Author's Notes: This will be canon adjacent, in that Blaise will be set off on The Fool's Journey at the same time Harry starts down The Hero's Journey. Harry's arc remains largely the same. Each act will be a year at Hogwarts, with act 0 functioning as a prequel. In all likelihood, this will be a trilogy of 7 acts each, following the 3 arcs of the Major Arcana.
There will be some minor canon divergence, the most important being that I'm shifting the age range for Hogwarts up to 14-21, so basically high school to college instead of middle to high school. Not only do I think its silly to start learning magic before learning how to properly structure a paragraph and multiply, but also I don't wanna write about younger teenagers doing the things I'm about to put them through. 14 is already pushing it tbh, but this is fiction for a reason.
We will be earning that mature rating here, so prepare yourself for eventual: violence, blood/gore (ranging from ritualistic animal death to murder), implied parental abuse, drug use/drug dealing, unreality, an unreliable narrator, hurt/comfort, angst, immigrant diaspora blues, queerness of all types, polyamory, polytheism (gods/goddesses/fae/demons), blasphemy, heretical Catholicism, and general grey morality. In short, Slytherins being Slytherins.
I plan to tear this establishment apart board by board. No one is white or straight if I can help it. I am writing good characters, not necessarily good people. Obviously I do not own nor profit from this, and I would rather you didn't financially support her proto-fascist agenda. Instead, consider supporting me, your local queer reclaiming their comfort universe, in the form of favorites/follows/reviews at the low low cost of a few minutes of effort.
If this is all agreeable to you, please pour yourself a stiff drink and buckle up. Like a roller coaster, we're in for a slow build before we can get to the twists and turns.
Act 0.I: The Fool
The Fool embodies the innocent faith of a new beginning, blissfully unaware of the cliff he is about to tumble over and oblivious to the hardships he will face. He stands somewhat outside of the Major Arcana, at zero he is poised in the center of the number system between positive and negative. The Fool is unaware of the choice he makes as he sets out in either direction. He is strangely empty, but full of potential.
If ignorance is bliss, it is folly to be wise.
Blaise scowled as he furiously dug a hole in the gravel with the tip of his stiff oxfords. Ma would have a fit over him scuffing his brand new dress shoes. Well, if she bothered to look at him long enough to notice, that is.
He doubled his efforts trying to excavate a rather large rock. She had barely spared him a glance once they arrived at Malfoy Manor. Ma had positively floated the day she received an invitation to their Yule ball. Well, technically, it was addressed to Lord Gamp, her new husband, but that hardly registered to her. She spent the past week in a flurry, dragging Blaise along to go shopping for new clothes with a carte blanche in the form of a Gringotts key. She picked out a stunning set of charcoal grey dress robes for him, completely ignoring the fact that they were a bit too elegant to suit a 10 year old. She was too focused on making the best first impression, constantly fussing over his table manners and rehearsing his greeting until it was perfect.
Now that the day had come, though, she was far too occupied to bother with something so trivial as her only son. She was firmly attached to the arm of that awful old man as he took her on a lap around the room to rub elbows and introduce her to the upper echelons that she so desperately yearned to join. Blaise watched a few of these interactions from just behind her elbow until he got bored of listening to the adults speak in a language he barely understood and smelling the ladies' cloying perfume on their wrist as they pinched his cheek. Some things are universal, he internally noted with a snort.
Blaise managed to sneak away to the garden outside of the grand double doors at the end of the ballroom. He made sure to pass the banquet table and picked out a few unfamiliar pastries. The scones were dry, bland and crumbly, but they would do.
He missed the satisfying crunch of his Nonna's ciambellini, the comforting sounds of the sea lapping against the shore, the warmth of the sun, and especially being able to understand what everyone was saying. He tugged at the collar of his stiff dress robes and desperately wished he was in a pair of cut off shorts, digging into the soft sand instead of this artfully arranged gravel path. He tried to ignore a pang of homesickness and focused on making the hole wider instead of deeper. Hopefully, someone would trip on it and he'd have an entertaining few minutes watching some stuffy ponce try to play it off.
