Chapter 38: The séance

Ginny fought an involuntarily shiver and looked around confused. "What – what is happening?"

Blaise's expression darkened. "My mother..."

"Your –" Bewildered, she was stopped short by a sudden gust of cold air from the open balcony doors. Inside, the frivolity had stopped and all eyes were directed towards some unknown point at the other end of the room. She did a sharp intake of breath. This felt too familiar, too alike another unwelcomed presence commanding her mind years ago... "Blaise," instinctively she took hold of his shirt front, to grab his attention and, also, to steady herself. "Tell me what is going on."

He narrowed his gaze towards the ballroom. "My mother," he repeated. "She has started her séance."

She blinked and made an abortive noise; halfway between a thin laugh and a wheeze. "What, like blood sacrifices?" When Blaise's brow only tightened, she promptly swallowed her half-hearted joke and stared up at him, eyes wide, grip tensing on his shirt. "You're not serious?!"

"I wouldn't put it past her." Something in his tone made her blood run cold. Whatever his mother was up to, it was not good. "It was her plan all along; to come here tonight and conduct her ceremony," he murmured; his features hard as if silently berating himself for only just realizing it now.

"Ceremony? What – Blaise!" Ginny floundered when he stepped forward and out of her grip. What was he talking about? "Blaise, wait! What are you doing?" She reached his side and he paused, mouth flattening into a firm line, and clenched his fists.

"I have to stop her."

The words settled like a stone in her stomach. Gingerly, she touched the place where his sleeve met the skin of his wrist, feeling the tendons flexing and straining. "Blaise, please let me in on what is going on. I want to help."

His gaze snapped to hers. "Help?"

Her brows knitted. Did he really not expect her to have his back after the events they'd been through together these past months? "Of course. Whatever it is."

A shadow of guarded confusion crossed his face, eyebrows pinched together, as if her unconditional offer of help was something incomprehensible. For a moment she thought he was about to say something but his face closed off once more. "You don't have to stick around for my sake, Weasley." She flinched at his deliberately brusque tone as his eyes cut away.

"I'm not–"

He cut off her injections with impassive force. "I understand if you would want to go home after this."

Her frown deepened. "No, Blaise, that's not–"

"Given what my mother has subjected you to already–"

"She hasn't subjected me to anything!" she protested. "Nothing that I haven't already heard!" He winced, despite himself. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she loosened her scowl. He was being deliberately obstinate to accept any help. "Listen, whatever your mother is planning, I'm not leaving. Not now. Not when there's clearly something up," she shot him a scrutinizing look. "I've not seen you like this since Theo got himself into that fight..." Realizing she was heading into uneasy territory, she trailed off. "And, well, I wouldn't want to just let you face your mother alone. In case there is trouble."

In truth, she was sure he could handle his mother quite well on his own. He probably should. It wasn't her business, after all.

But she couldn't just leave. They had an unspoken agreement, hadn't they? About sticking together when trouble came their way (which, it seemed, was a frequent, unavoidable occurrence).

Blaise turned his gaze back to her; and there was a flash of something different in his eyes now but it was gone too soon and she couldn't be sure it wasn't just a trick of the light. It still rattled her, though. It was not difficult to imagine the little boy who had witnessed the flick of his mother's perfectly manicured hands or sharp roll of those lilac eyes, brushing him off; ignoring him once more. Cold dread set in as Ginny briefly wondered if Mrs. Zabini had ever physically laid a hand on him–

A deep, rumbling crack resounded in the air, jerking them both from their respective reveries; the sudden sign of thunder despite the cloudless nightsky.

Blaise grasped her wrist, not unkindly, and addressed her hurriedly. "Listen, whatever happens in there; promise me that you'll stay close. Don't do anything foolish!"

What? Foolish? "But I –"

He squeezed her wrist. "Promise me, Ginny!"

He spoke her name, low and urgently, and seeing the burning look in his eyes immediately snapped her mouth shut. A million questions raced through her mind but all she could mutter, perplexed, was: "O-okay. I promise."

He held her gaze a moment longer, loosening his hold on her wrist without letting go, and straightened to his full height.

