He'd went to the practice room an hour early with the intention of drilling his technique. He didn't want to sound completely out of his depth. Half an hour in, he realised that Sue was going to have a field day with his tuning. It was only the fact that he'd made a promise to Flitwick and he had more-or-less creative control over the musical direction of the quartet for the rest of term that made him continue practicing.
With fifteen minutes before the start of practice, the practice room portrait hole opened.
"You," Sue accused. She hadn't even crossed the threshold into the room. "I'd hoped Padma was lying."
Looking at the Ravenclaw as he placed his viola down on his chair opposite hers, Blaise smiled with genuine warmth. He'd quite missed her. After all, there was nothing quite like getting on Sue's nerves, and it was only healthy that he embraced his inner Tracey with at least one person.
"Me," Blaise confirmed. He gave her his most dashing smile, though Blaise was certain it was more gleeful than attractive. "Miss me… cutie?"
"You are rancid," Sue spat, and her face contorted in genuine disgust.
Not even caring about how silly he looked, Blaise helplessly sniggered.
"And miss you? Hardly," she added. "Here's hoping Potter's made you halfway palatable this time round."
"Rancid? Halfway palatable? Honey, we both know you're just playing hard to get."
With a huff, Sue sat in her chair and proceeded to ignore him while opening her violin case. Blaise sighed with undisguised pleasure, and he picked up his viola to resume practicing. Maybe he and Tracey were far more alike than he gave her credit.
"Rancid tuning for a rancid person," Sue snidely pointed out after one particularly dodgy phrase.
Blaise didn't even blink. Tuning-wise, she wasn't lying by any stretch of the imagination.
"My love for you is just… it's just so intense. I can't stay in tune, love," Blaise said in a despairing tone, and he sighed gustily, with the air of a spurned lover. It was a fight to maintain his straight face at the sight of Sue's unfeigned horror. "One day you'll accept my love and we'll live happily ever after, intonation issues and all."
Sue visibly shuddered, and there was something about the fact that Blaise wasn't sure what scared her more, his bullshit or his tuning, that made him burst out laughing.
"I'd kill you first, arsehole," Sue said once he'd finished laughing.
"Baby, in Romeo and Juliet the star-crossed lovers kill themselves," Blaise said gently, as if correcting someone who'd confused a Flobberworm for a Basilisk. He ignored the insult with ease, having long been called worse by her. "And as star-crossed lovers ourselves, it's important that our love affair is historically accurate."
"You do know that Juliet was like thirteen?"
Blaise rolled his eyes. Ravenclaws and their fact obsession ruining his banter. "Way to ruin my joke, Sue, but that's why I love you. Your demanding obsession with the details is why you chose a man like me."
He reclined back in his seat, squinting and biting his lip at her, hoping he looked as ridiculous as possible. It shouldn't be hard considering he still had his viola at his chin. Still, Blaise didn't want to give Sue the idea that he was actually trying to seduce her. That would really be silly.
It must have worked because Sue descended into hysterics, and he joined her.
"You're impossible," Sue said in disbelief. "I didn't even think it was possible for you to get worse."
"Sweetheart, I'm a new and improved Blaise," Blaise said with a wink. "All for you."
"Not in this lifetime, slime," Sue said, though her tone was oddly pleasant.
They shared a brief smile, and for a moment, Blaise could almost believe that she had missed him too. Their brief moment was interrupted by Susan's arrival. She gave them both a warm smile as she approached.
"Hey, Sue. Hi, Blaise," Sue said, waving at each of them in turn. "I just want to say: it's nice to have another sane member of the quartet again."
Ignored, Sue muttered sane disbelievingly under her breath.
Blaise and Susan were the members of the quartet with more modern tastes, though Susan leant more towards Impressionism compared to Blaise. Sue and Flitwick were peas in a pod, both being strict Renaissance and Baroque enthusiasts and Padma was a mercenary who'd play whatever gave her the biggest opportunity to show off.
"We have taste," Blaise said with great emphasis, and he patted his bag with glee at the disgruntlement on Sue's face. "And we'll be sharing our tastes with Sue once more. That Ravel quartet will not be a one-off."
Susan smiled brightly as Sue picked her violin up, dismissing them both. The levitation charm on Susan's cello brought it bobbing to Blaise's right, and Susan stood beside his bag, half-tuning as she spoke to him. "Show us the goods."
He handed over his carefully prepared repertoire. Sue ceased the incredibly fast, virtuosic double-stopped chromatic scale she'd started and rushed over to look over Susan's shoulder.
