The Best Friend, the Hangover, Long Blonde Hair, and the Annoying Bint

The Best Friend, the Hangover, Long Blonde Hair, and the Annoying Bint

Running his hand a final time through his curly mass of black hair, Blaise Zabini gave himself a final look-over before turning away from the dingy mirror of the boys' loo. Teeth brushed, shirt buttoned, tie straightened and robes fastened securely, he walked back to the room he shared with Draco, Theodore, Crabbe, and Goyle and slung his bag over his right shoulder. Crabbe, in the bed next to his, was snoring rather loudly, and Blaise briefly considered throwing a shoe in that general direction to wake the lazy bugger up. After all, breakfast was nearly over, and McGonagall was giving them a practical exam in another hour. The previous night, Crabbe had forgone the practice he had so desperately needed in favor of getting sloshed on firewhiskey he and Greg had nicked from the kitchens.

While Blaise was narrowing his eyes, debating whether to throw a loafer at the sleeping lump, he did not miss the curious glance Draco was giving him from his bed, where the Transfiguration textbook was opened to the relevant theory they'd have to apply in today's practical. He turned to his blond roommate and said, "Should I?" bending down again to pick up a shoe that probably belonged to Theo.

Draco considered Crabbe for a split second before shrugging without a word. He began to read the text again, trying not to look as interested as Blaise knew he was. He could not pretend that he wasn't worried about his friend; he knew Draco slept very little and spent an unhealthy amount of time in the Room of Requirement doing his insane aunt's bidding. If Blaise had that kind of pressure from home he might have been ready to crack, as well.

In his own case, there was no interference to speak of. His mother doted on him sporadically, like a fountain with uneven streams of water. These periods of affection happened when she was in between husbands, and while they did not share much in common, Blaise returned her affection without any pretension. He was, after all, her first son by her first husband. In his opinion, this must count for something; he felt ultra legitimate. A fat inheritance from his dead father awaited him when he came of age, and his mother's successive marriages had left her an insane amount of gold, of which a portion was set aside for him in her will. Besides her and her two other children by husbands four and six, Blaise did not have any blood relatives who could step in to dictate his course of life. Adelaide Zabini had been brought up in Italy, surrounded by her immense family, but her life there had abruptly ended after her marriage to Blaise's British father, a young idealist full of the Dark Lord's desire to cleanse the wizarding world.

Was it pointless to say that his father had died a fool's death? Blaise repressed a delicate snort and hurled the loafer at Vincent. It bounced off his roommate's head and he jerked awake, rubbing his bleary eyes and looking confused. "Wha's goin' on? Bloody...fuck, mate," he mumbled, kicking his bedclothes off. He focused his hung-over gaze on Blaise very carefully, as if he were trying very hard to keep him in focus. Blinking as he saw the taller boy completely dressed and itching to go up to the Great Hall, he sobered slightly and asked, "Wha's the time?"

Blaise shifted the bag on his shoulder and looked at his watch. "An hour before Transfiguration. Tell me you practiced Conjuring sometime during your drunken tirade last night."

"Uhh..." groaned Crabbe, holding his forehead in his hand and turning away from the candle flickering merrily on Draco's bedside table. The low, cavernous, rectangular room was dimly lit, Blaise noted. How much had this bugger had to drink? He obviously had a lower tolerance than Greg, who had been up already and was still in the shower.

Draco had shut his book and turned to Crabbe, surveying him with his usual look of distaste. "You know, if you insist on getting drunk during the week, make sure you don't end up running a freak show in the common room, unless of course you like spending extra time in detention with Snape. It was quite disgusting watching you hit on Millicent like that. I've never seen that girl blush, but she was actually responding to you."

Blaise wanted to hurl. He needed to leave before Goyle got back and decided to recount the previous evening's antics. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the room and past their bathroom, where the showers were still running. Emerging out in the main hall of the boys' dormitories, Blaise followed the confusing labyrinth of cold stone corridors until he saw the torches that lit up the common room ahead. A handful of fifth years were at the armchairs by the immense fireplace, obviously just awoken from sleeping on their homework. Giving them a cursory glance, Blaise passed by and continued to the door.

It opened before he reached it, however, and several sixth year girls spilled in, nearly bombarding him. Pansy was the first to notice him and asked, "Is Draco up yet, Blaise?"

