The Story of Blaise Zabini

Chapter 8

Third Year

So that was my Christmas. I suppose it was easy for me to think badly of my dad, but I didn't know the whole story did I? I only knew what my grandma had told me, and well, let's face it, that was a little biased.

I'm beginning to think that maybe my dad just couldn't live with my mom. Or he wasn't ready to get married. Maybe I wasn't his daughter and he couldn't marry my mom knowing that he would have to look after someone else's child. Or maybe he was just an insensitive jerk. I don't know anymore. But I have started wearing the bracelet he sent me.

Now I'm back at school for another term, and so far Lydia and I have infuriated Malfoy and Pansy more times than I can count. We've also started our pranks again, only we still haven't used the rest of those Beans.

So far at Hogwarts, nothing out of the ordinary has happened, unlike the last two years. In first year, it wasn't actually that strange and unusual by this time of year; everything was as it should be. All I know was that, at the end of the year there was some incident involving Potter, his friends and You-Know-Who. In fact Potter did such a good job of stopping the Dark Lord from coming to power that Dumbledore decided to give Gryffindor an extra hundred and seventy points, which beat Slytherin in the House Cup. Malfoy was really pissed about that; so were the rest of the Slytherins, except for me and Lydia. If I'm honest, I think this inter-house rivalry is dumb. But who am I to spoil traditions?

In second year people - and a cat - were Petrified, including one of Potter's friends. Again, at the end of the year, Potter was responsible for something - nobody really knows what - that made Gryffindor win the House Cup for a second time. He's a regular little hero, Potter. I think he has a complex.

Anyway, that's my annual reviews for my first two years at Hogwarts. Compared to my first and second year, this third year seems unbearably dull.

There also seems to be a tradition of getting a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor every year. Why? I'm not sure, but last year's had a memory problem and he had to leave. Not that I care; he was a bit of a prat anyway, totally full of himself because he'd sold a few books. This year's, Professor Lupin, is probably the best, although none of the other Slytherins have anything good to say about him. I can't see why; he seems okay to me.

I've also noticed something else: a lot of people who seemed inseparable last year - namely Malfoy and Pansy, who were attached from the waist upwards - aren't always together now. I mean, me and Lydia are inseparable because we're best friends. Malfoy and Pansy don't seem as infatuated with each other as they did before. It could be a good thing because, annoying as Malfoy is, he's kind of cute and it's such a waste to see him locking lips with Pansy.

You know that bet Lydia and I made with Fred and George? Well, it turns out they won. Yeah, I wish we'd won, but I guess you can't compete with the masters, can you?

So now, after the excitement of Christmas, everything seems sort of quiet and boring. Lessons are just the same, especially History of Magic. God, I swear, if it wasn't for the fact that I'd promised George, Izzy and my grandma I would try to stay out of trouble, then I'd cause absolute mayhem in Binns' class. At least I don't have History of Magic today.

I brought Shadow with me to school, and so far, nearly every girl in Slytherin thinks he's adorable. I feel strangely proud of my kitten, and I think he knows it, because whenever someone comes over to see him, he starts to show off and only ends up falling off the sofa or tumbling across the carpet. Then he gets the cutest expression on his face, like he can't believe he fell over, but he likes it all the same. Listen to me; babbling on about my cat like it's a baby. I must be going crazy.

Anyway, there seems to be something weird going on. There are teachers running around with grim looks on their faces. Except Snape; he seems over the moon about something. Or at least, he did before Christmas. If I'd heard any rumours about it, I might try to find more out about it. As it is, there doesn't seem to be anything really interesting about it. I mean, so the teachers are tense. So what? Aren't they always? Still, it was unusual to see Snape with a smile on his face; and it disturbed anyone who saw it.

Later that year, around June, before the Quidditch final between Slytherin and Gryffindor, I was sat in the common room, waiting for Lydia to come back from detention with Flitwick, when Malfoy sat down on the sofa beside me. He seemed troubled, so I left him alone for a change.

But every so often he would sigh heavily and tap his fingers on the arm of the sofa. After he did this two or three times, I turned to him.

"What?" I snapped.

