The Zabini Manor pt. 1
Harry hadn't meant to fall asleep, but eventually the potions essay he's trying to complete for Slughorn starts making even less sense than usual and his eyes go itchy with the feeling of staring for too long. He blinked, and suddenly, Harry wasn't in the common room.
He sees the familiar black and green walls of Malfoy Manor, and knows it's happened again. He's seeing through his eyes.
Voldemort felt . . . happy, but with a biting edge of frustration, and it seeped into Harry's skin like sludge, clouding his own thoughts. Harry took the time to look around the room, though he recognised it, he'd never actually seen one of the Death Eater meetings. He'd always figured they were too boring for Voldemort to feel anything strong enough for Harry to pick up.
Even when you were a murderous dickhead in the middle of a war, Harry knew meetings were always, always, boring.
He saw Snape, and Carrow, and Bellatrix, no Pettigrew, which is fairly strange. Though Voldemort seemed to hate the snivelling rat just as much as Harry, he was almost always there, lapping at his master's heels like a dog.
Familiar white blonde caught his eyes, but he quickly repressed the knee jerk reaction to stare, it would only be Lucius Malfoy.
But doing a final sweep to report back to the Order, it's not Lucius.
It's Draco.
Harry felt horror and revulsion climb in the back of his throat. He knew Malfoy was a Death Eater, but seeing him sitting at the right hand of Voldemort, in his fathers place, made it new again somehow.
He liked to think he knew Malfoy better now, after their talk, but he hadn't even known Malfoy had left Grimmauld and the Order.
Why hadn't anyone told him? This seemed like something he should know.
The final nail in the coffin was the fondness Harry could feel emanating from Voldemort. It was the closest thing Harry had ever felt to normal, non-maniacal, non-homicidal, glee coming from him. Don't get him wrong, it still wasn't normal happiness, more like a child given a new toy they immediately intend to break.
What was Malfoy doing there? Why was he wearing white? Harry had never seen Malfoy wear white, only black and green. Was he a spy now?
Harry jolted back to himself when Voldemort spoke, "The Ministry has become a problem, and since Lucius is no longer with us . . ."
All eyes seemed to shoot to Malfoy, who seemed for all the world like he was incredibly bored, and wanted you to know it, lounging in the chair while still managing to look like he had a broom taped to his back.
"Amycus, go to the minister." Voldemort commanded.
"If I may, my lord," Malfoy spoke, and his voice was different than when Harry had spoken to him last, not even comparable to the haughty pureblood accent he'd had at Hogwarts. Instead, his words seemed to pull everyone in, all of the fully grown adults in the room immediately turning to listen to this teenager.
What was once a clear imitation of his father was now his own, smooth words falling out of Malfoy's mouth with grace and elegance, syllables seeming to twist themselves into whatever he needed, giving his voice a clear, ringing, quality as it reverberated around the room even more than Voldemort's had.
"Give the Ministry to me." Malfoy said, his mouth curling into the insufferable smirk Harry used to hate so much. But even that had changed, no longer quite so immature. The expression seemed to sit on Malfoy's face like it had been carved by some great Greek sculptor. It gave Harry the impression he was amused, not at you, but with you, inviting you in on a joke you didn't know was being played.
He hated it.
"Why?" Voldemort asked, ignoring how Amycus seemed to seethe at being ousted by a child.
"Look at them, not an ounce of creativity. You'd have to hold their hands, and what's the point of delegation if you must babysit?" Malfoy reasoned, leaning back, waiting for an answer.
Harry felt a rush of intrigue, but he couldn't tell who's it was.
He tried not to think about the last time he'd dreamed and Voldemort was this happy. The memories of blood were still etched into his mind months later.
"If you fail, you know what will happen." Voldemort said, though he clearly wasn't upset by the idea.
Malfoy nodded, completely unsurprised, "Oh, I'm aware, yes, but considering it was my father's duty, it only fits I should be the one to fill the vacancy."
"Very well, you're all dismissed."
The Death Eaters filed out of the room with a chorus of "Yes, my lord" but Malfoy stayed. He picked up his quill, jotting down notes quickly with his left hand, like he always did when he was in a rush.
"Draco." Voldemort called, and Malfoy's head rose from the parchment, though it took a moment for his eyes to follow.
"Yes, my lord?"
Voldemort stayed silent for a moment, and Harry could feel a flash of annoyance when Malfoy didn't look directly into his eyes, "Your standards will be quite a bit higher, you understand that, don't you?"
"Yes, my lord." Harry had never seen Malfoy so complacent, it itched at him like wrong fitting shoes, incessantly and near-painful.
"Then you know you cannot fail me in this?"
"I do, my lord, but I have faith in my abilities. I would not be here if I was incompetent." Malfoy said, perfectly level, though some familiar annoyance seeped into his tone near the end.
"Very well." And just like that, Harry was reeled back to his own head, startling awake to the ceiling of the Gryffindor common room.
"-arry? Harry?" Ron called, shaking him slightly.
Harry mumbled something incomprehensible even to him, and Ron sat back.
