Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

Hello. This is an idea I wanted to get out before the sixth Harry Potter book arrived. It is a Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger story, and I tried to make it as canon as possible. Really, I swear. I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

Career Choices

Chapter One: The Meeting

Hermione Granger's morning routine was, to put it mildly, extremely precise. She woke on the spot at a quarter to seven, freshened herself up by seven-fifteen, and then headed toward the Great Hall to do some schoolwork before eight, when breakfast was served. And that was just a mere summary of her morning regime.

It was habit and normal and never changing. And Hermione liked her normalcy, favoring it to change any day. Yes, Hermione would much prefer the comfort that sameness allowed. The security of knowing that the next day things would be the same, okay. That they would be safe, free from new worries and pain. No, she'd rather life not to change, for while changes could be amazing, changes could also be very, very bad.

This had been carefully deduced, thought out with mindful precision and care. After all, Hermione Granger rarely did anything on a whim. Even her thoughts were vigilantly planned, as if she were writing an essay, for she had plenty of evidence to back up her thesis on change. Take just Harry for example. Harry wasn't the same person she met on the Hogwarts Express in her first year. The circumstances of fifth year had him shutting himself away, refusing to accept help. He had been a terror to talk to, and she was so sure he would explode any second with his newfound apoplexy. But now, as the summer had passed and sixth year had started, he had changed to act completely different about his situation. Lately, he was being extremely cheerful, and overly touchy-feely. He'd hug her for no particular reason, or lean against her when tired. She wouldn't deny that it was nice, but it just didn't seem real. When he thought no one was looking, his smile would falter, and his grip would loosen. She hated wondering what his motives were for doing such close things, why he felt the need to act cheerful. She just wasn't sure she really knew him anymore.

And unfortunately, that was just one example in her life. No, no, she did not like change all that much. Unless, that is, without her knowing exactly what was to occur. Which was rare, so no, she did not like change.

This Monday morning started out like any other. The moment she woke up to her alarm clock stating "six-forty-five," her biological clock clicked into gear. Rubbing her eyes to rid them of excess tiredness, she ambled to her closet and grabbed her uniform. She then headed towards the bathroom and once the door was firmly closed, she relieved herself, took a short bath, and then had brushed her teeth with great care and vigor, all of her parent's frequent warnings of plaque and cavities and gum disease ringing in her ears. Once she had finished the technicalities of getting ready for the day, she turned to the mirror and allowed herself to be a girl for those few precious minutes.

She groaned at the blemish marking the flesh by her ear, touching the redness with distaste. She had been blessed so far with relatively clear skin, but always was afraid that maybe she was abnormal, that her hormones weren't functioning properly, that she would break out any second. In truth, it was a rather frightening concept, but as to the matter at hand, nothing a little concealing makeup wouldn't hide. She plucked a few stray eyebrows hairs, then worked the barest amount of mascara on her eyelashes and natural-toned eye shadow on her eyelids. She added a dash of lip-gloss, and surveyed herself in the mirror. Even with all that effort, she still looked as if she hadn't done anything to herself. The makeup was so bare it would take almost microscopic observation to notice. But it was now time for the final touch. What would make her shoot up to the "normal-looking" rung in the beauty ladder.

Last summer, she had found the perfect shampoo and conditioner. Perfect. It hadn't made her hair completely sleek and shiny, she doubted anything inexpensive could, but it had tamed her frizzy locks to the point where she could run a brush through it. That alone was cause for celebration and idolatry and praise. And while no one noticed the makeup, everyone noticed her hair. Granted, it wasn't as pretty as she had had it at the Yule Ball in fourth year, but she was efficient, and unfortunately for her, she knew spending an approximate two hours suffocating her hair in Sleakeasy's everyday wouldn't be the best time consumer. Not to mention it was ridiculously costly. Thank God for Muggles and the economically inexpensive Pantene Pro-V.

With the miracle hair products working their wonders in her hair and her hair still somewhat damp, she ran her brush through a couple of times, then twisted it deftly into a loose bun, artfully letting a few strands fall. She gazed at the final product in the mirror with care; she was a perfectionist in most things, but with her looks, this would do.