He sidestepped in order to avoid bumping into Daphne, who was showing Tracey Davis the wand motion that accompanied a Conjuring spell. Their shoulders lightly brushed as he looked back at Pansy, wondering if he should do Draco a favor by not setting Pansy on his tail this early in the morning. Shaking his head, he answered, "Still in the loo, he just got up. Is there still food on the table upstairs?"

"Yes, a little, if you hurry up," she answered carelessly, and stalked past him until she caught up with Millicent, who was looking cagily towards the corridor that led to the boys' dormitories. Blaise smirked a little, then looked at Daphne again, who was correcting Tracey's poor execution of a Conjuring Spell. She noticed him this time, and smiled a little before tucking a blonde strand of hair behind her ear.

Alright, none of that. He turned away from her and left the common room before she distracted him any more with her long blonde hair and long, long legs. Since when had he grown partial to blondes? It must have started when he realized his schoolwork was demanding and his sex life was diminishing, when he found out that even Crabbe and Goyle were hooking up with the opposite sex and that Daphne Greengrass had this small, secretive smile on her lips when she looked at him every now and then.

By this time, he had nearly reached the end of the trek through another labyrinth of corridors that all Slytherins knew well. The staircase up to the Entrance Hall was only one turn away, and he walked a little faster, his stomach lightly growling at the thought of food. Stepping into the Great Hall, he walked the few steps to his usual seat at the long table and stowed his bag at his feet, simultaneously reaching for a plate and tipping the remainder of the nearest platter of scrambled eggs onto it. He shook in some salt and pepper and poured orange juice into his goblet. As he reached for some toast, butter, and a knife, he felt Draco sit by him.

"Pansy was looking for you," he told him, spreading butter over his toast. He saw a twinge of annoyance break upon Draco's expression as the blond reached for a slice of toast himself and bit off the end of it in sullen silence.

"She's an annoying bint," he muttered a few seconds later. "I spent two whole fucking hours with her yesterday just to listen to gossip about Daphne's new fling with that Ravenclaw prefect when she knows I have more important things to do."

"So just tell her she's an annoying bint and that you have better things to do with your time," supplied Blaise, picking apart his toast and idly noting that Ravenclaw's prefect was Terry Boot, who did seem to be Daphne's type, so why was she sending those covert glances to him?

"A number of people have told me not to burn potentially useful connections while I'm still here," gritted Draco, and Blaise noticed the phrase "while I'm still here." Maybe he really was serious about dropping out of school. "The Parkinsons have always been family friends of the Malfoys, so it's not very prudent to insult their daughter."

"She thinks you're in love," Blaise pointed out bluntly.

Draco did not answer, and they ate for the next few minutes in silence. Farther down the table, second years were huddled around a particularly gruesome looking book belonging to a seedy looking boy with sunken eyes and many pimples, and closer to them two fourth year girls were surveying their complexions in compact mirrors they had dug out of their bags.

Blaise had finished the majority of his breakfast before checking his watch again. Half an hour to go. Beside him, Draco stared dully at his goblet before downing the rest of its contents. "This weekend," he said seriously, "we had better get some firewhiskey from Crabbe and Goyle."

It wasn't a bad idea, though Blaise didn't really know why Draco sounded so desperate for it. "Sure," he answered calmly, scrutinizing his friend with a direct gaze. It wouldn't do to ask him what the bloody problem was already because he knew Draco well; the Malfoy blood ran deep and rampant through his veins and gave him his stubborn, arrogant disposition. Even Pansy had not dragged out his true problem, and Pansy could probably nag Professor Snape's worst memory out of him without mercy.

His suspicions told him that Draco had gotten in with the Death Eaters, which wasn't surprising considering his father. Blaise's mother had told him that his own father had once fought alongside Lucius Malfoy during the first war, which explained his and Draco's old friendship. The only thing unsettling about Draco working for the Death Eaters was that he was obviously underage, something obviously was not working out, and as a result he was more sullen, resentful, and almost fearful of mentioning anything about the Dark Lord. He was more reserved, withdrawn, irritable, depressed even. Blaise knew Pansy noticed none of this; she only noticed that Draco no longer complained when she doted on him and took it as a sign that he cared for her, when Blaise knew Draco was just too tired to push her off.

What exactly Draco was doing in the Room of Requirement for long stretches of time was a mystery to Blaise, and he accepted that he would not find out until something big happened. If Death Eaters were involved, then Harry Potter was involved, and if Harry Potter was protected in Hogwarts, then Death Eaters had to get into Hogwarts to touch him. The task sounded hopeless enough. What underage wizard would know how to smuggle Death Eaters into the impenetrable fortress that was Hogwarts? It was a silly idea, and Blaise shook his head to clear his mind.

