There is nothing I can do to change the way you are
Chapter 6: There is nothing I can do
to change the way you are
Blaise has always known he was meant to burn. Since the moment he was old enough to be aware of such things. He has known that he was made to suffer, to be twisted, to be broken.
The strangest thing is... he has not always known pain, and yet somehow, he knew his destiny long before his mother raised her wand to him for the first time. Perhaps it was intuition, maybe he’s secretly a seer, like Luna... he does not know. But he has always felt the truth of it prickling at his skin. Waiting. Expecting.
It was of no true shock to him when his mother forced him to stand against the wall of her office, silenced, and frozen, as she cut the back of his legs open with her wand held in a hand that did not shake nor hesitate. Three cuts for each leg; he still bears the scars to this day. He remembers she told him over and over again that it was his own fault that she needed to punish him. How Blaise would not be in this position if he had done what she said. How he made the mistakes and now she has to fix them.
He was seven. He had refused to wear the robes she chose for him, on the account that the collar scratched and itched at his skin. It was a childish, foolish, mistake to make. After that though... he never refused her again.
As aforementioned it had not been a shock... but Merlin had it hurt. Not the cuts. Not even the words. But the action itself.
His mother had never been a particularly kind woman, Blaise had never felt truly safe or at ease in her presence. She had always been cold and sharp with her words and her actions had never quite been soft... but before Blaise's foolish mistake she hadn't- physically -hurt him.
So, her actions that day had been devasting to a seven-year-old Blaise. He had stood with tears streaming down his face, ears ringing from her words, legs shaking and threatening to buckle from the pain; feeling as if she had shattered him. It was only a few cuts... but it was enough to break him entirely.
He had felt pathetically betrayed. Utterly ashamed. Fragile... like dust in her palm. Worse though was the guilt, it ate at the very foundations of his soul, of his being;
‘I shouldn’t have argued’
‘I’m the reason she’s like this; I made her cruel, I made her angry’
‘If I were different, if I were a better son, maybe she wouldn’t need to hurt me’
“It’s my fault. It's all my fault’
It didn’t stop after that. Not his guilty thoughts. Not is violent mother.
He learnt to cope. It should have been harder than it actually was for him to adapt, but it wasn’t. He learnt her triggers. Found out what made his punishments worse. He learnt to shrink in on himself, more so than he did before her violence took a turn. He learnt to freeze and disconnect from his body when things hurt too much. He figured out how to silence the whimpers, and keep his eyes dry. How to survive. How to bear the things his mother deemed necessary. Above all he learnt to pretend.
It was a lesson he was fairly familiar with. Even before her anger took a new form. He knew how to pretend, but now it was solidified in his mind. He could hold himself tall and proud, regal, with a neutral face. He could charm people if he needed too. He could turn his emotion off at a moment's notice, go numb.
He could stand there and bare whatever anyone threw at him. It was fine. It was life. It was the way his world worked.
Then he went to Hogwarts. Then he met a boy; a boy, who was just like Blaise in far too many ways. Not in his looks, but in the shadows of his green eyes. Blaise stared at him with a blank face and saw the eyes of someone who knew what it meant to survive. The boy hid it well (just like Blaise does), but Blaise could see it, he had known that look, because he sees it every time, he looks upon his own reflection.
It was strange. It was... a relief; to not be the only child in the world with eyes like them. With fear like theirs.
Blaise never planned to make friends at school. He didn't plan to speak to anyone his own age, ever, he didn’t even know how. His mother never let him socialise with children, she always said they would corrupt him, and poison his mind. So, before Hogwarts Blaise only spoke with adults (and in later years Freya). But Harry went ahead and screwed up that plan royally.
Then came Luna.
Then he gave Fred and George a chance (and you know how that ended).
Then Hermione.
And it was all Harry’s fault. It should have been catastrophic. Devastating in every way. They should have shattered Blaise within the first week of meeting. They should have betrayed him somehow. Screamed and shouted at him, tell him all the ways in which he is poison to all who come close.
They should of. But they didn’t. Not once. Not ever. Worse... they did the exact opposite of everything Blaise had feared.
