Only a Boy

Only a Boy

Prologue

It was an unusually hot day for September, and for Blaise, this was proving useful. Not only did a pair of Ray-Bans look good, they enabled her to observe Harry Potter from a distance undetected.

After all, it simply wasn't done for a Slytherin to stare at a Gryffindor.

The Boy Who Lived stood off to her right, surrounded by his usual group of friends and hangers-on. Blaise stood with Pansy Parkinson, who was most certainly not her friend; however, the other girl had her uses. With someone like Pansy, who was so completely convinced that what she had to say was utterly fascinating, one could simply stand facing her and nod occasionally, in order to give the impression that one was involved in a conversation. Meanwhile Blaise could slide her eyes a little to the right behind her sunglasses, and so watch whatever Harry was doing.

The Dream Team [so Draco had dubbed them during their fifth year, and among the Slytherins at least, the name had stuck] stood with their piles of luggage, apparently listening to Ron Weasley tell an amusing story - judging by the way his arms were going, it involved either a windmill or someone who was appallingly bad at Quidditch. His sister Ginny sat on her trunk looking up at him, occasionally throwing in a comment between giggles. Dean Thomas stood behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder, grinning. Neville Longbottom, awkward as ever, hovered beside him.

Hermione Granger looked school-teacherly, standing with her arms folded. She was smiling reluctantly, in a way that managed to convey both disapproval and amusement.

Of the entire group, Harry was the only one not paying attention. He stood with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, staring moodily down the platform, perhaps watching for the approach of the Hogwarts Express. He looked as if he had lost weight over the summer, Blaise thought.

"So then I told Mummy I couldn't possibly wear the red dress to Draco's party," Pansy continued. "After all, red is such a bright colour, don't you think so? It would have looked absolutely appalling with my complexion. So we went back to Madam Malkin's, and do you know, she had just the most adorable..."

Blaise suppressed a yawn. Was it possible, she wondered, for a person to be so utterly deluded about their own personality - or in Pansy's case, lack of it? Talking to Pansy was like talking to a stuck record - except, of course, a stuck record could be turned off.

She glanced over at Potter again. His gaze had sharpened, he was watching something too, and curious, she looked to see what it was.

Not what, but who. A slender seventh-year girl with long, glossy black hair who was carefully avoiding Harry's eyes. Cho Chang. Blaise looked back at Harry and observed the expression on his face. It was one she had seen directed at herself, many times - the look that says, All I am thinking about at this moment is you.

Blaise groaned inwardly. As if my job wasn't hard enough already, I have to compete with his obsessive crush on the Ravenclaw Seeker, she thought. This is going to be impossible.

Chapter 1

One Month Earlier

"Your plan is... interesting," Lucius said. He leaned back in his expensive leather-upholstered chair behind the wide oak desk and interlaced his perfectly manicured fingers, studying Howard Zabini with calculating grey eyes.

Blaise's uncle shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His niece stood beside his chair, her eyes on the floor.

Lucius Malfoy, like the other Death Eaters who had been arrested at the Ministry last summer, had been sent to Azkaban for confinement preceding his trial before the Wizengamot. However, less than a month after their imprisonment, the Dementors abandoned the prison, emancipating the most serious break-out in wizarding history. Over thirty prisoners had fled the prison island. Although many of the escapees had been recaptured by the Aurors [possibly due to the fact that few had the wits to get far], Lucius had so far avoided detection, and was in hiding out in the Black Forest of Germany.

Blaise's uncle had brought her to Germany under the pretext that they were going on holiday to visit family friends. He had told Blaise only that they were going there 'on business'.

Blaise had known better than to argue.

From the wizarding house near Hamburg, where her cousin Hans lived, she and her uncle had taken brooms into the mountains near his village. They had then had to take a Portkey left for them in a clearing. The Portkey had deposited them in the lobby of what appeared from the inside to be a large and beautiful mansion - not that they had been allowed to take a tour. A house-elf had been waiting to take them into a small sitting room.

They were left alone to wait. Howard had spoken briefly to his niece: "Don't speak to him unless he addresses you. Do you understand?" He had been standing with his back to her, and so didn't see her nod.

"Yes, Uncle."

Perhaps ten minutes passed before the house-elf returned. Ignoring Blaise, it bowed to Mr. Zabini. "Mr. Malfoy will see you alone first, sir. Your niece is to wait here. Please follow me."

Howard nodded briefly to it and turned to Blaise. "I imagine you will be sent for soon. Touch nothing." He followed the house-elf from the room.

Blaise stood in the middle of the room, looking around curiously. She was accustomed to extravagant surroundings, and these were more expensive than most. The walls of the room were panelled with gleaming dark mahogany, and the forest green carpet beneath her feet was heavy and luxurious. An old oil painting on the far wall depicted an elderly man with white hair dressed in black-and-silver robes, standing at the foot of a sweeping staircase with his hand resting lightly on the end of the carved banister and an arrogant expression on his lined face. At the bottom of the frame a small engraved silver plaque was set into the wood: Randolph Augustus Xavier Malfoy III 1785 - 1842.

