Truth Is

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"Truth Is"

Chapter 5

     (Fourteen Days Later)

       "No one warned me that I'd be in one of the most beautiful places in the world with you, of all people," Hermione remarked as she and Blaise wandered around the grounds of the Hotel that most of the Foreign dignitaries had been assigned to.

       "Well, I promised the people that I'd do something about the chaos over here," he began, as he loosened the top button of his shirt, "and this was the only solution. So here you are and here I am, what are we to do?"

       "These people here are so full of ancient hatred that it barely makes sense," she replied as they entered the large open garden that was the center of the magnificent hotel.

       "We would be ones to know about that yet I think the quest for vengeance ended long ago, Hermione," Blaise replied as he gazed around at the vines and flowers that were artistically placed all over the garden, "it's about power, as most of these things are."

       "Blaise, these people have resulted to murdering their own people," she argued, as she found a place to sit, "the quest for power has turned into to some sadistic game for them."

       "I have to concur," he replied, as he sat next to her, "they enjoy the things that are reported back to them, especially the President."

       Hermione grunted as the image of the stout, pug-faced, narcissistic man appeared before her. "I do not want to discuss that vulgar man."

       "Okay, change of subject," Blaise announced nonchalantly, although the gleam in his eye announced something slightly different, "how about we discuss something lighter?"

       "Lighter?" she questioned, almost apprehensive of his reply. "What do you mean by lighter?"

       "How about that nice fiancé of yours?" Blaise questioned casually.

       "From my interpretation of the scene at the conference a few weeks ago, I don't believe that you think Ian so nice," Hermione retorted, quirking an eyebrow at him.

       "He is good enough," Blaise replied, shrugging his shoulders and fumbling clumsily for his words, "but we all have our idiosyncrasies."

       She snorted loudly. "And you, Mr. Zabini, would be the one to know about that."

       "Chi me?" Blaise replied, feigning innocence.

       "Yes you," Hermione replied, in all seriousness, "with your jealous temper, your attraction to anything grilled, your penchant for double-breasted Italian tailored suits, your infatuation with silk sheets and undergarments, the way you have to continuously be touching someone to feel their adoration, and the habit you have of believing that once you own something you'll always own it proves that you aren't the shiniest knife in the drawer."

       "I think those things are quite normal," he retorted, with a chuckle, she knew him better than she would like to admit.

       "I think most of it is quite weird," replied Hermione, "and I'm sure if I thought about it any longer I'd think of more things."

       "Miss, you are the one who feels her books should be alphabetized, her underwear pressed and folded, and that her vegetables should never touch unless they are uniform in color," Blaise answered, as he held back a loud, boisterous, chuckle, "and you wish to call me weird?"

       Hermione reddened at the reminder of her own little quirks. "I guess we both are odd in our own ways."

       "It's why we got on so well for so long, we are both a tad bit odd," he replied, trying to soothe her slight embarrassment, reaching over to lay his hand on her leg.

       Immediately her eyes followed the touch that was burning a hole through her pants. It had been so long since he had even attempted to do anymore than shake her hand, for a moment she was at a lost for words. "I can't believe you would remember all of that."

       "How could I forget?" Blaise asked, softly, the moment quickly spiraling from the comfortable moment they had just been experiencing to something a lot less comfortable.

       They were interrupted by the appearance of Blaise's Minister of State, Julius Montague. He greeted them both before announcing, "They are ready for the Media conference, Zabini."

       "I thought it wasn't until three?" he asked, chancing a glance at his watch which read 'an hour and a half until lunch'.

       "No, no, Lavender scheduled your first, here in Brazil, for twelve-fifteen and then when you arrive in Bolivia, in three days, that one is at three, I believe. You will have to go see her, for I'm not completely sure about these dates and times, sir," Julius replied, holding back a yawn, he was so tired from endless diplomatic meetings that he couldn't tell them exactly what day it was.

       Hermione stood quickly, straightened out her robes before saying, "Well, I must go see Rodion before you go."

       "Are you attending?" Blaise asked, hopefully as she began to exit the garden.

       "Of course, it's my job," she replied, with a smile, before she entered the hotel.

       "Enjoyed your morning, Zabini?" Julius asked, with a knowing grin.

~*~

       "In all honesty," Blaise began strongly, as he stood behind the podium flanked on both sides by delegates from countries all over the world, "I find your question insulting. I am not here take over, I am not here to impose my country's political ways on the good people of this continent, I am here to assist these newly formed governments in a peaceful transition."

       "Sir," another, louder, French accented reporter called, "is it true that the atrocities that have occurred in past months have been labeled as Genocide?"