She had started worrying about her looks after the Yule Ball, not that she had wanted to. After everyone had been thoroughly shocked at her groomed, beautiful state that night, they seemed rather disappointed when she wasn't the day after. Their dissatisfied manner totally surprised her; were they that upset she had gone back to being her normal self? Was she really that bad looking? It had plagued her all through the rest of the year, and when she returned home for summer holiday, she had asked her mom for help. Her mom had been mildly surprised, but after the initial shock, she was wonderful, helping her choose tones that weren't too gaudy, shades that were just right, and as with all things, Hermione took to learning how to apply the makeup with great meticulousness. She had also gone with her mother on a massive shopping spree, buying so many articles of clothing it had made her head spin. And of course, she had found the miracle shampoo and conditioner set. She wasn't exactly searching for something to pretty herself, but with the makeup, she felt more confident somehow, that at least she was a semi-normal girl and that she had tried.

She glanced once more at her appearance before leaving, noting with satisfaction the hands on her clock pointing to seven-fourteen. Her roommates were just starting to get up, and Hermione folded her bed sheets, watching as they charmed their beds to make themselves. Perhaps it was the Muggle in her, but she just couldn't do such mundane things as setting the bed with the help of magic, it felt too odd to her, too indolent.

It was seven-fifteen now. Right on time. She gathered her supplies for the day's classes, collecting her quills and parchment and shrinking her books. She then placed them in her book bag, and shouldering it carefully, walked briskly out of the dormitory, through the common room, and out the Gryffindor House.

By the time she reached the Great Hall, it was seven-twenty-one, and she was about to enter when a rather large sign on the notice board caught her eye. The Prefects had instated the notice board almost immediately when the school year started. One Ravenclaw Prefect had suggested it, arguing that with it by the entrance to the Great Hall, no one could miss it, and would be an efficient way of keeping track of things. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and Dumbledore had okayed it, so the following morning, Hagrid set up a massive one that never ran out of space. Now, only a week later, notices were being put on all the time. Reminders of Quidditch practices and trials, notes bearing the date of meetings, flyers suggesting tutors and class-help. Altogether, a minor success.

But this sign that had caught her attention spanned almost the whole board, and one would have to be blind not to notice. As she walked closer to the board, she realized that it was a message to all sixth years by the four House Heads and Headmaster Dumbledore. How very peculiar, Hermione thought with surprise, scanning the sign quickly.

Sixth Years Career Project

This message is for all current sixth years. Today, on the 8th of September, Monday, please congregate in the Great Hall after breakfast, at nine. We will meet to discuss your sixth year Career project. More details will be given to you then.

Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Vector, Headmaster Dumbledore

Hermione furrowed her brow in contemplation. Well, if this wasn't extremely odd. Since when had there been a career project? She was sure she would have heard about it, or at least have read it in Hogwarts, A History. What was going on here? Well, at least one thing would be sure. With this monstrous sign posted, no one was bound to miss it.

Hermione stiffened upon feeling a presence behind her, and she turned slightly to see who it was. She glanced at his face, and then looked back at the sign, feeling slightly self-cautious. She recognized him; he was a Slytherin in their year. And she was pretty sure he was in her arithmancy class as well. What was his name again? Hermione started as she desperately tried to rack her memory; what was his name?

Give or take a minute later, she continued to stand next to the boy, brows furrowing in frustration. Oh, how could she not know her own classmate's name? There were only about twenty people at most in her graduating class alone, most likely less. She should've at least known her own year. How could she miss one person, even if he was a Slytherin? Especially if he was in Slytherin. Know thy enemy, Hermione Granger, know thy enemy. Hermione paused in her inner rant, realizing that the boy next to her was gazing at her with a blank expression etched onto his face. Oh, just brilliant. Why not make a fool of herself in front of a boy she didn't even know? Somehow, she managed to pull herself together enough to smile sheepishly at the Slytherin before quickly entering the Hall.

Not soon after she had settled in her own seat and had poured herself a cuppa did the boy walk in and sit at the Slytherin table on the far left side of the Hall. She took a sip of her coffee, and feeling rejuvenated by the luscious caffeine, felt comfort in the fact that they were so far away now that he probably wouldn't notice if she was observing.