They made him trust. They made him feel safe as if he was for the first time in his life standing on ground that did not shake and crumble beneath every footfall. They made him laugh (ridiculously long and loud laughter, that Blaise had never had any reason to experience before). They let him speak without once telling him his voice was meant to be silent. They showed him what it's like to live . To want to live. They cared about him and they made him care about them.
He had realized the moment they entered the undergrown maze to recue Fred, that - these five, precious, strange, people... are his family.
Hermione; Fierce, and insanely smart and set on a never-ending quest for knowledge.
Fred; Far too bold for a Slytherin, full of mischief, and definitely too cunning for his own good.
George; Steadier than Fred, with more logic and calm, but no less mischievous.
Luna; Gentler and kinder than should be humanly possible, a bit strange (but no less than Blaise), with remarkable abilities that haven’t been seen in Britain in decades.
Harry; Very powerful, protective of the ones lucky enough to be cared for by him. Harry who understands; who sees Blaise for what he truly is (a vessel of broken pieces) and not once shied away, no matter how terrible Blaise’s true self may be.
They changed him. For the better Blaise is certain. The only problem is... How does a child who is so changed return to a house so cruel?
The answer is simple... Pretend.
~~~
The dark wood floor is cold against his skin, the towering shelves on the back walls seem to cave in around him and Blaise realizes with a dim sort of horror that his blood matches the cherry red leather cushion of his mother's carved wooden chair.
There is pain. Not soft or sharp. Nor quick and known. This pain is entirely different. For this type of suffering can no longer be considered pain, no... this is agony.
Agony. In its purest form, stripped down from all its other components until it stands alone to be delivered with force and intent. This type of Agony is the result of a building hatred so bitter that it would make anyone feel ill to even consider a human being capable of such soured emotion.
Blaise- much to his utter and complete devastation -finds himself the victim of such Agony. Lying in a crumpled heap, sweat and blood coats his skin and trickle in droplets onto the dark office floor. Eyes wide open darting frantically in their sockets, fear evident in the irises, tears still yet to dry or begin to stop flowing. Voice too hoarse from screaming to utter even the quietest of words. Body trembling violently forcing his jaw to stay clamped shut to keep his teeth from chattering. Tongue bleeding sickening amounts of mettalic tasting red into his mouth, bitten clean through. Nerves burning hot and raging as if a poker taken from hells fire its self was applied to each individual nerve simultaneously.
“Figlio mio, this would not have happened if you listened your Madre.” His mothers voice speaks softly, as she stands eerily calm and steady over him, wand in her hand, a predator, a wolf watching prey die a slow death. “Remember how we talked of obedience and docility? How bambini should uphold the wishes of their parents, yes? How I expect my son to listen to me when I give orders, hmm?” She walks around him to stand nearer to the desk, her wolf familiar Lucia prowling at her heels with pride, and his mother’s heeled shoes clicking against the floor in a sharp rhythmic, tap, tap, tap. “What do you say, Blaise? What should you say to the person who gave you life ? The woman who has raised you to be strong and perfect? The mother you have wronged in such ways I did not think you capable of .”
Blaise heaves heavy breaths, feeling as if he is drowning without any need for water. His head lolls to the side too weak to move or do anything other than stare up at his mother’s face before letting a jumble of whispers and sobs - hoarse cracked words leaving bloodied lips. “Per favore mamma. Mi dispiace, mi dispiace. Per favore fermati. Per favore, mamma, fermati adesso. Mi dispiace.” The words come with tears. Salty water mixing with blood as it runs down is dark cheeks. He stopped such childish displays in front of his mother years ago. He cannot recall the last time he truly cried in front of her. Apparently, that changes today.
“No, figlio mio. Non mendicare. Sei un uomo, non un bambino.” She says her voice turning sharp, displeased. “ Crucio .” The last word is almost silent, vicious in the softest of ways in the way only a mother can be.
The red-light dances across the room and for a fleeting moment Blaise can see its beauty. The shining ruby hue of pure and powerful magic. Cast by a Witch who is more powerful than perhaps anyone he has ever known. The way fear and betrayal collide into something so devastatingly tragic and horrifically beautiful.
