Throne of Magic

The crinkling of the tome's pages filled the Slytherin common room as Helena turned the page.

She was sat elegantly upon a plush armchair, one leg delicately draped over the other as the book laid upon her lap.

She smirked inwardly at the looks she was receiving, the book in her arms was very expensive and very valuable, funnily enough, it was one of the cheaper ones in her vast collection.

The door to the common room swung open, but she didn't pay it any mind as her eyes trailed over the archaic writing.

A gasp suddenly echoed through the room, causing her to lift her head, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She snapped her book shut at the sight before her, the sudden sound causing a few of the Slytherins to flinch.

She stood up, advancing towards the pair and hissing: "Who was it?"

Blaise winced at her tone, clutching his broken arm tightly.

"McLaggen." he got out through gritted teeth, staggering into an armchair.

"He cornered us along with a few seventh years," explained Nott as he took a seat next to Blaise, darkening bruises slowly appearing on his pale complexion.

"They seemed to have it in for Blaise."

She rose a judgemental eyebrow at that, turning to the Italian boy and questioning drily: "And you couldn't retaliate because?"

It was Malfoy who answered, mercury eyes affixed worriedly on his friends as he replied: "McLaggen is heir to a prominent house. If we were to attack the repercussions would be high."

Helena hummed thoughtfully as she waved her wand at the two boys, asking absently: "McLaggen..... That wouldn't happen to be Cormac Anthony McLaggen, would it?"

One of the seventh years, Rowle, who had been watching them with thoughtful eyes, nodded in confirmation, saying: "His father is on the Wizengamot."

If anything, her face lit up even more, flicking her wrist sharply in the direction of her room.

She caught the book flying to her deftly, setting it down and quickly snatching the two vials from the air before they could hit the wall.

Ignoring the looks of awe, she handed them to the two boys, Blaise commenting lightly: "You could be a Seeker with those reflexes."

Viktor guffawed from where he was lounging on the couch, snorting and saying: "She's played Quidditch once. Then she proclaimed it was too boring. And that was after she beat me."

Disregarding the swell of conversation, she pricked her thumb, pressing it to the page and saying clearly: "Cormac Anthony of House McLaggen."

Looping calligraphy slowly appeared on the yellowed page, her fingers tracing the slowly appearing ink.

She smirked as her eyes scanned over the hefty list of debts the McLaggens owed her house.

A casual wave in the direction of her room and a sheaf of parchment flew into her hand.

Murmuring a spell under her breath, she chuckled lowly as she pressed the parchment to the book, the sound ominous and foreboding.

She picked up her eagle quill, dipping it into the inkwell before penning a neat letter, her fingers wrapping around the spine of the feather easily.

For the second time that evening, she pricked her finger, pressing it into the parchment, right next to where she had signed her name.

"A letter to the Goblins then?"

Instead of jumping in surprise at his unexpected arrival, she merely nodded, tucking the parchment into the letter, turning to her long-time friend.

He waved his wand, easily casting a charm and preventing them from being overheard.

"This is unnecessary," tried Blaise, watching as she sealed the letter.

She turned a poisonous glare towards him, snapping: "Don't you dare tell me this is unnecessary."

"I let him hit me," placated Blaise, voice soothing as he spoke. "You know it was needed."

She sighed, resisting the urge to rub her face. He was correct. He could have easily gone to any school, but he was placed in Hogwarts for a reason.

Her mother had her network of spies, as did she, but neither of them had an ear in Hogwarts. All their information came from their people in the ministry or the daily prophet. It was a hell of a lot better than what an ordinary citizen would get, but the information had been filtered extensively, by the old coot and the ministry, so it was nowhere near good enough.

They needed someone in Hogwarts, especially with the famed Charles Potter beginning his first year.

And that was where Blaise came in.

Still.

"It doesn't matter."

"You're one of mine, Zabini. He hurts you, he hurts me."

She stared at his face, silently asking for permission.

They both knew she could do whatever she wanted, and he wouldn't be able to stop her, but in this, in this, they both knew she wouldn't push.

If he wanted her to stay out, she would.

No matter how much she wanted to do otherwise.

~

Blaise Zabini was an odd boy.