She turned away from the portrait and wandered across to the fireplace. The mantelpiece was magnificent: carved and inlaid oak, depicting magical beasts and birds. Blaise reached out and traced a small carving of a centaur with her fingertips.

She had met Lucius Malfoy only once before, when her mother had still been alive. The Zabini family had been among those invited for a celebratory party when Draco had received news of his place at Hogwarts - tradition among the older pure-blood families. Blaise remembered Lucius vaguely as an imposing figure dressed in immaculate black dress robes, with his wife at his side in dark green and gold. Like the children of the other families, after she had been formally introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, she had been escorted upstairs to Draco's rooms, away from the adults' party. Such were the old customs of their families, that children must be seen, briefly, but not heard.

And now, it seemed, she was needed in some way. Blaise pondered this as she took a seat on the long couch that faced the fire. She thought it most likely that she would be asked to turn spy at the school, although why Lucius could not simply use his own son for that was beyond her. She supposed that since Draco had managed to make himself very unpopular with the majority of the students and the staff at Hogwarts, he would be unlikely to learn anything useful. Still, it didn't really explain why they had had to come all the way to Germany to see Mr. Malfoy in person.

Behind her, the door opened and the house-elf re-entered the room. It bowed low to her.

"Mr. Malfoy requests your presence," it announced squeakily. Blaise rose and followed it from the room. At that point she felt nothing more than a vague apprehension.

Now, it was Blaise Lucius looked at, running his eyes over her body carefully. Blaise grit her teeth. She would happily have slapped the face of any boy who looked at her that way, but this was no boy.

"However," Lucius continued, "a great deal appears to rely upon your niece. Is she reliable?"

Howard also glanced at Blaise before he answered. "She is... loyal to our cause."

"That is not what I asked," Lucius snapped. Howard flinched.

"She is obedient to me. She will do what is required of her."

Lucius waved him away. "Leave us. One of the house-elves will bring you refreshment."

Blaise's uncle rose silently, inclined his head, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. She could hear his receding footsteps on the parquet floor outside.

The blond man and the sixteen-year-old girl faced each other across the desk. Blaise stood very still; instructed as she was from an early age never to allow her composure to waver, she kept her face carefully blank. Lucius rose catlike from his seat and came round the desk. Sitting on the edge, he studied her face intently before he spoke.

"You are a beautiful girl."

The compliment should have helped put her at her ease, but something about the way he spoke made Blaise nervous. There was no feeling in his voice at all; he might as well have been addressing a statue. Etiquette, however, called for a response.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

Lucius gave no sign he had heard; he merely went on looking her over in that strangely intense way. It puzzled her; for a simple matter of spying, this was a little serious.

His next question startled her so badly that for a moment she was only able to gape at him in shock.

"Are you a virgin?"

Blaise stared at him in astonishment and rising anger. How dare he? She shot back without thinking: "That's none of your business!"

Lucius' expression never changed. He straightened up, took two paces forward, and hit her open-handed around the face, hit her hard. Blaise staggered, lost her balance, fell to her hands and knees on the carpet. Lucius stood over her, his eyes cold and furious.

"Get up. Now."

Blaise slowly got to her feet, and stood swaying with one hand pressed to her cheek; her head was spinning. Lucius reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"You forget your place," he rapped out. "You forget also to whom you are speaking." He thrust her back into her uncle's vacated chair and bent over, his face inches away from hers. She could smell faintly a combination of expensive cologne and cigar smoke.

"Let me make something perfectly clear," Lucius spoke softly but there was no mistaking the cold menace in his voice. Blaise flinched away from him; he once again pulled her head up. "Once this venture is undertaken, you are no longer your uncle's charge but mine. Everything you do becomes my business. You do everything and anything I instruct you to do, immediately and without question. You are the daughter of a Death Eater, and by God you will remember where your loyalties lie! Do you understand me?"

She nodded frantically. Lucius abruptly released her and stepped back.

"Now answer my question."

Blaise felt herself going painfully red. "No..."

Lucius looked approving. "Good. At least you will know what you are doing." Ignoring her expression of bewilderment, he took a cigar from the humidor that stood on the desk. He bit off the end and dropped it into a crystal ashtray, then lit it with his wand and placed it between his teeth. When he spoke, his voice was slightly muffled.

"Do you know Harry Potter?"

Blaise nodded. Her cheek stung, and she was aware that it was starting to swell. There was a metallic taste in her mouth; the residue of her fear. "Everyone knows Harry Potter. He is famous, after all."

Lucius frowned slightly. "Well?"

"No. We've never spoken to each other."

"My son tells me," Lucius said reflectively, "that Potter is well liked at Hogwarts. Popular with the Mudbloods and scum like the Weasleys. Is this true?"

"Yes."

He nodded thoughtfully. The end of his cigar glowed orange as he drew on it; Blaise watched him warily, her hands tight on the arms of the chair. She was now certain that this was a much more serious matter than she had first assumed. Finally she got up the nerve to ask: "What is it you want of me?"

Lucius raised his eyebrows and stubbed out the cigar, scattering sparks across the bottom of the ashtray. "Your uncle has not told you why you are here?"

"No."

