his way into anywhere he wanted no longer seemed unreal.
"But why not make someone better Head of Department? Someone who knows who you are, what you do and why you do it. It's logic," I pointed out. "Even if the workload is bad, it can't be as bad as this; you've got paperwork in here pre-dating the Library of Alexandria's destruction."
"How? Even if we protested and campaigned of another, we'd never get it because we're underfunded and not as important as say, the Auror Headquarters." Linden pointed out, and Anja nodded. Basil appeared from the kitchen again, carrying a plate of what might have been his dinner and what might have been radioactive waste.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute; not important?" I protested, "Is this, or is this not the Department Potter broke into earlier this year? Is this not the Department where Malfoy Senior, known Death Eater, was captured? Did I miss something?"
"It is, but the Minister doesn't think Potter's important," Anja shrugged. "All he cares about his how much money he can earn on something, and whether or not it will make him look bad."
The smile on my face was so wide it hurt. Anja had just provided me with the perfect solution to their problem. Why I bothered to care about their problems and hardships I didn't know; the politics of it was too fun to stop now. They might be the most mentally unstable group of misfits I'd ever met, but they deserved better. Maybe it was because they were helping me that I felt I had to help them as well. Whatever it was, I was much too far gone to stop.
"Then, why not make him look bad? If we go to the press, and talk about how underfunded you are and what a threat that poses to the Ministry, don't you think we could get a better Head of Department?" I questioned, "Fudge would never accept that, though, and would counter with something worse."
"The Bulgarian Minister is running a campaign in the paper, petitioning for more money for the Bulgarian Ministry," Basil put in from his desk. "They're underfunded."
"And that, is exactly what we'll do!" I exclaimed, "Run an ad in the Prophet, in any other paper available, and get money, which will prove that we are useful for the Ministry, and Fudge has no choice but to give us a better Head!"
"´Us´?" Anja inquired.
"Well, you, but I'll help you." I sighed, "Honestly, I'm the only Slytherin in the area, aren't I? And as anyone knows, Slytherins are the best at these things."
"I went to Durmstrang, boy, and that's a whole school of Slytherins." Anja snorted derisively.
"Then you never had any competition, right? All Slytherins work to the betterment of their own situation, and means never stepping on anyone's toes, never earning enemies you could have done without," I rattled off, in full defence-mode. "Slytherins at Hogwarts though, have to fight the prejudices of Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, while at the same time playing their game well enough to work to their own advantage. We're just better. Don't be jealous; you're not to blame for it."
I expected her to growl and snap at me, but she merely smiled. A plan was beginning to form in my mind already, for how to solve the problems of the Department, and Anja not being mad at me for insulting me certainly worked to my advantage. Basil finished his dinner, and Linden removed his glasses to clean them. A silent agreement seemed to have been reached. I was allowed to help them.
****'
It was pitch-black outside when I finally came back to Hogwarts. Linden had let me borrow the book, though he'd disguised it as a collection of History of Magic anecdotes. He'd forced me to practise the controlling even more after the coffee-break, and now I could control it even in my sleep, that I was sure of. The book went on to ridiculous lengths about control, and practising it until it became a habit that couldn't be broken. It was hard and exhausting, but I grit my teeth and told myself I would do it. That breakdown had been way too frightening.
There had been nearly no one on the train ride back, except for a snoring heap of rags in the corner. I'd curled up and slept some myself. My head didn't hurt any more, but I was so bone tired that it was hard to keep my eyes open, even in the cool night air of late November. I pushed the door to the castle open, intent on heading directly to my bed, but stopped just short of the stairs down to the dungeons, halted by a voice.
"Zabini, what are you doing up at this hour, alone?"
Amazing how Granger managed to be everywhere, and managed to put so much anger and irritation into one sentence. I turned around slowly, to give me some time to plan my reply. Right, raise eyebrow, check, smirk, check. Intelligent reply, no, still nothing. Damn. Granger was standing on the top of the stairs, still in full school attire and the prefect's badge gleaming on the robes, looking incredibly annoyed. Sometimes, I wondered how she found the patience to be mad at everyone for breaking rules.
"I am going to my dorm, to sleep." I said, "Or at least I was until you decided to stop me."
After a whole week of just watching her, I could tell I'd made her furious. Her eyebrows knitted, her mouth started twitching and a muscle beneath her eye ticked. I was too far away to see the latter, but I knew anyway. Making her angry was a small triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.
"Go back to your dorm before I take points from you," Granger snapped, spinning around and hurrying off towards where I assumed the Gryffindor Common Room was.
