Author's Note- Hey y'all! I'd like to thank everyone that's stuck by me despite my slow postings and taking forever to get things done! You have no idea how much that means to me! I really hope you're enjoying this story as much as you enjoyed The Pureblood. I'm really trying to make this one just as good, if not better than the first book. I should have another chapter ready to go soon. Just waiting to hear back from my dear friend who helps me double check everything. I can't promise regular postings, but I do promise that I will finish this part of the story! - Much love, Sarah
Disclaimer: Only the plot and original characters are mine. Everything else is credited to those they belong to!
Chapter Two
1:48 PM
After the long hours spent at the hospital, Blaise and Mrs. Zabini had finally returned home. Once he'd helped his mother off with her cloak, he was a gentleman afterall, Blaise removed his own and hung them neatly in the coat closet. He yawned hugely and, kissing his mother on the cheek, excused himself to send off some letters.
"I'll have some sandwiches sent up for you, shall I?" Mrs. Zabini called as he ascended the stairs.
His stomach agreed rather loudly and, pausing briefly, he turned to his mother. "Yes, please," he replied. "Thank you."
Mrs. Zabini headed for the kitchen while Blaise continued up the stairs to his room. With a flick of his wand, the fireplace ignited, taking the chill from the room. He removed his jumper, tossing it carelessly on his bed, and sat at his desk with his head in his hands.
He felt exhausted. Between the events of the previous night and the hospital visit that morning, Blaise overflowed with worry. He had always known that Lucius was a selfish, egotistical man, but to curse his own son? It was deplorable. Now Draco lay, sedated, in the hospital and Blaise had to process Narcissa's version of why on top of trying to cope with Hermione's abduction?
It was all too much.
He inhaled deeply, running his hands over his face and through his hair. "Right," he uttered quietly to himself. "Letters."
Opening a drawer in his desk, Blaise took out some sheets of parchment and his inkwell. Quill in hand, he dipped the tip and began penning the first of the most difficult letters he had ever written.
Three hours, two ham and turkey sandwiches, and four butterbeers later, Blaise finished the last of four letters. He neatly folded the parchment and stuffed it into the corresponding envelope. He then began writing the address on the front as neatly as he could.
As he was finishing up, his bedroom door opened. "Master Blaise, you is having visitors," Gripa chimed as she scuttled about his room picking up various items that needed putting away.
Blaise put his quill in the ink pot and looked at her, surprised. "Visitors? Who?"
"Master and Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood, and Master Potter," she replied, conjuring a feather duster out of thin air.
As she flicked the duster around his desk, Blaise growled in annoyance. "Oi! I'm not having them up here, so you can stop your straightening up," he ordered a little unkindly.
Gripa whacked him with the duster handle. "You is being rude, Master Blaise! Oh, you naughty, naughty boy!"
She whacked him a couple more times for good measure and nodded when Blaise looked properly chastised, though she raised her feather duster again as he muttered something under his breath. "Gripa should wash Master Blaise's mouth with soap, she should!"
"Off with you," Blaise said as he stood. "If I'm going to entertain guests, then I suppose tea and nibbles would be a good idea. Actually, make it a pitcher of pumpkin juice instead of tea."
Gripa gave a little curtsy and vanished. "I swear that elf is going to be the death of me," Blaise muttered as he headed out of his room.
"Blaise, it's good to see you!" Luna greeted him the moment she saw him coming down the stairs.
He wasn't sure why, but he was beginning to like the strange Ravenclaw. "And you, but what are you all doing here?" he asked, accepting the hug Luna was now bestowing on him.
"We heard about Hermione and wanted to come see how you and your parents are holding up," Harry answered.
"Mum sent a basket of goodies in the hopes of cheering you up a bit," Ginny added, holding up a large basket. "She knows it's not really going to, but it's her way of letting you know she's thinking of you."
Blaise couldn't help grinning as he took the basket and inhaled the delicious scents coming from inside. "I'm sure whatever's in here will taste as good as it smells," he said. "I'm sure my parents will be very grateful. I know I am."
"How are you all doing?" Ron asked.
Blaise turned his attention to the elder Weasley. Genuine concern flowed through the air from his fellow Hogwarts students. These are truly good people, he thought. His eyes met Harry's. Even Potter's not as bad as I thought. He motioned for them to follow him.
He led them up the stairs to his bedroom and closed the door. He swished his wand and several cushy pillows appeared on top of the comfortable rug near the foot of his bed. "I guess I won't be needing to send these off," he said, grabbing three of the letters he had written and holding them up. "I had just finished them when Gripa told me you were here."
His shoulders sagged as he let the letters drop to the rug. Luna gently pulled him down to the floor with the rest of them. "Blaise?"
He briefly met her eyes. Trust them, the voice inside him said. "I don't know what I'm feeling," he finally said. His expression became uncertain. "Is that stupid?"
The four friends shook their heads, but it was Luna who spoke. "Our mind often needs time to process things after a traumatic event."
"What about facts?" Ginny suggested.
Blaise's brow furrowed. "The Daily Prophet was unsurprisingly short on the details of Hermione's kidnapping," Harry explained.
"That's what those were meant to give you," Blaise pointed at the discarded letters, "but if you'd rather, I can just tell you."
"We'll take whatever you give us," Ginny tells him, throwing a quick glare at her brother. "Won't we?"
Ron actually seemed surprised by her hostility. "Yeah," he agreed. "Why wouldn't we? Don't we all just want to know what happened to our friend?"
Ginny's expression softened, turning her attention back to Blaise as the Slytherin sighed heavily. He ran his hands over his face tiredly, pulling in a deep breath. Facts. Okay, I can do this, he told himself. Sitting up a little straighter, He began relaying what details of the abduction he could.