"Come on." The slight nudge of his hand propelled her to follow his lead and they proceeded to step inside the now deserted ballroom. Blaise was starring stiffly ahead of him, his usually unperturbed brow set in deep folds, as they moved determinedly albeit warily towards the other end of the hall where a couple of double doors had been opened. They revealed an adjacent, shadowed room and an enclosure of people who had gathered there.

Ginny couldn't make out what held the guests' attention so intently but the closer she and Blaise came, the more cloying the air turned; a heavy incense filling her nostrils, making her skin crawl. An ominous pull of Dark Magic on the cusp of being summoned seemed to emanate from within and the complete stillness of the spectators did not escape her. She felt Blaise squeeze her wrist briefly. He must have sensed it too.

Were they too late?

As they pushed their way inside the crowded room (Blaise doing most of the shouldering given his size), they finally came to the scene that held everybody captivated: True enough, Blaise's mother was seated at a large, round table, surrounded by her entourage who were chanting lowly in an odd tongue. In front of them hovered different objects and talismans that Ginny vaguely recognized from her DADA lessons; they were frequently used in spell-casting among those who sought to dabble in Dark Magic.

A tremor traveled up her arms. Most Dark summonings had been banned globally since the war, but she knew they still took place in secret.

Covertly, she peered around the mesmerized faces of the spectators and realized they looked intrigued rather than apprehensive. Actually, they looked almost...excited.

Was this the true purpose of them coming here tonight? Would Aurelia really have allowed such a thing to take place under her roof? Was she even aware what was happening in her own home right now?

The matriarch herself was once again nowhere to be seen. Which was odd. Or maybe just convenient?

Before Ginny could contemplate it any further, her attention was pulled back to the center of the scene where Mrs. Zabini's eyes now were closed and her lips moved wordlessly along as the collective chant grew higher in volume. Only now, Ginny realized Mrs. Zabini was cradling something in her hands; an object of sorts that she was whispering the strange words to. Suddenly, her violet eyes snapped open, except they were no longer violet but completely black.

"Only darkness will give way to sight," she began reciting in a possessed voice, raising the hair at the back of Ginny's neck. The woman's black eyes rolled up and backwards, hands still cradling the mysterious object reaching up. "Strength at will, blood of blood. From the power within, it shall pass through. It shall gather here, show itself in this circle, beckoned as promised."

The ring of participants kept chanting, their necks craning and tipping backwards as each object hovering in front of them started whirring and spinning. The cold air returned from out of nowhere.

Ginny and Blaise's eyes met briefly, sharing a troubled look between them. There was little they could do now. As an outsider, interfering with a Dark summoning – which this appeared to be – was highly risky for everyone involved. Only the owner of the house in which a séance takes place could rightfully break it up. And said person was presently nowhere in sight.

Blaise's fingers found Ginny's wrist, almost cautiously seeking out her palm, and without second thought she interlocked her hand with his, sensing its slight tremble and acted on a desire to grip it more tightly. Stiltedly, they turned their attention back to the eerie scene across from them as Mrs. Zabini started chanting loudly in time with the circle's increased murmuring:

"I dare the dead to deny me this! I dare the living to deny me this! I lay claim to their immortality, their beauty and their souls!" An intangible, roaring force appeared at once to come from a faraway place and surging directly within the room. It visibly started Ginny as Mrs. Zabini, spurred on, continued even louder: "I am a daughter of power – of fire ablaze – of the howling wind – of dying stars – of the dark ages heralded through my Dark sisters! My body alone shall possess this force! I am once more...REBORN!"

A pained gasp escaped Ginny's lips. The unknown force had found its target – and hit it with surprising strength. It felt like invisible talons had latched onto her from within, curling around her lungs, heart and bones with unchecked power and started...pulling. Not unlike a Dementor's Kiss but, this time, like her skin and bones were drained of life and blood.

Peripherally noticing the sharp voice of Blaise calling out her name in alarm; his arm shooting out to grip her, she hadn't been aware of her slackened body until she was sagging helplessly against his side and her mind instantly went dark.

"What the fuck?!" Feeling his own energy rapidly dwindling, Blaise struggled to hold her upright. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he gripped his temple as the same force bore down on him, right down to his very bone marrow, with an excruciating intensity unlike anything he'd ever experienced. "Stop it! STOP this, mother!" he barked across the crowd of rapt onlookers, his voice hoarse.

