May turned into June with a blazing heat and little fanfare. Exams had come and went in the blink of an eye, and the end of term now reared its ugly head ominously. Blaise found himself oddly sad to think that he'd soon be boarding the train to leave.
That thought alone was a powerful testament to how things had changed.
Between Daphne and Antoine's combined efforts, and Tracey working her magic on Parkinson, Slytherin merely simmered at them. Bar Malfoy's impromptu visit to his part of the dorm weeks ago, there had been no actions taken against them, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that some of them weren't reporting every little event of the past months to their families.
The silence from his mother was deafening, and the only indication that she'd received his letter was the lack of Howlers descending upon him. His mother's silence probably didn't bode well for either him or Dumbledore, but with exams having been upon them, he hadn't fixated too hard on it. Between all his private studies and practice, activities, and planning for the infiltration of Umbridge's house, Blaise hadn't had the time. Regardless, Blaise wondered when his mind was idle as to what she was up to, especially when his uncle had responded within days of his letter, detailing that he'd be leaving for Portugal with his wife and daughter in early July.
The Defence Association, as it was now known, had started meeting every other day. It was a testament to how popular the DA was that their numbers had barely dwindled when the testing period for OWLs and NEWTs had begun.
Under the diligent hands of Harry, Hermione and some of the Ravenclaws, it'd evolved into a less hierarchical organisation. Harry acted in more a faciliatory manner, leading all the practical sessions, while Hermione, Sue and Anthony arranged and managed the nascent and increasingly popular Defence Lecture Series. He'd been incredibly dubious of the idea, but they'd had some good talks.
Notable highlights had included Amir and Antoine giving an extensive talk on common poisons along with detection spells that they'd demonstrated on a massive tray of hors d'oeuvres. They'd all had a chance to test the detection spells and eat, for the especially brave, with bezoar aides that Amir had procured. With Antoine's family background, he hadn't been surprised by his interest in poisons, but the easy-going Head Boy had talked about them with a comfortable familiarity that made Blaise second-guess every conclusion he'd made about him. Anthony had shared some knowledge from his great-aunt on MACUSA Auror Forensics. Neville had given a surprisingly interesting talk on Magical Plants in Fortifications, demonstrating the exponential growth of the tough, spell-resistant Ravine Creeper when placed in dank conditions. There was word from Cho Chang of possibly convincing Professor Babbling to give a talk on Runic Magic which wasn't covered in Hogwarts, owing to it being incredibly dangerous if done incorrectly.
Hermione had nominated him to give a talk on Magical Disguise which he was scheduled to give a few days before term ended. Blaise hadn't really argued much; as Harry had told him, it was about time for him to put his vanity to good use.
Duelling with Flitwick had also progressed. They had mini tournaments every week now, pitting themselves against each other with increasing skill and confidence.
Daphne found balance, merging her capacity with fire magic and general curses. Tracey similarly found balance, relying less and less on her golem, though it was becoming increasingly clear she wasn't much of a duellist. Hermione became trickier, throwing and weaving together the most esoteric spells. Ron was a wildcard; some days he was second only to Harry, and others he'd be out in the first round with Tracey.
Harry remained an undefeated, immovable object. Blaise was aware of the auspicious nature of magic, how one's actions and feats could influence their magic, and he was increasingly convinced that Harry's protective and sacrificial nature was reflected in his magic. Wards that Harry could cast in the blink of an eye took others considerable concentration and time. Blaise and Hermione would know, considering they'd both tried pursuing warding, looking for any edge to beat Harry. Blaise was becoming incredibly competitive, and while he didn't take his losses as hard as the first, it still stung to be fighting for second-best with the rest.
With the knowledge of his Supersensory Charm now common, everyone was now using Finite against him to good effect. While he was getting better at casting his signature spell discreetly, no longer needing to so obviously focus, it was uncomfortable to repeatedly go from magically enhanced senses to mundane ones. Now knowing the form of his Patronus, he was seriously considering becoming an Animagus. The benefits of feline dexterity would be useful to his duelling capability, and his uncle, having been schooled at Uagadou where he'd learnt to shift into a caracal, would be able to guide him well enough.
A chorus of shrieks jolted him out of his thoughts. They reached a fever pitch as the crashing roar of a large volume of water hit the lake. Looking down from his spot on the hill, he made out a large group of sixth years, Tracey, Seamus, Parvati and Megan amongst them, wading in the shallows of the lake. They were all soaked.
Running past the bank of the lake, dodging and blocking spells from the disgruntled victims were Daphne and Amir, already creating another monumental wave as they crowed with delighted laughter.
As the shrieks sounded throughout the grounds once more, Blaise acknowledged that as much as he felt he was growing, Daphne was changing the most out of them all. While she was still prone to sedate calm, the moments where she let herself go were increasingly more common.
Hermione crested over the lip of the hill, smiling at him in greeting.
"Okay there, Blaise?" Hermione asked.
