Harry found that Potions was more of the same. Using the Half-Blood Prince's instructions, it was trivial to prepare a Vivification Vintage to Slughorn's standards. Compared to Ron, who would have made a big fuss trying to see the book, Blaise was far more scrupulous. Instead, Blaise watched Harry very carefully. Whenever Harry diverged from the instructions in the book, he merely copied his actions to the best of his ability.
"Marvellous work, Blaise!" Slughorn said as he approached their cauldrons. "On your way to catching up to Harry, eh?"
Blaise nodded seriously with the beginnings of a smile on his lips. "He's been a great help."
Hermione audibly growled from her seat in front of them. She flicked her wand at the magenta brew in her cauldron. It turned a warm puce and began to emit a curious vapour that filled the air above her cauldron with rapidly oscillating bubbles; it was good, Hermione's potions always were, but this one wasn't quite the vibrant purple and gentle frothing of Harry's and Blaise's.
After they'd all packed up, she approached them like a woman on a mission. As much as he loved Hermione like a sister, he was finding without Ron to balance her worse instincts, she was becoming incredibly insufferable. Since they'd come back from Knockturn Alley, he'd spent almost all of Sunday hiding in an abandoned classroom to avoid her lecturing on Sectumsempra and his potions book. Blaise had been entirely unsympathetic to his complaints; he'd managed to make the fact that Hermione cared about him into a jibe.
"Before the DA, we need to talk, Harry," Hermione whispered to him as she passed.
Ron gave him a sympathetic nod over her shoulder.
"Sure," Harry said. With Blaise next to him and Ron listening, what he said next was a gamble. "Make sure to bring Ron to the DA."
It was a relief when Ron smiled nervously at him. He really had missed him, and it was a further weight off his shoulders when Hermione smiled brilliantly at them both. Maybe she'd give him a break now.
"About time," Blaise whispered in his ear once they'd left. "As much as I appreciate you standing up for me, I'm getting quite bored of you whining about Hermione."
Harry spluttered indignantly.
Blaise made to leave, but Harry stayed by his seat.
"Not going to Transfiguration?" Blaise asked.
"I need to have a word with Slughorn. I'll see you later," he said.
He'd been planning this ever since they'd noticed Umbridge had the locket. Dumbledore would ask too many questions and shut Harry out of the process. He thought Slughorn could be useful. With his connections, he could possibly point them in the right direction in order to recovering the Horcrux.
Blaise nodded. "I have Arithmancy with the girls after Transfiguration, so I'll see you tonight for your Defence club."
He left him with a gentle caress of his hip, closing the dungeon door behind him.
"Professor, can I have a moment of your time please?" Harry called as Slughorn prepared to disappear into his office.
"Oh, Harry," Slughorn said. "Don't you have Transfiguration with Minerva next?"
"It's important. About the… you know whats."
Slughorn looked as he wanted to bolt, staring like a deer in the headlights at Harry, but after a long moment, he sighed and beckoned Harry forward.
Settling at a well-polished wooden desk in his office, Slughorn restored order to its chaotic surface with a wave of his wand. Harry slid in the seat opposite him, trying not to take too much notice of Slughorn's anxious shuffling in his seat. The transparent tension in Slughorn's posture was almost infectious, and he found his gaze drawn to the morning edition of the Prophet on his table.
It had been the talk of the school. A front page stating, 'Notorious werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, captured by Ministry Aurors', would only attract less attention than a confirmed sighting of Voldemort. The article itself had been as he'd expected; lavish praise for the Ministry's competence, promise of justice being meted out, and a large photo of Scrimgeour, sagging at the shoulder but otherwise determined, quoted saying that this represented a massive inroad in the battle against Voldemort. There had been another story about Borgin being fined an exorbitant amount of galleons for harbouring Dark artefacts, with a possible prison sentence in the cards, but Harry hadn't paid much attention to that article. Knowing the true cause for Greyback's state, it only impressed upon Harry how dire things were. If this was the monumental victory the Ministry were looking for, things were beyond grim. It was why Malfoy had, once again, been put on the backburner. He was secondary.
The Horcruxes were far more important.
"We found one," Harry said.
Slughorn stared at him for a long time. When Harry didn't break eye contact, he turned in his seat to fish around in his cabinet. He retrieved a very aged-looking bottle of wine, poured a generous portion into an ornate goblet and took a fortifying, noisy gulp, all propriety forgotten.
"Considering you're here with me, I can only assume it was not with Albus?" he asked.
"No," Harry said. "Dolores Umbridge has it – Slytherin's locket."
At Slughorn's incredulous expression, he gave him a very abridged version of the events at Knockturn Alley.
"Greyback was your work then? I knew it was all poppycock," Slughorn said.
There was no disapproval in his tone, but he did regard Harry with a gravity he'd previously lacked. There was none of his bluster, his smarminess or his joviality in his expression. No, Harry reckoned there was a burgeoning respect in Slughorn's steady gaze.
Harry nodded.
"You've done the country a great service then," he remarked. "The fate of the youngest Montgomery boy… terrible, terrible."
Harry hadn't felt guilty about the state they'd left Greyback in, and Slughorn's comments only further vindicated his outlook. He and Hermione had returned to the shop in time to hear the callous way Greyback had stated his intentions of killing Blaise. If that spell hadn't worked, he didn't know to what extent he would have went. How would she have reacted if he went for an Unforgivable? Thinking of the Ministry last year, of Sirius, and the possibility of losing another person precious to him, he was sure that the Cruciatus would have worked for him that time around.
"I understand you're omitting quite a lot, Harry," Slughorn said. "I have some contacts in the DMLE; the rumour going around is that Borgin was blaming everything on some African wizard. I must assume that was Blaise?"
He debated lying, but he didn't want to manipulate Slughorn to that extent. Having spent enough of his life being lied to, he would at least offer his own honesty.
"That's right," he agreed.
Slughorn smiled. "I'm honoured by your candidness and reluctantly impressed by your daring, Harry. I must ask: why have you come to me, and not Dumbledore?"
