Only a Boy

Chapter 5

Harry pinned the Gryffindor team roster to the common room noticeboard early on Monday morning, before anyone else was up. He stepped back and studied the seven names with both satisfaction and a touch of regret - he didn't like having to refuse everyone else who had tried out. At the bottom of the sheet he had added a brief note thanking everyone for their support of the team, and apologizing that he couldn't take them all, but he had the feeling it wasn't going to help Sloper's and Kirke's feelings much when they found they had been cut from the team.

People were starting to move around upstairs. Suddenly the last thing in the world Harry wanted was to see anyone. He grabbed his bag and climbed out of the portrait hole.

The castle corridors were dim and silent at this time in the morning. Harry walked, aimlessly at first, head lowered, barely noticing as several of the castle ghosts passed him. They glanced at him with little surprise; the sight of Harry Potter wandering the halls alone in the early hours of the morning had become a common one.

It was the mornings that were the worst, Harry had discovered. Nightmares of the Department of Mysteries slapped him out of unconsciousness with his scar burning as early as three and four in the morning. Unable to sleep, he would lie rigid in his four-poster until it was light, then dress silently, gather his schoolbooks and leave the dormitory.

Unless the weather was exceptionally bad, Harry frequently took the path around the lake that he and Hermione had often used in their fourth year, when they wanted somewhere to talk that was unlikely to be crowded by students. Now, Harry walked it accompanied only by his thoughts.

* * *

Blaise sat on the wide window seat of the Owlery. Perched on her hand [she wore a heavy leather gauntlet this time], Icarus bore a message written in a slanting, elegant hand on expensive creamy parchment.

Lucius was disappointed with her current lack of progress; however he was not, he wrote, an unreasonable man. He understood that only two weeks into the term was a little too short a time to expect results. He requested regular updates, and concluded with a warning.

It occurs to me [he wrote] that as you carry out your seduction it will become clear to your fellow Slytherin students that you are involved with the Potter boy. This will not be accepted easily, especially by those with parents involved with our inner circles, including my own son. It will be seen as a betrayal. You may at some point feel the urge to explain to your friends the reasoning behind your involvement. Do not do so. In order for the plan to work to our advantage, the deception must be complete. To all outsiders, you must appear to be genuine in your love for Harry Potter.

Blaise looked up from reading the letter, and a lone figure below her caught her eye. She leaned forward to get a better look, and Icarus took off from her hand to perch above her head.

It was Harry. The distance was too great to make out his features, but in the last two weeks she had kept him under close observation, and already his walk, the way he spoke and smiled, his laugh and his flying style - all these were unmistakeable to her.

Blaise watched as he walked across the wide lawn through the light ground mist towards the lake. His shoulders were slumped; he looked depressed about something, and she wondered absently what was bothering him.

Below her, in the depths of the school, a bell rang to signal the beginning of breakfast. Blaise ignited Lucius' letter with her wand, holding it by one corner until the flames consumed it; then she dropped it to the stone floor and ground the glowing ashes beneath the heel of her shoe.

She was at the bottom of the main staircase in the entrance hall when it occurred to her that Harry, walking alone by the lake, would not have heard the bell ring. Almost without considering it, she changed direction and made her way through the yawning students to the front doors. A quick glance over her shoulder reassured her that no-one was watching, and she slipped outside and traced Harry's path across the lawn.

* * *

She found him sitting against the foot of an old oak tree, facing the castle across the lake. His bag was dumped carelessly in the grass beside him, and she thought at first that he was admiring the view - there was no wind at all, and the castle was reflected almost perfectly in the flat mirror of the water. If not for the mist, it would have appeared the there were two castles, one attached upside-down to the foot of the other. As it was, Hogwarts appeared to be floating on a bed of clouds. Castles in the air, Blaise thought, and smiled.

She drew closer, not wanting to surprise him, but he didn't seem to know she was there, and as she came around the tree and looked down at him she saw he was asleep, his head tilted over on one shoulder, his breathing slow and even.

Blaise knelt in the grass in front of him, and studied his sleeping profile with curiosity. He reminded her a little of Andrew; they had the same angular refined style of features. She thought briefly of Draco's aristocratic bone structure, inherited from his mother, and smiled a little - Harry would never match Draco for classic good looks, but no-one could reasonably call him unattractive.

He stirred a little, and she drew back, expecting him to wake. Instead he spoke in his sleep, muttering vaguely. At first the words were unintelligible, and as she leaned closer, trying to make them out, he suddenly cried out in a voice raw with pain: "Sirius, where are you?"

