Resolving

Chapter One

The Return

June 26, 2003

Professor Snape,

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? I hope you haven't forgotten my handwriting; after all, you saw enough of it during the seven years you taught me, and a few times over the past five years. I'm writing to inform you that the last of the Death Eaters "following" me have been dealt with. Murdock was particularly resilient; it took six hours to wear him down before I could break through and - well, the closet description I have for it is "shut him off", so I'll go with that.

Anyway, five years is a long time, isn't it? As you probably know, you are the only one I've kept in contact with, if the fifteen letters we've exchanged count as keeping in touch. I suppose I kept in touch with you because you're detached enough to handle it but you still care. And stop scoffing, I know you do.

I got your letter three months ago. Sorry I didn't respond; I was injured and couldn't draw any attention to myself here in New York by sending an owl out. It would've been quite attention-drawing. And my neighbors think me strange already. As for your offer - I would be pleased to take it, now that I finally can, since I'm safe. Well, relatively safe. Unless you still have latent Death Eater rage left over wanting to murder me in my sleep, I think I'll be glad to join the staff at Hogwarts and be the Charms professor. It's nice that Luna Lovegood wants to stay with her children. Frankly, I'm a bit shocked she got the job, but she was good at Charms, I think, from what Hermione told me.

I'll be flying into Heathrow next week. Yes, I know, Muggle flying. I see you muttering protests under your breath, professor. You are so predictable sometimes. But I simply do not want to do another transcontinental Apparition. Last time was enough - you've no idea how hard it is to Apparate from Tokyo to Melbourne. I ended up in Manila for three months because I was worn out from the effort of it. But like I said, I'll be coming in through Heathrow next week. Don't worry about picking me up--I know you won't, anyway, it's just customary to say that--I'm taking a taxi into the city to find a flat. I decided not to live with my father, even though I know he'll offer me anything just to get me to stay. I've been on my own too long; I can't stop now. It's slightly addicting.

Sorry about the length. Please inform my father I'm coming home. Make sure he knows not to tell anyone else - I don't want a fuss.

Cheers,

Blaise

Blaise folded the parchment up and slipped it into an envelope, handing it to his owl. The owl took off and he leaned against his window to watch the bird disappear into the night sky. He stared at the New York skyline and sighed as lights flicked on and off and people wandered around, the cars honking and birds cawing and crowing.

He sighed, closing the window and latching it. He would miss New York, just like he'd missed Rome, Prague and Sydney. New York had been fun, before his arm had been broken by Avery, not to mention the three fingers Murdock burned. The food was diverse and Broadway was rather entertaining, not to mention the large amount of cinema he saw. But, after five years of being gone from the Wizarding world (he hadn't gone into any of the Wizarding sections of any of the cities he had been to, there was too much risk), he missed it greatly. The Muggle world had its pleasures and entertainment value, but he missed being able to carry his wand around in his pocket, missed being about to Summon something at will, being able to Apparate into Diagon Alley. Being in London again would be good for him. And if the teaching job at Hogwarts didn't work out, he'd go to Isola, the school for purebloods he had turned away from years ago, and teach there.

He walked over to the bed and climbed in, falling asleep quickly. He'd have to be up early for work and he still needed two hundred dollars to pay off his credit bill before he left the States.

~*~

A week later, Blaise waited in the long security line to get into the terminal. He sighed as they told him to take off his shoes. He unlaced the sneakers and watched them poke them and run them through the x-ray machine as he tapped his stocking-covered foot on the carpet-covered cement. They handed him back his shoes and he put them back on, proceeding to the international departures and looking for his gate.

He settled himself in his coach seat and gave an annoyed look at the people behind him who had chosen to fly with their one-month-old baby.

After the plane took off, the attendants made the rounds and one stopped by his seat, handing him a coke. "Hello, Mr. Zabini," she said, her smile revealing unnaturally white teeth. He suspected several bleaching appointments with her dentist had gotten her those. "Is this your first flight on British Airways?"

"Sì, è il mio assistente di volo?" he replied. The flight attendant blinked slowly, her blond hair falling into her eyes. He repeated himself in English, slowly. "Yes, miss. Are you my attendant?"

Her face split into a smile again. "Yes, I am," she said just as slow. "I suppose you only speak Italian?"

He smiled slightly. "Non parlo inglese," he said, shrugging.

The flight attendant's brow wrinkled again. The woman across the aisle snapped, "Oh for fuck's sake, he said he doesn't speak English. Now, can I get my bloody gin or not?"

The attendant started at her voice. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, handing the woman a gin. She flashed a smile at Blaise, who didn't return it, and continued down the aisle.

The woman with the gin turned to Blaise. "Salute," she said to him.

He nodded and said, "Anche a te," drinking his soda.

The woman laughed and said in Italian, "Honestly, Blaise, after five years you don't recognize me? It's me, Isabella." She grinned at him and continued, "You remember. Former schoolmate, neighbor in Italy your entire childhood. Good God you've been away a long time."