Something fluttered down the stairs, just as I turned and caught my attention. A scrap of paper, folded many times and scribbled on with black ink. I picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket, intending to read it as soon as I was back in my dorm, and walked down the stairs. I really needed to sleep, and come up with a decent excuse to tell Millicent and Agnes and everyone else, just in case Lucas hadn't already.
******'
I spent that night sharing the Common Room with Theo, who snored like a herd of wild hippogriffs. The stairs had, when i reached the Common Room, seemed like an impossible thing to mount, and I'd collapsed in an armchair. The book was lying at my feet, and I'd curled up impossibly, legs over the armrest an back, and my back leaning against the opposite armrest. My head was tucked in against my chest, which earned me a spectacular crick in the neck, or so I discovered when Theo shook me awake the next morning.
"Blaise? Blaise, come on, wake up!"
"Shut up, Theo, I am awake," I mumbled, opening my eyes and peering at him. "Stop screaming; I haven't had my coffee yet."
"Sorry," Theo smiled, "I'll just go see if Agnes is awake then."
Finally a Slytherin boy with his head on straight, as opposed to Gaspar and myself. Gaspar couldn't see that Millicent was head over heels with him, and I was the most messed up Slytherin since Lucius Malfoy. At least Theo realised when a girl fancied him, which Agnes obviously did. I didn't know what it was with me and my habit of setting everyone up, or at least matching them up in my head, but I did, and could pass many boring hours that way. Stretching and hearing my back pop, I uncurled myself and stood up.
"Finally back from London, are you?"
Ah. Millicent. I should have known. She was rather like Granger in that aspect; being everywhere, that is. She was standing at the top of the stairs, coming down from the girl's dormitories, tapping her foot with a smile on her face. It was a nasty smile. It was the kind of smile a killer certain of its victim would wear just before a kill. I never was good at pulling off the innocent face.
"Yeah." I nodded.
"Lucas told us you went to London to settle something with your family's lawyers," She continued, looking a bit uncertain now, "What with your house and all."
"Mhm. Look, Millie, I know you worry about me, but I really don't want to talk about that, please?" I requested with my best pleading voice.
"Sure. We could talk about something else. Like why you've been staring at Granger all week." The razor blade smile was back.
Ah. I should have known that question would come up. It wasn't as if it was particularly easy to miss my new habit. Scratching my neck, rather embarrassed, I tried to come up with a reasonable explanation. At the moment, the watch-here-because-she-watches-me excuse seemed kind of flimsy, and the long hours in the library really didn't have a reason. I had established on the first day that she was looking at me; all I had to do was find out why. And Millicent was smart enough to see through my lies. Better tell the truth.
"Well, Agnes told me she'd been looking at me lately, and I decided to watch her, to find out why. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to have a reason." I shrugged. "So I watched some more. She still didn't have a reason, at least not an obvious one. The only thing I learned was how spectacular a Weasley-Granger fight is up close. No almighty slaps, but well raised voices. Good blackmail material that."
"Blaise, you're rambling." Millicent pointed out, "Go ask her why, instead of stalking her, please?"
"Oh yeah, let's watch me go right up to Granger, right under the noses of Weasley, Potter and that mad Irishman, and ask her why she's stalking me. Sounds like a wonderful plan. Right up there with planning my funeral, which we would need to do," I snorted and shook my head, "No thanks, I'll handle this my way."
Moving towards the entrance, something bumped against my leg. Reaching down into my robe-pocket, I pulled out the piece of folded paper I'd found last night. Unfolding it and reading what was scribbled on it, I realised it was Granger's handwriting. It was the list I'd suspected she was writing every time she looked at me. But it wasn't just a list with my name on it, which I'd come to expect. At the top of the list, in Granger's overly neat handwriting, was the words ´Death Eater Suspects´, and a list of names, including Draco's, Gaspar's, Millicent's, Pansy's, Crabbe's and Goyle's and written last, with a lot of lines under it, my own. All in Granger's neat and precise writing, with additional notes, such as the ´uncertain´ behind Gaspar's name, and the ´definitely´ behind mine. That ´definitely´ was alarming. Granger was convinced I was a Death Eater.
Anger would be too light a word to describe what I was feeling. I saw red, and crumpled the paper up in my hand. My hands were shaking. Slowly, I straightened up, and stared out into thin air, imagining things I wanted to do to Granger. Roasting her over an open fire was a good start. I was fairly trembling with rage.
"I think that it is time I teach little perfect Granger a lesson in reality." I said quietly. "She's lost her grip on it."
