Title: The Firebrand Chronicles Book Two: After Dark
Summary: No one knew what awaited them upon returning to Hogwarts that year. No one expected a monster to attack the students, and certainly no one expected anyone to assume that Harry Potter was the party responsible. Blaise Zabini certainly didn't. This is his story. Book Two
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter any of its characters or events. They belong to J.K. Rowling
Firebrand Chronicles
Book Two: After Dark
Chapter II
I bent over to pick up the dropped books Abby's hand still held firmly in my own, only to nearly bump heads with the person I had just knocked into. When we both straightened I found myself face to face with a dark haired youth of about sixteen whose name I knew to be Peter. Peter, fortunately for me was the young man Charles had hired to help him with the stables. Peter, unfortunately, was also pure Muggle. Behind him stood another person who looked nearly as started as the two of us, a girl near Peter's age with curly red hair, a freckled nose, and sky blue eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Zabini, I'm sorry." Peter began to apologize.
"No, it was my fault," I muttered, not quite sure how to proceed. Though he was employed part time by the family I had never before had an actual conversation with the youth, and I was unsure how much he knew, or how much I might carelessly give away. Peter seemed nice enough though. He took one look at Abby who had taken hold tightly of my leg, hindering my ability to pick up the dropped books, and finished the task for me.
"Really, Mr. Zabini, I am sorry." He handed the stack over to me and left his hand extended so I shook it awkwardly, letting go of Abby's hand just long enough to do so.
"Call me Blaise, and this is Abigail." I said though I knew he knew our names already. Abby's grip on my leg only tightened.
The curly red haired girl behind Peter was giving me odd looks. "Why are you dressed as a mime?" She suddenly blurted. I felt my cheeks heat even though I no idea what a mime was and no idea how they fit into the conversation. I simply knew from the comment that something was wrong with the clothing I was currently wearing.
"Abby . . ." I started, but she decided to put in her own two Knuts fortunately understanding exactly what was needed.
"I help."
Peter glared at his friend, which gave me just enough time to shift the books firmly into one arm, pick Abby up with the other and maneuver around the two Muggle towards my bike and Abby's carriage. "I'm sorry, but it's almost her nap time and we need to be going." I managed as I slid the books into the cargo pocket and bucked Abby into her seat. It was the truth, even though I was also trying to avoid any more awkward conversation. Abby fell asleep on the ride back.
That wasn't the end to the surprises for the day, though the next one was much better than a run in with a Muggle employee. My father's father, Grandfather Alexander, had arrived at the house some two minutes before me for a surprise visit, and Millard had gotten on the wrong side of him already, to my great pleasure. I could hear their voices echoing from the entrance hall even before I opened the front door and carried the still sleeping Abigail inside.
"I don't care what you're in the middle of, man! I want to see my grandchildren and I demand to see them now!"
"Grandfather," I slipped in quickly before things could get potentially dangerous. "We were at the library."
"Alexander?" my mother's voice preceded her down the main staircase. "I thought I heard your voice." She gave him a kiss on each cheek before tuning and taking a still sleeping Abby from me. "I'd better get her upstairs and in bed."
"I apologies for inviting myself over, Vitoria."
"Nonsense," she called back over her shoulder, "as steward of the estate, not to mention family, you are, of course, welcome at any time."
"We're only surprised you're not here more often." I added receiving a poorly veiled glare from my stepfather.
"You, young man, are going to spend the day with this old one," Grandfather declared clapping an arm across my shoulders.
"Yes Sir!" I grinned with the reply.
Grandfather Alexander dragged me upstairs into the guestroom where Bert had already put away all of his belongings. "First thing first, we need to get you some decent Muggle clothing. Really paint you face white with that outfit and you'd be the perfect mime."
"Mime?" I ventured this being the second time I had heard that word today.
"Muggle performers, don't speak, and the dress like, well like you at the moment." I suddenly understood the situation. "Anyway, here you go." He handed me a brown paper package he had finally found in one of his drawers. "Picked that up in Ireland. Thought you might appreciate it. It's Muggle style so it should do the trick." I pulled out a green t-shirt with the words "Got Game?' stamped in white across the front over the golden yellow back to back 'K' emblem of my favorite Irish Quidditch team. Below the shirt seemed to be a pair of pants constructed of the blue denim material that Muggles seemed to be so fond of.
"Well go on, get changed, I'm taking you out for lunch." As I left the room I heard him whisper, "He looks so much like his father did at that age," a comparison nobody had ever made to me before. I had no doubt that while I changed he would disappear into the downstairs office to have a chat with his son's portrait. Sure enough he palmed the spare key from Bert and when I was done I found him leaning back in the brown leather desk chair smiling sadly.
"Promise me one thing," he said a little later as we left the manor and walked towards the garage where grandfather got the keys to the Muggle station wagon from Charles. "When you get to your third year take Muggle studies. Really, the fact that anyone could let you out of the house dressed like a mime . . ." he shook his head with mock despair. "It'll help in the long run, I can guarantee you that."