It startled her so badly that she flinched back and almost lost her balance. Steadying herself with her hands planted in the wet grass, she stared at him wide-eyed. He was shaking his head slowly from one side to the other, and she noticed with something like wonder that he was crying in his sleep. He spoke again, more softly this time: "Sirius, come back, please come back... he's not dead! He's not!"

Blaise reached towards him with shaking hands, the only idea in her head to wake him up and get him out of whatever nightmare held him in its grip.

And as she touched him, his eyes flew open.

* * *

The memories of the stone archway, the fluttering black curtain, and Lupin's restraining arms around him were gone in an instant, and as he returned to consciousness the first thing Harry saw was a face before his - a female face, pale, framed with heavy dark hair... He lunged forward and seized her by the shoulders, his mind centring on only one thought - she wouldn't escape this time, she wouldn't, he'd make her pay...

"Harry!"

He blinked, and then it wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange at all, but Blaise Zabini, her eyes wide and frightened. They stared at each other as the remnants of his dream faded slowly and were gone like the morning haze burning away at the sun's rising.

"Harry please... you're hurting me."

"I'm...?" He realized then that he was still holding on to her, his fingers sinking deeply into her flesh, and suddenly horrified, he let her go. Blaise drew back, rubbing her arm.

"I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I'm really sorry, I thought..." His voice trailed off.

"You thought I was someone else," she finished. Harry nodded slowly. Blaise watched him with concern.

"You scared me," she said. "I saw you asleep, I thought I'd better wake you, and then... you were dreaming."

Harry looked away, self-consciously wiping his face on his sleeve. "Yeah."

"About last year?"

He looked at her, and she knew at once that this had been the wrong question to ask. She dropped her gaze from his and reached for her bag.

"Why did you want to wake me up?"

Blaise glanced at her watch. "Because we've got DADA in five minutes. We're going to be late."

Harry swore softly and jumped to his feet. He lifted his bag on to his shoulder, then held out a hand to her. She took it and he helped her up. For a moment she thought he wasn't going to let go, and a surge of hope shot through her - but he dropped her hand almost immediately. She fell into step beside him, and he didn't move away, which was something.

They walked in silence around the lake towards the castle. Blaise racked her brains for some way to start a conversation, and finally an idea came to her.

"So, did you choose your new players yet?"

Harry glanced sharply at her. The assumption that sprang to his mind was automatic, born from every fight he had ever had with a Slytherin, and he answered without thinking: "Tell Malfoy to mind his own business about my team."

Blaise stared at him, the expression on her face one of utter bewilderment, too clear to be anything but genuine. Even as he realized his mistake, this changed to hurt, and she turned away.

"Blaise, I'm sorry. That was out of order."

She didn't look up. "Just because I'm Draco's friend, that doesn't mean I spy for him or anything."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Her tone was cold.

Harry took her arm and gently turned her round to face him. "Yes, I do. I really am sorry I said that. I had no right."

Blaise studied his face for a moment. What she saw seemed to satisfy her; the hostility left her eyes. "All right."

"We'd better get going," Harry said awkwardly.

They walked through the front doors into the entrance hall and headed up the staircase to Professor Lupin's second-floor classroom.

The class was standing around, wands out, chattering amongst themselves as Lupin used his own wand to stack the desks and chairs back against the walls, giving them some room to work. When Harry opened the door, allowing Blaise to precede him into the room, several heads turned. Blaise looked around and saw Draco and Andrew staring at her; their expressions were stony. She glanced at Harry and saw he was looking across at Ron and Hermione, who wore identical looks of confusion.

"Harry, Blaise, the lesson started ten minutes ago," Professor Lupin approached them through the class, his expression disapproving. "Why are you late?"

Blaise hesitated, unsure of what to say; Harry was no help, he only stood there. Lupin looked impatiently from one to the other.

Lavender Brown piped up from the back of the class: "D'you really have to ask, Professor?"

Blaise felt herself go scarlet as the class broke up laughing. She chanced a glance at Harry, and saw he was grinning. Lupin looked at Lavender, eyebrows raised.

"Quite," he said. "Thank you, Miss Brown." He looked around the class warningly. "Settle down, everyone, and get practicing. Remember what I said - disarming charms only for this exercise, I don't want to have to send anyone up to the hospital wing if they get something wrong."

The students began dividing into pairs around them. Professor Lupin turned to Blaise and Harry.

