Title: Truth Is
Chapter: 13
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: Well, I know who my final couple is. Sequel or No Sequel? We will see when the time comes, I return to school in four weeks so I'll see if I have time to keep up a brand new story. I want to thank one of my reviewers for this chapter's plot: Queen of Serpents - thank you! I had no idea what to do with this chapter until I read your review and it just set something off! Thanks to ALL my reviewers for taking the time out to say something, every word helps! I don't know how many chapters are left but it is either one or two . . . We'll see!
"Truth Is"
Chapter 13
(Three Days Later)
He was alone. The emptiness that surrounded him deafened him and seemed to suck the very air from his lungs. He was alone, his loneliness surrounded him as he reclined in a chair, his hand gripping a glass tightly, his eyes darting around the stillness. It was half past noon, on a sunny Friday evening, but Blaise couldn't tell, he could barely see the glow of afternoon in the darkness of his room. It was as if the Sun refused to enter and Blaise refused to invite it in.
Blaise sighed, sinking into the darkness that engulfed the entire penthouse, Victoria and he never spent much time together but her mere presence had been enough to keep him from dwelling too much on being alone. Ever since he had started his venture into politics he had rarely been alone enough to distinguish that vacant ache in his chest but now that Victoria had gone and all of his advisors, secretaries, and entourage were attending Santiago's indictment proceedings the ache was all too prominent. For the first time in three years he finally felt what he had been trying so hard to avoid. Tilting the glass to his lips, he flinched, it was a chasm that he himself had created.
For the first time in years he was really alone no family, no friends, no love. His family was far away from him, they saw his failings and he could never forgive himself for the shame he had caused his mother, the disappointment apparent in his father's eyes. The guilt had driven him harder, kept him away from them longer, and now, now he regretted running from the consuming comfort of his mother's arms. His friends, he frowned, he couldn't remember the last time he had any real friends, except for Draco.
It seemed when Hermione left they all left with her. The thought of her caused his eyes to flutter close, as if he was suddenly pained. Hermione. Every since that night he had felt the repercussions of their dramatic ending. The thought of her always came with the memory of that night, a night he would never forget. That rainy, saturnine, night would never fade nor die in his memory. He could see it clearly as if it were just yesterday. March 14, 2005 had been the beginning of the circus that had become his life. What had possessed him to bring Victoria to their flat?
Even now he couldn't recollect what had dared him to bring Victoria to his flat instead of going to her father's London home, as they always had. He had never let Victoria taint the world that he created with Hermione, she was special, she was separate, and the two were never supposed to mix. It had been like that for months, the deception growing like a fungus, unknown to her of course, until that stormy Wednesday night had rolled around.
"If I go now, Hermione, I won't come back." He could remember throwing that threat as if it was really his place to be giving anyone an ultimatum. He chuckled, darkly, as his voice boomed in his head, he had always been an arrogant man yet look where his arrogance got him, nothing but loneliness. He couldn't forget that look in her eye, slightly murderous fraught such sadness, he mentally noted that he couldn't exactly remember which one hurt him the most.
"Do you dream of me at night?" He had asked her the year the war ended. "Every night." She had replied, whispering, so that no one would be awakened by their late night conversation, while they lay next to each other and many others tried to rest before it was time to fight once again. That was six years ago and it was a much happier time for everyone, although a war was raging around them. The war years always reminded him of how deep their relationship had been, everyone who had been in love back then never held back, things were too uncertain, one never knew when the next day would be their last. He bit his lip, as her voice resounded in his head, he hadn't been lonely then.
"Oh, darling, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, Blaise." Hermione had whispered as he had sobbed into her shoulder the night that the news had come in that his brother Michele had died. The raid that ended Michele's life had occurred three days before and they had just collected his body, it had taken one look at the Ministry man who had delivered the news for Blaise's resolve to fall to pieces, he was still grieving for Niccolo. He didn't think he would stop screaming, as he fell to the ground and Hermione was there to gather him in her loving arms, it had only been two months since Niccolo's death, it was almost too much to fathom at the time. Hermione had been there, as she had promised, until he had pushed her too far and she left him, just like everybody else.
"Remember who you are. Do not be afraid of them." Antonia had told him when he had first returned home from Hogwarts, after bringing Hermione home for the first time. Blaise had not expected his high-strung, up-tight, excessively politically correct sister -- who, at twenty-seven was the poster girl for Italian Wizarding high society, a formally betrothed debutante who never questioned any society rules-- to understand what made his seventeen year old heart cling to Hermione.