"You don't think she's…?" Ginny whispered a few minutes later when Blaise had finished.
Blaise shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no… I'd know if she were."
"Because you're twins?" Ron asked.
"I don't know if it's because we're twins, but I feel it in my heart that Hermione's alive."
"Well, there's no doubt in my mind that you and Hermione share a deeper connection than most twins. Fred and George aren't even as in tune with each other as you and Hermione seem to be, and they're identical."
Four pairs of eyes gazed at Ron. He looked back at them, a mini jam tart halfway to his mouth. "What?"
"We're just surprised that you actually paid something other than food some attention," Ginny quipped, reaching over and patting him on the knee. "Good for you."
Ron swatted her hand away just as Gripa shuffled into the room balancing a tray of goodies on her head. In her hands she carried a tray of glasses and a pitcher of fresh pumpkin juice. "Cheers," Ron said as she set the trays down near him.
"Mrs. is wanting to know is you staying for dinner?" she inquired, looking at the four visitors.
Blaise caught Harry's eyes, sensing the question behind the look. "You're welcome to stay," he informed them. "It would be really nice, actually."
"Then, I guess it's settled; we're staying."
As Gripa disappeared with a quick curtsy, Blaise looked at Hermione's friends. "While we're waiting to be called for dinner, I should probably tell you about Draco."
Saturday December 27, 1997
10:33 AM
Investigator McMillan ran a hand over his mouth as he approached the large mansion style home. This was one of his least favorite parts of his job. He much preferred the visits that involved a solved case. Better they get this news in person, he told himself.
Reaching the front door, he grasped the ornate knocker and rapped a few times. Seconds later, the door was cracked open and a wide-eyed house elf peered up at him curiously. "What is you wanting?" squeaked the elf.
The Ministry investigator smiled kindly. "Hello, are your masters at home?"
The elf's eyes narrowed. "Who is wanting to know?"
"Investigator McMillan from the Ministry of Magic."
The door immediately opened wider. "Gripa is sorry, Sir. Please, come in."
He thanked her and stepped into the impressive foyer. "Sir is in his study," Gripa told him. "Gripa will show you the way."
Investigator McMillan followed her graciously as she headed toward the stairs. With each step, dread for the impending conversation flitted through him. Just be straight forward. Kind.
Pietro Zabini didn't look up as Gripa scuttled in with the Ministry Official. "Gripa, I thought I told you I did not want to be distur…" His admonition trailed off as he lifted his eyes from the parchments in front of him.
"My apologies for the interruption, Mr. Zabini," Investigator McMillan said. "I'm Investigator Ulysses McMillan from the Magical Law Enforcement Office."
"No. Please, forgive my rudeness." Rising from his chair, Mr. Zabini moved around his desk and greeted the man. "I was not aware that anyone from the Ministry would be coming by."
Investigator McMillan nodded in understanding. "Of course."
Mr. Zabini motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk as he went back to his own. "Is this about my daughter?"
"Is the rest of your family at home?" Investigator McMillan inquired, taking a seat. "Only, I think it best if I speak with you together. If you don't mind."
Nodding, Mr. Zabini looked at Gripa. "Find Marjorie and Blaise," he told her. "Tell them their presence is needed here."
As Gripa scampered off, Mr. Zabini reached for the small decanter on his desk. "May I offer you a drink?"
"Uh, no. Thank you," Investigator McMillan declined. "This shouldn't take long."
Mr. Zabini poured himself a finger of firewhisky. "You wanted to see me, Father?" Blaise's cautious eyes flitted to the stranger sitting in the armchair in front of his father's desk.
The elder Zabini downed his drink in one. "Where is your mother?" he asked without looking at his son, his voice chilly.
Still blames me, Blaise thought as his mother breezed past him. "I'm here, Darling." She stopped short, seeing their visitor. "Oh, hello," she said politely.
"Marjorie, Blaise, this is Investigator McMillan from the Ministry," Mr. Zabini told them. "Investigator, my wife and son."
Investigator McMillan nodded at them in turn. "Ma'am, Blaise."
Mr. Zabini gestured for them to sit and Blaise moved closer to stand beside his mother's chair. "I apologize for showing up unannounced like this, but I felt it was important for you to hear this from me," Investigator McMillan began. "As you know, Auror Hawk and his team have been looking into your daughter's kidnapping. As yet, they have found no evidence pointing to the perpetrators."
Mrs. Zabini's face fell. "Nothing?"
"I'm afraid not."
"But, what about all the broken things in her bedroom? Blaise's statement?" Mr. Zabini inquired.
"Blaise's statement, while helpful, doesn't tell us what took place in the room where Hermione was taken," he informed them. "We need Draco's statement, but his mother is refusing to let us question him until he's recovered from his…"
"Grief," Mrs. Zabini finished for him.
Blaise caught himself before he rolled his eyes at his mother's lie. The lie she and Mrs. Malfoy had concocted while at St. Mungo's after Draco's admittance there. If asked, or brought up, they were to say that Draco was suffering from grief. As though anyone with a brain would believe that, Blaise thought. Not with his symptoms. Just hearing the ridiculous story made his stomach roil with disgust.
"Yes, ahem, grief. Right." Investigator took a breath before continuing. "Unfortunately, the only thing the broken belongings tell us, is that a struggle took place."
Blaise furrowed his brow. "I don't understand. Why isn't Auror Hawk telling us this?"
Investigator McMillan ran a hand over his mouth. "Well, that's actually the reason for my visit," he answered. "Auror Hawk has handed Hermione's case to the Department of Investigations."
The sudden outburst of anger that statement was met with was not unexpected, nor was it misplaced. The Ministry investigator had known this news would not go over well and he wanted to curse Auror Hawk for not having the decency to do this himself. "It's a waste of an Auror's time and skill." He'd been told when he'd confronted the Auror.
