Chapter Nine: I Know

Blaise Zabini was many things but no one could criticize him for being disloyal.

Yes, he was an alcoholic, a bit of a drug addict, and more than a bit of a sleazebag. Yes, he'd be the first to admit that he had some serious issues with being productive – he hadn't worked a single day of his luxurious life thanks to his mother and her questionable fortune. He was a lazy motherfucker that really only wanted to spend the rest of his life partying with questionable people. It was all true. Blaise didn't have many obligations or people to please. He was rich, after all.

But Blaise was loyal. If there was a redeeming quality about him (and there were not many of those floating around) it was that he was loyal. It was an odd attribute to have had, especially considering that he was an ex-Slytherin and all. But it couldn't be helped. It was what it was.

More precisely, Draco had asked Blaise for a favour, and since Draco was practically his brother in all but blood, Blaise was going to do it no matter what it was or how long it took. Draco was the only constant thing in his Blaise's life. Draco took care of him when no one else would, listened to him ramble, clean up his questionable messes after a crazy night without batting an eye, without criticizing his very existence...

For that Blaise was grateful.

For him, Blaise would do anything. That kind of loyalty ran blood deep.

So when Draco asked Blaise to investigate missing children and magical signatures that didn't register, Blaise had agreed. It didn't matter that he had done so reluctantly. It had been a weird request and Blaise honestly had better things to do. Nott was throwing a party that night and it had been rumoured that it was going to be the wildest thing since last year's Christmas bash. It physically pained Blaise to consciously skip it.

But he had, because Draco needed his help and that didn't happen very often. So Blaise had to do it. There was no way around it.

That didn't mean he wasn't fucking resentful, though.

The thought was present in his mind as he made his way down a dark, filthy alley somewhere in the deepest reaches of Knockturn Alley, shivering his arse off. He knew this had to be important to Draco if he had asked Blaise to come to this kind of place at this time of night.

But damn, he didn't want to be here. He was starting to feel the beginnings of the ever present tremors in his hands. He needed another snort of his stash. Why hadn't he thought to bring his stash with him, anyhow? Being high helped him concentrate, it honestly did.

But that couldn't be helped now.

He had asked around – discretely, of course - about missing children and magical signatures. All of the circles and people he had quietly approached had taken his galleons, shared his drinks and drugs, and pointed him to this place. Of course, they had been just as surprised as he had been at the strange questions. But if there was anything to be found, they'd said, it was to be here. In this disgustingly filthy alley.

He quietly moved down the alley and to a hidden door at the very end. If he hadn't been looking for it, Blaise hardly thought he'd ever find it under normal circumstances. Well, under normal circumstances, Blaise doubted he'd ever set one expensive designer clad foot in this dump. But that was just that. And he had been told that there would be a door here.

There were several strong concealing charms hiding the door from view and Blaise didn't dare tamper with any of them. There were wards upon wards, layers upon layers of magic – some of which Blaise didn't even recognize. And something else. Something that screamed of dark beings and inherent evil. Blaise didn't know what it was and he sure as hell wasn't about to find out. It didn't sit well with him.

So he would have to try to find another way in. That was also fine.

He wondered what kind of psychos stole kids and hid them in dumps like this. If they were that depraved, did Blaise really want to be here and rescue the little children? No, he really didn't. He had no doubt that a person or people like that would kill him if given the chance, and he wasn't all that keen on dying.

But Draco had said that all he'd have to do is snoop around a little bit. Tell him what he'd found. Blaise had found a bloody weird arse door and that was all. Draco sure as hell wasn't expecting him to take any risks. This was as far as loyalty was going to get him.

Blaise passed his wand over the mysterious door, scanning for the spells that were placed on it so that the Aurors could later figure that shit out. He waved his wand whispering a quick "expecto patronum" and sent his results off to Draco.

He wasn't completely inexperienced, he thought with a smirk. He had done this before.