Blaise smiled back at her, enlarged his blanket and patted a spot for her to sit beside him. She sat down with an appreciative nod.
"Just thinking," Blaise said. His eyes were fixed on the loud arrival of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Quidditch teams, corkscrewing above the lake in a loose arrow formation, Harry whooping loudest of them all.
Hermione gaze followed his own and hummed. "Things have changed."
"For the better?"
She nodded seriously at him. "For the better, though I'm not sure I approve of them taking their Quidditch friendly out of the pitch."
Blaise thought it was an incredible testament to how relaxed Hermione was that she didn't sound irritated. The exam period had brought a frenzied mania in her that Blaise had found terrifying, but he was glad that she was back to normal.
Their continuing collaboration on her communication project had developed into a surprisingly warm friendship. They both had an appreciation for learning, and Blaise reckoned that she found that refreshing about him, especially when compared to Harry and Ron. They weren't unintelligent by any means, but Harry learned out of necessity and Ron wasn't the academic type. She could be irritating at times, but thinking of his own rude behaviour, not even months back, Blaise knew that he had no room to be critical. Harry's words, long ago spoken at Slug Club, about accepting another's flaws rang in his mind.
He'd been a complete arsehole, an unprincipled coward, but he was learning, and he was better for it. He could have an overinflated ego without bludgeoning others with it.
"I heard you got one hundred and eight percent on the Arithmancy exam. Congratulations," Blaise said.
The exam period had finished yesterday, and they'd received their results at breakfast today. He'd done even better than he'd expected, but with the amount of spell practice he was getting, it made sense.
"Thanks, but I actually got one hundred and five," Hermione said, blushing slightly. "You?"
"Ninety-four. It's an Outstanding at the end of the day, so I'm not too fussed."
They discussed their exam results, idly considering what the NEWT syllabus would bring next year. Padma and Anthony joined them, sharing their own good news and small talk.
When afternoon had turned into early evening, and Padma and Anthony were long gone, Tracey ran up the hill, barefoot and grinning.
"Make room for me," Tracey called.
As Tracey sat on Blaise's other side, a loud boom echoed across the grounds, and they all looked up into the sky. McGonagall was flying towards the large group of fliers over the Forbidden Forest, one hand on her broomstick and the other pointing her wand to her throat.
Blaise was reluctantly impressed at how she didn't wobble or veer an inch.
"I understand we all want to celebrate the end of exams, but there is to be no flying outside of the Quidditch pitch!" McGonagall said, her voice ringing powerfully across the grounds with her Sonorous Charm. "Land immediately."
There was a chorus of groans around the lake as the fliers made their way to the ground.
"I'll go see if they're in trouble," Hermione muttered.
"So, you and Dean?" Blaise asked as soon as she'd left.
Tracey laughed at him. "For a West Ham fan, he's cute and all, but… you're going to laugh at me."
Blaise would be the judge of that.
"Never."
"I'm hoping to go long distance with Richard," she said with a pretty blush. "We've agreed to see each other in August, in Virginia, and see how it goes."
As Blaise took in her far-away eyes, he realised he could never tease her for this. Looking at the green-eyed Gryffindor slowly climbing the hill towards them, he knew he was just as lost.
"If you're happy, I'm happy."
Tracey was silent for a moment, but she eventually gave him a tight hug before getting to her feet. "You're so sweet now."
Blaise responded to her bittersweet smile with one of his own. He'd been so blind.
"In another life, I think," she remarked to herself before nodding at him. "What about you?"
"In another life," he confirmed.
She smiled one last time at him before making her way back down the hill, passing Harry with a smile. Blaise didn't feel like he'd missed out, but the idea of Tracey having had a crush on him, on who he was before, just made him feel sick. It was for the best she'd never voiced it, as he wasn't sure if he'd have been capable of treating her how she deserved.
"Hey," Harry murmured as he got comfortable on the blanket beside him, eyes twinkling mischievously at him.
The summer was proving generous to Harry. He was growing taller, closing in on six foot, and the pallor he'd had was fading. The healthy tan that he'd had prior to fifth year was making a welcome re-emergence.
Blaise smiled back. "Hey, you."
"Missed you on the pitch."
"As if you'd stand a chance against me," Blaise said with a smirk.
Harry wrestled him onto his back, straddling his groin, and Blaise just cradled his head in his hands, looking up at his boyfriend's roguish smile.
"That's what you really think?" Harry asked.
The sheer incredulity in his voice made Blaise laugh.
"I could be convinced to the right side of things with a kiss," he said with a challenging lift of his brow.
With Harry holding him down by his shoulders, Blaise had no means of escape, not that he wanted to, from their ensuing snog.
"Oi! Think of the children!" Dean called as they separated.
Thinking more of McGonagall who was still flying off in the distance, Blaise sat upright, bringing Harry with him, and stole one last kiss.
"Dean, were you thinking of the children before I taught you how to fix that line-up of yours?" Blaise shouted back.