He held up his hands. "Please, please, if you would allow me to explain." He looked at Blaise, who had snapped, how can he just pass off Hermione's case?! "When a case lacks evidence, it's not uncommon for the lead Auror, in this case, Auror Hawk, to hand the case down to an Investigator."
"Lacks evidence," Blaise mocked. "Don't make me laugh. Sounds like incompetence and laziness to me."
"Blaise, this isn't Investigator McMillan's fault," his mother chided lightly, dabbing at her eyes. Blaise hmphed and crossed his arms as he leaned back against the bookshelf behind him. "Please, continue, Investigator."
Taking a hanky from his inside robe pocket, he wiped his face. He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable at the glares from the Zabini men. "Ahem, yes, well, as such, I will be handling Hermione's case from here on." He looked at each of them as comfortingly as he could. "I want to assure you that I will do everything I possibly can to find your daughter."
"How can we be certain that you will not give up after two days as the Aurors have?" Mr. Zabini inquired, his voice icy.
Blaise cut his eyes over at his father. It didn't surprise him to see no outward sign of anger. Except, perhaps the slightest narrowing of his eyes. Blaise knew better though. Frustration seeped into the very corners of the study.
"Because I'm telling you, Mr. Zabini," Investigator McMillan stated, his confidence in himself coming through.
Dad's gonna explode if this smug bastard isn't careful, Blaise thought.
Mr. Zabini leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. "Well, I do not hold as much confidence in you as you seem to hold in yourself," he said.
Though his posture and expression were pleasant enough, his voice was low, dangerous. "Tell me, Investigator McMillan, is the Ministry in the habit of employing incompetent and lazy workers?"
"No, Sir! The Ministry only hires the best."
Blaise snorted. "I'd like to hear you say that in front of Harry Potter," he sneered.
Investigator McMillan visibly paled at the mention of The-Boy-Who-Lived. He was well aware of the young wizard's feelings toward the Ministry as a whole. After the utter blunder that took place two years ago, he couldn't blame the boy. The Ministry was still trying to clean up that mess.
The corner of Blaise's mouth ticked up in a classic Draco smirk. That's what I thought.
Mr. Zabini cleared his throat, shooting his son a quelling look before turning his attention back to the investigator. "I understand that this is not your doing, and that you are only doing your job, but surely you understand our frustration at this situation."
"Yes, yes, of course, and I wish I'd been able to come with better news for you."
"You're not giving up the search?" Mrs. Zabini asked, her voice soft and full of concern.
His eyes went to her. "I've never given up on a case," he assured her. "I don't intend to start now."
Mr. Zabini narrowed his eyes on the man. "Be sure you do not."
2:09 PM
Rubbing his face with a hand, Blaise sighed and closed his Herbology book. The new term would be on him sooner than he'd like, so he thought he'd distract himself by doing a bit of homework. Apparently his brain had other ideas, however, because he only got two sentences into his essay for Professor Sprout before his thoughts drifted to Draco.
Mrs. Malfoy had sent an owl just after lunch telling them that Draco would be released that night. That was the good news. The bad news was that he would still need a bit of time to recover. Blaise had snorted at that. Yeah, that's not happening.
Draco had never been one to let things keep him down for long. He normally bounced back pretty quickly. Blaise wasn't so sure he would bounce back so easily this time.
"We are not having this discussion again!"
Blaise pushed to his feet and made his way out of his room. Typically soft spoken and mannerly, his father was not prone to raising his voice. Since Hermione's abduction, though, if Pietro Zabini wasn't drowning himself in work, or drink, he was yelling.
His mother's voice drifted up from the floor below, softer, but determined. "Pietro, if you'd just hear me out."
"No!" Mr. Zabini snapped. "I have told you once, now I am telling you again; there will be no party!"
A door slammed and a loud thunk echoed through the halls. "You are the most stubborn arse I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!"
Blaise rounded the corner that led to his father's study just in time to see his mother kick the door. His lips began to lift into a smile. That explains the noise a second ago, he observed. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and folded his arms across his chest, amused. "Imagining the door is Dad's head?"
Mrs. Zabini whirled toward him with a startled shriek. "Blaise Dominic Zabini, don't you dare scare me like that!" she chastised, her hand to her heart.
"Oh, come on, Mum, you make it too easy," he teased. "How can I not?"
Her brown eyes narrowed into a glare for the briefest of moments before her expression softened. "You are absolutely horrid."
Blaise laughed and fell into step with her as she passed him. "So, what were you and Dad discussing? Something about a party?"
Mrs. Zabini smoothed a loose strand of her hair out of her face. "I thought it might be nice to host a small dinner party on New Year's Eve." At Blaise's confusion, she went on. "I overheard Hermione discussing the Muggle traditions and I thought… I thought she would appreciate us sharing in something that she grew up with since this is her first holiday season with us."
Her lip quivered. "Would be," she corrected, her voice breaking.
"Mum," Blaise said softly.
Before he could pull her into a hug, Mrs. Zabini held up her hand and shook her head. "No, no. I'm all right," she waved him off.
He knew she wasn't, but he didn't want to upset her further by pushing. Instead, he decided to go on with the conversation. "So, you want to have a dinner party for Hermione?"
"Just a small one," Mrs. Zabini confirmed with a nod. "I mean; we cancelled our Christmas plans because of… everything, and I thought it might be nice to have a few close friends over."
Her voice was soft, uncertain, as though she was rethinking her plans. Or thinks they might be inappropriate, Blaise observed. He, for one, thought a small dinner party was a brilliant idea. "That sounds great, Mum."
She furrowed her brow, apprehensive. "You don't think it's foolish? Or uncouth?"