Just as he was about to leave, the door burst open and it was all he could do to quietly throw himself behind a pile of conveniently placed garbage. He didn't dare even breathe lest his location be given away. Silently thanking Merlin for his preservation instincts, he lay there silently, observing his surroundings through the garbage that covered him.

Two men had exited the door he had been surveying.

One was short and stocky whilst the other was tall, but equally large. They both seemed to be absolutely filthy, as if it hadn't occurred to them to shower or invest time in personal hygiene. Blaise could swear that their stench reached his nostrils, even from the distance between him and the pair and the pile of garbage around him. They both had long, dirty, lanky hair and yellowed eyes and nails. They both had six fingers.

Blaise wondered if they were some kind of freaks of nature. It was honestly a disturbing sight to see. They were whispering to each other – not quietly enough so that he couldn't hear but just enough so that he'd have to strain to make out what they were saying.

"-isn't it enough?" the tall one was saying. "We've got eight. Don't know what he's waiting for."

The short one didn't seem to be happy with the tall one and whatever it was that he was saying. "We're not to question it." The man had an oddly high pitched voice, it was almost feminine. If Blaise didn't know better (and he did, because the man had a fully fledged beard), he'd have assumed the midget was a girl. "We do what we're told and we're meant to go look for new prospects just in case something goes wrong like last time. This is why you're not allowed at the meetings, you know. You ask too many questions and don't carry out orders."

So this was news. Draco could benefit from this, he was sure. It appeared these freaky twins were part of a larger operation. Of what, he didn't know. Kidnapping unsuspecting children? That would explain the prospects part. He took to memorizing the two men's faces, their appearance, and any details that could be beneficial towards catching them later.

He honestly didn't care if they got away, so long as he was able to walk out of here alive. They could leave, he wasn't about to stop them and drag them towards the Aurors. That was the Ministry's job, not his. He wasn't going to risk his neck for a bunch of stupid children. He'd done his job – gotten information.

A third man exited the doorway, which had been left open behind the two freaks. He somehow seemed a little more composed, a little more clean, and more suave than the others. He managed to look like an actual human, even though he was dragging a black body bag behind him that was leaking blood. Even though he also had six fingers on his right hand. It was unsettling and Blaise just wanted it all to be over at that point.

"What have I told you about keeping this door shut?" the third man said loudly, dropping his bag with a thud on the floor. "The incantations don't work if the door is left open, you imbeciles!"

So he was the mastermind behind this entire operation, whatever the operation may be. He watched as the man shut the door and checked over the wards and spells placed on it. Blaise took to memorizing the man's features. He figured if anything, this was the most important information he could walk away with tonight. Draco would be so proud of him when he'd walk in with this! Blaise couldn't stop the smile from forming on his face.

Draco was never all that proud of him, even though he'd never admit it.

He shook his head slightly to empty his head of the direction his thoughts had been taking him and instead focused on the scene in front of him. It seemed as if the third man had finished chastising the other freaks and the large one was carrying the dripping bag over his shoulder, not caring that the blood was dripping onto his already filthy robes.

They were leaving silently and Blaise was glad he had escaped this unharmed. A light feeling of giddiness swept through him as he lay there elated for another three minutes, just as Draco had taught him. He waited until he was sure that he could hear no more footsteps and that the freaks really were gone. Then he got up, brushed his robes, and attempted to apparate.

Only, he couldn't.

When he had attempted to turn and apparate home, as per usual, he froze. Unable to move his arms, legs, or any muscle in his body. It was as if an invisible force had held him in his spot – one foot twisted, his head half turned, unbalanced, unstable, and panicking the fuck out.

How the hell could he have forgotten the about the anti-apparation wards?

Blaise knew he was done for when he heard a pair of footsteps running towards the spot he was trapped. There was nothing he could do now. He was caught. Even if he tried to somehow free himself of his predicament, someone had found him and would take away his wand before he had the chance to hide himself. He had never been good at wandless magic, anyways. He was doomed.

