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The Snake-who-lived
Book 3: Prisoner of Azkaban
Chapter 1: The full moon
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Some things are unstoppable in life. Time, space, the fact that a falling buttered toast will inevitably fall on the buttered side and, if possible, on the closest rug available… yet all of these examples are nothing compared to women. And most of all, stubborn women. And if there was one thing that Mrs. Zabini was, it was stubborn – among many other, less flattering, qualities. Stopping her after she made her mind up was, to put it simply, impossible.
For those who require imagery, imagine a little twig, weak and feeble, ready to fall into dust at the smallest opportunity. Now, imagine a speeding magnetic bullet train, rushing on its tracks at three hundred miles an hour. Now, imagine someone trying to stop it with the aforementioned twig.
…eek.
…eww.
…Well, on the plus side, it's only imagery. There is no gushing blood or flying guts involved in this story. At least… for now.
Hence was the reason why, some hours after their weak protests were destroyed by strict arguments – the same one, worded differently – the three Zabinis and the Potter found themselves sitting inside the car, with whatever camping equipment they had managed to fit in. It was in no way a comfy fit, but Harry had to admit it was more comfortable that than the first time he had rode in it; being stuck in an enclosed space on the same seat at Hagrid and Blaise had definitely not been pleasant.
The trip there was long and boring. For foreigners, England's seemingly endless sea of green fields and small farms held an attractive, rustic charm. As Harry was a true English-born child, monotony was quick to sneak its way in.
"Yellow car." Blaise chirped, giving a playful punch to Harry's shoulder as said car blurred by on the other lane.
That was the other problem. Blaise had figured that spending three hours looking out at the fields and trying to spot cows was abysmally boring, so she had decided that for every yellow object she could find, she'd poke Harry. Her pokes had turned into playful punches by the first hour after the boy had failed to be interested in her game.
"Yellow busss," Nemesis said, though only Harry could understand him, and gave the aforementioned boy a whack with his tail. The snake had been interested, however.
By the time they had arrived in sight of the campgrounds, Harry was feeling a bit like a whipped slave and expecting his arm to fall off at the smallest prod. Especially after they had passed through that small town, hit three yellow lights, passed in front of a school bus and ate in a Subway restaurant.
A small wooden booth stood on the side of the path leading up to the camping grounds, where a young, pink-haired teenage girl with a piercing in her nose was noisily munching on a gum while reading a magazine. Boxes full of camp maps and guides were lined up underneath the window. Mr. Zabini took one of each, giving them to his wife.
"Sev'n pounds'night f'r'each tent." The clerk mumbled, barely lifting her eyes to look in their baggage, where both tents were plainly visible. "Tha's fourteen a night f'r'ya."
"We won't be here for lon—"
"Book us a lot for two weeks," Mrs. Zabini interrupted her husband, who gave her a sour look, which she answered with a wide, infuriatingly cheerful grin. "Where's our lot?"
The cashier blew a pink bubble of gum and stared contemptuously at them for a few seconds, as if trying to make them feel guilty for disturbing her precious reading time, before putting the magazine away and picking up a notepad.
"That's £196, lot 12D's free – just follow the signs," she said in an uninterested, bored voice, waving lazily toward a nearby crossroad further down the road, where a bunch of signs were nailed to a tree.
After paying, with his wife's wallet – and giving a pained look to said woman – Mr. Zabini navigated the car on a paved path that quickly became surrounded by forest on both sides. As they passed in front of a souvenir shop, the man was quick to point out something that he had 'seen' in the total opposite direction, distracting her just long enough for them to get by.
"Mom has a bit of a spending problem..." Blaise had once told him two years ago, back in Gringotts, Harry remembered with a mental smirk.
After rolling past a tall willow tree whose falling leaves gently rubbed against the top of the car, patiently waiting for a couple to walk across the path and going past a tall oak, Mr. Zabini found their lot, parked, and stopped the engine.