He had been snubbed plenty of times that summer, after word about his relationship with Hermione had reached the Calabrian countryside straight from England's own Wizarding Elite, and Antonia had came to his room after a disastrous dinner party and whispered words that gave him strength. Blaise pointed his wand at his glass, it filled, thinking that he become so afraid that he had become nothing more than a puppet. His oldest sister had held her head up high, made the family proud, extended their vast connections, she married a man she didn't love and led a life she couldn't control but Blaise knew she never forgot that who she was. Antonia was strong like that, she didn't say much but when she did one would be wise to listen.
When she had been forced to marry Montigilio Catalono at the tender age of twenty-one, twelve year old Blaise had begged her to fight the contract, not understanding why anyone would marry someone they didn't love let alone even know. But Antonia did not fight, she just smiled, ruffled his mass of curls, telling him, "I must marry according to my station and my family's will; yet, I am certain love will come one day. Do not worry, Augustus, I will be loved." She was right, as usual, she still wasn't madly in love with Montigilio but he was madly in love with her, he worshiped her and everyone knew it.
The mere memory of her gentle voice addressing him by his middle name caused a chill to travel through him. Blaise hadn't heard anyone call him that since the last time he had seen his oldest sister, it had been too long, thinking of the distance between his siblings and himself was partly the cause of his loneliness. Blaise kept hearing their voices in his head and with every distorted memory came another stab of pain. When had he abandoned everyone he had ever loved? He couldn't recall. Somewhere, somehow, they had all fallen into the background of his so-called life.
"I am what you have made me to be." Victoria had cried the first time she had been accosted with the truth of Blaise's unfailing love for Hermione. Blaise shuddered violently, replacing the Vodka in his glass with something darker, richer, and far deadlier. Blaise leaned his head back on the chair, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, squeezing his eyes tight. Had he really treated her so badly? The answer brought the cup to his lips, he could feel the vast emptiness entangling him further.
Sienna had warned him this would happen, she saw it years in advance, and it had been the first time in his life that he hadn't taken his favorite sister's words seriously. She told him, "This political game has you trapped, Blaise, and you're gonna die if you don't break free. Maybe not right away because you're strong, but sooner or later that intensity you have, that spark that I've always adored in you, little brother, it's going to die out."
Blaise sighed loudly, he hadn't believed her, maybe he had but he had tried not to think of it. He missed her most of all, he missed seeing her wide smile, watching her tall, lithe, frame, sweep around the room as she doted on her children. Sienna was his favorite sibling and was the only person, besides his parents, that he still kept regular post with.
"Blaise Augustus Zabini, you are bloody brilliant! I swear the gods gave me the greatest little brother ever!" Blaise chuckled at the memory of an overjoyed eighteen-year-old Sienna when he, at twelve years of age, had scared away a suitor almost three times her age. Life was simple then, he never knew of what he would become, he had never imagined a time in his life when he have to bear such silence. Silence, emptiness, loneliness was something that he had known nothing of as a child. Blaise was the fourth child of a family of eight, his parents were always present, he was rarely without one of his five siblings, there was a governess and a tutor around, and the estate was always bustling with some social or family function. Blaise never had time to learn what being alone really felt like.
"Every man needs a woman and you, son, are no exception." His mother had written before he had decided to propose to Victoria. Cara Zabini had no love for the American Debutante but she had wished to see her son living his life without a companion and had no qualms in telling him just that. Blaise smiled as he thought of the woman who could very well be mistaken as Sienna's twin; his mother, with her chestnut hair and unworldly golden eyes, was one woman he knew he would never fall out of love with.
"I tried just any woman, mother," Blaise groaned aloud, in response to her voice in his head, resting his hand on his stomach, that was beginning react badly to the liquor, "it doesn't work like that."
"It could have all turned out differently I suppose . . . but it didn't." Niccolo, his oldest brother, had remarked when asked how he and his wife, Alessandria, had ended up at the alter after the scandal that surrounded their relationship. Niccolo had taken after their father, charming, romantically handsome, ambitious, and deeply chauvinistic, he had fought blindly for his family, his beliefs and as well as his country. Blaise had always wished -- even now, seven years after his death -- that he could have been more like his oldest brother. Nevertheless, fate was not kind enough to change his stars, even after going for the highest spot in English politics, and winning, he would be nothing more than the second son, a dead man's shadow.
