"Two feet on the effects and potential complications of the Entrail-Expelling Curse and efficacy of the various counter curses discussed today. I want particular focus on the distinction and contrast between its historic medical usage and its modern-day usage in the Dark Arts," Snape recited silkily.
The class groaned in unison. Unlike his classmates, Blaise was raised correctly and settled for an irritated twitch. He hadn't wanted to take Defense but considering current events he'd have been foolish not to. Still, two feet on such a dull topic.
Snape peered up from his desk, looking at the centre of the room. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley."
Like clockwork, the top of Weasley's ears turned an ugly puce colour.
"What for?"
"Unruliness, Mr Weasley," Snape murmured, "an additional five points for a lack of respect, I say."
Parkinson, sat near the front, was looking as if Christmas had come early.
"For those of you looking to be Aurors," Snape said with a sharp look at Potter and Weasley.
"Merlin help us all," Blaise heard Draco mutter snidely.
Crabbe and Goyle guffawed, and Snape didn't even bother to look in their direction.
"It would be prudent for you to hand this in on time and to an above average standard. As difficult as that may be for such… busy students as yourselves, the consequences otherwise… will be severe," Snape murmured to Potter and Weasley, black eyes alight with scorn.
Like the fool he was, Potter met Snape's gaze coolly.
Granger raised her hand. "When is it due, Professor?" Granger asked when Snape made eye contact.
"Next lesson, of course," came Snape's brisk reply, already making it clear he wanted them all out of their sight by the disdainful look as he surveyed them.
Blaise twitched again. He already had three feet due on Friday on Mercury's precession and its effects on rituals and brewing for Astronomy, the Intruder Charm to practice for Charms tomorrow, and a foot on the scalability of Human Transfiguration on Thursday.
"But… our next lesson is tomorrow morning," Thomas breathed, horrified.
Blaise wondered if being in Gryffindor gifted you with an uncanny ability in parroting the obvious.
"Why yes, Mr Thomas. How astute of you," Snape said with audible disdain. "I trust you're familiar with the Hogwarts Library."
Blaise could have wiped a tear from his eyes. While Snape may be a complete eyesore, his mastery of sarcasm was one Blaise aspired to one day.
Snape's voice turned remarkably flat as if he were punishing himself. "One point to Gryffindor in celebration and recognition of Mr Thomas' possibly eidetic memory."
Unable to help himself, Blaise snickered with the rest of Slytherin. The Gryffindors grumbled in confusion at Snape managing to make receiving points seem like a punishment. It was a rare occasion where Blaise felt Snape's behaviour was a bit too much, but he had such frequent moments of brilliance it was hard to feel bad.
The class sat still in the uncomfortable silence, unsure of whether they were dismissed.
"Out," Snape ordered.
With that order came a scramble of motion. No one wanted to be the first to leave the classroom in front of Snape without dismissal. Blaise took his time to put his stuff in order, discreetly watching Potter for an opportunity.
Granger was rubbing Weasley's shoulder, who was no longer doing his best Honeydukes' Bloodpop impersonation. Blaise smiled thinly. Some things never changed, did they? He preyed on Potter's sudden focus on listening to Weasley and Granger and used a quick Switching Spell. The note he'd been writing on and off for the double period disappeared, and Blaise's face contorted in disgust as the parchment Potter had been using to make notes appeared on his desk. It was illegible – chicken scratch. How did anyone even read this? Blaise wasn't a wizard with penmanship of note. He wrote in standard cursive. It wasn't anything special like Daphne and Granger's ornate roundhand or Draco's ostentatious Chancery hand, but Potter's handwriting was diabolical. Blaise considered the possibility of horrifying the Dark Lord to death with Potter's sinister scrawl as he placed Potter's notes in his bag to return later.
Taking his time, stretching and making sure his clothes were in order (of course), Blaise made eye contact with Tracey to his right, receiving a smirk and a wink. He nodded in response, confirming his success. She jumped to her feet, leaving for her next class with a wave and a promise they'd talk later. She had Ancient Runes with Daphne next and Blaise had a double free. He had a lot of homework to do before his meeting with Potter.
Making his way to the corridor on the fifth floor under Disillusionment, Blaise reflected on the trying days since his little adventure with Potter. The questioning had ceased after the second day of his silence in response to conversation, but it had started anew after Pomfrey, damn her, had revealed that he'd funded the eyesight repair potion that some Muggleborn had taken. Binch-Benchley or something? He had Hufflepuffs randomly thanking him in the halls and Gryffindors being slower to glare at him. It was as mortifying as it was bewildering.
Draco was proving to be a problem. Wherever he'd been for the past school year didn't really concern Blaise, but he seemed to take the sudden events as an omen, showing up in the Common Room and the Astronomy section of the Library (Blaise's favourite haunts) at all sorts of hours to interrogate him. He'd stopped eating during mealtimes. The Kitchens had become his refuge; Draco was a more than competent enough brewer to brew Veritaserum. Threats hadn't started yet, and Blaise knew it was only a matter of time with how stony his silence had been.
Blaise arrived at the portrait to the music practice room far quicker than he'd have liked. Since Umbridge had made it impossible for teachers to give information unrelated to their subject, he hadn't returned. Without Flitwick, the string quartet hadn't been the same, so Blaise had left.
Corelli was sat in his frame, dozing.
Tracey and Daphne appeared as soon as he dismissed his camouflage.
"Charm offensive?" Tracey offered, focused entirely on the conversation ahead of them.
Daphne's face pinched in pain. Blaise was sympathetic. The idea of trying to charm over Gryffindors was repulsive and likely futile.
