Chapter 43
Blaise stood cool and calm against the tapestry wall, facing his fellow Death Eaters. The air around him was electric, and Lord Voldemort's rage spilled out from him in sinister waves. Pansy Parkinson was in front of him, trying her hardest not to cower. Her face was red, and her hands were shaking. There was a single drop of blood trailing down from her nose where Voldemort had struck her in the face. Blaise was not savoring the moment, even though he always enjoyed seeing Pansy lose. He felt vexed- a feeling he utterly detested.
"Do you know," Voldemort began to say, his paper-thin voice sounding like a snake's slither. "How I punish failure?" His serpentine eyes were locked into Pansy's face, and he had his wand draw sinisterly at his side. Voldemort's thin, tall figure was cloaked in a navy robe that trailed out behind him. His skin was ashen, almost green. Cassius Parkinson was among the death eaters, and Blaise could see how hard it was for him to watch Pansy be in this predicament. How strange Cassius, Blaise mused idly, that you used to revel in watching Lucius in the same quandary with Draco under the spotlight.
The pathetic figure of Pansy nodded her head. Voldemort reached out a pale, thin hand and stroked Pansy's face, his posture of rage softening slightly. Blaise had seen this dance before. He had seen the multifaceted persona of Tom Riddle shape shift and change with the ease of a chameleon, one minute a clever, determined leader, the second a cold and calculating executioner. Blaise had once thought Voldemort was intelligent. He had envied that intelligence. But as time progressed, he realized it was an exterior intelligence, and the feeling of envy ceased. He was clever, to be sure, but he had no depth. He was driven by desire and had extremely poor impulse control. He had no concept of philosophy, and no worldliness.
"You will find the mudblood, or you will be punished," Voldemort turned away from Pansy, and began to walk out of the room. "Dolohov, Zabini, come." He said and signaled for Antonin to follow him. Blaise turned curtly on his heel, beginning to feel annoyed. He had so many things to do today, so many things that needed his attention. He didn't want to play servant today.
He followed none-the-less. He walked behind Voldemort and Dolohov as they made their way to the headmaster's office, where Granger had recently escaped from. The students were all ordered to stay in their dorms; the Death Eaters and professors were all searching the grounds, save the inner circle, which had convened with Voldemort to discuss a plan. They would no doubt be scurrying out into the castle, full of fear and apprehension, to search for Granger. Draco was now being kept in the Great Hall with 2 guards around him. Blaise had been sure that Voldemort was going to kill Pansy when she admitted that Granger was gone, however perhaps with the lack of strong Death Eaters around him, he had decided to spare her… for now.
"I am surrounded by fools," Voldemort said when they finally reached the office. "Zabini, I find I curious that we have no Veritaserum on hand." Blaise had known this was coming, of course. He looked up and met eyes with Dolohov, who looked slightly triumphant. We'll see, Antonin. Blaise thought amusedly.
"My lord, I have been trying to make it. At the beginning of this Lunar Cycle, I approached Dolohov about the castle's Skin of Boomslang. I offered to go to Diagon Ally myself to obtain some but was told my job was here and I was not permitted to travel further than Hogsmeade. It could have been brewed to completion during this time. Skin of Boomslang cannot be owled here again, the thestrals will smell it and kill an owl to get to it. That is what happened last time I ordered some. I cannot trust that anyone will buy the quality I need, I must go myself." Blaise finished nonchalantly, moving his eyes up to meet Antonin's again. He had, in fact, asked Antonin for a slew of ingredients. He had not told them what they were for, and he had been persistent in going to Diagon Ally himself, alone. Which had made Antonin suspicious, so he had denied the request. Antonin's face was reddening, and Blaise could see the anxiety bloom inside of him. It made Blaise feel at ease.
Voldemort whirled to face Antonin, causing him to flinch.
"Your idiocy grows vaster every day, Dolohov," Voldemort hissed, raising his wand. "If the pattern continues, Zabini will be Hogwarts newest headmaster within an evening." Dolohov could only muster a nod, his eyes slick with fear.
"Zabini, you will acquire the boomslang. While I am not content to wait a full lunar cycle to question Malfoy, I want it made to always have on hand. Tonight, I will question Malfoy, and in the morning his head will join the others on the spires outside of the Ministry." With a sweep of his robes, Voldemort exited the room, leaving Zabini and Dolohov with a snap of the door.
A line was forming on the skin between Blaise's brows. He was no longer vexed, now he was full blown exasperated. He had extraordinarily little time with which to pull this off. Tomorrow morning? Blaise thought to himself as he quickly paced back to his office.
He needed to pen a letter, quickly, and he needed to grab a few vials from his desk. He felt a small drop of panic swell within him and worked to dissolve it.