His resentment towards Dumbledore had been festering, no thanks to Blaise's unceasing allusions to his incompetence. Never mind Blaise's thoughts on how the school was only standing because of his, Ron and Hermione's actions in second year, he'd never looked at the troll incident the same way he and Tracey did. He didn't think Dumbledore was malicious, but it was hard to reconcile his increasing bitterness towards his overt neglect with his respect for the man.
Again, he tried to be honest. "You, more than anyone else I think, can understand what's at stake. You can understand how important it is that we act sooner than later. Dumbledore tells and shows me nothing apart from memories of Voldemort's past. He won't let me get involved."
Slughorn frowned. "You're just a child, Harry. Is it any wonder that Albus has no desire to make a child soldier out of you?"
He could hear Professor McGonagall, Mrs Weasley, and every other adult who'd not taken him seriously in Slughorn's statement.
"That doesn't mean I don't understand what lies ahead of me, Professor," he said. "I want to live. I want to win."
Slughorn nodded gravely. "More than understandable. I have little but Hogwarts left, Harry."
His hand gestured to a framed portrait of a plump, blonde witch on his wall. She was watching them silently, and Harry could see a family resemblance in her yellow-green eyes.
"That is my younger sister, Euthemia Vance… we all called her Effie. She and her husband were murdered amid the Dark Lord's search for me, years ago. Dear Emmeline was all I had left of her, and she fell to the same fate last summer."
An image of a tall, elegant witch with an emerald shawl inspecting Petunia's microwave oven popped into Harry's head. "Emmeline Vance?"
Slughorn's moustache wobbled a little. "Indeed."
He stood up and walked to the mantelpiece above his cabinet, retrieving a large leather-bound book. Flicking through it, he opened it to a page titled 'Slug Club Christmas Party 1977' and passed it to Harry. It wasn't difficult to find his mother and father, centre-frame with a blonder and thinner Slughorn, smiling and waving at him. Sirius was visible in the far-right corner, arm wrapped around a pretty brunette witch and grinning at the camera.
"You must tire of hearing it," Slughorn said with a wry smile, "but your mother was one of my favourite students. It tore me apart to hear what befell her and your father. What befell you."
Slughorn tapped his wand on the centre of the photo, and another appeared with just his parents and Slughorn. Harry accepted it from him with a gentle reverence.
"Rubeus spoke to me of the photo album he prepared for you. I have more pictures of your mother to share at some later point, if you'd like them."
Staring at the image of his parents, another insight into the life they'd lived, Harry smiled softly.
"Thank you. I'd like that. Can I ask for one thing, Professor?"
Slughorn smiled at him warmly, and he sounded like himself again. "Of course."
"Can I get a picture of Sirius and…"
"Marlene McKinnon, a brilliant witch in the making; her family were wiped out. More that have been stolen from us," he murmured.
With another flick of his wand, Sirius and Marlene were grinning carelessly at him from the palm of his hand. He slid both photos into the pocket of his robes.
He sighed. "I have much to atone for, Harry. You are certain that Dolores has one of the… Dark Lord's horcruxes?"
"Certain," Harry said firmly.
Slughorn's answering smile was tremulous. "Think nothing of it."
He finished his goblet with a sniff before retrieving a sheaf of parchment. Harry watched as he began to write rapidly, his eyes blinking in similar tempo.
"It wouldn't be particularly difficult to sniff around. Dolores has always been notoriously unpopular," Slughorn muttered to himself.
He finally looked up at him, his cheeks ruddier than Harry had ever seen them. There was a glassiness in his eyes that Harry valiantly ignored, not wanting to embarrass the man who was willing to help. "I'll not promise anything definite, Harry, but I'll see what I can do with regards to her routine, her home and the contractors who warded it. All the things you'd need for a successful heist."
It was strange how matter of fact Slughorn was about Harry's ultimate intentions, but he didn't have time to question it. The faraway look in Slughorn's eyes as he turned away from him in dismissal had been the look of a man who deserved privacy.
After taking his newly found free time to drill some spells and finish off some assignments in his favoured abandoned classroom, Harry returned to the Common Room. He'd just emerged through the portrait hole when Hermione hailed him over to the sofa she was sat at with Ron. Apart from them, it was rather empty. Being so close to the exam period, most students, even those in Gryffindor, were surrendering to the siren call of the Library or the grounds.
"Where have you been, Harry?" Hermione asked. "We missed you in Transfiguration."
"I was speaking to Slughorn," Harry said. "About the… you-know-what."
Hermione was silent for a long time after he'd filled them both in. It felt natural to include Ron, like completing a puzzle, and going by his lack of questions, Hermione had been keeping him abreast with developments. He was more relieved at that fact than he cared to admit.
"We're really planning a heist then?" she asked.
Harry nodded. "He's going to put some feelers out; her routine, floorplan of her home, anything."
Hermione nodded and then she lifted her chin in a familiar, mulish fashion, and Harry despaired at her relentlessness. He already knew what she was going to talk about.
"Now, we talk about the Half-Blood Prince," Hermione said.
Ron gave him a sympathetic cringe when Hermione wasn't looking, and Harry just slumped in the seat opposite her.
"Do we have to?"
"You've spent enough time avoiding me on Sunday that I filled him in," Hermione said. "I think that's plenty of time for you to prepare for this conversation."
Harry rolled his eyes, feeling another lecture coming on. She'd just opened her mouth to begin her rant when Ron nudged her.
"And she's told me enough to know that I trust your judgment, Harry," Ron said. He turned seriously to Hermione. "He'd have done the same for us, you know. No one we cared for died. No one we cared for was hurt. That's all that matters."
Staring at Ron with betrayal, Hermione huffed and rushed towards the girls' dorm. Harry felt an enormous grin cross his face, and he walked over to Ron, clapping him on the shoulder.
"It's good to have you back, mate," Harry said. He nodded towards the staircase Hermione had disappeared up. "Aren't you going to be in trouble?"
Ron shrugged. "Probably. Hermione's not really angry about that spell; it's about the book. You'd think You-Know-Who had written it with how deep her vendetta is getting."