"Mate, you were sleeptalking again," His nose wrinkled, "About sodding Malfoy."
"I need to find Zabini." Harry sat up, a sense of urgency begging to take root.
Why was Malfoy with Voldemort? Had he embraced being a Death Eater? But Harry thought Malfoy'd made it obvious he didn't want to be a Death Eater.
Zabini would know. As much as he hated to admit it, they'd come to a truce. In a strange way, they both cared about Malfoy, and Zabini was surprisingly smart.
Harry thanked his lucky stars Hermione though Zabini was a stuck up, air-headed, pureblood. He didn't want to know what would happen if they got along.
Before Ron could stop him, Harry ran for his invisibility cloak and rushed out the portrait. But in the hallway, he hesitated.
Should he tell Dumbledore? It made sense, as the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore should know if there was a new high-ranking Death Eater, but somehow, it didn't feel right to tell him.
Zabini was Malfoy's fiancé, right? He should know first.
At least, that's what Harry told himself as he rushed the opposite direction from the Headmaster's office, towards the dungeons, pushing down his guilt.
It was only when he got to the empty stretch of wall Harry realised he didn't actually know the Slytherin password. He blinked at the wall for a few moments, wracking his brain for whatever bigoted nonsense the password could be, but then he realised.
He could literally conjure an incorporeal messenger.
So he pulled up a memory of him and Sirius, when they got out the pensive at Grimmauld, and he got to see his father for the first time, through his godfather's memory. Like lightning, a silver stag shot out of his wand, circling a few times before settling in front of Harry.
"Go get Zabini, tell him it's urgent." He thought about what would happen if the massive patronus startled some poor first year just trying to study, and hastily whispered, "Be discrete."
The stag bowed its head and dimmed by several measures, before galloping through the wall.
A few moments later, the wall melted, revealing an ornate door carved into the stone, "Salazar help me Potter, if you are not bleeding or on fucking fire I'm going to-"
"It's Malfoy!" Harry interrupted, dropping the invisibility cloak, and Zabini stood up straight from where he'd been slouched against the door frame.
"Well. Fuck, I guess that counts, come on." He turned without further ado, leaving Harry to scramble through the door before it could close.
Zabini walked ahead of him, shouting a quick "Full hold!" that made no sense to Harry, but seemed to register with the Slytherin students, who began to pick up whatever they were doing and leave.
Harry stared in surprise, getting the Gryffindors to clear out of the common room took Fred, George, bombs of several kinds, and McGonagall before they even considered listening, especially the older years. But as Harry watched one of the Greengrass sisters head down one of the many hallways that branched off from the common room, he wondered if Slytherins were just better at listening to orders. Maybe that was why they always ended up in death cults.
Zabini dropped onto one of the many velvet couches, right under the domed ceiling, where Harry could make out the vague shape of the giant squid in the far distance, "Well, Potter, spit it out."
"Malfoy is at The Malfoy Manor with Voldemort." He blurted out, ignoring Zabini's flinch at the name.
He didn't look shocked, or even upset really. He just sighed, pursing his lips.
"This is a new development?"
Harry nodded.
"And that's why you can tell me at all, of course." Zabini rubbed a hand over his eyes, "Of course this is the plan he chose, out of all the stars in the sky . . ."
He stood, turning his back to Harry, "Stay here a moment."
Harry began to protest, but Zabini turned a withering glare on him, bad enough it'd probably have Mrs. Weasley cowering.
He left, and Harry occupied himself by observing the Slytherin common room in a way he hadn't had the chance to the first time he'd been there, too preoccupied with acting like he lived there.
It was undeniably home to a bunch of stuck up aristocrats, filled with high arched ceilings, stained glass windows, actual chandeliers, and mahogany wood carved into the walls. It looked more palace than teen dormitory.
When Zabini returned, he was dressed, but not in a school uniform. Instead, he had on plain black robes, devoid of even the smallest amount of jewellery or embellishment.
"Come on." He waved, starting back down the hallway he'd come from.
"Wait! Where are we going?" Harry asked, where could they go anyway? Harry knew all of the secret entrances and exits.
At least, he thought he did.
"I can't explain, and if you tell anyone, I'll hex your tongue off, knowledge or not." Zabini retorted, impatience clipping his tone.
"We can't leave without Ron and Hermione."
Zabini snorted, "Well too bad, because we are." He turned around, intent to walk, but Harry grabbed his wrist.
"No. We are going to get Ron and Hermione. I can't do anything without them."
"Godric, you Gryffindors are like toddlers. Fucking fine. But if you're not back in the next five minutes, I'm leaving without you." Zabini snarled.
Harry didn't bother responding, only running to the door, not hesitating when the wall remained solid until the last second. He couldn't truly explain why he needed his friends, but this felt heavy to him somehow. Important.
Besides, they'd been ready to go for weeks, waiting for the best opportunity to start their search for the Horcruxes. This was as good of a reason to leave as any.
Luckily, the second he shot through the doorway, he collided with a gangly ginger.
"Oh Ronald, are you sure he's- Oh! Harry!" Hermione startled, "Are you alright?"
