School & Theme: Beauxbatons — Write about someone imprisoned, figuratively or literally.
Prompt: [Dialogue] "Are you out of your mind?"
Special Rule: Rare!Pair → Blaise Zabini/Luna Lovegood
Word Count: 2,415
Additional Info: Title from "I Found" by Amber Run. And special thanks to Lady Sloane for helping me talk this through!
.: if you talk enough sense (you'll lose your mind) :.
Blaise Zabini had spent the better part of his existence sitting across dinner tables from murderers and liars and Death Eaters. Not to mention his mother—who, when it fancied her, liked to play at being all three. He'd developed an impeccable poker face long before he'd learned how to play poker, but this final year at Hogwarts had been testing the limits of his long perfected expression from the moment he'd stepped onto Platform nine-and-three-quarters.
He'd spent the first month of his seventh year just trying to go through the motions, but the "motions" were drastically different than he remembered. Gone were the days of playing pranks on the Gryffindors, of riding his broom over the Black Lake just for the hell of it, and of leisurely days spent in the common room with his friends. A melancholic, eerie chill now permeated the halls of Hogwarts, and school was vastly different from years past.
The collapse of his impassive facade began with a pinch in his expression when the Carrow twins placed him in charge of the week's detention. They had seen that minute shift—that tightening of his shoulders and the small tremble as he'd raised his wand. But he'd managed to cast the curses, and other than a mocking cackle from Alecto, he'd escaped unscathed.
It had devolved into smaller things after that. An extra jolt in his step when he heard a scream sound further up the corridor. An agonizing deep breath before he had to join in on tormenting the Hufflepuffs. A gleam of cold sweat on his forehead any time Snape gave a speech in the Great Hall.
On the day he finally broke—some random Tuesday in October that had been full of blood and screaming and young, haunted eyes—he'd talked to her for the first time. Had taken that first step out of the prison he'd found himself in.
He looked at her now, sitting at the other end of the train carriage with Longbottom and the Finnegan bloke and chatting quietly. She caught his eyes for a moment and smiled, and he remembered:
His polished shoes click-clicked down the hallway, the sound seemingly separate from his movements. He felt as though he were outside his body, watching himself stumble down the castle corridors, dry-heaving and pulling desperately on his perfectly knotted tie.
Great Salazar, he thought, this is neverending.
Blaise stumbled into an empty classroom and hastily shoved the door closed. He slumped against it and pressed his forehead into the wood as he continued to gasp for breath and tried to will his stomach to stop churning. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't pretend any longer. This was almost worse than if he were the one being tortured. Hell, he'd rather be on the other end of the wand. Rather be dead—
"Are you all right?" a voice asked. A melodic, dream-like voice that tickled the edges of his panicked awareness.
Blaise, contrary to his previous wish about being on the other end of those curses, whirled around with his wand outstretched before he could even process his movements. A head of blonde hair peeked over the top of a desk, strange sparkly glasses nestled amongst the frizzy strands. Vibrant and questioning blue eyes gazed out at him. Luna Lovegood?
"What the hell are you doing in here?" Blaise demanded.
She tilted her head, one blonde brow hiking to her hairline, and ducked out of sight.
His uneasiness at the sudden presence of another person had brutally shoved his panic back into the box it had crept out of. He forced a few deep breaths, chest aching with the effort, and inched his way around the cluster of strategically placed desks until Luna came back into view.
Luna sat cross-legged atop a pile of oddly shaped pillows and colorful, fluffy blankets. They appeared comfortable enough even though they were clearly conjured. She had already gone back to reading the book in her hand, clearly unconcerned with his presence, which very much concerned him. She should be more vigilant. Didn't she recognize him? Know what he'd done and what he was capable of?
Despite his sweating palms, he tucked his wand back into his sleeve and blurted, "Are you out of your mind?"
She peered up at him and burrowed back into her pile of pillows, drawing her knees to her chest. For some reason, his gaze snagged on her hands, on her delicate, pale fingers and orange-painted nails. "Generally, yes," she replied, serene and seemingly unconcerned. "I find it good to get out of my head sometimes. Are you out of yours?"