Blaise was bored. Blaise despised being bored. This was the most interesting thing to happen in weeks, and he couldn't even enjoy it because he couldn't understand a single thing anyone said and his shoes pinched his ankles. His English lessons were going well enough, but he'd only been in England for a few weeks now and hardly managed making requests to the elves. He'd picked up a few words, here and there, but not nearly enough to enjoy himself.
He had been functionally alone for weeks to boot. These days, he spent most of his time aimlessly wandering around his new home, exploring the endless empty halls and hoping his Ma might find time to talk to him. The Manor was far too large for one sweaty old man, he noted derisively. This had clearly once been the ancestral home of a large extended family, but now the only one left was wrapped around Ma's little finger and quickly approaching his expiration date. She didn't seem to mind.
She had changed after Pa's death. Her eyes used to sparkle, her laugh used to be buoyant, her hugs were frequent and unabashed. She always had time for him, before she set her sights on lofty goals of social climbing.
Ma had never cared about that sort of thing when they were still in Italy. She was content to be a fisherman's wife, a proud mother, an exceptional midwife and cunning woman. They had a good life back home. They were happy.
Until one day, an owl arrived at her window carrying a scroll of parchment. Blaise watched in horrified fascination as her dark olive skin paled and her hands shook and tears started streaming down her face. She handed the parchment across the table to his Nonna, who's hands had stilled midway through peeling an apple, her sharp eyes focused on her daughter.
She took the parchment with a gentle tug, scanned it once, furrowed her brow, and slowly went over it again. His Ma turned to him, tried to hide her quivering lower lip as she patted his cheek and abruptly stood and left the room. She returned to her room and closed the door with a soft click.
Blaise didn't know it yet, but that door wouldn't open for another week. His Ma left it up to his Nonna to explain, with a clenched jaw and soft eyes, that his Pa would not be returning from his fishing trip. She left it up to her mother to care for her son, to put three square meals in front of him that he would invariably push around with his fork until she sighed and sent him off to his room. She left it up to her to hold him while he cried, to stroke his hair with her strong calloused hands and whisper soft, meaningless comforts until he could finally sleep.
Sometime during that week, she morphed from Mamma to Ma. Sometime during that week, she hollowed herself out and returned a husk of her former self. The owl might as well have cracked her sternum and dragged her still bleeding heart from her chest with its sharp talons. That may have been less cruel than whatever was on that parchment.
They never let him read it. His Nonna threw it into the fire before he could reach for it. It crackled and the burning ink filled the room with an awful smell. It faded quickly, but the somber air lingered for months. His Ma grew pale, lost weight, her eyes grew cold, and she stopped her practice caring for the townspeople in favor of shutting herself away.
He, on the other hand, spent as much time out of the house as possible. He practically lived at the beach, swimming for hours in the warm cove next to their town, turning nearly as dark as the rocky outcrop that marked the edge of the safe waters. He was lucky to inherit his father's dark complexion, or he would have burnt to a crisp. He hiked in the mountains behind the house, leaving after breakfast and returning just before dinner, ravenously hungry. Nonna loaded his plate with seconds before he even finished chewing with an indulgent smile.
Until one day, yet another owl arrived, in a dark, twisted parody of the last time one of those accursed birds ruined his life. This time, his mother smiled, cold and sharp. Nonna held her hand out impatiently, and she passed it reluctantly. Nonna scanned it quickly and threw it back on the table with an exasperated huff. Blaise watched, wide eyed, as they fought over breakfast in rapid fire Italian, throwing harsh words that he had never heard before but would certainly hear again.
This time, his Nonna stormed off in a huff, and his Ma stayed to gently explain that they would be moving to England, to live with his new father. He had two weeks to say goodbye to his friends, his family, his favorite turtles in the cove and the roost of ravens he had finally befriended in the forest. Blaise didn't know what to do. So he ran.
He ran to the beach, ran into the waves fully clothed and stayed there until he shivered. He returned after dark, teeth chattering, dripping salty sea water all over his Nonna's freshly cleaned floors. She, mercifully, didn't have it in her to scold him. Instead, she drew him a hot bath, refused to let him sit in there until he was cold and shivering again, wrapped him up in a towel and a hug simultaneously, and sent him off to bed.