"Regardless, it's good to have you back. It wasn't the same without you," Harry said.
Ron turned a beetroot red. "Yeah, yeah. I'm sure you were saying that when you were kicking werewolf arse, mate."
"Next time I'll save some for you," Harry said drily.
"All I ask."
It was like nothing had changed, and Harry was about to comment on it, gleeful to have Ron back but Ron had looked up at the portrait hole. His smile rapidly faded. Following his gaze, Harry saw that Ginny had entered the Common Room, and he felt an instinctual need to bolt.
"Harry," Ron said, and there was a steeliness to his tone. "Please talk to Ginny. You can't just ignore her."
With a stiff nod, and feeling like he was on autopilot, he walked over to her. She didn't give any indication of registering his approach.
"Can we talk?" he asked.
"Sure."
Not really knowing what to say, Harry just said the first thing that came to mind.
"I'm sorry for avoiding you. For everything," Harry said.
Ginny nodded jerkily, patting the seat beside her impatiently. "Sit."
"Are you happy?" she asked as soon as he'd touched his seat.
Harry smiled. "I am."
It was like Ginny had been slapped in the face, the way her face twisted painfully, but her resolve didn't falter.
"That's good," she offered. Harry's heart sank at the sincerity in her voice.
"How are you doing, Ginny?"
She shuffled about in her seat, her eyes losing his as she stared somewhere past him.
"I still don't know how to feel, honestly," she said. "We were together and then suddenly we weren't, but I guess it makes sense if what Hermione's been saying is true."
"And what has Hermione been saying?"
"Hermione has been telling me she thinks you're gay."
Harry sighed. It explained Hermione's charitable reception of his breakup with Ginny, but he was getting really fed up with her presumptuousness.
"I don't know yet," he said, answering her implied question. "I've only really been into Cedric and Blaise."
Ginny smirked knowingly at him. "I guess it's early days for you, but really? Even if he is a complete poser… only the best-looking for you, huh? Did you like Roger Davies too?"
Despite his growing embarrassment, he smiled at her. This peek into the vivacious warmth that had attracted him to Ginny in the first place was a welcome change from her despondence.
"As much as I'm getting to grips with… liking another bloke, I'm not quite comfortable enough for this type of chat, Ginny," Harry said.
Ginny frowned at him. "There's nothing wrong with it, Harry. I know things are different for Muggles, but it's not like that amongst wizards… most of us anyway."
The picture of Vernon and Petunia finding out that he was with another boy filled him with a form of existential horror. Then he pictured Blaise swaggering up to the door, the personification of disdain, and he smiled to himself. Maybe he did want to see how they reacted.
"I see you've gotten what you wanted," Ginny said, her gentle tone a contrast to her bittersweet smile.
He didn't bother to deny it. "What do you want, Ginny?"
She was silent for a moment.
"Closure, Harry. Just closure," Ginny said. "I think I'm going to swear off boys for a while. I've been left burnt one too many times, I think."
Harry nodded. "That's fair."
She stared at him, her lips twisting a little. "I'll see you in the DA tonight then?"
"Sure," he said. "See you then."
It was a relief for Harry when she grabbed her stuff, stalking away at a speed that indicated to Harry how eager she was to get away.
Watching her disappear up the stairs as Hermione did, Harry acknowledged that the last five minutes had been more than awkward.
He returned to Ron, emotionally exhausted.
Ron didn't look at all sympathetic, but he did bring his chess set out of his bag.
"Fancy a game?"
Harry plonked down opposite him. "I'm ready to lose, I guess."
Flitwick gestured grandly to the orange, ceiling-high barrier that met them as they walked into the classroom. "This is a duelling circuit grade enclosure shield. If any of you manage to break it, I'd be quite surprised."
"We're really duelling then?" Hermione asked.
"A duelling tournament, in fact," Flitwick said excitedly. "I always find that students flourish when there's a little bit of competition."
With a flick of his wand, a tournament bracket appeared in the middle of the room in a loopy script. The quarterfinals were Ron vs Tracey and Hermione vs Blaise, while he and Daphne waited in the semi-finals.
Harry and Ron grinned at each other. It wasn't quite Quidditch, but after the lectures and spell practice that Flitwick had drilled them through, this was a more than welcome change of pace.
"Excellent," Daphne declared. "Revenge on Harry in the finals will be sweet."
Harry smiled at her. "We'll see about that."
"Jolly good," Flitwick said, and he levitated himself onto his stack of books outside of the barrier. "Rules: no lethal spells and disarming your opponent, first blood, or otherwise incapacitating your opponent constitute victory."
"First blood… is that really necessary," Hermione murmured.
"It's best you learn to get hurt in a controlled environment. I'm quite capable at casting healing charms, and I've managed to procure some Dittany and Burn-healing paste," Flitwick said. They all looked at an amused Daphne. "I'm also ready to intervene if I feel things go too far."
Hermione still looked uncertain.
"Are we going to start?" Blaise asked.
At Flitwick's immediate nod, he passed through the barrier, taking his spot with a cool gaze at Hermione. She approached more hesitantly, but Harry could see her visibly steeling herself in face of Blaise's impassivity.
Harry wasn't exactly sure who to support, but he settled for hoping that they both put up a good showing.
Upon Flitwick's signal, Blaise closed his eyes, pointed his wand at his chest and murmured something under his breath. Hermione took the opportunity to open with a Stunner, but Blaise blocked it at the last second with a lightning-fast Shield Charm, eyes flying open.
No matter what Hermione seemed to do, Blaise seemed to always react in time. Strafing when needed, vanishing her conjurations with ease, and giving her no room to begin chaining spells together. As well-executed as her spellwork was, Harry couldn't help but realise she had a very linear understanding of duelling. Blaise was making it more than clear to her that trading spells wouldn't work, but she wasn't trying any form of simultaneous assault.
Still, Blaise wasn't doing anything to change the state of affairs either. He continued exchanging spells with her, a fierce hardness to his eyes and a condescending sneer on his lips. It was incredibly sudden when with a downward slash of his wand that Hermione just collapsed.
