Blaise

North Wiltshire

Not especially far from Little Whinging in distance, but worlds away all the same, two teenaged boys made their way across a sprawling property in Wiltshire. Side by side, each with a broom stick in hand, they wound up foot paths, twisted trough rose-gardens, and wondered past a small pond in silence. They felt no need to talk, and neither of them was in any particular hurry to get where they we going. After several hours of strenuous, competitive flying, they were both content to make their way lazily back to the expansive Manor that adorned the lush property. Twenty minutes prior, overcome with exhaustion, they returned to the ground for the first time in hours and agreed to head into the house to get something to eat. The two boys, who had known each other nearly all their lives, were both very alike and very different in many ways.

Both were ambitious, intelligent, and insightful when they wanted to be, manipulative if they felt they needed to be, and they tended to fall back onto aloofness and sarcasm more often than not. Yes, their personalities were comparable in many ways, but for every similarity there were many ways in which they were different. Physically, well – they were both tall for their age and slender, but that was where the similarities stopped.

The first boy was the quieter of the two, content to sit back and observe. He called himself a people-watcher, taking in all manner of details: personality traits, behaviour patterns, mannerisms and quirks, and he catalogued every detail. As a result he knew a great deal about the people around him. He could tell if they were out of sorts, bothered by something or even when they were lying, which people tend to do more often than one would think. He carried himself with an overconfident demeanour that was frequently taken for arrogance. Those he did not know well were under the impression that he rarely spoke, which was untrue, he spoke quite often with the people he was close to, and simply put, he didn't believe in talking just for the sake of talking. He stood just over six feet, with chocolate coloured skin. He wore his black hair clipped short and had long almond shaped slanting black eyes. His facial features were well-defined, a long straight nose, high cheek bones and a sharp jaw line. At fifteen he was already quite nice to look at and it was clear that one day, Blaise Zabini would be a devastatingly handsome man.

The second boy was more boisterous, he had a tendency to be a braggart in the ways only a teenage boy could be. He attempted to carry himself with the same confidence as his friend but fell short, as his exaggerated sense of self-importance was a well-constructed cover for his personal feelings of inadequacy, and he was inclined to bully others in attempt to feel better about himself. In looks he was almost as opposite of his friend as one could be. His pale skin gave him an almost transparent glow. His hair was the fairest colour of blond, and was a few inches long with his fringe often sweeping across his forehead into his eyes. His features were sharp and almost pointed in a way that gave off an aristocratic air. His nose was long and slender and his jaw finely chiselled, but the most striking thing about Draco Malfoy was the colour of his eyes. They were a most unusual shade of grey that would burn like molten silver when his emotions ran high.

They had just made their way to the north east corner of the house when loud voices carrying from a window above brought them both to an abrupt halt. A quick look passed between them and words were unnecessary, they were going to listen in on what was being said. It was clear that the conversation they were listening to was a very heated one and the two voices seemed to get louder each time they spoke. A woman's voice rang out loud and clear, she was nearly yelling now.

"No this time you will listen to me! For twenty years I have listened to you, twenty years! I listened when you told me you were doing the right thing. I listened to you go on and on about fixing all that was wrong with the world. I listened," She spat; it was easy for Blaise to hear the venom in her voice. "For years I listened to talk of power and glory and how greatly you'd be rewarded. Bring back the old ways, you said, the proper ways, keeping the magical world pure. Oh, the Dark Lords victory was certain, and how wonderful it would be. But it wasn't wonderful was it? One wrong move, one wrong statement and… I listened to you, fourteen years ago when you told me the Dark Lord was gone. Tell me; were you as shocked by his return as I? Or did you know all along? I am quite through listening to you, Lucius!" She was interrupted by an overly calm drawling male voice.

"Narcissa, there is so much that you do not understand."

"Then make me understand Lucius! Because from where I am sitting it all seems perfectly clear. You, in your twisted quest for who knows what… power perhaps, are once again leading this family blindly down a very dangerous and deadly path. And I'll not stand for it! Make sure that is something you understand. I won't have it!" Blaise tried to keep his face as impassive as possible, this was quite interesting…

"Oh, you won't stand for it? And what path shall I choose then?" Lucius Malfoy snarled at his wife. "No one walks away from the Dark Lord, you know that Narcissa. You stay or you die. Is that what you wish for me Narcissa, death? Because that is all that would be left should I be foolish enough to turn my back on him."

"Of course not, yet you turn your back on your family with disturbing ease! I am well aware that leaving is not an option, but I fear that even if it were your choice is already made. Nothing, it seems, will make you want to leave the Dark Lord." She was yelling now, full out. Narcissa Malfoy was nothing if not a lady, and Blaise, though he's know the Malfoy family for most his life, was sure that this was the first time that he'd ever heard her yell.

"WANT TO?" Lucius Malfoy bellowed. "Why should I want to leave the Dark Lords service? He means to bring the magical world to the way things should be, those of the purest blood in power…" She interrupted, her voice thundering.

"Oh yes, purity and power the bastion of talking points, you know what I think? To hell with it! Lucius, Are you even listening to yourself? Your service to him… service indeed! You are a Malfoy, born to one of the oldest families in Europe. You are a strong, intelligent, and powerful wizard. Yet you cower at his feet, you beg his leave, grovel, and bow to him! Like some weak minded peasant come to flatter and beg of a king. You stand in his ranks as an equal among simpletons like Crabbe and Goyle. You were a born leader who could have been destined for great things and you throw it all away to lay your life, our lives, at his feet. You have handed your power over in service to another, that's all you are Lucius, a servant! Do not fool yourself, thinking he will give you anything, he means power and glory for no one but himself. That's all you will ever be Lucius, a powerful man who gave it all up to bow as a servant. And now this…" She was cut off suddenly by a loud growl and the crash of glass shattering. Oh… this was really getting exciting, he thought, they've started throwing things.

