Sly Boys

Draco was angry. 

But it was not just his friend of thirteen years who could see it. Draco had always worn his heart on his sleeve, his face often reacting to situations before any other part of himself could. It was perhaps his greatest struggle in navigating the viper's den of the wizarding upper classes: politicians, celebrities and the pureblood families that sat on more than half the gold in Gringotts. Every dinner party, every meeting that his father dragged him to, every conversation with those people, a mask would come down over his features, cool and impenetrable from both sides. But secretly, deep down, Blaise suspected that he enjoyed the performance. Perhaps it was his father's appraisal, his mother's pride, or simply his own satisfaction, but it was clear to those who knew him: Draco loved to master himself. 

This was not what he was doing at present, however. 

On their way to the dungeons, a grand total of three Gryffindors were insulted, five mudbloods were threatened, and at least nine frightened first years were barged out of the way. Blaise kept his face steady and cold as always, but he could not convince himself that there was any sort of rationale behind Draco's behaviour. Pride and rage. It was an ugly combination. 

It was difficult to tell which of the day's disturbances had irked him most: Daphne and the marriage-turned-breakup-turned-flirting; the murderous so-called Riddle boy; or the Vanderblood witch. Blaise could not personally mirror his friend's outrage at the latter. Of course, he had heard the stories, but whether he believed them was a different matter entirely. The thought that there was a murderous, Dark-magic-loving family travelling the continent was never a pressing concern of his. He supposed that it was Draco's tendency to put great weight on public opinion and rumours that allowed it to get under his skin so much. 

He and Theo exchanged looks as Draco's violence escalated to wand use and a second year was reducto-ed out of the way of the dungeon wall.

"Prefect of the year," Theo muttered sarcastically under his breath, but so that only Blaise could hear. 

"Merman," Draco spat, wrestling his way through the wall before it had fully given way. 

The Slytherin common room opened up before them. A cavernous room deep under the lake, it had always reminded Blaise of a muggle aquarium he had once seen when his parents had taken him to America as a child. Everything was bathed in the murky greenish light of the Black Lake, which clung to the magical glass that wrapped the North flank of the room, extending partway into the ceiling. Sometimes merpeople and grindylows would come up to the window, watching the students, making faces, poking curiously at the glass, but no one over third-year paid them much attention. At first, Blaise had hated it. The darkness of the room, the coldness of it despite the fire always raging in the grate, not to mention the feeling of being constantly watched by something out there, swimming the deep. But over his five years, the common room had come to be associated with laughter, victorious chess matches, late-night study sessions, and the parties... 

The Slytherin parties were notorious throughout the castle, but they were always closed invitation. Only the desirable and the cunning could get in. Except for the first night. The first night party was open to anyone daring or creative enough to cross the castle after dark and whisper the password to the dungeon wall. And it was tonight, Blaise reminded himself, a hint of excitement and anxiety inside him. And almost everything was sorted except -

A shadowy figure had lumbered out of the darkness, disrupting his mental list of tasks. Hands in its pockets, head hung low to hide its face. Theo had instinctively drawn his wand and Draco had never lowered his, so Blaise drew his too, just to be safe. The three of them stood poised in the emerald light as the figure emerged from the shadows. But who would have missed the feast? Just as his face came into view, the fire burst into life in the stone fireplace, casting a sudden amber glow about the room. The fire danced in the eyes of the boy. It was Mattheo Riddle. 

Next to him, Blaise could hear Draco breathing heavily, he did not need to turn his head to know that his nostrils were flared and jaw tight. 

"What are you doing here? How did you break in?"

"Break in?" Crooned Mattheo, "Someone didn't get the message, this is my common room too, shame the prefects aren't very welcoming," He swept his finger along the back of one of the large leather sofas, blowing the collected dust in the direction of Draco. 

Blaise chanced a glance to his right. Draco was indeed wound tight with rage, and Theo was analysing the boy's every move with dark eyes. But Matteo did not have his wand out. And the three of them stood there with wands pointed at his neck felt like overkill despite his threatening nature. 