Harry watched, confused, at the sight of Hermione struggling on the floor. It was as if she were under the heel of a giant.
There was bitter disappointment in Ron's eyes. "Hermione…"
"Go Slytherin!" Tracey hollered.
Daphne stared at her hooting friend in distaste, fiddling with her wand almost contemplatively.
"God help me but," Daphne said, and Harry barely heard Daphne's low, smug whisper of, "go Slytherin."
He had to bite his fist to muffle his choking laughter.
"Very tricky, Mr Zabini!" Flitwick said with a slow clap.
The rest of them followed suit, half-heartedly, as they had no idea what Blaise did.
"Care to explain, Blaise?" Hermione demanded after Blaise removed his spellwork.
After pulling her to her feet, Blaise shook his head. "Being our resident walking and talking library, I'm sure you can figure it out."
Heedless of Hermione's irritated expression, the tall Slytherin strode back to his seat next to Harry without another word, giving no indication as to whether he was pleased or not with his victory.
"That was the Sisyphean Curse," Flitwick explained. "It gives one the sensation of being put under an increasingly heavy load. It's considered a Dark spell, though it's not illegal."
"Dark magic?" Ron demanded.
"If I were to use it for torture, sure," Blaise said drily. "Unless Hermione is traumatised for a reason beyond losing, I'd advise calming down. We use it in the Slytherin Quidditch team as a source of resistance for conditioning."
It certainly explained Blaise's musculature, along with why almost all of them were built like trolls.
"I didn't feel anything until the very end," Hermione said. "It all came so suddenly."
Blaise just nodded, offering nothing else.
"Let's not spoil everything," Flitwick said with a cheeky wink at Blaise. "Mr Weasley and Ms Davis, your turn."
As Ron and Tracey took to the duelling square, Harry leaned in to nudge Blaise's shoulder.
"Well done," Harry whispered.
Blaise smiled the tiniest bit, but his tone was deadly serious. "It's me and you in the next round. Don't hold back on me."
"You bet on it," Harry said.
Flitwick's voice filled the air and the duel between Ron and Tracey began.
Their duel was a humorous game of cat-and-mouse. Every time Ron blasted Tracey's golem to bits, she reformed it with a flick of her wand. Like an unstoppable force, it always lumbered after Ron at a steady jog, and Ron danced erratically across his half of the duelling square to maintain distance.
With each reformation, it began increasingly more sluggish, giving Ron increasing opportunity to attempt to end the duel, but Tracey managed to haphazardly block all the spells. It was clear she was struggling to both animate the now crumbling construct and fire spells at the same time.
Eventually, Ron lifted his wand skyward, sweat dripping from his forehead, and Ron and Tracey's duel came to a very abrupt end.
"Lumos solem," Ron cried, looking at the floor.
Something about the barrier filtered the sunlight, making it viewable to Harry's naked eye, but it didn't spare Tracey. Taking advantage of her sudden blindness, Ron quickly stunned her, even with her shambling golem mere inches from grabbing him.
Hermione clapped gleefully while Daphne sighed. Blaise didn't react beyond a grunt, but Harry was certain he was fixated on their own duel which was moments away.
Harry waited for Tracey to be roused back to consciousness before he gave his own answering hoot. "Go Gryffindor!"
After getting back to her feet, she rolled her eyes at him before turning to face Ron.
"Next time, I won't be so easy," she said. "That was quite clever."
"Just what I need," Ron griped, though he was blushing quite violently, "another girl surprised when I do something remotely intelligent."
"Get used to it," she said, giving him a cheeky smile as she went to join Daphne.
When they were called, Harry looked at his neighbour and was met with a solemn nod.
Again, with Flitwick's signal, Blaise's eyes fell shut and he murmured an incantation into his chest. Harry still didn't know what Blaise was casting, but he reflexively cast a Finite on himself.
Nothing changed, but Harry didn't get complacent. Focusing on the feeling of the magic in the room, he kept his senses ready for any sneaky spells cast on him.
Starting off simple, he threw a simple Expelliarmus at Blaise.
Blaise blocked it with a lazy flick, and he advanced on Harry in a slow, predatory prowl. "What did I say about holding back?"
"Stupefy," Harry said, putting everything he had into the spell.
Blaise veered out of the way, and the red jet of light hit the barrier with a loud chime.
A thick mist exited Blaise's wand, and it resisted Harry's attempts to vanish it. Conjuring a squall of wind only made it thicken, and when he turned his gaze back to Blaise's last position, Harry found it empty. Remembering Blaise's aptitude for Disillusionment, he cursed and began to move. Fragments of wood erupted around him, as the wooden floor on which he'd previously stood took the full brunt of a missed spell.
"Homenum revelio," he whispered.
He'd have thought it had failed, only feeling the vibrant magical signatures of their audience. But as he focused, he could feel a heavily suppressed presence approaching him, mere metres away.
"Salvio hexia," he said.
More spells were directed towards him from various angles within the fog. Most of them fell prey to his hex deflection ward. He quickly incinerated a series of bolts of ice that came and blocked an ominous yellow light. A black haze followed that made his eyes burn, but just as it bore down upon him, stealing his sight, it faded into nothing, repelled and absorbed by his weakening ward.
As he slowly blinked the darkness out of his eyes, his reflexive Shield Charm absorbed a heavy impact that nearly threw him off his feet.
"Finite!" Blaise barked from somewhere to his right.
It was trivial to throw his hex deflection ward back up, and as Blaise hurried to dispel it once more, he conjured a vast ball of black dust in the air, and taking care not to breath in, he banished it into the mist.
Blaise's figure appeared in front of him, several footfalls away and covered in the dust, as if he planned on plucking Harry's wand from his hand. It would have been an incredibly embarrassing way to lose.
Regardless, he clumsily managed to block Harry's Disarming Charm and conjured a thin layer of ice on the floor, like what they'd found in Borgin's. The Stability Charm came to his rescue once more, the golden light making his footing perfect, and as Blaise finally sneezed, he took his opportunity.