"Mendelssohn F Minor. Shostakovich Eight. Dvořák Twelve. Death and the Maiden. Debussy!"
Susan outright squealed the last name. Without a pause, she handed the rest of the music back to Blaise. He was hoping for the Dvořák piano quintet deeper in the pile in order to butter up Flitwick (he loved any opportunity to play with them being a keyboardist), but you couldn't win them all. Besides, the dawning horror on Sue's face could fuel a potential Patronus.
"I've always wanted to play this!"
She turned to Sue, clutching the sacred parts to her chest. "We're playing this."
There was no room for denial in her tone, and Sue just gaped at her in horror. Blaise was halfway to joining her at Susan's sudden adamant demands, but he was more interested in the visible signs of grief on Sue's face. Definitely a Patronus.
"What about the Follia?" Sue demanded.
"There's been a change of plans," Blaise said with audible relish.
Sue glowered at him as Susan immediately set to placing parts on all the music stands, not caring to even notice that Sue had yet to finish going through the five stages of grief.
"And Flitwick knows about this?" Sue asked. There was a flatness to her tone that suggested she already knew the answer to her question.
"Of course, babe," Blaise said off-handedly, fighting the urge to grin at Sue's twitch in response to his pet name. "He encouraged me."
"Still at it?" Susan asked him, eyes wide in her disbelief.
Blaise simply shrugged. "It's fun."
When Susan had finished, she sat back in her seat and joined them in warming up. As the murmur of Padma and Flitwick approaching the portrait hole became audible, Susan spoke to him with sincere fondness in her voice.
"Well, Sue probably wants to gut you, but it's good to have you back all the same," she said.
Taking in Sue's continued expression of disgruntlement, Blaise sighed with pleasure. It was the little things.
"It's good to be back."
Sue grunted.
"Marvellous!" Flitwick squeaked after the final cadence.
He dropped his hands to clap excitedly.
"Yes, bravi!" Corelli called from his portrait.
There was even a smile on Sue's face at the praise.
Reflecting on practice after they were dismissed, Blaise decided that he'd quite enjoyed it. Sue's initial dissatisfaction aside, there was something comforting in the familiar sights and sounds of her mastery of her instrument, Padma's constant smirk whenever she nailed a difficult passage, Susan's exaggerated gestures and dramatic eyebrows and Flitwick's bouncy, exuberant presence. He'd ended up spending the last half of the rehearsal with a Supersensory Charm due to his abominable tuning, but he'd managed to keep up decently otherwise.
Just as Blaise was about to bid goodbye to Susan at the Great Hall and head to the dungeons, she turned to face him. There was a great deal of intent in her gaze as she looked at him. With her gentle disposition, it was always a strange contrast to Blaise to see Susan carrying herself as seriously as Daphne would.
"So, are you planning on going to the DA meeting?" Susan asked him.
Blaise was finding himself increasingly curious to see Harry's little group in action. He'd been rationalising it to himself as wanting to see how he stacked up compared to Harry's "students", but deep down, he knew that he just wanted to see Harry in his element. Recalling his suggestion to learn the Patronus Charm, Blaise acknowledged that there was something magnetic about him when he chose to act in a leader-like capacity.
"I don't think it'd be a good idea for me to go," Blaise said, shrugging as he did so. "My house and all."
Susan just looked weirdly at him at that. "But being friends with Gryffindors is okay?"
"It's complicated," Blaise said lamely.
Susan shook her head at him.
"Maybe it's time for you to lead by example," Susan said flatly. "When you joined the quartet in third year, everyone was warning me about being around a Slytherin, you know? He'll curse you, slip you a potion…"
She nodded at his disgusted expression.
"Prejudice runs deep. On both sides."
Blaise acknowledged that there was no denying that truth. Hogwarts was incredibly divided, but why was it on him to change things?
"Justin has been defending you in our Common Room, you know. There's a lot of suspicion in my House about your… seeming friendship with Harry."
Blaise couldn't help himself. "It's not seeming." He cursed himself under his breath at that admission and his aggressive tone.
"Just relaying the sentiment, Blaise," Susan said with sympathy.
Blaise sighed. It was becoming quite tiring being assumed to either be looking to seduce Harry or to be some sort of Machiavellian manipulator, but he still wasn't ready for the school to know that he owed Harry a life debt.
"Anyway, who's Justin?"
"Justin Finch-Fletchley. Our year. Tall Muggleborn bloke constantly singing your praises for fixing his eyesight," Susan explained.
