Chapter II

'Good heavens, Blaise! What have you done to your hair?' Pansy gawked as she ran her fingers through the pale blond/orange growth that sat atop my head.
'I got bored,' I lied. I wasn't going to tell anyone here that I had inexpertly mixed a 'potion of wondrous eyebrow shaping.'
'Thought I'd shake things up.'

'Oh, well, I think it looks very daring,' enthused Pansy. 'Like that Quidditch player on the Magpies.'
Draco looked up from his sketchpad momentarily and snorted.
'Quiet hands, please, Pansy. Blaise doesn't like to be touched.'

I noticed Crabbe whisper something to Goyle that set them both laughing.
'Got something to say, Crabbe?'
Crabbe looked blank and shook his head. I walked casually towards him, wand in my hand.
'Come now, share with the class, Crabbe.'
Crabbe and Goyle blanched.
'Leave them, Goldilocks.'

I ignored Draco. 'Share your little joke with Uncle Blaise.' The tip of my wand tapped gently on the side of his nose, causing the oaf to go a little cross-eyed.
Malfoy's attention was now fixed on the pair of us. His sketchbook lay on the table. He nodded at Crabbe, who gulped and said, 'Just thought you looked...like a chocolate cake with caramel topping. Just hungry, suppose. Nothing by it, Blaise.'

'Done yet, Zabini? Now you know you'll be in Crabbe's gustatory fantasies for the next month. I hope you're happy.'
I put my wand away.
'Shut up, Draco. Show me your designs.'

We spent the better part of an hour going through Draco's sketchbook, doodlings, designs, and scrapwork, Draco getting increasingly excited the more he spoke.
'It's all going to be very glamourous, Blaise. Very sophisticated. Clean lines. No frumpy robes. No stupid hats. We're going to start wizard's fashion on its head! Right here! At the House of Malfoy. It's going to be a revolution in style.'
I looked around. Pansy was changing the colour of her nails with a wand tap. Crabbe and Goyle were silkscreening shirts that read 'Potter Stinks' or 'Snape Kills Dumbledore.'
'How did I get myself into this again?'

'You're like me, Blaise. We have nowhere else to go.'
With a shock I realised he was right. My mother had just recently re-married and her new husband wanted little or nothing to do with me. Home was no longer an option. And since the death of Dumbledore, neither was Hogwarts. I was low on money. Would have been homeless if I weren't so adept at searching out individuals who enjoyed my company. I was at a dead end, really.

'You, Blaise, will be our point of contact with the world. You will be the one who puts "House of Malfoy" in the ears of those who matter. You are going to turn my notoriety into a marketable commodity.'
I sat back and looked at Draco.
'When the Aurors fiddled with your brain, did they put it all back? Come on, Draco! PR man for the world's most hated boy's fashion line? Stay away from those dye vats, mate. I think the fumes are affecting you.'
Draco looked into my eyes. He seemd very tired.
'Blaise, you know who I work for.'

So there it was. The truth was finally on the table. Can't say I was surprised, but there's a difference between imagining what falling off a cliff is like and actually having someone push you.
Everyone was watching us.
'And when did he become interested in fashion?' I whispered.
'He wants followers, especially younger followers. The young are always more accepting of radical ideas--changing the status quo. The House of Malfoy is just one of many schemes to widen the base of the movement. We're in the war too, just we're fighting on the cultural front.'

I had wondered just what sort of game the Dark Lord was playing when Draco had resurfaced with his far-fetched story of Imperius curses. I was surprised he hadn't liberally sprinkled pieces of the ferret-faced bastard over Cheshire. From all accounts, Draco had failed. An eyewitness, Harry Potter in fact, had said that Draco had not been able to kill Dumbledore. Snape had to do it for him.
But now I saw it. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was strapped for followers and Draco might not be able to work as an assassin but there were other uses for the boy. The Dark Lord was not one to waste an asset.
But Blaise Zabini is nobody's asset.

'Is this supposed to be when you roll up your sleeve and show me the Dark Mark? Should I be cowering, Draco?'
'Most of the older ones, they said I should threaten you, but I knew it wouldn't work. It would push you in the other direction. I told them, if there is a way to get through to Blaise it is to appeal to him intellectually and...artistically. He'll do it because he wants to do it.'

Later that week when I met with Horace Slughorn it was because I wanted. The absurdity of Draco's proposal did have a certain crazed allure. Did I have the skill to organise something like this? Turn the Dark Lord into a product to be sold to the masses?
Well, I had to find out for myself.

'Blaise, it's been so long, my boy! What have you been up to, eh? How's your mother?'
Sluhorn was as globular and effusive as ever. His rooms were slightly shabbier than I remembered. I hoped that would make my job all the easier.
'I've been doing a little of this, a little of that, Professor.'
'Now, Blaise, you don't need to "Professor" at me. Technically you are no longer my student. Such a pity that. I wash you would reconsider. You could have such a great future, you know.'
I made sure the door was locked.
'Actually, that's what I wanted to speak with you about. But first, for old time's sake...' I took a small bag of white crystalline powder out of my pocket and lay it on the table beside a framed photograph of two now-scandalised witches.
Slughorn's eyes widened. He drew himself slowly towards the bag and carefully undid the wrap. With only the slightest hesitation he dabbed a finger in the powder and tasted...
'Oh, Blaise! You always were one of my favourite students.'