Blaise's beech wand flew into Harry's hand.
As applause rained from their audience, Blaise cursed. Harry watched as he approached to retrieve his wand. When he had it in hand, he immediately vanished the mist and sneezed again. Feeling a little guilty, Harry vanished the dust that covered him.
"You're a lot better… smarter, trickier even, than the last time you duelled with Daphne," Blaise said, both angry and proud at the same time.
It was hard to remember his hilarious duel with Daphne a month ago, but that reminder of how far he'd come, how much things had changed, made him smile.
"Damn your Shield Charm," Blaise muttered to himself. "Damn your warding ability."
Feeling that laughter would be entirely inappropriate, Harry just pat him on the back as they went back to their seats. There was a clear thundercloud around Blaise. Even Flitwick eyed him strangely.
"Marvellous," he said hesitantly, though his excitement quickly bled through once more. "Lots of exciting things there! Even with two illegal spells being used. The Stability and Supersensory Charms aren't ordinarily allowed in professional duelling, but I'll allow it."
"If it's not allowed, why didn't you disqualify Blaise earlier?" Hermione asked.
"Ms Granger, you'll find in the real world there are no such rules," Flitwick said breezily. "Clever cheating is, if anything, encouraged."
He returned his attention to where Ron and Daphne were waiting. "Get ready, you two!"
Ron's duel with Daphne was surprisingly intense. Despite the torch she had in hand, using it as an additional vector for her avid pyromancy, Ron's Flame-Freezing Charm was flawless. Even as twin gouts of flame washed over him from wand and torch, his confidence didn't falter, trusting in his spellwork. Harry was more impressed than he would have liked to admit. It made his own decisions during his duel with Daphne seem incredibly foolish.
Eventually, Daphne's frustration got the better of her, her spellwork becoming increasingly sloppy and her fires burned hotter and hotter. Even Blaise, sat arms crossed and impassive, was fiddling with the collar of his uniform. Ron eventually capitalised on her sloppiness by using a well-cast Transfiguration, turning her conjured torch into a turtle. It distracted her enough for Ron to disarm her.
Daphne exhaled harshly. "I need to work on my stubbornness."
"Good duel?" Ron offered.
She walked forward, accepted her wand from him, and shook his hand. "Good duel."
Hermione pulled him into a bear hug as he returned to his seat for a breather. There was a silly grin on his face as they murmured gently to each other.
Tracey gave Daphne a broad smile as she retook her seat.
Eventually, it was Harry and Ron.
"It was always going to come down to us, wasn't it?" Harry joked.
"No doubt about that," Ron replied. "I can almost see the trolley lady asking if we want anything."
Two clueless eleven-year olds in a carriage, not knowing that their lives were about to become a complete chaotic mess.
"We'll have the lot," Harry said.
They laughed together, even as Harry threw a Stunner at him.
"Less banter, more mayhem," came Tracey's amplified voice.
They nodded at each other and took the duel seriously. Ron's face was a harsh mask of concentration as they traded spells. Knowing that it would most likely be a spark of tactical brilliance that would do him in, Harry mirrored him in his desire to remain calm and considered. Daphne had been a warning tale.
Eventually, he had an idea. Under the protection of his hex deflection ward, he conjured a series of stones, duplicating them before repeatedly transfiguring them into large spiders. As Ron tried in vain to break his ward, not being as adept as Blaise at counter-spells, they descended to the floor and began to skitter towards him. Ron paled, but he began to vanish them with frantic haste, and his attention completely left Harry. It was sadly trivial for Harry to disarm him, vanishing the spiders as they began to climb him as an afterthought.
"Bravo to our champion, Mr Potter! The psychological element makes an appearance!" Flitwick exclaimed, clapping frantically.
Blaise gave him a thin smile, but he clapped along with the rest of them. Ron grinned at him as he took his wand back.
"That was cheap, Harry," Ron said. "I can't exactly fetch a Dementor."
Harry was happy to have won. Clever cheating, as Flitwick had said, was the way to go.
"Just join the Ministry. I'm sure all you need to do is ask Umbridge nicely," Harry said.
They walked back to their seats in a companionable lockstep.
With an expansive wave of Flitwick's wand, scorch marks vanished, shattered floorboards knit themselves together, and the dust covering the walls melted away. Once they returned to the restored desks where they usually sat during their "detentions", and he'd been showered with congratulations from Hermione and Daphne (of all people), Flitwick cleared his throat.
"There are some key lessons to take away from today. I'll break down my thoughts, some constructive criticism and advice. We'll start with stubbornness and banging your head against a wall."
He looked pointedly at Hermione and Daphne.
Listening intently to the lecture, Harry chanced a look at Blaise. While he was giving Flitwick his absolute attention, there was no mistaking his cold expression.
Harry decided he'd stop by the Slytherin dorm tonight.
Harry found Blaise asleep on his back, snoring lightly. His arms were wrapped tightly around a massive tome giving Harry the impression that he'd been cuddling with it. Holding back a laugh, Harry cast a quick muffliato before closing the curtain behind him, and he reached out to gently shake Blaise's shoulder.
"Blaise," he murmured.
Blaise's dark eyes flickered open, a terrible intensity crossing them. He reached for his bedside table, for his wand, before he recognised Harry. Harry barely stifled a laugh at Blaise's incoherent grunts while his arm fell limply to his side. Harry placed the Butterbeer he'd retrieved from the kitchens on the shelf above his headboard.
"Forgotten you'd keyed me into your Intruder Charm already?" Harry asked.
Blaise yawned and batted at him half-heartedly.
"Prat," he said warmly, though his voice was rough with sleep. "Come in. Get comfortable."
As Harry slid under the silken sheets, Blaise placed his book on the table, conjured some light, and slowly sat upright. The beginnings of a V at his hips could be seen on his dark skin along with the faintest sight of pubic hair, but Harry didn't let himself be distracted by his nakedness. They needed to talk.
"My wards still holding?" Harry asked.