"They'll see it as insincere," Blaise said, frowning in contemplation. "At least Potter will."
Blaise was still self-conscious about how Potter had cut through his subterfuge and misdirection in the Hospital Wing. He knew with certainty that the Calming Draught had lessened his nerves and loosened his tongue, but it bit at Blaise to know how easily Potter had outright identified his one insecurity.
"Be ourselves then?" Tracey suggested.
Blaise nodded his assent.
"They need to understand that we're people too," Blaise said.
"So, we need to be ourselves, but funny and… stupid," Tracey said, pulling her hair out of its ponytail to hang free. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders, curling at the ends towards her neck.
"I suppose we're literally letting our hair down," Daphne said.
Daphne pouted, or as close to a pout as she could get. It was almost cute.
"I'd always hoped that was a metaphor," she added.
Blaise shook his head, letting his zig-zag braids flick around and the beads to tinkle. "Join us," he said with a smirk, running a hand through his jostling hair.
Sinistra's box braids had been a source of admiration for years and he'd wanted to try something similar for an Astronomy class. It was sentimentality that had made him keep them. They were the catalyst for his change in perspective. It was kind of sad that Blaise could sort his life into two distinct periods – before his hair hit Potter in the eye and afterwards. Regardless, this change in perspective was one that he wasn't yet sure about, but the sense of purpose he'd had in the days since his tumble with Potter had been addictive. It was strange to feel like he was doing something important. He hoped this would work out, and he hoped Potter and his friends would listen to what they had to say.
With a flick of her wrist, Daphne's dirty-blonde hair fell out of its topknot with little fanfare. It cascaded down to her lower ears in a layered bob.
"I hate you, Blaise," she said with a haughty sniff.
Blaise snorted. "I'd be surprised if you didn't."
He would certainly hate himself if this didn't work out.
Potter arrived, alone, not even minutes later. Without his glasses, Blaise found it hard to make eye contact with him. The shade of Potter's eyes was eerie to him, especially against the ivory of his skin. Unsettling in their intensity.
"I received your note, Zabini," he said in greeting.
"And you came alone?" Blaise asked.
Draco had said that Potter had an Invisibility Cloak after his little Muggle brawl with Potter on the train.
"Tell your friends to get out of the Cloak," Tracey said, hand on hip and eager to get started.
Potter narrowed his eyes at Blaise.
"Malfoy has loose lips," Daphne muttered.
"Looser than the connection between Goyle's brain and the rest of his body," Tracey added with a laugh.
A slow smile crept on Potter's face, and an inelegant snort sounded in the mouth of the corridor.
"Ah," Daphne said. "That would be Weasley."
The redhead approached with Granger. Her shoulders held tight and right hand hovering over a pocket. Blaise was glad that at least one of them was suspicious. It lowered the likelihood of them plotting or having made any plans how to interact with them.
"Let us in, Blaise," Tracey said, looking at the ends of the corridor for any approaching students.
He fell into his mother tongue with an involuntary smile. "Good evening, Professor Corelli," Blaise said with a nod.
"Good evening. I'm not a Professor, Zabini. We go through this charade every time," Corelli said, nodding indulgently at him.
"The magic you worked on my bowing technique is worthy of Professorship in my eyes," Blaise said.
"So, you say. I see you have company; we must speak about your viola playing at some point. I pray it hasn't atrophied."
Blaise winced, having not picked up the instrument in weeks.
Corelli laughed, looking around at his company with a curious expression. He smoothed the lapel of his robes. "The password?"
"Follia," Blaise recited with a quick look at the ends of the corridor.
It was an awkward silence as they settled on conjured couches in the rather small practice room. Blaise could recognise Bones' cello tucked in a corner, Li's favoured music stand by his shoulder, and one of the Ravenclaw Patil's hair scrunchies on top of the harpsichord. It didn't seem as if they'd replaced him – perhaps they'd turned into a trio. Instrument playing was rare and violists rarer still. Blaise only had to think of Flitwick conjuring and animating a string orchestra accompaniment to know why. Giving the room one last sweeping glance, Blaise noticed someone hadn't bothered to close the harpsichord's lid. With a frown, Blaise closed it with a flick of his wand.
After a significant look at his friends, Blaise sat back and waited. It would be better to allow the Gryffindors to at least start.
"So, you're the outcasts of our year in Slytherin then?" Weasley asked, breaking the silence.
"I prefer malcontents," Daphne said with a particularly haughty sniff. "You're assuming we want part of Malfoy's ragtag group of esteemed individuals."
Potter and Weasley's faces wrinkled in confusion.
"Too many syllables for you, Potter and Weasley?" Tracey asked with feigned concern.
"No, Davis," Weasley snapped. "I know that Greengrass is from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. I just thought – "
"That I'm itching to prostrate myself before the Dark Lord?" Daphne asked.
"Sacred Twenty-Eight?" Weasley retorted back.
Blaise sighed at the flintiness of Daphne's gaze.
"Well, yes," Granger admitted with a clumsy shrug. "We have no reason to believe otherwise."
Daphne said nothing in response. Blaise thought it was definitely for the best as Tracey took the opportunity to lighten the mood.
"Insurrectionists," Tracey added in a silky tone, "it makes me feel rebellious."
Naturally, the Gryffindors turned to him, seeking whatever ridiculous term he called their sudden foray into this nonsensical world of do-gooders.
"And I," Blaise said, as bland as he could make it, "have yet to come up with a label."
"Oh please," Daphne said, "you have an opinion about everyone and everything."
Far too aware of the three Gryffindors watching their byplay, he tempered his response. "We're the idiots with by far the least sense of self-preservation in Slytherin," he said with a lengthy eye roll at Tracey's sudden insincere titter.