       "Yes," Blaise answered, with a nod of his head, "Genocide has been discovered in several countries."

       "Can you give us a definition of the International Confederation of Wizard''s interpretation of the crime that is being committed here? And do you think this is a new phenomenon within the Wizarding world?" asked a tall, imposing, man that Blaise recognized as the Editor of the Daily Prophet.

       "The ICW simply defines the act of Genocide as the denial of the right to exist of entire species, just as homicide is the denial of the right of an individual to exist. Sir, Genocide is not new to our great community, the way we combat it is new," Blaise answered in such a way that his father, who watched proudly from the crowd, erupted in a rarely seen public smile.

       Hermione sat in the very back of the crowd watching the reporters struggle to accost him with different questions, she sat stoically with her countenance devoid of any emotion, she wanted to dissect him. She watched his guarded movements and could easily visualize the quick way he thought over his replies, it was if she could feel his apprehension through his lucid speech. Hermione smirked knowingly as he disarmed and captivated the press, as well as the people, with his euphonious tone and easy going, yet determined, answers.

       She noted the way his left hand seemed to be holding onto the side of the podium for dear life while he orally pounded his beliefs into the reporters heads, they it took as a sign of his frustration toward the situation -- because his right hand was frequently being thrown at every angle or being slammed against the podium -- but Hermione could see the training behind the move. He had been trained well, his speech spoke of fire while his eyes spoke nothing of importance while he stood behind that podium. She was sure that his current fiance had something to do with this hypnotized man that she was now faced with.

       "Enjoying the show?" Draco Malfoy whispered, as he suavely took the seat next to her.

       "Immensely, he's quite good at putting on the front," Hermione replied never taking her eyes off the rotation of his right and left hand.

       Draco nodded as he watched his friend closely. "He paid a huge price for that training and he got the best. Notice the rigid lumbar region?"

       "It's very slight, Malfoy," she answered softly as another question was thrown at him, "even I didn't think much of it."

       "Of course you didn't," Draco grinned, "we worked on that for almost a year and every now and then it comes back to haunt us."

       Hermione suddenly realized why his posture was so important. "Blaise's fear of public speaking, I had forgotten."

       "At times I forget, too," he replied, his eyes never leaving Blaise, "that is until his back freezes up like it is now."

       "I can remember he wanted to be a politician so bad but he was afraid to speak in front of huge crowds," she replied as his left hand switched positions and did what the right hand was formerly doing, as his right hand latched onto the podium.

       "He came up with that little switch move to quickly relax his muscles," Draco pointed out knowing that she, of all people, would notice it, "works wonders for him."

       "It was part of my training, as Negotiator Specialist, to read body language," Hermione answered, as her eyes chanced a glance at the blond, "and he is doing a better job at it than men who've been in politics long before we were ever born."

       Suddenly Draco chuckled, it was soft yet it resounded in Hermione's ears, it was barely heard by anyone else but she heard it clearly. "I did not sit here to discuss my mate's acting abilities."

       "Then why did you sit here?" she questioned, quickly raising an eyebrow.

       "I sat here for what our dear Ginny would say would be more sinister reasons," Draco replied, with his trademark smirk.

~*~

       Hermione stood in the mist of what seemed to be the most earth shattering scene that anyone could witness filled with smoking houses, dirt roads, crying children, and lost adults. She stood in the middle of that scene, along with a party of six others, surveying some of the destruction caused by all of the political chaos. Her hand shakily flew to her mouth as she watched people weep over dead bodies and cracked foundations, it was bringing back memories that she thought she'd never relive.

       "Sir," Carrick Blair called to Blaise, who answered with less than a nod, "these families are mostly purebred, they were accused of sympathizing with the old regime."

       "Simply accused," Blaise mumbled as he gazed at a small child who clung to his mother's leg, not entirely sure of what was going on but he could feel his mother's body tremble with her sobs.

       "Blaise," Carrick whispered, as he stepped closer to his colleague, "these people are guaranteed nothing by the president, if anything is promised it's more grief."

       "I can only imagine," Blaise mumbled as he kneeled down to pick up a piece of a doll that had been clutched by some missing little girl who may never return to her family.

       "What we can't figure out is what they are doing with the ones that they are taking as prisoners," Carrick continued softly as he watched Blaise caress the miniature toy.

       Meanwhile, Draco stood next to Hermione as she stood watching the scene unfold before her eyes. He watched her bite her lip before he snarled, "This is just like Voldemort, except these men claim to be human."