Blaise nodded absently. "They've been fine. Someone tripped my Intruder Charm while I was in Astronomy yesterday. No need to guess who."
Thinking of Malfoy's re-emergence into student life, Harry frowned.
"He's been out and about more often lately," Harry said. "A lot happier than you'd expect considering his plans are up in smoke."
"Snape looks even more terrible than usual. Exhausted even," Blaise said. "Maybe they're working together?"
Snape had been with Malfoy in his office every weekend since Malfoy's attempted Obliviation. It was more than possible.
"Dumbledore trusts him, so let's assume that they can keep the collateral damage at a minimum."
Blaise looked at him strangely. "You're that indifferent?"
Harry sighed. "What more can we do? If Dumbledore is happy for them to plot his death, like you've been thinking, let him handle it."
They'd done what they could, and he was far more interested in getting that Horcrux before someone else figured out Umbridge had Slytherin's locket. If Blaise had recognised it so easily, there wasn't much stopping one of the more ardent Purebloods of the Ministry doing the same. Like the Cabinet, they needed to act fast. Malfoy was a mere distraction, as much as he wanted to curse him.
"The locket is your focus," Blaise stated.
Harry didn't respond, not exactly knowing how to smokescreen this. Blaise had almost died for the knowledge they'd obtained.
"I'll tell you its significance eventually," he promised.
Blaise nodded. "I'll hold you to that."
Taking the bottles above him, Harry vanished the caps with a wave of his wand.
"I got us some high-proof Butterbeer from the kitchens," Harry said. "We can pretend we really did go to Hogsmeade last weekend."
Blaise smiled quizzically at him and accepted his bottle with a low expression of thanks. "The house elves are that fond of you? Every time I ask for alcohol they snap their fingers and I'm outside again."
Not wanting to mention Dobby, Harry just smiled back.
"So many secrets, Harry," Blaise said, approval in his tone. He eyed Harry's pyjamas with more than a little distaste. "So many layers too."
They were very much for his own protection from Blaise's grabby hands. As much as he wouldn't mind some heavy petting, Harry was very determined that they have this conversation.
"The layers are staying on," he said.
Blaise smirked and took a long swig from his bottle, and Harry did the same, though more conservatively. The alcohol burned the back of his throat as it went down, and the usual butterscotch flavour of ordinary Butterbeer was obscured by a crisp bitterness. He masked his cough under a clearing of his throat.
"I guess liquid courage will make this conversation a little easier," Blaise said, sounding as if he'd merely sipped at a glass of water. "Shall we clear the air, Harry?"
"You go first," Harry offered.
Blaise's reply was instantaneous. "That spell. Where'd you learn it?"
The anger flared in his chest with sudden intensity. No thanks to Hermione, he was sick of this topic.
"Does it matter?"
Blaise's cold gaze bored into him. "Tell me, Harry."
He looked distinctly unimpressed at Harry's ensuing silence, even as he took another long drain from his bottle. It was baffling how he made an action so unrefined seem graceful.
The silent stillness that followed after he'd put his bottle down was almost oppressive, and it served as a stark contrast to Hermione's earlier approach of endless needling. If not for the steady movement of Blaise's chest, he'd have thought he'd been petrified. There was also the disapproval silently communicated in his heavy stare.
It eventually broke him.
"My Potions book," he confessed with a sigh. "All I knew was that the incantation was meant for enemies."
Blaise nodded. "Was that your first foray into Dark magic?"
Remembering some of the spells Blaise had used in the tournament, Harry considered him carefully. The way Flitwick had elaborated on their origin and traditional usage afterwards, they seemed to be intended as insidious torture curses.
It was most likely the alcohol, but Harry didn't think there was anyone else he could tell this. He'd never told Ron or Hermione this. He'd never told Dumbledore this. Only Bellatrix and Voldemort knew.
"The Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix actually," Harry said. Incredibly nervous in face of Blaise's blank expression, he elaborated. "It didn't work too well. I didn't mean it enough."
Blaise continued to give nothing away, but he eventually offered Harry his hand. Harry was so wary of rejection that Blaise's gesture of solidarity only served to make the inches between them seem like an insurmountable gulf.
"Come here," Blaise ordered.
Still cautious of his reaction, Harry hesitated for a moment longer before Blaise made the decision for him. One of Blaise's strong arms pulled him closer, and he gave him a long, slow kiss that sent tingles from the nape of his neck to his toes.
"I'm not Hermione," he said, punctuating the sentence with another toe-curling kiss. "I'm not going to browbeat you into compliance."
Just as Harry was about to interrupt him, aiming to correct his uncharitable interpretation of Hermione's lecturing, Blaise's teeth were nibbling at his bottom lip and his tongue was mingling with his own once more.
He continued speaking against Harry's lips, employing his devious tactic when necessary to stifle Harry's meagre protests and rob him of logical thought. "Intention is all that matters, Harry, and I wouldn't be here without your intervention. If Lestrange needed to be tortured, so be it. I'm also not Ron. I'm not going to run for the hills the instant you do something I dislike."
"Give my friends a little more credit, will you?" Harry muttered once he had regained mastery of his own mouth.
Blaise nodded. "Of course. I'm sure they're great, but I'm going to be even better."
"Prick."
"Yes, I have one of those, Harry, but that's beside the point," Blaise said drily. "Tell me why you even used the Cruciatus to begin with."
Feeling there was no better time than now with Blaise having expressed his support, Harry explained the whole Ministry saga and Sirius' death, contextualising his usage of an Unforgivable.
"Every Christmas Eve, my mother and I go to Mozambique to visit my father's grave," Blaise said after a long silence. "It's healthy to mourn, Harry."
The unnaturally hot fingers on his right hand drummed against Harry's clothed hip. "Lately though, I'm increasingly convinced that our loved ones live on in us. Believing that makes things easier for me anyway."
It sounded like something Dumbledore would say and thinking of his parents emerging through the Priori Incantatem to protect him one last time, Harry felt immeasurably better. Perhaps Sirius was also living on in some intangible way. Magic had done stranger things.