Daphne's lips thinned, making her severe disposition almost evocative of McGonagall. "I can't say I disagree," she said.
"A bit wordy, I think," Weasley said. He leaned forward in his seat with a smirk. "Stupid for snakes would have got the point across."
Tracey batted her eyelashes at Weasley. "With a wit like that, I can see why Granger is taking her time making a move."
Blaise just about stopped himself from placing his head in his hands. Surprisingly, Potter smirked as Weasley and Granger exchanged bewildered looks, both alight with blushes. Granger and Weasley's constant dancing around each other was a dance that Blaise would rather not think about.
"Tracey!" Daphne hissed.
"Let's not derail," Granger said, in as much of a hiss as Daphne.
Potter fixed Daphne with an evaluating gaze. "Regardless of Greengrass' family background… any of your backgrounds, you always have a choice," Potter said.
Blaise didn't even comment on that useless platitude.
"Sure, Potter," Tracey said, leaning forward in her chair.
There was a deep line between her black brows, though her seriousness was betrayed by the corners of her mouth lifting in a sardonic smile.
"Despite your glorification in unintelligent, suicidal heroism, Potter, the rest of us enjoy our continued existence," Daphne said with her forehead creased in annoyance. "Our preoccupation is with preserving it… unlike some."
Blaise watched Weasley's reaction to Daphne's verbosity and insult to Potter with amusement. He noted that the red blush of anger that was covering Weasley's face clashed horribly with his ginger hair.
"Too many syllables," he muttered to himself in humour before he said something that ended up with wands out.
"Well, if you had any morals you'd understand, Greengrass," Potter said, heavy warning laced in every single syllable.
Daphne and Tracey, for all their intelligence, were going about this wrong. From what Blaise had learnt about Potter, and could likely extend to his friends, pragmatism was a taboo, something for those of weaker will. They didn't appreciate, nor understand, the realities of being born in the sorts of family people like Daphne and Draco were a part of. He and Tracey were outcasts in the literal sense; he was a foreign-born wizard and Tracey was one of the few surviving members of a disgraced Pureblood family. They had no stake in whatever battle of good versus evil swept Britain.
Looking at Potter and his friends, he took in the blind, sanctimonious Gryffindors sat in front of him and despaired. Despite how the promise he'd made in the Hospital Wing had given him drive, Blaise found himself cursing his own existence for even making it. He wouldn't renege on his promise but in this instance, he found them wholly pathetic. They were so narrow-minded, so naïve. It was with a sigh that he tried to appeal to their moralism.
"The Dark Lord is the root of this problem, no?"
"Let's say…" Blaise scanned the Gryffindors in front of him, thinking who would best be affected by his argument. Potter was set in his ways, Granger was a Muggleborn who lacked the necessary perspective, and Weasley…
"Weasley."
"What?" The redhead snapped.
Blaise suppressed his automatic sneer in response as best as he could.
"Let's say it's the height of the Dark Lord's terror," he said. "Your friends' families have gone into hiding, people are disappearing, the Ministry is incompetent, toothless. Powerless."
"A little like now," Tracey said. "Let me do this Blaise."
Daphne cringed, knowing, like Blaise, exactly where this was going.
"Everyone in Slytherin knows. It's no secret," Tracey said with a friendly smile to Daphne.
Tracey frowned for a moment. It was a grisly story.
"During the Dark Lord's first assault on all the things we hold dear," Tracey said in her classic irreverent tone, "my father was approached by Death Eaters. My family has historically been… well, for Pureblood supremacy, but my father had married a Muggleborn. It was a scandal. My father was disowned over it."
Tracey closed her eyes, avoiding the sympathy that was practically radiating from Granger. It seemed she could tell that this was going to be a tragedy.
"He was an Unspeakable who did long stints in the Ministry, so he had a… somewhat bizarre way of dealing with his problems. They all go loopy in there. They'd wanted him to join them, purify his family tree, and some other insane bollocks. Kill my mother and I. We were impure, you see," Tracey said with a hollow smile.
"You... don't have to continue," Potter said. The pallor that Potter had acquired over the last year or two made his grim expression ghoulish.
"No, you need to understand that this bollocks about choice is easy for you to say," Tracey snapped.
She huffed as if they were debating their favourite Quidditch teams and not the death of most of her family. "Anyway, the offer he was given was simple: kill your family or we'll do it and then wipe out all my mum's relatives."
"Did he do it?" Weasley asked.
Tracey nodded, lips twisting with pain before she spoke. "Only reason I'm still here is because my aunt's home is Unplottable. She was looking after me as mum had severe postpartum – Calming Draughts didn't do a thing. I was told it was painless at least… her death. Heart-Stopping Curse. My father probably thought that a painless death was better than whatever torture the Death Eaters planned."
"Why didn't he tell anyone?" Granger asked.
Blaise rolled his eyes at the clear allusion to Dumbledore, the scion of perfect goodness in every Gryffindor's perception.
"Well, Dumbledore? I imagine that's who you're thinking of. No one intelligent trusts Dumbledore, especially those from families of… ill repute. You may forget this, but he is a politician in addition to being an educator. Besides, the Death Eaters were thorough, Auntie Liza told me all communications were being watched," Tracey explained.
"Also, DMLE was completely compromised back then and were just as likely to kill you as the Death Eaters. Bagnold and Crouch were ruthless, which back then was at times counterproductive," Daphne said.
"Naturally, he got set up, and the rebellious Davis son turned out to be like the rest in the end. He died in Azkaban for the murders of his wife and nine Muggles – her relatives which I'm told had shown spell damage from six separate magical signatures. Several family members were found to have been part of the group of Death Eaters who'd threatened father. You can draw the necessary conclusions. Some of them are still in Azkaban."