For reasons unknown, he had turned down invitations to some of the most prestigious schools, choosing instead to attend Hogwarts, a school in which a letter of acceptance may have once been a coveted thing, but now was viewed as no more than a laughing stock.

Blaise was an Italian pureblood with a British father, and so he was one of the minority who had the option of going to another school. With prompting from Helena, a girl he had sworn to follow since he was eight, he enrolled in the British school.

He had always been a rather pretty child, and when he had been younger, he had been kidnapped for ransom. He had been screaming in fright and pain, a number of cutting curses leaving their mark when suddenly, there was a shout of 'Reducto!' and the door blasted open.

Among the debris, Helena rushed in. She was furious, casting curse after curse on the man, causing him to convulse on the floor in pain before he eventually bled out.

It was the first death he had ever seen; he was familiar with the concept of death, he had to be, with his 'fathers' continuously departing. Despite that fact, he had been sheltered, his mother taking care to shield her young son.

He stared at the body, transfixed, watching as the crimson liquid gushed out of the man's neck before soaking into the carpet below.

Ignoring his shock, Helena had walked towards him, voice gentle as she asked if he was alright. He had nodded, staring at her in slight awe and fear as he did so.

She helped him sit up, perching on the edge of the bed and keeping up a steady stream of mindless chatter as she waited for his mother.

"I was walking past the door," she explained, patting his hair down. "Heard you screaming."

Eventually, his mother had arrived, rushing to him immediately, fussing over him and crying her apologies.

Helena watched patiently from the sidelines, greeting his mother when her attention was finally directed at her.

"Lady Zabini."

She had changed. Before he had seen a fighter, a fire in those green eyes. Yet as she stood there with her shoulders curved in and a demure smile on her face, he couldn't help but wonder if that warrior had just been a figment of his imagination.

The answer to that, as he quickly found out, was a big, fat, no.

After assuring his mother that no, she did not want anything in return for saving her son, the trio left the dingy pub, his mother offering to send her home.

"You know," began Lady Zabini, squinting at the raven-haired girl. "You look rather young to be walking around on your own."

Her green eyes flared dangerously before her expression smoothed out, her voice tight as she replied: "I'm eight."

Lady Zabini frowned, eyes scanning her youthful face.

"Strange," she muttered. "I could've sworn you were at least twelve."

A grim smile appeared on her face as she said bitterly: "Some of us had to grow up early."

From that day, he frequently met up with her, the girl introducing him to a few of her friends with a satisfied smirk on her face, as if she knew something she didn't.

In truth, she probably did.

Nevertheless, he took pride in the fact that he was one of her best.

He was an excellent fighter, magically powerful and one of her closest confidants.

Perhaps not the first person she would turn to, but what he had was more than enough for him.

Under the watchful eye of her family, he had perfected the act of espionage at a young age. He had an excellent perception of what people expected of him, and he exploited this knowledge thoroughly.

Purebloods were supposed to be sorted into Slytherin. So he became a snake.

Purebloods should spit on anyone lower than them. So the words mudblood and blood traitor were added to his vocabulary.

It was a pain to calculate every step, every action, every word, but for Helena Natalie LeFay, there wasn't a thing he wouldn't give.

Helena had always been brash, headstrong. She was half-lion, half-snake, even if she rarely showed her Gryffindor side.

She loved fiercely, protectively, and yet, that love was only extended to those she called family or friend.

Blaise was lucky to be considered a friend by the girl, and with that friendship came a whole lot of baggage, but it was worth it.

She was worth it.

And that was why he reached over and squeezed her hand in a silent thanks, eyes conveying his wordless acceptance.

~

Helena sighed as she began the arduous task of sorting through her letters.

From her side, Blaise commented cheekily: "I haven't heard a sigh that long since Draco was explaining addition to Crabbe."

She glared at him, throwing a handful of letters at his face.

"Three marriage contracts, three!" she snapped. "Honestly, they don't know when to give up."

Blaise laughed, grinning at her and saying: "The only reason why mother hasn't sent one is because she's sure that you'll finally snap and start cursing everyone and she doesn't want to get caught in the crossfire."