"Your task," he said with great deliberation, "is to work your way into the inner circle of students that surrounds the Potter boy. You will do this by seducing him. Making him believe that you are in love with him, and then making him fall in love with you. Gain his confidence, and his trust, and also that of his friends. Once this is done, you will be able to turn spy for the Dark Lord. We are aware that the Potter boy and his friends are involved in a certain... society, founded by Albus Dumbledore. We know that several, perhaps all, of the older members of the Weasley family are involved, as well as certain other acquaintances of Dumbledore's. I want you to find out from the Potter boy as much as you can about this society: how many there are of them, who the members are, their informants, their headquarters, how much they know about the Dark Lord. You will report anything you are told to me."

He paused, studying Blaise's horrified expression. "It will not be easy, I know," he told her, his tone almost gentle. "I understand there is deep enmity between the houses, and between Slytherin and Gryffindor in particular. However, I think this is possible, if you tread carefully and do nothing to arouse suspicion."

Blaise found her voice. "You expect me to - to - a Gryffindor? Harry Potter, of all people? That's insane!"

She expected him to flare up again, but Lucius smiled thinly. "I did not say that it would be easy. However, you do have certain advantages. A girl as attractive as you should have little difficulty in catching his eye." She looked away from his leer in distaste.

"Perhaps you do not understand something," Lucius said softly. "As I told you before, you are the daughter of a Death Eater. You are placed in the service of the Dark Lord, and have been since you were a child. It is your duty to serve him in any way that you are asked, and to do so to the very best of your ability. The Dark Lord rewards those who are faithful to him; I don't think you need to be told what happens to those who fail."

Blaise shuddered. She had heard from her uncle what had been done to Avery after he had given the wrong information to the Dark Lord - he had been comatose for a month afterwards, and his face now looked remarkably like that of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Lucius watched the colour drain from the girl's face and smirked. This was what he appreciated about young people - they were so easily intimidated. Howard was a fool, but he had been right about his niece - she would do as she was told.

Blaise watched Lucius cross to a door in the corner of the room and go through it, her mind whirling. Seduce Harry Potter? She wasn't even sure she could get an excuse to talk to him. How on earth was she going to make this happen?

The same way you got Andrew Rosier to give you a fifty-seven-Galleon necklace for your birthday last year, a voice spoke up inside her. And the same way you got that boy from Beauxbatons to invite you to stay with him in Italy over the summer.

Blaise turned her head to the left. A heavy, gilt-framed mirror hung on the wall to the left of the desk, and in it she could catch her reflection.

At family gatherings she was frequently told how much she looked like her mother had done at her age, and privately Blaise agreed. She had seen photographs of her mother's graduation, and the resemblance was striking; although Blaise often secretly thought that she looked better.

Their hair; that was the most obvious similarity. Blaise had never allowed hers to be cut short, ever since her father had told her how pretty it looked when she was only six years old, and now it fell to her waist as a sheet of glossy dark chestnut that gleamed in the sun with copper highlights. Like her mother, her face was heart-shaped and pale-skinned, with high cheekbones and dimples when she smiled, set off by dark-brown eyes fringed with dramatic long lashes.

Blaise smiled at herself now, and the girl in the mirror smiled back. Since her third year at Hogwarts, she had been besieged from all sides by Slytherin boys vying for her affections - and not just those her own age. Their Quidditch Captain, Marcus Flint, had asked her out that Christmas, which had caused a lot of talk in the girls' dormitories. Not even Pansy had found out what had happened between them, and that had taken a lot of effort on Blaise's part - other than Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, Pansy was the biggest gossip in school.

"I can do this," Blaise said aloud. "He may be the Boy Who Lived, but he is, after all, only a boy."

"Your confidence is overwhelming," Lucius said dryly, and Blaise swung around, her cheeks flaming. Lucius stood beside his desk, holding a small, predatory-looking bird on one gauntleted wrist. The bird studied her with piercing amber eyes. It looked like a small hawk of some kind, perhaps a sparrowhawk.

Blaise looked questioningly at Draco's father.

Lucius smirked. "Owls are more commonly used for our post, but I felt that Icarus would be more suitable for a task of this - delicate - nature. Faster, less easy to intercept, better sense of direction. You will use him to communicate with me from the school. He is obedient and will come when you call him." He extended his arm towards her.

Blaise hesitated. "I don't have -"

Lucius frowned. "Call him."

She held out her own arm reluctantly. "Icarus," she called softly, and the bird took off from Lucius' wrist; three swift wing-beats and it landed on her bare arm. Blaise winced as its short, sharp talons sank into her skin, but did not cry out.

"Remember the pain," Lucius intoned. "If you should ever have... difficulty... remembering your duty, remember the pain, and know that what you are feeling now is nothing compared to what you will endure, should you fail."

Eyes watering, blood running down her wrist and staining her sleeve; Blaise nodded.

"Go. Do your duty. I expect to hear from you no less than once a week, you understand?"

She nodded again. Lucius held out his gauntleted hand and summoned the bird to him. Blaise gripped her injured wrist with her other hand and inclined her head towards him; Lucius waved her away with an arrogant gesture of one hand, not even looking at her, and she hurried out of the door.