Tracey's hazel eyes were flat as she stared at the Gryffindors. "Never trust a Death Eater," she remarked with a harshness in her voice that Blaise rarely heard.
Daphne sighed and turned to the Gryffindors. Blaise braced himself for another sob story. He was sympathetic, but all of this was old news to him. It served to show how little the rest of the school cared about Slytherin. That these very public stories were news to the Gryffindors was mindboggling.
"My father's first wife, my mother, was murdered when he was leaned on by the Nott patriarch to advance more aggressively anti-Muggle legislation. He was Chief Warlock back then. This was before the Ministry was in open war with the Dark Lord and unlike Tracey's father," Daphne said with an icy coldness as she looked at each of them in turn, "my father is a coward and he'd eagerly helped without needing to be threatened."
Her face pinched tight before slackening as she continued.
"He does believe that Muggles are a taint that should remain forever divorced from our world, but they're a distant taint. Not worth acknowledging or interacting with. Perhaps, it was that level of cravenness that made the Dark Lord decide to personally murder my mother. People like the Dark Lord don't seem to be the types to do distant hatred."
Blaise hammered the point to the shell-shocked Gryffindors – Weasley was biting his lip, Granger's eyes were suspiciously red, and Potter… Potter was elsewhere.
"Now, imagine if Daphne's father had refused. We wouldn't be speaking to her today. Same with Tracey who was saved by her mother having depression," Blaise said. "They are here due to choices made for better or worse. Perhaps things could have been different, but they aren't."
"And before you ask me about my views, Granger, I don't care about Muggles," Daphne said with a sniff.
Granger relaxed somewhat.
"And you?" Weasley asked, looking at Blaise with a sombre expression.
"Me?"
"No significant tragedies and I'm a Zabini," he said, feeling that explained more than enough. It proved insufficient by Granger's eye roll. "My mother's villa is under enough protective enchantments to make Flitwick blush. With the amount of gold she has, living under glorified house arrest is always an option for me if things become unbearable here."
Daphne took the opportunity to bring the conversation to brighter topics. "As you can imagine, Blaise here has never wanted for nothing," Daphne explained with a flourish of her hand.
"And doesn't want anything either," Tracey said with a sigh. "You'd think it'd be some weird form of humility, but he just feels it's his birthright to have expensive things."
"I – my mother," he corrected with haste.
"My mother," Tracey imitated in a crude impersonation of his Londoner drawl.
Weasley erupted into laughter and Granger giggled a little. Potter was still staring into space, still contemplating Tracey and Daphne's history.
"I don't sound like that!" He snapped.
The accent was a lot better than her first attempts at impersonating him, though there was still the slight impression of the Cockney accent she'd been suppressing since second year. It was a shame because he thought it was amusing, but Blaise understood the pressures of wanting to fit in.
"You're right, Zabini," Potter said, having emerged from his stupor, with the beginnings of mischief in his eerie eyes. "Nowhere near as snooty."
Blaise shrugged, not really knowing what to say to that.
"How Zabini manages snooty with a Londoner accent is beyond me," Granger admitted.
"He didn't always sound like that," Tracey said with the air of someone sharing a secret.
She winked conspiratorially at Granger who, despite the answering lip curl, was definitely interested in what she had to say. Looking at her friends, Potter and Weasley were also curious, though more discreet. It provoked a mixture of irritation and disbelief in Blaise that none of them knew about the fact he hadn't grown up in Britain. Did membership of Gryffindor come with a free Confundus Charm?
"He used to have a strange mix of your accent and a really thick Italian accent," Tracey said in a gossipy whisper.
"Italian RP…" Granger said in wonder. "What does that even sound like?"
"We don't talk about that," Blaise enunciated with about as much force as he could muster.
"Well, you don't," Daphne corrected with a dismissive eye roll, "I'm still curious as to how you ended up sounding like a working-class Londoner anyway."
"Common rabble is the correct term," Tracey said with a wicked smile.
"Are we going through Malfoy's greatest hits?" Blaise complained though he was smiling despite himself.
"Malfoy has greatest hits?" Granger asked with a perplexed expression.
Blaise shrugged.
"He's laughably uninventive when it comes to Potter," Blaise explained.
"Weasley is our King was genius though," Tracey replied with an uncomfortable scrunch to her face.
He understood her expression completely. The day where Blaise admitted aloud about Draco being competent at any aspect of this existence was the day he settled down with Bulstrode.
"It was irritating," he said after chuckling to himself at the glare the Gryffindors had given Tracey.
Daphne sighed as if she were in acute pain. "This is why Parkinson says you have the personality of month-old pumpkin juice, Blaise," Daphne added in a trailing whisper.
Granger erupted in giggles and a pair of broad grins crossed Potter and Weasley's faces. Blaise was above embarrassment, especially if it was beneficial like now. They had the Gryffindors' eating out of their hands.
"Who cares what she thinks?" Blaise replied. "I'm sure the fumes from the permanent Sticking Charm she has to Malfoy's arse have addled what little brain function she has."
Weasley choked and Potter roared with laughter.
"Is that why you laced her Beautification Potions with Canian Luxury Dog Shampoo for Itchy Skin and Detangling?" Tracey asked in a mock chastising tone.
"You… you pranked Parkinson?" Weasley said, trying to hold back throaty guffaws. It wasn't particularly successful as he sounded as if he were on the verge of an asthma attack.
"Dog shampoo?" Granger muttered.
"I can believe it," Potter said with a nod.