Blaise snorted and chuffed a single, slightly hysterical laugh as he staggered back towards an old rickety chair and collapsed into it. He buried his face in his hands and willed his burning eyes not to leak.
He felt his exhaustion down to his bones.
"You know, I think I might be," he mumbled into his palms. He took a deep breath and pushed his hands through his short-cropped hair, hunching over and bracing his elbows on his knees.
He looked up at her only to find her already watching him. Her blue eyes were wide, and the intelligence he saw sparkling in their depths surprised him.
Blaise felt a little too seen under her piercing gaze.
"Well, that's okay," Luna said, sounding like she actually believed her own words. Her confidence, despite how bat-shit she actually sounded, was actually kind of calming. Against his will, he felt some of the tension dissipate from his shoulders. "You can sit with me if you'd like," she continued. "Until you find your mind."
Blaise averted his gaze, avoiding her unwarranted kindness. He found himself looking out one of the windows. Moisture had gathered in the corners of the glass panes—hotter inside than it was out—and he wasn't sure why his attention had snagged on that particular detail.
Eventually, he managed a quiet, "Thanks."
Blaise spent the next two weeks going to that classroom every day, seeking her out. She was only there a handful of times he showed up, always sitting amongst different colored blankets and pillows with her nails painted a different, clashing color.
She became a bright spot in his otherwise dark, dreary days.
When he began shirking his "duties" in order to see her, it had been for purely selfish reasons. Of course he didn't want to be in charge of detentions or torturing his fellow students. He'd just wanted to see her. Avoiding his real life was just a bonus. But when Luna had commended him for not participating—for finally taking a stand and choosing a side—he'd felt like dung on someone's shoes. The lowest of the low.
He'd vowed, then, that he'd be better. He'd become the person she already seemed to think he was. So he started volunteering to oversee detentions just so he could spare the "trouble-makers." He became quite handy with Confundus Charms, and even better at distractions.
By early December, it finally felt like he was accomplishing something good. He no longer felt as suffocated—trapped in his life or his own head. And he knew Luna was responsible for this shift. Sure, he might've always been capable of this—of doing good—but he wouldn't have had the push without her.
The first time she kissed him, it was snowing. He'd been watching it lazily drift past one of the classroom windows when she rose from her ever outrageous pile of pillows, crossed the few feet separating them, and perched sideways in his lap. He thought he'd been dreaming, or perhaps lost his mind, but her movements had been as sure as ever:
Luna wound one arm around his broad shoulders and placed her other hand on his chest—her nails painted a rather ugly plum. He loved it.
She fiddled with his loosened tie, worrying the fabric between her fingers—the only sign of her possible nervousness. She stared at her fingers and only looked him in the eye after a careful deep breath.
"Luna?" he whispered.
It took his Stupefied brain a second or two to Rennervate. He reached out and carefully cupped her cheek. Her pale skin was smooth under his calloused fingers, and when she leaned into him and slanted her mouth over his, her lips were even softer.
It was a mere whisper of a kiss; the brush of their lips was feather-light. The second—after she'd leaned away and her eyes roved his face, searching his expression—was a firm, welcome pressure that emptied all thoughts from his head. Her breath was quiet and fast when she pulled away that second time, and he didn't let her go far. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly into his chest, kissing her again.
Salazar, he could get utterly lost in her. In the decadent brush of her tongue against his and the bite of her nails in his shoulder. The breathy way she whispered his name. And he did get lost in her. The sun had long since set when they dragged themselves from the classroom.
It was so late, he took the risk of walking her back to the Ravenclaw dorm, worried she'd be accosted on her way back and he wouldn't be there. So he kept his wand clutched in one hand, and hers clutched in his other.
"Are we out of our minds?" she murmured, as he stuck his head around a corner and found the next hallway empty. "This is rather dangerous. Us, I mean."
He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand.
"Oh, absolutely," he said, tugging her around the corner. "But like you said, it's good to get out of your head sometimes, yeah?"
