It had been a most unexpected ending to school, Blaise realized as he pressed his forehead to the glass window of the Hogwarts Express.
He had gone to bed one night and then nothing had been the same. At around three in the morning all of Slytherin house had been summoned from their beds to gather in the common room. In Snape’s place sat Slughorn. Being one of his favorites due to his listening ear, Slughorn immediately summoned Blaise. He proceeded to explain in a stage whisper (that the rest of the room could hear) that Dumbledore was dead, Death Eaters had invaded the school, escaped and that all regular activities were to be canceled.
He’d just nodded, stunned and unable to comprehend the full consequences of such a change. There were some things that went unexplained, such as Draco Malfoy’s disappearance. Rumors abounded portraying him as both a victim and a criminal. Pansy threw a very dramatic fit when she realized he wouldn’t be coming back. (Blaise doubted the ceiling would ever be completely restored, or that the first years who had nearly been killed by it would dare to even look at Pansy, much less ask her questions.)
He watched the fields passing by the window without really seeing them. The rest of the people who shared his compartment were similarly silent. Crabbe and Goyle looked inexplicably lost without Malfoy’s presence. Pansy had deliberately allowed her mascara to run so that no one would doubt her sorrow and offer her sympathy.
Blaise was personally trying to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened. It was so much easier to evade problems and let others deal with them at their own expense, as far as he was concerned.
Ah, summer at the Zabini mansion, a rather quiet affair. Having seen him off the train and introduced him to her new boyfriend, Blaise’s mother had left for the Greek Isles to spend the summer. Not that he particularly minded. His mother always struck him as such a fake that he was normally twisting his own arms to remain civil to her.
Besides, with seven different portraits of her and each one of her husbands so far, it was not as though Blaise couldn’t see her whenever he wanted. And if he cared to hear her trivial chatter, the portraits supplied that as well.
The Zabini mansion had an enormous library, each of his six stepfathers having contributed their own collections to it over time. Not one book, no matter how dilapidated its state, nor if the collection already featured its exact replica, was thrown out. If one thing could be said for his mother, it was that she was extremely possessive.
Mrs. Zabini was extremely competitive and greedy. As an only child, spoilt to her heart’s content, she had nurtured a selfish nature. Her first husband (and Blaise’s father) had been a hard man who did not believe in flaunting wealth publicly. Mrs. Zabini had been most disappointed with the arrangement. Having been widely admired and praised for her beauty from a young age, she was used to obtaining whatever she wanted with the flutter of an eyelash. Having Mr. Zabini deny her led her to plot his death. Unfortunately, as Mr. Zabini had a large family, she would have had to split up the wealth between his brothers. In order to protect her new wealth, Blaise came into being.
As heir to the Zabini family, Mrs. Zabini was able to keep the mansion and all it’s possessions for her son’s sake after her husband untimely demise. (The Healers had been very vague about what had caused the wizard, at the ripe age of thirty, to suddenly choke and die. The main Healer had in fact been far more attentive to Mrs. Zabini than her dead husband. He even made several house calls afterwards to ensure that “her nerves” were not troubling her after the tragedy.)
It had only taken a short five years of enjoying her expanded wealth before Mrs. Zabini found herself desiring more. She began throwing extravagant parties, flirting outrageously with many rich, and well-connected wizards and within three months had eloped with one of them.
Blaise had learned very quickly not to become too attached to his new stepfathers, as they all seemed to disappear within a couple of years. Currently, the record marriage was three years, but that wizard had turned out to be just as conniving as Mrs. Zabini and plotted to murder her in return. A fierce, and traumatizing, battle of power had ensued. It ended gruesomely when the wizard was found stark naked, skin burnt to a crisp and a purple face.
A be smitten reporter had demurely explained the death away as suicide before focusing on the grieving widow as the center of his piece.
As the years had flown by, Mrs. Zabini had begun to rely more heavily upon glamours and love potions to ensnare lovers. Several times after a mysterious death, a Ministry official would arrive at the Zabini house to interrogate the new widow. Those visits proved to be counter-productive after Mrs. Zabini ended up taking one such Ministry official as her fourth husband.
The rest of the Zabini family refused to have anything to do with them. His mother was too busy pursuing new love affairs to take much interest in her son. The result of this neglect was that Blaise became accustomed to a life of solitude. He had spent his childhood exploring the mansion and uncovered most of its secrets. Most of his summer was spent perusing the large household library, uncovering new books on ancient magics and studying them.
His favorite place to read was a large window seat in the entrance hall, with the occasional sustenance brought along by a house-elf.
Settling himself into his accustomed position, Blaise cracked the binding of The Subtlest Artes and prepared himself for a very relaxing summer.