Dean grinned at him, even as Seamus elbowed him with a guffaw. "And I'm very grateful!"
Dean had been effusive in his thanks, telling Blaise of his previous failures to fix it with magic. Apparently, Seamus had somehow managed to set his eyebrows on fire when he'd tried, which was a failure of such proportions that it made Blaise's mind spin.
Dean's hair had been an embarrassment to them both. Blaise knew it hadn't been out of choice, considering Dean always had a fresh haircut at the beginning of the year or after holidays, so Blaise had decided he wouldn't just let the Gryffindor walk around like that after they'd established a tentative rapport. At the time, he'd acted thinking that Tracey deserved only the best. With his now sharp fade, he was almost acceptable for a West Ham fan.
Blaise mentally patted himself on the back. Another disaster largely fixed.
Looking down at the Gryffindor comfortable in his lap, he half-considered doing something about Harry's hair, but he decided that the chaotic mess of it had a certain charm of its own.
Feeling a soft smile cross his lips, Blaise accepted that he really was getting soft.
"Have you given any thought to the summer holidays?" Blaise asked.
Despite the news that his uncle was returning to Portugal and the looming funeral in Italy, his mind had been brimming with plans. He'd finally take Harry on a date, and his mind swirled with possibilities – a romantic dinner at the Grande Fontana degli Undine, dining under the graceful movements and artistry of undine acrobats, the world-famous Florentine Museum or even a quiet evening in his mother's villa. Perhaps they'd take a Portkey to France, and he'd show him the Magical Quarter of Paris. They could even just stay in Muggle London.
There were so many possibilities, and he wanted to share them all with Harry. There was a world out there worth seeing, bigger than Hogwarts and the looming threat of the Dark Lord, and Blaise wanted to share it with him.
"Dursleys, I guess?"
Blaise swallowed down his immediate animosity that Harry's relatives provoked from him. They made him reconsider his opinion on Muggle-baiting; it was still a complete waste of time and beneath him, but there were some Muggles who were more than deserving.
"Given any thought to spending some of it with me?" he asked.
Harry shuffled about in his lap. "If you'll have me."
"Don't be ridiculous," Blaise said. "I'll be going back to Italy this summer as my uncle is leaving London, so I'll have to ask my mother to set up Portkeys for us."
"I'd like that," Harry said.
They smiled at each other, and it took Blaise a considerable effort to not roll him over. There was something about Harry that just made him stop giving a shit about his image.
They shared their moment for a while longer before Harry reached for his broomstick. Taking it from where he'd placed it on the grass, he stood up.
Harry straightened out his clothing. "I need to go and return my broom to the dorm. I'll see you in a bit for the last-minute preparations for tomorrow."
Blaise offered a salute. "See you later, Captain."
Harry smiled cheekily at him as he disappeared back down the hill.
Checking his watch, Blaise noted that he had over an hour before it was time to prepare for the last run-through of the Umbridge heist. He was about to lie back on his blanket to enjoy the sun while he could when the crunching of grass drew his attention. Ron was approaching him, determination personified.
"Mind if I have a word?" he asked.
Blaise had been expecting this conversation for weeks. He'd mentally prepared himself for it, so after assenting, he led them far away from their year-mates.
"Say what you have to, Ron."
The redhead didn't waste a second.
"I don't really understand what Harry sees in you, honestly," Ron said. Blaise followed his gaze towards the large crowd of sixth years disappearing up the stone steps back to the school. "I could maybe understand Tracey – she's nice. But you…"
Blaise tilted his head curiously at him. "You think I have no redeeming qualities?"
"I wouldn't go that far," Ron said. "You're just… nothing like my sister."
Blaise bit back every spiteful retort he had in response to that.
"Have you tried asking Harry why he likes evil ol' me?" Blaise asked in a light tone. "I'll assume the only reason we have this fragile peace is because you haven't asked."
Ron scowled at him. "Beyond snogging at a minute's notice, why does he like you then?"
Blaise wisely didn't bring up Hermione's stories of Ron and Lavender flailing about in the Common Room.
"Me and Harry do talk, you know," Blaise said drily. "I think you have the impression that I'm just using him for a shag. If that was all I wanted, I think I'd have chosen someone less problematic to my House."
And more experienced. After Smith, Blaise had sworn off bicurious boys entirely, but Harry was well worth the effort of teaching.
"I've heard enough from Terry to know what type of person you are," Ron said.
Blaise wondered if Terry had mentioned that he'd been clear from the start that if Terry caught feelings, he was out. Terry wasn't a malicious person, so Blaise concluded that Ron simply didn't understand the arrangement.
"And what type of person would that be?" he asked.
Ron thought it over for a long moment. "A… a scarlet man? That doesn't quite work, does it?"
Blaise prided himself on speaking English to native proficiency, in addition to Italian and European Portuguese, but Ron had lost him.
He stared at him, uncomprehending. "What?"
"Never mind," Ron ground out, looking as if he wanted the ground to swallow him up. "I'm honestly just waiting for the other shoe to drop with you."
