Before you start reading, I'd like to just kind of warn you that I'm really bad at updating this on a specific schedule, which is mostly due to me trying to ensure that this story is exactly what I want it to be. I really don't want to rush through chapters, and I think that waiting a bit for updates will be worth the extra effort.

Chapter Two: The Games We Play

"Blaise Zabini!" Hermione screeched, slapping me so hard that my head jerked backwards. I could feel the sting of each of her fingers on the right side of my face as it throbbed.

"How could you?" She slapped the other side of my face just as aggressively. I could have stopped her, but some part of me believed that I deserved it. Anyway, I knew that she needed to get the anger out of her system, and this was as good a way as any.

"I'll get my just rewards eventually . . ." I moaned while rubbing my cheeks fiercely and trying my best to repeat the method I saw Draco use when Hermione famously slapped him across the face. Hermione was standing and pacing back and forth in a straight line at this point, but when she heard my words, she paused from her about-to-be lecture and eyed me suspiciously.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Only that if I don't die, I'll end up in Azkaban for a very long time. You see, I'm a Death Eater, and my soul isn't my own." That's what I wanted to say, but instead I ended up saying this: "You . . . look, I'm not sorry for what I've become, but it's not for the reasons that you think."

Brilliant, Blaise. Why did I say such an outrageously stupid thing?

"You stupid Slytherin," she spat, literally, in my face. I didn't bother to wipe it off. "Don't you understand! He's a maniac! Voldemort is a maniac!" This surprised me, her blatant use of the Dark Lord's name, but I didn't have time to dwell on it.

"What do you want me to do," I goad, trying to turn the conversation, "Break down crying and admit that he'll kill me if I don't obey? Tell you that I'm scared? Turn myself in to Azkaban?"

Hermione's expression turned thoughtful, and she considered a moment before responding: "No—" But she gets no farther before I cut her off.

"—That's not what this is about, Hermione!" I'm shouting at this point, centimeters from her face. I needed her to understand. "I'm not just some kid! I grew up a long time ago and I did it without anyone. I've played with fire before, and I will do it again and again as many times as I have to.

"But . . ." my voice softened and I pulled away, "I can't guarantee that I'll make it out this time. Of course it wouldn't matter—believe me when I say it wouldn't matter—except it's not just my life I'm playing with. Hermione, the fate of the world rests on my shoulders." Okay, so maybe I went a little too far with that one.

Hermione started laughing. "The fate of the world?" she smacked her knee, for dramatic effect I presumed, "No. Harry . . . Harry has the fate of the world on his shoulders. Dumbledore has the fate of the world on his shoulders. You? You're just some stupid, frightened child with delusions of power or I don't even know what."

And with the words "stupid" and "child" she had crossed the line. I'm not a violent person at heart, but I shoved her into the chair I'd sat her in earlier. Then I once again placed my face centimeters away from hers, but this time spoke—without raising my voice—as harshly as I could manage. I knew from personal experience that this was scarier.

"I'm going to tell you this right now, and I'm only going to say it once, so you better bloody well listen," I growl, "Harry Potter is supposed to kill the Dark Lord—right—but he's in over his head. And Dumbledore—the great and powerful Dumbledore—is . . . well I can't tell you what he's doing because no one knows." I knew, but that was beside the point.

"And because of all of those things," I continue, "I can't sit back and leave the fate of the world in their hands. I am Blaise Augustus Zabini, and I always have a plan; but I need your help with this one. And unlike when Ron or Harry need your help and expect you to swoop in and save them, this would be more of a partnership, because I am wicked smart." I grinned as I backed away from her, positive she'd lighten up at my display of arrogance.

"Wicked smart, huh? Then how come your grades are always in the middle of the class?"

"You're a smart girl. Think about it."

"You . . . want to be expelled."

I rolled my eyes at her.

"What . . . you don't like the attention or something?"

"The spotlight's not useful for me," I affirmed.

"So you're telling me—"

"—that the spotlight serves me no purpose?" I raised an eyebrow, deliberately missing her point. Then I winked at her and flashed a quick grin complete with an innocent shrug of my shoulders. "I . . . fail on purpose."

"What! Why would you do that? You really could be expelled!"

"Oh the horror." Then I dropped the dramatics and tapped my fingers on the table: back to business.

"So what does this plan entail?" she questioned, "—and I need all of it, including what you'd personally be doing and everything that you know."

"But do I really know that I can trust you?"

Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow at me, or at least attempt it. The actual result was amusing enough that I had to bite back a laugh.

"You came to me," she stated, "You came to me. If you need any more than that, know that I don't actually have feelings for Ron, I just can't hurt him. He's already hurting so much, and I . . . I just can't add to that."

I could tell just by looking at her face how much she meant that and how hard it was for her to tell me. I was rather surprised that she told me anything at all, and—though this information seemed entirely pointless to me—it was enough for me to decide to risk it.

"Alright fine," I agreed. Then I filled her in on the plan . . .

