Blaise was having a horrible morning.
He'd awoken at a far too early time, due to an over-excited Archimedes delivering a letter from his uncle. The contents of the letter had made him blanche.
He'd sworn to himself as his shoes refused to be tied for a good ten minutes.
His robes refused to come together correctly along the neckline.
His tawny locks had refused to go in any one direction, regardless of the potions or spells he threw at it.
The ultimate vexation was the fact his roommates had remained asleep throughout his excursions about the room, disregarding the fact Archimedes had knocked over Malfoy's Nimbus 2001 onto a discarded deck of Exploding Snap, and had proceeded to crash into Goyle, who'd merely grunted in his sleep. As Archimedes had gotten up, he bumped Nott's experimental potion for counter-acting the Draught of the Living Death, causing it to crash. The fumes had caused the owl to move twice as fast and to become extraordinarily hyperactive.
Blaise, being the smart boy that he was, knew that there'd be hell to pay if his owl were caught destroying Nott's potion. It took him twenty minutes to capture the damn bird, and another ten struggling to get him back into his cage.
By the time the Slytherin has managed to leave in a state of almost-dignity, he'd had a hand clamped over his right eye to keep it from twitching, and the expression on his face...
Needless to say, no one spoke to him as he sat down to a late breakfast. He was eternally grateful for that, as he'd likely Avada Kedavra anyone who'd dare interrupt his most cherished of meals, thereby losing Slytherin House all its points, and sending him straight to Azkaban.
Assuming, of course, his uncle didn't manage to throttle him the moment Blaise turned his back, as the first was probably much worse in his uncle's opinion. Particularly considering the current situation of the family.
Speaking of which, Blaise needed to meet his uncle immediately. The letter he'd been sent was explicit in its instructions. As it was Saturday, and Blaise made a habit of finishing any schoolwork as quickly as possible whilst remaining correct, he couldn't find a single cover that'd be remotely believable.
Sometimes Blaise hated being both intelligent and ambitious.
He stalked his way to the dungeons. A group of first year Hufflepuffs scattered as he strode past, more than one whispering about how the Slytherin sixth year had likely been caught fighting a single hand brawl against all the Gryffindors the previous evening. After all, why else would he look in such horrible condition and have a hand over his eye?
He almost turned and snarled at them, but with both eyes twitching now, as well as feeling too enraged to properly speak in order to threaten, he felt his intimidation skills would be lacking.
Finally, he reached the Potions dungeon. He knocked on Professor Snape's office door and waited. He concentrated very hard on making his face and mind blank. He'd discovered over the years his Head of House was a minor Legilimens, one who needed the Legilimens spell to read more than surface thoughts.
As a precaution against both Snape and his fellow Slytherins, Blaise had been learning Occlumency. He found the text, How to Lie to A Mind Reader: A Slytherin's Guide to Protecting Your Gray Matter by Beschermde Mening, particularly useful in this, as it explained the steps of learning in detail, whilst providing practical uses for the skill of Occlumency in the political or business world.
"Enter."
The voice shook him from his reveries. Cautiously, the sixth year opened the door and entered. He noted the haggard appearance of the man sitting behind the desk immediately, but mentally catalogued it as a possible act. Blaise calmly stood there, waiting for his Head of House to finish scrawling on the parchment. As time continued to pass, the young man leaned against the wall.
Snape abruptly stopped writing, and set his quill into the inkwell. "I suppose you think yourself clever, boy, for figuring out that little trick." His glittering black eyes caught his.
Blaise merely asked quietly, "You wished to speak with me, uncle?"
"Knight to F Three."
"Uncle-"
"Silence, boy. I'm trying to get this piece to move. Knight, F Three."
"But, y'see, Uncle Sev-"
"I said silence, and if you call me that ridiculous name again, I will be forced to give you a drink of Veritaserum and stick you in the Slytherin Common Room. Knight, F Three!"
"Uncle Sev, listen-"
"I dislike repeating myself! Knight, F Three! Move, you bloody piece of stone, move!" A fist slammed down on the table next to the chessboard. The pieces jumped and fell across the floor and board. Severus quirked an eyebrow as he noticed their lack of complaints. He glanced up at the young man's face, which was perfectly calm. Naturally, Severus grew even more annoyed. He glared at his 'nephew.' "It's a Muggle board."
"Excellent deduction, Uncle Sev. Kindly help me reset the board so we can play, please." The young man reached down and began picking up the pieces that had fallen to the floor.
The pale man glared at him before resetting the pieces that hadn't fallen. "I'm still going to poison you for calling me that."
Blaise shrugged indifferently as he finished setting the pieces up on his side. "Go ahead. Mum would go into conniptions, though. You know how she is about murder attempts on the family." He watched his uncle move the knight. The young Slytherin moved a pawn in response. Severus reached for his other knight, mirroring his first move. Blaise move the pawn again.