However, it is a thought there and gone as the light hits him square in the chest and every nerve in his body is set aflame with more pain than any human could ever hope to withstand. So, Blaise screams; he screams and he screams and he screams. Because in this moment where he is nothing more than his pain, the fire in his bones, and the steady crack of his soul... there is nothing else he could possibly do.
Through the haze as his vision blurs and swirls and his body burns where it lays writhing his mouth locked in a scream, he wonders if perhaps this is all he is capable of now. Maybe this is what he was made for, to scream and shatter. To crumble. To go insane just as Alice and Frank Longbottom did, under the curse that was created to torture.
Blaise is grateful when the edges of his vison turn black and slowly the world drips away to nothing. He hears echoes of words as he falls into the relief of oblivion, “This is for your own good, Blaise. We have learned that pain teaches best.”
~~~
Blaise has always loved the dark. The way it drowns vision and with it thought. Somehow causing him to not fear a monster's approach, for in his house the monster is quietest when the lights are dead.
It's a quaking sort of safety, one that runs like water through finger tips or sand through a sieve. However, it is safety none the less.
The dark of his room wraps him like a blanket; he sometimes thinks perhaps the shadows are alive, maybe they see a broken boy and want to hide him from the hands that break. Perhaps they look at him and find likeness... Blaise has always believed that his soul is made of shadows... fragments of swirling matter that can never quite be whole.
It’s easier, he thinks, to deal with jagged things in the dark. Although he can admit that perhaps this type of pain cannot be numbed by any number of shadows.
He is not dying. He knows that much... his mother heals him sometimes and this is one of those times. Blaise used to think it was guilt or maybe even regret that drove her to seal the more life-threatening wounds but now he knows better. She does it out of necessity, he is the only Zabini heir after all.
It’s easier for his mother to keep him as her heir and not dispose of him like she does with her husbands because she believes him to be perfect or at least she deludes herself into thinking he is. When she inevitably stumbles upon a flaw or a wavering crack in the illusion; she punishes him until the flaw disappears from her vision and he returns to being a perfect child once more. After all Blaise never makes the same mistake twice.
She used to be softer. Blaise knows she was never exactly... kind, but he remembers a time when she had softer eyes and sometimes when she said ‘It is because I love you, figlio mio’ Blaise would hear truth in her words.
He doesn’t really understand what he did to lose the flashes of softness, but he wishes that he could take it back. Fix whatever he did wrong. Despite her lack of love for him it doesn’t mean Blaise ever stopped loving her.
The feeling twist and mixes with stronger emotions now- fear, guilt, anger, hate –but he still loves his mother. He doesn’t think he could stop it even if he tried, she is the person who made him after all. The one who raised him and taught him even if her methods are harsh.
Maybe that’s why the residual effects of the crutiatus feels like dust in his mind. Why he can look down at his tremoring hands and feel the way his bones are made of pain and somehow not care at all. But the pain in his heart the way it cracks at splits... now that is a pain he cannot hide from.
Blaise has often found that words or silent actions hurt more than any form of physical pain.
There is another strange feeling in his chest one he can completely explain, but if he had too... he would say it feels like the end. The end of what? Now that's a question he couldn’t even begin to answer. He could make guesses, perhaps it's the end of him? Or maybe complete and final end of his mother's affection? Or maybe...maybe it's the beginning of the end of being his mother's son...
That thought he can’t bring himself to dwell on.
He lets out a soft exhale that only hitches slightly from the residual pain in his body, and gingerly tilts his head back until he’s staring up at the endless shadows above him. He’s only in his room but he feels as if in these shadows he could be anywhere else. Maybe not even real in the first place.
Freya is curled up right next to him with her head rested across his collarbones. She’s quiet and her eyes are sad. He hates when this place, their ‘home’ takes away her joy. Freya to Blaise is the definition of joy, there is rarely a moment when she is not bouncing or yapping and looking up at him with intelligent eyes full of life or trying to get him to play games and fetch with her. So, when she’s quite like this, with her ears drawn back and no hint of his Freya...he hates the world just a little bit more.