Blaise overheard their heated whispers, but he was too exhausted to make out what they said. Those weeks slipped through his fingers like the fine sand at his favorite beach. His Nonna's hugs never lasted long enough, the waves never managed to knock the life back into him.
Before he knew it, the day had come. They made their way to the train station, just the two of them. Blaise couldn't bear to say goodbye somewhere public. He clung to his Nonna and sobbed in her shoulder as she, unbeknownst to him, sent silent glares at her daughter. His Ma was coldly unrepentant and falsely cheerful for his benefit. They took the train to Roma, she prattled on about all the ways that England was better while he miserably stared out the window and tried to memorize the countryside.
He didn't care about the opportunities this opened up for him. He didn't care about the private tutor that would teach him until he could go to some fancy boarding school after he turned 14. He didn't care about a better education, or better friends or a better house. He didn't care about living in a mansion, that he would have a monthly allowance higher than what he used to get in a year, he didn't even care that there would be house elves to do all of his chores.
He watched the countryside speed by, becoming increasingly dreary and washed out as they crossed the mountains. Entirely too soon, they arrived in the giant train station that served as the main transportation hub in Italy. His Ma grabbed his shoulder and steered him into what looked like a supply closet. They turned the corner past the shelves of industrial solvents and entered what had to be the wizarding station.
He couldn't help it. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and his head swiveled like there was too much grease loosening his joints. He'd never seen so many magical people in one place, so many weird clothes and tall hats and random sparks in the distance. His Ma never lost focus though, despite the various oddities drawing their attention. She dragged him over to a terminal labelled 'International Portkey Departures'.
A few short conversations with the clerks later, and she was holding an odd rope that looked like a limp spider. Ma started tying one of the ends around his wrist while the clerk busied herself tying the other ends to their luggage with practiced ease. She rushed through a scripted spiel explaining that this may be a tad unpleasant, to try to hold onto the rope, and that they would arrive in 5 short minutes. After they were all attached, she took out her wand, tapped the rope, and muttered 'portus'.
He barely had time to notice the rope glowed blue before he was yanked through time and space unceremoniously. 5 short minutes my ass, he thought bitterly, while trying to keep his rioting stomach from emptying the breakfast his Nonna lovingly made all over his Ma. 300 seconds is a long fucking time to be dragged through the parallel realm that allows them to travel a thousand miles. That's more than 3 miles a second. Humans weren't made to go that fast, even with magic, he thought resentfully.
He landed on his hands and knees, scraping them up on gravel not unlike that under his shoes right now. He hated gravel, he hated these big empty and lifeless houses, he hated this stupid, dreary island and he hated that everyone expected him to be grateful for it. So he took his aggression out on this gravel path, determined to make at least one of these annoying assholes trip.
Blaise was snapped out of his musings when he realized the loud, insistent chattering he had been ignoring was aimed at him. He looked up from his attempts to dig a moat and met the mossy green eyes of a kid roughly his age. He had dark circles under his eyes, which stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. He flicked his head to the side to slide his shaggy dark hair out of his eyes and looked at Blaise expectantly.
Ah, he wanted a reply. Right, well, he's got one script and he'll stick to it.
"Hello, my name is Be- Blaise Zabini, it is a pleasure to meet you," He winced, but the other kid didn't notice.
He still tripped over his new name. His Ma said it was a good time to change it, he was still young enough that it wouldn't feel too clumsy for too long. She said it would be worth it, but he still had a hard time recognizing and responding to it. Oh well, he would get used to it. Better than having to grin and bear it while everyone horribly butchered the pronunciation. Besides, now no one here will know his true name, and they won't be able to use it against him.
Ma said the British don't put much stock in their old traditions, but he did. He grew up with it, his family took it very seriously, and now he would too. It was just another little thread tethering him to his home, a thread no one here would ever be able to pull or snip.
The other kid was still chattering, and he did his best to smile and nod along as if he understood more than a total of 3 words; 'Italian' and 'new here'.
Blaise cut him off. "Yes, I just arrived a few weeks ago. Please, be patient, I am still learning English," he said, choppily but clearly enough that he would have received a proud nod from his Ma. She had him rehearse three sentences until he could (and did) say them in his sleep. Time for the last one, and then he was all out of luck.
