Blaise woke up. Tossing and turning in his bed, he groaned at the immediate sight of the Black Lake's glow through the subterranean windows. He wasn't quite hungover, but he wasn't exactly well either. Harry had left after they'd run through the list, leaving him and Tracey to linger around. Blaise couldn't remember the reason they'd given for staying, but it seemed to have involved him drinking more wine. How many glasses did he drink? Why had he been drinking? Blaise was certain he'd had at least eight glasses of Slughorn's horrible wine that could have doubled as cordial.
After grunting his displeasure at the stupidity of getting drunk on shit wine, Blaise dispelled the Intruder Charm around his bed with a muttered terrorem hominibus. One of the things he liked about the charm was the fact you could customise the sound of the alarm. He'd opted for a mimicry of a mandrake's scream. It may not have the same effect as the true source (and guarantee him a trip to Azkaban), but Blaise was paranoid enough to want any intruders, Draco especially, to at least fear for their lives before they tried to attack him. Blaise found Draco's bed as empty as usual upon pulling the silver curtains around his bed aside.
Checking his watch, he was glad to take note of the fact he'd woken up at a decent enough time: 5:45am. Theo was usually up a little past six. By some miracle, Theo managed to spend longer in the shower than Blaise did, so it was with a quick dash that he attempted to cross the room. The violent throbbing of his temple almost thwarted him, but he persevered with a loud hiss that had Crabbe's snoring cease for a second.
As Blaise turned the corner into the bathroom, it resumed, louder than ever and more hog-like than Blaise could ever remember it being. Blaise liked to think that Crabbe had the type of snoring that you could feel in your very bones. Closing the door behind him, he gave his own snort.
Somehow staggering through a shower, Blaise dressed, smiling to himself now that he felt half-way human. It was as he was making his way up the stairs to the Common Room that Theo woke up with a murmuring of half-formed syllables. 6:20. It seemed he wasn't the only one in the dorm who'd had a busy night.
Like usual, it was just him, Daphne, and Tori this early.
"Morning."
Tori grunted a morning from her web of blankets, and Daphne put her book down on a neighbouring table. Blaise was half-tempted to join them on the couch, but Tori had spread herself all over it. He settled for standing before them.
"Sleep well?" Daphne asked. "Tracey told me it was a trying night."
"Trying week," Blaise corrected.
Daphne gave him a serious nod before gently nudging Tori upright. Blaise slid next to her with an appreciative smile. "Well enough," Blaise said. Turning to Daphne's blanket-covered sister, he gave her a sympathetic nod. Going by the black-lidded eyes peeking up at him, she looked worse than he felt. "Still making Tori wake up early?"
"Yes," Tori muttered into Daphne's shoulder. "I think she gets lonely. Tracey takes forever to get up."
"I've had very little time with you this week," Daphne said in a curt tone.
Tori's ensuing sigh broke into a weak cough. Blaise and Daphne shared a dark look. As Tori had gotten older, her periods of sickness had become increasingly frequent. Before, they were largely in the winter months, but they were occurring more and more during milder months as well.
"That's Blaise and Potter's fault," Tori ground out between gentle rubs of her back from her sister.
"My fault?"
Blaise laughed at the derisive look on Tori's delicate features.
"The entire school knows about you and Potter," Tori whispered, peering up at Blaise through her bangs. "Have you not heard about you and Potter?"
Feeling darkly amused, Blaise decided why not as deep down, he enjoyed hearing whatever rumour was on the round about him and Harry. They were always far-fetched.
"No, I haven't," Blaise said lightly. "Care to share?"
"Well, it's either you're boyfriends or you're best friends," Tori explained eagerly. "My friend in Ravenclaw, Lauren Simons, thinks there's a love triangle between you, Potter and Weasley."
Blaise hummed in response to that. He wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of him being in competition with that childish firecracker. Deciding to be honest with himself, he admitted he hated it, especially after her little goading of the Lovegood girl yesterday.
"I was unaware I was competing with the youngest Weasley," Blaise remarked. Taking in Tori's confusion, he added. "In anything."
"Uh, Blaise? I mean Ron Weasley."
Blaise just about held back from retching. The day where Blaise ended up competing for someone with Ron Weasley was the day he must've taken a shower in Fiendfyre or whoever they were competing for had been rendered deaf, dumb and blind. By Ron's boorishness maybe.
"I think you're a little confused, Tori," Daphne said, with one hundredth of the horror Blaise felt.
Tori smiled with a dainty shrug. "I never said Lauren was correct, did I?"
"Has she considered seeing a Healer specialising in sudden-onset insanity?" Blaise asked in a low murmur.
Daphne took a break from her fond look at her sister to roll her eyes at Blaise. "Be nice."
Tori rolled her eyes also. "Yeah, Blaise. Be nice."
"If I must," he said.
"So… you and Potter?" Tori asked. There was transparent hope in her voice.
Blaise shook his head. "I'm sorry to disappoint."
Tori sighed. "You'd be cute together, you know?"
Daphne peered up at him with her sister, smirking. "I'm not sure about cute, but it'd certainly be… something."
"Cute?" Blaise repeated. It was no mystery that Blaise took great pride in his looks. He was many things: handsome, stunning, beautiful, pretty (he could tolerate), and many more. Cute? He hadn't been cute since he was eight.
Tori clapped her hands together with glee. "Well, of course. I was telling Tracey all about it when you were in the Hospital Wing."
"You were?" Blaise asked.
"Uh huh," Tori said, nodding happily. "She wasn't convinced at first, but I managed to convince her."
He felt strangely disappointed that Tracey had to be convinced, but it would explain why she'd only mentioned it on Thursday. If Tracey was onboard with saying anything remotely embarrassing, she didn't hesitate.
"Oh, yes," Daphne drawled. "Tori has a particular investment in your association with Potter."
Tori giggled in response to Blaise's snort. "It'd be a great scandal."
They chatted for the next hour or so as his House filled the Common Room. Tracey still hadn't showed up, but she was generally the type to wander in late for breakfast.
When the Common Room was beginning to get packed, Blaise rose to his feet. "Going to breakfast?" Blaise asked.