The uncomfortable stillness in the room was snapped by the wall reopening, admitting the sounds of hundreds of footfalls and feast-addled conversations. The wave of Slytherins dissipated into the room, some casting a few half-curious half-terrified looks their way as they settled into the armchairs of the common room. Mattheo backed away into his shadowy corner and the three of them lowered their wands. 

"God this house is going to the dogs," Draco sneered. "Just wait until my father hears about this," And he made straight for the parchment-laden dining table, telling the fourth years to piss off and taking one of the boys' quills. 

"Let's hope he brightens up by tonight," Theo sighed, lounging across one of the long leather sofas that were reserved exclusively for the sixth-year Slytherins at Draco's behest. "Maybe I can slip him something,"

"Yeah, I'm sure you drugging him is exactly what he needs right now," Blaise muttered, sinking onto the sofa opposite. "I do need him to sort the music though, so if you have a root that will enhance his artistic thinking, I might let it slide,"

Theo huffed a short laugh, "Your principles are unshakeable, Zabini, but no, I don't sadly, Mother and Father raided my stash just before I left, the bastards, they don't speak to me all summer then all of a sudden it's get close to the minister's kid and let's search your room just to be sure. They weren't happy." 

"I'll bet," Said Blaise, "They can't have needed to search very hard, your room is more of a greenhouse than a bedroom,"

"Ah," groaned Theo, fishing around in his pocket, "The greenhouses! How I missed them,"

They were interrupted by Draco returning from his letter-writing. 

"That was fast," Theo remarked, flipping a lighter over in his hand.

"Wasn't much to say," Draco said, holding the letter up and reading aloud, "Dear Father, Hogwarts is worse than you feared. There is now a Vanderblood witch walking among us and using our common room, no doubt the work of Madeline Bones. I did, however, have the fortune of meeting one of your coworkers, Professor Tom Riddle, who is taking Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. He made a good impression but I'm rather confused about his family, especially considering that he has a relative, Mattheo I believe, who is also in Slytherin. What happened to the Riddles? Daphne and the rest of us are well, write soon and send my love to Mother, Draco."

"So you left out the part where little Riddle is trying to kill you and you're not actually with Daphne?" Theo observed.

"Obviously," Draco scoffed. "Anyway, I'm off to the owlery, this can't wait, and I've sorted the music so you can unknot your wand, Zabini," Draco added, and his friend, who had been on the verge of approaching the topic, visibly relaxed.

"How are you going to get them in?" Blaise asked, impressed, "Just out of curiosity,"

"Who?" pressed Theo.

"Let's just say Slughorn is expecting an extra-large delivery of potion supplies tonight," Draco smiled, for the first time in hours it seemed, his grey eyes dancing with mischievous delight. "Straight through the front gates, right under their noses,"

"But who is it?" Theo nagged. 

"See you later," Draco waved them off and strode out of the common room.

"Do you think he'll be alright on his own?" Blaise muttered, "With little Riddle out for him?"

"Who cares? Who's performing tonight?"

"I'll tell you if you help me set up,"

"Is it The Gorgons?"

Blaise settled into a familiar silence.

"Mudbloods and Squibs?"

"Obviously not them," Blaise rolled his eyes in spite of himself, "You must be the only one that listens to that misery."

Theo sighed in brief surrender, laying back down on the sofa and playing with his lighter, "We all know you'll force some third years to set up anyway,"

Blaise quirked an eyebrow, looking around at the cavernous space soon to be transformed, the music of the night to come already thumping in his chest, he couldn't argue with that. 

The Slytherin common room had always looked a little bit like a cathedral, but watching it now, green starlight twinkling high up in the arched ceilings, bodies writhing in their emerald glow in the space below, Blaise had never seen something so unholy inspire such religion in him. 

Theo was right. The third years had helped. They'd done as they were told; stole buffets from the kitchens, smuggled Honeydukes sweets past the caretaker by the crate, and enchanted the sparkling champagne pyramid underneath the great Black Lake window to stay upright - about all the magic that Blaise had trusted them with. The rest of the charms and transfigurations were incredibly complicated, Blaise acknowledged smugly, staring at his handiwork. The most difficult of which had been the large square rug in the central chamber, bewitched to not only look like a silver dancefloor but to send its dancers a foot into the air, so that they danced on the green light reflecting off the enchanted mirror-like surface. Not that it was visible at that moment, only the difference in head height between the dancers in the centre and those at the borders indicated that the charm was working. 