Ah, Binch-Benchley. He'd been close at least.
At his dawning comprehension, she nodded patiently. "You've built some goodwill. You should capitalise on it."
"Perhaps."
There was a fair degree of irony in the situation. Blaise had never really cared to know the Hufflepuff's name, but it was rather damning that one of the Muggleborns he'd used as a frequent target for his snide comments to Draco would be one of his defenders. As much as Blaise had convinced himself that he only spread the blood supremacist line to keep himself out of suspicion, he realised that there was little difference in outcome whether he believed in it or not. Was there any worth in him believing he wasn't a blood supremacist? Blaise may have said to Harry that he didn't believe in it, but he still acted the part. After befriending Tracey, Daphne had never used blood status or heritage against anyone, and she'd always told him that a Pureblood without dignity was little more than an upstart. Blaise knew he was a narcissist, and he wasn't exactly ashamed of it, but if he loved himself as much as he portrayed to the world, where was his dignity? Why was he pretending to be someone he was not? If Tracey could survive six years of Hogwarts without compromising on her identity, as much as he may clown her for it, what had been stopping him from doing the same? If Daphne could command so much respect in Slytherin without having to toe the line, what had been stopping him from attempting the same? He'd never really stopped to consider just how brave Tracey and Daphne were. It all just made him wonder.
Where was his self-worth? What value was there in playing a part that reduced who he was as a person?
The labyrinthine mess of introspection he'd descended into was halted by the gentle touch of Susan's hand to his arm. "Are… are you alright?" She murmured.
"I'll be fine," he said quickly, uncaring of the rawness in his voice. It was like the realisation he'd had about Tracey after confronting Pansy, the shame again like a hot knife to the stomach. He really was a coward, choosing convenience over principles time and time again.
Taking in the clear curiosity in Susan's eyes, he shook his head in the hopes of dispelling any questions.
In the awkward silence that followed, Susan looked away from him, staring at the expansive stone around them. When she found his eyes once more, Blaise was almost blown away by the conviction within her eyes.
"I understand it's difficult, Blaise," she said, squeezing his arm before letting go. "I'm the last of my line. I'd be a ward of the Ministry if not for Ernie and his family."
She shuddered at the idea, and Blaise fought the alien urge to hug her quite easily, especially with her increasingly steely eyes locked on his. He felt so incredibly judged.
"If it comes down to it, I'd like to know my friends, even you, will make the right choice," Susan said. "Believe in something, Blaise."
"How do you do it?"
"How does Harry do it?" She countered.
"He… he does it because it's the right thing," Blaise said, and he sighed heavily at the realisation he was parroting Harry, Harry's friends, and Slughorn. "It's the only choice worth making."
She visibly deflated in relief, likely thinking that she'd have to make her case to Blaise. She didn't have to. Blaise more than understood. It was difficult, nonetheless.
"Exactly, and it is as easy as that, Blaise. Trust me on that, but most importantly, trust yourself."
"I will," Blaise promised. Fishing into his cloak for his wand, he cast a silent tempus. It was almost ten, and he would need to hurry to make curfew.
"Thanks, Susan," he said, and he genuinely smiled at her. "By the way, you've always been my favourite in the quartet."
She blushed violently, though her gaze became a lot warmer. "Only sane ones remember?"
"Night," she said, a glimmer of her familiar gentle smile on her lips. "Thanks for the Debussy, by the way. Bring Davis and Greengrass with you to the DA."
He bid her a goodnight and watched her go until she'd vanished from sight, alternatively wanting to curse her and ask for further guidance on how to not… well… be a shitty person.
Harry, Slughorn and Susan believed in him, so why was it so hard to believe in himself?
"Blaise," Draco called.
He shoved down his nerves and faced his fellow Slytherin, finding him entering the Great Hall, wand aloft. It was unfortunate that he'd not taken Susan's example and levitated his viola case like she'd done with her cello, as with his wand back in his cloak, there was no way for him to discreetly go for it. With no other options at his disposal, Blaise did what he did best.
"Ah, Draco," Blaise said, slipping automatically into his customary snide tone without thinking about it. "Didn't fancy seeing you here."
"Luckily you're in Slytherin or you'd be having a nice time with Filch," Draco said, a smirk crossing his lips. "Walk with me."