“I-I’m okay. Don't worry.” He whispers, his voice cracked and his throat still soar. He lifts a hand that refuses to stop its persistent tremor and rest it on her fluffy warm head. Alive, he thinks. She’s alive and I'm alive. Not for the first time he wonders if that is a good thing.
It’s familiar in a way, sitting here with Freya and feeling his pain in the dark. It’s familiar. It’s known. It does not bring him any comfort.
His mother has never been this bad before. She cut is legs with the lacero curse. She would slap him across the face with her rings digging in. She would tear through his mind with legilemence, looking for secrets and lies... for mistakes. She would make him sit across from her in her office, and use a scarlet blood quill to write his mistakes on paper a hundred time over. But never has she used crucio.
In his entire existence he has no memory of her ever casting that curse- one that needs the caster to want to cause suffering to the victim, otherwise it would no work –on him. Infact, he does not think she has cast it on anyone, not even her husbands. She always prefers poison for them and exact pain for him.
Pain with reason and scars. Pain teaches that’s what she always tells him. Pain teaches best Blaise. This pain will fix what you have done.
But this was different. This time Blaise did not feel as if it was a lesson. A punishment. This time it felt like she did that because she wanted too. The look in her eyes was not angry or wild as it usually is... this time it was cold but also amused and desperate in a way. Like she enjoyed watching him break.
In the past he has feared for his life of course. It often felt like one day she would snap and decide pain was not enough and death would suffice instead, but he has always had thoughts in the back of his head ‘she still cares, she won’t kill me, I’m her heir’ playing over and over in a silent anthem. A grasping belief.
A belief that has now stopped completely. This time he felt it. The way she stopped caring at all for his life. He wonders now if he should watch is food. Will she poison him like she did his step fathers? Will his friends find out through a small article in the prophet that he died in Zabini manner?
His rapidly spiralling thought a broken by a small whine. Freya nudges her head further into his hand.
Freya. His Freya. Always here, through everything. She is the one living thing in this world who loves him without conditions, or reason. He does not know what he would do without her.
Blaise remembers the first time they met. He was walking in the forest along the boundaries of the manner and he heard the sound of a crying animal. He thought it was a cat or something of the sort, that had somehow found itself in the forest. He went over to where the sound was coming from and instead found a fox cub. So tiny and small. Fragile and entirely alone in the world. He had scooped the cub up and brought it back to the manner.
His mother had agreed that if the cub survived then it could be his familiar. So, he named the cub Freya and stayed up with her through the nights feeding her milk from a bottle and making sure she survived.
And from then on. She was his Freya and he was her Blaise. He’s always been glad for it. He could never regret Freya.
He shifts on the bed slightly, moving slowly so he doesn’t cause himself further injury and curls up around Freya’s warm body. Its soothing against his aching body. There will be time to ponder his own death tomorrow. For now, he can just stay here. Out of his head and with his familiar.
It will be fine. It has to be.
~~~
There is no fear. There is no pain. Now there is only silence. Silence, and a sickening numbness spreading like ice through his mind. He becomes the ice; he is the nothing between words or the emptiness of space. He is no longer Blaise Zabini, instead he is nothing. No one. And ice.
Distantly he knows he has put his occlumency shields up. Buried and frozen every feeling and thought, want and care, deep where no one- not his mother, not himself –can find it. But that is of no matter now. Because he not Blaise. He is ice. Ice and nothing.
His mother sits across from him at their dining table. Regal as always, wearing red- deep red, like blood, his blood –robes, embroidered with pure gold that makes elegant patterns on the sleeves and down the back, they flow of her like liquid and accentuate her curves and the sharpness of her eyes. She is beautiful... but in the deadliest of ways, with high cheekbones sharp enough to cut, lips painted red to match her robes and her skin darkest brown, smooth and shining with a shimmering sort of makeup she dusts over her eyes and on the highest points of her cheeks, her hair dark ebony falls past her shoulders in tight shining coils, and the way she walks is like a snake gliding through water. Unstoppable, gracefully, deadly. She holds herself as if the word bends and shapes around her every step. It is terrifying... usually.
But Blaise cannot feel it now. Because he is ice. Ice. Ice. Ice.
When she speaks, her voice is clear and smooth and the Italian accent rolls with every word. “I leave for Italia this evening. I have business to attend to. You will stay here.”
