Crystal

Crystal

When Blaise Zabini was six years old, he saw his father murder his mother in a fit of rage. Blaise had awoken late in the night after a dream where tendrils of darkness had wrapped around him and tried to pull him under, where he caught a glimpse of a boy with a smooth, pale, beautiful face containing near-white hair and stoic gray eyes, reaching out to him.

Walking around the manor to clear his mind, Blaise soon found himself standing in the hall, quietly watching his parents argue. He saw his father gripping his wand tightly, and when his mother smirked in triumph, his father shouted "Avada Kedavra".

His mother fell to the floor with shock forever imprinted on her beautiful face. His father looked around to see if anyone had watched him commit an unspeakable crime, and when his panicky eyes met Blaise's calm, cool, sapphires, an unspoken understanding passed between father and son.

Several days later, his mother's funeral was held, and many acquaintances came, patting Blaise on the shoulder and telling him how sorry they were that his mother had fallen to a disease that wasted her away. Blaise merely nodded politely, his eyes locked on his father the whole time.

That was the first time he saw him. His father was talking to a man and his son, and it was clear the boy wanted nothing more than to be out of this place filled with darkness and gloom. As the father and son made to leave, the son turned toward Blaise, and for one single second, their eyes locked. Something shot between them, and as the other boy left, he gazed over his shoulder at Blaise until Blaise was out of sight.

When Blaise went to Hogwarts for his magical education, he once again saw the boy on the train to school. The boy, however, merely glanced at him up and down before sneering in his face and walking off, two large bulks of what could barely be called boys following him and intimidating any who crossed the blond's path. Blaise allowed himself to look back at the three disappearing behind him before finding a compartment to himself. Neither made any acknowledgment that they had met before.

Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini did not try to establish a friendship of any kind. Draco was crowned the king of Slytherin, and all Slytherins acknowledged the ascension except for Blaise, which infuriated Draco, who, in turn, kept away any potential friends Blaise would have made.

Blaise, meanwhile, considered himself above the petty politics of Slytherin House. Power grabs, backstabs, infidelity, none of it were of any interest to him. He found the other Slytherins to be beneath him, and even without Draco's help, he would have driven away anyone who approached him.

In Second Year, Blaise saw the thestrals. The black horses stood in front of the carriages, waiting for passengers to climb into them. Blaise vaguely mused to himself that they would look like legendary Pegasi had they been white and without their reptilian likeness.

Blaise saw the thestrals every year when he walked to the carriages. Then, in Fifth Year, he saw them during a Care of Magical Creatures class. Hagrid had called them over, and Blaise watched with distaste as they ripped the flesh off the dead cow. He knew that they could never attain the status of the Pegasi because of their ways, and that reminded him immediately of Slytherin House.

Draco Malfoy might have been crowned king, but he was in no way a true king. How could he be? He was handsome, and he appeared regal, but he was only a coward at heart. Blaise knew him too well, especially through his encounters with Harry Potter. And he remembered when their eyes had lingered on each other many years before. That had told him more than Draco could ever fathom.

Blaise bumped into Draco in the moonlit dungeons one night, during Seventh Year. He proceeded to pass the blond, but Draco's quiet words stopped him. "I saw the thestrals." Blaise turned back.

The moon bathed Draco in a silver light, and when he turned to Blaise, an unholy beauty gracing his face, images of the nightmare that had woken him so many years ago surfaced briefly in Blaise's mind.

"I know you see them," he continued softly. "I remember..." Blaise said nothing. "Talk to me, dammit!" Draco cried.

"What would you like me to say?" Blaise asked quietly.

"Don't tell me you don't remember that day, after your mother's funeral," Draco accused.

"I never said anything of the like."

"Then why did you ignore me?"

"Who was the one who ignored who first?" Blaise spat, turning in rage to Draco, who took an uncertain step back. Smoldering fire burned in Blaise's eyes as he continued. "Do you really think that you are the high and mighty king of Slytherin, Draco? I remember how you snubbed me on that first day, how you snubbed me when I refused to acknowledge your kingship, how you showed me your true character. You are nothing but a coward, Draco. You are beneath me."

Draco looked at him with wide eyes, faint tears briefly shining in them. "You don't understand, Blaise," he cried in desperation. "I don't have a choice. My father considers you beneath our stature. I can't do anything against his wishes! And had my father known..."

Blaise turned away. "It's always 'My father, my father'. Do you only care about your father's opinions? Do you care about them to the extent that you refuse to think for yourself?" He turned back, hard cobalt boring into Draco's surprised mercury.

Draco bit his lip nervously like a girl, casting his eyes to the floor. "I..."

Blaise left without another word.

After Seventh Year, Blaise left the country, leaving the others to their war. He wanted no part in it. He did not want to break his family's long-standing tradition of neutrality, nor did he want to be forced into killing for either side.

Eight years later, after the war ended and the Wizarding World was once again back on its feet, albeit shakily, Blaise returned. By this time, his father had died, leaving him with all of the family's property.

As he strolled through Diagon Alley, someone bumped into him. The man collected himself before casting his eyes up at him, and Blaise found himself once again facing Draco Malfoy, who gave a short gasp when he saw him.

"Blaise..."

"What?" he asked curtly, looking away from the worn face in front of him that still held vestiges of its former beauty.

"I...I want to say I'm sorry."

"Why?" Blaise asked, turning his eyes back to Draco in surprise.

"In Seventh Year...that night, I wanted to tell you. But you left before I could. My father was the one who died. I killed him because he wanted to force me to be a Death Eater, and I had no intention of serving a half-blood for life...Plus...you."

"Me."

"You...Ever since we saw each other that day, after the funeral, I...I couldn't forget you, no matter how I tried, even after my father told me that I was not to treat you like my equal. You...you were, you are so hauntingly beautiful. And I wanted to have that beauty.

"But I couldn't, not when Father could easily learn of my behavior by careless and deceptive questioning. All I wanted during that time was you. I wanted to learn everything about you, and in the end, I just wanted you."

Blaise looked away again. "You are still the same Draco that I've known. You will always be beneath me," he whispered sadly to Draco. "If you had never let your father control you so much that you let your soul waste away into nothing, I...I would be able to accept you. Did you know I dreamt of you before I ever met you? Did you know that my dream of you was the reason I could see the thestrals?"

As he walked past Draco, who was rooted to the spot, he gave the blond a very small kiss on the corner of his mouth before walking away, refusing to look back at what he had given up.