He was not bad to look at, handsome even. She blushed inwardly, slightly ashamed for the first thought that had popped into her head. But it was true, he was indeed very good looking. She couldn't really tell from here, but if her glance earlier amounted to anything, then he wasn't all that bad, not spectacularly gorgeous, but not bad either. Dark, wavy locks of hair framed his face and his skin was tanned just so. His face was angular, but not pointy like Malfoy's, and his jaw line was decent enough. But it was his eyes that did her in. Hermione almost melted when she glimpsed into them, for they were the deepest, cerulean gray, a conflicting storm. He was so very tall, too. Not Ron-tall, but like all of the boys her age, a good few inches taller than her. She wondered how Parvati and Lavender could've missed him.

It was when she thought like this that she was almost painfully aware of her feminine mind.

People never gave her a chance. It was always Hermione, the frigid, virgin, book-hugging nerd, who was too good for thinking about romance and boys and sex. Hermione snorted at the stereotype. How very untrue. Well, she didn't think about sex much, just that she'd like to have it with the man she loved at least once in her life time, but the first two items? Sometimes she thought that she thought about them too much, at night, when she was alone to battle her thoughts and emotions.

Of course, studies always came first, no doubt at all. There was no way she was about to let lust have control over her schoolwork. But, studies aside, she thought it would be rather nice to have a romance, to be able to have a relationship with a man. Of course, with everyone thinking Hermione to be Harry Potter's best friend and resident nerd, she was okay with no relationship at the time being. For in the meantime, there were men at Hogwarts to look at. Well, actually, not really.

Not that she dwelled too often of the subject of men, but on the rare occasions when she allowed herself to, she had felt awfully foolish for it afterwards. She had even written some or her thoughts out to prove the nonsensicality.

Harry- Rock-hard abs, from all that seeker practice, I bet. Quidditch did well for him in the end, minus the major chance of falling off and dying. He's lean, but not overly so, hasn't quite grown into his body yet. Saw without shirt off once quite by accident. Abs are a definite plus. Why am I still talking about abs? Abs abs abs. Face is relatively cute, shaped just so, and begs often to just "forgive me". Can't say no with those vivid, jade puppy eyes staring into mine, so soulless and pitiful. His hands are rather large in comparison to mine, and you know what they say about big hands. His glasses add to his cuteness and I can't picture him without. Hair is always tousled and mussed and looks like he just woke up. I love it.

Ron- No offense, but bright hair isn't doing much for his looks. Not to mention his freckles, god, they're everywhere! Makes me wonder if the places I haven't seen are freckled too, but that's another, rather gross thought I do not want to be thinking of. He's sort of gangly. No, screw niceness. He's really, really, ridiculously gangly. One would think he hasn't eaten in decades, which is totally preposterous just seeing him eat breakfast. In short, isn't the best looking. Too red, almost like a stop sign.

Seamus- Surprisingly better looking than expected. Got that incredibly adorable next-door-neighbor thing going on. He's got one too many freckles, but not enough to be Ron. Thank God (no offense my best friend ever, if you are reading this, and why you, my male friend would be reading a guy rating list is beyond me). His sandy hair is cut so adorably this year, and it looks so soft. I wonder what it feels like. Overall cute, nothing too ugly on his part. Except for the few pimples I have noticed on his forehead, but that is a normal effect of raging hormones, though oh, how its ugliness pains me.

Malfoy- Haven't seen him with his shirt off yet, and I'm afraid. Why do I want to? Will I swoon? Blonde hair is abominable. Mushroom cut was a bad idea and I would've sued the hairdresser if my hair was as ugly. Granted, he's Malfoy, so he's probably quartered and castrated the poor barber already, but still. So very ugly. Not to mention, even without the horrible haircut, its bleached state burns like the sun, blinding my eyes. Hair is a major minus. Skin is also a minus. Has he ever been tanning? You would think with all that money they'd have gone to the beach at least once in their lifetime. Still, don't know why girls think he's gorgeous. Perhaps it is because he is dangerous and rich, in which case look at other list for guy personality ratings.

Yes, it really was ridiculous.