It wasn't a request, and Blaise assented with a curt nod. Blaise was tempted to draw his wand out to at least levitate his viola case, but the flintiness of Draco's gaze when he swapped his case from his dominant hand gave him the feeling that that would be a massive mistake. Halfway to the Common Room, Draco abruptly turned towards a corridor commonly known to contain a dead end. There were no portraits or suits of armour in that part of the dungeons. Swallowing down his nerves and ignoring the increasingly thunderous pulsation of his heart, he desperately grappled for control of the situation.
"Draco, I know you look like shit, but is there a reason you're taking me to an abandoned part of the school? First off, you're not my type," he offered.
There was a myriad of reasons for that, but most importantly, the eye colour was completely wrong.
"Secondly, Draco… I'd cry if I looked half as bad as you do at the moment," Blaise finished with a smile full of amusement at Draco's ensuing jaw clench. "Now, what's your excuse for not doing the same?"
He was being incredibly stupid but having been made to feel like a husk of a person for the last week, Blaise wanted someone else to feel half as bad as he did. Even if they were a potential Death Eater.
"It's funny. You've spent all this time mocking the Weasleys and – "
Draco stopped and turned to face him, wand mere inches from his face.
"Shut up, Blaise," Draco ground out.
Blaise would never forgive himself for the speed with which his mouth snapped shut, but he still had some degree of self-preservation. Before he could add any other caustic comments, he remembered what Harry had told him. As dishevelled and weary as Draco may appear, he was a supposed murderer in the making.
They weren't at the end of the corridor, so Blaise chose to engage with Draco before they got any further from the main area of the dungeons.
"So, what do you want, Draco?"
"You're going to answer my questions," he said coldly.
"And if I'd rather go to bed and save this conversation for tomorrow?"
A blasting curse whizzed past the side of his head, shattering the masonry behind him in an explosion of dust and rock. He dipped his head in reflex, shielding himself from the debris with his free hand. His ensuing harsh intake of breath brought with it a plume of dust, and he wretched and coughed in the echoing acoustics of the dungeons. Draco watched on, impassive.
When he could breathe, his racing heart had begun to calm down, and the cold sweat dripping down his back no longer felt like ice, he really looked at Draco. Beyond the tousled and worn-looking robes, his eyes were bloodshot and filled with a chill that sent shivers down Blaise's spine. All of this could have been potentially avoided if Blaise had bothered to have his wand ready, and it was that reminder that made Blaise realise how screwed he was. There was no telling what Draco would or could do to him.
The blonde sneered at him in unrestrained disgust when they made eye contact.
"You've always been too in love with your own drivel, Blaise. Always running your mouth like you're funny, but you're just a joke."
Blaise bit his lip, fighting not to rise to the bait, and glared at the glowering blonde.
"Now that you understand I'm being serious, what are you doing with Potter?"
Blaise shrugged, unashamed in the slight tremor of his shoulders as he did so. He was no Gryffindor, but his mouth was definitely Slytherin. While he may not have Harry's will and determination, he could and would get himself out of this his own way. Susan had said to trust himself, so he would do just that. His only way out of this was to paralyze Draco into inaction without it backfiring on him. It was that thought that gave him enough confidence to keep his tone level and even. "Making friends?"
"Answer the question," Draco spat.
"Then ask better questions, Draco," Blaise spat back.
"What have you told him?"
It was like he couldn't control himself. There was nothing remotely Slytherin about what he did next.
"Nothing really. It's what he's told me that's interesting – bits and pieces about Snape, the seventh floor, cursed necklaces and poisoned mead," Blaise said, and his satisfaction manifested as a wide smile as Draco's pallor deepened at the last two in his list. "I can see he's told me plenty. Not the best assassin are you, Draco? Makes sense considering you're about as cunning as my big toe."
It was something a Gryffindor would do, but Blaise had committed himself to this strategy. He'd lay all the cards on the table and pray. Even with how afraid he was, there was something invigorating about adopting such a devil-may-care approach to this confrontation. It gave him enough confidence to finally stand upright and stare down his slightly shorter dormmate.
"And you believe him?"
Blaise gave him a smile which didn't meet his eyes. "Are you going to kill me if I say yes?"
Even if Draco bought the smile, which he doubted, his eyes followed the twitch of his hand around his case well enough in the dim torchlight.
Draco sighed, staring at the floor. "I don't want to hurt you, Blaise."
"Then don't," Blaise spat. I've been told all about the importance of choice – why don't you make a reasonable one for once?"
"I don't have one," Draco said. He looked imploringly at Blaise, begging him to understand, to sympathize. "They'll kill my parents!"
