all the potential lost
Everyone knows that Blaise Zabini’s mother has had more husbands than is possible without raising suspicions. Everyone knows that the boy is almost too beautiful for his age, face stolen from a Greek statue. Not everyone - almost no one, in fact - knows that Blaise Zabini and his mother share the same symbol on their right shoulder blade - a winged eye.
Blaise knows Alohomora, Petrificus Totalus and Lumos, but he also knows herbs, crystals and eyes rolled to the back of his head. He knows visions of the fallen star looking at the carnage around her - he doesn’t know every step that will lead to his moment but he knows the end won’t be pretty.
He won’t do anything about that, it’s not his role or his place, the only thing he can do is sit back and observe and accept their fate. After all, it’s only their own fault.
-
Harriette knows she’s being watched, it’s nothing new in her life, but this time it’s different. Blaise Zabini seems to look inside her soul, inside her body and mind, seems to look past all her walls. Harriette knows danger and Blaise Zabini doesn’t feel like danger, he doesn’t feel like anything, really. That’s what unnerves her the most.
“Zabini,” she quietly sits down at his table in the library. “I don’t understand you.”
“Hello to you too, Potter. What exactly don’t you understand?”
“I know you spend a lot of time watching me and I want to understand what do you want from me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. I don’t watch you,” he says with a faint sneer on his angelic features.
It’s a good mask but Harriette knows that’s exactly what it is - a mask. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
A shadow passes in the boy’s eyes and he sighs. “I just think you might make waves around here. I don’t want to miss it.”
It’s not exactly the truth either but a part of Harriette, the part that’s still hungry for companion, for friendship, raises its head. Can you blame her?
“Can I study with you?” She asks tentatively.
Zabini smiles but it’s a sad smile. “I can’t, I- it has to happen like this.”
He packs his things and stands up while Harriette just sits watching the desk. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he says and disappears in the labyrinth of books.
Harriette stays alone. Again.
— —
Halloween has never been a good day for Harriette. It’s not even about her parents’ death - she learned about that a bit too late and, doesn’t that show the whole tragedy? Rather, it’s related to the years spent in the orphanage. The nuns were always in a bad mood on that night, quicker to snap, more prone to violence. Absentmindedly, she runs a finger along the edge of her glove. Halloween is not her lucky day.
It’s not really surprising then, that even in this new world, in a magical school, her bad luck continues. She’s walking in an empty corridor when she hears a bloodcurdling scream. And God, her self-preservation is strong but she’s still a soft thing, she knows all too well crying for help so she rushes towards the sound.
It’s Granger, the Gryffindor know-it-all, and Weasley who still sometimes eyes her weirdly. It’s also a mountain troll that seems very keen on bludgeoning them to death. Harriette freezes, not exactly willing to throw herself into the situation, but then Granger screams her name with such panic and pleading that she has to help.
She thinks about a possible friendship, about protecting yourself from danger, about the power that sings in her veins, even as restrained as it is. She thinks about all that and raises her hands (she will always find them more natural than the wand) and then there is a sound like a cork coming out of a bottle. And silence.
The professors burst into the bathroom only to stop dead in their tracks. The normally white tiles are now red, blood dripping from faucets and in the middle of all that stand three children straight out of a horror movie.
“Merlin and Morgana,” McGonagall brings a hand to her lips. “What happened here?”
Harriette doesn’t know what to say so she’s grateful when Granger, still trembling, answers, “It was accidental magic. Ma’am.”
Harriette is not sure the adults believed Granger but the sight must be too unreal because they are shepherded out of the bathroom without any more comments. She turns around to the girl with a look of gratitude but she’s met with two sets of eyes: one full of fear, one of hostility.
There’s a version of this story in which the encounter with a troll is the beginning of a golden friendship, full of love and warmth and laughter. This is not that version of the story.
-
The door to the Common Room opens and Snape comes in with the Potter girl. Her hair is matted, red like blood- but wait, she drags her hand through it and it comes away red, it is blood. They realise that she’s all covered in blood, only her face wiped haphazardly.
“The troll has been contained,” Snape drawls. “You can calm down, now.”
He exits the room, leaving behind silence. Harriette sniffs and retreats to her dormitory, leaving behind a storm of whispers.
The blood that has dripped from her robes stays on the carpet until the house elves clean it.