Draco Malfoy was an idiot.
Generously enough, Blaise attributed this fact to his unfortunate upbringing rather than some inherent stupidity, but it was nevertheless endlessly frustrating when Draco refused to simply See sense.
Heh.
See.
It was truly a shame no one could appropriately appreciate Blaise’s brilliance.
If Draco hadn’t been such an idiot, however, he would have figured things out much sooner. But that particular reality had crashed and burned pretty much the same moment Blaise informed his future best friend that he would be marrying Hermione Granger. Because oh no, the heir to the Malfoy line couldn’t possibly accept the fact that he would be marrying a muggleborn, despite Blaise literally telling him he’d Seen it.
Luckily, while the brightest future was unfortunately snuffed out like a candle, the next best future was still viable despite Draco’s silly protests. All Blaise had to do was keep pushing the lovebirds together and everything would end up fine, if a tad delayed.
And getting Draco and Hermione together would eventually lead to Blaise’s happy ending as well, so it was really in his best interests to make sure they ended up happy and disgustingly in love at–
Goodness.
Was that a muggle school?
***
“Don’t be stupid, Draco,” Blaise admonished, reclining on his best friend’s bed. “Of course you’ll marry her.”
“You didn’t See that I would become a Death Eater, which I am, and yet you keep insisting on that I will marry the mudblood! Why would I trust your visions? And why would I ever want to marry her? I–I will serve my Lord, and–and he will ensure all mudbloods r–rightful eradication from our world!”
Draco’s voice was rather shrill. It was distinctly unflattering. But, in Draco’s defence, he’d been having a rough go of it the past few months. Years, even.
Blaise scoffed. “If you truly believed that rubbish, you and I wouldn’t be friends.”
“Don’t say things like that,” Draco hissed, looking around the dormitory in a wild-eyed panic. “Of course I believe it and so do you.”
“Yes, of course,” Blaise hummed, trying to tamp down a smile.
Good grief, but Draco was patently ridiculous.
Not that Blaise wasn’t worried. Hogwarts under the regime of Death Eaters wasn’t exactly his idea of a grand ol’ time, but his visions hadn’t changed. Come May, everything would be resolved, Potter would swoop in alongside Draco’s future wife and while Draco would regrettably be going to Azkaban for a while, everything would turn out fine in the end.
All Blaise could do, for now, was keep reminding his best friend of this fact, even if he couldn’t share the details.
Sharing the details would be very, very bad. Somehow. For some reason.
It didn’t really make sense, but Blaise had learned from his youthful mistake. He wouldn’t ignore that sense again, not when his ignorance had effectively wiped out the most brilliant future of them all.
As Draco tore his hair, Blaise sighed wistfully. Ruefully.
At least this future isn’t so bad, he comforted himself.
“It’s all going to be okay, in the end,” he told Draco, which was as much as he could say, really, because Draco would take it for a meaningless platitude rather than Fate-ordained truth.
Which was for the best, after all.
***
“I told her of course that while some people might have happily gone abroad during the war, I certainly hadn’t the option of doing so, nor will I do so now just because she’s found some maternal affection in that cold heart of hers and wants me there!” He wandered into the blue parlour, waving his arms, fuming over the letter his mother had recently sent him.
Narcissa’s eyes widened where she sat by the windows. “Mr Zabini?”
“Right, yes, hello Narcissa.”
He took the seat opposite hers and poured some tea, his hands still rather shaky despite his best efforts. He scowled at them then took a few deep breaths and they finally stilled.
“Mr Zabini, what on earth are you doing here and how did you get in?” Narcissa demanded.
“I mean, she offered to bring me with her, I suppose, but what kind of parent just offers?” Blaise continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “If she truly cared and knew how bad things were going to get, she should have just brought me with her in the first place, regardless of any protests I made!”
Narcissa looked rather startled, although her features were rapidly smoothing out into a blank sort of mask. “I–what are you talking about, Mr Zabini?”
“My mother, dear Narcissa,” Blaise explained with a heavy sigh. “She’s gotten it into her head that I should join her abroad.” He shook his head and sipped his tea. Soundlessly, of course. “Just–the audacity of that woman!”
With hesitant movements, Narcissa reached out and picked up her own cup as well.
It was clear progress; this was the third time he’d barged in on her and the first time she hadn’t immediately tried tossing him out.
“I am sorry to hear that,” Narcissa offered stiffly with only a minor sigh, so small he could barely hear it.
“No matter,” Blaise said, waving the irritating topic off with a wide smile. “Tell me, how have you been since we last spoke?”
***
Piccolo Draco,
Still no success in getting the Pricks-That-Be to allow you writing instruments, I’m afraid. But hey, at least you have me for company even if you can’t write back! I know, I know, you’re one lucky prisoner.
Your mother is well, which I’m sure she’s told you herself. I’m keeping an eye on her, as promised.
Your wife to be is still on track to becoming such, never fear! Last I heard she’s at Hogwarts, taking an unhealthy amount of N.E.W.T.s. I’m sure your children will be just a swotty and annoying as you two, and I will of course accept the position of godfather when you get around to asking me.
Something something about Quidditch. Tornadoes won something–I didn’t actually pay attention to the Prophet’s sports section. I’d say I’m sorry but we’d both know I’d be lying. Never did understand what it is about that sport that gets people so up in arms. At least your obsession can be easily traced back to Potter, you little closet case.
I’m imagining a pretty impressive glare at that last part; you’ll have to tell me if I was right when you get out.
It'll still be a while longer until that happens, I think. I’m sorry.
Don’t go mad in there, Draco, I’d be severely disappointed if you did.