Blaise just stared at him, entirely indifferent. It was easy to ignore the lance of guilt that went through him at ignoring Draco's clear anguish. In a trade between Draco's parents and Blaise's own life, there was never a real question as to what he'd choose.
"So, the only option is to earn the privilege to kiss the Dark Lord's feet upon command," Blaise said. Even though he knew that throwing barbs at Draco wasn't a good idea, he didn't think he'd have the confidence to speak without stuttering if he did anything else. It was a source of comfort to him, foolish as it was.
"Blaise," Draco warned.
"Right, sorry," Blaise croaked. He wasn't sorry at all, but safety always came first. "Did it ever cross your mind that maybe the Dark Lord won't stop using your parents as leverage?"
"It's crossed my mind," Draco said.
Blaise didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent and focused on getting himself under control before he said or did something that got him cursed.
"What did Potter offer you?" Draco demanded. "It doesn't make any sense – you'd always hated him and his ilk!"
My life, Blaise thought darkly to himself.
"Nothing you could hope to match, Draco. I have no intention of joining you, helping you, or anything like that."
Blaise walked up to him. He surprised himself when his heart stayed constant at the sight of Draco raising his wand once more, but the fact that he could tell Draco was just as scared, just as nervous as he was hardened his resolve. This close, inches away, all Blaise could see was a fellow student, terrified. The bogeyman he'd built in his head of Draco was hard to resolve with the mess in front of him. They hadn't ever been friends, but they'd always got along well enough, so Blaise couldn't hold back the pity in his voice when he spoke.
"I'm sorry, Draco," Blaise said.
He really did look terrible.
"Sorry?"
Draco shook his head. He then chuckled lowly, staring at Blaise like he was a talking Grindylow, disgust and curiosity warring on his thin face. "So, you really have chosen your side, have you?"
"Yes, as I've tried to tell you," Blaise said with a sigh. "Didn't have much of a choice, but I think you'd understand that."
"I never took you for a real blood traitor, Blaise," he said sarcastically. The beginnings of a wan smile appeared on his face as his tone grew more serious. "Mudblood tastes, sure, but not a blood traitor."
Something flashed in Draco's eyes, and his moment of vulnerability passed. Coldness reigned once more, and Blaise frantically reached for his wand. He'd just about reached the handle of his wand, the beginnings of a Shield Charm on his lips, praying that his wand would respond, when Draco's spell struck him on the arm.
For an instant, it was like being deep underwater, the heavy weight of invisible waves above and the resounding silence of the abyss stretched before his eyes. He couldn't see anything, but he had the impression of memories passing him. Memories of his childhood: his father smiling down at him as he demanded to be lifted, his mother laughing without restraint at one of his accidental magic mishaps, and his father's funeral. Hogwarts: being sorted in his first year, duelling Finnegan in second year under Snape's watchful eye, teaching Tracey how to ballroom dance in fourth, and Harry's handsome face illuminated by a lumos in that hidden passage they'd talked in last week. There were an untold number of memories and with each passing moment, they seemed to fade, becoming increasingly more difficult to visualise.
He was being Obliviated, and he chanted the incantation of the Shield Charm in this prison of his mind with everything he had.
Just as it felt like everything that made him who he was disappear, his vision was suddenly flooded with fire and the fingers wrapped around his wand became enveloped in a violent heat as if he'd placed his hand near a fireplace. It didn't burn, but when his vision cleared, returning him to the corridor facing Draco, his wand was naught but a hot, bristly feather against the unnatural heat of his fingers.
He could remember everything still. At least, he couldn't tell if anything was missing.
It must have only been a second for Draco, as he didn't look at him with any confusion, but it had felt like several minutes for him.
"We should go back to the Common Room," Draco said to him, looking grim.
He'd tried to Obliviate him. Thinking of the wide variety of memories that had appeared, it would seem only luck had stopped him from losing everything. Blaise didn't understand how, or why, it failed, but the audacity filled him with rage. He took inventory of his father's wand, what was left of it, and he decided then and there. Blaise may have left the wand he'd gotten from Ollivander in his dorm, but no matter, he'd settle things with Draco the Muggle way, if necessary.
The only thing that was keeping him from succumbing from the almost instinctual need to cry in profound loss was just how livid he was. He'd never cried since he'd buried his father, but if there was a time for it, it was now. It was as if Draco had killed his father for a second time. His father's wand had been all he had left of the feel of his magic, of his presence.
It was nothing but a feather now, a feather he hid in his fist.