She narrows her eyes expectantly, the chestnut colour shining brighter as she looks. Blaise knows he must speak, so he opens his mouth and lets words seep out without truly knowing what words are. “Sì, madre.”
“You will behave as I expect you too.” Her words are cold, just like his mind.
“Certo, madre.”
“I will return at the weekend. I trust you can look after yourself.” Her words are a threat, deadly just like her. A song and scream in two sentences. He finds himself thinking- I am ice and you are fear.
“Sì, madre.”
“Very well, figlio mio.” She smiles. It is not kind. “I go and prepare now, you stay eat your breakfast, Sì?”
“Sì, madre.”
“Good.” Then she looks past him. “Come now, Lucia.” She calls with a softness she never has for Blaise. Lucia- his mother's wolf -emerges from the shadows and strides to her side.
Blaise’s face is blank and so is his soul as his mother stands up and brushes past him, stroking his face as she goes. He does not flinch. He cannot flinch. Lucia snarls at him, baring sharp white teeth. The door shuts with a click behind them.
Then there is silence. He is alone.
~~~
The days twist and rush by in a blur. He no longer hurts though is hands sometimes still shake. His mother is mostly in Italia. It is a relief and he fears the consequences of this momentary peace.
He walks in the grounds with Freya and he reads in his room. Sometimes he stares at the ceiling until his eyes go dry from lack of blinking. Occasionally he smiles, usually when Freya does something stupid. Mostly he just exists, slowly and numbly in a state of freeze. He is ice and the ice is him.
The first time he feels the ice break completely is when he receives a short letter. He found it in the shed near the end of the grounds, sitting there, waiting just for him to find. It read:
To Blaise,
I hope this letter doesn’t get you in trouble. I sent it where you said would be okay, but... still. I hope you're okay and that your summer is going better than mine.
Luna told me to write to you, to ask if you could meet us at Diagon alley at 9am on the 25th of July. If you can’t make it that’s okay, I'll make up an excuse for you, don't worry. But I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you can get there though, I miss you, and I'm sure the others do too.
I can’t wait until were back at school. I’m sick of living at privet drive. I got a room upgrade though, so yay for me! (That was sarcastic in case you couldn’t tell; I'm rolling my eyes as I write it).
Selena is okay, and Solace is too but I think he misses Freya. He loves having another animal to play with and Selena just hisses at him if he even looks in her direction, so I bet he’ll be excited to get back to Hogwarts too.
I’m alright too, as much as I can be anyway.
-Harry
P.s- I had to steal an owl from Mrs fig to send this letter, so you better appreciate it. Solace still won’t carry letters.
P.s.x2- Luna told me to tell you that she misses you and said that ‘no one is nothing and ice melts eventually’ I don’t really know what that means, but I'm sure you will.
Blaise had smiled. Smiled and felt warmth in his chest, that chipped away at the ice with every sentence he read. Harry cares, he took the time to write these words and steal an owl to send it just for Blaise. How could Blaise possibly not smile? And Luna, with her innate knowledge of things never spoken aloud, the way she always knows- ‘no one is nothing and all ice melts eventually’
Still smiling he tucked the letter away carefully into a hidden place in his room and wrote a letter back to Harry telling him he would be there on the 25th.
Blaise would be going whether his mother liked it or not.
~~~
Blaise lays on his bed with a hollow sort of happiness in his chest. His entire day was spent with his friends. It was a relief. It was safe and it brought him true peace, the first peace he’s felt all summer. However...it's over now. Now he is left with the happiness that is slowly slipping from his grasp, no matter how much he tried to hold on to it.
Freya crawls up the bed and flops down onto him, her wet nose rubbing against his face. She’s happier. Happier than Blaise is certainly. She enjoyed seeing Solace and everyone else of course, but mainly Solace. Blaise will never understand why she’s so attached to the raven; it is one of the most unlikely friendships possible; but then again – the same could be said for Blaise and all five of his friends, so maybe it's actually quite fitting.
Despite the fact that it had to end the day was good. His friends made sure of it even if they didn’t quite realize how much Blaise needed a good day.