It was the short stocky one that had come back to check on the hideout. He looked completely stunned that Blaise was there in the first place, as if he hadn't actually expected there to be anyone there. Blaise wished the man would just undo the wards binding him to his place so that he could just make a run for it, but the chances of that happening were next to nothing.

"Hey boss!" the man suddenly shouted. So Blaise had been right, the cleaner man was the boss. "We've got a situation here!"

Eventually, the man who was the boss came back. He wasn't as surprised to find Blaise trapped in the wards that he had no doubt created. The man snapped his fingers and Blaise immediately lost his balance and fell to the floor. But before he could do anything to save himself, he was up against the wall, bound with ropes. At the very least he could move...

"Who the hell are you?"

It only took Blaise a second to come up with a fake name. It was the name he always used in these kinds of sticky situations. "Brightley. Connor Brightley."

"No you're not, you're Blaise Zabini. I saw you in the papers," the big one said. Well, fuck, why didn't I think of transfiguring myself?

So that route was completely out of the window. He'd just have to play it smart from here, then.

"What are you doing in my alley, Mr. Zabini?" the man said, suddenly ten times more polite.

"You're Gunther, right?" Blaise asked. The man looked slightly confused at the question. Of course he wasn't Gunther – that was obvious. "Tony said that I could find Gunther here to deal me something new. Though I told Tony, what could be better than a sniff of some blow? He said you'd hook me up with the newest shit there was-"

"Silencio." And Blaise could speak no more. He suddenly found himself thrown to the floor and it was strange because he hadn't seen the man wave his wand once. How was he doing this all? "We both know that story is complete bullshit, Mr. Zabini," the man said with such authority that Blaise was almost ashamed for trying to trick him. "And now that we've established that you were here to spy on me, I'm going to have to dispose of you."

His eyes widened and he suddenly couldn't breathe. He wasn't ready to die, he didn't want to die. Why had he come here in the first place? He had so many things in his life that he had yet to do, so many people to see, so many things left unsaid to the people that needed to hear them...

He didn't want this to be the last moment he'd ever live, lying in a dirty alleyway in Knockturn alley. But that was clearly out of his grasp now.

The man raised his hands in a bored fashion and Blaise felt a searing pain in his abdomen. Staring down he found several lines of blood beginning to form through his shirt. That shit hurt like a motherfucker! But all Blaise could think of was that he'd failed the one thing that Draco had expected him to do and now Draco was going to have to go against these psychos that were clearly murderers. Blaise wished he hadn't been so stupid. He wished he had thought to say goodbye to his friends before he'd left.

But he hadn't and there was nothing he could do about that now.

He hadn't expected that dying would be so fucking painful. Of course, many had told him, and he'd seen the torture for himself during the war, but somehow he'd thought he'd escaped all that. But as the burning pain reached an all time high in his chest, his eyes closed, and he knew he wouldn't be waking up again.

They watched until he stopped breathing and there was no more blood left to drain from his body. Then, they all walked away as if this was a common day occurrence and nothing more. Perhaps it was unusual that there was no remorse for the dead body that now lay in its own blood and filth from the dirty alleyway. But perhaps this was the way life just was.

Unquestionable, unequal, and sad.

Life and death had a strange way of behaving as such and if Blaise Zabini could just open his eyes, he'd have attested to it as well.

/

When Blaise didn't wander into Draco's office as expected that morning, Draco wasn't all that worried or surprised. He was used to Blaise being late or unpredictably absent to meetings and events he was supposed to be at. What was the worst that could've happened? He was probably high and/or drunk, sleeping off the after effects of a long night, probably with a girl clinging to him.

And Draco honestly didn't mind, so long as Blaise eventually got back to him in a reasonable amount of time.