"Draco. It's good to see you," Blaise said, playing his part as well as he could. It was a miracle his voice didn't articulate the fury lingering behind his façade. His body felt like a livewire, like he'd taken a potent Pepper-Up Potion. "Give me a hand? I'm feeling a little strange."
Draco nodded, absentmindedly. His mind was likely fixed on a load of unimportant Death Eater tasks that didn't involve Blaise's potentially absent memory. The thought of Draco's blasé attitude to what he'd done threatened to ruin his plan, but he managed to maintain his placid smile. He contented himself with eyeing Draco's pointy chin. It was as good a place to start as any.
When Draco placed his free hand on his back to support him, Blaise struck. It was trivially easy to yank his wand out of his hand, mid-incantation, angling it towards the ceiling to avoid his response of red light. Blaise's feather-wrapped fist rammed into Draco's jaw with a ringing crack, and the Slytherin fell to the floor with a grunt. He'd honestly done it as if he was under autopilot, and stood there with Draco's wand in hand, he toyed with the idea of snapping it.
When he finished.
The slow trickle of blood that escaped Draco's mouth as he groaned in agony was a start.
"I'm going to make you regret ever being born. That was my father's wand!" Blaise shouted, brandishing the feather at him. He dropped his viola and bag to the floor. He hadn't been working out like he used to, but he had more than enough strength for this. "Only fitting I do this with my fists, like a muggle!"
Draco shuffled away from him, half-nursing his jaw and babbling at him, but the only thing that Blaise cared about was the fear in his grey eyes. Just as he was about to kneel down and add a broken nose to the table, his body froze, and he landed on his side next to Draco. Out of the corner of his eyes, he managed to make out the voluminous robes of Snape. As he stared balefully at the hem of Snape's robes, Draco got to his feet and scrambled for his wand, likely too preoccupied with his broken jaw to notice Snape approaching in the darkness, but he also froze and fell back onto the harsh stone of the floor.
Without any notice, he was yanked to his feet by the collar of his robes, and the body bind released him. Snape didn't even react when Blaise fell onto his knees at the suddenness with which he'd released his spell.
Bastard.
"Mr Zabini," Snape said in a muted whisper. The only thing that betrayed his quiet voice was the livid lines of his face that filled his vision. He seemed on the very verge of cursing Blaise himself. "Explain yourself or I'll have you out of this castle before the end of this very night."
Once he trusted his limbs once more, Blaise slowly got back to his own feet, picking up Draco's wand as he did so. He refused to look at Draco, not trusting himself to not rush him and finish what he'd started. Staring at Snape with undisguised hatred, he handed over Draco's wand. "Use prior incantato on his wand," he ordered.
Snape snatched the wand out of his grasp without a word, and he did as Blaise said. The sight of the ghost of the Cruciatus Curse didn't really bring any reaction out of him nor the reminder of Draco's attempted Memory Charm. When the spell started revealing a number of obscure enchantments that Blaise recalled his mother liked using to restore antiques, Snape cut off the spell. Blaise didn't even pay attention to Snape staring unabashedly at him, he was numb to everything apart from the feather in his hand.
"Did Mr Malfoy hit you with either of his spells?"
"Just the Memory Charm," Blaise said. "My wand burned out in response, so I don't think it worked."
Showing the phoenix feather in his hand, Snape's expression grew openly disturbed.
Without even acknowledging either of them, Snape turned to face the mouth of the corridor and with a wave of his wand a silvery doe appeared.
"Go to the Hospital Wing," Snape ordered. "I will retrieve your spare wand from your dorm."
It was the closest to comfort he would get from his head of house. Knowing that Snape wanted to deal with Draco alone, Blaise swallowed his protests. With one final significant look at Draco, Blaise did as he was told. It was incredibly difficult to leave the corridor, the heat of the feather against his hand a constant reminder of what had happened.
Draco was a dead man walking, whether he knew it or not.
Snape had delivered his wand without any fanfare before departing the Hospital Wing, looking more irritated than he could ever recall seeing him.
"There's no discernible damage, but there's definitely… something lingering. Remind me what caused this?" Madam Pomfrey muttered to herself as she casted the same diagnostic charm for the third time.
"My wand burnt out – pine and phoenix feather," Blaise offered, tired of her ministrations.
Madam Pomfrey looked up from her steady stream of diagnostic spells for a moment, forehead creased in concentration and eyes closed. "Phoenix… "
She snapped her fingers in triumph. "Of course."
"I'll fetch the Headmaster. Remain here or I'm sure Professor Snape will have choice words for you, Mr Zabini," Pomfrey warned with the barest hint of a smile.