Millicent was left standing with her mouth wide open as I walked out, intent on finding and possibly killing Hermione Granger. I didn't care now that I would probably end up in a crumpled heap on the floor, bleeding in places I didn't even know I had; Granger needed to be set straight. Rage had taken over my brain completely, and I had stopped thinking. All I could focus on was that damned piece of paper, and Granger's perfect handwriting.
******'
My anger didn't fade as I raced through the corridors, paper crushed in my fist. A few Hufflepuffs were forced to scramble out of my way; I paid them no mind, but headed for the library. It was still early in the morning, but Granger would most certainly be in the library. Even if she wasn't, I could wait. Madame Pince looked at me disapprovingly when I came into the library, but I was too far gone to care. Looking around, I realised Granger wasn't there yet. I settled down at her favourite table, and waited. I could wait all day if I had to, and for this, I surely would.
She came in an hour later, carrying an impossibly heavy book bag. Pince greeted her with a smile, which she returned, before heading towards the back of the library and her usual table. Which I was occupying. The crumpled up paper was lying on the table in front of me, black ink standing out like blood on snow. The bizarre comparison made sense in my less-than- sane state, as I had been imagining various bloody deaths for Granger over the last hour. She was whistling as she went, looking at the shelves. Suddenly, she stopped and started going through her bag, looking for something.
Looking for her list.
"You should keep better track of your belongings," I spoke up, fighting to keep my voice calm, "They might end up in the wrong hands."
The effect would have been comical, if I hadn't been planning her funeral. Her head snapped around so fast that her unruly hair looked just like the mane of a lion. A lion on a bad hair day, but still a lion. I didn't go through any fancy eyebrow raising or glaring; I just sat there and looked at her. Anger, fear and shock flashed over her face in quick succession, as she set eyes on the paper, her damn list, on the table. It was obvious she was not happy about me having got hold of it. Well, she had only herself to blame. I was going to enjoy this. Picking the paper up and pretending to read it, I watched out of the corner of my eye as she became even more nervous.
"This was an interesting read, Granger." I traced my name with my fingers, "I am curious as to how you came to these interesting conclusions."
"I-I-I'm..." She stammered, clutching her bag and staring at me in fright.
"Completely wrong," I finished for her, my anger returning, "I can see how to suspected Draco; his father is a Death Eater himself, and he's never been what you might call nice. But Gaspar? The only thing Gaspar has ever done to Gryffindors was when he was a third year and he hexed one of them for insulting his mother. Millicent was attacked by your so-called best friend, Weasley. The only people on this list who could possibly bear the Dark Mark after graduation is Goyle and Crabbe. And why, I pray, is my name underlined several times?"
"I....I don't." She stammered some more, just for good measure. "I can't, I mean, I didn't."
"Your grip on the English language is slipping Granger, as is your grip on reality." I informed her, "It is a simple question. Why have you underlined my name several times, and written a definitely behind it?"
"I'm sorry," Granger backed away, and I realised I was standing up and walking towards her, paper still in my hand. She backed up against a bookcase, and stared up at me with nothing but fear in her eyes. Almost unconsciously, I put my hands on either side of her head and trapped her.
"No you're not, not yet." I shot back, "Answer the question, and then I might consider you forgiven."
"It's just that, after the disappearances," She spoke haltingly, clutching her book bag to her chest nervously, "Harry thought we should start looking around for Death Eaters. Snape was snatched from within the castle, so it had to be an insider. I thought I would make a list of likely suspects."
"That still doesn't explain my name," I glared at her, "As I remember it, I spent the night that Snape disappeared in Professor Lucas's office, talking about my detention. I must have missed the kidnapped by minutes."
"You've been behaving suspiciously," She nodded, as if to assure herself. "You've been scratching your arm a lot, and lurking around in strange places."
"Scratching my arm a lot?" Now that was confusing, because I remembered doing no such thing.
In the face of my confusion, Granger must have seen an opportunity. She ducked down under my arm and headed for the doors as if there were demons on her tail. I was left standing in the library, alone, and leaning with my forearms against a bookcase. The list was still in my hand, the ink smudging and staining my hands. Sighing heavily, I leaned my forehead against the bookcase and closed my eyes. I had been frighteningly close to another breakdown; I could feel the books shake under my hands as I leaned against them. They settled down, still trembling somewhat, and I noticed I was breathing as if I had been running.
The lump in my stomach could be nothing but fear.
*******'
Ending Notes; there's a little Blaise/Hermione interaction for y'all.