"Yes. Fantastic. Listen, we're leaving, no time to explain." Harry shouted over his shoulder, throwing on the invisibility cloak and starting towards the stairs.
"Uh, mate?" Ron called.
When Harry turned to snap at them, he saw Ron holding three backpacks, all holding enough shrunken things to keep a small country alive, "Oh, well."
"Better safe than sorry, that's what my mum says." Ron repeated, proud smile tugging the corners of his mouth up.
"Ron, I love you." Harry rushed forward, taking the bag out of his best friend's hand, "Come on!"
"Harry, why were you in the Slytherin-" Hermione was cut off when Zabini came out of the wall, looking at the three of them.
"Time's up, move it or lose it." He called before disappearing back into the dorm.
Harry hurried to follow, waving his friends forward, "Come on! I'll explain later!"
Hermione let out a sigh big enough to move mountains, and Ron audibly gagged as they walked in, but they still followed. Zabini was already walking around the corner, so Harry sped up to catch him.
Eventually, they were led into what looked like a normal, if absolutely huge dorm room, with only two beds, and Zabini turned to them, "If you speak of what I'm about to do to anyone, I will deny it, and ruin any reputation you have in the greater wizarding world, so that you can never, ever, hold a reliable job anywhere in europe."
Zabini looked at them, "This is where you swear yourselves to secrecy."
Ron and Hermione shared a look, but Harry stepped forward, "Yes. Fine. Whatever, let's go."
"Alright." Hermione agreed, though she obviously wasn't happy about it.
"Fine." Ron growled, only agreeing because Hermione had.
Without any other words, Zabini tugged open a desk drawer and pulled out a small pouch, Ron looked startled, but Harry couldn't see why until Zabini pulled out a pinch of green power and threw it into the fireplace.
"I'll go through first, Zabini Manor, Italy, alright?" He told them before stepping through the flames.
Ron looked incredulous, "Are we really going to follow that git to Italy? He's probably going to kill us when we get there!"
"He won't, I think, but I swear I'll explain later, come on!" Harry called over his shoulder, already pinching floo powder out of the bag.
"Hogwarts doesn't have floo's in the dormitories!" Hermione frowned, "It's not allowed!"
Ron gave her a look, hopelessly fond and exasperated.
Harry stepped into the fireplace, making sure to enunciate properly the whole way through. When he stumbled out of the other side, he landed in an expensive looking sitting room, lit entirely by suspended charms.
"Really darling?" A smooth voice said, and when Harry looked up, it was to see one of the most beautiful witches he'd ever laid eyes on. She was old enough to be Mrs. Weasley's age, but the heels she wore would have been right at home on a runway, and her long locs, laced with golden jewellery and streaked with grey around her temples, were pinned up in an elaborate up-do. She smiled down at Harry, much taller than both boys, and turned to Blaise.
Harry realised the family resemblance with a start, Blaise looked nearly identical to his mother.
"Is Mr. Potter the last guest I will have to accommodate tonight?" She asked him, red painted lips stretching into a sharp grin, revealing lines carved into her cheeks, further evidence of her age.
Somehow, Harry felt this woman was dangerous, that her beauty was only a shiny mask worn over knife edges, and Harry hadn't lived six years at Hogwarts not listening to those kinds of feelings.
"No, madré. Two others, but they will sit outside while I discuss something with you." Zabini glared, just as Ron and Hermione stepped through the fireplace, with none of the stumbling Harry had. Show offs.
When (presumably) Ms. Zabini saw Ron, her nose wrinkled, the same way Malfoy's did, though she thankfully refrained from any comments other than a simple, "Blaise, come with me for a moment."
She signalled over at something Harry couldn't see, and suddenly a large man in a black suit came to stand in the room, "Watch them, make sure they don't touch anything and get themselves cursed."
She put a hand on Blaise's shoulder and led him from the room. The second the door closed, Ron pulled an extendable ear out of his bag, handing it to Hermione.
When Harry nudged her and looked in the direction of the absurdly buff butler, Hermione only rolled her eyes, "She said to make sure we didn't touch anything, not that we couldn't listen. If she really wants to keep us from hearing, she'll put up silencing charms."
She looked right at the butler, as though daring him to argue, but to Harry's surprise, he didn't.
Harry wanted to argue, but found the logic was actually quite sound, so he only took an ear from Ron's pack and crowded with them around the door.
"Really, Blaise? A Weasley? What would Narcissa say?" Ms. Zabini's voice commented, though she didn't sound hostile.
"Draco and Lucius are the ones who really care, the Black's didn't hate the Prewett's, Draco's got a great uncle on his mother's side." Blaise responded.
"Love, if we discounted blood relations when planning feuds, we'd never have any, and then what fun would we have?" Ms. Zabini asked, humour brightening her voice.
There was the clicking sound of dress shoes and heels, and then they seemed to walk out of range. Harry sat back with a huff, debating using his invisibility cloak, but with the butler right there, it was impossible.
So, Harry did the only thing he seemed capable of these days, and waited.