She had no idea how Lavender and Parvati's lives could be so centered on boys. It seemed so stupid and such a waste of time to Hermione. Yes, they were a rather...nice distraction, but at this point in their lives, that's all boys should be. Damn her female, teenage raging hormones. But no, she could not dwell on this matter anymore. She had more important things to accomplish, to achieve in her life.

She glanced once more at the Slytherin's figure in admiration before turning to her work. School had only been in session for a week, but that had not stopped Professor McGonagall from assigning them a six-foot essay due later in the day, and Hermione had some last minute revision to do before turning it in. Hermione Granger was always 100 focused and prepared, and no boy would change that. She started rereading her essay, soon lost in her own written words.

She was an odd Muggle, that Hermione Granger.

Blaise continued to sip his coffee, unmoving in her blatant observation. Well, it wasn't blatant. Rather discreet really, didn't know Gryffindors were that sneaky. But not sneaky enough; Blaise could feel her eyes trained on his form.

He wasn't sure whether he should be pleased or worried. Hermione Granger trying to examine him? Him? A Slytherin? Very odd, indeed. He supposed she might've been checking him out, in which case kudos to her. He didn't know she had it in her. Not that he was exactly good-looking or anything. After all, girls didn't look at him much, but then again, no one really did. He supposed he wasn't too awful though, in the looks department that is.

He had noticed the small changes Hermione had made over the last year, both physical and non-physical. It had been all over her face. Quite literally, actually. He remembered being so stunned upon seeing her rather sudden transformation. Granted, her conversion had been rather discreet, but he had noticed. He noticed almost everything. The makeup was light, her after school clothes more formfitting and fashionable. Those had been minor changes. Then there was her hair, much sleeker than before, but that, of course, everyone saw. She had somehow grown to hold herself with a slight nervousness about her appearance that he hadn't seen before. Today for example, she was sporting a decently short navy blue skirt with a slightly daring maroon top. She had her school robes in one hand, and her feet were adorned with low-heeled sandals. It was different, it was feminine.

It was also so very out of character. Who had known what a little clean up could do, even for Granger? She still wasn't stereotypically pretty, per say, but she wasn't awful to look at. She was almost...boring, just like all the other girls at Hogwarts. It was slightly disappointing to see her try to pretty herself up like other girls. He had thought her ridiculously bushy hair and unappealing clothes suited her just fine. But on the other hand, perhaps she was trying to prove something. Perhaps to the Boy Who Lived?

He had been entertaining this thought for quite a while now, with reasonable backing of course. Everyone knew of the famous Weasley-Granger row that night of the Yule Ball. Whispers of the news that Harry Potter's best friends were fighting had been passed quickly through the corridors of Hogwarts with glee from the gossiping witches. And of course the Slytherins knew; a crack in the trio was welcome as amusement any day in the Slytherin commons. But Blaise had been watching the Gryffindors closely, and while he thought the argument was inevitable, what with Weasley's irate jealousy and Granger's desire to be noticed, it didn't seem to mean much. That is, if the two Gryffindors did like each other that way, than he was sure it was a passing fancy. Well, for Granger at least. Weasley seemed to be rather infatuated with the girl, gazing at her when he thought no one was looking, but unaware that Blaise was always watching. He mightn't have looked so much if he knew a Slytherin was recording each of his movements very carefully.

But on to Potter. Hermione may've had a passing fancy for Weasley, but it didn't seem much like it now. It was plain to Blaise that Hermione was paying so much more attention to Potter than the redheaded fool. He wasn't sure why, only that they were spending a lot more time with each other than usual. Walks to the lake of the giant squid, talking in the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch, laughing and chatting with each other in Potions. Physically, they were much closer as well. Potter would wrap an arm around her, or she would lean against him. Blaise wasn't sure whether to think much of it. As of now, he was merely investigating the possibility. Just in case, it could be beneficial later. For Blaise was an observer by occupation, and observe he would.

The Dark Lord had truly emerged and had come to power during their fourth year, but that was no secret. Not with Potter spreading the word, what with the Quibbler and Dumbledore and everything. The Dark Lord had been searching for fresh, blood-loyal recruits to join his throng of Death Eaters, and Andre Zabini had gladly offered his son.