Blaise kept playing that sentence over and over in his head, feeling his fingers loosen their grip on the glass and listening, without surprise, as it shattered, it was too dark to see the pieces glisten with the remains of his drink as they lay at rest on the floor. Sighing, he ran his fingers over his face, thinking to himself that things could have turned out differently for him too, but they didn't.
The court room was filled from the gallery on down and Hermione couldn't stop herself from searching the building for a familiar countenance. The proceeding had began as scheduled but the Supreme Mugwump had made it very clear that he wanted Britain's Minister of Magic present to be able to make a possible statement if need be. Blaise's absence was a disheartening gash in the event and if the look in her boss' eye was any indication he fully expected her to make Blaise appear before the indictment proceedings were finished.
Hermione bit her lip nervously as she leaned back in her seat to catch her secretary's attention. They had been attempting aimlessly to get in touch with Blaise, they had sent owl after owl with no response, even Owling his younger brother. Rodion leaned forward, saying, "I found his Press Minister, Conrad Hartley, who has not seen hide nor hair of him for three days."
"Oh, gods! Why must he make himself scarce now? Now when we actually have need of his insufferable presence?" she groaned, placing her hand over the very place on her forehead where a headache brewed. "Have you seen Malfoy? I'm sure he will know something."
"He still has not arrived, Miss Granger," Rodion replied, in earnest, this latest crisis was not one that he enjoyed being part of, "I spoke the Minister's secretary, Lavender, and she says that Malfoy came to her yesterday and said that Minister Zabini needed rest for the remainder of the evening."
"How very odd, Rodion," Hermione whispered, her eyebrows furrowing as she began to consider all the options, "Malfoy has never been one to be excessively caring about another man's well-being . . . even Blaise's."
"Lavender made no indication that anything more than exhaustion had taken place, Miss Granger," he answered truthfully, for that was all that Lavender was told, "she said that Mister Malfoy instructed her to take the night off for the Minister needed a good nights sleep."
"I don't very well trust the instructions of Draco Malfoy, Rodion," she mumbled, glancing back at the entrance of the room as the proceedings went on around them, "something is not right. A good nights sleep? I don't believe it. There is a rotten pumpkin around here, I smell it, and I intended to find it."
Just as she had made up her mind to return to the hotel and seek out the suspicious blond a flash of silver caught her eye as it seemingly floated through the heavy Oak doors. She glowered at him as he cocked his head back and ignored every face that turned to him in response to his noisy entrance. Draco shifted his eyes around quickly, in search of a seat, and just as quickly as he entered he was seated beside her.
"Pleasant morning, eh?" he quipped, his face set in stony indifference, pushing a stray piece of his growning mane behind his shoulder.
Hermione shot him a look that clearly warned him that his impending chuckle would not be appreciated. "Where in the bloody hell is Blaise?"
"He's here, is he not?" Draco countered, raising a well sculpted eyebrow, yet he still did not meet her gaze.
"Do not patronize me, Malfoy," she growled, keeping her voice low enough not to alarm those around her but loud enough to ensure he heard the threat behind it, "where is he? Please do not waste my time in an attempt at lying, I know you went to see Lavender last evening."
Draco's perfect eyebrows lowered in an obvious frown, he sighed softly, picking a piece of imaginary lint off his immaculate robe. "Malfoys usually don't respond to idle threats, Granger. However, Blaise is in need of rest, Hermione, he is no fit condition to make an appearance this morning."
"No fit condition? What does that mean?" Hermione asked, her voice just seconds from panic. For some unfathomable reason the concern in his voice and the look on his face struck fear in her heart. "What is going on, Malfoy? This is his job and it is his responsibility to make an appearance here today."
"He cannot handle the weight of this responsiblity at this very moment, Granger. I regret to inform you," Draco answered, his posture rigid as he fought to hide all personal emotion from her inquiring eyes, "that there are moments when even the most powerful and important men have to deal with their own personal . . . issues."
Hermione sucked in a gust of air suddenly, her heart pounding in her chest, a sudden realization setting off alrms in her head. Something she had only seen one other time in her life, something that unnerved her, Draco Malfoy was worried! She fought back the urge to quickly accost him with questions and concerns, simply resigning herself to placing a frightened hand on his arm. She swallowed loudly, squeezing his arm to convey emotion that she couldn't afford to show at that very moment, in the environment that they were in. When she found her voice, the shakiness of it startled both of them, she asked, "I don't understand, Draco, what is going on?"