Daphne shook her head. "I have Herbology."
"See you at lunch?" Blaise offered.
With Daphne's assent, Blaise made his way to breakfast with a quick goodbye to the sisters.
Just the sight of Harry was enough to get his headache going once more. Hermione's shrill voice even more so. But it was the sight of the youngest Weasley sitting beside him with a quick kiss that had him turning away. Blaise wasn't jealous. That, he was certain of, but he felt that Harry deserved better. The problem was that he wasn't exactly sure who was good enough for Harry. That only brought up the uncomfortable realization that somehow, within a week of knowing the Gryffindor, he'd begun to put him on a pedestal. He was far too easy to admire.
Disturbed by this track of thought, Blaise decided to focus on his eggs, even as Tracey slid beside him, a gentle rub of his back her way of greeting him.
"It's been a long week," she said in way of greeting. "Daphne skipped again?"
Blaise nodded his assent around a sip of black tea. Daphne always skipped breakfast before Herbology. Something about eating before Herbology made her nauseous.
"It's been the longest week," he added.
Tracey poured herself some pumpkin juice with a little smile. "I'm sure it'll pay off."
The walk to Potions was not unlike a march to Blaise's doom. Between the prospect of sitting next to Draco, being in the same room as Slughorn after that little emotional outburst last night, and Harry's general confusion-inducing aura, Blaise thought he was quite right to be dreading the double period. The black, cobbled stone and weak heat of the corridor next to the Potions classroom came far too soon.
All his fretting turned out to be for nothing. Draco hadn't turned up, and they ended up having a nice peaceful lesson brewing.
"Blaise," Slughorn called after Blaise had collapsed his cauldron and measuring kit. "A word please."
Blaise stifled his immediate need to curse. The use of his first name in the classroom environment had his hackles up. "Of course, Professor."
Harry lingered, even after his friends had left, provoking Blaise to roll his eyes. The Gryffindor was so transparently curious. If Harry's Patronus wasn't some form of feline, Blaise would be quite shocked.
"Off you go, Harry," Slughorn said with a chuckle. "Unless it's something important, Minerva awaits!"
Blaise smirked at Harry's faint flush. "Lost, Harry?"
Harry shook his head impatiently. "Right. Have a good weekend, Professor." He nodded at Blaise, winking as he turned to the door.
Slughorn chortled to himself after the door had shut. "Friends, eh?"
Blaise considered that. He'd thought the idea of him and Harry being friends was completely ridiculous, like Snape and shampoo, but it didn't seem so bad now. Harry was acceptable for a Gryffindor.
"Something like that."
Slughorn walked back to his desk and proceeded to look through one of its cabinets. "It's to my understanding that Professor Snape has already spoken to you about your… cursed mail," Slughorn said.
Blaise sighed with relief. It had become almost second nature to assume everything involved Potter, but this was something that didn't involve him at all. This had been a recurring complaint since the beginning of the year.
"It was more Filch who spoke to me," Blaise said.
He didn't bother to mention Filch's threats about detention for assault upon his person. Blaise wouldn't have gone to them anyway. Regardless, the Aurors that were guarding the school should be checking the mail, not an unhinged Squib.
Slughorn sighed. "So why is all your correspondence cursed?"
"My mother doesn't listen," Blaise said immediately.
It was true.
"She values her privacy," Slughorn confirmed in a bland sort of tone.
Blaise shrugged. If his mother wanted privacy, she was capable of far better than a letter curse. "The curse is easy to break once you know it's there. It's more she wants anyone stupid enough to go through my mail to – "
"Suffer?" Slughorn suggested and Blaise wisely said nothing in response. Slughorn's frown deepened. "I saw Filch's hands after handling your mail, Blaise. Second degree burns."
That would be the assault on Filch's person, Blaise supposed. He wasn't sympathetic; the whole Aurors and Filch going through student mail was little more than a source of irritation for him. Draco seemed to be getting around it just fine anyway.
"As I've said, my mother doesn't listen to me," Blaise repeated. "You'd be better off either warding the castle from her mail or getting in touch yourself."
Slughorn looked intrigued. Blaise was well aware of Slughorn's pathological need to be one of the very few who had insight into his mother beyond tabloid speculation. It was no mystery which of the two options Slughorn would opt for.
"It wouldn't be proper to prevent a parent from keeping in touch with a student," Slughorn said, eyeing Blaise seriously.
This affable avarice was familiar and all too welcome for Blaise. Sentimental Slughorn was something beyond his need or want to know or understand.
Blaise smirked. "No, sir. It wouldn't."
"I suppose I should fetch my quill then," Slughorn said with a nod before extending two pieces of parchment to Blaise. "Ah yes. Before I forget…"
Blaise accepted his mail with a nod. "Thank you, Professor."
A frown crossed Blaise's face at the realisation that Professor Snape had not been involved. The last time this had happened, Snape had extracted a promise that his mail wouldn't be cursed again and that was it. With Blaise's now public association with Harry, he expected his head of House to swoop in any moment now to tell him he had to clean the Hospital Wing with a toothbrush. It was a common threat to the students in his House as he was of the opinion that if they made his job difficult, he'd make their lives difficult.
"Is there a particular reason why my head of House isn't giving me this conversation?"
"Oh, yes. He plans on having you clean bedpans for Poppy for a week. No magic."
Blaise maintained a neutral expression, but inside he wanted to violently gag. "Really?" Blaise murmured.
"Oh, yes. Six to nine every evening until next Sunday," Slughorn said. With a violent twitch of his moustache, he continued. "He said something about a toothbrush."
Blaise grimaced. Still, it could be worse. He could have been given a truly vindictive task like Longbottom had. It had been a special brand of cruelty to ask someone with a toad familiar to disembowel a barrel of horned toads.
"If it makes you feel any better, Blaise. Poppy would veto the toothbrush," Slughorn said. He nodded to himself, leaning back in his seat with a casual humour Blaise thought was inappropriate for the situation. "No, if she receives student help, she wants it to be timely."
Blaise's grimace deepened. "How about a veto of the cleaning all together."
Slughorn chuckled. "You feel no degree of liability at all?"