He only proved his point further with his ability to drive the station wagon, only Janice and Charles had ever paid much attention to it, and I had always thought it was on the property only to keep up appearances for the Muggle neighbors. Though I did wonder if Grandfather hadn't used some magic, because rather than bumping down the road and lurching around curves the way it did when Janice drove us to town, the automobile moved along smoothly without even the slightest hint of trouble.
Soon enough we were seated on the back patio of a local Muggle café looking at the lunch menus and I found myself telling him about astronomy. "It's not that I don't like the class, though the Professor really does seem to hate me, but I can't seem to make myself stay awake."
"Have you tried coffee?" a new voice asked and the waitress appeared still tying on her apron. When she looked up, a slightly embarrassed look on her face, I realized she was also the same girl who had referred to me as a mime earlier that morning. "Hi, I'm Sandra, I'll be your waitress this morning, and I really wasn't eavesdropping I just overheard. When I have trouble in class I drink coffee, and I really didn't mean to make fun of you this morning . . ."
Grandfather threw back his head and laughed, "He really did look like a mime . . ." he roared.
I forced a smile. "Apology accepted."
"Coffee sounds wonderful young lady," Grandfather managed when he had collected himself, "and the number four special as well."
"Cream or sugar?"
"Both. Blaise, you wanted the BLT?"
"And an orange soda."
"Ok coffee, orange soda, BLT, and the Turkey club. I'll be back with your drinks in a moment and your meals will be out shortly."
Grandfather let me taste the coffee when it came and compared to Mother's tonic, which I had been drinking the year before, it was like heaven. "Best part of it," Grandfather stated when I handed the mug back to him, "sugar doesn't ruin the effect."
Grandfather decided to extend his visit for the whole rest of the summer; Mother was pleased as long as he avoided trying to talk business with her, which included accounting. Apparently Grandfather's success with the Quality Quill Company had gotten into his head a bit and he was a little over eager to share what he had done. Abby was thrilled because 'Papa' read her all the stories she wanted, and I was thrilled and only partly, because his presence meant Millard was on his very best behavior. Veiled threats were almost non-existent between us when Grandfather was around, if only because there was a certain thing we both feared the old man would discover. Myself more for the repercussions on the family than anything else.
In any case, towards the end of summer Millard left for yet another business conference leaving us to our own, happy, selves.
Soon after Millard left, Grandfather had me in the upstairs hall where the family portraits hung quizzing me on who was who, "It's me left to teach you, your mother has her own family. Now this is your great Uncle Benjamin." He laughed, "He used to have this mirror that showed your inner most heart's desire. When your grandmother and I were dating I looked into it and saw her in a wedding dress. Turned around and proposed on the spot . . . pity he had to hide it when the war started. No one's quite sure where it ended up. And this is your cozen Gwendolyn. fantastic Quidditch player. Used to hold the record for . . ." and as he talked the portraits would smile and wave, sometime adding in two cents of their own.
About three weeks into August we were scheduled to head into Diagon Alley for my school supplies. The trip had originally been scheduled for Wednesday, but was pushed to Thursday when Grandfather learned that Gilderoy Lockhart was going to be at Flourish and Blotts.
"Insufferable young man, I don't want you anywhere near him Blaise." Harry Potter, a Gryffindor student in my year, famous for something he could've had no control over (defeat of you-know-who as a child) had no such reservation. The next morning he was on the front cover of the Daily Prophet right next to the famous author. If I hadn't known how Potter had courted the fame the previous year I'd have believed that Lockhart's photographic self was holding him in the photo. Unfortunately for Grandfather's previous declaration against the man the attached article announce Lockhart's appointment to Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.
"So much for staying away from him." I muttered handing the paper over.
"Idiotic boy," I assumed he meant Lockhart, "you know he came poking around my office some time ago looking for a custom quill, I keep telling people I don't do custom quills. Not unless they serve a particular purpose. Untamperable for courtroom proceedings, or self-writing for Elinore Quimby who lost her hand saving that kid from a manticor. Those are worthy purposes. But I am not going to make a giant mountain roc quill for book signings, it's absurd. Nothing more than a lavish display of wealth. No, you don't see us parading around in garish silk robes just because we can!"
Grandfather very nearly kept up the lecture all the way to Diagon Alley. Not until I ventured to change the subject to the making of Quick Quotas Quills did he calm down. "You know I actually had to invent my own set of charms for that. I knew what I wanted, the how took some doing. Half the magic is concentration. Interpretation comes with the incantation. I had to find the words to say exactly what I wanted to happen, no more, no less, in the shortest most precise way. I hear you're quite good at charms yourself, take after your old man I'll bet. Tell you what next year send me the dates of the Hogsmead weekends and I'll come visit and teach you what I can. You should be able to handle the charms by then."
We got all my supplies easily though Grandfather was not happy when I had to buy a complete set of Lockhart's books.
"Just like the fool," he grumbled crushing the supply list in his hand. But as it was on the list there was no getting around it.
All too soon the summer was at and end and Grandfather was escorting me to platform 9 3/4. I was of course wearing my Quidditch shirt which got some very approving nods from some of my fellow students.