Pop! To his right a house-elf materialized.
“M-m-master Blaise,” the house-elf stuttered nervously.
“Yes?” Blaise demanded, not looking up from his book.
“There is a g-guest,” the house-elf continued.
“Tell them that my mother is not home,” Blaise replied dully. Mrs. Zabini’s admirers were not always aware of his mother’s schedule and had a tendency to bother him. Perhaps they were hoping that by getting on his good side they would rise in his mother’s esteem.
“No need, I’m right here,” drawled a fine-cultured voice.
Blaise looked up and promptly shut his book with a snap. A figure lounged against the wall, wearing rather tattered robes. His once well-groomed hair was in disarray and his pale skin looked grey.
“You’re mother’s a lovely woman and all,” continued the figure. “But you know the old saying; ‘Been there, done that.’”
Draco Malfoy had arrived at the Zabini mansion.
Hundreds of miles away sat a very different kind of house. Its rooms added on at odd angles, making it an architectural marvel solely because it was not physically possible.
The inhabitants of the Burrow had far more pressing matters to worry about as opposed to the logic of their dwelling.
“Hermione, hand me those flowers!”
“Has anyone seen my other slipper?”
“Où est Gabrielle?”
“J’suis ici!”
“Ah! Where’d the hairspray go?”
“I’m using it!”
“Give it back!”
“In a minute!”
“Watch where you put that tea””
“Merde! There iz tea sur mon robe!”
“So sorry, Gisele, here let me””
“Non! I can do eet myself!”
“Watch where you stick your elbows””
“Oh, sorry Hermione, didn’t mean to knock you over…”
“Hey Ginny, I found your slipper!”
“Great! Hey, that’s not mine! I need the left one.”
“Oh, perfect, zat iz mine!”
“Girls, girls!” Mrs. Weasley boomed striding into the room bedecked in robes of sparkling blue silk with a midnight velvet hat pinned to her hair at a jaunty angle. “Do calm down, it’s almost time for the photographer!”
Contrary to calming the girls down, this announcement led to the formation of a mosh pit in front of the one floor length mirror in the room.
“I am ze bride!” Fleur exclaimed indignantly as she found herself unceremoniously pushed away from the mirror.
“Yes, well, you’re also part-veela,” argued her paternal cousin, Gisele Delacour as she smoothed her brown hair and critically examined her makeup. “You always look perfect.”
Amelie, another one of Fleur’s cousins nodded her head in agreement and craned her scrawny neck over Gabrielle’s head to catch a glimpse of her own mousy brown hair.
“Come on, Hermione,” Ginny whispered. “I’m sure we can find another mirror.”
Relieved, Hermione consented to follow her. They slipped out the door and darted up the stairs. Footsteps thundered down towards them.
“ ‘Lo, Hermione,” Ron grinned as they met on a landing. “You look lovely!”
“Oh, thank you,” Hermione answered slightly flustered. “It’s absolute chaos in the girls’ dressing room so we figured we’d go find a mirror elsewhere.”
“You can use the one in my room,” Ron volunteered. “Fred and George left ages ago and Harry ‘n’ me are heading down just now.”
“Excellent,” Hermione replied faintly, looking decidedly uncomfortable under Ron’s admiring gaze.
“Hello, Harry!” Ginny said very loudly. The dark figure skulking behind Ron jumped.
“Oh, er, hi, er, Ginny…” he trailed off.
“Well, we mustn’t keep you waiting,” Ron shifted his attention from Hermione to Harry, who nodded gratefully and followed him downstairs, not once looking at Ginny.
Ginny was about to yell at him when Hermione tugged her arm and pulled her up the stairs. She allowed herself to be tugged along good-naturedly until they reached Ron’s room. Pushing past the piles of clothing and books they advanced to the mirror and began fixing their tresses.
“What’s going on with you and Ron anyway?” Ginny queried. “I thought you liked him.”
Hermione let out a heavy sigh. “So did I, but then, after the funeral, it just felt so…unsatisfactory…” she trailed off, uncertain.
“I guess,” she spoke again. “I just realized that I’d only ever think of Ron as a friend. He’s a nice guy, but there isn’t any deep connection between us.”
At Ginny’s curious look she blushed. “You think I’m babbling now, don’t you?”
“No, not at all,” Ginny reassured her. “You just want to find true love, that’s all.”
“No cursing me for possibly breaking your brother’s heart?” Hermione teased.
“You have the wrong Weasley for that,” Ginny laughed. Her face then changed from jovial to serious. “What’s wrong with Harry anyway? Why can’t he even look at me?”
Hermione grew silent and fiddled with her dress robes.