But no one seemed similarly affected by the spell nor paid any heed to his distress; least of all his mother who was too far gone to notice anything. Why was nobody responding? Why was nobody stopping this madness?! He clenched his jaw and frantically scoured his mind for some last resort.

"ENOUGH!"

A chill went up his neck by the immediate shift in the air and, just like that, the summoning came to an abrupt end. His grandmother came sweeping into view. The hovering Dark artefacts clattered dramatically onto the table, snapping every chanting participant out of their trance, gasping and hunching over. The onlookers too blinked and looked around dazedly; with several eyes landing on Blaise shakily standing there with a passed-out Ginny in his arms, barely holding himself together.

His grandmother was a vision of chilling fury. "What were you thinking, Inez?!" She stared her daughter down; the latter being the last one to be jostled out of her deep, trance-like state. She slowly lowered her arms and blinked her eyes open and Blaise caught the vespers of ink-black seep away from her orbs, leaving a blank, empty stare.

He shuddered. Why wasn't he surprised by his mother's willingness to go to extreme lengths in order to obtain what she wanted? Whatever it was this time.

And where had his grandmother been all this time? How was his mother even able to set up a fucking séance? How was she allowed inside in the first place?!

Peering down at the bloodless face of Ginny in his arms, he felt positively sick. With his family. With himself. He was so tired of wearing the Zabini mask of lofty, impervious elegance; untouched, unmoved, impenetrable. Above anyone else.

What had it all led to?

He could have stopped this. But, no, he had to drag her into this. He never should have brought her to Italy! He had really thought he could act the hero she wanted him to be? How? By keeping her close? By letting her into his life only so that she could end up getting hurt anyway? Just proved she shouldn't even be in his life to begin with.

Fuck, who was he kidding? It was pathetic. Fucking laughable!

And what did it all matter now? She'd never forgive him – much less look at him – after this.

When she woke up...

His gaze snapped to her slack, ashen face again, head in an unnatural slump against his shoulder. She would wake up again as herself, wouldn't she? He reached up to move a lock of auburn hair across her clammy forehead and out of her eyes. He checked her pulse; a dull but steady beat, but there was still no sign of consciousness. He could not wait around for his mother and grandmother to explain themselves. He had to get her out of there.

Pushing his remaining strength into lifting her into his arms, he shouldered his way out of the crowd, inserting a gruff 'Move it!' to any stunned onlooker standing in his way; careful not to jostle her too much. He took the stairs to their rooms since he couldn't risk them getting splinched by Apparating while she was unconscious.

Unusually out of breath and his muscles straining by the time he reached the top; still quite affected by the spell, he went to her room, gently depositing her on the bed, making sure her neck didn't lie in an awkward angle. Hovering above her form for a second, the pit in his stomach grew.

What if she didn't wake up?

What had his mother done?

Letting his concerned gaze linger on Ginny's features; the sweep of lashes against her pale cheek, the gentle curve of lip, he found himself reaching out to brush another lock of hair out of her face with a sudden gentleness that surprised him.

He straightened, pulling back his hand as if burnt, and turned to stagger into the connecting bathroom, quickly splashing cold water in his face. Turning off the tap, he braced himself against the sink, his breath coming in short bursts. He looked up and locked eyes with his dripping reflection in the mirror, self-disgust sweeping through him.

Get a fucking grip.

Roughly wiping a towel across his face and dropping it unceremoniously on the floor, he returned to Weasley's room, collapsing into one of the armchairs facing the bed; exhausted, limbs aching and his mind in a spin. Peering over at Weasley's passed-out form on the bed, cold dread still curled within his chest at her stillness, before he saw her chest slowly rise and fall, indicating she had truly gone to sleep.

He leaned forward, pressing the heels of his hands into his sore eye-sockets with a deep sigh of relief, his ribcage shaking from the sharp exhale. Fuck. At least, she was fucking alive. Who knows how wrong it could have gone if his grandmother hadn't stepped in in time!