"Today we're going to work on the Shield Charm," he told them. "Since everyone else has already paired up, you two will be working together. And I expect to see you both after class."

He left them. Harry turned to Blaise, his expression amused. "Shall we?"

She smiled and took out her wand. "I hope you know what you're doing, Harry."

The lesson was surprisingly a lot of fun. The Shield Charm wasn't easy to get the hang of, and the first few times Harry was able to disarm her without any trouble. On the other hand, he was a lot better at it than she was, and he was able to give her some good pointers. By the time the bell rang, Blaise was able to deflect his Expelliarmus charm by enough so she could at least hold on to her wand, even if the spell didn't reflect directly back at Harry.

Lupin called them both up to his desk as the other students were leaving. "I want you two to read these extra chapters for me," he told them. "And don't let this happen again. Harry, will you stay behind for a moment?"

Harry nodded and set his bag on the floor. He glanced at Blaise and smiled briefly. "See you."

Blaise smiled back. "Sure." She went out and closed the classroom door behind her, turned around, and Andrew Rosier was leaning against the far wall, glaring at her.

"You want to explain what that was all about?"

"Actually, no," Blaise snapped. She walked rapidly away from him down the corridor. Andrew caught her up.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I'm not doing anything! I arrived late and he arrived late, so what? Can I help that?"

"Maybe not, but making gaga eyes at him all the way through the lesson -"

"I was not!" Blaise whirled round, outraged.

Andrew stepped closer to her, his face inches from hers. He was furious, she realized, angrier than she had ever seen him before, and suddenly alarmed, she took a step away from him. Her back hit the wall.

"You are not to act like that around him, ever again," he snarled. "Never, Blaise. He's a Gryffindor, and you above all of us should know that we never associate with them."

Blaise glared up at him. Arrogance was a strong trait in their house, and she was not a Slytherin for nothing. Her voice was laced with acid as she replied: "Well, look who's still not over me."

Andrew went white with anger. "You -"

Blaise interrupted him. "This is none of your business. If you had walked in on Potter and I snogging in a classroom somewhere, it would still be none of your business. What I do and who I choose to associate with is no longer anything to do with you. You're not my boyfriend anymore, remember? You're just my ex."

He raised his hand, apparently meaning to hit her; Blaise flinched, and then someone behind him grabbed Andrew's wrist and twisted his arm up between his shoulder blades. Andrew yelled in pain.

Draco spoke directly into his ear, his voice soft and deadly. "Never do that again. If there is anything of the sort to be done, it will be done by me. Understand?"

Apparently Andrew didn't understand, because he tried to pull away. Draco responded by pulling his wrist up higher.

"Do you understand me?"

Face twisted in agony, Andrew nodded. Draco waited a moment longer before abruptly letting him go. The other boy backed away and looked from Blaise to Draco, tears of rage and pain in his eyes. Draco lifted his chin slightly towards the far end of the corridor. "Get lost."

Andrew went.

Blaise looked up at Draco apprehensively. He gazed back, his face expressionless.

"Thanks," she said uncertainly.

He didn't acknowledge this. "What was going on back there?"

Blaise deliberately misunderstood him. "Oh... you know Andrew. He has emotional demons." She tried a smile.

Draco didn't return it. "You know that's not what I meant."

Blaise glanced down the corridor. A crowd of first-years were approaching, and she took Draco's arm and led him into an empty classroom where they wouldn't be overheard.

"Nothing was going on, Draco. I was late, he was late, Lavender Brown has a big mouth, who cares?"

He was still frowning. "I don't like the way he was looking at you."

"Everyone looks at me like that," Blaise replied. She smiled mischievously at him, hoping to take the edge off his suspicion. "Even you look at me like that. Why should he be any different?"

Draco said nothing, but she thought his expression softened a little. "Besides," she said, "if he does like me that way, who says it's a bad thing? Maybe it's something I can use to our advantage."

Draco looked at her for a moment, then laughed. It was short and disbelieving. "Never happen."

Caught off-guard, she glared at him. "Why not?"

"Blaise, darling." Draco put his hands on her shoulders and grinned at her. "You're good, no-one's denying that. But this is Harry Potter we're talking about."

Blaise pulled away. "So what?" She looked him straight in the eyes. "I am the most beautiful girl in Slytherin house. There isn't a single boy in our year that hasn't been in love with me at some point, including you."