He paused before another bend in the corridor and looked down at her. She was smiling softly when she said, "Yeah."
Those last two weeks before the holidays had been the best he'd ever had at Hogwarts—Death Eaters or no. He kept helping Luna and her band of do-gooders whenever he could, warning her of instances when he'd been unable to do anything himself. He supposed that made him a do-gooder, too, but he'd been called worse.
When the train lurched and began slowing, dread settled in his gut. He kept his eyes on Luna and her friends, all of whom had surreptitiously drawn their wands. It was much too soon for them to have already reached King's Cross, and a glance out the window confirmed they were still among the rolling hills and lochs.
Blaise recognized the two black-cloaked men who shouldered their way through the connecting carriage door. Rookwood and Jugson. Their eyes were just as dead as the last time he'd seen them across his mother's dinner table—their mouths' still displaying the same cruel tilt. They scanned the train car, and the dread turned to utter, thundering panic when they settled on Luna.
They stalked towards her, and Jugson roughly pulled her from her seat. She didn't so much as cry out at the rough treatment, but he saw the pained twist to her lips. The widening of her eyes.
"Hey!" Longbottom yelled, jumping to his feet. He lunged at Jugson, but Rookwood was too quick, stunning Longbottom before he could do anything more than shove Jugson. Finnegan was out of his seat next, and he fired a quick hex to Rookwood's face and a solid right hook to Jugson's before he too was unconscious.
Blaise was primed to jump from his seat next, his wand in hand, but Pansy—of all people—dug her heel so hard into his foot he had to stifle a groan.
He whipped around to look at her. "Wh—?"
"Are you out of your mind?" she hissed, her mouth barely moving and her eyes on the Death Eaters. She grabbed Blaise's wand arm, and he felt the bite of her talons through his robes.
"I have to h—"
"They won't just stun you," she interrupted. "They'll kill you. Don't. It doesn't concern you."
But it did. Oh Salazar, did it ever. He'd never been more concerned in his entire life. The Death Eaters were roughly shoving Longbottom from the aisle, kicking at his legs, and Jugson still had an iron grip on Luna's arm.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked. The almost undetectable tremble in her voice had him shaking.
"Shut up," Rookwood growled. He grabbed her other arm and pulled her towards him. She stumbled over Finnegan's outstretched legs, and Blaise gripped his armrest so hard the wood beneath the cushion creaked.
Luna met his eyes over her shoulder, her blonde hair flying. They were pulling her towards the door now, and the entire carriage was deathly silent.
"I'll be okay," she said, holding his gaze. The dream-like quality that always permeated her tone was absent, and that felt like a Reducto to the gut. But there was a steadiness to her gaze, a steeliness he'd noticed whenever she talked about her precious DA or her precious Potter or her even more precious far-off dreams for the future. "I'll be okay," she repeated.
And then she was gone. She was gone, and he roughly shoved Pansy's hand from his arm, never tearing his gaze from the door Luna had disappeared out of.
Gone.
The word clanged through him. Luna had helped him escape his own prison. Helped him realize he could be more than the lying, murderous, Death Eater-in-waiting he'd always seen himself as. Helped him become a person again and showed him love that he'd previously thought the thing of fairy tales.
And she was gone, and he'd just sat there like the boy he was before he'd met her. Not the man he'd thought he'd grown into these last few months.
She deserved better than someone who would let her be taken without doing anything. Someone like Longbottom or Finnegan, who still lay unconscious. But suddenly, Blaise remembered all the fighting he'd done lately.
He could be that someone. He could fight for her, even though it was after the fact. What was stopping him? Himself? Hardly. His entire life had just been carted off the train, and he had nothing left to lose.
As the Hogwarts Express regained speed and low chatter resumed in the carriage, Blaise unclenched his fist. His heartbeat slowed into a steady, determined rhythm, because he knew he could do the same for her that she'd done for him.
He could help her escape her prison, too.
thank you for reading! this was my first foray into blaise/luna and i'm thinking it won't be my last :)