The Fine Line:
This story was here before but I accidentally deleted it :S I'm so friggin lucky my beta never deletes her emails and the story chaps were still in her inbox, lol. Someone pointed out to me that the thing that happens to Blaise at the start of this story sounds like what they say happens to Snape in Power of the Quill (I highly recommend this story, btw; its amazing) but I promise this story is nothing like POTQ. Anyways, please R&R.
Returning:
Blaise Zambini sat alone in a compartment at the back of the Hogwarts Express reading a potions book and wearing her usual all-black attire. She was returning for her final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Much had changed since her first year at Hogwarts. Back in her first year, she was still getting used to being in Slytherin. All of her fellow house-mates said she should have been in Ravenclaw. She was despised by them all.But thatwas just fine with her; she had always been one to keep to herself.
But another thing had changed since her first year at Hogwarts... Back in her first year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter had still been alive... But no more...
The summer before what would be Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts, he had killed himself: it had been a valid suicide, most people suspected that the death of a close friend had had something to do with it, but nothing was certain. This had been the topic of discussion everywhere for quite some time though... Since his death Voldemort had been making more and more appearances; even the muggles were beginning to become aware of his presence.
However, the wizarding world still had Dumbledore. But even he no longer had the power to defeat the Dark Lord. He was nearing his one hundred and sixty fifth birthday and was growing weaker and weaker with each day; they said his inner turmoil was eating away at him.
Blaise took her eyes off the book and sighed as she looked out at the dark, dreary sky. The sun rarely came out anymore for some reason and it hardly ever stopped raining. The darkness added to everyone's great depression.
At that moment the shut door of her compartment slid open, and standing in the doorway were none other than Mark Thompson, a pureblood Ravenclaw boy who rarely had anything decent to say to Blaise, and another boy that Blaise didn't recognize.
"Oh. I thought this compartment was empty. I hadn't realized that you were here, death-eater," he said nastily.
"Well I am, so beat it," she snapped. Blaise hated all the people like him. The kind of people that would take one look at her, and think that she was some kind of a Satanist, or death-eater, when in fact she was neither.
"No. I have a bone to pick with you," he sneered, "My uncle was one of the greatest Aurors there ever was. And take a guess what happened to him. One of you Death-Eaters tortured him to death."
She stood up, defensively. Her hand was in her pocket, holding her wand.
"I am not a death-eater. Nor do I support what the Dark Lord does. Please leave before I am forced to take action," she said, trying to keep her cool.
"Dark Lord, eh? Who calls him that but his supporters?" the friend asked.
"If you're not a death-eater then why don't you prove it? Prove it to everyone 'cause no one believes anything you say. Prove to us that you aren't a supporter of you-know-who and that you don't spy on Hogwarts for him or all those other things!"
He shoved her back down in her seat. Blaise wiped out her wand as quickly as she could; but Mark was quicker. He used a disarming curse on her and caught her wand in his hand, never taking his wand off of her.
"Strip. Show us you bear no Dark Mark," he ordered grinning as if he was savoring every moment.