"No, I don't. Mum, Hermione wouldn't want us distancing ourselves, or holding off on things because of her. She'd want us to continue living our lives."
"But your father…" Her voice trailed off as she glanced at her husband's study door.
"Dad's grieving, like we all are, but he'll come around," Blaise said with conviction. "He just needs a good kick to the head."
Mrs. Zabini smacked him lightly in the stomach as he pulled her into his side with a laugh. "Blaise," she chided weakly, laughing a bit, as well.
"What?" he asked innocently. "You said it yourself; Dad's a stubborn arse."
He kept his arm around her as they began walking again. "Come on, tell me your ideas for this New Year's Eve dinner party."
Monday December 29, 1997
12:56 PM
After two days of yelling and tears from his father and mother respectively, Blaise felt it was time to involve himself. Ordinarily, he would stay out of his parents' arguments, few as they might be, because they usually settled things themselves. However, this one was reaching epic proportions and he was getting tired of seeing his father reduce his mother to tears.
Today, he was going to confront his father and see if he could get him to relent. He didn't think his interference would do much good, but he was going to try. For his mother, for his sister, he would do anything. He would do anything for his father, too, of course but, at the moment, his father was the one in need of a dose of reality.
Blaise also really hoped he could discuss his expanding knowledge of others' feelings. He hadn't told his parents anything about the abilities he and Hermione had been developing since the day they had brought her to her rightful home. In all honesty, he wasn't sure how they would react to finding out their children were having visions and speaking to each other telepathically.
He thought for a moment and remembered Hermione telling him that she'd had to tell their mother about their visions when he'd been in a coma near the beginning of October. He was pretty certain that their mother would have told their father. They don't know about the telepathy, though. That had come later. Sensing each other's feelings; that had pretty much been there from the beginning.
There was a conversation he and Hermione had had that he recalled. It was the day after their Coming of Age party. He'd had his first vision that morning and, despite Hermione's prodding, he'd refused to discuss it. She'd left him to shower while she went down for breakfast. He had hoped that was the end of the conversation, but she brought it up again when he'd joined her in the dining room.
Tuesday July 1, 1997
9:13 AM
"You're looking better," she said.
"Thanks," he replied with a meek smile.
He really didn't feel all that much better. His head ached and his stomach was churning at the smell of the food on the table. He couldn't allow her to see how uncomfortable he was, though. Brave face, Blaise, he told himself. Brave face.
He should have known better. Hermione wasn't a dunce. Her smile faded the longer she looked at him and her eyes narrowed in that way they did when she was studying. "Something's bothering you," she stated.
Blaise took his seat at the table and reached for the eggs. "No."
As perceptive as Hermione was, he wouldn't put it past her to call him on his unspoken lie.
As if on cue, she said, "It wasn't a question, Blaise. Listen, I've had lots of practice reading the emotions of guys; my two best friends are guys, remember?"
Yep. She saw right through you. He glanced at her and arched a brow. "How could I forget?"
Hermione's expression became full of concern. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Blaise shook his head. While he appreciated that she was trying to be there for him. He had never been one that spoke to others about his feelings. He didn't like to bother people and, with the exception of Draco, he felt that sharing his thoughts and feelings was far less important than what others might be going through.
He felt Hermione's eyes on him as he continued putting food on his plate. Far less than he normally ate. "All right then, I want to look up a few things I'm uncertain of for school, I remember seeing a library but I can't remember where it is."
She's lying, he thought. If they were anything alike, and knowing how brilliant she was, he was pretty sure she understood just about everything in their school books. He wasn't going to call her out for lying, however, because he had the sense that whatever she wanted to look up was important and something she couldn't, or didn't want to, divulge. Besides, she doesn't trust you yet. "Third floor, fifth door on the left."
"Thanks," Hermione replied, eating the last bite of her breakfast. "Come find me if you change your mind about talking, okay?"
Blaise nodded. He listened as her footsteps faded into the distance. When he couldn't hear her anymore, he pushed his plate away and used his arms as a pillow as he rested his head. He sighed, wishing he could forget the fear he had felt in his nightmare. He wasn't afraid to admit that he's been scared before, but this was different. He had been so scared that he'd gotten physically ill. He'd actually vomited. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that.
He didn't care that he'd gotten scared, or that he'd thrown up because of it. As someone that wasn't used to people seeing him vulnerable, he cared that Hermione had seen him like that. She wasn't a dunce and it hadn't taken her long to figure out that this was not a normal occurrence in his life.
Of course, she wouldn't know that he'd been plagued with nightmares since he was a child. That their parents had taken him to see Professor Snape. That Snape had been making him a potion that kept the nightmares from happening. Hermione wouldn't have known all of that because she had just come to live with them two days ago.
He lifted his head. Did I remember to take my potion last night, he wondered?
He pushed back his chair as he stood and quickly strode out of the dining room. He took the stairs two at a time, practically running, and came to his room in about a minute. He pushed the doors open and went straight for the bin. No empty potion bottle. "Gripa!" he called.
She appeared with a soft pop. "Yes, Master Blaise?"
"Have you straightened up in here already?" he questioned, glancing around.
Before she even said a word, he knew the answer. His bed was unmade, his sweat soaked pyjamas were where he'd left them. It was as he feared.
He had forgotten to take his potion.
"No, Master Blaise. Gripa is not yet cleaning the bedrooms," she replied. "Gripa is cleaning the kitchen, she is."
Blaise looked at her kindly. "Yes, I should have realized before I called you," he said. "I'm sorry for disturbing you."
Gripa's big, round eyes narrowed on him as though he'd offended her. "Gripa's family is not a disturbance," she stated matter-of-factly. "Not ever."
Smiling at her declaration, Blaise gave one of her batty ears a playful flick and said, "Thank you, Gripa. You can get back to your cleaning."