Hermione and the way she was marching ahead of them, leader of the group and directing them into the shops in what she deemed the ‘most logical’ order. Fred and his general stupidity that Blaise has long since become used to and in some ways can find comfort with it now. George who is minutely less stupid than Fred but still tried and succeeded in dropping miniature transfigured mice into multiple strangers bags. Luna and her random comments about the innate workings of the universe and her wandering footsteps beside him. Harry and his wide grin that rarely slipped from his face the whole day, matching Blaise’s sarcasm without thought or hesitation, and trying to pay for everyone's shopping at every turn.
The familiars; Selena who alternated between snoozing on Luna or Harry’s shoulders, and keeping up a steady flow of hisses (which Blaise is 90% sure consisted of her judging everything in sight). Solace who spent most of the day firmly perched on Freya’s back, chirping happily every few seconds and fluttering up to land on their heads occasionally (Blaise firmly believes that Solace is the strangest bird ever created). Lila who is shy as can be, spent her day in George's bag with only her head peeking out, but she did venture out at some point so she could crawl into George's jumper and mew at him every time he stopped walking. Panda who spends her life either asleep in Luna’s pockets or stealing any food in sight (Blaise has been a victim many times, as have the others). And Freya of course who was her typically bouncy self as she played steed to Solace.
The only thing that could have ruined it was Lucius Malfoy, but that was quickly resolved. Then the strange diary but Blaise couldn’t really bring himself to worry about that, after all it is tucked away safe and sound in Harry’s vault, it won’t do them any harm from there. His time with just Luna and Harry had been nice too, Harry showing his magic so effortlessly and Luna doing her seer-ing, Blaise will never stop being amazed by the sheer power and rare gifts his friends hold.
The potter vault had been interesting too, he and Luna had walked along the shelves looking at heirlooms and pictures of Harry’s parents. Everyone says Harry looks like James Potter- which is true –but Blaise can see Lily’s features shining through Harry’s now too; in the cupid bow of his lips and the shape of his eyes as well as the emerald colour and they have the same smile, ever so slightly crooked but not at first glance, only when you stop in place long enough to take in its warmth.
Looking at the picture of Lily and James side by side smiling and waving out of the moving pictures... Blaise appreciated how Harry is a perfect mix of them both.
Then came the inevitable and very much unwanted parting of ways, it had already been vaguely devastating watching the twins and Hermione walk away, however it was made significantly worse when Harry and Luna had to go too.
Luna stood up on her tiptoes and flung her arms around Blaise, hugging him so hard it could be considered aggressive. He had of course hugged her back, because he has realised over the last year that - that is what you're supposed to do when someone hugs you. He will admit though it's not as uncomfortable as it used to be, infact he could now consider it a comfort.
“Remember, Blaise. If you ever get the chance to leave or want us to help you leave... we will. In a heartbeat, I promise. You know where I live and my door is always open for you and Harry, at any time on any day. Just ask the fairies in the forest if you can’t find the house, they like me and they know their way through the wards, just tell them I sent you.” Luna says in a far more serious tone than Blaise is used to hearing from her.
“I know. Grazie, amico mio.” He replies quietly, hugging her a little tighter before pulling away entirely.
Luna smiles and reaches out to squeeze his hands between hers. “All ice melts Blaise. It's just a matter of time.” Then she lets go and wanders over to Harry, to say goodbye to him.
Luna knows far too many things, Blaise decides. He will not let it unnerve him.
He watches for a few moments as Luna and Harry embrace and exchange a few quite sentences that Blaise can’t quite hear, then they break apart and Luna waves to them both before stepping through the floo at 19:43 if the clock on the wall is set correctly.
Harry tears his glistening eyes away from the empty fireplace to look at Blaise. “I hate goodbyes.”
“Sì.” Blaise sighs. “They are not my favourite either.” He looks right back at Harry who seems to be blinking very rapidly in an attempt not to cry. “You’re sad.” He states plainly, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Freya whines softly and nudges Harry’s legs.
Harry huffs but its less annoyed more desperate, sad. “We should just leave, Blaise. Run to Luna’s put up wards of some sort, I'm sure I could figure it out, and If I can’t then Hermione definitely could.”