Lot 12D, as was indicated on the small wooden post near the entrance, was a small but very beautiful artificial meadow. A line of trees of various kinds separated it from the two neighboring fields, giving a sense of privacy while not completely isolating them. In the center of the field was a small circle of stones surrounding a spot of sand and ashes. Someone had recently used it, if the fresh-looking partially burned logs proved anything.
Unpacking their tents immediately revealed a problem. There were only two of them, and both were for two persons.
"Mr. Zabini and I can sleep in the same one," Harry proposed.
"No, no, no." Mrs. Zabini interrupted, frowning and taking one of her husband's hands. "We're here so Dario can relax, so I'm going to be the one sharing the tent with him."
"And what about us?" Blaise asked, sharing a look with Harry. The boy had nothing against sharing a tent with her, but...
"Well, you'll share the other tent," Mrs. Zabini replied, grinning cheerfully and a tad impishly, "and your tent will be over there while ours will be here, so if you two decide to do something, Dario won't hear and won't wake up."
"M-MUM!!!" Blaise gasped, her face flushing a darker red than her hair.
...it was going to be a tad awkward.
"Elmira," Mr. Zabini frowned disapprovingly, though his amused smile did not vanish. "That's not the right way to get me to relax."
"Hmm?" The woman grinned like a Cheshire cat and hugged him, one of her hand doing circles on his chest. "Are you sure, love?"
"That is not helping some of me relax." Mr. Zabini replied, his cheeks taking a rosy tint.
Both Blaise and Harry's faces turned an interesting shade of red.
"Muuum…" Blaise whined under her breath, apparently wishing her mother wouldn't flirt with her father in her presence.
"It's like a massage," Mrs. Zabini purred playfully, still grinning and oblivious to her daughter's plea. "The muscle has to be tense for the cure to work..." Her voice suddenly returned to normal as she turned toward the two bright red kids. "Now, how about we mount those tents?"
Mr. Zabini let out a groaned sigh, although his smile had yet to shrink.
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It took them the better part of an hour to put the tents up properly. The reason why was that, while Mrs. Zabini had apparently some idea of how to handle herself in the wild – no pun intended… ok, maybe just a little – she was apparently not used to putting them up the Muggle way. As for Mr. Zabini, he was from the city. It seemed the only thing he did know how to do is make a fire.
Mrs. Zabini had not changed her mind about their bedding arrangements by the time the night had come. Fortunately, both children simply reverted to their Christmas holiday habits and slept in their pajamas. Harry was eternally grateful that Blaise did not snore. He noticed, unfortunately, that she fought in her sleep. The next morning, he had an unexplainable bruise on his left leg, where a particularly sharp kick had hit him. He had not slept well at all.
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"My, my," Mrs. Zabini chuckled as soon as she saw him, the next day. "Someone didn't get much shut-eye…" Her tone turned impish, "is it because you slept so close to Blaise and had to hold yourself not to do anyt—"
"Mum, stop that!" Blaise whined, her face red. "We're not together!"
Mrs. Zabini sniffed theatrically. "Fine, please excuse this poor, aging mother trying to find a proper boyfriend for her only daughte---"
"MUM!!" Said daughte--- whined loudly again, her face burning redder.
Bleary and blushing, Harry decided that dealing with the Zabini matriarch this early in the morning could only be dangerous and went to Mr. Zabini's side instead. The man was sitting on a log by the rather weak flames, holding a pincer-like device evidently made to toast bread over a fire, which is exactly what it was being used for. The Muggle man gave him a smile and a nod, distracting his attention from the soon-to-be toasts for only a second.
"So, what are we going to do today?" He asked, more attempting to change the subject than really wanting to know.
"Well, it depends," Mrs. Zabini replied, looking up at the fair sky. "If it stays like that, we could visit the beach."
"Beach?" Blaise perked up. "Like a swimming beach?"
"No, a skating one, I heard they're real popular this summer," her mother retorted playfully, grinning and gently tugging at her hair. "Yes, swimming, you insatiable goldfish."