"Exactly," Blaise said. His tight grip on the lip of his workbench began to hurt his palms. He shouldn't have been so quick to agree to that, but the idea of cleaning bedpans did not appeal in the slightest.
"You're in luck," Slughorn said after a long silence.
Still paranoid, Blaise gave Slughorn a cool look. "Define luck."
"It was no trouble to say that I had a more fitting punishment for you," Slughorn said, lifting his quill from the inkpot and beginning to write in his loopy script. "I've never particularly understood Severus' fixation on purely punitive measures. Students learn nothing from it. No, you'll spend Sunday evening with me preparing burn-healing pastes and Dittany for Poppy."
"Thanks, Professor," Blaise said, not even bothering to mask the relief in his voice. His fingers slackened against the granite.
"It's the least I can do for one of my favourite students," Slughorn said with a cheeky wink.
He banished a note towards Blaise without lifting his eyes from the parchment. Blaise caught it easily.
Minerva,
Apologies for the delay with Mr Zabini. We've discussed his little mail issue and I think we may have reached a solution.
Yours,
Horace
"Give that to Minerva."
Blaise dipped his head in acknowledgement before bidding Slughorn a hasty goodbye. He thought Slughorn was being a tad optimistic if he thought that his mother would listen to him either.
Alone in the privacy of a dungeon corridor, Blaise lifted the letters, one by one, to the gold ring on his right thumb. The generic messages of greeting and well wishes faded, and in their place came the true messages from his uncle and mother.
Blaise,
Your mother has been livid about your lack of owl. Do try and send her an owl at least once a month, as I don't appreciate having her Apparate into my flat under the impression that I've poisoned you against her. She does a fair job of that herself.
That aside, I pray you are safe and that all is well with you. I'm sure you are fine, but it always brings me peace to know that you are okay (yes this is a politely written request for you to owl me also). Our family, both in Mozambique and Portugal, send you their love and keep you in their thoughts. Rosa and Lena look forward to seeing you this summer, as do I.
Best wishes,
Armando Madeira
The reminder of his uncle's animosity towards his mother aside, it was a standard letter from his uncle. If he'd had a more normal upbringing, he'd be long immune to his uncle's easy affection and seemingly constant need to remind Blaise that he was missed. It always managed to make him smile the tiniest bit.
He turned his attention to the next letter, bracing himself.
My son,
You have not sent me a letter in far too long. Maybe you thought that I would forget about you? I hope you are assured by the fact that your mother still cares for her son, even if he shows little affection in return. I find Howlers entirely uncouth, but your continued silence has made me consider them. This is your last warning; I expect a letter from you by the end of the first week of May.
Blaise's grip crinkled the parchment noisily. He continued.
I trust you have been focusing on your education. In my eyes, this Voldemort character is little more than a nuisance. He is of little consequence, and under Dumbledore's watch at Hogwarts, you are safe. If not, you have a place with me as always. It would be no imposition to hire tutors for you, Blaise.
Thinking of all the lapses in safety over the last six years and Draco's current plotting, Blaise considered how his mother would react if he told her what had happened, rather than the curated stories that everyone but Potter's friends were fed by staff. He'd be in Beauxbatons, as she'd always wanted, before he could blink.
I've managed to procure a Charms book I thought you might like, Cantrips & Illusions, an Analysis by Marcurio Faccia, from the Florentine Museum. I read it myself while waiting for a long overdue letter from you, and it has a lovely treatise on the efficacy of the Disillusionment Charm followed by a comparative analysis of alternatives. There was a very bizarre Charm of Indian origin that allowed one to meld with flame (I've included the wand movement and phonetic pronunciation on the back – do be careful though. The author did say that whatever extinguishes the flame also extinguishes you). I gave Isabela a terrible fright when I emerged from the fireplace before lunch. Currently, I'm attempting to make a copy of the book to send to you by owl, but the spellwork on the text holds firm and is beyond any anti-copy protections I've ever seen. If successful, I'll send you the copy. If not, you'll have to come and see me to read it.
The book she'd acquired had to be a one of a kind to have been retrieved from a museum. Blaise's right hand slackened around the parchment in awe, though he was a little nervous by what could possibly have motivated this. Nothing his mother did was without purpose, and he didn't think it was as simple a case as pleasing him.
By the way, poor Dmitri passed last week - an accident while brewing a Pepper-Up Potion. Tragic. The funeral will be held in July, so I expect to see you there. It would only be proper considering he was the brother of the Greek Minister. I've already informed your uncle, so you have no excuse for hiding from your mother in London for the whole of summer again. I will come for you if you do.
With the love only a mother can give,
Vittoria Zabini
Perhaps he should be mourning another one of his mother's husbands dying, but he didn't know the man, and this wasn't exactly the first time. Far from it. Instead, he was left bewildered by the idea of someone dying brewing a Pepper-Up Potion. How? Blaise wouldn't be surprised if the coming investigation, which would most definitely happen considering who had died, would corroborate her story. They always did. She had more than enough enemies, but he knew his mother. When whatever official came to investigate her with whatever preconceptions they may have, by the end of their visit, she'd have them in the palm of her hand. He'd never met someone who could quite captivate a room quite like she could. Maybe Dumbledore, but never through charm alone.
Blaise almost didn't register the fact he'd have to spend some time in Italy with his mother. It wasn't that he didn't love his mother (he did), but he always struggled to be in the same house as her, knowing that it was just an ornately decorated graveyard. It was why he'd pushed to go to Hogwarts – he'd known that to receive an invitation, you needed to reside within Britain. It had been the perfect excuse to, in a sense, move out. Their relationship had yet to recover. Quite rightly, his mother had taken it as a form of rejection, and he'd done little to convince her otherwise.
Putting that aside, he checked the other side of the parchment for the Charm his mother mentioned. The wand movement was three parallel, circular arcs followed by a jab, and the incantation was in Hindi (most likely bastardised like the Latin they used at Hogwarts), aag keesvayan. Considering the potential utility, it was less cumbersome than he'd expected. He'd practice it in private at a later point.