"ENOUGH! You go too far! You are making something out of nothing. I will hear no more of this. You are dangerously close to treachery in the eyes of the Dark Lord, Narcissa, and your words could very well become deadly." Lucius was shouting now as well, his voice shanking in anger.

"And what Lucius, you'll stand by and watch as he murders me for daring to have a mind of my own?" Her voice was suddenly quieter, almost sad. "He has you catering to his whims, running about the country doing whatever he bid you to do. And now he starts to inquire about Draco. That is where I draw my line Lucius, at my son. And you have the audacity to sit there, calm as you please, and tell me it is nothing. He already has you, Lucius; he will not have my son as well, not now, not ever." The voices in the room quickly went silent and both boys inhaled sharply and looked at each other with wide startled eyes. The Dark Lord was asking after Draco? This sent Blaise's mind racing, what does he want with a fifteen year old? Their gaze snapped instantly back to the window when the heard clicking footsteps and a door opening.

"I'll not speak of it again Lucius, but let me make one last thing unmistakably clear; If any harm comes to Draco because of this I'll never forgive you." He had to strain to hear now, as her voice became an icy whisper. "And if, gods forbid, it is anything worse, and my son ends up dead… I will kill you myself." He heard a few more high heeled footsteps and then a door slammed so loud it made them both jump.

Blaise watched quietly as Draco stood with his eyes closed and his breathing was slow and deliberate. He was sure that Draco's thoughts were reeling from everything they'd just overheard, because his own mind was spinning and the conversation hadn't even been about him. It had been disturbing to hear. The thought of being dragged into a war at fifteen, into the service of someone as unstable and dangerous as the Dark Lord sent chills down his spine, yes, it was very disturbing indeed. For someone as boisterous and inclined to bragging as Draco was, he'd been shockingly silent about the possibility of one day joining his father as a Death Eater. Blaise couldn't help but wonder about that, he'd made up his own mind a while ago, when he'd first understood that the return of the Dark Lord was a certainty rather than a possibility, and he'd expected Draco to be just as adamant about his own choice. After all, Draco's father had ingrained the ideals of pureblood superiority in him since birth, teaching him to believe in all the things the Dark Lord advocated, and as far as he knew Draco agreed with it all. What really threw his though was Mrs Malfoy; in his mind she'd always been just as resolute as her husband when it came to matters of blood and the hierarchy of the wizarding world. Although if he really thought about it, it really wasn't all that surprising, her last statement was enough to tell him that. Never having received that type of love and devotion from his own mother it was easy to spot in Draco's mother. That was the only thing he envied in his friend, the devotion of a mother, it was the only thing that Draco had that he did not. His mother played the doting type well enough in public when he was younger, in reality though, she made it all too clear that he was nothing more than a major inconvenience in her life. Her sixth husband and his fourth step father died recently and she was off once again, the beautiful socialite in search of another husband. Not that it mattered much; he hadn't seen her in over two years.

Narcissa Malfoy was a different type of woman altogether, when she doted over Draco it was completely real. She loved her son in the ways only a mother can, her dedication to him was second to none, not even her husband. She was the type of mother who would move mountains for her child, do anything and everything to keep him safe, and yes, even kill for him if it came down to that. It was good to know that Draco would have someone that strong, loyal and steadfastly dedicated to his wellbeing. Because after hearing that conversation he knew without a doubt that troubled times were ahead for the Malfoy family and Draco would need all the support he could get. He will always be there for Draco just as he always has been, but it is difficult to back up someone who doesn't necessarily want it. Draco was stubborn, wilful, and Blaise had never known him to ask for help, ever.

He waited for Draco to react but the other boy remained perfectly still and uncharacteristically quiet. A major blow up was coming, that much he knew, after Draco was done thinking things over several times, when the shock wore off, his irritation kicked in, or he was sufficiently indignant, that's when he would finally let loose. Generally these outbursts were saved until they were alone, then he would unleash a torrent of words, complete with exaggerated hand gestures, a chain of rather creative expletives, and a stream of abuse directed at whatever or whomever he was railing against. When the time came he would listen carefully, mull over his own thoughts, and reply honestly, albeit cautiously, even if his honestly was the last thing that Draco wanted to hear. This situation would call for extreme prudence on his part, for it was a much more serious subject matter than anything they'd ever discussed, and the last thing he wanted was something like this to cause a rift between them. Resigning himself to the long night and very thought-provoking conversation that was to come he took a deep breath and placed his hand on his friends shoulder.

"Come on Draco, we'd best get inside. You put the brooms up and I'll pop down to the kitchen, get the house-elves to fix us something. We'll eat down there if you like; it's away from the rest of the house." And your father never comes down there. He thought but didn't say out loud. Draco nodded but still appeared unable to speak as they started walking towards the back entrance of the manor that was still several hundred feet away. They walked in silence until they reached the door when Blaise stopped Draco. "There is no reason for your parents to ever know we overheard that," he said, but Draco understood what he really meant clear enough. 'I would never tell them about any of that or how much it bothers you.' This seemed to help Draco find his voice again. He abruptly shook his head as if to banish all the unpleasant thoughts and looked Blaise in the eyes. "Thanks." He said with a nod and then he turned and walked through the door.