She huffed, muttering petulantly: "There's nothing more I want to do right now."

Placing the letters aside, she stood up, smoothing down her robes and banishing the letters.

"Breakfast?" questioned Helena, turning to Blaise.

He laughed, standing up and hooking his arm with hers.

"Breakfast with a side of retribution."

~

Blaise watched Helena with fond eyes as she popped a strawberry in her mouth, an almost giddy excitement about her.

He chuckled when she glared at him, looking more like a kitten than the menacing image she wanted to convey.

Suddenly, she perked up, eyes glued to the Gryffindor table in rapt attention.

He watched along with her as McLaggen opened the letter, smothering his grin when the colour drained from his face.

A large howl of anger filled the morning air, causing everyone to turn to the steadily turning purple source of noise.

The boy stormed up to a calmly sitting Helena, screeching furiously: "HOW DARE YOU?"

She placed her fork down, wiping her mouth with a napkin before asking condescendingly: "How dare I? I'm afraid I have no idea what you speak of."

He shrieked again, throwing the paper in her face and squawking: "WE'VE LOST EVERYTHING! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

She recoiled, disgust on her face as drops of spittle landed on her face.

Wiping the droplets from her face, she sneered as she replied: "Please refrain from such repulsive acts in the future."

She plucked the paper from his hand, visibly casting a cleaning charm on it before examining the parchment.

After a few moments of him silently raging in anger, she said: "Well, there seems to be nothing wrong. It's all in order."

He spluttered for a few moments, Helena casting a shield to prevent more saliva from acquainting itself with her face.

"NOTHING WRONG? NOTHING WRONG?"

Before he began a full-blown rant, she said, voice cool: "Yes. Nothing wrong. These are all debts that your house has owed me, passed down from Lord to Lord."

She looked through the substantial list of debts before looking back up at him.

"If needed, a lawyer will be hired for you if you wish to contest any of these."

She looked him up and down, lip curling in distaste.

"I suggest you remove yourself from this situation before you embarrass yourself and by extension your house further."

McLaggen finally regained his sense of propriety, looking around before hissing out a threat and rushing off.

"Well," said Helena, a large smile on her face. "I would say that went well."

That day would forever be marked down as the first time the Hogwarts population had seen Blaise Zabini laugh out loud.

~

Theo pursed his lips as he walked along to the common room.

It was a weekend, there were no classes, and by the looks on Rowle's face, he was intending to take full advantage of that.

Theo wasn't stupid, no, not by any means, but he would admit that the events that had taken place the past few days baffled him.

He had been friends with Blaise since his first year, they were an odd combination, that was without question, but they worked.

The quiet, anti-social bookworm and the Gossip King of Hogwarts.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

He had thought he knew Blaise, knew his weird quirks and at times secretive personality, but he thought he understood him.

As it turns out, he didn't.

With LeFay, he showed a whole new side of him.

He seemed - for lack of a better word - happy.

Happy, content, free.

They had a secret, a big one, one that caused Blaise to act like another person entirely for years.

And wasn't that just fascinating?

Theo had always been a curious child.

He had always had a desire to take things apart, to break them down, to see what made them tick.

That innate inquisitiveness was what led him to take a seat in the common room, preparing for the drama that was about to unfold.

He watched as LeFay said something to Blaise before walking towards her room, the door swinging open and shut on its own accord.

No, not on its own accord.

On LeFay's accord.

"What is this Zabini?" demanded Rowle after she had left the room. "Who is she?"

Blaise stared at the Slytherin King, disbelief on his exotic features before a chuckle escaped his mouth, the sound dark and smooth.

"That Rowle, that is your downfall, should you anger her."

He spoke in the lingering silence that followed, voice grave: "I offer you one warning. Helena Natalie LeFay, no matter what some might argue, is not a Potter. Interfere with her plans and you won't live to see another sunrise."

With a final look, he got up from his chair, striding briskly to his room, the door slamming behind him.

As the common room broke into hushed whispers, Theo sat back, mind analyzing what had happened.

Limited information was given, but no matter.

He was a Nott.

He would do what he did best.

He would sit back, relax, and when the time came, he would have all the ammunition he needed.

The only question was who the ammunition would be used against.