"What a charming bedside manner," Blaise muttered under his breath once certain she was gone.
He contented himself as much as he could with staring at the Forbidden Forest through the window as he waited. He couldn't see anything in the darkness of twilight, but it didn't require much thought. It didn't take long for the darkness to remind him of the Memory Charm, and he abandoned that escape.
Instead, he chose to distract himself with the fact he was now about to meet the Headmaster in person for the first time. The illustrious Albus Dumbledore. Blaise knew that, deep down, he should really be humbled and nervous at the prospect. However, having heard Harry's stories and experienced Draco's flourishing insanity, which Dumbledore was all but giving his blessing through his inaction, if there was a pedestal to begin with it was now long broken. Hogwarts was a glorified death trap, and the only reason no one had died yet was because Harry seemed to have nine lives and another ten to spare.
Dumbledore walked into the Hospital Wing and approached him.
"Ah, Mr Zabini," Dumbledore said, peering down at him. "Good morning."
It technically was morning now, he supposed.
"Good morning, Headmaster," Blaise said, his cautiousness serving as a stark contrast to Dumbledore's amiable tone.
"I was hoping to speak to you after you'd rested, but Madam Pomfrey needed my expertise regarding your phoenix feather related burn."
Blaise nodded, and he simply offered his hand. Dumbledore was incredibly gentle as he examined his hand, prodding and poking it for several tense minutes before finally drawing out his wand and casting several spells in quick succession.
"It should fade by the end of the summer," Dumbledore said. "It's quite miraculous that this brand didn't manifest as a true burn. You and your wand must have been very well matched."
"It was my father's wand," Blaise admitted.
"It is my theory that successful wand inheritance is heavily influenced by the relationship between the inheritor and the deceased. Magic is a wonderful thing, and it tends to leave echoes."
He looked at Blaise with a kind smile, and Blaise just stared back nonplussed at the whole surreal situation.
"Your father must have cared for you deeply for such a defensive manifestation to have occurred, and I daresay, he will likely live on to some degree in this phoenix fire brand left behind. I hope this at least heartens you, Mr Zabini."
Blaise was more inclined to think it was simply lucky accidental magic, but perhaps, Dumbledore was right. The idea warmed him immeasurably, and a tiny smile appeared on his face.
"Professor," Blaise called. "May I ask a question?"
"Of course."
"I've been trying to learn the Patronus Charm. Are you really limited to using a happy memory?"
He let the implied "I can't seem to find a memory happy enough" go unsaid. Dumbledore smiled, though it did seem a touch melancholy when Blaise looked deep into Dumbledore's eyes.
"One late student of mine was able to cast the Patronus Charm purely on the basis of holding onto an immutable truth. It was quite remarkable. Myself? I personally use a recurring dream," Dumbledore admitted. "Muggles say that our dreams are a representation of our unrevealed repressed conflicts or wishes."
Blaise couldn't help his curiosity. "A dream?"
"As of late, I've been wearing the most delightful socks in my dreams," Dumbledore replied with audible enthusiasm, and his smile became more natural upon hearing Blaise's undignified snort. "Alas, I can never entirely remember the pattern, but they are always both extraordinarily comfortable and quite fetching."
Dumbledore wasn't even pretending to be the masterful liar he was, and Blaise got the feeling that Dumbledore knew that he didn't buy it. Regardless, Blaise settled with that barmy non-answer being the best he would ever get from him.
Still, as helpful as the Headmaster was being at comforting him, Blaise wanted him to at least acknowledge what was happening under his long nose.
"You know what's happening, Professor," Blaise stated, looking deep in Dumbledore's eyes. "What is stopping you from acting?"
He thought of Harry, likely having said and done the same thing, and the usual disgust that Blaise would summon at the idea of unnecessary bravado is nowhere to be found. It was hard to admonish Harry's self-righteousness when he himself had been in a dangerous situation. He'd almost been Obliviated, and there was no telling whether Draco had intended to wipe everything or if he'd just simply done it incorrectly. The only thing stopping him from being a potential vegetable was his father's wand doing some unexplainable surreptitious bullshit. Harry may be content with being lucky, but Blaise was very much a fan of making his own luck. Especially after the events of this night.
Blaise wanted answers.
"Lives hang in the balance, Mr Zabini," Dumbledore said grimly.
"I'm just curious as to whose lives you value more," Blaise said, carefully modulating his tone to not be snide. This wasn't like bantering with his peers. "Is it the students' or Draco's parents?"