"What would that entail?"
Ron shrugged. "You know what I mean."
Blaise didn't but something made him think it was a reference to his mother. He was impressed with himself for not calling Ron an outright idiot, but he decided he'd indulge his need to be snide in a more diplomatic fashion.
"I suppose I'll help you out," Blaise said. "Do you want to know my nefarious, Death Eater inspired plans for Harry?"
Ron, knowing he was taking the piss, just sighed.
"As soon as the summer holidays are here, I plan on speed dialling the Dark Lord, Ron," Blaise said.
At the unfamiliar Muggle terminology, the Gryffindor's expression became confused.
"It's like Floo but without facial expressions, okay?" Blaise said. Once Ron nodded hesitantly, he continued, already feeling the laughter bubbling in his throat. "The Dark Lord will be deeply interested in finding out that the prophecy was actually about Harry's newly acquired tan."
His growing smirk grew lecherous. "It continues well below his neck to – "
"Okay, okay," Ron said, hands held up and blushing. "I get it."
Blaise let himself chuckle.
"I'm going to prove you wrong, Ron," Blaise said after he finished laughing. "It's okay if you refuse to believe it. Just keep your irritating assumptions to yourself."
Ron shook his head. "I'll believe it when I see it. Hermione may be convinced by you, but it's going to take more than you playing nice to convince me."
Blaise nodded. He could accept that, but that didn't mean he was appreciative.
"Knowing that I was a complete prick in the past, I'm willing to put up with a lot of your hassle," Blaise said.
Ron snorted at him, but Blaise was undeterred. Stepping up to Ron and looking him in the eye, the coldness of Blaise's tone surprised even himself when he spoke. "But the next time you disrespect me by implying I have some evil plan for Harry or some other inane bullshit, I'll make sure you regret it."
Despite the inch or two that Ron had on him, Blaise met his challenging scowl readily. It was nothing compared to Greyback. Blaise knew he was in better shape. He knew that he had a faster draw speed than Ron, so if it came down to a fight, or a duel, he wasn't particularly afraid.
He had a winning record on Ron, after all.
"Oh yeah?"
Blaise nodded stiffly. "If after two months of knowing me you still think I'm on Malfoy's level, I don't know what else to say to you. I was a prick, not a Death Eater."
Blaise may be accepting of select people being openly critical of himself, but he wasn't going to turn into a doormat for everyone.
"And are you sorry about that?"
Blaise swallowed a little, feeling the shame like a bludger in his throat. "Honestly? Yes, I am."
Ron nodded to himself, and his harshness softened ever-so-slightly. They glared at each other for a few seconds more before Ron sighed, stepping back with a little shake of his head.
"I hear you."
"Good."
Blaise was sure they'd never be friends, but watching the gangly Gryffindor stalk away, Blaise felt he could at least respect him for his misguided loyalty to Harry and his sister. He could offer him that much.
He returned to his blanket, lying back down without a sound.
He looked down at the simple, silver bracelet he'd threaded the phoenix feather of his father's wand along, an echo of his father to carry with him forward. It'd been a gift from Daphne, a token and testament to the deepening of their friendship. With Daphne's birthday being two weeks before Harry's, he was already brainstorming potential gifts he could get her. Something to truly underscore his appreciation for her.
Holding his wand up to eye-level, allowing the powerful sun to illuminate its lustrous surface, he took in the previously despised sight of its bleached-out colour. At this point, it was more comfortable than his father's wand had ever been, even with pointcasting being quite difficult, and that realisation continued to hurt him somewhat. Yet it wasn't pain borne of grief; Dumbledore's kind words, as much as he despised the man, had given him a constructive way to accept his loss. No, it hurt to realise that his mother had been right all those years ago.
He should have listened.
Beech, the wood for those of tolerant mind and rich in experience. With his magic performing more readily and with greater ease than ever, his friendships more real than they'd ever been, and the prevailing sense of ennui fading, Blaise knew how much he'd changed. Learning to co-exist with others, with himself, had been the most important thing that Harry had taught him. Beyond saving his life, Harry had saved him from himself.
With all that in mind, he got to his feet, picked up his things and chased after the tiny red-haired dot in the distance.
He caught up to Ron in the Entrance Hall, panting slightly.
"May as well walk together to this meeting," Blaise said after he'd caught his breath.
Ron merely nodded, not saying a word, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face. Blaise met it with his own.
As they made their way to the abandoned classroom for their final run-through of the plan, Blaise appreciated that their silence was more comfortable than he'd expected.
Ron took the empty seat at the table between Hermione and Tracey, while Blaise took the other beside Harry and Daphne. There was a strange finality in the air as they prepared to run through the plan that was more than a month in the making.
"Is there peace between you two now?" Harry asked.
Blaise should have known that Harry had pushed this.
He smirked at Ron. "We have an understanding."
"Great," Harry said, grinning at them both. "Let's go through the plan one last time. Tracey?"