"What is your name?"
"Oh! That's okay, I can talk enough for the two of us. I'm Theo, Theodore Nott," he replied with a bright smile. Blaise recognized the name, but it sounded so awkward, it didn't flow off the tongue like the Italian version. He was starting to agree with his Ma, he wouldn't want them saying his name with their weird, choppy accent.
Blaise returned the smile, hesitantly at first, until it morphed into a mischievous little grin as he had a bright idea. He reached out and tapped Theo's shoulder, getting a few crumbs from the scones on his rather nice dress robes. He had just enough time to catch Theo's brows knit in confusion before turning on his heel and running.
"Hey!" Theo yelled, but he caught on quick if the crunching of his shoes on the gravel was any indication. Tag transcended language, after all. He sprinted out onto the lawn, a carefree giggle leaving his lips for the first time in weeks. He almost made it to the orchard before he felt a solid thump in the middle of his back. He whirled around, only to see Theo already 10 feet away and counting.
They continued on like this, eventually winding up on the front lawn, breathless and rosy cheeked. They paused for a minute, hands on their knees, gulping in the cold air that burned their lungs. Blaise looked up to see an all white peacock strutting not 15 feet in front of him. He caught Theo's eye, seeing a similar mischievous glint reflected there.
With a new target spotted, they quickly forgot their competition in favor of terrorizing an innocent animal just minding its own business. Some things are simply universal.
They crouched, arms outstretched, chasing this poor squawking bird across the lawns like demented crabs. Theo almost had him, too, before an indignant shout distracted him.
They turned and saw another kid furiously striding over to them. Blaise figured he could be intimidating one day, but for now he was still too short, with chubby cheeks and too much gel in his platinum blond hair. He was frowning, trying to scowl but mostly pouting. Blaise didn't know the hosts had a kid. Who else could he be, with the same blonde hair as the Lord and the same grey eyes as the Lady of the house.
In the time it took to size him up, the peacock managed to turn on them and nip his arm, ripping the dress robes his Ma fussed over and drawing a few drops of blood. All thoughts of propriety left their minds as they turned to run from the outraged bird. Theo grabbed the other kid's wrist and dragged him along, because at this point the bird was ready to peck at anything it came across.
Blaise looked back to see him, red faced and still pouting, stumbling over the grass as he tried to keep up with Theo, eyes sparkling and long legs taking one stride for every two of the other kids. He was laughing, bright and jubilant, enjoying the first bit of childish tomfoolery that he desperately missed. In his distraction, his foot caught on a rock and he sprawled out face first, staining his robes green and scraping his hands.
All the air was forced out of him as Theo tripped over him and landed on his back with a thump. The other kid was standing over them, suddenly seeming quite tall and imposing from his vantage point on the ground. He had his hands on his hips, clearly trying to look stern despite holding back his laughter. He lost that battle and dissolved into howls, pointing and laughing at their misfortune.
To his credit though, after a few moments, he reached out his hand to help them up. He thumped Theo on the shoulder and then turned to Blaise, eyeing him up and down.
"I don't believe I've seen you before," he said with an appraising glance. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself pompously, chest puffing up and chin jutting out. Definitely the hosts' kid, then.
Blaise smiled indulgently as he recited his well worn introduction. "Hello, my name is Blaise Zabini, it is a pleasure to meet you."
"Ohh Zabini, is it? Yes, I met your mother earlier, she came with Lord Gamp, isn't that right?" Malfoy replied.
Blaise couldn't hold in his scowl at the mention of that imposter of a father. "Yes," he said, rather lamely, as he couldn't exactly explain his distaste in English. Of course he had quite a few choice words about that man, but they wouldn't understand anything but the tone.
Theo turned his surprisingly sharp gaze onto him, examining Blaise's face and clearly finding something to his displeasure, although Blaise couldn't quite understand what his problem was. He was even more confused when Theo patted his shoulder with an odd mix of pity and camaraderie.