So, Draco went about his work day, which was stressful and filled with nonsense that he really could've done without in finding the Weasley boy. He followed the lead that he and Granger had gotten from the club the other night, and it had turned up empty. It was well past lunchtime when Draco even remembered he was supposed to meet Blaise.

But when he apparated back to his office, he realized that Blaise hadn't been there. He hadn't been anywhere.

Yet, it was still no cause to worry. Blaise was like that and it was expected behaviour from the nitwit. Draco had just hoped that the bastard would've taken this particular request a little more seriously because it was urgent information. Sure, the Patronus was a good start – but he needed to speak with the dumbarse before drugs could impair his memory.

All Draco could do was sigh and go on what little clues he had. Blaise, while resourceful enough, was damned silly. Sure, he had sent Draco a scan of what appeared to be a door – but where the fuck was that door and how was Draco supposed to find it if Blaise didn't tell him where it was?

The idiot.

He couldn't find it in him to be mad, though. Blaise was almost like a child in that regard and Draco took care of him like he was family. Hell, Blaise was family. Draco had no one else besides him and his Scorpius.

So it was natural that he was a little disbelieving when two Aurors made it to his doorway to tell him that Blaise had been found dead in the Thames. His body had been severely injured, cut up and drained of blood, thrown in the water to be washed away. Draco didn't understand how that was possible.

Draco didn't want to believe this bullshit.

But when the Aurors took him to identify the body for himself, he couldn't help but throw a fit. How could they, how could anyone hurt someone so... defenceless? Blaise hadn't been doing anything to hurt anyone. Had he? He never had hurt anyone, not even during a fucking war! And it was all Draco's fault for sending him into a hell hole.

It was Draco's fault that he was dead on an examination table.

Draco had no idea how he managed to make it all the way to the Manor before he threw up violently. Somehow he had managed to get into his washroom and to a toilet before his stomach emptied its meagre contents. Draco had seen violence, bloodshed, and monstrous things all throughout his life. He'd seen people get killed and tortured. He'd even been the one to do it in some cases. And never once had he had a physical reaction like this.

He'd never been so weak.

But then again, he'd never lost someone like that either.

"Malfoy – Jesus, what's wrong?" Before he could even comprehend what was going on, he felt a pair of cool hands on his forehead. He couldn't help but groan and lean back into the pair of arms that were suddenly around him, supporting his weight. "Are you sick? Should I call a medi-wizard?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he bent over and threw up again, a vision of Blaise spread over the examination table literally cut into pieces and put back together again. What kind of people did that? Granted, he'd seen worse. He'd seen people maimed to the extent that they were unrecognizable. At least that hadn't happened to Blaise. But...but...

It was all his fault.

All of it.

He couldn't help the groan that left his lips at that thought. He didn't want to live with such a heavy burden on his chest. Suddenly, a glass of water was present in his line of vision and he gratefully accepted, swirling the cold substance in his mouth before spitting out the vulgar taste. A cool hand was pressed to the back of his neck. It felt good. It was more than he deserved.

Blaise had been everything to him, right after his son. Blaise had been there for him. In sixth year, when he'd had no one to rely on, he'd had Blaise to silently coach him through the misery. The man had been fucking optimistic about everything in life. When Draco thought he was definitely done for the year that he'd had to live with the Dark Lord literally watching him sleep – it had been Blaise who had encouraged him not to end his own life to escape the uncertainty, the agony.

And when Draco had asked him to go investigate this thing for Granger, he had readily agreed. If Draco had only known, if he'd just thought about it for a second, he'd have never asked something like that of him. Something that was beyond his friend's abilities. He should've done it himself. Should've just dealt with Granger's case on his own. Should've –

Granger!

None of this wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for stupid Granger! He swallowed thickly, wondering why the fuck he even bothered with her, why he wanted to be the one on her case, why he had practically forced her to stay in his house. He hated her guts. Hated the fact that she was the reason he'd delegated the tasks out to his only friend because her case was supposedly urgent.