Blaise swallowed his coke, almost choking. "Isabella?" he said, also in Italian. "Wow. It's been a long time."

Isabella pulled her hair back and he saw the crooked smile on her face. "Indeed it has. I hear you've been quite the globe-trotter."

He laughed. "Well, when twelve Death Eaters are after your blood, it's not an incentive to stay in one place for long."

Isabella nodded, understanding. "You should see your family as soon as you get back. Some things have happened that.... Well, it's not my place to say. Just get in touch with them as soon as we land."

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "And when is it 'not your place'? I don't remember you really caring for your place before."

"That was different," she snapped. "This is family. I am not family. It is not my place to reveal family business, just as it would not be your business to reveal my family's business if I didn't know about what was going on."

He nodded. "All right." Finishing his drink, he said, "Buona notte, dormi bene."

She smiled. "Anche tu."

Blaise turned away and switched off his light, going to sleep almost immediately. Through his dreams he saw Hermione's face and the faces of almost everyone else he knew in England, as well as his family.

It was Saturday, July 5th, when he landed in Heathrow. He proceeded out into the sunshine with his bags and sipped at the large cardboard cup of coffee he held, smiling at the taste. He sighed as he pulled his suitcases and trunk behind him to the taxi area and loaded them into a taxi. Climbing into the car, he slumped down in the seat and sighed, eyes closed.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked.

"Paddington."

"Aye, but where in Paddington?"

Blaise frowned. "I don't care; just drop me off by the tube station."

"All right."

Blaise dozed the entire way until the cabbie screeched to a stop, jostling him completely awake. "What's the fee?" He squinted at the meter. "Okay, good." He handed the cabbie the fare and got out with all his bags, proceeding to look for a real estate office. Once he found one, he went in and sat down.

"Can I help you, sir?" the receptionist asked.

"Yes. I'd like to buy a one bedroom flat somewhere near the train station," Blaise said.

The receptionist blinked. "But those are all over five hundred thousand pounds."

Blaise smiled. "Then it's a good thing I have over five hundred thousand pounds, isn't it?"

The receptionist--Mindy, her desk plate said--blinked once more and said, "Please hold on a moment." She picked up her phone, pressed a few buttons and had a heated, whispered conversation. Moments later, a man dressed in a slick suit came out of his office and walked over to him. Blaise could almost see the pound signs flashing in the man's eyes.

"Hello, sir. I understand you're looking for a flat?" the real estate agent said hopefully. "I'm Thomas Woorlands. How can I help you?"

Blaise smiled. "Hello, Thomas. I'm Blaise Zabini and I've just come back from a long, long trip. It would be wonderful if you could find me a one-bedroom flat near the train today. A nice one, preferably, but any will do. I can always fix it up. Price is, of course, not an object." This time he did see the pound signs.

Thomas brought Blaise back into his office and about five minutes later he looked up from his computer and smiled widely. "Mr. Zabini I believe I have found you your flat." He stood up. "If you'd care to follow me, we can go have a look-see and then, if you want, sign some papers."

"That would be wonderful, Thomas," Blaise told him. "I'm sure I'll love it."

And he did love the flat. It was small, with a tiny kitchen and living space, not to mention the smaller bedroom and bathroom without a tub, but it was right across the road from the tube station and Blaise only really needed that. So he went back to the real estate office and signed the papers, writing out a check for five hundred forty eight thousand and six hundred twelve pounds. The Gringotts goblins that would be changing his money and sending it to the agency through their Muggle associate bank would not be completely happy, but that didn't matter.

It was also a very passive-aggressive way of informing his family he was back in London.

The rest of the evening was spent buying furniture and having it delivered right away. He bought only the basics: a few rugs, a bed, armchair, pots, and pans. Food he spent an entire two hours on, picking only the best he could find. When he got home and stored the food in his refrigerator, he promptly went into his bedroom and fell into bed, asleep before he hit the sheets.

He woke up the next afternoon and moaned as he rubbed his eyes. Just as he was settling in, he heard a tapping noise on the window and when he saw his owl there he leaned out and pulled it back inside by the tail.

"Sorry, Oddsbreath," he muttered as the owl pecked him angrily. "Just a bit worn out." He unrolled the parchment that was on the owl's leg and read it.

~*~

July 05, 2003

Blaise Zabini,

Yes, indeed five years is a long time. I am glad your brain hasn't failed you during your travels and through the vast amounts of vodka I am sure you consumed during your stay in Moscow. Whatever induced you to go there was beyond reason, which, with you, is so often the case. I am very glad to see Murdock having met his maker. He was an unpleasant person.