Harry resisted the frown threatening to darken his face. He had seen the beach before… on TV and in pictures, and the Dursleys had once gone there for a reason he couldn't remember. They had complained about it for weeks afterwards. Especially Dudley, but then, he would complain about anything that would take him away from his precious television. He wasn't exactly sure of what went on there, but he knew that having sand between his toes would be downright dangerous for the health; what if it managed to get in the bloodstream? What if, because of that, she ended up with a stone in the kidney and having to take a fifteen thousand pounds surgery that would undoubtedly complicate – it always does on the telly – and kill her?
Yes, Petunia had been a tad bit hysterical.
And the other problem was: he had never learned how to swim. The puddles Dudley and his gang had enjoyed throwing him in a few years ago just hadn't been deep enough, and the Dursleys had decided not to bring him to the pool – what if the water turned into chocolate milk?
Evidently, Dudley hadn't been told this or Harry would have gone swimming quite often.
"Is something wrong, Harry?" Mr. Zabini's calm voice broke into his daydreaming.
"Er?" The boy wittily returned, finding the three Zabinis' attention on him. Blushing, he admitted, "I… er… I can't swim."
"It's not a problem," Mrs. Zabini said with a shrug. "Beaches are never very deep, unless you head far enough. You'll be able to stand up. Blaise will watch over you, won't you?"
The girl didn't look like she was entirely agreeing. Apparently, she didn't want to stay in the shallow parts. Seeing his friend's day being darkened by his fault, Harry quickly stammered that he didn't have a swimming suit, either.
"That's all right, I'll help you buy a new one at the campground's general store," Mr. Zabini said, smiling gently. "I needed to get more firewood anyway. This batch is a bit old."
As he said that, he picked up a long, already partially burnt stick and gave a poke to the tallest burning log, which collapsed pitifully in a shower of sparks.
He let out a discouraged sigh, inspecting his toasts. "Well, it sounds like golden is about as good as we'll get. Toasts?"
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After the toasts were finished, Mr. Zabini went in his tent and fetched the map his wife had picked up the previous day. Consulting the wireless - with a tap of Mrs. Zabini's wand and a few words - had given them a bleak weather forecast: It was going to rain some time that day. Blaise's face had darkened considerably. However, the rest of the week was going to be sunny.
"Don't worry, Blaise," her father said, smiling gently. "We'll go tomorrow."
"What about my swimsuit?"
"We'll buy it today," The man replied. "Tomorrow is Sunday and I'm not too sure if it'll be open."
"You'd better hurry up at it," Mrs. Zabini noted, looking up at the darkening skies. Already a faint smell of ozone could be sensed in the air. "That is, unless you want to run around in the rain."
Her husband smiled and nodded. A few minutes later, Mr. Zabini got up, gave a quick kiss goodbye to his wife and guided Harry away from the site, reading the map as he went.
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The general store stood out from the rest of the campground simply from the fact that it did not seem to be in natural wood or stone. Plastic white horizontal paneling covered the outside walls, along with large front windows, a simple partial glass-door and an old-looking, cracked and faded sign announcing it over the surrounding trees. The inside was roomy, welcoming and neatly organized; Harry and Mr. Zabini had very little difficulty finding the swimsuits (mostly because of the flashiness of the nearby female swimwear section) and the changing booths, just beside it.
Their choice was also simple: Green trunk with a black waistband. Harry simply picked the first one that fit – and was of a decent color ("Electric pink?! Who'd pick that?!") – and tried it on in the booth.
Mr. Zabini nodded and smiled at him when he came out. "Is that all?"
His voice had sounded almost hopeful. Amused, Harry nodded in acknowledgement. There was no use in wasting more time in the store if they had what they wanted, right?
After picking a bundle of firewood from the store – again, the first suitable – Harry and Mr. Zabini walked back to their lot, Harry wearing his normal clothes and carrying his swimsuit in his right hand. He could have sworn he heard Mr. Zabini was chuckling to himself along the way.
