The Houses Competition

Hufflepuff, HoH

Drabble

Prompt: [Event] Birthday

Additional: Same MC as the rest of Hufflepuff (Blaise Zabini)

WC: 888, per Google Docs

AN: Yet another post-war fic that completely ignores everything from the epilogue. Y'all really should know the drill by now. :)

Warning: brief mentions of deaths related to the Second Wizarding War and implied alcohol misuse.

Nineteen

Blaise slammed yet another empty shot glass onto the scarred tabletop. "Some birthday this is turning out to be," he grumbled under his breath. Around him the sounds and smells of the Three Broomsticks swirled into a miasma of sensation, but Blaise was too caught up in his own thoughts to take notice.

Somehow he'd thought nineteen would be better. The war was over, he'd avoided conscription into Voldemort's doomed little army, and he was still a free man. Everything should have been perfect. But at least when he'd turned eighteen in the hell of Hogwarts under Death Eater occupation he'd been surrounded by his friends.

Friends.

Blaise swallowed hard when he thought of all the lives that had been ruined by senseless, bigoted violence. He hadn't been close with the now deceased Vince Crabbe, but even just rooming with a guy for seven years basically made you family. Greg's parents had both died in the final battle, and he was serving a three year sentence in Azkaban. Tracey Davis lost their father when the Ministry fell. Before the dust and ash of battle had had time to settle, Daphne had run away to live with family in Greece, and, according to Astoria, she was still having violent nightmares. Pansy was still too afraid to leave her family's home, and of course Draco was under house arrest. Merlin only knew where Theo had escaped to.

In true Slytherin fashion, Blaise had slithered his way out of everything, even guilt-by-association. Not that he'd been guilty of anything at all; perception was simply ninety percent of the truth. But what did that matter? He'd crawled back into the light of day with only his shadow for company. For nine. Damn. Months.

He threw back another shot of firewhiskey, not even bothering to chase it with his butterbeer. He needed the burn, the fire in his throat. He needed to feel something other than loneliness. Blaise had hoped that getting out tonight, being around other people, would ease that knot it his chest. He ran his fingers over where he imagined it would be—nope, still there.

Cacophonous laughter echoed through the pub. Blaise's eyes instinctively traced the sound to a large gathering in another corner of the pub.

"Potter," Blaise mumbled. "Of course it's bloody Potter and his merry band of heroes."

The Boy Who Lived (Again) had his arm around a pretty blonde girl. He looked down at her and smiled broadly. He looked back at the others gathered with them, said a few words that Blaise couldn't hear, and raised his glass in an obvious toast.

Disgusted that he was more than a little jealous, Blaise dropped his burning eyes to his collection of empty shot glasses. This wasn't working. There was no reason to stay here. Besides, it was cheaper and slightly more dignified to get pissed at home.

As he stood and gathered his coat to leave, Blaise felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned and looked down into the most beautiful pair of gray eyes he'd ever seen. It was the blonde girl with Potter. Blaise knew her, but couldn't remember why.

"Blaise Zabini. It's so good to see you," she said, smiling softly.

"It's, uh, it's good to see you too," Blaise stuttered, searching for her name. Half a second after the silence had become awkward, it clicked. "Luna Lovegood, right?"

Luna nodded, her grin growing. "You helped me take my trunk onto the train my first year. I'm surprised you remembered me."

"You're pretty unforgettable," Blaise muttered. "For more reasons than one."

He started to say something else, anything just to keep her talking, when she reached up to touch her necklace. He watched her delicate fingers trace the edges of the small, flat copper circles that lay at the base of her pale throat. When he looked closely, he saw there were small, unmoving heads stamped into the metal. Blaise's brow furrowed.

"Do you like it?" Luna asked. "It was my birthday gift from Harry. They're American Muggle coins called pennies."

His fingers reached out of their own volition and gently touched the loop of coins around her neck. They lingered momentarily against her pulse, and Blaise couldn't help but admire the contrast.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

Luna slid her hand into his. "Come join us," she said, tugging gently. "Two birthdays are better than one."

Blaise quirked a brow at her. "How did you know it was my birthday?"

She simply smiled back at him, the mysterious twinkle in her eye far too much like Dumbledore's for comfort. Before he could protest, she pulled him through the crowd.

When they finally stumbled to a halt at the edge of the group, Blaise tentatively looked around. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville smiled back at him, throwing out greetings when he met their gazes.

Blaise glanced over at Harry. Harry simply handed him a pint of butterbeer and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I hope you weren't planning on leaving yet, birthday boy," Harry said, smiling. "Luna spilled the beans. This round's on me."

The night passed in a blur of laughter, butterbeer, and terrible singing. Blaise thought it was perfect—almost as perfect as the way he'd spent the entire night sandwiched between Harry and Luna. Nineteen was looking up after all.