Blaise shakes his head, feeling unbelievably sad. “We can’t do that, Harry. You know it's not that easy, and what ward could we possibly make to keep my mother and Dumbledore out?”
Harry just looks like his dream are being actively crushed, its pitiful really, and it's a look Blaise never wants to see on Harry’s face. “But what if we tried anyway.” The other boy whispers.
“Harry...” Blaise trails of, not even sure he can stand to see the continuing spiral of sadness on his friend's face.
It turns out that he didn’t need to say more. Harry’s deminer changes completely, he slaps a smile on his face as fake as Blaise has ever seen him smile and laughs shortly. “Yeah, that was a stupid idea, your right. Sorry.” Then he takes a step away from Blaise and the dark corner where the fireplace sits and towards the door that leads out of the leaky cauldron. Blaise has to stop himself from pulling Harry back. “I better get, going. Muggle transport and all that.” Harry laughs again and Blaise has the sudden urge to strangle him or at the very least cover his mouth so no sound can escape, that laugh is far too bitter for someone as bright as Harry.
“Harry-” Blaise tries to speak, but Harry cuts him off before he can form more than one word.
“No, Blaise. It’s okay. I have to go. I'll see you next month, okay? When we’re back at school.” Harry starts to back away, pushing through the people who have begun to fill the pub, and making his way to the door, before Blaise can try to stop him.
Blaise stands frozen in place, watching helplessly, unable to move, or find anything good enough to say. Eyes locked on Harry as the boy reaches the door, pushes it open and disappears from sight.
Blaise feels the ice spreading like poison. He’s gone and done it now. He’s made Harry hate him. Why couldn’t he say the right thing? Why couldn’t he have just agreed? Why? Why? Why?
Freya jumps up to put her paws on his legs, nudging at him firmly, trying to break him from his silent spiral. Blaise rest his hands on her head and breathes in and out slowly. Not here. Not now.
So, there he stands with the distant sounds of the pub goers chatter and the sound of glasses clinking. Staring at nothing in particular, and breathing; in, out, in, out.
He wishes the door would open and Harry would walk back in but-
Whatever Blaise was about to think is cut off, when the door opens, the bell chiming as it does, and Harry walks back in with his head bowed low and looking like a kicked puppy. Solace is on his head pecking him every now and then and Selena has her head close to Harry’s ear, probably whispering in the snake language.
The kicked puppy/sad boy slouches across the pub floor with his hands in his hoodie pockets, gaze cast downwards and occasionally elbowing people to get past.
Harry comes to a stop right in front of Blaise and hesitates for a moment, avoiding his eye before completely surprising Blaise- in an abrupt change of events -by tipping forward and wrapping him in a hug, hiding his face in Blaise’s shoulder.
Blaise does not know what to do. The surprise has taken all logic and thought from his mind and replaced it with empty space. But Harry doesn’t let go and Blaise doesn’t ask him too.
“I’m sorry.” Harry mumbles into his Blaise’s shoulder. “It didn't mean to get mad at you. It's not your fault.”
Blaise mentally shakes himself and his brain restarts, and he gains enough sense to bring his hands around Harry's back to return the hug. Suddenly Blaise feels as if maybe he might never let go. Infact maybe he could find a time turner and stay right here in this exact moment for all of eternity and perhaps beyond. “Non preoccuparti, non ti sta bene.” He manages to get his voice to work with him despite the fact that Harry is hugging him and Blaise is hugging him right back. Then he realises Harry does not understand Italian, so he adds. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”
Harry huffs an empty laugh his face still against Blaise’s merlin cursed (blessed?) shoulder. “It's not ‘fine’ we both get enough shit from our relatives.” He pauses for a moment, then, pulls away. Blaise reluctantly lets him go. “I shouldn’t add to it. Especially when you we’re being logical and I was being stupid.”
Blaise frowns. “You were not being stupid. You were being hopeful.” He says firmly.
“It's the same thing, isn’t it?” Harry says blandly and Blaise can’t really argue with the statement. “Anyway, now my apology is over, I do actually have to get going.”