Draco smirked. "Maybe. But you're not taking something into account." He touched her face lightly, his fingers brushing her cheekbone, and she was reminded of Nagi stalking a mouse across the floor of their dormitory. "There are two kinds of people in this school: good and bad. Potter's one of the good ones. He's everybody's hero, he's nice to the losers, he's popular and good at Quidditch. He's always been famous, and now he's famous for all the right reasons. But you and me, we're different. A hat placed us in a house six years ago, and since then we've been classed as bad. The two don't mix, not ever."

"Things change."

"Some things. Not this."

"Why not?"

"Because to people like Potter, outside opinions matter. Certain things are expected of him. To hate anyone from Slytherin is one of them. Even if he did want you, he'd never do anything about it, because you're a Slytherin, your family is full of Death Eaters and traitors, and that's why he'll never touch you."

Blaise smiled coldly. "Really? And how did you say he was looking at me?"

She spun round and headed for the door. However before she could reach it Draco's hands seized her shoulders, and he slammed her back against the door hard enough to knock the breath out of her. He put his face close to hers.

"I don't care whether he hates you or likes you or falls madly in love with you," he hissed. "If you ever go near him again, you'll be in for serious trouble, Blaise."

Blaise shoved him away, so hard he nearly lost his balance and had to steady himself on a nearby desk. "I am not one of your house-elves, Draco. You can't tell me what to do any more than Andrew can. Remember that."

She didn't wait for his response; she pulled open the door and walked away, fast down the corridor. She slipped into the nearest girls' bathroom and locked the door behind her, then crossed to the sinks and leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the mirror, listening to the blood pounding in her ears to the tempo of her accelerated heartbeat.

You're a Slytherin, your family is full of Death Eaters and traitors, and that's why he'll never touch you.

Blaise tightened her hands into fists and brought them down on the edge of the sink, hard.

"Fuck you, Draco," she whispered. "I'll show you. I'll show you all."

* * *

Ron and Hermione were remarkably restrained in their curiosity, but Harry, sitting opposite them at a table in a corner of the library, had the distinct feeling that this wasn't going to last long. Once or twice, out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Ron look at him and open his mouth, but each time Hermione had nudged him and shaken her head or glared warningly. Harry acted as if he hadn't noticed, concentrating instead on his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook - he didn't really need to read the extra chapters, he was already better than anyone else in the year at Shield Charms, but it was useful to have something on which he could pretend to be focused.

Eventually Ron couldn't stand it any longer. He threw down his quill with a defiant gesture, pulled his arm out of Hermione's grasp, and rested his elbows on the table.

"Well?"

Harry refused to look up. "Well, what?"

"You know perfectly well what," Ron told him. "Blaise. What's going on?"

"Nothing is 'going on', as you put it," Harry said wearily. Suddenly he just wanted to go to a quiet place and sleep. Instead he turned three pages of his Defence textbook without realizing it.

Ron reached out decisively and shut the book. Harry looked up, ready to be annoyed, and realized that Hermione was also staring at him. Resigned, Harry shoved the book aside.

"Look, it's really no big deal," he told them. "I met her on the way up to class, she was late as well. We were talking about Quidditch. That's it."

"Seamus says you left the dormitory early this morning," Ron announced.

"Seamus should mind his own business," Harry muttered.

"Where were you?" Hermione asked. "Sending an owl?"

"No, I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep," Harry said. "Also I had to put up the team roster. Then I went for a walk around the lake, and she was there too."

"Are you two... friends?" Hermione asked uncertainly. Ron shot her a look which she ignored. Harry fiddled with his shirt cuff, frowning.

"I hardly know her," he said at last. "I've never spoken to her since we've been here. But she seems all right -"

"She's a Slytherin," Ron pointed out, his voice cold. "You shouldn't trust her."

Hermione frowned at him. "That's jumping the gun a bit, don't you think?" she asked severely. "After all, Harry just said he barely knows her. But in any case, I'm sure if he thinks she's okay, he's right. Harry can be friends with who he wants."

Ron said nothing, but stared mutinously at his Herbology essay. "I just think he should be careful, that's all," he muttered at last.

"Harry's perfectly capable of taking care of himself," Hermione snapped. As she and Ron began bickering, Harry tuned them out, gazing randomly across the library. He caught sight of Cho then, sitting at a table with her friends from Ravenclaw [one of these was Marietta Edgecombe, and Harry felt a brief stab of dislike]. She sat with her back to him, her black hair falling in a long plait down to her waist, and Harry wondered vaguely if she had thought about him at all during the holidays. He shook his head briefly, as if to clear it, and re-opened his textbook.