"I'll be at Hogwarts," Tracey said, "and I'll let you know if anyone grows suspicious."
"I'll be taking Floo from the apothecary at Hogsmeade to the Ministry. I'll aim to time my arrival around two fifty-five, knowing that Umbridge finishes on Sundays at three," Daphne explained.
With nearly every apothecary in Britain under Daphne's father's thumb due to his position on the Potion Reagents Regulatory Board, Daphne was best placed to be the one to go to the Ministry directly. She wouldn't need a disguise to meet her father for an innocent father-daughter chat, after all.
She retrieved a small opalescent vial, filled with a milky orange liquid, from her silken bag and held it up to the light.
"Slow-acting sleeping potion. Amir made it – he estimates it will kick in after fifteen to thirty minutes, and it'll give you maybe an hour to search her house," Daphne said.
Harry nodded. "And you're absolutely certain it'll work?"
"Absolutely. I'll just spell it into her stomach," Daphne said. "We tested it on some toads; Amir thought it would be appropriate after I told him who we're using it on."
There was a chorus of laughter from them all.
"We'll be going to Umbridge's home," Ron said, looking at the rest of them.
Daphne cleared her throat. "Has the issue regarding the ward scheme been resolved?"
"Me and Blaise have been studying the ward scheme Slughorn gave us," Harry said. "We think the Ministry will only be alerted in the event they completely fail, so we've been testing ways to get around that."
"Partial, localised failure," Blaise confirmed. "Harry's been practicing on wards I've been making. Obviously, they won't be as strong as what a Ministry contractor could create, but I'm confident Harry will be able to replicate his success."
"Make sure you take the time to search her house," Daphne said. "She's notoriously unpopular; she likely has plenty of blackmail material."
"Could be useful," Tracey said.
"Locket first though," Hermione added, "and with regards to communication."
She passed around the notebooks that had been their constant project for the past month. They were still in the prototype stage, but they were still functional.
"They're customizable – you can change the appearance. They're also limitless, so they'll never run out of pages. Unfortunately, we couldn't find a way to give the Protean Charm greater permanence – it'll last a month, max."
Ron gave them both an impressed look. With a flick of his wand, he changed his book cover a brilliant orange.
"I was responsible for security," Blaise said. "I managed to adapt some letter curses – anyone who is not bound to a notebook will be burnt. Severely. If the curse is removed, the notebook will self-combust."
Harry opened his notebook, flicking through it aimlessly. "And what do you mean by bound?"
"The most difficult part was finding a permanent and secure way to prove user identification," Blaise said. "Eventually, we decided on a blood binding like the ones used in Eastern Europe for anti-fraud in legal contracts. The best part is that if a notebook is destroyed and you blood bind a new one, it retains memory of the previous one."
"We can keep the messages across each notebook?" Daphne asked.
Blaise and Hermione nodded at her.
"Good old Darrow," Hermione said with a nostalgic smile.
Thinking of the long afternoon they'd spent in the Library, assessing each binding within the book for their purposes, Blaise echoed her.
With a prick of their thumbs with conjured quills, they all allowed a single drop of blood to fall onto their own books. Blaise and Hermione roamed the table, casting the necessary incantation for the binding.
"Test it," Hermione said. "We also managed to work out a way for you to write with just your finger."
Harry James Potter: Let's see.
Blaise Manuel Salvatore Zabini: Fairly sure I fixed that issue.
Ronald Bilius Weasley: At the lofty price of two Triwizards.
Blaise Manuel Salvatore Zabini: When this is all over, I'll petition the Ministry to make that a new coin denomination.
Daphne Eugenia Greengrass: Best of luck with that.
Tracey Lian Zhang-Davis: Your middle name remains incredibly Mafia don, Blaise.
Harry James Potter: I did watch Goodfellas with my cousin once, so I have to agree.
Hermione Jean Granger: Back to the planning, I think!
Blaise glared at Tracey for reopening that can of worms, especially around another person who'd been raised around Muggles. Going by the grins Tracey and Harry were sharing, he may be dealing with the fallout for a while.
"It clearly works," Daphne said. "Well done, you two."
Blaise took a mock bow, while Hermione instead eyed him, Tracey and Daphne with careful consideration.
"I think it's time we swear the Sacrosanct of Oaths, Harry," Hermione declared. "We don't need a building for that, unlike the other Rites."
Harry's expression tightened for a second before he nodded.
"I think you're right," he said before turning to the Slytherins. "We're making a guild. Interested?"
"I knew it," Blaise said, triumph in his voice. "You've got me, Harry."
"I don't see why not," Tracey said with a daring smile.
Daphne was slower to agree, but her tone was amiable. "Sure but please explain this Sacrosanct of Oaths."