Now that he thought about it, Harry didn't know Mr. Zabini all that much. Sure, he had lived in his house for the last five weeks, but it seemed like the man was always at work. Harry didn't even know what he did for a living, either. In fact, as far as he remembered, this was the longest time he had spent alone with him. He did know Mrs. Zabini a lot – she didn't work and spent most of her time playing with and watching over him and Blaise, when she was not critiquing Fudge over the wireless or taking care of the house (what she could, anyway), but he had never had a real conversation with Mr. Zabini.
He didn't quite know how to start a conversation, though. Trying to push his inspiration, he looked up at the man, who was still smiling. Now that Harry tried, he really could hear him chuckling.
"What's so funny?" Harry asked.
Mr. Zabini looked down to him with his eternally calm black eyes and replied, in good humor, "I had almost forgotten that shopping could actually be a simple thing, living with Elmira and Blaise…"
"Blaise shops a lot?" He didn't know that.
The man shook his head. "Not a lot, but whenever both of them go at it together, they can spend hours trying to choose what looks better on each other, or finding things that they suddenly absolutely need." He chuckled. "Blaise really admires her mother, see. As much as she critics Elmira and her lack of maturity, she does her best to act like her, at times. It's almost funny."
"Yeah, Blaise wants to work as an auror, too..." Harry mused out loud, remembering what his friend had seen in the mirror of Erised.
"Hmm?" Mr. Zabini questioned, turning to him. "I didn't know that, how do you know?"
"Er..." Harry gave a heavily edited version of their discovery of the mirror, which did not involve any broken rules or capes of Invisibility. Mr. Zabini smiled and shook his head.
"The more I think I know about this magic stuff, the more I learn that I don't..." He mused, chuckling.
Harry knew perfectly how the man felt; as helpful as Draco and Blaise were to explain things in the wizarding world, there were still many times when he found himself wondering how to make something work, or heard of something that he didn't know, yet that every other magical child did. For a moment, he wondered how Mr. Zabini had reacted to learning about the wizarding world, but pushed the question down.
"I guess it's a good thing I only work in the this world," the man continued airily, looking up at the fair skies. "I'd be completely lost if I had to handle magical things, too..."
Curious, Harry asked: "What do you do, anyway?"
"Do? You mean, at work?" At his nod, the man replied, "I'm a lawyer. One of the top of my company, actually."
"Oh."
The conversation ended there.
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By the time they arrived to their camping lot, the first few drops of rain were already falling. Mrs. Zabini and Blaise had installed impervious covers on top of the tents, and both called after them from the biggest one.
Few minutes after they had taken cover inside the tent, the rain began in earnest. Most of the rest of the day was spent wishing the rain would go away, playing cards: Old maid, blackjack and –to Mr. Zabini's discontentment- poker, of which Mr. Zabini was a frighteningly good player; Harry simply could not tell anything out of his unchanging serene smile, and no bluff managed to get past.
By the time the rain stopped, the air had gone much too cold for them to consider going to the beach. The sun was on the verge of setting. The first few attempts to light up a fire were met with dismal failure, but after a quick drying charm – camouflaged carefully as an attempt to poke the logs with a very small stick – the wood burned easily, as if the rain had never fallen. A neighbor that asked about their technique was met with the response that they had simply hidden the logs in the tent, thus keeping them dry.
Supper was quickly eaten, accompanied by roasted marshmallows. Harry and Blaise amused each other at trying to get their marshmallows as close as possible to the embers without burning them. Some time after Blaise's stick caught fire and ended the game, Mrs. Zabini's head fell on her husband's shoulder, which signaled that perhaps it was time to consider going to sleep. To his amusement, the woman protested a bit and mumbled a "ten more minutes..." as her husband picked her up - with some difficulties.
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Harry had to admit that sleeping in a tent was more comfortable than the cupboard under the stairs. It certainly wasn't as cramped and he had yet to find a single spider. However, it was by no mean as comfortable as the guests' bed… his bed, at the Zabini's. There was no mattress, for example, and the spongy pseudo-mattress on which his sleeping bag was laid didn't stop that bump on the ground at the small of his back from bugging the heck out of him. Oh, and, of course, there was Blaise and the fact that she seemed to be watching a kickboxing match in her dreams.