What is the plan? Well it's simple really, and by simple, I mean extremely complicated. It starts on this premise: Draco Malfoy isn't a Death Eater now, but I know that he will be soon. I know this because he'll think that it's the best way to get rid of his father; he'll think it's the only way to get rid of his father. Because of this, I jumped the gun first.

I apparated directly into Malfoy Manor one night when Draco and his parents were off in Italy on "vacation", which was mostly likely just a mission from the Dark Lord to get Lucius out of his hair. As I expected, the Dark Lord himself was there and—after getting over the initial shock of seeing that freak of nature—I approached him as boldly as I possibly could, demanding that he make me a Death Eater and allow me to succeed where others had failed. And how did I manage to make demands of the Dark Lord without peeing my pants? Well, for the first time in my life I was doing something that wasn't completely selfish. I was saving Draco. I was saving the world in a way that wouldn't even benefit me in the long run.

The Dark Lord was pleasantly intrigued by my confidence and did as I asked, though it hurt more than anything I'd anticipated. My first mission—and basically last mission—was to dispose of a muggleborn couple that knew too much of our world, the world they "didn't deserve". I deliberately failed.

My punishment was the Cruciatus, which hurt even worse than receiving the Dark Mark: so much more that I know exactly why casting it is a straight ticket to Azkaban. But I bore it as well as I could because I was exactly where I wanted to be: in the ranks, able to attend meetings, but mostly unnoticed by the others.

Anyway, Draco's going to become a Death Eater, and I already know what his mission will be, courtesy of a discussion I had the pleasure of overhearing during one of the more recent meetings. His mission will be to kill Albus Dumbledore, which I obviously can't allow to happen. Draco must be kept innocent and Dumbledore—though I'm not his biggest fan—is far too important. That's when we get to part two.

I've collecting the ingredients I need to make one of the most helpful and complicated potions imaginable: Draught of Living Death. When Draco goes to kill Dumbledore I will be waiting. I'll hide in the shadows and force feed some of my draught to Dumbledore (he'll comply I hope), but in a low dosage so that it takes a bit for it to kick in. Then I'll step out into the spotlight, hit him with an Avada Kedavra (that I'll aim slightly behind him) and they'll all presume him dead. Of course, then I'll join the Ministry's Most Wanted List, but I'll be safely in the arms of the Death Eaters until I can come and revive old Dumbly.

After Dumbledore is discovered alive again, I'll move from the Ministry's Most Wanted List to the Dark Lord's Most Wanted List, but at that point I'll already have made a dramatic entrance at the Ministry and landed myself safely into Azkaban. Will it be living death? Yes, but since I won't have killed anyone, I won't get the Dementor's kiss, and if I'm extremely lucky, Dumbledore will vouch for me at the end of the war and I'll be released. Otherwise . . . well, I don't like to think about that, but I guess it's a risk I must take.

Now we come to the part where I need Hermione Granger. Once I land myself in Azkaban I'll be useless, but the war won't have been won. I could try to convince someone else to join my side of course, but Hermione's extremely talented and I think most likely to trust me as well. She will be on team Harry Potter/part two of Draco Malfoy.

Step one requires me to link her and Draco's mind using a Dark Spell I discovered in the depths of the Malfoy library that I definitely didn't sneak into. This will of course suck immensely for the both of them (as I'm 90% sure that they hate each other's guts) but it will keep Hermione safer while simultaneously providing Draco with a conscience and preventing the Dark Lord from seeing into their minds. She will try her best to keep Draco from killing Dumbledore, but I will "kill" him regardless. He will in turn eventually realize the error of his ways (though I rather suspect he'll learn that as soon as he receives the Dark Mark) and help team Harry by telling Hermione where the Death Eaters are and how to avoid them while she goes on another task of my choosing.

This task is to dispose of the Horcruxes (the two I've managed to locate in all my snooping and all the four remaining others if you don't count the diary that was already destroyed). Dumbledore would be busy looking them, but I rather hope that he understands that the general duties of war are his to perform.

Harry will of course think it was all his idea to find and destroy the Horcruxes, but I thought of it first (just saying). Once all the Horcruxes are disposed of, Harry is free to rid the world of the Dark Lord (a glorious day indeed). Hopefully after the Dark Lord is defeated I'll be freed, but either way the world can live in peace again.

I'm not a hero. I never wanted to be a hero. Really it's only loyalty to a friend that started all of this. I could, of course, leave it to the professionals . . . but the "professionals" are Dumbledore—whom I don't entirely trust; Draco—who has terrible judgment that's blinded by hate and his father's prejudices; and Harry Potter—possibly the most overrated wizard of all time. I just can't stomach those odds, and even though my plan is a bit scary to me personally, I kind of knew that something like this would happen, anyway, or at least figured that it would.