"There are three steps to forming a guild: The Rite of Renewal is for the dedication of a guildhall and the Rite of Pledging outlines the commitments of the guild as long as the guildhall remains intact. The Sacrosanct of Oaths, however, is what you swear when you join a guild. It's largely ceremonial but linked with the Rite of Pledging. We don't have to do them in order – as long as our intent is pure, the authenticity of our oaths true, it'll all be fine in the end."
"Like the old covens of Anglo-Saxon witches centuries ago," Daphne remarked. "Very well. I'll join."
"Place your wands on the table," Hermione said, leading by example. "Now, take the hand of your neighbours."
They all did as ordered.
"Now, we enter communion," Hermione said. Her voice was incredibly soothing as she continued to instruct them. "Think of the most powerful and draining spell you've ever performed. Focus on how you had shaped your magic and how it felt when it left you, because I want you to bring that feeling to the fore."
Blaise inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, thinking of his first Patronus. He could feel his magic following an imaginary spiral motion, and he focused on latching onto that feeling.
"With that internalised, I want you to share that feeling with your neighbours and then with the rest of the table."
Blaise barely stifled his moan when he felt it. It was like Harry was in his very veins, in his skin, leaving Daphne to his right a forgotten, peripheral presence. It felt horribly erotic, feeling Harry's magic caress his own. When he opened his eyes, Harry was staring back at him and biting his lip. He could feel the others, but none of them had the same intensity or sensuality of Harry.
"Oh!" Tracey said with a bell-like laugh. "That feels strange."
"That's so weird," Ron muttered, though he was blushing violently.
"A little," Hermione said with a strange, little giggle.
"There's a reason communion-based magic is considered incredibly intimate," Daphne said, sounding even more unaffected than Tracey. "It takes a lot of trust to freely exchange one's magic. For those of us who are… involved, it can be rather intense. Magic mirrors our choices, after all."
Blaise nodded understandingly, even as he desperately willed his erection to fade.
Hermione reached into her bag, retrieving the massive binding dictionary (because of course she had it on her), and placed it in front of Harry with a dull thump. After she'd re-joined hands and a long moment of silence from her, Blaise felt her magic re-enter their communion.
"Just recite the words from here to here," she said, nodding at the text.
"I come to you as a fellow supplicant, both seeking and representing a sacred cause," Harry recited.
As if magic itself sought to entreat with them all, the light within the classroom extinguished itself. Before the darkness could take root, their wands, abandoned on the table, flew into the air and lit in unison. They were all bathed in their bright, fey light.
Harry's voice thrummed with an otherworldly quality as he spoke.
"As we have assembled today, so did the wizard kings of Magical Egypt, so did the earliest incarnation of the Roman Empire's Forum of Magi, and so did the Seekers of the Way of Heaven in Ancient China. Wizards and witches of antiquity have come together in union, and we will say as they did, do as they did. We will follow in their footsteps. My friends, will you do so?"
Blaise felt magically compelled to answer, yet he had the feeling if he didn't wish to, nothing would happen. In the face of Harry's cool, determined expression, he responded with the rest of the table with equal conviction.
"To pledge oneself to a cause is to declare it sacrosanct; both immutable and transcendent. Truth will be the foundation of our mutual trust, fidelity will be the foundation of our bonds, and prudence will be our guide. If these virtues are those you aspire to, repeat as I have said."
It was as if Harry's magic was guiding them all in their echo of his words, making their memories perfect and cadences synchronised.
"Then take solace in my presence, as I will take solace from yours, for we share a common cause and there is an auspicious power in that. Our cause and oaths will bind us all."
Tracey stared at the blue threads that appeared over their hands, and Blaise could feel her presence receding as her concentration faded.
"Maintain communion," Daphne ordered.
Harry nodded. "Focus."
"We can speak freely under this bubble, but you'll be compelled to tell the truth," Hermione said. She looked at them all seriously. "Please don't risk lying; Darrow doesn't describe the penalties, but I wouldn't want us to risk it."
"All we need to do now is to recite the oath I've prepared," Harry said, "but it's considered a good omen for each oath-swearer to add their own words."
"I'll go first then," Daphne announced. Her long hair bounced with the fierceness of her nod. "To a better world for my sister."
Her wand's light flared before growing dim.
Feeling their eyes upon him, Blaise followed suit. "To the correct choices." The gentle, encouraging brush of Harry's magic against him rallied him. "To a future worth fighting for."
His own wand followed Daphne's example.
"To our safety and Voldemort's inevitable defeat," Harry said after squeezing his hand.
"To a world without blood supremacy," Tracey said.
Ron shrugged. "What Harry said, but I guess we'd best fix the Ministry too while we're at it."
The serious moment was broken as scattered laughter escaped them all. Hermione's smile at her boyfriend was long-suffering, but somehow affectionate all the same, especially when Ron smiled warmly back.
She cleared her throat importantly before offering her own oath. "For a more equitable society and towards Harry's success over Vol – Voldemort."
"As one, we commit ourselves to the ultimate death of Voldemort, the remedying of injustice throughout this country, and to the safety of those deserving." Harry looked at them all in turn, and Blaise felt himself sit up, ramrod straight, when his intense gaze fell on him. "We are the Vanguard, for we shall lead where others have failed."