She returned his smile and gently squeezed his hand before disappearing to the kitchen. Words could not express how much he cared for that tiny elf. She had always been there for him. She sometimes mothered him a little too much, but he wouldn't trade her for anything. She was irreplaceable as far as he was concerned.
As he set his trash bin back in its place, a dull pain pulsed behind his eyes. Hermione, he thought. Without hesitation, he Apparated downstairs to what he teasingly referred to as his mother's Apothecary. It was really just a pantry sized room near the kitchen where his mother brewed and stored all of her potions.
Without needing to read the carefully labeled bottles, he plucked a small bottle that he knew to be a Headache Draught from a shelf just above his level. Seconds later, he was standing outside the family library. A small smile pulled at his lips when he heard Hermione talking to herself.
"I'll need a Headache Draught if this pain doesn't go away. I suppose I should ask someone about where I might find some."
He moved into the room and called out, "No need; I've got some here."
When she came into view, he realized he had obviously scared her. Her eyes were wide and she had a hand to her chest as though trying to slow her heart. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, handing her the potion.
She took the small bottle and read the neatly written label. She looked up at him, her head tilted and brow furrowed. "How'd you…?"
Blaise's expression mirrored Hermione's as he rubbed the scruff on his cheek. "I'm not sure, really. I just felt that you needed it," he answered. "Mum usually takes a spoonful, but if your headache is as painful as it looks like it is, then you might want to take a little more."
"Thank you."
Watching as she sat and downed about half the bottle, he realized just how much pain she must be in. Lowering the bottle, Hermione's brows rose in surprise. Blaise chuckled at her expression as he sat down across from her. "Tastes better than you expected, doesn't it?"
"It really does," Hermione agreed.
"Mum's got a knack for potions. I think she wanted to be a Healer at one point," Blaise said thoughtfully. "Anyway, are you all right?"
She chewed on her lip. "I'm not sure, to be perfectly honest. I'm not sure what to make of it, though, so I'd rather not talk about it just now."
He bobbed his head. "Okay."
She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him, her eyes slightly narrowed in thought. "It's strange, though, isn't it?"
Blaise drew his brow down in confusion and then understanding hit him. "Oh, you mean the fact that we somehow sense what the other is feeling, or thinking?"
"Yes!" she leaned forward excitedly. "We've gone years without knowing anything about each other, and suddenly we can just sense things like when you're scared, or-"
He saw her eyes flick to the bottle in her hands. "You're in pain?" Blaise interrupted.
Hermione grinned. "Exactly."
He thought for several moments, casually picking up one of the books in a stack near him. "It is strange, but not unheard of. From what I understand, twins often have a unique sense of each other."
"Hmm… Yes, I've read several articles on the subject for an assignment I had in school before I started Hogwarts."
A wide, knowing smile parted his lips. "That doesn't surprise me." He then looked at her with concern. "How's your head?"
Hermione gave him a grateful smile. "Completely fine, thank you."
Monday December 29, 1997
1:07 PM
They had gone their separate ways for the day after that. Blaise had gone with Draco to be fitted for dress robes. He had wanted to get a head start on things for his wedding to Beatrice. Hermione had gone to The Burrow to spend some time with her friends.
Throughout the day, Blaise had been a little distracted. There was a nagging in his brain that just wouldn't shut up. It kept telling him to tell Hermione about his nightmare. Of course, he knew he could tell Draco and he did. Partially. He told him about forgetting to take his potion before going to bed the previous night and his thoughtlessness had resulted in a nightmare.
Blaise didn't go into the details of the nightmare with him, and Draco didn't pry. They knew each other well enough to know that if the other wanted to discuss something, they would.
Still, the nagging feeling hadn't stopped. It ate at him so much that when he got home that night, he headed straight for Hermione's bedroom in the hopes that she would be home.
Tuesday July 1, 1997
8:56 PM
Faint light creeped into the hall from under the double oak doors. Closing his eyes, he knocked softly so as not to startle her. "Come in."
Grasping the handle of the door on the right, Blaise gently pushed the door open. "Have a good visit with the Weasleys?" he asked as he entered the room.
"Yes, quite good," she said as Callidora flitted to her knees. "It was just what I needed. How did things go with Draco?"
Blaise smiled as he closed the door and walked further into the room. "Brilliantly," he said. "I managed to pick out some really smart dress robes for myself and Draco." He paused for a moment and thought. "I'll have to take Crabbe, Goyle, Flint, and Bletchley another day."
Hermione rolled her eyes slightly. "Oh I can just imagine how much fun that'll be."
He knew she didn't like his friends, and she honestly had a very good reason not to, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear her speaking ill of them. "Oi, I don't trash-talk your friends in front of you," Blaise reprimanded.
"I'm sorry, but I just can't say anything nice about Crabbe and Goyle."
Blaise could tell by her expression that she was sincere in her apology. "Especially not after they helped Pansy Parkinson destroy our Coming of Age party," she continued resolutely. "I actually can't understand why you'd consider making those two Groomsmen after that, but it's not my decision."
"Look, I know Crabbe and Goyle are thick, and they usually go along with whatever someone smarter than them says, but they're my friends, Hermione," Blaise argued.
He knew he wouldn't change her mind on the subject, but he had to at least throw some logic into the conversation. At least she'll understand that, he thought. "They're Draco's friends too, and seeing as he's doing his best to respect your choice of friends, you might want to do the same."
He let out a deep breath as he ran his hands over his face and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He was on edge because of his nightmare and he was having trouble keeping himself from exploding. Hermione must have sensed something because her voice was soft and contrite when she spoke. "You're right, I'm sorry, Blaise."
Blaise shook his head and rubbed his face. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like I did," he said. "I guess I've been a little on edge since this morning."