He sighed darkly, placing a comforting hand over hers, whispering, "I found him yesterday evening, sitting in the still darkness of his room, drunk and unable to pull himself together. It seems as if the past has finally caught up with him."
"Drunk? I've never known Blaise to drink heavily," Hermione whispered, her eyes falling to the floor searching for something that would not be found there.
Draco turned his stony countenance toward her, allowing his eyes to speak volumes, replying, "When have we known him to wallow in despair?"
"He's in terrible shape isn't he?" she asked, her big brown eyes inquiring on things she was too afraid to voice.
"Hermione," he began, his gray eyes turning from her in a moment of masculine lucidness, "it's worse than you could imagine."
Hermione removed her arm, her body suddenly ridden with fear, and turned to face the on goings of the court room. She swallowed hard, attempting to regulate her breathing that had become hitched and ragged. The room became unbearably hot as she placed a hand over heart, her mind projecting images of Blaise that visibly shook her. Hermione sat for a moment, her eyes unfocused and weary, she could only think of one thing to do but what would everyone think of it, of her? She looked up at her boss, the Supreme Mugwump, Chandler Balfour, and wondered exactly what his reaction would be if she quickly excused herself for the rest of the afternoon. She then glanced up at the gallery, quickly finding Ian sitting mesmerize by the process taking place below him and wondering what he would do when he realized that she was absent. Sighing loudly she looked over at Draco Malfoy who was watching her intently, a silent plea in his eyes.
"I need to see him," Hermione remarked, simply, her worried eyes showing a spark of determination.
Draco nodded, retorting, "He needs to see you.
She rose quickly, picking up her purse, and avoided every wayward glance as she made her way out of the courtroom. Her heart was pounding wildly as she made her way out of the ancient building, her hair flying wildly behind her, as she found a place that allowed legal apparition. Hermione quickly searched her surroundings for any followers and silently cursed the gods for allowing her to care. She smoothed her outfit, spoke a silent litany to no one in particular, and apparated with a loud pop.
Hermione stood in front of the door stoically, waiting for something, waiting to hear just the most slight movement, sound, feeling just to ease her troubled mind. She bit her bottom lip trying to rationalize the trepidation that filled her, all she could think of was: what if he isn't okay. Hermione looked down the long corridor at the only other penthouse suit on the floor and thought of how a man could easily hurt himself there without another soul knowing for hours on end. The thought frightened her, causing her heart to pound wildly, as she rose her fist up to the door, knocking so loud that it surprised her. "Blaise! Blaise, let me in!"
No sound returned to her but she knew he sat somewhere, his eyes fixed on the door, probably wondering why she was there. After knocking on the door a few moments Hermione laid her palm on the door, something inside of calming her, reasurring her that he was not physically hurt. She sighed softly, her breathing still hitched as that moment of panic relieved itself of her, she whispered, "Blaise, please let me in."
Hermione jumped when she heard the click of the lock, she had whispered yet he still heard her. Slowly the turned the door knob and was accosted with such darkness that it took her eyes moments to adjust. She closed the door behind her, dropping her purse and wand on the table beside the door and followed the gentle breathing and the single silhouette she made out. "Blaise?"
"Watch the glass," he responsed, his voice thick and hoarse with misuse.
Hermione glanced down and sure enough she could make out the ragged edges of broken glass. Making her way around it she found the table that was placed right in front Blaise and sat down, trying to make him out completely in the sunless room. She longed to reach out and touch him but she restrained herself, as she whispered, "W-what is . . . this, Blaise?"
"I'm alone, Hermione," Blaise replied, releasing some guttural sound that was supposed to be laughter, "like I deserve to be."
"No," she whispered quickly, her hand reaching out to lay upon his knee, "you don't deserve to be alone."
"Oh, you don't think so?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "After everything I've done to you?"
"Who cares what you did to me! It's the past and I've forgiven you for it, now why haven't you forgiven yourself?" Hermione asked, echoing words that she had asked him weeks ago.
"If you've forgiven me . . . why haven't you come back to me?" Blaise asked, reaching his fingers out to gently touch the tip of her fingers.
She swallowed hard, feeling the tremble in her shoulders, she answered, "I-I never left you, Blaise."