"Pranks are for children, Weasley," Blaise said.
A wry smile crossed his lips.
"No, this was reciprocity. She's always been remarkably pug-like. I just wanted to help," Blaise said with a sniff, fighting the malicious smirk about to appear on his face.
"See! It's not just me," Potter crowed to his friends as they laughed again.
"It was the Canian Maxima brand, by the way. Only the best and most effective for Parkinson," Blaise added with a magnanimous nod.
Granger seemed torn between horror and amusement.
"So, did it work?" Potter asked, his face fighting the urge to grin.
"It did give her hair a brilliant gleam," Tracey admitted with a laugh. "I don't regret helping Blaise at all."
"She made the girls' dorm smell like oatmeal and mangoes for weeks," Daphne snapped. "It was dire."
"An improvement," Weasley said with a grin.
Tracey returned it, ignoring Granger's eyebrows narrowing. For all that Tracey was pretty and vivacious with a wicked sense of humour, she was a Slytherin. Blaise was one hundred and ten percent sure that Weasley would never be interested in this lifetime.
"Pity about the fact that it made her hair thin a week later," Blaise said, stroking his chin in deep thought. "Next time I'll try something more suitable for a witch of her stature."
"Oh?" Weasley asked.
"Well, the next time Parkinson makes it clear that she's clumsily seeking help with her hair, I'm thinking shoe polish. There's a brand that stays coated to quality leather for months. It will work wonders on her mop."
"You're evil," Granger murmured in awe.
She sounded admiring. Blaise looked with more than a little desperation at Daphne for help. She reached into her silken satchel with dancing eyes.
"Now that the entertainment and sob stories are done, and you're comfortable," Daphne said, looking at Granger above all, "let's get to the real reason we're here."
She sat back into her seat, one leg folded over the other and brought out the piece of parchment they'd been working on since the dinner Potter had attended. It detailed profiles for everyone in their year, based on all the gossip Tracey did with Pansy when they were feeling friendly (they were currently on the outs), Daphne's connections, and his observations. They were confident it was accurate, particularly when it came to those likely to ally with Potter.
"To our perspective," Blaise began with what he hoped was a conciliatory tone, "you seem to be sleepwalking towards disaster."
The Gryffindor trio exchanged a look, confusion a common theme.
"What do you mean?" Potter asked.
Blaise let out of a breath of relief that they were at least prepared to listen.
"We're in the same classes as you, Potter. You're… good, great even, at Defense and Potions, but everything else?"
Granger seemed to realize where they were going with the sudden fury that crossed her face. "What are you trying to say, Zabini?"
"Tracey and Daphne are better than him at Transfiguration. I'm better than him at Charms, and none of us has immediate plans on fighting a Dark Lord," he said.
"We're not expecting you to be better than the Dark Lord," Daphne added. "He has decades on you, but…"
"Try harder basically!" Tracey said with a cheerful wink.
"And that life debt?" Potter asked.
Blaise risked making eye contact and found that Potter wasn't angry at all. There was only a slight furrowing of his eyebrows.
"Immediate plans, Potter," Blaise repeated.
Potter's face smoothed over.
"You really want to help," Weasley stated, sounding almost awed at the idea.
He'd been wrong to think that Granger would understand. Weasley would be their means of forming a cooperative relationship. For all his mindless hatred of all things Slytherin, he was the one who was willing to look beneath the surface of their words. Blaise was disappointed in Potter who'd failed to make the necessary conclusions. He wasn't surprised at all by Granger's failures, considering she'd gone into this with her hackles raised.
"Sure," Tracey admitted, "it seems at least to me that you're doing, to be blunt, fuck all."
She ignored the reactions to her language with a sneer, rolling her eyes at Daphne's annoyance and Granger's disgust. Potter didn't even seem offended, yet he still wasn't angry either. Blaise felt like he was waiting for Potter to blow up on them, but the anger never seemed to come. Continuing to defy expectations, Weasley remained the most contemplative of the three of them.
"Now, when I say fuck all," Tracey said, her wide grin showing how much she was relishing her foul language, "I mean you're doing fuck all to prepare for the Dark Lord apart from exploring your long-term obsession with Malfoy."
Potter's cheeks glowed. "He has got to be marked," Potter snapped.
"So?" Tracey asked.
"I doubt it," Daphne sniffed. "Only the inner circle gets marked."
"He's a Death Eater!" Granger shrieked, her face a veritable picture of disbelief. "Does it matter if he's marked or not?"
"Okay, are Gryffindors unable to see the bigger picture? There is a world outside of Hogwarts, you know?" Daphne snapped back.
"I think Harry and Hermione are more bothered because Malfoy almost killed me with poisoned mead and is responsible for Katie's current stay at St Mungo's," Weasley said with a dark look in his eyes.
Blaise's first inclination was to doubt. For all of Draco's failings, Blaise didn't think he'd yet stoop to attempted murder. The conviction in Potter's face and Weasley's words managed to convince him to at least consider the possibility. He didn't think Potter was much of a liar.
"We didn't know about that," Blaise admitted.
Blaise assumed it was a given they'd told Dumbledore, but that raised the question of why Draco was still roaming free. It was something to consider at a later point.
"It's fine. I understand what you're trying to say, I think," Weasley said. "But I want to hear what you have to say. What more do you think Harry can do? He already has pretty much all of Britain banking on him defeating You-Know-Who."
"Finally, someone with sense," Tracey snapped.
"On our first week back, I received an interesting letter from my father," Daphne said. "The Minister had told him, complained rather, in a meeting how the Potter boy had blown off the Ministry out of some childish moralistic naivety."
