Author's note: -gasp!- Unlucky 13! We must navigate quickly away from the horrors of the number!
Um... yeah. That was Caroline, being superstitious again. Honestly, for a girl as down-to-Earth as her, it's amazing how supersticious she actually is. Would you believe she actually believes our calculator can tell the future? -shakes head-
Anyway, this was a fun chapter to write. I've missed Blaise's sarcasm, so it was nice to get back to it. Don't worry, this isn't permanent. After all, truces are made to be broken, are they not? (For you, maybe. Some of us actually keep our words!) Don't you have something weird and occult to be doing, Caroline?
Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted... (you, my dear tamara, are no one to talk about being "rudely interrupted.") And what is that supposed to mean, may I ask? (Nothing, nothing...)
AS I WAS SAYING... actually, I can't even remember what I was saying. (Something about being rudely interrupted.) Thank you Kyra, I figured that out myself. Oh, what's the use? Just... enjoy the chapter, all right?
Disclaimer: I assure you, the voices JK Rowling's head are far, far less irritating than mine. (may i remind you that you're actually a voice in my head, not the other way around?) See what I mean?
--tamara
13. In which Blaise attempts to negotiate a truce
"So you're saying that it didn't actually mean anything and that it actually is Draco?" Weasley's freckle-spotted face wrinkled slightly in an effort to understand Blaise's words.
Blaise nodded. "In essence, yes. I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it to him. I'd like to stay alive to graduate."
"You think he'll kill you if he knows?"
"I think Potter will."
Weasley shook his head. "No he won't. I know Harry."
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Oh, do you? Ah, yes, I'd forgotten. Friends at first sight and all that. Well, let me inform you that you don't really know someone until you've fallen in love with their partners."
"And you know this from experience, do you?"
"Not personal experience, no."
"Whose then?"
"I don't believe I shall tell you. Quite frankly, it's none of your business."
Weasley scowled. "Fine. I didn't want to know anyway."
"Oh, please. Spare me the five-year-old's temper tantrum, if you please. They long ago ceased to have an effect on me."
"Oh, I forgot. You're a jaded Slytherin, aren't you?"
"I'm assuming that your tone was not meant to sound quite so insulting."
"And what if it was?"
Blaise smiled cynically. "There's a reason we're considered a dangerous House, Weasley. Believe me, you don't want to get on our bad side."
Weasley's ears were turning a dangerous shade of scarlet, but Blaise didn't care. He'd had to push all sentiment to the side to concoct his lie, and now he'd almost convinced himself that he was enjoying this. There was no denying that this exchange of verbal bullets was familiar, at the very least.
"You think you're better than me, don't you Zabini?" Weasley had well and truly exploded. His bellow shook the ceiling, and his wand was out and pointed straight at Blaise's chest. Blaise eyed it with distaste, then drew his own out with pointed slowness.
"In certain matters, yes. And may I suggest that we duel outside? I don't believe anyone would be pleased if we broke anything. Not even considering the damage to our own situation."
"Damage to our situation?"
"Magic sensors, Weasley. After all I've told you, do you really want my mother swooping down on us?"
"She wouldn't hurt me. It's you she's after." Despite his bravado, Weasley sounded as though he would really rather avoid a confrontation with Blaise's mother. Blaise didn't blame him.
"You're from Gryffindor. I imagine she wouldn't particularly care what happened to you."
"She wouldn't hurt an innocent bystander, would she?"
Blaise sneered elegantly. "Leaving out the debate about whether anyone is truly innocent, she wouldn't hesitate in the least. There's a reason the Dark Lord tried to recruit her."
"She's a Death Eater?!"
"Note the word 'tried'," Blaise snapped. "She's far too proud of her pure heritage to associate with any half-blood, even him."
"So why do you call him 'The Dark Lord' like all the Death Eaters do?"
"Because I respect his power and his abilities. Just because I don't happen to agree with his personal philosophy doesn't mean I can't respect him as a phenomenal wizard."
Weasley eyed him as though he were something lower than the lowest insect on the planet. "That's disgusting. How can you even start to respect that… that thing?!"
"Just because you see nothing but the motives doesn't mean the rest of us are so shallow. You can respect the artist without appreciating the work."
That led to a long, stiff silence. Finally, Weasley sighed. "I think we'd better go back to avoiding each other," he muttered. "This will only lead to more problems."
Blaise nodded. "I believe that was what I intended in the first place. How we got onto our present topic of conversation, I do not know."
"Your mother," Weasley reminded him coldly.
"Ah, of course."
Weasley turned to go. "I'm going to leave now."
Blaise nodded. "You do that. The front door's open, if you want to go out."
"How… no. Never mind."
He left, closing the door to the living room with something that could almost have been a slam. Blaise looked after him for a long moment, then shook his head. "That could have gone better," he muttered to the air. Then he retired to the library and tried to pretend that he didn't care what Weasley thought.