Happy Christmas,
Blaise
***
Muggles sure had an interesting sense of fashion. The bulky, colourful overalls with sewed on patches looked especially ghastly, but Blaise found he rather liked looking at them anyway. He couldn’t quite understand what possessed these muggles to waltz around the school of (presumably) higher learning in what he’d thought was attire more appropriate for manual labour, but then he’d never understood his world’s obsession with pointy hats, either.
He sipped the delightful beverage that was far sweeter than any coffee he’d had before, humming appreciatively at the taste of caramel.
The tall blonde finished tacking the notice onto the ridiculously large board that covered the entire wall. It barely needed a notice-me-not among all the other notes, but Blaise wasn’t one to leave something this important up to chance.
Under the guise of perusing the various invitations, advertisements and posters, Blaise kept a hand on the wand in his pocket and cast the spell, which made the brunette who’d shown an interest in the notice wander away.
Taking another sip of his drink, Blaise continued following the blonde.
***
Goodness, but Draco was an idiot sometimes. Blaise would have been seriously worried Azkaban had addled his brains if it wasn’t for the fact that Draco had demonstrated his idiocy countless times at Hogwarts.
I don’t need a mind healer, Blaise, what would I even say to them?
What a load of tosh.
At least Draco was more amenable to the idea than Narcissa, who definitely needed counselling too but was even more obstinate in accepting Blaise’s phenomenal advice.
Blaise hadn’t specifically Seen Draco accept his prodding, but he knew his best friend; he’d get him there eventually.
***
Blaise had to suppress a snicker where he sat crouched, Disillusioned, in the bushes. The muggles were arriving in a steady stream but not a one of them noticed the distorted light where he hid. Not that he was surprised; they were remarkably unobservant for the most part.
The sound of music and voices floated out through the open door and Blaise was getting rather impatient–he wanted to get inside too, to mingle and party with the muggles, and to spy on Draco and Hermione.
And here was his chance.
Blaise reached out a hand, grabbed the muggle he’d decided on, and dragged him down into the bushes. A quick yank on his hair (ooh, soft) and then a covert Confundus had the muggle stand back up, dust himself off and wander off the way he’d come.
Blaise popped open the vial, deposited the hair, and threw the Polyjuice back with a grimace. He Transfigured his clothes to look like what the muggle had been wearing and was pleased by the overalls–they were surprisingly comfortable and came handy with a name down the leg. Apparently, he’d have to answer to Oliver tonight.
Delightful.
He got to his feet, cancelled the Disillusion when he was sure no eyes were on him, and wandered through the door with a wide grin.
He beelined for the dining room where some sort of game had just concluded, and Hermione Granger was busy pouring leftover drinks into a single cup with Draco by her side, quite obviously staring.
Blaise grinned to himself and quickly sidled up to Hermione.
“That was bloody brilliant!” he exclaimed, noticing that in addition to the garishly red cup, she also held something of a proper drink in her other hand.
“Thanks!”
“Seriously, you could go pro.” At whatever the hell that game is. “By the way, where’d you get that?” And how can I get one?
Hermione smiled and there was a lovely flush on her cheeks, indicating she’d partaken in a few drinks of her own already. “Oh, Melissa made it for me! She’s the best, really should take up bartending on the side or something.”
“Wicked, any chance for one of my own?”
He sighed internally when she informed him it was some sort of flatmate privilege, and resigned himself to subpar drinks for the rest of the evening unless he could wrangle something decent out of Draco. Surely, he had a stash of something proper somewhere that Blaise might be able to sniff out.
Speaking of Draco, he was looking delightfully murderous at the innocuous conversation happening between Blaise and Hermione.
You make it too easy, Blaise thought amusedly as he accepted the drink from Hermione, letting his fingers linger on hers, maintaining eye contact as he took a swallow from something sweet and decidedly alcoholic.
Hermione’s ensuing frown was downright adorable.
As was Draco’s expression when Blaise winked at him once Hermione demonstratively turned away and put her hand on Draco’s arm.
Blaise sniggered quietly to himself as they walked away, Draco’s hand unerringly seeking out Hermione’s lower back.
Too easy.
“Hey Oliver, you up for the next game?” someone hollered, and Blaise flashed a wide grin.
“Try and stop me!”
***
Sometimes, having the Sight was a right pain. He could ignore what he Saw, of course he could, but that left things up in the air in a way he was decidedly uncomfortable with.
So, yes, he could have approached Potter and the Weasleys far sooner. He could have said sod it, taken the risk, and hoped things worked out for him anyway.
But what he’d Seen…it was too precious to risk. Even if he did have to wait a couple more years.
In the meantime, Blaise tried his hardest to put the future out of his mind and focused on the present, living life to the fullest in a way he didn’t think would affect that oh so glorious future.
Hopefully there was something to that old adage that patience was a virtue.
***
The closer the date of Hermione’s and Draco’s wedding drew; the more nervous Blaise became. And when the day finally arrived, he was a veritable wreck.
This is it, played on a loop inside his head when he helped Narcissa prepare the Manor for the ceremony.
This is it, kept banging around as he stood looking down on the rings, swallowing convulsively, before stealing away with them.
This is it, blared in his mind as he walked down the aisle, rings resting on a velvet pillow, and took up his place to the side of the altar as Draco’s best man.
This is it, whispered his heart as he took his assigned seat at the reception.
Blaise shoved his nervousness aside, smirked, and reached out a hand to his seat neighbour.
“Hello there–Blaise Zabini! Lovely to meet you.”
The redhead’s eyes widened before he smiled warmly back, a clear look of interest on his handsome, freckled face. “Charlie Weasley.”
Blaise winked. “Oh, I know.”
He’d Seen it, after all.