"It happens to us all from time to time," she acknowledged forgivingly. She then eyed him with those intelligent eyes in that way that made him feel like he was one of her books that she was studying. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"
He chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. How does she know me so well already? "You're sure you've got the time?"
"Of course." She patted the bed. "As I've said before, I'll always have time for you."
Blaise smoothed his hair back with a hand as he slowly made his way over to her bed. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he sat next to her and kept his eyes on his fidgeting hands in his lap. His stomach churned as he wished he didn't have to ask, but he needed to know. He swallowed. "Has… has anything strange happened to you since you've been here?"
"What makes you ask?"
Her voice sounded as nervous as he felt and it made him feel a little more comfortable. "This morning… the nightmare I had. Nothing like that's ever happened to me before," he said. Not completely true, but she doesn't need to know that. "It was like I was seeing things through someone else's eyes… like I was someone else."
Hermione gasped softly. "Wha… what happened?"
Blaise ran a hand over the back of his neck in an attempt to calm himself. "I… I was running. There were trees… so many trees. Death Eaters were behind me. I tripped and one of the Death Eaters grabbed me."
"Blaise, do you have any idea whose eyes you were seeing from?" Hermione asked.
Blaise shook his head and finally looked at her. "All I know is that it was a girl," he whispered. "I could tell because I remember feeling a lot of hair flowing around me… her."
"And this happened for the first time this morning?"
Blaise nodded.
"Something odd happened to me this morning too," Hermione confessed. "It was after we had spoken and I went to the library. While I was looking through the books, I got a sharp pain behind my eyes and my vision blurred. When it cleared again, I was looking at Lucius Malfoy."
He had not expected that. Lucius? "What was he doing?"
There was a reluctance in her eyes and he couldn't really blame her for being hesitant. After a few seconds, she said, "I don't know exactly. All I could really see was Lucius sitting at his desk looking over some papers. He didn't look pleased. Then, my vision went blurry again and I was back to staring at the books around me."
Ignoring the probability that she wasn't telling him the whole truth, because he hadn't told her the full truth either, he asked, "What do you think it means?"
Hermione shook her head. "I'm not sure," she said. "I remember reading something in Magical Connections a couple of years ago about some sets of twins having powers of telepathy and cryptophasia, but-"
Was that even English? "Crypto-what?"
"Cryptophasia. It's a phenomenon of a language developed by twins that only the two can understand. It basically means secret speech," Hermione explained, sounding like a dictionary. "Now, I've seen the cryptophasia in action before, being around the Weasley twins, but I've never actually known a pair of twins to have such powers as telepathy, or visions; have you?"
"No; I don't know many sets of twins," Blaise replied. "Hey, do you suppose this thing we have… you know, where we just somehow know what each other is thinking, or feeling… is some form of cryptophasia?"
He listened as Hermione voiced the possibility that it could be and noted that she could find out by asking Fred and George, or the Patil twins. This didn't particularly sit well with Blaise as he didn't want the world knowing about their visions.
Gratefully, Hermione reeled things in and asked if her questioning Fred and George would be all right. Blaise, however, wondered aloud if they could be trusted. "I mean; they run a joke shop."
"Of course they can be trusted. They're not ones that would blab something a friend asks them to keep secret."
Seeing the trust in her eyes for the Weasley twins, Blaise let out a sigh of consent. "All right, you can ask them… Just don't tell um… Ron and Harry."
"Or Draco," Hermione added with a small smile at Blaise's use of her friends' names.
"What are we going to do in the meantime?"
Hermione grinned, walked over to her desk, and picked up one of the many books that were piled on it. "What do I always do when I'm looking for answers?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Monday December 29, 1997
1:13 PM
That night, Blaise walked away feeling whole. His entire life, he had felt like a piece of himself was missing and now it made sense why he had felt that way. His sister, his twin, had been separated from him just days after being born, leaving a void in his life that he hadn't been able to fill.
Until six months ago.
Having moments like that with Hermione over the last six months had been a blessing. She filled him with a strength he didn't know he'd been capable of and he knew it was that strength he needed to tap into right now. Confronting his father was not going to be easy and he honestly wished Hermione were beside him. But if she were here, you wouldn't be doing this, he reminded himself. You wouldn't need to.
With a deep breath, Blaise raised his fist and knocked on his father's study door. "Enter."
Blaise opened the door and stepped into the study, closing the door behind him. "Father," he greeted.
Mr. Zabini glanced up briefly, appraising his son's demeanor, before going back to the ledger in front of him. "What do you want?"
Annoyance pelted him like little ice pellets of hail. "I want you to reconsider Mum's request to have a dinner party for New Year's Eve," Blaise informed him.
"No."
The tone of his voice usually brokered no argument, but Blaise was not backing down. "She's not asking for-"
"No."
"But, Father, it's onl-"
Mr. Zabini slammed his fist on his desk. "Blaise! I said no."
The anger that always seemed to be simmering below the surface whenever he was around his father suddenly exploded. "WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN FOR ONCE?!"
Fire blazed in Mr. Zabini's green eyes as he glared at his son. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible, but Blaise heard him all the same. "How dare you speak to me that way."
Blaise scoffed. "How dare I? No, how dare you! Do you have any idea how your constant rejections to this dinner party are affecting Mum? Any idea at all?"
"Your mother is fine."
Disbelief twisted his stomach. "My God," he gasped, shaking his head. "I never thought you, of all people, would be this blind."
"Blaise, if you only came to change my mind about your mother's dinner party, then your time is wasted," Mr. Zabini told him, his voice cold and indifferent. "Now, I am very busy. You can see yourself out."
Having dismissed him, Mr. Zabini went back to looking over his ledger. Blaise practically growled as he moved toward the desk. He took hold of the ledger and threw it across the room. "Blaise!"