"Zabini!" called a voice from below the balcony on which Blaise had been surveying the party, a voice he knew all too well. 

Draco climbed the black spiral stairs to his perch, checking his watch as he took them two at a time, pushing his slick blond hair out of his eyes. Blaise had not seen him since the party had started, not that there was ever a specific time for such a thing, but Draco was always late nevertheless. His pale chest, smooth and hard like marble, peaked out of his unbuttoned white shirt and his pine green trousers blended in seamlessly with the clouds of colour dancing above their heads. 

"When you're done looking pleased with yourself, they're ready." He said, giving Blaise a knowing look. 

"Okay, I'll clear the stage," Blaise muttered, pushing himself up to his full height and clapping Draco on the shoulder as he passed, cutting a clean path through the dense crowd. 

As he passed through the room, snippets of half-whispered half-yelled conversations met him, each one more amusing than the last. 

"How did they get a waterfall behind the stage?"

"Gryffindor are never gonna beat this,"

"Has Theo given you something? Ask him for the -"

" - I'm telling you I saw Rowle on my way here,"

"Five galleons if you can get with Draco Malfoy tonight,"

"I heard they smuggled in Mudbloods and Squibs in a Honeydukes crate,"

Blaise smirked to himself as he strode up to the elevated platform next to the entrance wall and signalled to the band of Ravenclaw fifth years to stop playing their cover of The Gorgons' Basilisk, Basilisk, Basilisk. 

"You guys are done now," He said, taking the mic from Emilio Birch, their frontman, "Go enjoy the party,"

"Thanks, man," the four of them vanished their instruments and quickly dissolved into the crowd, heading in the direction of the ten-tiered drinks fountain serving anything but water. 

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Blaise called out into the now hushed crowd. He hated this sort of thing, it was much better suited to Draco's list of talents. "It's time," He said slowly, fighting the hot itch at the back of his neck, "for you to get what you came for," He looked around the room, every alcohol-widened eye was turned on him now, there must have been hundreds of them, stretching all the way back to where the Black Lake pressed up against the murky, twinkling window panes, as though it was watching him too. "Please welcome to the stage... The Wyrd Sisters!" Blaise finished, unable to fight his grin as he caught Theo's eye in the crowd, his face slack and euphoric. 

The crowd of Slytherins, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs alike began screaming and jostling one another to get to the front row as the four members of The Wyrd Sisters appeared on the platform in front of the silver waterfall with a puff of purple smoke, their instruments in hand. They immediately launched into one of their best-known songs, sending the chamber into a frenzy. Blaise quietly stepped down from the stage, dodging the swinging arms and spilling drinks, and went to reinforce the muffliato charm on the entrance wall. 

Just as he reached the only people-free spot in the entire common room, the wall before him opened up, letting the yellow light from the torch-bracketed corridors in, temporarily blinding him. 

"Blaise Zabini!" Came an overly cheerful and entirely unwelcome voice.  

"Cedric," Blaise grunted in response, his eyes adjusting to the light, allowing him to see Cedric's robes. "What are you wearing?" He couldn't stop himself from asking, as little as he cared for conversation with the boy. 

Cedric glanced down at his ancient, star-embroidered burgundy robes, complete with a pointed hat tucked under his arm. "Oh, you know," He grinned, sidling past him, "Just giving the witches what they want," 

His other friends, dressed in similarly odd old robes, followed the handsome dark-haired boy into the jumping crowd. Avery Weasley, Sebastian Chu, and some meek-looking tagalong shifted their way toward the food table beneath the balcony. Blaise rolled his eyes. The Bucks, they called themselves. How cheap. Blaise could not imagine being desperate enough to name your own friendship group. 

He mentally made a note to tell Draco's house elf, stood sentinel outside the door, invisible save for his master's permission, that from now on he was only to admit witches and wizards that were dressed for a Slytherin party, not a teacher's staff room Christmas function. 