"Well, it won't do to send you back to him looking like that. Hold on, DOBBY!" He shouted, and with a loud snap a scrawny little house elf appeared. "Clean up my friends here. They've got some stains they can't return with," he commanded.
Blaise couldn't quite follow their conversation, but he definitely noticed when the elf's magic washed over him and the grass stains lifted from robes, leaving them awkwardly stiff but otherwise much more presentable than moments ago.
His eyebrows rose in surprise. He did recognize one word. He turned to Malfoy, cautiously hopeful. "Friends?"
"Yes, of course we're friends now you goon, why else would I let you two drag me around like that? The girls are all annoying and those two dunderheads Crabbe and Goyle aren't good company, plus they're too busy eating to do much of anything fun." Malfoy replied with an odd mix of disdain and affection. Blaise could tell it was a compliment, despite not hearing any indication of positive words.
Blaise was getting very good at deciphering tone and intention. The past few weeks of basing his impressions on the wrinkling of their nose or the set of their mouth or the smiles that didn't reach their eyes made him exceptionally observant for a kid of his age. As such, he saw how Malfoy's eyes crinkled and how he was struggling to stop one corner of his mouth from turning up, despite the scowl he was desperately trying to hold onto.
Blaise, therefore, was well accustomed with the expectant look that everyone had when they were waiting for a reply. He sighed and pulled out one of his few rehearsed replies. "Please, be patient, I am still learning English."
"Ah, right. Well," Malfoy said, slowly enunciating while pantomiming. "You," he pointed to Blaise, "Can visit me," he pointed to himself, "here," he pointed at the ground. "Just floo," he pretended to pinch some floo powder and throw it into the ground, before hesitating in clear consideration of how to get through the next bit.
Blaise cut him off before he tried to get more complicated, "Yes, floo, Malfoy Manor?"
"Yes, yes exactly! You'll get it in no time," Malfoy replied with an uncharacteristically bright smile. He must be lonely, Blaise realized quite suddenly. He returned his smile while Theo thumped them both on the back. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad here.
They were interrupted by a loud, fake, pointed cough. Theo paled noticeably, turning a shade of ashy white that Blaise had thought impossible for the already sun starved boy. His smile fell abruptly and twisted into a grimace before he quickly hid it behind a mask of neutrality.
He turned to Blaise with an imploring gaze. "Write to me," he said, while pretending to hold a quill and scribble before pointing to himself. Blaise nodded quickly and was graced with one last strained smile before Theo ran off.
He joined the man who cleared his throat pointedly. He was tall, thin, with an angular, wrinkled face pinched in distaste. He had frown lines on his cheeks, worry lines between his eyebrows but no crows feet to indicate that he had ever laughed once in his life. His hairline clearly agreed with Blaise's assessment that he was a right cold bastard, as it was trying to get as far away from his face as possible.
He fixed a cold glare onto Blaise, his eyes the same shade of moss green as Theo's but lacking any of the warmth that radiated from his new friend's gaze. He laid a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder and steered him away with a tight grip that allowed no wandering. Blaise felt his hands ball into fists before he consciously relaxed them.
Malfoy's sharp eyes caught it though, and met his gaze with a resigned grimace. "That's Lord Nott Senior," he said simply. Not much else needed to be said, Malfoy clearly recognized the look in Blaise's eye.
"Come on, we should go," he said, jerking his head towards the door to the ballroom. The air of carefree, childish delight dissipated the second Nott Sr. appeared, quickly replaced by the weight of parental disapproval and expectations weighing heavily on the young heirs' shoulders.
They walked back into the ballroom glumly. Malfoy spotted his parents and took one step towards them, before turning back to Blaise.
"Write to me too, okay?" he asked.
Blaise nodded. "Ciao, Malfoy," he said with a small smile.
"Call me Draco," Draco replied. Blaise's smile widened as he nodded again.
"See you later, Blaise," he said with a small wave before turning away.
They parted ways amicably, finding themselves back beside their parents' elbows. Ma glanced down at him before returning to her conversation without missing a beat. He sighed, snagged a few hors d'oeuvres from the passing house elf, and resigned himself to a boring few hours.
At least one good thing came from being dragged along, he reminded himself. Maybe it won't be so bad here.