As Mr. Zabini stood and came around his desk to retrieve his ledger, Blaise blocked him. Mr. Zabini side-stepped him, but Blaise was right back in front of him before he could move forward. "Blaise, stop this nonsense. You are being ridiculous."
"Apparently, being ridiculous is how I have to get your attention now," Blaise retorted. "You've got your head buried so deep in your work that you don't know your family is drowning!"
He kept his eyes locked on his father as he went on. "Hermione was abducted. You blame me. Fine. That I can handle. What I can't handle, is seeing my mother cry because my father won't let her have a small dinner party to honor their daughter!"
Mr. Zabini glared. "Having a dinner party in honor of Hermione suggests that she is dead," he snapped. "I refuse to accept that notion, and by rejecting the idea, I am saving your mother from continuing to think it."
Blaise ran his hand through his dark hair, gripping tight at the crown of his head. "God! Dad, do you even hear yourself?!" he inquired hotly. "Mum doesn't believe Hermione's dead! She's trying her best to stay positive that she'll be found and brought back to us!"
"Then why have a dinner party in honor of her?" Mr. Zabini's voice was just as hot as his son's.
Narrowing his eyes, Blaise surveyed his father carefully. "You never even listened to Mum's request, did you? You heard dinner party and slammed the door in her face. Literally."
"Perhaps if she had-"
Blaise pointed a finger into his father's chest. "Don't you dare blame Mum for your hardheadedness!" he snarled. "All Mum wants to do is honor the Muggle traditions Hermione was raised with because this is the first holiday season she would've had with us. You were the one who didn't listen. You were the one who pushed us away and threw yourself into your work."
Mr. Zabini's shoulders slumped slightly as he sighed heavily. "My work is the only thing that is keeping me from going insane," he stated, his voice breaking a little. "My daughter was taken and I was not there to stop it."
"But I was, right?"
Mr. Zabini's expression softened as he looked at his son. The hurt he saw on his son's face nearly broke his heart. "Blaise," he said softly, reaching for him.
Blaise moved out of his reach. "No, I get it," he dismissed. "I know you blame me for Hermione getting kidnapped."
"Io non."
Snorting, Blaise raised a brow. "Dad, I feel it every time we're anywhere near each other. I don't mean in the metaphorical sense of feeling, either. I literally feel your blame, your anger. I feel everything you feel. Everything Mum feels," he took a shaky breath and wiped a lone tear from his cheek. "I don't get to sit with my emotions because I'm too busy feeling everyone else's."
Finding himself against the wall, he gripped his head and slid down to the floor. His tears fell silently except for the breaths he drew in attempts to get his emotions under control. The sound of his fathers shoes on the hard floor alerted Blaise to his approach.
He didn't move away when he felt a hand on the side of his knee. "Blaise, when did this happen?"
Blaise sniffed and wiped his face as he looked up at his father, who was kneeling in front of him. "Around the same time as my visions, I think," he replied.
Mr. Zabini nodded, an unspoken understanding passing between them. When Hermione was brought home. "At first I thought it was just something between Hermione and me," Blaise continued. "We just somehow knew what each other were thinking, or feeling. Like one of those twin things you hear about, you know?"
"And when did you notice this had expanded to others?"
Blaise leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. He shook his head with a sigh. "It probably happened sooner, but… four nights ago." He lowered his head slightly and locked eyes with his father. "At first, I thought, maybe, I was just being perceptive, like Draco always tells me I am, because you're my father and I know your expressions."
Mr. Zabini closed his eyes, an attempt to block out the hurt on his son's face. He knew the exact moment to which Blaise was referring. How he wished he could take back what he'd done, but that power did not lie with him. He reached forward and gripped the back of Blaise's neck, gently pulling him toward him.
It wasn't until their foreheads touched that he finally spoke. "È me stesso che incolpo, Blaise, non te," he said passionately, squeezing gently. "Siete i miei figli. Dovrei proteggerti e ho fallito. Hermione ci è stata portata via e tu sei stato ferito."
Blaise, having shifted to his knees to accommodate his father's pull, sat back on his heels, his expression a mixture of surprise and confusion. "But… I'm the older brother. It's my duty to watch out for Hermione. You said so."
"Sì, e hai fatto tutto il possibile per impedire che tua sorella venisse rapita," Mr. Zabini told him. "Hai fatto il tuo dovere."
"But-"
"Blaise!" Mr. Zabini strengthened his grip on Blaise's neck and pulled him forward again, a little more forcefully this time. "You did your duty. It is not your fault."
Blaise collapsed against his father, hugging him tightly. He buried his face in his father's neck, sobbing openly. With each tear, each hiccupping breath, his body felt lighter. It was as though a weight he didn't realize he'd been holding was suddenly being lifted from his chest.
Mr. Zabini stroked his son's hair soothingly as he whispered, "Non è colpa tua," and, "Mi dispiace molto," repeatedly. With the revelation of Blaise's empathic ability, he knew the words didn't have to be spoken. They needed to be spoken. He needed Blaise to hear that it wasn't his fault, that he was sorry for having made him feel he was to blame.
"I have been beside myself with despair and grief at not being there to help Hermione, that I have forgotten to be grateful for having you and your mother. Mi perdonerai mai?"
Blaise released him and sat back, sniffling and wiping his face. A small smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. "Sì, Papà."
Mr. Zabini stood. Blaise took his outstretched hand, allowing himself to be helped up. The two hugged and Mr. Zabini kissed his son on the forehead. "Off with you, now," he said, patting Blaise's cheek gently. "I really do have much work to do."
When he reached the door, he turned slightly, his hand on the door handle, and gazed at his father questioningly. "Does this mean we can have the dinner party?"