Tucking the letters into his robes, he made his way to Transfiguration. It was likely he'd be almost twenty minutes late.
"You're late, Mr Zabini," McGonagall said with a tiny incline of her head. "Before I take points away from Slytherin, is there a reason for this?"
The resounding low grumbling from his House was as predictable as it was familiar. McGonagall took points from him all the time for lazy wand movements. With that in mind, Blaise was a little nervous about her sudden restraint. McGonagall had always been a take points first, ask questions later type of person. Not unlike Snape, funny enough.
"I'm sorry, Professor," he said automatically. "Professor Slughorn gave me a note."
He passed it over to the stern-faced woman, and upon reading the note, her lips thinned further. "I see."
She gestured to an empty seat. "Sit next to Ms Patil, Mr Zabini."
Giving Padma an appreciative nod for moving her stuff, he took the seat beside her. They were continuing with hair transfiguration, but rather than changing the colours of their eyebrows, they were now expected to change the colour of their hair. McGonagall gave them a brief demonstration, turning her bun a bright white and back with little fanfare, and they were given half an hour to practice.
It didn't take long for someone to be successful.
"Wonderful, Ms Granger," McGonagall called. "Five points to Gryffindor."
Watching Daphne follow Hermione seconds later, Blaise contented himself with the fact that despite the sudden, rapid changes in his life, the little things remained the same. He and Padma followed five minutes later, his hair turning a rusty red and hers a dark blue.
With the murmur of low conversation and incantations having long filled the room, Blaise turned to his neighbour. Having been successful with the transformation several times, he felt McGonagall wouldn't give him a detention if caught slacking. Besides, he'd said he'd talk to Padma and now was a perfect opportunity.
"Hey," he murmured.
Padma just curled her lip. With a huff, she looked askance at him before trying once more to remove the mix of neon purple and burgundy in her ponytail. Blaise wasn't much better – his braids were now a sunflower yellow instead of the brown he'd been hoping for. Eyebrows had been hard enough. Hair was even harder. Somehow, his lapses of visualisation were resulting in anomalous colours rather than the charm outright failing. It was safe to say that Blaise had never really gotten Transfiguration. It had always felt a lot like hopeful wishing and imagination when it came to learning new spells, rather than reliance on any true theoretical grounding.
"Crinus muto," they said, Padma first and Blaise following.
Padma's hair became a rich burgundy, but going by her ensuing eye roll, it wasn't intended. His own became a patchwork of russet and black. Daphne, ahead of them, was idly brushing her long platinum blonde locks. Serving as a stunning contrast, Tracey's hair was a violent red, and she turned to face Blaise with her usual preternatural awareness of him. He rose an eyebrow at her. Intentional?. She snorted before turning back around. Of course.
Chuckling to himself, he turned back to his neighbour who'd watched their exchange in confusion.
"Hello," he said dryly.
Padma seemed as if she were going to ignore him, already moving to turn away, but he smiled gamely.
"After Charms, I'm surprised you've remembered how to talk," she said in a low snappish whisper.
Padma had been one of the first to ask him if he'd been alright in Charms when he'd been doing his best gargoyle impression. It wasn't the best of starts, but Blaise was hopeful. They weren't close in the way that he was close to Tracey, or even Daphne, but Blaise was definitely fond of Padma. He was certain she was at least fond of him.
"I'm sorry," he said with a wince. "I just had a lot on my mind."
She softened a bit. "Me and Susan were worried. Flitwick too."
"Not Sue?"
Padma rolled her eyes. "She's never really liked you and leaving the quartet without saying goodbye did little to please her. You know she's always had little tolerance for your…"
Blaise smirked, recalling Sue's reactions to his playful teasing quite well.
"My bullshit?"
Padma finally smiled at him, just as prettily as he remembered back in fifth year. "Exactly."
"So, we're good?"
Padma tilted her head in question. There was a certain sharpness to the smile that appeared on her face. "Tell me about you and Harry," she whispered.
Blaise sighed. "Elaborate."
Of course.
"Are you two together?"
It said a lot about the priorities of his classmates that they cared so much about whether he and Harry were together or not. Any sane person would care more about what had happened to cause them to both end up in the Hospital Wing.
"No. We're not."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
Padma, if anything, seemed to become more determined, sitting up ramrod straight in her seat. "There was a period in fourth year where Parvati thought he was gay, you know?"
Blaise became stiller than he thought possible. Harry did tend to gaze at him, but he'd never seen it as being out of attraction. It'd always seemed like a healthy sort of scrutiny (which Blaise approved of). Regardless, he maintained his careful nonchalance, especially in the face of Padma taking careful inventory of his potential reactions.
"Oh?"
"After the Yule Ball, Parvati was convinced that he had a crush on Cedric," Padma whispered. "He'd spent the whole evening staring at him, according to her."
The unbidden anticipation building in his abdomen was immediately dispelled. "You mean Chang," Blaise said dismissively.
"That's what I thought, but Parvati was convinced he was staring at Cedric." Seeing his disbelieving face, she continued. "She only dropped the theory when Harry got with Cho."
Blaise snorted in memory of that short-lived romance. The only thing that stopped him from actually laughing was the sight of McGonagall strolling down their row. Giving Padma a significant look, he pointed his wand to his hair.
"Crinus muto," they said together.
Once more their hair was completely black. Upon a closer look, he could see a strange gradient effect at the ends of his hair. He lifted his wand once more at the traitorous red, jaw twitching.
"Crinus muto," he snapped.
McGonagall nodded at him with a thin smile, pleased. "Five points to Slytherin and Ravenclaw."
"As I was saying, are you sure you want nothing from Harry?" Padma asked as soon as McGonagall was out of earshot.
Why did everyone seem to think that he was only helping Harry to shag him? Blaise wasn't entirely sure whether this conclusion was the result of a character judgment or a reflection of people's perceptions of his mother. Either possible answer was an uncomfortable truth.
When feeling under pressure, Blaise defaulted to being rude. "Is this some lingering resentment about the Yule Ball?"
It was a pathetic attempt at misdirection. Padma had taken his rejection of her incredibly well in fourth year because, to her eyes, he'd went with Tracey, his best friend. He hadn't told her who he was going with. While he thought she'd taken it incredibly well, it hadn't stopped her from giving him the cold shoulder for weeks.