…strange, she was oddly inactive tonight. Maybe yesterday had been a fluke?
Curious, he turned around under his covers – incidentally bumping his elbow against the offending lump of something underneath the tent – to face his friend, expecting to see her calmly curled in her sleeping bag. Not to see her chestnut eyes wide open, staring straight up, her arms idly crossed behind her head. Evidently, she was awake.
She gave him a small glance, barely for a second before looking back up again.
"Can't sleep?" she asked. Though her voice was barely a whisper, it came loud and clear in the relative silence of the outdoor night.
"Uh..." Harry intelligently replied, staring at her. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
She smiled gently at his question and pointed up at the overhead mosquito-net. The full moon was plainly visible. "I just can't stop looking at it," she explained. "It's beautiful."
Oh, a full moon. He remembered what she had told him, the previous year, back at the Burrow: "I've always felt calmer during full moon nights."
"If I told Draco you like to stargaze, he'd think I need to see Madam Pomfrey." Harry noted.
The girl chuckled. "I guess it does seem hard to believe, doesn't it…"
Harry smiled in agreement. She didn't even see it.
"When I was a kid, I did this once a month…" she said, her voice set in a gentle whisper. "I'd go outside and stay up late to look at it… And I've never felt bored once. I can't see it as well in London or at Hogwarts – our dormitory windows are on the wrong side,"
Blaise continued, on the same unnervingly calm tone, after a short pause. "But out here, the view is perfect. All that's missing is some water for it to reflect down… Just once, it would be nice to see it over the lake, from one of the cliffs…"
The boy stayed silent. To be honest, this calm Blaise, whom he had 'met' the previous year, unnerved him a bit; he didn't know how to handle her. For an instant, he wondered if Mrs. Zabini went through the same thing, but then dismissed the idea as he remembered the previous year, when she had fallen drunk in the Burrow. And plus, Blaise had told him quite clearly that she was never calm.
"What are you thinking?" Blaise's voice cut through his musing as her eyes – or at least, the left one, which was the only one he could see – turned to stare at his.
"Your mum," He replied, feeling that: 'How weird you are when you get like this' wouldn't be appreciated.
She gave him a puzzled look, as if wondering how he had managed to go from the full moon to her mother, before shrugging. "What about her?"
Turning to lay on his back, Harry answered, "It's nothing, forget it."
He heard Blaise's body shift the sleeping bag with a ruffle of clothing, then felt a prodding finger touch just below his ribs.
"You'd better not be thinking bad things about my mum, Harry Potter," she mock-threatened, glaring at him with playful eyes.
He chuckled. "Never, she might hear me." He replied just as playfully, prompting a snort from the girl.
"Good, don't forget who taught me how to duel. She could wipe every floor with both of us, then move on to the driveway and the street." She grinned proudly.
Harry nodded. "Well, she is an Auror."
"Was." Blaise corrected. "From what dad said, she left the force about a year after having me."
"Why? If she's so good, then..."
"I don't know... maybe she decided to use what sense of responsibility she has and quit because I was there... or maybe she just wanted to spend all her time watching over me while I grew up..." She shrugged. "There's no telling, with mum."
Harry nodded. The more time he spent around Mrs. Zabini, the more surprised he became. He had seen her act serious and mature, generally whenever it was needed. Outside of a crisis, however, she seemed to have the mental age of a teenager, as if her mind had stubbornly decided to stay at fifteen. In all the time he had spent with the Zabinis, he had not seen her work once. He knew she was an amazing fighter and that she had once been an Auror, but except for that, her past was a mystery.
And where did Blaise's father fit in all this? The poor man was not only the moneymaker of the family, but he was also the cook, seeing as his wife was hopeless in the kitchen. Harry knew they loved each other; the shameless flirting they had shared when they had settled in the camping lot had told him all he needed to know about that. But quite honestly, Harry didn't know if, had he been in Mr. Zabini's position, he would have the same patience.
"Now, what are you thinking?" Blaise's abnormally calm voice cut into his thoughts once again.