Retrieving his ledger from the floor, Mr. Zabini stared back at him. "Yes. Tell your mother to go ahead with her plans."
Blaise nodded, a wide smile parting his lips. He then left his father to his work and immediately sought out his mother to tell her the news.
Mrs. Zabini was, of course, elated. "Oh, Blaise, there's so much to do!" she exclaimed, going straight into party planning mode. "I'm not even sure what all I need to do."
Muggle traditions were completely lost on him. He didn't even know of anyone, other than Hermione, that he cou… "I can owl Harry Potter," he suggested. "See if he can come over tomorrow to help you with that."
Her eyes sparkled. "Oh, that would be so wonderful! Yes, please send Harry an owl inviting him," she agreed. "If he can't come, perhaps he could send along some sort of instructions?"
"I'll put that in the letter," Blaise stated with a bob of his head.
Mrs. Zabini smiled. "Thank you."
Blaise barely had time to kiss her cheek in parting before she nudged him out of the sitting room. He chuckled as he headed for the stairs and heard his mother call, "Gripa, I need you!"
5:29 PM
Having taken a chance by sending the letter to The Burrow, Blaise was surprised by Harry's quick response. He had kindly accepted Blaise's request to explain the Muggle traditions of New Year's Eve. He had even gone so far as to offer to stop by that evening so as to give Mrs. Zabini more time to prepare.
Blaise had graciously accepted on his mother's behalf and was pleasantly surprised when Harry showed up with Molly Weasley on his arm. A snarky comment about Harry not having his Apparation license yet was on the tip of his tongue, but swallowed it down. Harry was being nice by coming to his mother's aid, after all. "Mrs. Weasley, Potter, please, come in," he said instead.
"I hope you don't mind that I brought reinforcements," Harry commented, smiling and jerking his head toward Mrs. Weasley.
"I know you have a House-Elf and a staff," she acknowledged with a kind smile, "but one can really never have too much help."
Blaise couldn't help the upturn of his lips at her words. "I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Weasley, and I'm sure my mother will welcome any assistance you can provide."
He motioned for them to follow him and he led them into the dining room where his mother had requested refreshments be laid out. "Molly!" Mrs. Zabini greeted warmly, rising from her seat at the table. "What a pleasant surprise!"
"Well, when Harry told me what you were doing, I just had to come and offer my help," Mrs. Weasley told her. "Hermione is very dear to my family and if there's ever anything I can do, you just let me know."
Mrs. Zabini hugged her tightly at that. "Thank you! I'm loathe to admit it, but I find myself becoming a little overwhelmed with the amount of things I need to get done in such a short amount of time."
"Nonsense, we'll put our heads together and get it all sorted in no time."
Smiling gratefully, Mrs. Zabini turned her attention to Harry. "Thank you so much for agreeing to this," she stated.
"It's no trouble, really, Mrs. Zabini," Harry said, awkwardly accepting, and returning, her hug. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be, but I'll do my best."
"Anything you can tell me will be most helpful, Mrs. Zabini assured him, gesturing to the table, magically set with a fourth setting.
Blaise flicked his eyes toward the chair across from the one his mother had vacated moments ago. Harry took the hint and sat in said chair while Blaise pulled out the chair next to his mother for Mrs. Weasley, who patted his cheek in thanks.
While Blaise filled everyone's glass with pumpkin juice, Mrs. Zabini began serving up the chocolate pie Gripa had made. As they ate, Mrs. Zabini asked Harry question after question about Muggle New Year's Eve traditions. Harry answered each question with kindness and patience to the best of his knowledge.
When the conversation turned to food, Harry steered Mrs. Zabini's inquiries to Mrs. Weasley stating that she knew what Hermione liked better than he did. In all the times he and Hermione had spent at The Burrow with Ron and Ginny, it hadn't escaped his notice that Mrs. Weasley always took care to make a favorite dish of theirs, or something they had mentioned in passing. She was kind like that.
Blaise got to his feet, nudging Harry as he pushed his chair in. Harry took the hint and followed suit. "What's up?" he asked when they were out of earshot of the women.
With a shrug, Blaise ran his hand over his face and sighed. "I don't know. I guess, I'm just… I just feel like…" He took a breath, collecting his thoughts. "Everything feels heavy, you know? Like…"
"Like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders?"
"Yeah," Blaise breathed. "You ever feel like that?"
Harry's eyes widened as he shook his head slowly. "No. No idea what that's like at all," he deadpanned.
Blaise squeezed his eyes shut, wincing in embarrassment. "I'm an idiot,"
"Maybe just a little," Harry chuckled.
With a slight chuckle of his own, Blaise walked over to the entryway staircase and sat near the bottom. "You know, if someone had told me six months ago that I'd be spilling my secrets to Harry Potter, I'd have told them to piss off."
"I'd have said the same."
The two broke into a bout of laughter and when it died down, Blaise looked at Harry seriously and said, "Thank you, for doing this for my mum and for… everything. Hermione's lucky to have you as a friend."
"I think it's the other way around, but thanks."
Blaise nodded and looked down at his feet.
"Hey, Blaise?"
He looked up. Harry's brow arched pointedly. "I'm your friend, too, y' know," he stated. "So are Ginny and Luna."
"And Weasley?" Blaise questioned with a slight smirk.
Harry scratched the back of his head with a chuckle. "He'll come around."
Blaise wasn't so sure, but he wasn't going to argue. The honesty and hope radiating from Harry was enough to drown the uncertainty. "Come on," Harry said, pushing to his feet. "I want another piece of that pie."
"And thus another victim falls to Gripa's delicious cooking," Blaise laughed, shaking his head.
Author's Note- I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please feel free to let me know what you thought by leaving a review. Regardless, I thank you for taking the time to read this! Until next time, Sarah