Padma's arched brows articulated her feelings quite well. "Really? You went with Davis, your friend. I think that's admirable."
"Admirable… no, what I find truly admirable is going with Ron Weasley. The act of a martyr."
Padma's sudden pained expression was bliss to Blaise's eyes. The Yule Ball had been a disaster for both of them date-wise. The Beauxbaton girl, Lucile, he'd planned on going to the Yule ball with had pulled out at the last minute. She'd concluded that a seventeen-year-old going with a fifteen-year-old wasn't exactly proper. If Blaise were the type to have bragged about his date, like Draco, it could have been mortifying, but he was nothing if not discreet and pragmatic. He'd refused to speak to Lucile afterwards, to her confusion. She'd then completely lost her composure at being rejected by a, in her words, "child", almost drawing her wand on him. That had put an awkward spin on the time they'd spent together in broom cupboards all over Hogwarts.
Tracey had been his saviour. She'd planned on going with Daphne as friends, but Astoria's health had deteriorated that winter. Daphne had skipped the Ball to visit Astoria in St Mungo's.
"Back to Harry," Padma said in a clipped tone.
"Are you sure you're not the one who wants something from him?" Blaise said, resting his head in his hands.
He'd quite like it if they could discuss something else really. Anything else.
"I know you're gay, Blaise," Padma said with a smirk.
Now that he thought about it, Padma had only started speaking to him after running into him snogging Terry, not even a month later after the ball, in an abandoned classroom. She'd been very warm to him after that, and Blaise felt like an idiot for not realising sooner.
She was certain that he was gay. Right. Of course. He and Padma had only kissed a little, nothing more, and he'd not exactly jumped at the hints she'd been dropping before the Yule Ball when she'd been clearly interested in him.
"Sure," Blaise hedged. Why not?
"Don't play coy. I saw you eating Terry's face in fourth year."
Blaise wouldn't describe his technique as eating, but he was afraid that anything he said would result in Padma realising he was bisexual. He didn't think her ego could quite take it.
"Right," he said blandly.
"You've heard the rumours," Padma stated.
The rumours had been amusing before, but now that he was talking to people who paid them credence, Blaise was starting to feel that they'd lived long past their hype.
"I have. He's with Weasley, so they're all nonsense."
"Come on, Blaise," she said. "Every rumour has a kernel of truth at its heart."
"Is that some Ravenclaw Tower riddle answer?"
Padma ignored him. "Well, regardless of the veracity of the rumours, it hasn't stopped Harry from staring over here while we've been talking. He must find you fascinating, Blaise," Padma murmured.
Blaise fought the urge to turn in his seat with everything in him. "I doubt it."
Padma suddenly bent to her left, rifling through her bag, leaving the classroom beyond her visible to Blaise. She'd been right, and Blaise, unable to think of anything else but the possibilities Padma was weaving, nodded at Harry when they made eye contact. He didn't think Harry was staring out of attraction, but it did please Blaise in a way, to know that he was curious as to what they were talking about. The faint niggling of hope that Padma had fostered within him was addictive.
Sliding back into her seat with a dramatic flick of her hair after replacing her brown scrunchie with a blue one, Padma picked up her wand and began cycling through hair colours. "Denial is most unbecoming."
Eyeing the vomit green of her hair, Blaise turned his own a cool beige. "What's unbecoming is the continued flapping of your mouth. Please fix it."
Padma giggled. She flicked her wand once more, leaving her hair a bright fuchsia. "I've missed you, honestly. No one quite throws a strop like you. All snarky and long-suffering."
Blaise snorted. "I can think of plenty of people, but whatever happened to me being an arsehole?"
"Come back to the quartet," she said in a rush, disregarding the reminder of her favourite way to refer to him in fourth year. "Since you've left, Flitwick has decided we're going to play every single Baroque arrangement of Follia, and you know Sue gets all the first violin parts."
In face of his continued blank expression, her face hardened. "Corelli, Vivaldi, Albicastro, Guignon, Scarlatti – "
Blaise hummed blandly. "I get it."
That did sound quite terrible. It also explained why the password hadn't changed; honestly, he'd been operating under a leap of faith when he'd hosted their meeting there. Harry made him believe blindly, in all too many ways.
"Please," she begged.
Laughing lowly at the desperation in Padma's dark eyes, he shook his head in disbelief. "You want me to come back to that?"
"I don't want to suffer alone," she said with a huff. "Sue loves Baroque, and Susan is too nice to say anything without you complaining on behalf of the rest of us."
"What's stopping you?"
Padma tutted. "He's my head of House."
Blaise wasn't sure where that came into it, but he just nodded. Flitwick needed a firm hand to be reminded that there were types of chamber music that weren't Baroque.
"I'll consider it on one condition," Blaise said.
Padma nodded.
"Harry is planning on reviving – "
"The DA?"
The Slytherin Common Room had been in hysterics for more than an hour when Draco had come back with that piece of parchment. "Dumbledore's Army". It was such a stupid, Gryffindor thing to do. Had they not considered the culpability of the headmaster if they got discovered? They probably had, and it had likely spurred them on. Who was even under the impression that Dumbledore needed an army anyway?
"Yes. That," Blaise said.
"About time," Padma said with a haughty sniff. "I've needed somewhere to practice my Defence spells. Let Harry know that I'll be there, whenever and wherever."
Blaise hadn't expected it to be that easy. He'd underestimated the appeal of Harry teaching. While he and his friends supported Harry, they'd never left any hint of actually participating in this club of his. Blaise was painfully curious to see what had Padma, proud as she was, so quick to join up with Harry again. Harry had said he could cast a corporeal Patronus. He must be good, Blaise realised.
"That's all you need?" Padma asked.
"Mhm."
"I'm sure whatever private conversation you're having can wait for later, Ms Patil and Mr Zabini," McGonagall said, approaching their row once more. "The lesson is almost over, regardless."
"Right."
"Of course, Professor."