She made eye contact, revealing to Potter how unimpressed with him she was. The black-haired teen rose to the challenge, his eyes boring into Daphne's cool grey.
"He arrested Shunpike, the Knight Bus Conductor, for being a suspected Death Eater just so he could look like he was doing something. He wanted me to be some sort of mascot," he spat.
Blaise sighed – Potter didn't have a single political bone in his body.
"Well, of course, that's bollocks, but what have you achieved by taking the moral high ground? Is Shunpike not still in Azkaban?" Blaise asked, feeling so tired of Potter and his sanctimonious drivel that he wanted to just curse him and be done with it. For a moment, he felt like he could understand Draco.
He didn't want to talk to a Gryffindor ever again, really. If Potter was truly the best they could offer, the person on which everyone was meant to rest their hopes on, he'd send a missive to his mother telling her that he'd be going into hiding as soon as the term finished.
Blaise cursed in his head as he remembered the life debt.
"I –," Potter began before cutting himself off. "I couldn't be party to that, sorry. I'm not as heartless as you three."
Granger was almost as contemplative as Weasley.
"The word you're looking for is pragmatic," Blaise retorted with a long-suffering eye roll. "It achieves things apart from making you feel good about how self-righteous you are."
Potter broke eye contact to Blaise's consternation.
"Harry, perhaps you could have at least used the Minister to at least gain influence," Granger said slowly, cautiously as if afraid of Potter's reaction.
"Maybe," he murmured. "I – I'm just not good at the type of thing."
"Mate, none of us are," Weasley said with a robust nudge of Potter's shoulder.
"Granger is certainly clever enough," Blaise admitted.
Granger gave him a thin smile that he returned with a blank look.
"… I think that's where we come in," Tracey said in a slow drawl.
Daphne gave her a warning look before turning back to the Gryffindors.
"I don't agree with Blaise much, and at times I don't even really like him that much," Daphne said in a low, forthright tone, "but he's my friend. I don't have many of those as you may have noticed."
Where others would perhaps sound ashamed at that admittance of having few friends, Daphne was matter-of-fact, and Blaise could readily identify with that. Lingering on her words about him, though, Blaise wasn't at all offended as he felt the same. He and Daphne were far too similar for his liking. That was something that had become even more problematic since Potter had saved his life. Daphne had become a reflection of all the parts of himself that he was now finding problematic. Regardless of his skewed self-perception of late, she was his friend.
"You have made zero allies that wouldn't have followed you anyway out of obligation to Dumbledore. Merlin's sake, you didn't even change anything after Madam Bones died," Daphne snapped.
"Bones was one of the few Ministry officials I'd say was unsubvertible. Scrimgeour's Ministry's days are numbered; whether it's assassination, a vote of no confidence, or systemic undermining, this time next year there'll be a new Minister at this rate," Tracey confirmed. "My aunt left the country immediately after the Azkaban breakout. She expects me to join her after my exams."
"We should have used the Minister," Granger admitted with none of the uncertainty of earlier.
"Exactly!" Tracey crowed. "Merlin, you had such a great opportunity and you threw it away. Now you have no input in what he does, no say in how the country prepares for the Dark Lord. Knowing you Potter, you haven't shared any information with him about anything. You, the person who has survived the Dark Lord the most times, the subject of a prophecy! … you have nothing, and Blaise has decided to tie himself to nothing."
"This is my choice," Blaise said, closing his eyes at the finality he'd had in his tone. There wasn't regret in his mind, but the severity of what he was committing himself to was something that was still sinking in.
He grunted at Tracey's sudden punch. Wincing, he rubbed his stinging shoulder with a baleful look at the culprit. She had pointy knuckles.
"We're not going to let you be an idiot alone," she snapped.
Potter nodded to himself.
"I understand that," he muttered, giving Granger and Weasley an affectionate smile. "They'd do the same for me."
"What else would we do?" Weasley asked.
Daphne, tired of their sudden kumbaya moment, took control of the conversation before it became, Merlin forbid, even sappier.
"Granger and Weasley's side was predetermined when they chose to be your friends in first year," Daphne said, "and Blaise who could leave the country and have nothing to do with this has decided to help you."
Blaise swallowed slowly, acknowledging what he was committing himself to. A life where the Dark Lord was both aware of his existence and pursuing his death. If he had an appreciation of honour, it may have invigorated him. He didn't, so he would follow Potter out of obligation and this newfound narcissistic need to feel important. Dread would be a new companion of his it would seem. How Potter's friends dealt with it was beyond him, but Gryffindors weren't wired correctly by general principle to Blaise's understanding.
"And as much as Zabini would like otherwise, his role in your life will come out. There are already whispers going around the school about him paying for your new eyesight. You're under far too much scrutiny for it not to happen," Granger explained, finding her voice and giving both Blaise and Harry a serious look.
"You agree with them, Hermione?" Potter asked in a murmur.
"Yes and no," she said, still speaking as if Potter would react in a bad way. It was almost laughable how Granger couldn't read her friend. "Their moral… flexibility isn't something I necessarily identify with, but we're on the cusp of war and we're still here being schoolchildren."
"There is so much more we could do," Weasley ground out, eyes held shut and wincing.
Potter was worrying at his upper lip between his teeth, clearly conflicted. Weasley turned to face Greengrass with resolve in his eyes.
"You're doing this for Zabini," Weasley stated as if that was not obvious at this point.
"Clearly," Daphne said.
"Like you," Tracey added, with a slight nod of her head at the Gryffindors, "we want the best for each other. That's what friendship is about, no?"
Potter's face softened with such understanding that Blaise would have kissed Tracey if he was sure she wouldn't jinx him.