I first gained suspicion during my second year, the year the Chamber of Secrets was opened. I was working on an essay about the Dark Lord's rise to power that I was supposed to be writing. I had finished most of the work and was busy botching it to the perfect level (that year was the one in which I discovered the perfect score range to rest in), when I happened upon a bit of information that surprised me: the Dark Lord's body had never been found. This reminded me of Harry Potter and his claims that he'd seen the very same Dark Lord during his fight for the Sorcerer's Stone, which made me begin to wonder how on earth someone could survive the killing curse.

I knew, of course, that Harry had survived it because of his mother's love or something like that, but since it was deflected and hit the Dark Lord himself, how had he survived? I've never been content to leave things alone, and I certainly wasn't about to start then, which led me to my first perusing of the restricted section and to the library at Malfoy Manor. Both places were a little dangerous for a second year, but everyone seemed too busy to be bothered by a few books missing here or there.

Whilst reading these stolen books, I came upon the mention of a dark spell called a Horcrux. Being in my second year, I had no idea what those were and so I brushed the word aside, very nearly forgetting about it. But zoom forward to the summer of my third year on a trip with my mother to France for her 3rd and certainly not final wedding where I discovered yet another thing that I wasn't supposed to know: what Horcruxes do. I was wandering through the old mansion where my mother's fiancé's mom lived when I felt a strong tug from a dark room. In the room rested an old spinning wheel. For some reason, I felt compelled to touch it, almost like an otherness had control of my body.

When I finally did touch it, I felt so much anger and hurt bubbling inside of me that I broke down sobbing, at which time I heard my step-grandmother's low growl behind me. She forced me into an Unbreakable Vow before telling me that I'd just come across her Horcrux. It was then that I knew how the Dark Lord had survived, but I still had no idea how many Horcruxes he had made in the first place.

I spent the rest of the summer and most of my fourth year scared out of my wits. I was trying to reason my way out of the conclusion that I'd come to; but I couldn't quite shake it out of my thoughts. I felt trapped and terrified almost to the very end of my fourth year, at which point I realized that Dumbledore must know something. I needed to know what that was. So I confronted him, demanding to know everything about the Dark Lord's inevitable return. He of course told me nothing, but all that accomplished was to make me curious.

I decided that summer to pay a little visit to Godric's Hollow: the place of Dumbledore's birth, and—more importantly—the place where the Dark Lord had been defeated the first time. It was there that I stumbled upon Bathilda Bagshot, the one witch that knew anything about Dumbledore. It was a rather long shot, but I was willing to do anything for any information at all by then. However, while Bathilda turned out to be a hidden wealth of knowledge about Dumbledore; she knew literally nothing about the Horcruxes, a great disappointment to my fourth-year self.

My fifth year gained nothing interesting, but after seeing Potter's terror and indirectly hearing the story of Cedric Diggory's death, I realized to my terror that the Dark Lord had already returned and that if I didn't act quickly, the entire world would suffer immensely. It was then that I decided to join the Death Eaters as a spy for myself. It was also then that I used my first Unforgivable, the Cruciatus, when I was laughed at by the members of the Death Eaters who were present that terrible day. That curse was enough to prove my worth to the Dark Lord, but for me it was more of a test. That curse has been seared into my conscience forever. It helped me decide with finality to do whatever it takes to bring the Dark Lord down—and this time for good.

I lay in my bed with my eyes closed, breathing in the embarrassment of the day I just finished. I convinced Hermione to plant a picture of myself—shirtless and winking in one of my over-the-top smolders, a rose in my mouth, and the word "always" signed in my best handwriting at the bottom—on Harry's pillow. I planted an identical picture on Draco's pillow, and we both charmed the rooms to transmit the sound across the entire castle and the pictures to disintegrate the moment they were taken out of their rooms.

It had been hilariously funny to hear them shriek, and I still can't believe that Hermione did it. She probably still feels sorry for me and what I'm sacrificing. Of course, she's still Hermione and will most likely be getting after me for botching more homework. Hopefully she won't be too upset when I tell her that I've been advised to get a desk job as a secretary at some place where no skills are necessary, that way next year's N.E.W.T.s don't really matter. This would have bothered me in, say, my fourth year, but I've long since given up on a future for myself.

It's funny how little you start to care about things like dignity when you realize that you only have about a year left to truly live. I never, ever make a fool of myself except in front of Draco and I rarely even make my existence known period, but I'm sure everyone will be trying to find out who I am tomorrow, especially when I snog the living daylights out of some poor girl to prove that I'm not gay. Sure, I have no future planned for myself, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to let my reputation die.

I finally fall asleep, dreaming of Azkaban and hoping that I'm not screaming. Dementors scare me almost as much as the kiss they give, and I've only encountered them once from a distance when they chased Harry all those years ago. Azkaban is packed with them, ready to crush the hope of anyone foolish enough to possess any. The last thought I remember thinking is that I should practice using wandless magic to keep the Dementors at bay while I'm in there.

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So there you have it . . . I hope you liked it and will come back when chapter 3 is done. Byeee!