To put it simply, Blaise had been rather anxious about the matter, and he and Malfoy had waited outside the room while their fathers conversed with the Dark One. Both of them were stoic and composed, Blaise with a blank expression and Malfoy smirking, and both knowing that to show emotion was a sign of weakness. But Blaise's perceptive eye took in everything, and while both had been trained well to hide thoughts and emotions, he knew from Draco's slight erratic breathing and the tightening of his fists, that he was incredibly nervous. Still outwardly calm, Blaise watched as Draco entered and left with his father, and greeted the Malfoys politely before entering the clammy room.

It was very dark, the torches on the wall casting flickering, fleeting shadows on the mass of pale gauntness. As he bowed his head in formal greeting, he winced as a sharp pain shot through his head, and he could almost feel the Dark Lord sifting through his every thought and feeling. It was quite an invasion of privacy in Blaise's opinion. He felt increasingly worse as the Dark Lord cut his connection, eyeing Blaise thoughtfully. Blaise was sure he was to be murdered right then. The Dark Lord needed people who had a thirst to see Muggle blood, to murder and rape and enjoy it. Blaise wasn't interested. He wasn't a pacifist, but by no means was he willing to sully his hands with Muggle blood either. It was a very long story. So he just stood in front of the Dark Lord that summer night, head bowed in reverence and shame of his unwillingness to kill.

But the Dark Lord had merely chuckled, sending shivers of icy coldness down his spine. The Dark Lord whispered in high-pitched notes, but Blaise heard every word perfectly, "Blaise Zabini...you seem to not have a desire to join me. Do you not agree with my cause?"

Granted, just because he didn't want to kill didn't mean he wanted to die. How on earth could he pull this off when the Dark Lord could read his mind? "You misunderstand, my Lord. I agree with your ideals perfectly."

The Dark Lord paused in his perusal of Blaise's features, "Look at me."

Blaise obeyed, cold and stiff as the Dark Lord's piercing, lifeless, scarlet eyes bore into his. It was rather eerie to see the Dark Lord smile. His emaciated face sort of twitched before lips pursed into a feral, disconcerting grin, "You are quiet. Quite the observer, I can tell. Young Malfoy has told his father all about how you notice many things they never do." Blaise was immobile, unaware of where this was going. Was he not going to kill him? But no, it wouldn't do to get his hopes up. "Perhaps you do not wish to fight." Blaise forced himself to continue looking at his face, unmoving in the Dark Lord's gaze. If possible, the Dark Lord's grin grew, "In which case, I have an ulterior, perhaps even more important role for you. You go to Hogwarts this next year as a classmate of Harry Potter and his friends, along with young Malfoy and the others, yes?"

Blaise hated to admit this in any situation, but he had no idea as to what was going on. He would play along of course, if only to save his life. "That is correct, my Lord."

The corners of the Dark Lord's lip twitched. "Wonderful. Perhaps you would like to be a spy? Especially since you seem to have such an innate ability to do so already. Do you agree?"

Well, that was an interesting, bluntrequest. As to be expected, there was no room for argument. "Of course, my Lord."

"Good," the Dark Lord hissed, red eyes gazing with consideration, "You do not wish to fight. Normally, that would be a problem. But...then...perhaps, if you are unwilling to fight, then you can do the exact opposite." His grin was feral. "You are an intelligent young man, if my sources prove correct. Perhaps you could use that intelligence to work as a healer. How would you feel to be the Dark Lord's resident mediwizard?"

Had the Dark Lord just attempted to make a joke? That was alarming in itself, not to mention it wasn't very funny. Blaise nodded his assent, knowing he couldn't disagree, "I would be honored, my Lord."

The Dark Lord nodded in approval and dismissed him. "Brilliant. You may go now. When you are of age, you along with young Malfoy and the rest will be initiated. As for now, I expect you to owl your father with any...interesting news worthy of my knowledge concerning your school. Remember, young Blaise, I expect excellence. Andre," he addressed Blaise's father, "I am quite impressed with your son. I expect the Zabinis will accomplish great things in the near future."

Andre Zabini bowed deeply, robes skimming the stone flooring. "Thank you, Master." Hand on Blaise's back, he guided them to the small alcove outside, and he addressed his son with pride etched into his baritone voice, "It is quite an honor to be noted so personally by the Dark Lord. I was sure he would've paid more attention to Lucius' son, if anyone else. You would do well to obey and serve diligently."