With a severe nod at the two of them, she returned to the front of the class, beckoning silence with presence alone. Looking around at the technicolour mess her students were, Blaise fancied he could see the faintest quirk to McGonagall's lips.
"Excellent work," McGonagall called. "You'll be pleased to hear that in light of your performance, I will not be setting any assignments."
Only McGonagall's reputation prevented an outpouring of cheers. Blaise was sure he'd have joined them. It had been the longest week of his life. The last thing he needed was more homework.
"Really?" Blaise heard Hermione mutter.
She sounded disappointed. Tracey should have included not being so eager as a condition for joining their study group. It was unbelievable that someone like Hermione actually existed.
"Shh!" was the response from half the class.
"Yes, Ms Granger," McGonagall said with a distinct amusement. "Really. If any of you are feeling particularly keen, we will be studying the transfiguration of textures next week – for example, skin to fur, and nail to claw. I'd recommend reviewing anatomy texts to avoid any… accidents. Visualisation is key."
McGonagall cleared her throat importantly. "This is some of the…"
"Most dangerous magic we will ever encounter at Hogwarts," the class recited dully.
"Precisely," McGonagall said. Nodding once more at them, she took her seat at her desk. "Dismissed."
The class packed up in silence as was tradition in McGonagall's class. As soon as she exited the classroom for her office, conversation began.
Padma nudged him. "Oh, and Blaise, I'll see you on Tuesday at seven in the practice room. Flitwick will be expecting you."
With a brilliant smile, Padma rushed off. Blaise watched her go with an eye roll, already knowing he'd go. The things he did for Harry.
Not bothering to wait for Daphne and Tracey, he rushed out. As if her words had been prophetic, Blaise could feel Harry's eyes on him as he left. He intended to hide in the Kitchens until Flitwick's detention. Quiet was what he needed.
"We keep meeting like this," Tracey said.
"We do, Tracey," Harry said.
Daphne nudged Blaise. "Let's get this over with."
Blaise, closest to the door, knocked.
"Come in!" came Flitwick's muffled squeak.
They took the six desks that Flitwick had prepared for them, leaving them gathered around his desk in a semicircle.
"Now," Flitwick said with a smile. He clapped his hands together. "I can spend this hour detention lecturing you about wand safety and appropriate spell work in a school, but I imagine you have other priorities."
"We need to bridge the gap," Ron said immediately.
Blaise was a little surprised at Ron's forthrightness, but he conceded that a friend of Harry's was a close friend with conviction.
"Specialise!" Flitwick exclaimed. "Find your niche."
Hermione lifted her hand up, provoking Blaise into rolling his eyes. It was a detention, not class. "But, Professor," Hermione said. "Wizards of Dumbledore and Voldemort's calibre have always been accomplished generalists."
Blaise watched Harry nod with approval at Hermione, and he wondered just what exactly calling the Dark Lord by his name accomplished. Bravado for the sake of bravado? Blaise wasn't unaware that his House's tendency to refer to him as the Dark Lord wasn't much better. It was practically slavish.
"True," Flitwick said. He gave Hermione a gentle smile, though his tone had a slight dryness to it that Blaise was sure only he'd noticed. "If you know a way to become, as you say, an accomplished generalist, Ms Granger, by all means. I have no doubt you could do it but not quickly enough."
"We need immediate results," Ron said firmly.
Flitwick frowned. "Not necessarily immediate, Mr Weasley, but..." Flitwick shook his head. "Immediate would be for the best."
"As a duellist, I had the opportunity to meet wizards from different schooling traditions with different conceptualisations of magic. Don't limit yourself to what is taught at Hogwarts. There is an entire world of magic out there."
"Could you tell us what you think we'd be suited to?" Daphne asked.
Flitwick nodded exuberantly, seeming delighted that they wanted his advice. Blaise fought the urge to smile at him. There was no other teacher at Hogwarts who quite had Flitwick's passion for teaching.
"I'll preface my suggestions with the following: Your style must be your own. It must be something you enjoy. Wand work is not the be-all and end-all of being an effective combatant. At the heart of any skilled wizard, no matter what discipline, is hours and hours of study and research. It is imperative you know how your spells can be used, both against an opponent and against yourself. There is a counter to everything."
"The Killing Curse?" Tracey asked.
Flitwick shook his head dismissively. "Crude. Maintain distance and conjure a physical barrier. As you can guess, Transfiguration has the most potential of most fields of magic when it comes to combat," Flitwick said.
He smiled. It was a strange smile, conflicted with a sort of bittersweet excitement. "I remember during You-Know-Who's first reign of terror, Minerva transfigured and animated a marvellous stone golem from the rubble of a building. Held off four Death Eaters with just her wand and a magical construct."
"Are they still alive?" Tracey asked.
"One of them was squished," Flitwick murmured grimly. "I can't say I lost sleep over them." Blaise considered the fact that McGonagall had killed a Death Eater and found his opinion of her remained the same. She was as strict, severe and anti-Slytherin as usual. Daphne and Tracey seemed just as unfazed as him.
"She killed someone?" Hermione muttered, aghast.
"Professor McGonagall?" Ron and Harry said in disbelief. Ron looked a little green.
Thinking of McGonagall's precise and silent walk, a mirror of the cat she could become, Blaise could see her as a killer.
"Neither myself nor Minerva are bloodless," Flitwick explained. "That is the nature of war. Perhaps if I had Dumbledore's skill, I'd have considered seeking only to incapacitate but sometimes a more permanent solution is of greater utility."
Hermione's lips were pursed. "It's not right."
As Flitwick grimly nodded, Blaise squashed down the urge to just shout better them than us. Harry was as grim and repelled as Hermione, resulting in Blaise deciding he'd taken the right option. "No, it never is," Flitwick agreed.
"I quite like the idea of transfiguring a magical guardian," Tracey murmured.
Flitwick gave Tracey a nod. "It's a long and difficult road to achieve such a mastery of Transfiguration where you can create a guardian that can actually guard something. Unless you wish to spend half your time in a duel reconstructing your guardian, it's best to practice making as robust a construct as one can. For example, you can practice transfiguring or conjuring walls until said wall is able to withstand one full power Blasting Curse. Mind you, this is before you even consider the form your guardian will take."