He nibbled at the last bite of his toast and stared at the odd looking earrings of a girl sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Her blonde wavy hair was piled messily on top of her head, revealing a thin, pale neck. Those earrings were...radishes? And why was he staring at another blonde? He looked down at his plate and silently wished it was already time to walk to the Transfiguration classroom.

An easy silence endured at the table, even when Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott joined them for a few bites nicked from the Ravenclaw table. Crabbe was still wincing because of a headache and Goyle wolfed down his bacon as fast as he could. Theodore, merely bored, pushed the food around his plate, his small dark eyes focused on the table. Blaise was glad the girls had finished their breakfast earlier; he didn't know if any of them would have welcomed Pansy's chatter, Millicent's clumsiness, Tracey's stupidity, or Daphne's tutoring at this early hour.

A few minutes later, as they made their way up the marble staircase to class, Pansy met them at the top and slipped her arm through Draco's, cooing 'good morning' to the disgruntled blond. Blaise rolled his eyes behind them, and fell a few more steps behind so that he would not have to listen to Pansy's attempts at morning conversation. Daphne was in step with him a second later, flipping her long hair over her shoulder and avoiding his glance when he acknowledged her.

Blaise rolled his eyes again. He just wanted to get this practical over with so he could go catch up on some sleep. On his right, Theo murmured, "You think Pansy'll trip on the trick stair today?" The staircase up to the third floor loomed ahead, and Blaise considered it briefly before saying, "Five galleons say she does."

"I'm not paying you five fucking galleons," snorted Theo. On their left, Daphne listened interestedly. "Forget it; it was pointless to even wonder." Sure enough, a few steps above them, Pansy let out a shriek as her foot sank through the eleventh step. Daphne waved her wand silently at the brunette's foot, and the group of nine continued going up. Behind them, Blaise heard Tracey reviewing the theory with Millicent, and he silently, quickly reviewed the basics of the Conjuring spell in his mind as the door of the Transfiguration classroom appeared on the right side of the corridor.

Picture your object, imagine that you are grabbing it, and draw your wand through the air as if you're pulling it towards you...

In two's and three's, the sixth year Slytherins filed into the classroom and assumed their normal seats. Blaise set his bag down by Theo and withdrew his wand from his robe pocket. At the farther end of the room sat the Hufflepuffs, feverishly practicing the spell with each other. Draco sat down in the seat directly in front of Blaise, ignoring Pansy's worried hisses that she wasn't ready for the practical just yet.

Again, Blaise wondered about his childhood friend and just how much shit he was currently in. He wondered if Theodore was curious too, and how much Vince and Greg knew about it, since they did act as Draco's bodyguards at times. He wondered if Pansy had any idea that her "boyfriend" was not alright.

Professor McGonagall entered the classroom then, and Blaise knew that this subject of reverie must be returned to later. Maybe this weekend, Draco would unburden some his cares while in a drunken stupor. Otherwise, Blaise no longer knew how to reach him.

Catching Daphne's eye to his right, he avoided her steady stare and paid attention to McGonagall's instructions concerning the practical. Then, as she led one of the Hufflepuffs to the adjoining classroom to see a demonstration of the Conjuring Spell, Blaise turned on the bench he and Theo shared so that he could lean against the desk. The latter was flipping aimlessly through their textbook.

Blaise was facing Millicent and Tracey, who had taken the desk directly behind him and Theodore. Millicent appeared extremely self-conscious; she was running a large hand through mousy brown hair and trying not to flick her gaze ahead to Crabbe and Goyle's desk. Tracey had looked up from her book to Blaise when she saw him turn around; she had gone back to reading the theory when she realized he wasn't going to say anything.

Behind him, Pansy had stopped complaining to Draco about her horrible habit of procrastinating; hopefully she was studying. Their group was silent; Daphne had buried her face in her arms, her golden hair spilling over her forearms. Crabbe and Goyle were finishing a plateful of muffins they'd brought from breakfast and beside him, Theo was trying not to nod off. Blaise yawned, like he did every other morning, and waited patiently for McGonagall to call his name.

Author's Notes: I started writing and I couldn't stop. This is meant to be an extremely general piece, just my idea of how the Slytherin sixth years go about their business in the morning. No one likes that last hour right before an important test! Thanks for reading, please review!