"Of course, father." And that was that.

Blaise sipped his coffee once more; reveling in the caffeine working it's way into his blood. It had been only a little more than a year ago since that fated meeting. And since then, he hadn't really done much. He had continued to quietly observe, but that was a part of his nature, so it wasn't new for him. He wasn't exactly one for words, preferring not to talk if necessary. After all, why waste words? He believed words to be a very powerful entity, and it didn't do to abuse language in such a frivolous manner. But even when the summer ended and fifth year started, he didn't do anything differently.

He had noticed in their fifth year a group of students that would continuously seek refuge in the Room of Requirements, and lo and behold, the golden trio was a part of it. But what they were doing seemed like child's play. He had heard that Hufflepuff Prefect, Macmillan, discussing it with Smith. Nevertheless, he mentioned his observations in a letter to his father, and the next thing he knew, the Dark Lord was smiling again at him, pleased that Blaise had caught Potter's scheme to better prepare himself against the Dark Lord. The next day, Malfoy and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad had a field day trying to catch all involved in the secret club. A Ravenclaw had also divulged Potter's secret that day, and it was the perfect excuse. Blaise had stood by the entire time, watching with faint amusement. So observing was not a problem. The second agenda was a little more difficult to cope with, however.

He had never thought of being a mediwizard before the Dark Lord had suggested it. A healer? Why on earth would he want to be a healer? In the scheme of things, he doubted the Dark Lord would need a healer, or any of the death eaters for that matter. It was either live or die with the circumstances, so why would the Dark Lord want a healer on their side? On the bright side, it really wasn't a bad occupation. He supposed the Dark Lord could've asked for worse. And if they ever lived through the war, he could make good money as a healer. They definitely were decently paid. Either way, no need to dwell on thoughts best left alone. There was no way of getting out of being a healer, he might as well not question. A mediwizard he was going to have to be.

Breakfast was amazing, but that was to be expected. Today, the elves had whipped out a pancake bonanza, heaping stacks of dough interspersed with delicious maple syrup oozing on top. It was utterly heavenly. Mealtimes at the Slytherin table were hardly noisily crazy like the Gryffindors. While they too amused themselves and got along, they were much more polite and quiet about it. Today though, many were excitably inquiring as to the meeting about the career project.

Speaking of which, what on earth had Granger been thinking, standing there in front of the board and staring at him so? She had such a concentrated look on her face, and she kept glancing at him in confusion. Yes, she was definitely an odd one. It would be most amusing to figure her out.

Malfoy's voice cut through, lazy and deliberate. "I say, does anyone know what this career project is? I haven't heard of it before, so I suppose it must have just started this year. Surprising they didn't tell the prefects at least...does anyone know anything about it?"

Theodore Nott shrugged lightly but cautiously in response, attacking his pancakes with vigor. Bulstrode shook her head, "Haven't a clue. No one I've asked knows anything. It's a career project though, so I'm guessing it has something to do with our future jobs."

Malfoy snorted, "Really, Bulstrode. I meant besides that obvious fact." It was rather weird, to see Draco being somewhat civil and decent with the Slytherins and then a complete bastard to the trio. He sighed, spearing his fork through a stack of pancakes. "A sixth year project. Sounds boring."

"Yeah. Boring," Crabbe grunted. Malfoy rolled his eyes at his dim bodyguard. Why Draco still kept the two around Blaise didn't know. Draco stuffed his mouth with flour soaked in maple syrup.

"So, Zabini, what's your opinion?" Blaise glanced at the smirking blond, who was lazily twirling his fork with his pampered fingers.

He hated when Malfoy did that.

Malfoy had decided last summer that Blaise really didn't speak enough. Which was true, no doubt, so now he was doing his very best to include Blaise in every bloody conversation he had. Granted, Blaise had a feeling that Malfoy really did appreciate what Blaise had to say, as he was definitely more intelligent than his two bodyguards combined. Blaise responded deliberately, "I haven't heard any news." Malfoy glared, unhappy with his short answer, and while Blaise would've liked to have kept it there, he voiced his opinions on Dumbledore, "I have a feeling that this is one of the headmaster's plans to promote relations with other Houses."