Tracey nodded eagerly. "You'll think I was a mason in a couple of days."
Blaise shuddered with the grim knowledge of Tracey embarking on a mission to drive him and Daphne nuts.
Flitwick turned to Daphne who was watching Tracey with the same apprehension as Blaise. "Ms Greengrass, ash and dragon heartstring?"
Daphne's head snapped up. "How did you know that?"
"An educated guess," Flitwick said. "Ash burns readily, and dragon heartstring lends to powerful spells. A volatile combination, particularly when lent towards fire magic."
Flitwick gave her a beady eye. "If you wish to pursue elemental transfiguration, particularly fire, I suggest you take great care."
Daphne frowned, but she nodded seriously. Resolute. "I will."
"You believe in wand lore?" Hermione asked, a little confused.
Blaise was more along the lines of Hermione's thinking. Wand lore had always seemed like an eccentric roll of the die in his eyes. Random.
"It's not a matter of belief," Harry said in response to Hermione. "Right?"
Hermione nodded hastily, seeming to have remembered something. Harry exchanged a significant look with her as Blaise watched, eyebrow aloft, feeling like he was witnessing a conversation concerning something quite important.
"Exactly, Mr Potter. Perhaps you'd have a greater appreciation of it, Ms Granger, if you'd been at Hogwarts several decades ago. Long before I'd even finished my own studies. Basic wand lore used to be a part of the Theory of Magic classes given as a part of first year Charms," Flitwick explained. "The School Board had it removed, unfortunately. You can learn a lot about a wizard by the wood of their wand and its core, and I suppose quite rightfully, they feared that character judgments would be made about new students far too soon."
"You can identify wands by sight?" Ron asked.
"The woods, yes. Any duellist worth their salt can. The cores? Aside from a guess based on the power and types of spells most readily used, I'd have to physically touch the wand." He smiled at the mix of awe and shocked expressions. Blaise had always seen wand lore as a bizarre form of mysticism, so it was hard to associate practical and rigorous Flitwick with it. "It only takes a little practice to recognise the differences between the three most common cores."
"In fact, Mr Zabini is a perfect example of the importance of wand lore in duelling." They all turned as one to look at him, and Flitwick bounced on his feet, delighted at the surge of interest from his classmates. "Tell us why!"
Blaise rolled his eyes. "My wand is made of pine and phoenix feather," he said. "It's a unique combination as pine is incredibly flexible towards unorthodox spell work, so I can get away with poor diction and wand movements if my intent is strong enough, and phoenix feather is famous for its partial sentience."
It was an abridged version of the private lecture Flitwick had given him after discovering he'd been omitting the swish and flick to use the Levitation Charm in first year.
"Phoenix feather is quite rare," Daphne said quietly. "In fact, Ollivander rarely works with phoenix feather."
The Gryffindors were staring at him, seeming to find some significance in the core of his wand.
"It's my father's wand," Blaise said in a vain attempt to clarify whatever judgments they were making. "My mother told me he had it made in the Magical Quarter in Cairo."
This was something he'd never shared with anyone, so he'd been expecting the shock on Tracey's face, less so Daphne's. What he hadn't expected was the little jab of guilt in response. He should have shared something so core to his identity with his friends.
Whatever the Gryffindors had been thinking, it seemed to disappear with that confession.
Flitwick nodded hastily. "Wand inheritance is very common with such strange combinations. May I ask you to remind me what Ollivander matched you with?"
Reminded uncomfortably of the fact of the second wand he'd been carrying as a precaution after Harry's stories about Draco, he reached into his jacket. Retrieving the pale cream coloured wand, he ignored its bizarrely joyous pulse as it touched his fingers. It'd never done that before. Blaise placed it on the table beside his pine one. There was a striking contrast between the vibrant reddish-brown of his father's wand and the muted shade of his own, almost allegory for his father's larger-than-life character and his own comparatively diminished one. It was a bitter sort of irony that pine was said to be destined for those of long life, yet his father hadn't even made thirty before passing to Dragon Pox.
He breathed deep.
"Even if you take up this wand, you are still your father's son."
Thinking of his mother's words, words he hadn't listened to at the time, Blaise gestured to the wand he'd never accepted. "Beech with unicorn hair."
"Beech, the wood of those rich in understanding and experience. A powerful match for a tolerant mind," Flitwick said, an echo of an old man standing uncomfortably close and peering deep into Blaise's eyes, despite his mother's consternation. Blaise felt unbearably judged underneath Flitwick's gentle eyes.
"A pity," Flitwick said into the heavy silence.
It wasn't that he disliked the wand, but he'd been attached to the pine one since he'd been six. The warmth of its magic was a constant reminder of his father – of happier times. For a moment, he dipped his head with a bittersweet smile, remembering many summer afternoons being chased by his father's Animagus form, an Iberian lynx.
"A pity," he agreed, mind far away from the classroom they were stood in.
"You have a bit of a duality there, Mr Zabini," Flitwick said. He pointed to each wand in turn. "Both flexibility in spellwork and in mindset."
"Now I understand why wand lore was removed," Blaise said with a joking tone he didn't really feel.
No one laughed, and Flitwick's expression became even more sympathetic. "As you know, your primary wand is well suited for spell modification. Minerva has complained about your haphazard methods in Transfiguration for years. Charms will be of import to you – they are the most malleable forms of magic."
It wasn't anything he didn't know, so he just nodded.
The rest of the conversation was a bit of a blur to Blaise. Hermione being encouraged to pursue her desire to know everything, Ron being told about the importance of tactics in duelling and praise of his aptitude in Defence, and Harry was the recipient to a long deluge about ethics and morality. Flitwick, like Blaise and his friends, seemed to think that Harry needed a little nudge in the other direction. True to form, Harry had somehow sidestepped the topic. They'd somehow ended up with Hermione asking if Harry could receive private lessons. Blaise didn't disagree with the idea, but it did seem a little demanding. "I cannot be seen to be playing favourites," Flitwick said with a firm expression. "The Headmaster should be training Mr Potter. Minerva, Snape and myself pushed for some form of extra tutelage when his name emerged from the Goblet of Fire, but we were refused."