His thoughts unwittingly veered to the inevitable confrontation he needed to have with his family. The idea of his own blood allowing something as inexcusable as this to happen – to his guest, no less! – made his blood boil and his throat constrict with bitter anger. What had been his mother's exact purpose with the ceremony? What kind of foul object had she been channelling through? And why the fuck had it affected only him and Weasley, most of all, but none of the other guests?

"Psst! Oi, Blaise!" a familiar voice sounded out of nowhere, interrupting his brooding and causing his head to snap up. Through the open door linking their rooms, he had a direct view to the usually unused fireplace inside his room. The face of his old, blond buddy was hovering between the flames of the now suddenly lit fireplace.

"Draco?" Blaise rose and went over to it, somewhat baffled by his unexpected timing.

"That's right. Who'd you think? Umbridge?"

Too beat for Draco's dry jokes, Blaise rolled his eyes and took a seat in the nearby chair so he could face the blond while still keeping an eye on Weasley. "What are you doing here?"

"What, has old age finally caught up with you, Zabini? Forgotten about our little venture?"

Venture?

Ah, right; Draco's promise to look into anything suspicious at Durmstrang related to Dorne or possibly Zelenko.

"Listen, I may have found something," Draco jumped ahead without preamble, a keen gleam in his eyes.

Despite how bone-tired he was, Blaise's concentration perked up slightly. He leaned forward. "What? You found out about Dorne?"

"Well, I asked around, discreetly, regarding any odd activity or behaviour at school lately."

"And?" Blaise pressed impatiently.

"And I think a student has been tampered with," the blond divulged conspiratorially. Blaise pursed his lips in an exasperated frown.

"Tampered with? You mean, Imperiused?" he droned.

"Yeah. Maybe. Or memory-wiped. Someone mentioned this bloke who had been acting a bit odd back in January; he couldn't seem to remember where he had spent several hours or what he had been doing."

"Hm." In January? Back when Blaise just happened to bump into Dorne in Hogsmeade? Could just be an odd coincidence. "And you located him?"

"Yup," Draco popped the 'p', accompanied by a cocky smirk, clearly proud of his own amateur sleuthing skills. "And guess what? Can't remember a bloody thing about where he'd been. Might just be a black-out although his friends confirmed it had been during daytime, so that seems a bit peculiar."

"Then how can you be sure Dorne is involved?"

"A couple of the bloke's mates mentioned someone having seen a measly-looking fellow sniffing around the grounds of the local village where they do their shopping. They noticed he stood a bit out from his antsy behaviour, however much he tried to hide in the shadows."

Blaise hummed pensively. He wasn't quite convinced the area wasn't already crawling with rat-faced types like Dorne. Could have been anyone.

"Yeah, thought you'd not be swayed by that," Draco drawled, arching a pointed eyebrow at the look on his friend's face. "So, I asked if their mate, the one with the memory loss, had been away from them at any point of the day and then one of them recalled that he had gone shopping on his own for about half an hour and returned acting normal, if a bit stiff and glassy-eyed. Of course, they thought nothing of it at the time," Draco scoffed as if he was somehow above the average attention span of teens. "Apparently, he had gone to a shop which can only be described as Borgin & Burkes but if my aunt Bellatrix had run it. Right nasty stuff, I tell ya."

Blaise suppressed a shudder. "Right. Got the gist. So, that's your theory? That Dorne may have met or intercepted him there and placed him under the Imperius curse or wiped his memory?"

"Maybe. In any case, the bloke's mates said that he had disappeared for hours without a word once back at the school. When he finally reappeared, he couldn't recall a bloody thing of where he'd been or what he'd been doing."

Blaise pursed his lips. "But you can't be sure that fidgety bloke was Dorne nor that there's a connection to some stoned kid having blackouts?"

The blond rolled his eyes dramatically. "Gee, Blaise. I'm doing my best here. One would think you are trying to undermine your own theory. You were the one who aired your suspicions in the first place. Remember?"

With a sheepish wince, Blaise dragged a hand across his forehead. "You're right. Sorry, Drake. 'S been a long day."

Shooting him a flat, assessing glance, Draco huffed, unconvinced. "Obviously."

Ignoring his friend's sharp perceptiveness and mulling the rest of the information over, Blaise reconsidered his theory. "Okay, let's go with the possibility that it was Dorne and that he somehow got to that kid. How do we find out what he was up to? Maybe the kid was partly in on it? Maybe Dorne got to others as well?"