Malfoy scowled, "Oh damn it, that old coot never stops." He leaned back in his chair, "Silly old fuck."

Parkinson looked thoughtful, "Makes sense though, doesn't it? Dumbledore's a freak that way." She smiled at Blaise, impressed by his answer. "You're way too perceptive for your own good. You should be tranquilized."

Malfoy grinned, "Only if I get the honors."

Blaise continued to eat his breakfast with a calm, practiced manner, "When I die, I surely doubt it would be by your hands. Or, at least I hope not."

Malfoy scoffed, chest puffing out with pride. "You bloody well should hope not. I'm rather vicious. I am!" He declared, glaring at the girls, who were now giggling at Malfoy and his viciousness.

Blaise's eye twitched, taking in the scene. He offhandedly wondered what the Gryffindors would think if they saw the Slytherins eating and conversing, being almost normal teenagers. Somehow, he doubted they would believe it. It wasn't that the Slytherins weren't evil, as most of them very well were, but with the Dark Lord looming over them all, they needed to at least pretend to enjoy their life. They understood each other, worked together. They accepted each other's parents and pure blood. It was all a matter of who would get you the farthest. Rather logical, really.

Trust was a different thing altogether. Sure, they had classes together and laughed about Potter, but they by no means, trusted one another. Each of them had found ways to protect themselves in case someone was to kill them at night. Nott had set up a charm which signified if someone was near his bed with ill intentions, a rather tricky charm involving a long-lasting potion he had to take every six months. Blaise knew by the potions ingredients Nott had tried to hide under his bed. Malfoy performed theSonitus spell each night, a rather annoying spell that would alert with a loud noise if someone came to close to him while he slept. He knew this since Goyle had once tried to wake Malfoy up in the middle of the night, only to wake the whole room up with the shriek of a banshee, and had put two and two together. Crabbe and Goyle, well, if those big lumps by their sleeping forms were anything, then Blaise suspected all that they had to keep themselves safe were huge bats. Blaise, he used an extremely effective Fides spell which procured an extremely sturdy, invisible force field thatonly let in the people he trusted. And since Blaise didn't trust anyone, all the more for that spell.

Oh yes, they definitely didn't trust one another.

The pancakes were scrumptious, and before they knew it, the clock had struck nine. The sixth years, about twenty or so, remained while the rest of Hogwarts filed out of the Hall. As soon as the Hall was cleared, the headmaster requested them to move closer to the Professor table, so they did. Once the sixth years were settled, the professors, being as proficient as they were, didn't waste any time.

"I hope you all have enjoyed your breakfast," Professor Dumbledore started, eyes gazing at the group of inquisitive students, "for now we will discuss the first ever sixth year career project. We have decided that in order to prepare you further for your chosen careers, it would be wise to get you started right now. That is, you will be put in groups of three, with people who are also interested in the same career as you are. You will learn skills for your career, as well as how to get along with other people, especially as chances are, you will be with people of other houses," he raised a hand to the immediate groans that resulted from the announcement, "I will admit that this is one of the reasons this project is being instated. However, as proud Hogwarts students, I am hoping you will be mature about it and learn to cope with what you are given." His tone was steeled, and many reeled back at his harsh manner.

Professor McGonagall added, "We are aware that many of you aren't sure of what you want your career to be as of yet, but we have come up with a solution. Professor Flitwick has taken the time to charm four hats, much like the sorting hat. Only, instead of sorting you into Houses, they will inform you as to what your career could be, based on your interests and personalities. You will have the rest of the day off to think about what career you would be interested in, and by eight o'clock tonight, you should have gone to your Head of House to either wear the hat or tell them of your decision. Are there any questions?"

A flurry of hands shot in the air.

"How long is this project?" asked Bones, a rather giggly girl who was too freckled and pale for her own good.

Professor McGonagall faltered, and she turned to the Headmaster almost in plea. The Headmaster chuckled, "Well, it will take up most of your sixth and seventh year. I forgot to mention this earlier," somehow, Blaise doubted that, "but with this project you will also be assigned new classes and such to be with your group members." A roar resounded through the Hall as students angrily protested the idea. Professor McGonagall skillfully ignored them and signaled for Abbot to ask her question.