Blaise raised his wand, pointing it at the grey stone, "Muffli-"

A scream that sliced through the chanting crowd and booming music caught his ear. He turned, searching the surging crowd for the source. Heads were turning toward the central chamber. Beneath the dancing balls of emerald fire and puffs of smoke that no doubt had something to do with Theo, two figures were becoming clearer and clearer as the crowd retreated around them, falling away from the levitating dancefloor until Blaise's line of sight became clear. Draco.

He was locked in what looked to be a messy, wandless brawl. Blaise's thoughts snapped back to a very similar fight earlier that day, on the train, when the Riddle boy had punched him. The boy who had threatened him with death. Blaise's wand was in his hand before he knew what he was doing, he blasted a path through the crowd now squeezing up into the first chamber, scrambling for a vantage point over the fight. But as he neared the clashing bodies, flashing green and shadowed in the ever-shifting light, he realised that the dark-haired boy with his hands restraining Draco's arms was not Mattheo Riddle, but Lorenzo Berkshire. 

The band did not stop playing as Draco landed a thudding kick against Lorenzo's ribs. The brunet boy relinquished his grip just as another scream pierced the crowd. This time, Blaise could instantly see who had leased it: Daphne Greengrass, her hands clasped over her mouth, stood at the very front of the sidelines. She was wearing a short dress of emerald sequins, which would have been elegant were it not for her touseled hair, love-bitten neck, and expression of horror. 

"Draco, no!" She cried, eyes locked on the boys as Lorenzo tackled Draco in response, sending them rolling over the mirrored floor, green lights still flashing around them. 

Blaise tightened his grip on his wand, and for a split second he wondered if it would be more fitting to stow it away and roll up his sleeves instead, but before he could intervene, a third figure leapt from the wall of bystanders and hauled itself at Lorenzo, pulling him off of Draco and throwing him to the ground so violently that he rolled off the raised dancefloor and onto the stone floor. The feet of those closest shuffled back, gasps ricocheting around the circle of onlookers. Theo's face turned back to look at Draco, and Blaise saw that his wand was clenched between his teeth, a small cut blooming underneath his blue eye. His chest heaved, and Blaise thought he could see his heart beating through his thin cotton shirt.

Then, out of nowhere, a dark shadow launched itself onto the raised dancefloor, which had now become a boxing ring, and lashed out at Theo's knees from behind, bringing him to the floor. A green orb flashed overhead and Blaise found himself staring into the face of Mattheo Riddle, his eyes wild and teeth bared. Blaise turned his head in what felt like slow motion. Draco was still gathering himself on the other side of the mirrored floor, his shirt torn in places and his hair falling over his brow, his left eye was black around the icy blue. He pulled himself to his feet just as Mattheo turned towards Draco, like a predator, and without thinking, without even feeling his feet moving, Blaise flung himself out of the crowd, hurling his entire body at the Riddle boy. 

He couldn't tell who he was punching, or where, all he knew was that his knuckles hurt like a bitch and his nose ached as though it was broken where Mattheo had caught him with an elbow. Draco hadn't taken long to yank Mattheo away from him by the roots of his hair, causing the boy to cry out and twist under his grip, his eyes flashing almost red as he raked his nails along Draco's cheek, drawing blood. 

Theo staggered out from the shadows, his wand still held in his mouth, his eyes dark and set on the Riddle boy, his arms beginning to reach out when - slam. Lorenzo had dragged himself up off the floor and flattened Theo once more. Blaise kicked out smartly at the boy, catching him in the stomach and Lorenzo rolled off once more, leaving Theo free to look up, turn his head to the side so that his wand pointed at Mattheo and through gritted teeth shouted: "Stupefy!' 

The jet of red light zipped right under Mattheo's chin, who had narrowly dodged the stunning spell with a quick jerk of his head. He flung his skull forward, headbutting Draco in the nose. 

"Argh!" he cried out, clutching at his nose, red trickling down onto his shirt. 