"Snape?!" was the resounding cry throughout the room.
"He hates you," Blaise said with in the silence afterwards, "but I don't think he wants you to die."
"Yet," Tracey added.
"That makes it better then," Ron snarked back.
"That's a load off my shoulders, Blaise," Harry dryly said.
"You're welcome, Harry," Blaise said back, just as dry and even more monotone.
Daphne cleared her throat loudly. "Regardless of playing favourites or not, it is imperative that if Harry is the so-called Chosen One that he is readied to fight. I don't see the Headmaster leaving the school to fight the Dark Lord, so I'm not exactly sure what his excuse is."
Flitwick chuckled. "Things aren't as simple as that, Ms Greengrass."
"They never are," she said, agreeing amiably, "but regardless of the complexity of the situation, excuses are excuses."
Flitwick's friendly expression faded.
"Don't be rude," Hermione hissed.
"I agree with Daphne," Ron hedged.
At Hermione's venomous look, Ron lifted his hands up in surrender. "She has a point."
"Regardless of whether she's correct or not, she's being rude."
Blaise thought it was quite rich for Hermione to be calling anyone rude, but instead of voicing that opinion, he sunk into the back of his chair with an exhale, closed his eyes, and settled in for a long series of bickering. If Flitwick was mad with Daphne's attitude, he'd have said something. It was just another excuse for him to try and understand their group dynamics.
"Enough," Harry said.
And just like that, it was silent. Blaise peeked out of one eye at Harry, catching Flitwick's wink at him in the periphery of his vision. Harry was staring at Flitwick.
"You haven't said anything about not helping, Professor," Harry said.
"Indeed," Flitwick confirmed.
"You just don't want to be seen playing favourites," Tracey added.
"Mhm," Flitwick said with a little nod.
"So, you're going to help?" Ron asked.
Flitwick sighed. "Detention next week. Same time. Yes?"
They all nodded. Hermione looked conflicted about the idea of another detention, even if it were purely a masquerade for this bizarre conspiracy they were in. Funny girl.
"You'll have to forgive them for being slow," Blaise drawled.
"I will, won't I?" Flitwick said in good humour. "No matter. I trust we'll have them up to par soon enough, Mr Zabini."
Blaise thought that Flitwick ought to have replaced soon enough with an unforeseeable time in the future. He smiled without humour. "Soon, yes."
"We'll discuss duelling and your focuses then. Come prepared – I expect you to have mastery of the following spells: Protego, Expelliarmus, Impedimenta, Confringo, Accio, Expulso, Petrificus Totalus, Stupefy, Enervate, and Episkey. Pursue a couple of extra spells if you have time. Anything you fancy."
Basic spells. Blaise was a little offended by how low Flitwick's expectations of them were. With regards to extra spells, he'd have to raid the library with the fact that his mother couldn't exactly send an incredibly rare Charms book by owl to be molested by Filch and incompetent Aurors.
"Can I make an addition, Professor?" Harry asked.
Flitwick nodded. "By all means!"
"The Patronus Charm. In times like these, it's more vital than ever."
Blaise cringed. It was one of the few charms he'd tried and had little to no success with. Bringing forward emotion on demand wasn't something he was particularly good at.
"I agree, Mr Potter," Flitwick squeaked. His moustache quivered a little. "Dark times indeed."
"No problem for me," Tracey said with a leisurely stretch. "Auntie taught me over the summer."
"What is it?" Hermione asked.
Tracey smiled toothily. "Hyena."
Blaise and Ron snorted violently. "Fitting," Blaise said.
"What's your Patronus? Oh, wait."
Daphne coughed pointedly. "And for those of us who cannot create a corporeal Patronus?"
"Harry can teach you. He taught us," Ron said surprisingly gently.
Blaise gave Harry an evaluating look-over, seeking confirmation.
"It's true," Harry said. "This weekend?"
Blaise shook his head with a suddenness that made him nauseous. "It's been a long week," Blaise said as apologetic as he could. "If you don't mind, I'd like to leave this room and not think about anyone in it for the next forty-eight hours."
Hermione smiled back at him, sympathetic.
Harry nodded his agreement, though Blaise would swear that his smile was a little displeased. Regardless of Harry's feelings, Blaise expected to have a nice peaceful weekend with no uncomfortable epiphanies, no life and death experiences, and most importantly, no Harry. Blaise realised that through Harry's influence, he'd changed, for the better, but he desperately needed to re-establish some sense of equilibrium. Emotionally, he felt like he was in a state of extreme flux. Distance would be nice.
"Wiser words have never been spoken," Ron snarked back.
"Not even us?" Daphne joked.
"I suppose I can make room for at least the two of you," Blaise said.
"Joy," she deadpanned.
"And I'll see you all on Monday afternoon. Also, Tuesday for you, Mr Zabini," Flitwick said. The diminutive Professor hopped off of his stack of books and flicked his wand, sending all the desks to the side of the room. They began to stack themselves seamlessly. "I hope you're looking forward to some Follia by Marais!"
"About that, Professor – "
"Have a good weekend, Blaise," Harry called from the doorway.
"Yeah. I'll try," he said with a broad smirk. He nodded at Harry's friends. "Same to you three."
Seeming a little surprised by his inclusion, Ron and Hermione offered their own goodbyes before they too passed through the doorway with their friend, hand in hand.
"What were you saying, Mr Zabini?"
"Less Baroque. Please," Blaise begged.
"We'll see you in the common room, Blaise," Tracey said with a laugh, Daphne waving at her side with a little nod.
Waving at them, he took in Flitwick's contemplative expression with growing dread.
It took half an hour of negotiation, but Blaise left Flitwick's office with a promise he'd draft a list of repertoire that would be appropriate. He'd requested twelve pieces which had filled Blaise with a sort of muted horror as to how many Baroque chamber works Flitwick had had planned for the quartet to do. Still, spending his weekend studying for the coming exams, a quiet Potions session with Slughorn, and Romance era string quartets wasn't too bad. It could be worse. He could run into Harry and end up falling off another staircase.