He was relieved to see his owl, Bastet, waiting on the sill of his office when he arrived. He had trained Bastet to avoid the owlery, and any other window in the castle save his office and his private rooms. He did not like others touching his things, and owls had funny ways of disappearing as of late.
Blaise sighed. He sat down at his desk and penned a sloppy message on a piece of parchment. He looked down at the messy scrawl and sighed again.
He shredded the parchment. There is no need to be in a frenzy. He took a few calming breaths while pouring himself a glass of Kyteler scotch from his private bar. Purple sparks floated up from his glass, the smell of a pyre burning met his nose.
After he had downed the glass, Blaise rewrote the message on a fresh piece of parchment. He had very little time to make these moving pieces work, and if he managed to pull this off it would be a miracle. He poured himself another drink and downed it, and then tied his rolled-up parchment to Bastet's leg.
Blaise made his way through the castle, passing several Death Eaters and professors, who were harried to find Granger. Blaise had his suspicions as to where she was, but that was a problem for later, for when he had more time. He reached the doors to the great hall and entered.
Draco was tied to a chair in the far corner, under a Slytherin tapestry. All the other houses had been taken down, so it was all green and silver now. The ceiling above them showed a dark and cloudy night sky, where not even the moon was visible.
Tiberius McLaggen and Theodore Nott we sat at a table in front of him. McLaggen looked bored, Nott looked like he was dozing off.
"Nott, McLaggen," Blaise greeted them, carefully watching their faces. Draco was still behind them, his face down. Blaise couldn't tell if he was conscious or not. He was pleased to see that he didn't look beaten.
"Oy," Nott said, raising his hand in greeting. "Which one of us is relieved?"
"McLaggen," Blaise responded, and McLaggen stood up. "They are assembling a team for the forest. I suggest you join them, as the centaurs will be in a state over this."
"I hope I'm the one who finds her, ehh," McLaggen grinned. "I've got something I want to give her, on behalf of my nephew." McLaggen grinned lasciviously at Nott and stalked out of the Great Hall.
"Save some for the rest of us, you twat," Nott called after him, his tone almost lazy. It disgusted Blaise. He looked over at Draco's figure and saw his mouth was tightly clenched in a frown. Interesting, Blaise thought, taking a seat at the table with Nott.
"Has he said anything?" Blaise asked, turning towards Nott. Blaise didn't like Theodore Nott. He didn't like his attitude, his witless presence, or his devotion to Pansy Parkinson.
"No," Nott replied, yawning. He doesn't even cover his mouth when he yawns, filthy slob.
"How is Pansy?" Nott asked, making eye contact with Blaise.
"Alive." Blaise responded coolly. Voldemort has sent Nott away from their private meeting, knowing of Nott and Pansy's relationship…. if you could call it a relationship. Blaise had observed Pansy do whatever she wanted, whether it befit a woman engaged or not.
Nott nodded in response, leaning back in his chair.
Blaise pulled his wand smoothly from his robes. "Confundo!" he said quickly, waving his wand towards Nott's head. His eyes went blank. "I can see your worried about Pansy…why don't you go check on her. No one needs to know but us."
"I'm worried about Pansy," Nott repeated thickly. "I'm going to check on her and no one will know but us." Nott's voice was slow and monotonous.
"And did you say you'll come straight back after you've made sure she's ok?" Blaise prompted.
"I'm going to come straight back after I've made sure she's ok," Nott said hypnotically, and turned towards the Great Halls doorway. He walked in a systematic way, instead of his usually disjointed gait. When the door closed behind him, Blaise turned towards Draco.
Draco was staring at him curiously. His face was pale, his eyes had heavy bags underneath. Neither of them spoke for a long minute, instead they studied each other's faces. Blaise would have preferred to stay in the dark a bit longer, but he was running out of time. Draco's face was a mask, giving little away.
At last, Blaise broke the silence. "I have very little time," He stated, standing. "You need to drink this potion now." He held a vial towards Draco's mouth.
"What is it?" Draco asked, hesitancy and mistrust in his voice. Blaise looked at him with his cool, almond shaped eyes.
"Pepper-up potion. Enough questions. The Dark Lord is coming to question you. You haven't the energy to withstand. He has no veritaserum, but he has Legilimency. I doubt very much you have brushed up on your occlumency as of late."
Draco allowed Blaise to pour the vial of potion into his mouth. Blaise could feel the mistrust was still there but conceded that Draco probably thought he had nothing to lose, if Blaise lied about what the potion was.
"So..is…Granger really gone then?" Draco asked quietly, looking down from Blaise's eye contact. Blaise smirked. Remarkably interesting, that. He thought bemusedly.
Blaise didn't answer, as the door to the Great Hall creaked open and Nott reappeared