"By the way, Blaise, the fifth use of Manticore needles is not 'stabbing one's uncle for giving this bloody assignment in the first place.' Imaginative response, but incorrect all the same." The Potions professor's black eyes glittered as he moved.
Blaise grinned and advanced his piece.
Damn that boy for having the same sense of humor as himself!
He moved his knight to avoid it being taking, then swore to himself as it was taken from an angle he hadn't seen anyway.
They continuedthe game in relative silence, Blaise occasionally asking questions relating to Potions work. The boy had a brilliant mind, to the extent that Severus would not have been surprised to see him in Ravenclaw. But he was damn well glad that the boy was in Slytherin. Easier to keep an eye on his errant 'nephew' that way.
As the game grew more pressuring, Blaise seemed to be struck by a thought. "I nearly forgot. Mum sent a letter to be passed to you." The young man pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to his 'uncle.'
Severus glanced at him, obviously wondering what the game was now. He reached into his robes and withdrew a curved dagger. He took the letter in one hand andcut open the seal (a runespoor under the words "Juge Pas") with the other.
Dear Cousin Severus:
I trust you have been well, as there has been no mention of you passing. In fact, there has been barely a mention of you at all. My son has never spoken of you, other than saying he occasionally spends time with you. I'm curious as to why this is. Especially considering the fact you are the least sociable creature on the planet.
And kindly note, you're talking to a Zabini, who are not known for being social butterflies.
He glanced up as he heard a muttering from his 'nephew.' Noticing nothing notably suspicious, he returned to the letter.
Now, I've come to have a few theories over his visiting you. Either he enjoys you company, which, while I doubt, is possible; you are tutoring him in something that he should not be taught at all, which is rather likely considering your history; he simply doesn't wish to speak much, which I can believe; or he has his own agenda and is using your relation to one another as an excuse.
Kindly let me know the moment you have discovered which.
Your 'Matronly' Cousin,
Tristan Snape Zabini
Severus slid the letter into its envelope and into his pocket. He looked at his nephew sitting across the board. There was something different about this view as compared to when he last glanced at him. He caught his "nephew's" eyes, and tried to read whatever Blaise was thinking. Nothing; apparently the Slytherin was much more advanced at Occlumency than Potter. Naturally. He mentally shrugged and reached for a rook.
"Hey! Wha' th' bloo'y 'ell d'ye think ye're doin'!" The piece shrieked. Severus started, then glared at his 'nephew.'
"What?"
Blaise sat at his usual table in the Library. His temper not much improved since the morning excursion of attempting to leave his room, as well as news on the grapevine of a looming Arithmancy test on Monday ("DAMN ALL TEACHERS TO THE DANKEST HOLES IN HELL!" was a common cry among frustrated students in that class), his concentration was shot straight to hell. After stalking through the shelves, he randomly chose a book and sat. 'Hélas, j'ai Transfiguré mes Pieds by Malecrit. How wonderful.'
Acte 1, Scène 1
Entre Roland
Roland : Non seulement mes jambes sont-elles charmées ensemble, j'ont les pieds d'un lézard ! Je ne peux pas être vu comme ceci !
Blaise snickered to himself as he decided that the translation of the author's name also fit as a description of his literature. A clearing of a throat stopped his display of mirth, and had him pointing his wand in the direction of the noise. He looked up to see a strange young girl, wearing robes with the Ravenclaw emblem sewn on.
He studied her in a quick glance, trying his damnedest to place her. Wide eyes, vacant expression that was typically only seen on the face of a Ravenclaw during Binn's cure for insomnia of a class, and a wand tucked behind her left ear. Ah, yes, Lovegood, the ever eccentric girl that was always being robbed.
"Yes?" He drawled, still not lowering his wand.
"I'd like to sit at this table. I'd sit at the others, but they chatter and whisper too much, and it distracts me from my assignment."
He considered this. "Did you consider there might be a good reason I'm the only one sitting over here?"
Lovegood shrugged. "I assume it would be because you were snapping at anything that was moving since you walked in. If you don't mind, I would like to sit and get back to work. I just found an entry regarding Heliopaths, and I would like to continue."
Blaise lowered his wand and stuck it back inside his robes. "Heliopaths?"
She nodded vigorously and sat across the table. "Spirits of flame. The Ministry raises them for secret operations. It's in the Quibbler."
He said nothing, then tasted blood after a moment. He realized then that he'd unconsciously bit his tongue very hard to keep from commenting on the quality of journalism lately. Grinding his teeth, Blaise returned to his book. Dammit, he thought, as his eye began twitching.
This was becoming a very bad week.
A/N: I'm changing things, starting from the beginning a bit more. Hopefully it'll be much more smooth this time around. My thanks to my readers (my sympathies to you for reading this), my reviewers (God/Goddess/Higher Power bless your hearts. Or damn them, if you prefer), and my flying penguins. What? Don't look at me in that tone of voice!