"We want to help you," Blaise said in a calm tone, more for Granger's benefit. "But if we're to help, you first need to help yourselves and realise your current path is one that I find narrow-minded."
Daphne rose to her feet, stuffing their profile sheet back in her bag.
"Duel me, Potter," Daphne demanded. "Let's see if there's any hope for Blaise."
"What?" Granger retorted, saving Blaise from having to voice his own disbelief.
"I get it, Hermione," Harry said, getting to his feet with a bounce of his feet. "Greengrass just wants to see if Bl – Zabini is putting his eggs in the right basket."
Blaise was a little disappointed that Potter covered his slip, but sarcasm masked the little hurt he felt with practised ease.
"If there are any baskets that don't involve the Dark Lord, do let me know Potter," Blaise called as they walked towards opposite sides of the room.
"Afraid not!" He called back.
The Chosen One vs Slytherin's Resident Bitch, to quote Parkinson. Daphne smirked at Potter.
"Let's see how you do under pressure, Potter," Daphne purred. "Watch."
With a jab of her wand, Daphne released a ball of flame into the air. It was of impressive size for the creation of an incendio. It spat, flickered, and flared angrily within Daphne's control, and for a second, the duel came to a standstill. Potter paced as he watched Daphne feed more and more magic into the spell, clearly not taking her as a threat. The large ball of flame grew until it was of comparable size to a horse. She smiled at Potter. There was the mischievous light of enjoyment in her eyes, a sign of life in her usual sedate and cold manner. It was captivating to see Daphne with such a careless grin on her face.
"Ventus!" She yelled.
Daphne jumped backwards as the fire roared towards Potter, burning white-hot and Blaise could read the panic crossing Potter's face.
"Are you trying to kill him!" Granger screeched, going for her wand.
"Harry will be fine," Weasley croaked with more confidence than it sounded like he had. Blaise did notice that he'd not even bothered to take his wand out.
For a moment, the fire seemed to cease motion in the air, and Blaise breathed. Daphne had had the sense to underpower her Ventus Jinx. Then, in the unpredictable nature of magical fires, it jumped forward, and Potter's contemplative expression faded as the flame began to close the distance.
"Aguamenti!" He roared.
Blaise sighed, cursing Potter's foolishness, and erected a Bubblehead Charm around himself for the ensuing steam. The plume of water that erupted from Potter's wand struck the ravenous fire with a discordant hiss, throwing steam across the room. It wasn't enough, and the somewhat diminished fire careened forward, swaying drunkenly in the air. The steam obscured Potter from view, and Granger rose to her feet, a spell on her lips. Weasley, sat closer to Potter, pushed her back down, clearly seeing something to remove any concern.
Blaise didn't even know he'd had his wand out until he could feel himself moving through the motions of a Flame-Freezing Charm before being stopped. Tracey gave him a strange look behind her own bubble, her hand squeezing his wrist in warning before releasing him.
Finally, Potter must have rediscovered his brain, as a large slab of ice emerged through the steam, extinguishing the flame almost immediately. Blaise accepted that a Freezing Charm was a good enough compromise.
"Daphne's gone insane," Tracey said in a monotone, nudging him as if Blaise wasn't aware.
Unlike him, she'd made no motion to get his wand out.
"You think?" Granger snapped.
Chaos seemed to erupt as Daphne randomly dove to the side as a red jet of light emerged from within the low visibility of Potter's side of the room.
In the brief lull, Blaise took his time to actually articulate his thoughts on Daphne's burgeoning pyromania. "Budget Fiendfyre," he remarked, applauding himself for not revealing the horror in his voice. While he wasn't opposed to removing his life debt through something as inconsequential as a duel that had gone wrong, it didn't have the necessary gravitas for Blaise's tastes. It all came down to wanting to feel important. Blaise was going to miss his incognito life.
The large slab of ice began to shift in shape as Potter threw out low-level Jinxes and Disarming Charms from behind the shifting barrier. Daphne remained stationary and countered with Shield Charms and several nasty spells, a bored expression on her face. Blaise was certain he recognised the sickly yellow light of a Bone-breaking Curse in the mix, though the Gryffindors didn't going by their lack of outrage. The fog cleared, and Potter was stood behind an icy barrier and an array of dozens and dozens of icy bullets in front of the barrier, a mischievous smirk on his face visible from Blaise's angle. It seemed Potter had used the distraction of the steam to create two slabs of ice. One to stand behind, and one to shape into a counter-assault. Blaise approved.
"Seems this is more of an exhibition than a duel," Granger muttered, sweat gathering on her brow from the lingering heat of the steam. Blaise noticed with a tiny smile that her brows had been singed by the steam that had circulated throughout the room.
"Daphne's in trouble now," Tracey said, a curious expression on her face as she stared at their friend.
Daphne was still watching Potter with a scornful smirk.
"Really?" Blaise said, seeing numerous possibilities ahead of Daphne to remove Potter's conjured weapons. She could Vanish them, confringo, expulso… Though the latter two could cause serious harm if used unwisely.
"Geminio," Potter intoned.
Dozens turned into hundreds, and Blaise winced. Daphne was great at Transfiguration, but he doubted she could vanish all of them. It was difficult to vanish multiple objects, even if they were as small as Potter's bullets.
"Depulso," Potter murmured.
They raced towards Daphne with a faint whistle, lightning fast. Blaise whistled in appreciation; it was a well-cast Banishing Charm. She lifted her wand up, eyebrow lifted in disdain, and used another incendio, this time focusing it into a flat screen in front of her, liquefying the bullets as they passed through the barrier of flame. Blaise concluded that Daphne was a pyromaniac with how frequently she defaulted to fire magic.