Blaise grabbed the boy around the waist and drove against him with his legs, sending them both over the edge of the dancefloor. Amongst all the pain and rage, he could vaguely feel the eyes of a very large crowd upon them, perhaps the band had even stopped playing as the five of them continued to punch and kick and lash out at one another. Mattheo came at him teeth first and it was all Blaise could do to pull back to avoid getting his throat ripped out. The boy fought like a wild dog, completely untamed and unpredictable. The result was frightening, he needed at least two of them at any given time just to keep him occupied. 

Lorenzo was another problem entirely, no matter how many hits he took he did not seem to stay down. Although Theo didn't seem to mind, the glint in his eyes saying that this was likely the most fun he'd had all night as he traded blows with the boy. Blaise, however, found himself wondering when the whole thing would end. He ached, he was tired, he had not gotten to enjoy the party he had spent hours putting together, and to top it all off, Mattheo's most recent blow had caught his windpipe, rendering him unable to breathe, let alone speak. Draco retaliated with a punch of his own, knocking Mattheo's jaw so hard that a shower of blood and what might have been a tooth sprayed from his mouth, splattering the levitated floor so that it appeared to be suspended mid-air. The gruesome sight elicited a particularly loud groan from the crowd, who Blaise noted while he massaged his throat, were thoroughly enraptured by the whole thing as though The Wyrd Sisters, The Gorgons and Mudbloods and Squibs combined were not enough to top this spectacle.

Just as Blaise staggered back into the centre, looking from where Theo had Lorenzo pinned under his legs, to where Mattheo was circling Draco like a wolf, and deciding how exactly he was going to muster his strength to help his friends, a booming voice broke through the melee, turning every head and halting all five boys mid-swing. 

"Stop this at once!"

It was Headmaster Rowle, and he looked wicked.

His face was as sharp and shadowed as ever, and the eerie green lights dancing around him made him look positively ghostly. Students all around them began screaming and stumbling over one another to get to the entrance wall. The band had most definitely stopped playing now. 

Blaise cast a fearful look over at Draco who, dishevelled, bloody and sweaty, looked as frightened as he felt, his cool mask forgotten. 

"H-headmaster -" he choked, as though it were he who had been punched in the throat. 

Another wave of screaming broke out and Blaise saw that Professor Slughorn was blocking the exit. His heart sank. Slughorn. Who was always on their side, always so trusting, so enabling... 

A few Slytherins tried to skulk off up into the dormitories but Professor Dumbledore emerged, looking at them all with a grim expression on his face, albeit a certain twinkle in his eyes. 

Taken off guard by the ambush, Blaise looked around the room frantically and saw many others doing the same. How many teachers were there exactly? And how had they gotten past Dobby without so much as a warning from the house elf?

"Your punishment for this will be unprecedented," Hissed Rowle, walking between the five of them. 

They were all still breathing heavily. Blaise could taste blood where it ran from his nose into his mouth, but did not dare to draw attention to himself by wiping it away. He was lucky to still be able to feel his wand tucked into his belt. He could see someone else's laying three feet away, hovering above the silver surface, and what he recognised to be Draco's amongst the feet of the crowd surrounding them. 

"Perhaps," Spoke Dumbledore clearly, "These boys need to go to the hospital wing, first, Headmaster," 

Rowle narrowed his eyes up at his colleague. Then considered, "Yes, perhaps you are right, Dumbledore." He looked around at the five of them. "Off you go," He said menacingly, "And if I don't find you there upon my return I will have you on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow morning!"

They all stood there, waiting for someone to move first. The room seemed to have gone unnervingly cold and still, as though the lake had somehow breached the glass that held it. After what felt like an eternity, Mattheo's hand twitched, and Draco braced, as though ready to take another punch, but the boy merely picked up Lorenzo's wand and handed it to him. Blaise blinked. It was as though they had suddenly shaken off an Imperius curse. He stepped down off the dancefloor, located Draco's wand amongst the bystanders, not able to bring himself to look up into their faces, picked it up and turned towards his friends. 

They were a very sorry-looking group indeed. Half of them were limping towards the entrance wall. Draco had his arm under Theo's shoulder, their blood mixing together on their white shirts like some sort of gruesome potions accident. Blaise took up the rear, not trusting either Mattheo or Lorenzo - but mostly Mattheo - to not sneak in another blow whilst the teachers were distracted with the hundreds of other partygoers. 