Pulling away to look Blaise in the eye, Harry wanted to express his thanks, but the warmth and kinship broadcast in Blaise's features left him paralysed. He found himself lost in his soft gaze and the gentle cant of smile. His hand found Blaise's under the covers, seemingly of its own accord, and he laced their fingers together.
"I'm here for you, Harry," Blaise said. His tone was firm and understanding. "I promise."
This time Harry was the one to draw him closer, pulling himself entirely into Blaise's body.
"I'll take your word for it," he said when they separated, his voice scratchy with an emotion he couldn't quite make sense of.
It was always easy to take conversations with Blaise in a lighter direction, with him being a smart-arse of the highest order, so he did so. Anything to escape the heaviness in the air which Harry was certain he couldn't entirely blame on the mild buzz of alcohol.
"So, let me get this straight. If I do something you dislike, you'll just stare at me before kissing me into compliance," Harry said.
Blaise grinned. "Can you say it doesn't work? Besides, it's far more pleasurable this way."
Harry took a fortifying inhale in face of his beautiful smile. It only served to amplify his unease in the face of that unknown something in his heart.
They drank the remainders of their Butterbeer in a companionable silence. Blaise finished his quickly, but Harry took his time, far too preoccupied with the mess of thoughts in his mind.
"I'm weak in comparison to you," Blaise said suddenly, shocking him out of his musings.
Harry frowned. "You're not weak. Far from it."
Staring down Fenrir Greyback and holding him off, for what Harry was sure hadn't been just a 'mere minute', wasn't the act of a weak person. Both he and Hermione had seen the state of the shop when they'd returned, and the devastation they'd wrought hadn't been contained to the side of the shop Blaise had been originally occupying. It had been everywhere.
He'd known that Blaise had held a lot back regarding what had happened at Knockturn Alley, but it was incredibly bewildering for Harry to realise that this had been out of embarrassment. It was like him downplaying his spellwork that had saved both their lives weeks ago, and it certainly explained why he'd taken his duelling loss so hard.
"You're so hard on yourself, Blaise," he murmured. "Be patient and trust yourself."
Blaise's grip around his hand became crushing. Having experienced Urquhart's intimidation tactics prior to Quidditch matches, Harry just about bore it.
"I know. Susan has told me the same," Blaise said, and his grip finally relaxed. "Sorry. I want to be better. For you; for me… I have to be."
Harry frowned. "I'm only this capable out of necessity. Isn't it obvious at this point that I've not led the easiest life?"
"And I won't make things easier for you by being a burden."
"Look, Blaise. Let's be realistic," Harry said, speaking with as much conviction as he could muster. "I'm not expecting you to become Dumbledore overnight. You shouldn't either. What matters is that you're taking things seriously, looking inside yourself and wanting to make improvements. That's more than I can say before we fell off a staircase together. This weird, little partnership of ours… we'll get better together."
"Together," Blaise repeated. He wasn't smiling, but there was a softness in his eyes that was just as good. "You still say the sweetest things, Harry."
Harry blushed. "I know. Less inferiority complex, more superiority complex. It's definitely more fitting for you."
They laughed together.
"It's funny," Blaise remarked as they lay side by side. "I've never really shared a bed like this."
Harry tried not to sound too jealous. "Too busy shagging and leaving?"
Blaise snorted derisively. "You sound like Tracey and Daphne. I'm still here, and I haven't even shagged you yet."
He remembered towards the end of fifth year when Seamus went through a phase of calling everyone a giggly bottom. Harry had learnt a little too much about the fine art of buggery, as Seamus called it, that year. Upon reflection, between the constant pranks, Umbridgitis, and students seeming to lose all inhibitions, the Umbridge era had gotten really strange near the end.
"So, I guess you're a top then?" Harry asked.
"That's a difficult question," Blaise said. "If I had it my way, I'd only top, but I don't mind bottoming on occasion if asked. Verse top, I guess?"
At the question in Harry's eyes, he shrugged. "I don't really like prostate stimulation much."
"What if I'm the same?"
"Then we take turns," Blaise said as if it were obvious. "As much as I want to fuck that beautiful arse of yours, this is your first time with another boy. You should explore all the dirty things we can do together."
"Things were simpler with girls," Harry groaned.
Blaise harrumphed. "Girls? As a Blaise-sexual, you shouldn't even know what a girl is anymore."
"This again, princess?"
"We've had the discussion about my masculinity before, Harry. Has the Dark magic you've suddenly become an expert in come with a complimentary Memory Charm?"
Harry laughed, shaking his head. "Okay, Snape. Are you going to call me a dunderhead next?"
"The ways you insult me, Harry… and there I was about to celebrate our sappy heart-to-heart with a blowjob," Blaise said.
The last word made the playful snipe on the cusp of leaving his mouth fade into nothingness.
"Are you going to make me grovel?" he asked, eyeing Blaise's lips with far more focus than was normal.
Blaise licked his lips at him, and Harry cursed aloud at how obvious he was.
"After me, Harry."
Harry sank into the pillow, praying for sleep to take him. He yelped when Blaise's hand squeezed at the bulge of his erection in his pyjamas.
"Blaise Manuel Salvatore Zabini," Blaise said.
Harry debated going to sleep, but Blaise's dancing eyes convinced him to play along. That and the slow caress of his hand along him.
"Blaise Manuel Salvatore Zabini."
"I'll ignore the terrible pronunciation for now and don't you dare repeat that," Blaise said, warning him with a flat stare.
"Is incredibly handsome, masculine, and blessed with a trouser snake worthy of his House."
Harry snorted. "I'm not saying that."
It wasn't quite despair that filled him when Blaise turned on his side and removed his hand, but it was something close. The sense of loss was similar enough. He downed the rest of his Butterbeer in one and slammed it on the overhead shelf. The only reaction to the loud clink from Blaise was the violent shaking of his shoulders.
"Is incredibly handsome, masculine, and…" Harry was sure he'd never sighed this loudly before in his life, "blessed with a trouser snake worthy of his House."