"Geminio," Potter repeated, turning the last row of bullets into several dozen thick.
Blaise was about to voice his disbelief at Potter repeating a failed tactic when he dove to the side, out of Daphne's field of view, and landed in a roll. He threw out a Jelly-Legs followed by another Disarming Charm. The last of the bullets had yet to hit Daphne and she had a difficult decision: block the Jelly-Legs and Disarming Charm and get peppered by the ice bullets or get hit by two spells that would mean her defeat.
Daphne was ambitious, a true Slytherin, and chose both.
She pushed the flame wall several feet ahead of her, liquefying the remaining bullets. She turned to deal with the Jelly-Legs which she blocked with a clumsy Shield Charm. Her hasty barrier was not enough to prevent her wand from flying towards Potter.
He caught it with a solemn nod, and Daphne bit her lip in contemplation before she gave him a tiny smile and nodded. Weasley was whooping in his seat and Granger was smiling grimly as she took inventory of her horrible-looking hair. It had looked bad before, but with the steam… Blaise cringed.
Turning back towards Potter and Daphne to sarcastically applaud their circus show, he was derailed by the sight of Flitwick stood in front of the portrait hole, livid.
"Duelling!" Flitwick squeaked, his brows twitching violently. Blaise's lips parted at the sight of Flitwick's pulse throbbing at his temple. "In the practice room!"
Flitwick vanished the film of vapour that had gathered on a nearby harpsichord with an angry jab and turned to Blaise, a ruddy red colour staining his otherwise pale skin. He'd never seen Flitwick so angry before. He didn't think he'd ever even seen Flitwick angry.
"I'm disappointed, Mr Zabini," he murmured, the sudden quietness almost disconcerting. "After leaving the string quartet last year, you violate my trust and use this room, that you are no longer allowed to use, to stage violent duels?"
Blaise didn't know what to say, but he tried to look at least contrite.
"Detention. Friday evening. I expect to see all of you, and we'll continue this until you learn why it's important that we do not duel unsupervised."
Flitwick deflated with a sigh, lowering his wand to his side and looking at each of them in turn. There was calculation in his gaze as he made eye contact with Blaise once more.
"Despite your lack of judgment, I'm pleased that in these dark times you've all at least tried to bridge the differences between your Houses. Considering that, I'll take only fifteen points from Gryffindor and Slytherin."
No one dared to say anything or make any reaction. It was far better than they deserved, and Flitwick's lips twitched at their expressions of relief.
"It gives me some hope for the future, and it is for that reason I will not inform Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape regarding what has occurred here. After all, this comes under the purview of the Professor in charge of musical activities at Hogwarts," he said.
Blaise finally exhaled a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
"Do not make me regret this," he said.
They all nodded hastily. For all of Snape's favouritism, Blaise wasn't quite sure if he wanted it to be known that he'd been rule-breaking with Potter. There was a fine difference between getting in trouble with Potter, like Malfoy did, and getting in trouble while being in cahoots with Potter. There were already enough rumours going around; he'd heard a particularly demented rumour that he and Potter were in a covert relationship and had had a mishap with a faulty broom cupboard. Eyeing Potter, Blaise decided that it could be worse – he wasn't unattractive.
"Sir?" Granger asked, "how'd you know what happened?"
"Arcangelo," and Flitwick nodded towards the painting of the Baroque composer at the doorway, listening with an intent gaze, "informed me of your meeting here and its subject. And of the impromptu duel Ms Greengrass and Mr Potter engaged in."
He gave Daphne a nod.
"Your intentions were good, Ms Greengrass, despite the disastrous idea of using Ventus on an unnaturally large flame," Flitwick said.
His voice grew incredulous.
"You could have burned the entire room down! Thirty points from Slytherin."
Daphne dipped her head, accepting the punishment gracefully. If Blaise were unbiased, he'd say that Flitwick should be taking her to see the Headmaster. She could have killed Potter. Though, Blaise was confident Granger would have intervened. Or himself, thinking back to the flame-freezing charm that he'd been ready to silently cast.
"My apologies, Professor," she said in her brisk manner, the high of adrenaline she must have been on long-gone. "And to you, Potter."
Potter shrugged easily.
"You got caught up in the moment. I also could have really hurt you with that ice," he said.
Daphne gave him a tight nod, seeming to not know how to deal with Potter's graciousness. Blaise knew all about that. Daphne turned to Granger, rolling her eyes at the vindicated expression she was wearing.
Weasley's eyes widened.
"Professor, you were here all along," Weasley breathed. "I could have sworn that the fire would have been right on top of Harry if not for that weird moment where it seemed to freeze in mid-air."
Flitwick sniffed in annoyance, but his severe expression softened significantly.
"Ten points to Gryffindor," he murmured.
Blaise thought to the double-sided portrait of Corelli standing vigil over the entrance to the practice room. He should have known that Flitwick was in here; Corelli didn't tend to stay in that portrait unless someone was inside practising. If Blaise remembered correctly, his sister portrait was in Flitwick's office.
"Professor, you were in here practising on the harpsichord," Blaise said with a groan.
"Indeed. I was disappointed you didn't realize that," Flitwick said with a smile. "Though perhaps it was for the best. Some of the things I've heard and seen have given me much to think about tonight."
"Are we in trouble?" Tracey asked delicately.
"Don't ask that," Blaise hissed back.
"I'll see you Friday evening, Ms Davis," Flitwick said, bouncing on his feet.
Blaise shared a look with his friends, knowing that they'd just dodged a massive potential punishment.
Going by the smile on Flitwick's face as he hurried them out of the room, they had an ally.