Dumbledore shook his head dismissively. "My ideal situation is one where no lives are lost, and the quandary we find ourselves in is one which bears delicate handling."
The air within the Hospital Wing seemed to grow heavy, like being outside just before a lightning storm.
"Do not make the mistake of assuming that the safety of students is not a priority of mine," Dumbledore said, his tone a perfect counterpoint to the sudden icy glint that extinguished the pleasant warmth in his gaze.
Blaise backed down immediately. Deep down, he was no different from the rest of his House who were unsettled, if not afraid, in the presence of Dumbledore. Gryffindor, no, Harry inspired bravery may have made him dare to question Dumbledore, but it wasn't enough to overcome instilled fears. Still, the reminder of his broken wand and possibly tampered memory kept his anger bubbling beneath the surface.
"Sorry, Professor," he mumbled, not trusting himself to sound contrite.
Dumbledore nodded, and it was suddenly much easier to breathe. "It is no matter. Mr Malfoy will serve detention with Professor Snape on weekends for the rest of term for his attempt at Obliviating you. You will receive no punishment."
Blaise recalled Harry saying that the headmaster had said to trust him and Snape. Was it possible that Dumbledore and Snape had been potentially sabotaging Draco's attempts to prevent him from succeeding or accidentally killing anyone? Would Snape use these detentions to get greater insight into Draco's plans? It warranted private thought.
Then it hit Blaise like a charging Hippogriff, and he stared up at Dumbledore, deeply disturbed. He'd never told Dumbledore what had happened.
"How'd you know what happened?"
"Professor Snape sent me a message," Dumbledore said simply.
Blaise let go of the paranoid spiral he'd been about to launch himself into.
"Oh, okay," he said, accepting it.
"I must say, you have my deepest apologies regarding the events of the evening. No student should ever be subject to a Memory Charm, especially when as poorly cast as Mr Malfoy's," Dumbledore said gravely, and the usual twinkle in his eyes was absent. "Professor Snape has reason to believe that if Mr Malfoy had succeeded, you would most likely be sharing a ward at St Mungo's with Gilderoy Lockhart."
Blaise just stared blankly. The confirmation of his suspicions made him feel sick to his stomach.
"As I have told Mr Potter, all I can do is ask for you trust me, Mr Zabini," Dumbledore implored. "I would advise that you maintain discretion regarding these events. Mr Malfoy is unstable, as you have discovered, and we must approach this situation delicately."
Staring at the Headmaster, Blaise realised that there was going to be no help from this corner. Dumbledore was committed to running Hogwarts like his own personal fiefdom. It wasn't that Blaise expected any different, but Blaise liked to think that if he ran a school, he'd be a little more proactive about stopping a potential murderer.
"I must be leaving you," Dumbledore said after rising to his feet. "Rest well, Mr Zabini."
Blaise bid him goodbye, cursing him with every step he took for being helpful and useless in equal turn.
"Is it normal to exit a conversation with Dumbledore feeling like you've been hit by multiple Bludgers?" He muttered to himself when alone once more.
Not wanting to fall into the quagmire of thoughts about his father's wand, his memory or Draco, he focused on what Dumbledore said about the Patronus Charm. It could be achieved, not solely based on a happy memory, but one's dreams, desires or even an immutable truth, apparently. He bypassed his usual attempts, thoughts of his friendships with Tracey and Daphne, childhood memories and personal achievements. He thought of Susan, Tracey and Slughorn believing in him. In the hope that he could be a person of merit. It wasn't a happy thought, but it made him feel powerful, like he was in control.
He reached for his beech wand on the bedside table. It felt like coming home, expectation and comfort all in one, but it was still ultimately unfamiliar. It wasn't his father's wand.
"Expecto patronum."
It was a little better than his previous attempts, the usual plume of white mist emerged from his wand, but it seemed on the cusp of converging into something corporeal. Several more attempts yielded nothing more.
He turned to his other hand where the phoenix feather was still wrapped firmly in his grip. He didn't think he'd be able to let go of it anytime soon. Maybe Dumbledore was right. Maybe his father had protected him, and even if he hadn't, the idea was enough to still make him giddy. His father had loved him and still loved him. With those thoughts in mind, he tried once more.
"Expecto patronum," he murmured once more.
The sight of the leopard that leapt from his wand, ears twitching to-and-fro and landing in a shimmer of mist, was perfect. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine his father's Animagus form in its place.
In the loneliness of the Hospital Wing, he allowed himself a few silent tears.