"What if you try on the hat, and it gives you an idea, but you are still unsure of what you want to be?" A number of hands lowered themselves with this question sheepishly. Blaise was rather surprised. They were in sixth year already, and had had their career meeting with their Head of House last year. Surely they had some semblance of an idea of what they were to be by now? Then again, how would he know? He had never had a choice.

Professor McGonagall nodded understandingly, "That is a very good question. It is all right if you aren't sure of what you want to be even then. I would say, that if you are unsure, then go with the hat's suggestion. However, if you change your mind in the middle of the project, we will do our best to work around the issue and perhaps you can switch out of the group. However, I do not recommend doing so as it will take quite a lot of effort and time. So, think carefully this afternoon."

Professor Snape cut in, drawling with perfected ease, "I know it is hard for you lot, but please, try not to be stupid." Professor McGonagall glared at him, and Professor Snape drawled on, "This will affect your entire future, so do not be rash. I will not tolerate stupidity."

Professor McGonagall's voice was cold, laced with fury. "Thank you, Professor Snape." It was no secret that the professors had a little bit of a rivalry going on. Blaise thought it rather ridiculous. "Is that all? Are there any more questions?" No one raised their hand. "Good. More details will be given shortly. We will meet again tomorrow at the same time."

A shuffle of robes and bags was heard before they all left the Hall, anxious about the project. Many were chattering excitedly with their friends, and Draco had immediately gone on to discuss his prospects of being a professional Quidditch player. Blaise waved the Slytherins off, and took a slight breath before striding towards Professor Snape.

"Mr. Zabini,"Professor Snapeacknowledged, gazing at the boy with eyes narrowed. Blaise was sure Professor Snape knew of the Dark Lord's plans to make Blaise a healer. After all, Professor Snape was one of the Lord's finest. "A mediwizard, I suppose?" It was more a statement than a question, and Blaise nodded his response. "Yes, of course," said Professor Snape smoothly, "Of course." He motioned with his wand and brought a rather old, velvet hat forth, wrinkled and worn down with usage, "I suppose you wouldn't want to try on the hat anyway?"

Blaise paused for a halfsecond; it would be nice to see what he was meant to do if the Dark Lord hadn't insisted on his being a mediwizard, but how foolish to even bother. Perhaps it was better not knowing. He refused politely, and walked out of the Hall, shoes solidly clicking with each step on the cold ground.

Outside, the sixth years were making great use of their free time, many soaking up the sun in the courtyards. He could see the trio from here; it looked like Potter's head was in Granger's lap. How very interesting, another reason he could assume there was something brewing between the two. He walked past the courtyards to the lake, sitting under a massive oak he had grown to love as a shelter. There was something to be said for the tree he had sat under while the second task of the Triwizard tournament had been occurring. It was rather private, and not many thought to come this far out from the castle. It was a haven, his sanctuary.

Once there, he pondered. Mostly about the project. Who would he be stuck with for the next two years? He doubted he would actually mind any of them, none of them were that bad. Idealistic, yes; but not horribly rude per say. Perhaps that Abbot girl, she was a very sweet girl who probably would want to help people. And maybe Boot. Boot was a slight wussy, almost as bad of a bookworm as Granger, and he may've wanted to. But then again, any of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws could be a healer, what with them being so kind and intelligent. And speaking of Granger, the queen of goodwill, she had a large penchant for this hero business, though of course, she couldn't compare to Potter. Perhaps Granger would want to become a healer. The possibilities were surprisingly larger than he'd originally thought. Who on earth would he end up with?

This project might be very interesting indeed.

Author notes: Well, this is it. How did you like it so far? Don't worry, there will be more interaction with the characters than just them talking to themselves. Yes, have no worries there. And oh gee, I wonder who will be with Blaise? Hmm…this sure is a toughie.

Please review to tell me what you think. I would love to know what I'm doing wrong (or what I'm doing right, if I'm doing anything right), or what needs to be changed. I'm allowing you to criticize as much as you want. Lay it on me. My only request is that you do it constructively. This is my first fic, so be kind, please. Thank you for reading this, and please let me know what you think. See you in the next chapter!

Translations-
sonitus- noise
fides- trust, word of honor