"You are just being kind," he replied, sliding his fingers over her nails, with such leisure that Hermione longed to stop him, "you are still going to marry Ian Knight, I've come to terms with that."
"How do you come to terms with something that even I'm not sure of?" Hermione barked, her myriad of emotions enabling her slight temper.
Blaise finally took her entire hand in his palm, tracing the contours of her skin with his thumb, and said, "I've missed you, Hermione. You know, today I had a thought, what if I'd never met you."
"No," she retorted, softly, her wide brown eyes lined with tears as the touch of his skin on hers drove chills down her spin.
"I've never knew what it was to be lonely until I walked out on you," he continued, as if she hadn't said a thing, "I've been running and running from this great ache in my heart, until this very moment. I'm alone now, Hermione, and I deserve it."
"Blaise," Hermione spoke, the emotion in her voice very apparent, "if you really deserved to be alone would I be here right now?"
The corner of his lips rose in a sad smirk, before he answered, "You've always been the compassionate one."
"No," she replied, determined, "I'm not here out of compassion, Blaise, I'm not here because anyone told me to come. I'm here simply because you need me."
"What do you care if I need you?" he growled, letting go of her hand and averting his eyes from the cherub countenance that threatened to entangle him.
"Blaise," Hermione answered, reaching out to capture his hand in hers, causing him to return his gaze to her, "when you car--love someone you go deaf, dumb, and blind, I cannot help but care."
"How do you dare to love a man like me?" Blaise mumbled, not noticing that some how the room had obtained enough light to cast a few shadows over his face.
"How could I not?" she retorted, a small smile taking over her features. "No matter what I do or where I go or who I'm with, I'm certain I'll love you my whole life."
"I don't deserve that," he said, almost inaudibly, his lips trembling and his eyes resting on the sight of her hand caressing his.
"You deserve that more than you do this grief," Hermione argued, her eyes somehow making out gentle downturn of his lips.
"Do I deserve your love only to watch you marry another man?" he asked, before he picked up his wand and lit all the candles in his room. Finally seeing her face made his heart clench with some jolt of lost expectation. "Gods I love you."
Hermione frowned, his words running through her mind, no man deserved that. She searched his face, silently, and suddenly it hit her, she was allowing one moment to run the course of her life. Sure she had been hurt but she had admitted, several times, that she had forgiven him and probably would have forgiven him sooner if he hadn't ran off with Victoria. She bit her lip and answered the question that everyone who knew her dilemma had been asking, she was only staying with Ian out of fear that Blaise would allow history to repeat itself. However, she knew that if Blaise was given a second chance that it wouldn't happen again, because even during those turbulent nights she had always been sure of one thing, his love. Hermione stared into his eyes and decided that she couldn't continue to allow the past to cripple her present. She forgave his deception but could she forgive herself for letting him go?
"I have to make this right," Hermione whispered, more to herself than Blaise, "can you do something for me?"
"Anything," Blaise whispered, his breath reaching her in shreds of Bourbon, Vodka, and Firewhiskey.
"I-I need a few days to-to work things out," she began, biting her lips as she paused, "I need you to get yourself together, write an Owl to your family, take a shower . . . and wait for me."
Blaise frowned, his eyes washing over her figure so as not to forget what she looked like. His heart sped up, his blood turned warm in his veins, pushing him to question, "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, Blaise, that on August 1 is Ian's and my anniversary and I don't want to celebrate it," Hermione replied, a small smile lighting up her rosy features, "I'm saying give me a few days to come back -- to you."
Blaise leaned in catching both sides of her face between his wide palms, he traced her full bottom lip with his thumb, watching her eyelashes flutter in sudden pleasure. Before she could speak he leaned in and captured her lips with a kiss. He could feel the electricity running down his spine, as her soft lips connected to his, and for the first time in three years he felt whole. He parted his lips a little to get a taste of her tongue, slowly moving in circles until he slowly pulled away.
Hermione exhaled softly, a quiet moan escaping with it, she was dazed, she had never been kissed like that in her whole life. He left her feeling cold, like he was the only heat in the world, like a bear without his fur, like a baby without a blanket, like he was her only warmth and comfort. His eyes twinkled and in that moment, with emotion she had never imagined before, she knew that she would never be able to walk away from him again.
Blaise smirked, leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose, before saying, "I'll see you in a week."