He suddenly realized that she was the one gently stroking his hair as he threw up again.

"Get the fuck off me!" he growled after his stomach had stopped heaving. She scrambled away as if in shock. Good. "Get out."

She didn't move. "What's wrong? Did...did something happen? Are you sick?"

"I said get out!" he shouted again. If she didn't move, if she didn't get out of his sight at that moment, he didn't know what he'd do. He'd rip her fucking head of, he'd smash her skull in, he was going to choke that little neck of hers, he'd kill her. He wanted to kill her, he was going to kill her. Go, Granger, get the fuck out of here.

But she still didn't move. Instead, the stupid bint inched closer to him, as if tempting him to hurt her. Didn't she know what was good for her? Didn't she know anything? "Malfoy, just tell me, tell me what happened and if I can help-"

When she reached out and placed her hand on his leg, he snapped. He advanced forward, grasped her wrists, and pinned them against the washroom wall above his head. "You want to know what the fuck happened, Granger?" he asked, his tone menacing. "Blaise Zabini was killed last night all because of you. This is all your fucking fault, Granger!"

"My fault?" she asked, confused. It seemed she didn't even mind that he'd pinned her just as long as he was answering her questions honestly. It irked him to no end. Did she have no sense of self preservation? Was she honestly trusting a Slytherin? "What did I do?"

"It's all because of you!" he growled. It pissed him off that she didn't even flinch. "He wouldn't have been there if you hadn't made me help!"

"I didn't make you help, Malfoy-" she started calmly.

"Yes you fucking did! If you'd watched over your son like a mother is supposed to, Blaise would never have been there! He wouldn't have been cut up into fucking pieces and thrown in the Thames! Fucking Granger, can't do anything right can you?"

When he'd finished yelling, his chest nearly heaving from the effort it had taken, he realized that he'd made her cry. Even though he hated her at that moment, hated everything she'd ever done and stood for, it didn't sit right to have made her cry. He let go of her wrists and her arms slid down the wall, falling limply to her sides, but she didn't bother moving. She didn't even push him away and he didn't move either. They were both too tired and broken to care that enemies weren't supposed to lean against each other like this.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he finally asked her when she'd finished silently sobbing.

"I didn't ask for this," she whispered quietly. "I didn't ask to be here with you. I didn't want Blaise to get killed. I just want my son back." He didn't question her, didn't say anything. He didn't doubt that that's all she wanted. He just wished he didn't have to lose so much to win a bet she wasn't even aware of.

What was he trying to prove by doing this, anyways? Why was it such a big deal that he be the one to solve the case? He didn't know. He didn't even care anymore. It just had to be done. There was no one else and Granger was helpless. Granger was never helpless. Not even when she'd been petrified, not during the Quidditch world cup when the Death Eaters had been marching, not when his aunt had tortured her on his drawing room floor.

Perhaps that was why he needed to make this right. He needed her to be that unbreakable wall again so he could make fun of her for another seven years. Maybe it was because he knew exactly what it was like to lose a son. Maybe he just missed how life used to be back at Hogwarts before everything had fallen to shit and made his life complicated. Or maybe it was the fact that Granger had never bowed down to anyone before and everyone bowed to him.

It didn't matter. He was going to see it through to the end and there was nothing that was going to stop him.

"I'm going to find your son, Granger," he said tiredly.

She sighed, wiped the tears off of her cheeks, and leaned back. "I know."

She didn't say anything when he tiredly laid his head in her lap. Didn't say anything when he'd fallen asleep. Didn't say anything even after he had woken up thirty minutes later and freshened up. But when he lent her a hand to get up off the washroom floor and told her to eat, she didn't question him. When he'd told her he was leaving and wouldn't be back for some time, she simply nodded.

"I'm going to find your son, Granger," was his final goodbye.

She had smiled sadly and she leaned against his bedroom door, watching him leave. "I know," she had whispered, long after he had gone.