"Sorry?" he asked innocently, but behind his indifferent expression there was a glimmer of something very much like panic.

"You keep sighing and tapping the arm of the chair," I told him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing ..." he trailed off, and I clicked. He was worried about the Quidditch match.

"Quidditch?" I asked him abruptly, because I was curious why Malfoy would be anxious about a game.

"Well ..." he said hesitantly, "yeah. And Pansy is wandering around shouting all sorts of stuff about me. She's getting a load of laughs from the seventh years right now."

As if on cue, a loud burst of laughter erupted from the group of boys around the fire; Pansy was in the thick of it, looking triumphant at their amusement. It made me sick.

"Why don't you do the same? Spread it around that she's just a rampant little whore."

He looked surprised that the solution was so obvious, and he grinned at my choice of words. Why I was sharing this tip with someone I couldn't stand, I don't know. But if it annoyed Pansy, it was probably worth it.

"Good idea," Malfoy nodded thoughtfully, "but Pansy's not the only problem. This Quidditch match. I ..." but he stopped suddenly, and blushed as though he'd been on the verge of revealing something he was ashamed of.

"No, what?" I asked curiously, wondering what Malfoy was so embarrassed about.

"It's just ... I'm worried, Blaise," he admitted. "The whole Quidditch tournament is riding on this match. And Slytherin haven't beat Gryffindor since bloody Potter joined their team."

"What made you tell me?" I asked bluntly. "I mean, couldn't you have confided in someone else?"

"They'd probably laugh at me," Malfoy said, but there was no trace of self-pity in his voice; it was more like a statement than an exaggeration.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?" I asked, but I lacked conviction.

"You laugh at me even when I'm not worried about Quidditch," he said, standing up and giving this strange, self-mocking, half smile.

He began to walk away, and I would've let him if I hadn't just realised something.

"Hey Malfoy!" I said loudly.

He turned. "Yeah?" he said.

"Did we just manage to have a conversation?" I asked.

"I think we did," he said, a grin appearing on his face. "Imagine that"

"I'm as surprised as you are."

"I wasn't surprised," Malfoy said simply and quickly walked away, leaving me to work out what he really meant.

Okay, I'll admit it; Malfoy isn't a complete, one hundred percent, total smarmy git. He's only ninety-nine percent smarmy, and one percent decent human being.

***

On the day of the Quidditch match, I have to say I felt really bad for Malfoy; he looked like he was going to puke. And he wasn't his usual arrogant self; he was more subdued than I've ever seen him.

I had the weirdest - and frankly creepiest - urge to wish him good luck, but if I said it right now at the Slytherin table, I'd lose all the credibility I had. So I waited for him to get up and leave the Great Hall, muttered an excuse to Lydia next to me, and followed Malfoy out into the Entrance Hall.

He heard my footsteps before I had a chance to say anything, and he came back down the stairs he'd just begun to walk up.

"Hi," I said, trying to look as though I hadn't been following him.

"Hello," he said.

There was an awkward silence.

"Um ... good luck for the Quidditch match," I eventually said, wondering why I was so uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"Thanks," he said glumly, his face turning a pale shade of green at the very thought.

"Right, well ... bye," I said, and turned to go.

"Yeah, bye," he murmured distractedly, and wandered out of the Entrance Hall in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch.

When the rest of the school eventually went down the pitch, too, the teams were only just coming out of the changing rooms. The applause for the Slytherins was mainly drowned out by a huge round of applause for the Gryffindor team, from the other three houses.

I like Quidditch, and it is exciting, but some people take it too seriously. At the end of the day, it's just a game and we have another chance the next year. Then again I probably feel that way because I'm not much of a sports fan.

When the game was underway, I actually felt the tension in the air whenever a team scored. I was even caught up in the thrill of the match. The Slytherins weren't playing exactly fair. I felt quite proud whenever they fouled the Gryffindors; just because they're better at Quidditch, doesn't mean they can't be injured.

But Potter managed to pull off a spectacular capture of the Snitch. Again. Man, were the Slytherins pissed off by that. And Malfoy wasn't going to be anybody's favourite person in the common room tonight. Damn shame.

Ha, yeah right.