“He still likes me, I know he does,” Ginny continued, as anxious to prove it to herself as she was to convince Hermione. “I just need to make him realize that admitting those feelings is not the same thing as signing my death warrant.”
Her voice rose in pitch as she continued, “I’m going to get him back tonight. What’s more romantic than a wedding?”
Hermione did not reply.
“I just need a place to stay!” Draco pleaded.
“Are you insane?” Blaise hissed. “Do you have any idea how many people are looking for you? From both sides?”
“You don’t understand; I’m desperate!”
“What could you be so desperate about? Dragging me down with you?” Blaise retorted angrily.
“No, it’s not that, I just need a place to stay for””
“For how long? The rest of your life as one of the Ministry’s Most Wanted?”
“No, just for … the full moon,” Draco let the last words drop out softly, as though he were embarrassed to admit it.
“The”the full moon? Draco,” Blaise licked his lips nervously though he already knew the answer, “why the full moon?”
Apprehensively, Draco inched up the left arm of his robe. Blaise found himself leaning forward, Draco had led him to believe he had the Dark Mark branded there. To his surprise he found himself staring instead at the pale scar tissue of a bite mark.
“I’m a werewolf,” Draco explained needlessly. “I was bitten before school last year. As punishment for my father.”
“A- a werewolf?” Of course he was a werewolf Blaise groaned inwardly, nothing was ever simple for him, was it? “How did you manage it at school?”
“Snape brewed me Wolfsbane,” Draco answered tonelessly.
“That’s why you always looked so peaky, and missed all those classes…” Blaise realized. In a very absurd way, Malfoy’s lycanthropy made perfect sense. Like a re-occurring, undeciphered rune that had suddenly been translated and put a text in a whole new light.
“You aren’t planning on transforming here, are you?” Blaise asked sharply.
Draco licked his dry lips again. “Actually, I was hoping your library might contain the recipe for Wolfsbane.”
For some reason or other, maybe because he had been starved for company, or had been emotionally neglected as a child, or because he was accustomed to deferring to Draco, Blaise consented to help him out. He opened the thick, ebony double doors and led Draco into the library.
Draco let out a low whistle of admiration and Blaise felt a smug smile sneak onto his face. The room was two stories tall with shelves covering even the ceiling, all jam-packed with books. A large fireplace stood on the far wall and the shelves were organized in a twisting, devilish maze Blaise had personally devised. Having organized the library several summers ago, Blaise knew exactly where every subject was. He led Draco in between the shelves for some time until he stopped a shelf full of books on magical creatures.
“Take anything that looks useful,” he advised Draco and began selecting different books on lycanthropy. Draco hesitated for a few moments before he began to pluck books off the shelf as well. Once they had collected all they could carry, Blaise turned to the shelf itself.
“The fireplace, please,” he enunciated clearly and the shelf swung outward to reveal the large fireplace and reading area in the middle of the library.
Several hours and hundreds of pages later Draco slammed Subduing the Inner Beast shut and exclaimed in frustration, “This is useless! Wolfsbane needs at least a week of preparation.”
“The only way you’re going to find Wolfsbane is if you steal it from another werewolf,” Blaise observed, closing Concoctions for Canines.
Draco snapped his fingers excitedly, “That’s it!” he exclaimed gleefully.
“Where exactly are you going to find a werewolf with extra Wolfsbane?”
“Never you mind. If I do get Wolfsbane, will you let me transform here?” Draco stared hungrily at Blaise.
In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, Blaise realized. Besides, he wouldn’t mind a bit of interest in his otherwise dull summer. He nodded slowly, hoping he wouldn’t regret it.
“Great,” Draco grinned, the first true smile Blaise had ever seen on him. “I hope to return successful.”
With that, he exited the library with a swish of his tattered cloak.
“Toshy,” Blaise cleared his throat. A house-elf appeared before him, bowing low. “Please set up a guest room on the far wing for Mr. Malfoy. And make sure you put Impenetrable charms on all the walls, windows and doors.”
Bill and Fleur’s binding took place at sunset. Fleur looked radiant with her hand in Bill’s. Despite the disfiguring scars on his face, Bill’s face shone with evident delight. As he led his new wife back down the aisle, Mrs. Weasley burst into tears and didn’t stop until after dinner.
The meal was absolutely heavenly; it was clear Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself once again. A large wedding cake, nearly as tall as Bill, held the miniature figures of Fleur and Bill who snogged with abandon in the sugary frosting. The dancing began as the last few people were finishing their desert. Everyone watched with happy sighs as Bill twirled Fleur around the floor.