"Yeh, but I still don't get how anything of this relates to what happens at Hogwarts and with Weaslette?" Draco interjected. Of course. He did not know the extent of it; what had happened since they last spoke.

Debating briefly with himself whether letting Draco in on the whole episode with Theo and the very real possibility of an underground drug-ring at Hogwarts, Blaise eventually decided that he might as well know too. He trusted Draco to keep matters to himself.

Draco whistled to himself, his expression having sobered significantly as Blaise relayed it all with a tired sigh. "Blimey. I mean, I guess Theo's always had a proclivity towards overindulging on alcohol. Hadn't thought he'd be so deep in the stronger stuff too though."

Rueful, Blaise lowered his gaze. "Neither did I." Guilt curled in his chest. "I should have seen."

"Nah, don't sweat it, B," Draco murmured. "We both know how good Theo can be at hiding his true feelings. Ever the Slytherin, right?"

Blaise merely gave a noncommittal hum.

After a contemplative moment, Draco exhaled audibly. "So, Dorne provides the drugs – or the temporary fix – and then wipes their memories? Perhaps it functions as a mutual agreement in order not to be caught? How can you be incriminated of something you cannot remember?"

"Precisely. But it's all speculation so far."

"But highly likely that is how the operation works." Draco clearly found it all a little too exciting, like he was a character in a detective's novel.

"Hm," Blaise conceded, a little less enthusiastically. "We just need to figure out if Dorne works alone or if he gets drugs from somewhere higher up – which is my working theory – and how they are distributed. Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley are my best guesses. Any news on Zelenko, by the way? Dark artefacts of any suspicious kind being sought after on the black market?"

The blond did the equivalent of a shrug through the fire. "None that immediately came up. Not even my inside source had a hunch. The market for such objects is vast, mind you, so... your guess is as good as mine."

Blaise swore quietly under his breath and rubbed his eyes. "Well, let me know the minute you find the smallest suspicious movement. And if that Dorne guy shows his ratty face again."

"Will do, boss."

Raising a disbelieving eyebrow, Blaise blinked at his friend displaying uncharacteristic optimism. "Sure, Drake. I bet you've got nothing else to do at Durmstrang than help solve every ongoing problem at Hogwarts," he inserted dryly and could just about imagine Draco gesturing wildly on his end.

The blond snorted. "Like I have anything interesting to do here! Honestly, Zabini, why do you think I suggested helping in the first place? I. Am. Bored. Out. Of. My. Mind! Might as well hone in my spy skills if I'm to become anything of significance!"

Blaise held up his hands in defeat. "OK, alright. Do as you please. Just remember, it's your bloody head on a stake if you get caught poking around places where you shouldn't be."

Draco's eyes twinkled confidently in the fire. "Nah. They'd never catch me. You know that."

Shaking his head resignedly, Blaise's lips twitched at his friend's cocky flair. Perhaps he'd make a fine Unspeakable one day, after all. "Just watch out, right?"

Draco eyed him speculatively. "Everything alright, mate? You honestly look like you've been hanging around Horcruxes all day."

"Do I?" Blaise let out a mirthless huff, not about to let him in on all the unnecessary drama in his life. "You're not far off, actually," he inserted under his breath, making the blond's eyebrow twitch in confusion. "Been a rough day, as I said."

"Sure," Draco dragged the word out. "Mommy dearest finally decided to show her face again?"

The tension in Blaise's shoulders was a dead give-away. "Not now, Drake."

"Hmph. What a way of trusting your friends," Draco sulked.

"Come off it, mate. I'm just bloody exhausted. But thanks for the update."

A mulish frown descended on Draco's brow but he got the message. "Yeh, sure. Alright, Blaise. See you around." The next second, his face in the flames had vanished and the fire died down by itself. For a moment, Blaise just sat there, staring into the wisps of smoke, pondering about what Draco had relayed.

Scrubbing his face roughly and sitting up, his eyes drifted back to Weasley's form on the bed – only to realize that she was no longer lying where he'd left her.

She was gone.

A/N: PS. Since the name of Blaise's mother is unknown in the canon, I decided to name her Inez.