The wall opened up for them, the common room so quiet now that every grinding brick and grunting stone seemed to echo around the cavernous room. Blaise had rarely felt shame like it in his life. All these people, here to see the splendour and excitement of the Slytherin parties, his infamous Slytherin parties, were now watching their hosts drag one another, battered and bruised, from what was sure to mean never-ending detention for everyone left behind, not to mention almost certain expulsion for them. How their reputation would recover from this he would never know. Draco would be furious. And their families... 

The wall closed behind them and Blaise chanced one last look over his shoulder. Slughorn was staring at him with great disappointment welling in his eyes, and behind him, The Wyrd Sisters were looking from one to the other awkwardly. And then it was all gone. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, the group trudged up towards the hospital wing. Blaise thought he heard Draco mutter "not now, Dobby," under his breath, his teeth gritted under the weight of Theo, whose feet were dragging. Ahead of them, Mattheo was practically crawling, hunched over so that his fingers occasionally grazed the flagstone floor as he pulled himself up step after step. Lorenzo wasn't doing too well either, and stopped to lean against the walls a few times on their way up. 

Not one of them spoke a word the entire time. 

Blaise could only imagine the levels of shame, defeat and resentment each of them were feeling at that moment. Even the Riddle boy, who seemed completely off the normal end of any spectrum of human emotion, looked wan. 

By the time they reached the hospital wing, Lorenzo was panting, Theo was somehow bleeding out of even more places and Mattheo's head hung in his lap. 

"Well aren't you five a sorry sight," Snapped Madam Bullstrode, speaking Blaise's mind. 

Millie's mother was young and pretty, and perhaps better known around the school than her own daughter despite only having been there for two years instead of five. Theo, as though unable to help himself, would regularly make up any excuse to go and sit in the hospital wing just to try and charm her, much to Millie's disgust. He had to be really injured, Blaise thought, noting that Theo didn't even look up at her voice.

"I'll be with you in just a moment, I've got a student with me. Here, take a seat," And she conjured five wooden chairs with her wand that the five of them collapsed into gratefully. 

For a moment, Blaise felt as though he was holding his breath. And then Lorenzo let out a groan, which was answered by a wince from Draco, then a hiss from Theo and a dramatic sigh from Mattheo. Blaise let out a long puff of air that flapped his lips ungracefully. The corner of his mouth quirked, and he could not help himself. He started to chuckle, and then the chuckle, insane as it was to hear it rebounding off the walls, turned into a laugh. 

"What on earth," Demanded Draco, outraged, "could possibly be funny about this situation, Zabini?"

But Blaise could not answer him, for his throat hurt but he laughed anyway. Then Theo's shoulders began shaking, and he snorted too, the sound bubbling with blood, which only made the problem worse. 

"You guys are insane," Hissed Mattheo, and as Theo looked up at the wild-eyed boy calling them insane, they locked eyes and both burst into fits of giggles. 

"Salazar save us," Draco muttered.

Blaise lost track of who was laughing. All he knew was that tears were leaking from his eyes and his cheeks ached from the strain of it. 

"We are so screwed," Lorenzo croaked between loud cackles, "like, royally fucked," 

Theo laughed even harder, "We are so dead, what are our parents gonna say?" He said, looking over at Draco who was the only stony-faced one left. 

"Fuck off, Nott," Draco groaned, "I'm in enough shit as it is, this is going to ruin me, my life is over,"

And for all that Blaise cared for his melodramatic friend, and wanted to tell him that he was being stupid and that everything was going to be okay, all he could do in that moment was laugh at him. 

Draco glared back, rage and betrayal simmering in his eyes.

"Malfoy -" Gasped Theo, tears streaming down his red cheeks, "You're sixteen," 

And then Draco seemed to get it. Get why none of this really mattered and why all the failures and disasters of the night were actually just funny. It just was. 

And then he laughed too. 

"I want it to be clear though," he said, once he had caught his breath, glowering at Mattheo and Lorenzo, "You two are still dead."