All in all, it had been the perfect evening. Bill and Fleur retired after their dance to unknown whereabouts and other couples began to grace the dance floor.
Striving in vain to catch Harry’s eye, Ginny danced first with all of her brothers (minus Bill) and then proceeded to dance with some of the Order members. Even when Moody smashed her toes with his wooden leg, Harry didn’t look in her direction once. Fuming, Ginny advanced to where he was sitting with Ron (who was trying to hold Hermione’s attention).
Before she could hobble to the last chair at the table, Gisele, in a rush of silk, landed next to Harry.
“ ‘Arry,” she began in her hoarse, French accent. “Vould you do me zee honor of danzeen?”
There’s no way he’s going to accept, Ginny thought smugly. As if he would ever fall for that cheap, Parisian tramp.
“Sure,” Harry answered, causing Ron to choke slightly on his drink and Ginny’s jaw to drop open.
“No,” she hissed angrily, hopping over to the table on her good foot. “Harry will not dance with you.”
“Ginny,” Hermione whispered in warning. Ginny shot a glare in her direction. Wasn’t Hermione supposed to be helping her?
“I do not understand,” Gisele began, confused.
“It’s nothing Gisele,” Harry cut in, trying to lead her away.
“Nothing?!” Ginny’s voice began to rise to a shrill pitch. “NOTHING?!?”
“Ah, I think I understand,” Gisele spoke again. She smiled sweetly at Ginny, “I am sorry, leettle girl, eef you are not able to””
At “leetle girl”, Ginny’s right hand had curled into a fist. Before Gisele could even finish her sentence that fist had buried itself into the innocent French girl’s nose. And then total chaos erupted.
By the time the brawl had been broken up, Harry was looking at Ginny in stark alarm.
“Uh, Gin,” he began cautiously, tugging at his tie, still refusing to look her in the eye.
“Fuck you,” she hissed angrily. “Just…fuck you. I don’t care, I really don’t.”
The entire table stood around awkwardly, afraid to move. Harry was the first to react. He grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her aside.
“What was that about?” he demanded.
“You’ve been ignoring and avoiding me,” she launched into her diatribe. “I’ve been trying to catch your attention all evening and all you do is go off and dance with some other girl.”
“It was just going to be a dance, Ginny. Nothing more,” Harry insisted defensively. “Besides, I can dance with whomever I want to. We’re not going out anymore, you don’t have control over me. Not that you ever did.”
“What?” Ginny exclaimed, shocked. “Harry, I was never trying to control””
“You weren’t?” Harry countered angrily. “Then why did you seem to decide that I was supposed to dance with you? And mitigate my own dance partners?”
Her lip trembled. Oh Merlin, Ginny thought, Please don’t let me cry now. Please just hold it together until you’re alone.
“I thought you cared,” she croaked, feeling her cheeks flush.
“I do care, Ginny,” Harry reassured her. “It’s just that you can seem a little, well, possessive.”
“Possessive?!” Ginny’s voice escaped as a hysterical shriek. “You think I’m possessive?”
“Yes, Ginny, I do,” Harry set his jaw resolutely. “As a whole, you’re a very passionate person and sometimes it can be a bit…overkill.”
Ginny glared at him and turned on her heel, but his arm caught her elbow and he swung her back around.
“Look, there’s no need to get offended,” he said crossly. “I was just giving you my honest opinion””
“You didn’t exactly do it in a positive way,” she snapped. “I never asked for your ‘honest opinion’. Nor did I ask for a personality analysis. I’m not the only one with faults, you know. You have your little ‘hero’ psyche where you feel it’s your duty to protect everyone!”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting everyone safe!” Harry growled.
“There is when it impedes with their life!” she answered hotly. “You may have good intentions but you have no idea what to do with them. You broke up with me to protect me, but I’ve yet to understand the logic behind that!”
“I explained that to you”” Harry countered.
“Yes, and it made no sense,” Ginny replied. “If properly interpreted, by breaking off with me you could have put me in even more danger! You’re so convinced that you know what’s right for everyone and if they just listened to you, they would be fine. Well, do you want to know who else thought that? Dumbledore. And look what happened to him. Look what happened to Sirius! Nobody knows what’s right all the time, Harry. Not even the Chosen One.”
Harry flinched thrice as though she’d physically struck him. Ginny knew that she’d been ruthless. She had no right to compare Harry’s treatment of her to Sirius, but she was so angry with him, him and his stupid ideas that she didn’t care.
“Well, if that’s the way you feel,” Harry said stonily. “Then I guess we’re through.”
“Yes, I suppose we are,” Ginny snarled. “And good riddance!”
With that, she turned on her heel and stormed back to the Burrow and up to her room.