Blaise turned back to face him, and his eyes were serious this time. "He always knows best where I'm concerned."
"He always knows best where I'm concerned," he repeated in a tone worthy of Snape.
Whatever else Blaise had planned on having him say, Harry didn't give him the chance. He quickly straddled him, settling above his chest.
Blaise peeked up at him through hooded eyes. "Getting frisky, Harry?"
It was probably the alcohol that made him nod so rapidly. There was a devilish smirk on Blaise's face as he began to slide down Harry's pyjamas. His boxers followed in quick succession. Beckoning him forward with a gentle pat of his rear, Harry shuffled forward until his hard cock was within touching distance of Blaise's lips.
Staring up at him as he did so, he licked along the crown of him, intermingling the flat and the tip of his tongue like a painter's brush. Moaning desperately, Harry watched as Blaise proceeded to make sucking dick seem like a fine art.
After licking along his shaft, kissing his balls and driving Harry absolutely insane, he finally took him between his lips. The wet, suckling heat surrounding Harry made him jerk in his mouth, but Blaise's hands settled on his arse, holding him tight. He bobbed along his cock at a lazy pace, swirling his tongue around him and pulling gasps from him with every gentle application of suction.
When Blaise's lips eventually descended to the root of him, taking him into his throat and swallowing around him, Harry's gravelly moan was so loud that Blaise slapped his arse in chastisement. It only made him louder, especially as Blaise continued to take him into the tight, feverish heat of his throat. It didn't take long for him to surrender to the call of orgasm, spurting into Blaise's mouth.
"That was impressive," Harry said after he caught his breath.
Blaise smiled lopsidedly at him after releasing his cock from his sinful mouth. He licked his lips one last time, wholly aware of how arresting Harry found the action.
Harry didn't think he'd ever look at Blaise's full lips the same way.
"I've been told," he said.
"Smug prick," Harry said affectionately.
"If you want, you can return the favour to my smug prick," Blaise said, not missing a beat.
Harry felt it was only fair, and he moved the sheets before settling between Blaise's splayed legs. Settling his hands on Blaise's firm thighs, he took in the lay of the land.
Blaise's cock was intimidating up close, long and fat with a slight upward curve, but he didn't let it faze him. Taking the base of his dark length in hand, he wrapped his lips around his weeping slit, tasting the musky pre that oozed from it in a steady trickle. It wasn't pleasant, but the low groan Blaise let out as his tongue flickered across the purple head was enough to keep him going. Mimicking as Blaise did to him earlier, he kissed along the underside of his shaft, tracing a prominent vein with the tip of his tongue. He followed it to the root of him before proceeding to lave his low-hanging balls.
"Shit," Blaise muttered before his voice was lost to a low groan.
Harry looked up to find Blaise's eyes closed, mouth wide open in his bliss, and he pressed a kiss to the seam of his testicles before ascending back up, placing more feather-light kisses along his length.
"You're doing so good, Harry," Blaise murmured, his hand caressing the back of Harry's head affectionately, "but I want to see your lips around me."
Welcoming Blaise's thick shaft into the hot warmth of his mouth, Harry did his best to keep his teeth covered as he explored what little he'd taken with delicate swipes of his tongue. Harry could feel Blaise's hips twitch underneath his palms, holding back on the urge to thrust. Wrapping his hand back around his thick shaft, Harry began to stroke him in time with his ministrations.
"Careful with your teeth," Blaise muttered as he grazed him once more.
The occasional grazes of teeth became increasingly infrequent as Harry began to navigate Blaise with increasing familiarity. He interspersed suction with occasional detours to lick along the head and the top half of his shaft. As much as it was beginning to make his jaw ache, having to open it this wide, Harry found enjoyment purely based on the twitches of Blaise's hips and his quiet moans. His pleasure only encouraged him.
"I'm close," Blaise eventually hissed.
Harry took his declaration as an indication to up the ante. His hand abandoned the part of Blaise's cock he couldn't yet take, descending to caress his balls, and he began to bob faster along his length. With the loud, wet sounds of Harry's enthusiastic motions, the sight of the repeated disappearance and reappearance of himself within his mouth, and Harry's intent gaze on him, it must have been too much for Blaise. His grip on Harry's head tightened.
After taking Harry's head in his hands, Blaise began to thrust gently into his mouth, meeting his bobbing motions. Every time his cock hit the entrance to his throat, Harry gagged a little and saliva escaped onto his chin. Feeling the tightening of Blaise's balls in his hand, Harry swirled his tongue around his head where he knew him to be most sensitive.
With a loud groan, Blaise came. Harry met every rope of cum that escaped him with a harsh lick of his head, but he was quickly overwhelmed by the thick fluid. Unlike his pre, it didn't taste of much, almost like a slightly bitter salt. Deciding to swallow what he could, Harry conceded he could come to like it.
By the time Blaise's orgasm had finished, trickles of his seed had emerged from between the seal of Harry's lips around his shaft, making long tracks along his chin.
"Sorry," Blaise said, breathing heavily. "It's been a while."
Harry smiled around him. Coupled with the cum and saliva that had escaped during the blowjob, he imagined he looked quite ridiculous.
As Blaise moved to remove his flagging erection, Harry held him still and painstakingly licked him clean. He then proceeded to run his fingers through the cum on his lower face. Blaise stared at him, transfixed, as Harry brought each finger one by one to his mouth, suckling on them. Twitching a little, Blaise's now semi-hard cock made his opinion on the sight very clear.
"Just returning the favour," Harry said politely once he'd finished, as if he'd handed back a pair of socks he'd borrowed.
Blaise roughly pulled him into his lap for a bruising kiss, more teeth if anything. Knowing that he'd affected Blaise in such a way, making him dispense with all form of technique, made Harry feel very pleased with himself. Even if he had to taste the bleachy sharpness of himself.
"You're too sexy for your own good, Harry," he groaned.
He shrugged and didn't even hide his smug smile. "It's a Gryffindor thing."
When Blaise swatted his arse, he didn't even yelp.