They repeated his words perfectly, a chorus of surety in the dim darkness.
Without warning, the blue threads around their wrists vanished, and their wands fell to the table in a series of clacks. The lanterns and torches throughout the classroom reignited, restoring normalcy and bringing with it a sombreness that seemed to reaffirm their commitment.
He could feel them all, even now. Despite their communion now broken, their magic lingered in his senses, leaving him with a niggling sensation like being watched. Blaise was rather sure it was permanent as well.
Oath bindings were strange in that way.
Looking around at his neighbours, taking in their grim and determined faces, Blaise accepted that his commitment to Harry was truly real now. His commitment to his friends was truly real now. But he was ready, and there would be no turning back now. There was only forward for one who claimed to be one of the Vanguard, and he knew that in his magic and in his soul.
Umbridge's home was a small manor house just outside of Oxford. It was unremarkable in the sense that it had little to no character to it, showing little indications of her blackened soul. The garden was well-maintained with azaleas and begonias teeming from the bushes, and the path leading to the country road was tastefully paved.
It wasn't Unplottable but knowing the extent of the ward scheme made inching beyond the threshold of the path's entrance seem like a fool's errand.
They waited in silence for several minutes before his notebook burned in his pocket, and he opted to look over Hermione's shoulder with Ron as she was their designated correspondent.
Daphne Eugenia Greengrass: I've done my part. She'll be taking Floo to her home any moment now. Good luck.
Tracey's input came seconds later.
Tracey Lian Zhang-Davis: Some of the sixth years are curious about your absence, Pansy amongst them, but nothing strange on my end.
Hermione hurriedly scrawled down their acknowledgment as they inched along the ward-line. The feel of its forbidding magic was unsettling, not unlike the icy touch of a Dementor's presence, but they waited for Harry to give the indication to stop.
"Here," Harry whispered.
Watching Harry work with wards never failed to awe Blaise. Whether it was casting or breaking them, he had an affinity for them that he imagined few could match. With their guild link, Blaise could feel Harry's magic almost sliding across the wards, inspecting them.
It didn't take long for a rush of wind to buffet them and Harry was murmuring for them to go in.
Blaise strode into Umbridge's home, deadly serious, with wand at the ready. Ron and Hermione flanked him as they crossed the small foyer, passing a pink, chintzy armchair and a coat stand laden in similarly pink overcoats.
They found Umbridge on the parlour floor, snoring loudly on her back. She was surrounded by a large gaggle of cats, ranging in size from munchkin kittens to full-grown Kneazles. One orange munchkin gave a pitiful mew before batting at the unconscious witch.
Ron eyed them carefully as they began to surround them, brushing against them and meowing loudly. "Worth stunning the Kneazles, you think?"
"Unless she's harbouring an Animagus, no," Blaise replied.
He nudged a particularly insistent tabby away with his foot. He'd burn his trousers when he got back; any creature that had regular contact with Umbridge was tainted beyond reckoning.
"You have a cat, Hermione," Ron said. "Any chance you can conjure us some catnip?"
He nodded approvingly at the redhead. They watched Hermione lure the cats into the adjoining kitchen in silence. Once free of Umbridge's… pets, they advanced upon the witch.
Blaise lifted the necklace at Umbridge's flabby neck to the light with a Levitation Charm. As they inspected Slytherin's locket in silence, the nearby lamplight began to flicker and that same ominous feeling he'd felt in the shop rose to the fore.
He didn't know what was so important about this locket, but it was definitely cursed.
"Geminio," he whispered.
A perfect double appeared in his hand, and with a Switching Spell, the fake was around Umbridge's neck and the cursed one in his hand.
It felt like something within it wanted to leap inside him, to feed on his insecurities and prey on his pride. He ignored it.
"You can feel it, can't you?" Ron mumbled.
"It feels wrong. Dark as anything," Blaise said. He stared at the unassuming piece of jewellery, wondering what made it tick. "What is it?"
"That's for Harry to tell you," Hermione said.
Ron nodded, and Blaise's need for answers from Harry intensified. He'd been willing to be patient, but this locket made him incredibly uneasy.
He'd have his answers, sooner rather than later.
Leaving Umbridge to her own devices, they went up the stairs to the office detailed in the floorplan Slughorn had obtained. Ron and Hermione settled with rifling through her wooden cabinets while Blaise busied himself at her desk.
"Look here," Ron said.
"She… she kept it as a trophy," Hermione whispered.
She sounded on the verge of being sick.
"What is it?"
Blaise didn't wait for them to explain before he rushed over. Looking at the parchment, his eyes fell upon the red script. Blood. The locket almost fell to the floor before he caught himself.
He'd recognise Harry's handwriting anywhere.
I must not tell lies
I must not tell lies
I must not tell lies
And it continued hundreds of times.