Blaise reaches down and scoops Freya up in his arms. “You are forgiven.” Blaise sighs and looks away from Harry and down to Freya who is now cradled like a human baby in his arms, ready for going through the floo. “I’ll see you on the train. Try not to get yourself before then.” Blaise says without any humour.
Harry smirks and shakes his head, causing Solace to squawk indignantly. “Same to you, Blaise.”
“Goodbye, Harry.” He nods his head and holds Harry’s gaze to make it clear that Blaise does not hold any blame or anger towards him.
Harry nods back. “Bye, Blaise.”
After that they part ways. Harry out the front of the leaky cauldron and Blaise through the floo.
~~~
The rest of the summer dragged by in a bland sort of spin. Now it is a week away from summers end, when his mother informs him, they will be having a ‘family dinner’ which Blaise knows is code for, your about to meet husband number eight.
He’s been through it enough times at this point to know her system intricately. She finds a man- rich and wealthy in assets –then seduces said man into falling in love with her then convinces the man to elope; a small ceremony that Blaise- thankfully –has never had the pleasure of attending. Her victim stays alive for a few months, stupidly believing that he won’t become the next bug to become trapped in the spider web. Then inevitably meets his mortal doom whenever Blaise's mother deems the right mistake has been made.
According to his mother, Blaise’s father had survived the longest, managing to go a whole twelve months without inciting Maria Zabini’s rath. However, the man ended up dead mere weeks after Blaise was born, so Blaise consequently has no attachment to the man and cannot bring himself to feel grief of the lack of father.
Now he will meet the eighth victim.
“Freya il mio tesoro. You stay here, hmm?” He pets her head fondly. “I think it’s best you don’t get involved with number eight or mother.”
She whines slightly and pushes her nose into his palm, but she doesn’t move from his bed so he takes it as a sign of reluctant agreement.
He steels himself with a slow inhale then exhale and strides out of his room. Posture impeccable, robes flawless, and shoes shined. His face arranged in careful neutrality.
He makes his way through the manner and towards the dining room. Eventually reaching the dark wooden door that leads into the room he is required to make an appearance in. He lightly pushes open the door and walks in with his hands clasped behind his back in a show of order and respect.
He darts his eyes immediately over to his mother. She smiles at him and spreads her hands out in welcome. He knows she doesn’t mean it. He knows the hate she holds. “Figlio mio! Come! Come join us.”
He moves towards her and kisses her on the cheek- knowing it is what she expects of him -before sitting down next to her. He hates sitting this close to her and despises not being able to keep his eyes on her at all times, it gives him a prickling feeling of wary fear. He blocks his thoughts from his own mind and cast his empty gaze towards the man across from them.
He’s handsome; A tall, slender, yet strong body, with olive skin and dark brown eyes with hair to match- the strands artfully combed back. He must be in his early thirties or perhaps late twenties.
“Meet Lord Elios Marchi, of the house of Marchi. He is to be your new step father, isn’t that wonderful?” His mother says in a honeyed tone, reaching across the table to take number eight’s/Lord Marchi’s hand.
Blaise inclines his head at number eight respectfully. “Buona sera, I'm Blaise, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
The man smiles and nods his head back but doesn’t properly look at Blaise his eyes focused in an adoring manner on Maria. Blaise holds back a sigh of slight pity – this man will not last two months.
~~~
It is the night before he returns to Hogwarts and Blaise could not be more grateful for his impending return to the old Scottish castle.
He’s packing his things away neatly in his trunk that has the Zabini crest embedded on the front: An ornate gold shield, with a silver wolfs head coming out of it and looking straight ahead with its mouth set in a snarl, its eyes narrowed as it looks at him as if judging his every breath, and the words- camminiamo come il lupa, con potenza e forza -are written in swirling red letters beneath the head.
If his mother is busy killing Lord Marchi, he should be able to get away with staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. So, he will have peace for nine entire months. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited at the prospect.
Twelve hours and he will be back with family. True family that he knows with- possible –certainty, wants him around and most likely will not harm or kill him (at least not on purpose).
Twelve hours. And the world will be right again and there will be no need for ice or shadows.
So, he keeps meticulously packing his things and prepares to leave Zabini manner behind for the rest of the school year.