       "Well," she began as she smiled at a pair of children who played in the mist of the destruction, "then we just have to fight this just as we fought Voldemort."

       "It seems every wizard in the world just wants to stop hearing about it," Draco said as he slowly ran his fingers across the brink of a barely standing wall. "It's like they see this and say 'Oh my God, that is horrid,' and then go on drinking their tea! The bloody Daily Prophet has taken it from the front-page to a small corner on the back of the paper, no one seems to care."

       Hermione frowned as she turned to face the blond that she had hated for most of her life and couldn't remember when, in the mist of curses and blood, that she ceased feeling that way. She searched his serious countenance before replying, "I sometimes wonder when did everyone grow up."

       "What?" Draco questioned, confused, that reply was not on the lines that he was expecting.

       "Malfoy," she whispered, taking his arm as she walked the other way, "when we were at school you wouldn't even have been one to say how horrible it was and now you are insulted at the rest of the worlds ignorance. Your maturity still startles me at times."

       "Ginerva thinks it is sexy," he smirked as they neared the group.

       Hermione chuckled softly but the atmosphere hindered her laughter. "I think it's rather frightening."

       "I think it's time to go back to the hotel," Blaise whispered as he softly sat the doll back on the ground and made his way back to the carriages.

       "You want to go . . . comfort him?" Draco asked, jokingly, as they watched Blaise's retreating form.

       "Malfoy," she answered, seriously, as she watched the solemn Italian, "I don't think anyone could make him feel any better about this mess."

~*~

       Hermione pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders as she approached the silent figure who silently leaned over the veranda's railing. She bit her lip as she contemplated her next move, either she could run back to her room or she could voice the question that had been eating at her all afternoon. Hermione shivered from the cool ocean air that drifted from the coast miles away, watching him watch the stars confused her, the feeling it ignited within her confused her more.

       "I know I shouldn't care but nevertheless," she mumbled, as she slowly reached out to touch his back, "are you okay, Zabini?"

       Blaise nodded slowly, sighing loudly and swallowing hard. "I -- I didn't think that I'd ever be reminded so strongly."

       "Reminded?" Hermione questioned knowingly, as she leaned against the rail beside him. "You mean of the war?"

       Blaise nodded blankly. She had known as she watched him retreat earlier that scenes were playing inside his head, scenes that he would never be able to erase. Scenes that played through her own mind night after night, during the most unexpected moments they would rewind themselves and play over and over like a broken record. Some were so devastating that not even the greatest director would ever be able to recreate them.

       "I can see her," Blaise whispered, his voice shaky and lined with emotion, "I can see her little body jerk uncontrollably, her green eyes wide, as the curse connected with her chest and the doll -- the doll just flies out of her hand and yet I -- I couldn't catch it."

       Hermione was struck speechless. She wasn't there when Blaise, Draco, and a few others had tried to save a small Wizarding town from approaching Death Eaters but the story was well known by the survivors of the town. She could find no words so she whispered all that would come to mind, "Oh, Blaise."

       "One little girl," he grumbled, the bitterness echoing in his hollow chuckle, "one little girl who I'd never met in my life before that night, haunts me to this day. I lost her six years ago and I still can't help but wonder would she have been going to Beauxbatons this year or what she would have become when she grew-up. Her little eyes haunt me and the cry of her mother, as her little body collapsed on the ground, still echoes in my head. I couldn't save her and now they expect me to save an entire continent!"

       "But you saved most of the town, Blaise," Hermione replied, trying her best to be comforting, "her life was not lost in vain."

       "What about the doll I saw today? Where is that little girl, where are her parents, where is house she used live in? How in the hell can I save her if I can't even find her?" he cried, helplessly, the stress of the situation weighing heavily upon his emotions.

       "Because you are committed to righting these wrongs," she tried, searching aimlessly toward encouragement, "saving a life is tantamount to saving an entire world. The loss of one little girl will aid you saving thousands more like her."

       Blaise chuckled darkly. "Where'd this optimism come from?"

       "Being Harry Potter's best friend for most of my life gave me plenty of practice," she grinned, as he finally turned to face her and the grin fell from her face.

       "I need to go Owl Victoria," he announced somberly, completely out of no where. He hadn't spoke of his fiancé since they had arrived and the sound of her name made Hermione feel somewhat uncomfortable.

       Hermione nodded as he made a move to enter the hotel yet halfway to the door he turned toward her with a strange look. "Regret is usually a waste of time isn't it?"

       She frowned at his strange question, neither understanding nor comprehending the meaning or the reason, yet she proceeded to answer, "Usually."