As to you being unable to write, that is perfectly understandable. I have been in similar situations myself. I am glad you will accept the position as the Charms professor. Minerva has contaminated the High Table mostly with Gryffindors and their incessant chatter is sickening as most of it is gushing about Potter's child, who he and his Weasley wife named 'Wulfric' of all things, poor child. Also, it shall be a blessing to have you there to counter the ever-annoying Granger and the never-ending chatter that has been going on since she was added to the staff as the head of Gryffindor and Transfigurations teacher.

And I understand, you now have an apartment. Your father, of course, is outraged that you would choose to live somewhere else, but I believe only the knowledge that you would come visit soon calmed him down. That, and he can't cut you off since you have come into your grandmother's estate now that you are twenty two.

So you'd better go visit, you damnable child. Otherwise your father will have my head. Come see me when you get the chance. That was not a request.

Severus Snape

~*~

Blaise laughed as he finished the letter. It didn't seem to him Snape had changed much over the years he had been gone. Almost instantly he stopped laughing, though, the line of the letter mentioning Hermione belatedly registering with his brain.

Hermione was at Hogwarts, or she would be. Blaise's fingers twitched as he stared at the text. He sat down heavily in his chair and leaned his head back, sighing.

"I did not need this," he groaned, running his hands through his hair. "I just got back. I haven't seen anyone in five years and Hermione is teaching at Hogwarts? Perfect. Simply perfect." He sat there for a few more minutes before walking into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of his favorite Moscow vodka. He poured himself a glass. Drinking it down, he walked over to the table, Summoned a pad of paper and a pencil and began to outline his curriculum. Settling on some books, he wrote a list of what he would need for the school year and decided to go to Diagon Alley in the morning after writing to McGonagall, the new Headmistress, about the curriculum.

When morning came, he made his breakfast and packed his leather satchel with everything he'd need. He felt particularly satisfied to put his wand into the pocket of his knee-length jacket.

Making his way to the underground, he smiled at the busy city as he bought a ticket and then boarded the train. Ten minutes later he got off and grinned as he saw the Leaky Cauldron before him. He strode across the street quickly and slipped inside, breathing in the smoke and the smell of the tavern.

"Hello, Tom," he said to the barkeep. The old man smiled.

"'Ello, Mr. Zabini. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has been." Blaise grinned at him.

"You want somethin' to drink?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks. I'll just be going into the Alley."

"All right, then. Have a nice day. Say hello to your dad for me."

"Will do, Tom. You too." Blaise exited the Cauldron and went into Diagon Alley, grin stretching even further as he saw the hustle and bustle of his favorite shopping district. Halfway to Gringotts, he was stopped by an old, familiar voice.

"Blaise? Blaise Zabini?" Blaise turned to see Harry Potter standing there, holding a baby. Behind him was Ginny Weasley.

"Harry." Blaise smiled. "Hello. How are you?"

Harry glared at him. "You bastard. You think you can show your face around here? After what you did?"

Blaise walked a little closer. "Do you want to cause a scene, Potter? That, in my estimation, would not be wise."

Harry leaned close to him. "I stopped thinking anything of your estimation a long time ago, Zabini. After you broke Hermione's heart."

Blaise glared back at him. "And what else was I supposed to do? Stay and let her die? I don't think so."

"She can defend herself," Harry hissed. "You two could've been safe."

"Desperate men," Blaise said, rolling up his left sleeve, "do desperate things." He thrust his left elbow under Harry's nose. "Look at this. Do you think the Death Eater who did that wasn't desperate? Rawlins was almost finished; he would've done anything to get away from me." Blaise's elbow was scarred and the skin above it was shiny with burn scar tissue. "And the three broken legs I've gotten over the past five years? Do you really think that I got those from patient men? Lucius Malfoy, now, he was a stunner. When I took him down, it cost me two broken kneecaps and a fractured shoulder blade. Do you think I should have subjected Hermione to all of that just so she would be 'happy'?"

Harry stared at Blaise. "All of that?"

"Everything. Of course, I almost broke my back falling off a cliff in Baguio City, but I managed to only break an arm, God knows how."

"Baguio? Philippines, Baguio?" Ginny asked.

Blaise smiled a bit. "Yes."

"Oh." Ginny looked around for a moment. "So have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Have you seen Hermione yet?"

Blaise avoided her and Harry's eyes, instead looking at the baby, who looked sternly back at him. "No, I haven't."

Ginny smacked his arm. "Well you should. Come on, Harry. I promised Mum we'd get back in time for her to take another eight hundred photos of Wulf."

"See you around, Blaise," Harry said, giving Blaise a sad smile. "It's good to know you're not dead floating in a river somewhere."

Blaise laughed. "Thanks, Harry. See you." Harry and Ginny turned to walk away. "Harry, one thing!"

Harry turned. "What?"

"Don't tell Hermione I'm back. Not yet."

Harry frowned. "You can't hide forever."

"I don't intend to. Just...don't tell her yet, okay?"

"All right," Harry said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye."