"Well, that was fun," Davis said with a grin.
Greengrass, stood at her side, gave her a look that screamed idiot. Harry was more inclined to agree with the brunette. It had been a little fun in the end.
"Less fire next time, I think," Ron said with a pointed look at the surly witch in question.
"I agree," Greengrass said, sounding the tiniest bit amused.
"No fire," Hermione snapped.
Hermione ran a quick hand through her singed locks, her frown deepening with the end of the movement at the burnt tips.
"At all," she added with a cool look at Greengrass.
"Don't worry, Granger. We'll discuss, at great length, Daphne's love of fire later," Davis said.
Davis sounded oddly serious compared to her jovial, at least jovial for a Slytherin, personality. Greengrass showed all the emotion of one of Hagrid's pumpkins in response, blank-faced and still. That was until Blaise cleared his throat expectantly, and she looked heavenward, a curl of her lower lip the only sign of her irritation.
"Fine."
Ron gave Harry a significant look, clearly wanting to hurry up so that they could go and speak in private. About what, Harry could only guess. There was so much to consider and so much to discuss. The redhead turned to speak to the Slytherins. "You're alright for snakes, but I'd rather not be seen with you," Ron said.
"The feeling is mutual," Blaise said.
Hermione was still mourning her hair, and Blaise was watching her with what Harry assumed to be pity. That was until he looked closer and saw the minute curl of his lip.
Harry was still thinking of what the three Slytherins had said regarding the lack of serious attention they'd given the threat of Voldemort, and Harry was forced to admit that they were correct. While he was happy to have won against Greengrass, he wasn't stupid enough to think she had been taken their duel with any seriousness. Neither of them had. As her wand had landed in his hand, all he'd been able to think was how impressive and horrifying Dumbledore and Voldemort's duel in the Ministry had been. The clash of two juggernauts, evenly matched and equally magnificent in their prowess with magic, and here he was as Hermione had said, playing schoolkid.
The glow of acquiring Slughorn's memory had long faded and all that was left was that nagging feeling that they'd made no progress at all. Dumbledore had to have a good reason to not believe in teaching Harry how to fight, but how else was he expected to defeat Voldemort when all the Horcruxes were gone? The next time Harry saw him, he would at least press Dumbledore for some way to train or circumvent the decades of experience Voldemort had on him. It would be easy to blame Dumbledore for his feelings of powerlessness, but he could have taken the initiative and tried to learn in his own time. The blame laid with multiple parties, and it was something he would have to rectify. He wanted Blaise's opinion though. He'd heard plenty from Greengrass and Davis, enough to know that they thought little of him, and he could get that. He would likely feel the same way if Ron or Hermione were in Blaise's position. Blaise hadn't disagreed with them or put up a token defence of Harry's inaction, unjustified as it was. Yet it still stung to know that despite declaring his support in him, the cold Slytherin had little faith in him. The idea of someone offering support, yet feeling like they were completely doomed, was something Harry had never experienced from his friends.
This was likely to be an impulsive decision, but Harry didn't think he wanted whatever support Blaise was offering to be begrudging. It was a self-defeating idea to Harry. He would have to give the Slytherin a reason to believe that he wasn't signing his life away.
"Come over here," Harry said with an impatient wave to Blaise.
"What?"
"We need to talk," Harry said.
Blaise's eyebrows arched in question.
"We just spoke," he said
"In private," Harry added.
Greengrass and Davis shared a look that oddly reminded Harry of the way that Lavender and Parvati would look at each other during the days around the Yule Ball. It had been like a routine they did whenever a boy entered the room. Blaise stared at him, narrow eyes intense, before he shrugged his consent.
"Fine," Blaise murmured.
"I see," Greengrass said, almost amusement in her voice. "We'll see you in the Common Room, Blaise."
"Later, Blaisey," Davis sang with a playful bump of her hip against the nonplussed Slytherin. The dour expression on the black teen's face broke, and he gave her a gentle push.
They watched the two Slytherin girls leave in silence, becoming quiet footsteps in the distance. Harry smiled a little when Davis linked arms with the haughty blonde who made no movement to remove her. In fact, Harry was sure she helped loop their arms together. Behind all the ice, fire really, there was a heart there.
He turned to his friends who were waiting, perhaps assuming that they would be a part of the conversation, but this was something he thought it was best to do alone.
"I'll meet you back in the Common Room?" Harry asked. Hermione was surprised, but Ron nodded when they made eye contact. It was strange to think that Ron was the most onboard with the whole situation, but Harry would look this gift horse in the mouth.
"Do anything stupid, Zabini, and I'll make sure you regret it," Hermione said.
"I don't know, Hermione. He seems a little smarter than Malfoy," Ron added with a snort.
Blaise rolled his eyes before fixing Harry with a withering gaze as if everything that had gone wrong in his life was his fault. In a way, Harry thought that the Slytherin could make a somewhat compelling case for it.
"I'm sure Potter can handle me just fine," he said.
At that, Hermione's cold expression only grew frostier, yet Harry was impressed that Blaise had managed to sound at least a little sincere saying that.
"Mate, what about our homework?" Ron asked.
It would have to wait. Harry didn't think he could concentrate with the uncertainty and questions stuck in his mind.
"I've already drafted my Defense essay," Blaise said. Harry was concluding that Blaise couldn't give a damn about either Ron or Hermione by how little patience he had with them. Even now, he was still giving Harry that look, not once looking at his friends when they spoke. "I'll share my draft with Potter, and I imagine Granger will do whatever magic she does to keep Weasley from being held back a year."
Blaise finally made eye contact with Hermione to give her a sympathetic smile, one more suited to wishing condolences for a dead loved one.
"He's not that bad," she admitted with a tiny smile.
"Bloody hell, I'm not anywhere near that bad. It's like your impression of me is from second-hand Malfoy nonsense, and you're the one who claims that Parkinson is attached to Malfoy's arse," Ron said in a surprisingly pleasant tone. Unlike any normal person who would be insulted, Blaise's eyes seemed to light with interest as he seemed to look at Ron for the first time since Flitwick had dismissed them. It was the look that Harry fancied Blaise had whenever he thought he'd encountered a worthy opponent.
"Well, I could insult your parentage, lack of money… the possibilities are endless and unfortunately, most have been well explored by Malfoy. Potter has me feeling all nice and… Gryffindor lately," Blaise said with a dramatic sigh, "so I suppose you're spared this time, Weasley."
"Not as creative as you think then, huh?" Ron snapped back.
Harry didn't know whether to laugh or get angry on Ron's behalf, but the faint blush of red that had crept up Ron's face faded to Harry's relief. Ron had to have realised that Blaise was harmless. He was just words. Then a smirk crossed Blaise's face and Harry braced himself anew. He'd begun to associate that expression with Blaise saying something caustically sarcastic or plain rude.
"And even if Granger helps you, Snape will dock marks from the both of you for being well… you. Maybe just not doing it would be an improvement?"
Harry shook his head, taking inventory of the reappearance of Ron's flush. He decided it would be a good idea to try and lower tensions before Ron got mad.
"Sounds like a fast track to detention. Thanks, I'll take the draft, Zabini."
"Harry, we'll see you in the Common Room," Ron said with a snort.
He was clearly eager to see the back of Blaise as soon as possible and tugged on Hermione's arm, but she remained still.
"Do you make it your life's goal to be rude, Zabini?" She asked.
"Why, yes. It gives me meaning," Blaise drawled. He gave his watch a quick glance, eyebrows furrowing deeply. He lifted an imperious brow at Hermione. "Do you mind? Potter wants to talk to me for some bizarre reason. I can only imagine you're feeling left out?"
Hermione's lips pursed in annoyance, but before she could say anything, Ron murmured in her ear. Whatever he said, she must have agreed with as it sank the sails in her proverbial boat. Without a word, they both walked off. Harry sighed under his breath, knowing that he'd have difficult questions to answer in the Common Room.
"See you later," Harry called after them.
They both waved as they turned around a corner. After they'd disappeared from view, Harry gave his full attention to the darkly amused Slytherin at his side.
"Blaise," he said.
The Slytherin just smirked at him, already anticipating his reprimand. "I need to get my fun somewhere, Potter," Blaise said.
"I'd appreciate it if you could manage not being a complete arse when doing it," Harry snapped.
He gave Harry a cool gaze before he nodded.
"I'll consider it," Blaise said.
Harry exhaled through his nose, cursing the Slytherin in his head, and Blaise met his gaze, amused and dismissive. Fifty galleons was how much Harry was ready to bet that Blaise would be up to his usual antics the next time he met Ron and Hermione.
"You… do that," Harry said, half-fighting the urge to jinx him. "Now come here."
Blaise rose an eyebrow in question, but his eyes lit up in understanding when Harry produced the silvery fabric of his Cloak out of his bag.
"Impressive," he murmured, fingering the material as Harry began to straighten it out. Looking at the Slytherin out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed no signs of want or envy. It was strange as even Hermione had had a moment of envy, but he remembered what Greengrass and Davis had said about Blaise wanting for nothing. Perhaps it hadn't all been jest.
They crouched together as Harry draped his Cloak on top of them. Harry half expected it to be awkward as they tiptoed together in silence, passing torch after torch and painting after painting, but Blaise was generally a silent type when he wasn't antagonising people. These days, going under the cloak with Ron ended up with Harry's ankles and Ron's calves peeking out, so it was a nice change of pace to go under the cloak with someone of similar height.
Harry rather obsessively ignored the fact that Blaise smelt incredibly nice.
Harry led them towards a false painting that hid a winding staircase to the third floor. He hadn't used this passage in more than three years, but he had faith that it hadn't been sealed. Approaching the watercolour depicting the Hogwarts sunset in muted pinks and purples, Harry outlined one of the clouds in the top right of the vista with his wand.
With a low whoosh, the painting disappeared, and a pitch-black hollow appeared in its place. Rushing into the revealed entrance, Harry stripped the cloak off them. Blaise entered after him with none of his hurry.
"Lumos," Harry murmured.
A bright ball of light emerged from Harry's wand, illuminating the darkness, and he heard Blaise flick his wand a second later. The smattering of dust and cobwebs in front of them vanished, leaving the faint smell of sandalwood in its wake. Harry decided he liked it more than Mrs Weasley's strong lavender. It was subtle.
"I hate filth," Blaise muttered as if it weren't obvious.
The darkness solidified further with the painting reappearing behind them, and Harry fed a little more magic into his Lumos. Harry looked behind him, finding Blaise looming over his shoulder as if to use him as a shield. He was so… prissy.
"You're a regular princess, aren't you," Harry said, rolling his eyes unseen. "It's just a little dust and cobwebs."
Blaise harrumphed. "I can assure you, Potter. There is nothing at all feminine about me," Blaise said.
They continued towards the staircase, and Harry considered how exactly to address the audible purr he'd heard in the Slytherin's voice. It felt almost like he was flirting, but Harry was not going to provide him with the reaction he craved. Blaise was the type who somehow found enjoyment in irritating people.
"The fact you need to assure me of that tells me all I need to know," Harry said.
Blaise hummed, and it was a mystery as to how he managed to make it sound patronising. "A life of partial blindness can leave its mark, Potter."
"I saw perfectly fine!" Harry said.
"Perfectly," Blaise repeated.
Harry made eye contact with the Slytherin, frowning when he saw the scorn in his eyes. "What's that meant to mean?"
Half-looking over his shoulder as he walked, Harry was halted by Blaise's grip on his shoulder. He blasted a large cobweb Harry was about to walk into with a little amused cough.
"It was… a functional type of blindness," Harry said with a sigh.
"And?" Blaise drawled.
The dark-skinned Slytherin nodded to a clump of dust at their feet before vanishing it.
"And next time I'll make sure to pick a properly sanitized secret passage," Harry said in a monotone.
"See that you do," Blaise said. His clipped cadence dripped with irritation. "This is disgusting."
Harry braced himself against the wall as they approached the lip of the old, rickety staircase. One of Blaise's long-fingered hands closed around his upper arm. Half-jumping in surprise, Harry shrugged and rolled his shoulder in vain protest and Blaise's already strong grip became vice-like.
"If I'm to fall again due to your incompetence, you're coming with me," he said.
Harry nodded with a wry smile and began to lead them down the staircase, taking each creaking step with care. Rather than using Harry as security, which he could have accepted, Blaise was steering him with firm, yet gentle, twists and turns of his shoulder. At times it felt like Blaise was on the cusp of frogmarching him down the stairs, and Harry quickly grew irritated.
"Afraid?" Harry snapped.
Blaise snorted in his ear but eased up the pressure on his shoulder. It was an improvement, but Harry would rather he stop it all together. The problem was that the narrow, fragile staircase left no room for sudden movements, and unfortunately, Blaise had a powerful grip.
"Afraid of your clumsiness resulting in another trip to the Hospital Wing? Yes," Blaise drawled.
Blaise patted Harry's shoulder before clasping it once more, and Harry came to a halt, half-tempted to force him to let go before remembering again how precarious their footing was on this staircase.
"After all, I wouldn't want the Chosen One to have another accident in the dark," Blaise said.
The Slytherin was pointing his wand over Harry's shoulder at distant cobwebs, vanishing them. The movement threw the Slytherin's profile into the light of Harry's wand: he was smiling, and his eyes were glittering with mischief.
"You don't seem like the touchy-feely type, Blaise," Harry said with a pointed stare at this shoulder.
Blaise met his gaze, and a smirk replaced the smile on his lips.
"I've touched your exposed bone, Potter. I think I can handle your clothed shoulder," he said with an ease far away from the discomfort he'd shown in the Hospital Wing.
Harry's stomach churned at the mental image, but he didn't dwell on it for long. He was sick of Blaise's antics at this point.
"Let go," Harry said.
Harry turned on his heel to face the Slytherin, whose hand finally released his shoulder. Blaise closed his eyes with a wince as the light of Harry's lumos entered his direct field of view, but Harry was a little too annoyed to apologise.
"All you had to do was say something," Blaise said after a lengthy rub of his eyes.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the end of the stairs. Blaise brushed past him, walking deeper into the hollow towards the exit.
"Parkinson was wrong," Harry said.
"Hmm?"
"Three-month-old pumpkin juice," Harry said.
Blaise snorted. "That was back in second year, Potter. If you want to have even a remote chance at getting back at me, you may have to think of your own insults."
With his wand hand, the Slytherin continued to use Scouring Charms to clean the path ahead of them.
"So, you play an instrument?" Harry asked.
"Violin mostly, but I'm a respectable enough violist. Flitwick asked as no one at Hogwarts is any good at the viola," Blaise said.
"Is it enjoyable? I mean, you left according to Flitwick?"
"Well, I've been playing in his quartet since third year, and in the beginning, it was as bad as I expected. Viola parts in Baroque music are dull as Binns, and Flitwick is absolutely obsessed with Baroque. The moments when we get to play more modern music make it enjoyable. Thank God for Bones or we'd never have played any Ravel. Now that is fun," Blaise said.
"Susan? Susan Bones?" Harry asked. He tried to imagine shy Susan in a group with Blaise and failed.
"What? You thought we were all Slytherins? It's me, Padma Patil, Susan Bones, and Sue Li."
Harry didn't recognise the last name but didn't dwell on it as they were now stood in front of the exit. While Blaise cast Scouring Charms on his clothes, smoothed creases in his jeans and concerned himself with his appearance, Harry pulled the Marauder's Map out of his bag.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Harry murmured.
"Am I meant to believe that?" Blaise murmured back in his smooth baritone.
Ink threaded throughout the parchment, revealing the map that Harry had grown long acquainted with. Harry looked at his companion whose only reaction was a delicate lift of his eyebrow. That was at least before his eyes latched onto the labelled footsteps clustered in the Gryffindor Common Room in the top right corner of the fold Harry had opened. His lips parted in clear surprise then.
"Heirloom? Like your cloak?" Blaise asked.
"Something like that," Harry said, not wanting to reveal too much.
Harry flicked through the many folds and side flaps until he found the two of them on the third floor. To Harry's disbelief, Mrs Norris was prowling back and forth along the corridor in front of them
"That's a problem," Blaise said with a sigh.
"We'll just wait until she goes, I guess," Harry murmured, half paranoid that the cat would hear them and camp outside their hiding place.
Blaise tapped his wand against the parchment. "Do you mind if I try something?" He asked.
"Well, as long as you don't take a leaf out of Greengrass's book," Harry said.
Remembering Snape's little incident with the Map, he was curious as to how they'd address Blaise.
"Incanto revelio," Blaise murmured.
A spray of multicolour sparks erupted from the parchment.
"What was that?"
"Spell Revealing Charm."
"Homenum revelio but for spells?"
Blaise continued to stare at the technicolour chaos the map had become.
"Exactly. It's really limited – only shows spells that you're familiar with. Wizards like Dumbledore can generally deconstruct the magical make-up of enchanted items by touch."
"What do you see?"
"Nothing really. Enchanting objects isn't my forte. I'm more into cosmetic charms which are just precise jinxes if you think about it. I'm also fond of animation and counter-spells," Blaise murmured, running his wand along the primary fold of the map in awe.
"You don't recognise anything," Harry said in disbelief. Wasn't he meant to be better than him at Charms?
"By that, I mean I don't recognise anything that would give the map its function. I recognise some artistic charms – Fixation Charm for storing ink, but that would be unrelated to drawing the map, Preservation charm to preserve the parchment, Strengthening Charm to prevent it from tearing. This orb here," he pointed to the beige spray of sparks emerging from a large brown orb, "I'm guessing to a degree, but it reminds me of a Protean Charm. Instead of linking objects, it obviously links people to this Charm here," his wand circled the white spray covering the entirety of the parchment, "which is a cartographic Charm. I don't know which one though, but I'm certain of that."
The Slytherin's brows drew together in confusion. "Your map is sentient? It's asking for my name."
"Well, the creators put echoes of their personality in it," Harry said with a shrug. He didn't quite understand how that worked.
Blaise muttered his name at the parchment. Harry watched as his confusion disappeared and a frown replaced it, deepening with each scrawling line of ink that graced the page.
"Potter, take this back before I burn it," Blaise finally muttered.
Harry accepted the Map back, folding the flaps detailing the Grounds back into place. As he did so, he read what the Marauders had to say about Blaise.
Prongs: The Black Widow had a kid?
Moony: Must have. I don't know any other Zabinis.
Padfoot: My old hag of a mother had many a thing to say about Her Spideryness after Gunther Rowle ended up dead. None of it nice.
Moony: Can't have been any worse than the Prophet.
Padfoot: You know my mother, Moony. Her usual insanity mixed with some good old-fashioned xenophobia.
Wormtail: She inherited the lot, didn't she?
Padfoot: Left the entire family destitute. To be honest, I can't think of better people for it to have happened to.
Moony: How'd she even manage that? They were only engaged when he died, right?
Wormtail: Who knows?
Prongs: Well, the owner of our map seems to have the worst luck. First Snape, now the Black Widow's daughter.
Harry had to stifle a laugh at his dad's assumption that Blaise was a girl.
Moony: Let's hope she doesn't have a face capable of launching a thousand ships.
Prongs: More likely a face capable of stealing tens of thousands of galleons, really.
Padfoot: Now that's a face worth dying for.
Moony: Speak for yourself, Padfoot.
Harry hazarded a contemplative glance at Blaise who was watching him, a disdainful curl to his lips. Harry stopped his nosy reading with a nervous swallow.
"Feel proud of yourself, Potter?"
Ears burning red with embarrassment, Harry apologised. As someone with his own secrets and deep want for privacy, he should have known better. "I'm sorry," Harry said.
Even now, the Marauders were still speaking, ink appearing further and further down the page until it disappeared beyond an overlying flap of parchment. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. He knew about Blaise's mother from Slug Club, but he'd never given any thought to what having a rich mother whose husbands constantly died meant. Harry was sure asking someone you barely knew about their potentially murderous mother was a bad idea.
Blaise gave him an impatient snort in reply. "Merlin knows you have enough curiosity to doom the entire feline population of Britain," he said with a tiny curl of his lip.
It wasn't an invitation to ask questions, but it was as close to a 'you're forgiven' Harry would get from him. Harry muttered a quick 'mischief managed'.
"I don't think Mrs Norris is going anywhere anytime soon," Harry said after stowing the Map in his bag.
The dark-skinned Slytherin fell back to lean against the wall, sharp features illuminated by the bright light of Harry's wand.
"We can stay here, I suppose." His cold eyes surveyed their surroundings and he sighed, managing to communicate long-suffering pain and arrogance in the sound. "What did you want to talk about?" Blaise asked.
Harry swallowed a little nervously. He hadn't planned… anything.
"Spit it out, Potter," Blaise said, eyeing him curiously. "I don't bite."
"Just bark," Harry corrected.
Blaise chuckled a little. "Exactly. There's hope for you yet," he said.
Taking the opportunity with Blaise in a good mood, he asked what he'd been looking to learn since the Slytherin had pledged himself to helping him in the Hospital Wing.
"Do you know what Malfoy is up to?"
Blaise laughed at him, though the clench of his jaw made Harry think that he may have offended the Slytherin.
"You took your time, Potter. I don't think he's marked, like Daphne, but I do think the Dark Lord has given him some sort of kind of task. In fact, you tell me what you know, and I'll see what I can add to it."
"But… aren't you and Malfoy friendly?" Harry asked, wanting to clear this up before he volunteered any information.
"You think we're friends? If you're referring to that conversation on the train you eavesdropped on, I thought it was smarter to just agree to sit with the potential Death Eater than to say no," he said with a sigh as if explaining something mind-numbingly obvious.
Considering the Slytherin before him, Harry decided that in a way Blaise was a microcosm of everything that was wrong with the Wizarding World. He was the epitome of just going with the flow, not rocking the boat, taking the path of least resistance.
"I heard what you said about Ginny. It seems you would fit in just fine with him," he snapped.
Blaise folded his arms, looking oddly defensive before he became resolute. Almost angry. "I don't give two shits about her. She's irrelevant to me," he retorted with a sneer, and his eyes glimmered with malice at the rebuttal on Harry's lips. "But you don't think that, do you? I've seen the way you used to constantly watch her, always glaring at that Muggleborn she was dating. She's single now, isn't she? I'm sure if you whistled in her direction she'd come running, Potter. So… what are you waiting for?"
Harry's stomach rolled uncomfortably at the topic of the conversation. It wasn't like Malfoy's mean-spirited rudeness – it was far too defensive for Harry to immediately ascribe Blaise's lashing out to wanting to make him feel terrible. Yet, he was doing a far better job than Malfoy without even having to directly insult him. If Malfoy was the crude swing of a bat, then Blaise was the precise prick of a needle.
Swallowing thickly and trying not to lose his temper, Harry tried to take some control over the sudden row they'd entered. "So why did you call her a filthy blood traitor then?"
"I'm in Slytherin. Do keep up, Potter," he said with an insincere smile. "We're all evil, aren't we?" His smile grew terrifying and Harry broke eye contact, finding it hard to look at the cold fury spelt in every other feature of the Slytherin's face. "We all hate fucking Muggles. Never mind that some of us, like me, are unashamed of being related to them."
That was a bit of a bombshell to comprehend and something Harry imagined that Blaise would not be willing to share. Harry concluded that Blaise wasn't angry at him but angry at the assumptions, the misconceptions and sweeping stereotypes that formed Harry's conceptions of Slytherin. Perhaps this was something he'd always bottled up. It finally clicked for Harry, he finally understood that like him, like everyone, Blaise was greater than his House. Still, Harry was reluctant to accept that insulting the girl he liked was necessary to fit in, but was his opinion really of any worth? He didn't have to live with Malfoy and people like him. He'd dodged Slytherin.
During his thinking, Blaise sighed and shook his head. "If it means anything to you, I'd like to apologise for my comments about Weasley," he said, sounding begrudging. Harry was certain that apologies weren't meant to be offered while sounding like the prospect of getting married to Snape. "My intent wasn't to offend you. I was just…"
"Frustrated?"
The black teen looked at him, awe overtaking him. Blaise shook his head and gave Harry an intent gaze. "You finally understand?"
"I don't like it, but I think so," Harry admitted.
Blaise nodded to himself. "Progress," he said and just like that, it was like they'd never been on the verge of a shouting match. Harry almost thought he'd develop whiplash at the sudden return to business. "Now, you say he's been trying to kill people. Elaborate. Share what you know, and I'll see if I can add anything."
And so, Harry detailed everything he knew about Malfoy. From the excursion in Diagon Alley, where Malfoy flinched at Madam Malkin touching his left arm, threatening Borgin with Greyback in return for safekeeping an item, the suspicious behaviour and disappearances over the year, and the two murder attempts.
"And you've told the Headmaster?" Blaise asked, his eyebrow was in danger of disappearing in his hairline.
"Trust Snape," Harry recited, feeling almost numb.
"Well, of all the things you've told me, this has to be the most disturbing," Blaise murmured, twirling a braid in one hand.
"You... don't trust Snape?"
"Trust him to prevent Malfoy from killing someone? Yes and no," Blaise said. "It's no secret he was a double agent for Dumbledore, but I wouldn't trust a double agent with something like this, especially with how things are going for… well, your side."
"We're losing, aren't we?" Harry whispered.
Blaise cleared his throat, cleverly deciding that that wasn't a topic worth exploring right now.
"Malfoy is trying to assassinate someone, clearly. Priority targets could be anyone, but I'm inclined to think it's a member of staff. There are far too many opportunities to kill a fellow student for him to fail twice."
Harry gave Blaise a strange look at his blasé assessment.
"Dumbledore?" He offered.
"My guess as well," Blaise said, nodding, "but it wouldn't explain why he's just… letting Malfoy almost kill students."
Blaise offered what he'd observed, and it was interesting – Malfoy had somehow become the focal point of power in the House.
"Malfoy told Urquhart I would be playing Chaser this year," Blaise said with a cringe, "and that was that."
"You didn't want to play?" Harry asked.
"No. You've hopefully gathered that I don't want public attention," Blaise said.
Blaise detailed how Malfoy stopped sleeping in the dorm after Christmas, and it confirmed Harry's suspicions that he was living in the Room of Requirement. Then there were other tidbits about the frequent meetings Malfoy and Snape had, how two second year girls Davis was fond of had become incredibly meek lately (and Harry would bet they were the ones Crabbe and Goyle were Polyjuicing themselves as), and Malfoy's sudden stalking of Blaise after Harry saved his life. Blaise believed Malfoy was feeling under attack by Harry's new, apparent strategy of converting Slytherins to his side.
With Malfoy exhausted, Harry moved onto something that had been stewing in his mind since Blaise had offered that laughable apology.
"Why are you nicer to me than you were to Ron or Hermione?" Harry asked.
Ignoring the moment earlier, Harry had noticed that Blaise's insults or barbs were generally softer when addressed towards him and addressed safe topics. When talking to Ron, he'd immediately latched to subjects Ron was insecure about. He hadn't really given Hermione much attention which was in a way even more damning. Harry had recalled him offering her compliments, but it was almost in the way one would address the existence of a particularly useful tool.
"I respect you," Blaise said with a huff. His eyes glinted with amusement at Harry's taken aback expression. "Keep on asking stupid questions, Harry, and I'll stop playing favourites if that's what you'd prefer."
Harry hadn't comprehended much after the first sentence.
"You respect me?" He asked, gobsmacked.
Blaise closed his eyes, clearly pained. Harry wasn't certain whether that pain was aimed at him or his following words. "I may not have given the right impression of that earlier, but I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you weren't worth my time," he said.
"But… you said – "
"Stop talking." Harry was reluctant to follow that order, but the sight of Blaise walking over halted him. Blaise began to sit down beside him with none of the fuss he'd shown earlier when moving through the dust and pressed down on his shoulder. Sinking onto his arse, Harry took his seat. He was curious as to what had had Blaise so intent on close contact. "I'm going to speak, Potter, and you are going to listen very carefully."
Blaise shuffled a little closer, close enough that Harry could feel his body heat, and looked him deep in the eye, looking more serious that Harry had ever seen him.
"I owe you my life, Potter. Perhaps you're hoping that I want to help you out of some deeply buried goodness within me. I can assure you that that's not the case, but if it makes you feel better you can believe that. I am helping you because I owe you, and I…" Blaise broke eye contact, staring at his knees, a gamut of emotions running across his face. "I feel like I have purpose. I don't feel aimless for once. I feel like I matter. I haven't done much yet to help you, but I want you to know that as infuriating as I find you, I will have your back."
It was confirmation of Harry's suspicions in the Hospital Wing, but it was depressing to hear how little belief Blaise had in his moral compass. Harry was of the opinion his existed, but it wasn't something that had proven useful in his life. It was about a lack of use rather than a deficiency.
"You talk about yourself like you're not a good person. If what I said in the Hospital Wing was right, what's stopping you from being better? You're coming to me for purpose, so what's stopping you from developing. Are you not good enough?" Harry said, appealing to Blaise's sense of pride.
"I know what you're trying to do, Potter," he said with a sniff. Blaise ran a hand across his face as if to sweep the discomfort in his expression away. "I've never been vulnerable in front of someone like that before."
Harry let him change the subject, half-disappointed but understanding that this was a difficult conversation for Blaise.
"You let Davis and Greengrass embarrass you earlier," Harry said.
Blaise squinted at him, disbelieving.
"Stop being stupid, Potter. I'll get my revenge on them at some point; I can assure you of that, but what I mean is that I've never shown emotional vulnerability in front of someone like that before," he said.
Harry considered the idea of someone having never been upset or mad in front of another person. By Harry's standards, Blaise's reaction to their flirt with death was rather mild. The decision to involve himself with Harry's future was drastic, but the emotional response had been non-existent apart from some nightmares.
"Is there anything wrong with that?" He asked hesitantly.
Blaise's eyes darkened with irritation.
"It's just not… who I am," Blaise murmured. "At least that's what I thought."
"Do you even know who you are?" Harry asked. At times, it felt like he didn't know himself. All he had were convictions, hopes for the future, and his friends.
"Ask me that question last week, and I could answer that," Blaise admitted. He fell silent for a moment, emotions warring on his face, as he struggled to find words to describe his current situation. It was strange to watch Blaise, someone who always had something witty to say, struggle. "Now? Not so much."
"A little identity crisis?" Harry asked.
"More than a little," came Blaise's annoyed reply.
"I mean… you're here with me, it can't be that bad, can it? Harry asked with a smirk.
"Oh, Potter. I can't imagine things being worse," he joked.
Harry gave him a friendly nudge.
"You don't have to do this, you know? I don't expect or want you to help me out of some obligation, but I'd like if you were helping me because you want to. The only way I can see that working out is if we became friends."
Blaise's eyebrows rose together.
"Us. Friends? You think that would work out?"
"As infuriating as I find you," Harry began, smiling at Blaise's sudden eye roll, "you're funny, sometimes. I've learnt a lot in the few days we've talked, and I think you need a friend like me."
"Oh?" Blaise was staring at him, an arm slung around his knees, and head against the wall. Despite how casual his posture was, his unmoving gaze revealed how pivotal Harry's next words would be.
"I think we could be good friends and besides, who else are you going to be vulnerable in front of other than Saint Potter?" Harry joked with a smirk. Even if quoting Malfoy felt like tasting a shit flavoured Bertie Botts bean, it felt fitting.
Blaise gave him an uncharacteristic grin, but it faded into a slight smile. Lockhart had been said to have won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award five times but lit at the light at the end of Harry's wand was what Harry thought was a true contender. Bashful was the way Harry would use to describe the curve to the Slytherin's lips. The glimmer of his teeth peeking through his full lips was especially radiant against the caramel of his skin. It was a transformation to see Blaise smiling without any hint of his usual condescension or arrogance, and Harry was taken aback at realizing just how attractive he was. Ginny had referred to him as a poser, and Harry could see where she'd gotten that conclusion, but now such a description felt crude. Insufficient.
For once, Harry truly looked at Blaise. He took him in, focusing on the appearance rather than on his body language and words for hidden intent. It was easy to draw comparisons to Cedric, another Hogwarts student who'd also been extremely handsome, but a simplistic, yet accurate, way to distinguish Blaise from the late Hufflepuff would be the exoticness of his features: the long slant of his brown eyes, and the fullness of his lips. The only thing they shared, looks-wise, was their chiselled features.
Harry would have been insecure if Blaise had flirted with perfection in the way that Cedric had seemed to, but it was easy to make eye contact. Blaise, all in all, was a person, just as flawed and complex as any other. Harry didn't agree with Blaise and his friends' belief in predetermined allegiance or Blaise's tendency to do what was easy rather than what was right. Fundamentally, you always had a choice, some harder than others, but he could appreciate the difficulty in making the right ones. He thought of Malfoy whose father had recently been in Azkaban, shamed and exposed. Sympathy wasn't what came to mind, but Harry could understand the pressures Malfoy was under. Understand, but not accept.
Blaise had opened his eyes to a less dichotomous world, a world coloured in shades of grey, and it was that that had Harry so on edge. He'd been comfortable thinking of Voldemort and all he represented in terms of good and evil, not motivation and convenience. He was now dead certain that Blaise wasn't looking to help out of any true appreciation of doing what was right, but rather doing it because he felt it was required. Harry was half tempted to call him a coward, but Blaise seemed the type to see that as a non-insult. It was an alien thought process to Harry, but these moments of vulnerability that emerged, showing that Blaise was as flappable as everyone else, made it easier to do what Harry could only describe as blindly trust and hope for the best. In the way that Harry was learning of other viewpoints, Blaise could learn to shed his amoral, apathetic tendencies.
"What?" Blaise asked, his smile long gone and replaced with a lazy sneer that communicated no spite.
Harry shook his head, snapping himself out of his daze.
"Nothing," he said in a rush. "I'm just not used to seeing you smile like that."
A smirk that could only be described as Blaise appeared, and the tension in Harry eased.
"Count yourself lucky. Few do," he said.
"Maybe if you smile at the people you insult, they won't take it so badly," Harry said.
Blaise's smirk deepened. "Is this your clumsy way of telling me I'm attractive, Potter?"
Harry spluttered, realizing that he'd spent a good minute considering how attractive the Slytherin was.
"I'd be flattered if I was unaware. I suppose if we're to be friends," and Blaise looked horribly amused at the idea, "you'll do a good job of keeping my ego well-maintained."
"Oh, fuck off," Harry snapped with no heat. For a moment, he was taken aback by his own language, but Blaise laughed.
"So you do get pissed off," Blaise said with a pleased clasp of his hands in his lap. "And there I was starting to get worried that your outrage was reserved for Malfoy and Snape."
"You forgot the Ministry and Voldemort," Harry said.
"I'm really starting to think Gryffindors have a gift for stating the obvious," Blaise drawled.
"And Malfoy and Snape aren't?"
The dark-skinned teen frowned a little. "Point," he admitted, and Harry grinned in triumph, "but it's not my fault all your enemies are obvious."
"I'm perfectly happy with the obviousness of my enemies at the moment," Harry said.
"I want to see if I can get you to tell me to fuck off in public. Saint Potter with the potty mouth. It'll be great," Blaise said in a low murmur.
"I regret ever meeting you," Harry said, though he was betrayed by the smile on his face. "You're an absolute pissant. A complete tosser."
"Nice vocabulary, Potter," Blaise said, also fighting a smile. "Going to get all provincial on me? Maybe you'll go for an old classic and call me a bloody wanker next."
"You're not?" Harry asked on impulse.
He cringed when he realized what he said, but Harry decided it was worth it when Blaise choked in surprise, eyes wide with alarm.
"Potter, mind your own business. I'm not sure you're even old enough to have this conversation," Blaise said in a monotone that was betrayed by his twitching lips.
"And you are?" Harry said, tilting his head in question.
"Well, I've been seventeen for a couple of months. I've been using my wand without repercussions for quite a while now," Blaise said with a devilish smile.
Harry laughed despite himself. For how overbearing his sense of humour and banter was, Blaise was almost always entertaining. He had no sense of shame at all. Harry was almost envious of how comfortable in his own skin the Slytherin seemed to be.
"Surreal, isn't it?" Harry murmured.
"Definitely," Blaise said with a weary nod, "but I'm going to have as much fun with this as I can."
For a moment, Harry could see his potential future with vivid clarity. He was duelling Voldemort with Blaise looming over his shoulder, speculating in his smooth drawl about whether Voldemort's lack of nose might be the result of particularly aggressive inbreeding.
Blaise watched him laugh silently, the beginnings of a smile on his face.
"I suppose it's right about time for one of us to have a nervous breakdown," he snarked. "Do let me know when you finish so I can start." In response to Harry's bewildered look, he chuckled. "I just think it'd be best if we get them out of the way now."
Harry shook his head in disbelief but laughed all the same.
"He's a bloody arse," Ron snapped.
Given that Hermione didn't even bother to address Ron's language, Harry knew that he'd already lost this argument. Harry had returned to the Common Room hours after he'd left them on the fifth-floor corridor. Harry had spent a long time, sat there in that alcove, talking to Blaise. It'd started off with him confirming rumours about his end of year adventures to the inquisitive Slytherin. Despite Blaise's air of disinterest, he'd listened transfixed to Harry's account of the Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk, Voldemort's resurrection, and his fight in the Ministry. He'd left out all mention of Sirius, not feeling emotionally prepared to talk about him with Blaise yet. Then they'd spoken about random things: Quidditch; he'd wanted to go to the World Cup, but his family was having a gathering, Lupin; Daphne had figured out he was a werewolf after the Boggart lesson, Umbridge; Blaise hadn't been in the Inquisitorial Squad because Umbridge didn't like foreign-born students. He'd then spent a considerable amount of time outlining how repulsive he found her to Harry's amusement. It had been nice, a reminder of simpler times.
He put his finished essay and Blaise's draft into his bag, pleased that it'd been more useful than he'd expected. The Slytherin had a very concise yet descriptive way of writing that Harry understood and comprehended far more than Hermione's exhaustive approach. It wouldn't guarantee him an Outstanding in the way that Hermione's help would, but he felt like he'd actually learned something.
"Well, Harry?" Ron said in response to his continued silence.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"He's harmless," Harry retorted. "He's just… an arse."
"Enough about him," Hermione said. "What are we going to do?"
"I've been thinking," Ron said with a conspiratorial look, and Harry could hear an echo of Blaise in his mind clapping. "Why not restart the DA?"
"Study group? Really?" Hermione said. "We need something more serious."
"Then we can make it into something more serious," Harry said. "Blaise said he and his friends had made a list of people worth reaching out to for support."
"Where is it?"
"He said he'll give it to me at the Slug Club party, and we'd discuss it there."
"He's going to approach you in public?" Ron asked.
"You said you didn't talk about anything important!" Hermione said.
"Oh… right," Harry said with a shake of his head. "Yeah, Blaise thinks that all the hiding is pointless, as you thought Hermione, but he'll try and maintain a certain level of discretion."
"Plotting at Slughorn's party?" Ron asked, bewildered.
"Discretion?" Hermione added with a laugh. "There's nothing discreet about that."
"He's managed to slip under the public eye for a long time. I think he knows what he's doing," Harry said. He didn't doubt that they could keep what they were discussing private thanks to muffliato, but their connection, as Ron and Hermione were assuming, would be put into the public eye. Not that it wasn't already.
"He's… hard to miss now that I've really spoken to him," Ron admitted with a frown.
"He's striking," Hermione pointed out. Harry couldn't disagree, thinking back to that smile in the hollow.
"Striking, is he?" Ron asked dangerously.
Harry groaned, already far too familiar with Ron and Hermione's trademark slap-slap-kiss minus the kiss arguments. One day he was going to tell them to kiss, do something, and be done with it.
Hermione snorted. "Do you think Padma was free for the Yule Ball for no reason? Zabini rejected her."
Ron blushed a violent red and pointed accusingly at Hermione, voice tremulous with disbelief. "You don't keep up with gossip!" He accused.
"I live in a dorm with Parvati and Lavender," Hermione said with an eye roll. "I'd have to be completely deaf to not know about most of the rumours around the school."
Ron deflated with the mention of Lavender. It was still an awkward topic for the two of them considering how recently she and Ron had broken up, but things were improving.
"So… who'd he go with?" Harry asked, curious.
Hermione shrugged. "I don't think he went with anyone."
"Probably thought he was better than everyone," Ron said with a dismissive snort.
Harry could believe that.
"Anyway, I'm going to bed," Hermione said after rising to her feet. "We have a double free after Defence, we'll plan then."
She ascended the stairs to her dorm with a murmured goodnight, and they did the same. Entering their dorm, Ron turned to face him, finished essay in hand, and wished him a goodnight before moving to his bed. Returning the goodnight with a yawn, Harry walked towards his bed and changed for bed.
Harry lay in his four-poster, mind swirling with the developments of the day. The meeting with the Slytherins, the talk with Blaise, and ideas of where to go from here. What Harry needed was an individual plan. He needed something to make him feel like he was at least preparing for the future fight he'd have with Voldemort. Remembering his time preparing for the Triwizard, he decided a visit to the Library would be a good start for at least learning new, useful spells for duelling. That decided, he finally allowed the beckoning embrace of sleep take him.