He snatched the parchment from Ron, and the violent rush of rage that filled him made the locket in his hand pulse. He burnt the parchment. As he shook the embers from his fingers, his hand trembled in his fury.
"Easy," Ron murmured, but his eyes were as hard as Blaise imagined his own were.
"There's no telling whether or not she did anything with Harry's blood," Hermione murmured.
"I'm trying not to consider murder right now, Hermione," Blaise spat. "You're not helping."
It wouldn't be particularly difficult. Even a simple Diffindo could do it, never mind the Dark spell he'd learnt from Harry's Potions book. It was incredibly tempting, and he was only further encouraged by the sibilant whispers in the darkest recesses of his mind.
Without another word, not trusting himself to keep his temper in check, he returned to the cabinet. The locket's influence did not ebb. Blaise had none of his careful calm as he continued his search, yanking drawers to their maximum extent and scrunching parchment. When the wood of the top drawer warped after one particularly strong pull, he found a little hidden niche, but it was empty.
"Incanto revelio," he whispered.
It was trivial to remove the pathetic wards Umbridge had created, and he found a collection of letters in the poorly hidden compartment. It was the usual garbage for someone like Umbridge; bribes from lower ranked officials, copies of saccharine missives she'd sent to Cornelius Fudge, but there was one thing that caught his attention. There were a series of letters to and from Yaxley dating back to late May.
He was a known 'Imperius victim'.
With every word he read of their correspondence, the nervous anxiety that he had been a companion during his fight with Greyback made a slow reappearance. It was like a leaden weight in his stomach. The intangible whispers of the locket in his mind intensified, but his murderous rage was nowhere to be found.
This… this was sick.
"Hermione," Blaise said. His voice was completely foreign to himself, frail and shaky.
Ron stopped his rifling through her cabinets and looked up at him, curious. "You alright, mate?"
He shook his head. "You both should come and read this."
Hermione showed little reaction beyond the narrowing of her eyes as she read. Ron did so over her shoulder, and his face grew paler and paler with every passing moment.
When Hermione slammed the papers on the desk, visibly shaking, Blaise blocked the way downstairs. He knew exactly what she was going to do, wanted to do, and he didn't begrudge her. Regardless, they needed to maintain their focus.
"Get out of my way, Blaise," Hermione spat.
Blaise watched with affected calm, because one of them had to be, as Ron had to restrain her. She heaved in Ron's arms, fighting to rush down into Umbridge's parlour and do what someone else should have done long ago.
"The Muggleborn Registration Commission. Concentration camps," she cried. "For those deemed to be less magically inclined, the Dementor's kiss."
She blinked tears out of her eyes, and the worst part was that Blaise was sure that they were representative of her fury.
Grabbing the letters once more, she brandished them at the two of them. "Why does she hate Muggleborns so much?"
"Hermione," Ron said, and his voice was raw. "We have her plans. We'll get justice on both her and this Yaxley."
After undoing the chaos they'd wrought in their search and making doubles of all her documents, they descended the stairs to the parlour. Blaise barely managed to hear Hermione's heated whisper of 'I shouldn't have told Dumbledore about the centaurs' when the deafening shriek of the Caterwauling Charm filled the air. It was a terrible omen for Harry, so it was with a harsh jab of his wand that he erased the charm.
They had perhaps five minutes to leave.
"Deal with her," Blaise said once the only noise was the incessant yowling of the cats and his own heavy breathing.
He didn't even blink as he passed the parlour, hearing Ron stunning the feebly stirring woman, nor when Hermione followed up with an Obliviate. It was more than she deserved.
Weaving past a hideous vase, emblazoned in munchkin cats, he kicked open the front door to the house and sprinted down the path to where they'd left Harry. It was only half a minute at full sprint, but it may as well have been an hour with how all-encompassing his worry was.
There was nothing but blasted dirt where Harry had been interacting with the wards. The feel of his magic, like a sharp tang in the air, was faint.
"Fuck!" he hissed to himself.
Hermione and Ron joined him moments later, huffing and puffing, and their faces when they took in where Blaise's gaze was were equally drawn in worry.
Hermione's wand flew into the elaborate wand motion that Anthony had shown them, and a golden panorama appeared, depicting an unaware figure surrounded by four others. Harry had been so deep in his concentration to maintain the weakness in the wards that he hadn't had a chance.
"They have Harry," Ron gasped, white as a sheet.
The terror that his burst of adrenaline had muffled finally leapt into his chest as he stared at the live rendition of the ambush. Hermione scrawled frantically in her notebook with Ron's arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulder, yet Blaise's eyes couldn't tear themselves from the replay that always ended with Harry's unconscious form on the ground before he was Apparated away.
Hermione Jean Granger: Tracey, find Dumbledore, find Flitwick or McGonagall if you must, and tell him that Harry has been taken by forces unknown. We're on our way back.
The locket in his fist was a meagre prize for the price they'd paid, and he prayed desperately that wherever Harry was, he was at least still alive.