"Erm… your dad, actually." Harry replied.
"You're wondering why he stays with her?" Blaise asked while sitting up a bit, her already a bit messed, mid-back hair framed by the moonlight. Her chestnut eyes stared into his.
Feeling sheepish, Harry nodded and scratched the back of his head, rumpling his too-long ebony hair in the process. That wasn't necessarily a good thing to ask to a friend. He was relieved she had asked the question for him, thought. Damn his curiosity.
"Well, they love each other," Blaise started off, lifting a finger, as if to demonstrate a point. "That's a big plus. Plus, dad has the patience of a cat and can take pretty much anything in stride. I think he'd be able to burst out laughing if someone told him the world was about to end. Mom told me he just nodded and said he knew it when she told him she was a witch." She grinned proudly. "That's one of the reasons why he's such a great lawyer; the other side just can't shake his confidence."
"He's good, then?"
She nodded. "The best."
Harry smiled a bit; of course she'd say that, be it the truth or not.
"But wouldn't he be happier… I mean…" He halted himself, feeling like he was setting his feet in a minefield. Blaise gave him a cross look, but shrugged; normally, he knew, she would have belted him in defense of her mother.
"Without her? No, way." She replied, stressing the last two words by drawing them out. "To be honest, I think both of them are just perfect for each other – and not just because I'm their daughter. He's patient, responsible and nice, but he can get wrapped up in his work and it's tough to pull him out, sometimes. I think her childishness is like his breath of fresh air for him."
Harry nodded in understanding. A yawn later, he decided that it was plenty too late to do any more talking. After saying "good night", Harry closed his eyes, relaxed and soon fell asleep.
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Author's notes:
*sigh* this is one of those moments I wish the setting was somewhere a bit closer to where I live… *Has a big panel written "Never been in Britain" hovering over his head*)
Harry doesn't know how to swim?
Plot convenience. There's no canon evidence that shows he knows how to swim 'till book 4. And even then, he has the gillyweed for help, and Ron on the way back up. Yes, I do, sometimes, pull things for no reason other than plot. Sue me, I have Mr. Zabini to protect me :P
A planning accident made me split this chapter in half. Harry simply would not cooperate in the original version. It caused some delay, mostly because I simply was never satisfied of how it turned out.
The original ending was too hard, and the start of the next chapter was sketchy at best. So, I smoothed over both by putting the other's start into this one's end ^_-
Also, due to human stupidity (mine), some parts in the last scene were removed and had to be rewritten. *sigh* the original was much nicer… oh well.
Final note: I despise FF.net's upload protocols. *kills the little dots littering the place*
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ANSWERS TO THE PET WEREWOLVES OF THE REVIEWERS:
Athenakitty: *twitch*
Tonnocal: Sirius isn't loose yet... just wait 'till he'll be... that's 2 chapters away, by the way ^_-.
Hitmanhand: Feels like I've been writing it forever, too. And don't push me, I write as fast as I demonically can. ^_-
The Ayatollah of the Saxophone: It will, it will!
ImmortalTigerWolf: Harry won't be evil. I promise that. Dark!Harry is fun, but EvilOverlord!Harry is just plain weird.
Stevethecool: Here you go!
Szelij: Evil, evil Ron hater.
Flummox: Down girl, down! I never actually wrote Lily was in AZKABAN. I'll get to that very important piece of the SWL universe later... ^_-. The prologue was almost called "Kitchen destroyer" because of it, but I changed my mind ^_-. Big fine? He's completely broke, probably going to lose his home and end up on the streets... and he may get a bigger role later on... ^_-
Dragonsprincess: ARGH! Nippon ni deteru?! OMAE WA ZETTAI LUCKY DA YO!!!! (I'm pretty sure I made a verb mistake there, but my vocabulary isn't that great :P.) Sugar high... Sugar is good. Respect sugar. Worship sugar. Do not write after eating sugar. You write as bad as Mrs. Zabini? Ouch. Most of the rest, it's a secret. But... damn you, lucky git!
Cinderella Supervillain: That's a secret, indeed.